�ROOOOOGUUUUUE! NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!� A muscled, sweating Wolverine awoke from a nightmare. The same nightmare that had plagued this emotionally-scarred man ever since that fateful night, three days ago.
A river of fire. A girl, screaming. And then, and ocean of muscled, salty tears.
Wolverine, aka Logan, stared at the dark ceiling of his room, listening to his own ragged breathing and wondering if he�d woken any of the other mutants in the compound, which was commonly referred to as Professor Xavier�s School of Mutantry for Mutants. It would be uncomfortable if that bumbling bumbledor, Scott �Cyclops� Sumner, burst into his room offering to comfort him yet again.
Their last conversation had been so awkward.
�Is there anything I can do, Logan? You can� Borrow my motorcycle, if you want.�
�NO I WILL NOT MAKE OUT WITH YOU!� Logan had shouted, knowing that was Scott�s favourite euphemism. �God! Rogue is dead, and all you can think about is making out! Well passion won�t erase this pain, four-eyes!�
��Actually, Logan, I have one eye,� Cyclops had retorted in a hurt voice, knowing full well at the time that this too was a common fallacy, and he actually had two human eyes behind his visor.
Wolverine listened to his own breathing begin to quiet, and was just exhaling from relief when his doorknob turned and the door itself was opened a sliver-width.
��Lo - � Wolverine?� a tentative, breathy voice questioned.
Well, it didn�t SOUND like Scott, but the glasses-sporting pretty boy had played that trick before.
�What?� Wolverine growled.
�I� Just� Thought I heard something.�
�Who is that?�
�It�s me�� The figure pushed the door open a little more, sliding her head inside. �Iron Maiden � I mean� Mourtney.�
�Oh,� Logan said, trying to remember exactly what his late night visitor did, other than teach history to the students.
�We� Well, I have a room just down the hall from you, and I thought I heard you� Yelling. I must have been mistaken. I�ll go��
�No!� Logan said, though he wasn�t sure quite why. �Just� Wait a moment.�
�Okay,� Mourtney said softly, and took his words as a sign that she could step into the room. In the dim moonlight that spluttered through the curtains, Wolverine could see her voluptuous figure standing just inside the door in a Victorian nightgown that cascaded to the floor, much as her rich chocolate curls cascaded to her shoulders.
Funny. He had only ever seen her hair up, while she was teaching. But then, he had hardly ever seen her at all.
�Weren�t you sleeping?�
�I was reading a biography of Richard I...�
�The Lionheart?�
�Yes!� Mourtney took a step forward into the room in excitement. �I didn�t know you were interested in history, Wolverine.�
Wolverine was silent for a moment. �The past is a funny thing. At first� You cannot remember it. And then, you cannot forget.�
A river of fire.
Logan shook his head fiercely, as if his memories of Rogue were droplets of water and he, in the form of his dog-like namesake, was trying to dry himself off.
�I�m sorry about� Her,� Mourtney said softly, now standing at the end of his bed. �Is that what� you were dreaming?�
Logan could see her hazel eyes, dark with sorrows, glinting in the dark. He sighed noisily. �I think you should go back to your room.�
�Right. It is pretty late, Logan.� Mourtney backed away. �Just remember� Whatever history is in our past� It is always past us.�
The door clicked shut. Logan rolled over. How had she known just what to say?
* * *
The next day, Logan was on his way to Professor Xavier�s pool room to shoot some balls with the cue-balled professor, when he happened to pass by a senior history class. It was Mourtney�s. She stood at the head of the class, her hair bound tightly in a bun, reading from a weighty tome to the rapt students. Logan smiled watching their faces, though he happened to see Bobby Drake in the back row, staring out the window with a sad expression of dismay. Bobby was hurting, just as he was. But at least Logan could take some solace in Mourtney�s beautific smile. He noticed, staring at her where she stood in a long black skirt and a crochet top, that her hair had a purple streak in the front. How curious.
Just then, Mourtney glanced up at the door, and happened to see him watching her. Her reading faltered for a moment, and Logan found his face twist into a scowl. He turned on his heel and stalked away to join the professor for pool.
* * *
�ROOOOOOGUEEEEE! NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!�
Logan sat bolt upright in bed, unable to shake the feel of the heat from his face, or remove the sound of their wings from his ears. Oh God, poor Rogue! He would never again kiss her! Never again accidentally stab her with his unbreakable adamantium claws! He would never� Live!
His door flew open.
�This time, I know I heard you,� Mourtney accused. She shut the only exit to his bedroom behind her.
Logan stared up into her eyes, a football field of emotion swelling beneath his own.
�Get out!� he roared at her.
�No!� she countered, and rushed forward. �Wolverine, you�re in such pain! Won�t you talk to me about it?�
�You want me to talk about it?� he rasped, his voice hoarse from shouting. �Fine! Mourtney, my skeleton is welded to cold, hard adamantium! My body can cure itself of virtually any injury! I am the perfect combination of unbreakable metal, and unbreakable flesh, but I am just a man! And my heart � it can break! Not in the literal sense, but in the metaphorical, emotional one!�
�Oh, Wolverine!� Mourtney cried, throwing herself onto his bed, to stare into his magnetic eyes. �You must let go of this! You have mourned Rogue for too long! You can love again!�
Wolverine stared at her, and realised that she was right. Nobody could live in the past, though perhaps, with the help of an historian, he could get past it. He gathered Mourtney up into an embrace. �Help me to love again, Iron Maiden!�
�Oh, Wolverine!� she cried!
�Call me Logan,� he whispered, and they sank down onto the bed.
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