Sapphire Blue
Chapter 1
by
Lady-T
Disclaimer: Not mine, especially the Aerosmith lyrics scattered around. I'm not Steven Tyler and I can't fit a whole grapefruit in my mouth like he can, so don't sue me. Virtually everything belongs to someone else.
Dedicated to all those people I've accidentally plagiarized in some way, shape or form. Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery. No, really it is. . .
For his eyes are upon the ways of man. . .
Another bar, another night, another day of the bitter cold and with it another day of nagging questions.
And tonight, another fight.
Day after day it all mingles, each identical to the last. He'd been here a while now, that much he was sure of, long enough to start getting a name, long enough for people to start asking questions. It was time to move on again.
His fingers wrapped tightly around the glass before him. Throwing back his head, he poured the cheap Scotch down his throat and, wincing, slammed the empty glass down onto the bar.
Move on like always, but first the fight.
The animal inside of him stretched and yawned, uncurling it's claws. It padded softly through his mind, silent on its paws, sending shivers of adrenaline through his body.
The bar was filling up now, hungry truckers screaming for some action. Stuck in stuffy cabs all day now they were baying for blood, a final animalistic impulse before returning to the rules of civilisation. They wouldn't be disappointed. He'd scoped out the competition and there was nothing here tonight that would stand a chance against him. No one ever did, but tonight there wasn't even anything close to a good fight. Fat, drunk and slobbering, even the toughest of them could barely stand upright let alone try and win a fight against the legendary Wolverine. . .
Kind of a weird name now he came to think of it. It meant little any more, just a name that he'd picked up somewhere along the line. Dog tags clunked around his neck as he stretched his muscles, the only trace of a history that had somehow managed to escape him. Well, not entirely. There were still fragments of something, something he almost felt sure he didn't WANT to remember. Hazy recollections of pain and humiliation swam into focus in the back of his mind.
"Not now."
He chastised himself.
He threw back another shot of scotch and pushed the thought from his mind as he had done so many times before. No point on musing on it now. Search for those answers in the daylight, not now. The night is for fighting, not thinking.
From across the smoke-filled room a solitary pair of eyes watch the occupants of the bar intently. Crystalline and blue as ice they flew from one side of the room to the other, taking in everything. Not a detail escaped them and, in the recess of the mind above, those eyes were afraid. It took no mutant power to bring the fear to the mind. It was just simple knowledge.
"Always go with the gut." The eyes thought, "I should have run. . . "
Three figures loomed in close, their shadows casting their presence over her soul, leaving her suddenly alone in the darkness. . .
"You gotta' know when to run. . . Why didn't I listen?"
* * * * *
A broom swept its way through a pile of shattered glass on the floor, a pair of boots scrunching past as it went.
In the cage in the centre of the bar there was nothing but a puddle of congealing blood staining the canvas.
Droplets of crimson had spattered into the shattered glass leaving a sticky trail where the injured had staggered away. Bleeding and beaten they had wandered home to lick their wounds.
The fight was over and the bar was virtually empty now, the punters having gone home happy. They wanted blood and they had got plenty. A few serious drinkers still remained and Logan eyed them cautiously from a corner.
He had won easily, much like he did every night, but tonight something was bothering him. He felt uneasy. There was something in the air, he could virtually smell it. It smelled like trouble, but he couldn't place why. Then again, trouble had a way of finding him no matter what he did.
Finishing his drink he quietly sloped towards the door. He wanted to get out of here before the bad weather hit and, as it was midwinter in this part of Canada, bad weather hit about every 5 minutes.
Stepping outside, the cold, ice-filled air hit like a slap round the face. He pulled his battered coat further up round his ears and crunched out into the fresh snow. Opening the door to his van he pulled out a battered road map. He flipped through a couple of pages, numb fingers flying over the paper checking his route. He didn't really know or care where he was going, just keep moving. He snorted, a little cloud of steam forming in the frozen air, and threw the map back inside. Stepping up into the cab something suddenly flashed in his mind.
Fear. It was like a tiny lightening bolt crackling behind his eyes.
Someone else's fear crowded its way past his senses. Like an animal he could smell it. . .
In the distance there was a scuffling noise.
"Hey, get off me. . . "
Logan paused. It was quite a way off, but he could hear it through the still, silent air. A female voice from somewhere further out into the woods. . . He could almost taste her panic. . .
Someone laughed, several someones. . .
"No. . . please. . . " The voice again, and this time another, deeper, male. . .
"Give it up baby, you know you want it."
"Don't touch me!"
Laughter, and a scream, piercing in the snow-filled night. Ripping fabric and more fear, so strong now. . .
The male voice again, "Hey, Rag, shut this bitch up will ya'?"
And another, "Yeh, her screamin' doin' my head in Rag, man. . . "
The screaming becomes a desperate, pleading sob, followed by a hollow thump and then silence.
Logan runs.
A clearing in the dense, icy woodland.
There is a grunting and the sound of snow shifting under bodies.
The second voice again, "C'mon, man, lets get outta' here."
"Gimme' a minute, she ain't exactly. . . *grunt*. . . responsive y'know."
His thrusting, naked ass seems almost white in the moonlight, the figure sprawled under him limp and unconscious.
"You sick, pal. Rag beat a dent in her head."
"I ain't fuckin' her head, am I?"
"Just get a move on Lance, we don't got all night."
"Uh. . . Oh yeh. . . Oh yeh that's good. . . "
Breathless moans follow, a shudder and then silence once more.
"You done?"
Breathless. . . "Oooh, baby, she's good. Pussy's tight. . . Mmmm, mmm. Jus' the way I like it."
"You a sick fuck, you know that? Man, put yourself away, I don't wanna' see that. . . "
*snikt*
"Lance?"
"Hm?"
"You hear something?"
*Silence* Nothing but the wind and the darkness and the trees.
"Nope. C'mon Rag, lets get outta' here. . . "
"Rag? You OK man?"
Rag stares from glassy eyes out into the darkness beyond the trees. A slight croak passes his lips, the blood stained baseball bat slipping from his fingers, and from his chest poke 3 long, metal blades.
Slowly he slides forward, slumping lifeless into the snow.
The beast uncurls, flashing teeth of pure white.
Logan snarls, pure anger glaring from his face. He turns to the other two. One, Lance, his pants still round his ankles, is frozen to the spot. The other turns to run, but there is a flash of metal and he collapses to the ground, 3 long, red slashes now scooping over his back.
Behind them lies the figure of a woman. She is half naked, exposed and unconscious, shivering in the freezing weather.
Logan turns accusingly to the last one. "You did this?" It is more like a growl than words, a conviction than a question.
He does not reply but the evidence alone is enough. Angry as hell and just as final Logan roars and lashes out, the claws in his hands sending the last man flying into a ragged heap in the darkness.
Ice crunching under his feet, he steps closer to the woman. Her clothes are torn and a dark purple bruise blooms over her temple. A trickle of blood oozes from a gash above her eye.
There is a smear of blood on the inside of her thighs and Logan chokes back the hatred that still twists like a knife in his heart. He doesn't know her, but that doesn't make it any better.
Pulling off his jacket he wraps it round her shivering frame and scoops her limp body up into his arms. She's out cold.
A good thing, Logan muses, at least she didn't have to witness what they did to her.
Inside his head he remembers indignity, and it chokes like bile.
He covers her as best he can, trying to afford her some of the dignity she's lost this night. Through the dark and the cold he carries her back to his trailer. It's not exactly the best hotel in town, but at least she'll be warm.
In the morning she can go to the cops. Until then he lights the small gas stove and wraps her in a blanket. Gently he washes the cut on her face and tries to make her limp form comfortable. Finding a clean cloth he wraps it round a lump of snow and, crouching at her side, presses it to the bruise on her head.
Goddamn. . . He feels heart-sick. Sick for the waste of such innocence.
He looks at her in the half-light and closes his eyes. Her pain is still tangible and it settles in his head, swimming and merging behind his eyes. She's pretty. . . pretty and young. So young. . . 20, 22? God, what a shame. . .
Under her pale lids her eyes begin to flutter, either dreaming or trying to pull herself back into consciousness, he's not sure which.
Lightly brushing a stray strand of hair from her face her eyes fly open. Pure, startling blue pierces his mind and she cowers away from him, whimpering slightly. She shakes, panic swathing her like a quilt.
"Please. . . don't hurt me. . . " She whispers, eyes of crystal ice wide with fear. It shines through them like a beacon, as she slides herself into a corner.
"Hey, kid, it's OK. . . " He leans forward to try and press the ice back to her head, but she shrinks from him.
"Please. . . don't touch me. . . " Tears form in the corners of her eyes, involuntary blind panic making her shake from head to foot. She clutched the blanket round her shoulders like it was the only thing in the world protecting her.
"S'alright kid, no one's gonna' hurt you now."
She didn't reply, her eyes were still filled with terror as she tried to choke back the tears that were forming. She bit her bottom lip slightly and pulled her knees up to her chest, curling up into a petrified ball in the corner. All the while, the crystal fire of her eyes never shifted away from him.
Logan cocked his head to one side slightly. It was like being watched by a hawk, yet she was more skittish than even the most timid doe.
He considered the bruise on her head for a second. "Nice bump ya' got there, darlin'. . . Hurts?"
She nodded slightly and he smiled in return. "Y'wanna' put this back on, then?" He proffered the cloth to her and she gingerly reached out a hand and took it. The girl lightly pressed it to her head and sank back into her corner, tears finally starting to snake their way down her grimy face.
Logan stood and stretched slightly before returning to the cab and flicking through his atlas again. He knew he couldn't push her. There was no point. Her life had been shot down right in front of his face. There was nothing he could do but offer her sanctuary for the night.
"So. . . " he turned back to her, "You got a name or am I gonna' keep on callin' ya kid?"
Only quiet sobs greeted him.
Makes yer heart bleed.
He sighed slightly and shook his head. Bastards deserved to die for what they did.
He settled back into his seat and waited patiently for the girl to calm down, every miserable sob ringing round his head.
It made the animal in him want to howl with some half-forgotten memory.
She was hurtin'. . . he could understand that. . .
* * * * *
Her tears grew less and her sobbing ceased as the misty grey light of dawn started to permeate the blackness.
Logan stared out the windscreen of his truck and watched as the first light started to seep through the thick, dense trees. Neither of them had slept but he hadn't said another word to her since he asked her name earlier that night. He hadn't known what to say, and in turn she had done nothing but cry quietly to herself, rolled up in a ball in the corner. She had hugged her body as the memories poured through her soul.
She lay quiet now, still curled in the blanket, exhausted eyes staring blankly at the wall.
He considered her now, and then considered the rumbling noise coming from his own stomach.
"Hey kid. . . " She turned to face him, her eyes almost shining in the darkness, no longer paralysed by fear but still saying nothing. "Kid, you hungry?"
She blinked a couple of times as if uncertain whether the question was directed at her, and then she nodded slowly.
"No decent diners for a couple of hours drive yet, but this'll tide you over." He burrowed in the recesses of the glove box and pulled out a Snickers bar. He tossed it to her and she caught it, tearing the wrapper almost frantically.
She hadn't eaten for almost 2 days. She'd been too busy running.
She ate hungrily, cramming the candy in her mouth like it was going to escape if she didn't eat it first.
Logan raised an eyebrow slightly. He hadn't seen a gal eat like that for a while.
"Cryin' make ya hungry, kid?"
She stopped, mid-bite and looked down at the candy in her hand as if she was suddenly ashamed.
"I. . . I'm sorry. . . did you. . . ?" She stumbled over her words and proffered the remains of the bar to him.
He considered the growling coming from his stomach, but shook his head. "Naw. . . finish it."
She ate slower this time and, finishing the bar, looked up at him.
"Thank you. . . "
She virtually whispered it.
He sighed and started the engine.
Half his morning was gone already. He had to get a move on. Always keep moving.
He'd done his duty and the company had been nice for a while, but she was OK, physically at least, so it was time to drop her off and carry on with his travelling.
The wilderness seemed to call to him from time to time, and recently it had been screaming. Nightmares had been coming thick and fast these past few weeks, and the faster he traveled the easier he found it was to convince himself he was escaping form them.
"Where ya headed, kid?"
She sat silently for a second. "I don't know," She said simply.
"Well where were you going to last night?"
She stared at him, intense sadness in her face. "I was running."
"Where to?"
"Doesn't matter where you run to. It only matters what you're running from. . . " Her voice was edging into silent tears again, and she raised her hand to run her fingers through her hair. She grimaced in pain as she touched the painful bruise on her temple.
"I'll drop you off in town," Logan murmured. "At the next police station. You should tell 'em 'bout those guys from last night." Something in the back of his mind didn't think it was a good idea to tell her what had happened to them. She was in enough pain and freaked out already, without having to know the guy she was sitting with could pop claws from his hands. People round here didn't take kindly to mutants. They were either scared or violent. He glanced at her shivering frame, still curled in the blanket. She would be one of the scared.
The girl shook her head sadly.
"There's no point."
Logan slipped the engine into gear and slowly pulled out of the parking lot.
"What'd ya mean kid? You think they won't care about this?" He couldn't stop the edge of surprise in his voice.
"No, they'll care." She toyed with a loose strand of hair. "They WERE the police. . . " She looked away and muttered under her breath, tears welling up in her face again. "Mutant hating scum. . . "
She stopped short and suddenly looked scared again. Letting that slip had been an accident. She looked uncertainly at him for a second, half expecting him to throw her out into the snow like everyone else did.
Instead he just hung his head and nodded.
He stopped the van on the side of the road, the engine gently ticking over as he turned to her.
"You a mutant, kid?"
"I. . . I shouldn't have said. . . I'll go if you want me to." She rose from the floor, dropping the blanket to the floor. Her clothes were tattered and a trickle of dried blood still smeared her thighs. She barely noticed. Her heart ached with her own stupidity. For the first time in so long, she'd been on to a good thing and now she'd blown it. Everyone always wanted her to go as soon as they found out. They could nod and sympathise and pretend as much as they wanted but deep inside they wanted her out. Couldn't cope because she was different. She found it less painful to just go. Damn it, this guy was so strong, so physically imposing, that the last thing she wanted to do was let slip about her mutation. Guys like him could be dangerous to her if they took it upon themselves to rid the world of another "filthy mutie".
Scared or violent. She couldn't see him being scared of her. . .
"No, wait." He stepped closer to her and crouched, picking up the blanket. He wrapped it gently round her shoulders again.
"Can I show you something?"
She paused for a second, one hand resting on the door handle, ready to run.
Slowly, so as not to startle her, he pushed the claws of his left hand out into the weak sunlight. Like pulling off a Band-Aid it hurt more that way, but unless he wanted her to run screaming into the wilderness he had no choice.
The breath caught in her throat as the metal swished into the open.
"My god. . . You're a mutant too. . . "
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