~*~

His grip was starting to crush her arm and her first impulse was to jerk away, but she remembered how unsteady she had been when trying to stand after they landed.  She decided to endure the pain until he dumped her at Jean's feet for multiple stitches and possibly a head scan of some sort. 

She squints in confusion when he steers her past the medical unit and into the elevator.  The dizziness returns as the elevator starts and she leans heavily into Logan for support.  Even in her dazed state she knows the hard set of his jaw means there is no discussion about what he considers the best plan of action.

In minutes, he's shoving her into her room, slamming the door behind them.  There's no time for reasoning or even protesting, not that she wants to, before his mouth covers her own.  At first it's forceful and crushing, like his earlier grip.  It's not how she imagined her first real kiss in years to be like.  She tells herself that beggars can't be choosers and eagerly grabs for him.  He brings her up short, pinning her to the wall until her mutation takes hold.  Anger seeps through and she sees this for what it is: First Aid, Logan style.

Blocking out his rage, she instead focuses on the healing being offered.  She makes herself relax and except the inevitable, because no matter how much she wishes, this won't be followed by declarations of love.  Things like that only take place in daydreams and romance novels.  This is about Logan's need to protect his reputation.  He doesn't deal well with failure and she would be his biggest; after all he was the one training her.

Just as abruptly as the 'kiss' began it ends.  He makes sure she is standing on her own two feet before staggering back a step.  "Better?"

"Uhm…" she turns her head in both directions and feels for the cut in her side, "…much."  He stares a moment longer, "Thanks?" she mumbles in afterthought.

"Good," and he's gone.

Making her way to the bathroom, she peels off gloves made too tight from drying blood.  Idly she wonders if she'll be responsible for hosing down her seat in the jet.  She takes a few minutes to examine herself in the mirror.  Hair is clumped together on the top of her head.  She's pretty sure she didn't blackout from the blow, but she's having trouble remembering how it happened.  Maybe later she'll pick through Logan's memories to find out.  For right now she just wants to get clean.

Her boots are next, followed by a struggle with the top half of her uniform.  It's always difficult to get the leather off once she has sweated in it, but it seems even more so today.  Not until she has her right side off does she see the reason.  Blood.  And lots of it.

She hadn't realized how much blood she lost; it had only felt like a trickle.  Now the blood was drying and caking to her and the uniform, making her attempts to undress even more complicated than usual.

A low growl makes her spin around to see Logan in the doorway.  From all appearances he was already cleaned up.  He also seems unimpressed with her slow progress.  Turning, she watches as he starts the shower. 

"You better be stripping, cause you do not want me to do it for you."

With his prevailing attitude, she is pretty sure what method he would choose in removing the rest of her uniform.  He is right; she doesn't want him to do that.  She had shared many close and private moments with Logan over the years, but this was still Logan and standing naked in front of him was a little too personal.  At least, she thought as she peeled off the bottom half of her uniform, training gave her a body she shouldn't be embarrassed to show off.

"All of it."

She stifled a sob that was caught in her throat.  He was being overly callous, but she doubted sympathy would make her feel any less like crying at the moment.  With a heavy sigh she looked down at her bra, wondering if she'd be able to get the blood out of the fabric.  Aware of Logan's growing irritation, she unceremoniously dumps both bra and panties into the trash.  Then trying hard to keep her back to him, she reaches the safety of the shower.

No sooner, does she let the hot water begin to relax her then Logan steps in behind her.  She can only stare in horror at him in his boxers.  This was truly some fantasy gone wrong.  He orders her to face away from him so he can wash the blood from her hair.

Two shampoos and one stinging scalp later she is on the verge of breaking down.  She is positive that Logan wants to scrub her hair again, but settles for good enough as she bats away his hands.  It's nothing like any of those hair-washing scenes in the movies.  There is nothing sexy about his technique and it is in no way turning her on.  She can only hope he is satisfied enough to leave her alone.

A sob breaks free when he starts to scour her.

"Don't even think about starting that shit."  His voice is rougher than the washcloths he is using.

"I…" the tremor in her voice makes it impossible to continue.

He hesitates a second, trying to keep his temper in check before speaking.  "Next time I tell you to do something, you better fucking do it.  I don't care what you think is best, you don't have enough experience to be calling the shots."  He guides her further back into the water to rinse off.  "Look Marie, hate me if you want.  Think I'm some kind of cruel bastard if that makes you feel better, but you're not invincible."

"Neither are you!"

He pauses, "No, but close enough that I can take the chances you can't."

He finishes scrubbing her, leaning back to scrutinize her flesh for cuts or spots of blood.  Wordlessly he steps out of the shower.  He hands her a towel as she turns of the water.  Then walks out of the room into the next so that she can dress in peace.

She thinks about hiding out in the bathroom until he leaves, but picks up the faint smell of cigar smoke and knows he is staying.

"Marie?" his voice has softened some from his earlier tone.

Exiting the bathroom she mumbles something about wanting to go to sleep.  She occupies herself with the covers, trying to hide her red blotchy face and her embarrassment. She can feel his gaze boring into her from the chair he is straddling across the room.

"I'm fine, you can go now."

He exhales heavily, making no move to leave.  Finally she rolls over to look at him.  His cigar is forgotten on the edge of the ashtray she keeps for him at the desk.  He is raking his hands through his hair, brow furrowed in thought.

"Why didn't you leave me at the med bay?"

"I…" it was his turn to stumble around for words.

She suddenly sits up, hugging her knees, unsure of the original rush of anger she felt from him.  "Logan…your not mad at me.  Are you?"

He lifted his eyes to her, looking more tired than she had ever seen him.  "No," came the flat reply.  "I don't know what I'd do if you…" trailing off, he hung his head. 

Fluffing a pillow and propping it against the headboard, she pats the bed next to her. "Come here."

He raises an eyebrow and she pats the bed again.  When he is settled in on top of the covers, she carefully lays her head on his t-shirt clad chest.  After a few minutes the tension drains from his body and he begins stroking her still damp hair.

"We'll have to figure this out."

"We always do," he agreed.

~*~