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

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

“You should have told me.”

Logan was stalking through the mansion, scattering students like so many pigeons. Already jangling his bike keys and heading towards the supply lockers. He brushed past Kurt and Storm without a word, scared the living bejayzus outta a couple of sophomores as he went by.

Marie sighed. She’d known this was gonna be a long day.

She tried to catch up with him then. Also tried to smile apologetically at everyone he’d bumped into, good southern girl that she was. “What should Ah have told you?” she muttered, dodging through the crowds. “That Remy’s a dick? Thought you were onboard with that ‘fore Ah was-”

“That’s cute, Marie.” He spun on his heel to face her. Lowered his voice. “You should have told me that that rat Cajun-”

“Is missing,” Marie finished for him. She grabbed his arm, pulling him closer to her. She needed to cool him down now. “You heard Bobby, he hasn’t been seen in more than two weeks-”

“And what’s that t’me?” He tried to brush her hand off but she held on tighter, knowing he wouldn’t get rough with her. Anybody else maybe, but not her. He looked so damn worried- “If you think I’m gonna let this go-”

“Ah don’t expect you to let this go, Ah expect you t’calm down. Like you said you would.” And she pulled him to a halt, turning him to face her.

“No.” His hands were clenching, the claws ready t’pop. He kept going like this and pretty soon they were gonna have the entire mansion to themselves. People would be tripping over themselves to leave. “The only thing we need to get is some wheels and a road map. Give me his scent, I’ll track him-”

“And then what?” She crossed her arms over her chest. Clearly she was gonna have to get stubborn with him if she had a hope of slowing him enough to talk sense inta that thick-boned skull o’ his.

He shot her that other Logan’s grin. The grin that made people afraid. “And then we see how he likes fightin someone who can fight back.”

“Unlike me?” Marie threw her hands heavenwards. This was getting ridiculous. “Logan, do you really think Ah’d stay with someone violent?” she demanded.

His face twisted for a second. “You stay with me,” he muttered.

“That’s different.”

“Is it?” Looked down at his feet, wary suddenly. Again she was reminded of this morning in Hank’s office, of the fear she’d seen in his eyes. The Wolverine in her head growled his agreement and her heart gave a twist. Ah evah get mah hands on Bobby Drake again, she thought, and Ah’m gonna strangle him for this.

But then, knowin’ Bobby there’s probably already a queue.

She reached out for him then, laying a hand on his chest. Again she felt the heat from this morning burning through the fabric, and she wondered whether he’d noticed something was wrong yet. Whether Hank could be right and she was hurting him without trying. “You’re not that kind of man, Logan,” she began. “You don’t get off on pain.” He tried to speak over her and she rushed on. “You don’t like seeing me hurting, and neither does Remy. It’s about the only thing y’all have in common.” A beat. She forced herself to meet his gaze. “But even if ya did like hurtin‘ women, Ah got new for ya: Ah’d kill ya ’fore Ah let ya damage me, sugah, and that’s the gospel truth.”

He froze then.

Mainly, she suspected, because the Marie in his head had assured him it was true. He looked at her weirdly, and once again she was reminded of this morning in Hank’s office. Of the way he pulled away. This time she could guess the cause though: Professor Xavier used to say that Logan’s only real fear was fear of himself. And fear of himself when it came to her in particular.

She pressed her advantage at his silence. She knew it might be the only chance she’d get. “Bobby Drake was on a fishing trip, this morning darlin’,” she muttered tightly. “He wanted t’see what reaction he could get outta ya.” She took his hand in hers, feeling his skin’s unnatural heat through his gloves, and tried again to wave away her worry. “Mah guess is he thought Ah did something t’Remy. When he saw you-” She shrugged. Willed her voice sensible. “He’s never liked you. You got in between him and me, you got in between him and Kitty.” Her lip twitched a tiny bit at the memory. “And Ah seem t’recall you being the one who told Pete Kitty was a free agent again.” For a moment Logan’s smile matched hers: Katya Rasputin was currently living in downtown Irkutsk with her two kids and sculptor boyfriend, one Colossus, thanks to Wolverine and his way with forged travel papers. “He only said that t’get a rise outta ya, Logan,” she muttered. “C’mon, you’re smart enough to know that.”

She could tell by his expression she was getting through. “So you never rang the cops?”

“Ah called ‘em once.” He cocked an eyebrow at her and she shrugged again. “We had a neighbour, this evil old buzzard who hated mutants. Every time me or Remy sneezed she was on the phone t’the police. But me? Ah made one complaint, a fundraiser party that got outta hand.” She willed her voice to stay reasonable. “Ah swear, that’s it.”

“You sure?”

She shot him a Look. “Yeah, Ah’m sure. Ah’m also sure that whatever reason Bobby has for tracking down Remy, it ain’t for mah benefit.”

He gave a snort. “So you don’t think he’s just being a good Samaritan.”

She poured every ounce of cynicism she possessed into her expression. It was impressive. “A New York City ADA snooping around a Mississippi missing persons?” she scoffed. “Spare me. That boy wouldn’t know Christian charity if it came up and start chewin’ on his britches.” She sniffed, letting the familiarity of shop-talk calm her. “Remy knew a lotta dangerous people, Logan. Charmed ‘em too. Ah always assumed he’d rolled over for the DA’s office: only reason Ah could conjure he didn’t end up in jail.”

“So you reckon Popsicle’s his handler?”

She shrugged again. “Maybe. Bobby climbed that greasy pole awful quick when he left us: an inside track on the civil rights movement would explain it.”

“And now?” Logan muttered. “Gambit got tired o’ playing terrorist?”

“Or someone got tired o’ letting him.” She shook her head to herself: It felt weird, talking business with Logan. And yet, somehow it made the last few weeks more real too… “On the other hand, it might be Guild business: The Tithing’s comin’ up-” She smiled dryly. “Not that Ah’m supposed t’know anything ‘bout that. Still, Belladonna’s been fussin’…” Her expression turned thoughtful. “Might even be one of his girlfriends making demands…” And then she winced. Of all the things she’d had to admit, that was the hardest. That her husband had screwed anything female with a pulse for the last year or so and she still hadn’t left him. She wasn’t sure she could face Logan’s reaction to that.

He turned her chin up to face him.

“Not your fault he’s a jerk, Marie,” he said softly. His anger gone now she needed it to be. She felt a stab of bewilderment, that she could have gotten so lucky, given her track record. But he was right there-

“Mah fault if Ah stayed.” Suddenly she felt tired, embarrassed. Like a Kid. “Believe me, Ah stayed through a lotta bad things. A lotta crap-” Despite herself she leaned her forehead against his chest for a second and let his presence calm her. Felt his hand rest at the back of her neck as he kissed the top of her head. “Mutant separatists don’t tend to like punch-lines-” Punch-lines being slang for a gene joke who took the cure and found their punch-line: Death- “A few times it got outta hand… The night we called the cops it was because this massive guy tried to pick me up. Literally. Didn’t think Remy would mind-”

“What a charmer.”

“You’ve no idea,” she muttered darkly. Sighed and crossed her arms. And once again, Ah sound like a victim. “Remy had some dubious supporters, like Ah said. This guy saw me standing on mah own, nobody payin’ me any attention, and he thought Ah was good for target practice.” The memory of it still chilled her unaccountably. There had been something about that man, something familiar. The way a bogeyman from a nightmare is familiar. “Ah was wearing your dog-tags,” she said softly, trying to drive away her discomfort. The tags always made her feel safe. “Drove Remy crazy when Ah wore ‘em where he could see ‘em-”

He snickered. “Which is why you did it.”

“Never said Ah was mature.”

“Never said I objected.” He looked at her real straight again. “So the guy got rowdy?” he prompted.

“That’s putting it mildly. When he saw the tags he started askin’ me all these questions, where Ah came from, where Ah’d found ‘em. Didn’t think you’d appreciate him knowing your business so Ah wouldn’t answer and then- Well, then he got a little steamed.”

Again the cocked eyebrow. “How steamed?”

“Remy went through an entire pack o’ playing cards t’get him outta the house steamed.” Just another Johnny Cash moment in what had been a Johnny Cash marriage. “It was weird,” she continued, trying to push away her humiliation, “The way he was so interested. And Ah swear, he sniffed me when he saw the dog tags. Almost like you, but… different. Wrong, somehow.” She trailed off, distracted by the memory.

Logan frowned. “Did this joker have a name?”

“Hmm?” He shot her an exasperated look and she smiled. “Yeah, it wasn’t a mutant handle, which was weird. Most separatists still refer to the name their momma gave ‘em as a slave name. It’s all Neanderthal this and Vortex of Pain that.” She shot him a dry smile. “Personally Ah’m waiting for someone t’choose Flopsy or Wabbit-Tails.” They both smiled at that as she shook her head. “But this guy?” His face bloomed in her mind, and again a chill ran down her spine. “Said his name was.. James,” she muttered. That was it. “James Howlett-”

And at that all Hell broke loose.