Disclaimer: They are not mine, they are NOT mine, they are SO not mine! Sigh.
Dedication: This story is dedicated to Lady T for filling in for me, for putting up with my oddities and for going above and beyond the call of duty. The girl is a saint! ; )
Logan growled as he shoved the mountain of maps and newspapers to the far edge of his desk, then tenderly placed the book on the small, newly cleared area of dark wood that had been languishing beneath them. He frowned, telling himself it was only his imagination that the beautiful antique desk seemed to breathe a sigh of relief... seemed to welcome the book as it would an old friend. He shook it off, cracking his neck loudly and sniffing before he placed his hands onto the desk and leaned closer to get a better look at it.
He stared at the book curiously... there was no doubt that it was old, and it was obvious that it had been expensive in its day. It was encased in a soft, dark golden leather covering that was tied with a rope of thin cat-gut, wound around a small leather and silver button on the front. He sniffed again and took in its scent... dust, old leather... and just the slightest hint of lilac. His eyebrows quirked up at that and, as he started to sit down for further study, he frowned, looking about him. Something just didn't feel right about opening this treasure while such a mess surrounded him. He growled at his sentimentality, murmuring a dozen obscenities at himself, but he slowly began the task of cleaning off the desktop.
Logan had been home for 8 months now. He had returned to the mansion, tired, lonely and frustrated. He had been gone for over a year and he didn't feel much closer to knowing anything new about his past than he had when he left. Whoever had messed with his head had done a brilliant job of hiding their tracks.
After the initial excitement of seeing everyone again, and catching up, the Professor had offered him a position in security and he had accepted. His days were filled with little excitement, but it had been a welcome change.
He snorted softly as he held up a pair of dark plum colored lacy silk panties he had found under the mountain of maps. He drew in a deep breath and closed his eyes -- yes, he nodded, he remembered THAT night well. He chuckled as he opened his top dresser drawer, unceremoniously dropping them in. He groaned as he turned back toward the desk. He was quickly losing patience with this task, and he was only half done.
Logan looked at the clock -- 8:30. Damn! He decided to kick his ass into high gear, took a deep breath and went at the desk with gusto. He put things away quickly, feeling more than a little excitement as he remembered the strange conversation he'd had earlier with Charles.
Logan had been spending more and more time with his maps lately. He was growing bored, cagey -- he was beginning to feel trapped here and, as he usually did when that happened, he had already begun planning his next "expedition". He had been poring over his maps all afternoon. Perhaps that was why he had felt that sick feeling in his gut when the Professor had called, asking him to come to his office. Logan hated living with telepaths. Oh, he was well aware that he was luckier than most and that they couldn't REALLY read his mind, but they could still get a pretty good idea where his head was, and he really didn't like ANYONE messing around in his head -- even a friend.
He was sure he had come off less than friendly when he entered Charles' office, glowering and sullen. The Professor hadn't seemed to notice and had motioned for him to sit, which he did, reluctantly. That's when it had all turned even weirder than usual.
X~O~X
"Logan, I know that it is difficult for you here," Charles Xavier said, in his kind understanding voice. "There isn't much for you to do, and you are a man who needs a challenge."
He smiled kindly, eyeing Logan in a rather disconcerting way. Logan began to fidget in his seat, clearing his throat and frowning more deeply than usual.
"I am certain that you know of my collection of antique books and transcripts. I collect many different kinds of literature, but the most important to me are those which contain anything of any possible relevancy to mutants. I have many books on the subject, some very old -- which is what brings me here, to you."
Logan grunted. Finally they were getting somewhere!
The Professor continued. "I have many different men and women working for me, searching through archives, looking for any information they can find. I also have friends and acquaintances who keep an eye out for me, letting me know when they run across anything that may be of interest to me."
He studied Logan silently for a moment. "I received a call from an old friend, a historian, late last week. It appears that he is leading the restoration of a historic mansion in Boston. A worker came across an old book that was hidden in a recess of the wall behind the mantle in the master bedroom. Upon reading it, my friend immediately called and let me know that he'd had it shipped to me."
Logan leaned forward. The old man had his attention. "What does any of this have to do with me?" he asked gruffly.
Charles nodded. "I just finished reading it myself, and found it fascinating. I wanted someone else to read it. I wish -- to get another opinion, to have someone to discuss it with."
Logan snorted. "Why me?"
The Professor sighed. "You were the obvious choice, Logan. You seem to have some extra time on your hands -- that is, unless you have something more important to do," he eyed Logan suspiciously.
Logan shook his head grudgingly.
"Good! Then it's settled," Charles said matter-of-factly, as he held the book out carefully. Logan took it hesitantly, trying desperately to come up with a plausible excuse. When none was forthcoming, he grimaced and headed for the door. His hand was just turning the knob when the Professor added, "I trust that you'll be making this your top priority."
Logan growled under his breath -- it had not been a request and the hair on the back of his neck was standing on end.
X~O~X
Of course, that had been several hours ago, and Logan was pleased as he stood back and admired the old desk, newly cleaned and shining, the strange book the only thing on it. He sighed, momentarily wishing he was the kind of person who kept it looking that good all the time.
He moved toward the book then hesitated, frowning. A nice bottle of Scotch would go down so well with a mysterious old book. He smiled and went to his liquor cabinet and retrieved a bottle of well-aged single malt Scotch and a short, wide glass.
He opened the bottle on his way back and poured himself a glass, downing it quickly and pouring a second as he sat down. The second glass he took his time with, savoring its distinctive flavor, enjoying the smoky aftertaste, the burning in his throat and the warm sensations that were beginning to spread their way through his body.
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