There's a white light, and with it that vacuum of the world inverting itself inside the explosion,and the deafening quiet as the whole damn mess disintegrates around him.
...
After that, Red. The whole world swimming in it; all he can see is red. Might be the back of his eyelids, except he doesn't have eyelids, or his optic nerves creaking back online. It would be red, then blur, then whatever came next. Just like last time, and the time before that.
It hurts like hell.
What a gift, to be able to put yourself together again, not to slip into death like a placid lake. He's never tried to explain how it feels to anyone; the tissues of his body knitting back into place. It's a lot like a mess of worms squirming, knotting their bodies into the shapes they need to be. He can feel them pulling, and stretching. Every new nerve ending screams until it's cloaked by new flesh, and even then they ache like hell, and when the ache dies down they itch like hell. Nobody needs to hear about that. Some gift.
New skin is always so goddamn cold. Being wrapped around muscle that's wrapped around freakin steak knives, probably doesn't help. Shivering ain't something Canadians do without shame, but Logan shivers for a while just the same. An hour, a year, or fifty pass and finally he finds he's got fingers to flex, lungs to suck in a fresh stab of air, and eyelids to open.
He wishes instantly that he hadn't.
Not this shit again. Because what he's looking at can only be some kind of S.H.I.E.L.D. holding cell; only North American Feds got taste this bad, and only Fury would want to talk to him bad enough to snatch him out of an Iraqi morgue.
Logan sits up, and sees the girl. Nose must still be offline if he didn't smell her right away.
"Hey, kid. Any chance you got some aspirin or a beer on you?"
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timeasmymeasure
no subject
Date: 2012-05-03 07:48 pm (UTC)CLICK!
There's a white light, and with it that vacuum of the world inverting itself inside the explosion,and the deafening quiet as the whole damn mess disintegrates around him.
...
After that, Red. The whole world swimming in it; all he can see is red. Might be the back of his eyelids, except he doesn't have eyelids, or his optic nerves creaking back online. It would be red, then blur, then whatever came next. Just like last time, and the time before that.
It hurts like hell.
What a gift, to be able to put yourself together again, not to slip into death like a placid lake. He's never tried to explain how it feels to anyone; the tissues of his body knitting back into place. It's a lot like a mess of worms squirming, knotting their bodies into the shapes they need to be. He can feel them pulling, and stretching. Every new nerve ending screams until it's cloaked by new flesh, and even then they ache like hell, and when the ache dies down they itch like hell. Nobody needs to hear about that. Some gift.
New skin is always so goddamn cold. Being wrapped around muscle that's wrapped around freakin steak knives, probably doesn't help. Shivering ain't something Canadians do without shame, but Logan shivers for a while just the same. An hour, a year, or fifty pass and finally he finds he's got fingers to flex, lungs to suck in a fresh stab of air, and eyelids to open.
He wishes instantly that he hadn't.
Not this shit again. Because what he's looking at can only be some kind of S.H.I.E.L.D. holding cell; only North American Feds got taste this bad, and only Fury would want to talk to him bad enough to snatch him out of an Iraqi morgue.
Logan sits up, and sees the girl. Nose must still be offline if he didn't smell her right away.
"Hey, kid. Any chance you got some aspirin or a beer on you?"