Fic: Night Visits: Reconnection (3/6) [L/R] R/NC-17
- Disclaimers etc. in Part 1.
Also a strong R or NC-17 for sexual situations
Oh, and I apologize for Remy. I'm still trying to get the hang of his
< > indicates thoughts
// // indicates dreams
~ ~ indicates telepathic conversation
Three days later, they were in Vancouver. He dropped Sue off at her
friend's house, making sure she was actually welcome before he left.
He hoped she was, because she was getting on his nerves. Always
talking, always fiddling with the radio, and always badgering him to
So he waited with her on the doorstep. The door opened and a bleach
blonde squealed, "Susie Sue! You made it!" She gave Logan the
once-over and said, her voice dropping an octave, "Who's your friend?"
"This is Logan. He helped me out when I was stuck."
"I'll bet he did," the blonde said. "Why don't you come in for some
"Got business to take care of," he said shortly and walked back to
"Call her!" Sue shouted as he pulled away. He raised a hand but
didn't turn around.
He soon found himself in a dive bar in a slightly seedier part of
town. Vancouver didn't have much seediness, and you had to work to
find it, but he had a nose for the type of place where he'd be most
He sat and drank and watched the Canucks lose to the Rangers. Damn,
everything made him think about New York. He'd had another dream last
night, which made the first look like a Disney flick. Maybe if he
called her, the sound of her voice would bring him back to reality.
He got up and went to the payphone in the back, ignoring the fact
that it was 3 am on the East Coast. He pulled out his phone card and
punched in the numbers, his heartbeat quickening like a teenage boy
calling his first crush. He told himself to calm down.
"Hello," a voice said breathlessly after three rings. He froze.
Jean's voice, not Marie's. He could have sworn he'd dialed directly
the kid's room. "Hello?" she said again, impatiently. He felt all the
pain of her rejection flood back and hung up abruptly, resting his
head on the wall above the phone.
He went back to the bar and knocked back a few of shots of Wild
Turkey in quick succession, feeling sorry for himself. It took a lot
to get him drunk, but he was on his way when he suddenly cursed. He
*had* dialed Marie's room direct. If Jean was there in the middle of
the night, something was wrong.
He headed back to the phone, praying everything was all right. The
phone rang four times, then he heard Marie's voice, filled with
"Hey, kid. You okay?" he said, relieved.
"Logan!" She perked up. "That was you earlier, wasn't it." It wasn't
He shifted uncomfortably, though she couldn't see him. "Yeah. I,
look, is everything all right? Why was Jean in your room?"
"Oh, the usual nightmares and stuff," she said, striving to sound
unconcerned. It didn't fool him.
"Shit." He was having sex dreams about her while she was still
suffering from his nightmares. "I'm sorry, Marie. For everything." He
hoped he didn't sound too pathetic.
"I am, too, Logan. I was outta line. I understand what you're going
through. I just don't like to see you hurtin', ya know?" she said
gently, and he smiled at the southern accent that even three and a
half years in New York hadn't erased. "When you comin' home? I miss
"I miss you, too, Marie." His voice was rough with an emotion he
wasn't eager to identify. "I'll call you soon."
She sighed at his non-response to her question. "You better, sugar.
And be careful. Okay?"
When had she started calling people "sugar"? he wondered. "I will,
kid." He broke the connection.
"I love you," she whispered into the now-dead phone, before replacing
the receiver on the cradle. She sighed. It was so typically Logan to
call at 3 am, not thinking about waking her or anyone else, since he
At least he was safe. She'd been angry at how he'd gone without a
word, but anger had quickly turned to regret, guilt and worry.
She walked over to her dresser, picking up the intricately carved
cedar box he'd brought back from Canada for her the first time he'd
left. Opening it, she pulled out his dog tags. She'd taken them off
in anger when he'd left this time. But he did still care, even if it
wasn't the way she wanted him to. He wouldn't have called otherwise.
She traced the letters of his name with an ungloved, unmanicured
hand, and then slipped the chain on over her head. She'd missed the
feel of the tags around her neck and it was almost a relief to have
them on again.
She climbed back into bed and slept dreamlessly until her alarm went
She had class all morning, and then training with Scott and the other
X-Men in the afternoons. She had been offered a spot on the team, as
sort of a junior member, and since her power was basically only good
only under emergency circumstances -- and in close quarters -- Scott
was training her rigorously in fighting and other skills.
Evenings were spent doing homework and watching way too much
television. That was her routine now that Logan was gone. When he
left, she'd found herself at loose ends. She finally gave in to
Remy's pursuit and went out with him, more to break up the monotony
her days than out of any real desire for him.
He wasn't a bad guy, really, though his constant use of the third
person when talking about himself drove her nuts sometimes. They went
out to the movies or dinner, and then he'd whisper sweet nothings in
her ear and they'd fool around in the backseat of his car. He was
quite adept at touching her without actually touching skin.
They were parked on the far edge of the property, away from the
prying eyes of both teachers and younger students. She was just
starting to get lost in the sensations his hands were producing when
he found the dog tags.
"What's dat, chere?" he asked, pulling them out of her shirt. "Why
you wearin' these again? He abandoned you, chere, and he ain't comin'
back. Not wit' Jean marryin' Scott."
"He is coming back," she insisted, hugging the secret knowledge of
his phone call to herself.
Remy shrugged. "If you say so, petite. But I don't like seein' my
girl wear another man's chain. Take it off."
"It ain't right for you to wear his chain. You Remy's girl now." He
tried to lift the chain over her head.
On some level, she knew he was right. Wearing the dog tags was like
wearing a sign saying she belonged to Logan, but it also gave her a
piece of him that no one else, not even Jean, had. She wasn't ready
to let that go, and she certainly wasn't going to let Remy dictate
terms to her.
She snatched the chain angrily and said, "I'm nobody's girl, Remy. I
belong to me, and I'll wear what I damn well please." She got out and
slammed the door. It was dark, but they weren't that far from the
"You got to give him up, chere," he called after her. "He only gonna
break your heart again." She flipped him off and stalked away.
Back in her room, after she calmed down, she hoped they'd still be
friends -- when she and Bobby had broken up, there hadn't been any
tension, just the acknowledgement that comfort and convenience
weren't good enough reasons to stay together.
She crawled into bed, comforting herself with a brand new romance
novel and a Hershey bar. The hero (who always looked like Logan,
regardless of how the author described him) had just taken the
heroine (the role she assigned to herself) in his arms and was
her passionately, when the phone rang. She jumped. It was 1 am.
"What?" she barked into the receiver, startled.
"Marie? It's me."
"Hey, sugar, I'm sorry. I was just readin' and I got scared when the
<Sugar. I think I could get used to that.> "Whatcha readin'?" he
asked, more to have something to say than out of any real desire to
"Oh, this cheesy romance novel about a duke who falls in love with
his kids' governess. But she's really not a governess, she's an
heiress in disguise, on the run from her mean old uncle, who's trying
to marry her off to one of his repugnant friends."
He laughed. "The crap you read, Marie. I swear I'm surprised they let
you bring that shit into the house."
"Oh, it's very educational, Logan," she teased. "In addition to
learnin' all about the nineteenth century British aristocracy and the
Napoleonic Wars, I've learned all sorts of funky sex stuff that--"
she broke off, hearing his sudden intake of breath. She'd forgotten
who she was talking to and she blushed scarlet. She was glad he was on
the other side of the continent, unable to see.
"I hope you're not plannin' on tryin' any of it out," he said sharply.
She laughed mirthlessly. "Not likely, since I just broke up with Remy
"Broke up with Remy. He was tellin' me what I should and shouldn't do
as his girl."
She heard some muffled curses, as if he'd moved the phone away from
his mouth, and then, "Dammit, Marie, I told you that guy was no good
for you. I'm gonna cut his balls off and feed them to him when I get
He was coming back. She had to laugh. "It's okay, Logan. I dumped
him. I only went out with him because," <you weren't here,> she
thought, but said, "I was bored. And he's a good kisser." She figured
maybe if he realized other men wanted her, he'd realize she was an
adult, desirable as a woman.
More mumbled cursing, then, "I'm comin' home soon, Marie, and if that
prick hurts you, I'll kill him. You can tell him I said that."
She hugged herself in delight. "Yes, sir!"
"I'll call you soon."
"You better. I miss you."
"I miss you, too, kid."
She hung up the phone, thrilled. In celebration, she broke out the
blue nail polish and painted both finger- and toenails for the first
time since he'd gone.
Logan stared at the wreckage he'd made of the bank of payphones,
hoping no one had seen him do it. It was bad enough knowing she was
reading sexy novels, but to think of her with that dick Gambit,
trying out stuff that *he'd* been dreaming of doing with her... His
claws had come out before he was able to stop them, and he'd
immediately decided to go back, broken heart be damned.
Remy had been sniffing around her even before he'd left, but a few
growls and a lecture at claw-point had driven him off. Obviously, it
was time to give the guy a refresher.
// They were in the shower, hot water beating down on them, sunlight
pouring through the skylight, gilding their bodies and making
rainbows on the white tile.
She was pressed against the wall, legs wrapped around his hips as he
pounded into her. Her nails scraped down his back, and he wished for
once the scratches wouldn't heal instantly, so he'd have some
physical evidence of the best damn shower he'd ever taken.
He had one hand braced against the wall and the other worked its way
into the white and auburn of her hair as she screamed his name. He
buried his face in the hollow of her throat, biting hard enough to
leave marks as she came, pulling him over the edge with her. "Oh,
God, Marie," he groaned, and kissed her deeply. //
He woke feeling lost without her at his side, and disturbed that he
was still dreaming about her. Maybe calling her had been a big
mistake -- one he was determined not to make again.
For years, his sleep had been haunted by the nightmares of what had
been done to him, and sometimes of what he had apparently done to
others. But he would have welcomed their return with open arms if he
could only stop dreaming about Marie. He was enjoying the dreams --
he would have said he was enjoying them way too much, if he talked
about them at all -- but he was troubled, as well. In fact, the
pleasure he was getting from them was part of what concerned him so
He knew it was wrong. It *had* to be wrong. She was much too young,
even if she was nineteen. He knew she cared for him, knew she'd had a
crush on him even (something he'd never really thought about until
now, and it made him hard whenever he considered it, much to his
dismay), but he'd always kept his behavior toward her brotherly. He'd
been in love with Jean, and he hadn't wanted to hurt the kid. He
figured if he pretended not to know, it would just go away.
And it had. After a year or so, she was able to be around him without
any telltale signs of a crush -- her heart rate was normal, and she
didn't hang on his every word. He had been remarkably patient, for
him, because he couldn't bear to think of hurting her, and he
certainly felt unworthy of the hero worship in her eyes. It had never
occurred to him to think of her as anything other than a little girl,
even after Bobby and then Remy started hanging around, looking for
more than friendship.
Apparently, though, his unconscious mind felt differently.
He decided he didn't have to rush home. First, he'd take a little
time to figure out what was going on with these dreams. He didn't
images of himself making love to Marie to cloud his reunion with her,
making both of them uncomfortable. And he wasn't calling her again.
He was starting to look forward to hearing her voice, and that was
something he was not interested in. He was dependent on no one and
nothing, not even his sweet Marie.
His resolve not to call lasted three days. He was in a bar in
Seattle, doing shots of tequila with a blonde who was old enough to
Marie's mother but probably still young enough to be his daughter. He
was trying to drink himself into wanting her when the song came on.
Patsy Cline's heartbreaking lilt singing "Walking After Midnight." He
could see Marie's face when he closed his eyes to listen. He got up
and, tossing some money on the table so the blonde could pay the tab,
walked out and went to the payphone on the corner.
It only rang twice before she answered. "Hello?"
"Did I wake you?"
"No, I was," she hesitated, and he half-hoped she'd say, "waiting for
your call." Instead, she said, "studying."
"Oh. Well. I don't want to interrupt. Chuck would kill me if I
screwed up your studies."
"It's not an interruption, Logan, really," she assured him. "I was
getting headachy and the words were startin' to swim. I needed a
break. Your timing is perfect."
"Okay then." He tried to think of something to say to get her talking
so he could lose himself in the honeyed tone of her voice. He went
with the obvious. "What are you studying?"
"Psychology. It's fascinating." And she regaled him with the latest
theories on everything. He didn't get half of it, but enjoyed the
excitement in her voice as she told him all about it.
Finally he said, "Kid, I gotta go. This call is costin' me a fortune."
"Oh." Her voice grew small. "I'm sorry for talking so much."
<Shit.> "I didn't mean it like that, Marie. You know I didn't. I like
listenin' to ya. I miss our nightly talks."
"Me, too," she said, even though they'd always been about Jean, a
subject she was not really interested in discussing anymore. Maybe he
wasn't either. He hadn't mentioned her once this time. "Call collect
next time. I've been doing odd jobs around the mansion for Scott, and
he's been paying me. I can afford to spend some money if it means I
get to talk to you."
He felt a tightness in his chest at the offer and found it hard to
speak for a moment. "Nah, kid. I'm making enough money to pay the
"You're cage fightin' again, aren't you?" she accused. "You said you
weren't gonna do that anymore."
"I'm only doin' it to make enough money to get by, when I can't do
other stuff," he equivocated.
"I worry about you, you know. You could get hurt."
"I heal fast, kid," he said, stating the obvious, touched at her
concern, and silently berating himself for causing her more worry.
"Don't worry about me at all. I'm Wolverine, remember? Baddest badass
ever," he quoted her words back to her. "I'm the one worryin' about
She laughed, but there was a slight hitch in it, like she was choked
up. "That's what friends do, Logan. They worry about each other."
"That's a deal then, Marie. I'll call you soon."
"You better. I miss you."
"I miss you, too." He hung up the phone and wandered the streets of
Seattle until dawn, avoiding sleep and thinking.
// They were outside, under the stars. He was lying on the blanket,
cradling her in his arms, her hair spread over his chest. Her hands
roamed over him, languidly at first, and then with greater purpose,
stroking him until he couldn't speak. She smiled, eyes glinting
devilishly as she feathered kisses down his body. "You don't have to
--" he started, realizing what she was doing.
"I want to," she whispered, and then took him in her mouth. He almost
died feeling her warm, wet tongue wrapping around him.
"Marie," he moaned, threading his hands through her hair and pulling
her head up.
"What? Was I doin' it wrong?" she asked, bewildered.
"No, baby, you were doin' good. Too good," he managed. "I just want
us to be together when we come."
Her smile returned and she straddled him, using a hand to guide him
into her. "Like this?" she purred as she moved up and down slowly,
torturing him by tightening muscles she was just learning to use.
Soon she was in the same incoherent state he was, and they moved
together, rushing toward their climax. The world shattered into
behind his closed eyes and she leaned forward, kissing him gently.
"I love you, Marie," he whispered. //
He was *not* calling her again, he told himself. Sure, he missed her,
but talking to her was only feeding his fantasies, which were getting
more vivid every night. He bought a few porno magazines, trying to
exorcise her from his system, but that only made his dreams more
graphic. He gave up that strategy in favor of drinking heavily,
taking cold showers and sleeping as little as possible.
He lasted a week and a half without hearing her voice. Then he was in
a convenience store on the outskirts of Duluth and he caught a whiff
of vanilla. There was a whole rack of air fresheners at the counter.
Marie always smelled slightly of vanilla. Even when he'd first met
her, in the bar in Laughlin City, she'd carried a faint hint of it
through the fear and smoke and stale beery smell of the place. She
had probably been wearing it so long it had seeped into the fabric of
The girl was bagging his stuff when he said, "You got those prepaid
"Gimme a couple of 'em."
"I'll have to ring that up separately," she said sullenly.
"Whatever," he replied, pulling the money out of his pocket. He was
already telling himself not to call her. Maybe he'd call Jean's room,
give Scott a hard time. The thought left him curiously unmoved. He
still thought Jean was hot, and he still got a charge out of breaking
One-Eye's balls, but he didn't feel the overwhelming sadness or anger
such thoughts used to bring. His five months away had allowed those
wounds to begin to heal.
Marie really did know what she was talking about. He'd have to ask
her how. She'd probably laugh and tell him she'd learned it from
trashy novels she was so fond of. His mind shied away from thinking
that she knew it from experience. She hadn't loved him, not really.
<A crush isn't love,> he told himself, <and she got over it a long
No, he wasn't going to ask her anything. He argued with himself for a
good part of the night. <You're not calling her, dumbass,> he told
himself. But a little voice in his head taunted him. <What are you
afraid of? Think maybe she let that bozo into her pants? Maybe he'll
answer when you call. What'll you do then, tough guy? You're a
thousand miles away.>
He looked down at the desk he'd just mangled when his claws popped
instinctively at the thought of Marie with the Cajun.
He picked up the phone and dialed before he could have second
thoughts. It rang and rang and he started to worry. It was 1 am in
Duluth, which meant it was 2 am in New York. Which meant Marie should
be snug in her bed, *alone*.
"Hello," she said breathlessly after an endless seven rings.
"You okay, Marie?"
"Never better, sugar. Happy Halloween!"
"Happy Halloween, silly." She giggled.
"Marie, are you drunk?" he asked incredulously.
"Drunk is such a ... strong word, don't you think? Toasted, maybe, or
tipsy. I like tipsy. What do you think?"
He laughed. "Tipsy it is. I can't believe Scooter allows you kids to
"I just got home from a Halloween party on campus. I was just about
to get undressed, that's why it took me so long to answer the phone.
was washing my makeup off."
He sucked in a breath at the thought of her undressing, her body
relaxed in his bed, her hair spread against his pillow. <Get a grip,
man.> "Was it a costume party?" he asked, proud that his voice
sounded normal, now imagining her in a French maid's outfit.
"Uh huh. I'm a cat. Meow." She purred. <Down, boy,> he told himself
"How'd you manage that?" He sounded a little hoarse.
"Oh, I wore one of those lycra catsuits Jean and Ororo use to train
in, and I got little gloves with furry cuffs. The costume shop had
ears and the most adorable fuzzy tail, so I was good to go. All the
boys wanted to play with the kitty. Meow." The alcohol exaggerated
her drawl. He closed his eyes, trying to get his raging hormones
control. He knew what he'd be dreaming of tonight.
He thought of things he'd heard on the news, about date rape drugs
and fraternity parties. "Boys, Marie? You were careful, right? Those
guys are dangerous."
She giggled again. "You're always worryin'. Of course there were boys
at the party, Logan. It was at a frat house. But nobody can touch me,
remember?" Her voice was suddenly sad. <Oh, no,> he thought. He
didn't want to start her on a drunken crying jag. "Then again," she
continued, sounding a little more cheerful, as if she'd thought it
over, "you don't really need skin-to-skin contact to have a good
He made a sound that was somewhere between a whimper and a growl.
Whimper at the idea of having "a good time" with Marie, and growl at
the idea of random frat boys having "a good time" with Marie. She was
going to be the death of him yet.
"Don't be such a killjoy, Logan." She had only picked up on the
growling. "I'm not making a reputation for myself or anything. But
I'd like to have some fun before I die."
"Marie, you're nineteen years old. Why you even thinkin' about
dyin'?" This was one of the strangest conversations he could ever
"I'm on the team, now, Logan. Well, sort of. I go on rescue missions
and less dangerous stuff." He was slightly ashamed that his first
thought was about how fine she'd look in one of those leather
outfits. Then he thought about how dangerous being on the team could
"Be careful, Marie. I'll be home soon--"
"You're sure takin' your sweet time," she muttered.
She knew how to make him feel guilty without even trying. He
continued as if she hadn't spoken, "and I expect you to be in one
piece when I get there, ya hear?"
"I hear. I wish you coulda seen my costume, Logan. I won a prize."
"Me, too, kid." <If only you knew.> "Those boys didn't stand a
"Damn right," she said smugly. She yawned. "Sorry. So tired. I'm
gonna shower now, and go to bed."
He flashed on memories from his dreams and sought refuge in the
brotherly persona he'd spent so much time erecting. "Put one foot on
the floor if the bed starts spinning," he said.
She giggled again. "I kinda like the bed-spins. Reminds me of
Tilt-a-Whirl from when I was a kid. And I gotta hydrate my ass. I
He laughed and tried not to think about her ass. "Go to bed, Marie.
I'll talk to you soon."
"You better. I miss you."
"I miss you, too."