No one ever really believed that the Wolverine could die. He was indestructible. Literally immortal. The embodiment of everything that was powerful and strong.
But no one expected him to get accidentally shot by a Mutant Cure gun either. The X-Men, at least what remained of them, assisting the government’s military in a small operation to round up the last of the rebellious mutants from Alcatraz Island.
The effect of the cure was immediate, breaking down the DNA of his mutation at the same time as his mutation fought to overcome it.
The cure proved stronger.
Back at the institute he finally collapsed, his once unbreakable immune system now defenceless and unprepared for all that life had to throw at it. It was suddenly weak. The Wolverine was weak. For the first time in his long life.
Hank explained that his body needed a chance to adjust. That he was like a child all over again. Vulnerable to all those common everyday ailments that adults took for granted. And at first we almost treated it like a joke, never predicting the enormity of the problem, teasing him about colds, flu, chicken pox and the likes.
But to our horror it became more complicated than that. His body began to shut down. Give up. No one knew how long Logan had been alive but it seemed like age was suddenly intent on catching up with him. Time deciding that some pay back was due for the way Logan had cheated it for so long. Physically, he still looked young but internally he was rapidly developing the vulnerability of a ninety year old, cells degenerating, some becoming cancerous. It was changing so fast and so violently that Hank barely had time to monitor his progress.
When the doc delivered the verdict, that Logan was dying, we couldn’t believe it. Logan? The big bad Wolverine? Die? It was crazy. Unthinkable.
But it was fact and we had to face it. Had to say our goodbyes to a man we thought would outlive us all.
Time seemed painfully short all of a sudden.
It tore out my heart to watch him lying there, breathing laboured, handsome face slowly turning ashen. So unlike the Logan I was used too. That we were all so familiar with. Even opening his eyes proved a struggle and when our gazes met I held his hand tightly. His grip, once so firm, was now barely able to return my squeeze.
“I love you, Logan,” I whispered, declaring it for the first time. “I have since the moment I first saw you…fighting in that cage.”
I had held back from telling him before, thinking I - we - had all the time in the world. Never in a million years expecting this. Perhaps imagining myself dying…but never Logan.
A shiver of a smile crossed his lips and he squeezed my hand with all the energy he could muster, which wasn’t much, but enough for me to notice.
“…Love ya too, kid,” he murmured hoarsely and I saw a spark of the old Logan ignite in his eyes. It gave me a glimmer of hope until it too started to fade and I realised that this really was the end.
I began to cry then, unable to face losing him like this. Before I had touched him, kissed him, felt him move inside of me. I had made so many secret plans. That we would live in a cute cabin in the heart of the Rockies, make love in front of blazing fires...have a whole brood of little Logans and Maries.
“I don’t want you to go,” I sobbed. “I’ll be lost without you.”
At my words, the expression on his face changed, seemed to strengthen, and I think the Wolverine rose to the surface one last time. To say goodbye, I thought, at first, but then I realised it was to give Logan his last remnants of strength to raise his hand to his head.
Which he tapped weakly.
I gasped, understanding immediately what he meant, and as my eyes widened I felt both terrified and elated. “Are ya sure? Doesn’t that mean…I dunno…that your soul won’t go to heaven…or something?” I was rambling because I felt ashamed, knowing that I wanted what he was proposing more than anything in the world. I couldn’t bare to lose him now, after all we had been through. I wanted to be selfish.
But at the same time my conscience intervened, asking if I was prepared to deny Logan that peace…that light…whatever it was at the end of the tunnel?
Then again, I argued with my inner self, what if there wasn’t anything after you died? What if God and the afterlife simply evolved from desperate minds fearing the ultimate oblivion?
If the latter was the case I could keep Logan alive in *some* way. As bizarre as it would be. And when Logan squeezed my hand again and added with the last of his breath: “Ya are my heaven, Marie. Do it.”
Wiping the tears from my face I nodded timidly and moved in closer, our lips touching for the first and last time. As we kissed tenderly - my lips as warm as his were cold - the Logan I knew and loved rushed eagerly inside, became a part of me. Completely. Until death do us part.
In my head he has remained all these years. A constant companion. A teacher. A friend. My only love. I have lived my entire life untouched on the outside, yet inside Logan has touched every part of my being and more besides.
And now I lie in my own deathbed, waiting for that light I denied Logan all those years ago. Waiting for it to swallow us both and finally re-unite us in the way we both yearn.
The way it should have been.
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Story Notes:
Quite the opposite of my usual foof. Sorry! I don't know whether any of it would be plausible and I've not tackled the adamantium issue, but I hope you still enjoy anyway! It’s in Marie’s POV.