wow, that was really, really good, i can't wait to read more, this is one of the best, after the movie, fanfic yet. I mean, I really, really like this, your characterization of wolvie (the mov version) is dead on. -

dafnap ()

Aww... Its sweet, a really good story! :) -

Krissy ()

that was a beautiful story you are such a good writer i was hoping someone would write a story about logan that didnt involve the love triangle or jubliee -kkep writing your so good!!! -

gillies (dx_)

***
nice! i was looking forward to fanfics with the movie x-men in it.... and my wish came true! only prob thought - rouge is spelt rogue... ;-)
other than that a very cool fic, short n sweet -

lackey_mac

A great story. I loved it read it!!!!!! -

====================================================================
Loneliness
by Vega

***

Logan could smell it as soon as he walked out into the yard.

A new scent, an unfamiliar odour... a new student.

He turned to glance over his shoulder, curious and cautious of the untested, untrusted person. There she stood, against the wall of the school, her back against the reddish bricks, her shape nestled in ivy.

She wore a look of detachment on her smooth youthful face, eyes closed and uncaring. No. Logan reconsidered his assessment. Not uncaring just... uninterested. Her reddish mop of hair was pulled back off of her creamy pale face with what appeared to be a battered strip of leather, her short bangs falling all over, framing her face as the hair that was too short to be held back in the stubby ponytail feathered around her head.

*Hmm... out of the way should she need to fight,* was Logan's approving judgement.

Her arms were crossed over her chest. Not arrogantly, not because she was shy... just, it seemed, because it was comfortable. For the same reason, her booted heel was hooked into a particularly thick tangle of vegetation.

Her boots themselves, a scuffed and well-worn black leather, laced up to the midpoint of her calf... as for the rest of the clothing, it seemed as if she had nabbed a set of off-duty grey-green army fatigues. The grey-green shirt was left unbuttoned and loose over a tight black T-shirt and the cargo-style pants were tucked into the top of her worn boots.

Logan turned himself fully in her direction as she opened her startlingly blue eyes and her sweeping sapphire gaze veered away from him, and he swallowed, considering her attire. She probably DID steal the clothing from an army institute.

She had probably just escaped a secret mutant experimentation lab... just as he had escaped from one himself, sixteen years earlier.

Officially, experimentation on mutants - especially unwilling ones - was illegal. Unofficially, though... Logan refused to finish the thought, and so did not. He had seen enough at Alkaline Lake in Canada to give him nightmares for the rest of his life, and would have, too... if he wasn't already plagued with nightmares of hazy memories from his time spent there, not visiting, but in the tank.

Self-consciously, Logan flexed a fist in his denim pocket, then removed his hands and brushed his fingers over his hands.

Adamantium.

Fuck. They hurt. Every goddamned time he made the three-inch retractable metal claws extend, it hurt like nobody's business. But he never told anyone, never complained... because it WASN'T anyone's business.

His healing factor took care of the pain as soon as it erupted in his enraged nerve-endings, and just as quickly sealed up the slashes in his skin as soon as the claws were gone. Those claws were the only visible signs that he was a mutant.

Once again, he turned his shielded hazel eyes to the new comer.

Like himself, there was no physical sign that proclaimed her changed nature. But that was the way with nearly all mutants. Some, like Mystique and Toad were obviously not normal humans, and any casual observer would note that. But others, like himself and his fellow X-Men, were perfectly normal... until you pissed them off.

He allowed himself a small chuckle when he remembered that there was one X-Man who had tell tale signs of mutation... that dick, Scott Summers. *Damn, but one-eye has a problem with public places.*

Logan allowed his curiosity to take over for a small bout, and decided to introduce himself to the new student... after all, she might end up in his self-defence class.

He scoffed at himself... how on Earth had Wheels suckered him into teaching self defence? He hadn't planned on becoming an X-Man, let alone a teacher, but some how Professor Xavier had got him to do it.

But Logan supposed he owed the Professor a favour, after all that crap with Magneto and the hidden Alkaline Lake base. Yes, Logan had returned to the school to return Professor Xavier's favour. And secretly, he sorta liked the place. After all, it was one of the very, very few places on Earth that a mutant could feel safe, and useful.

And Logan liked feeling useful.

Also, there was that whole bit with Rogue.

He really admired the girl. He knew she was completely infatuated with him - puppy love. He was secretly flattered. No one had ever really fallen head over heels for him before, and he'd never, not even in his rare pleasant dreams, allowed himself to believe that anyone would. But Rogue had, and it was one Hell of an ego boost.

As for his own feelings regarding the young girl, well... he was at least twice her age, if not more. She was pleasant, and nice to be around, and generally polite... but there was just something inside him that wouldn't let him drop the defensive barrier he had erected around his soul over the past sixteen years, that wouldn't allow him to let anyone through.

For a split second, his memories resurfaced. He saw a woman, a beautiful woman, and she was half naked, and half covered with a cheap flannel duvet. It was a hotel room. They were making love. He had brought her there from the bar. He wrapped himself around her. She was so warm, so beautiful, so fucking ALIVE. And for that split second of ecstasy, Logan was alive too. But then suddenly she was cold. His skin goose bumped as he opened his eyes and stared at his hands.

Blood.

It that final passionate moment, something had happened, and somehow he had killed her. He stared at the backs of his hands. Spikes. Three long metal spikes protruded painfully from between his knuckles. And Logan screamed. He screamed in pain, in fear, in the horror of what he had done. He searched his mind in panic stricken urgency, and realized with a shiver of terror, that he did not remember how he had come to have these claws inside his hands. He did not remember how he got to the bar that night... he did not remember anything before the now-dead woman's flirtatious smile in his direction hours earlier.

He did not remember anything... except a name.

Logan.

His name.

Logan shook himself out of the reverie, his palms sweaty and his heart-rate increased, but otherwise physically normal. No one, if they had been watching him, would have seen his emotional distress.

Good. It was good that no one saw him in a position portraying weakness.

If they did, they could take advantage of it.

He forced the memories of that first horrible night away, and focussed once more on the strange, new young mutant. Half of her face was still hidden from view by her profile, and Logan wondered curiously as he approached her if perhaps there was something there that proclaimed her mutant status.

When he got closer, he realized he was right.

From the left, her entire body looked normal in every sense of the word, but should one catch sight of the right side of her face...

Cold steel glinted in the midday sun, perfectly moulded to her delicate features. It seemed almost a part of her skin, save for the fact that it was raised a few millimetres. The top rounded edge of the mask traced her eyebrow, only just covering it, while the outsides skirted her temple and sideburns, then touched the lobe of her ear, blended in with the line of her cheekbones, and covered the left side of her nose.

It seemed to melt into a darker silver around her right eye, no skin visible whatsoever as the metal simply seemed to become flexible and sprout copper eyelashes. The eye, though. The eye itself was a deep red. The same lurid colour one imagines blood-wine to be. The whole eye was this strange pigment, no pupils, no irises, no whites. Just pure crimson that glowed faintly.

The entire picture left him with a vision of the Phantom of the Opera, and the publicity pictures he had seen while strolling Younge Street in Toronto.

With a sickened heart, he wondered if she had been born this way, or if it had been done to her in the government facility she appeared to have escaped from.

The girl looked up at Logan with faint disinterest when he finally came close, and the muscles in her face didn't even twitch.

She was not afraid of him.

Logan respected that.

It soon became obvious, after a short pause, that she wasn't going to speak first, so Logan forced himself to.
"Logan." He said, sticking out a paw. The girl looked at it, her one visible eyebrow arching delicately before looking up into his face, not having removed her hand from it's position, tucked into the crook between her elbow and chest.

"Nice name." she commented smoothly. No sarcasm, no apprehension, no blandness, no emotion whatsoever. A simple, truthful statement made in a deeply resonant voice that seemed, to Logan, to match the silver quality of the right side of her face.

"You got one?" Logan grunted, a little annoyed at her appraising gaze as he dropped his outstretched hand back into his pocket. *God damn, but those eyes are intense.*

"Perhaps." the young lady mused, the one corner of her unpainted lips pulling up for a brief millisecond before flattening again. "Must I have one?"

Logan sighed mentally. If this was another emotionless dick like Scott, he'd stab himself in the gut. Not that it'd be permanent. "Most folks do."

"I used to." the girl sighed, then unfolded her arms to dig briefly beneath her shirt before pulling out a small chain. On the flat pendant the number ‘‘128' was etched. "This is what it was."

Logan shuddered mentally, sorry that he'd been right in his assumption that she was a lab-escapee, for her sake.

"I don't like it."

"Yeah," Logan muttered, offering her a glance of his own dog-tag, surprised by his actions. It wasn't often he shared information about his past, and even rarer that he did so with a complete stranger. But there was something between himself and this girl that made him want to share. It was something that not one other person in the school would ever understand. It was shared circumstances. He felt he could open up to this girl because she alone could understand exactly what he had been through, because she had been through it herself. And she, too, Logan realized, needed the same sympathy. She wore the blank expression for a reason. "Been there, done that."

The girl studied the tag briefly. " ‘‘Wolverine'. You didn't choose it."

"No."

There was a pause as Logan tucked the necklace back under his denim jacket. Then the girl, who had resumed her former position, asked, "When did you get out?"

"Sixteen years ago." Logan admitted reluctantly. "You?"

"Two."

There was another pause. Logan sensed that the youth wanted to say more, but stifled it. Logan, after a few minutes, pointed casually at the mask and asked, "They do that?"

His only answer was a brief nod.

"They did this." he responded, and grimaced as he commanded one of the three spikes on his left hand to extend slowly, inches from her expressionless face. "That's where I got the name, I guess."

The girl merely nodded again. Logan began to find the pauses irritating. He was trying, dammit! Just like the Professor had told him, he was trying to get through to a student, but the damned girl wasn't trying herself. He was admitting his mutations, and showing her there was nothing to be ashamed of... so why the Hell was she being so fucking quiet? Wasn't this the part where the kid was supposed to start crying, or bonding, or some other crap?

Logan sighed, retracting the claw. He must have read that goddamned memo on sensitivity wrong.

"You just get here today?" he questioned, trying one last time. She nodded again, her gaze turned away from his. "Xavier's cop pal bring you by?" Again, a nod, but no vocal response. "Listen, kid," Logan growled, "You don't want me prying, tell me to get lost, or something, and I will, okay?"

Suddenly the shimmering eyes of the young girl were turned back to his, and Logan was startled to find them brimming with tears. She opened her mouth and licked her lips dryly. "I don't know what to say," she whispered, her voice dropping so low that Logan could barely pick it up, the quicksilver quality of the timbre harshening with the forced hush. "I don't want to be alone... but I've forgotten how to be anything SAVE for alone."

Logan, despite what his instincts told him, pulled her close and wrapped a comforting arm around her shoulders. He knew how much Rouge savoured the contact, even if it was through cloaks and gloves, and how much he himself tingled at the feel of another person nearby.

The life of a wandering mutant was a lonely one, and even a simple thing like the kind touch of another person became a luxury that was craved.

The girl accepted his comfort, but stepped away quickly.

Logan smiled secretly, triumphant in his quest. He had shown someone in this place that being a mutant wasn't as evil as others would have one believe, and he was proud at his accomplishment.

He copied the girl's pose, so both now lent against the brick wall, arms crossed and heel up, and smiled.

Not only was he proud of himself for keeping his temper in check long enough to converse with this girl, and offer her comfort, he himself was touched in a way he couldn't explain.

It sorta felt like what he experienced when he thought of Scoot and Ororo and Jean, only.... stronger. He wasn't sure, but he thought he had just made a new friend.

"So, kid, if yer not liking ‘‘128', what the heck ‘‘m I apossed to call you...?"

The young lady touched the mask gingerly with trembling fingertips. Her face returned to the emotionless mask it once was, but her shivering hands gave away her joy at simply being with another who meant her no harm. "I don't know." she sighed, the silver returning to her voice.

"Didn't you have a name before 128?" Logan wondered.
"No... not that..." she hesitated a moment, "Not that I can remember."

Logan merely nodded, his turn to be silent. During that silence the dinner bell rang, and the other mutant children left the yard to go and eat. Rouge paused briefly when she spotted Logan and he wiggled his eyebrows in her direction. She smiled, waved, and went into the mansion, clinging to her friend Bobby.

Logan was contented to see her with Bobby. The ice-brat liked her.

She was his age... he knew what it felt like to be a teenage mutant. Logan did not. He did not remember his own youth.

Beside him, the new girl frowned briefly. "Where are we being taken?"

"Taken?" Logan breathed, stunned, "No where. It's time to eat, and I'm starvin', darlin'. They got some good grub, here. Bet it's a thousand times better than what they served in the place you came from." He smiled over his shoulder and, with a flick of his wrist, invited her to follow him in.

She did so reluctantly, and was immediately accosted by Rogue, who wrapped her gloved arms around one of hers. "Hey, you! What are you doing hanging around with this sourpuss, when there's better company around here?" she drawled as the girl's face exploded into shock. "Like me!"

Logan allowed her to be led away, and she glanced back at him furtively. He saw the flashes of memories under her vivid eyes. He could imagine the silent horrors she was enduring, the terrifying memories of being dragged away through similar hallways to unfamiliar destinations. He gave her a look that said to trust Rogue.

She needed to learn to trust people. Rogue was as good a person to begin with as any.

"Logan." a slightly accented female voice said behind him, and the man forced himself to keep from whirling on her, from jumping in anticipation of a battle, from throwing his claws out in self defence.

He was getting good at it.

"Storm." he grunted with a slight nod of his head, and turned.

The dark-skinned woman smiled warmly. "I saw you with ... with 128. How is she adjusting?"

Logan frowned. "Don't call her that." he snapped, unsure why he was leaping to her defence. But he knew he hated being called ‘‘Wolverine'. It was a name bestowed upon by his captors, and it was not who he was. He could only guess that the girl felt the same way.

"What shall I call her then?" Storm asked, a little put out. "She hasn't chosen a name for herself yet."

"She will, eventually. Like Rouge, she'll know."

"Of course." Ororo sighed, and went into the dining hall, her white hair streaming behind her.

Logan leered lewdly at her swivelling hips for a short moment, then pulled his head together and followed behind her.
On the far side of the hall, he could see Rouge and the girl sitting, the new girl glancing about nervously as Bobby and Rouge erupted into some silly new pop song. They invited the girl to join them, but she declined furiously.

Logan began to wonder why she would refuse to sing. Not like he wouldn't refuse himself. Utter useless nonsense. But for a teenager to refuse, and vehemently as she was... It didn't seem right...

The thoughts, however, were put aside to pondered later as the food arrived.

***

Hours later, Jean crept into Logan's room with a quick and quiet rap on his door. The man sat up in bed, half naked. "You get sick of One-Eye, darlin'?"

Jean frowned at him meaningfully and he shrugged, then sat up all the way.

"What is it then?" He questioned, scratching his head, wondering idly why that damned bed-head look of his only went away when he was IN bed.

"128." she said. "I ... we can't make her come back inside. Professor Xavier's getting worried."

"So what's that gotta do wit me?" Logan rumbled, sliding back under the covers. "The kid's been cooped up for as long as she can remember. If she don't wanna go to bed, she don't."

"It.. It's not that."

Logan sat up again, ill at ease. "Then what is it?"

"She's gotten onto the roof somehow." Jean rubbed her arms nervously. "We haven't had a chance to analyse her abilities. If she were to fall, she might not..." she gestured vaguely, and the meaning was clear.

Logan sighed, slipping out of bed and pulling on a sweat top to go with his cotton pants. "So you want me to go up there and sweet talk the jumper from the ledge? Why me? Storm can fly."

"Storm's rather...dramatic sense of style might frighten her..." Jean explained as the two of them padded down the hallway, Logan barefoot. "And besides, she knows you."

***

"You plannin' on jumpin'?" Logan asked as he hunkered down on the highest part of the roof beside the young mutant girl, having used his calws to scale the ivy.

She did not turn to face him, merely sat still, her knees tucked up under her chin, and her arms wrapped around her calves. She wore, instead of the green army fatigues, a black outfit vaguely resembling a tuxedo. Logan wracked his brain, and realized where he recognized it from.

It belonged to Rouge.

Not anymore, apparently. Oh, well, Rouge always was the generous sort. Besides, the flowing silk of the cloak suited the girl, giving her an air of mystery.

"No." she whispered in response to his question, the moonlight glinting off the highly polished mask.

"Good." Logan grunted and settled, batting at the flag that persisted in waving in his face. He was about to slash it, but decided against it. Xavier would kill em.

There was a comfortable pause before Logan followed her sapphire and ruby gaze to the moon. "Purdy, ain't it?"

The girl sighed. A musical sound. "Yes..."

"You didn't see it much?"

"Very rarely." She smiled genuinely for the first time since her arrival. "It... does things to me that they didn't like."

"Does things?" Logan questioned, extending a claw idly and scratching the small of his back with it.

"Yes.... like this." She lifted her palm to the star-sewn sky and a blue-purple light surrounded her hand, collecting in the night-cooled air above it in a glittery sphere.

"Ah." Logan grunted. There was a pause as the energy dissipated slowly, and once more he broke it.

"You got a name, yet? Or are sticking with 128?" She grimaced. "No, huh? Well, then?"

"I think... I think..." she paused, then turned to him, mismatched eyes glittering, "I was thinking of..."

"Well?" Logan grunted, annoyed with the pauses.

She looked away, a blush staining her visible cheek. "Phantom."

Logan stared at her for a few moments, then laughed outright. "Storm!" he wheezed between guffaws, "Cyclops, Wheels... Magneto, Toad, Sabertooth!" The girl's only visible eyebrow pulled down in confusion, as he exclaimed - through a fit of laughter - "Phantom! What is it with Mutants and stupid names?!"

Phantom glared. "You tell me, Wolverine."

That made him pause. "Don't call me that."

"Then call me Phantom."

Yet another pause surrounded the roof-top.

"Why Phantom?"

"Pardon?"

"Why'd you choose ‘‘Phantom'?"
Once again, she turned her odd eyes to the moon. "I sing."

Logan recalled the scene in the dining room, and chose not to comment.

Phantom closed her eyes and began to sing. Logan was stricken breathless. Enchantment began to weave around him in visible streams of blue and purple. He closed his eyes after his initial attack of panic, allowing Phantom to learn that he trusted her.

She need desperately to trust someone.

The magic was enchanting. Logan felt himself feel things he'd never felt before, joy, happiness... contentment that stretched into his very soul.

And then it was gone.

Logan shivered with the suddenly returned cold, noticing only then that the music had made the air warm.

"What...?" he ground out between clenched teeth. "What did you do?!"

Phantom cringed a little from his anger, covering her head with her hands, "I'm sorry!"

"Jesus, kid," Logan said, grabbing her shoulders. "I ain't gonna hitcha!"

Phantom shivered uncontrollably, and Logan groaned, then pulled her into an embrace. "I ain't gonna do nothin' to hurtcha."

"No?" she sniffled against his chest.

"No. Whatever those sick bastards did to you in that place, you ain't gonna get that here."

The silence came again, but this time it was comfortable.... and, for the first time, it was broken by Phantom.

Logan closed his eyes and allowed the quicksilver of her voice wash over him as closed his hazel eyes, feeling Xavier in his head, knowing that the Professor and the others were mollified with the results of this talk.

But right now, they were the furthest thing from his mind.

Phantom's voice washed into his soul and filled him with a sense of contentment that he'd never felt in all his sixteen years of remembered life.

And, for some odd reason, the young lady with the magical voice in his arms made Logan think that maybe, just maybe, he didn't have to be alone anymore...

END

Magdalena ()

Wonderful story Touching poinant and well versed. And excellent piece -

slipper

And, now! On with the Reading!

"Loneliness"
by Vega