There are a lot of things you expect to wake up to--morning, coffee, someone screaming, a knife at your throat--well, all of those things have happened to me, so I know what I'm damned well talking about.
But a smell usually doesn't do it. And it was one of those things that don't make any damned sense. I come awake and smell her--and you know, it actually took a minute to realize two basic things that maybe should have been self-evident--one, that I'm not at home, so I'm not going to be smelling Marie, and two--even if I was home, I wasn't going to get that at three o'clock in the fucking morning. Well--okay, a nice thought, which is why it didn't seem so strange until I sit up and flip the lamp on---
--and you know what? This wasn't a dream. And I also realized I was thinking of the mansion as home. Damn, damn damn.
"What the *hell* are you doing here?"
I'm not tactful. Live with it.
She's sitting in the chair across from the foot of the bed, like she's been there for God knows how long and can just continue to sit there for a hell of a lot longer. But she didn't really react to my less than enthusiastic greeting--and that's when I started getting nervous, because--well, she wasn't just looking, she was *staring*, and that reminded me of exactly what I wasn't wearing--shit.
So I try groping for my pants--carefully. Near the bed. They weren't there, and I'm trying to remember where I threw them and in the back of my mind I'm thanking God that I'm alone, because I don't even want to imagine--
"Did Magneto get someone to break his ass out of that little plastic prison he's stuck in?" It seemed unlikely--in that case I'd expect that Scooter and the gang would be here in force and that there would be a little more effort in getting me moving. But not Marie--she just stared at me with those eyes and shook her head and--frankly, I'm getting damned spooked.
And the second thing I realize--she looks thinner. A little pale and--well, different. And that spooks me too.
"Is there some major fucking crisis that just has to have my attention?"
She tilts her head and she actually seems to consider it--then smiles a little and shakes her head again and I swear, she isn't blinking and now I'm getting really nervous. And I have my pants--problem is--well, it's fucking obvious what the problem is.
Then it dawns on me--yeah, I'm a bright guy right when I get up--
"How the hell did you find me?"
The last time I contacted Xavier was in Des Moines, and there's no way she could have--
"You want me to leave while you get dressed?"
Yeah, Marie, that would be damned nice, thanks. She doesn't even wait for an answer, but gathers up her coat--and I'm wondering how long she's been sitting there and how the hell she got in without me waking up--
--and then I'm wondering why the hell I'm not just a little more pissed. Well, the answer to that was obvious.
When she closes the door, I fucking *dive* for my clothes--and I'm still trying to figure out why Marie is here--how the hell she got here--who's with her because I honestly couldn't see Xavier letting leave home without supervision--much less trot up to fucking Canada---
And I'm calling it home again. Damn.
Anyway, I go outside after her and she's sitting on the hood of her car--I'm assuming here she doesn't jump on the hoods of random cars--and she looks up the second I walk out the door and just--watches me. And suddenly the space between the door and that tiny little Geo she's sitting on is *way* too long, because no one, and I repeat this, no one, can look that long and not blink.
"Marie?" That gaze is getting unnerving--yeah, I've had women stare at me and that doesn't bother me usually--but Marie--well, let's say it's just a bit different.
"I made a decision."
That's fucking helpful. And it's cold--she's shivering--and it takes me a minute to realize what jacket she's wearing--and shit, I still don't get it.
"I want to tell you what I learned. You have lousy taste in women." And she kind of smiles then. "Except Mary."
God. There are so many ways that isn't answerable. I don't even want to *think* what she means by that.
"How did you get here?" I know, it's obvious--she's sitting on a car, I'm not an idiot. But it just doesn't really make any sense and, as I said--I'm not at my best when I wake up. I was doing damned good just to be able to follow the conversation.
"I've been following you."
And I'm thinking maybe I want to sit down too, because as I said, the last contact I had with Xavier was over a year ago from Des Moines--
--and there's no *damned* way she's followed that.
"How?"
And she reaches into her pocket and pulls out that damned letter and drops it on the hood--I pick it up, and yeah, that's it--and there it is.
There it is.
"You've been--"
"Everyone was really helpful." And she gets that little smile again and then I really do sit down and try to figure out what kind of dream is so fucking cold--because this isn't even in the near realms of possibility.
"You've been following me since *Iowa*?" I must sound a little faint there--God, that's embarrassing to admit--because she smiles again and turns a little to face me.
"I lost you after Jackson for a bit," she adds helpfully. She stuffs her hands back in her pockets, and that's when I see her face in the light--and God, whoever the hell touched her--
I don't even think about it. I turn her head and tilt it up--remember, it's been awhile since I saw her last--and there's the line of a half-healed cut above her eye--I know what kind of scar a knife leaves--and it's about that time that I know I have to be dreaming, because I'm still alive and she's smiling--
"I've learned a few other things since you've been gone."
God, has she ever.
"Who?" It's recent, that little cut--and she stops smiling and shakes her head and I know that look, she'll tell me when she's good and ready.
My girl's stubborn. Cyke swears she got that from me. And I can wait, because whoever the hell touched her is going to be very dead very soon anyway, so he can have that last breath or two.
She doesn't pull away--and she's still staring and since obviously this is a dream--
"What are you doing here?"
"I came to find you."
She makes it sound so obvious, like this is something I should know automatically.
Then she stands up and you know what? I really didn't like letting her go. She turns to look at me and the smile is gone--and she looks really determined.
"Okay, here's the deal--I've been on this little hike for awhile. You move a lot--I'm not holding that against you, because it's been sort of enlightening."
I want to ask--and I don't, because she her lips curve up like she's remembering something funny--
-and shit, there aren't many people she can exactly contact to find out where I am--and the places they are at--and if she's been to some of those places--. And you know--it occurs to me that if she has been following me, I can guess who she's been talking to--
Shit.
"It's time you came home."
I'm still stuck in the enlightening part. She crosses her arms over her chest and just looks at me--oh, she wants an answer.
"I was going--"
"Home. Soon. We have--" she tilts her head, eyes narrowing just over my shoulder, like she's calculating something--"four months left."
"Four months." I say intelligently. I'm down to echoing. Very smooth.
"Four months."
Maybe she notices that I'm pretty much the definition of fucking lost--because she stops and looks at me, frowning still, then sighs.
"It's complex."
And when I'm trying to get through that, she shivers again and shakes her head.
"Can we go inside? You are alone, right?" And she smirks, turning on one heel, and leaves me sitting there.
How the hell much does she know?
Well, it's cold and I'm not going to figure out this little mystery without her, so I follow her in--like a damned puppy or something--and she strips off my jacket and puts it on the chair and I hear something metal--
--and she's wearing my tags and I don't need a fucking engineering degree to put it together now. I just don't *believe* it.
"Marie--"
"Don't say anything else. Just listen." She looks so serious--so I sit down and she starts pacing, as if she's trying to marshal some arguments or something. "I know--well, you'd be surprised." Yes, I would, and I'm hoping that it isn't as much as she looks like she knows. "I'm not a kid anymore."
She hasn't really been a kid since I've known her, but I'm thinking she's going somewhere else with this conversation.
"I graduated in December. Xavier--well, he gave me some time off."
"You've been--"
"Don't talk, okay?" Got it. She looks tense enough. "I left in January--and it's been damned difficult to keep up. But that's okay--it worked out and anyway, I shaved four months off thanks to Mary." And she smirks--
God, Mary. I remember her. And apparently, Marie does too, and she just looks amused.
"Logan--" she stops, and a part of me thinks maybe I should just stop her and explain a few things, when she turns and looks right at me and I don't expect at all what comes out of her mouth.
"I want you." And yeah, I've heard it before--but never from someone who said it like that, and anything I wanted to say just stops right there, because she's looking at me again with that steady gaze that makes me think she's remembering what I look like without the damned clothes--not a bad thing. "I understand your thing for Jean, okay?" I wince--shit, that's sad to know about myself--"But you're never going to get her. Never. And not just because Scott would try to kick your ass, either." Good thing she put 'tried' in there. But this is sort of fun--I'm a sick bastard, but obviously, she's been working this out for awhile, so she should damn well be able to get it out without me jumping in on it. "I'm twenty-two, I'm well over being in the surrogate little sister category--I'm way past that, and Logan, my patience is out. So I decided--well, if you weren't going to do anything about it, I was."
No false modesty here--I've had a lot of women attracted to me--seems to be what I do best, besides getting in fights and generally growling down the world. So--okay, it shouldn't be such a shock.
But *no one* has ever followed me for it either--the equivalent of a few thousand miles. And she takes a breath, but I'm getting the impression she isn't done yet and so I just wait, when what I really want to do--
"So--I'm here to bring you home. So you can sit down and do some comparisons on what is possible and what isn't, because Logan, there is no good reason to go obsessive over redheads in this unrequited love crap."
And I'm remembering a comment Jubilee made--and she didn't mean to make it in my hearing either--when on her eighteenth birthday my girl here tried to dye her hair. With unusual results I never saw, because I missed that--and I gotta admit, I'm not exactly sorry about it either, because I'll be damned if I know what I'd have said to her.
I'm not--shit, let me try to explain here. It's not that I didn't guess something was up when I left her there--it was obvious, and despite the fact that I really did have some searching to do, I also knew pretty well the she's a kid and--well, she needed to be one. And--well, there was Jean and there was Marie and I couldn't stay with that kind of double team with one that I wanted and one that wanted me and had the memories in her head to maybe do something about it--and not against my will, either.
Marie is smart. Give her time and she'd figure out a way around the touching problem and the Jean issue and I'm not saying I wouldn't have liked that a whole damned lot. The age issue, though--well, that would have been a definite sticking point--okay, maybe a sticking point.
Shit, it might not have been a point at all after awhile, and that scared me.
So anyway, I've gone back and left again and trained her and took her to movies and really, really thought that--well, she's a kid, I took care of her, and I'd be damned if I take advantage of hero worship and all that crap.
But it took everything in me to go the last time I left--there's Jean with Scott, which is just like fucking sandpaper sometimes, though Cyke and I have a working understanding that makes me think that maybe I'm not as much an idiot as I think I am, and then there's Marie, with two little kids sniffing around her and you know, I realize maybe about that time she's a big girl and maybe she's old enough to tell the difference between a fantasy she has in her head about me and the real thing--
--and she starts dating Bobby.
And maybe I want to give her that, because I'll be damned if I'm going to complicate her life further. Or maybe I think if I stay, I'll complicate it anyway and neither of us will ever know how much is based on a seventeen year old's crush and how much of it is something real.
Not to mention that quick, instinctive response that I've seemed to have picked up to anyone touching Marie--so I left for Bobby's safety.
Yeah, right.
But shit, she's standing right here, and no kiddie crush on earth drags you eight months and a few thousand miles.
So screw the ethics.
"Okay."
She stops and turns and looks at me, a little startled.
"What?"
She's been under stress--unlike me, she's usually pretty fast on the uptake.
"Okay."
And she kind of stares again, a different stare, and I want to just sit her down and maybe get my explanations out and everything, but then--
--God, no one's ever looked at me like that before.
"Then--you--" she kind of takes a step back and sits down, and it just hits me--she's been following me for a few thousand miles with no idea how the hell I'm going to react. And she's sitting on my bed, which brings up a few thoughts--I'm a man, dammit--and then she's staring down at her feet.
"That easy?" Her voice is sort of faint--and is she disappointed? Did she have a fucking debate planned?
So maybe I think I should explain now, but she doesn't let me.
"So no Jean fantasies?"
Oooh. Jean is gorgeous. That's going to take some effort.
"None." And it's the truth--despite my penchant for hair color, I have to admit that Marie shows up in my fantasy life a hell of a lot more than I'm comfortable with. Usually with gloves.
--which may explain the thing for redheads, if I was the type that liked to psychoanalyze myself like Cyke always seems to want to do--
Like the ones she's wearing now--and shit, I don't need to be thinking that way when we're trying to work this out intellectually as adults.
"Logan--"
And she stops, and I stand up and walk over to her and try to think of a way to get this out without sounding like an idiot, and she looks up again and God--
And she reaches for my hand and just holds it a second, then stands up and just--I'm not sure she's even breathing.
And I know I'm not.
"I love you and I'm damned well able to know the difference, if that's what you're worrying about." She doesn't sound worried.
That's not at all what I'm worrying about either. Because she smells good and I can touch her and you know, Jean isn't anywhere near my head when I'm looking at Marie, who's standing there just fucking *offering* herself like--
God.
Oh, no, no, no, no, not like this. So I sit down and pull her to sit too--and she sort of looks hurt.
"Logan--"
"Okay." So maybe I'm not great on explanations here--screw that, I can't think around just looking at her--she's lost weight and I know something else has happened on her little tour of America and maybe I need to get some of that out of her before--well--
--and she just lifts herself up on her knees, still staring at me, and just leans forward--slowly, like I might want to move, which is the fucking farthest thing from my mind at the moment--and she kisses me--and I'm thinking--
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