Indomitable Will, Tender Heart - 6
Author: Taryn
Email: Write
Me!
Rating: Strong R (language - this chapter)
Disclaimer: Don't own them, yadda yadda. See Chapter 1...
Author's Notes: Inspiration for the laboratory sequence
came from Barry Windsor-Smith's "Weapon X" story. The story
of how Logan received his Adamantium skeleton is simply
chilling.
While Mr. Smith's rendition of Logan is a lot more bestial than mine, I
used his fantastic illustrations to stoke my imagination (and
- hopefully - do it some semblance of justice as well)!
-------------------------------------------
*/FLASH/*
The room was dimly lit, but he could tell by the scent (chemicals,
sterile, antiseptic) that he was in some sort of medical facility. Not
a hospital....a lab? When he tried to sit up, he realized that
he was strapped to
a hard metal examination table. He groaned, tugging violently at
the
metal cuffs around his wrists, waist and ankles, but they held firm.
His head hurt - a dull throbbing - and his body ached all over, as if
he'd been beaten. Suddenly, he realized that's exactly what had
happened. He had another flash, vividly recalling the men who'd
surprised him in the darkened alley. They'd taken him out from
the fire escape, above,
and he berated himself now, knowing he should've smelled them
coming.
His senses had still been a bit dulled from the drinking he'd done at
the
bar, which was the only way they'd had the advantage....he hadn't even
suspected they were following him. He must've gotten knocked out,
then, because everything after that was fuzzy and trying to remember
the details only
made the hammering in his head even more acute.
The room spun as he craned his neck to look down, immediately aware
that he was naked and there were some kind of black markings drawn all
over him. Upon closer inspection, they appeared to be a diagram -
mapping?- of every bone in his body. An icy finger of fear
began creeping
up his spine, causing the hair on his neck to stand on end. What
in
the hell kind of place was this, and what did they want with him?
Footsteps were rapidly approaching and a blinding light came on
suddenly, just overhead. He groaned, reflexively snapping his
eyes shut. Ghostly afterimages writhed and pulsed in his head,
and then he forced his eyes open again. A man in pale green scrubs was
standing next to him, holding a large syringe. Struggling was
futile... he could only watch, helplessly, as the man squirted some of
the fluid into the air and then began probing for the vein inside his
left elbow. He tried to twist away, growling.
“What’re ya givin’ me? Who the fuck are you?”
There was no reply except for the bite of the needle in his arm and he
winced - more from anger than pain. An icy coldness began seeping
rapidly through his veins. He clenched his fists, trying to ward
it
off and maintain control, but his thoughts were losing their clarity
and
his vision was growing hazy. He felt like relaxing, wanting to
sleep,
just dozing off for a little while, as the coldness turned to a dull
warmth
and his head filled with cotton......
Then, abruptly, his world exploded: rough hands on him - a steady
beeping - sharp medicinal odors - searing pain. Oh, God it
hurts, it hurts....fuck, it hurts... This was wrong, he
shouldn't be here, they'd made a mistake. There was a fog in his
head. He couldn't think clearly, or even remember his name.
Another needle jabbing into his right arm.....he forced his eyes open
and immediately wished that he'd kept them shut. This isn't
happening! He was vaguely aware of the sensation that
something was protruding from his skin, covering his entire body, but
he couldn't lift his head to look and see what it was....wasn't at all
sure he even wanted to. Why are they doin' this to me?
"We'll begin the insertion once he's in the Stasis tank. Let's
get him ready...."
The fog grew thicker, enveloping him again, and this time he welcomed
it.
*/FLASH/*
Sometime later - how long? - he was fighting his way back to
consciousness, hearing voices around him but unable to understand what
was being said. Pain tore through him, a razor's edge, slicing
through and taking over all other thought.
//painpainpainpainstopthepainstopthepainpleaseohgodpleasemakeitstop//
His body felt as if it were on fire from the inside-out. Flashes
of light danced in front of his eyes, prism shades of red, blue and
green. He thought there was a man standing next to him, but he
couldn't be sure. Everything had taken on a surreal, dreamlike
quality. All except the pain....that was certainly real enough
and it remained sharp and white-hot.
"He's ready." The voice sounded far away even as a shadowy figure
leaned over him.
"Put him in the tank."
He was still strapped down, but now he could feel himself being raised
and then lowered into an oblong container - like a coffin
-.
He tried to fight, tried to protest, but his body just wouldn't obey
the
commands his brain was screaming at him. Another needle, this
time
into the muscle between his neck and shoulder. He wished he could
black
out again. He didn't want to be here, didn't want to feel what
was
being done to him.....why couldn't they just kill him and get it over
with?
His body was turning to lead again, his thoughts growing fuzzy.
Faint sensations broke through the haze enveloping his brain (cold,
wet....water?) - wait....he was underwater? Instinctively, his
eyes shot open and he tried to sit up, the sudden fear of drowning
taking over and temporarily increasing his strength, sheer adrenalin
kicking in.
"Sir, the inhibitor doesn't seem to be working. His metabolism
must be overriding it."
"He can fight it all he wants.....it won't matter now."
A figure was suddenly standing next to him with yet another
syringe. He clenched his teeth when the needle pierced the
still-tender flesh of his neck again. Then his mouth was forced
open and a plastic tube was inserted down his throat. He gagged,
but was too weak to fight it. Sterile, metallic-tasting air began
pumping into his lungs and everything started to
fade.
". . . still awake -- in pain. . . . "
". . . proceed . . . . "
". . . drugs aren't working -- dosage increase?. . . "
". . . no -- have our orders . . . "
". . . but - rhythm spiking -- goddammit -- feeling everything.
. . . . "
". . . no - need his healing factor at 100% -- proceed . . . "
He felt his lungs filling up with the metallic air and acrid
chemicals. His stomach churned and he tried to cough, but only
managed to choke instead. It felt like something was being forced
into his body....something hot, invading every pore, every fiber of his
being, burning him from the inside-out. He tried to yell, to
fight, but the breathing tube choked him. Then, as if he'd
finally reached his limit and something inside his mind just snapped - Jesus,
just let me die - he passed out again.
*/FLASH/*
The next time he came to, the needles and tubes were gone, but he was
still strapped down, underwater, with a mask over his face. He
saw, or thought he saw,
distorted figures moving beside the tank. A hand holding
something shiny dipped into the
water next to his left arm. With a slow horror, he realized it
was a scalpel. He tried to
fight, tried to shout that he was
still awake, to stop hurting him, to die and fucking go to hell, but
the drugs and the mask prevented it. He was helpless, could only
lay there as the scalpel sliced into his forearm, flaying the skin
open, exposing muscle and bone from the elbow to the wrist. He
watched with a morbid fascination as his blood streamed lazily, like
ribbons, and the water in the tank turned pink
The rest of the flashes were even more fragmented, puzzle pieces that
didn't quite fit. Metal searing his bones. . . voices distorted.
. . mind-numbing pain . . . so
much blood - his blood. His identity - his very humanity -
ripped from
him (security wipe?). . . laughter and the clink of champagne
glasses. . .
and then blackness and nothing. It was as though he'd
ceased
to exist....
*/FLASH/*
--------------------------------------------
Marie sat up in bed, gasping for breath. Her stomach lurched
slightly and she was acutely aware of her pulse thudding loudly in her
ears and adrenalin surging through her veins. It was several long
minutes before she was able to calm her racing heart and try to figure
out what had caused her to bolt up out of a deep sleep in the middle of
the night. She was pretty sure she hadn't been dreaming - she
wasn't shaking and there weren't any remnants
of a nightmare poking at her brain. So, then....what --?
The bedside clock told her it was a few minutes after 3:00 in the
morning. She let her eyes adjust to the gloom, studying the
bedroom for anything
amiss, but found nothing out of place. Likewise, her hearing
wasn't
picking up any unusual sounds. Wow, this is weird....
She could feel a headache coming on and decided it would probably be a
good idea to take some aspirin now, before it got worse. That's it
-
no more wine or coffee before bed for you, girl!
Stumbling
out
of bed and down the hall, she made it to the bathroom as quietly as
possible.
Downing the aspirin and running a cold washcloth over her face made her
feel
a little bit better. She was even starting to think she might be
able
to get back to sleep again when she noticed the door to the guest room
was
thrown open. Hmm, that door was shut when I went to bed....
After she'd told him goodnight, Wolverine had taken her up on her offer
to use the shower. She'd been folding laundry when she finally
heard
him leave the bathroom and go straight to the guest room, shutting the
door
behind him. Once the hot water had replenished itself in the
tank,
she quickly washed the dinner dishes before deciding to call it a night
herself.
She hadn't heard a sound from the guest room as she passed by the door
on
her way to bed, but now....
Wolverine. Is he okay? Something feels wrong....?
Curiously, Marie tiptoed toward the open door and softly called his
name. When no reply was forthcoming, she peeked inside, the smell
of vomit assaulting her nose. As her eyes adjusted to the dim
glow of the nightlight,
she realized that the bedding looked as though it had been shredded,
and
there were scratches in the headboard. As she turned quickly to
leave
the room and find her wayward guest, she noticed the matching gouges -
in
3 uniform rows - alongside the doorframe. Oh my God....
Swallowing hard, her heart hammering in her chest, she silently
but swiftly made her way down the hall toward the living room.
She heard him before she saw him; a low, gutteral tone that sounded
like an animal in pain. As she came around the side of the couch,
she discovered him curled up in front of the now-cold fireplace.
He was naked, his t-shirt and jeans apparently left behind in the
bedroom, and his arms were wrapped around himself protectively as he
shivered, rocking rhythmically
back and forth.
He.....he looks wild, like an animal....God, what happened to
him?
Grabbing a woven throw off the back of the couch, she approached him
cautiously, not wanting to startle or frighten him any further.
When she was only a few feet behind him, she crouched so as to not
appear threatening and
whispered his name. His rocking stilled momentarily and he
sniffed
the
air. She knew he was taking in her scent. Then he made a
sound between a growl and a whimper, and the rocking resumed. She
swallowed hard and tried again.
"Wolverine.....it-it's Marie. Can you hear me? I think you
had a bad dream, b-but you're okay now. ...Wolverine?"
He stilled again but didn't look at her. Instead, he unwrapped
his arms from around himself and dropped his head into his hands.
The
shivering became more violent and she could hear his teeth
chattering.
She realized it had to be more from the trauma of the nightmare than
from the
temperature of the room.
Creeping toward him on her haunches, she slowly placed the throw around
his shoulders and back. At the contact, his head snapped up and
he
turned to look at her as if aware of her for the first time. The
pained,
haunted expression in his eyes made her gasp. She was certain
she'd
never seen anyone look more lost.
"It's okay.....it-it's just me -- Marie," she whispered, gently
stroking his back. "It was just a dream and it's over now.
You're okay.....you're
safe."
He shook his head, wrapping his arms around himself again. His
shivering grew more pronounced. Marie frowned, feeling an
overwhelming
urge to comfort
him but not sure exactly how to proceed. Steeling herself, she
made
a quick decision.
Leaning toward him from behind, she tentatively put her arms around him
and drew him slowly back against her, hoping that her warmth and the
solid feel of her against his back would help soothe him. She
half expected
him to yank away from her, so when he grasped her forearms and pulled
them
tighter around himself she was surprised.
They remained that way for nearly half an hour. She murmured
softly to him, the words nonsensical but the tone comforting.
His shivering
began to abate, but he continued to rock slightly and she moved with
him,
cradling him from behind. He was clinging to her like a drowning
man
to a life preserver, his grip on her arms almost painful.
Finally,
she thought she'd better try to reach him again.
"Wolverine....it's Marie. Please....can you talk to me?" She
spoke quietly against his neck, his sweat-damp hair cool against her
cheek. The rocking motions suddenly stilled again and she felt
him swallow, his
upper body still tense but no longer tightly coiled.
"L-Logan."
It sounded more like a grunt than a word. She frowned.
"I-I'm sorry.....what --?"
"My name." He swallowed again, his voice hoarse. "It's
Logan."
Marie nodded, squeezing him a little from behind, like a backwards
hug. "Logan. Hmm....I like it. Such a strong
name." She smiled
against his neck. "It suits you much better than Wolverine."
"Th-that's what they called me." It was said so quietly,
she
almost didn't hear him, even pressed right up against him as she was.
"They?"
He didn't answer her, instead shaking his head slowly as if trying to
dislodge the cobwebs clinging to his mind. "Wh-what happened?"
That was a loaded question -- how to respond? She bit her lip,
deciding to go with the honest - yet abbreviated - truth. "I
think y-you had...one of your nightmares. It must've made you
sick and, uh, the guest room
is, well, messed up, but it's okay. You're okay.....you're safe
now.
It was just a bad dream."
He gave her a sharp, sideways glance. "The room's....messed up?"
Marie frowned. This certainly wasn't getting any easier.
"Umm, well.....you, uh, threw up and...." she trailed off, not
knowing how to explain the rest of what she'd seen.
"And what?" He had turned to face her. She met his gaze and
saw that a semblance of coherency had returned to his eyes, the haunted
look having dissipated somewhat. She desperately didn't want to
say or
do anything to make him upset again.
"And.....well, the bed and the, uh, doorframe got carved up, kind of,"
she paused, then finished quickly. "But it's no problem,
really......it can all be fixed. The important thing is that
you're okay."
His eyes narrowed and he shivered again, suddenly pulling the throw
tighter around himself. "Whaddya mean....carved -?"
Oh, crap...he's not going to let this go. She
swallowed.
"Cut....with something sharp, like a knife, or --"
"Fuck! --"
His reaction was immediate and Marie fell back onto her haunches as he
abruptly stood up on still-wobbly legs, the throw clasped around him,
and
started down the hallway toward the guest room. Recovering
quickly,
she got up and went after him, placing a firm hand on his arm as he
neared
the doorway.
"Logan, don't......it's okay. Don't worry about it. Everything
can be fixed. It wasn't your fault."
He shrugged away from her, stepping inside and flipping on the
lightswitch. Marie winced. In the unforgiving glare from
the ceiling light, the
room looked even more horrible than she remembered it. She saw
Logan's
nostrils flare at the sour odor permeating the air. His eyes were
wide
as he took in the damage done to the bedding, the headboard and -
turning
around slowly - the doorframe.
"Shit. I - I.....oh, God --"
"Logan," she tried again, "Come back to the living room. You can
sleep on the couch, by the fire. I'll even turn it back on for
you. It's okay. I'll just clean this up in the
morning. Come on --"
"I did this. Fuck! I'm s-sorry. God, I'm so
sorry......"
He abruptly whirled back around to face her, gripping her by the
shoulders, the throw landing in a heap at his feet, forgotten.
Marie stared directly into his eyes, acutely aware of his
powerful (naked) form, just inches away from her.
"Marie......Shit! I -- I didn't h-hurt ya, did I?" His
voice was frantic as he turned her around, his large hands already
giving her
a skilled once-over, checking for injuries. She shook her head.
"No, no --" she insisted, trying to soothe him. "Logan - I'm
fine. You didn't hurt me....."
"Oh, God --" It was a low, strangled moan. Cradling his
head in his hands for a moment, he abruptly grabbed his shirt and jeans
from
the chair by the bed, then turned and fled the room. Momentarily
startled, Marie sucked in a gasp of air and darted after him. He
was standing by the front door with his back to her, mumbling "I'm
sorry, shit, I'm so sorry" over and over, while trying to shove his
unsteady legs into the jeans.
She recognized his 'fight or flight' mindset immediately and, since
there was nothing tangible to fight, it was obvious which choice he'd
instinctively
made. At the thought of him fleeing into the dark in this
condition,
her heart jumped in her chest and she impulsively wrapped her arms
around
him from behind, like before, holding him tight. Again, she
didn't
know which one of them was more stunned by her increasing
boldness.
"Logan, stop. Listen to me. Stop - Please......"
He'd managed to pull the denim up around his hips, but couldn't seem to
work the zipper or the button in his haste to get away. Marie
stilled
his hands with hers, causing him to jerk away from her, his eyes wide,
his
expression tormented.
"No....don't get near me! I-I'll hurt ya. I-I don't wanna
hurt ya -- "
Marie swallowed, shaking her head, her eyes never leaving his.
"You're not going to hurt me, okay? I'm fine. What you did
to the guest
room was an accident. It's no big deal. I'll just fix it
back
up, good as new. You can even help me, if you want to. We
--"
"No!" He was trembling now, his fists clenching and
unclenching. "I-I'm dangerous! I don't wanna hurt ya, but I
might - I can't always
stop it. I-- Just stay the fuck away from me!"
He was edging toward the front door and Marie knew the situation had
just gone from bad to critical. She couldn't let him go out into
the night, alone - not in his current agitated state. He wasn't
even dressed
properly, only wearing jeans - no shirt, no boots - but he seemed
oblivious.
How could she convince him that what he really needed to do was stay?
"Logan....." she took a tentative step toward him, holding her hands
out, palms showing in a non-threatening gesture. "Please let me
help you. You're in no condition to be out there alone. You're
just not thinking straight.....hell,
you're not even fully dressed! Just - just stay here and let me
help
you. We can figure out what's wrong together, in the morning -- "
His eyes were wild and he was shaking again, a low growl reverberating
up from the depths of his chest. "No, you can't help
me......y-you
don't understand......"
"Then explain it to me." Marie took another step toward
him. "Please, Logan....I want to understand!"
*SNIKT*
Her eyes widened and an involuntary gasp escaped her lips.
Logan's fists were tightly clenched, and protruding from between the
knuckles on
both hands were what appeared to be 6 long knives. No,
not
knives....they're blades! Six impossibly long,
incredibly
sharp-looking
metal blades. I know he said he's a mutant, but Dear God,
there
is NO
way that could be a natural mutation!
He was scowling at her with angry eyes. "How can you help
me?" His voice was laced with sarcasm and disgust. "I can't even
help
myself."
He raised his fists, making sure she got a good look at the
claws. Marie jumped slightly, but didn't pull away. More
fuckin' points
for her. "Can ya make these disappear?" he muttered
darkly.
"Is that one of your 'mutant 'gifts'?" He practically spat
the
words. "Can ya reverse the damage that's been done to me?
Make it all just go
away?"
Now Marie was the one visibly trembling, but Logan's sense of smell
told him it wasn't from fear. She wasn't afraid of him, although
she damn-well should be. No, it was something else that was
making her shake. It smelled like....pain?
sadness? What the-- ? She's feeling
sad.....for me?
Her reaction caught him
off-guard. He'd been expecting her to scream and order him to get
out,
or at the very least to run away, but she was doing neither. She
just
continued to stand there, tears in her eyes and sympathy - She's
hurting for me! - coming off of her in waves.
"No," she admitted softly. "I can't change the past,
but...." She lowered her eyes, daring to reach out and take his
right hand, cradling it in
both of hers. He froze, terrified that he would
accidentally cut her. "....I can be your
friend, and try to be there for you
- maybe help you deal with some of your pain. Th-that's
something.....isn't
it?"
Logan was struck dumb. The idea that a total stranger could feel
anything but fear or revulsion around him - especially after he'd
revealed
the claws - had completely thrown him for a loop. Carefully, he
extracted his hand from hers,
retracting
the
blades and - still shaking - edged hesitantly away from the door,
watching her
with a mixture of both guilt....and wonder.
The second *SNIKT* startled Marie out of her
reverie. She
raised her eyes to meet his and he saw the tears were beginning to
spill
over. Damn....is this kid for real? Maybe I'm still
stuck
in
a crazy dream. No one's ever cried for me.....not
ever.
She should be terrifed, or disgusted, or.....
With trembling fingers, she reached once more for his hand, tracing the
skin between his knuckles where
the deadly claws now lay dormant, - Oh My God... -
marveling at
how the flesh had already healed around the entrance/exit wounds.
Logan's
breath caught in his chest. The sensation of her fingers on
his
hand, tracing his knuckles - coupled with her incredible offer -
threatened
to overwhelm him.
She had given him everything - food, a warm place to sleep, even her
friendship - and now she was offering him the greatest gift of
all: her acceptance. She knew what he was now, what he was
capable of, and she wasn't afraid
of him. Didn't judge him. Didn't consider him an animal or
look
at him with revulsion. He had her compassion, but not her
pity. God, I don't deserve any of this.
Marie was watching him, awaiting his decision, as he stared into her
eyes. He could see no ulterior motives, sense no personal
agenda. She was helping him only because she cared, although he
had no idea why she would. She didn't really know him, certainly
didn't owe him anything.....hell,
she had her own life and probably more than enough of her own problems
without
getting herself mixed up in his. Yet, she was practically
pleading
with him to let her in, so she could just....simply...help...him.
"Logan, your nightmares --" She paused, swiping at the tears on
her cheeks. "I'm no expert or anything, but I've never heard of
anyone
having such a viol- er, such a powerful reaction to a dream...."
He stiffened. "Whaddya mean?" His recollection of the
night's events was foggy at best, and his head was beginning to ache
just thinking about it.
"Well - if you can describe your nightmare to me, maybe I can help you
make some sense out of it?" He started to pull away from her,
panic
welling up within him, but Marie grasped his hands in hers
firmly.
"Please, Logan? Will you at least let me try....?"
Her eyes were
bright
with unshed tears.
Damn, there she goes, cryin' for me again. She should be
more
worried about herself, gettin' involved with a freak like me.
She's
gonna fuckin' regret the day she brought me here.....if she hasn't
already.
Her request went against his most basic instincts, but he knew the
least he could do to try and make amends was give her a straight
answer.....hell, he owed her that much, especially after he'd eaten
most of her food, redecorated
her guest room and awakened her from a sound sleep.
Shit. " I dunno, uh....I think I'm in some kind of
a medical place. Not a hospital....a
lab, maybe. Th-they're operatin' on me - cuttin' me - and I can't
get
loose...can't
make 'em stop..." He glanced at Marie out of the corner of his
eye,
wondering if he should say more. She was staring at him, eyes
wide, silently encouraging him to continue. Fuck.
Do
I gotta talk about this? She really don't
need
to hear this shit! His knuckles
itched
and he fought back the urge to rub them, clearing his throat
instead.
"Uh, th-there's a big tank, with liquid
in
it. They stick m-me in it and I....I can't breathe. Feels
like
I'm
drownin'. The fuckers....they j-just keep cuttin' me and
they....."
He choked, continuing in a whisper infused with agony
"....I'm
awake, the whole goddamned time! They know they're hurtin' me,
but
they don't give a fuck. They just keep--" He broke off
abruptly,
not looking at her, and Marie swallowed hard around the lump in her
throat.
She forced herself to meet his gaze as she spoke.
"Logan....when you showed me your, uh....." What do I call
them?
"....claws.....well, it's starting to make more sense now." She
continued
to hold his confused gaze. "I think your nightmare was more than
just a bad dream. Whatever it was that you were dreaming about
may have really happened to you. I think, maybe, that
they
might've been....well,
memories." The words were
coming
in a rush now, as she tried desperately to explain. "It's the
only
feasible explanation for your reaction to them! And since you
know
something traumatic has happened to you, causing you to lose your
conscious
memories, it only makes sense that those memories might try to
re-assert
themselves
while you're sleeping.....don't you think?"
For not bein' a telepath, she's perceptive....I'll give her that.
All of a sudden, his head was spinning and he couldn't
breathe. I can't fuckin' do this. She don't need my
shit, and I'll only
hurt
her if I stay. A low growl emanated from his throat.
"I'm....I gotta go....Sorry. " He stood up and began fumbling
with the button and zipper on his jeans again, cursing under his
breath, but
Marie didn't hesitate this time. She arose from the couch and
moved
toward him, deftly taking the zipper pull from his fingers and
refastening
his jeans in one swift motion. Before he could react, she took
advantage
of the moment and wrapped her arms around him, enveloping his large
body
in as much of a hug as her smaller body was capable of. Logan
gasped,
the panic welling up within him and he tried to pull away from
her.
His efforts were in vain - she tightened her grip and hung on for all
she
was worth. There was no way he could pry her loose without
bruising
or hurting her.
"Marie, goddammit, let go! It ain't safe. I ain't
safe....."
"You're not going to hurt me, Logan." She stubbornly refused to
release him and, even in his confused, emotional state, he knew it was
pointless
to try and force the matter. "You're in no condition to go
anywhere
right now, so you're just going to have to trust me and let me help
you."
"You can't help me," he bit out, his tone filled with anger and
a resigned
sadness. "No one can fuckin' help me."
"You don't know that." With her cheek pressed against his chest,
Marie could hear his heartbeat, a strong staccato rhythm. His
skin
was warm against her face. "I'll bet you've never even let anyone
try...."
His heart suddenly skipped a beat. No one had ever hugged him
like this before - he was quite certain no one had ever even
entertained the
thought.
Without relaxing her hold on his body, she raised her head and looked
up
at him curiously. He glanced away from her, trying to be casual,
but there was no
mistaking
the emotions in his eyes: melancholy mixed with pain.
"Nobody's ever wanted to."
Marie felt the tears threaten to spill over again and she fought them
back down, striving hard for a casual tone. "Yeah,
well....I want to. And, in case you hadn't noticed, I can
be pretty damned stubborn when there's something I want."
"I noticed." It was said gruffly, but with a hint of an
underlying smirk. He knew that she had no intention of letting go
of
him until she got her way, but he adopted a threatening stance
nonetheless, fixing her with a fierce glare. Logan knew full-well
that the very sight of him -
his hair wild, the tension visible in his bare biceps and powerful
chest,
the claws itching to slide out from his clenched fists - was extremely
intimidating
to most people. He doubted she'd be an exception for long....
....Until he felt he barest hint of a smile on Marie's face, against
his chest, effectively blowing a gaping hole right through the whole
intimidation factor. Logan
was
momentarily
stunned. People feared the Wolverine, and rightly so. Hell,
he'd already given her mucho points - albeit grudgingly - for picking
him
up on the side of the road and especially for coming near him at all
after
he'd shown her the claws. Shit....this little girl has
me -
has the Animal - wrapped around her little finger. Where
in the hell
did
my badass self go running off to? Still, if nothin' else, I'd bet
from
now on she's gonna think twice before volunteering for Good Friend duty
again....Heh.
"So, it's settled then. You're staying?" Marie was still
smiling
against his chest, knowing he could feel it. Logan glanced
down at her,
growling for good measure, but finally admitted defeat, lifting one
shoulder in a
resigned
shrug.
"Yeah, okay. Fine. But only until I get your guest
room
cleaned up and fixed. And find a way to pay you back for all
the
food I've
eaten, the wine I've drunk and the trouble I've caused. Christ.
Then
I really gotta go." He fixed his intense gaze on her. "I
meant
what I said, Marie. I - I ain't safe to be around. I could
h-hurt ya, or -- "
"It won't happen. I trust you." As far as she was
concerned, the subject was closed. Logan gave her an incredulous
look and then shook
his head. She's just full of surprises... He
allowed
himself
to relax a bit then, squeezing her gently in a tentative, reciprocal
embrace. It was the first real hug he could remember getting, to
say nothing of
giving back, and that scared
him, because it felt so damned good. - Too good - He
knew
it would be way too easy to get used to this....to her....and
that was
a
complication he just couldn't afford. For her sake as well as his
own.
----------------------------------------
Posted April 2002
