Disclaimer: This fan-fiction is not written for profit and no infringement of copyright is intended. Still unbetaed, mistakes are still all mine. And can I just say thanks for all the great feedback? You lads rock!

CHAPTER SIX

Cool clean air- The snick of claws piercing skin- From somewhere really far away he was yellin’ at Hank, swearing to do blue murder for not preparing him- And still the ache of that stone weight pressing on her chest. The sorrow of it feeling like it would crack her in two- Break her, and nothing could ever break her-

Marie opened her eyes.

She could hear the heart monitor, the whirring beat of the CAT scan. Stillness in the air, like time itself was scared to pass. Heavy, she felt so heavy- Cold in her skin. Something soft against her back, her shoulders; warmth here where she was used to absence. And that hand, that hand in hers. Strong even through the gloves. Wanted, missed and cried over. She heard his voice from long ago: “I’ll take care of you.”

She was in Sickbay.

Every inch of her skin covered in sensors. The walls plastered with monitors, some showing her skeleton, others her immune system. To her right the largest showed an image of the inside of her skull, her thought patterns picked out in buttery yellows and oranges. Here and there the tell-tale blooms of blue and green, electronic signatures for mutant brain activity. They weren’t taking any chances with this, she mused; Ah’ve been hooked up to every machine in the place. Her heart-beat sounded incessantly, almost ugly in its amplification. The back of her head felt sore, as if she’d cracked it. Back in the mansion five hours, she thought dizzily, and already Ah’m concussed.

Wolverine was sitting beside her bed, his brows dragged together with worry, holding onto her hand as if his life depended on it. Just for a moment she’d thought he was Remy.

Marie felt her eyes prickle with tears.

“Hey,” she said softly then, because if she hadn’t- If she hadn’t she would’ve started to cry again. And she’d cried more than enough in the last forty eight hours. She gave a wan little laugh instead.“Guess we were wrong about that secondary mutation, Logan,” she quipped.

What else could she do?

“Guess we were,” he answered tightly. He was whispering, she realised, like they were in a church. Or maybe a morgue. How many people, she wondered disjointedly, had died in this room? And then she realised that she didn’t want to know, even if they were her friends. Suddenly his gaze turned curious. “What did you see, Kid, ‘fore you passed out?”

She’d let the Kid thing slide, just this once. “Graveyard,” she managed to croak instead. “Three tombstones. Ah-Ah was crying.” And suddenly she looked away, embarrassed. She didn’t want to talk about the vision, or whatever-that-thing-had-been. The thought felt real private, like it wasn’t even hers t’begin with. But God, it had felt real.

A beat.

“So do they know what it is?” she asked after a moment. “The-The secondary mutation, Ah mean.” Didn’t take a rocket scientist to work it out, what with the visions and the monitors and the passing out and all. She swallowed, remembering Emma Frost.

Logan’s mouth worked, turned downwards slightly into a grimace. That line he got when he was really mad appeared between his eyebrows. It was bad, real bad, she realised. “Well?” she prompted.

“Hank can tell it better’n I can.”

“I’d rather it was you.”

“Would you?” And then, as if he’d given something away, he put his hand to his mouth. Covered it. Another beat of silence descended.

He still held her hand.

“It’s a wildcat mutation,” he said eventually. “Related to your primary, but still…” She heard her own sharp indrawn breath come as if from far away, saw his face tense at the sound. For a second she thought he’d remove his hand and she grasped his fingers tighter, feeling their weight in her own. She needed them there. Now that he’d said it out loud and made it real. “Seems to be psionic, according to the scans.” And he nodded to the brain monitors, with their mismatched blooms and yellow and blue. Never thought Ah’d turn telepath, she mused. But then, it’s not the weirdest thing t’happen to me either.

“Works through mah skin?” she ventured then.

He nodded, still grim. “Yeah; Hank says it’ll be worse with strong emotions, but he can’t really be sure. Has a big long Latin name for it sounds like a form o’ gum disease.” He cocked an eyebrow at her. “How’d you know?”

“Lucky guess.” Marie felt a blush spreading across her cheeks. Now that she was saying it out loud it sounded perfectly rational. Expected, even. Deep down she’d always known her Cure wouldn‘t be permanent. That her and Remy wouldn’t be- Again she pushed the thought down. “Ah was touching you,” she explained softly, speaking over her own memories. “When Ah saw the graveyard, Ah was touching you. Well, your hoodie anyway. Psychic energy stays on objects, clothes, anything really.” She shrugged again. “Ah just followed the logic of it.” She remembered it exactly, the feel of a human body against hers after so many nights alone in her own skin… The hoodie’s cotton brushing against the gap between her sleeve and her glove… And before that, the feel of his shirt against her ear when they’d jumped to the mansion with Kurt. Hadn’t even registered it at the time but it had been there. Her flesh against the cloth. Both times.

Contact.

Another beat.

“So what are you gonna do?” he asked quietly then. Almost like he was afraid of the answer. “How are you gonna-”

Again she shrugged. She was kinda glad Hank wasn’t here, telling her what to do. If this thing was gonna kill her, she knew she’d only want Logan with her at the end. Not Remy, or Jubilee, or any of the other fallen friends she’d lost these past four years. She still only really wanted her Wolverine, when all was said and done.

Gambit’s face flashed through her mind and she pushed the image away.

“Can it be trained, or am Ah still not that damn lucky?” she asked lightly instead.

He shook his head. For a second she thought he was gonna touch her, brush her hair from across her brow, but whatever the impulse was, he didn’t give into it. “Wildcat mutation, remember?” he retorted gruffly, clearing his throat. She’d never seen him look so damned grave. “And the New Reliable ain’t so reliable; least predictable psychic mutation on record, according to Hank.” He shook his head mournfully. “You really got a knack when it comes to powers, y’know that Marie?”

Again that wan little laugh. She could only do it ‘cause he was there. Holding her together, just like always. “Ah’m just lucky, Ah guess,” she quipped. “Both mah Reliables turned out to be unreliable.”

He looked sourly down at her. “You got that right.”

“So how long have Ah got?”

Again he winced, his brows drawn together. She hadn’t meant to hurt him with her bluntness, but she didn’t see the point in dancing around it. If she was gonna drop like a stone tomorrow then she wanted to know. He turned towards her, his gaze dangerous. Well, more like pissed. But she held her ground.

“It don’t work like that, Marie,” he growled. “I don’t have times and dates.” He clenched her hand in his now, almost possessive. Angry. “And where the hell do you get off not fightin’ this?” he demanded.

Four years ago her heckles would have risen at his tone. Hell, four hours ago they would have. But now… Maybe it was shock, or denial, or emotional whiplash, but suddenly snapping and hollering didn’t seem important. Not now. Not when she knew she had a time-bomb working under her skin.

She could see it in the dim light of the monitors. The fear in his eyes. He didn’t want to lose her, didn’t want to let her go. And she didn’t want to leave him. Not now she felt like she’d found him again.

But she knew she probably wouldn’t have a choice.

“Ah will absolutely fight this,” she said firmly. Reasonably. She looked him straight in the eye, felt the weight of his hand in hers. For the first time in four years she felt like she was absolutely where she was supposed to be, and she was glad of it. But that didn‘t change a damn thing. “Whatever it takes to beat this, Ah’ll do it Logan, you have mah word.” He went to interrupt her and she spoke over him. She didn’t know how much longer her calmness would last. “Ah just might not win. That’s all’s Ah’m sayin’. And if Ah don’t… Well, there’s plenty Ah wanna do ‘fore Ah go.”

She saw it in his eyes then. The panic. The hurt. And also acceptance. Maybe even pride. But what he said was, “Then let’s get you the hell outta that bed and get to work.”

After all, he was still her Wolverine.