*****
"Angels can be so deceiving
When they love you well.
Did you think you would be leaving me?"
— "Wolf," by Veruca Salt
*****
Actually, it was closer to early afternoon when he woke. He knew where he was even before his eyes opened — the faint Marie-scent remained, and had given him some interesting (and fairly naughty) dreams that left him in a reasonably good mood. A visit to the bathroom for a quick shower — yep, they'd even left some towels in there for him — and he was dressed and ready to go track down Marie.
He didn't have to look hard — at that time of day, his first guess was lunch, and he picked up her scent in the dining room even among the varied food smells and the traces of the entire population of the school. Food later — first he wanted to track down his girl, and with that in mind he followed her trail across the room, between tables and towards the door. Outside — ah, taking advantage of the summer weather, like he could see a number of students clearly doing.
On the way he passed the table the "teachers" were sitting at, including old Wheels himself. "Logan! So glad to see you've returned..." Xavier began, but Logan kept walking.
He gave Chuck a brief nod in passing and winked at Jean, while completely ignoring Cyke's, "What did you do to my *bike*, Logan?!"
Outside, he stopped at the door and scanned the lawn or courtyard or whatever the hell they were calling the grassy area outside. Even among the varicolored hair of the scattered students — he wondered absently how many of them dyed it and how many mutants might actually really have unusual haircolors — the white streaks were unique. She was sitting on a bench over to one side of the basketball court, watching some of the younger kids clown around in a game.
Slipping up behind her was as easy as the thought, and a minute later he was standing behind her wondering what to say. Somehow he suspected that commenting on the amount of time she had been spending in "his" room might not be the right move, and he wondered if he could get away with asking her if she had a boyfriend yet without sounding like a dirty old man.
[Stick to the basics, see where that gets you,] he decided. "Hey, kid..." and she twisted around on the bench to look at him..
He had a half-smile on his face — damn, but he was glad to see her again — but it froze at the look on her face. Given their parting — and especially given Jean's little comment on her being "taken with him" — he had been hoping for an enthusiastic greeting.
What he *wasn't* expecting was for her initial startlement at his voice to be immediately replaced by a polite expression and a cool, "Hi." As though he had been gone for a few hours, instead of a few months.
Not the most promising of reactions. And he wasn't great at making small talk. He settled for, "They been treatin' you all right here?"
"All right," she confirmed, and then, "Take care of your loose ends?"
He was confused for a moment, before he remembered the phrase he had used to excuse his running off four months ago. [Oh, yeah, I spent a few weeks scrabbling through a deserted military base and three months trying to convince myself I could come back here without trying to sling you over my shoulder and carry you off. See how well it's worked, I haven't even tried to touch you...] "Yeah, I guess."
"You back now, or running off again?"
"I'm back."
"You stayin' for good?"
"I thought I'd stick around for a while..." He couldn't quite interpret the look she gave him — a bit less cool, and slightly worried besides. "Try it out, see if I could find a reason to stick around..." [Not to put too fine a point on it...] She actually looked intrigued, which was the most encouraging thing he'd noticed since starting to talk to her. He stepped over the bench, casually sitting down next to her — close, but not too close.
And then she did something he hadn't expected — reached into her shirt and fished out his dogtag, then pulled it over her head and balled up the chain in one gloved hand. "You said you'd be back for this," she said, handing it to him.
He accepted it, then looked down at it, a little chagrined. What could he say to her — "I really like the idea of you wearing this — why don't you just keep wearing it?" "This wasn't really what I meant I'd be back for"? "I think it was pretty happy where it was"?
After a pause, he put it on. She hadn't exactly leaped for joy at seeing his face again, and he still hadn't figured out how to raise the all-important boyfriend question. He also wasn't sure how to interpret the way she'd been wearing his tag. Wearing it as opposed to keeping it in a drawer somewhere was a good sign — but under her clothes? So it would be closer to her, or so no one would see it? And did she really wear it all the time while he had been gone, or...
"Did you hear that I got back late last night?"
"No, should I have?"
He half-smiled again. "I think Cyclops may have gotten a look at his bike this morning."
"What did you do to it?"
"Went off the road at one point — trying not to hit a damn coyote that ran out in front of me. Shredded the leg of my jeans up, too, and the sleeve of my jacket didn't look too good, either." No point in mentioning what it had done to his own hide — *that* damage had been gone within minutes, and she knew enough of him not to bother asking if he had been hurt.
"And Scoo— Scott's motorcycle?" She was smiling now.
"Aah, scratched it up a bit. Looks a lot worse than it really is — still runs fine."
"Where were you that you almost hit a coyote?"
"Colorado."
"What were you doing in Colorado?"
"Following the Rockies south."
"Any reason?"
"No. Just... somewhere to go."
Somewhere between the tag and the motorcycle accident, the coolness had disappeared. They still weren't where he had hoped to be, but friendly speaking terms were good. He told her about his wanderings over the past few months — or rather, answered every question she could think of about his travels — until she had to go to class. Then he wandered back inside to chase down something to eat.
*****