Disclaimer: This fan fiction is not written for profit and no infringement of copyright is intended. Unbetaed, so all mistakes are mine. Takes place in the “Independence Day,” universe, though this is four years later.

The thing about Marie, he thought, Was that she made him kind of stupid.

Wolverine gritted his teeth and watched the speedometer soar past 120, his eyes glued to the road. His cell phone was screaming, the screen flashing Ororo’s name, but he ignored it. He wasn’t big on explaining himself as a concept. This was hands down the dumbest thing he’d done in years, with or without Hank McCoy’s encouragement, and he knew it. He just didn’t care enough to stop himself.

She’d called and told him she needed his help.

That was twenty minutes and a whole lotta traffic violations ago. He’d managed to shake the two patrol cars outside of Blackridge without breaking a sweat: Hell, he’d been halfway down highway 17 before he’d even noticed they were there. All he’d been able to hear was her voice in his head, crying. He could imagine her pretty face, red with pain and tears; The image felt like it was tattooed across his eyeballs, so powerful it burned. It was as if the last three years, as if her silence, had never happened at all.

Didn’t matter what she did or how old he got, he mused darkly, the Kid opened her mouth and she could just push every single button he had. And the thing of it was, he let her.

He knew he always let her.

Outside the Westchester countryside streamed by in a blur, the snow making everything seem feathery and unreal. Logan narrowed his eyes, trying to make out the turn-off for her place, deliberately ignoring the stench of protesting tyre rubber. Anyone else wouldn’t have had a hope of finding her cabin in the storm, he thought grimly. But then anybody else would have been too smart to even try. It was pushing minus three outside, and he knew that the truck wouldn’t be able to keep moving indefinitely if the temperature kept dropping: it was why there were so few drivers out there to play chicken with.

As if he didn’t have enough reasons to rush.

The turn-off emerged from the darkness, and immediately he swung the truck left. Again the tyres protested; again he ignored them. The vehicle began to bounce, rocks from the dirt track smashing into his windscreen like shrapnel. He let out another string of cuss words, grimacing. By now the only light available was the faint wavering of the car head-lamps, and it occurred to him again that this wasn’t one of his smarter plans. What were you thinking, Marie, letting that Cajun drag you out to the back of beyond? he thought angrily. As if I didn’t hate his guts enough already. But still he didn’t turn back. Ice glittered like jewels across the tarmac surface, making the car’s grip on the road so uncertain that he had to hang onto the wheel for dear life, but it didn’t matter. None of it did: this was for Marie-

And suddenly he was there.

He could just make out the cabin ahead of him as he popped the door. Lights blazing in the darkness. The scent of Marie hanging on the air, mellow and bittersweet. Everything was as he’d expected, but still… It was too quiet. In the years since the cure had turned public opinion against them, mutant attacks had become common. And thanks to LeBeau and his thirst for publicity, he mused sourly, Marie was one very recognisable little mutant. Like, cover of Time recognisable. Could something truly Goddawful have happened? Something he hadn’t saved her from? Logan slowed his pace, already stretched nerves going into over-drive. Every sense marshalled to one task. But no, there were no weird tracks, no blood wafted on the air. He strained his hearing, and now he could make out Marie’s laboured breathing: her heartbeat was strong. She didn’t sound injured, just upset.

This had LeBeau’s grubby finger-prints all over it, he thought darkly. And as if to confirm the Cajun’s involvement, he suddenly heard a wrenching, keening sob crack through the night air, the sound enough to raise the hair on the back of his neck. It was followed by another, and another, no comfort coming. Why wasn’t LeBeau calming her, why was he letting her suffering continue-?

She was alone, he realised. Alone and scared.

Sonofabitch!

Again instinct kicked in: his heckles rose and a snarl rumbled through his chest. That rat bastard. His claws extended, the familiar, vicious-sounding snick echoed loudly through the darkness, his anger very nearly clouding out everything else-

The crying stopped. Suddenly.

“Logan,” she murmured from inside the cabin, voice soft because she knew he could hear her, “Logan, is that you?”

For a second he couldn’t answer. And then-

“Yeah Kid,” he called hoarsely, amazed at how the sound of her voice made his throat catch. Jesus, it’s good to hear your voice, Marie. “Yeah, I’m here.”

A pause, the tap of light footsteps, and then the door opened. Warm yellow light poured over him. She stood in the door, her face wet and haggard, blinking at him as if she couldn’t quite work out how he’d gotten there. She looked wan and pale, more like a ghost than a woman. And then, despite the last three years he felt his face split into a smile. After all this time his Marie was right there. Without thinking, without even pausing, he rushed forward to pick her up-

And she pushed him away.

That was when he first saw the gloves.