After he came back the first time, she hugged him carefully and talked about his search and her classes. He stayed two weeks and left again.
When he came back the second time, she smiled and touched his hair with a gloved hand. They talked of fighting and meditation techniques and of learning control. He stayed a month and left again.
The third time he came back, she kissed his cheek with bared lips, grinned, and told him of endless practice and mental switches. He stayed three months and left when she left for college.
He planned his visits after that to coincide with her vacations. He heard the whispers and rumors in the halls--"ice queen," "heartbreaker," "love 'em and leave 'em Rogue"--and he knew she hadn't wasted any time in trying out her control, but he didn't put much stock in rumors. She seemed happy.
After she graduated from college she moved back and joined the team; she taught history. He started spending the greater part of the year with her. She had more than her share of suitors; but always after a few months she ended the relationship. It was difficult after she ended it with Remy, and she didn't see anyone from the mansion after that. He was the only relationship outside the team that she maintained over the years. He would show up and she'd kiss his cheek and break out the beer. Occasionally he caught a whiff of desire directed at him from her, but not that often; he thought maybe he wanted to change that now.
Nearly ten years after he'd left the first time, he came back in the middle of the night. He smelled her in the tv room and grabbing a few beers from the kitchen fridge he went to join her.
"hey, kid," he said.
"you should know by now I ain't no kid," she said, exaggerating her accent.
"No, you're not," he said. She looked up at his sudden serious tone.
"The Canada/US game is about to start," she said nodding at the tv. Olympic hockey. He sat down on the sofa where she was curled up in flannel pajamas and an afghan and handed her a beer. She stretched her legs out to rest her feet in his lap.
"Wanna make a bet on the outcome?" he said. She laughed.
"I got better sense than that, sugar!" she said. He liked it when she called him that, but it also bothered him a little. She probably called them that; she probably called all her boyfriends--he couldn't bring himself to say lovers--that.
"How's whatsisface?"
"Ray?"
"Yeah."
"Over with."
"Hmph." He touched her bare feet absent mindedly.
"He didn't get it," she said softly, almost to soft for him to hear.
"What?"
"hm?"
"What didn't he get?" He was looking at her straight on now.
"Oh," she said, shifting uncomfortably, "nothing really. None of them get it. None of them understand... sometimes I just have to be on my own for awhile, you know?"
"Yeah," he said. He understood the need for solitude, the need for being on your own. It made him a little sad to hear her say it; he hoped it didn't come from him, the bit of him she had left in her head. He remembered a conversation he'd overheard before he'd left for the umpteenth time three months ago.
I wanna know you're there, but I wanna be alone
If only for a minute or two
I wanna see what it feels like to be without you
I wanna know the touch of my own skin...
The radio played softly, soft enough so he could hear the two voices over the music. He was on his way to the Danger Room, he thought, he couldn't help it if he overheard Storm and Rogue talking. Really.
"... invite you and Ray, of course," Storm's said.
"Ray's out of the picture," Marie said.
"Oh. I thought... He seemed nice."
"He was. He-- I don't know. Is there somethin' wrong with me 'Ro? He was nice. I mean, how many guys are going to take the whole 'mutant-X-man-beatin'-the-crap-outta-evildoers' thing in stride? I just... need to be by myself for awhile. It's like I need to take a break and remind myself that I'm a separate person. Don't they ever feel like that? They just want me to wear what they want and think what they think and... and act like they own me. I can't lose myself like that in someone. I've got enough of it in my head."
"You will find someone who understands someday," Storm said. She paused. "What about Logan?"
"Logan? he's--" Marie started quietly.
"Logan!" Scott's voice appeared next to his ear. "I'm so ready to kick you ass--you chicken?" Someone must have heard him 'cause the radio suddenly got a lot louder.
It only means I need a little time
To follow that unbroken line
To a place where the wild things grow
To a place where I used to always go....
"You all right?" he said. She was playing with the tags around her neck. She wore them almost every day; he'd never asked for them back and she'd never offered.
"Yeah," she said, "it's not like I'm ever really alone. I've got you up here," she tapped her head, "you and Erik and the others." He raised his eyebrow at 'Erik.' She smiled. "We're all on a first name basis in my head. Even Victor." He frowned. He didn't like remembering the time she'd used her skin to protect herself from Sabretooth.
"I don't like knowin' he's up there," he said.
"He's not very friendly," she said, "but I make him play nice and he stays in his compartment, most of the time. Not like you--you always have an opinion on everything, from my outfits to how I throw a punch. And you've still got the hots for Jean. Sometimes I think I should touch you again just so the you in my head can realize I'm not sixteen anymore and Mrs Summers is off limits." She laughed a little to show she was teasing. "Not that I'd ever do such a thing, really."
He laughed too, thinking of what the him of ten years ago would make of him now. The mutual attraction between him and Jean had surprised everyone--including him and Jean--by deepening into a profound friendship. The him from ten years ago would probably laugh his ass off to know that his two best friends in the world were the scared little teenager he picked up in Laughlin City and the hot red-headed doctor. And the doctor wasn't the one he wanted to--
"You could, if you wanted," he said, "touch me... Anytime you need a refill, just let me know." She stopped laughing and looked down, serious and calm.
"That-- that's the most-- the best thing anyone's ever said to me," she said, her voice breaking a little.
"Hey," he said softly, "c'mere Marie." He shifted on the sofa and pulled her across the sofa into his embrace, resting her head on his chest. She sat quietly for a few minutes, watching the game on tv. Tied, 1-1.
"Logan," she said, her face buried against his body, "I have to confess something..."
"What, darlin'?"
"Before you came in," she pulled back a little, still not meeting his eyes, "I was watching ice dancing recaps," she said looking up and giggling.
"Oh, really?" he said, "and I call you my friend..." He chuckled softly and stretched his legs out to the coffee table, Marie at a right angle on the sofa. He stilled and looked at her intently. "Why do you always do that?" he asked.
"What?"
"Make some joke or change the subject whenever we're talkin' about something serious. You didn't used to do that." He coughed and cleared his throat as if his larynx couldn't believe he'd uttered such a statement.
"Have you been watching the Lifetime channel?" she said, smirking.
"See? You just did it again."
"Oh. I see," she said in a mock serious tone, "Logan wants to have a serious talk and ask serious questions. Bad Marie mustn't make jokes. Bad Marie must listen to Logan and behave herself." She frowned slightly and for a moment--the briefest of moments--a sad look flitted across her face. "Okay," she said in a softer tone, "ask away."
"What?"
"Ask me what you want," she said, "I'll answer without joking. It's open season on Bad Marie's privacy." He smiled. This could be good if she was serious. There were more than a few things he'd been wanting to know.
In Scarlet town where I was born
There was a fair maid dwelling
And every youth cried well away
For her name was Barbara Allen...
He heard one of the annoying loud kids singing melodramatically from the other end of the hall. The song was vaguely familiar. Some folk song, or maybe he heard it in a movie?
"Shut up! You won't help by broadcasting to the entire mansion." That was Bobby's voice. He heard glass tinkle and guessed they were raiding the liquor cabinet. Had been at it for a while, too.
"Ah. It's appropriate, no?" That was the damned Cajun Marie'd been hanging around the past few months. "I don' think she'd even spare a few words if Remy was dyin', though."
The loud kid--Joe? Jack?--took up the cue for another verse.
Slowly slowly she got up
Slowly slowly she came nigh him
And the only words to him she said
'Young man I think you're dying...
"How come you don't ever... stick with one of 'em?" he asked. As much as he didn't like all the dumbass boys that started hovering around Marie as soon as she got control over her skin, he really hoped she didn't get her gunshy attitude about romance from him. He wanted her to be happy.
She thought about his question and he could sense a number of wisecracks floating around her head. Finally she cleared her throat and spoke softly.
"I never plan on dumping them... it usually happens when they start wanting me to take these off," she said, gesturing to the tags. "I don't like it when they start wanting to tell me what to do--acting like they own me--or when they start interfering with my life."
"Why do you still wear 'em?" he asked, touching the chain around her neck. He liked that she wore them but had wondered for years what her true motivation for wearing them was. He'd always been too wary to ask, partly in fear that she'd give them back.
"Out with the big guns, huh?" she said with a smile, "worried I've been carrying a torch all these years?" He grunted noncommittally. He didn't want her to have pined for him all the years they knew each other, but he wouldn't mind it if she had some kind of feeling for him beyond friendship now.
"No jokes, eh?"
"Okay. I wear them as a reminder," she said.
"Of?" he prompted after a moment. She sighed and touched the tags.
"See, all the people in my mind-- all the people I've touched it's been because they wanted something from me or because I had to hurt them--to save myself," she said, "you're the only one in there that's not like that. The only one that touched me when I was poison and did it to save me. There's all these evil, twisted black-hearted people up there, and then there's you." She tapped her head gently. "You're the only good one in here to help me keep the others in line. You help me keep them in their compartments. After a while, if I didn't kill them," she said with a shudder, "they start to fade away. Wearing the tags keeps you from fading. They remind me-- they keep you with me, helping me." She exhaled deeply.
He didn't know what to think. He'd thought (like everyone else) that she'd worn the tags out of some teenage crush transmuted into habit and routine. Her words touched his heart and made him want to hold her in his arms and keep her safe from anything that tried to harm her.
"Marie," he started.
"Don't," she said, "don't you dare feel sorry for me-- I don't deserve it," she whispered the last.
"I don't," he said, "I don't feel sorry for you. I-- I think you're real brave. Probably the bravest person I know." He stopped. This was getting dangerously close to feelings he'd kept locked away for a while now, locked in a tight box marked "marie."
"How can you say that-- you... you don't know..." she whispered.
"What don't I know?" he whispered back. She pulled away from him, her back to him on the sofa and he knew she was crying softly.
"When I learned to control it, I thought 'this is it; I can be normal now,'" she said, "I went away to college and I didn't tell anyone I was a mutant. I never turned my skin on--I hated it. I wanted to forget all about it. But I had you in my head and the tags, reminding me. I think I even hated you a little then... Except that having you in here," she touched her head with both hands, "helped me learn how to control it. It's all about keeping things compartmentalized and you helped--I loved you for it and I hated you some too. Then... sophomore year..." her voice broke and she paused.
"What happened, Marie?"
"A boy-- I met a boy at a party and we went out a few times. One night he wanted more than I wanted to do. He tried to-- he ripped my blouse and his hands were all over me," she said. Logan rubbed his knuckles, wishing he could have been there to protect her. He should have been there.
"What happened?"
"I-- his hands were all over my bare skin," she continued, "and I did it. I turned it on. Just for a moment but it was enough. He passed out and I ran off. He never woke up; he's probably still in a coma."
"Good," he said. He didn't have to hunt this fucker down and kill him. "You did what you had to to protect yourself."
"No, no. You don't understand." She was openly crying now. "I could've stopped him without using it. I mean, it's not like I forgot everything I learned here. From you and Scott." She laughed and it sounded bitter and choked. "I liked it," she whispered. "It hurt but I liked the power. After that I would go out with boys and the thought of flicking it on while we were... it made me-- I liked it. I'm evil," she said. "That's really why I never stay with them; that's why I wear your tags. They remind me not to be evil."
"You're not evil," he said harshly. "You're not. You're good; you're so good, darlin'. People have bad thoughts all the time but don't act on 'em. You're not evil. You're pure and good; you're like a star." He wanted to say something sweet and beautiful to her but the words were frustrating and he worried what he'd say would sound silly and she'd laugh. So he pulled her towards him roughly and held her tight against his body.
"You're the one that's good," she said, "you're the one.." He laughed.
"I'm good? Me? You think I don't have things that hurt but I do 'em anyway--'cause I like it. 'Cause they make me feel strong." He extended his claws and held his hand where she could see them.
She gasped; she never liked him to use his claws around her. She knew they hurt physically and they reminded him of his stolen past, of the evil men who had taken him and made him what he was. This time she looked closely. She touched one with her index finger--rapidly cooling to room temperature, a part of him and yet not.
"I'm always fighting it," he continued, retracting them, "the urge to use 'em. When I get mad, when I'm havin'-- when I'm with someone... I hate 'em but they make me powerful..."
"Unique," Marie said. "Special. No one else can do what we do and that's... overwhelming sometimes..."
"Yeah."
They sat quietly for a few moments. The television glowed. He stroked her back gently, suddenly aware of every curve, every softness. She smelled clean and sweet; she never wore perfume, he supposed that was due to his presence in her psyche.
"I bet you wish I had some wisecrack now," she said, smiling.
"Hey," he said. "Hey, Marie..." He softened his touch into a caress. He thought he smelled... something. She leaned into his embrace.
"Hm?"
"How come we never-- you and me-- we never made a go of it?" She lifted her head and stared at him intently. His heart tightened. He'd fucked it up.
"You know," she said, turning her head to stare at some imaginary spot in the middle of the room, "ten years ago I would've died to hear you say those words..." What about now, he wanted to yell, what about now?
"Do you remember that New Year's Eve," she continued. "The first time you came back?"
"Yeah." He'd wanted to be back for Christmas but had rolled in late morning on the 31st.
There’s a somebody I’m longing to see
I hope that she turns out to be
Someone who’ll watch over me...
The music echoed in the large hall. The party was small, but lively. Marie was standing near him in the doorway. She'd danced--gingerly--with Bobby and another boy and had snuck champagne with one of the loud girls. To be honest he was more interested in watching Jean, who was dancing slowly with Scott. The music lowered and Scott's voice filled the hall--it was time for the countdown to midnight. Marie inched towards the door.
"Hey, kid, cuttin' out early?" he turned his attention to her and saw a mixture of fear, longing, and sadness in her eyes. He glanced around the room at the kids trying to pair up--some obviously, some not--before midnight. He knew without asking why she was leaving. She didn't want anyone to feel obligated to kiss her. He reached into his pocket, glad he hadn't wrapped it. "C'mere, you aren't gettin outta here without a New Year's kiss," he said.
Won’t you tell her please
To put on some speed
Follow my lead, oh how I need
Someone to watch over me...
"You kissed me at midnight," she said. "You had this white silk scarf and you kissed me through it. I kept it. I remember thinking you must have planned on kissing me because why else would you have a white silk scarf? That was enough to sustain my crush on you for a long time." She laughed. "Later I figured out you'd gotten it for me for Christmas..."
"Marie--"
"No," she said. "I was a kid. After I learned to control it, everyone expected me to throw myself at you. I kind of expected it too... But you didn't come back right away. I'd had it under control for five months when you came back. I-- I thought a lot in those five months. Boys started asking me out. I didn't want you to want me just because you could touch me," she said.
"I wouldn't--"
"I know. I know that, now," she said. "I was a kid, remember? Then college happened and Bad Marie's long line of Bad Choices started... You--you're the best man in my life. You keep me sane up here," she said, touching her head, "you remind me that I'm in control of my brain and my life. I love you for that and if I had you... If I had you that way too, I know I couldn't just have you for a few months... I don't want to lose you. It would-- it'd kill me," she whispered.
"You wouldn't have to," he said, "you could have me forever; I want you forever." Now his heart really was going to burst. Had he actually said that? He wanted to get up and run out of the room almost as much as he wanted to grab her and kiss her silly.
She met his eyes and looked at him for a long time without moving. Slowly, like a skittish cat she moved towards him and touched her lips to his. They kissed gently, experimentally. Passion could come--would come--later. She kissed his neck and wrapped her arms around him, holding him tight.
"You're my reminder," he whispered in her hair. "You remind me I'm a man, not some animal, some lab creation. You remind me."
End
The three songs quoted are (in order):
"Side of the Road," by Lucinda Williams off the album "Lucinda Williams." I admit I picked it for the line "I wanna see what it feels like to be without you/ I wanna know the touch of my own skin" I thought it was appropriate and it always resonates for me.
"Barbara Allen" (or "Barbara Allen's Cruelty"...) A traditional folk song (600+ years old?). Girl feels slighted in some way by a boy. He gets sick and ends up on his death bed. She takes her sweet time going to see him and is pretty mean to him. After he dies she feels sorry and dies herself. They're buried next to each other and a rose grows from his grave while a thorny briar grows from hers. It's been used in several movies and recorded many times. I always thought "Sweet William" was kind of a putz... my sympathies lie with Barbara!
"Someone to Watch Over Me," by George and Ira Gershwin. I believe this was originally written for a woman to sing. Most recordings I've heard are women. I like the Frank Sinatra version with the genders switched. It just makes my toes curl.
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