Stealing Fire
Chapter 1
by
RocketJ
Disclaimer. Marvel comics owns all rights to the character Wolverine/Logan. This story just borrows him for fan drooling. No profit is derived from writing this story.
Logan swore softly under his breath for the tenth time in as many minutes. A freezing rain was pounding down and even thorough his leather it felt like knives slicing thorough his skin. He swore again and swiped a hand across his brow in an attempt to clear away some of the water obscuring his vision. He hadn't been expecting to do any tracking at all, let alone in the rain when he'd left Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters seven months earlier and he wasn't prepared for this at all. He was only grateful that since it was late May the snows were over for the most part; he'd hate to be tramping around out here in a blizzard with only his leather between him and the elements. He thought back to the events that had led him to this point, out in a rainstorm in the Canadian wilderness chasing after a runaway mutant.
It was mid-afternoon when he'd pulled the bike into a tiny town. He'd been riding since before daybreak and all he could think about was a cold beer, a hot shower, and warm bed. He pulled up to a 'rustic' looking building that appeared to be the town's sole bar and restaurant. Behind the main building were several dilapidated cabins obviously intended as lodging for travelers. He noticed a vintage '54 Triumph Thunderbird parked in front of one of the cabins and mentally complimented the unknown owner on his taste in motorcycles. While he preferred Harley he had an appreciation for fast Brit bikes. He limped stiffly into the main building, trying to work out the kinks of almost 10 hours on the road and strode up to the bar.
The bartender was typical of backwater dives, not friendly and not unfriendly; more like wary and non-committal. He nodded at Logan.
"What can I do for you?"
"I'll have an Export. You serve food at the bar?"
"Sure. Menu's right in front of you," the fella said as he popped open a bottle and placed it down on a cocktail napkin.
Logan perused the menu. "I'll have a hamburger, rare with raw onion. Hold all the rabbit food, burn the fries."
"You got it."
Logan grabbed the beer. He didn't really feel like sitting after all those hours on the bike so he strode over to the jukebox. He wasn't in the mood to listen but looking at the listings gave him something to do while waiting for his food. He glanced around. It was still early so the place was empty except for the bartender. He browsed through the selections on the jukebox and found the typical mix of Metal, Country and Western and the occasional overplayed oldie. After a few minutes the bartender called him back to his burger.
As he sat at the bar eating, three locals entered and took seats at the opposite end from him. They were big and ugly and were dressed in filthy jeans and flannel shirts. He got a whiff of their scents; pretty rank. The three were easily discernible from one another but there was a fourth scent emanating from two of them. They spoke in hushed whispers and while he didn't make a habit of eavesdropping on people's private conversations his keen hearing couldn't help but pick up what they were saying in the silence of the empty bar.
"I'm telling you, Jack, I thought we wuz gonna have us some fun last night with that little gal," said one. "Turns out she was a little mutie bitch!"
"You're kiddin', Earl? A real mutie"
Logan's ears pricked up at the hateful word. He continued to listen to the local brain trust as he surreptitiously watched them through slitted lids.
The one called Earl gestured to his friend, "Yeah, Phil here was just about to get him some of that fine ass and she shocked him somehow. He passed out cold for close to five minutes!" Phil nodded in silent agreement
"Get outta town!" Jack exclaimed, "I ain't never seen a real live mutie! What did she look like?"
Earl continued, "You'd never know she was a mutie to look at her." He licked his lips. "She sure was fine with all that reddish hair and all. Never woulda suspected a thing 'til her eyes went all silver! Phil was still out cold when she took off runnin'."
Jack's eyes widened. "So what did you do?"
"Well, you know there's that there fella. . . Winthorp or whatever, who's offering a bounty for every mutie you turn in, dead or alive. So I got Phil here to his feet, grabbed my shotgun outta the truck and we went after her. Chased her for close to an hour, we did, 'til she disappeared into the marsh. No way am I going into that marsh in the middle of the night! I got a coupla shots off too. Think I winged her. She's prolly dead by now, either drowned in a bog, disappeared into quicksand, maybe even snake bit!" he said triumphantly.
"But how you gonna collect the bounty?"
Earl glowered, "Well, yeah. We're out the bounty but that little gal's motorbike is out back and I figure we can sell that for something!"
"I dunno, Earl. It looks kinda old to me. Prolly not worth much," Jack said.
Phil shook his head and finally spoke, "Nah, that there is a classic. I'll bet it's worth somethin'."
Logan's temper got worse and worse as he listened to the three talk. Everything about them disgusted him from their filth to their bigotry to their careless regard for another person's life. He got control with difficulty, calmly wiped his mouth with a napkin and finished the last of his beer. He threw a $20 bill on the bar for his drink and dinner and gestured for the bartender.
"Listen, which direction is the marsh?"
The bartender looked at him oddly, "About two miles east of town then you head north into the woods. You'll smell it."
Logan grunted his thanks, "Keep the change, pal."
"Listen, mister, if you're interested in hunting or something the marsh-"
Logan never heard the end of the sentence. He'd strode out the door and hopped on the bike. Now here he was an hour later in a driving Spring rainstorm tracking the fourth scent he smelled on the yokels in the bar. His boots were soaked, his hair was soaked, his jeans were soaked. He swore again. The rain was making it difficult for even his superior sense of smell to follow the trail. The difficulty was compounded by the fact that she obviously didn't know where the hell she was going and her trail meandered in all kinds of crazy directions and even doubled back on itself at times.
Just then he spied a piece of pink fabric hanging from the branch of bush. He picked it up and sniffed it. The scent was strong and he guessed she'd passed this way as recently as an hour ago. He quickened his pace, his enthusiasm renewed by the fact that he now knew there was a good chance she was still alive.
A half hour later the rain had slackened off a bit and her scent was coming through to him strongly. It was then the sounds of someone blundering thorough the brush reached his ears and he knew he'd finally zeroed in on his target. He estimated she was about a half mile ahead of him. He silently crept forward until he came to the edge of a small clearing. He didn't want to spook the girl so he paused in the bushes.
She was leaning against a tree with her eyes closed. She was obviously exhausted and was panting trying to catch her breath. Her clothing was soaked and her hair hung down her back in a tangled mess. Fortunately she was wearing jeans, sturdy engineer boots and a leather MC jacket so her skin had been well protected but her face and hands were covered with scratches and cuts from snagging bushes as well as bites from the insects that lived in the marsh. Her flimsy cotton t-shirt was torn in several places, and he saw that this is where the fabric he'd found had come from.
He slowly made his way into the clearing opposite where she was standing.
"Hey," he said very quietly. Her eyes flew open and a look of panic crossed her face. "Don't worry, I ain't gonna hurt ya," he hurriedly told her. She froze for a brief second and then took off in the opposite direction. He didn't pursue because he didn't want to frighten her any more than she already was.
Before she'd made it ten feet she tripped on large root and fell face forward, hit her head on a rock and lay motionless.
He sighed. ~Great now I've got a dead weight to carry~.
He walked over and lifted her up under her arms and legs, cradling her against his chest. Luckily she was pretty petite and couldn't have weighed more than a 100 pounds or so, so she wasn't too difficult to carry. He wrinkled his nose as he got a whiff of her clothing. She must have fallen waist deep into a stagnant pool because her boots and jeans were flecked with little pieces of algae and she reeked of decaying vegetation.
He struck off in the direction where he'd hidden his bike. He'd hoped to make it back before nightfall since he was taking a more direct route back than the way they'd both come but his optimism was rapidly fading. The overcast sky combined with the waning sunlight was causing it to be fairly dark under the forest canopy already. If worse came to worst he'd have to pull out the tarp he carried in his backpack and rig up some kind of rough shelter. It didn't look like the rain would be ending anytime soon either. As if on cue, the rain started pouring down with a vengeance once again. He rolled his eyes.
He was trudging along wearily wondering when this long day was going to end when he came upon something that actually made him want to jump up and down with joy; an old trapper's cabin stood right in his path! It was ramshackle and obviously hadn't been used in years but it was dry and with any luck he'd be able to start a fire.
He kicked the door open and his eyes swept the dim interior. In one corner was a crude, wood frame bed with a straw pallet covered by a dusty blanket. In the center of the room was a rickety table and chair. There was a wood burning stove and dry sink with a water pump. One corner of the roof had fallen in and the place was full of dust and fallen leaves and piles of dried animal droppings in the corners indicated it had been used as a refuge by smaller rodents but at this point it looked like heaven to him.
He strode over to the bed, pulled off the blanket and turned it over so the cleaner side was on top and laid the girl down. He grimaced in distaste; she smelled even worse now that she was indoors and he knew he'd have no choice but to strip her clothes off and wash her and them.
Lighting a kerosene lamp that was sitting on the table he pulled his mess kit out of his pack and unpacked it. There was a bucket next to the dry sink and after a few priming strokes of the pump he was rewarded with a rush of water. A pile of dry firewood sat next to the stove and he lit a bunch of kindling with his lighter and added a log. Filling the pot from his kit with water from the bucket he placed it on the stove.
As the water heated he started pulling items from his pack searching for his soap and washcloth. When he traveled he generally slept at small motels or cabins likes the ones back in the nearby town but he was always prepared if he had to sleep rough and he breathed a silent sigh of relief for whatever hidden Boy Scout existed somewhere inside of him.
Once he'd found all the items he wanted he turned reluctant attention to his still unconscious companion. He knew she wouldn't be happy when she when she awoke and found out he'd undressed and washed her but as she dried out her smell was getting worse and he was on the verge of retching from it.
He pulled off her engineer boots and pulled her sopping socks from her feet. A low whistle escaped his lips when he caught a glimpse of her ankle. She must have twisted it when she tripped on the root. It was the size of a softball and dark purple. He poked it gingerly and she stirred a little at the pain. He sniffed. There was a lot of blood under the skin but not enough to indicate a fracture. He figured she'd just severely torn the ligaments.
His gaze fell on the knot on her forehead where her head had hit the rock and shook his head. ~This dame is severely uncoordinated~ he mused. He tore a strip off one of his towels, dipped it into the cold water in the bucket and placed it gently on the goose egg.
By now the water was boiling on the stove so he brought the pot over to the bed along with the soap and cloth. It was difficult getting her jeans off since the wet denim adhered tenaciously to her clammy skin. He simply ripped off the t-shirt since it had seriously seen better days. He stood up and looked down at the woman on the bed who was now in her skivvies. His eyes wandered appreciatively over her curves before he came back to himself. ~Geez, Logan, get a grip. This isn't the time or the place.~ Unfortunately (or maybe that was fortunately) he came to the conclusion that the underwear had to go as well.
He dipped the washcloth and soap into the warm water from the stove and began to gently scrub all her limbs. His strokes slowed as he began his inspection of her again. Her hair was a light color that was impossible to discern in the dimness of the cabin and underneath the filth caked in it. She was small boned and had full round breasts, a tiny waist, and voluptuous hips. Her face was a delicate heart shape with high cheekbones and sooty black lashes that quivered gently against her cheeks framing her eyes, which tilted up slightly at the corners. He tilted his head and idly wondered what color they were. ~Get a grip, asshole; she's just a frail, another stray, mutant frail. Nothing to get all hot and bothered about.~
He finished the sponge bath and dressed her in a pair of his sweats and one of his white t-shirts. He noticed with a growing disgust that the clothing didn't really cover her up so much as enhance what she had. The way the well-worn cotton of his t-shirt clung to her breasts was especially enticing. After rinsing out her old t-shirt he tore it into strips to bind her swollen ankle and then set about combing the snarls and tangles out of her shoulder length hair. When he was done he unrolled his sleeping bag and gently placed her in it on the bed.
He went to stoke the fire in the stove and then curled up exhausted on the floor with his jacket as a pillow. He was asleep in seconds.
Logan slept well into the morning but even so he was up way before her the next day. He was standing at the wood stove cooking oatmeal and boiling water for instant coffee when he heard the sounds of the bed creaking and soft moans as she sat up.
He turned to find her holding her head.
"Ooooh," she groaned, "I feel like I've been on a two week bender." She swallowed convulsively against the nausea she was feeling.
"You bumped your head on a rock," Logan told her matter of factly. "You've also got a pretty bad sprained ankle."
She gingerly turned her head towards him and her eyes widened as she recognized him from the day before.
"You shoulda listened to me and not run. I still ain't gonna hurt ya. What's yer name, darlin'?"
"C-corinna," she stammered out.
"I'm Logan."
"How did I get here?"
"Let's just say I heard an interesting conversation between a big pinhead named Earl and his friends Phil and Jack. Figgered you might need a little help getting out of the marsh. Judging from the route you took to get to where I found ya, you haven't spent much time in the woods before and the woods happen to be a specialty of mine."
She looked down at herself, a mild sense of horror dawning on her. "Umm, where are my clothes?"
He turned back to stirring the oatmeal so he wouldn't have to meet her questioning eyes, "You stunk so I washed you and changed yer clothes. Washed 'em out for ya too."
"Oh," she said flatly. She began to swing her legs over the edge of the bed but he turned to stop her.
"Wouldn't be puttin' too much weight on that ankle for the next few days, darlin'. It's gonna hurt like a bitch."
She looked down at the pink, makeshift bandage around her ankle.
"I made ya some breakfast. Oatmeal is all I have in the pack but it'll hold ya over. Got some coffee too. No milk or sugar, though."
He pushed the lone chair over in front of her and placed the metal bowl and cup from his mess kit down, then hunkered down in front of her and started spooning his own oatmeal out of the pot. After a moment's hesitation she too began to eat.
He took the opportunity to observe her. Her skin was fair, almost translucent and she had a light sprinkling of freckles across her nose and cheeks. He guessed her hair was strawberry blonde but he couldn't tell. He'd brushed all the caked mud and twigs out of it but it hadn't helped much. Her eyes, he could now see were a light gray, almost silver. He wondered if that was what the townies had been talking about when they'd talked about her "silver" eyes.
Corinna peered back at him through lowered lashes. He was staring at her rather rudely and she figured turnabout was fair play. He was tall and rangy but he moved with an animal grace. The hair on his head was thick and dark and was slicked back into odd little points over his ears. Thick eyebrows framed his strong, handsome face and he wore mutton chop side burns. Her eyes brushed over his full lips pausing for a brief second. He was naked to the waist and she could see his well-muscled biceps and the thick mat of silky hair that covered his chest and ran all the way down to disappear into the waistband of his jeans. He cleared his throat. Her eyes flew up to meet his and she blushed as she realized she'd been staring below his waist.
They finished eating in silence and Logan began cleaning up the dishes.
"Why?"
Her turned to look at her. "What do you mean, 'why?'"
"Why are you helping me? If you heard those jerks talking you know what I am."
He stared at her for a long moment and raised his right hand. Without taking his eyes off hers he popped one set of claws and watched as her eyes moved to them and then back to his face and realization dawned. They were two of a kind. Nothing more needed to be said.
Turning back to the dishes he asked her, "What do you know about this guy who's offering a bounty on mutants?"
"Not much. I've only been in the area a couple of days. I've heard some talk but only that he's some rich kook who's offering five grand a head for any mutant brought in dead or alive." She shuddered and stared out the cabin's filthy window.
"You okay, darlin'?"
Inexplicably the endearment thrilled her. "Oh, I was just thinking about how they were going to rape me and more than likely turn me in for the bounty. I hurt the quiet one and ran like hell out of there. I knew I was running for my life. All I could think of was getting away. Just my luck to wind up lost in a swamp but at least I lost them. Thank goodness you came along when you did. Night before last I slept in a tree!"
Logan chuckled at the mental picture, "Afraid of snakes, are ya?"
"Well, not on the Discovery Channel but I sure as hell am when they're slithering over my boots in a pitch black swamp!"
He'd finished cleaning up and was repacking his backpack. "I hung your clothes outside on a tree limb to dry," he told her. "I'll get 'em for ya.
"Thanks, Logan. Umm, would you mind helping me get back to town so I can get my bike?" she called out the door.
He appeared scowling with her clothes bunched in his hands. He threw them next to her on the bed and sat down in the chair leaning forward to look into her eyes.
"I don't think that would be such a good idea, darlin'. I think you and I need to get out of here and away from these bounty-crazed, mutant-hating townies. There's a place I know, a school, where mutants are safe. I think I should take you there as quickly as possible."
"No. Listen, first of all, I'm not leaving my bike. It's the only thing I own and I'm not giving it up. Second, I've been on my own a long time and I've done pretty well for myself and I don't really think I need you to take me anywhere. If you won't help me get my bike back I'll do it on my own. Just leave me here and I'll leave when my ankle is better."
He laughed ruefully, "You'll never find your way out of the woods." He tried again and again to talk her out of her plan to go back to town but she was adamant. He sighed as he realized she truly meant it and that he couldn't let her do it. She'd get herself killed or worse! He had no choice but to go back with her. Maybe if he helped her get her bike he'd be able to convince her to go back to Xavier's.
He was feeling it was about time for him to go back as well. For months he'd been running across Canada trying to chase down the elusive promise of truth afforded by the knowledge of the existence of the Alkali Lake complex. He'd been to visit the abandoned base and found nothing more than weeds and dust and a vague, familiar sense of foreboding. His nightmares, which had eased in number and severity with the help of Professor Xavier, had returned much more vividly than ever that night and for several nights thereafter and he was able to hear someone speak a name, "Hines," and the words "Weapon X."
He'd promptly called the professor who'd set to work trying to get information from his government sources to no avail. He fed Logan any scrap of information the computers had held regarding anyone named "Hines" who lived in Canada and worked at one time or another for the government but those leads had proved worthless. Then, during one of his calls back to the mansion Rogue had picked up the phone and while she was catching him up, let it slip that Dr. Jean Grey and Scott Summers had set the date and were officially tying the knot. He'd stayed away that much longer.
But he was tired of running. Running when you had no place to go was one thing. Running when you finally had a home and people who made it clear you were always welcome was another. Now this mysterious mutant girl seemed as good an excuse as any to get his tail back to Westchester and to the few people in the world that actually cared about him. Besides Rogue had been pestering him big time about it during his last few phone calls back to the mansion.
"I'll make you a deal," he told her. "I'll help you get your bike back if you'll go back to New York with me."
He saw her eyes narrow as she considered his proposal then she gave a curt nod to indicate she agreed. "Why not, I guess New York is as good as anyplace else I've been. Besides, I haven't been there in years," she muttered as an afterthought.
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