When Logan wakes up during the night, I don't say 'I love you'.
Well, no, that's not true. I say it, I say it many times, but... it just doesnīt get through to him. When he wakes up beside me, haunted and trembling, those three little words just donīt have the same affect that they do in daylight hours.
“I love you,” Iīll whisper to him as he pants and shakes in the darkness, “I love you, Logan.”
“I love you, Marie.” Heīll echo numbly, barely conscious of the words heīs speaking. These words, normally so precious to the both of us, just arenīt enough for him at that moment. Not them. Not ‘I love youī. They donīt resonate inside of him, itīs almost like he canīt hear them properly.
For the longest time, that scared me a lot. That I wasnīt able to give him the comfort he needed, when he was always so incredible with me whenever our positions were reversed. I already worried about what I could offer him, what with my deadly skin and everything... Now I couldnīt even make him feel better when he wakes in the middle of the night? That was just unacceptable to me, but I didnīt know what to do to make it better.
I stumbled upon the answer accidentally one night. I had been abruptly pulled from my slumber and into the waking world, and it took me a moment to realize that Logan was shivering violently beside me, still locked in his captive dreamscape.
I moved quickly then, pulling the sheet up between us and gently nuzzling his neck, my hands reaching out to shake him only after I was certain that he was breathing in my scent. Heīd gotten used to my presence in his bed by then, and as long as he smelled me as he woke, I wasnīt in any danger of being clawed again. “Logan? Iīve got you, sugar. Wake up, Logan. I love you...” I murmured against the thin cotton that separated my face from his skin. He bolted upright, waking with a cry only to sink back into the mattress as he opened his eyes, his gaze wild as he searched for me.
I propped myself up on one arm, my free hand rubbing gentle circles over his stomach and chest as I looked down at him, trying my best to sooth away his traumatized expression. “I love you. I love you, Logan.” I whispered helplessly, already knowing the response by heart.
“I love you, Marie.” He echoed automatically, barely noticing what he was saying. The words did nothing to calm his nerves, and I moved my hand up to run gloved fingers through his hair.
“I love you so much, Logan,” I continued, stroking gently, “You mean so much to me.” And that had been the key.
“You mean so much to me.” Heīd returned fiercely, his burning eyes catching hold of my own surprised gaze, “So much to me, Marie.” He repeated, and I pressed a kiss to one muttonchop as we took turns saying the words to each other until we finally fell asleep.
That had been a few weeks ago, and itīs become almost routine for us now on those few nights he wakes up like that, which arenīt as often as they used to be. Tonight is one of those nights, though. Itīs the growling that calls me back from sleep this time, and he starts with a snarl, eyes slamming open as the images fade from the front of his mind. Iīm by his side that same instant, hands already moving to smooth the sheet over his chest, trailing comforting patterns along itīs surface before moving up to tangle in his hair.
“Iīm here. Shhh... Iīve got you. Iīm here, Logan.” I whisper quickly, not wanting him to suffer a second more than he already has, “You mean so much to me.”
“You mean so much to me, Marie,” He returns, almost desperately as his hand reaches for mine, and my fingers leave his hair to entwine with his. I can feel the tears in my eyes as I look down at our hands clasped tight, joined together, and I give him a soft smile as I lean forward to place a kiss in his hair.
“You mean so much to me, Logan.” I whisper to him, and his eyes lock on mine, “Youīre everything to me.”
“You to me,” He says, tightening his grip, hand clutching mine, “You mean so much to me, Marie. You mean everything to me.” And I have to pull the sheet up between us just a little more so I can kiss his lips, so I can show him without words, just how much he means to me.
It took me a while to figure out the right thing to say to him on nights like these, but once Iīd gotten it, it made complete and total sense. I understand why ‘I love youī doesnīt have the same affect as these words. Itīs sort of simple, really, and I should have caught it sooner.
Love is wonderful. The idea of it is just... beautiful. Incredible. Earth-shattering and life-saving, especially if itīs returned. But... but thatīs just it really. Thatīs just it. The idea of it. Love... love is an idea. It isnīt a tangible thing, it isnīt something you can hold or touch, or anything like that. In fact, some people arenīt even sure it really exists. Love is ellusive, inscrutable, indescribable. To believe in love in to have a kind of blind faith, really. Both Logan and I... we have that, that blind faith. We have that together. We werenīt always sure, neither of us had ever experienced love before, and so we werenīt quite sure how we would know when it happened.
But one day... One day, he just said it. It surprises most people when I say he said it first, but itīs true. Iīd been laying on our bed, absently flipping through a magazine while he stretched on the floor beside me, getting ready to go for a run with Scooter that would inevitably turn into some macho pissing contest before the afternoon was over. When he just... he just looked up at me, and his eyes got the softest look in them. I remember sensing his gaze on me, and Iīd looked up from the pages of my magazine, and as soon as my eyes met his, he... just said it. “I love you, Marie.” Heīd said, just like that.
I remember being in shock. Complete and utter shock... for all of three seconds. And then there was a smile spreading across my face and I was whispering the same words with a slight tremble in my voice as I sat up and opened my arms to him...
And, well, needless to say... he didnīt go running that day.
That was our first time making love. Weīd never said it out loud, but I think both of us were waiting for that moment to be together for the first time. When we could be certain, when we could say we had that blind, beautiful faith in each other. Maybe itīs just the romantic in me, but I knew he wanted it to be special too – though whether it was for my sake or his, Iīm not sure. But it was, it was perfect.
Like I said, love really is that blind faith. Thereīs no proof that it exists, but you just have to know it does. Without question. And most of the time, thatīs not a problem for either of us, not anymore.
But itīs hard to be blind at four in the morning.
Not to say that Logan doesnīt believe in love at those times. Heīs assured me himself that that isnīt true, though I already knew. I understood as soon as I first said the right words. Love isnīt tangible, it just isnīt. But saying that he means so much to me... He can understand that. Maybe he canīt understand abstract ideas, but he *knows* that I mean everything to him. And even if he canīt make sense of what that might mean, he needs to hold onto it. If you just listened to the way he said the words, “You mean *so* *much* to me, Marie,” theyīre full of more pure emotion than any other declaration would be, as are mine to him.
He trembles beside me and I slowly pull my hand from his, moving it up again to trail one gloved fingertip up and down the side of his face as he moves to lightly grasp my hip. I donīt think Iīll ever stop wishing feverently for the ability to touch him, skin-to-skin. The thin sheets we need to act as barriers between us sometimes make me feel miles away from him, especially when I want to be as close as physically possible. There are so many more things I want to do, to have with him, and I can only hope to one day be able to experience even a little of it. I try to be realistic, I try to think of our situation... but Iīll never stop hoping, and maybe thatīs a good thing.
“You mean so much to me, Logan,” I whisper, looking urgently into his eyes, “You mean everything to me.”
“You mean so much to me, Marie,” He swears, “I trust you.”
I still at that, subtly blinking back my tears. He doesnīt understand them during these times, he thinks theyīre because heīs done something wrong, so I donīt let them show. He trusts me. These words have only been spoken the past few nights heīs awoken like this, and theyīre quickly earning their place in the routine. He said it out of the blue, just like tonight, about a week ago, and Iīd blinked back tears just the same as I was doing now. I know what it means for Logan to trust, what it takes for that to happen. I find myself in continuous awe of that fact that *Iīm* the one heīs deemed worthy of so much. Worthy of his love, his trust. I can only hope and pray that I donīt do anything to make him regret giving that to me.
“Iīm glad,” I say through the lump in my throat, and if that isnīt the understatement of all time... “I trust you, too.”
He smiles at that, and I can tell that heīs almost ready to go back to sleep. My fingertips softly trace his lips before moving back up to run through his hair. “I love you, Logan.” I canīt help but whisper, and smile at the feel of his fingers tracing a pattern on my hip.
“I love you too, Marie,” He whispers back, and itīs not an echo this time. He shivers lightly and I shift closer to him, tenderness in my eyes as he looks up at me again, “Hold me?” He asks, so soft I almost miss it, “Sorry.” He adds right-away, averting his gaze, but I wonīt have it.
Pulling the sheet up to cover his lips, I tilt his face to mine and kiss him sweetly, “Itīs okay, sugar,” I assure him, eyes soft as I catch his gaze, “I want to.”
And I do, I *so* do. This is one of the best things about Logan and I. One of the things I love the most. With everyone else, heīs the fierce and fighting Wolverine. Never weak, never vulnerable or scared, just tough, emotionless, feral and proud. Thatīs how the others see him, what they all expect him to be. What *he* expects himself to be. But... But with me, he can just be Logan, he never has to be the Wolverine when heīs with me, and the fact that he knows that makes me feel like... like the most specialest thing in the world. I donīt ever want that to go away, and I think he knows that, even if itīs hard for him sometimes.
Wrapping my arms around him, I pull him carefully towards me, settling him so that his head rests cushioned on my breast. His arms wind themselves around my waist, and I hold him tightly to me, tangling our legs together and caressing him gently wherever I can reach. Not to arouse, just to comfort, and it works as I listen to his breathing slowly even out. Once Iīm satisfied that heīs sound asleep once more, I relax, cuddling him to me as I follow him into slumber.
We wake up slowly the next morning, itīs a weekend so there arenīt any classes to teach or attend, and we have the whole day to spend together, just by ourselves. I love the weekends.
His eyes open slowly, and he peers up at me for a moment before moving, slowly rearranging us so that he can cradle me to his chest. As much as I love holding him, I canīt find it in me to complain. Snuggling closer to him, I mumble sleepily as he runs his fingers through my hair, holding me tightly to him. I can tell heīs thinking about last night, and sure enough, he speaks a moment later.
“Sorry bout last night,” He murmurs into my hair, and I shake my head, lifting myself up just enough so I can look him in the eye.
“Itīs okay, sugar,” I begin, my gloved hands reaching under his thin shirt to stroke along his sides. He looks like heīs about to argue, but I shake my head and press a finger to his lips for a moment before returning my hand to itīs previous position, “It is, I promise. I love you, Logan. I like being here for you. You mean so much to me...” I finish with a whisper, and I know he canīt find the right words because he just pulls me to him and holds me so tight, pulling the sheet up over his lips in a wordless invitation.
I lean forwards, catching his lips as his hands start to move over me, and I smile into the kiss because I know that even if heīs not sure himself that itīs okay, he believes me when I say Iīm okay with it.
He believes me, because he trusts me, and itīs okay that Iīve stopped saying 'I love you' so much whenever he wakes up at night. Itīs okay because he knows I do, and I mean everything to him.
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Author's Chapter Notes:
Okay, this is the third fic I've ever written, and the first fic I'm ever posting, so it's a little nervewracking *blush* (the other two will be posted in the near future). Not sure if this is angst or not. It's not fluffy, but it's not really depressing or anything. Introspective. *nods* Thanks to Heather and Taryn for all their wonderful feedback, and especially thanks to my very own Logan, for inspiring this little story, and for never being Wolverine.