Prologue:

It was pitch black, everywhere she turned. Left, right, up, down, the direction made no difference as she moved, desperate to find something—anything—in the darkness. Panic swelled in her chest and she brought her hand up to her throat, but there was nothing, no smooth skin, no warm and tempoed heartbeat, just air, empty lifeless nothingness.

Thrashing she looked down at herself, despair filling her as she realized there was no self, there was nothing; just blackness upon empty, hollow blackness. She searched the dark for her hands, her gloves, her precious, precious gloves, but she couldn’t see them, feel them in the nothingness.

“NO!” she thought, opened her mouth to scream the word, but there was no sound, nothing. Simply and absolutely, nothing.

Eyes that would have widened in panic didn’t, a heart that would have raced couldn’t, hands that might have pulled at her hair wouldn’t, and she was empty and without feeling.

Then, as quickly as it came, the panic slipped beyond her, past her thoughts that dropped into the abyss of emptiness. She was floating, drifting, caught on a gentle wave of calm surrender.

“I’m dead.” The words weren’t words at all, but the lack of feeling, of sensation, the embrace of quiet over chaos.

“How?” She wondered, how did this happen. She couldn’t remember, it was getting hard to remember anything. She reached, pushed, stretched, not wanting to lose herself completely, fought with all her strength and found a thought.

Rogue.

Oh. That’s me. The realization startled her and she felt the rocking motion shift a little out of synch.

Rogue.

She was getting tired. Not sleepy, just more and more relaxed in the tranquility of darkness.

The word slipped away quietly and she rocked.

Later, it didn’t matter how much later, she decided to reach again, to stretch for something else. It took longer this time to find something, and that seemed strange to her for some reason.

Logan.

Peace washed over her. Logan. She liked that. The darkness sang to her softly as she floated. That was a good one, she’d hold onto that one for a while.

Logan.

Eventually, she let that thought slip away as well.

If it was a long time later, she didn’t know, couldn’t tell as she continued to drift, but she thought she might like to pull another thought back. It felt like it’d been a while since she’d had the last one. So once again, she stretched, invisible tendrils of self reaching into the abyss for something tangible, something that would catch her attention. Anything out of the ordinary darkness; something to fill the emptiness.

What she found, what came back to her changed the blackness. Bright bands of red raced across her, through her, pushing against her and bringing pain. Lightning flashed, illuminating the blackness, casting light on still images no longer cloaked in the dark. Images she didn’t want to see, forcing thoughts back to her, pushing memories back into her mind that made her scream, the sound no longer silent but echoing, bouncing back to her, heightening her terror.

Thrashing she pushed away the images, closed her mind from those horrifying thoughts, those pictures that now seemed to move as the lightening came faster, more pronounced. Color invaded the darkness, stark greens, violent oranges, bitter blues.

Bitter and cold blues.

Crying out she reached up, trying desperately to pull herself up and away from the madness that surrounded her. If she could just stretch, just reach, she could push past them, force them back, make them leave her in peace.

Peace!

“Logan!”

Suddenly strong hands, bones reinforced with unnatural strength were pushing her down, and the pain, the blinding agony of touch was all consuming. It wrenched the breath from her body forced her to feel, for the first time in an eternity her arms, bent at the elbow, her back, crushed against solid rock, her legs bent and kicking, frantic to find purchase, her hands, like claws as she dug them into warm flesh covering cold steel, and her head slammed against the ground until she saw stars.

And when the stars cleared, she saw Logan, and there was no peace, no joy, only pain, fear, and terror. There was no softly whispered words of affection or gentleness in the ways of all big brothers. There was only hatred.

“Marie! Stop, you have to stop!”

“NO!” And that was her voice, her words, pushing past newly discovered lips. Lips used for whispers now turned to snarls. “Noooooooooo!”

His face, twisted in pain, eyes filled with loss stared down at her as he gritted his teeth. “Marie, don’t—“

Lifting her chin she screamed at him, raised her face and screamed with wild eyes and complete abandonment. She wasn’t there, all that was there now was the pain, the anger, the betrayal, and the hate.

She watched the black lines of his veins pop out across his face and stopped her screaming immediately, and smiled. The draw was painfully delicious and she hooked her fingernails deeper into his skin to keep him from pulling away.

Mine.

“Logan! No!”

And then, like sweet mercy, the colors faded, receded into the darkness, and left her alone in the blackness.

******************************************************************

Later, much later, she knew that at least, she felt a stirring again in the darkness. She cringed, the images from before were gone from her memory, but she could remember the pain and she didn’t want that again. She pulled back, tighter into the darkness and waited until the stirring stopped and then went away.

Floating, she was floating. The darkness was a comfort to her now, by itself it lulled her into peaceful contemplations of nothing. Drifting on that gentle current, she remained, untouched and uncaring.

Until the reminder of the colors and the pain disappeared, and once again, she decided to reach out into the darkness for something other than nothing. This thing was different though, the touch of it was smooth, metallic, and hummed slightly—in a different tune from the darkness. She hesitated, afraid to draw it closer, instinctively fearing the return of the pain. But she wanted it, this thing that was at once frightening and fascinating.

Drawing it closer she examined it. In the darkness it shined like a brilliant gold beacon. She touched it, running her mind across the smooth lines to the pointed edges and then back again.

“What is it?” she wondered pressing it to her lips, tasting the metal.

Out of the abyss came the answer.

The Star.

“A star.”

The Star.

“The Star.” And the blackness seemed to nod in agreement.

With a gentle sigh she curled her body, the darkness, around the brilliant gold star, caressing it with her fingers, savoring the feel of it against her body.

She drifted timelessly, looking at the little star, gazing at its beauty in the nothingness. Touching it, smelling it, tasting it, absorbing the material into herself, making it a part of herself—filled the void, filled in the time.

So beautiful.

There is meaning to it, said the darkness.

Meaning?

Yes.

So she drifted, rocking slowly, contemplating meaning.

And then, for no reason at all, she turned to the darkness, holding the star before her.

“What meaning?”

Hope. Replied the darkness.

But she shook her head, the meaning lost. “I do not know hope.”

And instantly she was awash in warmth, love, affection, devotion, possession. It expanded through her, giving her definition in the darkness, making her feel when there was nothing for so long.

I can show you hope, but it will be painful. It is beyond the darkness, beyond self, you must come to it, reach for it, and I will catch you. Reach for me, and I will catch you and bring you hope.

“Reach for you?”

Yes.

“I am afraid.”

Fear is natural.

She let that float through her, natural, normal. She wasn’t normal.

“No pain.”

There is always pain.

“No.”

There is plenty of time. Rest, wait, I am here, you are not alone.

***************************************************************

Logan did not make his decision lightly. He spent months mulling it over, watching the news, and trying to decide what was the right thing to do. He was a bastard, a hypocrite, worse, but in this, this one fucking time, he needed to do the right thing. So he waited, watched the news, and listened for double meanings in those unforgettable words.

He lasted about six months, six months of bitter hatred forming at the back of his throat for Storm who refused to enter her room. Six months of contempt for Jean who did her job but always made it known she did it for him. Six months, eleven days of listening to Bobby the Bitch bang the kitty cat in the pantry downstairs. Six months, eleven days, fourteen minutes of watching Xavier in his new and improved body, walk down the hallway looking as if he hadn’t become a murdering bastard. Six months, eleven days, fourteen minutes, and some odd seconds of watching her and knowing there wasn’t a god damned thing he could do to help her.

And then he came on the news. It wasn’t the first time, but this time mattered. Scott had shaken his head and made idle threats, Beast had quoted a bunch of bullshit that didn’t make any freaking sense, and Storm had dropped her head into her hands, her white hair flowing like spun silk.

Jean, that bitch, kept projecting erotic images into his mind until he wanted to punch her.

Then there was Xavier—Chuck—the fucker. Yeah, Chuck had decided his old pal was a nut case after that and left the room. Scott had followed him. Jean had caught his eye and licked her blood red lips.

He’d just scowled at her and flipped her off.

Standing, he’d made his intentions known, and Storm had looked up at him with her sad pitying look, Beast had nodded but returned to his rant, and Jean, demented, redheaded Jean, had rolled her eyes, pursed her lips and said what they’d all been thinking.

“You’re wasting your time, she’s a vegetable.”

His claws had extended before he’d even known what he was doing, and her eyes had widened just a fraction of an inch before they’d flashed, burned flaming orange, and she’d risen, ready for the fight, eager to push her body against his and use her powers in that way Chuck was still blocking her from even attempting.

She’d smiled, as Beast jumped to his feet, hands extended in placation, while Storm’s eyes had flashed white before returning to her normal color, realizing she had no will to fight in this battle.

She agreed with Jean.

“Say that again, Jeannie. I’m beggin’ ya.” He’d flexed his arms, feeling the muscles ripple over Adamantium laced bones.

“Logan, please—“ Beast had still been trying, although it was pointless.

With a twisted smile, white teeth flashing brilliantly against her lips Jean had smiled a malicious, cruel smile, “You can talk to her all you want, Logan, read to her, brush her hair, rock her in your arms and it won’t make a bit of difference.” Her eyes flashed again, “She doesn’t even know you’re there.” And her words, those self righteous, all knowing words, had hit their mark.

But not as she’d intended.

Without a word, he’d turned his back on her, on the others and walked out of the brightly lit teacher’s lounge. He passed others on the way but didn’t see them. Small kids, tall kids, it didn’t matter they were all the same.

Lambs to the slaughter.

At the top of the stairs he turned right, passed four doors and then turned the knob.

This was her old room.

He’d found her duffle bag in the closet, buried under the kitty cat’s brand new lingerie collection. It was a big bag, but not nearly big enough to hold her life in it as it once had when she’d run cross country to escape.

Her things were in the single dresser, pushed against the wall, and covered in crap that wasn’t hers. The top drawer contained the usual, and he’d grabbed a handful of the necessities before shoving them into her pack. The second draw had her sleeping clothes and he pulled out his favorite, the one she hated the most, the one she’d worn the night she’d touched him for the very first time. The tear had long since been repaired by skillful hands, and he’d touched it reverently before placing it into the bag. Shirts, pants, warm socks—because her feet were always cold—all had gone in, but the last drawer, that was the hard one.

Her entire life had fit into a single dresser drawer. If he’d compared it to his own life, she had a lot more than he’d ever had, but he didn’t compare and it was heartbreaking. There was a scrapbook laying on top, the cover classic and so very her. Beneath it was a map, crinkled and worn, the pin marks still visible where the paper had been punctured. A framed photo, a smiling couple he’d never seen before was under a stack of papers, and he’d put it into the bag because it looked like the type of thing she wouldn’t want left behind.

He hadn’t taken any of her gloves, she didn’t need them anymore.

Standing, he’d gone to her nightstand and hooked his fist around her most prized possession. They felt light in his grip, but their emotional weight pulled his heart to his knees. Wrapping them around his wrist he’d heard the tinkling of metal tags, and caught one, running his thumb over the only word printed on it, “Wolverine”.

After that he’d left her room and gone to his own. There’d been plenty of room left in her duffle and he’d shoved his own meager possessions into the bag on top of her own. He’d stopped at his desk, lifting the picture she’d give him of herself, in it she was smiling a soft, warm smile, the kind he remembered belonged only to him.

Reverently, he’d taken the picture out of the silver frame and put it into the pocket of his black leather jacket. Then, without a glance back, he’d turned around and left the room that had been his home for the last three years.

The hallway had been deserted, but as the elevator doors had opened, Scott had been there, looking a little startled before his brow had furrowed at the sight of him carrying the duffle.

“What’s the deal, Logan?” But he hadn’t answered, just got in and pushed the button for the subfloor. But persistent as ever, Slim had tried again. “What are you doing?”

“What I should’a done months ago.” Had been his only response, and for some strange, knowing reason, Scott Summers, Xavier’s golden child, made no comment.

At least until he’d gotten out of the elevator and taken a half dozen steps towards the infirmary.

“Where will you go?”

He hadn’t bothered turning. They didn’t like each other, and they never would. He couldn’t blame the guy. A year ago he’d been jonesing after his girl, and now his girl was throwing herself at him every chance she got. No love loss what-so-ever.

“Anywhere but here.”

His steel toed boots had echoed down the long corridor but he hadn’t been paying attention. All that mattered now, was getting out, getting away, and making good on his promise.

The antiseptic smell hit him like a sledge hammer as the automatic door had swooshed open. She was in the furthest part of the infirmary, back behind some equipment. Jean had claimed it was to give her more privacy; he knew it was so that they could forget about her.

But he couldn’t, he never would, and as he’d walked towards her bed his heart throbbed in his chest and his fists clenched against the duffle strap. Why had he waited so long to get her out of here.

The soft beeping reminded him that she’d need constant medical attention, so he knew he had to move fast. He didn’t have the luxury of meandering down the coast in Summer’s stolen bike, this time, he needed to move his ass.

She lay like a sleeping angel, surrounded by soft layers of comfortable white bedding. Jean had called it wasteful and ridiculous when he’d bought the fluffy down comforter and plush cream blanket. He hadn’t cared then, just wanted to make her comfortable.

Her hair was finely brushed and naturally styled in soft waves that would have touched her lower back had she been standing. The shocking white streaks grew as well as the rest, framing her face in diffusing white.

Bare arms rested above the covers and he reached out, touched her wrist before taking her hand in his—skin on skin—because he knew she would have liked that had she been awake. But her expression remained serene and empty, and he’d waste no more time.

“Nothing to worry about, Darlin’. I’m gonna take these needles out of your arm, sorry if that hurts a bit.” With gentle, careful fingers he’d removed the tape covering the IV, and slowly removed the long, thick needle, wincing a little to himself in memory of how much that could hurt. “Sorry, kid. There, all done.”

Reverently, he pulled down the fluffy down comforter, nearly all the way off the bed. He’d found the thin circular pads that monitored her heartbeat and pulled them off quickly, whispering an apology. Instantly the machines around him began to scream loudly, shrieking in protest to what he was trying to do. Without a thought, he’d popped his claws and silenced them in shower of sparks. By the time the sound of metal crashing against tiled floor was through echoing in the large square room, he’d wrapped her body in the plush, cream blanket and lifted her weightlessness into his arms, cradling her head close to his body and he’d instinctively curled around her protectively.

“Ok, kid, here we go.”

And with a turn and not a single backwards glance, he’d walked out of the infirmary, down the hallway of gawking children and the shamed eyes of Bobby the Bitch and the kitty cat, through the large oak doors and around the side of the grounds to the garage.

He thanked his stars that she had convinced him to buy a new car nine months ago. The red jeep had one last stop to make.

Holding her with ease, he’d popped the trunk, the back seat permanently down, and laid her across it. She was so slight she looked like a child, a little girl sleeping in the back of her daddy’s pick up. But she wasn’t sleeping, and he wasn’t her daddy. He’d rested the duffle bag beside her, hoping it would add some mass so she wouldn’t feel so alone in the back. With a quick tug he’d taken off his leather jacket and lifted her head, making it into a pillow—because she liked the way he smelled. His hand had brushed the silvery locks from her face and he’d tucked them behind her ear before adjusting the blanket to more comfortably cover her. Then he’d smiled at her heart covered socks and closed the hatchet door with a resounding click.

When he’d looked up, a small group of kids had been watching them, the Chinese girl who’d once been her friend gave him a sad look and a half wave as she’d watched him round the jeep and climb into the drivers side, starting the car with a low purr.

His hand had gone to the rearview mirror, adjusting it so that he could see her. But when that wasn’t enough, he turned in the seat, reached out those cumbersome 12 inches and ran his hand over her hair, smoothing the flyaway’s.

Then he’d thrown the car into drive and left the grounds.

Xavier’s mental voice had hit him as he’d been forced to wait for the gates at the end of the drive to open fully. His message had been clear and to the point, and Logan had made sure the self righteous bastard had heard every curse word he’d ever known.

“If you try to wake her up, I will know, and I will stop you, Logan.”

He’d growled then, low, menacing, and deep, a warning, a promise.

“Fuck you, Chuck.”

And he’d driven to the docks.

Author’s Note:

Thanks so much for reading my little work of fiction. I’m a huge Rogue/Wolverine fan as well as a Rogue/Magneto (from the comic) fan. I’ve enjoyed some fantastic stories on this website and I wanted to contribute one of my own.

Disclaimer: Marvel rules and ownes, and in 1998 I should have bought their junk stock at $0.33 cents a share when I could have. Thanks to Stan for giving us something to think about.

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Chapter 2

Logan could hear the captain whistling over the rush of the ocean water outside the port window. The sound was out of tune, but he didn’t care--it was just something he took note of while he worked.

Hunched over the side of the cramped little tub, Logan held Marie’s head carefully, tipping it back into the bath, using his long fingers to massage the suds from her silver and dark auburn brown locks. Water droplets touched her face but she didn’t flinch; she lay perfectly motionless, perfectly serene. His mind was clinical and detached as the last of the suds gave way and he dribbled the white conditioner that smelled like creamy coconut against her crown before rubbing it all in, careful to get the ends.

She’d once told him the ends were the important part, so he paid careful attention to those.

Her hair floated around her like a sea of mahogany and he wrapped his right hand in the mass, bringing it all together to rinse. Complete, he picked up the hand towel draped over the side of the tub, brushing away the water droplets that had fallen against her cheek.

“Sorry about that, kid.”

He worked in silence for the most part, the gentle creaking of the boat the only sound beyond the muted splashing he made as he bathed her. His hand worked carefully around the feeding tube, connected to nothing but a long plastic tube and heavy clamp. He was acutely aware of the fact it’d been five days since her last liquid meal, and was grateful that he could at least coax her into swallowing water to keep her hydrated. Logan didn’t even pretended to know what he was doing in the medical arena, so he hadn’t bothered grabbing any of the liquid bags when he’d left the mansion. He wanted to be mad at himself, but he acknowledged he’d probably kill her with some infection before she died from starvation—it was little consolation, but he had to take what he could get.

In the next moment he made his mind go blank as he washed her lower body, his hands making clinical movements around the cathider tube, careful not to tug on her end, or the one connected to the yellow bag hanging over the side of the tub.

When his work was finished he gave a half smile and drained the water, brushing back the hair from her face when it clung. Shifting to a crouch, he gathered her remaining medical requirements and then lifted her effortlessly into his arms. He hated that she weighted next to nothing, no more than a hundred pounds at the most; her frame lithe, thin, and waifish. Her curves were gone, wasted away as the weeks had turned to months on that damn bed at Xaviers’.

But his mind didn’t dwell, he had things to do. Today was important, today, they arrived.

He carried her into the cabin they’d been given. It was cramped and small, but it made this particular task simple even if it did make others more difficult. Walking over to the bed they shared, he placed her on the towels he’d already laid out. Rearranging her limbs, he set to work with another towel, and buffed the water from her skin, taking care to cover her modesty when he could. When he was done with her body, he raised her head and wrapped her long hair in the towel, tucking the ends to keep everything neat and tidy. Finished, he turned to the end of the bed where he’d laid out her clothes for the day.

Picking up the white cotton sundress he started undoing the buttons. The captain’s thirteen year old daughter had sold him the dress when she’d peeked her head into their room and seen that Marie was naked under the sheets. It was a testament to her youth that she didn’t think anything untowardly was going on with the comatose girl. She’d simply asked why the pretty lady wasn’t wearing some of the clothes she’d seen him take out when he first arrived. He’d shrugged, not wanting to admit his stupidity to the girl, but said anyway that he’d only brought her some pants and they wouldn’t work. Young, she didn’t ask questions and left, but she’d come back five minutes later with the white sundress and offered to sell it to him if it fit Marie. He’d smiled at that, she wasn’t shy that was for sure, but he’d taken the dress, shooed her away and found it fit Marie nicely. The fact that she could wear clothing that fit a thirteen year old girl instead of a nineteen year old woman bothered him, but what could he do? Nothing that he wasn’t already doing. So he’d pulled out a hundred dollar bill and snuck it to the girl when her dad hadn’t been looking.

Logan liked Marie in this dress. She still looked small and waifish, but it was the kind of dress he imagined she might have worn if her skin wasn’t poison, and she was back home in Mississippi. Little white and silver buttons ran from knee to breast, and he found it was both easy to dress her in, and flattering on her figure.

Releasing the final button he set to work. Carefully he worked her limbs into the dress, and when the last button was in place, he found the fluffy pair of white socks at the end of the bed and slipped them over her always cold feet, rubbing his hands over them to try and start the warmth.

With a smile, he gently tugged the towels out from under her body and then lifted her up, leaning her frame against his massive chest as he removed the wrapping from her hair. The brush he used glided through the damp strands easily, in long unbroken strokes. He was no stylist, didn’t really give a damn about her hair, but he knew she liked to take care of it, and that she liked it long, so he obliged her. They had hours and hours before they had to be anywhere, so Logan continued to brush out her locks until they were more dry than damp. To pass the time he hummed a few rowdy drinking tunes knowing they made her smile.

Once he was satisfied, he moved out from behind her, laying her back among the mountain of pillows and then turned on the CD player next to the bed. He’d found the CD in the scrapbook the second night on the boat. He’d been looking for something through the pictures, what it was he wanted to find he didn’t know, but he hadn’t found it in the images of her life before her powers had stolen her innocence. The CD had been in an envelop in the back, it caught his attention because of the label, “Marie’s Lullaby”. He’d figured out the piano music was a home recording during the first listen, but it’d taken him another few to realize that she was the one playing. It was the sound at the end of the third track, a haunting melody that undulated darkly, creating an ominous sound that didn’t quite fit with the other pieces on the CD. When the piece was over, it was her heavy sigh he’d heard on the recording, and preserved for all time, the sound of her brushing her delicate hand through her hair.

Those little things meant so much to him now. All the things she couldn’t do, trapped in her own body like some inhumane prison. He didn’t believe for a second that she was a vegetable. He could feel it, smell it on her, she hadn’t left him, she was still here, just…not. What he wouldn’t give to have her just move her eyes under her lids though, to stretch a finger, to make just one tiny little sound to let him know that even the world’s most incredible telepaths were talentless. He’d give anything he decided, anything and everything, even if he had to lie, cheat, and steal it, just to see her smile one more time.

With a sigh, he turned to look out the window, watching the waves lap at the porthole. The seas were relatively calm, which suited him just fine, he was a land lover, not some stupid sea dog. Who ever heard of a Wolverine at sea?

But his thoughts weren’t funny, and like a crashing wave, a sense of hopelessness fell upon him. Six months, what if he was wrong? What if Chuck The Fuck had been right and there wasn’t anything left of his Marie? He wanted to deny it, to denounce it. She had to be in there, somewhere.

With a great sigh he moved off the bed and walked over to his leather jacket. From the hidden pocket he withdrew her photo.

She was sitting on the steps outside the front door of the mansion. Her hair was shorter back then, but still gloriously long as it fell to curl lightly just over the swell of her generous breasts. Her deep V tee shirt didn’t leave a lot to the imagination, but he knew it was her only outlet, her only way to express her own sexuality, so he’d never said anything. In the picture she was leaning one shoulder back while the other tipped slightly forward. He knew her all too well, knew she hadn’t meant to strike such an erotic pose, with her perky breasts jutting forward and her slight lean that gave the camera the perfect angle to see what exactly was hidden under that dark green shirt and the airy black scarf. Her tight, black jeans rode low, and despite her best efforts to cover everything dangerous, a nice sized length of peaches and cream skin showed at her hips. She’d worn black opera gloves for the picture. They weren’t the nice leather one’s he’d given her for Christmas two years ago, but she’d told him later they didn’t cover her upper arms so she hadn’t been able to wear them with that shirt. Her smile was generous and yet secretive, and he knew with that animal instinct of his, she’s been thinking about him when the picture had been taken. She hadn’t looked primal or innocent, just his girl, sitting on the steps, thinking about him one sunny afternoon. That was the picture she’d given him for Christmas, and it was the way he thought about her even now.

He chuckled as he walked back to the bed and sat down, looking at the picture and then peeking over the edge to watch her sleeping. Any mutie telepath reading his thoughts right now would think he was a fucking pervert, but that wasn’t it at all. She was his kid sister, the family he’d never had. He’d held her when Bobby had refused her after she’d taken the cure, watched her struggle with who she was now that she could be whatever she wanted, whispered to her soothing, desperate, and, brotherly words of protection when he’d found her wrists slashed in the bathtub before the shit had hit the fan. Logan was a man of few words and even fewer promises, but a train ride had extracted from him his most lasting promise to date, he was going to protect her, no matter what the cost.

He sighed again, it was getting to be a habit. Shaking his head of the melancholy, he stood up, gave her knee an affectionate pat and smiled down at her, figuring she could hear his smile. “I’m gonna go top side kid, see if I can’t figure out how much longer we’re gonna be bouncing around down here. We’re almost there. I’ll be back in a few.”

Moving to the peg he put his leather jacket on. If anyone asked he’d tell them it was because the wind was a bitch in the middle of the ocean, but if he were honest with himself, it was because his jacket still smelled like her. Slipping the picture back into the hidden pocket, he opened the door and closed it softly behind him.

The boat was rocking, but not enough to send him off balance. He didn’t bother with the handrail as he took the stairs up, blinking his eyes a few times and he ascended into the wheel room. The cheeky little entrepreneur was sitting next to the window, music blaring into her ears from the twin white cords connected to her iPod. Any fool would know she was going to be deaf by the time she was thirty if she kept the music that loud, but he didn’t bother mentioning it.

Catching the captain’s eye, the older looking man nodded. “Good timing, take a look at that.”

Maybe he’d expected to see a killer whale, or maybe a pod of dolphins, hell, even a giant squid devouring the boat would have been more understandable to what he was seeing. All around them, as far as the eye could see, ships, some bigger, some smaller were moving in the same direction, heading southeast, heading home.

Instantly he felt a little sick. Again he went over in his mind why this was the right choice, the only choice he had left. Xavier wasn’t helping, wanted to wash his hands of Marie and let her rot in her own body until it was a mercy to just shut her down permanently. He couldn’t keep her. His talents were limited to chugging beer, beating the shit out of rednecks, and being hit on by anything with T&A, and a few without the T. Logan knew he couldn’t get her the kind of treatment she needed, hell, he didn’t even know where to start looking. But there—he looked towards the horizon—there, he saw a glimmer of hope. He didn’t know exactly what it was going to cost him, he figured it was going to be plenty, probably nothing he wanted to pay, but he’d pay anyway, happily, if it gave Marie a fighting chance. He just needed a glimmer of hope, and if he had to beg the devil for it, then he’d get on his knees.

“If that ain’t a sight I don’t know what is,” said the captain, Logan hadn’t bothered to remember his name, Bob, Jo, Chris, it didn’t matter, he had a boat and it was for rent, so he’d thrown five grand in cash at the old man and told him to move his ass—what his name was hadn’t really been a deciding factor.

But Logan was in a dark mood and his response reflected it, “It’s the end of the fucking world, bub.”

Hard working eyes turned to look into his own. Logan liked this guy, he didn’t ask a lot of questions, just where are we going, when do you want to be there, and do you want cabin A or cabin B? The guys brown beard raised up at the corner, attesting to a smile. “Well, you wanted to go there.” And he shrugged, dismissing the topic. This guy didn’t give a damn, just wanted to get paid during the off season like every other pirate on the high sea.

Logan didn’t bother to acknowledge him again, just turned around and walked to the cabin door, opening it to the bitter cold of the middle of nowhere, and yet the edge of somewhere. The little redhead looked up at the cold gust of air, gave him a little smirk and then returned to mouthing the words to Warrant’s Cherry Pie. Something about watching a thirteen year old girl listening to that song made him pity her, so he stepped out into the cold and walked to the back of the boat.

His eyesight was shaper than most mutants, and a telescope compared to any humans. He didn’t have any trouble squinting over the distance and checking out the bright assortment of mutants on the boat to his right. Three of them were standing on the deck, and they all stuck out like sore thumbs. One had violet hair, the other green scaly skin, and the third, well that guy was actually floating so no big guess about what his powers were.

To his left the other boats showed similar images. Did these jokers know what they were getting themselves into? Did they understand the price they were about to pay for their new home? Logan didn’t think so, in fact, he knew so. None of these idiots had any idea that they were only as good as their powers, and if they had to die to give something for the cause, well, then they were going to die. Period. End of subject. No, they didn’t have a clue, but two white streaks in a cascading wave of mahogany hair, attested to the price some of them would pay—the dead smell of fish in the air promised what was around the corner for others.

With a shake he leaned his back along the cabin wall and took a deep breath. It was a mistake, fish made him gag, but he needed the oxygen, needed to get the blood pumping and his brain thinking one step ahead. This wasn’t going to be a fun meeting, of that he had no doubt. In fact, Logan was pretty sure there was going to be blood, and a lot of it, preferably not his, and under no circumstances Marie’s. They were headed into a fortress, and he knew he was wearing the enemies colors. It didn’t matter that he was about to switch sides. No one was going to wait long enough for him to explain. He needed to plan carefully, figure things out precisely, and make sure Marie was out of danger when the fists started flying. Not having a clue how he was going to do that, he chuckled to himself and then pulled a cigar out of his right breast pocket and lit it. The deep drag soothed his nerves a little, nicotine always did that for him. It was a mystery from his past, but not a pressing one, so he didn’t bother to think on it too long.

He remembered watching Marie out of the corner of his eye when he’d lit up in the cab of his pick up all those years ago. She’d looked disgusted, and he’d been tempted to blow the smoke in her face just to give her hell for trying to steal a ride. It wasn’t until they were well and good ensconced in the mansion before she’d told him over a beer and a cream soda that cigars could kill him. He’d just raised his eyebrow with a “yeah right” expression. But his Marie was a smart little minx, she’d turned the tables on him. Taking a pull off her soda she’d made a face and then looked him dead in the eye, “They could kill me, you know.” He’d scoffed, but put out the cigar. He’d never smoked around her again. She’d been right, and he couldn’t risk her.

She was too important to him—his little sister—his family.

Chapter 2

AN: Oh this was horrible to write. I’m not a fan of describing terrain. I hope it’s not too awful. I’ve been editing this chapter for two weeks and it still feels a little clunky. Sorry if anyone else feels that way, and hopefully you’ll stick with me for the next chapter which will start to answer a lot of the questions everyone has. Thanks to everyone that reviewed or added this story to their alerts. I hope you all enjoy it. And to any new readers, remember I give previews to those that review! One last thing, if anyone has any suggestions for scenes they’d like to see in this story as I write it, please let me know. I love adding in fan service. ~Soladara





Logan didn’t bother to wave to the captain, just nodded once to his red haired daughter as she’d waved goodbye. He walked away from the boat cradling Marie in his arms, the bottom of her white sundress blowing against his wrist in the wind as he walked. The dock was elaborate, attesting to the fact that this was an island nation, dependent on merchants to contribute to its gross domestic product. He remembered hearing once that the bulk of its GDP came from the harvest and sale of Vanilla beans. In other words, it was a poor country—no wonder the UN had given it away.

As the sun shone down on him, the sounds of boats unloading everywhere created a buzzing white noise. Some passengers argued, others talked excitedly, and still others walked solemnly towards the signs that read “PROCESSING”. That’s where he and Marie were headed. Knowing things were about to get hot, Logan stayed just between two larger groups of mutants as they funneled towards the large metal gates, careful to keep his head down and his ears open.

Genosha.

It was either going to be a paradise or a death sentence. Scott had scoffed about putting all the worlds “eggs in one basket” and Logan had to agree. The strategist in him was screaming that this was the stupidest move they could have made. Put all the world’s mutants on a single island, and pray to god no one decided to nuke them. Strategically, Genosha was well placed for just that. It was a good 150 miles off the coast of Southern Africa; enough room that a well placed warhead would end the mutant problem and maybe only take out a few African tribes as payment.

But despite that possibility, it was the call of freedom, the promise of a peaceful life that drew the mutants around him. The fact that it had been Magneto who’d called them all, the guy who had knocked Osama Bin Ladin off the top of the Terrorist chart, didn’t seem to bother them. And why should it? The UN had agreed to pardon Magneto, and all of his war crimes against all allied nations, and all he had to do was take over and rule one tiny little island country. They even gave him a line of credit to get the rebuilding efforts underway. True to form, the old mutant had laughed in their faces at the thought of taking “human” money, and had stated in no uncertain terms, that he and his mutant brethren would build their world without human interference. Logan thought he was a cocky bastard, but had to acknowledge his balls.

Of course, first Magneto had to get the militia fighters and drug cartels out. Rumor had it the battles were still raging, that the humans weren’t quite ready to leave the small island. Logan could understand, until just a few months ago, it was off the grid, an excellent place to stage the kind of criminal activity that kept the world supplied with cocaine and L17Joy.

But when Magneto had sent the call out to mutants to join him on Genosha, he’d called it the Land of Tolerance, and the media had hyped it, playing his message of mutant freedom from oppression on every public and private TV, radio, and satellite station, downplaying or ignoring possible fighting that still continued on Genosha’s shores. Within the first week, thousands of mutants had descended on the tiny island nation—the media had shown that too. By the end of the first month, in the heat of a full July summer, Magneto was claiming 50,000 mutant residents. Rumors escaped that this wasn’t just some hoax at world domination either, that schools were being built, hospitals too; that agencies were contacted and mutant children lost in the system were being sent overseas, and large supplies of building materials were arriving daily. There were even some reports that Magneto was working with UN governments to turn over mutant criminals to be “Evaluated by the Sovereign Nation of Genosha, to determine if their crimes were against humanity or the world”. It was implied that crimes against humanity would be pardoned.

It was the newsfeed from late August that had ended Logan’s internal debate. At the news conference it was obvious something had changed. The old frail man Erik Lennsher had been was gone. Somehow, in connection with some mutant, he’d found a fountain of youth. Gone was the grizzled figure of a man past his prime. This man had dark brown hair, coiffed and tailored into a style that spoke of power. His frame wasn’t thin and wiry, but muscular, broad, and imposing. His voice had sounded younger, but the accent was still there, the message still as clear as ever. Somehow he’d shaved forty years off his designer suit frame, and looked to be about thirty-five. He hadn’t bothered to entertain questions about his appearance, and after the first one, the other reporters didn’t bother asking. No one seemed to think it strange, just another mutant thing; and no one questioned if it was the real Magneto; no one could pull off that superior arrogance quite like the man himself.

Lennsher had talked about The Sovereign Nation of Genosha—his Land of Tolerance. He had preached about closed borders, self sufficiency, and protection from persecution. He promised safety for children and adults alike, promised that they had the resources to sustain a population of up to a million, and have room to grow. He’d promised in his unwavering cadence that human children born in Genosha would be full citizens, would be taught not inferiority, but acceptance and equality. That Genosha was a way for mutants to protect themselves and give the “slower human population” time to accept them as the inevitable evolution of their species. His voice had been deep, and sure, his pride had shone in his eyes as he’d turned to look at the red, gold, and black uniformed guards he’d brought with him. It hadn’t escaped Logan’s notice that both Mystique and Pyro were present in the red and gold. He’d thought it a little odd that Mystique would still be following Magneto around, especially after everything the bastard had done to her, but who was he to throw stones, he’d stayed with Xavier for six months after he’d fried Marie’s brain.

If Logan allowed himself to actually hear Lennsher’s message, not though the ears of a man who’d held a dying teenager atop the Statue of Liberty, but as a mutant who’d hid what he was for almost twenty years—maybe longer—he had to admit it sounded good. Maybe too good. No, probably way too good. Their lives were never going to be that uncomplicated. So there had to be a hidden catch, something that glorified refrigerator magnet wasn’t telling them. It made Logan want to hold Marie closer, somehow hide her in the folds of his jacket and tell the world to go to hell. But he knew he couldn’t, so he took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, looked down at his beautiful girl, and kept walking like the good little lemming that he was.

Surprisingly the tropical island wasn’t overly tropical. The humidity was definitely higher than what he was used to in upstate New York or the cold unforgiving tundra of Canada, but it wasn’t overly oppressive, and he was sure that in her sleeveless sundress, Marie wasn’t uncomfortable. He smiled at that. She’d probably like the climate here. He guessed it had to be more like her native Mississippi. She’d sometimes talked about showing him her old town, but he’d known it was an empty, whimsical promise, so he’d never held her too it. But still, she’d probably like the sun; at least her feet would be warm.

The path from the docks was dirt, and Logan suspected that dirt roads were going to be the norm in this place. The earthy smell was perpetuated by the large broad leafed vegetation that grew on either side of the road and Logan couldn’t help thinking about the entrance way to Jurassic Park. He sort of had the same feeing actually, as if he were entering a place that was wonderful, scary, and probably going to eat him alive. Yeah, it was a real reassuring feeling.

“How old is she?” A middle aged woman with jet black hair and gold eyes had pulled back from the crowd in front of him to walk to Logan’s left. She looked kind enough, if not a little tired, with generous laugh and frown lines that aged her in a pleasant way. She carried a duffle much like his and Marie’s—her bag wasn’t full either.

He glanced at the group in front of him and realized that she wasn’t a part of it, just another mutant trying to hide in a crowd; trying not to isolate herself. She didn’t appear to have an obvious mutation, so he didn’t pay her much mind, but he did pull Marie closer to his chest, his fingers tightening around her arm and thigh—looks could be deceiving. “Just turned 21 a few weeks ago.”

The woman smiled sadly, and it reached her eyes. For a moment she looked like she might want to touch Marie, but her hand never rose from its grip around the shoulder strap of the duffle. Instead, she seemed to gravitate closer by a fraction of an inch, not crowding him, more like an instinct that wouldn’t let her look at a child and not offer comfort. “So young, ” she stated softly, and he nodded but didn’t comment; there wasn’t anything to say, she was right, Marie was too young.

The path before them winded to the right sharply, and just through the trees his senses could pick up the movements of people walking in formation. Magneto’s guards were patrolling the forest, their footfalls cracking the dry vegetation. He doubted they’d have guns, Magneto wasn’t an idiot, the guy would put his best men on the job of guarding the intake operation. It gave off a feeling of security, as well as a warning show of force. Logan watched them shift in and out of the light beams, taking note that most of them weren’t much older than Marie, and that they were sloppy at best. These may be Magneto’s best men, but they obviously needed work. Little or no training, it would get them all killed.

The crowed before him slowed and then stopped abruptly, and Logan realized he was in a long line of colorful mutants leading up to three tables equipped with laptop computers, six workers, and about fifteen red and gold armored guards. Those guys were carrying guns. Great, just what they needed, guns.

The dark haired woman shifted nervously in front of him, and her movements were distracting. He glanced at her, watching her shift from foot to foot, gripping the rough leather strap of the duffle bag over and over, her eyes constantly moving. Suddenly he wanted to growl, to ask her what the hell she was doing there in the first place if she was this nervous, but he kept his mouth shut. Yelling at her wouldn’t do any good, in fact, it would probably make her more nervous—he had that effect on people. Instead he took a deep breath, caught the scent of cinnamon and looked down at his sleeping girl.

God she was beautiful. Those silver streaks did her soft face justice, giving her that ethereal look in her sleep. Her pink lips were parted just slightly, and he could smell her peppermint breath as she breathed lightly, slowly, softly into the moist air. Dark lashes framed crescent moon eyes, and with months of sleep, her flawless skin was beautifully pale. Even her button cute nose drew his attention, and he traced it with his eyes. The hardness of her final months of consciousness was gone, having been replaced by softness, and it suited her.

She’d been through so much, seen so much more than any girl child should ever have to see. He wanted to hold her tighter, shelter her from everything that had happened, hide her away from this world that hated and feared her; that made her hate herself. He wanted to protect her, and he would, because she was beautiful, and perfect, because she deserved more than this life could ever offer her, more than he could ever give her.

“It’s funny,” the dark haired woman said, not bothering to turn fully around. Her voice was low, for his ears only as she spoke over her shoulder, her eyes trained on the forest, seeing the shifting guards. “Children want so very little from us. Love, hope, compassion, and what they give back is so much more than what they ask for.” Then she turned, her eyes looking down on Marie. “I’m sure if she could, she’d tell you you were doing a great job.” She paused, her gold eyes meeting his, “That she loved you very much,” she paused, “I’m sure.”

He didn’t know what to say. Had she heard his thoughts? So he nodded his head at her, and then he was certain, maybe it was her age, or the drawn lines around her eyes, maybe it was the sad smile or the wistful look, but he was sure, she’d left at least one baby back home, and something about that tugged at his heart. Then she gave him a half smile and turned away, looking to her left.

And from their left, came a soft but firm voice, a familiar voice that still brought him a touch of pain to hear, “Wolverine.”

He hadn’t been paying attention and he cursed silently to himself. To his immediate left stood Johnny St. John. The kid had matured, his face wasn’t quite as innocent anymore, his hair a little longer in the front, brushing eyes that were hard and unyielding. He’d grown a few inches, which was why he was now looking Logan straight in the eye. His hands—on either side of his body, waist level—were holding two fireballs, which were swirling with a dance of brilliant, hypnotic colors but gave off no heat. He was dressed in dark red and gold armor with an insignia on his right breast pocket that Logan was sure meant something dangerous. The kid—naw he wasn’t a kid anymore, not this one, maybe he’d never really been a kid in the first place—looked surprised to see him, and even more surprised to see him carrying his old friend, but his stance was guarded, ready for a fight.

Logan pulled Marie impossibly closer to his chest.

“I’m not here to cause trouble, Johnny. I came to see Magneto.”

He wasn’t exactly sure what he’d been expecting. But it wasn’t to see a confused look come over Johnny’s face, or to see him lower his hands and for those balls of orange flame swirl into sparks before going out. John cocked his head and took a step back, his eyes going from his face to Marie’s. It was obvious he wanted to ask, but his mind was still assessing the situation, even if his body had already determined it was going to trust him. Those dark eyes rose to meet his again, then he narrowed his eyes suspiciously, “What happened to her?” His voice was caught between commanding and worried, and Logan thought, not for the first time, that Johnny had made the hardest decision of his life when he’d left his friends behind in favor of Magneto’s outstretched hand.

Logan took a breath, trying to figure out the best way to explain. Then he decided hedging wasn’t going to win him any favors, so he waited until Pyro’s chocolate brown eyes rose once again from Marie’s face to meet his, then said with a slight growl, “Xavier happened to her.”

That, obviously wasn’t what Johnny expected to hear, “What?”

Logan smirked, but it wasn’t in humor, it was with thinly veiled violence, “Xavier decided she needed to be shut down.”

“Why?”

He didn’t hesitate, “Long story. Now, we can stand out here while your guards point those guns at us, making all these mutants nervous and twitchy, or you can take me to Magneto and we can get down to business—you’re call, Kid.”

Logan was a natural leader, and Pyro, a natural follower, so it didn’t surprise him when the kid—because no matter what, he was still a kid—stepped back to let Logan exited the line. Around them the other mutants turned to look at them fear and worry written across their faces as the gun sights followed Logan out of line and down the dirt path. The crackle of the radios filled the air with shouting soldiers, and he could hear the guards asking for orders now that an X-Man had been spotted. He saw John lift his right wrist to his mouth when the demand for the identity of the X-Man came over the line, “X-Man is Wolverine. He’s carrying Rogue. Not hostile, send the guards to processing for escort to the citadel.”

Logan couldn’t help it, “Not hostile?” He arched an eyebrow and smirked as he moved to walk beside his old student.

Johnny turned then and gave him a pointed look, the sarcasm full in his voice. “What kind of damage you think you can do lugging around that skinny sack of potatoes.” Then his eyes softened and he looked unsure of himself, “What do you mean the Professor did that to her?”

The sound of marching footsteps caught his attention and he looked up in time to see four mutants in similar but different armor suits to Pyro’s. They watched him warily, and Logan smiled, knowing his reputation proceeded him. But the smile dropped away when he realized he wasn’t here to show off, he was here to beg.

“I’ll explain John, I promise.”

Johnny turned away, his eyes focused forward, but Logan saw the tension enter his body. He and Rogue hadn’t been the best of friends, but they were friends.

The people in the line watched them pass. The murmurs were indistinguishable, but the tone was soft, questioning and frightened. The guards stood a little ways up the path, and people moved out of the way and stood at the side as Logan and Johnny approached. Logan didn’t recognize any of them, but he took a deep drag of the air around them, memorizing their scents. The air was heavy with their sweat, their fear, and though most of the guards didn’t look outwardly afraid, their eyes shift left and right. They’d heard about him, or at least the X-Men, and they were wary.

Good, they should be.

Johnny’s voice was full of authority when he spoke to the guards, “We’re taking these two up to see Magneto. Fall in line and keep a look out for back up.”

So maybe Johnny-boy didn’t trust him all that much after all. Logan watched the stiff line of the kid’s shoulders. “There’s no back up, and I wouldn’t expect any of the X-Men to show up beating down your door anytime soon.”

Johnny shrugged, not bothering to turn to look at him, “You’ll forgive me if I don’t take your word for it.”

He could have left it alone, could have held his tongue, but this wasn’t some stranger, this was a kid he’d trained, and surprisingly, Logan was pleased with the results. The fact that John was batting for the other team, bothered him only up until the point he realized he was about to be batting for that team as well. “Naw, kid, you shouldn’t.” His tone was full of pride, and he gave Johnny a smirk when the kid turned wide eyes on him.

“Right…”

As they walked further and further down the path, in and out of the full foliage, the sun beat down upon them. Logan looked down at Marie, lifted her up and pressed his cheek to her forehead to check her temperature. He didn’t want her to overheat.

Beside him, Johnny stopped forcing the group to stop as well. He gave Logan a strange look, and then with hesitant fingers, he reached out his ungloved hand and touched Marie’s shoulder. The look of awe that crossed his face was almost beautiful. John knew what that simple touch would have meant to her, how important it was in light of all the touches she couldn’t have. Brown eyes met brown eyes, and the look Johnny gave him was one Logan hadn’t seen before, a sort of knowing look, a dawning realization of what he had seen. But whatever it was, the boy kept it to himself, and he turned back around and proceeded up the steady incline, Logan and the guards following.

The group was quiet, the crackling of the radio the only sound. Logan didn’t bother listening to the calls going back and forth as Magneto’s guards tried to figure out what was going on. He found the entire operation sloppy at best, a thin veil of organization over an otherwise mass of gun toting chaos. He was surprised no one had gotten killed yet—hell, maybe someone had. This was a sad excuse for response time to a crisis, and if Marie was going to be staying here, things were going to improve.

These were Logan’s thoughts as they continued the quarter mile through the forest. In his mind he was racking up the kill points against these bumbling idiots. By his count, he’d have gotten 33 of them before he caught his first glance at what John had called the Citadel.

Genosha had a no fly zone over it, news cameras couldn’t get within thirty miles of its oceanic boarders, so the structures present were unknown to the outside world. Maybe then it shouldn’t have been a surprise, maybe just knowing the type of man Magneto was should have made it a given, but Logan was taken aback anyway, and he couldn’t take his eyes off the massive structure that rose gleaming and powerful out of the jungle. It must have been ten stories tall, with five large turrets that rose to varying heights over the jungle landscape. The outside of the building was whitewashed, gleaming in the sun’s intense rays. Windows in the building were not made of glass, but open holes directly into the structure. They wound around the base of the building and up the turrets, offering dark glimpses into the world beyond those walls. Large satellite dishes and other electronic paraphernalia were affixed to the upper balconies, as well as guard stations equipped with the shining markers of night vision scopes.

As they drew closer, the lower walls of the outer gates came into focus. Ten feet tall they rose out of the jungle to completely surround the citadel, offering a physical barrier to prying eyes and advancing armies. Before him stood the massive gate which was made of solid metal, steel maybe, and Logan watched as the hinges moved soundlessly opening before them. To the right and left sentries watched them warily, curious about the dark haired girl in a pretty white sundress being carried by a man that looked like he could rip them all to shreds. Logan heard dogs barking, knew they were employing attack dogs, and distinctly heard a German command issued before the barking stopped. He filed the word away in case he ever needed to use it.

Past the gates, a long courtyard opened before him, lined on either side by dozens and dozens of mutants. Some openly stared, some watched from the corner of their eyes, and others still gave them no consideration. Logan didn’t take too much time to assess them or what was going on behind the great wall of Magneto citadel; nothing beyond the cocks and clicks of weapons being assembled and cleaned was really worthy of his notice. What was worthy, what had captured his undivided attention as the group moved ever closer to the large white structure, was the leader of this castle.

Surrounded by mutants in black and gold armored body suits, Magneto struck an imposing figure, standing at the top of thirty steps that seemed to rise out of the white rock itself. He was tall, handsome, and Logan had to admit, distinguished as he looked down at them. He couldn’t mistake the quirk of a dark eyebrow as those ageless eyes took in Rogue’s unconscious form, but the man made no immediate comment, just turned to Pyro when the group stopped at the bottom of the stairs.

“They came alone?” His voice was strong, commanding, and yet, seemed to have a soft gentility to it. He was in charge, but Johnny, this boy who was not yet a man, was worth his consideration.

Johnny didn’t seem to notice, he nodded. “Yah.” He looked at Marie and indicated Logan, “He says Xavier did this to her.”

That caught Magneto’s attention. “Is that so?” And then for the first time he looked directly at Logan, and the full weight of that man’s stare actually made his heart take an extra beat—it was a powerful stare, one that said he wasn’t afraid. “I wonder what she did to warrant such a reaction from Charles.”

It wasn’t that Magneto’s tone had been harsh or critical, but the very idea that Marie had somehow done something to deserve her fate was more than Logan could stand. Curling in on himself he leaned into a crouch, a growl growing behind his teeth which he bared unconsciously. His grip around Marie tightened and his eyes widened into a wild look. He was ready to defend her, against anyone or anything, his Marie.

His change in posture and demeanor did not go unnoticed.

"Well, this is certainly an unexpected reaction." That damn superior smirk was firmly in place, making Logan's gut twist and his crouch sink lower. He heard the guns in the courtyard cock, knew they were pointed in his direction, and didn't give a fuck. Beside him Johnny took a step back, out of the line of fire.

His eyes never left the sadistic ones in front of him, but Logan knew this was a fight he couldn't win. He wanted to, wanted to pop his claws, charge the steps, slam his fists into regenerated flesh and twist. The prick deserved it, for what he'd done to Marie. But that was something he couldn’t afford to do.



The growl in the back of his throat died, slowly, and he rose cautiously out of the crouch, his body uncurling from around Marie's. This wasn't the time or the place, and if he thought with a clear head, the question made sense. He hated it, wanted to reject it, but could he? Could he really deny the fact that the question had merit?



Yeah he could, and he would if the bastard ever brought it up again. His girl hadn't done anything to deserve this, not a goddamned thing.



With a roll of his shoulders he stood erect, his body just as rigid as the one beside him. Johnny had his hands up, panic rolling off him in waves as he tried to get the guards to stand down. Logan wondered if it was for his own skin, or Marie's.



Sparing a glance at the kid he decided it was definitely for Marie’s; those chocolate eyes were trained on her serene face with a mixture of sick and sadness. This was not the kind of death Johnny wanted for the girl in Logan’s arms.



Slowly, he rolled his head back to Magneto, his voice steady as he spoke, "She didn't do anything worth what she got. And that’s something you should remember, Bub." His eyes grew hard, and he spared a glance at the guards around the man before him then turned, looking for the first time at the dozens of armed men and women ready to defend their leader. He felt a moment of sick fascination, that these men and women would pledge their lives for a man that would so easily throw them away for the cause. It was sad and pathetic, and Logan realized as he turned around to face Magneto again, probably a better life than most of them had had before pledging their allegiance to the piper.



He cleared his throat. "They say you're takin' in stray's Magneto; that the UN gave you this nice new country and you're filling it with mutants. By the looks of things on the docks, and around here, I'd say that was fact."



The man before him broadened his smirk, "Indeed, you are correct, Wolverine. Though I must admit, I did not expect to pick up any "strays" from Charles' school," he looked down at Marie, "or his X-Men."



Logan shrugged, lifting the shoulder holding Marie's knees so as not to jar her head. "The price got too high to stay there."



At this Magneto's smirk broadened into a full smile, "And you think the price here will be more acceptable?"



For a second, a long second, Logan just looked at him, and in that second the smile died on young roguish lips, and darkness crawled behind blue eyes that had seen far too much. In that second, Logan assessed and then decided on a course of action. When he spoke, his tone was even and firm, "You can name whatever price you want, so long as you find a way to wake Rogue up."



The silence that followed was much longer than the one that proceeded it. Johnny shifted uncomfortably, soldiers twitched nervously, and all but one of Magneto's guard turned to look at their leader. The one that didn't, a beautiful blond woman wearing an all white business suit, simply stood next to Magneto, her crystal blue eyes never once leaving Logan's face.



He should have been nervous, should have come up with some kind of escape plan, but the fact of the matter was there was no escape plan this time, this was it, it was make it or break it time. He'd laid his cards on the table, every last one of them, and now the best Logan could hope for was something he could live with. He wasn't hoping for the best, he'd do his worst if he had to.



At the top of the stairs Magneto leaned his head back and cocked it to the right. Beside him the blond smiled, her eyes twinkled with a sort of evil pleasure. Her voice was clear as a bell, with a slight British accent that spoke volumes about her upbringing. "He's telling the truth. Xavier did shut her down, and he is willing to do whatever you want him to to wake her up. I'm surprised by the depth of his conviction to do whatever you want him too, but he seems to be a man of strong convictions. However, whether the child deserved what happened to her is open to interpretation. I can't get a clear image from his mind, but whatever it was, at least a part of him believes she needed to be stopped at the time."



Figures, a telepath. What the hell were they, a fucking dime a dozen? Could you just walk in and buy one at freaking Kmart now? Christ, just what he needed, another head witch.



The blond scoffed, and Logan fixed her with his glare. "Original, like I haven't heard that one before." She rolled her eyes and then turned to address her leader. "He's a simple man, his thoughts are mostly animalistic, but his devotion to the girl is obvious. Properly motivated, he could be worth your time."



Those cool ageless eyes were upon him, but it was the woman Magneto addressed, "Can you wake her?"



The blond cocked her head contemplating, and then she moved. Her steps were fluid, graceful, and measured. She walked like a supermodel, calm, collected, and confident that she was the most beautiful creature in the room, and that all eyes belonged on her.



Logan thought she looked like a Barbie.



His quick eyes didn't miss the briefest falter in her step. This ice queen wasn't completely unshakeable; he smirked.



She tisked as she descended the stairs. "What woman is?" And Logan cursed in his mind, every swear word he'd ever used against Jean and her ridiculous mind-fucks, just to keep Blondie out.



At the bottom of the stairs she approached, and it was a credit to her craft that she knew not to make any sudden movements while he held the most precious thing in his world so close to his chest. Her bobbed, straight haircut moved in the faint breeze, and Logan smelled freesia on the air that blew past him. Her tailored white suit looked out of place in the middle of the jungle, but she somehow pulled it off, made it look effortless.



Suddenly his shoulders relaxed, his body lost its tension, and Marie slipping just a little further out of his deathlike grip. This woman was dangerous, no doubt about it; if she was standing next to Magneto when he went to confront an X-Man, then she was definitely dangerous; but something about her didn't fire all his warning bells off. She was cultured, refined, a real lady, and for some unknown reason, she put his mind at ease. He thought for a moment she was doing it, making him trust her, but she seemed just as surprised as their eyes met for the briefest instance and her blue ones widened. He might never figure this out, might never understand why at that moment he decided to trust a complete stranger, but he did, he knew it was the right thing to do. So he dropped her eyes, and looked down at Marie, his sleeping angel, and waited for the blond to approach.



Long delicate and manicured hands reached out and gently touched Marie's temple. He looked up then to watch those cool blue eyes empty, knowing from all those times watching Jean that she was somewhere else. His fingers flexed around Marie's shoulder but he held still. As he waited, the tension tried to build back up in his body, but he forced it down. Doubt surfaced in his mind. What if she couldn't wake Marie up? Were there other, stronger telepaths? Could there be a stronger telepath than Xavier? If she couldn't, what then?



The silence stretched on for a minute, then two, then three, but Logan held perfectly still, switching between Marie's calm and beautiful expression, and the vacant eyes of the blond before him.



He felt the pull in his body before he heard steel soled boots hitting white rock. With measured steps, Magneto and his guards descended the stairs separating them, bringing them within striking distance of Logan's claws. Confidence hung thick in the air as once again those icy blue eyes locked on his. Johnny rounded the blond and went to Magneto's left; sparing Logan a glance, before he focused back on watching Marie's face. Logan took note of the fact that the guards parted for Johnny to take his place at Magneto’s side.



That tempoed aristocratic accent was warm as it slid over Logan’s senses, "If she cannot awaken the girl, what do you plan on doing then, Wolverine?"



He glanced again at those vacant eyes before looking at Magneto. "Find someone who can."



"And if there is no one save Charles himself?" There was no malice in his returning question.



He didn't hesitate, "Then Chuck is going to wake her up."



An expressive eyebrow rose, "I have no doubt that you tried persuading Charles to release her long before the idea of coming here and asking for my assistance ever crossed your mind. Therefore, I must reason that you intend to force my old friend to help your," he paused, "young charge?"



Logan smiled, a real, genuine, terrifying, smile that bared his teeth and put wild fire in his eyes. "I ain't gonna stop until Rogue's awake. If I've gotta take out every X-Man to get to Xavier, and then show him his own entrails before he does it, then I that’s what I’ll do."



It was a ridiculous thing to say, how he could hope to do it before Xavier shut down his mind just like he had Marie's was a huge hole in his master plan, and they both knew it. But what was also clear, was the Logan would succeed, there was no doubt, no question, only conviction.



Only power of purpose.



Magneto cocked his head, "You will not succeed."



Logan shrugged, "Been told that one before. Wasn’t true then, won’t be true this time neither."



A bark of laughter escaped Magneto then, and around him, Logan heard the uncomfortable surprise of those around them. Obviously, they didn't know Magneto had a sense of humor--hell, he wouldn't have known either, except Marie had told him, shared a few of the more colorful jokes, and biting humor. If Logan didn't hate the guy’s guts, he might actually like the guy. "So impulsive and reckless. No wonder you so often fail to see what is right in front of you."



That gave him pause, "Whatdaya mean?"



That smirk was back, "I me--"



Suddenly the blond jerked, her whole body pulled back as if hit by some massive jolt, and a gasp escaped her throat, strangled and choked. The hand that had been touching Marie's temple twitched, then pulled back to cover her mouth as her large eyes widened in horror, and a chilling half scream escaped her trembling body. She took a step back, but when she tried to take another, Magneto reached out his arm and caught her about the shoulders. She didn't seem to notice, her eyes, filled with rejection stared at Marie, her head subtly shaking back and forth. Magneto's hands went up and gripped her shoulders, turning her to look at him. When her head remained facing Marie, large gloved hands cupped her face and turned her to look at him.



"Emma?" Logan had never heard this man gentle, thought Marie had told him once that Magneto was not what he appeared to be. But this, this quietly spoken caress of a name seemed too intimate to come from a man feared the world over. It didn't fit, and it felt uncomfortable.



Emma blinked, once, twice, and then jerked out of his grip and rounded on Logan. She retook her retreated steps and placed her right hand on Marie's forehead. Then her face lifted, and Logan knew the news was bad, he braced himself, took a deep breath.



"We need to get her inside...she's...very hungry."



Logan blinked, then leaned back away from her, his brow furrowing as she turned back to Magneto. What the fuck?



The woman, Emma, gave him what she must have thought was a patient smile, it came out pained at best. "She needs to be reconnected to the feeding tubes, she's been off them too long." She paused then, before looking back at Marie, and then behind her at Magneto. "If you feel the same way you did before, then we need to get her inside."



He didn't have time to contemplate what that last statement meant, because Magneto simply gave a curt nod and turned, ascending the stairs, calling over his shoulder as the guards flanked him on either side, "This way, Wolverine."



Logan didn't hesitate; just fell in line behind Emma and entered the citadel, Marie once again, held impossibly close to his heart.

Author’s Note: Since the next chapter is 36 pages long I decided to bust it up. So I apologize right off the bat for tell people the full back story would be revealed in this chapter. It’ll actually be two chapters from now, which is really the last part of what should be chapter three but I didn’t think anyone would read all 36 pages in one sitting. However, I will be uploading earlier than usual to make up for the long delay. So if you like it review, and if you don’t like it…well still review but try to say something nice at least!

Chapter 3
The inside of the massive stone castle was cool and dark; the cavernous echo of their footsteps slightly confusing to Logan’s acute senses. His eyes took in everything, swinging from side to side in an effort to understand what was going on, what lion’s den he was walking into. The entrance way, with its vaulted ceilings, and red runner carpet which led to what could only be considered a throne, was opulent, and it was obvious to all that entered this room that it was designed to awe. It was a room fit for a king, and Logan was pretty sure said king knew exactly what he was doing.

The group went around a bank of stone pillars that held the upper floors in place. These too were decorated in red and gold cords, and Logan smirked, apparently Magneto could color coordinate—nice. There were no stray people in this room, and from the lack of any lingering scents, Logan guessed it wasn’t often used. There when you needed it, ignored when you didn’t. That somehow made him feel better, knowing Magneto didn’t sit on that throne all day expecting to be waited on.

On either side of the raised throne were arched entrance ways partially covered by red curtains held in place with more gold cords. The group moved to the left archway, and it was there Magneto dismissed the guards, leaving himself, Pyro, Emma, and Logan to move through the opening.

Magneto didn’t turn to address him and neither did the others, they just continued up a winding staircase, first one floor, then another, before Magneto opened the double metal doors on the third landing. On the other side, Logan picked up the strong scent of disinfectant, and knew this was their idea of an infirmary. It was of a simple design, a single long corridor with multiple metal doorways on either side. There was no civility too it, just a hallway with doors, and at the end of the corridor, a room that smelled like blood and death. Logan took an involuntary look down at Marie and pulled her closer.

They stopped just inside the hallway, and behind them, Magneto shut the metal doors without turning to look at them. Logan was surprised at the man’s control. The amount of the Cure running through his veins should have stalled the return of his powers. It wasn’t the first time he’d thought of this, the X-Men had contemplated it in whispers that spoke of their fear. Based on the amount of the Cure he’d been injected with, Hank had reasoned it’d be another three months before he’d even begin to get his powers back, but if what Logan had seen so far was any indication, Magneto wasn’t only back to full strength, he’d progressed.

“Heartattack,” Magneto’s voice echoed in the hallway, and Logan looked up in time to see an elderly woman with salt and pepper hair that leaned a little heavily towards the salt side, come out of one of the rooms, closing the door solidly behind her. She appeared to be in her sixties, with a slight slump of her shoulders, but her face was kind, and her eyes seemed to light up as she approached them. The master of magnetism nodded his head at the older woman in a courteous greeting, “I have a new patient for you.” He turned, indicating Marie. “She is comatose and is in need of nourishment.” Magneto turned his eyes on Logan’s, “How long has she been off the feeding tube?”

Logan glanced back at the matronly eyes of the approaching mutant and shrugged, remembering he was still carrying around all their worldly possessions in a simple canvas duffle, “About five days.”

That answer obviously caused concern as elderly feet moved quicker, and a concerned expression fell across weathered features. “Five days? That’s too long, far, far too long. She’ll be dehydrated.” Her voice was aged and motherly, and Logan found her at once comforting in that ancient way of grandmas.

He shook his head as he held Marie’s body out for her wrinkled hands to inspect. “I was able to get her to drink some water, so I think she’s ok.”

Aged eyes locked with his before they nodded, and Logan took note that there were obvious signs of cataracts building in those learned orbs. “Good. Good. Let’s get her inside young man, I need to get a good look at her.” She turned, raised her right hand over her shoulder and ushered him forward. She opened a door on the right, the forth room on the right—the same number of doorways to Marie’s room at Xavier’s—before she turned on the overhead lights.

The first thing Logan noticed was that this was a much nicer room than he’d expected. Heartattack moved to the far side of the bed which was located against the far wall from the door, and he followed. Aged hands turned down the bed as Logan looked around the room. The bed was slightly larger than a single, ready to accommodate even the largest of mutants; and despite this being an obvious hospital room complete with flashing monitors and equipment he’d never know how to pronounce, the blankets looked plush, and the soft shade of pink paint gave it a comforting look. Against the right wall was a large gray couch, and to either side end tables with cream colored lamps. A picture window covered in frosted glass sat just to the right of the couch, and gave the room natural light that seemed to ease the humming of the medical equipment. Two plush chairs in coordinating gray sat to the right and the left of the bed, and a pleasant picture of a summer cottage in full bloom hung by itself on the left wall. It was a nice room, for a nice long stay.

When Heartattack pulled down the last of the cream colored blankets, Logan shifted Marie and laid her out on the bed. Without preamble Logan sat on the edge, arranging Marie’s limbs more comfortably. His hands went to the back of her neck and lifted slightly. With practice he parted her long, rich locks to either side of her neck, and smoothed them over her shoulders. Lowering her head back down, he shifted her pillow and then gently nudged her head just a little to the right so she could look at the comfortable atmosphere of the room if she’d only just open her eyes to see it.

Finished with what he could do, he turned his eyes to the doctor. “What do ya need me to do?”

The smile she gave him was warm and friendly. “Just make sure you’re not touching her. I’m going to scan her so I can see how she’s doing, and if you’re touching her it gets this old woman all confused as to who’s who.” He nodded and stood, giving the woman room to work. He watched her opened the top three buttons on Marie’s sundress, exposing the smooth swell of the top portion of her breasts before those knowing hands settled, one over Marie’s heart, the other on her forehead. Heartattack took a deep breath, exhaled, and then closed her eyes.

For his part, Logan just stared. It appeared to be such a caring scene, an old grandmother nursing her sick granddaughter. It was comforting and real, and something he ached to give Marie. He decided that he’d share it with her as soon as she woke up. She’d probably look at him like he’d gone all sappy, and maybe he had, but it was delicate, and he knew she appreciated delicate things.

For a few moments it was quiet, and then Heartattack opened her eyes, and what had once been brown orbs were now filmy and white, “Are you ready, Miss Frost?”

“Yes mam.” Logan turned his head and saw Emma holding a chart. Whatever had been affecting her still was because even as she stood there she wasn’t looking at Marie. Her head was down, and her hands were shaking, but she looked all business, and Logan held his tongue. Instead he looked at the room, and saw Magneto standing in front of the closed door regarding the situation, while Pyro stood to this right, his eyes fixed on Marie’s pale face. The room was cramped, but Logan didn’t care, he turned back to listen as Heartattack spoke once again.

“Good. Good.” She took a deep breath, “Definitely hungry. We’ll need to start her back on the feeding tube right away. A little dehydrated, but it would have been much worse had her young man not been smart enough to get her to drink that water. We’ll start her on fluids as well. We need to change the catheter bag, there’s a slight infection brewing, but I think we’ll catch it early, yes I think we’ll get it just in time.” She paused, “Right then, a little history. It’s hard to tell, but it’s there. Broken ribs, some breaks newer than others. The poor dear has had her right wrist broken along with a fractured left thumb. Both ankles have been fractured too. There’s some residual damage in her lungs from inhalants, and if I’m not mistaken some less than savory recreational drug use. Dear me, can you really say recreational? Cannabis for sure, not good but nothing we haven’t seen before. Her body chemistry is off a bit, but it’s subtle. Sexually active, though not recently, and old scar tissue that doesn’t bode well, no not at all.” The hand at Marie’s forehead moved down to her wrist and the long thick scar, “Attempted suicide, serious attempt, both wrists weren’t just slashed, they were sliced clean through to the bone. Poor thing, I wish these particular injuries were less common, but perhaps we should simply be grateful that she’s alive. Now her hair, that’s an interesting one, not part of her mutation but a physical anomaly. Loss of pigmentation, strange, this type of loss is associated with advance age, as if the hair cells were sixty years old.”

“Seventy three actually.” Magneto smirked from the doorway and Logan couldn’t help the low growl that tore from his throat as the memory of the Statue of Liberty came back to him.

But Heartattack was moving on, “Oh yes that makes perfect sense then, seventy-three, I see. Well, besides all that, she’s had the standard number of colds, flu, and even a mild case of the Chickenpox.” She turned her gaze on Logan, “I’m surprised not to see more atrophy in her muscles. Have you been working with her?”

He nodded, “Yeah, everyday for about a half an hour.”

She nodded her head in approval, “Good. Good. I’m glad to hear it. We’ll need to refocus to some of the other muscle groups to reverse some of the early signs of muscle degradation, but we’ve caught it early. Very good, a most well cared for patient. Very healthy despite the broken bones and scars. How old is she?”

He’d been ready to answer, even opened his mouth, but Johnny beat him to it. “She just turned twenty one on the sixth.” Logan caught the kid’s eye and nodded.

“Hmmmm.” Heartattack muttered, her gnarled hands undoing the rest of the buttons on Marie’s dress but not parting the fabric. “She looks younger, but I suppose that’s to be expected. How long has she been like this?” She paused and then seemed to remember herself as she looked at Logan. Her hand went to her cheek, and if he wasn’t mistaken, she colored just a bit. “I’m so sorry young man, how rude of me. I can get a bit carried away with my patients you see. I’m Dr. Evelin Cross, though most just call me Heartattack. And you are?”

“Logan mam. Just Logan, though I go by Wolverine.”

She smiled kindly to him, “And your young sweetheart?”

Logan thought about correcting her and then changed his mind, “Rogue.”

“Do you know her given name?”

Logan nodded but dug his heels in, “Yeah, but it ain’t for no chart. Hope you understand.”

A sad look passed over Heartattack’s face as if she understood why anonymity would be first on his mind, but then Magneto’s cultured voice cut across the room. “Her given name is Marie Anna D’Ancanto; born September 6 in Meridian, Mississippi. The broken bones are, no doubt, a product of her rather hard years growing up in the system, before she was adopted at age eight. I understand one of her foster families was charged, but not prosecuted, for molestation and abuse.” The sound of hot metal sliding through broken skin caused frost blue eyes to lock on his, as Logan popped his claws and stared him down, a snarl on his lips. Instantly those blue eyes turned hard and mocking, “I see you yet again did not bother to look at what was right in front of you, Wolverine. Did you even bother to ask the girl a single question about her life before her mutation?”

Of course he had. And just like her, Marie had painted him a perfect picture of loving parents, a white picket fence, and a dog named Max. She’d told him plenty of stories, but he quickly realized as he went over them in his mind that none of them were from her early childhood, and if he had to take a guess, he’d wager they were all from after she turned eight.

Goddamnit! How could he not have known? It made perfect sense, her mutation, her fear of closets. The way her eyes always flicked around a room searching for the places to hide. He’d been an idiot, just like Magneto was saying, he’d assumed it was his instincts in her head giving her that fight or flight mentality, but he’d been wrong. Why hadn’t he figured it out? Had Xavier known? Had Marie been holding it all inside? Why hadn’t she told him? Was she afraid he’d shrug his shoulders in indifference, or was she afraid he’d track down the ones that had hurt her? Marie had a gentle soul, had she been afraid for her abusers? How far had it gone exactly? What did molestation really mean; what kind of abuse?

The growl was guttural, possessive, and uncompromisingly protective, “How the hell did you know all that shit about her? And what do you mean they molested her?”

Magneto smirked and Logan saw red, “Unlike you, Wolverine, I do my research before I kidnap a child.” He waved his right hand and Logan’s claws slide against the muscles in his arms, until they were nestled back within his body. “You’re temper will not serve your cause, here. I suggest you control yourself, or I will be forced to do it for you.”

“You son of a bi—“

“Mr. Logan,” and that warm, wrinkled hand was upon his arm, restraining, “Perhaps you’d be so kind as to explain, Ms. D’Ancanto’s mutation.”

He wanted to rip, to tear, to sunder. He wanted to draw blood and screams, and deliver justice. But that rational part of his mind, which always sounded so much like Marie’s patient voice was telling him now wasn’t the time. One day though, he’d take a trip, and when he got home, he’d take Marie into his arms and tell her without words that she never had to be afraid again.

Taking a deep breath, he turned away from the infuriating look of Magneto’s ever smirking face and addressed the doctor, his voice gruff, his mind distracted. “If you’re a mutant and she touches your skin she steals your powers, and mutant or not, she knocks you out.”

Behind him, Magneto let out a disgusted sound of irritation. “Do not tell me, that after three years of staying at Charles’ school, the best you can explain a complex mutation like young Rogue’s is to say she “steals your powers” and “knocks you out.”

He did growl then, and his body tucked into a crouch as he spun around and again popped his claws. “You’re really starting to piss me off, Bub.”

Without so much as a movement, Magneto’s powers flew out across the distance that separated them and pushed against the metal laced bones of Logan’s skeleton. The force threw him across the room until he slammed against the far wall, snarling and spitting as Magneto moved from his place to stand at Marie’s bedside. His gloved fingers rose and brushed at the lock of white hair against Marie’s cheek, and Logan saw red.

“Why she allowed her hair to stay this way, has been a curiosity of mine. Perhaps you’ll provide me the answer, Wolverine.” He spared a glance at Logan, who was struggling against the solid wall of metal to lift his arm away and slash the magnetic psycho to ribbons. “Or perhaps you have no answers yourself. A pity, you continuously underestimated the child.” Then he turned back to address Heartattack. “Her mutation is complex. At approximately one second of contact with the skin of another human or mutant, the cells of her body begin to copy or imprint the psyche of the unfortunate individual to come into physical contact with Rogue. If the individual is a mutant, her body also imprint’s their mutation. The ratio of contact to retention is approximately 1:60, meaning that for every second of contact she retains the imprint of the individual for sixty seconds.”

At Logan’s mocking, bark of laugher the room turned to look at him. His eyes grew dark at the memory, and for a moment the humanity that ran through his veins was replaced by the wild savagery of the Canadian outback. His growl was deep and rich, full and robust, menacing with a promise of pain, and he stopped struggling and locked his eyes with Marie’s would be killer. “Might have been 1:60 before, but it ain’t now. Rogue ain’t the meek little girl you tangled with the last time you tried to fuck her over. If she were awake now, you wouldn’t get within ten feet of her unless she wanted you too. Something happened to her,” he paused, pain filling his eyes as he looked at Marie, “something happened.” Suddenly his murderous gaze went back to Magneto, “But whatever happened to her ain’t her fault. I know her, and she didn’t want to do what she was doing. Something….something was making her do it.”

Silence filled the room for a moment, a second in time that seemed to stretch forever and yet be over in an instant. In the end, it was Johnny that ended the silent standoff, “What happened to her, Logan?”

He looked over at the young man, poised on the brink of manhood. In his eyes, lived a mirrored pain to Logan’s, and he felt his heart ache at their combined loss.

“It started with the Cure.”

************************************************************************

The night was a frozen waste, it was January after all, but Marie didn’t feel the frigid night air, all she cared about were the dancing snowflakes as each individual one fell and kissed the earth. She wanted to feel some measure of peace in the quiet beauty of mother nature, but the image of snow just made her heart ache.

The sound of crunching snow broke the silence, and looking up, she watched as Logan walked across the great expanse of lawn, coming out from the woods which covered the back forty acres of the Institute. He was dressed in his normal leather jacket and a pair of thinning blue jeans, and Marie smiled as he took the cigar out of his mouth and threw it into a snow bank as he came to sit down beside her. “Ain’t it a little cold to be out here in that get up?”

Marie looked down at her dark green tank top and cut off shorts. She might have agreed with him but for the fact that she was wearing a pair of Jubilee’s tan Ugg boots. She loved them; they kept her feet warm. “I’m wearing boots.”

“So you are, Kid, so you are.” Shaking his head, Logan leaned against the banister of the back steps. To their left, the lights reflected merrily off the heated pool, and even in the dead of night someone was bouncing a basketball in the court even though the floodlights were off. Logan cleared his throat to get her attention but Marie didn’t look at him, “You want to talk about it?”

She shrugged one delicate shoulder as she tried to determine who it was playing ball in the dark. “I slept with Bobby.”

To her right Logan grunted, “Yeah, figured you had.”

Her brow furrowed and then she felt her face color in embarrassment. “Oh no Logan, I didn’t shower. Sorry for the smell.” She gave him a sheepish smile before turning her attention back to her mysterious ball player.

“I don’t care about that kind of crap.” He scratched his face nervously, “But I’m curious why you’re out here instead of being inside with him where it’s warm.”

His gaze was on her, his eyes questioning, but she didn’t turn to look at him, she didn’t want to look at him. So instead, she shrugged. “We broke up.”

That threw him for a loop. “Jesus, was the kid that bad?”

“Yes.”

“How so?”

“He called me Kitty.”

And just like she knew it would be, the silence became pregnant with barely contained rage. Logan nearly vibrated with righteous violence, and finally, at that, Marie had to smile. At least someone was on her side. She turned and looked at him, saw the murderous look in Logan’s eyes, and watched the moonlight slide off his claws when they extended, slowly, involuntarily, into the night. With a sigh, she scooted closer to him and took his bare hand in hers, reveling in the fact that she could be this close to him without causing him harm. Shifting, she leaned against his shoulder and snuggled into his warmth. It wasn’t enough, for either of them. With a growl, Logan looped his arm around her shoulder and drew her impossibly close, until her lips brushed his neck and she could smell the musky scent of him, feel the beat of his heart. It was instantly comforting, and despite everything, she felt her body loosen.

“Want me to kill him?”

She didn’t smile, just shook her head and took another deep breath, drawing in the unique scent of him and the solace he offered her.

They were quite for a long time before Logan spoke, before his own inner pain at her loss was too great for him to contain. “What can I do, Marie?”

With a shrug she offered him the simple truth, “Nothing. Ya can’t do nothing for me, Logan. But thanks all the same for offering.”

*******************************************************

“So it was Bobby.” Johnny had moved to the foot of Marie’s bed, and his knuckles in the fisted sheet were white with pent-up frustration and rage.

Magneto had released him, but Logan still leaned against the wall, comforted by the building at his back and the room before him. He shook his head, but he looked at Marie. “No, it wasn’t the popsicle, not all by himself, not as far as I could tell.”

“What happened next,” asked Emma, and her voice was low and respectful as she sat perched on the arm of the couch Magneto was currently sitting in. It didn’t escape Logan’s notice, that he had Magneto’s undivided attention, or that the blond seemed to be leaning into the man.

Logan turned again to look at Marie, and shrugged, “She did what all 20 year olds do, she went to college.”

****************************************************

Without her powers holding her back, she’d taken to wearing as little clothing as absolutely necessary, which was why she was now sitting on the front lawn in early February, in nothing but a hooker red bikini. She was laid out on a dark blue blanket she’d crocheted herself earlier that winter, with her school books spread out and the noise from her iPod filling her ears and no doubt escaping into the afternoon sun. The music she was listening too was old school but it still had a driving beat and the message appealed to her newly empowered sexual side. Her sock covered feet kicked back and forth as she wrote out her essay and mouth the words to the song, “Cherry Pie” by Warrant.

The sudden tap on her shoulder startled her and she looked up quickly at Logan’s smiling face. She smiled brightly, “LOGAN,” but it must have been too loud because Logan made that cute wincing face and then pointed at her head phones. Throwing them off she clicked off the music and then scooted into a sitting position. Her smile beamed from ear to ear, it’d been weeks since he’d gone on that stupid mission, weeks since she’d seen him, even though he called her almost every night. “Hey stranger, where ya been?”

He shrugged. “Just got back from Alkali Lake, no idea what’s going on up there but whatever it is, it smells funny.”

She felt her brow furrow as her green eyes looked at him with worry. He hadn’t told her he’d been going there. In three weeks he hadn’t said a single word about where he was or what he was doing. That was Logan’s style, and she respected it. But she didn’t like him going back to that place alone, didn’t like the idea that he would face his past by himself. That place was a touchy subject for Logan, and he tended not to mention it or the fact that while he now knew more about his past the holes were now twice as painful. But while Logan would appreciate her sympathy, she’d offer it later, once they’d had a chance to catch up, and she knew for a fact he was ok and not just burying his grief over a past he couldn’t—or wouldn’t let himself--remember. She nodded, “Something bad you think?”

“Naw,” he shook his head. “Just something, I can’t quite put my finger on it, but there’s a familiar scent up there.” He closed his eyes to better remember the smell then shook his head, “Can’t place it, it’s weird.” He smiled then and kicked her notebook with his foot, “I heard you’d enrolled.”

Annoyance fell across Marie’s face, “Who told you?” She’d been hinting that she had a surprise for him when he came back, and now her surprise was ruined.

“Storm. She says you’re taking some pretty impressive classes, but she didn’t tell me which ones.” He reached for one of her books and flipped it over. Her annoyance instantly disappeared and she wished he hadn’t picked up that book. She cursed silently, wishing she’d left that text in her room. As she expected, the color instantly drained out of his face and his eyes flew to hers, real worry in his gaze, “Kid?”

She shrugged, rolling her shoulder. She wanted to make up some great excuse, but there weren’t any lies between them. She signed, knowing this wasn’t going to be a fun conversation if it got out of hand. “I’m required to take a history class, and I thought this one would be easy for me. Since I’m not so great in Biology, I could really use an easy class so I can study harder.”

Logan shook his head and then indicated the book, “But this one? Darlin’ this isn’t a good idea. You remember what happened last time—“

Of course she remembered, she’d made Kitty cry as she’d given a firsthand account of the history the little girl should have known by heart. Marie cut him off, reaching for the book as she did so, “Last time it was fresh and I was still having nightmares about it. But I’ve been in the class for a week and a half now, and no nightmares, so I think I’ll be ok.” She smiled at him then, and she hoped it was one of those “award winning smiles” Logan told her only she had. When he didn’t seem to be buying it, she decided to change the subject to her other piece of the surprise. “They’ve got this awesome café down the street from the main campus, and I applied for a job there, you know, something to do in between classes.” She winked, her excitement getting the better of her. “I’ve got an interview on Thursday. Wanna drive me? We can grab some lunch afterwards?”

He smiled back, a little cautious, knowing she was changing the subject and unwilling to concede his point, “Sure, and if you get it, I’ll buy.”

Her laugh was like a thousand silver bells chiming, “No way, my mamma always said, if you get a job, you gotta take your family out to celebrate, and since you’re my family, I’m buying!”

****************************************************

Heartattack had pulled out the necessary supplies and was working on cleaning Marie’s feeding tube. She had a cloudy IV bag already on a stand and another clear bag feeding Marie the liquids she needed to stay hydrated. Logan had fallen into a rather comfortable chair to the left of the bed, while Johnny had settled onto the arm of the couch opposite Emma.

Logan knew Magneto was a smart man, you didn’t avoid capture and nearly start two wars without being good at noticing the little things that weren’t obvious to other people; but when he asked his question, Logan felt all that fear come back to him from a day so long ago. “Which subjects was she taking, Wolverine?”

He drew a deep breath, “English, Biology, and History.” He didn’t bother to look away from Marie’s serene face, “History of the Holocaust.”

Heartattack stopped her movements and looked at him. On the couch Johnny jerked to attention, he’d been there of course, watched as Marie had slowly come apart at the edges after those first few weeks. Logan had heard tell of an incident in the kitchen, but Marie had never talked about it, and he’d never been close enough to Johnny to ask.

Magneto’s deep voice seemed to fill the room, “Rogue had all of my memories then?”

“Yeah,” was all he could say. What else needed to be said? Yes, Marie had all of his memories, yes she dreamed about being hungry, cold, wet, and scared. Yes, she woke up drenched in sweat, screaming in German, and rambling about choking on people. Yes, she left the room when the students watched Shindler’s List, and yes she occasionally added another bag of kosher beef jerky and a bottle of water to the cardboard box under her bed. Yeah, she had Erik Lehnsherr’s memories, she had both of their memories, and yeah, she remembered them like her own.

“I knew of course, it was a possibility, however as I did not intend for her to survive our first encounter, I did not give it much thought.”

He should have been pissed, should have cursed Lehnsherr, popped his claws, and torn the room apart to get to him, but he didn’t. Instead Logan nodded his head and met blue eyes that held the pain of a lifetime of nightmares. Both of them had done what they had too, Magneto to kill her, Logan to save her, and both of them had condemned her.

He turned back to Marie, leaned forward and took her hand in his, offering her a soft smile. “She did well in school; even made some new friends. She didn’t try for another job after the first one fell through, but that was fine. Things were going great, she was managing, even building back some of the things she’d lost.” His voice darkened, “Then we got the call from Muri Island, from some crackpot scientist that claimed her comatose patient had woken up three weeks before claiming to be the one and only Charles Xavier, and he wanted us to come and get him.” Logan squeezed Marie’s hand tighter. “At the same time, we get a call from the middle of fucking nowhere—Indiana for Christ’s sake—from Scott, who’s supposed to be dead. So I get into the Blackbird to go get Xavier, and Rogue, Nightcrawler, and Angel get into Worthington’s private jet to go pick up Scott.”

Logan’s eyes darkened, and unconsciously he leaned in closer to Marie, “Scott didn’t bother mentioning he wasn’t alone. And none of us realized until the five of them stepped off the plane that Jean was back as well.”

************************************************

Marie felt her heart clench so hard in her chest she thought she might just die from the pain. It was written all over his face, his handsome, now tormented face. It didn’t help that Jean was running off the ramp—ignoring him completely—running straight into Logan’s arms and thrusting her tongue down his throat. Yeah, that didn’t help at all because Scott dropped his head in defeat before he could see Logan shoving her away in shock, while Jean smiled that evil smile that didn’t look real. Or because Scott did look back up in time to see Jean side stepping Logan’s arms and rubbing up against him like a cat in heat, and she could hear Scott moan in loss even from her place at the bottom of the ramp. Poor Scott was dying, looking anywhere but at the sight of his fiancé throwing herself at his advisory, and Rogue couldn’t blame him, the whole situation was just plain wrong.

She watched the confusion slip over Logan’s features, and wanted to send him some kind of telepathic message, “don’t mess with her, she’s not right in the head”. But she wasn’t telepathic, and even if she was, she wasn’t sure Logan would hear it for the warning that it was; his head got all muddled around this particular red head.

Even now, after what had just happened, Logan’s large hands touched Jean’s perfect cheeks, and the look of confusion vanished into complete and utter adoration. It was actually disgusting to watch, and so Marie turned away, walking back up the ramp to offer Scott a hand. He wasn’t in such good shape, and if she could see his eyes, Marie was pretty sure there would be tears in them.

She placed her hand on his shoulder, and noted that he lifted his head to look at her. She hadn’t expected him to speak, but she respected him a thousand times more than she ever had when he did. “Get me out of here, Rogue, please.” Without hesitating, she wrapped his arm around her shoulder and gave Warren a nod when he did the same, before they half carried Scott down the ramp.

She was surprised when she heard Logan’s voice, saw him moving around Jean and jog over to them, quickly taking Warren’s place in supporting Scott. “Hey One Eye, you look like shit.” She doubted Scott could hear it, but she could, this was Logan’s “what the hell is going on” voice. Good, she was glad he’d come to his senses and was now just as confused as the rest of them.

Scott didn’t seem to have the energy, or even really realize it was Logan speaking; she was sure if he had Scott would have put in a bit more effort. “Just take me to see the Professor.”

Logan’s eyes met hers, and she gave a quick shake of her head and shrug of her shoulders—she didn’t have any answers either. Marie spared no backwards glace for Jean, let the others deal with the psycho. Instead she worked in tandem with Logan, helping Scott out of the bay doors, and down the hallway to the elevators. Logan didn’t say anything, and Marie was grateful, she didn’t like the idea of Scott realizing it was Logan whose shoulder his head was resting on; she didn’t think the conversation would go well.

She could tell Logan didn’t like leaving things this way, but besides one more look in her direction when the elevator doors opened, he remained focused on getting Scott to the Professor’s office. She was surprised the older man wasn’t in the jet bay to welcome Scott home, but she didn’t make a comment, Charles’ return had its own significance on her, and that was weighing on her mind.

Even though she hadn’t gone into the Professor’s office since his supposed death, it was at once familiar and safe for her. She’d had many conversations with him in here, some of which no one but the two of them knew about. His office was one that had been comforting to Erik when he’d lived in the mansion, and so it had become comforting to her. The timber of the Professor’s British accent calmed her as it did Erik, though neither of them would ever admit that. Xavier was the rock, and she was grateful to him during the storm that seemed to be her everyday existence. When he’d died, she’d mourned him, in a very different way than the other students. It wasn’t just the passing of a mentor, it was the passing of her greatest friend, confidant, and enemy. And it had hurt more than she’d ever let on.

When the call had come in that Charles was alive, she couldn’t bring herself to go with the team to retrieve him. Part of her was scared of hoping it would be him only to be disappointed. She’d forgotten her fear when she’d come face to face with Jean, but now as she walked into his office, saw a man that was not her friend silhouetted by the window, she felt at once a little uneasy.

This man was young, somewhere in his early forties with a full head of hair. His features were not the distinguished ones of Charles Xavier but the plain, boring features of a construction worker or stock broker. Marie felt the trepidation manifest in a slight shaking of her bones as she helped Scott to one of the plush chairs surrounding the dark mahogany desk. The man whose body now housed the mind of Charles stepped forward, and on his face was the concerned expression of a father. It was then Marie knew that despite what she saw with her eyes, what mattered was beyond the flesh, and this man was indeed Charles Xavier.

“Scott.” A word of wonder, of concern, a breath of awe that the lost son had returned alive and well, and it was spoken in that comforting British accent that at once soothed her nerves as she moved away from Scott to lean against the far wall. Charles spared her a glance as he approached Scott, before he knelt down and touched the face of his lost student. What happened next Marie would never speak of again. She’d never tell anyone about the sob that had caught in Scott’s throat as he’d fallen into the receptive arms of his mentor, never tell anyone about the racking sobs that shook shoulders that so often held the world upon them, she’d never speak of the painful look of dawning understanding that came over Charles’ face, or the whispered words of, “Oh my poor, poor son.”

No, she’d never repeat what she’d seen in those private moments that she had unwittingly happened upon. The reunion of a father and son thought lost to each other, and brought together under the storm of so much loss. It was uncomfortable, this moment to which she didn’t belong, so she looked at Logan, he looked at her, and the two of them left the study without a word.

Outside, they walked in unison up to Logan’s room and shut the door behind them. Marie went to sit on his bed with her hands knotted together in her lap, while Logan moved to hold up the wall, his arms crossed, his eyes distant.

Finally, she broke the stalemate, “Is it really him?”

Her voice startled him from his own thoughts and it took him a minute to answer her; when he did, he sounded a little lost. “Xavier? Yeah, he smells right. So does Scott, it’s the same smell that I got from Alkali Lake.” He shook his head then looked up at her, “But Jean,” he paused, “She doesn’t smell right.”

She nodded, her fingers plucking at his bedspread. “She’s different, Logan” here she paused as well, not sure how to phrase what she wanted, no needed, to tell him. In the end, it slipped out on its own, completely uncensored, “She’s dangerous.”

Logan didn’t say anything to that, and they lapsed into silence until hunger drove them downstairs.

***************************************

Logan relaxed his grip on Marie’s hand, afraid that he’d hurt her if he squeezed any harder. The memories of that day were hard for him. He’d been heartbroken when Jean had died—when he’d killed her. A part of him had wanted her back then, the forbidden fruit of another man’s woman. He wanted to believe he’d loved her, but looking back on it, he realized it was the chase, the ability to conquer the power couple. Looking back on it, he realized what a dick he’d been, and how much it had cost Scott, a guy who deserved a lot better.

Taking a deep breath he looked out the window at the lowering sun, knowing what was coming next. The others knew too, that’s why the room was quiet, respectful, waiting for him to continue Marie’s tale. His thumb moved back and forth across the back of her hand, her skin smooth and cool at his touch. He’d give anything to have her squeeze his hand, just once, just to let him know she was still in there.

He closed his eyes, she would, one day, he promised.

“Ten day’s later Marie disappeared. She went to school and never came home.” He opened his eyes and looked at their intertwined hands, hers small and delicate, his larger and dangerous. “When Xavier used Cerebro and tracked her down, told me where she was, I knew everything had changed. Because her powers had come back, because she was in Poland, but mostly because she’d run, and my girl would never run again without me.”

***************************************

She sensed the shift in the air the moment Logan came inside. The calm tranquility of a thousand desperate prayers was broken, replaced by that wild chaotic nature that could only be him. Wherever he went he brought the wilds of an unsettled land and while normally that gave her peace, this time, it made her hands clench and Erik’s ire raise the hairs at the back of her neck. This was a holy place, not his place, this was their place, their sanctuary. Logan didn’t belong here.

He approached anyway, his very nature disturbing the air. Logan crossed the room, and her fists clenched in her lap; this was her side, the women’s side, and he was decidedly not a woman.

“Marie—“she held up her hand and cut him off and he went instantly silent. Her eyes rose to his, and whatever he saw made him take a step backwards, made that look of fear jump into his eyes and stay there as he regarded her. He was so out of place, a man that lived by the old pagan gods instead of the one true God. She shook her head.

Standing, she looked towards the Ark and bowed her head in respect. She recited the silent prayer she’d learned when she was younger, let the words wash over her and give her strength. She needed the peace, the calm, but she was aware it was fleeting at best. Logan had tracked her down, to this place, and he had to know what it meant. She wanted to block it all out, to return to the last few hours when she’d poured her heart out to the Rabi and watched the sad smile of understanding creep across his features. She wanted to remember his softly spoken words of hope, the prayer he’d placed upon her bowed head. The promise that not everyone feared her or wanted her dead, and that most of all, his belief that the tragedy that defined so much of his country’s history would not repeat itself in hers. But his promise had run false, and as Erik had scoffed in her mind, she had lapsed into silence until the Teacher had left, and she was alone with her God.

She closed her eyes against the pain. She had lived through so much already, lifetimes of living in only two decades. She was tired, but more than that she was scared. She’d seen the looks on the faces of the people when she’d touched Ian’s arm in the Student Union Building, only to have him drop to the floor and convulse as she’d clutched her head and cried out in denial, in painful rejection that her happiness was so fleeting. She’d watched their faces again when she’d touched the names of Erik’s parents, and the tears had come, and the words had come, and with them, her screaming promise that she would not let this happen again; that she would kill them all if she had to. She’d been screaming in English, so few if any there that day knew what she’d actually said, but her intent had been there, and they had backed away from her as she’d turned and ran back to her rental car and driven to this sacred home of her faith.

With her prayer finished, Marie exited the pew and opened the door to the temple, not bothering to give Logan a second look. The sting of the falling rain hit her flushed face, and for a moment it was sixty years ago and she was watching them shove her mother as she lay in the mud calling for her father to save her. The door didn’t have a chance to close before Logan caught it, stepped through and grabbed her about the shoulders hauling her bodily against him as they stood in the bitter rain.

Against his rock hard chest, and from deep within him, came that comforting subsonic purr she didn’t think he even knew he did when he held her. And suddenly all the tension, all the fear drained out of her and she collapsed against him, rested her cheek against his black cotton tee-shirt and inhaled the musky scent of Logan, feeling the safety only he could bring her.

The Star was her hope, but Logan, he was her protector.

“Tell me.”

And she did.

An hour later they’d broken into a national horror story. Logan picked the lock with practiced ease and they walked inside building six. Long, cold, and dark, it was row after row of bunk beds on a concrete slab. The sheets were clean now, and in good repair, but in Marie’s memory the rank smell of the human body mixed with decay was almost overpowering and her hand went to cover her mouth as she stepped further inside.

Even in the absolute darkness she found her way easily. Seventh bunk on the left, top, because she’d beaten up the other boy—David—for the top bunk and broke his nose; he died later that month from the infection that had set in—her first kill.

She touched the bed, it wasn’t hers, she’d remember hers, like so much else here this was a replica. But not all of it was. Marie stepped onto the lower bunk to get the right angle against the beam. Without a flashlight, she found it on instinct.

“Here,” she said, not bothering to motion Logan over, she knew he’d come. With sure fingers she sought out the initials carved into the wooden beam. They were there, just as she’d known they would be. “This was his bunk.” She traced the letters, her fingers comforted by the smoothed wood, and felt Logan’s eyes on the back of her head. “This was where I slept for two years.”

His hand was on her shoulder then, firm, “No Marie, it wasn’t you, it was him.”

She shook her head because he was wrong, but she leaned into his touch all the same, “No Logan, it was me. I remember it, everything, every single moment. I remember watching my parents taken from me. I remember watching the others disappear. I remember being hungry, and cold, scared, and…worse. I remember it all. You can pretend it wasn’t me if you want too, but I don’t get to pretend. I was here, and these are my initials as much as they’re his.”

Behind her Logan swore, and as much as she wanted to comfort him, she couldn’t, there was no comfort in a place like this. So instead she turned, took his hand in her gloved one, and pressed his fingers against the wood, tracing the letters, “E.M.L.”

“I wanted someone to know, someone someday to know that I lived, that I had lived and that I had a name. I wanted someone, someday to know I had existed. That people had been here, lived here.” She paused, searching for the right words. “I didn’t want to be forgotten.”

The tears came unbidden as a lifetime of grief washed over her. She’d lost so much in this place and beyond, so much that she felt raw and empty as she stood here. Erik had promised himself that he would never return to this place, and so she came for him, his silent witness. He had been poured into her—she the living vessel—but he hadn’t wanted this for her, and even now, though he wouldn’t look with her eyes at his initials carved so long ago, she felt his hands caress her face, and his soft words of comfort in her ear. His gentle voice, his soft native tongue filled her, and she let him wash over her.

She didn’t respond when Logan called her name for the fifth time, nor did she protest when he scooped her up into his strong arms and carried her out of building six. She just buried her head against his shoulder and cried silent tears. Because no matter what the Rabi had said, she had been forgotten, they’d all been forgotten. The world had moved on, forgotten its history, and now, now once again, it was repeating itself.

“Erik was right you know,” her voice was sure as she looked at him across the table in the small diner they’d found. The place was filled with locals that gave them funny looks, and the menu was written entirely in Polish, but she’d given their orders clearly, as if she’d been born into the language and they’d been left alone.

Logan’s fist hitting the table top vibrated the window they sat next too, making the reflections shake violently, and shattering their anonymity. “No he wasn’t, and I don’t ever, EVER, want to hear you say that again, Marie.”

She sighed, running her gloved hand through her hair, her eyes catching the white streaks and feeling that sense of connection that calmed her. “If it had worked—“

“It didn’t fucking work, Marie! You almost died, he almost killed you, for a plan that didn’t even fucking work!” The threat of destruction was in his voice but Marie didn’t care. For three days she’d been on her own, remembering, reliving, and she knew the truth now, even if he didn’t want to admit it.

“It’s going to happen again, Logan. They’ll pass the registration act, and then one of us will do something stupid, and before you pop your claws they’ll have a number burned into your arm so deep even your healing factor won’t make it disappear.” Her eyes rose and locked onto his, and whatever he saw there brought instant pain to his features. “They’re going to cage us, just like before, burn us alive, just like before, and one day, you’ll be burying me in an unmarked grave, just like before. They’ve forgotten, or maybe they just don’t care, and it will happen again, it’s already begun.” She looked towards the window, but instead of seeing the outside, she saw her own reflection. She was crying, large tears rolling down her cheeks. Strange, she didn’t remember doing that.

“We won’t let that happen, Kid.” His hands were wrapped around his bottle of beer, but he hadn’t taken a drink yet, and they’d been sitting there for nearly twenty minutes.

“You don’t really believe that, do you Logan? Even you aren’t that naive.” She gave him a smile, and the look on his face almost made her cry harder. She shook her head and looked out the window again, watching the driving rain splatter in large muddy puddles. “No, you don’t believe that at all. It’s a nice dream, Charles’ dream has always been a nice one, one you use to tuck little mutant children into bed with. But a story is just a story.

“They’ll come like they did at the mansion, guns drawn, and mercy forgotten. They’ll kill anyone that doesn’t follow orders and sleep easy at night knowing they’ve rid the world of the mutant threat. They’ll herd us like cattle into fenced court yards, and when no one’s looking, kill us. Oh but first,” and she turned to catch his eye, “first, they’ll break us. Even you, the great Wolverine. And if you don’t think that’s possible, think again. I’ve known greater men then you succumb to their kind of torture.” And she turned away, because there were tears in Logan’s eyes and she didn’t know if it was because of the vision she was spinning of their future, or the glimpse she was giving him of her past.

She shook her head, took a drink of the strong black English tea—sweet, three sugars, she loved all the things she hadn’t had in the camps—and then set her cup down again, her eyes watching the inky blackness within. “I won’t go back, Logan. I won’t go back to the camps. They won’t burn a number into my skin, 452930, they won’t mark me as theirs again. I’ll fight until my dying breath, I’ll kill them without mercy. I will not go back there again, and I will not let them take the ones I love,” she looked up, her expression serious, “I won’t let them take you.”

Then she cocked her head to the side and smiled. “You agree with me, even if it’s only the you in my head. You won’t go either. The you inside me, he wasn’t all that convinced that Charles was right. He thought Erik might be the right path.” Her eyes locked on his and the smile disappeared, “You know he was right Logan, even if it hurts to admit it. Charles’ dream is pretty but pretty things decay, our way is hard as steel, but at least it lasts through the storm. We have to fight, Logan, we have to fight for the right to survive, and you and I have to fight for the right side this time.” She shook her head and looked back down at her coffee, seeing her reflection again, “I won’t go back Logan, I can’t.” He voice caught and then his hand was on her gloved one, and she looked up at him, her eyes pleading with him to understand, “I can’t go back there, Logan. I’d rather die, I’d rather you killed me right here and right now, then go back.”

Logan shook his head, his hand squeezing hers painfully tight, “You won’t go back there, Darlin’ I wouldn’t let it happen. I’d take you so far away, hid you so deep, they’d never ever find you. I swear it, Marie, I swear to Christ I wouldn’t let them hurt you. And this,” he squeezed her hand again, “Your powers, it’s alright, we’ll work it out, we’ll figure it all out. But baby, you gotta stop thinking like this, you gotta stop letting that bastard think for you.”

She smiled, and then sighed before dropping her arm to the table and resting her head in the crook of her elbow. Her eyes found his again, and she marveled at how beautiful his eyes were, “He can’t think for me, Wolvie, he can only talk to me, just like you talk to me. But you want to know the funny part, the part that makes me smile?” He nodded, “Despite the fact that you’re telling me to ignore him, and despite the fact that you hate Erik’s guts for trying to kill me, the you inside my head agrees with Erik and his actions—all except the killing me part, that part you’re not too keen on.” She smiled a sad, sleepy smile, and sighed.

Then she changed the subject because this wasn’t getting her anywhere and she was tired of talking in circles, “I’m sorry I scared you. I was going to call, to tell you where I was, but everything just happened so quickly. I landed in Poland, went to the camp, and sort of…got lost for a while. I had a lot to think about.”

Logan nodded, his face grim, his hand still holding hers, “You’re not alone, Darlin’, not like before. We’re in this together, you and I, we stick together, doesn’t matter if we’re staying or running, we do it together.” Then he too turned to look out the window, “I know I don’t understand everything that happened here. I didn’t live it…like you did. But I found you in a synagogue, and I know for a fact you ain’t Jewish. Magneto is a soulless bastard, Marie, whatever line of BS he’s feeding you in your head is crap and you know it. He ain’t a man of God if he’s willing to sacrifice a child for his dirty work.”

She closed her eyes because that had been her argument as she’d battled with Magneto that quiet afternoon so long ago, “No matter what horrors you think Erik is capable of, his faith is his driving force. He knows he’s going to hell. He knows God will never forgive him. But he does it anyway, he kills anyway, because he believes that the sacrifice of one for the many is acceptable. His test, is not to be the martyr but to be the fallen. He will die so that we can be free. It’s strange actually,” she looked at her hand and then the reflection of her prone position in the mirrored glass, “part of him thought he was doing me a favor by killing me in that machine. I would be martyred for the cause, and a martyr gets a “get into heaven free card”. He thought he was saving my soul while damning his own. Funny isn’t it, we think he’s damning me to save himself, while in reality he’s damning himself to save me.”

Logan’s deep, and angry growl startled her, “No Marie, it isn’t fucking funny, it’s twisted and sick. That’s the kind of fucked up logic that started those damn camps in the first place.”

He was right, she couldn’t argue. Only death would tell them who was right and who was wrong. Perhaps the entire genocide of a people would secure one man’s admittance into heaven, or perhaps though his actions, hundreds of thousands of people would rise up, become more than they would have otherwise been, and would instead themselves become worthy of that holy place. Perhaps one day Magneto would be barred entrance to heaven while Striker walked in with his head held high, but if that were the case, then heaven was hell, and God was just like Xavier’s dream, a pretty story for children.

The food came then, and they ate in silence, words unnecessary between them. Then when the meal was over and the exhaustion of the last few days washed over her, she let Logan direct her into the cheap motel room they’d rented across the street. Inside, she didn’t have the energy to undress, so she slid under the covers and felt Logan settle on top of the comforter on the other side of the bed.

And then it was too much, too much to be separated by six inches and a million miles of morality. It was anger, confusion, shattered dreams, and lifetimes that weren’t her own stretched out before her and the man she loved. And in that moment, in a dingy motel room with the ghosts of the dead outside crying tears of grief, her own breath caught in a desperate sob and she turned around and buried her face against Logan’s chest. Strong arms wrapped around her, but for once it wasn’t enough, and so she continued to sob and clutch at him, begging him in broken words to help her, to save her while he made promise after promise as she tried desperately to believe him. Finally, after two years and a half dozen lifetimes of pain and terror overwhelmed her, the darkness gave her peace and she passed out in Logan’s arms.

****************************************************

Across from him, Magneto was simply staring at Marie as if part of him wanted to offer her comfort and the other part wanted to run out of the room to get away from what he’d done. It was the second part that shifted Magneto’s place on Logan’s mental hit list. Magneto was now number three, below Marie’s foster parents, and Striker.

“That’s it!” Emma’s sudden exclamation startled everyone in the room as she jumped up from her place beside Magneto. “Of course, of course that’s it, that’s what it was!”

“What are you talking about?” Johnny asked, too loudly from the window.

Emma shook her head. “I’ll explain, in a minute, but first I want to know what happened next.” She looked at Marie and her eyes went from their joined hands to the thick white scars that had never disappeared from Marie’s delicate wrists. “Tell me what happened when she got home, Wolverine. Something tells me, the return of her powers, and her time in Poland threw her over the edge.”

Logan nodded, watching the blond settle back down next to Magneto and subtly rest her hand on his leg. He shifted his eyes and looked up at the slowly dripping IV bag that Heartattack had set up before returning to her rounds; the tempo of the droplets steadying him.

“When we got home, she was withdrawn and quiet; at least with everyone but Xavier. With him, she’d storm into his office, screaming at the top of her lungs, demanding to know how he intended to keep “his children” safe from the Homosapiens. It got worse and worse, until finally Xavier decided she needed to talk with someone who could help her. He found a support group for Holocaust survivors and got her in under the pretenses of a research project. She lasted three visits before they told her not to come back. Then Chuck decides she needed to talk to a professional. I was pissed as all hell when he decided that Jean could help her. She was a loose cannon by then, twisted, but Chuck thought it would be good for both of them. And for a few days it seemed to be working. Marie left the first session with Jean in good spirits, even went to see a movie with some of the other kids. After the second visit she went shopping and bought a metallic green cocktail dress, one of those strappy numbers with a slit up to her eyeballs. I thought it was a good sign, I thought, maybe, just maybe she was starting to think like she used too.”

He shook his head, “But I was wrong.”

***************************************************

Marie smiled as she slipped the silky strap up her shoulder and settled it into place. She turned, admiring the half dozen criss-crosses of the straps as they laced from her lower to upper back. The curve hugging dress was gorgeous, and flattered her figure no matter which way she turned, the metallic sheen adding color to her crimson cheeks. She nodded once to herself and reached for the fifth of Southern Comfort on the dresser by the mirror, gulping like a pro, like Logan would have. The hot liquid filled her belly, warming her, making the edges of the room soften just a bit more as she reached for the hot rollers in her hair. As each rod came out, she carefully put it back into the container, not wanting to leave a mess.

She’d put all of her clothes away, pushed the dresser over to the side, and stored her keepsakes in the lowest drawer. She knew Logan would find them, he was good at finding hidden things.

Flipping her head over, she raked her hands through the generous curls before straightening and looking at herself again in the mirror. Even she had to admit she looked fantastic. Too late she wished she’d bought the hot rollers sooner, her mamma had sworn by them, if only she’d listened.

The glass bottle had barely any liquor left, and so Marie downed it all, feeling the burn and closing her eyes against the pain. In her mind Logan and Erik were screaming at her in so many languages she couldn’t keep up, but she knew she was doing the right thing. She had to do this, had to stop it, this thing inside her that wouldn’t let her go. She wouldn’t go back to the camps, wouldn’t kill anymore people, wouldn’t give in, and that left only one way out.

Setting the empty bottle in the waste basket, Marie turned off the lamp and walked over to the adjoining bathroom. The water was already running, white noise to the sounds of denial coming from her head. She made sure the water was scalding hot, it’d speed everything up. Not that it would take that long, already she was tired; the twenty-four valium she’d stolen from the med bay were doing the trick nicely.

With a flick of her wrist she turned off the bathroom light and smiled at the flicker of the dozen candles she’d lit around the room. For a moment she thought again that this would make such a grandiose scene for the unlucky soul that found her, but then she put it to the back of her mind, she deserved a nice exit.

The flickering lights and the cotton in her head made it hard to maneuver, and she hit the side of the tub hard with her shin. Her hand fumbled in the flickering light, having trouble making contact with the faucet, but she eventually managed to turn off the running water. Too late she realized it was far too high, that the moment she got in half of it would spill onto the floor, but the part of her that would have cared about the mess was silent, and so she ignored her earlier promise to keep this clean, and stepped over the lip of the tub.

It burned, but she didn’t care, sank deep into the water and hissed but didn’t get out. The world shrunk to a pinpoint of blackness, but it came back slowly as she rested her back against the tub. She slid down until her shoulders were submerged and her chin rested on the top of the water. She giggled as her dress rose indecently high, and she tried to tug it down, but it was stubborn, and eventually she was too tired to care.

The world was floating, just as she was floating, and it all felt so strangely detached from her. With effort she focused her fragmenting thoughts and lifted her hand out of the water, stretching her mind out and locking on the metal razor. It came to her hand with barely a mental call, and in her mind Erik was screaming at her again about using his powers in this defilement, but she couldn’t really bring herself to care.

The metal was cool in her blistering hand and she brushed her thumb over the smooth edge hearing it sing as steel did, a clear note that soothed her.

Her right hand made the job so easy, like slipping the razor sharp edge into a pat of butter. The cut was long, deep, and painless, which made her feel better, she hadn’t been looking forward to the pain. Her blood blossomed around the curling skin and she watched it for a moment as it flowed from her and into the warm water. It didn’t disgust her or turn her stomach, instead it comforted her, reminded her she was doing the right thing, ending this now before she hurt anyone. With that reassurance she tried to take the razor into her other hand but she found her fingers wouldn’t grip it and it sank below the water like a weighted stone. Too late, the reason came to her mind, she’d pushed too hard, severed the tendons. For a moment she was concerned, but then with a shrug, she used Erik’s powers once again and complemented the right wrist with matching marks.

Then with a sigh, Marie let her arms slip below the surface of the water, and leaned her head against the back of the tub. Her eyes watched the dancing lights for what seemed like forever, but as the darkness crept in, and all she could see were the glowing orange of the flames she felt unease settle over her and instead closed her eyes.

The next time she opened them she was outside the tub shaking uncontrollably on the cold tiled floor. Water was everywhere, the bright florescent lights glaring down on her, and Logan, a stronger more powerful Logan, was screaming in her head for her to wake up. Unnaturally acute senses filled her ears with the sound of people running up the stairs, and of panicked voices. Through these new, confusing senses she could feel Charles trying to push through the blocks and reach her, and all the while Logan was screaming, screaming that she couldn’t leave him, that he wouldn’t let her go.

Overwhelmed she turned her head, felt the cool tile against her cheek now, and saw him, barely breathing, his face inches from hers where he’d collapsed after giving her everything he had.

The anger flashed instantly, filled her with a blinding rage until she reached out with her ungloved hands and pushed at his naked chest, shoved him away from her and began to scream.

Rogue! That was Charles, but she didn’t care, she couldn’t care, and that terrified her. It was too late.

Sitting up, her bare hands went to Logan’s hair, fisting it and then slamming his head into the wet tiled floor. Again, and again, and again, until the water turned pink, and then red, and at that she stopped and smiled. Her hand, wrists healed over into ugly scares, reached out to touch the red and she brought it to her lips.

“Oh my god!” Storm’s voice, she didn’t bother to look.

“Move!” That was Charles, “Oh my child.”

And then it was silent and comfortingly dark. Crawling on her hands and knees, she moved deep into the back of her mind, where Logan was waiting for her. She didn’t say a word, just slid into his arms, felt his strength fill her, and then turned at the gentle touch of Erik’s hand to her hot cheek. Closing her eyes she rested, safe and protected.

***************************************

“When I got into the bathroom, seen what she’d done, I pulled her out. Her lungs were already filled with water, and she was blue but covered in blisters from the steaming water. It was so unnatural, so, impossible. She’d lived through the worst of the worst only to go out like this? No! I put my hands on her face, but her powers wouldn’t kick in, so I ripped off my shirt and pulled her into my arms.” He paused, remembering the horror of that moment, the terrible realization that this time, finally, this time, he’d been too late. “It took forever, and when it started it was sluggish and slow. I took her by her arms then, afraid I’d pass out with our bodies still touching. When her powers finally caught and pulled enough to knock me out she was just starting to move her eyes under her lids. I’ll never forget that for as long as I live. I saw her moving, and I knew she’d be ok.”

He didn’t stop though, this was the end of the story, and he was eager to get it over with so he could crawl into bed beside Marie and hold her so she didn’t think he’d abandoned her, so she knew he was there.

“I knew it was her the moment I woke up. Even though she smelled wrong, even though everything was screaming at me that something was wrong, I still knew it was her. She smells like cinnamon and rich wet earth, spicy and natural, and I could smell that coming in on the air when the med bay door opened.”

****************************************

****************************************

She was standing in the shadows of the room, and Logan felt his heart give a little lurch in his chest. The automatic door hissed shut behind her, but still, she didn’t move into the light.

“Kid, what’s wrong?” He asked, struggling with the fatigue in his muscles to sit up. He didn’t know how long he’d been down this time, but he ached everywhere, and his skull was throbbing. She shifted from one foot to the other, and he thought that was strange, even after the last time he’d nearly died giving her his powers she’d at least come into the room, all sheepish and cute. But maybe this time was different for her, since it wasn’t some crazy mutant psycho, because this time, it had been her. “It’s ok, Marie. I ain’t mad, and whatever’s going on, we’ll work through it, I promise.”

She shifted again in the darkness, and the shadows played tricks on his overtaxed senses. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but something was off about her voice. “You promised you’d take care of me.”

He nodded, then thought maybe she couldn’t see him when she didn’t respond, so he answered verbally, “Yeah, and I meant it. You and me, Kid,” as an afterthought he added, “forever.”

There was no trace of her southern accent, that’s what was wrong, there was no easy twang to her words, “Why, Logan, why didn’t you just let me go?”

Deep within the Adamantium cage of his chest, his heart hammered a thunderous beat. She couldn’t be serious! “Marie,” and his voice sounded weak so he cleared it before trying again, “Marie what the hell did you expect me to do? I found you under six inches of water, blue, cold to the touch, not breathing. What the hell did you think I was going to do, just let you die? Let you leave me?”

The shadows moved strangely again, a jerking motion that looked wrong so he squinted to try and get a better look even as his anger rose within him. “What the hell did you want me to do?”

“Let me go.” And her voice was a whispered prayer in the silent room.

“Never! Ain’t never gonna happen, Marie.” He wanted to say more, but he remained silent.

“You don’t know what you’ve done, Logan. I was trying,” her voice died out then, and the shadows around her seemed to shiver. “I didn’t mean to do it.”

Something about those words struck him funny. It was obvious even to an idiot like him that Marie had meant her attempt. The alcohol, the hot water, those deep, pulsating slashes she’d made into her own body—the image of her blood pouring out of her as he’d tore her from her watery grave would haunt him for the rest of his life. But what could he say? What should he say? He wasn’t good at this kind of stuff, all he knew, all he cared about was making sure Marie was alright, and beating her until she swore to fucking Christ she’d never, ever do something like this again.

What he really wanted to say was on the tip of his tongue, stuck there by the knowledge that he was a bastard and she was a princess. But the beast within him knew the words, and it gave him enough strength to sit the rest of the way up on the bed, the wires attached to him completely forgotten.

It took over his mind, “Come here, Marie.” And the growl that rose from deep within his chest was primitive and possessive.

“I-I’m sorry, Logan. I’m so sorry.” But she didn’t move, and the sob that caught in her throat filled the empty room and forced the beast down until it was just Logan and just Marie, and there was way too much space between them.

He reached for her, “Marie,” sought her eyes in the darkness, “Come here Darlin, come on. You ain’t got nothing to be sorry for. We’ll get through this, I promise, I promise.”

Her fingernails on the metal wall sounded strange, “You always keep your promises, Wolvie, always.”

“For you hun, only for you. Now please, Marie, you’re starting to worry me here.” He plastered on a fake smile to make her think he was kidding, but she was way too smart for that. She knew he was scared, knew because he was in her head, and because she was Marie, and she always knew the things he didn’t want her to.

“I didn’t want to do it, Logan. You have to believe me…I didn’t want to do it. But,” and she paused, the air escaping her lungs, “I couldn’t help myself.”

He reached for her again, “It’s ok, Marie. I promise, I’ll make it ok. I promise.”

“You can’t make this better, Wolvie. You can’t make this go away. I wish you could, but even you aren’t that strong. And I’m,” her voice cracked, and a sob fell from her lips, “And I’m scared, Logan. I’m so scared.”

His feet hit the floor before he knew he was off the bed, the shock of the cold jolting his brain. There was something wrong. He sniffed the air, and it smelled like the whole school during field day, adrenalin, sweat, elation and fear, combined with that intoxicating scent that was his Marie.

And then with dawning crystal clarity that knotted his stomach with gut wrenching fear he understood. “Oh god, Marie.”

The tears were there then, he heard them hit the floor as they fell from her liquid eyes. “I’m sorry, Logan. I had to, I had to.”

He took a step, and then another, and another, and then his eyes saw what he already knew, and the shock made him stare at her as if he didn’t know her.

She was wearing a pair of black and white track pants and a black tank top. Her hair was a riot of frizzy curls around her face, and she wore no gloves or socks. Her skin, was blue stainless steel, and her eyes were hidden behind a pair of Scott’s ruby quarts glasses. She was sporting twice her normal muscle mass, and the forked tail was swishing madly in irritation behind her. The wall, was covered in frost, and her hand was half buried within it.

“I’m sorry, Logan.” And this time the words sounded as if they had a slight Irish brogue to them.

He took another step. “Marie,” his eyes wouldn’t stop running over her body, “Marie, oh god, how many did you touch?”

He couldn’t see her eyes, but he saw the single tear slide down her cheek as her head came up to look at him. “All of them. I touched all of them. I had to, I couldn’t, stop myself.” She pushed off from the wall, and staggered a step forward, her steel skin echoing the step in the large room. Her fingertips with the yellow nails, rose to her right temple and she cocked her head to the side as he took another step. “They’re all talking so loudly, Logan. They’re all so angry.” She winced, and then she took off the glasses and Logan could see the blindingly raw power that now burned within her skull. “I can’t make them stop. Too much, too quickly. It’s overwhelming me…” Her features twisted into a painful grimace, and when she bared her teeth they were razor sharp points.

Her blue hand rubbed her temple and she hissed in pain, her beautiful face twisting in agony. “It’s too much, it’s all just too much.” She doubled over then, clutching her stomach as sparks fell from her clutched hands in a cascade of colors that lit up the room with dancing light. “Logan, it hurts so much.”

Then he couldn’t stand it anymore, and he was there, his hands at her hips, careful of her skin, and she was in his arms, and he was holding her, soothing her, telling her it would be alright, that everything would be alright, that they’d figure this out, that he’d take care of her.

How long he clutched her tightly against his chest, he had no idea. Time seemed to be marked only by the racking sobs that fell from Marie’s sweet lips, and the number of times he said those forbidden words. Slowly, the heart wrenching sobbing lessened, and the steel that covered her skin melted into flesh, and the blue hue turned a rosy pink, until her broken sentences were once again filled with her Southern twang, and the raw power left her eyes there glorious green once again. They were on the floor by then, she sitting in his lap as he rocked them back and forth, afraid that if he let her go, she’d disappear.

“I need you, Logan.” He stopped moving as the beast surged forward in his mind, and he found himself with his nose buried in her hair, smelling the unique scent of cinnamon and earth that belonged only to her. He closed his eyes in blissful pleasure, wanting her to say those words once again, and she did. “I need you, Logan. You and Erik are the only ones that can make them quiet.” She pulled back from him, and her eyes were liquid pools of pain, and he realized she was only half with him, the other half of her was lost inside her own mind, and once again the beast stepped back, and the man stepped forward. “I know I’ve taken so much from you already, Sugar, I know. But I need just a little more, Logan. I need you just a little more.” And her small little fingers rose until they were touching his cheek, and he closed his eyes at the touch, purred at the contact, and pulled her closer, waiting for the pull.

He’d give her anything.

The sound of pulsing electricity, of power in its most elemental form slamming against cold steel and ripping it to shreds hit his senses before his eyes could open. He threw himself to the ground, his body covering Marie’s as the med bay door was blasted off its track and hurled across the room with such force, it smashed through the far wall and opened a hole into the adjoining hallway. He didn’t have to guess who it was, he knew.

“Logan! Get away from her!” Scott, dressed in his black X-Men uniform stepped through the hole he’d created. For a moment he didn’t understand what Scott was saying, it didn’t register, but when that line of ruby quarts began to glow, bearing down on Marie who was suddenly trembling in his arms, Logan reacted.

He bared his teeth at his leader and growled, a full rumbling growl that caused Scott to take a half step back in shock, allowing Logan a few precious seconds to shift, covering even more of Marie with his body. His mind seemed to turn off then, and only one thought penetrated the haze, he had to protect Marie.

“Logan, she’s touched the entire school! We need to stop her, something’s wrong with her!” Scott’s hand was at the trigger release of his visor, and Logan watched as if in slow motion as the man who was not his friend but until this moment was not his enemy, dialed the blast to its fullest intensity.

“Logan,” Hank called as he and Kurt barreled through the opening at the same moment, Kurt teleporting to the side of Scott, his yellow eyes taking in everything as Hank’s analytical mind assessed the situation and came up with only one verbal response, “Oh my stars and garters.”

Beneath him, Marie flexed her fingers against his hips, her hands trembling as she whimpered a subsonic plea for protection. And just like that, Logan flew into action.

His claws extended, splitting the air around them with the unforgettable sound of metal slicing through flesh. His body shifted, one hand going up and over Marie’s shoulder, centering his chest over her head to block any incoming attacks. His feet shifted and then braced for the spring while his muscles vibrated and the adrenaline pumped strongly in his veins making the world narrow to Scott’s face and nothing else.

Perhaps that was why he was unprepared for the attack that came from above. Not from Scott but from Storm whose awesome powers directed the electrical charge that filled his body to the point of painful incapacitation. Beneath him, Marie screamed.

“Kurt, contain her!” Scott commanded. Logan tried to move to protect her, but every muscle, every fiber of his being was screaming with a hundred thousand volts of electricity. Unconsciousness threatened, but he pushed it back, wrapping his body protectively around Marie’s as his sensitive hearing fought the rush of the blood in his veins to hear those demonic feet shifting lightly on the cool surface.

“Not today.” It was the only warning they received before Marie shifted, her body teleporting from beneath his and disappearing. He’d been close to her though, close enough to hear her heart beating in tandem with his, so he’d known, he’d heard it, that hadn’t been his girl’s voice.

Realization hit him hard in the gut and he braced himself, felt the electricity sparking along his spine, making him jerk a little as his healing factor worked over time while he sat up. Storm called out a warning, but he held up his hand, his eyes going immediately to Scott. “That ain’t her, Summers, that ain’t her voice. Something’s wrong with her.” Then, almost pleading, “Don’t hurt her.”

That gave Scott pause, but he quickly overcame his indecision. “She attacked the children, Logan. She even managed to touch the Professor. Whether something’s wrong with her or not, she needs to be stopped.”

And with heart wrenching agreement, Logan knew Scott was right. It was Marie, but it wasn’t, something was terribly, horribly wrong, and he could sense her suffering under whatever it was that had hold of her. But he couldn’t say the words, couldn’t voice his agreement that something was wrong with the one thing in his life that made everything right. So he nodded instead, righted himself, and then turned to Kurt who looked torn. “Get me to her!”

The night was beautiful, crisp, and clean. The lawn was sparkling with three am dew as the moon shone full and bright above them. Silhouetted by its brilliance was Rogue, her beauty beyond description as she silently commanded the clouds above her with the expertise of Storm’s 32 years.

“Rogue!” His voice was haunted but robust, filling the air. Behind him, in the house, he could hear the cries of children, confused and screaming, desperate to understand what had happened. Logan could imagine the scene, the chaos, as they awoke to find their roommates still passed out from Rogue’s vampiric touch. It seemed impossible that she could do something like this, something so impossible, but she hadn’t been the same since the Cure, and she’d been lost since it wore off.

“Isn’t it beautiful, Logan?” The southern charm was replaced with Storm’s earthy, African dialect. “All this power at her fingertips, and she has no idea how to use it.” Suddenly, storm clouds filled the air, and lightening jumped from one to the other lighting up the sky with raw power. Over the raging thunder he heard her laughing, a soft sweet laugh that broke his heart, because that was Marie’s laugh. “It is wasted on her, all of their powers are wasted on them. So few understand, Logan. They do not know what is coming. But I know,” and her chin tipped down to look at him on the lawn, and he felt his breath leave his lungs at the look of madness in her eyes. “I know, I have seen it, I have lived it! It will end them all, and they will not even see it coming.”

“Rogue, stop this at once!” The wind ripped around them, thunder crashed above them, and the screaming continued within the sturdy walls of the mansion, but still, Logan heard Xavier’s voice. He turned, seeing the older man and Jean standing together just outside the mansions front door. Xavier’s hand was out, palm flat, beseeching, but beside him, Jean looked murderous and her eyes glowed an unholy shade of fire.

“They’re lambs to the slaughter, Charles, and you are the Sheppard. Will you take that responsibility to your grave? Will you weep over those of your children?” Her tone was no longer Storms, no, this one sent a chill down his spine, one that even Storm’s electrical bolt couldn’t match. This was cultured, refined, and filled with such horrifying sadness as to be cruel. This was Magneto’s voice, his words coming from Marie’s sweet mouth, and as if to prove the point, Logan felt his body suddenly pulled taunt, stretched, his arms and legs forming a human star as he was raise into the brilliant darkness fifteen feet above the mansion lawn. “Will you lead even the unwitting fools to their unknowing sacrifice?”

Through the pain he saw Scott’s optic beam blast out of the lower corner of the mansion, heard the foundation crack, heard the children inside screaming, begging for help and parents that would never come. Beast’s agility propelled him out of the crumbling side wall, threw him twenty feet into the air, until he was below Rogue, his eyes, calculating the distance. He didn’t get a chance. From around the side of the house came the sound of sundered metal. The wire frame of the security fence came into view, hurled at an astonishing rate. Even as it sped through the air, it morphed, the metal liquefying, shifting, until it was a solid metal sphere, and as it slammed into Hank, Logan heard bones breaking even from his considerable distance.

Another optic blast tore through the night, and though Logan couldn’t see it, he heard the beam strike Marie, heard her sweet voice cry out in pain, and felt his blood boil in his veins. The words were out of his mouth before he could draw them back, before the ridiculousness of it all settled in, “Don’t hurt her!”

Then, in his mind, he heard Charles, Logan, you must talk to her. She will listen to you. You must calm her down. That made sense, Marie always listened to him, they listened to each other. And she did need to calm down, she did need to stop, and then Chuck would get her head screwed on straight and everything would be fine. He’d take her to see that hockey game he’d been talking about last week, and he’d sneak her a beer like he always did, and she’d look at him with those beautiful eyes and that sassy little smirk as she drank it, and everything would be right in the world.

She’d be just fine.

“Marie! Marie, you gotta calm down, Kid. I know you’re pissed, I know you’re hurtin’ but everything’s gonna be ok,” he paused, then added what he knew would reach her, “I promise.” And just like that, the wicked tension throughout his body lessened, and in her eyes he saw recognition, and she was afraid. It broke his heart to see that kind of fear. “Darlin’ it’s ok, everything’s going to be ok, just set me down and we’ll figure this out.”

He could see the need to comply in her eyes, she could convey so much through just a look of those expressive eyes. She wanted this to stop, he knew that, knew it on instinct, like he knew her. He saw her fighting with herself, first her fingers, then her hand, reaching out for him, begging without words for him to help her. But then her face twisted, her eyes closing, and when she opened them, she wasn’t there. Her fingers curled into a fist.

“NOW!” And before he knew what Scott’s cry for action meant, Marie was hit again with an optic blast that shredded her clothes and blistered her skin. The sky above her opened and from the heavens the lightening crackled and broke until first one, then two, and when Marie stayed aloft, three bolts slammed into her body again, and again, and again. Then from nowhere Kurt appeared in a free fall above her, tagged her shoulder and teleported her out of the sky.

Released from his magnetic prison Logan fell like a stone to the earth, barely managing to soften the impact as he hit the ground. He rolled, spinning as he did so, his vision searching for her and Kurt. He saw Scott holding the intensity dial of his visor doing the same, while the Professor and Jean scanned the outskirts of the grounds.

The sound of Bamf filled the air at the bottom of the steps that led into the mansion, but it wasn’t what they expected. Kurt’s unconscious body hit the stairs and bounced once, before slamming him across them like a broken ragdoll. From around them, the sound of Kurt’s mutation came again and again, but even Logan’s acute hearing wasn’t fast enough to track Marie’s movements. He was always a half second too slow to catch her, only witnessing the black cloud of sulfur she left behind.

“Jean!” Charles’ voice this time, and he turned his head in time to watch Jean take two steps away from the Professor before her hands went to her temples and she stared out into the darkness. None of them were ready for Marie’s sudden appearance at Jean’s side, or the barreling force as Rogue slammed into the mansion’s resident princess with the impact of a freight train. The two of them went tumbling down the stairs, neither one making a sound, and maybe that was the most eerie part of it, they were absolutely silent. Marie’s hands reached for Jean’s face, but the red head managed to throw up a shield in time to prevent contact. Marie’s clawed fingers glanced off the shield but that didn’t deter her, she struck again and again, and each time she did, the invisible shield contracted closer and closer to Jean’s face.

Then, out of the silence came Marie’s scream, her voice filled with not just her own, but dozens, and dozens of voices, as if a hundred people were speaking all at once. “We will not let you win!”

Logan sprung, his mind knowing that Scott would shoot, anticipating the angle, and rushing the flying body of a little girl he’d saved and who had saved him in return. He caught her mid air, slamming into her and propelling their bodies around the side of the staircase, half hidden from the view of the others. His hands were around her naked arms, his thighs on either side of her hips while his feet locked her kicking legs in place as the sky lit up above them brighter than the noon day sun.

He felt her struggling with unnaturally stolen strength, heard the house above him shake from the foundation up; he looked into her eyes and saw nothing he recognized. Pain, fear, rage, and hatred filled her eyes as she looked at him, as her hands hooked into his biceps. She was wild, tormented, and unnaturally beautiful. But she wasn’t his.

“Marie! Stop, you have to stop!”

“NO,” and she was screaming, her murderous eyes locked onto his, “Nooooooooooooooooooo.”

He didn’t recognize her, didn’t know her, and the pain of that filled him so suddenly that it cut through the adrenalin racing through his blood, slamming into his heart with a pain of such loss he thought he might die right there. “Marie, don’t—“

Suddenly she lifted her head, her mouth opening, as she screamed, and screamed, and screamed. Her fingernails lengthened, slicing into his arms, hitting the metal encased bone as she locked them together.

And then he felt it, the pull of her mutation, he heard her screaming suddenly cease, watched that delicious smile of pure joy and satisfaction flash across her features as she took him into herself, drew his mind deep within the confines of her own, until he couldn’t see her anymore, could only feel, and even that was beginning to fade.

Darkness filled him, but even in that moment he was struggling for her. His mind, his thoughts reached for her and he sent his final conscious thought to her as it faded into black, “I’ll take care of you, I promise, Marie.”

***********************

“I woke up in the med bay three days later. By then Xavier had already turned her off, and he’d convinced the others it was for the best, for Rogue’s protection as well as theirs. He started spouting off about her mutation and mental state being too fragile, that she was in a quiet place where she could be in peace.” Logan gritted his teeth, his voice filled with pain, “That she was insane, and if he woke her up she’d try to kill them.” He scoffed, “He blamed her mutation, that it had gone haywire, that the voice I’d heard had been Marie’s new voice, her mad voice. But he could never be 100% convincing, he could never get me to believe it. So I kept pressing, couldn’t he try this, or do that, or make her forget, or whatever the fuck he needed to do, until he finally just flat out told me he wasn’t ever going to wake her up.” Logan turned and locked eyes with Magneto, saw the surprise and horror there as much as a dawning understanding, “As if I’d just let it go. As if I’d take that cock and bullshit answer.” He looked away then, back at Marie’s serene face and smiled slightly to himself even as he reached out to brush a stray hair into place. “But I guess I did for a while. I kept thinkin’ I could convince him. But when he came right out and said it, damn near threatened to make me forget she’d ever existed if I kept pressing the issue, I knew I had to get her out of there for good.” He looked back at Magneto and his smile was anything but jovial. “Then I see your last press conference, and there’s a shit load of mutants standing behind you, and I get to thinking, Chuck and Jeannie aren’t the only telepaths out there, and the odds are good that you’d keep one or two around for good measure. So I pack her up, cart her across the globe, and here we are.”

His voice died with his last words, and he fell silent in the rapidly darkening room. Long shadows traced the floor, giving it a sense of foreboding that knotted his stomach. This was the moment of truth, this would determine a good portion of the rest of his life, of that he was sure. He took a breath, “I meant what I said, Lehnsherr. Name you’re price, whatever you want, and I’ll get it for you. You want someone dead, I’m your man. You want a whole lot of someone’s dead, done. Hell, you want me to turn the floor of the UN into a bloodbath fine, I don’t give a shit, but in exchange you give me back Marie. You find a way to wake her up, and you find someone to fix her. That’s all I’m asking.” Then his voice hardened and Logan’s spine straightened, “But if you won’t, if you agree with Xavier—“

Magneto stood, his figure dashing and enormous in the suddenly small room. His body was tall, straight, and if Logan wasn’t mistaken, he was filled with righteous anger as he walked to Marie’s bedside. “Rest assured Wolverine, I do not share Charles’ opinions on the matter, at least not from your account. However, what I know of my old friend makes it seem unlikely that you have all the facts of Rogue’s case.” At Logan’s growl, he held up a gloved hand but didn’t turn to look at him, “Charles is many things, self-righteous comes to mind, but what he is not, is the type of man to give up so easily on a child. He spent nearly a decade trying to reach young Mr. Striker, so the idea of him giving up so quickly on one of his own is both intriguing and disturbing.” Magneto frowned, and he looked for a second as if he were worried about something, “Yes, not like Charles at all.”

Then Magneto turned back towards Emma, “What did you see when you touched her mind?”

The involuntary shutter that ran through the blond worried Logan. The fact that she moved as if approaching Marie was physically painful worried him even more, but her actions were obviously bothersome to Magneto as well, because he placed a hand on Emma’s shoulder as she approached. The blond shared a pained glance, and then looked directly at Logan, and he knew the news was going to be a hundred times worse than anything he could imagine.

“When a telepath turns off the mind—prevents signals from running from the mind to the body—the mind immediately begins to protect itself, it slows down, shifts, creates a safe haven for itself. Often it takes the form of a childhood home, or a place special to the person. The mind’s own private sanctuary. It’s a place similar to what we envision when we’re told to meditate, or find our happy place.” Her soft British accent caressed the words and drew Logan with her, making him struggle to focus on the gravity of what she was saying. “This shift happens automatically. The same thing happens with coma victims even if they can’t remember it when they wake up. Memories aren’t formed here, it’s just a place of existence.

“It’s the safety of this place, the familiarity of it, that protects the mind. We as humans have this capacity to dream, to create a world of our own in our minds, and we can stay safe there until our body can be reconnected…or we pass into the next life.” Those long, manicured fingernails stretched and then her arm shifted until the tips of her white nails were brushing through the white streaks of Marie’s hair. It was a motherly gesture, a comforting gesture, and Logan found it disturbing that this stranger would so easily offer it to someone she didn’t know.

But some atrocities are so horrifying they form an instant bond. When Emma spoke again, there was confusion, fear, and the hint of tears in her voice. “The Charles Xavier I know would never have done this, never. Whatever happened to the Professor changed him. He’s simply not capable of something so…unethical, so…evil.”

“Emma?” That gloved hand went to her lower back, offering comfort from a man who had killed so many in the name of mutant freedom.

Her crystal blue eyes lifted until she was looking at Magneto, and when Logan saw the single tear, he felt his heart stop. “He didn’t just turn her off, Erik, he put her in the darkness. He deliberately put her there with her mind still functioning.”

Logan stood, the chair scraping behind him when Magneto gasped and took a step back as if struck. With lightening fast reflexes, Logan’s hand shot out and grabbed the blond’s bicep. “What the fuck does that mean; what the hell did he do to her?!”

As if in shock, Emma looked down at his hand on her arm and then back up at him. She didn’t try to remove his hand, just shook her head as if in denial. “I wouldn’t believe it, but I know Xavier’s signature, he was the last one in her mind, it couldn’t be anyone else.” She shook her head again, “Imagine you’re placed in a sensory deprivation chamber. Only this one isn’t you floating in a pool of water in darkness, this is absolute. You can think, you can feel, you know, but you’re body doesn’t exist, your physical form doesn’t exist. You see nothing, feel nothing, experience nothing at all, and you’re aware of this, completely and utterly aware that you’re totally alone, and no matter how far, how hard you reach, you can’t find anything. You’re mind would immediately search for an anchor, because we all need something to hold onto, but there isn’t an anchor. You start to doubt everything, yourself, your existence. Are you real? Is your life real? Do you exist? And then you start to forget, because without a base, you have nothing to build on and the foundation starts to erode. Suddenly you can’t remember how old you are, then even your own name. You don’t remember where you came from, or your own face. The darkness begins to creep into your mind, into the very state of your being.

“And if you think this is some slow torturous process you’re only half right. It is torturous, because at first, you can feel yourself going insane. But it isn’t slow, it just feels that way.” And here she paused and pulled back until Logan’s dead fingers released her arm. She seemed to struggle for a moment, looking at Marie’s beautiful face, and then her lifeless hands, then her face again, “The longest I’ve ever heard anyone surviving in that state of being was three days, and when he was woken up, there was almost nothing left of him. The Professor lasted only a few hours before he couldn’t stand it any longer.” She looked up at him then, and there was pity in her sad blue eyes. “She’s been there for months.”

He wasn’t looking at her anymore, he couldn’t, now all he could look at, all he dared to look at, was Marie. A million thoughts ran through Logan’s head in the moment, that single second, and the only thought that stayed was, “I’m too late.”

At the foot of the bed, Magneto refused to accept the answers right in front of him. “Charles would not do such a thing. You are wrong.”

Logan looked up, hoping by some miracle that he was right, but the shaking of Emma’s blond head stopped his hope. “This was done deliberately. He chose to put her there. The mind is absolute, it will protect itself, no matter what. Only a telepath can force a mind out of its normal survival pattern. Xavier’s signature is the only one here, which means it was him. He purposefully—willfully—took her mind from the protections it built itself, and he put her into the darkness. He,” and at this Emma turned away, walked towards the frosted glass of the window and stared at the hazy shade of nothing, “He did this to her on purpose. He wanted her to go insane. He was…he deliberately tried to kill her.” Her hand went to her temple and she brushed back her hair. “Without the mind the body dies.”

Silence filled the room once more, each occupant caught in their own private hell. Logan’s legs couldn’t support him any longer and sat back in the chair as he stared at Marie’s restful face. In his chest his heart heaved, and a thousand different regrets filled him to the point of breaking. He was too late, he’d waited too long, and now Marie, his beautiful, brilliant, lovely, Marie was gone. He didn’t think anything could hurt more than not knowing who he was, but this, knowing her and losing her, that was a pain beyond any he’d ever experienced before.

He felt the tears burning tracks down his face, and he didn’t care.

And then Emma spoke again, her voice filled with awe as she turned back to the room. And to Logan, she was an angel framed by the dying sun, offering him hope. “But it didn’t work.”

“What do you mean? You just said—“ Pyro stood and turned to look at the blond, and even Magneto turned to watch her.

“I said Xavier plunged her into the darkness, I said he deliberately tried to kill her, but he didn’t. She’s still alive. She,” and Emma turned fascinated eyes on Marie, “adapted. Maybe it was her own mutation, or maybe the fact that she absorbed Xavier right before he shut her away, but regardless, she found a way to survive.”

“How?” Magneto’s voice was strained in the darkness.

Emma shook her head, “I don’t know how she did it, but she managed to fight her way through the darkness and pull something in with her.” Taking a step forward she approached the bed and laid her hand on Marie’s head. “At first I couldn’t tell what it was, she’s wrapped so tightly around it it’s become a living part of her.” Suddenly Emma’s head came up and she locked eyes with each of the desperate men stationed around the room. “Let me back up. Outside when Erik asked me to determine if I could help her, all I could determine was that she was in the darkness, at least at first. And then—as completely crazy as this sounds—I felt her stir. So I went deeper, like wading through thick mud, until I couldn’t go any further, but she was there. She didn’t acknowledge me like most minds would have, but I could tell she was there and she wasn’t alone.

“Remember what I said about the darkness, in it you have no physical form. But somehow she’d created a vague outline of herself, and within that outline, buried deeper than I could see, was something glowing in golden light. I couldn’t tell what it was, because just the shock of seeing her, of realizing she was even there threw me out of her mind. I knew we had to get her inside, that I needed to figure out how long she’d been like that. I thought maybe it had only been a few days, but when you started telling us it had been months I started to doubt what I’d seen. Maybe I’d misinterpreted what I was looking at. It’s rare, but it does happen. But then you told us she she’d retained Magneto’s memories and then I realized what I’d seen her clinging too.” She stopped, a triumphant expression on her face, so that she seemed to glow with some inner happiness.

Logan wanted to ask, it was his turn, but his jaw wouldn’t work, he couldn’t form the words, so he just sat there, staring at her, begging her to continue. When she didn’t, Magneto lost patience, “What did you see, Emma?”

Startled, she looked up and then blushed a pretty shade of light rose. “Sorry.” Then she shifted her focus and looked at Logan. “She cares about you very much, that’s so very obvious by just a cursory look in her mind. You’re everywhere. Every thought, every memory she unconsciously holds at the forefront of all others has you.” Then she turned to look at Magneto, “And surprisingly, you. They’re older memories, images of you as a boy, a younger man, segments of your life that resonated with her. She looks to you as if a mentor, or a teacher, and she looks at Wolverine as something…well, as something more.” The blond drifted off, again before seeming to come back to reality, and her fingers moved once again, caressing Marie’s cheek. “It’s not surprising then, not really. She would have needed something meaningful, something that represented the unknown element she was thrust into, while offering her comfort in the physical. Something that reminded her of the two people she needed most in the world.

“The Star.” And her eyes went to Magneto’s and then Logan’s, “It’s The Star of David, the symbol of the Jewish faith, the very faith that sustained you through the worst experiences of your life, sustains you now. And it’s metal, comforting because it reminds of her of Logan, and it sings in the darkness like all metal does for you, Erik. She’s clinging to her faith, because it is her faith, her faith in God, and her faith in Wolverine.” Then her face broke into a triumphant smile and she turned to look at Johnny before placing her hand on his shoulder. “She’s alive, and she’s sane, and she’s in there.

“And most importantly, I can wake her up.”

He didn’t remember standing, but suddenly he was, and once again he had her by the arm, “Then do it! Wake her up!”

“No.” It wasn’t spoken maliciously, or with the contempt Logan had heard come from him so often. It was low and quiet, a word spoken out of necessity but painfully, as if it wasn’t the word he wanted to say, but knew needed to be said anyway.

And it was because of that, Logan only turned his head at the Master of Magnetism and asked, “Why?”

At the foot of the bed, Magneto shook his head, “As I said, Wolverine, I do not believe you have all of the facts. I have known Charles for many years, and he is incapable of this atrocity. There is something more going on here than is readily apparent, and until we know what it is, I am not prepared to unleash her mind if she is in no danger of losing it.”

Anger flashed in him like white hot lightening, but Johnny’s voice caught him off guard and he lost his focus. “He’s right, Logan. You even said something was wrong with her, that she’d gone mental—“

“But you just said she was sane.” He said, his eyes locked with Emma’s.

She nodded, “She’s sane in that she’s not insane from the isolation, but I couldn’t connect with her. I have no idea what her full mental state is going to be like. Besides,” she cut him off when he tried to protest, “you can’t just wake up someone’s who’s been in this type of mental state for as long as she has been. The shock alone would drive her mad, or worse, kill her. No, this needs to be done slowly, with control, so that I can monitor her progress, find out what the Professor was so afraid of, and help her mend whatever’s broken so when she does wake up, she’s the woman you remember, not the woman from that night.”

In defeat, his hand dropped from her arm, because even he could recognize that they were being reasonable. He hated it, wanted the blond to plunge her pretty little head into Marie’s and drag her back out into the bright sunshine of his world. But if doing that would harm her in any way, even endanger her, he couldn’t subject her to it, wouldn’t risk her safety.

But that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to do something. In the lull he popped his claws and met those crystal blue eyes that had suddenly widened. “I’m not letting you leave her in there.”

To her credit, she didn’t step away from him. “I have no intention of leaving her in the darkness. I have a plan.”

“Then spill it already!” Johnny nearly yelled at her in frustration.

Beside him she scoffed, then rolled her eyes before looking back at Logan pointedly until his claws receded. “I’m going to pull her out of the darkness. I’m going to allow her mind to do what it should naturally do, correct itself and create a safe haven. Once she’s there we’ll be able to monitor her progress and determine her true mental state, then slowly ease her back into the world.”

“How long will it take,” asked Magneto.

She shrugged. “Getting her out of the darkness shouldn’t take long, maybe an hour to guide her back into the light. She’ll need time to get acclimated, for her mind to begin rebuilding what it’s lost. How long that takes will be up to her. Some minds build their paradise in a matter of moments, others take years.”

“Years?” Logan looked down at Marie, of course he’d wait years if years was how long it took, but there had to be a faster way.

“I said some, most people take a few days to a few weeks. All we can do is wait and see.”

Logan had heard enough. Without hesitation, he turned to face Magneto, ready to offer again whatever it took to free Marie from her prison. But Magneto held up a gloved hand, cutting him off before addressing Emma. “Do it. Whatever it takes to make her comfortable. I want to know the moment she’s out of the darkness, and I want you to personally monitor her progress. You’ll make sure I’m informed of all of her progress.” Then he turned as if to leave the room.

“Hey, wai—“

“Wolverine, as a mutant, Rogue is free to remain here under the protection of Genosha law. I will provide her with the best medical attention, including access to the full power of mutant healers. She will remain here in comfort until she awakens.” Magneto had the door open before Logan stopped him.

“And what about me?”

With a turn of his head, Magneto spoke over his shoulder with a smile in his voice. “Once again, you think it’s all about you.” And with that, he opened the door and walked out.

Stunned, Logan turned back to the others in the room, only to find Emma in the chair next to the bed, her head bent down, her eyes vacant—already working on Marie’s condition. Confused, he turned to the only other person in the room, only to see Johnny already headed towards the door. “What the hell did that mean?”

When Johnny turned back he was all smiles. Shaking his head, he walked up to Logan and clapped him on the shoulder, “It means, welcome to the dark side, Wolvie.”