Over the Rainbow 5/?
Beta: Thank you jaq_of_spades!
Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 |
Author’s Notes: OMG... It’s been forever. Thank you, ellebell6 and bima140277, for poking me back to life. *hugs*
So, here I am again. I hadn’t forgotten about this story, honest, but this scene is sorta crucial for the rest of the fic, and since I still don’t know where this all is going, I just couldn’t make up my mind about certain potential plot-bunnies. Of course, like these things always turn out, I ended up with more or less the original version, which was already finished months ago. *rolls eyes* I still don’t know if it’s going to work out though. If you have any ideas, please tell me. I could really use some feedback on plot ideas, scenes, and/or topics you’d like to read about. (Mailinglist members will get the heads up tonight.)
This scene takes place right after the last chapter. Marie was stalling in the corridor, reluctant to talk to Logan. Remember the end of X3, where he’s standing outside and looking over the grounds right after seeing Hank on TV? This scene takes place right after.
I stand with one hand ready to push open the glass doors, but force myself to slow down, take a breath, and admire the scenery before I step into the minefield called ‘a conversation with Logan’. The blue sky, bright sunlight, red roses, and ivy covering the walls all promise peace, but any chance at that is banished by the man standing to one side, looking out over the grounds with his hands stuffed in the pockets of his jeans.
He’s been waiting for me alright.
I’m suddenly sure he’s going to tell me he’s leaving. He's already wearing his jacket, like he’s got no time to waste. I’m trying to figure out what I’m feeling, but I’m stuck between relief, annoyance, and a sudden stomach ache. The usual mix when it comes to Logan these days.
He cuts to the chase when I’m close, not bothering to take his eyes off the horizon. “You stayin’?”
Again, I’m baffled about his ability to know what’s going on. That, or he's trying to tell me something.
“For now,” I answer truthfully. “At least to finish school.” I stop next to him and glance up to peek at his profile while I shield my eyes from the sun. “You?”
It takes a while for him to answer. Like he wasn’t really sure and now he’s mulling it over.
“Yeah. For now.”
It makes my stomach try to turn itself inside-out. For a second, I wonder if he’s staying because I’m not going anywhere either, but I dismiss the seed of a thought before it has a chance to grow. I don’t go down that road. I never do.
“Got your hugs, handshakes and kisses?” he asks, and I wince, silently cursing his highly selective ability to remember stuff.
“One handshake and two hugs so far.”
That gets his full attention but now *I’m* the one ignoring the eyes fixed on my face.
Yes, I’ve been counting, and yes, it’s been quite a pathetic score so far.
“Didn’t tell the boyfriend yet?”
I snort even though I’m never sure if he’s mocking my relationship with Bobby. I refuse to believe it’s jealousy. It’s either a patronizing kind of amusement or paternal protectiveness. I hate both.
“Good for one of the hugs. Then I broke up.”
From the corner of my eye I see him raising an eyebrow before furrowing both of them in a sudden puzzlement. It would’ve been amusing if we weren’t talking about the lack of physical aspects in my life.
“Why?” he asks, and I’m aware of the beginning of a satisfied grin on my face. He actually sounds confused. I guess I’m not entirely transparent after all. The knowledge makes me feel like I’ve got some level of control in this conversation.
“I think he likes someone else,” I explain neutrally. “She can have him. I’m not going to fight over some *boy*.”
When I glance up to see if he understands my choice of words, I catch him still staring at me, undoubtedly investigating possible signs of distress.
“I’m *fine*,” I answer the unspoken question, and it seems to do the trick.
“Fair enough.”
His attention shifts back to the grounds, but I’m left wondering what I just heard in his voice. Was it a hint of amusement? Pride? Something else? I can’t tell for sure, but whatever it was, the tension’s suddenly gone. It’s replaced by the odd, comfortable silence he seems to radiate at will. I want to hold on to it, because I know it won’t be long before I start questioning things again. There’s nothing I can do but wait and stare over the grounds though. Wait, stare, and feel him right next to me because he’s standing so close we’re almost touching.
It makes me realize I’ve somehow invaded his personal space again. I never really think about keeping a distance when it comes to him. Not even when my skin was still dangerous. He always seemed so comfortable around me, such easy touches, no hesitation. He made me feel so --
No. Those are treacherous thoughts and I refuse to indulge.
I shift my weight from one foot to another and try to focus on something else, but then my elbow grazes his leather-clad arm and I expect him to step away.
He doesn’t.
Ugh. I’m slowly starting to freak out here. There’s nothing to think about but him and his closeness. Why is that? Why is everything revolving around him as soon as he steps into my life? And what the hell am I still doing here anyway? Are we done, or are we now silently hanging out together or something?
I hate this. I hate feeling like this. It’s stupid. I never get this nervous with my other friends. What makes him so goddamn special that I feel the need to transform into someone who second guesses our every move? I don’t want to be like this. It’s pathetic.
I’m trying to come up with an excuse that’ll make my retreat at least somewhat gracious, when he suddenly turns around to lean back on the concrete banister, his long, jean-clad legs crossed at the ankle in front of him.
“Finishing school, huh?” he easily picks up the conversation, just as if there hadn't been a gazillion seconds of weirdness going on. “Then what?”
“I don’t know,” I grumble, climbing up next to him and deciding to sit this one out - literally - until he leaves first. “I still haven’t been to Anchorage.”
“What’s there?”
Judging by his expression, it’s obvious I managed to surprise him again.
It doesn’t make sense to tell him this. He doesn’t know what it means to me. I’m tired of weighing my answers though, and it’s always there anyway: my backup plan. ‘When in doubt, run to Anchorage.’ It’s completely useless, but I can’t help it. I really want to go there someday. Just for the sake of it. If I’m ever going to meet my parents or David again, I want to tell them that I got what I wanted. Despite everything. I got what I wanted and I’m happy, damnit. And cured. And they’ve missed out on all of it.
I don’t share those spiteful thoughts, of course - I’ve bared my soul enough already. Besides, I hate that I still want to prove something to people who shouldn’t matter anymore. Why can’t I just leave it be and move on?
I’m not sure if Logan senses all these emotions in me, but I can feel his eyes on me while he’s waiting for an answer.
“It’s - a testimony of independence,” I say eventually, picturing my room even though it reopens the festering wound every time I allow my thoughts to stray that way. “I used to have this map above my bed. It was marked all the way from Mississippi to Anchorage. All the places I wanted to see, things I wanted to do - I always thought I’d go there once I’d finished school. It’s - it’s something I need to do someday.”
I bite my lip and anxiously wait for him to press the matter. Instead, he asks something we’ve never really discussed before.
“That where you were headed? When we met?”
His voice is kinda deep and lazy and surprisingly gentle, and for some reason the question instantly chases away all jitters.
“Yeah,” I confirm, thinking about the first time I laid eyes on him. Damn, he looked impressive in that cage. So big and strong and just - rawr! But - wait. Let’s not go there while he’s sitting right next to me.
Yeah. Awkward.
Logan reaches for a cigar from somewhere inside his jacket and takes his sweet time to cut off the cap and light it. Our arms touch again, and I realize I should’ve taken the moment to create some distance. Would it offend him if I scoot away now? Is he even aware of how ridiculously close we’re sitting?
And why am I making such a fuss about it? My God. Cut it out already!
I force myself to just stare at a puff of smoke dissolving in the air and just not *feel* anything. Especially not his warmth, or the hardness of his thigh right next to mine. Or the way my shoulder grazes his arm like an invitation to put it around me and hug me close. Thankfully, he breaks the silence soon enough.
“You got money?”
I can’t help but huff at that.
“Not really. I’d been saving from my allowance but I had to use most of it these past two weeks. I can take a job now, though. And - well, I almost got there the first time for free. I can do it again.”
“Starving and freezing your ass off,” he points out rather wryly, and I roll my eyes while my bitter smile turns into a real one.
“Details.”
“So you’ll need a ride.”
It’s not really a question and my heart misses a beat.
“A - ride to Anchorage?” I ask, not quite sure if he’s offering or just stating the obvious.
Unperturbedly blowing out smoke, he simply answers, “It’s on my way.”
Now I do scoot back to get a better look at his face, but it doesn’t seem like he’s yanking my chain. In fact, he seems very serious, and for some reason, relaxed.
“That’s not a ride,” I point out, trying to make him see all the implications. “That’s, like, a road trip.”
He shrugs it off, using my own reply from just a moment ago. “Details.”
Okay, what? Did we just - are we going - what?
I need a moment to realize my backup plan just got even more tempting, not to mention extremely exciting in ways I don’t want to explore. How the hell did that happen? And - why?
“Oh-kay,” I answer warily, briefly speculating if he’s just being polite but then realizing this is Logan. If there’s someone who doesn’t do polite -- I almost laugh out loud for even considering. “Uhm - thanks?”
“Sure.”
I want to say more, ask more, discuss details, but I swallow all words because I don’t know where to start and I don’t want him to change his mind. Besides, his reply is too casual. Like it’s no big deal at all. While a part of me is grateful he never asks for spectacular gratitude - I owe him so much already - another part is hurt by his nonchalance. I’m getting good at ignoring that part, though. Eternally conflicted. Logan simply pushes too many of my buttons at the same time.
In an attempt to battle the sudden urge to hug him like there’s no tomorrow, I make a lame attempt at small talk.
“So - what’re you gonna do until then? Gonna hang around and wait?”
I don’t really expect him to share his plans, and I certainly don’t think he’s gonna wait a whole year for me to graduate, but he studies his cigar with an intensity it doesn’t really deserve before he answers, “Gonna be a teacher.”
That makes me grin. “Lemme guess. Art?”
He actually huffs out something resembling a laugh. “No, really. Combat. Maybe more.”
Ah. Of course. He sure knows how to fight, and from what I remember, he speaks at least three languages *and* has read every book in the library. Since most our teachers got killed by a certain resurrected, homicidal colleague, Miss Munroe would be an idiot to let him walk off. He might not be Mr. Stability, but I don’t think he’ll do a Dr. Grey and go apeshit on the world, either.
“Cool. So, where’d you learn all those languages?” I ask, thinking about the time I somehow understood Pete’s cursing in Russian when he stubbed his toe. It was two days after I’d touched Logan the first time. It had to be him.
“What languages?”
It comes out kinda harsh, so when I look up, I wonder what I just did to make him all suspicious.
“Well, Russian,” I clarify, trying not to take those narrowed eyes personally. “And - French and Spanish, I think? That was you, right?”
The eyes turn into a startling piercing stare, making me squirm even though I’m pretty sure I haven’t done anything wrong just now.
“What?” I demand to know.
“How’d you know I speak Russian?”
Is he going senile or something?
“I touched you, remember?”
I wait for an answer, but he’s all guarded blankness and he obviously doesn’t have a clue what I’m talking about.
“Didn’t the Professor tell you?” I ask carefully, knowing I’m probably in for it now. “The way my mutation works? I mean, worked?”
“You take life force and mutant abilities.”
He sounds like he’s reciting a lesson, and suddenly I can’t sit anymore.
He doesn’t know. He doesn’t *know*. As if this conversation hadn’t been difficult enough already. Damnit!
I take a few steps away from him and try to come up with something that’ll make sense, but it’s all Logan needs to recognize there’s more to it than just a merry zap of energy.
He sighs warily. “Okay. Tell me.”
“I think - I took memories and knowledge too. And - feelings, maybe. But in a really blurry, not quite useful way. Just bits and pieces of information. Nothing clear unless triggered right.”
I carefully watch him processing the information, knowing the implications can be huge.
He seems to take it alright though. “Then what?”
“Then - then it was like, I suddenly knew things. Like, with you, I understood Pete when he cursed in Russian. That was the trigger. I couldn’t dig up the knowledge and use it on my own to start a conversation or anything. He had to trigger it first. But once he did, I knew exactly what he said.”
Hazel eyes sweep over me, filled with concern, but I’m not sure who it’s for. Me or him?
“Is that what you meant in the train?” he asks. “When you said you felt me in your head?”
I nod. “Yeah. After the initial reaction had worn off, all memories and knowledge just - sat there, I guess. Waiting for another trigger. It’s all gone now though. The Cure took care of it.”
“What initial reaction?”
Oh, crap. I forgot he’d been unconscious during those moments.
“Well,” I hedge, again searching for the right words. “It’s - like this. The longer the connection, the more I got from someone. Since I almost killed you twice,” - I cast him an apologetic smile - “I think I got all of you. Everything you knew, I suddenly knew too.”
“Everything?” he interrupts, and I nod again.
“Yeah. I think so. It’s - it’s confusing to share your mind with someone else. It was sorta like a tidal wave of new knowledge crushing in. It took some time to sort things out and find myself again, and until I did, I was a bit - a bit lost, I guess. That’s what I mean with ‘initial reaction’.”
‘Batshit crazy’ is a more accurate term actually, but I don’t want him to worry about it. He doesn’t need to know I totally trashed my room the first time we’d touched. He sure had some bottled up emotions inside of him.
Logan doesn’t say anything. He’s staring at the cigar in his hand. It’s gone out but I don’t think he actually sees. I know it’s a lot to take in, so I stay quiet and just let him think it over. I don’t know what I’d do if *he* told me he knew all *my* private stuff. Not that I actually know his, but I could’ve. Eventually.
“You said you got memories too?” he asks, and I know where he’s getting at.
“Only what *you* know.” I sit down again and shrug. “I think. I tried to talk to the professor about it after Liberty Island. I wanted to know if maybe he could, you know, retract memories from me that you’d lost or something.”
Something flickers in his eyes. Is it hope? Or - fear? “Why?”
Realizing I probably touched a sensitive spot for the both of us, I curse my stupidity and feel a blush heating my cheeks. “I thought - maybe you were unconsciously blocking things. You know, because they’re just too - too big. Or - too much.”
Or too painful?
I sneak a peek to see if he’s taking it the wrong way, but he’s still listening. He actually seems kinda fascinated by the idea. I’m instantly regretting bringing it up because now I have to disappoint him.
“It didn’t work though,” I rush to tell him. “The professor said it didn’t work like that, so then he suggested trying to place psychic barriers to sorta lock it all up and - well, I had Erik up there as well, so I agreed.”
I’d expected the disappointed shake of his head and even the sharp exhale, but I hadn’t counted on anger.
“Yeah. Sounds like Chuck alright,” he spits out. He sounds so angry with the Professor, almost vicious, but then he sighs and just looks tired. “At least he gave you a choice.”
“Yeah,” I agree, although I’m not sure what he’s talking about.
I force myself to stay quiet again and let it sink in some more, but then I remember something. “There’s a file. If you want to read more, there’s a file. The professor wrote all of it down during our sessions.”
“Where?”
“I don’t know. I’m sure Miss Munroe knows?” I try, and he’s suddenly up and ready to go.
“You coming tonight?”
“The meeting? Yep.”
“’Kay.” He’s already walking backwards to the entrance. “See you there.”
He turns around and I doubt he’s expecting an answer, so I just watch him disappear back inside and wonder what the hell just happened.
Guess I’ll find out tonight.
TBC
Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 |
Author’s Notes: OMG... It’s been forever. Thank you, ellebell6 and bima140277, for poking me back to life. *hugs*
So, here I am again. I hadn’t forgotten about this story, honest, but this scene is sorta crucial for the rest of the fic, and since I still don’t know where this all is going, I just couldn’t make up my mind about certain potential plot-bunnies. Of course, like these things always turn out, I ended up with more or less the original version, which was already finished months ago. *rolls eyes* I still don’t know if it’s going to work out though. If you have any ideas, please tell me. I could really use some feedback on plot ideas, scenes, and/or topics you’d like to read about. (Mailinglist members will get the heads up tonight.)
This scene takes place right after the last chapter. Marie was stalling in the corridor, reluctant to talk to Logan. Remember the end of X3, where he’s standing outside and looking over the grounds right after seeing Hank on TV? This scene takes place right after.
I stand with one hand ready to push open the glass doors, but force myself to slow down, take a breath, and admire the scenery before I step into the minefield called ‘a conversation with Logan’. The blue sky, bright sunlight, red roses, and ivy covering the walls all promise peace, but any chance at that is banished by the man standing to one side, looking out over the grounds with his hands stuffed in the pockets of his jeans.
He’s been waiting for me alright.
I’m suddenly sure he’s going to tell me he’s leaving. He's already wearing his jacket, like he’s got no time to waste. I’m trying to figure out what I’m feeling, but I’m stuck between relief, annoyance, and a sudden stomach ache. The usual mix when it comes to Logan these days.
He cuts to the chase when I’m close, not bothering to take his eyes off the horizon. “You stayin’?”
Again, I’m baffled about his ability to know what’s going on. That, or he's trying to tell me something.
“For now,” I answer truthfully. “At least to finish school.” I stop next to him and glance up to peek at his profile while I shield my eyes from the sun. “You?”
It takes a while for him to answer. Like he wasn’t really sure and now he’s mulling it over.
“Yeah. For now.”
It makes my stomach try to turn itself inside-out. For a second, I wonder if he’s staying because I’m not going anywhere either, but I dismiss the seed of a thought before it has a chance to grow. I don’t go down that road. I never do.
“Got your hugs, handshakes and kisses?” he asks, and I wince, silently cursing his highly selective ability to remember stuff.
“One handshake and two hugs so far.”
That gets his full attention but now *I’m* the one ignoring the eyes fixed on my face.
Yes, I’ve been counting, and yes, it’s been quite a pathetic score so far.
“Didn’t tell the boyfriend yet?”
I snort even though I’m never sure if he’s mocking my relationship with Bobby. I refuse to believe it’s jealousy. It’s either a patronizing kind of amusement or paternal protectiveness. I hate both.
“Good for one of the hugs. Then I broke up.”
From the corner of my eye I see him raising an eyebrow before furrowing both of them in a sudden puzzlement. It would’ve been amusing if we weren’t talking about the lack of physical aspects in my life.
“Why?” he asks, and I’m aware of the beginning of a satisfied grin on my face. He actually sounds confused. I guess I’m not entirely transparent after all. The knowledge makes me feel like I’ve got some level of control in this conversation.
“I think he likes someone else,” I explain neutrally. “She can have him. I’m not going to fight over some *boy*.”
When I glance up to see if he understands my choice of words, I catch him still staring at me, undoubtedly investigating possible signs of distress.
“I’m *fine*,” I answer the unspoken question, and it seems to do the trick.
“Fair enough.”
His attention shifts back to the grounds, but I’m left wondering what I just heard in his voice. Was it a hint of amusement? Pride? Something else? I can’t tell for sure, but whatever it was, the tension’s suddenly gone. It’s replaced by the odd, comfortable silence he seems to radiate at will. I want to hold on to it, because I know it won’t be long before I start questioning things again. There’s nothing I can do but wait and stare over the grounds though. Wait, stare, and feel him right next to me because he’s standing so close we’re almost touching.
It makes me realize I’ve somehow invaded his personal space again. I never really think about keeping a distance when it comes to him. Not even when my skin was still dangerous. He always seemed so comfortable around me, such easy touches, no hesitation. He made me feel so --
No. Those are treacherous thoughts and I refuse to indulge.
I shift my weight from one foot to another and try to focus on something else, but then my elbow grazes his leather-clad arm and I expect him to step away.
He doesn’t.
Ugh. I’m slowly starting to freak out here. There’s nothing to think about but him and his closeness. Why is that? Why is everything revolving around him as soon as he steps into my life? And what the hell am I still doing here anyway? Are we done, or are we now silently hanging out together or something?
I hate this. I hate feeling like this. It’s stupid. I never get this nervous with my other friends. What makes him so goddamn special that I feel the need to transform into someone who second guesses our every move? I don’t want to be like this. It’s pathetic.
I’m trying to come up with an excuse that’ll make my retreat at least somewhat gracious, when he suddenly turns around to lean back on the concrete banister, his long, jean-clad legs crossed at the ankle in front of him.
“Finishing school, huh?” he easily picks up the conversation, just as if there hadn't been a gazillion seconds of weirdness going on. “Then what?”
“I don’t know,” I grumble, climbing up next to him and deciding to sit this one out - literally - until he leaves first. “I still haven’t been to Anchorage.”
“What’s there?”
Judging by his expression, it’s obvious I managed to surprise him again.
It doesn’t make sense to tell him this. He doesn’t know what it means to me. I’m tired of weighing my answers though, and it’s always there anyway: my backup plan. ‘When in doubt, run to Anchorage.’ It’s completely useless, but I can’t help it. I really want to go there someday. Just for the sake of it. If I’m ever going to meet my parents or David again, I want to tell them that I got what I wanted. Despite everything. I got what I wanted and I’m happy, damnit. And cured. And they’ve missed out on all of it.
I don’t share those spiteful thoughts, of course - I’ve bared my soul enough already. Besides, I hate that I still want to prove something to people who shouldn’t matter anymore. Why can’t I just leave it be and move on?
I’m not sure if Logan senses all these emotions in me, but I can feel his eyes on me while he’s waiting for an answer.
“It’s - a testimony of independence,” I say eventually, picturing my room even though it reopens the festering wound every time I allow my thoughts to stray that way. “I used to have this map above my bed. It was marked all the way from Mississippi to Anchorage. All the places I wanted to see, things I wanted to do - I always thought I’d go there once I’d finished school. It’s - it’s something I need to do someday.”
I bite my lip and anxiously wait for him to press the matter. Instead, he asks something we’ve never really discussed before.
“That where you were headed? When we met?”
His voice is kinda deep and lazy and surprisingly gentle, and for some reason the question instantly chases away all jitters.
“Yeah,” I confirm, thinking about the first time I laid eyes on him. Damn, he looked impressive in that cage. So big and strong and just - rawr! But - wait. Let’s not go there while he’s sitting right next to me.
Yeah. Awkward.
Logan reaches for a cigar from somewhere inside his jacket and takes his sweet time to cut off the cap and light it. Our arms touch again, and I realize I should’ve taken the moment to create some distance. Would it offend him if I scoot away now? Is he even aware of how ridiculously close we’re sitting?
And why am I making such a fuss about it? My God. Cut it out already!
I force myself to just stare at a puff of smoke dissolving in the air and just not *feel* anything. Especially not his warmth, or the hardness of his thigh right next to mine. Or the way my shoulder grazes his arm like an invitation to put it around me and hug me close. Thankfully, he breaks the silence soon enough.
“You got money?”
I can’t help but huff at that.
“Not really. I’d been saving from my allowance but I had to use most of it these past two weeks. I can take a job now, though. And - well, I almost got there the first time for free. I can do it again.”
“Starving and freezing your ass off,” he points out rather wryly, and I roll my eyes while my bitter smile turns into a real one.
“Details.”
“So you’ll need a ride.”
It’s not really a question and my heart misses a beat.
“A - ride to Anchorage?” I ask, not quite sure if he’s offering or just stating the obvious.
Unperturbedly blowing out smoke, he simply answers, “It’s on my way.”
Now I do scoot back to get a better look at his face, but it doesn’t seem like he’s yanking my chain. In fact, he seems very serious, and for some reason, relaxed.
“That’s not a ride,” I point out, trying to make him see all the implications. “That’s, like, a road trip.”
He shrugs it off, using my own reply from just a moment ago. “Details.”
Okay, what? Did we just - are we going - what?
I need a moment to realize my backup plan just got even more tempting, not to mention extremely exciting in ways I don’t want to explore. How the hell did that happen? And - why?
“Oh-kay,” I answer warily, briefly speculating if he’s just being polite but then realizing this is Logan. If there’s someone who doesn’t do polite -- I almost laugh out loud for even considering. “Uhm - thanks?”
“Sure.”
I want to say more, ask more, discuss details, but I swallow all words because I don’t know where to start and I don’t want him to change his mind. Besides, his reply is too casual. Like it’s no big deal at all. While a part of me is grateful he never asks for spectacular gratitude - I owe him so much already - another part is hurt by his nonchalance. I’m getting good at ignoring that part, though. Eternally conflicted. Logan simply pushes too many of my buttons at the same time.
In an attempt to battle the sudden urge to hug him like there’s no tomorrow, I make a lame attempt at small talk.
“So - what’re you gonna do until then? Gonna hang around and wait?”
I don’t really expect him to share his plans, and I certainly don’t think he’s gonna wait a whole year for me to graduate, but he studies his cigar with an intensity it doesn’t really deserve before he answers, “Gonna be a teacher.”
That makes me grin. “Lemme guess. Art?”
He actually huffs out something resembling a laugh. “No, really. Combat. Maybe more.”
Ah. Of course. He sure knows how to fight, and from what I remember, he speaks at least three languages *and* has read every book in the library. Since most our teachers got killed by a certain resurrected, homicidal colleague, Miss Munroe would be an idiot to let him walk off. He might not be Mr. Stability, but I don’t think he’ll do a Dr. Grey and go apeshit on the world, either.
“Cool. So, where’d you learn all those languages?” I ask, thinking about the time I somehow understood Pete’s cursing in Russian when he stubbed his toe. It was two days after I’d touched Logan the first time. It had to be him.
“What languages?”
It comes out kinda harsh, so when I look up, I wonder what I just did to make him all suspicious.
“Well, Russian,” I clarify, trying not to take those narrowed eyes personally. “And - French and Spanish, I think? That was you, right?”
The eyes turn into a startling piercing stare, making me squirm even though I’m pretty sure I haven’t done anything wrong just now.
“What?” I demand to know.
“How’d you know I speak Russian?”
Is he going senile or something?
“I touched you, remember?”
I wait for an answer, but he’s all guarded blankness and he obviously doesn’t have a clue what I’m talking about.
“Didn’t the Professor tell you?” I ask carefully, knowing I’m probably in for it now. “The way my mutation works? I mean, worked?”
“You take life force and mutant abilities.”
He sounds like he’s reciting a lesson, and suddenly I can’t sit anymore.
He doesn’t know. He doesn’t *know*. As if this conversation hadn’t been difficult enough already. Damnit!
I take a few steps away from him and try to come up with something that’ll make sense, but it’s all Logan needs to recognize there’s more to it than just a merry zap of energy.
He sighs warily. “Okay. Tell me.”
“I think - I took memories and knowledge too. And - feelings, maybe. But in a really blurry, not quite useful way. Just bits and pieces of information. Nothing clear unless triggered right.”
I carefully watch him processing the information, knowing the implications can be huge.
He seems to take it alright though. “Then what?”
“Then - then it was like, I suddenly knew things. Like, with you, I understood Pete when he cursed in Russian. That was the trigger. I couldn’t dig up the knowledge and use it on my own to start a conversation or anything. He had to trigger it first. But once he did, I knew exactly what he said.”
Hazel eyes sweep over me, filled with concern, but I’m not sure who it’s for. Me or him?
“Is that what you meant in the train?” he asks. “When you said you felt me in your head?”
I nod. “Yeah. After the initial reaction had worn off, all memories and knowledge just - sat there, I guess. Waiting for another trigger. It’s all gone now though. The Cure took care of it.”
“What initial reaction?”
Oh, crap. I forgot he’d been unconscious during those moments.
“Well,” I hedge, again searching for the right words. “It’s - like this. The longer the connection, the more I got from someone. Since I almost killed you twice,” - I cast him an apologetic smile - “I think I got all of you. Everything you knew, I suddenly knew too.”
“Everything?” he interrupts, and I nod again.
“Yeah. I think so. It’s - it’s confusing to share your mind with someone else. It was sorta like a tidal wave of new knowledge crushing in. It took some time to sort things out and find myself again, and until I did, I was a bit - a bit lost, I guess. That’s what I mean with ‘initial reaction’.”
‘Batshit crazy’ is a more accurate term actually, but I don’t want him to worry about it. He doesn’t need to know I totally trashed my room the first time we’d touched. He sure had some bottled up emotions inside of him.
Logan doesn’t say anything. He’s staring at the cigar in his hand. It’s gone out but I don’t think he actually sees. I know it’s a lot to take in, so I stay quiet and just let him think it over. I don’t know what I’d do if *he* told me he knew all *my* private stuff. Not that I actually know his, but I could’ve. Eventually.
“You said you got memories too?” he asks, and I know where he’s getting at.
“Only what *you* know.” I sit down again and shrug. “I think. I tried to talk to the professor about it after Liberty Island. I wanted to know if maybe he could, you know, retract memories from me that you’d lost or something.”
Something flickers in his eyes. Is it hope? Or - fear? “Why?”
Realizing I probably touched a sensitive spot for the both of us, I curse my stupidity and feel a blush heating my cheeks. “I thought - maybe you were unconsciously blocking things. You know, because they’re just too - too big. Or - too much.”
Or too painful?
I sneak a peek to see if he’s taking it the wrong way, but he’s still listening. He actually seems kinda fascinated by the idea. I’m instantly regretting bringing it up because now I have to disappoint him.
“It didn’t work though,” I rush to tell him. “The professor said it didn’t work like that, so then he suggested trying to place psychic barriers to sorta lock it all up and - well, I had Erik up there as well, so I agreed.”
I’d expected the disappointed shake of his head and even the sharp exhale, but I hadn’t counted on anger.
“Yeah. Sounds like Chuck alright,” he spits out. He sounds so angry with the Professor, almost vicious, but then he sighs and just looks tired. “At least he gave you a choice.”
“Yeah,” I agree, although I’m not sure what he’s talking about.
I force myself to stay quiet again and let it sink in some more, but then I remember something. “There’s a file. If you want to read more, there’s a file. The professor wrote all of it down during our sessions.”
“Where?”
“I don’t know. I’m sure Miss Munroe knows?” I try, and he’s suddenly up and ready to go.
“You coming tonight?”
“The meeting? Yep.”
“’Kay.” He’s already walking backwards to the entrance. “See you there.”
He turns around and I doubt he’s expecting an answer, so I just watch him disappear back inside and wonder what the hell just happened.
Guess I’ll find out tonight.
TBC