FIC: Lost Souls, Part II: Out of Tune (1/2)
- Title: Lost Souls, Part II: Out of Tune
Category: AU Logan/Marie. Some angstin' going on.
Rating: PG-13, because Marie has a potty mouth.
Disclaimer: X-Men and its characters are owned by a bunch of people.
Sadly, I'm not one of them, or I'd have money. But I don't, so please
don't sue me. Title and lyrics come from Hooverphonic, off their "Blue
Wonder Powder Milk" CD.
Summary: Marie hitches a ride and learns she's not the only one with
Distribution: Want, take, have. Just let me know.
Previous part is at http://www.geocities.com/panda_grrl2000/lost.html
Feedback: I'd love to hear what you think. jmmadigan@...
overwhelming as they are
with their mystifying glow
breeding hope by counting stars
as they hunger for the show
merge the bitterness, the pain
which i'm sure you can explain again
one gets hurt when she feels small
and she's longing for some peace
being the center of it all
slow attack but fast release
hear the difference in vain
out of tune but just not quite the same
It's not like she wanted to talk to him or anything.
It was just the silence was so ... silent.
Marie didn't deal well with silence. It left so much time for that pesky
thing called "thinking." Which always brought up nasty things like
memories. Which really weren't an option for her at the moment, since
she enjoyed her illusion of sanity, thank-you-very-much.
When she drove alone, she filled the silence with music, off-key singing
and chattering nonstop to Fred. Before Fred forced her to give up buses
and trains as a mode of transportation, she could always count on some
talkative fellow passenger to make the quiet go away. And if they asked
questions about her, she exercised her skill in storytelling and made up
something entertaining that wasn't even remotely close to her real life.
Fred didn't seem to mind the quiet much. Sprawled across the seat with
his head in her lap, he grunted a little and pushed at her hand with his
nose to let her know some ear scratching wouldn't be out of line.
She absently scratched behind his ears, looking around the truck. It
occurred to her that she didn't even know the driver's name. In the
fight, he'd gone by Wolverine, but he hadn't said a word to her since
they'd left the parking lot.
She wanted to ask his name, but the whole silence thing was turning into
kind of a quiet grudge match. It was kind of grade-school, the way they
kept glancing at each other, waiting for someone to speak. She figured
she'd be the first one to break, but she didn't want it to be so soon.
Twisting, she peered back into the camper. God, what a pit. The man was
a total slob. She wasn't exactly Martha-freaking-Stewart herself, but
heavens, did he ever do laundry? And, geez, was that a pizza on the
counter? It was fuzzy! Yuck.
Suddenly her pathetic life didn't look so bad. She thought about telling
him so but decided against it. After all, the guy was giving them a
ride, right? The last thing they needed was to get dumped in the middle
of nowhere and have another long, cold walk.
Marie turned back, catching him staring at her again. She really wanted
to know his name. She certainly couldn't call him Wolverine. Now that
she got a close-up look at him, she wondered why he didn't just call
himself Wolf. As far as she could remember, a wolverine was kind of like
a bear, and this guy seemed more like a wolf than a bear. Of course,
she'd never met a wolf or a bear, so ...
"Where you headed?" he asked, startling her.
"Um ... Anchorage," she said finally, smirking a little. Yessss! She had
triumphed over the mighty Wolverine. Gotta take the small victories
where you can find them.
"You're pretty far north," he commented.
"Yeah, I got ... off track," she said. "Fred ate my map, and I got off
on this road to nowhere. And then my car broke down."
"He ate your map?"
"More like, he ripped it into tiny dog-slobbery shreds."
"What kind of dog is he?"
OK. We're going to talk about Fred. Nice, safe topic. "I don't know. I
think he's mostly lab, but I'm not really sure."
"Why'd you name your dog Fred?" He honestly sounded curious.
"A) He's not my dog. B) He just looked like a Fred." She looked down at
the dog, who was grinning up at her, no doubt remembering the
map-chewing incident with glee. Damn dog.
"He's not your dog?"
"Full of questions, aren't we?"
"Never mind," he growled, and she immediately felt bad. As long as he
only asked about Fred, it wouldn't hurt to answer him. It wasn't like he
was asking questions about *her*.
"I found him," she said softly. "In a little town. In Minnesota, I
think, a while back. He'd been abused, and he was starvin'. I fed him.
He's followed me around ever since."
He was quiet for a few minutes. Marie started to get fidgety again when
he spoke. "Hard to imagine somebody hurting a dog like this."
"If I could get ahold of those bastards, they'd be the ones hurtin',"
she said. That was an ass-kicking she'd imagined many times.
"I bet they're shakin' in their boots," he said.
"They should be," she said, smiling faintly. "I'm Marie Gordon, by the
"Yeah, I think half the state heard that when you were givin' that poor
guy hell over the phone."
She snorted. "That *poor guy* sold me a shit-mobile car that broke down
in the middle of nowhere."
He chuckled. She waited another minute, and when he didn't say anything,
she remarked casually, "This is the part of the conversation where it's
customary for you to tell me your name."
He looked at her but didn't answer.
"Or I could just call you Wolverine," she said. "Or, oh! Hey, I'll just
call you Wolvie. Yeah, I like that. Wolvie."
"Logan," he said. "My name's Logan."
"First name or last?" she asked. It seemed to fit him, whichever it was.
"Yes," he said.
Marie stared at him for a moment, noticing he wore dogtags. "Were you in
the Army?" she asked, pointing. "Doesn't that mean you were in the
He frowned and tucked the tags under his shirt.
OK. Topic off-limits. Got it. She wanted to ask him more, but having
more than a few off-limits topics herself, she decided to keep her mouth
shut for once.
She stared out the window, watching the gray trees flashing in the glow
of the headlights, then blending into the dark night. Was everything in
this stupid state gray? It was such an ugly damn color, and it reminded
her of Seth's eyes. Light green-gray, then dark, then cold ... No. Don't
think about it. We agreed on this one right, girl? No thinking.
Logan cleared his throat. "I need to stop in the next town for the
night. They've got a place where I'm fighting tomorrow night. It's a
little out of the way."
It almost sounded like ... "Are you asking my permission?" She knew it
was a mistake to ask before the words left her mouth.
He scowled at her. "No. I'm just telling you. I'm stopping there."
"Fine," she said.
"Fine," he said. Then, "I wasn't asking permission."
"OK," she said.
After a moment, he spoke again. "You talk a lot."
"I'm not saying anything."
"If I'd known you talked this much, I wouldn't have given you a ride."
"You're the one who was playing twenty-freakin'-questions a minute ago,"
she said, annoyed.
"I think we should just not talk," he said.
She held out for a few more minutes before she couldn't stand it
anymore. "Could we listen to some music?"
"Radio doesn't pick up much," he said.
She remembered her CD player and dug around in her bag. "Does that tape
deck work?" It looked ancient.
"Don't you ever listen to music?" She found it unbelievable that he
could drive around by himself and not listen to some kind of music. Then
again, maybe he didn't have thoughts and memories that crept up on him
like malicious whispers. She bet he'd never had to pull off the road,
crying and shaking and wanting to drive off a cliff somewhere and just
"Not much," he said, and she shook her head quickly, throwing off the
thoughts, pushing them back as always. She flipped on the radio and
hooked her portable player up to the tape deck.
"We'll start you off easy," she said. "A little Shawn Colvin."
Logan glanced at her case as she flipped through the CDs. "I don't know
about this," he said. "I don't know if I'll like it."
"Well, if there's music, I won't be talkin'."
"Put it on," he said.
She pressed play, smiling as she heard the opening notes of "Steady On."
After a moment, Logan relaxed, and Marie smiled even more.
She'd promised not to talk, but she hadn't said anything about singing.
Amy (graciously) criticised the artistic parts of the story, and offered
hints for a sequel, which unfortunately couldn't be carried out, as the
hero and the heroine were dead.
~~ Little Women