He reached the door and wanted to hack his way through it. God damn Xavier, and her too. They could both go straight to hell. Xavier had calmly pronounced that the sessions were over, that no more were needed, and looked at him like he was some kind of pathetic fool. Did he really expect him to believe that drivel? He'd seen a lot in his screwed-up life, more than either of them, things that he'd rather forget, but at least he knew what the score was. He had disgusted her, she wanted rid of him. Did they think he was a fucking moron? He knew exactly what had happened.
He could see it in her eyes and face that last time. How long was it now, six weeks? It felt like a century. God, he didn't want to think about it. Shame poured through him at the memory and he cringed inside. He'd disgusted her and she'd bailed. She was trying to hide her disgust but he knew better, he knew what he saw and by God, she owed him an explanation. She could damn well tell it to his face, the little coward, hiding behind Xavier. Clenching his jaw and letting out one last muffled curse, he hammered on the door to her office with both fists.
"The office is closed. Please leave a message with the service." She said matter-of-factly.
"Open the door, Katherine, or I'll rip it to shreds." Silence. A chair scraping on the floor. More silence. Then he could faintly hear her moving around, her footfalls coming closer to the door.
"Logan, I can't talk to you right now. I'll call you a little later." She said through the door. Her naturally calm voice was hesitant, shaky. Good, she was upset. About fucking time.
"Oh, I don't think so. You're going to talk to me now and tell me what you said to Xavier for him to give me such a line of bullshit. You're going to see me now, Katherine." He gritted out, barely able to hold his voice in check.
"What happened to 'Doctor' Katherine? And I certainly don't have to open the office for you Logan. I haven't heard from you in over a month, so I'm sure you don't have an emergency. You stormed out of here..." Her words stopped abruptly as the sound of splintering wood filled the air.
"Oh shit." She muttered as she threw a bare arm over her eyes and backed up from the door. Bits of wood and plaster pitched out and around the lock and frame, pelting the rug with pieces of debris. After the first shower of splinters, she peeked out at what was left of her abused pine door. He stood on the other side, his chest heaving, and glared at her, with his arms hanging at his sides, and those menacing claws dragging down past his knees. He looked lethal, taking ragged breaths, and so amazingly handsome that she had to hold her breath for fear of gaping at him. He was angry with her, and he had every right. But she did not have an answer to this, and anything more could only make it worse.
So, she cocked her head as if curious and said nonchalantly, "Well it's good to see you too. Would you please put those away?" she said, gesturing to his hands. Turning, she began to calmly walk toward the inner door to her office. "And," she said over her shoulder, "You're going to pay for getting that fixed, you know."
Damn her. How did she do it? Make him feel like such a fool when he was around her. Xavier's little talk had left him in a state of near rage that he was unsure how to handle. He'd walked the 40 blocks here, trying to shake some of his emotions, but he was losing the battle. The closer he came to the office, the angrier he had felt, and the more confused. God, he was a miserable fuck. X was right to think him pathetic.
He watched her walk across the reception area, the afternoon light flowing in from the high windows, spaced between the tall shelves, going all the way to the second level, stuffed with books and papers, like some ancient, messy archive. The sunlight seemed to glow as it filtered in from the second floor landing, alternately slanting down, so that she walked in and out of the light. It was as if she was there, then gone, then there again. The light seemed to do odd things in this room. It looked and smelled like her, lilac, mint, strange and beautiful. He had first come here to 'have his head examined,' and she'd laughed at that. But the strangeness and beauty of both the room and the woman intrigued him and unnerved him.
"Head examined?" She let out a little snort. "Good grief, no. I'm just trying to help you get a few answers. Not much head examining to do, really." She smiled and gently laughed, turning up her face, and looked at him squarely. Her eyes were large, inquisitive, and the color of the ocean, blue-green. No one has eyes like that. "Professor Xavier has asked for me to help you find out a little more about your background. Perhaps a few of the things that are hard to remember. But what about you Logan, is that something that you want to do?"
"Sure. Whatever." He nodded dumbly at her. He'd gladly do whatever she wanted; walk on his hands, bake muffins, let her jab pins in his feet or eat roaches, to stay here. And he didn't quite know the reason why. She began to talk and ask him questions, and he found himself following the movements of her mouth. Her lips were full and luscious, as she formed her silly little questions. The pink-purple color reminding him that she had other pink places that he wanted to see and touch and kiss. Leaning forward, he would answer her questions, watch her lips and fantasize about locking his arms around her, slanting his mouth over hers, and kissing her until she was weak and limp in his arms. Then he'd separate those lovely thighs and push himself into her until she screamed his name and came for him, over and over.
"Logan, are you with me?" She asked, glancing at him with a questioning look. He had to shake himself out of his adolescent stupor. Jesus, I'm some idiot schoolboy. What the hell is wrong with me?
"Yes, I'm... I'm with you. What was that last question?"
And so it had gone, him answering her questions. Talking about his life in a way that he had never talked before. How in the hell did she get it out of him? He always hated talking, this shit should stay buried. Her little kind, encouraging, shrinky talk worked, he guessed. The "How do you feel about that?" bullshit had cut through something finally. He liked her, and God knows he desired her, but he should have never, ever, let her in. Somehow, she had squirreled her way into his mind, and on that last meeting, he had come apart. He'd remembered things that should have damn well stayed in locked in hell. Xavier knew what he was doing, the asshole. The images landed on him like a load of shit, and he had to fight his way out, but there was no way out. Then, after what seemed like an eternity of torment, he found himself being cradled in her arms, and he was sobbing like a damn baby. Jesus Christ, what a fuck he was. A fuck who was standing there watching her walk away after she had eaten his heart and soul with a fork and spoon.
