Chapter 117 - THE SHIVER RETURNED
The X-Men stepped onto the deck, sea wind whipping their hair and uniforms. The ship was sturdy, humming with the sound of Japanese sailors moving about, ropes creaking, orders shouted in clipped syllables.
The captain bowed politely to Cyclops and spoke English in a stiff accent. "This ship sails for Japan. You are welcome aboard."
Cyclops nodded his thanks, but before he could say more, Sunfire nearly burst with energy. His whole face lit up, more alive than any of them had ever seen.
"Japan," Sunfire whispered, like the word itself was sacred. Then he broke into rapid-fire Japanese, greeting the sailors. The crew blinked in surprise before breaking into wide smiles, laughing, replying back.
Colossus smiled, arms crossed. "I have not seen him so happy before."
"Yeah," Logan muttered, lighting a cigar, watching Sunfire's face as he shook hands with the sailors, slipping into a tongue he'd almost forgotten. "Kid looks like he just found his long-lost heartbeat."
Storm walked past, a fond smile tugging her lips. "Homesickness is a heavy weight. Perhaps he has carried it longer than he knew."
Logan grunted. Maybe so.
He drifted across the deck, smoke curling from his cigar. His ears picked up the rhythm of sailors pulling lines, the creak of the ship's belly, the gulls above. But then, out of the corner of his senses—something else. A shiver crawled down his spine. The same electric shiver he'd felt before. Stronger than whiskey, sharper than steel.
'Almost forgot you're still there, bub.'
He turned, eyes narrowing. One of the sailors had stopped to rest, leaning on the railing. Broad-shouldered, with a stillness in his bones that reminded Logan of something wild. His scent was different. Wilder.
Logan flicked the cigar to the sea and stepped up beside him. "Hey, bub. You're a mutant, ain't ya?"
The sailor didn't flinch. He just gave a faint smile, almost tiger-like in its calm. "You've got a nose sharper than most."
Logan smirked. "You reek of somethin' familiar. Not sweat. Not sea. Somethin' else."
After some talk, the man admitted it. His voice was low, like confessing a secret to the ocean. "I can become a tiger. My body—flesh, bone, muscle—shifts. Stronger. Faster. Harder to kill. And there is one more thing… stealth."
Logan leaned closer, eyes narrowing. "Stealth?"
The sailor nodded. "A tiger must vanish before it pounces. My body… hides its presence. Heat, scent, even the smallest vibrations. I can stand in a room, and no one will feel me there. It's not invisibility, Wolverine. It's erasure."
Logan's smirk widened, but his eyes hardened. "Sounds like my kinda trick."
The sailor studied him. "But it's not a gift without price. To hold everything inward… the body pays. Pain in the guts. Pressure in the blood. You cannot cheat nature for long."
Logan exhaled smoke through his nose, thinking, 'Pain? That's my daily bread.'
---
Later that night, the ship was quiet except for the waves. Logan sat alone in his cabin, the door shut tight. He stripped off his shirt, sat cross-legged on the bunk, and closed his eyes.
"Alright. Let's see what you've got for me."
He concentrated, dragging at that strange memory inside him, pulling it into his own body. It hit like a knife in the belly. His insides screamed, twisted, like fire and ice poured straight into his gut.
He growled low, teeth bared. "Painful as hell…"
But then—he sniffed. His nose, sharp enough to pick a man from a crowd by the dirt under his nails… couldn't smell himself.
His eyes opened, gleaming in the dim light. "Even my smell's gone. Heh. Guess this toy's worth keepin'."
The pain chewed through his guts, but he forced himself to stand, chest heaving. "I've survived worse. This won't kill me."
He staggered out to the deck, the moon shining silver over the water. Nightcrawler leaned on the railing, staring into the waves. His tail swayed lazily, lost in thought.
Logan walked right up behind him. "What're you doin', kid?"
"Mein Gott!" Kurt yelped, his whole body jolting. He vanished in a flash of brimstone, reappearing several feet away on the mast. His yellow eyes were wide, chest heaving. "A ghost! You are a ghost!"
Logan smirked, arms folded. "Relax, elf. Ghosts don't smoke cigars."
Kurt blinked, then scowled. "Uncle Logan, do not sneak up on a man like that! You almost gave me a heart attack."
Logan chuckled. "Didn't sneak. Just walked."
Kurt narrowed his eyes, tail flicking. "You walked like… nothing. Like I couldn't feel you there."
"Good," Logan muttered, half to himself, half with satisfaction. Then he thought, 'More useful than I thought. This stays. Pain or no pain. I'll keep it alive. I've survived worse than this.'
He pulled out another cigar, lit it with a steady hand, and blew smoke into the sea breeze.