Disclaimer: This fan-fiction is not written for profit and no infringement of copyright is intended. Still unbetaed, mistakes are still all mine.

CHAPTER TEN

Marie winced, trying to curl herself into a more comfortable position. The beds in the Penalty Box (the students’ name for Containment Room One) weren’t exactly comfortable. Not even for someone as small as her, and she’d been stuck sleeping in one for the past two days. To her left she could see scorch marks on the walls, a lasting reminder of her time channelling Pyro’s power. To her right sat a pile of Hershey bars, her ill-gotten poker winnings from Kurt. He’d come to keep her company while she recovered from the latest mutation and she’d cleaned him out: If they’d been playing for money Storm would’ve killed him. She reached out for a bar, watching to see if her skin turned blue again, but it didn’t. Apparently her exposure to both John and Kurt’s mutations had run their course. Though not her exposure to Logan’s. That, she suspected, would take a lot more time, if she ever recovered at all.

Because four years and marriage to someone else certainly hadn’t done the trick.

She winced again then, not wanting to think about him or the incident at the lake. She’d had two whole days to think about that. For the first time since she’d gotten sick Logan hadn’t been there when she’d come to, and she knew damn well why. Red hair, universe altering powers, engaged to Scott Summers. And dead, don’t forget dead. Not that it mattered any. She had no doubt what Logan would say when he eventually came to see her: she’d get the whole Why It’s Wrong You Feel This Way Speech, probably complete with some jack-ass moral riff about their difference in ages. Marie pursed her lips tightly: When she’d felt her memories spill into him, reversing their normal flow, what he’d seen left no room for doubt about her feelings. No room for saying they were paternal. Marie’s feeling had been pretty damn hormonal since the moment she met him, and he would know that now whether he wanted to or not. No wonder he hadn’t come to see her.

Again she winced, shifting at the thought.

The ache in her back get worse as she did so. It’d been there for about an hour, a low-level thrum between her shoulder blades. She hadn’t said anything to Hank because pain killers wouldn’t have worked on it: they never did if the pain was psychic, and this obviously was. She was channelling the memory of Warren Worthington losing his wings, she’d figured that the moment she realised she could remember what it felt like to flex them. Warren had allowed an angry mob to tear them off, trying to lead them away from the students during the Worthington Riot. It hadn’t worked. Again she shifted, the thought of what had happened making the pain increase. Anything acquired with the New Reliable was amped up by emotion, be it a memory or a mutation. It was one of the reasons the wildcat was so unpredictable. She looked down at her hands again, trying to still the discomfort. For a moment an image of claws arched from her fingers, ghostly and unreal. Another picked up mutation, probably from that kid she’d caught raiding her stash three ours ago. Apparently JJ could create illusions without even trying. He just hadn’t been fast enough to snag himself a Hershey bar. And again she sighed: Another damn mutation for her to deal with.

She heard him clear his throat then.

Logan was leaning awkwardly against the door frame, one hand jammed into his jeans pocket, the other at the back of his neck. Looking about as comfortable as Marie felt. He was wearing fresh clothes, his hair obviously washed, that black leather jacket of his hanging off of his massive frame. Seemed like a giant in the tiny room, forced to slouch just to enter. His blue eyes bored into her, the expression more intense than she’d ever seen from him. Marie looked down at the ghostly bones extending from her knuckles, and shook her head.

“I was wondering whether you wanted to take a walk,” he began awkwardly. “I know you ain’t been out in two days.” He took in her pained expression, the ghost of his claws appearing and disappearing from her knuckles. For a moment her hair flashed red, her trademark white streaks disappearing, and she willed it to stop. Apparently JJ’s ability was intent on telling him what was on her mind whether she wanted to or not. Marie closed her eyes, concentrated on the pain in her back. On the ghost of those lost wings.

When she opened her eyes the red hair was gone. Though not the claws. Figures.

He was still staring at her.

“I know I ain’t been here,” he said then, “But I had a lotta thinking t’do.” He shrugged, every inch of him looking awkward. It was unusual to see him without his normal, predatory grace. “Wanted to make sure I knew what I was gonna say to you, after-” and he trailed off. Marie tried to make herself speak, to comfort him, but nothing would come out. Maybe she hadn’t the energy anymore. “I just didn’t want to open my big damn mouth and say something stupid. This is too important,” he finished quietly.

She went to answer him then, but thought better of it. She wasn’t sure she could trust her voice not to break. Waited for a moment until she could be reasonably sure it wouldn’t crack and then gestured to the seat beside her. “Ah’m not cleared to leave yet,” she said dully. She forced her mind to concentrate on that ache in her back and not the one in her chest. “Hank says Ah can’t go until all the mutations have been worked out.” And she held out her hands to him, face up, showing her ghostly claws. “But if ya wanna get this over with, you can sit down. Hank’s on break: we’ve got the place to ourselves.” And again she dropped her eyes. He took the seat. She knew her voice sounded angry. She also knew she couldn’t change it. She was as powerless as she’d always been.

A beat. An agonisingly long beat.

“Ah know why you’re here,” she said eventually. The tension was getting to her, she had to speak. “Ah’ve been on the receiving end of mah mutation, Ah know how it feels. How-How Ah feel.” She twisted her fingers tighter, concentrated on the pain in her back. “Ah’m not ashamed of it,” she said eventually. “Ah’m not ashamed of how Ah feel. But Ah’m not Jean Grey either and that’s what this’ll boil down to in the end. So how’s about we just get over it.” And she forced her eyes to keep away from him, not wanting to recognise his pain or his pity. She didn’t want either, never had.

He still didn’t answer. Just stared.

“Hank suggested Ah move back to the cabin,” she said then. Which was a lie: she’d suggested it, and the good doctor hadn’t exactly given a warm response. But anything to not be the victim, to not have his pity staring her in the face. “Says mah psychic immunity will build up more easily if Ah just have to deal with hearing people’s thoughts and not getting their mutations. Ah should be moving by next week, so you can just-”

“Marie,” he said softly then, “Would you please stop talking?”

She blinked at him, suddenly angry at the interruption. She was making this easy on him, he should have been grateful. She didn’t wanna hear the old tired clichés about age and morality. She didn’t want to hear him say he still loved Jean. But he took in her angry expression calmly and when she tried to retort he spoke over her. “I went and talked to Jean today,” he said softly. “Turned out… Turned out I had to tell her something important. About you.”

“Needs to know she has competition, does she?” Marie snapped, and then instantly regretted it. Even if it were true, that would still be cruel. And it definitely wasn’t true.

He didn’t rise to the bait though. “This ain’t a competition, Marie. I ain’t that stupid.” He shrugged slightly. “Look, I know what you think I’m gonna say, and I don’t blame you. But believe me it ain’t like that.”

Marie crossed her arms defensively. “Then what’s it like?” she demanded. Scowling, eyebrows raised. Angry. For a moment he was at a loss for words, unable to say anything. Confusion and doubt chasing one another across his features. The words clearly not coming. And then, then-

Then he kissed her.

Once, very softly, on the lips. Hand at the back of her neck to pull her face to his. She felt her mutation kick in, felt the gentle, sweet hum of him underneath her skin, but he didn’t pull away. Just took her face in his gloved hands and breathed deeply, like he was trying to take her in. He laid his hairy cheek against her forehead, breaking their connection, and closed his eyes. Cigar smoke and aftershave were all she could take in for a moment. And his nearness, intoxicating as it had always been to her. When he opened his eyes they bored into hers, blue into blue. Intense.

“I don’t do so well, with the speakin’” he growled softly. “But you get the point?” And he laid his forehead against hers again, their connection sputtering into life once more. It wasn’t hurting him, her mind kept chanting, she wasn’t hurting him. And it should be. But damn if it didn’t feel like, feel like-

Feel like home. It felt like she’d come home.

She stared at him in confusion, for once feeling every inch the scared Kid. “But Ah thought-” she muttered. “Ah mean…Aren’t you mad? Horrified?” She shook her head, aware that she was being incoherent but unable to stop herself. “It’s not just because of the wildcat- because Ah don’t have much time le-”

And he kissed her again. He really was gonna have to work on letting her finish a sentence. “Nope, darlin’” he said softly when he broke away. A small grin tugged at his features and acting on impulse she put her hand to his face, traced his expression. The connection hummed but didn’t hurt. “I just didn’t wanna spend any more time without you.” And again he kissed her, muttering something about “building up his immunity,” when she tried to protest. Not that she tried very hard.

His hands traced circles on her back then, the warmth of his touch over-riding even the ghost of those lost wings. She wasn’t sure how she managed it but she somehow got onto his lap from the bed, squeezing him so tight in her arms anyone else would’ve needed a medic. She must’ve looked weird, her appearance changing, those illusionary claws seeming to disappear inside his body but not hurting him at all. It didn’t matter, none of it mattered. For the first time since she’d realised she was a mutant she felt like everything was as it should be. And that the way it should be was good.

They didn’t notice, when Hank locked the building for the night. Didn’t notice when he turned the lights out. Just stayed there, talking and whispering when it got real late, her body curled against his like it was where she belonged. Like he was under her skin.

If they‘d thought to count all the shadows in the room, they would have realised that not all of them belonged there.