Title: Reemergence
Rating: PG 13
Verse: Post X3
Summary: Logan's dealing with Jean's death and Marie is the one he turns to.
Genre: Angst, Foof
Disclaimer: I do not own the X-men, Marvel does.
I jerked awake, sitting upright in the bed I shared with Logan. His reaction was just as quick as mine. He was awake and alert.
“Are you ok, Marie? What is it baby?” he moved toward me as he spoke. Reached to take me into his arms, but I dodged him. I was still shaking off the remnants of the memories that had permeated my dreams. The old melancholia spread through me as I slipped from the bed and meandered out into the cabin. The cold and snow of the outside pulled and called to me, and it wasn’t long until I found myself standing on the front porch.
The cold didn’t bother me as much as it normally did, and I relished the biting feel of it on my exposed skin. It wasn’t until I was on my way to the cover of a nearby cluster of trees, my socked feet crunching under the days old layer of snow, that I heard Logan call out to me.
“What the hell are you doin’, Marie?” His gruff confused voice rumbled in my ears, sounding so much like the one I’d heard in my mind for years that I paused for a moment, contemplating the answer to his question. I felt the sadness in me morph into anger as I turned to face him. My memories fueled the rage.
Every time I’d picked Logan up stinking drunk from the bar and delivered him back to the mansion played like a movie in my mind’s eye. I felt the same shame I’d gotten with every knowing look from Hank. The feeling of helplessness and heartache with each barrage of questions from Strom rolled over me. All the pitying looks from the Professor and the smug grins from that damn mind reading bitch in white came crashing back. The memory of the humiliation I’d suffered at his hands, the heartache he’d put me through nearly made my knees buckle. The fear I’d felt that he would keep his healing at bay for just a little too long, still wounded me. My rage built with each memory until I was fairly sure that Sabretooth could have stalked me by scent alone across the Tundra.
Finally I let it out, the pressure it had created releasing in a flurry of accusations and spite. Every thought spilled from my lips, all of it coming out in a heated spiral of words and emotion.
“You hurt me.” It was accusatory and hateful and I meant every word. “I nearly died every time you went off, knowing you were trying to drown yourself in your grief. I’d wait for your call, and I’d come and get you, and I’d have to deal with everyone all by myself. Hank and his wonderfully painful way of letting me knew I could come to him if I needed to. Trying to dodge every question Storm asked. The Professor’s pity ate me away, and Emma Frost and her damn smile. Knowing I was dying slowly inside, waiting and wishing for you. And it hurt me.”
Logan stood there frozen on the steps pain etched on his face, regret pouring off him in waves and still I couldn’t stop the flow or words from my mouth.
“And if you ever even knew, you pretended you didn’t. I know you cared about Jean, and I know you regret what you had to do, but you weren’t the only one hurting. We all lost them.” I can feel the tears on my face, but instead of the hot tracks I knew they should have been creating, they were cold. I fell backward, my ass planting me softly in the snow, my hand coming up to swipe at the gathering moisture. “I spent months loving you and hating you, you know.” I couldn’t keep up with the flow of tears, so I eventually gave up.
Logan flinched at my words, and moved to walk toward me. “I’m sorry baby. I’m so sorry, I should have said something, anything. I’m so sorry.”
I looked up at him, he was much closer now, but still several feet away. A breeze picked up and I noticed how it caused the hair on his arms to stand on end. I was getting really well at reading Logan’s scent, and right now sorrow, regret and utter self-hatred was rolling off him. Somehow, knowing he really regretted it all made the functional, rational part of my brain see reason. When someone truly regrets something, it’s easy to forgive them. But there was another part of my brain, an angry hateful part that I think was some kind of leftover remnant from the Wolverine psyche, and that part was still angry as all hell.
He walked toward me, his feet making tracks in the snow. Everything around me was frosted, and it wasn’t until Logan stepped close to me that I noticed it, because immediately a layer of frost doused him. His eyebrows and side burns, the hair on his chest and arms. I looked down at myself and noted that all my clothes had a layer of frost on them too. The flannel that belonged to Logan was frozen stiff in some parts. Oh my God, oh my God. What’s happening? How- I literally cut off my own train of thought when I realized the skin on my hands was tingling again. I wasn’t wearing any gloves and a frosted Logan was reaching out to me.
God, no. I threw my hands up in front of me. “Logan stop, don’t touch me, it’s not safe. Please!” My voice was loud and shrill but still he kept reaching out. “Logan, no, my skin.” When he maintained a steady progress, my fear for him shot up into the stratosphere. Then his fingers were inches away from my arms and I flinched and pulled back. Before I realized what was happening he was flying backwards across the clearing. He came to a shuddering stop he when slammed into a tree across the clearing, next to the cabin.
I sat staring for a few seconds before the tears started coming harder again. I realized that my skin wasn’t tingling anymore, and got quickly to my feet. Logan lay in a heap at the floor of the tree, groaning and moaning a bit. My eyes registered the damage to the tree and my chest ached when I looked at him. Some part of me was afraid he’d lash out but I couldn’t care less. I settled down next to him, my hands fluttering in this touch no-touch movement.
“Oh my God! Logan I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry sugar. Please, please be okay.” The tears were still streaming and I wondered how many I had left. “Please, please be ok. Forgive me, please Logan forgive me. I didn’t mean to. I don’t know how that happened. Please…” I could smell the pain and remorse coming off of him, and an odd sense of… resignation, no… affirmation? I couldn’t tell.
“Marie…” His voice grabbed my attention again, and I knelt close to him, hands still hovering. As much as I wanted to hold onto him, I couldn’t be sure my skin wouldn’t hurt him. I also couldn’t be sure he wanted me to. He grunted and moaned as his body healed from the abuse I’d rained on it, and moved himself into a sitting position.
He grabbed my hands before I could react. The next thing I knew I was cradled in his lap, head on his shoulder, tears pouring out of me. When he started to shiver, I calmed down again. The sun was starting to peek over the horizon when Logan stood and carried me inside. He carefully stripped me of my wet clothes, replacing them with a fresh clean nightgown that stopped just below my knees. He settled me into the blankets and quickly changed into a pair of dry sweatpants. I was running on autopilot, my body and mind completely exhausted by the recent developments. Idly I wondered if I’d change to metal when I was threatened. After all, there was no ignoring what was happening now.
When I slept, I didn’t dream.
The smell of bacon and coffee from the kitchen greeted me when I awoke. Late morning sun streamed in from the window to my left. I blinked and sat up in the bed, praying that last night had been a nightmare. The existence of my new nightgown and my hair in a tangled mess told me that it hadn’t been. I pushed up on my elbows, eyes searching about me. My view landed on the back of the tapestry I’d noted earlier. I knew now that it was Inuit in origin. Looking at the plain, childlike quality of the native scene confirmed it. I’d seen something like it in a book yesterday. One of those coffee table books, although I doubted Logan knew that’s what it was.
I focused on one particular part of the depiction, a young woman nursing her child at her breast, and my breath hitched in my throat. A group of toddlers chasing each other around playing at an old woman’s feet caught my attention. My eyes strayed to a portrayal of a young couple hand in hand walking around the edge of the camp the summer grasses being trampled underfoot. I glanced down at my hands and inwardly cursed my skin.
After standing and pulling on a robe and a pair of socks, I walked to the dresser and pulled out a pair of grey short gloves. I slid them over my fingers and settled into them, feeling like I’d slipped a mask back on. I pulled aside the Inuit drapery and moved through the opening. Slowly I made my way across the cabin, my stomach screaming for food.
When I settled into the table, I beamed a smile at Logan. I hoped it reached my eyes. I was filled with such melancholia. My erratic emotions were quickly pushed to the side as Logan settled a plate in front of me. It took only a millisecond for my raging huger to overpower my sensibilities and I tore into the plate of eggs, sausage, fried potatoes, bacon and toast. I downed the milk and ignored the orange juice until Logan silently raised an eyebrow at me.
After I was done, I exhaled deeply and leaned back in my chair, sipping from a glass of cold water.
“Marie.” Logan was looking pointedly at my gloves and I found myself glaring at him.
“I can wear ‘em if I want to Logan. They’re just gloves.” I huffed.
“You don’t need to. I think-” I cut him off. The rage was bubbling up inside me again, except this time I had no actual foot hold as to why. I was angry. That was that.
“Look Logan, I don’t know what’s going on with me and until I do, I’m keeping the gloves on. I don’t want the cure to suddenly wear off one day and hurt you. If you can’t go that long without touching me, maybe you should find someone else.” I’m not sure what happening to me right now, but the atmosphere in the room is egging me on. Like the emotions from someone else’s fight, are leaking into me. Like my anger isn’t my own.
Logan’s eyes narrowed at me and I know I’ve hurt him, so I avoid looking directly at him. I can smell the hurt and sadness coming off of him, but now there’s a little spark of amusement and that same odd acceptance / resignation as last night.
“Marie, you don-” He cut himself off, as if deciding on a better course of action. He’s made the right decision too, I really don’t need him telling me what I do and don’t mean right now. “You know that’s not it.” He’s reaching for my face, and I make myself not flinch away. That hurts him more than words I think.
I react like a dog that’s been hit too many times. I lean into him, the tide of my emotions switching again, tears welling up in my eyes. Thankfully they’re warm this time. He pulls me over into his lap, and nuzzles into my neck. I cry against him, trying to let him calm me, but at the same time wondering what the fuck is going on and why I am so upset. Then I feel Logan’s lips against my neck and I remember that all he wants to do is touch me.
I’m sitting here, blubbering like a fool, trying to figure out what is going on and Logan’s trying to comfort me and the whole damn scene is such a Kodak moment. I burst out laughing, because I feel like I’m losing my mind. Logan pulls back and locks his golden eyes to mine and pulls up an eyebrow because I sound like a hysterical lunatic. I giggle some more, before calming down a bit and snuggling into his chest.
My sock feet hanging off his lap are getting a little cold when we’ve been sitting for another good fifteen minutes. I lean forward and take a long drink from his mug of coffee. I stare longingly into it, wishing it had cream and sugar. I look at Logan who’s been nothing but exemplary during my whole confused outburst. Tears slip out again, and I dash them away.
“I’m sorry the cure is wearing off. I don’t know why or how. It’s only the absolute worst that could happen to me. The Professor said that I shouldn’t have to worry. I don’t have an aggressive power, it’s protective. I shouldn’t have to… I don’t know what wrong with me!”
By now I’m yelling and Logan’s been trying to interrupt my entire little teary tirade. I’m sounding a bit hysterical and I force myself to calm down enough to actually listen to him. I’m still frustrated and pissed off and ready to cry and feeling sad for myself when he catches me under the chin and locks eyes again.
“Marie, you’re not crazy. The cure’s not wearing off. I don’t think you have to worry about your skin anymore.”
“Logan, living in a delusional world isn’t going to change the fact that any minute now, I could suck you dry.” I shot back at him. I’m back to pissed again. At least I’m not crying anymore.
“That’s not gonna happen.”
“Oh, yeah. How do you know?” Since when did I start acting 14 again, I feel like sticking out my tongue.
“Because I can smell it. You’re powers aren’t coming back, at least not in the same capacity as before. You’re pregnant.” Logan looked positively smug when he said that. All puffed up and proud, he’d be strutting if he was standing and not so afraid of pissing me off.
“I’m what?” Is the only intelligent think that I can think of to say.
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Author's Chapter Notes:
Author's Note: I want to thank Meg, my wonderful beta! My Broken Arrow for her gentle kick in the ass. All of my reviewers who’ve stuck through this and waited patiently for the next installment. Now that the plot is forming pretty quickly, I’ll try to put them together sooner and give you more updates. *grins*