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Story Notes:
Bear with me. It's been a very long time since I've written anything.
Author's Chapter Notes:
Title: The Hardest Question of All
Author: Amanda
Feedback: sweety167@yahoo.ca
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: I don’t own anything X-Men related.
Spoilers/Continuity: X1- Alternate Universe
Summary: Marie just doesn’t know.
Completed: July 11, 2009
Notes: I know a “Logan”, and the reality is not nearly as fun as the fiction. It hurts all too sharply.

Deep down, Marie wasn’t really sure if it was love.

She had nothing to compare it to. Nothing more than a chaste, but deadly, first kiss from David. And with everything that swam in her head after that, she had no way of knowing, no way to decipher or understand. Too many questions and never enough answers. That’s always been the way.

And then there was now.

She didn’t know if it was love, but she knew she was drawn to him. Undeniably drawn to a man who’s age alone should have repelled her. Who’s history should scare her. But instead it intrigued her, challenged her. Even thrilled her. Made her curious, made her determined, made her want to try even harder to be what he wanted. Maybe even what he needed. For as long as he would let her.

Was that love?

Or some dangerous game of hero worship, like everyone always suggested. But she was sure, deep down, that it wouldn’t matter if he hadn’t handed his life over to her – so literally. Marie had jumped into his trailer long before that. And all she had to go on then was the beast of a man who could, and would, take a beating like no body’s business. That he was a man who made people uncomfortable.

And yet she trusted him with her life, her body, even then. In that first moment. From that first look. And her trust in him has only grown.

Is that love?

In those moments where you hand yourself over to another person. Where you’re vulnerable and exposed, but not scared at all. Instead you feel comfortable, even relieved.

But...

But, there had been so many times, too many times where she was left to read between the silences. To piece together what he meant when his words and his stillness contradicted each other so sharply. He’d thank her for staying all night in his room, just sharing the space, but would follow with a week or more of nothing. Or worse, the cold, forced conversation. Where she followed him around begging for scraps of attention that he would toss her way.

There must be a switch Marie never saw, but always managed to flip. She was sure of it.

Could that be love? That secret power?

She wasn’t even sure if it counted as affection most of the time, or some form of abuse. With the way it always switched so quickly. He had been missing in action for so long that she assumed he’d never return, only to find him waiting for her the next day. Almost eager and excited. A light in his eyes and an energy humming. She would always dream that was affection – something he was fighting as if she were some temptress out to get him. A mutant Lolita. And he’d only run to gain control over it, only to be powerless against the driving need.

But the more Marie thought about it, the more she figured Logan was pushing her. Shoving her away. Trying to teach her that good girls like her don’t belong with the likes of him. No matter what those “good girls” thought about the whole thing. Even if those good girls were sure they weren’t all that good at the core to begin with. Marie was sure she wasn’t; not after everything. Maybe not ever.

Was that love? In some form or another?

It was a hard question to answer. She had nothing to compare it to, and no one to compare it with. Kitty and Jubes were never there in the moments like these, they never saw what it was like between her and Logan. What it was like when it was just her and him. All mutton chops and silky strands. They had their own views, their own comments, and oh-so-polite concerns.

And as their friend, she appreciated it. But...

But maybe, what she came to think of as truth, was that when it came to Logan there was nothing to compare it to. There were too many variables, and too many first that had been uncovered, exposed. And shattered. Things were always different. Him being the only one to reach for her, without a moment’s hesitation. Him being the one who allowed her to curl up against his side, a hand tangled in her hair. Offering her moment of normalcy that everyone else took for granted. Moments of closeness. Letting her taste that sweet burn of his cigar smoke that clung to him – after uncharacteristically asking if he could smoke it, in his own room, if she minded. Once even, the first swig of bourbon, long before she was ready, that made her throat spark and eyes water.

But he only smirked with a hint of amused pride at her innocence.

Was that love, around the edges?

Marie did know something though. She knew that, without a doubt, she’d never get what she thought she should want from Logan. Love or not, they would never be Jean or Scott. She would never get a taste of a fairytale ending from him. No All American Dream. Logan wasn’t built like that. Hell, she wasn’t even sure she was.

But, if that was love, than what she held for Logan would never be that. Defying definition, without labels or names. Maybe without understanding. Certainly without pomp or circumstance. It was intense, but casual and unformed. It was lumpy, at best. Bumped and bruised and nothing a young girl would expect to be proud of. Although...

It might not be love, but again, it might be.

What if it was? What would that mean, what would that shift and change? What consequences would spill then?

No. All she knew was if it involved Logan she wanted every drop she could get of it. She wanted to soak up every moment he would give her. She never wanted to let that go, couldn’t imagine not having that presence in her life. She ached at the idea of missing out. Even if that made her feel little girl young and foolish.

Marie wondered then, with her cheek pressed against his chest and his arm draped so casually around her shoulders, if it were possible and this was love, who’s side was it on? Her fingers lightly traced over the large belt buckle, bitingly cool to the touch despite the body heat; was it love? Would it matter?

She tipped her head up to find his eyes.


-end-
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