Disclaimer: This fan fiction is not written for profit and no infringement of copyright is intended. Unbetaed, so all mistakes are mine. Takes place in the “Independence Day,” universe, though this is four years later.

The thing about Marie, he thought, Was that she made him kind of stupid.

Wolverine gritted his teeth and watched the speedometer soar past 120, his eyes glued to the road. His cell phone was screaming, the screen flashing Ororo’s name, but he ignored it. He wasn’t big on explaining himself as a concept. This was hands down the dumbest thing he’d done in years, with or without Hank McCoy’s encouragement, and he knew it. He just didn’t care enough to stop himself.

She’d called and told him she needed his help.

That was twenty minutes and a whole lotta traffic violations ago. He’d managed to shake the two patrol cars outside of Blackridge without breaking a sweat: Hell, he’d been halfway down highway 17 before he’d even noticed they were there. All he’d been able to hear was her voice in his head, crying. He could imagine her pretty face, red with pain and tears; The image felt like it was tattooed across his eyeballs, so powerful it burned. It was as if the last three years, as if her silence, had never happened at all.

Didn’t matter what she did or how old he got, he mused darkly, the Kid opened her mouth and she could just push every single button he had. And the thing of it was, he let her.

He knew he always let her.

Outside the Westchester countryside streamed by in a blur, the snow making everything seem feathery and unreal. Logan narrowed his eyes, trying to make out the turn-off for her place, deliberately ignoring the stench of protesting tyre rubber. Anyone else wouldn’t have had a hope of finding her cabin in the storm, he thought grimly. But then anybody else would have been too smart to even try. It was pushing minus three outside, and he knew that the truck wouldn’t be able to keep moving indefinitely if the temperature kept dropping: it was why there were so few drivers out there to play chicken with.

As if he didn’t have enough reasons to rush.

The turn-off emerged from the darkness, and immediately he swung the truck left. Again the tyres protested; again he ignored them. The vehicle began to bounce, rocks from the dirt track smashing into his windscreen like shrapnel. He let out another string of cuss words, grimacing. By now the only light available was the faint wavering of the car head-lamps, and it occurred to him again that this wasn’t one of his smarter plans. What were you thinking, Marie, letting that Cajun drag you out to the back of beyond? he thought angrily. As if I didn’t hate his guts enough already. But still he didn’t turn back. Ice glittered like jewels across the tarmac surface, making the car’s grip on the road so uncertain that he had to hang onto the wheel for dear life, but it didn’t matter. None of it did: this was for Marie-

And suddenly he was there.

He could just make out the cabin ahead of him as he popped the door. Lights blazing in the darkness. The scent of Marie hanging on the air, mellow and bittersweet. Everything was as he’d expected, but still… It was too quiet. In the years since the cure had turned public opinion against them, mutant attacks had become common. And thanks to LeBeau and his thirst for publicity, he mused sourly, Marie was one very recognisable little mutant. Like, cover of Time recognisable. Could something truly Goddawful have happened? Something he hadn’t saved her from? Logan slowed his pace, already stretched nerves going into over-drive. Every sense marshalled to one task. But no, there were no weird tracks, no blood wafted on the air. He strained his hearing, and now he could make out Marie’s laboured breathing: her heartbeat was strong. She didn’t sound injured, just upset.

This had LeBeau’s grubby finger-prints all over it, he thought darkly. And as if to confirm the Cajun’s involvement, he suddenly heard a wrenching, keening sob crack through the night air, the sound enough to raise the hair on the back of his neck. It was followed by another, and another, no comfort coming. Why wasn’t LeBeau calming her, why was he letting her suffering continue-?

She was alone, he realised. Alone and scared.

Sonofabitch!

Again instinct kicked in: his heckles rose and a snarl rumbled through his chest. That rat bastard. His claws extended, the familiar, vicious-sounding snick echoed loudly through the darkness, his anger very nearly clouding out everything else-

The crying stopped. Suddenly.

“Logan,” she murmured from inside the cabin, voice soft because she knew he could hear her, “Logan, is that you?”

For a second he couldn’t answer. And then-

“Yeah Kid,” he called hoarsely, amazed at how the sound of her voice made his throat catch. Jesus, it’s good to hear your voice, Marie. “Yeah, I’m here.”

A pause, the tap of light footsteps, and then the door opened. Warm yellow light poured over him. She stood in the door, her face wet and haggard, blinking at him as if she couldn’t quite work out how he’d gotten there. She looked wan and pale, more like a ghost than a woman. And then, despite the last three years he felt his face split into a smile. After all this time his Marie was right there. Without thinking, without even pausing, he rushed forward to pick her up-

And she pushed him away.

That was when he first saw the gloves.

Disclaimer: This fan-fiction is not written for profit and no infringement of copyright is intended. Still unbetaed, mistakes are still all mine

CHAPTER 2

“So it’s back,” he said without preamble. He didn’t need to explain himself and she didn’t ask him to. She just nodded mutely, her tear-stained face still red. She was twisting her hands together through the gloves, almost like she wanted to tear at the skin; It was painful to watch.

“Yeah,” she mumbled, “Yeah, it’s back.” Again he made to touch her, to stop those warring hands, and again she pulled away. He felt a surge of helplessness: His attempts to calm her were just upsetting her more.

A beat.

He didn’t know what to say. Neither of them did.

Instead she crossed her arms defensively over her chest, like she was tryin’ to squeeze her heart back into place. It made her look small and very fragile, and Logan was suddenly reminded of that night on the train, when she’d first run away from the mansion and he’d promised her he’d protect her.

It seemed like a million years ago now.

He realised that he was staring. Marie met his gaze without blinking, and like always, he found those direct blue eyes distracting as hell. Not that he’d ever admit it.

Another beat. It seemed to last an age.

“How long?” he asked quietly. The tension in the room making him uncomfortable, their four years apart like a chasm between them. “How long since-?”

“Two days.” He heard Marie’s indrawn breath, saw her steel herself for her answer though he couldn’t imagine why she’d feel the need to. She wrapped her arms more tightly about herself. “It’s been two days.”

“Jesus, Marie.” Two whole days of living through her worst nightmare. Despite his best intensions Logan felt the muscles in his hands, the ones which controlled his claws, twitch. He felt helpless again, enraged at the universe which would do that to his Marie. Just for a second he wanted to skewer something, anything, and his claws very nearly appeared. But he didn’t want to scare her.

Silence.

Again.

“So where’s the Caj- I mean Remy?” he asked eventually. The name tasted sour in his mouth, just like everything else to do with that worthless thief, but he made the effort. She was having a bad enough night without his making it worse.

She flinched, and alarm bells began to ring. He looked at her sharply, but she said nothing, just chewed on her lip. That wasn’t like her, upset or not, and he repeated the question. “Where is he, Marie? Did he go to the store or something? Did he-”

“He left,” she muttered through clenched teeth, her red face turning crimson. Humiliation was written all over her features, her hands twisting now into fists. “He left, okay? Just like you said he would, he left.”

Sonofabitch!

Rage exploded inside him and the claws erupted from his hands on instinct. Suddenly Logan knew precisely who he wanted to skewer. Without a word he crossed the room in two quick strides, putting his face next to hers and grabbing her by her arms. This time he didn’t let go even though she protested. “That Rat Cajun Bastard knew you were hurtin’ and he left you here all alone?” he demanded.

Her eyes went wide. “It wasn’t like that, Logan,” she whispered, “You weren’t there, you don’t know Remy-”

“Don’t do that.” Logan knew his face was incredulous at her words.“Don’t do that Marie.” He began to pace, his claws whistling through the air with each angry gesture. “LeBeau,” and he said the name like it was a dirty word, “Does not get to have you make excuses for him, Marie. Is that straight?”

“You don’t know what happened!” she tried again. “You don’t know what I put him through-”

“I know he shot through when the going got tough!” he snarled. “I know he was always looking for the easy way out! I know he left you alone with the hardest battle you’ve ever faced.” He was pacing now, his manner getting angrier and angrier with each passing second. The image of the last time they‘d seen one another, the night before her wedding, welled up in his mind. He should have stopped her, he should have made her stay with him in the mansion, should have grown a pair and told her how he really felt- Guilt mixed in with the rage, stoking it and making it worse.

“Look at you, Marie!” he muttered, “Look at what he’s done to you! You don‘t deserve this, Kid, nobody deserves this.”

“And you don’t know what you’re talking about!” she snapped, finally riled.

“I know he left you to face this without a backwards glance, Marie,” he was muttering intensely, his face near hers. Carefully he gripped her arms through her house-coat, careful not to make skin on skin contact. Careful not to upset her any more. “Nobody gets to do that to you! Nobody gets to leave my Marie all alone-” and he shook his head angrily.

She blinked. “But Ah’m not your Marie.”

He stopped dead.

“Ah never was, remember?”

Disclaimer: This fan-fiction is not written for profit and no infringement of copyright is intended. Still unbetaed, mistakes are still all mine

CHAPTER THREE

“Like Ah said,” she whispered softly, “Ah’m not your Marie.”

Disclaimer: This fan-fiction is not written for profit and no infringement of copyright is intended. Still unbetaed, mistakes are still all mine

CHAPTER FOUR

“Ah guess Ah shouldn’t have brought that up,” Marie said after a moment.

Logan looked up at that, opened his mouth as if to speak. Then dropped his eyes down again. He didn’t try to clarify just what “that,” was: they both knew. But in fine don’t ask, don’t tell tradition, neither of ‘em would say.

Marie forced back a wave of exasperation. Four years and a marriage later, and it was still the same old crap. One hand was rubbing the back of his neck, the other at his side: Seemed like the breath had just gone outta him as he dragged his claws back in with a sudden snick. He looked guilty and stubborn and three kinds o’ infuriating, from where she was standing. But damn he looked good.

She pushed the thought away.

He sighed then, hearing the chagrin in her voice. Dragged his hands through his hair, his expression sour. Without something to skewer he didn’t seem to know what to do with himself, she thought caustically.

“I’m sorry I scared ya, Kid,” he said quietly, after a moment.

Now it was Marie’s turn to sigh. So that was how they were gonna play it: Like she was still the scared little baby and he was still the big bad wolf in the fold. Seemed that moment in the mansion was destined to remain the Great Unmentionable in her life. Remy would be pleased, she mused darkly. “You didn’t scare me, Logan,” she muttered. “You never scared me. Sooner kill yourself than do me damage, Ah’ve known that since Ah was sixteen years old.”

O’ course hurtin’ me was a different matter. But she didn’t say that out loud. She just crossed her arms defensively across her chest and leaned back against the kitchen table, watching him through narrowed eyes.

“It’s good to know,” he said tersely, “That you weren’t-” and he trailed off. Her open scrutiny was making him uncomfortable. “I thought, turnin’ up here like I did-” and again he didn‘t finish. She was tempted to push him but held her peace: she couldn’t see what good it would do anyway. It was the same old crap. And they both knew it. He was staring at his knuckles like they could tell him the future or something: It was what he did when he was trying to get some distance. She’d seen him do it after Jean died too.

It was weird, the things that stuck in your memory.

“Have you seen a doctor?” he asked eventually. “About, you know-” He gestured towards her randomly.

“No,” she responded tartly. “Ah’ve been a little busy.”

He cocked an eyebrow at her, annoyance momentarily replacing the guilt. He didn’t like that she hadn’t seen a doctor: If she‘d been livin‘ in the mansion he‘d have had her handcuffed to a bed as soon as it happened, she knew. “You didn’t even call Hank?” he demanded.

“Why? Because once a mutation recurs it can’t be cured again, you know that.” Everyone knew that: when it first happened hundreds had died trying. Worthington industries had fought the mutant claims for compensation tooth and nail, right through to Geneva. “Mah husband is a mutant rights activist,” she snapped. “Ah know how the cure works.”

The mention of Remy set his heckles rising again. “So what? You don’t tell anyone and it’s not really happening?” He stood up now, towering over her. “Very adult, Marie.”

Her blood started to boil. He wasn’t gonna speak to her like that in her own house. “It’s lethal t’try curing a power twice, Logan; I’m not dumb enough to-”

“It’s not about dumb, Ki-” she glared fiercely at him and he amended it to, “Marie. I never said you were dumb. But what about secondary mutations? You saw what happened to Emma Frost-”

“O’ course Ah know ‘bout Emma!” she exploded. “She’s a friend o’Remy’s, Ah had a front row seat for that. But we’re in the middle o’ nowhere, Logan: whatcha want me to do? How would a Doctor even begin t’examine me without layin’ hands on mah skin?” And she leaned back in triumph, feeling unaccountably elated at having proven to him that she was in exactly as much trouble as he’d said she was. And that he was right.

Dammit.

He cleared his throat then. Maybe it was the realisation that she really was screwed, but once again the fight went out of him. “You want me t’call Hank?” he asked again, more softly. Again staring at his hands.

He was unbelievable, like a dog with a bone. “Logan, it’s pushin’ minus four outside. You barely made it here in your truck, and you’re damn near indestructible. How’d you suggest we haul Beast out here?”

“Car’s not the only way to travel,” he pointed out gruffly.

“Yeah right,” Marie scoffed. “Like Storm’ll let you drag the Blackbird out here, even if she can clear away the snow-” He shook his head at her obstinacy and she fought the urge to stamp her feet. “Logan, we’re not going anywhere-”

“I’ve just gotta make a phone-call and we’ll have you checked in no time,” he interrupted matter-of-factly. Maybe the idea of taking care o’ her was making him feel cocky: Inwardly she scowled at the notion. But then, she was the one who’d called at three in the morning bawling like a child looking for it’s Papa. She’d stepped back into old habits ‘fore he had…

“I’m making that call,” he announced.

“Zippidee godamn doo-dah,” she snapped.

But she didn’t stop him.

He pulled out his cell-phone then, checking to make sure it had coverage, and hit speed-dial. He turned his back to her and walked into the darkened kitchen, waiting intently for the phone to pick up. Away from direct eye-contact she let her gaze linger on him as he paced in the darkened room, fighting the urge to stick her tongue out. Every ounce of frustration she’d ever felt in her life was standing in her kitchen in a pair of jeans and a check shirt. She knew she was staring; hell, she’d been staring since the moment she saw him on the porch. It was the weirdest sense of homecoming, to have him in front of her, nearly close enough to touch. Even if he was making her mad. The stretch of his shoulders, the length and breadth of him: he seemed to fill the whole room. Watching him from a safe distance she let herself admit how much she’d missed him. How much she’d thought about him in the last four years. And how much she’d like to throttle him most of the time.

Still waiting to be saved by Papa Logan, cherie, she heard Remy’s mocking voice chime in her head. You quite the little grown-up, non?

She really wished her darlin’ husband was here so she could tell him to go to Hell.

“It’s done,” he said abruptly, bringing her back to the present. He was folding away the phone, suddenly confident. “They’ll be here in about fifteen minutes, they just have to wake up Kurt.”

She made a face. “Storm’ll be happy,” she snapped.

“Reckon so.” But he reached laid a hand on her shoulder suddenly, the gesture surprisingly kind. He looked at her, real close and tender like he used to do, and for a moment the breath hitched in her throat. “Please, Marie, just let me do this for you,” he whispered, And then abruptly he pulled his hand away.

Papa Logan to the rescue, non? Remy’s voice crooned in her head. You know its why you made that call.

This time she didn’t argue. Even if she wished he’d go to Hell.

Disclaimer: This fan-fiction is not written for profit and no infringement of copyright is intended. Still unbetaed, mistakes are still all mine

CHAPTER FIVE

Marie cleared her throat awkwardly and tapped quietly on Logan’s door. Outside she could hear the dawn chorus twittering against the powder-blue sky, the clouds already beginning to streak copper and gold with daylight’s coming.

Looked like it was gonna be a beautiful day, she thought. For some people at least.

There was no movement from his room so he knocked again. “Logan,” she called softly, trying to keep her voice down, “Hank asked me to come get you.” Still nothing. “He said mah results are in, and you should be there.” She didn’t add that she wanted him to be there, that she wasn’t sure how she’d handle her news if he weren’t. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. On the other side of the door she heard a slight scuffling, like he was dragging himself out of bed, and then footfalls across the floor.

He’d been sleeping, she realised. Lucky man.

He opened the door, already pulling on one of his giant navy hoodies as he stepped over the threshold. Growled something that might have been “Morning,” but she wasn’t sure. He was wearing sweats and nothing else, his feet bare, his claws retracted. That trademark hairstyle Storm was always teasing him about clearly in evidence. He had bleary eyes and a seven-in-the-morning shadow; Nobody but Sabretooth would have messed with him when he looked like this.

Nobody ‘cept her.

She pushed the thought away.

“Let’s go if we’re going, Marie,” he muttered tersely. “Hank don’t have all day.” She just caught sight of tangled bed sheets and a row of liquor bottles, an old record player sitting by the window. Cigar smoke curling through dawn’s light before the door snapped shut. He took off quickly, his long legs easily outpacing her so that she had to hurry to keep up, all the time facing straight ahead. Looking neither left nor right. Certainly not looking at her.

Hadn’t looked at her since they made the jump with Kurt.

The amiable Wagner had appeared precisely ten minutes after Logan made his call, dressed in a Spiderman Tee, raggedy-looking boxers (with a hole for his tail out back) and a pair of Storm’s pink slippers. He said that teleportation to the mansion wouldn’t be a problem, that alls she’d have to do was hang onto him. But at the thought of touching someone else after three days in isolation, whatever semblance of calm she’d been hanging onto for Logan’s sake had dissolved. She began to hyperventilate; Her face had twisted, a sudden wave of fear gripping her. She’d tried to cover it but both men had seen it. Logan had just been more effected than she’d thought. Without a word of warning or apology he’d pulled up her hood, wrapped both arms around her and pulled her to his chest, as matter-of-fact as if he did it every day.

The remembrance made her smile unconsciously now, warming her skin like sunlight. After all their arguments, for one moment she’d felt at peace.

Logan said nothing, just glowered and quickened his pace.

With her ear against his chest Marie had been able to hear his heart beating, smell his aftershave and cigar smoke through the fabric of his shirt. The moment his arms went around her the fear went away as if by magic. All she could feel was a sense of peace and harmony, a sense that everything was going to be just fine. Behind her eyes an image of mountains and forest blossomed, a beautiful place Marie knew she’d never seen. She could smell fresh grass and pines, clear sharp air. It was so calming, she’d sighed in his arms as they winked into existence in Sickbay. Held him more closely-

And he’d pushed her away.

The moment they arrived he’d yanked himself clear, withdrawing to a safe distance as if she could burn him though her gloves. Refusing to meet her eye and glowering so hard she was surprised paint hadn’t peeled from the walls. She’d sneaked a peek at his massive frame, as he turned his back to her. His expression looked carved in granite. Marie had tried to thank him but he’d just stalked out of the room without a backward glance, not even acknowledging Hank or Kurt. It reminded her of those last weeks in the mansion before her wedding, when everything she did seemed to annoy him for no good reason.

“Let him go,” Hank had warned her, when she tried to follow. “There’s nobody he wants to chat with right now except Jack, Johnny and Jose. And we don’t have any time to lose.”

Instantly she was back in the present. She thought of the bottles in his room as she pushed open the door to Sickbay.

Apparently Jack, Johnny and Jose had felt like talking back.

The room was just the same now as when she arrived, still the cold white-and-chrome chamber she recalled from Warren Worthington’s last hours. Jubilee’s too. Inwardly she shuddered. “Nice of you to join us,” Hank said brightly as she entered, “I was beginning to think you’d had decided not to come.” And he winked at her, every inch the kindly gentleman he remembered from her last year in the mansion. Unlike the sombre Moira McTaggert McCoy’s cheeriness seemed impenetrable; not even Logan’s brooding could crack it.

Just isn’t goddamn natural, she groused, at this time in the morning.

Logan grunted something which might have been hello. Hank’s smile grew wider.

“I see the sleep did you some good, Wolverine,” he remarked. Logan shot him a look which could have curdled butter. “And how about you, Rogue? Feeling better?”

Marie felt her inner smart-ass kick in. Something about being back in the mansion made her feel like a teenager again. “Doc,” she drawled, “D’ya reckon Ah’m feeling better?”

His smile faltered slightly. “No,” he said, “I suppose not.”

“There’s your answer then.” From the corner of here eye she thought she caught the ghost of Logan’s smile. But when she looked right at him he was sober as a priest on Sunday. Still not making eye-contact.

“Well how about we cut to the chase then?” Hank asked, trying to be all business. This time he didn’t look cheerful, and his expression was sombre. “It’s best-”

“T’get it over with, Ah know.” She nodded to him, then to Logan. Willing herself to keep it together, and not repeat that ridiculous performance when Kurt had tried to hold her. Or when she’d first called Logan up. She was beginning to be embarrassed by the whole calling-Papa-Logan-thing. She screwed her courage to the sticking place, taking a deep breath, and did the most grown-up thing she could imagine. “Hit me with it, Doc,” she said bluntly. “What’ve Ah got?”

“Well, so far you don’t have anything. Not anything new at least.” She winced; hearing it said out loud somehow made it more real. But if that was the worst of it then she was lucky. A re-emerging mutation often proved lethal, as Warren and thousands of others could attest. “We’re going to run a few more tests, obviously, but you don’t appear to have developed a secondary mutation. Nor does the re-emergence of your primary seem to be causing problems.”

“Besides the obvious,” she muttered. But she knew she was lucky. She’d had a ringside seat for Emma Frost’s secondary mutation: she’d watched the telepath literally petrify, her skin becoming diamond-like whenever she was stressed. Three months after it had first manifested Frost was dead, unable to regain her flesh and blood form after a job went south. Primary or secondary, a post-cure mutation could kill you.

The thought chilled Marie.

“So aside from Old Reliable, Ah’m okay?” she asked, deliberately keeping her voice flip. She didn’t want to sound upset, not now. Not in this room where she’d watched Jubilee die. “It’s same old same old? No skin on skin contact, and I can go about mah business?”

“That sounds about right.”

“Then can Ah head home?” she asked, her voice still light. She asked it more out of politeness than anything else: they couldn’t keep her here. She was also pretty sure she could handle Kurt’s touching her now she knew that he would be safe: The fear of a secondary mutation must’ve scared her more than she’d wanted to admit.

Logan looked up at that, opening his mouth to protest. “Marie,” he began warningly. She held her hand up in placation, trying to ward it off. “It’s for the best, Logan,” she repled softly. “If Ah’m fine-”

“But you’re not fine,” he argued. And to think five minutes ago Ah wanted him to talk. “Your mutation is back, you can’t be all alone in that house-”

“Ah think you’ll find Ah can,” she retorted, her temper rising again. Why did he have to push her buttons? “It’s mah home-”

“Not any more.”

“Yes anymore.” Marie forced her voice calm, unwilling to argue. She put her hand on his arm, trying to silence him. She didn’t want to have to explain Remy‘s absence right now, nor did she want to argue about returning to her house. She tugged lightly at the hoodie sleeve, the cotton soft beneath her fingers. She tried to sound reasonable. “Logan, you know that Ah can’t stay here…”

And suddenly her voice trailed off.

Just like the moment when he’d held her for teleportation an image bloomed behind her eyes, a picture of somewhere she’d never seen. A graveyard- Three tomb-stones- She frowned, trying to read the names, not sure why but knowing they were important- From far away she thought she could hear Hank, but she couldn’t be certain- The names on the gravestones illegible through tears. Wind was picking up, knifing across her skin, she felt chilled to the bone- And sad, so unbearably sad, the grief like a massive stone sitting on her chest-It wasn’t her time, she thought, not her time- He didn’t have to lose her like that-

Marie felt dizzy, the world swooping and swaying away from her. Suddenly gravity seemed non-existent, oxygen as heavy as mercury. She might have reached for Logan but she wasn’t sure…

Then there was only darkness.

Disclaimer: This fan-fiction is not written for profit and no infringement of copyright is intended. Still unbetaed, mistakes are still all mine. And can I just say thanks for all the great feedback? You lads rock!

CHAPTER SIX

Cool clean air- The snick of claws piercing skin- From somewhere really far away he was yellin’ at Hank, swearing to do blue murder for not preparing him- And still the ache of that stone weight pressing on her chest. The sorrow of it feeling like it would crack her in two- Break her, and nothing could ever break her-

Marie opened her eyes.

She could hear the heart monitor, the whirring beat of the CAT scan. Stillness in the air, like time itself was scared to pass. Heavy, she felt so heavy- Cold in her skin. Something soft against her back, her shoulders; warmth here where she was used to absence. And that hand, that hand in hers. Strong even through the gloves. Wanted, missed and cried over. She heard his voice from long ago: “I’ll take care of you.”

She was in Sickbay.

Every inch of her skin covered in sensors. The walls plastered with monitors, some showing her skeleton, others her immune system. To her right the largest showed an image of the inside of her skull, her thought patterns picked out in buttery yellows and oranges. Here and there the tell-tale blooms of blue and green, electronic signatures for mutant brain activity. They weren’t taking any chances with this, she mused; Ah’ve been hooked up to every machine in the place. Her heart-beat sounded incessantly, almost ugly in its amplification. The back of her head felt sore, as if she’d cracked it. Back in the mansion five hours, she thought dizzily, and already Ah’m concussed.

Wolverine was sitting beside her bed, his brows dragged together with worry, holding onto her hand as if his life depended on it. Just for a moment she’d thought he was Remy.

Marie felt her eyes prickle with tears.

“Hey,” she said softly then, because if she hadn’t- If she hadn’t she would’ve started to cry again. And she’d cried more than enough in the last forty eight hours. She gave a wan little laugh instead.“Guess we were wrong about that secondary mutation, Logan,” she quipped.

What else could she do?

“Guess we were,” he answered tightly. He was whispering, she realised, like they were in a church. Or maybe a morgue. How many people, she wondered disjointedly, had died in this room? And then she realised that she didn’t want to know, even if they were her friends. Suddenly his gaze turned curious. “What did you see, Kid, ‘fore you passed out?”

She’d let the Kid thing slide, just this once. “Graveyard,” she managed to croak instead. “Three tombstones. Ah-Ah was crying.” And suddenly she looked away, embarrassed. She didn’t want to talk about the vision, or whatever-that-thing-had-been. The thought felt real private, like it wasn’t even hers t’begin with. But God, it had felt real.

A beat.

“So do they know what it is?” she asked after a moment. “The-The secondary mutation, Ah mean.” Didn’t take a rocket scientist to work it out, what with the visions and the monitors and the passing out and all. She swallowed, remembering Emma Frost.

Logan’s mouth worked, turned downwards slightly into a grimace. That line he got when he was really mad appeared between his eyebrows. It was bad, real bad, she realised. “Well?” she prompted.

“Hank can tell it better’n I can.”

“I’d rather it was you.”

“Would you?” And then, as if he’d given something away, he put his hand to his mouth. Covered it. Another beat of silence descended.

He still held her hand.

“It’s a wildcat mutation,” he said eventually. “Related to your primary, but still…” She heard her own sharp indrawn breath come as if from far away, saw his face tense at the sound. For a second she thought he’d remove his hand and she grasped his fingers tighter, feeling their weight in her own. She needed them there. Now that he’d said it out loud and made it real. “Seems to be psionic, according to the scans.” And he nodded to the brain monitors, with their mismatched blooms and yellow and blue. Never thought Ah’d turn telepath, she mused. But then, it’s not the weirdest thing t’happen to me either.

“Works through mah skin?” she ventured then.

He nodded, still grim. “Yeah; Hank says it’ll be worse with strong emotions, but he can’t really be sure. Has a big long Latin name for it sounds like a form o’ gum disease.” He cocked an eyebrow at her. “How’d you know?”

“Lucky guess.” Marie felt a blush spreading across her cheeks. Now that she was saying it out loud it sounded perfectly rational. Expected, even. Deep down she’d always known her Cure wouldn‘t be permanent. That her and Remy wouldn’t be- Again she pushed the thought down. “Ah was touching you,” she explained softly, speaking over her own memories. “When Ah saw the graveyard, Ah was touching you. Well, your hoodie anyway. Psychic energy stays on objects, clothes, anything really.” She shrugged again. “Ah just followed the logic of it.” She remembered it exactly, the feel of a human body against hers after so many nights alone in her own skin… The hoodie’s cotton brushing against the gap between her sleeve and her glove… And before that, the feel of his shirt against her ear when they’d jumped to the mansion with Kurt. Hadn’t even registered it at the time but it had been there. Her flesh against the cloth. Both times.

Contact.

Another beat.

“So what are you gonna do?” he asked quietly then. Almost like he was afraid of the answer. “How are you gonna-”

Again she shrugged. She was kinda glad Hank wasn’t here, telling her what to do. If this thing was gonna kill her, she knew she’d only want Logan with her at the end. Not Remy, or Jubilee, or any of the other fallen friends she’d lost these past four years. She still only really wanted her Wolverine, when all was said and done.

Gambit’s face flashed through her mind and she pushed the image away.

“Can it be trained, or am Ah still not that damn lucky?” she asked lightly instead.

He shook his head. For a second she thought he was gonna touch her, brush her hair from across her brow, but whatever the impulse was, he didn’t give into it. “Wildcat mutation, remember?” he retorted gruffly, clearing his throat. She’d never seen him look so damned grave. “And the New Reliable ain’t so reliable; least predictable psychic mutation on record, according to Hank.” He shook his head mournfully. “You really got a knack when it comes to powers, y’know that Marie?”

Again that wan little laugh. She could only do it ‘cause he was there. Holding her together, just like always. “Ah’m just lucky, Ah guess,” she quipped. “Both mah Reliables turned out to be unreliable.”

He looked sourly down at her. “You got that right.”

“So how long have Ah got?”

Again he winced, his brows drawn together. She hadn’t meant to hurt him with her bluntness, but she didn’t see the point in dancing around it. If she was gonna drop like a stone tomorrow then she wanted to know. He turned towards her, his gaze dangerous. Well, more like pissed. But she held her ground.

“It don’t work like that, Marie,” he growled. “I don’t have times and dates.” He clenched her hand in his now, almost possessive. Angry. “And where the hell do you get off not fightin’ this?” he demanded.

Four years ago her heckles would have risen at his tone. Hell, four hours ago they would have. But now… Maybe it was shock, or denial, or emotional whiplash, but suddenly snapping and hollering didn’t seem important. Not now. Not when she knew she had a time-bomb working under her skin.

She could see it in the dim light of the monitors. The fear in his eyes. He didn’t want to lose her, didn’t want to let her go. And she didn’t want to leave him. Not now she felt like she’d found him again.

But she knew she probably wouldn’t have a choice.

“Ah will absolutely fight this,” she said firmly. Reasonably. She looked him straight in the eye, felt the weight of his hand in hers. For the first time in four years she felt like she was absolutely where she was supposed to be, and she was glad of it. But that didn‘t change a damn thing. “Whatever it takes to beat this, Ah’ll do it Logan, you have mah word.” He went to interrupt her and she spoke over him. She didn’t know how much longer her calmness would last. “Ah just might not win. That’s all’s Ah’m sayin’. And if Ah don’t… Well, there’s plenty Ah wanna do ‘fore Ah go.”

She saw it in his eyes then. The panic. The hurt. And also acceptance. Maybe even pride. But what he said was, “Then let’s get you the hell outta that bed and get to work.”

After all, he was still her Wolverine.

Disclaimer: This fan-fiction is not written for profit and no infringement of copyright is intended. Still unbetaed, mistakes are still all mine.

CHAPTER SEVEN

“You shouldn’t have taken her out, Logan.”

And Hank crossed his massive arms across his chest, doing his best to glower. The results were, needless to say, unimpressive. Half the remaining team stood behind him in the hall, silhouetted in dawn’s dim light. A couple of the older students poked their heads over the banisters above, eyes wide at the scene. Had been this way the last three times they came back to the mansion in the wee small hours, not that it bothered him none. She wanted to make the most of the time she had left, and he’d promised her he’d help her.

Wasn’t Hank’s business how they went about it.

Rogue was leaning into him, still hummin’ some old blues riff under her breath from the club. Swayin’ in time to the music. She was a mess of jeans, tee and a pony-tail, flushed with life like there was nothing wrong with her. Bare-foot, carrying her shoes in one hand. And that was fine with him. She was grinning like she hadn’t a care in the world.

She’s beautiful, Logan’s mind slurred drunkenly. Don’t forget beautiful.

He rolled his eyes then. Tried to half-carry her through the door. “We were just havin’ a good time, McCoy,” he muttered. Because thinking about her being beautiful wasn’t a good idea. And because frankly Hank was being a pain in his ass.

Beast didn’t move. Just glowered some more. Added a tapping toe for effect.

Again, Logan thought, Unimpressive.

“Get out of the way, bub,” he growled. He couldn’t see what the big deal was. “You asked for a week, you got a week. She stayed hooked up like a rat in a lab, while you poked and prodded her. Damn near scared her t’death.” He threw Marie a grin. “She deserved to party.”

“But her mutation-”

“Ain’t goin’ nowhere!” Marie finished. She pushed her trademark white bangs off her face, the expression exasperated. “Ah’m covered from head t’toe, Hank,” she pointed out. “There are Reverend Mothers showing more flesh’n me. Ah know the drill: no touchin’, no feelin’ no takin’ candy from strangers. Been doin’ this since Ah was seventeen years old.” She shrugged. “And if Ah die tomorrow,” she muttered, “Ah die happy.” Again they made to get by him, despite her shaky balance.

McCoy shook his head, glaring at Logan. He could smell the scotch off her and he wasn’t impressed. “You let her get drunk?” he demanded. “With her new mutation? Did they drop you on your head during that last mission to Genosha, Wolverine, or have you always been this stupid?”

Now it was Marie’s turn to glower. “Don’tcha talk ‘bout mah Logan that way,” she growled. Didn’t wanna think about why, but the mah made him grin. “Or me. It’s been three weeks since Ah collapsed Hank, and nothing’s happened,” she muttered. “Nothing might ever happen again. Ah can’t live mah life on what if; don’t ask me to.”

Hank sighed, stopped tapping the toe. “I know you don’t want to admit this Marie,” he said gently, “But there is something wrong with you. And refusing to accept it won’t help.” He wrung his hands, his voice turning appealing. “A wildcat mutation is unpredictable, uncontrollable; if your psychic defences are down…” He trailed off. Looked beseechingly to Storm, but she shook her head, far too familiar with Logan and Marie’s relationship to try to intervene. She was the one who’d started calling them Rhett and Scarlett in the first place.

A beat.

Marie was still swaying, her hand at the wall beside her for support, her eye-lids drooping. For a moment Logan wondered whether she was gonna throw up, and whether he could pull her hair off her face without making skin-on-skin contact. She looked up at him tiredly, completely limp, and all the colour rushed from her cheeks. She felt hot in his arms. Not flushed-body hot. Furnace hot.

Something wasn’t right. “Marie,” Logan asked, “Are you-”.

“Where’s Kitty?” she asked softly then.

She cocked her head to the side, her expression not her own. Not a trace of that lilting Southern accent remained. Her eyes were unreadable. “Where’s my Kit?” Straightened up, everything about her alert. Stepped clear of him, held one hand out to her side. Thumb flicking continuously against her fore-finger, over and over again. Her gaze came to rest on Ororo, and her eyes narrowed dangerously. “Where’s my wife, bitch?” she snapped.

And then she went on fire. Literally. There was no warning, just the blaze.

Heat shot across her shoulders and arms, lighting her up like a Christmas tree. The fire danced red, then golden, then blue. Eyes turned black as the flames licked across her skin. Instinct made Logan jump to the side, though not quickly enough to prevent his palms burning. He barely noticed his healing factor kick in as she rounded on Storm, her eyes riveted on the woman. “You tell me where Kitty is,” she snarled, “Or so help me God, Storm, I’ll burn this whole place to the ground.”

Fire shot from her hands hitting the base of the stairs, a warning shot. Tossed just like- It clicked in his head- Just like Pyro used to do.

Instantly he was sober.

Logan could recall it perfectly, that last stand against John Allerdyce. He’d come looking for his wife and their kids, very nearly killed a couple of the newbs in the process. Had tried to burn it out of Storm standing right where Marie was, all sinew and prison tats, not a trace left of the boy Logan had known. Kurt had taken him down from behind on that very spot, three years ago come March. He was still in Stryker’s.

It came together horribly in his head then. Her bare feet. Touch sensitive empathy. And a building just dripping in physic trauma.

You really do have a knack Marie, he thought, When it comes to super-powers.

“Marie?” Storm said calmly, willing her voice steady. “Whoever you are, I need to speak to Marie-”

“Just tell me what I want to know, bitch.” Another flame landed at her feet, closer this time. Kurt phased to avoid it, reappearing behind them, just like the last time this had happened. Looked questioningly at Logan, ready to strike, but held back.

Ororo took a step towards them. Hands held before her in truce. “Whatever this is,” she began, “We can talk about it-”

Marie started to burn.

The flames rose higher, whooshing up the walls of the hallway, across the ceiling. Setting light to everything they touched. The sprinklers came on, dousing everyone and halting the fire’s progress but it did Marie no good. She was burning, her skin starting to blister and peel. Logan didn’t understand it: Pyro’s flames had never hurt their maker before. But then Pyro hadn’t been able to create the flame out of nowhere either. Something more was happening here then her normal mutation: something that could kill her. He wouldn’t let that happen.

“Kurt,” he muttered, “Grab a hold of me.”

Nightcrawler was way ahead of him. “I can phase with her into the lake-”

“But I can heal her as she goes.” She might not make it otherwise. He felt the other man grip him and mentally prepared himself for the trauma. Grabbed Marie’s shoulders and pulled her tight to his chest. The pain was excruciating, exploding against his skin as he felt that PUFF! Of Kurt’s mutation, and then the icy blackness of the dawn waters. He was falling, no air in his lungs. Weightless, suspended, so Goddamn cold. He held onto her with all he had.

He would not let her die.

Logan forced himself not to breath and began kicking for the surface. Wondered where Kurt was but didn’t have time to check; Nightcrawler could take care of himself. Still holding onto Marie, frail now in his grip. For a moment her flames lit up the water, turning it coppery before snuffing out. She sagged and seemed to lose consciousness as he broke the surface, taking in great, gasping breaths. His skin was already healing as he towed her to the shore.

She lay still. Pale as death. The burns looked scarring and ugly, unnatural on her lovely face. She wasn’t breathing.

“C’Mon, Marie,” he muttered, “C’Mon. You promised me you’d fight.” He laid his bare hand at her cheek, healing her, he hoped.

He felt it then.

Felt the flesh pressing one against the other. For a moment Marie tried to pull away but he resisted. Let the pull take over as some of his life force spilled into her. It was painful, there was no use saying it wasn’t. He just didn’t care. The burns erupted beneath his skin, hers and his together, blazing too fast for his mutation to counter. Images of Kitty and her kids, the rage against Bobby Drake for helping Pryde escape, all of this danced behind his eyeballs. Memories rushed through his brain, too fast for him to decipher. So much love, so much anger. And then for a second he saw himself through her eyes, that first night in Laughlin city. Smelt his own cigar smoke, heard the rumble of his own voice. Saw Gambit yelling, angrier than he’d ever seen the man. Love and rage. Confusion. And then something else. Something he didn’t wanna know the word for. Something he’d have been angry about, if Marie were his wife-

Hank wrenched them apart.

They blinked together, completely disorientated. The sky was streaked with orange and gold, dazzling their eyes. At least Logan told himself it was the dawn. Kurt helped him to his feet, still sopping wet. Beast looked pissed, and for once Logan couldn’t blame him.

“Firstly,” McCoy said severely, “We call it a wildcat mutation for a reason. It is not to be mixed with stupidity, obstinacy or alcohol.” Marie tried to get to her feet and collapsed, coughing up what water was left in her lungs. She looked like a drowned cat. “And secondly,” Hank sighed, pulling her to her feet, “You are both idiots. Congratulations on still breathing.” With that he headed for the house.

They both struggled to stay upright, neither wanting to meet the other’s eye. They both knew why. Hank walked ahead, muttering about tests and powers and how they were lucky to be alive. And idiocy, there was lots of talk about idiocy. Neither of them stopped him. Neither of them spoke. And then-

“Ah’m still not sorry about the scotch,” Marie whispered.

She didn’t look back at him as she left.

Disclaimer: This fan-fiction is not written for profit and no infringement of copyright is intended. Still unbetaed, mistakes are still all mine.

CHAPTER EIGHT

-Opened his eyes.

He could still hear her voice in his head. Waking or sleeping, it didn’t matter none. She was there. Couldn’t make it go away, couldn’t drown her out. Couldn’t pretend he didn’t know how she felt. That memory was the clearest but there were others, plenty of others. He wondered how Marie dealt with it every day. Whether it ever got any easier to live through other people’s pain, knowing you caused it.

Stupid wildcat mutation, he thought then. Making me see the Cajun as human.

Logan pulled himself to his feet, ignored his protesting body. Sunlight spilled across the ceiling in his room. Dark brown hangover taste in his mouth, every bone and muscle aching. And her voice, her voice in his head. Her voice underneath his skin.

He pushed the thought away.

She’d recover. Allerdyce’s mutation had left her as quickly as it had come, the result of being acquired through the New Reliable rather than the Old, but that didn’t change nothing. She was still back in that damn Infirmary bed, back to being poked and prodded. Hank said he could only visit her if there was no liquor involved, threatened to frisk him just to make sure. Marie had used a lot of language he didn’t think Southern Belles were supposed to know when she heard about it.

Hadn’t bothered him none though: she’d picked most of it up from him.

“Am I interrupting?” he heard Storm’s voice behind him. She was standing at his threshold, her lovely face tired and strained, reminding him he wasn’t the only one had trouble sleeping. Kurt would probably give him hell for worrying her like that. But then, that’s what being responsible got you.

He cocked an eyebrow as she stepped inside, not waiting for an invitation. “What is it with you girls and waiting til my shirt’s off?” he inquired wryly instead.

“Sorry to break it to you Logan,” she sniffed, “But you’re not blue or furry enough for me.” He raised his eyebrows and she smiled. “I wanted to thank you. For Kurt,” She elaborated. “He was burn free, because of you.”

“Glad t’hear it.”

A beat.

She looked up at him then, real direct like she had something on her mind. One thing he had to hand to the Snowflake, she had a spinal column. Never tried to sweep stuff under the carpet like Chuck or Scooter used to. Course, that didn’t mean he felt comfortable answering her questions either.

“Are you alright?” she asked quietly after a moment.

He shrugged. “Burns’ll heal.”

“You know that’s not what I meant.” She stepped delicately over to sit on his bed, her elegant hands folded. Looked almost fragile, though he had the Danger Room scars to prove what a crock that was. “Hank told me about the transference,” she began gently. “Said it was probably because if the liquor, since she doesn’t usually seem able to project.” Again that direct look. “Are you alright with it?”

His mouth twitched downward. He didn’t like where this was going. “Don’t matter whether I’m okay or not. Can’t do nothing about it, and it wasn’t Marie’s fault.”

“I didn’t say it was. But still…” She scooted closer to him on the bed, eyes still on her hands. She looked like she was working up to something, and that just made him more tetchy. “You touched Jean’s mind too before she died, didn’t you?” she said eventually.

He froze. So that’s what this was about.

She looked up when he didn’t answer, read his expression. The glare would’ve been enough to put the boys off, but Storm wasn’t one of the boys. “It’s none of my business, I know,” she continued after a moment. “But- I suppose I think of you and Marie as family. And I just wanted to say I’m here, if you need to talk.” A small, sad smile flitted across her face. “Jean was a good friend.”

He glowered. “This ain’t about Red.”

“Isn’t it?”

“No, Snowflake,” he muttered sourly. “No, it ain’t.”

“Then what is it about?”

Gotcha. Damn weather witch.

He dragged his hand back through his hair then, exhaling the breath he hadn’t known he was holding. Frowned. He couldn’t believe he was about to say this. “Jean didn’t even occur to me, when it happened,” he admitted finally. Felt like a weight was pressing down on him as he said it, but he didn’t stop. “Me and Red, it was never like this. She just…nudged me from time t’time, is all. But the thing with Marie?” He wasn’t sure he could put it into words. He wasn’t sure he wanted to. “We’re different, more…”

“Intimate?”

Okay, he did not like that. Mainly because she’d hit the nail on the head. Marie was underneath his skin, in his bones. In his blood. It wasn’t right, not when he was supposed to protect her. Not when she was still the Kid.

He didn’t answer, just glowered at the foot of his bed. But not speaking ain’t exactly a no.

Storm cleared her throat. “She’s not a child anymore, Logan,” she said gently when she realised he wasn‘t gonna break the silence. “She wasn’t really a child when you brought her here, no matter what you said.” She stared at the wall before her, knowing better than to try to meet his eyes. Seven years was a long time to know someone in their business. “I knew you’d hate Remy; he took her away from you,” she said softly. “I also knew why she liked him. He was the next best thing.”

“He’s nothing like me,” Logan growled.

“Big, bad handsome man who teases her day and night?” she inquired, her smile widening. “Bad boy with a noble streak?”

“He ain’t noble, I ain’t a boy and you’re gonna drop this now Ororo.” He never used her given name unless it was serious.

She pursed her lips but took the hint

. “So what are you going to do?” she asked.

“Nothing.” He stared at his knuckles, where the claws came out. Pulled the fingers in tight. “Wouldn’t be right,” he muttered. “Young girl like that and an old man like me.”

“Even if you’d make her happy?”

He snorted. “I don’t make anybody happy.”

“You should check out her face every time she sees you before you say that.” Storm stood, probably realising she wouldn‘t get anything else out of him. Maybe realising that he hadn’t worked out what more there might be to say. She straightened her shirt, tucked her hair behind her ears. Back to being Madame Head-Mistress, he mused.

She crossed the room in three quick strides before stopping at the door.

“When we lost Jean, I thought you’d never recover,” she said suddenly. “Thought Scott might get over it, but you? Never.” She shrugged, turning to him. “Your heart’s the one thing your healing factor doesn’t cover, Logan; Took me a while to figure that out but I did.” She opened the door, her expression kind. Again he glared, but she just smiled, her eyes challenging. She really wasn’t one of the boys. “Marie might not have that long left, Logan. And even if she does, life is precarious, ours more than most. Just think about it before you decide you’re an old man, okay?” And then she was gone.

Sucker punched by a Snowflake, he thought. Now what were the odds?

Logan didn’t move for a long time after that. Lay back, stared at the ceiling. Heard Marie’s voice in his head, felt her underneath his skin. Saw himself through her eyes and wondered at the sight. But he didn’t move, he was too busy thinking. Sipped some scotch, then some bourbon then some scotch again cause that tasted like her. Because she wasn’t sorry about the scotch. Truth be told, he wasn’t either.

He was still there when the sun went down. He just didn’t feel like an old man anymore.

Disclaimer: This fan-fiction is not written for profit and no infringement of copyright is intended. Still unbetaed, mistakes are still all mine.

CHAPTER NINE

He wasn’t sure how to do this.

Logan rested his hand on Red’s tomb-stone and took a deep breath. Felt the heat from a long day baking in the sun warm his palm, listened to the birds sing softly as night fell. Wondered for the hundredth time what Jean would say if she were here, and whether he was doing the right thing, telling Rogue how he felt.

Not that staring at a lump of stone would help with that any.

He pushed the thought away.

It’d been a long time since he’d come to see Red. When he’d first lost her the spot had felt like it was cursed, going there had hurt so much. And then after San Francisco, after Scott and Chuck had come to rest here too, there had been even less reason to come. He didn’t do funerals or gravesides. Just wakes. Death was a constant companion for him, the one thing he couldn’t ever beat. No matter what he did those around him would pass and he-

He would walk on. Survive. God only knew how long he’d been doing that.

He sometimes wondered whether he’d end up being the last man on Earth.

Felt the ghost of Marie move in him then, wrap her arms around him and whisper that everything would be alright. Felt weird and right at the same time. Intimate. She had a habit of doing that, the Marie in his head. Kinda like her real-life counterpart. He forced his eyes shut at the sensation, trying not to feel her heart twist at his pain. Trying not to wish for her presence right now. Didn’t entirely work, but he tried

A beat.

Logan crouched at the grave then, ran his fingers along the letters. Friend, he read, Inspiration. Not Daughter because Jean’s family had been too damn ashamed of her mutation to come to the funeral. The light was fading rapidly but he’d have been able to see them in near pitch black. After all, he wasn’t really an old man. The letters felt wet and cold against his skin, chilled despite the summer heat. It occurred to him that this was a real dead way to commemorate someone who’d been so alive, but he didn’t make the rules about that sort o’ thing.

Another beat. He knew he had to begin.

“I know what I want now, darlin’,” he began softly. Wasn’t sure whether he was talking to Red or Marie. Wasn’t sure he wanted either of them to hear. “My healing factor kicked in, y’know?” he continued, “Don’t think I wanted it to…Didn’t even notice when it did… But it happened, and I ain’t sorry.” And he dropped his hand from the tombstone, the dew staining his fingers, almost like tears. That was the hardest part of this, he knew. Saying the truth out loud. Admitting he still felt a tiny bit like he was cheating on a dead woman with one who was alive.

And admitting that part of him didn’t care, if it meant he could be with Marie.

He scowled then, not happy with that realisation. But knowing that it was simply the way this worked. “She’s here now,” he said eventually, when the silence started to feel accusing. “Feel‘s like we‘ve got a second chance, after all that time I wasted. I think…” He trailed off for a second, Marie’s memories of him overpowering him. It was a great gift, to know that to someone thought you were a truly good man. Even if she was wrong. “I know I love her. Always have. Always will. Not the same as you and me Red, but that’s the way this goes.” And he dragged one hand through his hair, wishing he could put that better, wishing he had some of Hank’s eloquence. Because then it might not sound as God-awful as it did.

But he still wouldn’t change it, he realised, even if he could. Even if she’d asked him to. And the woman who’d loved Scott Summers to distraction would have understood that. Jean Grey knew a bit about love.

He felt it then, something snapping. Some cord which had been binding him breaking in two. But that was all it was, one little cord. He realised as he felt it fade into nothingness how afraid he had been of its absence, afraid before now of letting it snap. It had come to feel like home to him. After she’d died it had felt like that was the only thing holding him together, a little rope o’ grief like a noose around his heart. He’d used it to get him through the day, to keep him in one piece when he wasn’t sure how to do that on his own. That was why Rogue’d scared him so much four years ago: some part of him had wanted her and it had felt like he’d fall apart if he gave in. No wonder she’d been so confused. He couldn’t possibly have explained to her how he felt. He’d hurt her, he realised, without ever meaning to. But he wouldn’t do it again.

Logan stood then.

He wasn’t big on talking. They had Hank for that. And all the things he really wanted to say couldn’t easily be put into words. But he was glad he’d come here, and if Jean were here she’d have been glad too. Scooter would’ve hurt himself throwing a hissy fit but Red would’ve understood. Probably would’ve fought their corner too, if it came down to it. He remembered telling her, years ago, that he had no interest in Rogue, remembered giving her an out. Felt right now like she was retuning the favour.

Like he didn’t have to be an old man, just because he’d survived.

Another beat. A beat of grace. He felt Red let him go.

Logan made for the mansion then, his face split in a smile. Marie smiled right along with him in his head. In his heart. He was gonna have a shower before he went to see her. Maybe change his clothes. He could hear Kurt and Hank’s comments already but he didn’t care none. They weren’t as pretty as him anyhow. He smiled as he pictured her face, remembered the way she always was happy to see him. He didn’t care how long they had, what troubles they would run into: he knew how she felt about him, he’s seen the inside of her heart. He was done running away from this, for the sake of a woman who’d only ever wanted him to be happy. And besides, he had a pretty active imagination: Marie’s mutation would prove a challenge not a problem. He was already wondering how thick silk had to be, to stop Old Reliable from kicking in. They’d have to do some tests on that… Lots and lots of strenuous tests… And how often would he have to touch her, before he became immune? Another area for in depth research, whether Hank agreed or not…He smiled more as he thought about it, the lightness in his chest unfamiliar and welcome-

And then he froze.

For on moment he thought he saw something stir in the lengthening shadows. Something which moved too fast to be human. He stopped, instantly alert, letting every sense go into over-drive. Sniffed the air, listened hard as he could. Let the beast inside him at the wheel for a second, suspicious, because he knew enough about himself and Marie’s luck to wanna check this out. Logan went to that real quiet place inside himself, the place the claws came from, and asked its judgement.

But there was nothing. Nothing.

Slowly he began to walk again, still not happy but unable to find a reason for staying. Of course, it was possible that one of the students simply hadn’t learned to control their powers yet; April Kaszinzki could create thought forms, and J.J. Guiterrez often projected illusions whether he wanted to or not. But still, still… He padded into the mansion, his brow still drawn together. But he still had to find Marie, and tell her. The thought of her sent it to the back of his mind.

And there, beneath the moonlight, something watched him go. Something that had once been powerful. Something that had once been whole. Given life now, awoken by the memory of the one it had lost-

Disclaimer: This fan-fiction is not written for profit and no infringement of copyright is intended. Still unbetaed, mistakes are still all mine.

CHAPTER TEN

Marie winced, trying to curl herself into a more comfortable position. The beds in the Penalty Box (the students’ name for Containment Room One) weren’t exactly comfortable. Not even for someone as small as her, and she’d been stuck sleeping in one for the past two days. To her left she could see scorch marks on the walls, a lasting reminder of her time channelling Pyro’s power. To her right sat a pile of Hershey bars, her ill-gotten poker winnings from Kurt. He’d come to keep her company while she recovered from the latest mutation and she’d cleaned him out: If they’d been playing for money Storm would’ve killed him. She reached out for a bar, watching to see if her skin turned blue again, but it didn’t. Apparently her exposure to both John and Kurt’s mutations had run their course. Though not her exposure to Logan’s. That, she suspected, would take a lot more time, if she ever recovered at all.

Because four years and marriage to someone else certainly hadn’t done the trick.

She winced again then, not wanting to think about him or the incident at the lake. She’d had two whole days to think about that. For the first time since she’d gotten sick Logan hadn’t been there when she’d come to, and she knew damn well why. Red hair, universe altering powers, engaged to Scott Summers. And dead, don’t forget dead. Not that it mattered any. She had no doubt what Logan would say when he eventually came to see her: she’d get the whole Why It’s Wrong You Feel This Way Speech, probably complete with some jack-ass moral riff about their difference in ages. Marie pursed her lips tightly: When she’d felt her memories spill into him, reversing their normal flow, what he’d seen left no room for doubt about her feelings. No room for saying they were paternal. Marie’s feeling had been pretty damn hormonal since the moment she met him, and he would know that now whether he wanted to or not. No wonder he hadn’t come to see her.

Again she winced, shifting at the thought.

The ache in her back get worse as she did so. It’d been there for about an hour, a low-level thrum between her shoulder blades. She hadn’t said anything to Hank because pain killers wouldn’t have worked on it: they never did if the pain was psychic, and this obviously was. She was channelling the memory of Warren Worthington losing his wings, she’d figured that the moment she realised she could remember what it felt like to flex them. Warren had allowed an angry mob to tear them off, trying to lead them away from the students during the Worthington Riot. It hadn’t worked. Again she shifted, the thought of what had happened making the pain increase. Anything acquired with the New Reliable was amped up by emotion, be it a memory or a mutation. It was one of the reasons the wildcat was so unpredictable. She looked down at her hands again, trying to still the discomfort. For a moment an image of claws arched from her fingers, ghostly and unreal. Another picked up mutation, probably from that kid she’d caught raiding her stash three ours ago. Apparently JJ could create illusions without even trying. He just hadn’t been fast enough to snag himself a Hershey bar. And again she sighed: Another damn mutation for her to deal with.

She heard him clear his throat then.

Logan was leaning awkwardly against the door frame, one hand jammed into his jeans pocket, the other at the back of his neck. Looking about as comfortable as Marie felt. He was wearing fresh clothes, his hair obviously washed, that black leather jacket of his hanging off of his massive frame. Seemed like a giant in the tiny room, forced to slouch just to enter. His blue eyes bored into her, the expression more intense than she’d ever seen from him. Marie looked down at the ghostly bones extending from her knuckles, and shook her head.

“I was wondering whether you wanted to take a walk,” he began awkwardly. “I know you ain’t been out in two days.” He took in her pained expression, the ghost of his claws appearing and disappearing from her knuckles. For a moment her hair flashed red, her trademark white streaks disappearing, and she willed it to stop. Apparently JJ’s ability was intent on telling him what was on her mind whether she wanted to or not. Marie closed her eyes, concentrated on the pain in her back. On the ghost of those lost wings.

When she opened her eyes the red hair was gone. Though not the claws. Figures.

He was still staring at her.

“I know I ain’t been here,” he said then, “But I had a lotta thinking t’do.” He shrugged, every inch of him looking awkward. It was unusual to see him without his normal, predatory grace. “Wanted to make sure I knew what I was gonna say to you, after-” and he trailed off. Marie tried to make herself speak, to comfort him, but nothing would come out. Maybe she hadn’t the energy anymore. “I just didn’t want to open my big damn mouth and say something stupid. This is too important,” he finished quietly.

She went to answer him then, but thought better of it. She wasn’t sure she could trust her voice not to break. Waited for a moment until she could be reasonably sure it wouldn’t crack and then gestured to the seat beside her. “Ah’m not cleared to leave yet,” she said dully. She forced her mind to concentrate on that ache in her back and not the one in her chest. “Hank says Ah can’t go until all the mutations have been worked out.” And she held out her hands to him, face up, showing her ghostly claws. “But if ya wanna get this over with, you can sit down. Hank’s on break: we’ve got the place to ourselves.” And again she dropped her eyes. He took the seat. She knew her voice sounded angry. She also knew she couldn’t change it. She was as powerless as she’d always been.

A beat. An agonisingly long beat.

“Ah know why you’re here,” she said eventually. The tension was getting to her, she had to speak. “Ah’ve been on the receiving end of mah mutation, Ah know how it feels. How-How Ah feel.” She twisted her fingers tighter, concentrated on the pain in her back. “Ah’m not ashamed of it,” she said eventually. “Ah’m not ashamed of how Ah feel. But Ah’m not Jean Grey either and that’s what this’ll boil down to in the end. So how’s about we just get over it.” And she forced her eyes to keep away from him, not wanting to recognise his pain or his pity. She didn’t want either, never had.

He still didn’t answer. Just stared.

“Hank suggested Ah move back to the cabin,” she said then. Which was a lie: she’d suggested it, and the good doctor hadn’t exactly given a warm response. But anything to not be the victim, to not have his pity staring her in the face. “Says mah psychic immunity will build up more easily if Ah just have to deal with hearing people’s thoughts and not getting their mutations. Ah should be moving by next week, so you can just-”

“Marie,” he said softly then, “Would you please stop talking?”

She blinked at him, suddenly angry at the interruption. She was making this easy on him, he should have been grateful. She didn’t wanna hear the old tired clichés about age and morality. She didn’t want to hear him say he still loved Jean. But he took in her angry expression calmly and when she tried to retort he spoke over her. “I went and talked to Jean today,” he said softly. “Turned out… Turned out I had to tell her something important. About you.”

“Needs to know she has competition, does she?” Marie snapped, and then instantly regretted it. Even if it were true, that would still be cruel. And it definitely wasn’t true.

He didn’t rise to the bait though. “This ain’t a competition, Marie. I ain’t that stupid.” He shrugged slightly. “Look, I know what you think I’m gonna say, and I don’t blame you. But believe me it ain’t like that.”

Marie crossed her arms defensively. “Then what’s it like?” she demanded. Scowling, eyebrows raised. Angry. For a moment he was at a loss for words, unable to say anything. Confusion and doubt chasing one another across his features. The words clearly not coming. And then, then-

Then he kissed her.

Once, very softly, on the lips. Hand at the back of her neck to pull her face to his. She felt her mutation kick in, felt the gentle, sweet hum of him underneath her skin, but he didn’t pull away. Just took her face in his gloved hands and breathed deeply, like he was trying to take her in. He laid his hairy cheek against her forehead, breaking their connection, and closed his eyes. Cigar smoke and aftershave were all she could take in for a moment. And his nearness, intoxicating as it had always been to her. When he opened his eyes they bored into hers, blue into blue. Intense.

“I don’t do so well, with the speakin’” he growled softly. “But you get the point?” And he laid his forehead against hers again, their connection sputtering into life once more. It wasn’t hurting him, her mind kept chanting, she wasn’t hurting him. And it should be. But damn if it didn’t feel like, feel like-

Feel like home. It felt like she’d come home.

She stared at him in confusion, for once feeling every inch the scared Kid. “But Ah thought-” she muttered. “Ah mean…Aren’t you mad? Horrified?” She shook her head, aware that she was being incoherent but unable to stop herself. “It’s not just because of the wildcat- because Ah don’t have much time le-”

And he kissed her again. He really was gonna have to work on letting her finish a sentence. “Nope, darlin’” he said softly when he broke away. A small grin tugged at his features and acting on impulse she put her hand to his face, traced his expression. The connection hummed but didn’t hurt. “I just didn’t wanna spend any more time without you.” And again he kissed her, muttering something about “building up his immunity,” when she tried to protest. Not that she tried very hard.

His hands traced circles on her back then, the warmth of his touch over-riding even the ghost of those lost wings. She wasn’t sure how she managed it but she somehow got onto his lap from the bed, squeezing him so tight in her arms anyone else would’ve needed a medic. She must’ve looked weird, her appearance changing, those illusionary claws seeming to disappear inside his body but not hurting him at all. It didn’t matter, none of it mattered. For the first time since she’d realised she was a mutant she felt like everything was as it should be. And that the way it should be was good.

They didn’t notice, when Hank locked the building for the night. Didn’t notice when he turned the lights out. Just stayed there, talking and whispering when it got real late, her body curled against his like it was where she belonged. Like he was under her skin.

If they‘d thought to count all the shadows in the room, they would have realised that not all of them belonged there.

Disclaimer: This fan-fiction is not written for profit and no infringement of copyright is intended. Still unbetaed, mistakes are still all mine. The rating on this chapter is a bit higher, a bit of naughtiness, so you have been warned. Delicate wee creatures that you all are, heh heh heh! Enjoy!

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Long shadows in the room.

“You get through with me, woman,” he muttered, “An’ I will be.” She didn’t answer, just ran her nose along his throat like she was catching his scent. Nipped at his skin with her teeth, scraped her nails along his sides. Growled something that sounded like “Mine,” under her breath and then pushed him onto his back. She slid off his shirt, tossed it. Tore at his buckle and took his pants too. Shoes gone, bare feet, skin on skin. And then they were kissing, rolling and tumbling outta control, sweat and heat and salt on his tongue. Finding their rhythm as his body pressed into hers. He couldn’t help himself, didn’t want to help himself: Marie was under his skin now, and he never wanted her to leave. He reversed their positions, her under him. Her breath catching, eyes wide. That lightness in his chest from before, the one he wasn‘t used to, burning him up. Something was tugging at his brain, warning him of danger, but he ignored it. He didn’t want to waste a second of this thing between them-

He woke with a shudder, not a yell.

Yells were for remembering Stryker, Marie knew. Shudders were for the things he wouldn’t tell her when she asked. He was out of his makeshift bed and across the other side of the room in the space it took her to reach for him. She suspected that if he hadn’t been nearly naked he’d have gotten to the other side of the mansion by now.

And that was one conversation she didn’t wanna have with Storm. Or the senior class.

“’S okay, darlin’,” Marie whispered soothingly, sitting up slowly. Sudden movements made him jumpy when he was like this. “It was just a bad dream.” She kept her voice calm, smiled encouragingly; she didn’t want another conversation about how it was dangerous to her to have him near. He still insisted she took the bed and he the floor, but they were working on it. In the last two weeks he’d gone from sleeping the other side of the room to being willing to sleep next to her, on a pallet. And Marie was determined to get him into bed, even if their activities remained innocent. For now.

Now being all they had.

She pushed the thought away.

He still had his back to her. She tried to catch his eye and he turned his body away further, his hands hidden from her sight. Fingers opening and closing tightly. Of course she saw the claws anyway, knew he’d popped ‘em out. It was a nervous reflex when he dreamed. The look on his face like she’d caught him in something shameful, that got to her though, and she slid from the bed, tried to sooth him. He turned away from her, unwilling, and she forced down a sigh of frustration. Logan could be so damn stubborn, when it came to finding comfort.

But then, she mused wryly, that was hardly new.

She sat back on the bed then, gave him space. Pulled on her opera gloves just like she did every morning. He’d come to her when he was ready; they had a procedure for this sorta thing.

A beat.

“Stryker’s?” she asked then, her voice casual. Wasn’t healthy to treat each nightmare like a separate and unusual Big Deal. He’d get over his worry quicker if she treated them as par for the course, which they were. “Or was it something else? You dream of Japan again?”

His voice was scratchy. “Nothing like that,” he muttered. “I-” And he stopped. Turned towards her, pulled the claws back in. She couldn’t help her smile, and that more than anything else seemed to break his mood. He nodded sheepishly and sat down next to her. Slung his arm across her shoulders, kissed the top of her head and breathed in her scent. Marie closed her eyes and concentrated on the warmth of him, trying to memorise it. He was so hot it felt like he was on fire, practically burning up. Didn’t feel natural. It’s his mutation, she told herself, It’s just his mutation.

Wasn’t sure why, but a tiny chill went through her at the thought.

“It was a bad dream,” he said gruffly, interrupting her worries. “Not a memory, a nightmare. Fourth one this week.” She felt him shrug against her, trying to sound on top of it. She knew he hated to show weakness, especially in front of her. “I saw you burning, Marie. Didn’t like it none.” And he pulled her a little closer, sheepish but wanting her there.

Instantly she forgot her foreboding. She reached up and kissed him instead, feeling her mutation ripple beneath her skin. They were supposed to keep their physical interactions short and timed; Hank said it was the safest way to bring up Logan’s immunity when they’d first suggested it. But right at the minute Marie feel like being safe, she just wanted to give comfort. His emotions buzzed through her as her skin met his, images and worries. Memories. As always, his feelings for her, warm as the chime of an old brass bell. But there was something else, something he was keeping from her. Something he was worried she would see.

Fire. Helplessness. Fear of loss.

He broke contact then, left the bed. She wasn’t sure why but the space between them suddenly felt cold.“We should get a move-on, Marie; Hank’s waiting,” he muttered, grabbing the rest of his clothes and tossing them on. He wouldn’t meet her eye, his mouth pulled downward like something was wrong. Again she sighed: He spent so much of what little time they had trying to keep her away from the darker parts of himself, as if the woman who had Erik Lenscher, John Allerdyce and Victor Creed wanderin’ around inside her cranium really needed a chaperone. But he did it anyways. She used to think his over-protectiveness came from her age, but she knew now that wasn’t it: He’d worried about Jean seeing this side of him, about Storm seeing it too. Something to do with never wanting to show a woman the dark side of his life, like that would prove there was more to him than rage.

“You coming darlin’?” he asked then. Though he still wouldn’t meet her eyes.

Marie knew she had a choice: she could push this, and maybe set him on edge for the rest of the day. Or she could bide her time and trust him, the way she’d always instinctively trusted him before. She’d known about his over-protectiveness long before they got together, and it wasn’t gonna change anytime soon. That first night in the Penalty Box he’d asked her to let him take his time with her, and warned her he’d be clumsy even if she did. Tried to be honest with her, even if it wasn’t the most romantic thing to hear.

He just needs time, she thought then. If you’re gonna die on him eventually, the least you can give him is that.

“Course Ah’m coming,” she answered softly, pushing the worries to the back of her mind. She pulled on her jeans and threw a tee over her head. Put on the Star Trek slippers Kurt had bought her so she wouldn’t have another close encounter of the Pyro kind. She hooked her arm through his and closed the door, smiled brightly when a couple of seniors stared. She just needed to give him time. But she still felt the chill as she took his hand, its heat obvious even through her gloves. It’s just his mutation, she told herself, Just his mutation. He’s damn near indestructible: there’s nothing really wrong.

It was only when she stepped outside into the chill morning air that she noticed the heat they left behind them. The way the air had burned.

Disclaimer: This fan-fiction is not written for profit and no infringement of copyright is intended.

CHAPTER TWELVE

“You might not believe this, but I have good news.”

Marie shot Beast a frankly cynical look and cocked an eyebrow. Gave Logan’s hand a squeeze and then winked. “Now why would ya say that?” she drawled dryly, happy at least with the way this was opening. She’d had enough stress today already, and she didn’t like worrying Logan when he was so clearly on edge. “Ya think Ah got trust issues or something?” And she batted her eyelashes at the doctor, the very picture of innocence.

Just like she’d planned, Logan’s mouth twitched in a smile.

Score one for the Southern Belle.

McCoy was still trying to look stern, but his eyes were dancing. It was so seldom that he got to give good news these days, he probably wanted to enjoy it. “No, I think you’ve got worse luck than a naked monk tossed put of a plane in a snow storm, Marie. In fact, I happen to know that if it’s going to go wrong here in the mansion, it’s probably going to go wrong with you.” She gave a snort and he finally let the smile split his face. “But for once, you seem to have lucked out.” His gaze flicked to Logan. “And it has everything to do with you, Wolverine. A statement I will never repeat again, so savour it.”

Another twitch of a smile. “Consider it savoured.”

Beast snickered. “There’s a chill running down my spine as we speak.”

“Hey, boys,” Marie interrupted then, waving her hand between them, “It’s all about me, remember?” She gestured to the manila file he’d passed her when she sat down and flicked through the test results. “You said you had good news, Hank: wanna catch me up?”

Beast cleared his throat then and grinned sheepishly. “Forgive me, Marie, but you must understand…” He gestured randomly towards herself and Logan. “I’ve given so much bad news, when it comes to the cure- If I didn’t think it was out of line I’d be doing a samba right now.”

“And I’d be pretending I was blind,” Logan dead-panned. Still apparently on his pre-schooler riff.

Just accept it woman: you find it sexy as Hell.

She dragged her mind back to the matter at hand then. Tried not let that train of thought go anywhere while she was still in Hank’s office and wearing all her clothes. McCoy began pointing to the first document he’d handed her, his smile getting even brighter. “Here, here and here,” he said animatedly, indicating several lines of highlighted results. It looked like gibberish to Marie, but she’d take his word for it. “This shows that in the last two weeks your wildcat has started to stabilise. Probably as a result of interaction with Wolverine’s mutation, an interaction I want to know nothing about.” Logan shot him a mock glower and he shrugged. “What can I say? I feel she has odd taste in men.” Marie gave another snort of laughter and Logan switched his mock glower to her. She stuck out her tongue at him and Hank rolled his eyes. Continued. “You’ve been channelling his healing factor, Marie, and it’s had an effect on your, what is it you call it? The New Reliable?”

“That’s the ladylike name fer it,” Logan muttered.

“Ah could hardly call it mah Pain in the Ass in front of the students, now could Ah?” she retorted. “And by the way? Still all about me. So let’s try to stay on track.” But she squeezed his hand in hers and immediately he quieted down some. She was always amazed by the effect she had on him. Or rather, the effect he let her have on him.

She pushed the thought away.

“So what does this mean, Hank?” she began hopefully. “Ah’m powerful as Ah’m gonna get?”

“No, your power will probably continue to grow exponentially,” he corrected absently. “You’re approaching class four status Marie, where previously you were a class two. You’re getting stronger by the day, make no mistake about that.” She opened her mouth to interrupt and he held up a silencing hand. Apparently didn’t notice the momentary disappointment on her face. “But if Logan’s healing factor transfers to you permanently then you won’t have to worry about the secondary mutation flaring out of control or warring with your primary. You also won’t have to worry about a knock-on effect from the cure damaging your body. The healing factor will keep everything working well together, ensuring the health of the host. Just like it does for Wolverine.”

“Keeps me pretty too,” Logan muttered dryly, and again Hank rolled his eyes.

“That’s a matter of opinion.”

But Marie said nothing, just frowned. Tried to let it sink in. Tried to take in how goddamn lucky she was. Because after everything she’d been through the last three months-

She was going to be okay.

A breath she hadn’t known she’d been holding for the better part of three months-no, no four years- whooshed out, and suddenly she wanted to cry. Not sad tears, joyful ones, because she was gonna get to live to a ripe old age with someone she loved. Damn. She very nearly stood up and then thought better of it, sitting down and letting her smile beam out. Going to take off her gloves and only stopping herself in time. This was the best news she could have had: She might actually stop being dangerous. She might actually have some semblance of a normal life. She might actually get to stay with Logan, and that was better than anything else, New and Old Reliables be damned. She was going to live-

“What’s she doing?” Hank muttered, worried.

“It’s called bein’ happy,” Logan growled. “Don’t ruin it for her: She don’t get to do it very often.” Marie wrapped her arms around him and kissed him so hard she thought she mighta pulled something. She heard his laughter rumble in his chest, felt him pull her closer and run his thumbs along her cheeks, grinning like- Like he was happy as she was. Her mutation sputtered into life and she felt the thrum of his personality underneath her skin, the worry from this morning already a distant memory. He was genuinely happy, delighted that she would be fine. Thinkin’ o’ celebrating in several ways that’d make Hank blush… And that was good news for Marie. Images came, a room filled with golden light and long shadows, her pressed against him like she was never gonna leave-The good doctor was clearing his throat loudly but she didn’t care none- Salt and sweat and the two of them together- The press of him against her heart-and then Heat, burning heat-

Logan broke contact. Simply…put her away from him. Pulled physically and psychically away from her so abruptly it hurt. She hadn’t known he could do that. Never felt like he wanted to before, but now-

He wouldn’t look at her. Wouldn’t even meet her gaze.

He still had his arms around her, but there might as well have been an ocean between them. Or a wall. Hank smiled, looking like he was doing it against his better judgement, apparently unaware of the sudden chill, and continued. “Well, you can of course celebrate, ahem, in private. Seeing as you’re so pleased. Just as soon as we get you through your medical, Logan.” He began gathering his papers. “You still want one, don’t you?”

Wolverine shot him a sudden look, frowning. Curious but kinda relieved too. And then immediately covered it, when he saw Marie catch him in the act. For a moment she thought he was gonna refuse and then suddenly the other Logan, the cold-hearted smart-ass who sometimes worked as an X-Man, came centre field. Took charge like it was necessary, and physically stepped away from her.

Suddenly Marie felt cold.

“Why Hank,” Logan drawled, “You’re making me blush.” Still not looking at her, he began pulling at his shirt and headed to the ante-room where Marie had spent so much time. Effectively dismissing her like they were working a target and he had point. “Give us a few, okay Marie?” he called over his shoulder. “I gotta get through this.”

“But-”

“But nothing, Ki-Marie. You’re not needed here.” For a split second he looked… guilty. And then the other Logan was back, and he turned from her with nary a backward glance. Hank finally seemed to notice the chill because he took her elbow and began leading her from the room, murmuring gently that they had a lot to get through and it wouldn’t take long. Not mentioning Logan’s change in attitude, though normally he’d have told him off over being so damn rude. “We have to do some psionic tests,” McCoy was saying, “And I can’t have you throwing off the results.”

She stopped and folded her arms. “What’s that supposed t’mean?”

Now Hank looked kinda pissed: He hated being put in the middle of Storm and Kurt too. “It means that you have a mental ability which has never been trained,” he said severely, “And since there’s a dearth of telepathic mutants left these days you’re not going to get your training anytime soon.” He gestured to Logan. “Wolverine has a strong immunity to telepathic manipulation, but you can never be too sure-”

A horrible thought occurred to her. “Are you sayin’ Ah could be hurtin’ him an’ not know it?” she asked, in that Kid voice she always hated. Behind Hank’s shoulder Logan winced. But he didn’t correct her none. “Can we get on with this, Hank?” he snapped instead.

Hank took the hint. “No, Marie,” he said firmly, “I’m not saying you’re hurting him: I’m saying we have to check.” He gestured to the door, firmer this time. None of that laughter left in his eyes. “The patient has asked that you wait outside, Marie. Please.” And he ushered her out. She sat down in one of the more god-awfully uncomfortable chairs and crossed her arms, waiting. Trying to focus on the fact that she would be okay. But she couldn’t shake the strange feeling which was running through her, a feeling which had been with her for the last two weeks. Because she knew herself and her luck well enough to be suspicious of any windfall. Because she knew he was running hotter than usual, and that had started the night he came to see her in the Penalty Box. Because she knew there was something going on with him, something he didn’t want her to see.

Heat, burning heat-loss and pain- Fear-

Marie folded her hands together and rested her chin upon them. Picked a spot on the wall and stared, waiting for him to finish up. And tried not to conjure what might be wrong with her Logan.

And who might be the cause.

Disclaimer: This fan-fiction is not written for profit and no infringement of copyright is intended. Still unbetaed, mistakes are all mine.

CHAPTER TWELVE

She was waiting for him when he came out.

Or rather, when Hank (literally) kicked him out of the room. Claws and all. Knocked him into the corridor and then tossed his jacket after him, telling him to, “Put the redneck scalpels away in front of the lady,” when he noticed Marie waiting. Turned out, Beast wanted him to talk about what was happening, and when he refused things got a little…heated. Interactive, if you will. The Marie in his head had just rolled her eyes. Her flesh and blood counterpart did likewise.

Though she looked a little more pissed.

Stared straight ahead like nothing had happened, her mouth set in a thin line. Looked up when he opened the door, nodded to Hank, but didn’t look at him. Didn’t take his hand like she normally did neither. Just stood and made for the conference room, muttering something about having a surprise guest. Wolverine wished he could ask her about what had happened, but he knew it’d do no good. Wasn’t like he could explain how the nightmares, with their images of him slicing and dicing her, of her as some hollering, scratching, have-your-pants-off-before-you-can-say-condom stranger, scared the crap outta him. It’d change the way she looked at him with those sweet blue eyes forever. Might even drive her away, and he couldn’t let that happen now that he knew his nearness was healing her. So he had to withdraw instead. It was the only way to keep her safe.

Sure bub, his inner Wolveirne growled, This is all about her.

He pushed the thought away.

They found their guest, Assistant DA Robert “Iceman,” Drake camped outside Storm’s office like a groupie at a Backstreet Boys concert. All shiny and slick and doing his bestest impression of Cyclops. Throw in a beard and you’da sworn he’d hit puberty. Nothing about him however, from his set-your-watch-by-it haircut to his shiny Gucci loafers, was enough to make the token mutant in City Hall comfortable in front of the Wolverine, and it showed. Drake seemed to shrink the moment he laid eyes on Logan, gaze darting away soon as he’d instinctively loped an arm around Marie’s shoulders and pulled her close despite the way she stiffened. Boy damn near blushed. Inwardly Logan grinned: Felt good to remind young Robert just where he stood in the pecking order, no matter how many GQ covers he’d done. Especially since he knew he was up a certain creek without a paddle, where Marie was concerned.

“Do Ah look like a tree?” she whispered sarcastically. Though she didn’t throw his arm off.

“No, you look like a babe.”

Despite herself a tiny smile tugged at her features. “Right answer,” she murmured.

Drake cleared his throat then. “I’m sorry to just drop in unannounced,” he began, “But I was wondering whether I could have a word with Marie?” He clicked open his briefcase and started taking out papers, nodding to Kurt and Storm like Marie’d already given her okay. Dismissive in the finest pencil pusher tradition. Logan wondered idly whether a lack of morning caffeine was considered a legitimate excuse for homicide, or whether the day he’d had so far was enough. Though Drake kept this up and Marie might just go Wolvie on him herself, he thought. Which was always entertaining. “I won’t keep you long, Marie,” Drake continued obliviously, “But you must understand that I have an obligation-”

“Bobby,” Rogue interrupted dryly, “Do ya mind explaining why ya talkin’ t’me like you got a stick up your butt?”

Drake blinked. So did Kurt. Storm made a sound suspiciously like a snort.

Logan felt a little sorry for Drake, since he suspected he was about to get the tail-end of her anger at him. But then, that’s what starch in your boxers did for a boy.

“Ah mean,” she continued casually, “You show up here after who knows how long and start demanding stuff, and makin’ with the paper-work, and actin’ like Ah done something wrong.” She brushed the hair from her face with studied nonchalance. “C’mon, Bobby, Ah’ve seen ya naked: do we really gotta be so damn formal with one another?”

Drake, to his credit, didn’t rise to the bait. Exactly. After all, he had dated Marie, and he knew how little impact trying to lay down the law with her would have. Just looked nervously at Logan again and tried that same trust me smile. “I’m not sure whether this is the right forum-” he began. “The matter is delicate-”

“How delicate?”

“Your husband delicate.”

We get to talk about the swamp rat? The inner Wolverine groaned. This day just got better and better, don’t it?

Marie took in a deep breath then. Shook her head and shot Drake a tired smile. “Ah was worried you’d say that.” She nodded to the others, suddenly wary. “We need the room, okay, guys?” And then quietly, so only Logan would hear, “Stay close, yeah?”

“Always,” he growled. Took his position at her six. The others filed out soon as she asked them, Storm giving the younger woman a small pat on the shoulder as she went. Kurt closed the door last, shooting Drake a warning look as he did so. Even showing his teeth a little for effect. Drake’s eyes flashed questioningly to Logan as the lock clicked and Marie immediately straightened up, pulling his free arm around her waist. Effectively cutting off that line of inquiry before it even started.

Which was kinda a relief.

“So what’s Remy done this time?” Marie asked bluntly once they were alone. “Another incendiary speech? More playing around with those morons at Mutants First?” She let the silence hang. Again Drake looked at Wolverine like he wanted him out of the room but this time he let one of his claws loose and settled the matter. Decisively.

Drake sighed. “Marie, nobody has seen your husband for at least two weeks,” he said eventually. “He went missing from the parking lot of a bar outside of Meridian, name of Merlottes. You know it?”

He asked her, but he was looking at Logan. Which was weird.

She shrugged. “Merlottes is a swamp dive,” she answered. “Remy knew a lot of swamp dives. Him and Emma-” and she trailed off. A slight blush on her cheeks. Now that was one story he wanted to hear. “You wanna know where he is, go check with Belladonna in New Orleans: he’s probably hiding behind her skirts. Or you could try Etienne’s.” She shot him a mirthless smile. “If ya can get out in once piece, that is.” She met his gaze now, eyes quizzical. “He does this, Bobby: channels his inner Johnny Cash. He’ll be back in a couple o’ weeks, swearing blind the government drove him to it and stinking of someone who ain’t me.”

Drake cocked an eyebrow. “You really think so?”

“Yeah, Ah do.” She twined her hands through Logan’s and leaned more closely into him, her tenseness forgotten for a moment. Closed her eyes, the expression strangely vulnerable. She looked so damn small. “Truth is, Ah seen him less than the courts did this last year, Bobby. You’d have more luck trying his PA.” Again that mirthless smile. “Who knows? You might even get a straight answer outta her. Ah never could.”

“So you two weren’t close?”

She shook her head. “You can’t be close to someone who’s never there.” And then she smiled sadly at Logan. “Or more precisely, who’s there in body but not in spirit.”

“The last time you talked it was amicable?”

“No, it was a screaming match. But that was in our cabin here in New York, so unless you think Ah can teleport across the country, he was miles away from me when he went walkabout.”

Drake nodded thoughtfully then, but he didn’t relax. If anything he tensed up. “And there hasn’t been any other incidents you might like to add?” He gestured towards Logan. Got tenser again. Which just proved what a clever boy he was. “After all,” he continued, “Your relationship with your husband was hardly placid. And from what I’ve seen today you’ve moved on quite decisively in the last few weeks-”

“Watch your mouth, bub,” Logan growled.

Drake blinked at him, feigning innocence. “Are you telling me you were unaware of her marriage to Mr. LeBeau?”

Now Marie growled. “I’m telling you it’s none of your business, Robert.”

The smug look on Drake’s face woulda made Gandhi’s blood boil. “And the six separate call-outs from police in the last eighteen months, those aren’t my business either?” He shook his head. “Tell me, Marie: how many times were you going to call the cops before you actually pressed charges?”

What?

Logan growled then, getting to his feet. Charges? he thought, They wanted her to press charges? He shot Marie an angry, questioning look but she shook her head, asking him to be quiet. Later, she mouthed, Not here. She didn’t like the idea of people knowing her business, never had. And judging by the look on her face, she liked the idea of Bobby Drake knowing her business even less. “Whatever you’re fishing for, Robert,” she snapped through clenched teeth, “Ah suggest you look somewhere else.” She stood up. “We’re done here.”

“A man is missing-”

“And you are outta line.” She crossed her arms, jerked her chin stubbornly in an expression she knew he’d recognise. “A high profile mutant activist has gone missing and you need someone to blame,” she bit out. “Preferably another mutant, since if this is a hate crime you’d have t’open up a whole can o’ civil rights worms you and your bosses wanna pretend don’t even exist.” Drake opened his mouth to correct her but she spoke over him with nary a pause. “Mah husband is missing. Fine. You know what? He’s been missing on and off for the last three years. You didn’t care much then. Ah can only hazard a guess why you care now, in this re-election year.” She bounced back on her heels. “If you wanna make a name for yourself, knock yourself out. But you will not drag me inta this, Bobby Drake, and you won’t drag Logan into it either.” She put her face in his, not a trace of her earlier vulnerability visible. “Now get the hell outta mah house. ‘Fore Ah kick you out.”

“You should listen to her, son,” Logan muttered. “Girl’s got a vicious temper.”

Drake shot him a venomous look. “And a pet rottweiler, by the looks of things.”

Logan smiled extra pretty. “I’m a wolverine.”

“That’s one word for it.” He snapped the briefcase closed. “This isn’t over. You’ll be hearing from my office-”

“And you’ll be wearing those Guccis for a hat. Son.” Just for a second temper got the better of Drake at that and the air began to drop, his power gearing up. Ice beginning to form on his finger-tips, his skin getting pale and cold. Logan dropped his weight to the balls of his feet, shifted his stance for combat. Popped out one other claw like the was doing Drake a favour and grinned.

Marie began pulling off one of her gloves and instantly the ice disappeared.

So he knew her mutation was back.

Drake straightened his shirt then. Tugged at a cufflink and tried to regain his calm. “If something did happen,” he muttered, “And it was a case of self defence, I’d have fought your corner. It’s not like I’m unfamiliar with that terrain.”

Marie’s voice was caustic. “Ah ain’t Kitty,” she drawled. “Ah don’t need a knight in shining armour to fight mah battles for me. Ah take care o’ mahself.”

Drake’s eyes shifted to Logan and then back to her. A callous smile slit his face. “You just keep telling yourself that, Mrs. LeBeau,” he muttered. And then he was gone.

The silence in his wake was deafening.

Logan sat down, gearing himself up for a conversation about her marriage he’d been avoiding since she’d gotten here, and tried to rein in the impulse to go looking for Gambit himself. If that rat bastard had raised a hand to her- Marie must’ve read the look on his face because she cleared her throat then and sat down next to him. Sighed and took his hand in hers. And to think two hours ago one little nightmare had been all he had to worry about…

“Some days,” she murmured sourly, “It’s just Johnny Cash all the way, ain’t it?”

He nodded grimly.

Ain’t it just.

Disclaimer: This fan-fiction is not written for profit and no infringement of copyright is intended. Still unbetaed, mistakes are all mine.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

“You should have told me.”

Logan was stalking through the mansion, scattering students like so many pigeons. Already jangling his bike keys and heading towards the supply lockers. He brushed past Kurt and Storm without a word, scared the living bejayzus outta a couple of sophomores as he went by.

Marie sighed. She’d known this was gonna be a long day.

She tried to catch up with him then. Also tried to smile apologetically at everyone he’d bumped into, good southern girl that she was. “What should Ah have told you?” she muttered, dodging through the crowds. “That Remy’s a dick? Thought you were onboard with that ‘fore Ah was-”

“That’s cute, Marie.” He spun on his heel to face her. Lowered his voice. “You should have told me that that rat Cajun-”

“Is missing,” Marie finished for him. She grabbed his arm, pulling him closer to her. She needed to cool him down now. “You heard Bobby, he hasn’t been seen in more than two weeks-”

“And what’s that t’me?” He tried to brush her hand off but she held on tighter, knowing he wouldn’t get rough with her. Anybody else maybe, but not her. He looked so damn worried- “If you think I’m gonna let this go-”

“Ah don’t expect you to let this go, Ah expect you t’calm down. Like you said you would.” And she pulled him to a halt, turning him to face her.

“No.” His hands were clenching, the claws ready t’pop. He kept going like this and pretty soon they were gonna have the entire mansion to themselves. People would be tripping over themselves to leave. “The only thing we need to get is some wheels and a road map. Give me his scent, I’ll track him-”

“And then what?” She crossed her arms over her chest. Clearly she was gonna have to get stubborn with him if she had a hope of slowing him enough to talk sense inta that thick-boned skull o’ his.

He shot her that other Logan’s grin. The grin that made people afraid. “And then we see how he likes fightin someone who can fight back.”

“Unlike me?” Marie threw her hands heavenwards. This was getting ridiculous. “Logan, do you really think Ah’d stay with someone violent?” she demanded.

His face twisted for a second. “You stay with me,” he muttered.

“That’s different.”

“Is it?” Looked down at his feet, wary suddenly. Again she was reminded of this morning in Hank’s office, of the fear she’d seen in his eyes. The Wolverine in her head growled his agreement and her heart gave a twist. Ah evah get mah hands on Bobby Drake again, she thought, and Ah’m gonna strangle him for this.

But then, knowin’ Bobby there’s probably already a queue.

She reached out for him then, laying a hand on his chest. Again she felt the heat from this morning burning through the fabric, and she wondered whether he’d noticed something was wrong yet. Whether Hank could be right and she was hurting him without trying. “You’re not that kind of man, Logan,” she began. “You don’t get off on pain.” He tried to speak over her and she rushed on. “You don’t like seeing me hurting, and neither does Remy. It’s about the only thing y’all have in common.” A beat. She forced herself to meet his gaze. “But even if ya did like hurtin‘ women, Ah got new for ya: Ah’d kill ya ’fore Ah let ya damage me, sugah, and that’s the gospel truth.”

He froze then.

Mainly, she suspected, because the Marie in his head had assured him it was true. He looked at her weirdly, and once again she was reminded of this morning in Hank’s office. Of the way he pulled away. This time she could guess the cause though: Professor Xavier used to say that Logan’s only real fear was fear of himself. And fear of himself when it came to her in particular.

She pressed her advantage at his silence. She knew it might be the only chance she’d get. “Bobby Drake was on a fishing trip, this morning darlin’,” she muttered tightly. “He wanted t’see what reaction he could get outta ya.” She took his hand in hers, feeling his skin’s unnatural heat through his gloves, and tried again to wave away her worry. “Mah guess is he thought Ah did something t’Remy. When he saw you-” She shrugged. Willed her voice sensible. “He’s never liked you. You got in between him and me, you got in between him and Kitty.” Her lip twitched a tiny bit at the memory. “And Ah seem t’recall you being the one who told Pete Kitty was a free agent again.” For a moment Logan’s smile matched hers: Katya Rasputin was currently living in downtown Irkutsk with her two kids and sculptor boyfriend, one Colossus, thanks to Wolverine and his way with forged travel papers. “He only said that t’get a rise outta ya, Logan,” she muttered. “C’mon, you’re smart enough to know that.”

She could tell by his expression she was getting through. “So you never rang the cops?”

“Ah called ‘em once.” He cocked an eyebrow at her and she shrugged again. “We had a neighbour, this evil old buzzard who hated mutants. Every time me or Remy sneezed she was on the phone t’the police. But me? Ah made one complaint, a fundraiser party that got outta hand.” She willed her voice to stay reasonable. “Ah swear, that’s it.”

“You sure?”

She shot him a Look. “Yeah, Ah’m sure. Ah’m also sure that whatever reason Bobby has for tracking down Remy, it ain’t for mah benefit.”

He gave a snort. “So you don’t think he’s just being a good Samaritan.”

She poured every ounce of cynicism she possessed into her expression. It was impressive. “A New York City ADA snooping around a Mississippi missing persons?” she scoffed. “Spare me. That boy wouldn’t know Christian charity if it came up and start chewin’ on his britches.” She sniffed, letting the familiarity of shop-talk calm her. “Remy knew a lotta dangerous people, Logan. Charmed ‘em too. Ah always assumed he’d rolled over for the DA’s office: only reason Ah could conjure he didn’t end up in jail.”

“So you reckon Popsicle’s his handler?”

She shrugged again. “Maybe. Bobby climbed that greasy pole awful quick when he left us: an inside track on the civil rights movement would explain it.”

“And now?” Logan muttered. “Gambit got tired o’ playing terrorist?”

“Or someone got tired o’ letting him.” She shook her head to herself: It felt weird, talking business with Logan. And yet, somehow it made the last few weeks more real too… “On the other hand, it might be Guild business: The Tithing’s comin’ up-” She smiled dryly. “Not that Ah’m supposed t’know anything ‘bout that. Still, Belladonna’s been fussin’…” Her expression turned thoughtful. “Might even be one of his girlfriends making demands…” And then she winced. Of all the things she’d had to admit, that was the hardest. That her husband had screwed anything female with a pulse for the last year or so and she still hadn’t left him. She wasn’t sure she could face Logan’s reaction to that.

He turned her chin up to face him.

“Not your fault he’s a jerk, Marie,” he said softly. His anger gone now she needed it to be. She felt a stab of bewilderment, that she could have gotten so lucky, given her track record. But he was right there-

“Mah fault if Ah stayed.” Suddenly she felt tired, embarrassed. Like a Kid. “Believe me, Ah stayed through a lotta bad things. A lotta crap-” Despite herself she leaned her forehead against his chest for a second and let his presence calm her. Felt his hand rest at the back of her neck as he kissed the top of her head. “Mutant separatists don’t tend to like punch-lines-” Punch-lines being slang for a gene joke who took the cure and found their punch-line: Death- “A few times it got outta hand… The night we called the cops it was because this massive guy tried to pick me up. Literally. Didn’t think Remy would mind-”

“What a charmer.”

“You’ve no idea,” she muttered darkly. Sighed and crossed her arms. And once again, Ah sound like a victim. “Remy had some dubious supporters, like Ah said. This guy saw me standing on mah own, nobody payin’ me any attention, and he thought Ah was good for target practice.” The memory of it still chilled her unaccountably. There had been something about that man, something familiar. The way a bogeyman from a nightmare is familiar. “Ah was wearing your dog-tags,” she said softly, trying to drive away her discomfort. The tags always made her feel safe. “Drove Remy crazy when Ah wore ‘em where he could see ‘em-”

He snickered. “Which is why you did it.”

“Never said Ah was mature.”

“Never said I objected.” He looked at her real straight again. “So the guy got rowdy?” he prompted.

“That’s putting it mildly. When he saw the tags he started askin’ me all these questions, where Ah came from, where Ah’d found ‘em. Didn’t think you’d appreciate him knowing your business so Ah wouldn’t answer and then- Well, then he got a little steamed.”

Again the cocked eyebrow. “How steamed?”

“Remy went through an entire pack o’ playing cards t’get him outta the house steamed.” Just another Johnny Cash moment in what had been a Johnny Cash marriage. “It was weird,” she continued, trying to push away her humiliation, “The way he was so interested. And Ah swear, he sniffed me when he saw the dog tags. Almost like you, but… different. Wrong, somehow.” She trailed off, distracted by the memory.

Logan frowned. “Did this joker have a name?”

“Hmm?” He shot her an exasperated look and she smiled. “Yeah, it wasn’t a mutant handle, which was weird. Most separatists still refer to the name their momma gave ‘em as a slave name. It’s all Neanderthal this and Vortex of Pain that.” She shot him a dry smile. “Personally Ah’m waiting for someone t’choose Flopsy or Wabbit-Tails.” They both smiled at that as she shook her head. “But this guy?” His face bloomed in her mind, and again a chill ran down her spine. “Said his name was.. James,” she muttered. That was it. “James Howlett-”

And at that all Hell broke loose.

Disclaimer: This fan-fiction is not written for profit and no infringement of copyright is intended. Beta-ed by Ami L. Mandel. Cheers, I owe you love!

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

For one split second, all Logan could process was silence; absence of meaning. It was like the name Marie had just used was, was a nothingness inside his skull. A hole. Random noise. Blank space.

And then-

It came to him in a moment. Memories, thousands of memories. His. Scent. Grass and sunlight. Give and press of soft skin- And then: How could you do that? How could you do that to me, James? Screams. Blood on his hands, dirt underneath his skin. Killer. Animal. Monster. Flash of red hair, bone into metal into pain into death-And that name, that name jack-hammering through his head like a freight-train. Howlett, James Howlett. Howlett, James Howlett. Howlett, James Howlett-The best of the best at what he does.

But what he does is just plain sick.

His gaze went to Marie then. Blue eyes wide, trying to pull him close. Yelling things he wouldn’t hear, calling out to him. Will not answer, soldier. Need to know. The memories were becoming overwhelming- Is this who you wanted to be, Jimmy? Is this your precious Goddamn quest-? and he tried to pull away from her but she wouldn’t let him. She could see what this was doing to him, see this murderous, animal rage- Jesus he didn’t want it moving underneath her sweet, soft skin- and she wanted to help. Wanted to touch, just like always. Smiling, squeezing his gloved hand in her bare ones-

And that was when all Hell broke loose.

Because the second her bare hand made contact with his glove, something simply ripped the wall behind them down as if it were made of paper. For a beat there was silence and then suddenly the kids were screaming, hauling each other to safety. The older mutants snatching up the little ones, powers kicking off as the students bi-located, telekinetically lifted and wholesale mutated the debris out of the way. The coordination pretty damn impressive for a bunch o’ teenagers. That lanky smart-assed senior, Julian Keller, using his telekinesis to prevent the roof from toppling in. Little Meghan Gwynne flitting a couple of feet from the ground, trying to check Noriko Ashida’s safety bracelets to make sure she didn’t overload. Smoke everywhere, the youngest crying though nobody seemed to be hurt- He had to get Marie to safety- But Rogue wasn’t looking at him anymore. Her eyes were riveted to a spot over his shoulder, her expression horrified. Logan didn’t think he’d ever be able to move again but he followed her line of vision-

And stopped dead.

Standing in the centre of the room was a burning woman. The burning Marie from his dreams, in point of fact. The woman was smiling, her smoke-filled eyes black. You called for me, her voice whispered in his head. Snaked down his spine like a chill that burned. You called for me and Ah came James. Even if you don’t deserve it. She was moving towards him, every step leaving a charred black footprint in its wake, her fingers trailing scorch-marks over the walls. Eyes fastened on Marie, her smile predatory-

Instinct kicked in then.

Everything went quiet and clear. Memories set aside, and only two words existed: Protect Marie. He shoved her behind him, popping his claws just as she was out of arm's reach. Logan strained his senses and sniffed the air. The thing didn’t have a scent, but that didn’t mean it couldn’t bleed. He checked to make sure there were no students nearby to use as a shield (there weren’t) and eyed the ruptured room for any other masonry Smokey felt like throwin’ his way. But nothing was twitchin’, which meant that either she was toying with him, or she’d tuckered herself out with the grand opening. Jesus, he hoped it was option B. The burning woman took another step towards him, her hungry gaze still fastened on Rogue, and Logan growled. He could feel the adrenaline starting to build, the animal inside him itching to come out and play-

Because if there was one good thing about discovering you were a hundred-year-old monster, it was this: You knew how to fight dirty for what was yours.

“Get goin’, Marie,” he growled through his teeth, eyeing the newcomer. “I got this.”

“The hell Ah will,” Rogue snapped. She stepped out from behind him, shifting her weight to the balls of her feet and taking a fighter’s stance. Some tiny part o’ him felt proud at her confidence and some tiny part o’ him felt furious at it, but he knew arguing with her wouldn‘t do a blind bit o’ good. “Ah got point,” she muttered, “You take mah six, since she seems so damn interested in me.” He opened his mouth to protest but she feinted towards the newcomer, drawing its attention and giving him the tactical advantage. Forcing him to acknowledge that in a battle situation, two heads really were better than one.

Marie locked eyes with their opponent and began backing up then, already mentally calculating how much room she had before she hit a wall. About fifteen feet, she guesstimated, enough to give Logan room to manoeuvre if they were lucky. She just needed to keep Smokey there distracted while Storm and Kurt got the kids away. She maintained eye-contact with the target, concentration not wavering a millimetre. Half glad she had her gloves off, since now might be a good time to borrow someone’s powers for a tic-

And pray the New Reliable didn’t kick in while she was at it.

It would have to be skin-to-skin contact then: the Old Reliable was way more predictable than the New. And she was in a room full of kids. Her eyes went to Kurt first but she discarded the thought: She’d found his mutation impossible to control the last time and there was no room for error now. Ditto on Storm: God only knew what kinda damage she’d cause if she went there. The oldest kids had formed a perimeter to protect the youngest, which meant that she had several powerful actives to choose from, but even then she would have to be careful. Ashida was out of the question: she’d fry the county. The nearest suitable was Keller but Hellion’s telekinesis was the only thing holding up the roof right now, and Gwynne- Just no. She needed to borrow a power which was defensive and not explosive. And she needed it yesterday. The burning woman was grinning at her playfully, clearly unfazed by her presence, and instinctively Marie darted towards the perimeter, making sure to keep between them and the newcomer. Also ensuring that since Smokey turned to follow her, Wolverine was now behind their opponent.

Safest place for him to be, she knew.

She wanted to check on him but she didn’t dare break eye-contact. Instead she fell back a little more, searching the hall as unobtrusively as she could. Then she felt it: Behind her a tiny hand reached underneath her jeans’ leg to touch her bare skin. Immediately fourteen year old Sooraya Qadir’s mutation rippled through her, her body beginning to swirl into dust. Ah owe ya one Kid, she thought as her hands, her skin dissolved. Her form stretching out and hanging on the air. Suddenly she felt as wide as the world, the breath in her lungs filling the spaces between her molecules. She let herself hover on the breeze and as she did so she felt Logan through her other mutation. You keep on distractin’ her, darlin’, Wolverine whispered in her head. Keep her attention on us and not the kids. Smokey was pulling at her, psychically trying to grab a hold of her form but Marie darted around the other woman, keeping out of her grasp. Pictured her body pulling in tight against itself, clenching like a fist, and then suddenly releasing the pressure like a blow. It worked: Smokey was thrown backwards, smashing into what was left of the hall’s door-jam and setting it alight. For a moment her ghost-like body seemed to destabilize, her shape flying apart like smoke against a gale and with their opponent distracted, Logan went on the offensive. He swung a vicious left, then a right, lightning quick jabs so ferocious that anything made of flesh and blood wouldn’t have stood a chance. But as soon as he attacked she seemed to regain her physical focus, and within seconds she was back on her feet-

And Logan was passing right through her.

Marie watched in horror as Wolverine’s form slid clear through the burning woman’s, his body landing with a heavy thud on the other side of her. Within seconds he was back on his feet but by then it was too late. The burning woman gestured with her hand and immediately he was raised aloft, his feet a couple of inches off the ground, helpless. Logan’s eyes were scanning the room, searching for anything he could strike back with, but nothing was within reach. And unlike the other students, he didn’t have any psionic abilities to help him out. Marie tried to attack again but the burning woman’s telekinesis held her back, no matter how she struggled. Or how she swore. Smokey began shaking Logan, making a slashing motion with her hands: Immediately vicious red burns appeared across his face and chest. She raked her hands downwards and burns tore through his sides, the cloth of his shirt and jeans suddenly streaked with ash. She was burning him from the inside out, Marie suddenly realised. She could feel it through their link. “That the best ya got, bub?” he muttered through clenched teeth, and the burning woman pulled her hands apart, splaying his limbs out agonisingly. Logan grunted in pain.

Something in Marie snapped.

Without really thinking it through, she charged at the other woman - and she made contact. Smashed into her with the force of a hurricane, her only thought was to keep her Logan safe. The burning woman was thrown backwards again, smacking into the ground so hard the floor cracked. The few remaining students screamed but Rogue was beyond caring; Within seconds she was tearing at her opponent with everything she had, her mind a merciless dust storm, cutting her way through anything in her path. Smokey struggled but she was truly no match for her. Or for her rage. It was the weirdest sensation, like trying to wrestle a shadow, but since her body was still mostly sand she couldn’t burn- And that did put Little Miss Arson at a disadvantage. For the first time in the battle her opponent’s confidence slipped, and Marie pressed her advantage, grasping those burning wrists and holding her down. Rage making her rain down blow after blow, beyond caring what anyone thought. Not even noticing when the kids turned their faces away.

I will kill him, thief child, the burning woman whispered desperately. I swear I will burn him from the inside out-

“Shut up!” Marie snapped.

Do not try mah patience child, Smokey muttered. If you wish him to live, you will let me go-

“Or what?” She spat. She felt so high on her own anger-

Or this.

And with a vicious gesture she sent Logan reeling backwards, collapsing like a rag doll. Their link sputtering out. Just for a second it felt like a part of her was missing, and immediately Marie dropped her, running towards Wolverine. Her opponent, the kids, all forgotten. He’s okay, her mind chanted, He’s damn near indestructible, he’s gotta be okay. But there was something else thrumming inside her brain, something warning of danger. The world seemed to slow to nothing as she ran to him, her movements deadened like she was running through water. Everything narrowed to this one point. She reached the spot where Logan had fallen and skittered to a halt, trying to force her body into cohesiveness. Suddenly regretting borrowing Sooraya’s gift, because her hands were vibrating so hard she couldn’t touch him. She needed to- Needed him to- She forced herself to concentrate, turning him over and searching his face even as he opened his eyes-

And growled at her.

Not his usual gruff, affectionate greeting. Not even his warning to get the Hell outta the way and let him work. Logan rolled away from her, pulling himself into a protective crouch, and bared his teeth. Snarled. Marie looked into the face of the man she’d known for seven years, the man she loved, and saw absolutely no recognition there. It was like Logan was simply…gone. She reached out for him, trying to touch him and re-establish their link, needing the feel of his large calloused hands in hers and his voice in her head-

And her skin met with bone, where his metal claws had once been.

His knuckles were streaked with what looked like silver tears, the melted adamantium burning a trail across his hands. She stared at it in horror, her mind unable to process it, the remains of Sooraya’s mutation preventing the melted metal from burning her-And suddenly she recognised that voice warning her of danger. It was the Logan in her head, and he sounded-He sounded frightened. Walk away from this, he was whispering, Walk away from this right now, Marie-

But by then it was too late. The Wolverine was loose.

Disclaimer: This fan-fiction is not written for profit and no infringement of copyright is intended. Still unbetaed, mistakes are all mine.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Silence, a beat of silence.

The ache of what had been done to Logan filling the room like a black-hole’s gravitational pull.

Breath speeding-She couldn’t get enough oxygen- adrenaline coursing like a jack-hammer through her veins. She needed to focus- Oh Jesus, sugah, what did she do to ya?- but everything was moving so strangely, like time had slowed down. Ceased to run. Keller, Ashida, Gwynne to her left. Sooraya, the exit to her right. Logan, teeth bared and growling, front and centre, glowering at her like-Like she was something he wanted to eat. Smokey was stalking towards her, laughter like nails screeching across a chalk-board, and Marie tried to manoeuvre herself out of the way, to get between the creature and her clearly-wounded Logan- But the thing just got closer, grinning. Reaching its hands out towards little Sooraya, its fingers almost caressing her soft flesh-

Without any warning the Wolverine launched himself at it, the movement so fast he seemed a blur. Forced it away from the young girl with every ounce of strength he possessed and went on the offensive again. The two opponents rolled and tumbled together, careening out of control, snarling, scratching and hollering. Logan occasionally actually making physical contact with the creature though that was sporadic at best. The scent of burnt flesh bleached the air as human flesh met smoke-and-flame, the broken bone crunching painfully as Smokey smashed him into the floor. Wolverine howled in agony and for a split second Marie closed her eyes to the sound if it, her heart twisting in her chest.

And in that second of darkness her training finally kicked in.

Pull it together Rogue, she thought, He needs you. So get with the Goddamn program and deal.

“Hellion,” she snapped at Keller, the boy now sweating with the effort of holding up the roof, “Ah need ya to fall back and get Storm. Not Kurt or Hank, just Storm.” They didn’t need any other big dogs in this situation: If Logan had gone completely feral, she wasn’t sure how he’d react to two more alpha males in the mix. She grabbed hold of Sooraya, physically pulling the girl away from the two duelling combatants and forcing her behind her back. Gestured sharply to Gwynne and Ashida, who darted to her side from across the room without being told twice and placed the younger girl between them, their mutations powered up. Just in case Smokey tried anything else. Keller was shaking his head in refusal, the roof wobbling as he did so, and Marie fought the urge to slap him. “You need me!” he snapped. “I’m not leaving you girls alone with that animal-”

“That there is no animal, boy,” she snarled tightly, “And Ah ain’t no girl. A senior X-Man just gave you an order, so haul ass-” And as if to make her point Logan broke free from Smokey’s strangle-hold, pinning the creature and slashing at it so hard that the stone floor beneath them cracked. Gaining the upper hand for a moment before Smokey’s hands disappeared inside his chest, Logan’s burning flesh steaming until he managed to pull himself away. Keller jumped to avoid the collision, the roof wobbling dangerously as his concentration wavered, and Marie grabbed his shoulder, yanking his head down to her so she could hiss in his ear. “The Wolverine don’t attack women or children,” she muttered tightly, remembering the last time he’d gone feral, the night he found the bastards who’d dosed Jubilee with the Cure- “But he reads your hissy fit as aggressive and he’s gonna pop. That happens and we are all screwed. So go test drive your balls some other day, son, and Get. Storm. NOW.” And with that she pushed Hellion roughly towards the hole Smokey had torn in the building, praying her actions didn’t distract him enough to bring the roof down. They didn’t: The boy threw one last, worried look back at Ashida and finally left, his eyes still fixed on his target. So long as he had a visual on it, he’d still be able to hold the damn thing up, or so she hoped-

Though to be perfectly honest, she had bigger things to worry about right now.

As soon as he was gone Ashida nodded that they’d take care of the girl while Rogue took point, and immediately Marie darted forward. Closing her eyes and letting Qadir’s borrowed mutation flow through her again, she stretched herself out…. Searching, feeling through the room with these new senses… Raising herself upwards, thinning herself out until she felt as gentle as a puff of breeze, hovering for an instant… And then slowly she slid her newly-intangible form between the two fighters. Sticking as close to Logan as she could so as not to give Smokey any more warning than necessary of her actions. She imagined her body spreading outwards and then collapsing, only this time she enveloped the Wolverine as if in a net. Keeping half her form intangible while the other half hardened to shield him from Smokey’s attack. Feral or not he didn’t seem to see her as a threat-Maybe their link still worked on some level?- and as she pressed closer to him he didn’t fight her. Still snarled at his opponent but pulled his claws back in once he knew she was there. The burning woman halted her onslaught, frowning in incomprehension, and Marie took the opportunity to strike out at the creature, vicious jabs that smashed her into the wall hard enough to destabilise her burning form again- So she could still touch her even if Logan couldn’t- and take her out of the game for a tick. The students took this sudden opportunity to make a break for the exit, Gwynne swooping fearlessly down to help Logan up, the three girls forming a perimeter around him while they limped out- “If she wants him, let the bitch come and get him,” Marie heard Ashida mutter-

But they didn’t get very far.

Because Smokey’s form recovered, her burning flames glowing brighter as soon as the girls touched Logan to help him up. Suddenly the room was hotter n’ Hell, the air thick with emotion and malice. Marie had never felt anything like it: It was as if the very atmosphere itself was heaving and drawing breath, and the heavier the air became the stronger Smokey seemed to get. The creature lurched back towards the girls and Logan, and though Rogue summoned every ounce of energy she had left to charge it, the thing was ready for her and side-stepped; Her own momentum carried her past it and crashed her into the floor. The impact was enough to disorientate her (she had to force her body solid just to get back on her feet), and that was all the opportunity the creature needed. Smokey’s appearance began surging and changing, flames burning black and gold as Hellfire while it drew closer to the now snarling Wolverine. The thing’s torso stretched out, shoulders widening and fingers lengthening into claws. The flames about its face fanning out like a burning, fiery mane. Suddenly instead of a burning woman Smokey looked more like a lion walking on two legs, and Rogue watched in horror as the burning woman turned into some version of… Sabre-tooth? Victor fucking Creed? That’s right darlin’, Logan’s horrified voice whispered in her head, The Ghost of Massacres Past. Any semblance of calm which the Wolverine had previously displayed disappeared the instant he saw Smokey’s new form, and he popped his bone-and-metal claws out with a familiar snikt, the girls and his previous failure to win forgotten. He was operating on pure berserker rage now. Marie forced herself to her feet just in time to see Smokey make a charge for little Meghan Gwynne and in that moment instinct took over. She forced herself in front of the teenager at the exact second Logan drew his claws back to land a killing blow on their attacker. Her swiftness knocking the younger woman backwards and out of harm’s way, and for a second she thought nothing had happened. But then-

Then-

Marie saw the blank rage drop off Logan’s face, to be replaced by one of curious incomprehension. She followed his line of vision and looked slowly downwards to find Logan’s claws digging deep into her side. The left hand ones puncturing something which she suspected was her kidneys, the right in her belly and cutting through her hip. Sooraya was trying to get to her to re-dose her with her mutation- That kid really was one brave girl, she thought disjointedly- but Rogue felt her legs go from under her, her weight smashing her into the floor like she was dragging a corpse. Her form no longer incorporeal since she’d forced her body solid just moments before. For a moment Logan’s face remained blank, his expression unknowing, and then she saw some spark of recognition move through his eyes. Whether he recognised her or not, she wasn’t sure, but even a berserker animal can appreciate someone who’d tried to save him in a fight. He retracted his claws and took her weight, laying her down on the floor. Making some soft, mourning noise she hadn’t known he was capable of making. Leaning protectively over her in case Smokey tried something else. Marie took her last ounce of concentration and focussed on touching him, her bare hand faintly tracing his throat, then his Adam’s apple, trailing down his chest to come to rest over his heart. For a moment nothing happened- He wasn’t running so hot anymore, maybe his healing factor was absent- and then she felt it. Felt the touch of his mind blossom inside hers, felt the bass-growl-and-strength-presence her brain read as Logan coalesce into focus as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

“Oh Jesus, darlin’, what have I done to you?” he whispered. “Christ Marie, You’re-” And his voice trailed off. For a second she remembered another moment like this, when she was sixteen years old with his claws inside her and he was staring at her in horror, helpless with panic at what he had done. She wanted to tell him it was okay- It wasn’t your fault, sugah, ya didn’t do it on purpose- but something was distracting her. Something… painful. Extremely painful. Like, yes-Ah-actually-still-have-bones-and-punctured-sinew-painful. Damn.

Marie felt his healing factor flow through her then, her heartbeat springing into life as it went. Heard as if from far away his sharp intake of breath as she began taking his life essence, his memories flooding through her, his heart-rate sky-rocketing underneath her hand. Images of horrors, too many to count, flowed into her mind, an explanation of why he’d pulled away from her before Smokey arrived. He’d finally gotten his memory back. Their link roared open as he healed her, and she saw things, things she hadn’t known he remembered. Thing’s she’d have wanted to forget. Snow, mountains, clear fresh air. A teenaged boy who looked like Cyclopes, and diamond white girl who looked like Emma Frost. William fucking Stryker, a man she hated more than she’d thought it possible to hate anyone. And Remy, her Remy, frowning at Logan like he knew him. Standing in the middle of a white place, a broke-down palace at the end of the world. Marie could feel darkness coming for her even as the memories kept flowing, even as she dimly registered Storm asking Logan to let her go. She needed to hold on, to see all of it- Needed to know the point of it- But her head was so heavy and her body so weak- Even Smokey seemed unimportant at the moment, when oblivion was calling her like a welcoming friend-

Ah’ll fight, Ah’ll fight t’stay with ya Logan. Ah don’t wanna let ya go…

And then in one split second she saw it, saw it clear as day. Saw why Logan had always hated Remy, even if he hadn’t remembered quite why he did it. A tank, an experiment. An orphanage in Juneau, Alaska. And a secret her husband and Logan had been keeping from her, even if Wolverine at least hadn’t realised he was doing it at the time. She felt her lips move to say it, even as she passed from consciousness. She had to force it into the air, had to make sure someone knew what had happened. Make sure someone would ask questions, if it was the last thing she did. “Witchbreed,” she whispered, “Project Witchbreed…”

And then, good southern girl that she was, she passed out.

It occurred to Storm as she checked her, that Logan didn’t look all that far behind.

Disclaimer: This fan-fiction is not written for profit and no infringement of copyright is intended. Still unbetaed, mistakes are all mine.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

“Logan, let her go.”

No answer.

No. Fucking. Answer.

Weather Witch calls like she knows him but there’s no answer.

Just the girl- His- broken and bleeding. Her blood still warm on his hands.

Claws inside her-Weren’t his, didn’t want ’em, never wanted ‘em- and her heart’s hammering so loud he can hear it. Feel it. Damn near taste its tremor. Just trying t’keep her safe, and now- What? You think you could shape-shift inta being human, soldier? When you know all’s you’re built for is the hunt? The girl moans, arches against him in agony, and he leans over her more closely, tries t’calm her. His, she was His. She’d said so. She loved him. And now-

Broke. Failing. Bleeding. Heard t’Other’s voice say it cos Logan had some semblance of control. “Oh Jesus, darlin’, what have I done to you?”

You’ve done what we always do.

Room hollow, young ‘uns wide-eyed and staring. Little Whirlwind who’d helped Rogue stock still. Terrified- Always scared of him, they should always be scared of him- Some mourning sound, hurting sound, at the back of his throat. “Logan,” Witch whispers, “She’s bleeding out, we have to…” and she tries to move by him, to tend her.

He shows claws, bares teeth. Growls and crouches. Promise of retribution in the sound.

Weather Witch backs the fuck away then.

She’ll not be taken from him by anyone. He swore he’d keep her safe and he will.

Looks around now to find the one did this, the thing that was hurting the young’uns ‘fore he tried t’get between ‘em. Burning One is front and centre, though now it’s frozen…Not moving? Not fighting. Form growing paler -lifeless- as His drifts towards sleep. He cocks his lead, lets his senses guide him and now that he’s listening for it he can hear the thing talking again. ‘Cept it ain’t using the same voice as before. It’s using one sounds like His. Thief Child, it’s saying, over ‘n over, Thief child. Ah’ll take him from you, steal him. You know he’s not meant for you.

And he feels a little bit sick then, cos part of him agrees with the bitch.

The thing’s form is still roiling and surging, even as it grows paler. Body looking less like Victor as His slips away from him and towards somewhere safe. Form phases, a burst of energy seizing it, and suddenly- Suddenly- The thing burns like Jean. Jean? The one came back for Logan? The one they had to kill?- He hears the Witch’s hissing intake of breath then, can smell her upset on the air as the creature takes on the form of her friend- Were him and Jean ever friends?- Burning woman a burning memory- The ghost of what he does to those he loves flaring bright now, like a woman-shaped supernova. Thing turns incandescent -a dying phoenix-

The Witch ain’t done yet with the talkin’. He ain’t done yet with the ignoring her, so that works out fer the best.

“Logan, we need to check on her,” she says more sternly now, like she knows him. He can hear the tears in her voice. Witch tries to move him- He can smell it, she’s getting ornery- Temperature beginning to drop but he ain’t shifting, so the Witch better Goddamn deal- “Marie’s hurt, she needs a doctor-” And the dark, elegant hands try to reach by him, to touch His in her sleep. Girl’s hands reach out fer the Weather Witch. Slide across his skin, warm and soft and weak. Fighting unconsciousness, hammer hammer of her pulse; She don’t wanna leave him, he realises suddenly. Don’t wanna let him go. Weather Witch gets nearer, whispers. Voice of t’Other, of Logan, coming from far away as well. Hands tighten on his mate- I wouldn’t have hurt her, bub, Logan whispers, You’re the one did that, not me- His looking so young and fragile- Falling, failing, fiery, her touch growing colder as she drifts away from him. She whispers that something-some word he don’t wanna think on- That word he knows means pain-

And as her eyes finally drift closed the Burning One, The Once-Was-Phoenix fades completely. Disappears, like a match-flame that’s been snuffed out. His goes to that place of safety where the Wolverine usually slumbers, her little hands resting like talismans against his heart and he takes a moment, checks her. Sniffs and touches to make sure she ain’t wanting-

And lets Logan’s voice takes over his mind…

“Jesus darlin’, what have I done to you?” Logan says again, real quiet-like, his voice so hoarse it’s barely audible. “Christ, you’re-” And he pulls his hands away from her, so quick you’d think he’d been burned. He listens tightly, makes sure her heart is still beating. She took enough of a dose of him, it should set her to rights, but still… “Storm, I think- I think you need t’go get Hank,” he says.

Like that shouldn’t have happened five minutes ago, you idiot. But you were too busy snarling for that.

“Believe me, it’s already done,” Storm says, hand on his shoulder. Scooting closer and checking for vitals while the kids look away and turn pale. Logan closes his eyes, sits down heavily. Memories buzzing. Feeling every single moment of his hundred plus year life. An imprint of the Phoenix is still burning behind his eyelids-

But then anything is better than picturing what he just did to His Marie.

Disclaimer: This fan-fiction is not written for profit and no infringement of copyright is intended. Still unbetaed, mistakes are all mine.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

He’d been in the Goddamn infirmary for hours.

Listening to Hank and Storm and even Ashida babble, when all he wanted was to know was whether Marie was gonna be okay. Smokey had disappeared soon as Rogue lost consciousness, a detail which had more than one of the egg-heads worried and ’Ro a little pissed. Fact was, the thing had morphed into Jean Grey before it vanished and the reappearance of his most famous near ex-girlfriend wasn’t helping Rogue’s case any. Or his temper. Words like uncontrolled psychic projection and rampaging thought form were being bandied about like candy on Christmas morning: He’d already threatened to gut Hellion for muttering about relationship baggage to Ashida, and Storm had all but characterised Smokey as a figment of a jealous girlfriend’s imagination before Kurt bustled her outta Dodge. So many voices, no many Goddamn opinions, but nobody knew what was going on, not really. And the only person who might be able to provide answers was lying in the Infirmary fighting for her life: They thought they were gonna hassle her for answers with her poorly, they were seriously mistaken.

They’d have to go through him first.

Logan crossed his arms angrily then, dragged his chair a little closer to her bed. Made to touch her and then thought better of it, considering the things he’d already forced underneath her skin. It’d been so long since he’d had to watch her in combat, he’d forgotten how damn nerve-wracking he found it- And how good she was. But then, thanks to him she’d had to be-

He pushed the thought away.

The memories were still swarming inside him, but he didn’t wanna look at them. Didn’t wanna face them. Soon as he did that he’d have to face the kind o’ man they made him, and that kinda man shouldn’t be anywhere near Marie, of that he had no doubt. He knew she’d seen some of them when she touched him- She’d whispered that one word, witch-breed, like it was something he should know though his mind wouldn’t let him focus on it. Which was usually a sign that his memory had been tampered with, and only an untrained bit o’ psychic blundering like Marie’s part could’ve touched off it without his consent. He’d have to ask her when she woke up- God only knew what she’d seen as she’d said it- And again he winced at the thought. In a way he dreaded her coming to and telling him what he’d done to her. Dreaded finding out just how much she knew. He’d come to depend upon the reflection of himself he saw in her eyes, her belief that he was a good man. It had been a relief after Jean, after everything, to have one person believe he wasn’t the bad guy. But now-

Now he was gonna have to face that he was the villain. Judging by his memories, he’d never been anything else.

And he certainly couldn’t be the good guy for her now.

Smelt Hank then, ‘fore he heard him. But then that was the usual way with Beast. The doctor stood quietly behind him, waiting. Stared at Marie fondly, same way he used to stare at Jubilee. “She’s going to be fine, Little Man,” McCoy informed him kindly. “She got your mutation just in time.”

Logan didn’t answer, didn’t turn. Just stared at her. He wasn’t a talker at the best of times, and now hardly qualified as that.

“I have ascertained what set her off this afternoon,” Hank continued calmly when he didn’t answer. “As you may have suspected, her wildcat-”

“Wasn’t her fault,” Logan interrupted roughly. He didn’t care what the geeks said- “Wasn’t her Goddamn fault. You got that? You’n ‘Ro are acting like she did it on purpose-”

“That was not my intention, Logan,” Beast retorted firmly. “I am not suggesting her actions today were deliberate. Or entirely her own: You had a hand in them too.” Anyone else would’ve paled at the look Logan shot him. But then Beast called him Little Man and lived to tell the tale. “I am just saying that I have an explanation for why things went… awry.”

“Awry?”

“Well, then… complicated.” He sighed, folded his hands together then. Logan stared down at his knuckles, where the claws came out. “Many big words and the use of Latin complicated. I didn’t put the pieces together until I started looking at your medical results side by side with hers- And by then it was too late.” Hank sat down on the edge of her bed then. Smiled tiredly at his patient. Once again Logan was reminded of how he used to look at Jubilation.

Once again he pushed the thought of young women he’d failed away.

“Do you know how her wildcat works?” Hank began conversationally then. Logan shook his head, pulled his hands in tighter. He really wished he could touch her, but he knew now she was outta reach. “When it acquires a mutation, it…flips it. Turns it sideways. As you may recall, when she got Pyro’s mutation she created flames from nothing. She also burned her skin. Neither of those abilities are inherent to John Allerdyce-”

“I was there, Hank, I don’t need a rerun.”

“And when she took JJ’s mutation, she created illusions on her own body, rather than projecting them onto somebody else.” Beast brushed her hair back from her brow then, careful not to touch that lethal skin of hers. Also careful not to raise his voice, since he could see how agitated Wolverine was getting. Logan always knew Hank was smart. “With you- With you the wildcat has done something similar. Your mutation is the ultimate in Darwinism, Logan. Your body is better adapted to survival than that of anyone else on the planet, as I’m sure you’ve been told before.”

He nodded but didn’t say anything. He remembered now, hearing those words in every weapons programme he’d ever volunteered for. He was the next step in mutant evolution, may Christ defend them all.

Hank narrowed his eyes, puzzling over his reaction, but said nothing. “The wildcat has been…using… your mutation to stabilise the effects of the Cure, as I told you,” he continued. “But it has also been adapting those mutations Marie comes into contact with in much the same way your mutation adapts your physical form. Those, like Kurt’s, which require too much remodelling are abandoned, while those, like JJ’s, which can be easily assimilated are kept. Modified. Hard-wired. What we saw today was simply the next step in that: Her emotions combined with yours to produce something through her secondary mutation which JJ’s ability allowed to be vented in physical form.”

“Small words, Beast,” he growled, teeth grinding.

McCoy shrugged. “You’re the battery, she’s the hardware, you’re both running the program through your link.” Hank looked at him over the rims of his spectacles. “Your link with an untrained psychic. As I said, she didn’t come up with Smokey all on her own.”

So it was his fault. Suddenly the silence felt like it had claws.

“I know you don’t like talking ,” Hank continued after a moment, “But for her sake whatever set you off this afternoon will have to be dealt with.” The kindly blue eyes came to rest on him, worried, and he shifted in his seat under their stern gaze. “She’s getting more powerful, becoming a better weapon. She needs to learn control, you both do. Though considering her luck,” Hank continued dryly, “Your Weapon X up-grade might be doing her a favour-”

“A favour?” Wolverine snapped, “You think that’s what I’ve done fer her? A favour?” He forced his voice low, trying to keep calm for Marie’s sake. But he was fighting a losing battle and Hank had to know it. “She remembers horrors, Henry. Shit nobody should have crawlin’ round inside of ‘em, they’re in her head now cos o’ me. And apparently they’ve learned to do tricks.” He pictured those last moments with Smokey, when she’d changed her form to become just like Jean. The claws popped out, cutting through skin with their familiar snikt and the pain was a relief, almost. Welcome. “I shoulda taken the hint four years ago,” he continued more softly, “Shoulda stayed the Hell away and kept the girl safe-”And he sat down heavily, face drawn, bones aching. Again feeling every minute of his hundred odd years of life. Jesus, he was a bastard, he thought then.

A beat. An ornery, angry, low-down and growling beat.

McCoy broke it. “Logan,” he interrupted courteously, “Could you kindly retrieve your head from your hairy, muscular buttocks and drop the self-pity for a tic? There’s a good man.”

Wolverine stopped. Blinked. Pulled his claws in.

And closed his mouth with a snap.

“Erik Lenscherr lost his family in Auschwitz,” Hank reminded him quietly. “John Allerdyce tried to murder Kitty because he was obsessed with her and couldn’t let her go. Victor Creed attempted to rape Marie because she had your dog tags on her, and Mystique has nearly beaten her to death. Twice.” The blue doctor folded his arms and set that famously tapping toe t’working. “With all that inside her mind, do you really think her main worry is you, Logan?” He opened his mouth to answer and Hank spoke over him. “Or is this simply an excuse to try your usual Little Man Disappearing Routine, (patent pending), hmm? Because believe me, she doesn’t need that.” McCoy shook his head, checked her vitals. “And neither, believe it or not, do you.”

It didn’t happen often, but Logan was suddenly lost for words.

Didn’t try to deny it neither, cos his next move probably would’ve involved upping sticks and running from her, if that was what she needed him to do. And judging by Hank’s look they both knew it. The silence stretched out as the Doc checked on her, the lack of talk allowing Wolverine to stew, which was doubtless the purpose of the exercise. Hank’s main, most irritating super-power had always been the ability to have a point, and it was vexing as Hell to see that knack in action: Beast was- he made a face even thinking it- right about this. He wasn’t the only factor here, though he was the one they could do something about. The past couldn’t be fixed, anymore than his claws could be. But Marie wanted him to stay and he’d stay. Although, if he did do- he had no idea what it would lead to, since he’d never stayed for anyone. Not even Jean. Another panicked thought occurred to him: What if Marie didn’t want him no more when she woke up? What if his past was too much for her to deal with? What if she only saw the monster who ran her through-?

“She’ll stick with you, she always does,” Hank whispered, reading his expression. “You just have to give her a chance, Little Man.” And he finished up his examination, patting Logan’s arm and making to leave the room quietly, his mighty super-power having done its job for the day-

And at that moment, Marie opened her eyes, sitting bolt upright.

For a second the image of Smokey appeared, faint and wavering, and Hank immediately hollered for Storm though it disappeared quick as it came. The bed started clattering about like something from The Exorcist as Rogue’s heart-rate sky-rocketed. Their link roaring open without her even needing to touch him now. Logan grabbed her hand, not even thinking about it as her anxiety flooded into him. “Witch-breed,” she muttered desperately, “Witch-breed. We have to help them, have t’save them-” She turned terrified eyes on Wolverine, helplessly projecting an image of wasteland and ice right into his brain- “Ah can hear him, can’t you hear him? Remy’s calling for me-” She closed her eyes, tried to push the image outta her- Frustration flaring at the attempt-

Without warning, she sent both men flying from the room.

He thought is before unconsciousness claimed him: Maybe she’s not so different from Jeannie after all…

Disclaimer: This fan-fiction is not written for profit and no infringement of copyright is intended. Still unbetaed, mistakes are all mine.

CHAPTER NINTEEN

The Loaner was making Marie nervous.

Not so’s anybody else would notice. Certainly not enough to put Storm’s nose any further out of joint, or to have the geeks calling fer Beast. But Beth “Psi-lock,” Braddock, the MI: 13 “data retrieval specialist,” Hank’d brought in to investigate Project Witch-breed was making Marie uncomfortable. Scared, even. And she’d been doing it from the moment she set foot in the Mansion. Soon as Marie heard the word “telepath,” she’d gone jumpy as a long-tailed cat in a room full o’ rocking chairs, and no matter how many times Logan asked her about it, she refused point blank to explain herself. He didn’t entirely blame her: Now he had his memories back, he knew exactly what kinda work spooks like Braddock specialised in. And thanks to his link with Marie, she knew as well as he did what “data retrieval,” might entail. But that wasn’t the whole story, and he knew it. What Braddock was, not what she did, had Marie spooked. He just couldn’t get her to open up and admit it to him-

After all, she’d been closed off from him ever since she knocked him out.

Logan had opened his eyes in the Infirmary to find her sitting beside his bed, her face a mask of worry and guilt. Breath coming raggedly, the scent of her tears still wafting through the air. He’d felt his face crack into a smile at the sight of her, the pain in his bones secondary to the happiness of seeing her awake and okay. Had even tried to sit up, reaching out to touch that lovely cheek and then- She’d pulled away from him. Winced. Just for a second he’d seen disgust flash through her eyes and it had stopped him in his tracks. She was scared. Of him. She’d given a broken sob of something that sounded like “Sorry,” and then hightailed it outta his room like a bat outta Hell. Her upset trailing like perfume in her wake. Leaving him confused and angry and worried as Hell because he knew what she’d seen when she touched him-

That had been five days ago and ever since- He came into a room, she left it. He even attempted to mention Smokey- Forget about it. Woman could clam up like a pro. He couldn’t even ask her what she’d seen when he was feral: whatever she’d found in his subconscious had retained its slipperiness on the jump from his mind to hers. She remembered saying the word “witch-breed,” and it being important, but just like Logan she could offer no earthly explanation as to why. And when he tried to question her about it, she bailed on him. Disappeared to the Danger Room, and locked the door. The day Braddock arrived she’d spent six straight hours there: In the end he’d pulled the electricity at the mains to shut the programme down. She fought until her knuckles bled, almost as if she were doing…penance. Making up fer some great sin. Next to all that her dislike for Braddock should have been unnoticeable but it was careening outta control, anyone could see that. And yet, she still refused to admit there was a problem. And he was still too worried about what had happened with Smokey to push her on it like he should. Because he didn’t wanna hear her say that it was over. That what she’d seen through their link when she touched him had made her heart turn cold, had shown him to be the monster he was-

She just needs time, he told himself. It’s the least I can give her.

Yeah, yeah, bub, his inner Wolverine growled, You just keep telling yourself that.

Logan skulked into the main conference room then, the thoughts of his problems with Rogue already setting his teeth on edge. The Loaner had called this meeting to give a summary of her results, and she’d damn well better have found something good for him to haul his ass in here. He watched as Braddock set up her power point equipment, already impatient as Hell to hear what she’d found. Rogue entered the room right after, head bowed in deep conversation with Nightcrawler. He knew she was aware of his presence because of a slight tensing of her shoulders, a slight hitching of her breath. But she didn’t look up from Nightcrawler’s side when he sat down, and she chose the empty seat beside Hank rather than the one beside him. A fact which made Storm stare and Beast wince-

Braddock cleared her throat then.

“Thank you, ladies and gentlemen, for your attention,” she began formally. She tucked her long black plait over her shoulder, looking like nothing so much as a real life version of Lara Croft, and began flicking through her presentation as earnestly as any college professor. Logan suddenly really wished he’d brought a beer. “As requested, I have checked through every database we can access to find reference to a Project Witch-Breed,” she inclined her head formally to Marie then, “And up until this afternoon I didn’t have much to report.” She began passing out papers (which Logan pointedly ignored), pushing her glasses up on her nose. “There is no reference to funding on a Project Witch-Breed in any American or Canadian governmental database,” she continued, “Nor could I find one in the UN or Genoshan files. Department H, S.H.I.E.L.D., I even checked out S.W.O.R.D and W.H.O. The usual suspects came up dry. And I did look back quite a few years, lads.” She gestured to an overhead projection, showing a photo of Logan standing in a WWI infantryman uniform. “As you can tell from this handsome devil here.” She shot him a flirtatious grin and Logan ignored her: he remembered that shot being taken now. It wasn’t nothing to grin about, considering the body count that had followed in its wake.

“So have you nothing to tell us then, Betsy?” Beast inquired.

The brunette threw him a fond grin. She’d been his student, after all. “I didn’t say that, Henry. I just said it wasn’t in the usual government files.” And she gestured once again to the screen. “The only reference I could find to the term “Witch-Breed,” is here, in an English illustration from an anti-Catholic pamphlet published in 1602.” A scanned wood-cut appeared as she did so, the language obviously English thought written in an early modern alphabet. “This is a polemic against Catholicism, accusing Catholics of having sex with demons and producing “vile, unseelie creatures,” which use their magical powers for ill-”

“Sounds like the front page of the Daily Bugle,” Marie muttered.

“Unfortunately prejudice never goes out of style,” Braddock agreed. “But here’s the interesting thing: This pamphlet details a series of incidents, which had they happened today, would have been ascribed to a burgeoning mutation. The author talks of a boy who could levitate and speak to his twin sister over great distances. He also states that this boy didn’t age as normal men do-”

All eyes went to Logan then. “He’s not that Goddamn old!” Marie groused. “And he don’t fly neither, Ah checked.” She blushed a little and looked away.

Once again Logan really wished he had a beer.

“Never said he was, love,” Braddock corrected hastily. “But the amount of detail is unusual for an Elizabethan document. The boy’s name is given only as the Earl of Essex, an alchemist apparently-”

“That could just mean he was a scientist,” Beast pointed out.

Braddock nodded. “That’s what I was thinking. But given how little I had on this, I decided to pursue it. So I searched for anything I could find on the man. And then- Well then it gets a little… odd.”

Beast cocked an eyebrow. “Odd?”

“Well, for odd read really bloody weird.” Braddock began flicking through more scanned images. “This is the Earl of Essex in 1602,” she began. “Note the diamond-shaped birth mark on his forehead-”

“Wunderbar,” Kurt muttered wryly, “Harry Potter is responsible for all zis trouble-”

Braddock ignored him, bringing up another portrait. “This is Earl Cedric Essex, in 1672. Note the same diamond shaped birthmark, and the same general features.” She changed the picture again. “This is Earl Richard Essex, circa 1732. Nice birthmark, Ricky.” Another image. “This is Earl Ranulph Essex, painted 1800, and ooh, what’s that on his forehead?-” She flicked to another image, and another and another. Each with a different name and date, but all clearly of the same man. “Are you people getting where I’m taking this?” she asked dryly. The table nodded its assent. “Which brings me to this dandy gentleman here.” And she pulled up the last photo, a smudged black and white image from WWII showing Essex, with that tell-tale birthmark, and Logan with that tell-tale I’m-pissed-n-something’s-about-to-be-gutted expression. The pair of them standing outside an influenza clinic that looked like it had seen better days. Essex was wearing a doctor’s coat and gloves. “This was taken in Mapripoor, some time in the late forties. The notation on the back names a Major Jim Howlett and a Dr. Nathan Essex-”

“Wait, Nathan Essex?” Rogue interrupted. “You’re sure it was Nathan?”

Beast frowned and the table followed suit. “Why Marie, is something coming back to you?”

She shook her head angrily. “No, t’aint about that.” She pointed at the photo, her face darkening. “But Remy was looking into a Nate Essex before Ah came here. Had a file on him at home far as Ah know. Guy was CEO of Left Hand Genetics, the ones who mass-produced the mutant Cure.” She stood up suddenly, studying the picture. Anger washing through her fit to set Logan’s teeth on edge. “When Worthington Industries were trying to synthesize Leech’s mutation, they had trouble replicating the protein strands in his blood,” she explained impatiently at the others’ looks. “Left Hand was brought in because they were the market leaders in the field: Essex was supposed to be brilliant. A miracle-worker.” And she shook her head, her mouth twisting in bitterness. “Three days after the Cure went public Left Hand mysteriously closed its doors and wound down. Burned their files; all their equipment disappeared. Left a whole lotta share-holders pissed off, and a whole lotta mutants infected with a Cure that was lethal.” For the first time in days she looked at Logan. Her eyes bored into his. “I went to their offices: It was salted earth, sugah. Even the cockroaches had left the house.”

“But what has that to do with your friend here?” Braddock interrupted. “Do you know this Essex character, Mr. Logan?”

Suddenly all eyes were on Wolverine, including Marie’s. He fought the urge to growl. “I don’t think so,” he muttered. He hated admitting this in front of Rogue, but- “Every time I try to think on the word witch-breed my brain pushes it away. Which suggests telepathic manipulation, don’t it?” He grimaced and Braddock blushed. Everyone knew what work she did for MI: 13. “I don’t even remember that picture being taken,” he continued. “And I don’t know no Nathan Essex either. At least, I don’t remember him if I did. Though I did work Madripoor for a spell.” He ran his hand through his hair, frustrated. “If I could answer this fer ya, darlin’, I would do…” and he trailed off.

Everyone in the room knew that was said only for Marie.

Braddock cleared her throat then. She looked a little surprised.“Well, if you need any help with recall, I could try my good old Vulcan mind-meld…” she offered, raising her eyebrows questioningly at Wolverine. “I know I’m not Charles Xavier, but still…”

“No.”

Marie snapped it, not Logan. Her mouth pursing into a flat line. For the first time in three days she made to move towards Wolverine, everything about her screaming defensiveness. She stood in front of him, folded her arms. Glared at Braddock like Logan used to glare at LeBeau. “No telepaths,” she bit out, “No mind-melds. No poking about in memories, and no dredging up the past.” She turned to look at him, her eyes pleading. He could hear her heartbeat speeding, smell her upset on the air. The idea of a telepath touching his mind was…scaring her? Infuriating her. But being Marie she was trying to pretend that wasn’t so.

“Don’t you think that’s his decision, darling?” Braddock asked sarcastically. And she smiled again at Logan.

He cocked an eyebrow in return. “No can do, sweetheart,” he drawled dryly. “Only person gets to see the inside o’ my cranium is her.” And he nodded to Rogue.

Braddock rolled her eyes heavenward. “Oh for God’s sake,” she scoffed, “It’s just a little bloody telepathy. Don’t you want to find out what’s going on here-?”

“No,” Marie bit out, “Ah don’t.” Her gaze flicked guiltily towards Logan and for a second Smokey’s form appeared, faint and wavering in the room. Rogue closed her eyes and took a deep breath, and immediately the thought form faded. Though it didn’t disappear. “Ain’t no Goddamn telepath going into mah brain,” she muttered, eyes still squeezed shut in concentration. “Logan and me and telepathy just don’t mix. Ah won’t hurt-” And her eyes flew open, flicking to Wolverine’s. Her face puckered up in pain. “You wanna find out about this, Ah’ll try to track Remy with mah New Reliable. Ask him what he found. But you-” and she turned to growl at Braddock. “You stay outta mah head, woman. You got no right to push.”

And with that she stalked out without another word. “Seems a little tetchy, doesn’t she?” Braddock muttered.

“Trust me, sweetheart,” Logan growled, “She’s got licence to be.” He followed after Marie, nearly slamming the door behind him, and pretended not to hear Storm’s next muttered words. “And that, Betsy, was today’s instalment of the Rhett and Scarlett Show.”

You’re damn right, Snowflake, he thought. You’re damn right.

Disclaimer: This fan-fiction is not written for profit and no infringement of copyright is intended. Still unbetaed, mistakes are all mine.

CHAPTER TWENTY

Something was wrong.

Because the scent wafting off her as she stalked out wasn’t anger or jealousy or even nerves. It was fear. Genuine fear. Her heartbeat was jack-hammering in her chest, her adrenaline rising til the scent of it spilled throughout the Mansion. It was the same scent he’d picked up in the Infirmary when he woke up, and yet this was different. Because this wasn’t fear of him, he was sure of it. It was fear for him. When she’d first walked out on Betsy he’d thought she was just a bit stressed. After all, The Loaner had all but straddled him in the Danger Room yesterday, and any other time she’d have been just the sort he’d go for. Elegant, willowy, and willing to sell him to the government in a heartbeat if it got her where she wanted to be. He’d even been a tiny bit relieved, that he could still make her jealous, because surely that meant there was hope fer them after all. But the scent of fear-no, he realised, panic- which he was getting from her now proved there was more than a flirtatious spook and some marking of territory going on here. The last time he’d smelt her like this, torn between anger and terror, was the night-

The night Sabre-tooth came to find her. The first time she actively tried to kill someone, if only in self-defence. It was the most frightened he’d ever seen her, before now.

The memory of it still made Logan furious. Furious and guilty. Especially since he now knew just how close he was to Victor, back in the day. But he’d sworn to Hank he’d stick around and take care of her, and if that meant remembering shit like Sabre-tooth, or braving her pissed-off tornado of a temper, then so be it. He was Goddamn indestructible: It should be useful for something besides property damage. So he picked up his pace, determined to catch her. She might have been pushing him away for the last five days but he wasn’t gonna leave her alone when she was scared and panicked-

And it turned out he didn’t have far to look.

He found her packing. Clothes, socks, tracking equipment, weaponry (When the Hell did she buy a Glock and who taught her how to use it?) all being tossed into the bag the way most women throw in makeup and loose change. Making more noise than a grizzly chomping on some campers, her eyes bright and feverish, her pretty face pale. Her hair was scraped back tightly from her face, a thick jacket and sturdy shoes thrown beside her and waiting to be worn. Everything about her screaming, Don’t even think about it, asshole-

Which Logan knew may (or may not) have been directed at him.

“You’re not gonna stop me, Logan,” she muttered then, gaze on her duffel.

“Well hello to you too,” he muttered, leaning against the door-frame. He didn’t wanna spook her, with her frightened. “And what precisely ain’t I gonna stop you doing?”

She practically growled it. “What does it look like?”

So she wasn’t gonna explain herself; Let’s see if pushing her buttons would work. “Getting ready for a road-trip?” he inquired, smart-ass eyebrow cocked and ready. “Cos Ah’m thinking o’ running off with Betsy myself. Since she has those hot telepathic powers and all…”

Okay, he had to admit it. That approach had sounded more useful in his head. But he was feeling wrong-footed. And worried.

She shot him a look would have withered an oak-tree. “Well, Ah know you like willowy telepaths,” she drawled. “Maybe you should go for it.”

“What the Hell is that supposed to mean?”

Her face was stony. “You’re the expert on telepaths,” she snapped. “You tell me.”

“Well you’re the one reads minds now. Guess that makes you the expert.” Why in heaven was he letting her goad him? “So maybe you can spit it out like a grownup-”

“Ah’m sure spitting’s Betsy’s speciality, and she certainly looks legal t’me.” Marie threw the biggest knife he’d ever seen her handle into her duffel. “And for your information, neither o’ mah Reliables are telepathy. Ah wouldn’t want them to be. Ah’m still little Rogue with the poisonous skin-”

“So that’s what this is about?” he demanded. “What, you’re touchy about your mutation with the Loaner in the house?” So Braddock’s stupid flirting really making her this ornery? What was she, twelve? But if that was case, why the Hell was she scared? Because this wasn’t about him, it couldn’t be. And she’d nearly removed the telepath’s head from her shoulders for trying to poke about in his head. He took a step towards her, trying to touch her, and immediately she backed away. He could smell unshed tears on the air as he breathed it in. She was scared enough to cry, angry enough to fight- And not telling him anything.

“Ah’m gonna go find mah husband,” she muttered, then. Tossing a GPS tracking system into her bag, “And then Ah’m gonna check out this Essex homme, see if he really knows anything about Witch-breed or the Cure.” Her voice inflected the French word automatically in case he had missed the (pointed) reference to LeBeau. He fought the urge to growl. Cute, Marie. Real adult. Mention the swap-rat and the Loaner in the space of three sentences. That might have worked on the Ice-Prick, but it ain’t gonna work on me.

“Fine,” he retorted, uncrossing his arms. If she didn’t wanna talk about it, he’d just have to try something else. “I’ll get some wheels and meet you in ten minutes.” He’d try his patented mix of reverse psychology and mulishness. “Storm can track us if she needs to, I’ll give her our coordinates. We’ll take point while the others do recon-”

“You’re not coming,” she snapped. The scent of panic going up a notch. Her voice sounding the wrong side of scared. “Ya stay here, Ah need to do this on mah own-”

“What the Hell makes you think I’ll do that, sweetheart?” Logan cut in. “You wanna go looking for some centuries old possible mutant who may or may nor be responsible for the Cure being lethal. And you wanna do this with the man who left you soon as your mutation came back.” It came out sounding pissed off, but then pretty much everything he said that wasn’t an endearment came out sounding pissed off. And she had him really worried now. “You think I’ll make you face this all on your lonesome?”

“Ah don’t think, Ah know.” The air began to tingle, just the way it had before Smokey had arrived the last time. Once again the creature’s shape appeared, faint and wavering, only this time Marie ignored it. “And there ain’t no “let,” in this here situation,” she growled through clenched teeth. “Ah’m a grown woman-”

“Then why you panicking like a kid, Kid?”

“Ah am not panicking.”

“Really? That what you’re trying to tell yourself? Cos I got a built-in bullshit detector, darlin’, and right now it’s going off like the fire-works on Paddy’s Day.” He put his face in hers, ignoring her flinch this time. “I could smell your feelings from the second floor, so don’t try to lie to me.” Though her scent didn’t suggest deceit-

“Ah ain’t trying to lie,” she snarled, furious, “Ah’m trying to protect you, you stupid ox!” The bedside locker rattled dangerously and she flicked her head sharply towards it; Immediately it stilled. Another power mastered through her New Reliable, Hellion’s if he wasn’t mistaken. For a second Smokey flared brighter and Logan coulda sworn he sensed… something. But Marie’s voice drew him back to the present, and the thought slid away like smoke. “Ah won’t see you hurt, darlin,’” she continued tightly, regaining control. “Not like you were before-”

“Have you forgotten I’m indestructible?”

“No, you’re not.”

“Tell that to Stryker-”

“Like you told it to Jean?” she snapped, her voice suddenly venomous. The change in tone like a slap in the face. “That the fairytale you told her so she’d use you to save her life?” She smiled nastily. “Amongst the other uses she put you to.”

He actually growled at her. She hadn’t the right to say that. She hadn’t the right to toss losing Jean into an argument just so he’d back the Hell off.

“You really wanna talk about Red?” he growled, aware she’d always hated that nickname. He knew it made her jealous. “Do you?”

“Ah don’t know; You’re the one bringing up slutty psychics.”

“And you’re the one running off to chase the asshole who cheated on you and broke your heart.”

Her eyes narrowed then, just for a fraction of a second. Something flicked through them, something triumphant and almost, almost relieved. Least that’s what it smelt like. “Assholes are mah kinda men, you know that,” she muttered. “It’s about time Ah got back to the ball and chain.” He growled again and her scent shifted completely, the panic replaced by relief-

Relief that she’d made him mad. That’s what she’d been trying to do.

“Look, those burns of yours, Ah caused them,” she continued, when he didn’t answer. Her voice was a mix of goading and contrition: She was trying another tack. “The adamantium melting off your claws, Ah did that too. Didn’t mean to, but look at what Smokey did without mah even trying. And what woulda happened if you hadn’t stabbed me, eh? What will happen if that Braddock bitch starts poking about inside mah head?” Her voice cut out, her hands twisting sharply together. He tried to pull them apart, to still them, and suddenly frustration was coming off her in waves. “Ah won’t do it to ya, Logan,” she said. “Ah won’t put you in danger. Ah need time with this, ‘for Ah do something stupid.” He opened his mouth to contradict her and she spoke over him. “And then Ah promise Ah’ll come back and go Jerry Springer on Betsy. Ah’ll even let you and Storm place bets. But right now- Right now, Ah gotta go sugah.” The lovely blue eyes stared into his. “Please.”

So that’s what this was about.

She was desperate to leave, no questions asked. And nobody following her, at least not for a couple of days. That’s why she was trying to play him like a Goddamn Stradivarius. Whatever was going on, she needed to look like she was flying solo. Maybe needed to think she was flying solo as well. Which meant someone didn’t want him crashing the party, and that someone was watching her close enough to check he didn’t. Close enough to make sure she didn’t clue him in. She was boxed in, outta options. Didn’t believe she could tell him what was really going on, or that he could help her. Logan was almost relieved, that there was so clearly something else going on here. That maybe she wasn’t just trying to muster up the courage to leave him because she now knew exactly how much of a bastard he was. He needed to give her an out with this, needed to let her think she was getting what she wanted-

So despite his better judgement he growled, “No.”

She blinked at him. ““No.”?”

“No, Marie,” he repeated. She wouldn’t believe him if he just gave in. “You ain’t doing this. You ain’t running off on your own without anyone to watch your back.”

Again frustration flooded her scent. “The world don’t sit up and take notice just cos you’re feeling assertive, sugah,” she snapped.

He popped his claws. “I got these. Pretty much anything in the universe takes notice when I get assertive.”

Again her voice was caustic. “Fear the power of the red-neck scalpels.”

He ignored the jibe. “Get your coat,” he muttered instead. Giving into temptation he gave her a quick peck on the forehead, just to check if she’d let their link open. She didn’t. “I’ll get a car and then I’ll pick you and the canvas weapons locker up.” He nodded to her duffel, moving towards the door. “Oh, and Marie? Don’t even think o’ trying to leave without me.” He tapped his nose. “Better than telepathy any day.” And with that he shut the door. Hoping she took the hint. He’d give her a bit o’ time to get away before he followed her… He just hoped whatever had her didn’t have its claws in too deep…

Because if something hurt his Marie and he didn’t stop it?

Well, he’d have a massive, homicidal problem with that.

Marie counted Mississippis in her head while she waited.

She got up as far as twelve before she figured he couldn’t hear her any more.

And then she turned to look, furious, at the man who’d been in the room the whole time. The man she knew Logan couldn’t see. A second Smokey stood, holding Logan’s dog-tags while they glowed with potential explosive charge. Red and black eyes smoking, fiery as the pits o’ Hell. Looking everything and nothing like the man she’d once married. And grinning at her like he wanted to skin her alive. “C’Mon, petite,” he murmured, his-Gambit’s- voice playful. “Me and de family gonna show you a real good time…

We bin waiting for you for weeks.”

Disclaimer: This fan-fiction is not written for profit and no infringement of copyright is intended. Still unbetaed, mistakes are all mine.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Three days had passed since that. Three days of pushing Logan away and waiting. Three days of nodding to Hank like she believed when he said she wasn’t dangerous, despite what Smokey had done through her. Despite what she knew moved beneath her skin. The thing had told her to pack a bag and make a run for it: She’d have gone that first day had Beth Braddock not turned up. But she did, so instead she’d been trapped into waiting. Lying. Watching. Keeping people out of danger. Making sure the spook noticed nothing amiss, with that super-duper brain of hers. And keeping a leash on Smokey, since it reacted to her moods.

Stupid telepathic powers, Marie thought then. Ah couldn’t have gotten something simple like flight or super-strength, no?

“You know, chere,” The False Remy interrupted her thoughts, sounding calculating. “Ah no think he bought dat story o’ yours.” And he grinned nastily at her, even as she hauled her bag onto her shoulder and ducked through the sports green to where she’d stashed her truck. She’d gotten through the Mansion in record time, set out quickly. Using the back-roads she knew better than Logan, considering all the times she’d driven to the Mansion to see Jubilee.

“Of course he bought it,” Marie muttered then, trying desperately to believe it. “He’s more’n dumb enough to believe Ah’d run off like a kid. Ah’ve done it before.” And she flinched to think of the real Remy, held captive (her psychic stalker assured her) somewhere in the frozen North. Her trip there the key to his freedom, and the key to Wolverine’s as well. But she needed to stay focussed: This was just like trying to keep Braddock out of her head, but more difficult. The damn creature seemed able to read her no matter what she did: The last thing she needed was for her intruder to get suspicious, and act on his threat to trigger her into unleashing Smokey. She tried to concentrate on how much she believed her story, consciously ignoring the tiny, angry, growling voice of her inner Logan, who was screaming that his real world counter-part would have to be thick as pig shit not to have picked up on the scent of panic in that room. Also cannily pointing out that he might be egotistical, but he knew Marie way too well to believe she’d run off in a strop over Betsy Braddock’s Vulcan mind-meld and attempts to get into his pants.

Marie ordered her inner Wolverine to stop talking then. Stop distracting her. It had about as much effect as it usually, had, namely zero. But the interaction comforted her nonetheless.

“So where we going?” she asked, her heart clenching. She knew this was probably the last time she’d ever leave the Mansion. Her only hope was to get enough of a head-start on Logan that he wouldn’t catch her, and wouldn’t get himself killed for her sake.

“You goin’ t’meet yo destiny, chere,” the False Remy whispered sarcastically. There were times when she missed Magneto‘s grandiloquence. “Like Ah said, de family bin waiting on you for months.”

“And what family’s that, swamp-rat?” she growled, not liking where this was going. He’d mentioned this family before to her, but he wouldn’t tell her anything except that it was where she belonged. Though as far as she was concerned, she belonged where Logan was- Except that she could kill him with the simplest slip in concentration or temper.

Marie pushed that thought away.

The False Remy slid her a sly, calculating look then. “De family be why you and Remy were brought together, chere. De family be why dat no good Gambit be nailed to a table right now.” The thing leered at her, running its burning hand along her thigh and she flinched a bit. “Ah always was jealous dat he got to bed you, petite.”

“Ya mind not distracting a woman who’s driving?” she snapped. Suddenly wishing he had skin so she could suck the life right out of it.

“No, petite, Ah love distracting you. Dat what made de last three days so much fun.” And it hitched its hand higher, towards her thigh now. She went to brush it away and suddenly the smoking, burning hand grew larger. A single metal claw extending from its knuckles, the scent of aftershave and cigar smoke filling the car. “Is this distracting you, darlin’?” the thing rumbled, and this time it looked like Wolverine. Marie stifled a shudder. “You want me to distract you, when I’m looking like this?” And he leered, actually leered at her. The features so much like Logan’s, the expression as far from him as could be. Those eyes held anger and cruelty: They didn’t belong to the man she knew…

“You might not have bones, but Ah do have,” she muttered then. She forced her panic down and the creature’s form grew slightly less distinct, though it didn’t fade away. So it did have something in common with Smokey: It was vulnerable to her moods. “You say Ah have to make it to the North before Logan catches us. Would de family be happy if Ah don’t arrive just so you can get your rocks off?” And she glared at him, daring him to argue with her. Trying to remind herself that no matter what it looked like, that thing had nothing in common with Wolverine.

It smiled. “I suppose not, sweetheart,” it muttered. “The old man says he wants you good and quick, no more run-around.” And it let its hands stray, just for a moment, over her body. Its expression leaving no doubt to its intentions once it had her on her own. “So yeah, I can wait til we get home, darlin’. And then we’ll let the monster out to play.” And with that it moved its hands away, releasing her. Shooting her a vindictive, mischievous look because it knew she understood precisely what the threat involved. And knowing she’d find it particularly painful, if she ever had to explain it to Wolverine. The rest of the journey passed on in silence, the creature calling out occasional directions. Marie drive on like an automaton, so worried and numb that it took her while to realise they weren’t heading to Canada. When he’d said the frozen North she’d just assumed- But it soon became obvious that wasn’t on their route. They were heading into the wilds. And as the hours stretched out and no Logan followed them, it occurred to Marie that she knew this road. Knew it intimately. It was one of Logan’s memories, she was sure of it- Though it tried to evade her probing, no matter what she did. Marie could picture the diners, the houses, the countryside. The- The people. She could picture it as he Logan had seen it long ago… On his way to the closest place he’d ever been to Hell.

And that‘s when she recognised where she was going.

They were entering Witch-Breed country now.

Disclaimer: This fan-fiction is not written for profit and no infringement of copyright is intended. Still unbetaed, mistakes are all mine.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Marie had begun to suspect that her thoughts were not her own.

In fact, if she were being honest with herself, Marie thought she might be actually be losing her mind.

Because as the days and nights blended into one another, as her tiredness and worry and panic-as-loss merged together until she thought her heart might simply die rather than break… Time ceased to be meaningful. Ceased to matter. The past grew hazier and hazier every day, the only thing she could hold onto with certainty the memory of Logan, dark and strong and fierce inside her head. Real. Whenever she closed her eyes (seldom as that was) she pictured him- couldn’t seem to stop herself - Memories of their time together assaulting her and making her uncertain whether she wanted to scream or cry. And nothing made it better. Only his presence would have done so, and that was the one thing she knew she couldn’t ever have again. Not if she truly wanted him to be safe. So she let herself fall farther into this, this No-Mans-Land inside her head, this place where nothing had form and substance. Where everything felt like smoke. She wasn’t even sure how long she’d been on the road now; The grey as iron nails landscape around her seemed endless, bereft of hope and sunlight, no star to set a course by- Kinda like her. But Marie wouldn’t let herself follow that self-pitying thought to its conclusion: She was doing this for Logan.

And if she froze to death slowly from sorrowing, what of it? At least he’d still be safe from her. At least he would survive.

The shadowy thing that was torturing her, the thing that kept switching between Remy and Logan’s face, grunted beside her then. Amahl, (at least that was what he called himself) reached out a smoking, burning hand in his sleep, his fingers elongating. When unconscious he couldn’t hold the form of either her husband or her- or Logan. His body roiled and smoked instead, all claws and fangs and malice; His mutation was unlike any Rogue’d ever seen. She knew better than to try and get away from him even if he had his eyes closed though. He reacted to her actions as quickly and surely as Smokey did. She’d tried, two days ago, to set her corrosive pet shadow on Amahl, figuring since he and Smokey seemed so similar in composition then maybe they could do one another damage in a fight. Retribution had been swift and agonising: pain had erupted inside Marie’s head and for a second her link with Logan had opened despite her protests. The shadowy kidnapper had sworn he could torture Wolverine through their link and threatened to prove it. You’ll never even know if you’ve killed him, Amahl had promised. You’ll just have to live your life wondering-

Just the threat of that was enough to make her docile.

Well, as docile as an X-Man ever got.

Though she knew Logan would hate her for it after that she wouldn’t fight him. She thought of Jeannie, of the Phoenix. Of what she, Marie, could become, and then she let Amahl do whatever he wanted. At least, within reason: His fear of this “family,” he kept mentioning prevented him from really- Well it kept her clothes on for the most part, and that was something. She winced though, her fingers lingering over the burns along her torso, along her wrists and across her clavicle: She still had some of Logan’s healing factor, which was why the bastard’s…attentions hadn’t left her more marked. At least on the outside. She thought back briefly, surprised at the sudden clarity of the memory, to the night Sabre-tooth had come for her, and shuddered. She’d only been nineteen that time and she’d been so scared when Logan had saved her- So damn relieved, she’d have done anything for him-

And she still would do. She’d give up her mind or her life for him, and not give it a second thought.

Amahl stirred then, waking. Just for a moment he held his frightening, King of Shadows shape, and then he morphed into Logan. He’d figured early on that it made Marie way more uncomfortable than looking at Gambit. She flashed back to that first night on the road, when he’d pinned her looking like Wolverine: It had felt so wrong, so Goddamn unwanted- Marie pushed the thought away before it could upset her more. Because she’d learned from Sabretooth that bastards like that liked it when you cried. And she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction, the worthless sonofabitch.

“Morning darlin’” Amahl growled then, grinning. Even the voice sounded near pitch-perfect, his large hands reaching out for her though Marie shrank away. Once again she wished she could just wail on the bastard, let loose with her famous grizzly-bear temper but she couldn’t. She had too much to lose and he knew it. “Sleep well?” he muttered then, reading her expression. Grin widening.

“Like a baby,” she drawled.

“You dream o’ me?”

Of course she’d dreamt of Logan. Of the Battle of Smokey, where she’d nearly killed him with her thoughts. And then of other moments, other nights. The scent of cigar smoke and his fingers curled in her hair… Safety and adamantium, and four years without his touch… But what she grunted was, “Ah dreamt of Sponge-Bob.” And pursing her lips she said no more on the subject.

Tried not to hear his laughter, which was mocking and wicked and near.

“Well it’s good ya thought o’ something enjoyable, sweetheart, because we’re here,” he snickered. And he gestured to the building about twenty yards in front of them, which hadn’t even registered she was driving towards. She had no memory of choosing the road which had brought her here, no memory even of turning the ignition key. Yet clearly she must have so done if she was at the wheel. And once again she wondered whether she really was losing her mind. She brought the truck to a stop and popped the door, gingerly getting out. The place looked broken and scarring from the outside, an angry, fallen angel which had tumbled far from home. Her New Reliable was singing to her through every inch of exposed skin, the aura of pain, of loss, too terrible to be pushed away. Images and feelings bloomed inside her mind, moving too quickly to decipher- Desires and sensations which she knew were not her own filling her up like memories. But whenever she tried to focus on them, they once again drifted away like smoke against a gale.

And the strange thing was she let them. Something told her that once they made themselves known to her there would be no going back.

“Your feral can’t help you now though, darlin’,” Amahl snickered then. Once again he tried to slide his unwelcome hands across her body and Marie felt bile rise in her throat, as he tried to sink his claws into her skin. She recoiled, his burning flesh searing hers though he couldn’t keep hold of her for long, his body starting to contort and twist, becoming more and more monstrous as he grabbed at her. Despite her best efforts Marie gave a startled snarl and instinct took over: She clawed at him, kneeing him viciously in what would have been his balls had he been flesh and blood. But it did no good: His burning fingers were tearing through her dress now, his thoughts and emotions forcing their way underneath her skin- Jesus, she felt sick, twisted- And then-

“Amahl!” A voice cut over them. Immediately her attacker froze. “You have been warned before.”

Amahl suddenly stopped his clawing and stepped clear- Well clear- of her as a tiny boy, no older than ten, appeared before them. It occurred to Marie with a jolt that he was the first child she’d seen in days. Skinny and sandy-haired, he was wearing a blind-fold, his face set into the kind of impassive mask which no child should ever wear. Three deep scars ran down his babyish cheeks, his fingers hooked unlike any child’s she’d ever seen. Amahl waited for a moment, until the little one was within range and then maliciously swiped a claw-like hand at him: In one fluid movement the boy avoided the blow gracefully, pulling at his blindfold and releasing-

Releasing a beam of brilliant crimson light from his eyes. Neatly clipping his opponent. Just like-

“Cyke?” Marie heard her own voice saying it, as she watched him. It was crazy but- “Jesus, Cyke, is that you?”

The child stepped stiffly away from them then. Repositioned his blind-fold. Amahl was still cradling his hand. “I do not have a name,” he said coldly. She was reminded suddenly, painfully, of the way Scott stood to attention whenever Jean or Storm were in the room. The boy seemed more like a statue than flesh and blood. “You are mistaken.”

“But you’re-”

Marie tried to reach for him, her shock over-riding common sense and he made to raise the blind-fold in warning. “Do not touch me,” he muttered, his voice still that clipped, dull monotone. “I have been forced to discipline the glutton before-” and he gestured to her shadowy tormentor, “Do not force me to do the same to you.”

“But you’re Scott,” Marie muttered, unable to stop herself. “Your name is Scott Summers- Ah mean, you look so much like him-”

“We have no names here,” the boy said quietly. Marie had never thought a child could sound so intimidating. “Now that you have come to us, you will have to learn the rules. At least until the history walker arrives.” And with that he gestured crisply towards the orphanage. “You will enter,” he ordered. “Father has been waiting.”

“And just who the Hell is this “Father,”?” she snapped. She realised disjointedly that she was trying to hold her shirt together as she spoke.

The boy’s cold smile was chilling. “You know who he is; He sent your husband to you.”

Why does every Goddamn villain Ah encounter talk like a fuckin’ fortune cookie?

“Well then why don’t you jog mah memory and give me some details?” she snapped. Still frightened because- Jesus- That boy looked so much like Scooter. And the past was seeming less like a ghost these days and more like flesh and blood and that was downright worrying to her-

But the boy was unimpressed.

“The thought-breakers will deal with your memory when you enter,” he muttered, uninterested. “You will understand all once they have opened your mind.” Again, he made the tiniest move towards his blind-fold and Amahl winced at her side. Even Marie felt a little spooked. “Now enter. Or your husband will pay for your actions alongside you.” And the boy stalked away, turning on his heel and executing such a perfect military exit that Scott Summers might as well have been in the room. After a moment, three identical little boys, all wearing blind-folds, followed after him. One was holding tightly onto another child, a slim, doe-eyed girl with a mess of icy blond hair. Her skin glittered like diamonds in the diffuse, grey light, almost like-Almost like Emma Frost, when her secondary mutation came to call.

What the Hell?

Marie felt it again then: Panic. Not for the first time she reached inside her clothes for Logan’s dog tags, felt them twisted and beaten beneath her fingers, but a reminder of home and comfort nonetheless. She held them closely even as Amahl prodded her towards the building, his voice still gloating. Still venomous. She held them and thought of Logan. Reminded herself she was doing this for him-

And then she was inside. Prodded down a long dark corridor that reminded her chillingly of Logan’s memories of Alkali Lake. A massive set of metal doors swung open before her to reveal a cavernous silo room, its light green and sickly, its walls stained with remembrance and pain. Her New Reliable started to croon inside her, to whimper: She didn’t want to be able to read the memories this place had written upon it. But it didn’t look like she’d have a choice. Human bodies hung suspended from the ceiling inside glass cylinders, eyes open, staring: Some of them were conscious while others looked asleep. The youngest of them looking- Jesus, looking less than twelve. She took in the blood stained walls, the discoloured remains of military equipment; Not an inch of the room was clean or clear pure. And everywhere, everywhere there were children. Young and old, boys and girls, some obviously mutant though others as normal looking as Marie.

And there, right in the middle of them, she saw a pair of familiar black-and-red eyes staring at her. Gazing out of a face in which Marie felt they didn’t belong. Rogue felt her whole world turn sideways and wrong-feeling, felt that sickening sensation blooming in her stomach that she always got right before a mission went South-

Because there in the middle of the room, her face angry and intimidating, stood a black-and-red eyed, red haired young woman. A young woman who looked exactly like-

Exactly like Jean Grey.

Marie heard her voice say it, apparently of its own volition. “Aw, crap,” she muttered.

Disclaimer: This fan-fiction is not written for profit and no infringement of copyright is intended. Still unbetaed, mistakes are all mine.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

“This is what Remy abandoned us for?” The Jean-alike girl’s voice was caustic. “This is the Diable Blanc’s precious Marie?”

And the black-and-red-eyed Jean-alike drifted towards Rogue, her expression cold and pitiless. Her lithe, delicate frame as insubstantial as a wraith. Marie moved away from Amahl, feeling her mind clear some. She wasn’t sure whether it was getting away from him or the presence of the red-and-black-eyed girl that was giving her the reprieve but she didn’t care: She just knew her mind felt more her own when he was far away. Every child in the room had frozen at the sound of the anger in the girl’s voice; That told Marie all she needed to know about this bitch’s temper, and what she did when she was pissed. But the children still stood near the younger woman, and something told Marie they would get in the way if she tried to defend herself-

Which narrowed her Goddamn options if she wanted to fight her way outta there. Let alone get Remy the Hell outta Dodge. She might have had Magneto and Sabre-tooth inside her but she wasn’t gonna start massacring kids for any reason. And she guessed the bitch knew that, judging by the look on her face. She shot Rogue a smile woulda curdled buttermilk as she watched her, and for some strange reason Gambit’s smugness when caught in any wrong-doing popped into her head vividly-

But Marie shook the thought away.

She narrowed her eyes instead, refusing to back down as the girl approached her. She shifted her stance, hands held instinctively away from her body- She didn’t need a mirror to know which mutton-chopped member of her psyche was coming to the fore right now- and the girl must have seen it because she froze for a second, her gaze evaluating. Her black and red eyes searching, as if she could once again read her intentions just from the look on her face. Marie held her gaze calmly, willing herself into stillness: the adrenaline hammering through her body was making it difficult, but somehow she held on. She had no doubt that she was in real trouble but going off half-cocked wasn’t gonna help any. She might not get another chance at escaping, and she couldn’t give Amahl or the girl an opportunity to hurt Logan through their link. Besides, she had to find LeBeau. A second past, then two, both of them seeming to last an eon: Marie felt the girl probing at her thoughts, pushing at her as if she was looking for something particular, and didn’t quite understand what she saw- And then suddenly she backed the Hell away from, though she tried to mask the movement with nonchalance. Her pretty face puckered and frowning-

The children breathed more easily once she was out of range.

“I must admit, you are not what I expected,” the girl continued then, more levelly. She was wary of Rogue now, and the older woman wondered whether it was because she had seen the angry Wolverine inside her mind, or whether her own frustration and rage that was scaring her. After all, she’d be delighted to take out some of the past few day’s aggression on her tormentor, even if she didn’t feel right about wailing on a bunch o’ kids. But give her some alone time with Amahl… And reading her thoughts the malicious, smoke-like creature backed into a corner, earning a snicker from the Jean-alike and a vicious look from Marie. “I had expected someone more… controlled. Together…” the girl muttered, her voice thoughtful. “From what he said, I knew the feral was taken with you, but still… Perhaps you have some sort of mutation that makes you so attractive, eh, big brother?” And she gestured suddenly over her shoulder, the motion sweeping. Vicious. Immediately a dark shape fell forward in front of Marie, its back hunched as if receiving a beating. Its muttered curses enough to assure Marie it was a man.

The children around her gave a collective gasp then. Scattered. Marie couldn’t help but be reminded of a pack of rats, running from the light.

The man dropped to the floor with a painful thud. Marie tried to reach for him despite herself and the Jean-alike immediately gestured again, raising the man aloft, his arms and legs spread out as Logan’s had been during the Battle of Smokey. His head hanging against his chest. He tried to move, hands lolling helplessly from side to side, and Marie felt another surge of pity: Every visible inch of the man’s body was covered in bruises and burns, his filthy hair caked in blood- His red-and-black eyes pleading-

What the Hell?-

And then she heard it.

“Marie?” Remy whispered, his voice rough and broken. His words like a shiver down her spine.

“Remy?” she whispered, her heart freezing for a second. “Jesus, Remy, is that you?”

The reaction of immediate. “Who de Hell else you think it gonna be?” her husband snarled through bloodied lips. “Fucking Santa Clause?” And he began struggling against his invisible bonds, ignoring the Jean-alike girl’s snickers. “What you doin’ here, woman? Ah thought you’d be safe with Logan! Ah swear, Ah’m gonna flash-fry dat worthless fils de pute feral for not keeping an eye on you-”

Despite their situation, Marie felt her temper kick in. Only person could push her buttons better than Remy was Logan, everyone knew that. And besides, if he was here she had an idea- “What the Hell d’ya think you’re talking about, Remy Etienne LeBeau?” she growled, her eyes flashing. Not even bothering to look at the Jean-alike for permission, and began poking him in the chest as she snapped at him. The girl looked on in amusement at the fight. “Where the Hell d’ya get off yelling at me?” she demanded. “Did Ah disappear off without a word after mah mutation came back? Did Ah screw anything in a skirt ‘tween here and Meridian for the last four years-”

“No, chere,” he interrupted, “You just screwed dat claw-popping mor-ceau de merde like you always wanted to.” His smile turned venomous. “You might wanna talk to someone ’bout dem Daddy Issues, chere-”

“And ya might wanna talk t’someone ‘bout all those performance issues, mon amant-” The look he shot her was so insulted it was almost comical- “Because let me assure you, Ah didn’t go looking for affection elsewhere until you started tom-catting ‘round like a dog in heat-” She was close enough to touch his face by now, her anger still filling her mind enough (she hoped) to cloud her thoughts to others. At least Remy didn’t seem to have a clue…Though that wasn’t exactly new… “Ah put a ring on mah finger,” she continued, breathless, “Ah made you a vow-” and she held the finger in question up before his face, her eyes alight with excitement- “So why don’t you just shut the Hell up and accept that this was your fault, darlin‘?”

And quick as lightning she reached out and smacked Remy’s bare cheek with her un-gloved hand, the contact so quick nothing should have come of it-

Except that the New Reliable had other plans.

Plasma charging plans. Let’s get the Hell outta Dodge plans. Because ever since Logan’s mutation had become permanent she’d been faster, stronger, more lethal: Acquiring a useful mutation took only a second of contact to kick in and then it was good times all the way. Marie looked down for a second, hiding her face behind the veil of her hair, as her eyes turned black and red, every one of the stolen mutations the New Reliable had decided to keep in her crackling into life-

It all happened kinda fast then.

She felt Gambit’s power spilling into her, his essence flowing through her veins like lightning and caffeine, all sharp and brilliant and glittering. Completely Remy LeBeau. She did her best to deny the rush of emotions and memories, always the most disorientating element of taking a power, but she couldn’t help the few that bubbled into her mind unbidden. They were mainly fear and darkness at the hands of the Jean-alike but there were others- Her own face bloomed in her mind but she pushed the memory away- Instead she concentrated on the way the power he held spread downwards through her hands, through her fingers. The energy itching, pulsing, dancing. The explosiveness of its potential making her skin burn.

And without a second’s hesitation she grabbed the Jean-alike by her long red hair, spinning her so that the girl had her back to her and she could snake an arm around her throat, another grabbing her hands.

Immediately the children charged forward, the four copies of Scott she’d seen earlier leading the vanguard but Marie didn’t even hesitate. Instead she summoned every ounce of power she’d drained from Remy and forced it into the girl’s body, charging her like Remy would have charged a playing card. The power crackling like lighting across the younger girl’s skin and making the hair on her arms stand on end. One of the little boys aimed a beam of red energy at her and Marie summoned Kurt’s mutation, disappearing and reappearing a second later behind them. She did it three times before she could switch the damn thing off. She was a little too near the child who looked like Emma Frost and immediately the little girl turned on her, her hands instantly melding into diamond-sharp talons but Marie twisted away. Without even thinking about it Logan’s training kicked in and she dropped gracefully, still taking the young girl with her, swinging her weight and then viciously slamming a fist into the child’s torso, winding her. Another one of the Cyclopes clones took aim and she closed her eyes, picturing a shield: Immediately one of JJ’s thought-forms enveloped her, taking the form of giant feathered wings just like Warren used to own. The beam bounced harmlessly off them and Marie forced herself to her feet, charging for Remy, still dragging her red-haired hostage. She suddenly realised that JJ’s mutation had granted her thought-form claws when she totalled the work-bench beside her though she thought she’d steered clear of it. With claws Logan’s training came more easily and she ducked and dived, breaking apart weaponry though refusing to damage the kids themselves. The Jean-alike didn’t even struggle-

“You’re letting me an’ mah darlin’ husband outta here,” Marie muttered, “Or so help me, Ah’m gonna blow Little Orphan Jeannie here to kingdom come-”

But the girl did nothing, merely whispered one word. Her eyes shining.

“Father,” was all she said.

Suddenly the world went black.

Marie felt something, something like a damp, dark shadow reach into her mind. Her heart. Her- Her soul. She tried to fight it, but just like Amahl it got inside her, whispering obscenities and profanities. Making her feel like there was nothing but dirt underneath her skin. From far away she thought she could hear Remy calling to her, trying to rouse her, but she couldn’t reach out for him. She was helpless- Sweet Jesus she hated being helpless- Something bigger ‘n nastier than Victor Creed or Eric Lensherr spreading through her body like a poison. Taking heart and mind and making it his. Marie cried out as she fought it, terrified as ever of what it would do if it got back to Logan but try as she might it overwhelmed her- A broke-down heart-wrung memory of something that walked like it was a man- Something that she recognised from Logan’s memories of Project Witch-Breed, at the beginning of this whole mess. But her mind wouldn’t focus clearly on who it was. She tried to force herself to her feet, tried to focus on her feelings for Wolverine because they always gave her strength but nothing worked. Nothing. Registered dimly that she’d stopped fighting but she couldn’t help it. Couldn’t fight it. Couldn’t even care that she‘d stopped. Her arms released the Jean-alike without her telling them to, her eyes going dead and cold. Her heart might have stopped beating if the thing beneath her skin told it to, and Marie knew she had no control over it. Had no way to fight. Warm hands moved over her but she was numb to them, numb to everything. She was on her back, eyes black and red and shining-

And when she opened her eyes she knew that clarity in her head was finished. Knew that once again her mind was not her own. She didn’t want to say it but her voice did it of it’s own volition.

“Father,” she said, “Ah wanna speak to Father-”

Warm arms embraced her even as they chilled her. Someone was holding her from behind, like she was a very little girl and he cared about her. It was comforting and terrifying all in one. “Ah, my little Marie,” a familiar voice whispered behind her. “You’ve finally come home.” And then she felt rather than saw a hand close around her wind-pipe. Felt mind and body and even breath surrendering to the thing that held her in its arms.

The last thing Marie would register, before the darkness took her, was an image in her head of a man with hazel eyes and claws. He looked- jeez- he looked worried about her.

But she gave that memory up along with all the others as darkness claimed her.

She might have cried as it happened, she wasn’t sure….

Logan sat bolt upright in the Blackbird, his claws popping. “Marie?” he muttered, “Darlin’?” A beat of silence as Kitty stared at him. And then-

“That sonofabitch,” he snarled.

Disclaimer: This fan-fiction is not written for profit and no infringement of copyright is intended. Still unbetaed, mistakes are all mine.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

“Call me Patch,” Logan grunted, speaking over him. He’d given up his commission right after Hiroshima: He didn’t feel like going back to being that man, not now. Maybe not ever. And “Patch,” was what he was known as in Madripoor.

Logan came to three hours later and all around him there were bodies. Corpses. Dead children. Eyes wide open, staring. Bella easily spotted amongst the dead, her silver-white hair spread around her broken body like an angel’s wings. Logan forced himself to his feet, his skin caked with gore, and looked about him. Saw the fallout from his anger and shuddered. Shook. How could he have- How could he have done this? What kind of an inhuman monster does this? He tried to force himself to his feet but couldn’t- wouldn’t- move onwards. From far away he knew someone was screaming, and it took a moment to recognise that it was him. Because there were no words for this. No concepts. No possible grace or mercy or redemption-

For once in his life he was totally numb.

It was an easy thing, an unnoticeable thing, blocking the memories. His mind was naturally malleable, and the Wolverine in him knew without being told that they would have to be suppressed for him to operate. He’d try to end himself if they weren’t, and his inner beast never wanted that. The next thing he knew he was home in Canada, the memory of dead children boxed off somewhere inside his subconscious, where it should be. Any thoughts of Nathan Essex an insubstantial as a wraith. It was only when Marie brought Remy LeBeau home so many years later that those memories would stir, and even then they were ghostly. Uncertain. The only thing he knew was that he was sick to his stomach as soon as he set eyes on Marie’s would-be husband. Would have gladly cut gouged out those red-on-black eyes fer even looking at her, breathing near her, touching her-

After all, on some level he already knew what Remy did to little girls.

Disclaimer: This fan-fiction is not written for profit and no infringement of copyright is intended. Still unbetaed, mistakes are all mine.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

The voice, Logan recognised the bastard’s voice.

Same as it had been back in ‘48, damp and sickening like cold molasses. Whispering and crooning about things Jim Logan had done, reminding him of what he was capable of inflicting on the innocent when the beast inside came out to play. Like the ghost of Christmas past Nate Essex had arisen, trying to take his Marie away from him. Hurting her in a way Logan couldn’t hope to stop. Father, he heard her voice whisper inside his head, Ah wanna speak t’Father… Like Marie would ever willingly talk to that worthless sonofabitch. From far away Logan could hear Storm talking to him in a tight, quick voice, trying to remind him that he was inside Marie’s experience and not his own- Trying to remind him that he didn’t need to attack the people around him for hurting her, that she was far away and they were running to rescue her already-

He felt the claws pop then, almost of their own volition. The pain in his knuckles enough to remind himself that he was inside his own body, though he was looking out at the world through Marie’s eyes-

The lilt of slit-through metal filled the Blackbird cabin, a slight hiss of wires tearing the only other sound inside the jet. The X-Men knew better than to make any sudden noises when he was like this, after all. He twisted at the wrist, pretty certain he’d just totalled something, though not something important: In the week since this had first happened, since he’d started seeing Marie’s experiences with Amahl and Essex through their link, he’d managed to scrap three cars and his motorcycle. It was torturous: He felt Marie’s bile rise in his throat as Amahl touched her, felt her burns rise on his skin as the self-proclaimed King of Shadows took his fill from the young woman he’d blackmailed into leaving with him. The one person in this wretched world Logan actually fucking loved. And Marie let him abuse her, so certain that if she fought back she’d somehow hurt Logan through her link with him- She even felt ashamed that she couldn’t protect him, as if the biggest, baddest killing machine Weapon X had ever come up with deserved her pity. Or even her heart. It was making Logan fucking nuts: Not only to know how much trouble she was in, but also to know that he was the one had put her there. Because if he hadn’t been so damn convinced he could track her after she left the Mansion that night, then her and Amahl might never have gotten this far together-

And Logan might not know in intimate detail just how much hurt Marie was willing to put up with, to save the man she loved.

The vision passed then, Marie’s presence in Logan’s mind sputtering out of existence as if she’d never been there at all, just the same as all the other times. He opened his eyes to find a cargo of worried looking X-Men and three of his claws jammed into the pilot’s seat beside him, right up to the knuckle: Half Kitty Pryde’s body had phased to avoid the impact, her face drawn and worried but otherwise none the worse for wear. “Sensei,” was all she muttered, her eyes never leaving the flight controls. “Sensei, are you okay?”

He swallowed sheepishly then.

Pulled the claws in. He didn’t wanna scare the pumkin, even if she was someone’s momma these days. Watched Hank and Kurt as they let out a long breath, exchanged glances. Nodded to Storm, to indicate that Marie had left his mind again, but that he was ready to go.

He tried not to notice the way his hands were shaking in sheer, frustrated rage.

“Report?” Storm snapped crisply then. The atmosphere in the cabin was electric: Everyone knew how he was taking this, they knew what losing Marie would mean to him and nobody wanted a ringside seat for it. But Storm, being Storm, wouldn’t walk on egg-shells around him. She knew how freaked he was: Asking him to go touchy feely about this shit was just gonna make him worse, and nobody needed that.

“I said, report Wolverine,” she repeated, more loudly. The words as much a challenge to the others as to him.

He cleared his throat then.

Tried to sort through the images Marie had shown him, ordering himself to ignore the horror that rose inside him whenever he thought on Essex and Remy, and what all three of them had done in Madripoor. That was a self-flagellation for another day: Rogue needed him now. “She’s underground,” he muttered tersely. “Metal room, eaten through with rust. Walls are hollow, near a water source.” He could still taste the lime-scale and damp in the air. “Heavy population, mainly children.” The others gave an audible gasp, but he didn’t waver. He knew it got worse anyway. “Couple o’ familiar faces there too,” he said tightly, “Gambit’s hostile, Marie might require careful handling-” Storm nodded, she’d suspected as much thanks to Rogue’s time with Amahl- “And at least one of the kids looks like Jean Grey, another kinda like Cyclopes.”

“That bastard’s cloning X-Men?” Kitty demanded. Hank laying a hand on her shoulder to calm her, though from what Logan could see it wasn’t doing a whole Helluva lot o’ good. Kitty always did have a temper…

“Looks like. Essex…” Logan cleared his throat. How much information was too much information? “Essex has a thing about kids. I remember now. He experiments on ‘em. More’n likely that’s what he wants Rogue for. Her mutation’s unique and-”

“How do you know all this?” Braddock demanded from behind him. Her pretty eyes were narrowed, and Logan knew she could feel the way he was blocking her out. Well, more than usual.

Dammit. “You were right, we had run ins-back in the day. Which I remember. Ain’t gonna talk about ‘em,” and he showed her his teeth, “But I remember ‘em. That okay with you, Princess?”

She muttered something unintelligible in a language even Logan had never heard before. Glared at him in unrestrained loathing.

“What was that?”

“I said, fine,” she ground out through clenched teeth. She’d never really forgiven him for locking her out of the mansion when he found out she was trying to break his telepathic link to Rogue. Something about it making him unreliable in the field. She’d had to spend an entire night in the garage before she could be forced to rethink her stance on the matter.

Kurt and Storm rolled their eyes then, at exactly the same moment. “If you two can’t play in the same sand-box, then I’m going to have to separate you,” ’Ro muttered.

Logan shot her his tightest feral grin. “Okay with me. So long as she’s still covering us at the insertion point.” Again Beth narrowed her eyes. “Now can we get on with this people, or are we all gonna braid each other’s hair and talk about our feelings?”

The jet at large promptly shut up.

Kitty banked them then and began her descent, even as Storm pulled up a 3D map of the area and began listing off assignments. Using this kind of technology it was easy to see the only main water-source in the neighbourhood, an underground lake about a click and a half from the drop site. While there might not have been any indication of a settlement, the sheer uniformity of the image they were shown was enough to convince the team there was something down there. No piece of land was that naturally blank, which meant a) that the location was being shielded and b) the technology to do it was advanced enough to counteract the team’s own. Not exactly the kinda thing to help with Logan’s Zen-

Aside from the hardware there was some sort of telepathic field around the place, shielding it from view although the Loaner had assured them that it would provide no problem for her; That’s why she was staying behind in the jet. Princess was too precious to risk singeing. Logan, Kurt and Kitty were to be the first on the ground, followed by the heavier hitters like Storm and Hank. Or as Kitty bluntly put it, Sneak, Snikt, split. Once they were inside Pryde and Kurt would be in charge of disabling the guards, Logan with finding Marie: they were cleared for any amount of force, but Shadowcat liked a clean entrance and exit, it was one of the reasons she’d always worked well with Wolverine. Officially only Marie was being rescued, though that was likely to change now ‘Ro knew there were kids involved; Logan would have to warn her about their fanaticism, but telling the team they might have to kill kids to get their girl out was not gonna go down well. And he wasn’t willing to let Essex make him into a child-killer again. He would be the man Marie had fallen in love with, if only for tonight. Afterwards-

Afterwards Marie would be safe. That was all he needed to know for now.

“So, are vee going to do this, Hairy?” Kurt held out his arms enticingly to Wolverine, earning a dry grin from his wife and a snicker from Kitty, who had already climbed onto his back. Hank didn’t look happy with taking her place at the controls, but they needed it to look like there was only one team instead of two in case they were being watched. Kurt was taking them inside the electric fence surrounding the property, then maybe (if he could get a visual) inside the building. “Come on,” Wagner urged, “I am still zee safest vay to travel-”

“That’s Superman,” Kitty dead-panned.

“Quiet, you!” And his eyes lit up at the idea of teleporting Logan, despite the strain. Nothing ever truly seemed to wreck Kurt’s zest for adventure- Though Logan silently wondered whether this latest job might do the trick- And again he pushed away the memory of Madripoor.

“Fine, I’m coming, Blue,” Wolverine muttered. He stepped into the circle of Nightcrawler’s arms. The elf was lookin’ way too happy ‘bout this fer a married man. “You touch my ass, you die,” he growled.

“Understood, ass-touching is Marie’s job. Now stop pouting and come here, schnuckiputzi.” And with a final grin at Ororo he disappeared. There was a breathless moment- that famous Bamf!- as he reappeared in mid-air, about twelve feet off the ground inside the fence. Naturally, he’d managed to teleport into the deepest shadows in the place, lending all three of them the best camouflage possible. Logan had to admit it, the elf was good: Of the three of them, he was the most visible, and that was sayin’ something. Although it was also kinda painful, the three of ‘em dropping that last twelve feet and hitting the ground. Also disappointing to realise Kitty had learned his way with cuss words. For a little thing, the string of bad language was near silent but damn impressive- Jesus, she kissed Colossus with that mouth..?

But they didn’t have time to lose.

Took them only a second to get to their feet and then Kurt was ‘porting towards the building; Within moments he had his ear to the compound door, a thermal scanner in his hand, that gleeful Errol Flynn grin on his face. Kitty and Logan exchanged a tight smile at his good humour, boundless as ever: There was always something innocent about Kurt, no matter what he was doing. Life was still an adventure for him. Wagner waited for a second, got the image from the room within and (quickly blessing himself) bamfed inside. By the time Logan and Kitty arrived at the entrance he’d taken out the external locks as well as repositioning the cameras to maximize their blind-spots: Anything they couldn’t sneak under could be teleported by. Like Kitty had said, sneak, snikt, split. They moved silently through the building, Kitty on point and phased thoroughly, Logan at the back in case things went south- Which Jesus knew they were likely to do. There were no guards visible now, no monitors to catch them. No kids anywhere, and they were all three thanking their lucky stars ‘bout that because nobody wanted to engage with a bunch o‘ rug rats if they could help it. No matter what they’d done to Marie.

Logan strained every sense, listening for even the lightest footfalls, the most sensitive stealth equipment, but nothing was kicking. It was almost as if the place was deserted, but his nose was telling him otherwise: The stench of death, misery and terror was just the same as back in Madripoor. The place still smelt of kids. Deeper and deeper they wound into the belly of the building, every so often leaving transmitters to show the way for Hank and Storm: Once they were discovered (and they were sure to be discovered) the stealth end of things wouldn’t be worth jack shit and they’d need a tornado. Or two. Kitty kept a quick pace, hands hovering over her weapons: Every so often she’d phase through a wall to check the path ahead and subdue anyone they ran into. But nobody found them. Nobody even seemed to know they were there. They couldn’t have asked for a more text-book insertion. Everything was going according to plan-Which naturally meant that Logan expected the shit to shit the fan.

What he didn’t expect however, was quite how spectacularly it would do so.

Because Kitty was in the process of sneaking ahead when four little boys appeared around the corner before them. Each one of them wearing blind-folds, each one of them bearing a distinct resemblance to one Scott Summers though they were only kids. And not a one of ’em showing up to Logan through either scent or sound. The three X-Men instantly fell back as soon as they spotted the boys, Pryde darting ahead to incapacitate them (though not kill) when she realised that they were escorting someone: Rogue.

But she was alive.

She was alive, and she was right in front of him- Instantly instinct took over. Logan snarled, reaching for her, trying to pull her behind him and away from the boys despite their protests. If they just got her back to Braddock then whatever Essex had done to her could be reversed. Marie’s face became a mask of shock, her newly black-on-red eyes widening in fright as he pulled at her and instantly she began fighting against him. Pulling back and hollering blue murder. Swearing about what Essex would do to him for laying a hand on “his little girl.” The boys were yelling something, something about Father forbidding her touching “the feral,” but Logan didn’t care none. Essex could get as angry as he wanted ‘bout it, Marie was coming with him- She turned to run (Since when did Marie run from a fight?) and he yanked her towards him by the back of her neck, grabbing two of her wrists in one hand, fully determined to throw her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes if necessary. But before he could even try it she yanked one hand free, slipping and knocking him backwards- He automatically broke her fall with his body, it was as natural to him as breathing-

And it all kinda slowed down then.

Logan stared up into her red-on-black eyes, so like Essex’, and he felt Marie’s hands against his claws. Her touch light as gossamer against the metal-streaked bone. It made no sense: Marie wasn’t a hands-off kinda fighter, she’d too much Wolverine in her fer that. But then why would she be trying to feel his claws, if she didn’t have an attack plan of some sort? Why wasn’t she trying to touch him, to take his power, if she was trying to beat him back? She was even wearing any gloves-

And that’s when he realised.

She was charging them the way Remy would charge a playing card.

“Aw shit,” he heard Kitty mutter.

Disclaimer: This fan-fiction is not written for profit and no infringement of copyright is intended. Beta-ed by the awesome Wanda W. to whom I owe a chocolate covered Logan at the very least. You might want to re-read the chapter about Madripoor before you read this (though it should stand alone if you don’t want to) and Hobbits away, ho!

STILL-LIFE

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

For a beat everything was silent. Still. Aching.

And then-

Then suddenly the world screamed back into focus in full, mind-blowing Technicolor. That brief beat of numbness a blessing Logan should have known wouldn’t last.

He felt the pain Rogue was inflicting on him travelling beneath his skin then, hissing along his bones and damn near cracking ‘em. Didn’t like it none. Just wasn’t sure what to do about it, with so many kids around- So many targets- and a notable absence of cooperation from his Marie. All about him the Summers clones were attacking, using their optic beams to blast the room to ribbons, and he knew it was only a matter of time before one of those mini-Cyclopes was injured more’n Essex could repair. The thought wasn’t exactly tickling him neither; after all they were only kids. But even if the X-Men didn’t wanna hurt them, they were too devoted to Essex to disobey him- And given the team’s insistence on getting out of there with Rogue it was a recipe fer trouble, there was no use saying it weren’t. This was Madripoor all over again and Logan knew it, knew it would end with a pile of children’s bodies and blood all over his hands. With a feral Wolverine walking away from it, and maybe, just maybe, another dead girl- Except this time it wouldn’t be a little snow-made angel.

This time it would be his Marie-

The familiar beast within him growling from inside its rusty, old cage then. Showed its teeth like a good Wolverine and moved to centerfield. Mine, it whispered, Marie’s mine. She said so. Essex wants her he’ll have t’go through me. We both know I’ll slaughter the entire compound to get her out of here, bub. So grow a fucking pair and save our girl-

The indecision lifted then. Sharp, hunter-eyed clarity taking its place. Casualties were inevitable, the quicker he got her out the lower they would be. Logan pulled away from her touch then, ignoring her sharp intake of breath- Jesus, it felt better without her charging his bones- Every muscle tensing. Senses suddenly on high alert. Wall, burnt and probably fragile, behind him. Smell of moss and lime-scale right behind it indicating that they were near the water-source (about three clicks away from it) which ran beneath the base. Approximately twenty targets on their way to intercept him, the youngest about nine, the eldest closer to sixteen. And, by the smell of her, stinking of the sweet aroma of Remy LeBeau’s suffering and blood. Estimated distance from the surface, approximately 20 metres. Estimated time needed to get Marie out of here, precisely ten minutes and a lot of kicking ass. They would break through the wall behind them, Kitty on point, Kurt running distraction. Mow through anything or anyone that got in their path, setting off their transmitters as they went. Soon as one of those babies went off Storm’d come in like a hurricane, giving just enough cover to get them back to the Blackbird and airborne. If Logan had been solo there would have been vengeance against Essex for his actions, but at the moment all he cared about was Marie and getting her out of there. The Wolverine within growled a little, didn’t like the lack of pay-back but also knew Rogue was the priority, so he’d keep his peace. For now.

Couldn’t ask more of a monster than that.

By now Kurt and Kitty were trying desperately to fight their way out of the room without killing their attackers, too freaked by the Cyclops’s clones’ ages- And familiar faces- to use their usual force. The identical boys were taking advantage of the adults’ obvious hesitation, ignoring any minor injuries they suffered while forcing Kitty to keep phasing in order to avoid Kurt’s teleportation, and Kurt to hesitate lest he bamf out of the way and leave Pryde to take the brunt of a blast meant for him. Needless to say, it was a more tactically advanced attack than might be expected from four ten years olds, and the realisation wasn’t exactly enhancing Logan’s Zen any. Nor was it making this jail-break any easier to pull. Marie was screaming bloody murder even as she hurt him, demanding she be brought back to Essex- or as she called the bastard, “Father,”- and snarling vindictively that Logan didn’t get to touch her. That he was a filthy animal unworthy to lay his fingers against her or even look her in the eye-

“Seriously, sensei,” Kitty snarled behind him then, “Either get a room already, or get your ass into gear!” And as if to make her point she phased to avoid another of the clones’ optic blasts. Dropped to her knees and then disappeared for a second as Kurt teleported her, depositing her at the tattered remains of the blast doors to give her a moment’s respite.

“We have to fall back, Logan,” Kurt muttered. “Ve’re going to hurt zem if ve keep dis up.” The elf was teleporting through the room almost faster than Logan’s eyes could follow him, spinning and pirouetting through thin air as if he’s been gifted with wings instead of a tail. It was impressive, his speed just barely keeping him ahead of their attackers, but it was obvious they couldn’t keep this up long-term. There was only so much Nightcrawler could do before his mutation blacked out, and then he’d be a sitting target- A couple of corridors away Logan heard boots stomping, barrelling towards them even as Marie’s power hissed through his bones. It was the problem with attacking a telepath’s compound: They always knew as soon as a fox made its way inside their chicken-coop. And they always over-reacted to the fox’s presence too. This situation had “blood-bath,” written all over it, and once again he felt his mind being drawn back to Madripoor. He didn’t wanna think on what Essex would do to Kurt or Kitty, if given the opportunity to experiment. But to let loose what he was capable of, to do what he knew needed to be done to children- Would Marie ever forgive him once she realised what he’d done to save her?

He pushed the thought away. Right now he was the best of the best at what he did, and that was what they needed- The rest of it could wait until Marie was free.

He called for Kurt then, gesturing for him to take Marie and the elf came immediately. “Come here, dear one,” Wagner crooned from behind- then beside-then behind them again, “Let me take you-”

“You ain’t laying those filthy devil’s paws on me,” Marie growled viciously. “Y’all are gonna give me back t’Father-”

“Can I shoot her?” Kitty muttered. And then, at Logan’s glower, “With a tranquilizer, I swear I meant with a tranquilizer-”

Nice little Jewish girl, my ass. “Wouldn’t be healthy, pum’kin,” Wolverine rumbled. “Not with hows I feel about her. Now haul yourself, we’re moving out.”

Pryde rolled her eyes. “Finally.” And despite Marie’s screams of protest the three headed for that wall behind him, the one he knew was weak. Kitty musta been way ahead of him because as soon as she saw the scorch marks she grinned tightly and headed towards it, her body disappearing neatly through even as Logan turned his shoulder to it. Doing his best to shield Rogue’s body he tore through metal and wood with his claws. The impact shuddered through him and Marie took the opportunity to make a break for it, biting at his hand where he held her and forcing him to yank her back to him harder than he intended. Those newly-black-on-red eyes going wide with fright. “Give her to me,” Kurt muttered, reaching for Marie despite her protests, “I can get her through ze wall and then you can follow behind-”

“You sure you can hold her fer that long, elf?” Logan muttered.

“Three bamfs with me and we’ll be lucky if she doesn’t throw up.”

“If you say so-”

“I do say so, Hairy, now let me vork-”

And that was when the wall exploded beside them with a shuddering, ear-splitting BANG!

Logan spun, instinctively crouching over Marie to take the force of the blast, tucking his head against hers and tightening his hold. Kurt swung upwards, darting out of the blast’s way and hauling himself across the ceiling pipes using only his hands and tail. Teleporting the final distance to meet the source of the blast. Grey smoke billowed out through the room, illuminated only by a single, glowing playing card- the Jack of Hearts- and a pair of red-on-black eyes. Which were also glowing.

As was the flame-thrower the newcomer held in his other hand.

That damn coat swaying in the breeze from the explosion was what gave it away for Logan. Trust LeBeau to still look windswept and interesting even as he was breaking through a wall. “Looks like you need a little help, here, homme,” Gambit muttered smugly. He looked like Hell, (which tickled Logan no end,) but he still managed to sound like a Goddamn pain in the ass. “You need some help with mah girl there?”

Logan and Marie both said it at the same time, though for vastly different reasons. “Fuck you,” they chimed in unison.

“You’re always welcome to, petite,” LeBeau muttered to Marie, a smirk twisting his features. “But you-” he gestured to Logan, “You would have t’buy Remy a drink first, non? And den, Ah’m sure we work something out-”

“Can ve talk about dis later?” Kurt called from the ceiling. “Ve’ve got company-”

“Hey Kurt, homme,” Remy called, “How you doin’?”

Wagner narrowed his glowing yellow eyes, teleporting beside the mutant for a second. Swinging a hard left hook and knocking it soundly into his jaw before bamfing away again before LeBeau could retaliate. “Zat vas for Marie,” he muttered.

“Hey, you did learn something bein’ married t’Storm,” Remy retorted, impressed.

Kitty reappeared behind the hole Logan had torn in the wall then. Her face now bleeding from a nasty cut above her eye. “They have this way covered, sensei,” she said tightly, keeping as much of her body phased as possible. That was never a good sign, in Logan’s experience. “Any other ideas?”

“Ah know a way,” Remy drawled, eye mock-innocent. “Ah could show you-”

“Now isn’t that fucking convenient,” Logan growled.

“Ah practically grew up here, homme,” Remy muttered, eyes darkening. He glanced pointedly at Marie as he said it, practically daring Logan to correct him. “Been lots o’ places else, but dis be where mah home is.” And his smile grew wider. More cocky. “Or you could stay an’ wait for Daddy Dearest t’take back de petite.”

Well, shit.

It looked like a set-up, smelt like a set-up and walked like a set-up: Logan seriously doubted it could possibly be anything else. He also knew better than to trust the Cajun, no matter what the sonofabitch said. But they had to get out of here now and without a map or their thermal imager they could be walking around in circles for hours. The quicker the extraction was, the less likely casualties became. And the quicker they could get Marie to Braddock, and set about setting her to rights. Logan snarled, growling viciously and then flashing Remy his claws, up close and personal. He’d never been so openly hostile with the man, but then he’d always previously thought that the bastard truly loved Marie. He didn’t know how he’d been fooled. LeBeau cocked an eyebrow but didn’t back up, merely watched him. And then chucked his thumb towards the doorway, where by now they could hear the sounds of reinforcements pouring in. “It’s your funeral, homme,” he muttered.

No, Logan thought. It’d be hers.

“Fine,” he snarled, instinctively pulling Marie closer. “Lead the way-” He waited until Remy reluctantly turned his back and then slashed at his back, the claw-marks just deep enough to hurt like Hell but not deep enough to need stitches. LeBeau turned back to him, one eyebrow cocked again. Though not looking scared none.

“My fist slipped,” Logan growled. And then they were off.

Disclaimer: This fan-fiction is not written for profit and no infringement of copyright is intended. Betaed again by the wonderful Wanda W. Thanks!

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

To be honest, Logan had been hoping he’d get to use LeBeau as a human shield.

It was the only reason he could conjure to let the bastard live, given what he’d done to Marie. But unfortunately, judging by his nose Gambit was actually holding up his end of their bargain. Leading them to safety and getting them the Hell outta Dodge. That being the case, Logan couldn’t actually make with the snikt. Yet.

Yet being the operative word here, bub, the beast within him growled. But you and me both know the swamp rat ain’t gonna be useful fer long-

He clenched his hands more tightly against his sides then. The atmosphere was so tense you coulda cut it with a knife. Behind him Kitty and Kurt were watching his back, Pryde bringing up the rear and almost completely phased despite the strain it put on her. Kurt teleporting every so often in front of Gambit and “accidentally,” spraying brimstone all over that expensive French cologne of his. It was weird seeing the elf being so vindictive, but then Marie had always been a favourite o’ his, what with his bamfing outta that jet t’save her. And the fact that she never seemed bothered by how different he looked. So Logan supposed he shouldn’t be surprised that he was pissed at the swamp rat bastard-

Not that Marie’s former husband was really reacting to the attention none.

Remy really was one cold bastard. Eyes kept firmly front and centre, one charged-up playing card alight in his fingers. Occasionally gesturing for a stop or nodding them through passage-ways so narrow you’d think a rat would have trouble fitting by, let alone a full grown man- But never slowing down. Wouldn’t even glance at Marie despite the fact that she was silent, eyes closed, limp against Logan. Soon as he’d picked her up she’d dropped outta consciousness like someone had flicked her off at her source. Not that Remy cared none. Logan found it scary as Hell: The sass and swearing were as much a part of Marie as her gloves or her Southern drawl, but now- It was like carrying a corpse across his shoulders. Her body pale, feverish. Breath coming so shallowly that another man mighta thought she wasn’t breathing at all. He didn’t wanna think on it but he couldn’t get the idea out of his head: Something was wrong with her. Something to do with Essex. Because even if she hated his guts, the Marie he knew would be fighting him. Showing claws and spitting bullets, and if she wasn’t-

Hell, if she wasn’t he didn’t wanna think on what he’d do. But he doubted Gambit would survive it. Or anyone else.

“Dat’s enough,” LeBeau’s whisper intruded then.

The Cajun gestured to a rusting metal door to his right. Making his playing card burn brighter. “We gonna have to step inside one o’ de labs,” he said, “Ah think they using de telepaths t’try catching up wid us-”

“No shit, Sherlock,” Kitty muttered.

“An’ for dat fine display o’ New York manners, petite, you get to poke your head inside here and make sure we don’t got no company, oui?” Kitty acquiesced gracefully: She flipped the Cajun one finger instead of two as she darted through the wall. Letting a beat pass, punctuated by some surprisingly colourful language, and then swinging the door open wide and letting them in. Wolverine sniffed experimentally- he wouldn’t have even thought about entering the enclosed space if Kitty hadn’t gone in first- and then gestured roughly for the Cajun to enter ahead of him. Making sure that he’d be surrounded by X-Men if he wanted to get stupid and play. Or betray them to Essex, whichever came first-

But Gambit didn’t move. Even though it was his idea, he didn’t seem to want to enter. “Haul ass, swamp rat,” Logan rumbled sourly, “You waiting fer a fucking invitation?”

“You say de sweetest things.”

“Do ‘em too.” And he slashed at the Cajun, sending him darting forward and nearly tripping over Kurt. LeBeau shot him an annoyed look but didn’t retaliate: The noise of a fight would bring the entire compound in here, they both knew that. So Logan made sure to smile extra pretty, even as the other man muttered vindictively about his pauvre con self. The room smelt stale, the sickeningly cloying stench of disinfectant and anaesthesia overlaying the iron tang of dried blood and piss. The beep and whoosh of heart-monitors ghosting through the dark, the green lights of computers flickering like lost souls. The walls were lined with containment chambers, glass coffins like the tank he’d nearly died in at Alkali Lake, and even without his enhanced senses, Logan knew those chambers weren’t empty-

“He don’t listen in here,” LeBeau said quietly then. His expression just for a second haunted. “Father, he don’t wanna hear the ones he sends here. It’s telepathically shielded, so we can rest for a minute-” His voice turned cold. “And try some damage control with Marie.”

“So something is wrong?” Logan set Rogue gently down by the door and placed himself protectively in front of her. Kitty was hunting through her bag for her comm, trying to send an update to Storm while Kurt watched the door. And Logan. Which proved just how smart the elf was-

The Cajun’s cold eyes met his. “Ah know what he’s doin’,” LeBeau responded evenly. “She bin inside wid him too long, he started t’get his hooks inta her. Dat’s why she’s being so quiet.”

“She calling him fer help?”

Gambit’s handsome face twisted into something ugly. “He makes us believe dat we’d all die without him. His way o’ making sure nobody tries to run.” For the first time his eyes drifted to Marie and he shook his head, disgusted. “She’s pleading with him t’forgive her for being taken away right now,” he muttered, “Down on her knees and begging-”

Without even thinking about it Logan’s teeth drew back in a snarl. “My Marie don’t fucking beg,” he ground out. “You got that?”

“Logan…” Kurt began.

“She don’t beg, elf. She just fucking don’t.” And he turned angrily away, hands clenched with the stress of not touching her because he didn’t wanna upset her. Didn’t wanna transfer what was inside his head to hers. He was so fucking worried about her… Her face suddenly grimaced in pain and his own followed suit. Kurt looked away at the intimacy of the sight. “Anyone wants t’insult my girl,” he rumbled darkly, “and they’re asking fer a gutting. Understood?”

Gambit snorted. “Yoh girl is mah wife, homme.”

“You never been any kind of a husband to her.”

Gambit’s expression got uglier. “She never bin no kind of a wife t’me.”

He was in LeBeau’s face again in an instant. Claws at the Cajun’s throat. “The fuck did you say?” It was so much easier to be angry at Gambit than think about what was wrong with Rogue. “You dump her soon as her mutation comes back,” Logan spat, “you get her involved with this fucking cult, you watch her being tortured by that bastard you call Father and now you talk this shit about her-”

For the first time that cold bastard façade cracked. “You don’t know nothing about dis, you self-righteous sonofabitch,” Gambit snarled, the air around him crackling with barely suppressed rage. “You don’t know nothing about me an’ Marie!” And suddenly he swung for Logan, his fist crashing squarely into his jaw, the blow more a product of frustration than intent. Knocking Wolverine back before he swung viciously out, his own temper taking over. The beast within him itching to make someone pay for what had been done to Marie. They tumbled backwards into one of the desks, the crash of their impact echoing loudly and immediately Kurt bamfed between them. Grabbed Logan’s arms, holding him back, before he could kill their only way outta Dodge. “Get back,” Nightcrawler hissed at Remy, “Get back, if you vant to keep breathing-”

“He no bother me, homme, he welcome to try playing-”

Kurt’s tail flicked out, striking the Cajun hard across the face, cutting his cheek. “You may not care about your vife, Remy,” he snapped, “but I vish to return to mine. Now valk avay.” Gambit flinched and the elf tentatively loosening his grip on Logan, now his temper was under control. Wolverine nodded to him, shooting Gambit a vicious look and then returning to Marie. Stroking the hair from her face, his sense of helplessness tearing at him worse’n the adamantium tank ever had done. If she didn’t come back to him… LeBeau stalked into the shadows, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it. Glaring across at Nightcrawler, but not saying a word. He looked pissed at the universe as a silence descended. An accusing silence.

Which Logan knew was everyone’s favourite kind.

“Ah love mah wife, Kurt,” LeBeau said eventually. Eyes on his cigarette. Mouth working like the words were bitter in his mouth. “Ah took care o’ her. Why you think Ah let dem keep me here when Ah could walk out? Why you think Ah never tell dem where she is when Ah can fucking guess?” And he shot Logan a vindictive, furious look, his expression almost feral. His face leaving no doubt that he knew exactly why Marie had gone back to the Wolverine. “Ah no care if her mutation come back,” he whispered. “Ah never cared. But the Old Reliable returning, it was a warning.” He shook his head disgustedly. “He reminding me de Family always come first-”

Suddenly he looked away.

“So Essex vas responsible for her mutation’s coming back?” Kurt asked quietly. It made sense, Marie had been well for four years even as everybody else died around her: There had to have been a reason.

LeBeau nodded. “He always wanted Marie. Said she was unique, good for the breeding programme-” Logan growled at that, he didn’t like it none but Gambit seemed beyond hearing him- “Wasn’t no accident, me running into her in New Orleans. Wasn’t no accident, me following her back t’Westchester neither. And so long as we were married, then mah baby girl was immune.” The black and red eyes met Nightcrawler’s fiercely, anger and shame fighting in their depths. Pleading too, like Kurt’s understanding could make it alright, but he seemed to instinctively know that absolution was beyond his grasp. Logan suppressed a flash of empathy at the thought. “Only accident was actually falling for her,” he muttered eventually, looking away. He couldn’t hold Kurt’s level gaze for long, but then few sinners could. “Dat wasn’t part o’ de plan. Ah did everything Father asked, but Ah couldn’t- Ah wouldn’t let him hurt her. Not de woman Ah loved.” Another card was glowing in his hands now- The Queen of Spades. He just kept staring at it. “Ah wouldn’t condemn her to de life Ah had,” he said. “Not Marie.”

And he let the card turn to ash in his hand.

“So you disappeared to save her?” Kurt’s prompted. His voice gentler than Logan’s would have been asking that question, but he seemed to realise that Remy needed to explain himself, whatever else his crimes. Confession being good fer the soul. Besides, if he was talking then he and Logan weren’t going at each other like a couple of rabid coyotes, and that was just best for everyone-

LeBeau closed his eyes. “Remy trying t’ throw dem off de trail. Got de ADA involved, knew Father would try t’steer clear o’ the Iceman cos he might smell a rat.” Logan looked up: Suddenly Bobby Drake’s visit to the Mansion made sense. He’d been tipped off to look into LeBeau’s disappearance. “Ah also knew once Papa Wolverine over there got word o’ what had happened he’d drag her back t’dat nice safe Mansion o’ his,” LeBeau continued. “Knew dat without me there Marie would let him. Dat’s why Ah left. Figured Father could tie hisself in knots chasing me, but ma belle femme would be outta his reach.” He gave a bitter laugh. “At least, Ah thought so. Didn’t realise de petite had gone and turned telepath til Amahl started making her see things. Creating dat damn pet shadow o’ hers, convincing her she was dangerous. Dat she would hurt her precious Wolverine.” His face twisted again, jealousy marring the handsome features. Now it was Logan who couldn’t meet Kurt’s gaze. “By de time Ah figured out Amahl had lured her outta de Mansion it was too late: She’d left wid de bastard t’come here.” His eyes rested accusingly for a moment on Logan. “Ah shoulda known she’d do anything t’save you. Mah wife always did love you.

But Ah try to save her anyway.”

Logan realised in that moment that though he didn’t like thinking of the Cajun as human, after this he might haveta start. Shit.

“Ah’m many kinds o’ bastard, Logan,” the Cajun muttered then, “and Ah know when Ah die where Ah’m going. Just like you know you going there too. But Ah wouldn’t hurt Marie, and you know it. You can believe anything o’ me, but not dat.” And he turned away, apparently needing privacy in his grief.

It was so quiet even Logan barely heard it. “Ah’m sorry,” he said.

It didn’t often happen but Logan’s sense of contrition reared its ugly head. Not because he thought LeBeau shouldn’t pay fer what he’d done all those years ago in Madripoor. Not even because he entirely believed the selfless routine: Remy had jerked Rogue around since the day they were wed. Made her cry, and that just wasn’t good enough behaviour if you were lucky enough to be married to Marie, in his opinion. But in this one thing, he had tried to act honourably. He had tried to save the woman he loved, at great cost to himself. Logan had to give the man respect fer that. Not congratulations, but respect. Because finally the Wolverine understood how come he’d never smelt deceit on LeBeau in all the times he’d seen him with Rogue: He loved her. He really, truly loved her. Just like Logan did. In this one small thing, they were the same.

Now that was a fuckin’ bone-chilling thought.

“Can she be saved?” Logan asked quietly then. He didn’t wanna ask and yet he had to know. They both did.

“Remy no sure.” Gambit shook his head, sighed. “Ah thought seeing you again mighta jerked her outta it. Can’t imagine Father’s instructions would be stronger than what she feels for you.” A bitter smile twisted his features. “There are hurricanes pack less punch than you two, Ah always knew dat.”

“She said I wasn’t t’touch her,” Logan muttered. “Said Essex wouldn’t allow it- And the thought o’ my skin on hers seemed to upset her. He tell that to all his girls?” And for a second he knew that Remy was thinking of Madripoor, of that poor little snow-made girl he’d killed. They’d killed.

They both looked away at the same time.

“Ah no think so,” Remy answered. “Programming means you never say no to him, but Ah’ve never heard…” And suddenly he trailed off.. Eyes narrowing. “How’d you track her here?”

Logan looked at his feet. He hated talking about this. “I got flashes of her,” he said. “Because we’re- Because o’ the link.” Gambit frowned, not understanding and he fought the urge to growl. How the Hell could he explain this? “The New Reliable takes mutations and flips ‘em,” he said eventually. “When she got mine last time it made her like me but- But different. Whenever she gets a mutation the New Reliable changes it til it’s more efficient than it was before. With her telepathy, I guess it figured we’d make a better team if we could link without skin-on-skin contact…” He trailed off. Suspecting that last bit came off kinda, sorta proud. Where was Hank when you needed him? Because that sounded like three kinds o’ horse-shit t’him-

But Gambit merely frowned. Curious. “Ah thought telepaths couldn’t get inside yoh head?” he asked.

Logan shrugged. “Marie can. She’s my-” And he stopped himself. He’d nearly said She’s my mate, but he didn’t think it’d be wise saying that to Gambit right now. Even if it was the truth, he didn’t wanna explain it was a Wolverine thing.

His silence wasn’t fooling the Cajun any though. “Like Ah say, more punch than a hurricane,” he drawled. “But if your link is strong enough t’work without touch, den Ah think Father was worried. Thought maybe you’d over-ride his programming if you got her back and opened up her mind. Can’t see no other reason why he’d give an instruction like dat, it’d be easier t’tell her to get close t’you and put a knife in yoh back-”

“Zat’s comforting,” Kurt chimed.

“Gambit only telling de truth.”

“So you think if he touches her it’ll jolt her out of it?” Kitty asked from behind them. She was folding the comm away, her written message to Storm apparently sent. Logan wondered how much she’d heard, though knowing the pum’kin, it was probably everything. Gambit nodded and her smile widened slightly. “So we open the link and Pod Person Marie goes away? We get the genuine article back?” She gestured to Marie’s barely-conscious form. “Then what are we waiting for? Lay one on her, sensei. Go on over there and wake Sleeping Beauty up.”

Disclaimer: This fan-fiction is not written for profit and no infringement of copyright is intended. Still unbetaed, mistakes are all mine.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Marie was in darkness.

Total. Immeasurable. Defining as the grave.

You are where you deserve to be, child, Father’s voice echoed through her head, You deserve this punishment, for disappointing me.

And Marie knew he was right. Father was always right.

Something she couldn’t see at the very darkest recess of her mind growled at the thought.

She was hanging weightless now, immoveable. Nothing in her veins but ice-water, the creeping cloy of paralysis sliding along her bones. So cold, so helpless- Her heart-beat nothing but an echo, the feeling of being inside her body a memory she couldn’t really recall. She was dimly aware that there was a world outside- she thought she could hear Remy yelling- but she didn’t want to look at it. She knew it wasn‘t permitted, that she had to remain here and be punished like a dutiful child. She’d dropped like a stone the minute the animal had touched her; All there was in here was her mind and her mind was filled with him-With Father. The only man she had ever really loved.

The only man who had the right to decide her worth and conduct-

And for some reason she couldn’t comprehend that thought made her want to cry.

Because Father was furious at her, she could feel it. So disappointed in her because she had let herself be taken by the animal with the metal-streaked claws. Marie spiralled further and further downwards into darkness, into self-loathing and shame as she remembered what had happened. How as soon as she’d seen the creature something within her had… shifted. Reacted. Started spreading through her body like a virus, like a burning out-of-control heat. The animal’s nearly-human hazel eyes- and why did they seem so familiar?- had met hers and suddenly she’d felt as if she were split apart. Torn. As if someone else was in control of her body, while she, she- She didn’t want to think about what she felt. What she’d wanted to do. It was shameful, wrong, Father had said so. The way her breath had hitched, the way her heartbeat tripled. The way her skin had flushed beneath her clothes where the beast’s hands moved. All was bass-growl tempo and burning heat, his nearness unbearably wanted. The sensation of being close to him a need that fed the blood. Even as she heard her own voice spit invective and vitriol at him her body had ached to touch him. The desire to lay her hands on him so strong she wasn’t sure how she’d controlled it at all. Marie couldn’t understand it: Though she could see that the pain she caused him with Remy’s mutation was excruciating he hadn’t fought back. Why hadn’t she taken advantage of such unexpected weakness? She could have saved Father and her family so much trouble. Could have stopped him taking her away. But she hadn’t. It was almost as if she wanted the beast to steal her from her brothers and sisters-

Marie gasped. She didn’t want that. She didn’t want Father to think that.

And yet-

Some tiny, whispering echo in her head knew that it was true. Marie tried to push the thought away but she could not. Her mind…growled at the attempt. Popped its claws and snarled. Some part of her, she realised, had wanted to leave. Had wanted to follow the beast. Would have gladly walked through fire to reach him, despite Father’s rebukes echoing through her head. The animal was inside her skin, strangely familiar like a skill learned by heart. Or a song half-remembered, though she didn’t know the words. Marie knew that she should be frightened, that the beast was savage, dangerous; Even now she could hear Father crooning a list of the creature’s many crimes inside her head, each act more horrific than the last. Images of battlefields and myriad tortures unthinkable by civilised man were buzzing around inside her cranium, what she had seen the creature do with her own eyes merely confirming the message. The animal is worthless, Father was telling her. Filthy. You must be kept safe from him, he will hurt you-

But Marie didn’t believe that. No matter what Father said, nor how wrong she felt for thinking it, she instinctively knew that the animal would not harm her in any way. That he would protect her, take care of her. Love her. That in some unfamiliar, intimate way… He was hers.

Father’s voice spoke over her then. He sounded furious. Nothing is yours, child, he hissed. All you are is mine- And pain rocked through her skull, unbelievably vivid. Harsh enough to bring tears to her eyes. The agony unlike anything she had ever experienced before, the sensation akin to barbed wire being torn through her mind, her flesh. Her heart. Father kept telling her that all she had to do was recant, that all she had to say was that the animal was nothing to do with her and he would make it stop. That Father would treat her kindly, like he really wanted to. But Marie refused. The image of the animal’s face burning in her mind. The pain increased even as she tried to shake it off, snarling and growling. Trying desperately to find relief and instead only finding more hurt. It just kept getting worse and worse, the agony almost enough to drive all other thoughts from her mind except-

She just kept thinking, No. No. No. No. NO!

Marie began to fight then. Hissed as the pain grew worse, not sure where the idea came from but knowing instinctively that it was right. That it was what she had to do. That whatever else had happened to her, the animal and she were linked, and that that was how things were supposed to be. No matter what anyone else said. Father tried to drive the thought from her mind but she wouldn’t let him. Couldn’t. Even though she wanted to be a dutiful daughter, his precious little girl, she wanted to keep the animal in her heart more. She wasn’t sure what was happening to her: It felt as if something deep inside her was yelling, like there was a part of her voice she couldn’t hear or register that was nonetheless protesting at the top of her lungs. But she didn’t want to stop it. She didn’t want to leave the animal- Logan, his name was Logan- Couldn’t bear the thought of parting with him. It felt like being asked to part with the capacity to hear music. Or the will to breath. Father increased the discomfort, the anguish of it hammering through her like a sledge-hammer, but she wouldn’t stop thinking it. She wouldn’t. It was one thing for her to be condemned to this place and this family, but her Logan deserved better than this. She wouldn’t allow it. He was hers. Hers. Not Father’s. Not anyone else’s. Hers.

And she, whether she understood why or not, knew she was his.

Marie opened her eyes then.

She could taste him in her lips.

Logan’s breath was the next thing she registered, hot against her face. Then the big warm hands she’d missed so much, splayed across her ribs, the blunt fingers digging ever so slightly into her flesh. Warm, he was so warm… His nearness soothing her despite her pain. He was kneeling between her legs, his lips hovering an inch from hers. Eyes closed, face buried in her neck as if he were grieving though Marie didn’t know why. Behind him she could see Kurt and Kitty staring, ashen-faced, Pryde moving to lay a hand on Logan’s shoulder as if in comfort. Kurt muttering something she recognised as the Lord’s prayer. Marie shifted, one hand tracing up his arm, noting with worry the tenseness she felt there. The other hand tangling in hi hair. Trailing down his face, his Adam’s apple to rest on his heart. She wanted him to look at her but he wouldn’t-

And then-

“Logan?” she asked. Name felt unused on her lips, but right. She had to say it. “Logan, sugah… What’s wrong?”

The reaction was instantaneous. He moved to look at her, those hazel eyes staring down into hers, the craggy features transformed. A beat of silence, of disbelief and then- His mouth on hers, sensation and heat and movement shooting through her and Jesus it had been so long since she touched him and she wanted to never stop touching him again. She dimly heard the gasp from the other two, dimly recognised that she would never hear the end of this once Pryde told the story back in the Mansion but she didn’t care. Because he was here, and real, and warm and growling in her arms. He wasn’t a phantom concocted by Essex- Not Father she remembered now, Essex- he wasn’t a monster wearing her lover’s face like Amahl. He was the real, true, genuine fucking article and oh God how she’d missed him-

“That you darlin’?” he rumbled, and his voice travelled along her skin like goose-bumps, making her instinctively grin and nod. Her words lost against his mouth. The big warm hands pulling her closer than she thought she could bear. Kitty laughed in delight, muttering something which sounded like, “About fucking time,” but Marie couldn’t be sure. She was busy. Touching, remembering, re-learning, the feel of him growling inside her head once again and she knew that if Hank were here the pair of them would be making him blush-

“Get a fuckin’ room,” she heard Remy hiss then.

Logan shifted, coming up for air and allowing her to sit upright- he’d been squashing her- even as Remy stared at the pair of them with unreserved loathing. The desk he was sitting on glowing beneath his fingers as he charged it. His handsome face scarred by Essex’ tortures, his familiar black-on-red eyes so unlike those of the man she’d thought she knew. Little as she wanted to do it Marie stood up, one hand still in Logan’s (she couldn’t help herself) and walked towards him. Stared into her husband’s eyes, saw the things he hadn’t wanted her to see. Pain. Self-doubt. Guilt, however much he tried to hide it. And… Love. She knew what that looked like, though she hadn’t learned it from him. For a beat everything was silent, the two simply staring at one another and then- Without warning Remy reached out his hand out to her and laid it gently against her cheek. Never breaking eye-contact. Never looking scared. He flooded into her, dazzling and jagged and glittering just like always, and despite herself Marie felt pity bloom within her, because now she could clearly see what he had suffered for her sake. What he had suffered all his life. He’d lived in this darkness for more wretched years than anyone should ever bear…

They broke apart with a gasp.

“Essex really is your father,” she said softly then. His face twisted at her words but he didn’t deny them. Just shifted to stare at his feet. “You try to help the little ones, you think o’ these kids as your brothers’n sisters.” A particular face flashed through her mind. The Jean Grey clone, whom Remy called Madeleine, and sometimes if they were alone ma petite soeur. She was his favourite, he worried about her. About the way Essex stared at her now she’d a woman’s body though not a woman’s mind. No wonder he’d been so desperate to keep the bastard sweet…

Remy nodded. “Ah was supposed t’be his link t’de outside world, chere,” he muttered. “He send me t’do his dirty work, he send me to find you. Ah de only one o’ his children he let outside, Ah de only one who protect dem from him-” His gaze flicked from her to Logan, something unreadable passing over his face- “Ah de one who dragged ya inta dis Marie, and Ah’m sorry. Ah truly am.”

And finally he looked away.

Marie nodded. It seemed strange, but her anger just wouldn’t come now. The pain of her marriage was far away, echoing through her head like the memory of a wound rather than the wound itself. She felt regret, yes, but for the situation she and Remy had been put in, not for what he’d done. After all, she knew there was no limit to the things she would do for those she loved. The last few months had at least proved that to her, and she squeezed Logan’s hand at the thought. Besides, she understood perhaps better than anyone how impossible Essex was to escape when he got his hooks into you. She’d had the memory of Logan to guide her back to reality, but what if she hadn’t? She didn’t doubt she’d have ended up similar to Remy, or maybe even worse. That there was any kind of goodness in him was a miracle in itself.

Kurt cleared his throat then.

“I for one am ready to go home, liebling,” he said softly. “Beautiful Ororo vill kill me if I don’t get you all back to her safely.” And he smiled, his glowing yellow eyes looking older than Marie remembered. She found herself wondering why.

“Yeah, c’mon, Marie,” Kitty grinned. “Time to get back to civilisation-”

But Marie stilled them. “No,” she muttered. “There’s some kids we gotta give a ride to first.”

Disclaimer: This fan-fiction is not written for profit and no infringement of copyright is intended. Still unbetaed, mistakes are all mine.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

“Non, non, NON!” Gambit was bellowing. “You no understand what you’re asking, Marie. If we try to take de kids outta here, Father will crush us-”

Rogue’s voice was completely calm. “He’s just a man, Remy,” she was saying. “A man who has t’be stopped. Ah know you think o’ him as some sorta God, but he’s flesh and blood like anybody else.” Gambit opened his mouth to contradict her but she spoke over him. “He called you his right hand, cher, he told the kids t’follow you if he was ever incapacitated. Now we got a beast, a weather witch and the most dangerous psychic left on the planet making their way inta this compound as we speak. Not to mention the possibility of a field trip for the senior class, should this situation turn South.” She looked at him from under raised eyebrows. “That being the case, Ah can’t see incapacitating Father being a problem.” And as if the swamp rat had given his okay she turned to Kitty, pulling up a schematic of the base from the wall panel beside her. Making Logan wonder what else she’d gotten from Remy when she touched his cheek-

Because his girl was on a roll.

“Kitty, you go in here,” she tapped a section of the map one level down, “You can Kurt can bamf down there and start opening the chambers. This one,” and she singled out a particular room, marked Spare Parts on the computer, “Should be your top priority-” She glanced at Remy, “No matter what anyone says.”

This time Gambit made to grab her shoulder to stop her talking. Logan growled, getting ready to make with the snikt but after a second Marie’s eyes flashed black and red, charging the Cajun with his own mutation. He hissed in pain, skittering back, and Logan snickered. As did Kurt and Kitty. “Don’t even try to tell me to leave it alone, Rem,” she muttered. “There’s at least two of them haven’t been scheduled for organ harvest yet-”

“Organ harvest?” Kurt interrupted. “Vat do you mean, organ harvest?”

LeBeau winced and she sighed. “It means that Spare Parts is how Essex refers to the kids who don’t make the grade. They misbehave, or they try to leave, or else he just plain don’t like how they turn out and he sends ‘em there.” She tapped another one of the schematics, bringing up a list of numbers, what looked like barcodes with a series of descriptions beside them. Lists of mutations, lists of organs taken. Lists of childish faces, flesh and blood made inta scrap metal. A scoring system, their usefulness outta ten.

Every single kid in the room was ranked under three.

Kitty shook her head then. Reached back, smacked Gambit before returning to Marie’s side. At least LeBeau had the grace not to ask why she’d hit him; it was fucking obvious. “If you two can go through the lower chambers, pick up any stragglers, Remy can lead the others to the surface,” Rogue continued. She looked up at Kitty. “We got an ETA for Storm?”

“She’s topside now, waiting for us to set off her charges.”

She nodded curtly. “Good. We’ll wait until the kids get evacuated and then let ‘er rip. Can you open a line to her, ask the Loaner to start running interference with Daddy Essex? Just enough to short-out his hold on the kids-”

“On it.” Kitty nodded, pulling out her com. There was a beat of static, some muttered talking and then Pryde grinned at her. “It’s done, Marie,” she announced. “Hank’s staying back to guard Braddock, make sure she’s secure to take on Essex. Storm and the senior class are moving in.” As if from far away Logan heard the sound of a wind rising, smelt electricity on the air and then an almighty THUMP as if something real big and heavy had been thrown by a gale. Had to hand it to her, Storm’s sense o’ timing was impeccable. And like any real lady she always knew what to bring to a party: In this case a shit-load of powered up teenagers and the best technology money could buy. Oh, and a hurricane. Let’s not forget the hurricane. Logan grinned at the Kurt. “Your wife does good work,” he muttered.

Wagner’s grin was dry. “I know.”

As if on cue the lights began flickering, red alert sirens popping up all over the place. More bangs from the surface signalling that Storm was going to work. The word Evacuation began appearing on screens all over the lab, the place flickering to life, and suddenly LeBeau looked real fucking skittish. Like he wanted outta that room something fierce. It took Logan a moment to realise that the locks on the tanks were counting down, probably to opening- And if that had the swamp rat nervous, he didn’t wanna stick around and find out which o’ Essex’ pet projects were starting to wake up. According to the clock they had five minutes. “Marie-” he began warningly.

“Way ahead o’ ya, shuggs,” she muttered. “Just gotta get our shit sorted out first and then you and me got a job t’do.” Logan opened his mouth to ask what the fuck she was talking about, but she turned her even, deadly gaze onto Gambit again- Though she still kept her hand in his so he figured he could bide his time. “How long will it take you to get your family t’the surface, Rem?” she asked.

“Ah no know, maybe ten minutes. But Ah told you, dey no follow me, even if Ah tell dem to, dey no leave Father-”

“They will.” Her tone brooked no disagreement. He gnashed his teeth, swearing in French again and she laid a quieting hand on his cheek. Logan couldn’t help the growl which escaped his lips: He didn’t like that bastard touching her, didn’t matter how sorry he said he was. “The night we were married, you told me you wanted to start again,” she was whispering. “You told me you wanted to be a better man. This is your chance to be that better man, Remy. Not a hustler or a liar or a thief. Not the right hand of the devil, just so’s you can stay outta his path.” Suddenly she looked up, her gaze going to Logan. The love in it almost enough to floor him, almost enough to burn away those aching war-wounds in his chest. Almost. “Now lead these kids home,” she muttered. And she reached out fer Remy, took his hand. Squeezed it. And then gently, calmly, pressed it back against his heart.

Fer the first time, his expression told Logan that LeBeau knew he’d truly lost her. Something dark and bitten-tense and snarling inside Wolverine eased at the thought.

“Okay,” the Cajun whispered. Reached out and kissed her fingers once like he used to do when they were first wed. But his gaze held no charm now, no hope. Just sadness. “For you, chere, Ah try.” And he left the room as quietly as a breeze, a glowing, powered-up crow bar in his hand since he didn’t have his cane, his way lit by a glowing Queen of Hearts.

He didn’t look back. But then Logan wouldn’t have either.

The others took that as their cue to leave then. Kitty smiled at Marie, pulling her close and whispering something in her ear not even Logan could hear- And then kissing her gently on her forehead, dosing her with her mutation. “Just in case,” she muttered, letting her friend go and holding out her hand to Nightcrawler. Giving it an extra squeeze as if to take the edge off what he’d heard. He looked ashen-faced: Him’n ‘Ro had been trying fer a baby a coupla months now, and finding out what had bin done to these kids would’ve made anyone sick. Wagner nodded, squeezing her hand back and muttering “Ich weiss, katzen.” Then with a single nod to Logan the elf teleported them back into the bowels of the building. Leaving a whiff o’ brimstone in their wake-

Rogue turned to face him then.

“We’re going after Essex,” he rumbled. It wasn’t a question: They had to finish this if she was ever to be safe.

She nodded. “This is the only way he’ll leave you- us- alone, shuggs. Ah’m gonna introduce him to mah New Reliable.” And when he tried to object she spoke over him. “We both know it’s the only way,” she said quietly. “He’ll throw you around like a rag doll with his telekinesis. He’ll- He’ll,” fer a moment her fear spiked and she seemed close to breaking down but she pulled herself together. Cracked a wry smile. “He’ll hurt you and Ah can’t have that. Face it, darlin’” she drawled, trying to lighten the mood. “Ah’m kinda attached t’ya-”

“It’s my boyish good looks, ain’t it?”

“Nah, it’s your way with people’s what it is.” And this time he gave a snort. Pulling her close, his hand resting on her shoulders. Taking in her scent, telling himself not to think that it might be fer the last time. She looked so damn small, there in front of him. Small and perfect and easy to break-

He tried to push that thought away too but it just wouldn’t go.

“You say you got a job fer us,” he muttered then, forcing his voice steady. Ignoring the Wolverine inside him, who was demanding he just pick her up and leave, no questions asked, before anyone could hurt his lover. His mate. But she was right, even with as formidable a team as the X-Men and even with The Loaner’s help the New Reliable was their best chance fer beating Essex… Every other team member had a physically based mutation and he knew damn well what Essex did to mutants who had those. So he ignored the voice in his head screaming in protest at her plan.

He cleared his throat. “So what’s so special that we gotta take care of it ourselves?”

She stepped away from him, suddenly all business, and pulled up another file. Tapped in some codes- Clearly a lot more than nostalgia had passed between her and Remy when they touched- and began pulling up photos. Stats, a list of mutations and hospital records from the base. An image appeared of a little girl, about twelve years old, with thick brown hair and hazel eyes. She looked thin as a waif. “This is Essex’ Special Project MRX-23,” she explained. “She’s being kept in a special wing of the base not even Remy’s allowed into, about one floor above us.”

“What’s so special ‘bout her?”

She shook her head. “Ah don’t know: there’s no indication of her mutation, of who she’s based on, anything. She doesn’t even get to interact with the other kids. All Ah know is that Essex calls her his masterpiece.” And she brought up another series of schematics, a list of security codes and firewalls which were guarding the kid’s containment unit. Began tapping away at them as she spoke, her fingers moving quickly across the panels, disabling locks as she went. “The bastard will walk away from every child in this base and just start again,” she was muttering. “We both know it. Essex won’t come looking for either of us, he’ll just slither back inta the bushes like the snake he is. If we want to find him, then this little girl’s our best shot: He won’t leave without her.” And she nodded to the photo. Let he eyes turn red on black and stepped in front of a retinal scanner, letting the machine read her. Just fer a second she was the image of the Jean Grey clone and once again a chill slid up Logan’s spine. A beat passed and then the screen flashed with an Authorisation Accepted code. She threw him a triumphant grin. “Ah just opened her unit and asked told her to head to the surface,” she explained, “We can catch up to her and wait for Essex-”

A new voice spoke over her. “But where would be the fun in that, Marie?”

And with that the door of the lab slammed shut.

It took the space of a heartbeat for Logan to recognise that cold molasses voice and instantly he forced Rogue behind him. Popped his claws and growled. The door into the lab was hanging on its hinges, swaying as if being moved by a great hand- which was the case if Essex was using his telekinesis to prop it closed. But thinking about the finer points of the doctor’s mental abilities wasn’t important right now. Because Logan could see the little girl- the MRX-23- standing in front of Essex. Teeth drawn back and snarling. Hazel eyes dark, slowly turning black on red. There wasn’t a trace of human feeling in her face, her eyes, her scent- Her scent, which was tugging at Logan’s memory, trying to force something to the surface that he didn’t want to face. Essex was grinning, his hand on the child’s shoulder, his lips to her ear. Whispering. Coaxing. Turning another little girl into a killer fer him-

“Kill the female,” he was muttering. “Kill her and be sure to make it slow.”

Logan didn’t even give himself a moment to consider. He just went straight fer Essex, claws out, weight falling forward. Every instinct in his body screaming at him to protect Marie. He knew he could move faster than the bastard, he’d make himself- he wouldn’t even be near the little girl, wouldn’t touch her, not this time- This time there would be no dead children on his watch, there would be no repeat of Madripoor- He was so intent on the target he took his eyes off the child fer a minute-

And that was when she let loose four long, metallic claws from her wrists.

That was when she drove them deeply into Marie.

Disclaimer: This fan-fiction is not written for profit and no infringement of copyright is intended. Still unbetaed, mistakes are all mine.

CHAPTER THIRTY

“Ah’m getting real tired o’ people stabbing me, darlin’” Marie muttered.

“It’s one thing that’s never- that’s never…” Her voice was failing, lungs filling quickly with liquid, “It’s one thing that’s never fun.”

And she fell forward.

Fingers clenched in a death-grip around the front of Logan’s uniform. Brown eyes wide and staring as her blood perfumed the air. She was getting cold, pulse dropping, body failing her-

And fer maybe the second time in his life, Logan was totally numb.

He pulled her to him then, hands going to her wounds. Trying to keep pressure. Trying not to hear her heart racing. Wishing fer just one second that he didn’t know as much as he fucking did about what a mortal wound looked like. There was so much blood on his hands… Her heart was thudding like a jackhammer, fear and panic and plain old instinct conspiring to hasten her death and there was nothing he could do, no possible hope of saving her. The claws which had pierced her had been retracted, her wound left open and ready to bleed. Logan put his hand to her face, thumb brushing her lips, trying to use the Old Reliable- But nothing happened. Her immunity to him was too perfectly built up, had been ever since she’d started touching him regularly without her gloves. Ever since she’d started kissing him, loving him, leaving herself at his mercy-

As if mercy was a word he knew the meaning of-

“You cannot save her,” the child said dispassionately then.

The little girl shift shifted into a crouch, hazel eyes narrowed. Holding her claws before her, every feral instinct clearly focussed on him. Every inch of her body looking lethal and wicked and like the thing that fucking killed his Marie. Beneath her hospital rag she couldn’t have been more than twelve, her bones elegant and narrow as sparrow-wings, her scent completely devoid of emotion or remorse. Barefoot, two claws sticking out of her feet. Eyes turning black on red as Remy’s had been. Essex must have realised Marie was trying to release her and gone to get his Masterpiece. Must have told her to follow him and murder an innocent woman who’d only been trying to make her safe. For a second all Logan could see was his own rage, his hate and heartbreak and then-

“That’s it,” the child said in Essex’ voice. “That’s it. Give me what I’ve always wanted, Patch. Let the monster out to play…”

Logan lost it then.

There was red and black behind in eyes. In his head. Under his skin.

And there was so much blood on his hands…

He let out a roar, darting forward. Claws out before he even thought of popping ‘em, every ounce of rage he’d ever felt focussing on the thing that had killed his Marie. The child moved back, dodging, elegantly lethal and engaging. Stronger than any little girl should have been. Dancing her way around him, piercing his flesh with her claws. They traded blow fer blow, cut fer cut, claws gouging and ripping. The little one not even crying out as he hurt her, not slowing down as he ripped her skin. Logan was beyond caring, beyond hearing anything but his own anger. To have had his Marie so near and yet so far from him- He’d lost her, He’d lost her, He’d lost her, He’d lost her, was like a chant screaming through his head. “That’s it,” Essex was muttering tightly through the girl, “Show me your broken heart, animal! Show me your humanity, Wolverine!”

And as if in answer he landed a sharp blow, his claws sliding into the little one. Metal and bone slicing flesh like butter though the child didn’t say a word. He just wanted Essex t’shut up. “That’s it,” the doctor was calling, “That’s it! Let go, let it all go! Punish her for taking Marie away! Open your mind to your anger and let me in!” Essex’ words were acting on his mind like liquor, like opium, like rage and that was one high he was already familiar with. That was one high that’d always come to him like a friend. Logan let out a roar, twisting his hand at the wrist as he pushed more deeply into the child, inflicting pain just fer the sake of it. Her feet leaving the ground with the force of what was done to her, her blood filling his nostrils and making his head swim. Just fer a second his pain disappeared, the beast within him howling its triumph- Kill her, it muttered, kill the thing that took our mate from us- The child’s eyes finally widening, turning back to their usual hazel colour and pain flooding her scent. Behind him he could hear Essex encouraging him, calling out fer him. Telling him to punish the thing that had taken his woman from him. Telling him to show him what kind of a man he was-

And what kind of a man are you? Marie’s voice demanded in his head. Are you the kind that kills children just because they’re in the way of his rage?

Suddenly, there was… quietness in his head.

“No,” Essex was snarling, “No, I nearly have him-” He rounded on Marie, kicking at her prone form, snarling like the beast people always said Logan was. “No, I had finally gotten access, I had finally gotten in-”

But the Wolverine wasn’t listening.

“No,” Logan said softly. “No, I’m not that man anymore.”

I stopped being that man the day I met my Marie.

And just like that the rage began to dissipate. The world began to look like the world again, and not some nightmare from inside Essex’ brain. Blue and gold and brown flooded out the black on red, the memory of light made itself felt. The memory of Marie’s touch moved under his skin. Logan looked down at the child and saw every child he’d ever known in Xavier’s: Saw Jubes and Kitty and Sooraya. Saw Ashida and Gwynne and then ‘Ro and Jeannie. Even saw, her eyes smiling, Marie. Oh God. He pulled his claws outta the girl. Pulled her to him and psychically hollered loud as he could to Storm that they needed a medic now. He wouldn’t be that man he’d been in Madripoor. He wouldn’t be the man Essex wanted him to become. He would be Marie’s Logan even if it killed him- Or her. Because it was what she wanted.

“Logan,” he heard Marie’s voice sound then.

She was standing on her feet, the wound in her chest healing. Brown eyes wide and staring at the man she’d loved- The man who had nearly killed a child because of his own rage. She watched as he closed his eyes, not wanting to see what he’d done. Shame flooding through him at his actions, even if he’d brought them to a halt. Gently she took the little girl in her arms and held her to her chest. As soon as his claws were outta her the little girl began to heal, fear and then panic spiking her scent. “Where am I?” the child muttered. “Where’s Father?” She tried to stand up but Rogue calmed her. “It’s okay, sugah,” she said soothingly, and fer a moment he couldn’t be sure whether she was talking to the kid or him. “We’re gonna get you outta here.” And she picked the girl up, arms wrapping around her. “We’re gonna bring you somewhere safe.” Logan skittered back as if he’d been electrocuted, the thought of being allowed to touch either of ’em making him suddenly ill-

“Shuggs,” Marie whispered softly, “We have t’get outta here now-” Her gaze went darkly to Essex, “We gotta get the kid away from Daddy Dearest there.”

But the doctor didn’t seem fazed. “I’m afraid I can’t let you take Laura out of the base,” he snapped. “If your child-murdering lover’s not going to let me in, I’ll have to take what I can of him with me… And what I have of him is that child.” And he gestured to the little girl, holding his arms out to her. Calling her over to him. The child looked reluctant- perhaps the memory of the hurt Essex had sent her into was too fresh?- but she tried half-heartedly to get lose. Tried to do as Father commanded. Marie knew how that felt. She shook her head but didn’t budge, dropping her stance instead, pulling the little one more tightly against her chest. Tracing soothing circles on her back like she used to when she babysat Kitty’s kids. “You didn’t hear us, Essex,” Logan snarled, “You ain’t taking her-”

And in that instant- Marie was flying. They both were.

One moment she had the child in her arms and then she was lifted off her feet. The child yanked out of her grasp. She tried to summon Kitty’s mutation but just like when she’d been stabbed nothing happened; Instead she was thrown backwards and up, fingertips reaching out to keep hold of Logan on instinct though nearly losing her grip. He reacted instantly, swinging himself up and tugging her tightly backwards, melding her spine to him. Protecting her. For a moment Marie couldn’t process what was happening- So fast, it was all so fast- and then she felt a bone-shattering impact as Logan, still holding onto her, was smashed into the lab’s roof. Once, twice- blood filling her mouth, bones cracking painfully- and then they were both thrown further upwards, darkness filling her vision and dizziness making her head swim. For a second they stalled, whatever they’d smashed into refusing to give, but with another hard impact they were off again. Gaining momentum. Tumbling head over heels, debris smashing into her arms and legs, wood digging into her skin and cracking her head so that she thought she might throw up. Marie wanted to scream, she opened her mouth to do it but the breath was snatched from her throat as if by a frozen hand… She felt Logan breath against her ear, “I got ya, darlin’, I got ya-” and then-

Stars in her vision. Logan’s arms still around her.

The taste of blood coppery in her mouth.

She realised they’d stopped moving then. Beneath her she could feel Wolverine breathing heavily, something wet and sticky- she guessed it was blood- soaking through his clothes into hers. His breath was coming shallowly, arms still wrenched about her waist and Marie scrambled onto her hands and knees, crawling away from him. Trying to check his pulse- his face was unrecognisable, his mutation hadn’t kicked in yet- Head going to his chest and listening for his heart. It was still beating- He’d be fine, at least she hoped so- and she summoned Kurt’s mutation, bamfing back down to where Essex was trying to escape. Grabbing the little girl and teleporting away. No matter what happened, he wasn’t taking that kid. Instantly the smug smile disappeared off Essex’ face: Clearly he hadn’t realised the extent to which her New Reliable had changed her power and he sure as Hell hadn’t expected that. The bastard followed, using his telekinesis to glide through the hole he’d poked through the roof using Logan’s body. He feinted towards the momentarily helpless Wolverine, hand held outwards and fist clenched. The feral was tossed onto his side, letting out a grunt of pain but still conscious enough to flip the asshole the finger. That’s mah man, Marie thought. “Just give me the child and I’ll let him live,” Essex was muttering, even as Marie held the girl closer to her chest. Reaching out JJ’s mutation to fashion protective thought-form wings around Wolverine and the little girl. Trying again to summon Kitty’s mutation and this time it worked: She and the child phased together, though considering how much strain it was putting on her Marie knew she couldn’t keep it up for long. Essex frowned, confused, power pushing against Marie’s shields but having no effect. Anger flitting across his features as he pulled his hand in tighter. Eyes narrowed, the air thickening with the strength of his rage. Rogue gave him a moment, let his anger claim his attention, and then she moved stealthily towards him. Putting the child down for a moment as she got near, one un-gloved hand reaching out. When he saw what she was doing he lashed out at her half-heartedly- clearly not a good fighter hand-to-hand, it was why he’d used the girl- Kicking, the blow moving through her thanks to Shadowcat’s mutation. He frowned, not understanding, letting his guard down now he thought she was phased-

And Marie grabbed his throat in her bare hand, solidifying momentarily and dousing herself in his power. It felt, it felt-

Memories and desires and sheer, unadulterated lust for power rushed underneath her skin then. The urge to hurt, to punish, to…take apart and manipulate almost the strongest high she’d ever felt. It was intoxicating… Power beyond limits, beyond boundaries, knitting into her bones… Her eyes went black on red, glittering dark coldness and ambition surging into her and Marie felt herself borne aloft. The thoughts of every man, woman and child on the battlefield rushing into her mind. Speaking, whispering, screaming- Jesus, it was ecstasy- all their secrets and energies hers for the taking. For a split second she was overwhelmed by it, Essex’ voice moving inside her head, coaxing, trying to gain control. Her vision turning red on black. She felt the desire to give in, the revel in such power itching through her like lava, like burning sunlight. Like a phoenix behind her eyes-

“Ain’t losing control and doing something stupid my job?” Logan muttered brokenly then. Forcing himself upright and spitting out what looked like a tooth but standing strong.

Instantly Marie remembered herself.

Instantly she was back in her own skin.

“Hey,” she muttered brokenly, “Ah can multitask.”

He nodded grimly. “If you say so, darlin’. Now can we do this fucking thing?”

Marie moved back then, re-phased. Essex’ presence was a burning, angry thing inside her mind but she forced him back, refusing to give him her energy. Letting the Wolverine in her mind snarl at him until he fell back. She suddenly realised that Logan had his hand wrapped around her wrist, his breath coming heavily against her neck and she glanced over her shoulder, taking in his slowly-healing face, his popped claws. The protective, mean-sonofabitch stance he took by her side. He wouldn’t meet her eyes- too ashamed of what he’d done to the little one- and she felt a burst of love and pity, the strength of it nearly enough to knock her off her feet.

She turned to face Essex then.

“You’re finished,” she spat. “You’re never gonna hurt anyone again.” She gestured with her hand, as he had done, knocking him backwards and sending him sprawling in the dirt. All around her Rogue could see X-Men appearing, Kitty and Colossus scrambling down towards them, Pryde already phased in case that made her more difficult for Essex to hurt with his telekinesis. Storm was swooping down, half the senior class in tow, Hank and Braddock guarding their flank. The Loaner’s eyes glowing dark purple with her power, knives of psychic energy glowing in her hands and to her right Marie could just make out the smoky, purple-streaked form of Amahl lying on the battlefield where Braddock had left him to die. They had Essex surrounded: There was nowhere for him to run, nobody for him to sacrifice. Even his kids were ranged behind the adults like refugees, looking lost, frightened- Like children-while Remy and the Jean Grey clone held them back. Braddock had picked up the little clawed girl by now, enveloping her in her power, making her extra safe from Essex’ violations-

Marie felt the bastard’s desperation wash through her then.

Felt him trying to push away from her, to fight his way out. Trying to seize control of a mind, any mind, to use as a host. But there were no takers; He had nowhere to go. Marie imagined her mind like a blanket, covering the power of his. Smothering it. Braddock nodded to her and joined in, Madeleine- the Jean Grey clone- doing the same. Then Hellion. Ashida. Gwynne. Kurt, Kitty, Pyotr- Remy last of all. Word going around anyone who had psychic training, Braddock asking them to send their energy to Rogue. To help make her strong. She felt her newly borrowed mutation flip sideways, felt the New Reliable make Essex’ mutation hers as the strength and love of every person in the battle flowed into her, making her stronger. Helping her fight him, and for the first time in her life she was thankful for her mutation. Thankful that the New Reliable worked the way it did. Because her power was draining Essex’ as surely as her skin would have done now, and he had no way to fight it. Just as her skin had let her take energy this time she could give it back, move it-

Essex didn’t seem to know what to do. As if in slow motion she felt herself take a step forward, making sure that she looked like a lone target and giving Essex his opportunity to grab at her. Letting him think her the vulnerable, reckless little girl he’d always said she was. Logan realised what she was doing but the doctor didn’t: He was running on pure rage and panic now. Which suited her just fine. Marie closed her eyes, gathering her strength and broadcasting as loudly as she could to Braddock and anyone else to get clear, trouble was coming. Checking from the corner of her eye as Remy started pulling his kids back, picking up a little girl who looked kinda like Jubilee and carrying her in his arms. Essex smashed into Marie, landing on her chest, his fingers going tightly about her throat and squeezing- Forcing her onto her back, all rage and muscle and questionable strategy-

“Perfect, my plans were perfect,” he was snarling, attention focussed entirely on her. “You and that fucking animal have ruined the work of a century, a lifetime-”

And with all his attention focussed on Marie Logan pulled his claws back.

Took the bastard’s head from his shoulders with one swift slash, making sure he’d never hurt anyone again.

A beat.

Essex’ face fell into a mask of disbelief then, eyes widening: The sight of his own body minus his head the last image he would take from this life to the next. Logan had used one set of claws to stake the corpse to the ground, almost as if he expected the thing to get up and continue fighting- Which, considering how long the bastard had been alive, might not have been that impossible an idea- and now he split the body in two. Gutting it. For a moment all was silence, Logan holding the head aloft like a trophy, Essex still trying to move- damn healers, they never die quick- And then Wolverine’s eyes met Marie’s. Nodding infinitesimally to her. Giving permission, no, asking her-

And without a word she reached out with Remy’s mutation.

Setting the corpse alight

The body flamed blue, then golf, then red, the scent of burnt skin hissing through the night sky. Turning it bitter. Reducing the monster who’d hurt so many to nothing but ash and dirt and bad memories- which was what he deserved to be. Rogue fell back, wrapping her arms around Logan and pulling him close to her. Letting the warmth, the presence and the realness of him wash through her, feeling his metal-heavy hands tracing circles on her back. “Thank God,” she was muttering. “Thank God…” He held her, rocked her while she went to pieces around him. The effect of everything that had happened since her mutation came back finally rushing free. Later she’d see Amahl in lock-up, awaiting deportation to Egypt on human trafficking charges. Later she’d discover that Remy and the Jean Grey clone had disappeared into the night, taking some of the kids with them but leaving the youngest behind. There’d be children to take care of, people to track down, explanations to be given. A shit long conversation to have with child services, though Bobby Drake would smooth the way with that one and act as legal counsel throughout. But here and now, it was just the two of them.

Here and now they were safe.

Another beat.

Sunrise came then and with it brightness, the promise of something better. Gold on red on purple on blue sputtering across the horizon, starlight giving into sunlight and the promise of a brighter day. They hadn’t noticed when the others left but now they were alone in the place which had nearly killed them both, Witch-breed country stretching out as far as the eye could see. Logan was still holding her but she knew he was upset, she could feel it in him. He was ashamed of what he’d done to the little one, of the way he’d let his anger claim him and make him more monster than man. Marie wished she could make him understand that he hadn’t been in control, that nobody could keep out Essex forever, but she knew he wouldn’t listen. Not now, maybe not ever. That was the man she loved, that was the man she knew he was. No matter how deeply it cut his heart. So they watched a new day being born as an old one lay dying. Walked away from the compound hand in hand, together but apart. Neither of them spared Essex another look-

Because as far as Marie was concerned, he’d done enough already.

Even in death he was still hurting those she loved most.

Disclaimer: This fan-fiction is not written for profit and no infringement of copyright is intended. Still unbetaed, mistakes are all mine.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

The thing about Logan was that he made her kinda stupid.

Marie had known that ever since she first met him, back in the cage in Laughlin. After all, what five foot nothing runaway tries to sneak a ride with the biggest, hairiest, meanest lookin’ guy in a bar? The kind who wants to get raped and murdered, that’s who. But even then she hadn’t been scared of him, not really. She couldn’t explain it; There was no earthly reason why she could have put herself at his mercy, and yet- She had never regretted it. Not when she’d nearly died on Liberty Island oh so many years ago. Not even when she’d run from the Mansion that last time to marry Remy LeBeau. The thing between them wasn’t based on logic, and it sure as Hell wasn’t based on being sensible: It was something else, something she didn’t have a word for. Something she knew she was blessed to have stumbled upon, no matter how much trouble or heartache it caused. Like it or not the whereabouts and well-being of a certain growly, angry wild man were the most important things in her world, even though most of the time she’d be safer leaving him be-

So like she said, he made her kinda stupid.

So when she woke up from a troubled sleep to find him gone, she didn’t hesitate: She’d gone to find him. Followed her senses, not thinking too much about where they were leading her, since they always seemed to bring her back to him in the end. The Mansion was silent, familiar: She’d forgotten how soothing it was to call this her home in all the time she’d been away from it. She’d even forgotten that it was once a place filled with hope for the future. Filled with children and laughter and joy. But then that was before Essex put mutants on the endangered species list. Before people started dying and she decided to run off and marry a man she knew was wrong for her, because she couldn’t bear to live without the one she knew was right. Marie shook her head to herself, trailing through the Mansion. Listening to the sounds of her past and remembering, wondering what could have drawn Logan from their bed after so much time without her-

She realised her feet had brought her to the Infirmary then.

To the ward where Essex’ children were being kept. She wondered why she’d found her way there until she saw him, his shape stiff and dark against the white walls. His hands clenched so tightly at his sides she thought his fingers might break. He was staring down at the rows of kids in their beds, eyes riveted first on one, then another. Heart-beat hammering and claws ready to pop. Essex’ children weren’t cleared for mixing with the general population yet, and Storm had figured they might feel safer not being separated so they were all sleeping in one large dormitory; Even the little feral girl who’d stabbed her was curled up in a bunk. Logan was staring at them like he couldn’t figure out how they’d gotten there, his gaze fastening suddenly a clone of Jubilee, identical in almost every respect to the original except that her eyes were violet not blue. The sight of her had damn near killed Hank when Kitty’d brought her in. Logan’s breath was coming rapidly, face contorting with pain as he looked at her and despite the fact that Marie knew he wanted privacy in his anguish, she went to him. Curled her tiny hand around his wrist and twined her fingers down through his. She really couldn’t let herself do anything else-

He didn’t squeeze her hand back though. That in itself was a bad sign.

But what he did next was even worse.

Because he yanked his hand away from her, turning away and growling. Everything about him screaming defensiveness. Rage. His stance dropping for fighting, his claws twitching under his skin. Marie had seen the reaction often enough to recognise it: He was trying to control his temper, trying to bring the beast within him to heel. Anyone else would have run for cover but she didn’t: Just like with that first night in Laughlin, she knew he wouldn’t hurt her. It wasn’t who he was. He snarled something she couldn’t make out, his face almost in hers, his eyes blazing- But she didn’t fall back. Didn’t even hesitate. Just reached out and trailed one bare hand across his cheek.

“Do ya think that’ll make ya feel better, shuggs?” she asked him gently. Rubbing at his mutton-chops to take the sting outta her words.

He blinked, surprised. Obviously he’d thought his big, scary monster routine was gonna run her off. But there wasn’t a snowball‘s chance in Hell o’ that happening: After all, she was the girl who’d tried to hitch a lift with the King of the Cage. For a beat nothing happened, his anger still raging off him, his claws still hissing wickedly through the air. And then, just as suddenly he sighed. Looked away from her. Sat down heavily in the chair beside him and put his head in his hands.

“What are you doing here, Marie?” he asked her tiredly.

She shrugged. “Ah came looking for you. Woke up and you were gone-” She swallowed. “Thought something might be up.”

He looked up at her sharply. “You thought I ran out on you?”

“No. Ah thought maybe you were in trouble.” She sat down gingerly next to him, keeping her gaze downward. Knowing that if she stared him straight in the eye it’d piss him off more. “You’ve had a Helluva few weeks, shuggs,” she whispered. “This place, me, Essex, getting your memories back-” she heard his hissing indrawn breath and realised he hadn’t been sure she’d known about that. “And then what happened back there, with Laura.” Laura being the only name the MRX-23 clone would answer to. “It’s okay to have problems with it,” she continued. “Ah’d be more worried if you said you were fine.” And she reached out once again for his hand, eyes still staring at the spot in front of her. Relieved that this time he let her touch him, twine her fingers in his.

A beat.

He stared down at their joined hands then. Traced down her index finger with his thumb, making her shiver. Turning her hand over so he could stare at her palm. She tried to open their link, to let her own feelings of love and relief that he was still with her flow into him but nothing happened: Either he was so upset about Essex that he couldn’t feel it, or he was deliberately keeping her out. He ran his finger down her life-line, tracing it gingerly, frowning. Squeezing her fingers tightly and then touching her palm again. Marie let the silence stretch out, trusting he’d break it when he was ready: He was clearly working up to something-

“You’re so young,” he said then.

He was still staring at her palm, fingers still tracing her lifeline. “I’ve lived so damn long Marie,” he muttered. “So much longer than I’ve deserved to. The things I’ve done, the shit I’ve been responsible for… You know that saying about being careful what you wish fer?” She nodded mutely. “Well now I understand it. All those years trying to find my past and now I’ve found it all I wanna do is forget.” His face pulled into a grimace, pain flitting across his features. Gave a puff of bitter laughter and pulled his hand away. “I’m a monster darlin’,” he muttered. “Always have been. Always will be. And now I’ve got your sweet, innocent self moving under my skin- It’s not right.”

And he looked away. Went back to staring at the kids.

Marie shook her head then, trying to control her frustration. She’d known this talk was coming, one way or another, since that first time he kissed her in the Infirmary. Deep down Logan didn’t think he deserved any happiness: He’d gotten himself convinced that he was worthless when the fact that he had any humanity left at all was a fucking miracle. It made her furious: All the shit that had been done to him, all the pain he’d been forced to endure, and he still told himself he’d earned it. That he was a monster who walked like a man. She knew he could smell the anger coming offa her, it wasn’t difficult. But she also knew he’d have to have the reason for it explained to him, since he certainly wouldn’t work it out for himself. So she stood up, crossing her arms. One eyebrow cocked. Planted herself in front of him, her eyes blazing angrily, her voice firm.

“So it’s not right that Ah love you?” she demanded. “It’s not right how Ah feel when all Ah’ve ever seen you do is try to help other people-”

“But that’s exactly it, Marie: All you’ve ever seen me do is help other people. You don’t know that man I was! You don’t know the things I’ve done-”

“Ah know what Essex made you do in Madripoor.”

The words went off in the silence like a gunshot.

Logan’s eyes flashed open, his body swaying like all the breath had been pulled outta him. Like all his bones and sinew had just upped sticks and left. Marie rushed on, trying to get the words out before he recovered, or hightailed it away from her, whichever came first. She’d meant to break it to him more gently… “It wasn’t your fault, darlin’,” she whispered.

Shame flooded his face. “But you saw what I-” he swallowed, “You saw what I did when I was with him-”

“It was a test. And you failed it shuggs. You told ‘em no.”

“What?”

She sighed. This part wasn’t going to be pleasant: Even seeing it through Essex’ eyes when she touched him hadn’t exactly been fun. But she knew she’d have to try. “Your XO sent you to Madripoor to see if your last round of training had taken,” she explained softly then. “The government wanted to see if you had any morality left, or whether you’d butcher something just cos you were pointed at it. They figured kids would be the best test.” She was stroking his mutton chops now, her voice soothing. Trying to make him listen long enough to get this through his head. “You worked with Essex during WWII, didn’t you?” He nodded. “Why’d you think he was brought onboard? Who you think gave Stryker his How To Fuck With Mutants Starter Kit? He was trying to create a trigger for you, something that would just short-circuit your mind and send you into a rage.” She wrinkled her nose disdainfully. “The sonofabitch.”

“But-”

“No buts. He was trying to find a way to control you, because every time they’d brought you in before your humanity- your conscience- always resurfaced. You always went off the grid. Madripoor was supposed to change all that,” she whispered. “It was supposed to make you inta the kinda soldier they wanted you t’be. But you beat ‘em, darlin’, you had to be forced.” She looked away, wincing: This next part would be painful to admit. “That’s Remy’s secondary mutation,” she explained. “He can push suggestions with his tone. Make people do things...” Like run away from a Mansion to Vegas. Like make someone not pick up a phone for four years when she thinks about talking to you every single day. Marie felt her eyes prickle with tears at the thought, but she said nothing: She doubted it’d be wise to tell Logan that right now, he’d be after Gambit in a heart-beat. Instead she closed her eyes, letting her sorrow and pain and sheer frustration wash across her face. “You gotta believe me,” she whispered gently, “They targeted you. They decided on you. They pursued you, no matter how many times you said no and no matter how many times you ran away and you Still Kept Fighting. You never stopped trying to be a better man. Even when you didn’t remember that you had fought you just pushed on. Even last night, when you were so angry thinking I was dead you stopped yourself from hurting that little girl in the end. Ah don’t know how many ways Ah can say this shuggs, Ah don’t know how many times Ah’ll have to but Logan, what happened to you- what happens to you- isn’t your fault.”

And breathing heavily she took a step away.

For a second he stared at her, at a loss for words. Unable to believe that there was some piece o’shit action o’ his that couldn’t be laid squarely at his own door. He’d been carrying this for so long and now, now- Marie stared at him, eyes as kind and gentle as ever, willing him to believe her. Willing him to accept that he wasn’t a monster and he wasn’t a child-killer. That he was now and always would be the man that she loved-

Logan reached for her then. Laid his hands on her shoulders, tilted her chin up so that she was staring at him. The hazel eyes she knew so well dark with emotion, hope and guilt warring in their depths. “Are you lying to me, Marie?” he asked her quietly, almost hesitantly.

“No. And Ah can prove it.” She reached up on tiptoes, her lips brushing his, and once again opened their link. Let her mind open to his. “This is what Ah saw when Ah touched Essex. The memories are always the last thing Ah sort through, the power comes first.” And she let what she’d seen in the telepath’s mind flood through her into him. Let him see the rage and frustration he’d felt at Wolverine for being the only person whose mind he couldn’t break. Essex had spent years trying to come up with a suitable trigger for Logan: even that last order to Laura to kill Marie had been a last ditch effort to master the feral’s mind. Obsession wasn’t pretty to witness, and Essex had had plenty of it: He’d even tried to take over Logan during his fight with Laura the way he’d taken over Marie. The little feral girl had been his masterpiece precisely because she was a clone of Wolverine, the only viable one he’d ever managed to breed. None of the others had taken, and the effort of it had nearly driven Essex insane- Or more insane than the sonofabitch already was. Marie felt disbelief, fear, horror flood through her from the man she loved as she showed him just how long Essex had been following him. Obsessing about him. He’d first become interested in her because he thought she was Wolverine’s mate-

“That rat bastard,” he snarled then.

“Mah thoughts exactly. But now d’you understand why Ah’m not angry at you? Now do you understand why you should forgive yourself just this once in your life?” She took his face in her hands. “You didn’t ask them to target you any more’n Ah did. And the fact that you still have a conscience is a miracle in itself. You should be proud o’ yourself, darlin’, because Ah sure as Hell am.” She cleared away the remains of Essex and let her own thoughts and feelings flow into him. Showing him more soundly than words ever could have how she felt. She thought he’d be put off- he’d never liked people poking about in his head, even Charles and Jeannie had kept their distance unless they had no choice- but he didn’t pull away. Just stared down at her. And when she finally closed her eyes and stopped he rested his forehead on hers. Eyes closed, breathing heavily.

“You are a wonder,” he said quietly then.

She smiled. Blushed a little. He’d always been able to do that, even when she was a kid. “But am Ah a wonder who has a boyfriend?” she quipped, trying to lighten the mood. She still wasn’t that used to his compliments. “Am Ah a wonder who has a-”

She didn’t get to finish though, because he’d covered his mouth with hers and pulled her tight against his chest. Relief flooded through her, that he still wanted to touch her like that. “I’m not completely- I’m not sure I’ll ever look at this the way that you do,” he was saying into her hair. Those big heavy hands tracing circles on her back. He couldn‘t look her in the eye. “I’m not sure I can see this the way you do. But-” He shrugged, suddenly nervous. “But I can try.”

“That’s good enough for me.”

And it was. Marie let out a contented sigh then, her hands curling in his hair, her arms holding him tighter. His hand slipped into hers, thumb caressing her palm and she smiled. Let him lead her back to his- their- room and quietly close the door. He leaned over her, pressing her back against the wood, his gaze still intent on hers. Kissing her lightly, more tenderly than most people would have thought him capable of being. Pulling her clothes gently from her body, hands caressing the flesh that had once been so lethal. Mouth licking, suckling against her bruises, her cuts and burns- He snarled when he saw what Amahl had done to her- As she did the same for him. Marie leaned into him, finally giving into the need for contact she’d been feeling ever since they’d been apart. No more fear of hurting him now. She smiled, taking all the energy she felt and pushing it into him. Giving instead of taking, the result of the New Reliable flipping Essex’ mutation sideways in her. Enough time and Hank said she’d even be able to share mutations with him, with anyone. She’d be able to touch and not have it mean hurt for those she laid hands on. His smile widened at the sensation, something new and different and she nodded. Let him see what she was doing through their link because he of all the people she knew would understand how much being able to give meant to her. It meant giving up the fear that she was really a parasite through and through.

And that was probably the only good thing that Essex had ever done in his life.

Marie smiled then, gasped. Her hands were moving everywhere now, trying to touch him all over at once. His body was warm, heavy- Hard and yet pliant. Real. Strong beneath her fingers. Logan seemed nervous, unsure of himself- they both were- but he didn’t pull away from her. Just squeezed her tighter, held her so close that she thought maybe she’d melt into him and she wouldn’t have minded at all. He held her gaze as she pulled him towards the bed, held her gaze when he pushed inside her that first time. When she wrapped her legs tightly around his waist and whispered that she loved him so fucking much in his ear. Salt on her lips, on her tongue, sweat and movement and- and- “Jesus shuggs…” She came, gasping, pleasure rippling through her body, emotion along with it as he kissed her and she’d had never felt anything like it, this closeness. This trust. He’d seen her without her clothes on once or twice, but this was the first time she’d ever felt naked around him-

And this was the first time he’d ever been truly naked around her.

“That’s what Ah was trying to say,” she whispered quietly then. Holding onto him, even after he’d come lying there in her arms. His head was buried against her breast, breath tickling her and fingers caressing her spine as she smiled. Kissed his forehead, his hairline, the spaces between his knuckles where the claws came out. He was growling her name and holding her so tight she thought he’d crack a couple of her ribs. They didn’t say anything else- After all that had happened the last few months words seemed kinda redundant at this point- Just waited for the dawn to come. Waited to start that new day. Marie curled into him, feeling contentment for the first time since this had all started- Hell, since she’d found out she was a mutant. For the first time truly not afraid of what the future could bring because they’d face it together. It wouldn’t be easy but he’d said they’d try. His breath was coming quietly underneath her hand now, his heartbeat strong against her ear. Occasionally he kissed her wrist, her lips. Her fingers. Muttered that she was fucking beautiful as he drifted off to sleep. She watched him, watched over him, happy in the knowledge that when he woke up that next morning she’d be waiting for him. And he’d be waiting for her. She stretched out, smiling contentedly at the thought: A life with Logan, together?

That was sure as Hell good enough for her.

Casey rolled her eyes, staring at the newcomer who’d walked into the bar.

It was nearly 1.30am and her boss had promised if it stayed quiet then she could shut up early and go home. See her kid. That being the case, she didn’t feel like serving the long string of humanity that’d just walked into The Honey Wagon Bar, no matter how cute he was… (Though she had to admit, you didn’t see many short men who looked that much like Hugh Jackman…) The asshole didn’t even check to see if they were open, just strode in like he owned the place and sidled over to a bar stool. Threw some dollars down on the counter and gestured tersely for a Molson. Casey was tempted to say they were closed and could he please haul his ass outta here but something stopped her-

After all, she thought, it was rare to see a mutant who was so open with what they were.

Because this guy was obviously more than normal. First of all there was his mass of shaggy blond hair which seemed to sprout like a lions’ mane all down his back. Then there was the long, ragged, dirty yellow finger nails he was using to scratch at the bar. Underneath his hands, his palms looked… scaly. Wart-covered, almost like a toad’s. But perhaps the most telling thing was his eyes, red on black and somehow vicious-looking. The eyes of a man who was used to getting what he wanted-

And who didn’t mind who he had to go through to make sure things stayed that way.

Didn’t happen often, but Casey suddenly wished she wasn’t working the graveyard shift on her own.

Without a word she handed him the beer. Considered telling him it was on the house if it would make him move quicker but years of experience told her that was more likely to make him stay. She put his change quietly down onto the bar and retreated to the far corner, pulling out glasses and polishing them. Trying not to make eye contact with the newcomer since Christ knew how he’d react to that. He grinned to himself, probably understanding, and picked up the paper of all things. Folded it out and checked the headline: Mutant Rights Activist Remy LeBeau Retires, and underneath it a picture of a pretty woman with white streaks in her hair holding hands with a short, angry looking dude who looked-

Well, looked kinda like this guy, in point of fact. Like maybe they were brothers or something. The newcomer gave a bark of laughter when he saw the photo, red on black eyes widening in amusement. “So the runt finally got her,” he muttered dryly. “With a bit o’ luck he won’t get her killed neither.” And he drained his beer. Laughed to himself again. Stood up and made to go.

Casey wisely decided not to ask for clarification on what he’d meant.

“I’ll let ya get home then, little darlin’,” the newcomer muttered then. That grin still lethal looking but somehow less dangerous now he’d looked at the picture of the girl with white streaks.“But do me a favour, okay? Anyone comes looking for me, and you tell them I’ve been here. You tell them I walked away and I’m still standing, ya got that?” Casey nodded mutely. If he’d asked her to sing the Star-Spangled Banner she’d have given it a try.

“Yes sir. Anyone in particular I should give this message to?” she stuttered.

The grin got wider. “You’ll know ‘em when you see ‘em, little one. That’s all I’m gonna say. And when you do-” he winked at her- “You tell ‘em James Howlett was here,”

And with that he stalked outta the bar, leaving her quaking in his wake.

Casey didn’t hesitate. She locked up and got out of there faster than she ever had before. Went home and watched her kid sleep, had a beer and a cigarette and tried to tell herself she was over-reacting. That nobody would really come looking for that guy.

The next day however, she found herself another job three towns away.

After all, she really didn’t want to meet the people who’d come looking for James Howlett. No matter how cute he was.