“We all have to die sometime.” Charles said sadly and turned away. He made it to the third stair and then fell to his knees, clutching his head.

“Charles!” Hank ran to his side and checked his pulse. “You need another dose.”

“No!” He looked up at Logan, tears streaming down his face. “She's here.”

“Who's here?” Logan frowned and knelt at Charles' feet.

“She's in the house.” he breathed. “She's so afraid.”

“Who?” Logan seized the younger man's arm and shook him.

“Who's in the house?” Hank asked, helping Charles as he struggled to his feet.

“Marie.”

That single word was all it took to render Logan speechless. The nosey little stowaway who had crowbarred herself into his life all those years ago. The doe-eyed, naïve kid who almost got herself killed trying to wake him from a nightmare. The sweet sliver of beauty in the shit-heap he had called a life.

It was only because of her he had something worth fighting for. She had given him a home, a family, a reason to live. Before her, there was nothing. He fought, drank, and moved on. No plan, no purpose. Just survival. If she hadn't climbed into the back of his truck that day, he would still be alone – or dead.

He certainly wouldn't be standing in front of Cerebro, fighting the urge to tear the door down as Charles knelt before the retinal scanner. He didn't remember it taking this damn long. A long moment later he saw her, curled up on the floor by the console, shielding her bleary eyes from the harsh white lights, wearing nothing but a paper hospital gown and a thick metal cuff.

He ran to her then, barely suppressing a growl when she shied away from his touch.

“It's alright.” he gathered her gently in his arms and whispered into her hair. “I've got you, darling.”

“Logan?” she sobbed, shaking hands clutching his shirt.

“I've got you.”
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