Logan (six_reasons) wrote in the_next_step, @ 2009-05-14 00:09:00 |
|
|||
Entry tags: | ethan grant/blackout, logan/wolverine |
Hanging on, solarium Wednesday night (open)
Logan knew they were getting close, knew the lead from Gaia had helped and Tony was still doing whatever the hell it was he did. He felt sick to his stomach when he thought of his little sister getting taken; he couldn't be 100% sure but when he'd gone to her place, it had been trashed.
He knew he wasn't just spinning his wheels but it sure as fuck felt like that. He was built for action, for kicking asses and asking questions later, so to find himself unable to do so was supremely frustrating. He wanted to howl at the damn moon and would if that would get him anywhere. His animal was closer to the surface these days, peeking out from his eyes more often than not, and he itched for the chance to let it loose. He'd seen something similar in the eyes of Andrew and even Ororo who always councelled peace.
Putting on a brave and competent face for the remaining students was more difficult than he'd ever thought possible. Were Xavier around, the telepath would know what to do to calm the students, to help them understand what was going on in a way that Logan couldn't even begin to verbalize. He'd begun sending the ones with questions to the school counselor (he felt kind of bad for dumping them on her, but he wasn't trained for this shit) for lack of anything better to do.
When the X-Men congregated to discuss and plan, the anger in the air was tangible, every person in the room moving with the unspoken need to just do something; he remembered his discussion with Kitty about feeling like he was sitting on his hands waiting for something bad to happen. I was right, kitten. I fucking wish I weren't.
Going back to his bed at night was hell. The sheets always smelled like Matty and as much as he just wanted to strip them off for clean ones, he couldn't bear the thought of not having at least some part of her around. He'd get a few fitful hours of sleep before rising and heading for the Danger Room to work off the anger and the tension and the fear.
Tonight, though, he couldn't quite bring himself to head to bed yet. Just two nights before the abduction he and Matty had finally said the words, finally verbalized feelings that both felt but had never said out loud. His chest felt tight when he thought of it, when the worst case scenarios ran through his head and he imagined finding her dead. He dug into his stash of good alcohol, grabbed a bottle of Nikka single cask whiskey bought on his last jaunt through Japan, and headed for the solarium to smoke and drink and maybe get a little numb.