It was almost a daily occurrence. A woman would stumble out of Wolverine’s room, screeching indignities, throwing things against the thick door that had closed right in front of her face. She’d cuss and swear for a good while, then get dressed and walk out of the mansion, never coming back. Few hours later Wolverine would saunter to lunch, looking well laid and pleased, but getting more and more anxious the closer the evening and the slowly darkening night crept. He’d take his bike and ride out to the city, returning with a different woman at the wee hours of dawn, and after few hours the cycle would start again.

It was the way of the things. His nature. Something he did. As well as disappeared altogether every now and then for days, weeks, even months only to return as unsociable and crude as ever. Talking only to professor Xavier. Answering only to him. Obeying only him. Giving wide berth to the other inhabitants of ‘Charles Xavier’s School For Gifted Youngsters’.

“He’s… He’s a difficult person.”
“… So rude.”
“Scary.”
“Impossible to work with.”
“Filthy animal.”
“Mean bastard.”
“Selfish.”

It was unsure if the man in question knew about less flattering adjectives that were used to describe him. But it was quite sure that even if he did know, he didn’t care. On the contrary, he seemed to carry his repulsive aura like an armor. A shield to keep other people at arms length at every situation. And it was working. It was working so well, that it took everybody except the professor Xavier himself a full week to notice the fact that the Wolverine had returned from his latest run to north with a live package. A girl of unknown age, with mutation that they could only keep guessing of.

Girl would sit out in the garden, on a bright patch of sunlight, just observing students as they went around in their business. Wolverine would stand close by, almost as if he were some sort of sentinel. Silent, gloomy guardian thrust upon the fragile looking girl, his dark eyes scanning everything and everybody getting within the invisible perimeter surrounding the girl. Moving only when the girl moved, moving only enough to keep the proper distance, stopping immediately when she stopped. His nostrils flaring slightly when somebody dared to breach the invisible barrier and approach the girl, who appeared to be every bit as antisocial and withdrawn as her guardian. Never speaking. Never bothering to acknowledge that there was a person right in front of her.

“Poor child…”
“Difficult.”
“Withdrawn and distant.”
“Scary.”
“A mystery.”

“Ever wonder what goes on between those two when the lights go out?”

Inevitable question that would pop out every now and then. Wolverine wasn’t running. He wasn’t riding in to town and dragging back random women. There was exactly one woman in his life, sharing his room, who knew, maybe sharing his bed as well. And the woman in question seemed to be more a child in every possible aspect. Withdrawn, silent, scared, numb, maybe deaf and dumb… Only one who didn’t seem to be bothered with the situation, not curious or uncomfortable, was professor Xavier. Professor Xavier who still kept his daily council with Wolverine, now plus the girl in question.

There were mornings when Wolverine looked worn and haggard, his face pale and ashen. There were mornings when his hands shook. There were mornings when he and the girl didn’t come out from their shared room at all before sun was high on the sky, children were out, and they could sneak in to the kitchen in complete silence.

There were mornings when the girl looked worn and haggard, her face pale and ashen. There were mornings when her whole body shook, trembling like a leaf in the wind. There were mornings when she and Wolverine didn’t come out from the room they shared at all, not before heavy and silvery moon was high on the sky.

“Weird.”
“Creepy.”
“I wonder why the professor lets this continue.”

Eventually whispers and rumors faded. Co-existence of the girl and Wolverine continued. It became something expected. They were. You took a walk in the garden. She’d sit there. If you got too close, he’d move from the shadow closer to her, retreating as soon you retreated. He’d trail after her, always few steps behind, always alert, always keeping everybody at arms length from the girl and himself, as if they were leper.

They never seemed to speak with each other. Never seemed to touch each other. No interaction whatsoever between them, yet it looked almost as if he was her jealous lover, shooing off other possible suitors. Guarding his possession, his claim over the girl, cold and logical gleam in his dark eyes.

One morning changed that all.

She’s walking across the front lawn, intent look on her face. She’s going to somewhere. Wolverine at her heels his eyes darting back and forth between his charge and their surroundings. Suddenly she starts to run. Easy, light steps towards the forest lining the school’s grounds. There’s a smile on her face. She looks healthy. Normal. Carefree. Knees pumping up and down, hands spread wide to catch the wind, her face turned upwards to greet the sun. And she keeps running, looking almost as if she were going to laugh. Just as she’s about to cross the tree line and embark in to the shadowy woods Wolverine who has been guarding her from surprisingly long distance lets a frown slip over a slight smile that has been ghosting over his features.

“Marie!”

One word barked with low, authoritative voice, and the girl stops. Turns towards Wolverine, looking as if she were going to protest. Instead of a word a loud gasp escapes from her lips and she crumbles to the ground, clutching her chest, her skin turning ashen and blue.

First one arriving to the scene, school doctor Jean Grey gets an angry order to keep her hands off from the girl as Wolverine gathers her limp form on his arms. Jean is about to protest when Scott Summers, one of the teachers arrives, and Wolverine all but attacks him, still cradling the lifeless girl against his chest.

Wolverine pushes through the crowd that’s gathered to witness the scene, heading towards the main building, the grand mansion. From the distance they can see professor Xavier sitting at the front entrance, nodding to Wolverine as he passes his wheelchair.

That night everybody finds a reason to walk by the room Wolverine shares with the girl. Steps faltering, straying closer to the door. Ears straining to catch even the slightest whisper. And there’s none. Just a complete, heavy silence.

“A wife?”
“A daughter?”
“A friend?”
“A lover?”

“Just a girl he picked up from the road. Terminal cancer. Extremely sensitive skin. Mute. Blind. But she could borrow Wolverine’s senses, could siphon them in to her through touching him.”

Next morning finds unmoving sentinel, standing beside a fresh grave, few feet away from the disturbed dirt, watching as the first rays of sun fall to the dark brown soil.