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

CHAPTER FOUR

“Ah guess Ah shouldn’t have brought that up,” Marie said after a moment.

Logan looked up at that, opened his mouth as if to speak. Then dropped his eyes down again. He didn’t try to clarify just what “that,” was: they both knew. But in fine don’t ask, don’t tell tradition, neither of ‘em would say.

Marie forced back a wave of exasperation. Four years and a marriage later, and it was still the same old crap. One hand was rubbing the back of his neck, the other at his side: Seemed like the breath had just gone outta him as he dragged his claws back in with a sudden snick. He looked guilty and stubborn and three kinds o’ infuriating, from where she was standing. But damn he looked good.

She pushed the thought away.

He sighed then, hearing the chagrin in her voice. Dragged his hands through his hair, his expression sour. Without something to skewer he didn’t seem to know what to do with himself, she thought caustically.

“I’m sorry I scared ya, Kid,” he said quietly, after a moment.

Now it was Marie’s turn to sigh. So that was how they were gonna play it: Like she was still the scared little baby and he was still the big bad wolf in the fold. Seemed that moment in the mansion was destined to remain the Great Unmentionable in her life. Remy would be pleased, she mused darkly. “You didn’t scare me, Logan,” she muttered. “You never scared me. Sooner kill yourself than do me damage, Ah’ve known that since Ah was sixteen years old.”

O’ course hurtin’ me was a different matter. But she didn’t say that out loud. She just crossed her arms defensively across her chest and leaned back against the kitchen table, watching him through narrowed eyes.

“It’s good to know,” he said tersely, “That you weren’t-” and he trailed off. Her open scrutiny was making him uncomfortable. “I thought, turnin’ up here like I did-” and again he didn‘t finish. She was tempted to push him but held her peace: she couldn’t see what good it would do anyway. It was the same old crap. And they both knew it. He was staring at his knuckles like they could tell him the future or something: It was what he did when he was trying to get some distance. She’d seen him do it after Jean died too.

It was weird, the things that stuck in your memory.

“Have you seen a doctor?” he asked eventually. “About, you know-” He gestured towards her randomly.

“No,” she responded tartly. “Ah’ve been a little busy.”

He cocked an eyebrow at her, annoyance momentarily replacing the guilt. He didn’t like that she hadn’t seen a doctor: If she‘d been livin‘ in the mansion he‘d have had her handcuffed to a bed as soon as it happened, she knew. “You didn’t even call Hank?” he demanded.

“Why? Because once a mutation recurs it can’t be cured again, you know that.” Everyone knew that: when it first happened hundreds had died trying. Worthington industries had fought the mutant claims for compensation tooth and nail, right through to Geneva. “Mah husband is a mutant rights activist,” she snapped. “Ah know how the cure works.”

The mention of Remy set his heckles rising again. “So what? You don’t tell anyone and it’s not really happening?” He stood up now, towering over her. “Very adult, Marie.”

Her blood started to boil. He wasn’t gonna speak to her like that in her own house. “It’s lethal t’try curing a power twice, Logan; I’m not dumb enough to-”

“It’s not about dumb, Ki-” she glared fiercely at him and he amended it to, “Marie. I never said you were dumb. But what about secondary mutations? You saw what happened to Emma Frost-”

“O’ course Ah know ‘bout Emma!” she exploded. “She’s a friend o’Remy’s, Ah had a front row seat for that. But we’re in the middle o’ nowhere, Logan: whatcha want me to do? How would a Doctor even begin t’examine me without layin’ hands on mah skin?” And she leaned back in triumph, feeling unaccountably elated at having proven to him that she was in exactly as much trouble as he’d said she was. And that he was right.

Dammit.

He cleared his throat then. Maybe it was the realisation that she really was screwed, but once again the fight went out of him. “You want me t’call Hank?” he asked again, more softly. Again staring at his hands.

He was unbelievable, like a dog with a bone. “Logan, it’s pushin’ minus four outside. You barely made it here in your truck, and you’re damn near indestructible. How’d you suggest we haul Beast out here?”

“Car’s not the only way to travel,” he pointed out gruffly.

“Yeah right,” Marie scoffed. “Like Storm’ll let you drag the Blackbird out here, even if she can clear away the snow-” He shook his head at her obstinacy and she fought the urge to stamp her feet. “Logan, we’re not going anywhere-”

“I’ve just gotta make a phone-call and we’ll have you checked in no time,” he interrupted matter-of-factly. Maybe the idea of taking care o’ her was making him feel cocky: Inwardly she scowled at the notion. But then, she was the one who’d called at three in the morning bawling like a child looking for it’s Papa. She’d stepped back into old habits ‘fore he had…

“I’m making that call,” he announced.

“Zippidee godamn doo-dah,” she snapped.

But she didn’t stop him.

He pulled out his cell-phone then, checking to make sure it had coverage, and hit speed-dial. He turned his back to her and walked into the darkened kitchen, waiting intently for the phone to pick up. Away from direct eye-contact she let her gaze linger on him as he paced in the darkened room, fighting the urge to stick her tongue out. Every ounce of frustration she’d ever felt in her life was standing in her kitchen in a pair of jeans and a check shirt. She knew she was staring; hell, she’d been staring since the moment she saw him on the porch. It was the weirdest sense of homecoming, to have him in front of her, nearly close enough to touch. Even if he was making her mad. The stretch of his shoulders, the length and breadth of him: he seemed to fill the whole room. Watching him from a safe distance she let herself admit how much she’d missed him. How much she’d thought about him in the last four years. And how much she’d like to throttle him most of the time.

Still waiting to be saved by Papa Logan, cherie, she heard Remy’s mocking voice chime in her head. You quite the little grown-up, non?

She really wished her darlin’ husband was here so she could tell him to go to Hell.

“It’s done,” he said abruptly, bringing her back to the present. He was folding away the phone, suddenly confident. “They’ll be here in about fifteen minutes, they just have to wake up Kurt.”

She made a face. “Storm’ll be happy,” she snapped.

“Reckon so.” But he reached laid a hand on her shoulder suddenly, the gesture surprisingly kind. He looked at her, real close and tender like he used to do, and for a moment the breath hitched in her throat. “Please, Marie, just let me do this for you,” he whispered, And then abruptly he pulled his hand away.

Papa Logan to the rescue, non? Remy’s voice crooned in her head. You know its why you made that call.

This time she didn’t argue. Even if she wished he’d go to Hell.