Part 1- ‘Salvation no more…’

It amazed her the way they couldn’t see, the way they were blind to the times, the hollowed nights in which he suffered. It seemed they wilfully shut themselves off to the fact that with all his strength, all his energy, every ounce of his bravado, he was after all painfully human.

Or he had been, once upon a time. Unlike the rest of them, herself included, he hadn’t been born a mutant, and she believed he once had a life outside the confines of his now haunted mind.

Perhaps that was what troubled him the most, a flash, a momentary remembrance of being ‘normal’. Not that he would ever admit to that, he’d see it as a betrayal, an insult to the group of friends he’d believed he’d found at last.

It’d taken practically rolling across half the country and back again to find a place he at last thought maybe he’d be able to call home. Besides, these days he just felt too tired to start again, move onto somewhere new. It was here, amongst a group, that as well meaning as they were wouldn’t take a risk in seeing him anything less than invincible.

It suited them to see him as unbreakable, a leader, infallible, encompassed with a strength beyond words. He was all those, but more…he was also weak, chased by phantoms, haunted by demons, broken in so many pieces, that he was afraid it would take the rest of his life, if ever to put it all back together again.

They didn’t see it, but she did, because she too had a recollection of what it had once meant to be normal. Her powers may have been instigated from birth but they only manifested in her teenage years. She had known what it was to live a life; one not marred with fear, a love of touch not tainted by bitter reproach.

But whereas she had 16 years of memories of that life, he had only snatches, glimpses, snapshots of what he may have been. And he’d see it all in those dreams, chinks of light in a darkened nightmare existence.

It was difficult to ascertain which one of them had it harder, her for the 16 years she had to lament, or him for only the fragments of a past he’d barely had before it was brutally erased from his memory, a hope he clung to even though it was slowly driving him insane.

And it was driving him insane, slowly, painfully…a release that would not come. He did not ask for much, just to know what he was and what he had been.

She, well she asked for even less, to be something of what she had once been, happy…free.

Both lost, bereft of faith, fearful of redemption that always seemed to elude, it was only natural that she’d see something in him everyone else missed. His bruises healed slower now, the cuts taking longer to knit together. He tired more at the end of missions, his temper frayed more than usual, and his tone gruffer in the few moments he spoke at all.

And he drank far, far too much, even for him with his healing; he drank to dull the sensations, dull the taste of a life he only half-lived.

It had been worse since Stryker had promised him answers he’d never intended to deliver, that had taken the last of his faith. He believed in salvation no more, and because he had given up on it, he was content to believe that it had given up on him.

---

She couldn’t remember when she’d started sneaking down the hallway in the middle of the night, to turn the handle of his room and quietly step inside. And she couldn’t remember how many nights it was before she’d had the courage to step forwards into the room, instead of turning and running just as soon as she’d spied his huddled figure entangled in the bed sheets.

He rarely slept, she knew that, and when he did sleep it was always with a sorrowful pity that she’d stand at the end of the bed watching over him because she knew he would soon start to dream. And then he’d suffer, even as he slept he’d suffer, and in the dreams she knew the bruises never healed, the cuts never closed, the blood never stopped.

And he always knew she was there, keeping by his side, silently watching over him, helpless as he fell apart. He never spoke to her about it, a silent agreement subsided between them; she could come to his room, sit in that large chair opposite the bed as long as she liked, even fall asleep there just as long she never asked, as long as, come morning she never spoke about it.

Determined to hold to that agreement because she needed this as much as he did, it was selfish really, as long as she watched him suffer from the hell of his nightmarish existence, she knew her dreams, the memories she’d snatched from him as he’d saved her life on Liberty Isle, could never be, would never even come close to his horrors.

But watching him, it spared her, strange but she always slept peacefully curled up in that chair of his, recovery, lethargy being assumed from all the force, all the energy he expended in those nights as he would thrash wildly against assailants unseen.

Then perhaps it was the guilt of slowly watching him break and bend through a personal hell that offered no respite, even in the cold light of day, which moved her to finally do something.


The first time she’d tried to crawl into bed beside him, he’d growled menacingly and she’d given up, padding gently in her sock covered feet over to her usual station, the chair.

She’d sat there and shivered most of the night, only to wake a few hours later with a heavy blanket draped over her, she’d smiled quietly to herself, and looked over at him, laying on his side, curled up, his feral eyes peering into the distance, across and out of the window, looking but not really seeing anything.

He wasn’t ready to let her change the rules, not yet.

---

It was a good few weeks later that she’d try again, this time as she slipped quietly into his room, she looked around confused, he wasn’t in the bed. She panicked thinking he’d pulled another one of his leaving acts, until she saw the light under his bathroom door.

Approaching the closed door slowly, she listened as he dry heaved, and the sound had her shaking. She’d never heard him throw up before, all the missions they’d been on, all the mess of broken bones and bloodied bodies hadn’t ever made him flinch, but tonight, he seemed to retching for all he was worth.

Taking a deep breath, she turned the handle and opened the door slowly, she found him slumped over the toilet bowl, a heavy sweat covering his face, one hand clutched to his stomach, the other pounding the floor as he fought bitterly to overcome the nausea.

He looked up at her and growled, but it wasn’t menacing this time, it was a fading noise really, a pathetic sound, one filled with sorrow and weariness. She knelt by his side, he looked away as her eyes brimmed with tears from the pain, wretched pain that threatened to overwhelm the both of them.

Taking off her gloves she wore even to bed, she held up her hands slowly, making sure he saw what she was doing, making sure he wouldn’t be threatened by her. He shook his head resolutely at her, but she only smiled gently, and bringing her lips close to his ear whispered, ‘Let me do this for ya Logan…’

He stared at her as she brought up her hands, placing the palms gently on either side of his face, clutching his cheeks, brushing her thumbs slowly over his aching eyes; she closed them for him gently. And at last she concentrated, drawing him quietly into herself.

She dreamed for him that night, allowing him a brief respite from the horrors. She took it all in, convulsed in pain on the bathroom floor, allowing herself to be taken away to his nightmare, washed away by his sorrow, knowing all along that he stretched out beside her, passed out and oblivious to the world, was safe, for one night at least.

---

"Best Of You"- The Foo Fighters

I've got another confession to make
I'm your fool
Everyone's got their chains to break
Holdin' you

Were you born to resist or be abused?
Is someone getting the best, the best, the best, the best of you?
Is someone getting the best, the best, the best, the best of you?

Are you gone and onto someone new?
I needed somewhere to hang my head
Without your noose
You gave me something that I didn't have
But had no use
I was too weak to give in
Too strong to lose
My heart is under arrest again
But I break loose
My head is giving me life or death
But I can't choose
I swear I'll never give in
I refuse

Is someone getting the best, the best, the best, the best of you?
Is someone getting the best, the best, the best, the best of you?
Has someone taken your faith?
Its real, the pain you feel
You trust, you must
Confess
Is someone getting the best, the best, the best, the best of you?
Oh...

Oh...Oh...Oh...Oh...

Has someone taken your faith?
Its real, the pain you feel
The life, the love you'd die to heal
The hope that starts the broken hearts
You trust, you must
Confess

Is someone getting the best, the best, the best, the best of you?
Is someone getting the best, the best, the best, the best of you?

I've got another confession my friend
I'm no fool
I'm getting tired of starting again
Somewhere new

Were you born to resist or be abused?
I swear I'll never give in
I refuse

Is someone getting the best, the best, the best, the best of you?
Is someone getting the best, the best, the best, the best of you?
Has someone taken your faith?
Its real, the pain you feel
You trust, you must
Confess
Is someone getting the best, the best, the best, the best of you?
Oh...

Part 2- ‘Look To Me…’

She stopped and stared around her, momentarily disorientated, it was pitch black, but she could hear sounds. She was convinced shapes, something moved hurriedly from one corner to the other. Whispers, scratching…hollow sounds that seemed so far away but achingly close at the same time.

She reached out tentatively, one hand stretched into the darkness, fingers holding out to brush against something, anything just to know that she wasn’t alone, all alone in this bleakness.

A brush of cool air rushed passed her ear, a body, someone moving close…too close. Stumbling backwards, startled her footing seemed to slip and she fell….and kept falling.
It was only when she landed with a hard thud against what she guessed to be solid floor that she dared to open her eyes.

And she was back, back in that place she had seen in her own dreams, that place she had come to dread, the place she hated. The labs, those dreaded, cold clinical, bleached clean murderous places, where every ounce of compassion was killed and inhumanity was borne, where cruelty reached new heights.

The place she knew he hated, the memories of which were driving him to the edge. The place where he thought he had died, only to be reborn, into a body that offered no release and a mind granted little respite.

She had landed on some sort of balcony, high above; it was set up as a viewing gallery and looking around she saw she wasn’t alone. Men in dark suits, in lab coats, in army uniforms all stood on the same balcony, all close to the railings looking down at something.

Raising herself painfully to her knees, she looked at each of them in turn, the green lights flickering across their faces, making their expressions all the more haunting, wide eyed they stared, down into the heart of a lab. She crawled to the edge to see what was happening, a horror awakening within her every time she scraped her hands and knees on the cold stone.

With a sickening instinct she already knew what was there, it was his mind; and she knew it was a valley of shadows, layer of horror upon horror, afflicted with evil. She must have known what she’d find looking down, but she still clutched with trembling hands to the railings and looked.

Logan…God Logan, you poor…poor bastard.

Tears welled in her eyes as she watched the sickening spectacle that played out in front of her eyes. He was strapped down to a cold sheet of metal, manacles binding his wrists tight, his arms and legs splayed, his head bound down, chains that held fast against his neck.

Half a dozen lab coats hovered over him, she saw needles pierce his skin, she saw them take measurements, saw them fill in their charts, as if he was nothing more than their glorified lab rat.

She shut her eyes tightly, and tried to breathe; all the pain, her own, his, all overwhelming her washing over her, wave after relentless wave. They killed her, just as they were killing him. Opening her eyes at last only made it worse, now there were scalpels, she watched horrified as one of the scientists lifted it, the metal glinting in the spotlights they had positioned over him. It gleamed, and as they took it towards his arm, she thought it shone with a brightness that was truly sickening.

And then the blade did what it was made to, it cut…deep, deeper… further still, until it was almost buried to the hilt in the top of his arm close to his shoulder, then down it worked, clean deep cuts, murderous wounds. Her breath hitched in her throat, and she fought hard to overcome the nausea, as the blood started to pour out of him.

Bruised, broken…and bloody… you poor bastard.

She forced herself to keep looking, her own dreams the ones she’d garnered from him had never been this graphic, but even they had haunted her for days, but this…this was beyond what worst nightmares should ever be.

And even as she looked she saw, saw his eyes snap open and he was looking, searching, not at the lab coats, not at the soldiers, but looking up…, looking at her. He forced her to hold his gaze, pulling her further, pulling her in…

She did not know when the screaming started; all she knew was the sound was deafening her, killing her, strangling her, choking her, she couldn’t breathe. Scrambling backwards, pressing her back against the railings, she screamed and screamed…putting both hands to hold tight over her eyes, willing, vainly trying to push the image of his pain away.

But she saw it and kept seeing it, that knife, all that blood…cuts that never healed, that never closed over.

Crawling painfully to her knees, and then at last to her feet, she pulled herself up, holding to the railings of the balcony for all she was worth, praying… God let it end, set me free, set him free. Forcing her eyes open she found she wasn’t in the labs anymore, but was stood in some sort of corridor.

There’d been one hell of a fight, blood spattered the walls, smeared across the floor, pools of red surrounded her, and she could only stare silently. All her screams had only left her hoarse. She honestly thought if she started screaming now, she’d never stop, she’d die screaming.

She looked around her, looked up the corridor and then down, wondering if she should move, afraid to choose a direction, afraid it would lead to more labs, more misery, more of his pain. Rooted to the spot, she could only watch as a darkened figure appeared at one end of the corridor, it was blurred, something, someone was headed in her direction.

Her breathing was laboured, she fought for very inch of air to inflate her lungs, her eyes adjusting as she watched the figure get closer. And then she’d thought her chest had collapsed, as every breath escaped her, left in a rush of cold bitter air as she recognised the man now stood in front of her.

Logan…no, Wolverine, his claws extended and bloody, naked and covered in head to toe in blood. It was pouring from his veins, ebbing away from him, flowing away, he growled at her and she instinctively took a step backwards.

He moved closer to her, and before she could react gripped her tightly by the shoulders, the claws burying deep into her back, she winced in pain and he only held tighter, forcing her eyes open, forcing her to see, pulling her in.

‘Get outta here kid, ain’t nothin’ ya can do for him…’ Wolverine, only he would ever contemplate hurting her like this, see her being here as an invasion, see her as an intruder.

And she suddenly knew why Logan had kept her out for so long, had prevented her from getting too close, had preferred to suffer alone. Wolverine was here, uncontrollable, wild, uncaring Wolverine, who would hurt without a second thought.

She grimaced in pain as he held tighter and squeezed harder, blades pushing further into her skin, and she thought she would die here, in hell, in his hell.

---

‘Marie, you know I would feel better if you would do this under Dr McCoy and Jean’s supervision, in the medical lab, where we can monitor you both.’ His voice drifted over to her as she lay back on the couch her head pressed deep into the soft cushion, a brief respite.

Her eyes drifted closed painfully, brimmed red and aching, it had only been one night and already she was so tired. She’d been pulled awake by Logan; he’d gripped her shoulders tight and shaken her like a little doll, and she’d felt so fragile, so weak she’d thought he’d snapped her in two.

She’d looked up at him, the tears still flowing, the convulsions not yet gone, her teeth shuddering from the memories. He’d shook his head at her, sighed before whispering, ‘don’t ya ever do that again kid…not ever.’

And even in those short few gruff words she knew he’d really wanted to thank her, to say thank you for one night, where I haven’t had to be where you were. Thank you.

Forcing her eyes open she looked at the Professor, he was sat by the window looking across the room at her. She smiled at him, and turned on her side to look at him, wanting him to know she was fine, even if it was a bitter lie.

‘Ya know he’d never agree to that, it was hard enough for him lettin’ me do this much. He’ll never let me in again if ah suggest the lab, and by then it might be too late for him.’

Professor Xavier nodded sadly, looking intently at her, he wondered how it was that such a young girl could have such an old soul, such a lovin’ heart that she would consent to die alongside him, walk the condemned path with him, every night if he would let her, just to save him.

He sighed deeply and wheeled himself over to her, ‘Marie..,’ he started, the old feelings of guilt washing over him, ‘do you think he knows?’

She looked up at him questioningly. He looked away ashamed, ‘Do you think Logan knows that we gave up on him, that I gave up on him?’ He had given up, knowing he could never invade Logan’s thoughts without permission; knowing he could never reach him, he had not tried talking to him, wishing to believe like of all them, that he was the strongest, invincible; it had suited them all to see him as that.

Except her, except Marie, she had taken up what should have been his responsibility as the professor, as the head of the Academy, as a mentor, she had taken up the duty that should have been his…of saving one of their own.

She sat up slowly, and raising herself painfully walked over to him. She kissed him gently on the cheek, just a brush of the lips against the skin, never enough to trigger the pull. ‘It’s alright. Ah know, and he knows ya tried, it’s enough.’
He thanked her silently pressing his hand into her gloved ones; she stood that way with him a while before she walked towards the door.

Truth was she had every reason to feel as guilty as he did; it wasn’t long ago that she’d been thinking of doing the same thing, of walking away. Logan’s burden was too heavy, his scars ran too deep, she had wanted to think like they did, that he would heal himself.

But she couldn’t, she could never have turned a blind eye for long, could never have fooled herself for long, because she knew she’d never forgive herself if she had walked away. If she had left him to be pushed far into insanity, beyond hope, beyond redemption, beyond release, it would have killed her.

And because he had seen everyone else do just that, despite all the protests he put up, she knew he would never forgive her either. It was killing him and so far she was the only one who could see he couldn’t be strong for much longer now.

So however much it would take, however long Logan waited before he let her in again, and however much Wolverine hurt her once she had forced her way in, she wouldn’t give up.

Not this time.

---

Shadow On The Sun- Audioslave

Once upon a time I was of the mind
To lay your burden down
And leave you where you stood
And you believed I could
You'd seen it done before
I could read your thoughts
Tell you what you saw
And never say a word
Now all that is gone
Over with and done - never to return

(chorus)
I can tell you why
People die alone
I can tell you I'm
A shadow on the sun

Staring at the loss
Looking for a cause
And never really sure
Nothing but a hole
To live without a soul
And nothing to be learned

(chorus 2)
I can tell you why
People go insane
I can show you how
You could do the same
I can tell you why
The end will never come
I can tell you I'm
A shadow on the sun

Shapes of every size
Move behind my eyes
Doors inside my head
Bolted from within
Every drop of flame
Lights a candle in
Memory of the one
Who lives inside my skin

Part 3- ‘These Hands Are Bitter Cold…’

He’d gone looking for a fight, and being what he was he found it. She’d been the first one to raise the alarm and had told the Professor, he’d seen the fear in her eyes, the concern and the both of them knowing what he was becoming; and the many ways in which he was falling apart knew they had to find him.

He hadn’t spoken to her in days, not since that night in the bathroom, the dreams in which she’d wandered and the pain she’d suffered for him. And it was all that she’d expected, and all she could have hoped for. At least he had not packed and left, at least not yet.

But tonight, she had fought against every instinct and shakily headed for his room as she had been used to, only when she had entered his room half expecting to hear his gruff voice to curse at her and tell her to leave, instead she’d been met with a cold room, a bitter silence that hung heavily in the air, his bed was empty, the signs of life non existent, he hadn’t been to his room at all.

And now sat in the Blackbird spying his empty chair she shivered involuntarily once more, she’d seen the way the Professor had looked, seen the way he hung his head when he’d told them where Logan was having pinpointed his location through Cerebro.

And she’d hated the expressions on their faces, Storm, Jean and Scott, the ones the Professor had commissioned to go after him, the looks that said Logan was reckless, stupid and utterly irresponsible to put them all at risk like this.

Magneto, he’d gone to him, Logan had gone to exorcise his demons by inflicting pain and through feeling it. And if he had headed into the lions den he was intending to fight them all, Mystique, Sabretooth, Toad and Magneto. All of them, all at once, he was heading for a suicide mission.

It was what he knew, to battle overwhelming odds, to triumph when it looked impossible, but she knew, Marie, the girl who had entered the minefield that was his mind, that this time he wasn’t going there to triumph, he wasn’t going there to win, but to let them try and end it for him.

---

They entered the abandoned warehouse, the older mutants in front, pushing Marie back, still puzzled as to why the Professor had acceded to her demands that she be allowed to go after Logan along with them, and now thinking they had to protect her.

So they kept her to the back, walking in a wide semicircle fighting stances at the ready, waiting for a sign they’d ended up in the right place. It soon came, a bloody and battered Toad came crashing through the rotten floorboards above their heads.

He landed by the foot of the stairs, they instinctively braced themselves in case he got up, but he didn’t, it seemed he was out for the count.

Logan really was going at it, the fight that raged from the upper floor of the warehouse was proof of that, fierce grunts, the shouts and sounds of bodies hitting walls. She was the last to enter the room, forcefully kept back by an overprotective Scott, wanting to shield her from an aspect that horrified them all.

But she’d seen Logan at his worst, in ways they could never have imagined, to protect her from this now seemed frivolous to her at least. She stood in the doorway as her eyes adjusted to the situation, and she saw Logan, bloodied, clothes shredded, wild and uncontrollable Logan, the one in the dreams, more animal than man, Wolverine.

He was being choked by an equally wild Sabretooth, his hold around Logan’s neck tightening, the fingers squeezing tighter and she stared wide eyed, seemingly fixed at her post at the door, unable to move, unable to breathe.

She must have made a sound, a strangled sob of some sort because Logan turned to look at her. His eyes snapped to hers and she wondered then if she was trapped in that nightmare again, where his eyes had glared at her as he had lain on the table, as the scientists had ripped him to pieces.

It was that same pained expression, that pitying regret, that same fierce look, bitter accusation. And she knew he hated her, in that moment as she took a step forward, in that instant he knew what it was she intended to do, his bulging eyes warned her to stay back, ‘keep away from me kid, let it end, let him end it for me.’

But she had made a promise as much for herself as for him, she was going to save him, walk the condemned path, the hell he was willing to pull them both through, hoping at least one of them would end up coming through the other side. Right now it only mattered that he did.

He shook his head, watching her slowly approach Sabretooth from his blind side, the animal unwittingly oblivious to her intentions. Chokingly sputtering and watching as she removed her gloves, looking around her and seeing both Magneto and Mystique being kept busy by the others, knowing that it had fallen to her, to save him in spite of himself.

And she did just that, placing both her hands on either side of Sabretooth’s bare shoulders, concentrating, drawing him in, pulling and inflicting as much pain as she could, feeling him weaken, seeing his hold loosen around Logan’s neck, seeing him fall to the ground.

Sabretooth roared in agony, she screamed as the mutation took hold and Logan…he screamed in frustration as he fell to his knees hating her for letting him breathe again, hating her for allowing breath to be left in his lungs.

The light reflecting on his claws seemed to dance in the pale light, she watched him struggle to his knees, and for the longest while all the angles were askew as she rolled onto her back, the physical exhaustion of having to use her powers on such a heavyweight as Sabretooth taking its toll.

Her eyes drifted close as she allowed a healing sleep to take over, it was the briefest of respites as she felt herself dragged to her feet, gripped harshly by the arms she winced in pain, briefly thinking Sabretooth had recovered awfully fast. Instead, opening her eyes she found herself staring into the feral ones of Logan.

His face was a contorted mess of blood and rage, anger against himself and her, she struggled in his grip, fingers flexing as she fought to gain hold, to touch him, weaken him just a little before he crushed her to death.

It was so much like her dream, she almost wished she was back there again, just so she could wake up, not wanting to be thrust from one nightmare into another, she fought to gain a breath, haunted now like he was, sleeping or awake the nightmare never seemed to end.

Still grappling with her, Logan started to move, started to run, and she realised with a growing horror it was not towards the door, but the window! He was headed for the dirty glass at the other end of the room, and he didn’t seem to be stopping!

She shut her eyes, and the sound of his growling, his fierce panting momentarily deafened her before the shattering of glass, the air whistling past her ear, and the sensation of falling…falling, took over.

Down they went, tumbling headfirst, his strong grip not releasing her, not flinching or loosening in the slightest, but still deadly strong, and everything seemed to move in slow motion, she looked up and saw a horrified Scott stood in the gaping hole where the window had been, his face fixed in a disbelieving expression as he screamed her name.

He was going to kill her, he was going to kill them both, and there was nothing in the world she could do about it, so much for saving them both.

And then even as they fell, the motion stopped, the sickening feeling of gravity pulling them to a wretched inevitability stopped and she saw they were no longer falling but softly floating to the ground, it was only when they were deposited safely, and she could feel the solidity beneath her back that she realised what had happened.

Jean had saved them, with her telekinesis, stopped them from hitting the ground, saving them both.

And Marie breathed again, she hadn’t realised she’d been holding her breath, but the thankful gasp she took as she lay stretched out, grateful for the dirt underneath her made her realise she must have. She breathed again.

She struggled to her feet, coughing, shaking as she pulled herself up, and she looked for him, Logan.

She couldn’t see him, in the darkened tall unkempt grass, in the pale moonlight she couldn’t see him, and she held her breath once more. It took only a moment for the rustling behind her to register before she was flat out on her back again, having been knocked off her feet.

And then she felt them, the cold deadly sting of adamantium claws held to her throat, the feel of his heavy skeleton pressing down on her, his feral eyes boring into hers once more, the Wolverine glaring down at her.

His arm drew back, ready to strike, Marie stared up at him, not knowing what to do, and not knowing what to say now, now that her once best friend was ready to kill her.
He seemed to tense, drawing all his energy into that arm, a deadly strike.

Marie shook her head and screamed, ‘James…please stop…JAMES!!!’

---

Cries In The Night- Wasp

Oooh, I'm sitting down thinking about losing my mind
Cause I keep telling myself I'm only one of a kind
My life is broke because my dreams were shattered
For so very long nothing else mattered

I'm hearing Cries in the Night
I can't wait another day
No, no, no, tell me no lies
I'm standing cold in the light
I lose the dream and I go crazy
I'm hearing Cries in the Night

Yeah, they pull at my hair, and call out my name
They think I'm cool and got worries with fame
But I'm living to lose and dying to win
With these people around here my patience wears thin

I'm hearing Cries in the Night I can't wait another day
No, no, no, tell me no lies
I'm standing cold in the light I lose the dream and I go crazy
I'm hearing Cries in the Night

Yeah, I'm trying to get away, get away from it all
I stand and scream, I'm not gonna crawl
The dream never dies
That's why I sing the song
Like my maddening world, it turns on and on
I'm hearing Cries in the Night
I can't wait another day
No, no, no, tell me no lies
I'm standing cold in the light
I lose the dream and I go crazy
I'm hearing Cries in the Night

Part 4- ‘Caught At An Impasse…’

She shut her eyes tightly; his ragged breathing the only sound in her ears, everything else seemed to fade away and all she could think was that she had just called him James. How long had it been, how long since he had heard that name, how long, because for him, before Logan, before it all there had been James, young James Howlett.

She could still feel his heavy skeleton threatening to crush her, she didn’t dare to look, to open her eyes and look into his, to see that maybe her friend was gone, that this thing boring down on her, this creature whose every breath rushed down on her face, fluttering her hair but causing her to shiver in every sense, that this thing had taken over.

Wolverine was in control, she had used his true name out of an act of desperation, but it had seemed to do nothing, he still had her pinned, what to do, what to say now, has it all come to this?

And she willed herself, prayed to every God she knew to offer her the strength, open your eyes, look and see, let him know that however far he’s gone she was still here, willing to forgive, willing to save him, if he would just let her breathe, let her live.

‘Hold on…’ she barely whispered the words, it was a short prayer for herself just as much for him, hold on to that little spark, the true self that’s dying inside you, don’t let him win, don’t let the animal in you take over, don’t let him kill me and eventually you as well. Hold on, just hold on.

She opened her eyes at last, had minutes passed? Or was it hours, waiting for an end to this stalemate, this fucked-up situation they’d ended up in, this dark place they’d arrived at, waiting to be allowed to breathe again, it had seemed like days.

And she realised it had been, days, since that moment she’d entered his nightmares, that night in the bathroom, days since either of them had breathed. They’d both been holding their breaths, holding it in, waiting and knowing that eventually it would come to this.

She saw him with his arm raised still, the claws barely inches from her face, his arm tensed and she could only stare up at him, the tears formed in the back of her eyes, the tears that burned from a pain that was unbearable, the hot, unwanted tears for a friend that was dying, for a life that had been destroyed, for the uncertainty she couldn’t fathom.

They pooled at the corner of her eyes falling gently, silently down the side of her face, and her chest heaved under the weight from the sobs that racked her body, he wouldn’t let her go, she would die here, under his weight, trapped in this nightmare.

And she wanted so much to live, so much just to live.

She screamed as the adamantium claws whizzed past her face, they scratched her cheek, deep cuts that she could feel open up as the metal sliced through her soft flesh. The cuts opened up and the saltiness of her tears bled into the wounds of her face stinging as they went.

And she bled, she turned her face to the side and caught sight of his fist and his claws buried deep into the soil, knowing that it could have been worse, so much worse. She drew sharp haggard breaths, and realised where she had stopped screaming, he had started.

His voice, gruff and hoarse, screamed long into the dark night, he fell to his knees, pulling at his hair banging his head repeatedly on the ground, fighting his demons, bleeding like she was, bleeding and not healing.

She raised herself to her knees fighting every instinct to move away, to run and let him tear himself apart, it took every ounce of strength she had simply to kneel there beside him, to whisper those words she knew he barely heard in amidst his haunting cries.

‘Hold on…’

---

She stood by the window, shrank a little from the glass, couldn’t help but remember, couldn’t help but think back to only a few hours ago when she was flying through a window, falling through air, hurtling to the ground and awaiting the inevitable, awaiting death.

Her arms were crossed over her chest, her eyes tired, rimmed red and a gentle sigh filled her soul, strange how tired facing your own mortality made you, she doubted she’d be able to sleep tonight, aside from the sensations of and the sound of breaking glass, she didn’t think this dull ache in her soul would ever cease.

And it was an ache that seemed to manifest in the pain that shone out under the bandage on her face. Logan had cut her deep, the blood had poured down her cheek, even as they’d hurried her to the Blackbird, with Scott pressing a bandage tight to her wound, the blood seemed simply to flow away, seeping out even as Scott kept the pressure over the cuts, his hand fading into red, it ran down his fingers, crimson bleeding into white.

And it was perverse, so sickening that although he couldn’t touch her skin, he could watch her bleed her away like this, and damn it he had been supposed to look after her, supposed to take care of her. He was team leader, but of all the people, all the monsters he thought he’d protect her from, he’d never thought…Goddamn it Logan what the hell have you done.

They’d turned to look at him, sat in the back of the jet, flexing and unflexing his hands staring at his claws, muttering to himself, willing the metal to retract, Marie’s blood still caked to them. Scott had glared at him for the longest while, but Logan had seemed oblivious to them all. Even as Jean had gone to sit directly in front of him, even as she seemed to be talking to him, and though she ignored Scott’s warning to be careful, Logan had not indicated he’d registered her presence at all.
He was lost in his own world, the world where he’d hurt the one girl who’d shown she wasn’t afraid of him, the only one for the longest while who had given him any sort of a chance.

She’d needed over ten stitches in her face, three each for the top two cuts and four for the last cut, three claw marks and ten stitches, ten to sew her back together, to heal the wounds, to cover the holes he’d created.

But she’d be scarred for life, three deep marks, ten stitches to make it right but never enough, never enough to forget that he’d almost killed her.

Marie shivered, wrapping her arms tighter about herself, she’d never forget, that look in his eyes, feral and unkempt, unwavering and unforgiving, Wolverine, it was all she could see and in those moments he’d pinned her to the ground it was all he was, animal.
His look, the pure hate, the venom, and all directed at her.

Turning back to the sounds in the room, she listened as an extremely pissed off Scott was arguing with the Professor.

‘What the hell was he doing there, he put us all in danger, and Professor you can’t deny that Logan is getting more dangerous…’

Marie stepped forward, ‘it wasn’t his fault…’ both men turned to look at her, ‘It’s not Logan’s fault, he thought I was Mystique.’ She uttered the last lie quietly not entirely sure they bought it. ‘It could have happened to anyone…’

Scott shook his head at her, ‘But it didn’t, it happened to him, Marie look at what he’s done to you, your face, he could have killed you…’ He sighed and sat down resignedly on the couch, ‘I think he should leave.’

‘No….!’ Marie was horrified by the idea, they couldn’t force him out now, didn’t they see, he needed to be here; she needed to save him.

Luckily for her the Professor thought the same way, perhaps out of a sense of guilt, out of a sense that maybe, just maybe this mere slight of girl, this nervous child could get through where he had failed, he shook his head at Scott.

‘We can’t make Logan leave Scott,’ he held up his hand as way of dissuading further argument, ‘I have suspected it for a while, but it seems Logan is losing his battle with the Wolverine inside him, and if that is the case, then the best place would be here, for the both of them.’

But Scott was adamant, they had never gotten along, but in all truth it was the idea of protecting the rest of the students that was now his main concern, ‘If that is the case, then surely Logan will be more dangerous then ever, out of control and filled with rage, Professor surely you can foresee the damage he is potentially capable of.’

‘No Scott you must understand, Logan was not born a mutant, he has long seen Wolverine as a separate entity, something foreign that was placed inside him, and it has taken years for him to gain some sort of control, his life and all his memories have involved pain, and a desperate need to curb that rage he carries.’

Scott sighed, ‘And I am truly sorry for it, but what…how can we make sure that he won’t hurt someone else? Professor could we really take the risk, what if next time we are not so lucky, and what if he ends up killing someone?’

The Professor pressed his fingers together deep in thought, ‘Logan needs to be here Scott, this is the only place where we might be able to get him back.’

Scott nodded at last, ‘Are you sure you can help him?’ He waited the longest while for an answer, but when it came, it didn’t come from the one source he’d expected. Still looking to the Professor he was surprised at the small voice that came from the corner of the room.

Marie, little Marie, with three deep cuts, and ten stitches, not enough to forget, but enough to stare adamantly at a disbelieving Scott and a worried Professor Xavier.
‘No he can’t…but I can.’

---

Hold on she’d said, hold on to what? To a sanity that was hanging by a thread, a life diminishing, the few good memories he had being taken away, being pushed into the black nothingness.

Hold on to what? The idea that he was losing this fight, this animal inside him was going to win, and everything, every relationship, every friendship, every hope he’d collected along the way would be gone. Snatched away because he was no longer in control, he couldn’t hold on, couldn’t push him back, even when he’d tried to take one of the most important things in his life.

Marie, little Marie, he’d almost killed her; the Wolverine in him had almost killed the one girl, the first girl to have shown any sort of trust in him. What a mess, what a goddamn mess.

He sat on the gurney in the medical lab, hating everything about its cold clinical approach, hating the clean white lines, the sterilised metal, the place that reminded him of being cut open, of being killed and broken.

His shirt was removed and his hands rested loosely in his lap, he’d gotten the claws to retract at last, and though the skin should have been healed over by now, it was still bleeding.

Not enough to hurt him, but enough to warrant the concern of Dr Jean Gray. She stood in front of him now, worry lines etched deep in that high brow of hers. Couldn’t help it really, he supposed it must have been in her nature, helping the wounded beast.

She’d been drawn to him, Logan, this man who made her shake with a single look, whose very kiss excited her in ways that Scott had never been able to. Because of all the complexities that raged inside him, he was a contradiction, always bordering on the edge and that’s what ignited their affair, for so many months now they’d been playing this dangerous game, and where he had started the chase, where he had lusted after her, he wondered when that had changed, at what point had the saintly Jean Gray turned to him, started chasing him?

And at what point had he begun to hate her, he hated her, the Wolverine, and not just her, hated everything about this place, these people, these mutants. This family born out of mismatched needs, this unit that he could no longer force himself to be part of.

And he struggled with it, he fought with it, bled himself dry over it, to stay, to be content with this, curb the rage, the animal, chain him up inside, the Wolverine, the part he was losing himself to.

‘Logan…’ she whispered his name gently, softly unsure if he was there at all, but he was, fighting every impulse that screamed at him to unsheathe the claws, because she was in a lab coat, she was prodding and probing him, and she would hurt him. People in white lab coats always did.

He breathed deep, every ragged breath a step closer to some sort of restraint, and eventually resorted to pulling her close, just so he couldn’t see, those eyes, those beautiful eyes filled with a sympathy he’d never thought he’d deserve. He held her close, flush against his bare chest, her arms wrapping naturally around his neck, she rubbed that place at the base of his spine, and he could feel her tears moisten his shoulder, she loved him, but it wasn’t enough, for the beast caged within, the heart locked away beneath layers of pain and forgotten hopes, it was not enough, it would never be enough.

‘Logan…what happened?’ she asked of him tentatively. What to say, how to answer, how to say that he hated this, that he hated it all, and God forbid he hated her. But he only shook his head, ‘I don’t know Jean…it was an accident I swear…’ his voice bruised with too much time spent with whiskey and cigars, too many nights borne out of fear, his voice, his normally strong voice shook.

She looked closely at him, and bought it, every word, every lie he was willing to give her, accepting, forgiving in an instant. He kissed her then, hard and fast, insistent, urgent, needing her and using her.

And they made love, on that medical table, even as he bled all over her, even as he watched her, fighting the darker impulses, caging that beast, satiating his thirst by fulfilling his other needs, baser needs, that of flesh and bone.

That of taking what belonged to another and marking it as his own, in every way base and cruel.

---

She was lying on her bed, staring quietly at the ceiling willing herself not to cry, not anymore, the painkillers were not working, the sting of her cuts was deep, but nowhere near as the hurt.

He’d whispered his words to her, his feral eyes had stared hard into her teary ones, as she had lain on her back, as she had watched his claws cut through her flesh, he had whispered, 'I should never have saved you, on that statue, in my arms I should have let you die…'

He had cut deep, adamantium claws had cut her flesh, but his words, his choice of weapon, had cut to a core she thought could never be reached. 'I should have let you die…'

And it was worse, so much worse than she could ever had imagined, because she did not know who had said it, praying, willing that it had been Wolverine, but not being able to push away the voice that whispered it had been Logan.

Logan… 'I should have let you die…'

---

She had fallen asleep at some point in the night, the next thing she knew her eyes were snapping open, her whole being suddenly aware of a presence in the room. She saw him sat on the end of her bed, her only reaction was to sit up and draw her knees to her chest. Hiding away from him, the pain, oh the pain from his words, it cut so deep.

‘Ya wanna save me kid, here’s the rub, your mutation it’s working’ both ways…’ He was angry still and his gruff words seemed to resound in the deafening silence.

‘What?’ she heard herself whisper, the word escaping from her, a barely strangled sob.

He stood up abruptly and she instantly shrank further, his eyes glistened in the pale moonlight seeming to recognise and understand her fear, ‘Your mutation, whatever you get from me, ah get it all back from you…’

She understood at last, she had been walking in his mind, in his nightmares, but whatever of herself she’d transported into his memories, he’d somehow managed to do the same. He had been walking in her head, in her mind, in her nightmares…it worked both ways.

The shock registered on her face and he smiled in triumph. ‘Not so easy now huh? Not easy to give up everythin’, to let someone else in, down to the last part of you, all of it…you ready for that…ready to give me everything?’

She had nothing to say, what was there to say? He nodded satisfied he had made his point, he made to walk out of the room, confident that he had done what was needed, he had pushed her away completely, she wouldn’t be makin’ any of those nightly visits to his room anymore.

‘No ah didn’t think so.’ His hand shook as he closed the handle to her room, closing his eyes tightly, let me go kid…

---

"Wounded"- Good Charlotte

Lost and broken,
Hopeless and lonely.
Smiling on the outside,
and hurt beneath my skin.

My eyes are fading,
My soul is bleeding.
I'll try to make it seem okay,
But my faith is wearing thin.

So help me heal these wounds,
They've been open for way too long.
Help me fill this hole,
Even though this is not your fault,

That I'm open,
And I'm bleeding,
All over your brand new rug.
And I need someone to help me sew them up.

I only wanted a magazine,
I only wanted a movie screen,
I only wanted the life I'd read about and dreamed.
And now my mind is an open book,
And now my heart is an open wound,
And now my life is an open soul for all to see.

But help me heal these wounds,
They've been open for way too long.
Help me fill this hole,
Even though this is not your fault,

That I'm open and I'm bleeding,
All over your brand new rug.
And I need someone to help me,

So you come along,
I push you away,
Then kick and scream for you to stay.
Cos I need someone to help me,
Oh I need someone to help me,
To help me heal these wounds,
They've been open for way too long.
Help me fill this hole,
Even though this is not your fault,

That I'm open,
And I'm bleeding,
All over your brand new rug.
And I need someone to help me sew them,
I need someone to help me fill them,
I need someone to help me close them up.

Part 5- ‘The Keys To My Soul…’

It was safe to say nobody got any sleep that night, all haunted in their way, all worrying over a situation that seemed to be getting away from them, Logan and to a certain extent Marie.

Professor Xavier had seen it, the way their lives were slowly unravelling, and it had nothing to do with the threats they faced from the outside world, but had everything to do with the way they bled inside, the pain they couldn’t seem to bear. It tore at them and he was powerless, rendered useless, he could not interfere unless they asked him to.

Could not and would not, Logan had long resented the fact his mind could be read so easily by Xavier, he’d growled his menacing intentions more than once if ‘ol Chuck as he called him, ever tried it.. And Marie, did she truly grasp the weight of this burden to which she appeared so willing to take on board?

Had she even contemplated the extent, the dark avenues Logan’s mind would take her down, the things he would show her, the bitter memories, the darkness that could potentially drown them both? Apparently she had, she knew the dangers, knew the risk she was taking, and he could not fathom quite how much of her strength was bravado, and how much was a brave front, because he knew, the fear it had to run deep.

No one was that brave, no one was that strong, certainly not 18 year old Marie, even he, Professor Xavier approaching sixty had not had the courage to do what she had seemed willing to take on so readily.

He tossed sleeplessly in his bed, resorting to meditating when rest eluded him still, and even that was elusive, deep concentration difficult, the images haunted him, a broken cut Marie, and a Logan broken further still.

Their lives marked by sorrow, they lived them according to that singular faith as well, it would hurt, it would always hurt.

---

Scott turned to his side, watching the slow rise and fall of her chest, reaching out he tentatively pushed a few strands of her red hair away from her face, wanting to see her features more clearly. He sighed, thankful for the forces that kept her here still, that kept her by his side, the fates that kept her warm and safe in his bed.

Contentment was his, peace was his at last, and the long nights, those hard days when he doubted, and when he feared her constancy seemed so long ago. Having been so afraid that he would lose her that she would choose another over him, the fact she was here, her perfect figure encased in a pale blue silk nightgown, seemed all the more sweeter.

He had the love of his life by his side, he was surrounded by friends and students he had come to think of as family, he was happy, he was content…so what of it? What of this constant gnawing that ate him, that kept him restless, left him unable to sleep?

Guilt. As simple and all consuming as that, he felt guilty. For all the hardship, all the doubts he could have encountered through his life, nothing, none of it would ever come close to what Logan was suffering.

He regretted not being able to look the woman he loved in the eyes, his mutation always requiring the use of the glasses, but at least he had Jean, and he had never resented his mutancy, certainly not in the way Logan had reason to regret and resent his.

What was it, he thought, to be so broken, to be hateful of the very thing that lives inside, to be so afraid of the power you hold, to be so resentful of the very essence of you, the gene that set you apart from the rest of the world. What could it mean to be afraid of it?

And Marie, poor Marie, to be burdened with so much, not only her own fears, but now willing to take on his as well, did she know, truly know what it would mean for her, Logan had already hurt her, and Scott was convinced the scars lay not only on her face, but ran deeper, how deep?

Deep enough to pull her apart, scars cruel enough to allow her to be pushed to the edge and over by his nightmares? He had voiced his concerns when she had told them what she was willing to do. He had looked at the Professor, his gaze meeting that of the older man, silently begging, pleading for him to make her change her mind, to reconsider.

He will kill you; it was all Scott could think of, the words unwanted and unbidden, came screaming at him, he will kill you.

The cold certainty of it shook him to the core, he will kill you, and I won’t be able to stop it, because you’ll be somewhere I can’t reach you, down in the depths of his hell. Miles and miles underground swept away by his pain, a form of bitter exile that you will choose, but Marie, he will kill you.

Why, why the certainty? Because of tonight, the animal was finally unleashed, and Scott saw, it was no accident, Logan knew what he was doing, he’d sent you through that window, and he was taking you down with him. And he didn’t care, he let you bleed, he caused you to bleed, but he didn’t care.

It meant nothing to him, and his screaming, God his haunted screaming; it seemed to be willing and able to tear the heavens apart. Pain and anguish, but anger as well, such venom in those cries of despair, running deep, running far. Wolverine or Logan…?

Scott had trouble distinguishing between the two, in the moments he held you prisoner, pinned to the ground his arm tensed, in those moments when faith seemed so far, when hope was unreachable, what was it man or beast?

True he had not been the best friends with Logan, he doubted that would ever happen, not least because of the obvious interest he had shown in Jean, but now, he truly believed Logan should be made to leave.

Now, before it was too late, before he sucked Marie in further, pulled her down into that hell that was his existence, she should not have to carry it, it was not her burden to hold, not her, 18 years old, but already trying to put together a man who had almost clawed her to death.

He’d raised the point with the Professor, but Marie had insisted, ah can do it, she’d said, at least let me try…And then Xavier had nodded even as he had shook his head, don’t do it, don’t touch his skin, don’t go in there again Marie, not into his mind, because this time who’s to know what if you don’t come out this time?

His pleas had fallen on deaf ears, and instead they’d insisted he keep this to himself, no one else in the mansion must know what they were doing, and certainly not any of rest of the X-kids.

There it was again, that need to show at least one of them was unbreakable, that one X-man was invincible, it was so important, everyone in the mansion looked up to Logan, he was their hero in waiting.

Don’t take that away from them, don’t let them see a hero fall apart, because what of hope, if it could happen to him, it could happen to anyone, anyone of them could and would fall, could be beaten by their demons. Don’t let him lose their respect, whatever else was slipping out of his hands, tripping out of his soul, don’t let him lose their respect, their adoration, their hero worship.

He’d snorted at that thought, and rather cruelly remarked, ‘why not, he seems to be losing everything else.’

And then he’d seen, the strength, the resolve behind the eyes of an 18 year old girl, willing to walk through hell, willing to take on a condemned path, towards death if needs be, for Logan, armed with nothing but the blind faith that she needed to succeed.

She’d turned on him, her words strong and resolute, ‘because he doesn’t deserve it, he doesn’t deserve to lose their loyalty simply because it was falling apart for him. He had saved all of their lives more than once, he had stayed, and he had sacrificed, put aside his need to roam, to be free, choosing instead to stay, choosing this place, choosing these mutants.’

And she had been right, realising the struggle he must have undergone, knowing he could never even come close to understanding the need of the Wolverine, the animal inside ripping it apart.

He had been humbled, she had shown him what he could never hope to understand, that even heroes need saving.

But he will kill you.

He took a shuddering breath, pulled himself out of the bed and went to stand in the window, staring out across the dark night sky, it was pitch black, not a star in the heavens.

How many others, he thought, how many others lay sleepless tonight?

---

Marie laid on her bed, staring up at the ceiling, it would have been impossible to lie on her side, the pain on her cheek throbbing away. Her arms were crossed tightly over her chest, protection, safety.

She couldn’t help but ponder over his words, it’s workin’ both ways…’ He was walking in her nightmares, and what was he seeing, all her fears, all that she’d suffered from that moment her mutation had awoken? Further back still, to her childhood perhaps? To the short happiness she’d known then, what else, the long journey she’d taken from Caldecott to Canada, the fear, the sheer terror of leaving everything behind to arrive in Laughlin city, alone and afraid.

To when she’d met him, Logan, and the years spent in the academy, getting close to friends but never knowing the sentiments they experienced, the simple enjoyment from touch, always getting close, but never being allowed to get close enough.

Was he walking through it all, meeting the ghosts of her past, and what of it? What was he garnering from her memories; she hoped it could be something of peace, something of happiness, for though it was filled with its own brand of pain it had not all been bad. There had been happier moments, times of laughter, times of joy.

But was she really ready, was she willing to share that with him, to let him in all the way. Because that was what she’d been asking of him, to let her in, to show her everything.
And it was in that moment she realised what it meant, to give everything away, to trade the nightmares, to let another see what it was to suffer, to see and experience everything, to share it all, it was as if she would be giving away the keys to her soul.

It was like giving away the secrets to your universe, sharing it all, not being able to hold anything back, the deepest, darkest, most intrinsic part of you was open, wide open for another.
She shuddered as she sat up, perhaps they were right to fear her mutation, right to fear her skin, she could take it all from them with a touch, she’d been bitter about it for so long, but now she saw it as they did at last, it was the taking of every last thing, a simple touch and your deepest secrets, your hopes, your fears, everything you’d dreamed belonged to another. No longer yours to hide, no longer yours to hold.

And in the end it came down to trust, did she trust him enough to open it all up to him, to give him everything, just as he said would happen, just as her mutation worked. Did he trust her enough, so much had been taken from him already, so many memories, so much of a past, could he trust her with the keys now?

And did she trust him? Entrust me with the keys to your soul, all or nothing…all or nothing.

---

"Break The Night With Colour"- Richard Ashcroft

Fools they think I do not know, the road I'm taking
If you meet me on the way, hesitating
that is just because I know which way I will choose

The corridors of discontent, that I've been travelling
on the lonely search for truth, the world's so frightening
Nothing's going right today, cos nothing ever does

I don't wanna know your secrets
They lie heavy on my head
Let's break the night with colour
Time for me to move ahead

Love this life if you get a little light
[x4]

Monday morning coming down, lack understanding
Mama thinks you are the clown, your looking so frightening
Nothing's going right today, cos nothing ever does

I don't wanna know your secrets
They lie heavy on my head
Time for me to break my cover
Time for me to move ahead

(You think of giving it up, here we go again)
(You think of giving it up, here they come again)

I don't wanna know your secrets
They lie heavy on my head
Let's break the night with colour
Time for us to move ahead
I said I don't wanna know your secrets
They lie heavy on my head
Time, let's break the night with colour
Time for me to move ahead

(You think of giving it up)

Part 6-‘Simple words, A Confession, A Declaration...’

‘I love you…’

They were simple words, a simple pledge, a young boy’s pledge made at the altar of the Goddess he had worshipped from afar for so very long. And now he was here, lying on her bed, watching her as she spoke in hurried breathless, excited tones about her dreams.

She was going to go travelling, she would see the world, starting with the not too distant shores of Canada, a line she traced, a line over a map that would take her far away, far from the Deep South, away from Caldecott and away from him.

And he had said the only words he could think to say, not the words don’t go, not stay, stay here, because he was certain that wasn’t what they both needed to hear, no, but he could have said so much more. Sighed quietly and told her that he would wait, she could travel halfway around the world, and here, here was where he would stand and wait, because he loved her.

‘I love you…’ simple words, a confession, a declaration. There was no need to say more, anything else just wouldn’t have done.
She stopped, stood with her fingers hovering over the map, a short gasp the only indication that she had heard him.

‘I love you…’ he repeated, even as he went to stand next to her, her head was turned away from him slightly, he reached across and grasping her chin gently tilted her face to look up at him. He was smiling, a brilliant smile, from a beautiful boy, golden hair and blue eyes, he stared intently into her chocolate brown eyes and she blushed.

He hadn’t even kissed her, the few weeks that they’d been dating had involved holding hands, gentle kisses on the cheeks, but not this, not the kiss he wanted and needed now. He brought his mouth close to hers, her full red lips quivering slightly in anticipation, trailing one hand down her arm he rested it on her hip, gently tugging her closer, holding her tighter.

She met his eyes briefly, a beautiful boy, and the gentle tears formed at the back of her eyes, as youthful wistful joy told her that she would remember this day for the rest of her life.

She whispered a gentle ‘I love you too…,’ simple words, a confession, a declaration.

Then his lips were on hers, he tasted sweet, peppermint and sunshine, and she opened up to him willingly, gasping a little in her innocence as his warm tongue swept into her mouth, touching and tasting her.

He pulled her closer still, the top half of her body flush against his, her arms wove naturally about his neck, and she gave all of herself to him, knowing that he was doing the same, he was giving all of himself to her.

When had it happened…why? Why now, and how? She had been kissing him, and it had been everything she had ever dreamed about, his gentle loving lips and the feel of his arms about her waist.

And then it was gone, replaced by excruciating pain, replaced by fear and horror. She pulled away from him, trying hard to break a connection that would not sever, the wide eyed scream of terror that met her as she opened her eyes and looked into his confirmed all her fears, she was killing him.

For some reason he wasn’t just here in her bedroom anymore, writhing in pain as he collapsed onto her bed, he was in her head as well, screaming alongside, her own voice and his tore through her mind. Screaming for release, and screaming for answers.

Why…Why… WHY!!!!

And then the screams resonated in the room, bitter sounds enveloped and clambered up the walls, her screaming, ignited, torn from her throat as she watched the boy she loved die on her bed.

---

Logan wondered if she knew, this is what you gave me kid. Ya happy now? I get this, your misery, your pain to go alongside my own. He had awoken with a start, a restless sleep broken, the sweat dripping from his pores, and that’s what she’d given him.

That night in the bathroom where she thought she had been doing him a favour, this was what he had seen, this far recess into her haunted mind, this was it, she had given him knowledge of her first kiss, her first love, and the first death at her hands.

It had startled him at first, he’d remembered Marie touching him, he’d remembered the darkness enveloping him, and he had thought it would be as it was before. That time she had touched him, after he’d driven his claws into her, that time on Liberty Isle, saving her life then had been a moment of peace, taking her in, touching her skin to save her life had been a moment of redemption for his battered soul.

And it had been blissful, falling into the darkness, tumbling headfirst into the warm embrace of nothingness, a moment, a long moment of overdue peace, blissful, ignorant abject blackness…thank you…thank you…thank you.

But not this, no peace now, not even from her, no enveloping night to take him away, he found himself in strange surroundings, blinded by the light from a window. He was stood in the bright recess of the glass, the sunlight streaming in, but he cast no shadow, he offered no presence.

He was here, but they could not see him, he was here, but he could only observe, he was here, but he was not.

And he saw her, Marie, the happiness radiating from her, as bright as the sunshine that flooded her bedroom; it came off her in waves. He watched from where he stood, saw the boy tell her he loved her, and saw him say it again.

Youthful feelings, the scent of sweet innocence flooded his senses, but it was with an inevitable detachment that he saw it all fall apart for her, saw her kiss the boy, and saw her suck the very life out of him.

He crossed his arms over his chest, the slightest tension racking his body as he saw the bitter accusation that came from her parents. Ordinary people, ordinary lives destroyed in an instant, a single moment that had heaved itself upon them, unwanted, unbidden coming to tear it all apart.

A daughter lost, a boy lost…lives lost…sinking like ships, down to a blackness that offered no peace. It wouldn’t survive, this happy family unit was gone, ripped apart at the seams, a smoking, burning wreckage that had no hope, gone…it was all gone.

And it was with reluctance, a growing anger that he begrudgingly admitted how similar they truly were, how it was the simple moments, the uncalled for, the unbidden moments that came, came like monsters rising from God-forsaken depths to destroy it all.

He tore away the drenched sheets that covered him, rising slowly to his feet; he passed a tired hand through the tufts of his hair. An aching hand, a murderous hand, that tonight had fought Sabretooth, had torn through her skin, and had lain with a red headed woman who belonged to another.

He pulled his shirt over his head, pulled on his jeans and grasped his jacket from the floor. His boots were tossed carelessly; but it took him precious few minutes to find them in the sparseness that was his bedroom.

He had stayed, true he stayed, but it was with a constant battle that kept his bag unpacked and underneath his bed, they ought to do him a favour and throw him out. But even then he knew, knew that he would leave with a fevered desperation, because here, here in the long corridors of this Academy that he barely held it together, that he kept the beast caged inside.

But it was slipping, his control, the rage was slipping from his fingers, bloodied fingers, a battered heart and a broken soul. He was losing it, the tenuous grips that he held over this misery, had long held over this nightmarish existence was slipping, and try as he might, grasp at it as he did, it trickled out of him.

Rage…images, an overcrowded mind’s wanderings into the dark, into the bitterness, came to the fore, came in the suicidal missions he undertook, the increasing risks, the sheer recklessness of taking on Magneto and his mutants alone.

It came in the wanting to die, came in the smashing through windows, came in hurtling to the ground, gladly embracing the sight of an end, not caring that he had taken her with him. It came in the scratches that he had embedded in her skin, three claw marks, and ten stitches, ten to sew it back together, but not enough, not enough, ‘let it end…’

And it came, rage…a blind rage at her and at himself, it came in the words he had whispered to her, ‘I should have let you die…’ Because then, then maybe there would have been an end for me now.

Because despite it all, he would lose, this thing, this beast inside would kill him. The beast would be caged, but the man would die. And then there would be nothing, nothing except him, Wolverine. A force that would rip this all apart, that would do more than tear at her face, he would tear it all to pieces; his rage would burn this to the ground.

He was the monster, he was the God-forsaken rising from the depths, coming, coming to destroy it all. And Logan, the man would lose the fight, Wolverine would win, was winning, and he would take it all.

As the thing inside had told him more than once, ‘if he caged the beast, he would kill the man.’

---

He stalked the corridors of the Academy as a man possessed, the heavy stomping of his boots paid no heed to the late hour, he found himself shaking his head, images, uncalled for, unwanted and haunting pounded down on him, and his heart, his aching heart was as black as the nightmares.

He saw blood, red and vivid pouring down these wall, and he saw their faces, their young faces, teenagers mere children, their bodies strewn along the corridors, the walls shifted, the pictures changed, but the faces remained, the wide eyes, the slack jaws of the dead…dead mutant children.

He saw them all, encased in the ice, trapped in the fortress of a place he knew all too well, the labs he was back there, he was there and he had blood on his hands, naked and running down the halls, the halls lined with blood, lined with dead faces.

’You can’t win…you can’t win, not against me, not against this, this is what you are, what you always were…you are this, you are the monster, we are the beast…cage me, cage the beast and you kill the man…’

He ran, the heavy stomping of the boots forgotten as far as he knew the only sounds were the slapping of his bare feet against ice, hr ran and ran, ignorant of the doors that flew open, woken by the sounds that followed him.

He saw it at last, a door, an escape route, an end, a hole in the ice, a way out from these labs, he pushed with all his might, and found himself in the open air, and he stumbled and almost fell down the Academy steps.

Bracing himself, he took in hungry gulps of air, his life depending on the freshness of it all, had to get rid of the images, the smells, the sight of all that blood, all that death.

He stared up at the night sky, and he imagined a break in the clouds where there was none, and he sought it, an image, and the pure white of the moon. And he imagined it was there, not receding behind the dark clouds, not hidden by a black sky.

He had dreamed of the moon before, peace was there, hope was there…and love, love as bright and innocent as Marie’s had been with that boy. It was instantaneous, the effect, the imagery, his breathing calmed and he pushed the voice that hammered at him back.

The moon, brilliantly white, and beautiful, ethereal like her. He was standing at the end of a pier, in a small domed structure; this was an ancient place, a holy place. Lovers came together here, bound under the eyes of their Lord.

Bound by the hands and words of a priest, he waited, a nervous smile playing on his lips, and then he saw, his angel, walking slowly toward him, the violins quietly strumming heralding her arrival, they would come together here, bound by ancient law, in the eyes of their Lord, bound in front of their friends who sat watching.

He had loved her for as long as he could remember and he would love her for as long as there was breath left in his body, she walked slowly, every step bringing her closer to him, she smiled and her warm blonde hair fluttered slightly, caught by a distant breeze, her dress ruffled and his heart caught in his throat.

He was here and he was loved, young James Howlett…

---

Sympathy- The Goo Goo Dolls

Stranger than your sympathy
This is my apology
I'm killing myself from the inside out

And all my fears have pushed you out
I wished for things that I don't need
All I wanted
And what I chase won't set me free
All I wanted
And I get scared but I'm not crawling on my knees

Oh yeah everything's all wrong yeah
Everything's all wrong yeah
Where the hell did I think I was
Stranger than your sympathy

I take these things so I don't feel
I'm killing myself from the inside out
Now my head's been filled with doubt
It's hard to lead the life you choose

All I wanted
When all your luck's run out on you
All I wanted
You can't see when all your dreams are coming true

Oh yeah it's easy to forget yeah
You choke on the regrets yeah
Who the hell did I think I was
Stranger than your sympathy

All these thoughts you stole from me
I'm not sure where I belong
Nowhere's home and I'm all wrong
And I wasn't all the things
I tried to make believe I was

And I wouldn't be the one to kneel
Before the dreams I wanted
And all the talk and all the lies
Were all the empty things disguised as me
Yeah stranger than your sympathy, stranger than your sympathy

Part 7- ‘Burning Insecurities…’

Jean stood at the window quietly watching as the roar from the motorbike faded into the distance, her gaze shifted slightly to rest upon the two figures that stood on the Academy lawn watching after him.

Scott and Marie were talking low, he had one hand pressed on top of her shoulder, her arms were held crossed tightly against her chest and even from where she stood hiding in the recess of the window she could see clearly the worry lines etched deep into the young girl’s brow.

They had all heard Logan running down the hallway, Scott had ushered the rest of the X-kids into their rooms, with a clear but concise command that demonstrated the fearless leader that he was. They listened to his quiet authoritative voice with an attention that bordered on devotion.

She was quietly proud of him; he had come along way from being that nervous but strong man she had met when it had been only a handful of them in the newly formed Academy, she had been quietly admiring of him then, and later that quiet admiration had turned to love.

It had been a slow burning sort of affection, beginning in the calm familiarity of friendship and growing, softly gently into a sense of belonging, and eventually settling into an easiness she was convinced she would never have with any man.

She watched the two of them on the lawn, Marie in her pale, long flowing gown complete with her elbow length gloves, and Scott in a t-shirt and shorts. He seemed to be reassuring her about something and all at once, even without using her telepathy she knew what they were discussing, Logan.

Scott and Marie had hurried down to where he was kneeling in the grass only for him to brush them both off and hitch up his bike. He drove away without looking back, but he would return, she knew that. Aside from the fact that he had not taken a bag with him, she knew he would come back.

Eventually, later during the day or even a few days from now he would come back, reeking of cigars and whiskey, pissed out of his head, stumbling towards his room where he’d pass out and forget the world outside existed for the couple hours it took for his hangover to wear off.

And she would go to him, later during the dead of night, moving silently down the hall, looking in on him, waiting at his door, waiting until he looked up, waiting until he called out for her. It was an all consuming sort of love, she would forgive him anything, believe whatever he chose to tell her, even going so far to ignore the fact that he smelt of another, that some other woman’s cheap perfume was lingering on his clothes, inching along his skin. She had found bliss in the ignorance.

She hadn’t known when it happened, but at some point their dangerous flirting had fallen headfirst into full blown out affair. She remembered he had cornered her once again a few months ago running her usual diagnostic of the Blackbird, he had approached her quietly, silently; his hand had snaked around her waist and pulled her firmly against him.

He had whispered into her, burying his face in the hollow of her throat, he elicited a moan from her that had started from the pit of her stomach and rumbled from deep within. That was the first time they had made love in the hangar of the jet, the added danger of being discovered had her desire heightened to a point that had been unbearable.

She had vowed then that it would be the one and only time, she had pulled away from him afterwards and insisted that it had all been a terrible mistake. She had been adamant about that, the guilt had torn at her, she had raced to the room she shared with Scott and locked herself in the bathroom.

The tears streamed down her cheeks and she had stood under the shower for the good part of an hour, with steaming hot water she had scrubbed her skin clean, rubbing it red raw, wanting to scrub away the feelings of guilt and shame as much as the scent of Logan.

But gradually that sense of guilt had abated, over the months she had come to reconcile the parts of her that screamed what she was doing was wrong, and the parts that could not and would not stay away from Logan. It was a whirlwind inside her mind, but he had a power over her, a pull that was so strong, that eventually she could even lie to Scott and everyone else in the mansion with so much ease that the deception came almost naturally.

It was undeniable the strength of her feelings for him, but where her affection for Scott had come gradually through familiarity and ease, a soft, lengthy drawn out, old-fashioned sort of romance. But her relationship with Logan was a tornado, a force, a fierce wind that swept through, turning everything she thought she had once been so sure about upside down.

It was a fire that burned, lust, desire, red-hot passion that made her shiver in anticipation, that opened up new experiences for her, heightened emotions, and an aching flame that refused to diminish and refused to extinguish.

She had tried; God knows she had tried over the months to keep away from him, but every time she pulled away, putting up walls in her mind and around her heart, wanting to constrict this, choke the life out this sensation that caused her so much confusion, she found herself inescapably drawn to him all the same.

For so long she had been the responsible Jean Grey, the reliable doctor, the familiar red-headed strong mutant, life-long partner to Scott Summers, utterly devoted and singularly bent on a single path in her life. No one doubted her, she was trusted, she was loved; she was seen as something dependable, the always upright and straight laced Jean Grey.

And in the end that had been part of the allure, the affair with Logan had come from a desire to break the rules, to climb out of this mould that so many had poured her into. She longed to be something else other than dependable and responsible, wanting to be more than they could ever have envisioned.

It coursed through her veins, the knowledge that she was at last being something less than saintly, something apart from what they all expected, and it was a thrill, a guilty pleasure the lengths to which she would be willing to go to deceive them all.

But she did love him, she loved Logan, as much and as she loved Scott, and though at times she hated that she lied to Scott, she could never have chosen between the two men. So she had instead adapted the coward’s way out, choosing to continue her affair with Logan, whilst consenting to share her life with Scott at the same time.

And it was with a perverse sense of what would happen should their affair ever come to light, that kept her going back to him, kept her falling back into the arms of Logan.

But even she had to admit that of late something was wrong, he had begun to distance himself yet further, pulling away from the rest of the X-men, and pulling away from her. She had noticed it, the way he refused to look at her when they made love, the way he shut his eyes and turned away, and the ferocity with which he lay with her was intense.

And whereas that had at one point thrilled her, and heightened her own desire, she had to concede that at times he moved so harshly against and inside her, he caused her actual pain, the grip within which he would tighten his hold around her would be fierce and he would bruise, her skin dotted in purplish red marks that she was finding increasingly difficult to explain away.

Tonight had been like that, in the medical lab, he had moved so harshly against her she was sure she was bruised and bleeding. But the blood on his claws was what had disturbed her most.

She had seen the way had thrown him self out of the window, and though she believed him when he had said that it had been a mistake, believed that Mystique had taken on the form of Marie, she could not shake the feeling that something was not quite right.

Jean moved again towards the window, looking down at Scott and Marie, she knew that something was not right, and also the niggling voice in her head told her that the eighteen year old girl, the one who looked after Logan with a listless gaze, knew exactly what that something was.

She had heard the name, ‘James’ Marie had called him, and Logan had hesitated, he knew that name, and he knew why she had said it. It was recognition, a call out in the dark, a secret between them both.

The knowledge tore at her, her heart tightened and her face set into a grim expression, she had never truly noticed Marie before, her inability to touch had left the young mutant to fade into the background.

But Jean knew, had always known the special connection they shared, not only in their bitter histories, the similarities that struck there, the parallels that had existed between a shared pain of knowing that their mutancy, the parts of themselves that they loathed had not always existed.

That once upon a time they had been almost normal, and in those years, the short few years that Logan carried memories of and the sweet sixteen years that Marie had truly lived, in those years, more than any other since, they had been happy, truly happy.

He had sacrificed himself for her, consented to die more than once, and each time Jean believed he had enjoyed it just that little bit more. Consequently Marie had a connection with him that could never be rivalled, he was in her mind, and she had touched parts of him that would never be open to her.

She loved him, but Marie knew him, on so many more levels, she knew him. And all at once Jean realised just why her fists were clenched so tightly and why this fire at the sight of the two toned girl burned so, she was jealous.

Dr Jean Grey was jealous, ridiculously so, intensely so, uncontrollably so, she was jealous of an eighteen year old kid, because the girls knowledge of the man she had taken as a lover ran far deeper than her own.

She tried to laugh off the gravity of the realisation, wanted to push her doubts aside, but the voices hounded in on her, the troublesome obsession that would not lie. She ought to have felt sorry for Marie, to wonder with horror at what it must be to live a life without touch, without the sensation of skin on skin.

But as much as she wanted to fill her heart with compassion for the girl, the sentiment refused to remain, and the grim expression settled once more as she watched Scott lead Marie back into the mansion.

---

There were a lot of bars in New York but you had to go along way to find a dive like this. The sort of two-bit run down shack that sweated along with the pissed up inhabitants it housed. Its lack of any sort of air conditioning meant that the smoke and sweat rolled right along with the cursing, fighting and drowning.

Bar fly’s crowded in on men broken and hounded by the shitty hand life had dealt them, offering the only sort of relief they were so good at. A quick fumble around the back of the joint in an exchange for a couple of green bills, or a more thorough service in the back of a truck or a run down motel room, any sort of relief.

He hadn’t come for that, not tonight, nothing would come close to the images running in his head, not these cheap dirty blondes bought for a few bucks and a drink, nothing would come close to that picture of a pale moon and a beautiful white dress, and the girl he had known, the woman he had married.

Not these women and not a certain red head back at the mansion. But the picture was incomplete, only shards of light trickled in on the dark, and as much as he fought to hold on to the pieces of him that kept him sane, he could not grasp at it tightly enough, it slipped out of his fingers.

His haunted mind had built up walls, had been so much crowded in by a lost life, by his lost life that the moment swung in between, in between longing to remember, and willing to let it drift away.

Let her go…forget the love you knew, the happiness, and the life before these claws, before this rage, before him…before Wolverine…

And it swung in between, between willing to remember, and fighting to forget, a single light bulb suspended from the ceiling, swinging between light and dark, night and day.

Back and forth, lost in the shadows and knowing always knowing that either way it would kill him, what he fought to remember or what he fought to forget it would kill him.

---

No one Knows- Queens of the Stone Age

We get some rules to follow
That and this
These and those
No one knows

We get these pills to swallow
How they stick
In your throat
Tastes like gold

Oh, what you do to me
No one knows

And I realize you're mine
Indeed a fool of mine
And I realize you're mine
Indeed a fool of mine
Ahh

I journey through the desert
Of the mind
With no hope
I found low

I drift along the ocean
Dead lifeboats in the sun
And come undone

Pleasantly caving in
I come undone

And I realize you're mine
Indeed a fool of mine
And I realize you're mine
Indeed a fool and mine
Ahhh

Heaven smiles above me
What a gift there below
But no one knows

A gift that you give to me
No one knows