Logan looked up at the sound in the doorway of the den and grunted a greeting when he saw it was Rogue. She settled herself wordlessly at the other end of the couch, curling her legs under her, and her head fell forward bringing the dark curtain of her hair swinging down to hide her expression. He could almost feel the pain emanating off her in waves and his lips tightened. So Bobby had finally grown the balls to tell her about Kitty, had he? Hell, most of the mansion already knew the pair of them had been bumping pelvises, but either Marie genuinely hadn’t known or she hadn’t wanted to know. He could have said ‘you’re better off without him’ or any number of a hundred different platitudes – God knew he’s been at the receiving end of enough himself since Jean died – but he wasn’t one of life’s comforters and he suspected that she didn’t want to hear it anyway. Instead he slung one arm around her shoulders and offered her a bottle of beer. She didn’t refuse either.

They watched the TV in silence for some time, the flickering images flaring off the walls and creating stark shadows around them. It was some old Clint Eastwood movie Logan had seen more times than he could remember – probably literally. Nevertheless it was still engrossing enough that he wasn’t quite sure later at what point he became aware of the softness of Marie’s skin beneath his fingers; exactly when a friendly caress morphed into something more. All he knew was that suddenly, inexplicably it seemed, she was in his arms and he was kissing her, a full, passionate kiss that in no way came under the heading ‘comforting’.

It would have been nice to think that, had she asked, he would have given her an opportunity to think things through, to back out before they went too far. It would have been a lie. The truth was, once she was crushed beneath him, kissing him back, he used just about every trick in the book to make sure she damn well didn’t change her mind. His hands skimmed over every inch of her body, peeling off each layer of clothing slowly, torturing her flesh with soft, moist kisses and gentle nips until she was writhing beneath him. He liked the sound of his name spilling from her lips in breathless gasps, prolonged the agony so that she would say it again, over and over. He felt no qualm when he finally entered her shuddering body and discovered that she was still a virgin because the truth was that, even if he had known, it wouldn’t have stopped him. Besides, she made no complaint other than a soft cry that rapidly became a moan as he moved inside her, her arms pulling him closer, clinging tightly to him even as he lifted her hips and buried himself as deeply as he could inside her.

Afterwards she snuggled up against him, and what he saw in her eyes as she looked at him chilled him enough that he pulled himself upright, shrugging out of her embrace. He saw the brief flare of hurt in her expression before she squelched it, and it was an effort not to take her back into his arms and make all the hurt go away again. But he didn’t. He had enough grief of his own to deal with: he was in no position to take on someone else’s unhappiness too.

“You okay, Marie?” he forced himself to ask, wondering belatedly if he had hurt her. His hand smoothed the hair back from her forehead, but when she smiled again he quickly stopped, cursing his own stupidity. Being kind now would only make things harder on both of them.

“I’m fine Logan. But thanks for askin’.”

“So you going to tell Popsicle boy about this?”

She frowned, shaking her head. “Why should I tell Bobby about any of this? It’s nothing to do with him any more. I can see who I like.”

“Yes you can.” He took a breath, bracing himself. “And you should. See people I mean,” he clarified when she looked blank. “Now you’ve taken the cure you’re free, Marie. There’s nothing to stop you from seeing as many people as you like.”

“But I thought…” she trailed off, nibbling her lip, her unspoken words hanging in the air between them. She’d thought that there was some kind of future in their relationship, he knew. It pained him to disillusion her in such a way, but he knew it had to be done.

“Get outta this place. Meet some new people, have a little fun. You should be with kids your own age, not hanging around with a group of X-freaks.”

“You think I should become some kind of slut?” she queried, narrowing her eyes and moving away from him. “What’s going on, Logan? What just happened here, because I’m getting a little confused.”

“We had sex,” he drawled, refusing to back down. “It was good, and it was obviously something we both needed or it wouldn’t have happened. Just don’t read too much into it. I’m sorry Bobby broke up with you, but—”

“You’re sorry for me?” she choked, scrambling up from the couch and standing over him. “You think this was about me and Bobby breaking up?”

“Wasn’t it?”

“Oh my God!” She laughed then, a thin, painful sound in the quiet room. She grabbed her T-shirt from where it had fallen and pulled it over her head, stepped into her panties and jeans. He noticed her hands were shaking and felt like a monster. He was also absurdly turned on again, watching her move around in front of him in a reverse striptease. The urge to grab her narrow waist and pull her down to straddle his lap was almost too strong to resist. But something told him he’d just blown whatever chance he may have had to get into her pants again anytime soon.

“So what was this, Logan? A pity fuck?” Her voice broke into his thoughts, and he shook his head angrily.

“It was just sex, Marie! Grow up and get used to it.”

“Don’t worry, Sugar. I think the last few minutes have taught me all I need to know about sex,” she spat, reaching into her jeans pocket and pulling out her wallet. She tossed a couple of notes on top of him where he lay still sprawled on the couch. “Consider that a tip for services rendered. If I ever need another cheap lay I’ll know where to come.”

End of Part One

Marie halted at the sound of a low snarl coming from the shadows above her. Only one man in the mansion was capable of that menacing rumble, and so far she’d been doing a pretty good job of avoiding him. Lately, though, she’d felt him watching her, although what reason he might have she couldn’t guess. He’d wanted her to get out, get a life and grow up: she was trying hard to do all three. She was also trying hard not to let her thoughts dwell for any length of time on her one-time best friend and first lover, but that was proving more difficult. You couldn’t love a guy for five long years and not think about him now and then, even if he’d turned out to be a first class sonofabitch.

“You have yourself some fun, darlin’?” Logan purred, stepping out of the dark at the head of the stairs and looming over her. He sniffed the air deliberately, and she could almost swear she saw his hackles go up. The sudden flush of guilt she felt was ridiculous under the circumstances, particularly as nothing had happened, but it contributed to the hectic colour in her cheeks as she continued up the stairs towards him, only stopping when he moved in front of her, blocking her path.

She plunked her hands on her hips and lifted her chin. “Yeah, Logan, I’ve been out. It’s been a blast.”

“I’ll just bet. His scent’s all over you.”

“What can I say?” she sneered, quirking one eyebrow in perfect imitation of the man in front of her, “His girlfriend dumped him and I felt sorry for him. You know how it is.”

“You little bitch!” Logan growled. He grabbed her shoulders painfully, whipping her around so that she was pressed against the wall of the stairwell, all the breath whooshing from her lungs at the sudden impact. “You let him put his hands on you. Was it worth it, honey? Was he as good as me?”

“Better!” she hissed defiantly, curling her hands into fists against the lie. Logan didn’t need to know that she’d only kissed the guy a couple of times before nausea nearly overwhelmed her. His ego didn’t need any more boosting.

With a snarl he lowered his head and took her mouth in a cruel kiss, one hand holding her chin so that she couldn’t escape. She pushed frantically at his chest but he stilled her struggles effortlessly, the weight of his body holding her pinned against the wall. Despite the rough handling and the cruelty in the fingers at her throat, Marie felt a kick of thrilling awareness in her stomach and felt afraid for the first time: not of the man in front of her but of the way her body responded to him despite the desperate urgings of her brain. A sob of panic rose in her throat and spilled from her lips, and Logan went still. He lifted his head, allowing her to draw some air into her gasping lungs, and slowly moved away, the dim light in the stairway showing her little of his expression.

“What the hell is the matter with you?” she said shakily. Her lips were bruised and sore, and she wiped her hand across her mouth as if she could sweep away the last few minutes.

“Isn’t that what you wanted, sweetheart? Why else would you be trawlin’ the bars?” His voice didn’t sound quite steady, as if the kiss had affected him as much as it had her.

“You told me I needed to see more people, Logan. It seems a little contradictory to get pissy with me when I’ve only done what you suggested. I had a good time tonight.” Maybe if she said it often enough she might start believing it.

He reached out one finger and casually ran it down her cheek. “If you want a good time you don’t need to leave the mansion, honey. I’m right here.”

She tried not to betray the small flare of excitement that tingled down her nerve endings at his touch. God knew she tried. Unfortunately she hadn’t counted on Logan’s heightened senses, because a wicked grin suddenly spread itself across his face and he chuckled. “And you do want me, don’t you Marie? I can almost smell it on you.”

Damn! Just what she’d wanted to avoid. She narrowed her eyes, furious with him and with her own weakness where he was concerned. “I did want you Logan, for a long time. I thought I loved you. Shit, I almost had myself convinced that you loved me too when you kissed me on that couch. Well, you proved me wrong didn’t you? So now there’ll be no more wanting and no more loving. I’m all grown up now, you see?”

His jaw tightened. “One taste won’t be enough for either of us. You’ll be back in my bed in no time, count on it.”

“But I never was in your bed, was I?” she retorted, pushing past him and heading to her room. He made no reply, and it felt good to have the last word. Until she slammed the door behind her and the tears started to fall.

***

Back in his room Logan prowled up and down, finally stopping to lean his head against the wall. How had everything become so fucked up? He hadn’t intended to sleep with Marie, but it had happened and nothing could change that. What he didn’t understand was why he was obsessing about it now, all these weeks later. He’d had enough meaningless encounters in seedy motels to know that you take what’s on offer and you don’t look back. For some reason it wasn’t working this time, and he couldn’t even use the excuse that Marie was flaunting herself in front of him. In actual fact she’d gone out of her way to avoid seeing him, he was the one who had been forced to seek her out.

He’d intended to apologise. His good intentions had flown out the window as soon as she came towards him with the scent of another man on her, and obviously his sanity had gone along with them because there was no other explanation for his behaviour out there.

Unable to stay a moment longer in the cramped confinement of his room he raised the sash window and, swinging his legs over the sill, dropped the two floors to the ground. He needed some air, and he headed off to the wooded area that surrounded the mansion. Walking should have relieved some of the tension in his muscles, but he was uncomfortably aware with each step that his body was still aching for release. Disgusted with another sign of weakness he popped his claws, ramming his fist against a tree trunk with a hoarse shout, the adamantium easily penetrating the dense fibres, the rough bark grazing his knuckles. He retracted the claws and examined his fist, watching as the torn skin knit itself together again as his mutation kicked in. It reminded him of that first ride with Marie, when she had asked him if it hurt when they came out. ‘Every time,’ he had replied. Sometimes the pain was a welcome distraction.

The sound of a twig snapping beneath someone’s foot had him whipping around, and squinting into the darkness he spotted Storm wandering through the trees to his left. She hadn’t seen him yet, and he briefly considered avoiding her. Which was ridiculous - he wasn’t reduced to hiding in trees just yet. He purposely stepped into her line of vision, hoping that she would take the choice out of his hands and avoid him herself. Anyone out at this time of night was probably not in the mood for casual conversation anyway. However, she turned at the sound and headed straight for him, and he allowed himself a silent curse. This just wasn’t going to be one of his nights.

“Watcha doin’, Logan?” she asked, coming to a halt a short distance away from him and tilting her head to one side like an inquisitive bird.

“Not much. Just out for a walk.”

“That tree do something you didn’t like?” she queried, nodding her head in the direction of the tall oak that now bore the distinctive mark of three long claws.

“It looked at me the wrong way,” he deadpanned, and she chuckled, moving closer and falling into step with him.

They walked together in silence for a while until they came to an old bench hidden beneath the canopy of the branches overhead. As if by mutual consent they sat down next to each other, the musty odour of decaying leaves and damp earth rising up to meet them. Logan fumbled in his pocket for a cigar, and the sudden flare of a match briefly illuminated the scene. He shook it to put it out and flicked it way into the trees, his superior vision easily tracking its path even in the dark. Sometimes he forgot that not everyone saw things the way he did. How much simpler the world must appear that way.

“Wanna talk about it?”

He looked at Storm from beneath lowered brows and shook his head, then, realising that she probably couldn’t make out the movement, clarified: “Not really.”

“Okay. It’s up to you.”

Yeah, right. Any moment the questions would begin. He braced himself for the inquisition he was sure was coming, caught off guard when she suddenly leaned across and pressed her lips against his. Whatever he had been expecting this wasn’t it, and he caught hold of her shoulders, whether to push her away or pull her closer even he couldn’t tell at first. Her tongue insinuated itself into his mouth, darting in and out suggestively, and with a sudden shiver he knew that this was one offer he was going to refuse.

“Whoah!” he muttered, gently extracting himself from her clinging arms. She fell back, a look of puzzlement on her face.

“What’s the matter?” she asked softly.

“I don’t think this is a good idea.” Understatement of the year. “It’s not you, it’s me,” he elaborated when she looked as though she was about to argue. Cliches had their uses after all.

“But Logan, I thought—”

“Just forget it ever happened!” he ordered, already on his feet and hastily putting some distance between them. Jesus, could things get any worse? He had Storm practically ripping his pants off while the woman he really wanted…he almost stumbled as his brain finally caught up with what his body already knew. He wanted Marie: only Marie. It was the last thing he had ever expected to happen. Despite all the grief he’d felt at the loss of Jean he was honest enough to admit that he might well have taken what ’Ro had offered at any other time, but since the moment he had first kissed her that southern witch had crawled under his skin and lodged there like a splinter. She’d left him so goddamn frustrated that he was taking it out on trees, for Christ’s sake!

The question was: what did he do now? Cruising the backstreets and bars wouldn’t satisfy the ache inside him this time, but he knew damn well that Marie wasn’t about to welcome him with open arms. Probably a beer and a fight would help relieve some of the tension in his muscles. With that thought in mind he set off towards the gates of the mansion, wincing as it began to hail. Never upset a weather goddess when you’ve come out without your jacket.

End of Part Two

Marie was woken by the sour tang of beer and cracked open one eye to peer blearily at the clock. Three am! No wonder she felt as though she’d only just closed her eyes.
She rolled onto her side and prepared to snuggle back under the covers when a soft movement from the chair by her bed had her jack-knifing upright with a shriek.

“Hey! Keep the noise down, darlin’. Some folks are tryin’ to sleep.”

She flicked on her bedside lamp with a shaking hand. “Logan? What are you doing? How’d you get into my room?”

“You really oughta keep your window shut.”

“I’m on the second floor. I didn’t think it would be a problem.” She shook her head as if to clear it and scowled. “Why are we even having this conversation? Would you just leave please?”

“When I’m ready,” he said, and her heart began to thump. He leaned forward in the chair and she brought her knees up to her chin under the covers, hugging them protectively. There was a time she wouldn’t have thought twice about Logan being in her room late at night, would even have welcomed the opportunity to be close to him. All that had changed now, and the look he was giving her was making her distinctly nervous.

“Did you have a purpose coming here or did you just feel like terrorising me again?” she snapped, and was satisfied when she saw his jaw tighten.

“I’m sorry about what happened before,” he muttered gruffly.

“Which time?” she responded, then before he had time to reply: “Have you been drinking?”

“We both know I’m not drunk.”

“Yeah, thank God for those healing powers huh? Doesn’t stop you smelling like a bar-room floor though.”

“When did you get so bitchy?”

“About the same time you got mean.”

Logan lowered his head, and the silence stretched out between them. Marie gave him one last glare then fell back onto her pillow, pulling the duvet up to her neck. She lay staring at the ceiling for some time, then risked a glance at the man sprawled beside her bed. He looked rough, more so than usual, his white T-shirt covered with an interesting variety of stains that made her wrinkle her nose.

“Is that blood on your shirt?” she asked, and he jerked his head up to meet her gaze.

“If it is it ain’t mine.”

“You been rolling about on a floor somewhere?”

“Maybe.” His smile was crooked, but so like the Logan she knew that she felt herself relax instinctively. There was little sign of the fierce predator about him tonight.

“So. You’ve been fighting.” It wasn’t a question: she could read the signs. He’d been wound as tightly as a spring the last time she’d seen him, but now he was sated and lethargic. Only two things could induce that in the Wolverine, and as he didn’t reek of cheap perfume she guessed he’d gone for door number two.

He shrugged, leaning his head back against the chair and sighing deeply. He looked weary, and she turned her head to the side to study him surreptitiously. Grubby denim jeans hugging muscular legs; wide leather belt with the familiar buckle of tarnished metal; a T-shirt just the right side of tight, his dog tags disappearing beneath the neck to nestle against his skin. Damn! Just looking at the man was inducing all kinds of wicked thoughts. Blinking, she forced herself to concentrate on the subtle signs of past violence on him. There was a jagged tear near the hem of his top, and the knees of his trousers were scuffed and dirty. Although the abrasions and torn knuckles had healed she felt she could almost see them.

Almost without thinking she stretched out her hand, her fingers hovering above the skin of his forearm where it rested loosely on his leg. His eyes were closed, his breathing regular, and licking her dry lips nervously she risked brushing her palm against his skin, tracing the outline of his muscles and the memory of bruises that had long disappeared.

“Don’t.”

She gasped at the taut command, snatching her hand away immediately, but one second too late. He grabbed her wrist, the heat of his palm seeming to burn the tender flesh, and then he was hauling her onto his lap in a flurry of white sheets and dark hair. Their bodies slammed together with delicious force, and while her brain screamed a warning, the rest of her welcomed the solid bulk of him beneath her.

“You needn’t think I’ve forgiven you,” she gasped as his hands slipped inside her nightgown. “It’ll take more than a few kisses to make me forget…whatever it was…that happened before…” Her voice trailed away into a moan, her head falling back to expose the long pale column of her throat, an invitation he was unable to resist.

“I’m so sorry Marie,” he whispered, his mouth muffled against her neck. “I think I went a little crazy earlier, just thinkin’ about you with another man…”

“You’ve got nothing to be jealous of, Logan,” she asserted, gripping his head tightly between her palms and looking down at him. This time she was determined that there should be no misunderstandings between them, no recriminations or blame attached to what they were about to do. “Nothing happened. I love you too much.”

He stilled beneath her, his body seeming to tense. “You shouldn’t say that Marie.”

“Because you don’t feel the same way?” It hurt her to say it, but she needed him to confirm it.

“I loved Jean.”

“I know. It doesn’t matter.” It almost killed her to speak the lie, but she managed to smile while she did so, hoping it would hide the incipient tears.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, his hands trying to soothe away the hurt. She let them work their sensual magic, closing her eyes and mentally shrugging away all other concerns. Logan was a drug she couldn’t do without, and she was prepared to put up with a little hurt to experience the high. The pain in her heart only seemed to intensify the pleasure she was feeling now, and when Logan laid her on the bed and came down on top of her all rational thought ceased entirely.

***

He felt like shit. He also felt better than he ever had in his life before, and the paradox was confusing the hell out of him.

On the one hand he had Marie in his bed every night, and often several times during the day too. He couldn’t seem to get enough of her. Only today she had been forced to beg him to let her leave the mansion, playfully swatting his backside with her bag when he threatened to drag her off into a darkened corner again. She complained that she was becoming bow-legged, although her wide grin suggested she wasn’t that bothered about it. He’d laughingly offered to show her some different positions to ease the problem, and she’d said ‘later’. Just thinking about later was making him hard.

On the other hand he sensed the sadness that lurked beneath her happy façade, and knew that he was the cause of it. Sometimes he would catch her off guard and watch her visibly pull her smile into place, or wipe away a sneaky tear. In those moments he hated himself and the weakness that made him keep her. An honourable man would have let her go when he realised how she felt about him, knowing he didn’t return her feelings. Obviously he was not an honourable man, because he could as soon let go of Marie as fly to the moon.

It was worse than that, however. He knew that he couldn’t be held responsible for Marie’s initial feelings for him, but he was responsible for fostering them. Some part of him liked to hear her tell him that she loved him, especially when he was buried deep inside her, driving them both towards a desperate release. He liked it so much that sometimes her prolonged the agony for her, denying her a climax until the words spilled from her lips. He made her writhe and twist beneath him, forcing her into a state beyond lucidity, unaware that she was even speaking, every breathy moan of devotion he wrung from her a balm to his soul. Sometimes, afterwards, she would apologise, embarrassed by her outpouring of emotion, and he would cradle her against him and tell her it was okay, she couldn’t help it. He was such a fucking hypocrite.

Shrugging into his leather jacket he made his way down the hall, pausing briefly outside the room Jean had shared with Scott. Every time he passed the door he experienced a pang, remorse mixed with impotent fury that he’d been unable to save the woman he loved from herself. Today he paused, letting his thoughts dwell on Scott properly for the first time, his old rival, the butt of many a joke, a well-meaning, inoffensive man who had loved Jean with his last breath. The guy had been a car wreck after her disappearance, and compared to that raw grief Logan suddenly felt like a cheap fake. Why was he so hung up on a woman who had never really loved him? Sure, she had turned to him eventually, but only after Scott was gone, and what was left by that point bore little resemblance to the Jean Grey he had first met. That woman had chosen once, and she had chosen the other man. It had probably been the right decision.

How long would their relationship have lasted if she had lived? How long would he have been content to love her, knowing she didn’t return the emotion?

A chill settled in his gut as he silently answered his own question and realised the implications. He would never have been satisfied with less than everything: it wasn’t in his nature. Marie was less selfish than him, but eventually she would tire of it too, and then she would leave him. Just the thought of life without her made him curl his hands into fists, the urge to pop his claws and rip the room to pieces itching beneath his skin. Grief unlike anything he had experienced before threatened to overwhelm him, and she hadn’t even gone yet. He had to make sure she never did.

His heart hammering in his chest, Logan took the stairs three at a time and burst out the front door of the mansion, heading for the solemn plot in the rose garden where they had erected the memorials to Jean, Scott and Charles Xavier. He scattered a group of tiny first year students clustered near the tall stones, halting in front of the one that bore Jean’s name. He remembered the service they had held here in the aftermath of that final battle, and even then he had been aware of Marie’s presence in the throng of students and teachers, a comforting glow in the darkness that seemed to surround him. Looking back, he had taken every gesture of warmth and sympathy she had offered, and given nothing in return. He had been distant and surly, wrapped up in his own problems and uncaring of hers.

He stepped closer to the stone obelisk, reaching out with one hand to rest his palm against its smooth surface. It was surprisingly warm from the heat of the sun, reminding him of the flames that had wreathed Jean’s body as the Dark Phoenix took over. Bending his head, he closed his eyes and tried to visualise Jean’s face. For an instant it shimmered in his mind, beautiful and distant. He smiled once then stepped away, dropping his hand to his side. “Goodbye Jean,” he muttered, his voice a mere croak. Clearing his throat he said more clearly, “I did love you.”

Finally turning to leave he noticed Marie watching him from the shadow of the hedge. Her face was white as chalk, pain etched so clearly across her features that it made him miss a step.

“Hey, Marie!”

As he stepped towards her she fled, but he had come too far to lose her now. Every muscle in his body seemed to be shaking, but he ran after her, grabbing her round the waist as she struggled to escape, hauling her back against his body and cradling her there, his chin nuzzling into her neck.

“Put me down!” she sobbed, scratching at his forearms and kicking wildly before suddenly slumping in his grip. “Logan, let me go. I can’t do this anymore. I thought I could, but it hurts too much.”

He shook his head, willing to do anything for her except let her go. Normally he was so sure, so confident, but this was something he couldn’t fight in the usual way, and he was momentarily at a loss. Looking down he saw the scratches on his arms knit instantly, almost as if they had never been. Marie’s hurt was deeper, lurking beneath the skin, and would take longer to heal. He took a deep breath, knowing he had to get this right, that the rest of his life depended on it.

“I can fix that,” he told her, spinning her round and gripping her shoulders harshly, shaking her gently to emphasise his words. “Darlin’, look at me. I love you. I love you.”


The End