Too many cold nights alone, in dirty motels, in stuffy diners, in bars full of men and women who'd been used by life. He could remember being used. Even though it wasn't evident in his demeanor, he understood how helpless they felt, storm-tossed in the sea of an indifferent world, no anchors to hold their broken, lonely ships. He could recall when he had been anchorless, drifting from port to port, venting his anger and frustration and self-loathing on unsuspecting men who nursed their bruises, broken bones, and bloody noses without question, only silent resignation. I hate myself. I hate what they made me. I hate this life. Those were the words that he felt in his hardened bones everyday. He ate them, drank them, inhaled them, tried to wash them away in scalding showers. They coursed through his veins, they lay dormant in his fists, waiting to be revealed to the world. And what a revelation those words were. I am terror. I am what you don't even realize you fear. Kill, tear, rip... That is what I can do to you.
She. She was the one who rescued him, pulled him above stinging salt water. She was the reason the words began to change. I hate myself. I love her. I hate what they made me. I love how she's changing me. I hate this life. I. Love. Her. When the words that burrowed into his soul would not quiet themselves, he found solace in those of others. He searched for courage, there, too. It is my lady, O, it is my love! O, that she knew she were! For all of his suicidal brawn, he couldn't think of a way to tell her what she was doing to him, how she was changing him. That he only wanted one thing. Call me but love and I'll be new baptized.
It hadn't begun suddenly. Love at first sight continued to be a mystery to him. He had first seen her, staring mournfully at a jar of money. She looked old and worn out, like every other woman he could remember. So young, though. Her voice had sounded desperate when she'd cried out to him. Look out! He left her behind once. I hate myself. I hate what they made me. I hate this life. He almost did it a second time. I hate... STOP. To his astonishment, the mantra was interrupted. She was young, too young to be old and worn-out. Could he save her? Would he be forgiven his years of helpless floundering if he saved one person, if he kept one person from turning out like he had? He stopped his truck. He let her in. My name, dear saint, is hateful to myself. He told her his name. She told him hers: Marie.
Dreams were supposed to be embraced, cherished. Not his. If his dreams were alive and solid, he would kill them, spill their blood on his hands and bathe in it, hoping that it would wash the ugly words off of his soiled skin. But they weren't solid. So alive, but not solid enough to hurt. So he let them live in his head, for he couldn't send them anyplace else. She. She had only tried to help him, to save him a little if she could. And he fucking stabbed her through the chest. I hate myself. Gasping for air, she looked at him with eyes that forgave and that begged for forgiveness. He was sure the feeling of her young fingers on his cheek was burned deep into his sullied flesh. Such good pain it was, feeling himself flowing into her. He needed the darkness that followed to hold onto that moment for just a little while.
Then she ran. He followed her because the words would overwhelm him if he didn't. I will hate myself more if I don't bring her back. He found her staring at a mother grazing her son's face with her finger. He sat beside her and made a promise. I'll take care of you. He meant every goddamned word. Then he smiled and lifted a finger to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear. As he drew his hand away, he grazed her cheek as the mother had done, only feeling the pull for a second. Grateful, she leaned into him as he hugged her close. It took a mammoth force of nature to tear her away.
Fear was almost entirely foreign to him. He could recall the feeling from years ago, when he had found himself alone, naked, and empty. Now it returned, just like his promise, slapping him in the face. I'll take care of you. So much for that. Self-loathing welled up in his throat like bile as the hateful refrain assaulted his mind, tearing his guts to shreds. But maybe he could fix it. He had to try. And he had help this time, but it took so long to reach her. He was trapped and had nearly killed himself trying to get free, shouting her name like a kamikaze battle cry. As he fought, he could feel skin and muscle tearing, healing, bones cracking and mending, his heart breaking with every chilling scream. Finally, he held her in his arms. He thought he would be relieved, but he felt empty again, afraid and sick to his stomach because she was limp and heavy, silent, not breathing, lifeless. What would he do if she didn't wake up? I could never forgive myself. Tightening his hold, he felt something akin to hope because she was so warm.
That was when it had begun. Pulling a glove off with his teeth, he cradled her head with his other hand, and brushed his exposed fingertips over her colorless skin, across her lips. Those lips were inches away from his. I love you interrupted the cycle of words. Then he kissed her, lightly, not wanting to take advantage of the little innocence that remained in the girl. Something snapped in his chest and he kissed her again, harder this time but still so gently--he'd never kissed like that before. He'd never loved like this before. Then he realized: all those touches and nothing happened. No exchange of energy, no sweet voice in his head apologizing for the pain he was in. He leaned forward and whispered his desperation into her ear, praying she was alive enough to hear it. Please don't go. His face was pressed against hers when he felt that surge of power. Then he was floating, swimming in her soul, cleaner than he'd ever been. No punishing words, no pain, only a heady sense of weightlessness... Abysmal black.
A relieved Dr. Grey surveyed him as he awoke, her fingers brushing over healed wounds, reminding him of sad fingers on his cheek. I think she's a little taken with you she had said. Marie was taken with him. O, blessed, blessed night! I am afeard, being in night, all this is but a dream, too flattering-sweet to be substantial.
He'd said nothing to her remark, only asked how the Professor was. Once he had recovered fully, he received from Xavier the promised information regarding his past. Now he had to leave. Burdening Marie with his baggage was not what he had in mind. He had some things to take care of first. Then he would be back. That's what he told her when she caught him at the door. I don't want you to go. Her words tugged at him, but he couldn't stay, not yet. But she wants you to. It would have been so easy to tell her then, yet she showed no sign of remembering what had happened on top of that statue before he'd revived her. So those two brief kisses were his dirty little secrets. And he'd keep them for as long as he had to, until he knew how she felt. He didn't want her to forget him, though. Removing his dog tag from around his neck, he took her gloved hand and placed the bit of metal in her palm. His fingers lingered for a moment as he curled her hand around the only tangible piece of his past, absently tracing the spaces between her knuckles. He looked up at her and their eyes met. She tried harder to hide her tears. He almost had to do the same as he turned his back on her.
Turning his back on Marie: that was the only thing that had brought him so close to tears in a very long time. He'd returned almost two years later. He hadn't meant for it to be so long. But during that time, the words in his head changed slowly. I hate myself. I love her. I hate what they made me. I love how she's changing me. I hate this life. I. Love. Her. And they slowly changed him. He had more control now--the animal rage didn't overcome him so easily anymore.
Walking up to the mansion, he once again felt foreign fear curl itself up in the den of his heart because he was so afraid that she'd be angry. His fear had been justified. She glared at him and stalked away when he'd tried to approach her. My name, dear saint, is hateful to myself because it is an enemy to thee. He would have given up entirely if his ultrasensitive ears hadn't picked up the slight tap of metal against skin in a rhythm that matched the furious smack of her shoes on the hardwood floor.
He let her run away so many times because he was afraid that if he followed, it would be for no reason. There would be nothing but layer upon layer of anger. It is my lady, O, it is my love! O, that she knew she were!
One night, he'd decided to avoid sleep, avoid the living dreams that sacked his brain, just to allow himself a few hours of reprieve. He heard her crying in her room, the one she had to herself. As he knocked on her door, he heard her scrambling to recover herself. Come in she said in a voice that wavered ever so slightly. She seemed surprised that it was him. What do you want? Innocent words that stung him because she said them with such malice. He shut the door behind him and glared right back at her. Now, now, now! That was the only word that echoed in his head. Unnerved by his confrontational manner, she backed away until she hit her desk. He walked forward and lifted her up onto it and placed his hands on either side of her body. Nothing was said--no words. They only looked at each other, daring one another to make a move. He did. He nudged open her legs with his hip and placed his body between them. The feeling of her thighs trembling on either side of him was almost enough to make him come undone. She placed her naked hands on his bare chest without even realizing what she was doing. His eyes widened as he felt her cool skin...and nothing else. Her hands leapt away and balled themselves into fists that tried to hide behind her narrow frame. She could control her power and she hadn't told him. But he could tell her something. Now, now, now! Resting his forehead on hers, he smiled as she gasped his name. I love you he told her. Call me but love and I'll be new baptized.
She started to cry as he continued. I'm sorry I stayed away. Forgive me? I've loved you for so long. If you're so angry that you wish me dead, then say you don't love me. My soul will die right now. Her eyes squeezed shut, but her fists revealed themselves and opened like flowers, resting on his chest. Did you know I kissed you on that statue? I kissed you twice and begged you to wake up. Didn't you hear? She shook her head. Kiss me again she asked. So I can feel it this time. Oh, they kissed, they kissed, they kissed! Deep, hard, long, soft, gentle...wonderful. He made another promise: I will stay with you forever.
And I'll still stay, to have thee still forget
Forgetting any other home but this.
The Wolverine & Rogue Fanfiction Archive
Barely Legal Since 2000