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

CHAPTER TWENTY

Something was wrong.

Because the scent wafting off her as she stalked out wasn’t anger or jealousy or even nerves. It was fear. Genuine fear. Her heartbeat was jack-hammering in her chest, her adrenaline rising til the scent of it spilled throughout the Mansion. It was the same scent he’d picked up in the Infirmary when he woke up, and yet this was different. Because this wasn’t fear of him, he was sure of it. It was fear for him. When she’d first walked out on Betsy he’d thought she was just a bit stressed. After all, The Loaner had all but straddled him in the Danger Room yesterday, and any other time she’d have been just the sort he’d go for. Elegant, willowy, and willing to sell him to the government in a heartbeat if it got her where she wanted to be. He’d even been a tiny bit relieved, that he could still make her jealous, because surely that meant there was hope fer them after all. But the scent of fear-no, he realised, panic- which he was getting from her now proved there was more than a flirtatious spook and some marking of territory going on here. The last time he’d smelt her like this, torn between anger and terror, was the night-

The night Sabre-tooth came to find her. The first time she actively tried to kill someone, if only in self-defence. It was the most frightened he’d ever seen her, before now.

The memory of it still made Logan furious. Furious and guilty. Especially since he now knew just how close he was to Victor, back in the day. But he’d sworn to Hank he’d stick around and take care of her, and if that meant remembering shit like Sabre-tooth, or braving her pissed-off tornado of a temper, then so be it. He was Goddamn indestructible: It should be useful for something besides property damage. So he picked up his pace, determined to catch her. She might have been pushing him away for the last five days but he wasn’t gonna leave her alone when she was scared and panicked-

And it turned out he didn’t have far to look.

He found her packing. Clothes, socks, tracking equipment, weaponry (When the Hell did she buy a Glock and who taught her how to use it?) all being tossed into the bag the way most women throw in makeup and loose change. Making more noise than a grizzly chomping on some campers, her eyes bright and feverish, her pretty face pale. Her hair was scraped back tightly from her face, a thick jacket and sturdy shoes thrown beside her and waiting to be worn. Everything about her screaming, Don’t even think about it, asshole-

Which Logan knew may (or may not) have been directed at him.

“You’re not gonna stop me, Logan,” she muttered then, gaze on her duffel.

“Well hello to you too,” he muttered, leaning against the door-frame. He didn’t wanna spook her, with her frightened. “And what precisely ain’t I gonna stop you doing?”

She practically growled it. “What does it look like?”

So she wasn’t gonna explain herself; Let’s see if pushing her buttons would work. “Getting ready for a road-trip?” he inquired, smart-ass eyebrow cocked and ready. “Cos Ah’m thinking o’ running off with Betsy myself. Since she has those hot telepathic powers and all…”

Okay, he had to admit it. That approach had sounded more useful in his head. But he was feeling wrong-footed. And worried.

She shot him a look would have withered an oak-tree. “Well, Ah know you like willowy telepaths,” she drawled. “Maybe you should go for it.”

“What the Hell is that supposed to mean?”

Her face was stony. “You’re the expert on telepaths,” she snapped. “You tell me.”

“Well you’re the one reads minds now. Guess that makes you the expert.” Why in heaven was he letting her goad him? “So maybe you can spit it out like a grownup-”

“Ah’m sure spitting’s Betsy’s speciality, and she certainly looks legal t’me.” Marie threw the biggest knife he’d ever seen her handle into her duffel. “And for your information, neither o’ mah Reliables are telepathy. Ah wouldn’t want them to be. Ah’m still little Rogue with the poisonous skin-”

“So that’s what this is about?” he demanded. “What, you’re touchy about your mutation with the Loaner in the house?” So Braddock’s stupid flirting really making her this ornery? What was she, twelve? But if that was case, why the Hell was she scared? Because this wasn’t about him, it couldn’t be. And she’d nearly removed the telepath’s head from her shoulders for trying to poke about in his head. He took a step towards her, trying to touch her, and immediately she backed away. He could smell unshed tears on the air as he breathed it in. She was scared enough to cry, angry enough to fight- And not telling him anything.

“Ah’m gonna go find mah husband,” she muttered, then. Tossing a GPS tracking system into her bag, “And then Ah’m gonna check out this Essex homme, see if he really knows anything about Witch-breed or the Cure.” Her voice inflected the French word automatically in case he had missed the (pointed) reference to LeBeau. He fought the urge to growl. Cute, Marie. Real adult. Mention the swap-rat and the Loaner in the space of three sentences. That might have worked on the Ice-Prick, but it ain’t gonna work on me.

“Fine,” he retorted, uncrossing his arms. If she didn’t wanna talk about it, he’d just have to try something else. “I’ll get some wheels and meet you in ten minutes.” He’d try his patented mix of reverse psychology and mulishness. “Storm can track us if she needs to, I’ll give her our coordinates. We’ll take point while the others do recon-”

“You’re not coming,” she snapped. The scent of panic going up a notch. Her voice sounding the wrong side of scared. “Ya stay here, Ah need to do this on mah own-”

“What the Hell makes you think I’ll do that, sweetheart?” Logan cut in. “You wanna go looking for some centuries old possible mutant who may or may nor be responsible for the Cure being lethal. And you wanna do this with the man who left you soon as your mutation came back.” It came out sounding pissed off, but then pretty much everything he said that wasn’t an endearment came out sounding pissed off. And she had him really worried now. “You think I’ll make you face this all on your lonesome?”

“Ah don’t think, Ah know.” The air began to tingle, just the way it had before Smokey had arrived the last time. Once again the creature’s shape appeared, faint and wavering, only this time Marie ignored it. “And there ain’t no “let,” in this here situation,” she growled through clenched teeth. “Ah’m a grown woman-”

“Then why you panicking like a kid, Kid?”

“Ah am not panicking.”

“Really? That what you’re trying to tell yourself? Cos I got a built-in bullshit detector, darlin’, and right now it’s going off like the fire-works on Paddy’s Day.” He put his face in hers, ignoring her flinch this time. “I could smell your feelings from the second floor, so don’t try to lie to me.” Though her scent didn’t suggest deceit-

“Ah ain’t trying to lie,” she snarled, furious, “Ah’m trying to protect you, you stupid ox!” The bedside locker rattled dangerously and she flicked her head sharply towards it; Immediately it stilled. Another power mastered through her New Reliable, Hellion’s if he wasn’t mistaken. For a second Smokey flared brighter and Logan coulda sworn he sensed… something. But Marie’s voice drew him back to the present, and the thought slid away like smoke. “Ah won’t see you hurt, darlin,’” she continued tightly, regaining control. “Not like you were before-”

“Have you forgotten I’m indestructible?”

“No, you’re not.”

“Tell that to Stryker-”

“Like you told it to Jean?” she snapped, her voice suddenly venomous. The change in tone like a slap in the face. “That the fairytale you told her so she’d use you to save her life?” She smiled nastily. “Amongst the other uses she put you to.”

He actually growled at her. She hadn’t the right to say that. She hadn’t the right to toss losing Jean into an argument just so he’d back the Hell off.

“You really wanna talk about Red?” he growled, aware she’d always hated that nickname. He knew it made her jealous. “Do you?”

“Ah don’t know; You’re the one bringing up slutty psychics.”

“And you’re the one running off to chase the asshole who cheated on you and broke your heart.”

Her eyes narrowed then, just for a fraction of a second. Something flicked through them, something triumphant and almost, almost relieved. Least that’s what it smelt like. “Assholes are mah kinda men, you know that,” she muttered. “It’s about time Ah got back to the ball and chain.” He growled again and her scent shifted completely, the panic replaced by relief-

Relief that she’d made him mad. That’s what she’d been trying to do.

“Look, those burns of yours, Ah caused them,” she continued, when he didn’t answer. Her voice was a mix of goading and contrition: She was trying another tack. “The adamantium melting off your claws, Ah did that too. Didn’t mean to, but look at what Smokey did without mah even trying. And what woulda happened if you hadn’t stabbed me, eh? What will happen if that Braddock bitch starts poking about inside mah head?” Her voice cut out, her hands twisting sharply together. He tried to pull them apart, to still them, and suddenly frustration was coming off her in waves. “Ah won’t do it to ya, Logan,” she said. “Ah won’t put you in danger. Ah need time with this, ‘for Ah do something stupid.” He opened his mouth to contradict her and she spoke over him. “And then Ah promise Ah’ll come back and go Jerry Springer on Betsy. Ah’ll even let you and Storm place bets. But right now- Right now, Ah gotta go sugah.” The lovely blue eyes stared into his. “Please.”

So that’s what this was about.

She was desperate to leave, no questions asked. And nobody following her, at least not for a couple of days. That’s why she was trying to play him like a Goddamn Stradivarius. Whatever was going on, she needed to look like she was flying solo. Maybe needed to think she was flying solo as well. Which meant someone didn’t want him crashing the party, and that someone was watching her close enough to check he didn’t. Close enough to make sure she didn’t clue him in. She was boxed in, outta options. Didn’t believe she could tell him what was really going on, or that he could help her. Logan was almost relieved, that there was so clearly something else going on here. That maybe she wasn’t just trying to muster up the courage to leave him because she now knew exactly how much of a bastard he was. He needed to give her an out with this, needed to let her think she was getting what she wanted-

So despite his better judgement he growled, “No.”

She blinked at him. ““No.”?”

“No, Marie,” he repeated. She wouldn’t believe him if he just gave in. “You ain’t doing this. You ain’t running off on your own without anyone to watch your back.”

Again frustration flooded her scent. “The world don’t sit up and take notice just cos you’re feeling assertive, sugah,” she snapped.

He popped his claws. “I got these. Pretty much anything in the universe takes notice when I get assertive.”

Again her voice was caustic. “Fear the power of the red-neck scalpels.”

He ignored the jibe. “Get your coat,” he muttered instead. Giving into temptation he gave her a quick peck on the forehead, just to check if she’d let their link open. She didn’t. “I’ll get a car and then I’ll pick you and the canvas weapons locker up.” He nodded to her duffel, moving towards the door. “Oh, and Marie? Don’t even think o’ trying to leave without me.” He tapped his nose. “Better than telepathy any day.” And with that he shut the door. Hoping she took the hint. He’d give her a bit o’ time to get away before he followed her… He just hoped whatever had her didn’t have its claws in too deep…

Because if something hurt his Marie and he didn’t stop it?

Well, he’d have a massive, homicidal problem with that.

Marie counted Mississippis in her head while she waited.

She got up as far as twelve before she figured he couldn’t hear her any more.

And then she turned to look, furious, at the man who’d been in the room the whole time. The man she knew Logan couldn’t see. A second Smokey stood, holding Logan’s dog-tags while they glowed with potential explosive charge. Red and black eyes smoking, fiery as the pits o’ Hell. Looking everything and nothing like the man she’d once married. And grinning at her like he wanted to skin her alive. “C’Mon, petite,” he murmured, his-Gambit’s- voice playful. “Me and de family gonna show you a real good time…

We bin waiting for you for weeks.”