I have been astonished that men could die martyrs for their religion- I have shudder’d at it.

I shudder no more.

I could be martyr’d for my religion

Love is my religion

And I could die for that.

I could die for you.

Most people assume I don’t believe in God. They’d be wrong. Belief I’ve got plenty of. It’s the faith I’m having a problem with. Comes with the territory of being pumped full of burning liquid metal and having all your memories wiped. It’s the second part that pisses me off the most. Cause the physical shit I can recover from. But having my past stolen from me?

That just ain’t fucking right.

If I was some pansy ass punk, I’d whine and bitch and moan about how it’s all God’s fault and why does my life have to suck so bad, blah, blah, blah. As it stands, I’m doing well and fine just ignoring him. Seems to be all he’s ever done for me, so it’s only fair.

Fair.

Huh. As if the world gives a fuck what’s fair. Chuck tries to instill that sort of moral bullshit in the kids at the Institute, but that’s all it is: bullshit. Because when it gets down to it, humans are just a bunch of greedy, selfish assholes. A fact I drill into all the students fortunate enough (or unfortunate, depending on the way you look at it) to take my combat training course.

Scooter wanted to call it self-defense, but I shot that down real quick. The way I see it, you only use self-defense if you’ve already been attacked. And letting someone get that close to you is pretty fucking stupid. So I teach the runts how to spot a threat and quickly dispose of it (without using lethal force, since that was the one point Chuck wasn’t willing to compromise on).

And even if One-Eye isn’t man enough to admit it, the kids are better off for it. Shit, we all are. Because even ‘Ro mentioned to me the other day that she feels safer about leaving the students alone whenever we go on missions knowing that the older ones can throw down in a pinch.

Yeah. I said ‘we.’ Figured if I couldn’t cage fight anymore (something about it setting a bad example), then I had to get my kicks somewhere. It’s also a damn good way to make sure Marie never ends up in the line of fire. Cause when I promised to take care of her, to protect her at all cost, I meant it. No matter what.

It started off as just the big shit. Namely, the Statue of Liberty incident. She needed my healing. I needed her to live. It was a win-win situation.

But ever since I got back from Alkali Lake (which was a big fucking waste of time – odd, how time never seemed to matter until I had someone else to think of), things have started to change. It’s not just the big shit anymore. It’s everything. She got a cold a couple months back and I reached over without even thinking about it. Woke up a few minutes later to her smoking one of my cigars and rolling her eyes, but the small smile on her face told me I’d done good.

And just like that, it stopped being just the physical stuff that I’d protect her from. Marie gets stressed out over school work, I come up with an excuse to drag her away from the Institute for a few hours. Some snooty girl (you’d be surprised how many of them there are at Chuck’s place) throws a backhanded compliment at her about her powers, I make a fool out of ‘em during class. And if it’s a guy that hurts her… well, I hope they have faith in God. Cause they’ll be making peace with Him real soon.

And so will the asshole that’s responsible for Marie’s current state.

She’s curled up in a tight ball on my bed, which is odd enough since she hasn’t stepped foot in this room since I’ve been back. What’s even stranger is the fact that she’s crying. Marie ain’t like most girls. She’s not the crying type. She’s more of the I’m-gonna-yell-or-hit-you-if-you-try-and-pull-that-shit-again type. Most people blame that on me, but I’ve got a feeling she’s always had a hot temper. Southern spitfire and all.

So if she’s crying, it’s not your typical stupid teenage drama (the kind Jubilee always seems to be the center of). It’s something big. And the thought of Marie being hurt that bad makes me wanna pop the claws and track down the little shit whose reduced her to the quietly sobbing mess in front of me. Instead, I ignore my itching knuckles and walk over to the bed, pulling her into my arms with ease. Instead of flinching away like she would with the others, Marie clings to me tightly and the desperation and despair in her scent makes my chest tighten.

“Marie, what’s happened?”

She doesn’t answer, but her breathing’s beginning to even out and the tears have stopped so I must have done something right. When she finally does speak, it’s definitely not something I’m expecting to hear.

“I’m sorry.”

She tries to lean away from me, but I hold her tight because her scent’s still full of pain. And she’s got the ridiculous idea that she has something to apologize for and that’s some shit we’re going to have to correct. Now.

“You ain’t got nothing to apologize for.”

Marie sighs and sinks against me wearily. “The Canucks are playing the Oilers for the cup and I’m making you miss it because of my stupid emotional problems.”

I don’t say anything for a second. Mostly because I’d completely forgotten the championship was on the second I’d heard Marie crying from halfway down the hall. “Kid, if you think a hockey match is more important to me than you are, you’re out of your damn mind.”

When she looks up at me, I’m expecting at least a watery smile, so the utter anguish that’s so clear in those bright doe eyes of hers throws me for a loop. “I’m a terrible person,” she whispers.

I grit my teeth. “What fucking idiot told you that?”

Cause that’s some claw-worthy shit right there.

She shakes her head. “No one had to. What I’m doing is… it’s just so wrong.”

Again, I’m at a loss for words, because what the fuck is she talking about? Aside from the occasional truancy and breaking of curfew (and I’m not sure either of those really counts since she’s usually with me and I could always pull the teacher card), Marie’s about as good as they come. Not innocent (no way in hell she could be with my thoughts swirling around her head), but good.

“I’m using him, Logan,” she continues in a soft, broken voice that makes me tighten the grip I have on her. “I’m using Bobby.”

I freeze. And I mean completely freeze. No breathing, no twitching, nothing. “Using him?”

If that little shit has fucked her, I’ll rip his dick off. I don’t care if it was consensual or her idea or whatever. That is grounds for automatic castration. Nobody touches my girl like that.

Whoa. Hold the phone.

My girl? Where the fuck did that come from?

“Emotionally,” she clarifies, pulling me back into the conversation and away from some dangerous territory. Some very dangerous territory. “I’m not in love with him, Logan. And I never will be. God, I don’t even like him all that much. And I see the way Kitty looks at him and sometimes he looks at her that way too and I know I should let him go but--”

Wait a second. “Iceprick’s been eyeing up another girl?”

I’ll fucking kill him.

“A little extreme, don’t you think?” I didn’t even realize I’d said that last part out loud. “And that’s not the point. I’m not the victim here, he is. I’m using him. But I can’t make myself let him go, not when--” She hesitates and I give her shoulders an encouraging squeeze. “Not when he may be the only chance I get.”

“Chance at what?”

The bitter scoff she releases is decades too old for her. “Guys aren’t exactly lining up to get with a girl they can never touch, Logan. And I know its screwed up and selfish and a whole lot of other things, but I don’t want to be alone.”

The way her voice cracks at the end breaks my heart in a way no woman’s ever been able to before. “Tell me what to do, darlin’.” Because I can’t take seeing her like this.

“There’s nothing you can do.”

The defeated certainty in her voice is something I can’t accept and I tell her as much. “What are you gonna do, sugah? Make guys date me?”

A wave of something I can’t quite pinpoint – but it feels a lot like anger – rushes through me at the thought of Marie dating other guys. Guys who’d be a hell of a lot pushier than Bobby Drake. And more inventive too. The low growl that rumbles my chest is something I can’t help. But it surprises the shit out of both of us.

“Logan?”

Her scent’s changed now. The pain’s still there, but it’s mixed with curiosity, a bit of hope, and something else that I’ve never smelt off of her before. I can’t pinpoint it at first, but whatever it is, is intoxicating. I don’t bother resisting the urge to lean closer to her and inhale deeply.

Damn.

It’s suddenly gotten a hell of a lot stronger, which is doing all sorts of things to my body. Things it’s never done around Marie.

She has one delicate hand braced against my chest and I can feel the heat of her touch radiating against me even through the layers of clothing between us. There’s a loud thumping noise in the background and it takes me a minute to realize that it’s my heartbeat.

Holy shit.

I’m a man of many talents. Self-restrain is not one of them. So the moment I realize what’s going on between us – that the scent coming off Marie is a delicious mix of lust and trust and a couple other things I’m too distracted to name and that both the man and the animal in me are finally in agreement over something (namely, wanting her) – I don’t wait another second before pulling her flush against my body and kissing her with reckless abandon.

Yeah, I know. She’s seventeen. And I’m old enough to be her – well, actually no one really knows how old I am, but it’s at least twice her age.

Do I look like the type of guy who’d give a flying fuck? Cause I’m not. And I don’t. She’s old enough to know what she wants and if what she wants is me, well I’m not going to argue with her. And judging from the way she’s grinding her hips against mine and whispering my name, I’d say she definitely wants.

It’s a crying shame that we both seemed to have forgotten about the reality of our situation (a first for both of us, that’s for sure) and not five seconds into it I can feel the torturous pull of her mutation begin. Marie lets out a startled cry and jerks back from me, but it’s too late. I can already feel the darkness coming and I know I’m gonna be hurting like hell when I wake up from this.

But damn if it wasn’t worth it.

Ever since I arrived at Xavier’s doorstep, my life has been full of misconceptions. And a part of me finds this extremely annoying. I mean, come on, you’d think that of all people, mutants should know you can never judge someone by outward appearances alone. But they did. Judge me that is. The moment I walked through those ostentatiously carved wooden doors, everyone thought they had me pegged: a sweet Southern teenager scarred by and scared of the mutation that had been thrust upon her, hopelessly besotted with her knight-in-adamantium-armor.

Well, they’d gotten the scarred Southern teenager part right, but the rest? Utter bullshit. It gets so bad sometimes – the pitying looks, the indulgent smiles – that I’m tempted to release a school-wide bulletin disproving all the presumptions my well-meaning mentors have of me.

Misconception number one: The reason I wear layers of clothing is because I’m scared shitless of hurting others with my deadly mutation. Wrong. I’m not scared of my mutation or of hurting others with it. I might have been at first, when I’d just discovered what I was and damn near killed David in doing so, but a couple of months hitchhiking across continent taught me a few things. Chief among them quick reflexes to avoid accidental touching and the ability to successfully circumvent large crowds. And steering clear of skin-to-skin contact at Xavier’s where everyone knows just how dangerous my mutation can be? A cakewalk compared to avoiding the grabby hands of oblivious and inebriated truckers.

Nope. The real reason I wear so much? Because everyone else is scared shitless of my mutation. And to be quite honest, I’d rather deal with always being a bit on the hot side than the worried glances and five-foot berth that comes with wearing normal clothes.

Misconception number two: The reason I high-tailed it out of Meridian is because my parents kicked me to the curb.

This one I actually find pretty amusing. Mostly because it couldn’t be farther from the truth and, considering where I’m from, it’s the most ludicrous thing I’ve ever heard. We Southerners may have our faults (not that you’d get us to admit to them), but family loyalty isn’t one of them. So when David’s parents demanded I leave town or they’d reveal to everyone just what a freak the D’Ancanto girl was, Momma and Daddy were ready to take on the world in my defense.

But I knew their unconditional love and bravery wouldn’t be enough to save them from the judgmental eyes and inevitable attacks that came with harboring a mutant with such a dangerous power. And that’s what prompted me to start my road trip a little sooner than expected. I love my parents far too much to let their lives be ruined on account of me.

Misconception number three: I’ve been head-over-heels for Logan since the moment I saw him kicking ass and taking names in that dilapidated fighting bar back in Laughlin. Yeah. Right.

I would like to meet the girl who walks into a shady bar in the middle of bumfuck nowhere, sees a beast of a man beating the living crap out of guys twice his side with absolutely no remorse, and decides right then and there that this is the man she wants to be with for the rest of her life. I’d like to meet her so I could slap some sense into her because that is just stupid.

There were no butterflies in my stomach, no lust-induced sweaty palms when I first laid eyes on Logan. In fact, when he sat a couple barstools away from me later that night, I nearly crapped my pants I was so scared. Because a man like that had to be violent and cruel and a whole host of other things that my Momma had warned me about.

It wasn’t until he had both the bartender and his fallen challenger at the end of those adamantium blades that my opinion of him changed. It was the look he shot me right before he released his attackers and stormed out into the bitter cold. It was a look I understood better than he probably realized at the time.

He didn’t want the violence. He didn’t love the fight like I thought he did. He just wanted to be left alone. But God or destiny or whatever had intervened and made him a freak. Just like me.

That’s what made me hop in the back of that beat up trailer. Not his attractive features (which I didn’t even really start to admire until much later) or the fact that he was a fellow mutant. It was the pain in his eyes. The yearning for a peace he could never have. It hit me like a fist in the gut because damn did I totally get what that felt like.

But even then, I didn’t love him. I identified with him. I felt a strange sort of bond with him. But I didn’t love him. How could I? Aside from his name and an inkling that he’d been in the army at one point in time, I knew nothing about him. You can’t love someone until you know them. And I didn’t really know Logan until he nearly killed me.

I’d like to say that when I reached out to touch him, his claws rammed in my chest and his eyes horrified at what he’d done, it was with good intentions and because I knew it’s what he’d want me to do. But that would be a lie. Because as the life slipped from my body, all I could think of was how much I wanted to live and if he had to die to ensure that, well than it was his own damn fault for almost killing me in the first place.

I hadn’t counted on the surge of emotions and knowledge that rushed through me as quickly as his powers did.

I’d expected his fear of me to be at the forefront of it all. But it wasn’t. It was barely a blip on his emotional radar, overpowered by far by the hatred he felt for himself and the anguish at causing me pain. I didn’t understand it at first, why this man would be so distraught by the loss of a girl he barely knew.

Until the Wolverine whispered something Logan himself hadn’t even consciously recognized yet.

Mate.

It was that realization and not the frightened stares of students that sent me careening from his room.

I was up all night, trying to sort everything out. And the more I learned about Logan, the more I couldn’t help but agree with the Wolverine’s assessment. Everything about this man endeared him to me. And knowing that Logan was either oblivious to or subconsciously suppressing what we were meant to be nearly broke my heart. So I did the only thing I could think of and threw myself at the all-too-willing Bobby Drake in a vain attempt to drown my newfound emotions in a sea of teenage lust.

Needless to say, it didn’t work.

But it doesn’t matter anymore. I thought it’d be years before Logan finally realized what I really am to him. I’ve never been so happy to be wrong in my entire life.

It’s been about an hour since our incredibly reckless kiss and he’s just now starting to drift back into consciousness. I know I should be more worried about what this will mean for us (God knows no one’s going to approve of the seventeen year old getting with the man who’s probably older than the Professor), but I can’t get past the feeling of elation that comes with knowing the wait is over.

We’re curled together on his bed, my back pressed so tightly against his solid chest that I can feel the steady beating of his heart. One hand lazily traces circles on my covered hip while the other is entwined with one of my own. We haven’t spoken yet, but just lying here like this with him feels like the most natural thing in the world.

Eventually, Logan’s the one to break the silence. “So what’s the plan?”

I can’t help but smile. Any other girl would see that as a cop out, but I know Logan well enough to understand what he’s really saying. Shifting in his arms, I turn to face him so he can see the absolute surety in my eyes. “We’re the plan.”

He doesn’t say anything for a good long while. Just stares at me with what I know to be a mixture of hesitance and determination.

“It’d be easier if we kept this quiet. The others, they’re not gonna like it.”

He’s giving me an out. Letting me know that, if I ask him to, he’ll keep this a secret, even though he’d hate it. Logan’s always been a man of action. But he knows that the others mean something to me and that being with him puts everything at risk. For both of us. It’s a gamble and my luck has never been that good.

Even knowing all that’s at stake, my answer is unwavering. “Screw ‘em.”

The way his hazel eyes light up catches my breath. “I’d rather screw you.”

The laugh that bubbles out of me is pure and unrestrained. “Good to know. ‘Cause I don’t share well.”

“Me neither.”

There’s no amusement in his voice. And I don’t need the Logan in my head muttering in agreement to know what he means. Pressing a lightening quick kiss to his scruffy chin, I detangle myself from his arms and move to roll off the bed. A strong hand at my wrist halts all movement, however, and I look back at him to see an uneasy expression on his face.

“Marie?”

I cover his hand with my own and bring it up to rest on my chest. “You have my heart, Logan. I think it’s time I gave Bobby back his.”

Realization dawns in his eyes and a slow smile creeps across his face, causing my heart to flutter erratically. Logan doesn’t smile often – usually it’s more of a smirk or a coy grin – but when he does… damn. For the life of me, I’ll never understand how Jean was able to resist him because right now, with him smiling up at me like that, there’s not a thing I could deny him.

I’ve still got Logan’s powers running through me, so as soon as his gaze darkens and the hand I have still pressed against my heart starts to skim my breast, I know its because he can smell the desire pouring off me in waves. Every inch of my body is burning with the need to lie back down beside him and give into the heated promise in his stare.

But I can’t – won’t – do that. Not so long as I’m still technically with someone else. If I were a good, sweet girl, my hesitation would come out of consideration for Bobby’s feelings. But I’m not. And the only man I’m thinking about is Logan, how I don’t want any bit of us to be sullied by something as dirty as adultery.

It’s that alone that forces me to extract myself from his grasp and mutter some nonsensical excuse before fleeing from the room, Logan’s laughter following me the whole way.

As I stride purposefully towards Bobby’s room and the argument that will undoubtedly ensue, feeling oddly at ease, I can’t help but wonder if this is what is meant by the calm before the storm.