Fervent Feelings

X2 Chapter 8 - I'll Only Run & Hide

The kitchen is dimly lit, the warm illumination surrounding us, as Bobby and I sit at the island, sharing a tub of Baskin-Robbins. The pink plastic lid is carelessly tossed aside on the counter. The hum of the refrigerator and the clinking of our spoons against the cold, creamy ice cream are the only sounds that fill the space.
I take a moment to savor the sweetness, then glance at Bobby. "So, how are things going with Rogue?" I ask, licking my spoon clean.
Bobby hesitates, his expression faltering as he shrugs. "Good, I think... It's hard, not being able to touch her." His voice drops, tinged with sadness, as he stares at the melting ice cream. After a moment, he forces a small smile and refreezes the sweet treat. "She seems happy Logan is back."
I reach out, my voice gentle. "Hey—"
But before I can finish, Bobby's mood shifts, and he grins mischievously. "What's the deal with you and Freddy Krueger?" he teases, his grin widening.
"Who?" I furrow my brow, confused.
He chuckles, setting his spoon on the lid. "'The Wolverine'~" he says, mimicking air quotes with dramatic flair.
I laugh softly, rolling my eyes. "Don't you think that's a bit inappropriate to be asking your 'teacher' or 'counselor,' I guess?" I mimic his air quotes playfully.
He shakes his head, smirking as he grabs the spoon for another bite. "I don't really see you that way... When I came here three years ago, I saw you as one of us, someone who was alone, afraid of their powers."
"You're starting to sound like my brother," I scoff, trying to mask the warmth his words bring with a playful eye roll.
"Well, maybe that's because I see you as a sister." Bobby's smile is genuine now, his eyes softening.
I blink in surprise, my eyebrows shooting up. "Really?"
"Really," he chuckles, the sound light and sincere.
Before I can respond, a ripple of discomfort washes over me from down the hall, followed by the sound of footsteps echoing through the mansion. I lift my head, instinctively turning toward the doorway just as Logan appears, his presence instantly recognizable by the warmth he radiates.
Bobby barely acknowledges him, focused on his ice cream. "Hey," he offers nonchalantly.
Logan saunters in, his gaze sweeping the kitchen. "Doesn't anybody sleep around here?" he grumbles, making his way toward the fridge.
"Apparently not," Bobby hums, his amusement evident as he watches Logan open the fridge.
Logan rummages around for a moment. "You got any beer?" he asks, his tone gruff.
"This is a school," Bobby replies, grinning at the absurdity of the question.
"So that's a no?" Logan raises an eyebrow, his expression unamused.
"Yeah, that's a no," Bobby chuckles, shaking his head.
Logan closes the fridge, sighing in mild frustration. "Got anything other than chocolate milk?"
"Bold of you to assume," I quip, grinning at the interaction between the two.
Bobby points with his spoon toward a wooden cabinet. "There should be some soda in that small cupboard."
Logan strides over, grabbing a Dr. Pepper. He twists off the lid with ease, not bothering to use a bottle opener. As he steps closer to the island, he pauses, his gaze shifting between Bobby and the soda. He extends the bottle toward Bobby.
Without missing a beat, Bobby grabs the glass bottle, his breath misting over the beverage as he cools it with his powers. The drink frosts over instantly, and Bobby hands it back to Logan with a nod.
"Thanks," Logan murmurs in appreciation.
"No problem," Bobby replies, offering a tight-lipped smile.
Logan takes a seat on the other side of Bobby, the silence growing thick and uncomfortable as he sips his soda. "How long you been here?" he finally asks, breaking the tension.
"A couple of years..." Bobby answers, scraping at the ice cream, his tone subdued.
"And your parents just sent you off to mutant school?" Logan's question is blunt, catching Bobby off guard.
My eyes widen, and I shoot Logan a warning look. "Logan!" I chastise, sensing Bobby's discomfort.
"It's fine, Y/n," Bobby sighs, redirecting his attention to Logan. "Actually, my parents think this is a prep school."
Logan nods slowly, eyeing Bobby with a newfound curiosity. "Oh, I see. I suppose lots of prep schools have their own dorms, campuses—"
"Jets?" Bobby cuts in, his tone dry and almost sarcastic.
Logan smirks, tilting his head. "So, you and Rogue, huh?"
"Yeah... I mean, it's not what you think. I'd like it to be, but it's just..." Bobby trails off, unsure how to express his frustration.
Logan leans in slightly, his brow furrowed in curiosity. "It's just that it's not easy when you want to be closer to someone... but you can't."
The truth in Bobby's words lingers in the air, and I feel a pang of sympathy for him. This feels like guy talk... I stand up from my seat, tucking the stool back under the island counter. "I'll be right back. I'm gonna go check in on Jones." I squeeze Bobby's shoulder reassuringly and give Logan a nod before leaving the kitchen.
***
Bobby glances up at Logan again, his late-night dessert momentarily forgotten. "You know, I've seen how you look at Ms. Summers."
Logan freezes, tilting his head slightly as if he misheard. "Excuse me?"
Bobby shakes his head quickly, retreating into himself. "Nothing," he mutters, dismissing the topic.
***
I step quietly into the living room, hoping to find Jones asleep on the couch, but instead, the room is empty, the television on the nature channel still playing softly in the background. Something's not right. My heart skips a beat, a sense of unease creeping up my spine as I step further into the room. That's when I see it—a body lying unconscious on the floor. Jones- I look up quickly to find a group of men with guns sauntering slowly into another room, too focused to notice me.
A chill runs down my spine, and I rush back to the kitchen, my footsteps quick and silent. Logan is already on edge, out of his seat, his head whipping around as he senses something is amiss. He strides through a corridor, intent on investigating.
"Logan!" I whisper urgently, but he barely glances over his shoulder before continuing forward.
Bobby pushes himself up from his seat, following a new unfamiliar sound. The murmur of helicopters approaching fills the air, the whirring blades sending a jolt of alarm through me. Together, we move toward the window, peering out into the night as the tension tightens its grip around us.
"What's going on?" I whisper nervously, glancing at Bobby, even though I know he doesn't have the answers.
Before Bobby can respond, the sharp crack of a gunshot rings out, echoing through the room like a death knell. We whirl around, and my breath catches in my throat as I see Logan—his hulking form is a shadowy silhouette against the low light, his powerful arms locked around a man dressed head-to-toe in tactical gear. "You picked the wrong house, bub," Logan growls into the man's ear, his voice low and menacing. The soldier thrashes in his grip, trying to break free, but Logan's hold is unyielding.
A high-pitched, ear-splitting scream erupts from upstairs, and I feel a wave of fear wash over me, paralyzing me on the spot- Theresa. My heart pounds as I realize that these men have made it upstairs. The thought of what could happen next makes my body freeze in place.
Logan winces, his face contorted in pain as the sonic screams assault his heightened senses. The world explodes into chaos, as the soldier Logan holds captive squeezes tight on the trigger. Bobby yanks me down to the floor, and we huddle together as bullets tear through the air above us. They rip through walls, shatter windows, and embed themselves in the granite countertops. The sound of gunfire mixes with the sonic screams, creating a hellish cacophony that rattles my bones. I press my hands over my ears, desperate to block out the noise, but it's useless. Every fiber of my being is screaming in terror, overwhelmed by the sounds, the fear, the failure.
Then, just as suddenly as it began, the gunfire stops, the sound now replaced by grunts and thuds. The awful screaming finally stops, and Logan wrestles the soldier, the two of them locked in a brutal struggle. Cautiously, Bobby and I peek over the edge of the island, our eyes wide with horror and awe. Logan is a blur of motion, his face twisted in a snarl as he battles the soldier. The man manages to pin Logan against the counter, but with a furious roar, Logan unsheathes his claws. The sound is unmistakable—a sharp, metallic snikt—and in one fluid motion, he shoves the soldier into the fridge, then drives his claws deep into the man's chest.
The soldier's body goes limp, and Logan lets out a primal war cry as he yanks his claws free. The man collapses to the floor with a sickening thud, blood pooling around him. Logan stands there, chest heaving, his eyes wild as they dart over to us. "You two all right?" he asks, his voice ragged with exertion. We nod quickly, too shaken to speak.
Logan doesn't waste any time. He grabs us and pushes us toward the hallway, his hand firm on my back. "Stay here," he commands, his tone leaving no room for argument. We freeze, our eyes drawn to the sight of dozens of soldiers at the end of the corridor, their guns and flashlights luckily pointed down another hall.
My heart pounds in my chest as Logan charges toward them, extending the claws on his right hand, a force of nature bent on destruction. He cuts through the men with brutal efficiency, their bodies dropping to the ground as he moves. The sounds of their muffled cries and the clang of metal against flesh blend with the distant echoes of children crying, and it's enough to snap me out of my daze.
"Come on!" I mouth to Bobby, and we bolt for the elevator, knowing the stairs are swarming with more men.
We tumble into the elevator, the doors sliding shut with a soft ding. As we step out into the hallway, a figure crashes into us, nearly knocking me off my feet.
"John!" Bobby shouts, catching sight of the young mutant further down the hall. "Hey, where's Rogue?"
"I don't know!" John stammers, his eyes wide with fear, as he looks around. But Bobby is already running off in another direction. "Hey!" John clamors after him, giving chase.
"Boys, wait!" I yell, my voice strained with urgency, but they're already halfway down the hall. I have no choice but to follow.
We finally spot her, and Bobby calls out, "Rogue!"
She skids to a stop in front of us, breathless. "Bobby!" she gasps, "This way!" Rogue points behind her, and we all take off again, sprinting down the hallways. But as we round a corner, we come to a sudden halt. Two shadows loom in front of a window, which shatters into a fiery explosion. Glass shards rain down around us, and Rogue's scream pierces the air.
We change course, running back the way we came, desperation fueling our movements. The familiar halls of the mansion now feel like a twisted maze, every corner filled with danger.
Our footsteps echo as we sprint down the stairs, only to be met with a gruesome sight—collapsed soldiers and pools of blood staining the floor. I swallow hard, trying to block out the horror. "Come on!" I urge, forcing the kids to look away as we dash for the doors that lead to the entryway.
The doors burst open before we get the chance, and we're blinded by a plethora of tactical lights mounted on the barrels of guns. Four soldiers stand in our path, their weapons raised. But before they can react, a loud roar tears through the air. I look up toward the source of the animalistic cry to find Logan leaping from the upper railing, his claws gleaming in the darkness as he lands on two of the men with deadly precision, knocking them to the ground. His claws rip through them like butter, blood spraying across the floor. The remaining two don't stand a chance—he drives his claws up into their calves, spearing through them with brutal force, then flings them backward with a violent jerk. They fall off his claws midair as he rises to his feet, breathing hard.
Logan's claws retract with a metallic 'snikt', and he turns back to us. "Let's go," he orders, and we don't hesitate, scrambling after him.
We walk toward the entryway, a little hopeful about our potential escape, only for the front doors to break open to a set of floodlights paired with the deafening whir of helicopter blades. Logan glances over his shoulder at the four of us. "This way," he directs, motioning with a nod.
Bobby leads the charge, with Logan covering our rear. Our footsteps pound against the wooden floors until Bobby skids to a stop in front of a false wall. "This is it," he huffs, pressing against the etched wood. The wall opens with a hiss, retracting upwards, and we all scramble inside. Logan yanks the panel closed behind him before any of us can object.
"Logan!" Rogue's voice trembles with worry, as Logan is cut off from our view.
"You want to shoot me? Shoot me!" Logan's voice is a harsh challenge, echoing through the wall.
But then, a voice counters, "Don't shoot him!" There's a tense silence that follows, one that makes my skin crawl.
I strain to hear anything, so instead, I choose to feel it—Logan's presence, once a storm of rage and bloodlust, now shifting into confusion and something resembling recognition. A calmness, however fleeting, washes over him.
"Shit!" I curse under my breath, realizing the kids have left me, I scramble to my feet and run after them.
The concrete steps are slick under my slippers, and I nearly slip as I rush down, only to nearly collide with Rogue as she and the boys come running back. "What're you guys doing?!" I exclaim, my heart pounding in my chest.
"No time to talk!" Bobby shouts, pushing past me. He forces the door open, and we're met with a blast of cold air as Bobby creates a thick wall of ice between us and the soldiers.
"No! No!" Logan's voice cracks as his hands slide against the ice with an open palm, trying to make sense of it all. Logan slams his hands against it in desperation, his voice a mix of anger and fear as he pounds on the frozen barrier.
"Logan, come on! Let's go!" Rogue pleads, her voice breaking.
A shadowy figure reaches out, resting a palm against the 'glass'. Logan returns the gesture, his chest rising and falling rapidly.
"Logan!" Bobby urges, his voice snapping Logan back to the present.
"Come on!" I shout, desperation edging my voice.
Logan's head snaps toward us, his breaths coming in sharp, shaky gasps. I've never seen him so afraid, so lost. "Go. I'll be fine," he insists, though there's a note of uncertainty in his tone.
"But we won't," Rogue counters, her eyes pleading with him to understand. It's in moments like these that I wish my mutation was something more—something that could help.
With a final, lingering look at the ice wall, Logan starts moving toward us. "Go. Keep going," he orders, shoving us back through the door and pulling the trapdoor shut behind us.
An explosion rocks the ground beneath us as we race down the damp, concrete corridor, the dim, flickering fluorescent lights guiding our way.
We climb a ladder and find ourselves in the garage. I flick on the lights, and we sprint toward Scott's blue Mazda.
"Come on, get in, get in!" Logan barks, urgency sharpening his voice.
"I'm driving," John declares, reaching for the driver's side door.
Logan shoves him aside with a firm hand. "Maybe next time," he mutters, popping open the back door.
I scramble in, wedged uncomfortably between fire and ice, as Rogue's unable to sit in the back because of her proximity predicament. "This is my brother's car," I pant, out of breath, as Logan searches for the key.
"Oh yeah?" he hums, smirking as he extends a single claw from his right hand. He jams it into the ignition, effectively jump-starting the car, which feels a little personal.
The engine roars to life, and Logan throws the car into gear, swerving down the curved roads and putting as much distance between us and the mansion as possible.
"What the hell was that back there?" John exclaims, his voice tinged with lingering shock.
"Stryker," Logan growls, the name dripping with contempt. "His name is Stryker."
"Who is he?" Rogue presses, her eyes wide with fear.
"I can't remember," Logan grunts, frustration gnawing at him. I can feel it, the suffocating weight of his anger and confusion making the air thick.
"I think I'm gonna be sick," I groan, my head lolling back against the seat as the tension in the car becomes too much.
"Hey, hey, it's alright," Bobby reassures me, his hand cooling as he reaches over and places it gently on my forehead. The icy touch helps calm my nerves.
"Thanks, kid," I mutter with a weak smile, appreciating the small comfort.
"Anytime," he nods, his expression earnest as he removes his hand.
Rogue yanks the chain off from around her neck, the worn dog tags clinking softly in her hands. She's been wearing them for the past three years, a constant reminder of Logan while he was gone. "Here," she says quietly, offering the metal tags to him. "This is yours."
Logan takes the dangling chain, his expression softening as he nods in appreciation. He wraps the chain around his fist, the cold metal familiar and grounding in his hand.
A heavy silence falls over the car, thick with unspoken fears and uncertainties. John lets out an exasperated sigh, clearly uncomfortable with the tension. Without warning, he leans over me, his palm digging into my knee for support as he leans into the front between Logan and Rogue.
"Hey! Ow—" I grunt, shifting uncomfortably as he intrudes on my space.
"I don't like uncomfortable silences," John stammers, his voice tinged with nervous energy.
"What're you doing?" Rogue asks, a mix of curiosity and irritation in her voice.
John fumbles with the car's stereo, his fingers brushing over the buttons. The speakers suddenly blast NSYNC's 'Bye Bye Bye' the upbeat pop song jarring against the grim atmosphere. We all groan, wincing at the loud music that seems so out of place. Realizing his mistake, John quickly switches it off, his face flushing with embarrassment.
But as he presses more buttons in an attempt to fix his error, the stereo panel suddenly drops down with a mechanical whir, revealing a hidden compartment. Inside, a sleek communicator sits, its design similar to a flip phone but with an 'X' flair.
"I don't think that's the CD player," John remarks dryly, his voice laced with surprise.
Logan reaches out, grabbing the X-phone. He twirls it around in his hand, examining the device before clicking a button. It emits a soft beep in response, but no sound follows. "Whoa~" Logan brings it to his ear, listening intently for any sign of life. When nothing comes through, he glances at John with a slight smirk. "Sit back," he instructs, closing the device and placing it in his lap.
"And buckle your seatbelt," I add, my voice stern as John reluctantly leans back into his seat, clearly annoyed.
"Where we going?" John asks, his tone edged with curiosity.
"Storm and Jean are in Boston. We'll head that way," Logan replies, his gaze fixed on the road ahead.
"My parents live in Boston," Bobby murmurs beside me, his voice distant as if his mind is elsewhere, perhaps thinking of home, of safety.
"Good," Logan grunts, his grip tightening on the steering wheel as he presses harder on the gas, the engine roaring in response. The car speeds forward, the dark road stretching out before us as we race toward an uncertain future.