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

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

“Logan, let her go.”

No answer.

No. Fucking. Answer.

Weather Witch calls like she knows him but there’s no answer.

Just the girl- His- broken and bleeding. Her blood still warm on his hands.

Claws inside her-Weren’t his, didn’t want ’em, never wanted ‘em- and her heart’s hammering so loud he can hear it. Feel it. Damn near taste its tremor. Just trying t’keep her safe, and now- What? You think you could shape-shift inta being human, soldier? When you know all’s you’re built for is the hunt? The girl moans, arches against him in agony, and he leans over her more closely, tries t’calm her. His, she was His. She’d said so. She loved him. And now-

Broke. Failing. Bleeding. Heard t’Other’s voice say it cos Logan had some semblance of control. “Oh Jesus, darlin’, what have I done to you?”

You’ve done what we always do.

Room hollow, young ‘uns wide-eyed and staring. Little Whirlwind who’d helped Rogue stock still. Terrified- Always scared of him, they should always be scared of him- Some mourning sound, hurting sound, at the back of his throat. “Logan,” Witch whispers, “She’s bleeding out, we have to…” and she tries to move by him, to tend her.

He shows claws, bares teeth. Growls and crouches. Promise of retribution in the sound.

Weather Witch backs the fuck away then.

She’ll not be taken from him by anyone. He swore he’d keep her safe and he will.

Looks around now to find the one did this, the thing that was hurting the young’uns ‘fore he tried t’get between ‘em. Burning One is front and centre, though now it’s frozen…Not moving? Not fighting. Form growing paler -lifeless- as His drifts towards sleep. He cocks his lead, lets his senses guide him and now that he’s listening for it he can hear the thing talking again. ‘Cept it ain’t using the same voice as before. It’s using one sounds like His. Thief Child, it’s saying, over ‘n over, Thief child. Ah’ll take him from you, steal him. You know he’s not meant for you.

And he feels a little bit sick then, cos part of him agrees with the bitch.

The thing’s form is still roiling and surging, even as it grows paler. Body looking less like Victor as His slips away from him and towards somewhere safe. Form phases, a burst of energy seizing it, and suddenly- Suddenly- The thing burns like Jean. Jean? The one came back for Logan? The one they had to kill?- He hears the Witch’s hissing intake of breath then, can smell her upset on the air as the creature takes on the form of her friend- Were him and Jean ever friends?- Burning woman a burning memory- The ghost of what he does to those he loves flaring bright now, like a woman-shaped supernova. Thing turns incandescent -a dying phoenix-

The Witch ain’t done yet with the talkin’. He ain’t done yet with the ignoring her, so that works out fer the best.

“Logan, we need to check on her,” she says more sternly now, like she knows him. He can hear the tears in her voice. Witch tries to move him- He can smell it, she’s getting ornery- Temperature beginning to drop but he ain’t shifting, so the Witch better Goddamn deal- “Marie’s hurt, she needs a doctor-” And the dark, elegant hands try to reach by him, to touch His in her sleep. Girl’s hands reach out fer the Weather Witch. Slide across his skin, warm and soft and weak. Fighting unconsciousness, hammer hammer of her pulse; She don’t wanna leave him, he realises suddenly. Don’t wanna let him go. Weather Witch gets nearer, whispers. Voice of t’Other, of Logan, coming from far away as well. Hands tighten on his mate- I wouldn’t have hurt her, bub, Logan whispers, You’re the one did that, not me- His looking so young and fragile- Falling, failing, fiery, her touch growing colder as she drifts away from him. She whispers that something-some word he don’t wanna think on- That word he knows means pain-

And as her eyes finally drift closed the Burning One, The Once-Was-Phoenix fades completely. Disappears, like a match-flame that’s been snuffed out. His goes to that place of safety where the Wolverine usually slumbers, her little hands resting like talismans against his heart and he takes a moment, checks her. Sniffs and touches to make sure she ain’t wanting-

And lets Logan’s voice takes over his mind…

“Jesus darlin’, what have I done to you?” Logan says again, real quiet-like, his voice so hoarse it’s barely audible. “Christ, you’re-” And he pulls his hands away from her, so quick you’d think he’d been burned. He listens tightly, makes sure her heart is still beating. She took enough of a dose of him, it should set her to rights, but still… “Storm, I think- I think you need t’go get Hank,” he says.

Like that shouldn’t have happened five minutes ago, you idiot. But you were too busy snarling for that.

“Believe me, it’s already done,” Storm says, hand on his shoulder. Scooting closer and checking for vitals while the kids look away and turn pale. Logan closes his eyes, sits down heavily. Memories buzzing. Feeling every single moment of his hundred plus year life. An imprint of the Phoenix is still burning behind his eyelids-

But then anything is better than picturing what he just did to His Marie.