Disclaimer: This fan-fiction is not written for profit and no infringement of copyright is intended. Still unbetaed, mistakes are still all mine.
STILL-LIFE
CHAPTER EIGHT
Remy was home.
Marie felt the breath stop in her throat, pulled the phone away from her lips. From the other end she could hear Logan yelling blue murder at her, demanding to know what was going on. Then silence. Belatedly she realised she’d hung up on him. Hadn’t really meant to do that. She stared at the screen, flashing his number, still the same after all this time. Not quite able to believe her eyes.
Remy’s head appeared at the doorway, a cheerful drunken smile on his face. “Chere! You shoulda come out t’play tonight-” he grinned. She didn’t move. “Marie..?” he tried again, more cautiously. It might just have been that she’d found another phone number in his pocket, after all. Again she said nothing, just stared at the phone.
He crouched down in front of his wife. Peered up into her face and tried to take her hand. “Chere,” he tried again, “What’s wrong?”
He followed her gaze to the phone then, nestled in her gloved hands. Recognised the photo on the screen. Took in the image of gloves, tear-stained face and recently called Logan in one glance and understood.
Understood that she’d called Papa Logan and not him.
Yelling then, anger. She’d never seen him so mad. He knocked over a few things, she wasn’t sure what. Didn’t change anything. Didn’t change whose number she’d dialled when she first realised. Didn’t change that he now knew. She’d understood, deep down, since the moment she first saw him in Laughlin City, who she wanted to be with when the chips were down. And she’d called for him, when she was hurting. Her Wolverine-
-Opened his eyes.
He could still hear her voice in his head. Waking or sleeping, it didn’t matter none. She was there. Couldn’t make it go away, couldn’t drown her out. Couldn’t pretend he didn’t know how she felt. That memory was the clearest but there were others, plenty of others. He wondered how Marie dealt with it every day. Whether it ever got any easier to live through other people’s pain, knowing you caused it.
Stupid wildcat mutation, he thought then. Making me see the Cajun as human.
Logan pulled himself to his feet, ignored his protesting body. Sunlight spilled across the ceiling in his room. Dark brown hangover taste in his mouth, every bone and muscle aching. And her voice, her voice in his head. Her voice underneath his skin.
He pushed the thought away.
She’d recover. Allerdyce’s mutation had left her as quickly as it had come, the result of being acquired through the New Reliable rather than the Old, but that didn’t change nothing. She was still back in that damn Infirmary bed, back to being poked and prodded. Hank said he could only visit her if there was no liquor involved, threatened to frisk him just to make sure. Marie had used a lot of language he didn’t think Southern Belles were supposed to know when she heard about it.
Hadn’t bothered him none though: she’d picked most of it up from him.
“Am I interrupting?” he heard Storm’s voice behind him. She was standing at his threshold, her lovely face tired and strained, reminding him he wasn’t the only one had trouble sleeping. Kurt would probably give him hell for worrying her like that. But then, that’s what being responsible got you.
He cocked an eyebrow as she stepped inside, not waiting for an invitation. “What is it with you girls and waiting til my shirt’s off?” he inquired wryly instead.
“Sorry to break it to you Logan,” she sniffed, “But you’re not blue or furry enough for me.” He raised his eyebrows and she smiled. “I wanted to thank you. For Kurt,” She elaborated. “He was burn free, because of you.”
“Glad t’hear it.”
A beat.
She looked up at him then, real direct like she had something on her mind. One thing he had to hand to the Snowflake, she had a spinal column. Never tried to sweep stuff under the carpet like Chuck or Scooter used to. Course, that didn’t mean he felt comfortable answering her questions either.
“Are you alright?” she asked quietly after a moment.
He shrugged. “Burns’ll heal.”
“You know that’s not what I meant.” She stepped delicately over to sit on his bed, her elegant hands folded. Looked almost fragile, though he had the Danger Room scars to prove what a crock that was. “Hank told me about the transference,” she began gently. “Said it was probably because if the liquor, since she doesn’t usually seem able to project.” Again that direct look. “Are you alright with it?”
His mouth twitched downward. He didn’t like where this was going. “Don’t matter whether I’m okay or not. Can’t do nothing about it, and it wasn’t Marie’s fault.”
“I didn’t say it was. But still…” She scooted closer to him on the bed, eyes still on her hands. She looked like she was working up to something, and that just made him more tetchy. “You touched Jean’s mind too before she died, didn’t you?” she said eventually.
He froze. So that’s what this was about.
She looked up when he didn’t answer, read his expression. The glare would’ve been enough to put the boys off, but Storm wasn’t one of the boys. “It’s none of my business, I know,” she continued after a moment. “But- I suppose I think of you and Marie as family. And I just wanted to say I’m here, if you need to talk.” A small, sad smile flitted across her face. “Jean was a good friend.”
He glowered. “This ain’t about Red.”
“Isn’t it?”
“No, Snowflake,” he muttered sourly. “No, it ain’t.”
“Then what is it about?”
Gotcha. Damn weather witch.
He dragged his hand back through his hair then, exhaling the breath he hadn’t known he was holding. Frowned. He couldn’t believe he was about to say this. “Jean didn’t even occur to me, when it happened,” he admitted finally. Felt like a weight was pressing down on him as he said it, but he didn’t stop. “Me and Red, it was never like this. She just…nudged me from time t’time, is all. But the thing with Marie?” He wasn’t sure he could put it into words. He wasn’t sure he wanted to. “We’re different, more…”
“Intimate?”
Okay, he did not like that. Mainly because she’d hit the nail on the head. Marie was underneath his skin, in his bones. In his blood. It wasn’t right, not when he was supposed to protect her. Not when she was still the Kid.
He didn’t answer, just glowered at the foot of his bed. But not speaking ain’t exactly a no.
Storm cleared her throat. “She’s not a child anymore, Logan,” she said gently when she realised he wasn‘t gonna break the silence. “She wasn’t really a child when you brought her here, no matter what you said.” She stared at the wall before her, knowing better than to try to meet his eyes. Seven years was a long time to know someone in their business. “I knew you’d hate Remy; he took her away from you,” she said softly. “I also knew why she liked him. He was the next best thing.”
“He’s nothing like me,” Logan growled.
“Big, bad handsome man who teases her day and night?” she inquired, her smile widening. “Bad boy with a noble streak?”
“He ain’t noble, I ain’t a boy and you’re gonna drop this now Ororo.” He never used her given name unless it was serious.
She pursed her lips but took the hint
. “So what are you going to do?” she asked.
“Nothing.” He stared at his knuckles, where the claws came out. Pulled the fingers in tight. “Wouldn’t be right,” he muttered. “Young girl like that and an old man like me.”
“Even if you’d make her happy?”
He snorted. “I don’t make anybody happy.”
“You should check out her face every time she sees you before you say that.” Storm stood, probably realising she wouldn‘t get anything else out of him. Maybe realising that he hadn’t worked out what more there might be to say. She straightened her shirt, tucked her hair behind her ears. Back to being Madame Head-Mistress, he mused.
She crossed the room in three quick strides before stopping at the door.
“When we lost Jean, I thought you’d never recover,” she said suddenly. “Thought Scott might get over it, but you? Never.” She shrugged, turning to him. “Your heart’s the one thing your healing factor doesn’t cover, Logan; Took me a while to figure that out but I did.” She opened the door, her expression kind. Again he glared, but she just smiled, her eyes challenging. She really wasn’t one of the boys. “Marie might not have that long left, Logan. And even if she does, life is precarious, ours more than most. Just think about it before you decide you’re an old man, okay?” And then she was gone.
Sucker punched by a Snowflake, he thought. Now what were the odds?
Logan didn’t move for a long time after that. Lay back, stared at the ceiling. Heard Marie’s voice in his head, felt her underneath his skin. Saw himself through her eyes and wondered at the sight. But he didn’t move, he was too busy thinking. Sipped some scotch, then some bourbon then some scotch again cause that tasted like her. Because she wasn’t sorry about the scotch. Truth be told, he wasn’t either.
He was still there when the sun went down. He just didn’t feel like an old man anymore.