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Fanfic: Fever Dreams 21/?

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  • teufelce@aol.com
    Title: Fever Dreams (21/?) Author: Chris (Teufelce@aol.com) Genre: Character study/Action/Romance Pairing:
    Message 1 of 1 , Dec 30, 2000
      Title: Fever Dreams (21/?)
      Author: Chris (Teufelce@...)
      Genre: Character study/Action/Romance
      Pairing: Wolverine/original female character
      Rating: PG-13 shades of violence and rape
      Summary: Memories and frustration
      Thanks to: "A very good friend... yeah, she knows who she is..." -
      whom I never would've written this. Thanks, Z... And
      thanks to Jo for
      being an island of strength in a sea of insanity - I
      wouldn't be here
      without you.
      Disclaimer: The characters of X-Men (i.e. Logan, Professor Xavier, etc.)
      to Marvel Comics and Twentieth Century Fox Pictures.
      This story is
      for entertainment purposes only and no copyright
      infringement is
      Archive: Hell yes, just let me know where!

      In those quiet moments, as the first rays of muted sunlight filtered through
      the window and lay an illusory blanket of peace over the room, Logan found
      his mind turning inward. Turning to those few, tightly guarded memories he
      still had...

      When he'd awoken, cold and naked, in the middle of the Canadian wilderness,
      he'd been little more than a nameless beast, trapped in the body of a man.
      He had stumbled through the snow for miles - his mind a roiling mass of
      terrified pain as sensory images bombarded it. How could a man... yes, he
      was a man... he remembered that much now... How could a man know, from smell
      alone, that there was a deer in the woods fifty yards off to his right, and
      not know his name? He remembered staring at the backs of his hands, knowing
      there was something there.. something else he should know... With a spasm of
      the muscles in his forearms, six gleaming claws had shot out from between his
      knuckles and he'd cried out at the sudden pain. Had stared down at the
      claws, his mind screaming that this was part of him, and not part of him.
      And then the images of a tub filled with liquid, of scalpels reddened with
      his own blood, of a champagne toast to the success of the experiment while he
      screamed in agony, slammed into his overloaded mind and he'd passed out face
      down in the snow.

      He'd come to again and still remembered that he was a man. The name 'Logan'
      had flitted across his barely conscious mind and he'd latched onto it with
      desparation. He rolled over in the snow and the sensation of cold metal
      pressing against his chest had brought his hand up to find the source. Numb
      fingers closed around a chain and he lifted it to peer at the bright metal.
      Dogtags. Stamped with a series of numbers and one word - 'Wolverine'. That
      was him, somehow he knew this. But he was 'Logan', too. So he'd climbed to
      his feet and staggered onwards to the nearest cabin. Clutching those names
      to his soul, wrapping those shredded remnants of an identity around himself
      as a ward against the pain he could still feel inside. The pain and the

      The following years had seen a slow progress in discovering who he now was.
      Who he had been only came to him at night, in nightmares that brought him
      screaming and shaking out of sleep. In frightening images that faded to a
      dull haze in his subconscious the moment he was fully awake... With all
      that, the unfocused anger he'd first felt in that desolate forest had
      steadily grown into a rage that continually threatened to swallow the
      tattered vestiges of his humanity. And with that rage had come hate... hate
      for the faceless people who were responsible for what was done to him. The
      rage and hate had driven him to spend those years in constant movement, from
      town to town, bar to bar. Making a living venting that terrible anger on
      whoever dared to oppose him in the fight cage, spending most of his nights
      trying to fend off the nightmares with large quantities of alcohol and the
      occasional woman. But always, always he'd moved on after less than a week.
      Always chasing after a past he was desperate to piece together...

      And now, here he was - fifteen long years later, lying on a cold wood floor,
      with his arms wrapped around a living, breathing part of his past. A woman
      whose soft, amber eyes soothed the pain, brought him a level of wholeness, of
      completeness, that he'd not felt in all the time he could remember. A woman
      whose love he hadn't even known he'd lost until a twist of fate had led him
      to her again. With that thought had come the memories of seeing her lying on
      that lab table, of her tears washing down her face, of the Professor's
      compassionate voice telling him the words he'd never wanted to hear. Telling
      him of what had been done to her, all because of him... And of opening his
      eyes, the sharp ends of his claws still cutting into the skin beneath his
      jaw, to see her own eyes staring back at him. Filled with love, forgiveness
      and pleading. Pleading not to leave her alone. Not again...

      His arms tightened around her still body, a low growl building in his chest.
      Never again. Never again would he let them take her from him. He'd rather
      die first... He closed his eyes against the panic that surged through him,
      his arms tightening further as he buried his face in her hair. Never again...

      Soft waking sounds and the stirring of the body wrapped in his arms brought
      him back to himself with a start. He lifted a hand to gently brush the hair
      back from Kiara's forehead and found her eyes open, looking up at him.
      Watched as the sleepy smile on her face died beneath the returning memories
      of what had happened... Her gaze dropped to focus on the floor next to them.

      "Logan, I'm sorry..." The eerie echo of her tormented words from the night
      before sent a kiss of fear racing through him and his own voice was hoarse in

      "You have nothing to be sorry for, Kiara," he whispered against her hair.
      She slowly raised her head to stare at him, her pained eyes lingering on the
      dried blood stains that still graced his chest and arm.

      "I hurt you." Those three simple words held such a wealth of torment and
      regret in them, Logan felt like his heart was being squeezed in a vise. He
      forced a small smile onto his face and cupped her cheek with his hands.

      "I was stupid - I tried to wake you from a nightmare. You had no idea what
      you were doing, Kiara. You didn't mean to hurt me."

      "No, I meant to hurt someone else..." Her reply was barely audible and before
      he could question her on it, she was smiling up at him. "Well," she said, a
      small glint in her eyes, "I think someone needs a shower, then." The teasing
      tone of her voice surprised him and he hesitated. A moment ago, she'd been
      wracked with guilt over hurting him, and now she was all smiles and mischief.
      He arched an eyebrow and stared deep into her eyes for a long moment. The
      smile remained on her face, but a hint of pleading crept into her eyes.
      Yielding to her unspoken desire to let things be for now, Logan grinned back
      at her.

      "But the shower's all the way across the room..." She laughed and slapped
      him lightly on the chest, before rolling off him and climbing to her feet.

      "Come on, you big baby - if you don't keep me waiting, I promise I'll wash
      your back..." With an impish look over her shoulder, she sauntered across
      the floor and into the bathroom. Logan chuckled low in his throat and padded
      silently after her.

      By the time he reached the bathroom, she had the shower running and was in
      the process of pulling her nightgown over her head. The sight of the smooth
      expanse of her back sent an immediate shiver of lust rolling down his spine,
      and a corresponding tightening in his groin. He started to move forwards
      when another, stranger feeling swept over him. Guilt. The strenghth and
      shock of it stopped him in his tracks, eyes widened. Guilt... Why the hell
      should he suddenly feel guilty for wanting her? Before the thought had even
      finished itself, he knew part of the answer. Some part of him still felt
      irrationally guilty for what was done to her. For the brutal rapes she'd
      endured... And that part of him was terrified to touch her. To have any
      remnant of those horrible memories associate themselves in her mind with
      *his* touch. To cause her any more pain than she already bore...

      "You going to stand there all day?" The surface of her words were soft,
      velvet-coated passion. But beneath that, he could hear the uncertainty, the
      nervousness, and that decided him. In a few short strides, he was behind
      her, his arms rising to pull her gently against him as his mouth fell to her
      bared neck.

      "Just enjoying the view..." he murmured against her sweet skin and felt a
      tremor run through her body in response. His kisses grew bolder, as a soft
      moan whispered past her lips, and he slid a hand down to rest against the
      small of her stomach. Strong fingers stretching and kneading at the skin
      there, as lips and teeth bit and caressed a line along her left shoulder.
      She moaned again, shifting her hips to rub against him, and his arms
      tightened around her in response. Holding her more tightly to him as his
      kisses became more urgent and his hand fell lower... Suddenly, he felt her
      body start and stiffen. He lifted his lips from her shoulder, about to ask
      what was wrong, and then she was pulling free from his embrace. Her arms
      rising to hug herself as she turned to face him. The unshed tears in her
      eyes and the barely hidden fear on her face stole the air from his lungs.

      "Logan, I'm sorry... I just... I can't... I'm sorry..." Her voice cracked and
      she grabbed up a towel, wrapping it around herself as she pushed past his
      rigid form. Stopping next to him to whisper once last time, "I'm sorry...",
      and then she was gone. Leaving him standing alone in the bathroom, hands
      clenched in fists at his side. With a groan of frustration, he forced his
      hands flat against the smooth tiles of the counter and stared into the
      mirror. Struggled against the rage sweeping through him at the damage that
      had been done to Kiara, and lost the battle when an image of her broken and
      bruised body flashed through his mind. His fist was connecting with the
      glass before he was even aware of it, and he felt the sharp relief of pain as
      it shattered. As the ragged edges sliced and tore at the skin of his hand...
      Felt frustration return as the wounds knit and healed instantly and he was
      left staring down at bloodied, unbroken skin. Heard the slam of the bedroom
      door as Kiara left and felt a pang of regret that she'd heard the breaking
      glass. The physical frustration he could deal with, that wasn't what was
      eating at him. No, it was the loss of trust. A trust that had come to be a
      part of him, something he didn't need to think about. Until now, Kiara had
      felt the same way. But the awakened memories of the trauma she'd undergone
      had damaged that trust. Had damaged *her* to the point where she wasn't even
      able to bear the intimate touch of the one person who would gladly die for
      her at the drop of a hat. Who never, ever wanted her to hurt again... Who
      had no idea how to undo the damage that had been done...

      End of Chapter 21
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