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

CHAPTER SEVEN

“You shouldn’t have taken her out, Logan.”

And Hank crossed his massive arms across his chest, doing his best to glower. The results were, needless to say, unimpressive. Half the remaining team stood behind him in the hall, silhouetted in dawn’s dim light. A couple of the older students poked their heads over the banisters above, eyes wide at the scene. Had been this way the last three times they came back to the mansion in the wee small hours, not that it bothered him none. She wanted to make the most of the time she had left, and he’d promised her he’d help her.

Wasn’t Hank’s business how they went about it.

Rogue was leaning into him, still hummin’ some old blues riff under her breath from the club. Swayin’ in time to the music. She was a mess of jeans, tee and a pony-tail, flushed with life like there was nothing wrong with her. Bare-foot, carrying her shoes in one hand. And that was fine with him. She was grinning like she hadn’t a care in the world.

She’s beautiful, Logan’s mind slurred drunkenly. Don’t forget beautiful.

He rolled his eyes then. Tried to half-carry her through the door. “We were just havin’ a good time, McCoy,” he muttered. Because thinking about her being beautiful wasn’t a good idea. And because frankly Hank was being a pain in his ass.

Beast didn’t move. Just glowered some more. Added a tapping toe for effect.

Again, Logan thought, Unimpressive.

“Get out of the way, bub,” he growled. He couldn’t see what the big deal was. “You asked for a week, you got a week. She stayed hooked up like a rat in a lab, while you poked and prodded her. Damn near scared her t’death.” He threw Marie a grin. “She deserved to party.”

“But her mutation-”

“Ain’t goin’ nowhere!” Marie finished. She pushed her trademark white bangs off her face, the expression exasperated. “Ah’m covered from head t’toe, Hank,” she pointed out. “There are Reverend Mothers showing more flesh’n me. Ah know the drill: no touchin’, no feelin’ no takin’ candy from strangers. Been doin’ this since Ah was seventeen years old.” She shrugged. “And if Ah die tomorrow,” she muttered, “Ah die happy.” Again they made to get by him, despite her shaky balance.

McCoy shook his head, glaring at Logan. He could smell the scotch off her and he wasn’t impressed. “You let her get drunk?” he demanded. “With her new mutation? Did they drop you on your head during that last mission to Genosha, Wolverine, or have you always been this stupid?”

Now it was Marie’s turn to glower. “Don’tcha talk ‘bout mah Logan that way,” she growled. Didn’t wanna think about why, but the mah made him grin. “Or me. It’s been three weeks since Ah collapsed Hank, and nothing’s happened,” she muttered. “Nothing might ever happen again. Ah can’t live mah life on what if; don’t ask me to.”

Hank sighed, stopped tapping the toe. “I know you don’t want to admit this Marie,” he said gently, “But there is something wrong with you. And refusing to accept it won’t help.” He wrung his hands, his voice turning appealing. “A wildcat mutation is unpredictable, uncontrollable; if your psychic defences are down…” He trailed off. Looked beseechingly to Storm, but she shook her head, far too familiar with Logan and Marie’s relationship to try to intervene. She was the one who’d started calling them Rhett and Scarlett in the first place.

A beat.

Marie was still swaying, her hand at the wall beside her for support, her eye-lids drooping. For a moment Logan wondered whether she was gonna throw up, and whether he could pull her hair off her face without making skin-on-skin contact. She looked up at him tiredly, completely limp, and all the colour rushed from her cheeks. She felt hot in his arms. Not flushed-body hot. Furnace hot.

Something wasn’t right. “Marie,” Logan asked, “Are you-”.

“Where’s Kitty?” she asked softly then.

She cocked her head to the side, her expression not her own. Not a trace of that lilting Southern accent remained. Her eyes were unreadable. “Where’s my Kit?” Straightened up, everything about her alert. Stepped clear of him, held one hand out to her side. Thumb flicking continuously against her fore-finger, over and over again. Her gaze came to rest on Ororo, and her eyes narrowed dangerously. “Where’s my wife, bitch?” she snapped.

And then she went on fire. Literally. There was no warning, just the blaze.

Heat shot across her shoulders and arms, lighting her up like a Christmas tree. The fire danced red, then golden, then blue. Eyes turned black as the flames licked across her skin. Instinct made Logan jump to the side, though not quickly enough to prevent his palms burning. He barely noticed his healing factor kick in as she rounded on Storm, her eyes riveted on the woman. “You tell me where Kitty is,” she snarled, “Or so help me God, Storm, I’ll burn this whole place to the ground.”

Fire shot from her hands hitting the base of the stairs, a warning shot. Tossed just like- It clicked in his head- Just like Pyro used to do.

Instantly he was sober.

Logan could recall it perfectly, that last stand against John Allerdyce. He’d come looking for his wife and their kids, very nearly killed a couple of the newbs in the process. Had tried to burn it out of Storm standing right where Marie was, all sinew and prison tats, not a trace left of the boy Logan had known. Kurt had taken him down from behind on that very spot, three years ago come March. He was still in Stryker’s.

It came together horribly in his head then. Her bare feet. Touch sensitive empathy. And a building just dripping in physic trauma.

You really do have a knack Marie, he thought, When it comes to super-powers.

“Marie?” Storm said calmly, willing her voice steady. “Whoever you are, I need to speak to Marie-”

“Just tell me what I want to know, bitch.” Another flame landed at her feet, closer this time. Kurt phased to avoid it, reappearing behind them, just like the last time this had happened. Looked questioningly at Logan, ready to strike, but held back.

Ororo took a step towards them. Hands held before her in truce. “Whatever this is,” she began, “We can talk about it-”

Marie started to burn.

The flames rose higher, whooshing up the walls of the hallway, across the ceiling. Setting light to everything they touched. The sprinklers came on, dousing everyone and halting the fire’s progress but it did Marie no good. She was burning, her skin starting to blister and peel. Logan didn’t understand it: Pyro’s flames had never hurt their maker before. But then Pyro hadn’t been able to create the flame out of nowhere either. Something more was happening here then her normal mutation: something that could kill her. He wouldn’t let that happen.

“Kurt,” he muttered, “Grab a hold of me.”

Nightcrawler was way ahead of him. “I can phase with her into the lake-”

“But I can heal her as she goes.” She might not make it otherwise. He felt the other man grip him and mentally prepared himself for the trauma. Grabbed Marie’s shoulders and pulled her tight to his chest. The pain was excruciating, exploding against his skin as he felt that PUFF! Of Kurt’s mutation, and then the icy blackness of the dawn waters. He was falling, no air in his lungs. Weightless, suspended, so Goddamn cold. He held onto her with all he had.

He would not let her die.

Logan forced himself not to breath and began kicking for the surface. Wondered where Kurt was but didn’t have time to check; Nightcrawler could take care of himself. Still holding onto Marie, frail now in his grip. For a moment her flames lit up the water, turning it coppery before snuffing out. She sagged and seemed to lose consciousness as he broke the surface, taking in great, gasping breaths. His skin was already healing as he towed her to the shore.

She lay still. Pale as death. The burns looked scarring and ugly, unnatural on her lovely face. She wasn’t breathing.

“C’Mon, Marie,” he muttered, “C’Mon. You promised me you’d fight.” He laid his bare hand at her cheek, healing her, he hoped.

He felt it then.

Felt the flesh pressing one against the other. For a moment Marie tried to pull away but he resisted. Let the pull take over as some of his life force spilled into her. It was painful, there was no use saying it wasn’t. He just didn’t care. The burns erupted beneath his skin, hers and his together, blazing too fast for his mutation to counter. Images of Kitty and her kids, the rage against Bobby Drake for helping Pryde escape, all of this danced behind his eyeballs. Memories rushed through his brain, too fast for him to decipher. So much love, so much anger. And then for a second he saw himself through her eyes, that first night in Laughlin city. Smelt his own cigar smoke, heard the rumble of his own voice. Saw Gambit yelling, angrier than he’d ever seen the man. Love and rage. Confusion. And then something else. Something he didn’t wanna know the word for. Something he’d have been angry about, if Marie were his wife-

Hank wrenched them apart.

They blinked together, completely disorientated. The sky was streaked with orange and gold, dazzling their eyes. At least Logan told himself it was the dawn. Kurt helped him to his feet, still sopping wet. Beast looked pissed, and for once Logan couldn’t blame him.

“Firstly,” McCoy said severely, “We call it a wildcat mutation for a reason. It is not to be mixed with stupidity, obstinacy or alcohol.” Marie tried to get to her feet and collapsed, coughing up what water was left in her lungs. She looked like a drowned cat. “And secondly,” Hank sighed, pulling her to her feet, “You are both idiots. Congratulations on still breathing.” With that he headed for the house.

They both struggled to stay upright, neither wanting to meet the other’s eye. They both knew why. Hank walked ahead, muttering about tests and powers and how they were lucky to be alive. And idiocy, there was lots of talk about idiocy. Neither of them stopped him. Neither of them spoke. And then-

“Ah’m still not sorry about the scotch,” Marie whispered.

She didn’t look back at him as she left.