Good Deeds
The cabin's main living room had smooth wood floors; before the fireplace stood a rug made out of the pelt of what must have been the largest wolf that lived. The plush fur was kept meticulously clean... surprisin', given what happens on it the Canadian thought to himself with a bit of a smirk.
But he wasn't here for that. Sure, it was a potential optional extra, but right now he just remembered the look on the face of the soldier, remembered the smell of the frustration and desperation, remembered the anger and pain. He knew all too well what that was like. Ta be fightin' fer yer next scrap o'meat, with death tha price fer any wrong move. Ta be livin' like an animal or worse...
He removed a bottle from the refrigerator and flipped the top off with an opener. The bottle contained a pricey, stronger-than-usual European lager. Several more bottles remained chilled on the appliance's shelves.
He wants ta rush straight back inta tha warzone. He deserves at least some sorta break he thought.
He knew how much it meant to have Heather and Mac talk to him back when he first recovered. He knew how much it helped to have Jean and Hank and Ororo to talk to when he first arrived at Xaviers.
He took a swig of his lager and hoped Fenix didn't discover the playroom by accident. He had closed the door but if Marcus saw, it would result in some awkward questions. But that was an unlikely event. The seconds ticked by as he swallowed more of his liquor and waited for the large soldier to arrive.