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

CHAPTER NINE

He wasn’t sure how to do this.

Logan rested his hand on Red’s tomb-stone and took a deep breath. Felt the heat from a long day baking in the sun warm his palm, listened to the birds sing softly as night fell. Wondered for the hundredth time what Jean would say if she were here, and whether he was doing the right thing, telling Rogue how he felt.

Not that staring at a lump of stone would help with that any.

He pushed the thought away.

It’d been a long time since he’d come to see Red. When he’d first lost her the spot had felt like it was cursed, going there had hurt so much. And then after San Francisco, after Scott and Chuck had come to rest here too, there had been even less reason to come. He didn’t do funerals or gravesides. Just wakes. Death was a constant companion for him, the one thing he couldn’t ever beat. No matter what he did those around him would pass and he-

He would walk on. Survive. God only knew how long he’d been doing that.

He sometimes wondered whether he’d end up being the last man on Earth.

Felt the ghost of Marie move in him then, wrap her arms around him and whisper that everything would be alright. Felt weird and right at the same time. Intimate. She had a habit of doing that, the Marie in his head. Kinda like her real-life counterpart. He forced his eyes shut at the sensation, trying not to feel her heart twist at his pain. Trying not to wish for her presence right now. Didn’t entirely work, but he tried

A beat.

Logan crouched at the grave then, ran his fingers along the letters. Friend, he read, Inspiration. Not Daughter because Jean’s family had been too damn ashamed of her mutation to come to the funeral. The light was fading rapidly but he’d have been able to see them in near pitch black. After all, he wasn’t really an old man. The letters felt wet and cold against his skin, chilled despite the summer heat. It occurred to him that this was a real dead way to commemorate someone who’d been so alive, but he didn’t make the rules about that sort o’ thing.

Another beat. He knew he had to begin.

“I know what I want now, darlin’,” he began softly. Wasn’t sure whether he was talking to Red or Marie. Wasn’t sure he wanted either of them to hear. “My healing factor kicked in, y’know?” he continued, “Don’t think I wanted it to…Didn’t even notice when it did… But it happened, and I ain’t sorry.” And he dropped his hand from the tombstone, the dew staining his fingers, almost like tears. That was the hardest part of this, he knew. Saying the truth out loud. Admitting he still felt a tiny bit like he was cheating on a dead woman with one who was alive.

And admitting that part of him didn’t care, if it meant he could be with Marie.

He scowled then, not happy with that realisation. But knowing that it was simply the way this worked. “She’s here now,” he said eventually, when the silence started to feel accusing. “Feel‘s like we‘ve got a second chance, after all that time I wasted. I think…” He trailed off for a second, Marie’s memories of him overpowering him. It was a great gift, to know that to someone thought you were a truly good man. Even if she was wrong. “I know I love her. Always have. Always will. Not the same as you and me Red, but that’s the way this goes.” And he dragged one hand through his hair, wishing he could put that better, wishing he had some of Hank’s eloquence. Because then it might not sound as God-awful as it did.

But he still wouldn’t change it, he realised, even if he could. Even if she’d asked him to. And the woman who’d loved Scott Summers to distraction would have understood that. Jean Grey knew a bit about love.

He felt it then, something snapping. Some cord which had been binding him breaking in two. But that was all it was, one little cord. He realised as he felt it fade into nothingness how afraid he had been of its absence, afraid before now of letting it snap. It had come to feel like home to him. After she’d died it had felt like that was the only thing holding him together, a little rope o’ grief like a noose around his heart. He’d used it to get him through the day, to keep him in one piece when he wasn’t sure how to do that on his own. That was why Rogue’d scared him so much four years ago: some part of him had wanted her and it had felt like he’d fall apart if he gave in. No wonder she’d been so confused. He couldn’t possibly have explained to her how he felt. He’d hurt her, he realised, without ever meaning to. But he wouldn’t do it again.

Logan stood then.

He wasn’t big on talking. They had Hank for that. And all the things he really wanted to say couldn’t easily be put into words. But he was glad he’d come here, and if Jean were here she’d have been glad too. Scooter would’ve hurt himself throwing a hissy fit but Red would’ve understood. Probably would’ve fought their corner too, if it came down to it. He remembered telling her, years ago, that he had no interest in Rogue, remembered giving her an out. Felt right now like she was retuning the favour.

Like he didn’t have to be an old man, just because he’d survived.

Another beat. A beat of grace. He felt Red let him go.

Logan made for the mansion then, his face split in a smile. Marie smiled right along with him in his head. In his heart. He was gonna have a shower before he went to see her. Maybe change his clothes. He could hear Kurt and Hank’s comments already but he didn’t care none. They weren’t as pretty as him anyhow. He smiled as he pictured her face, remembered the way she always was happy to see him. He didn’t care how long they had, what troubles they would run into: he knew how she felt about him, he’s seen the inside of her heart. He was done running away from this, for the sake of a woman who’d only ever wanted him to be happy. And besides, he had a pretty active imagination: Marie’s mutation would prove a challenge not a problem. He was already wondering how thick silk had to be, to stop Old Reliable from kicking in. They’d have to do some tests on that… Lots and lots of strenuous tests… And how often would he have to touch her, before he became immune? Another area for in depth research, whether Hank agreed or not…He smiled more as he thought about it, the lightness in his chest unfamiliar and welcome-

And then he froze.

For on moment he thought he saw something stir in the lengthening shadows. Something which moved too fast to be human. He stopped, instantly alert, letting every sense go into over-drive. Sniffed the air, listened hard as he could. Let the beast inside him at the wheel for a second, suspicious, because he knew enough about himself and Marie’s luck to wanna check this out. Logan went to that real quiet place inside himself, the place the claws came from, and asked its judgement.

But there was nothing. Nothing.

Slowly he began to walk again, still not happy but unable to find a reason for staying. Of course, it was possible that one of the students simply hadn’t learned to control their powers yet; April Kaszinzki could create thought forms, and J.J. Guiterrez often projected illusions whether he wanted to or not. But still, still… He padded into the mansion, his brow still drawn together. But he still had to find Marie, and tell her. The thought of her sent it to the back of his mind.

And there, beneath the moonlight, something watched him go. Something that had once been powerful. Something that had once been whole. Given life now, awoken by the memory of the one it had lost-