Down to You: Part 1

by Agora

Picking Up the Pieces

Logan looked out the window of the mansion's garage, very much wishing that he was anywhere but here.  Everything was still too new, too recent, but someone had to be the one that picked up the pieces.  One-Eye sure wouldn¡¦t be able to by himself right now, and Logan had seen very little of the Professor in the week since their return to Westchester.  Since the repairs to Cerebro had been completed, the team leader had barely left the lower levels.  He seemed to be looking for something.

Besides, he had made another promise.  Even if it was one that he never got to verbalize¡¦  He was going to be the good guy.  The good guy stuck around, or so Jeannie had said.  Well, if that¡¦s what it took¡¦

Logan shrugged, turning his attention away from the window and back to the shop class that he had taken over from Scott after their return from Alkali Lake.  He scowled as his eyes rested on Marie¡¦s boyfriend, the Popsicle kid.  The kid¡¦s balls must be a solid block of ice.  He still couldn¡¦t believe that he had tried to freeze his hand when he had first returned¡¦  As though some snot-nosed eighteen-year-old little punk could really keep he or Marie away from each other if that¡¦s what they really wanted.

His thoughts had apparently taken a wrong turn at the last intersection, he considered, shaking them out of his head with a sharp twitch of his neck.  Iceboy just wanted what was best for Marie; he was willing to admit that.  And he wanted¡¦  Well, Logan had no clue what he wanted.  All bets were off.  Marie was still just a kid, and Jeannie was gone.  The only two women he could ever remember respecting, much less caring about.  Granted, his memory wasn¡¦t the most reliable thing in the world, but still¡¦

He looked up just in time to see the squirt with the green forked tongue toss a wrench across the room to the British boy with no face.  Wolverine snapped it from the air and glared at the young offender.  ¡¦This,¡¦ he glowered, ¡¦is not a ballfield.¡¦

He moved back towards his ¡¦desk¡¦, which was really just a table of the side of the garage, and directed his attention more fully back to the small group and the carburetors that they were attempting to rebuild.  Was it too late to go back to being the dangerous guy?

Routines

Months had passed, and Logan had settled into a routine of sorts.  He woke up.  He showered.  He ate breakfast.  He taught self-defense and combat training in the mornings.  He ate lunch.  He taught shop and survival skills classes in the afternoon.  He trained ¡¦both on his own and with the team.  He showered again.  He ate dinner.  He went down the street to one of the nearby dives.  He drank and tried to forget.

For a man with memory problems, he was sure having a hard time.

Logan was sitting on a bar stool, deeply concentrating on removing the label from his beer.  Sad, he thought, that this was what his life had come to.  A group walked through the door and he looked up, partly from conditioning and partly out of curiosity.  He had, like most evenings, invited Scooter to join him.  Like most evenings, thus far he had not.  He didn¡¦t invite him out of a need for camaraderie...  It was more pity, he figured, at least at first.  Since returning from Canada, the only times Scott had left his room were when he was teaching class, when he was in the Danger Room, or when Logan managed to cajole him out of the house. 

To be fair, Logan had actually grown to like the man.  He reminded him, in many ways, of himself.  He was quiet with his emotions, but felt them intensely nonetheless.  He kept up a strong fa¡¦de for the outside world.  And he went through the motions.

It had taken almost a full month for Scott to develop his own routine.  He now woke up.  He now showered, most days at least.  He drank coffee.  He taught math and physics in the morning.  He ate lunch, most days at least.  He taught strategy and equipment care in the afternoon.  Logan had to pause in his reverie and laugh at that ¡¦¡¦equipment care¡¦.  As near as he could tell, it was a fancy excuse to have the kids wash the cars.

Scott had returned to work outs, but so far had only gone through on his own.  He seemed to conveniently disappear every time there was a team session scheduled, and no one pressed the issue.  In the meantime, Ororo had taken on the lead position, which seemed to suit her.  Kurt had joined them, as well as a couple of the older kids, including Marie.  Logan wasn¡¦t really sure how he felt about that, but he had to admit she did fill out the leather uniform nicely these days.

At that thought, he motioned to the bartender for a shot.  The last thing he needed to be thinking of was Marie ¡¦or Rogue, as she insisted on being called these days ¡¦in her leather uniform.  His eyes narrowed as he recalled he wasn¡¦t the only one who had noticed.  Bobby trailing after her like a puppy dog was a given at this point, but that Cajun schmuck had begun mooning over her as well.

He reached to pick up his shot glass off of the bar and heard the squeak of the door hinges as it was pushed open again.  Looking over his shoulder, he confirmed visually what his nose had already told him ¡¦Summers had decided to show up after all.

¡¦Harry, make that two shots, please.  And bring the bottle.¡¦

Running From the Devil

Another day; another dollar.  Logan looked at his near-empty beer mug, trying to decide if he was ready to go home and attempt sleep.  Sleep was never restful for him.  As the years had passed, he had accumulated a fair share of demons, and they chose the night hours to haunt him.  His repertoire had expanded:  his nightmares now not only included his first trip to Alkali Lake ¡¦and the bonding process ¡¦but also the second ¡¦and losing Jeannie.  They included his ugly truth ¡¦that he had actually asked to have metal branded only his soul.  They included Marie ¡¦in every possible situation where he couldn¡¦t save her.  He watched her die over and over again.  He saw Jeannie disappear under the water over and over again.  He saw himself turning into a devil, over and over again.

Sum that all up, and it was time for another beer.

He was glad that Scott had declined to come tonight.  His thoughts had been revolving primarily around Jeannie all day, and it was hard to properly mope or mourn when you were sitting next to a guy who not only had more of a right to those same feelings but also might even try to kick your ass for having them.

Scott had actually been pretty good about the whole thing.  They had discussed it, after that day in the Professor¡¦s office, one time.  They had been up here, at Harry¡¦s, and had been drinking extensively.  And it all just came tumbling out.  How Scott met Jean.  What was running through Logan¡¦s mind the first time he saw her.  The moment Scott knew that he loved Jean.  The moment that Logan knew he really didn¡¦t, no matter how deeply he might care for her or be attracted to her.  The next day there had been understanding, and a sort of grudging mutual respect, but no words.  There hadn¡¦t been any on the topic since then.  There was no need.

The lack of words did not alleviate Logan¡¦s feelings, however, even if he was smart enough to know they weren¡¦t love.  He had idolized Jeannie, put her on a pedestal, and made her into something she really wasn¡¦t.  The day that Logan realized she wasn¡¦t that woman on high was the day that Logan realized he didn¡¦t love her...  Not the real Jeannie at least.  That didn¡¦t stop him from wanting her to be that person, however.  So he still had his ghost to dream of, and when he wasn¡¦t torturing himself with nightmares of killing people or dying or watching those he loved die, he tortured himself with dreams of her ¡¦the woman who never existed, whom he could never have.

He picked up his beer and took a long swallow, his stool pivoting to give him a good view of the women in the bar.  He made his selection, such as it was, and had the bartender bring her a drink.  The woman looked up over the glass of pink-colored wine on the tray in front of her and met his eyes.  Desire for someone he couldn¡¦t have flooded his gaze, and the woman took the look to be directed at her.  It was better than sitting alone, he conceded as he patted the stool next to him and watched her shake her ass as she moved across the bar to him.

It might not fix the problem, but it would keep the demons that haunted his sleep away a little while longer.

To be continued...