Chapter 11: Rogue
The feeling of the world being ripped away. She was ripping the world away from him. She could hear it. His heartbeat slowing. The tired thud, as life and joy and hope and pain flowed into her. As if she could stop it.
Oh god. Oh god. Oh god.
Breathe. Just breathe baby.
You’re here? Oh my god, oh my god. You… you….
Marie…
I can’t do this.
Her eyes snapped open as she whipped her head upward off the pillow, breathing heavily. She clutched her hand to her forehead, the headache she had been trying to so desperately escape through sleep waiting and ready to once again greet her. An involuntary tear or two, a lonely shiver, a glance around the darkened bedroom.
Things had barely changed. Except that everything had.
She clutched the blankets more tightly to her for a moment, unable to shake the chill. The chorus of noises buzzed and hummed around her, and she closed her eyes tightly, intent on focusing on just the intimate space around her, trying to once more mute her newly acquired senses. She had been in bed for days this time, and it was now taking its toll. God. She needed a shower. She needed to eat something. Her stomach was still in knots though, her nose still overburdened. There were hundreds of smells, most of them foreign and overwhelming, and every time she thought of food her stomach violently churned. Just the shower, then.
She moaned a little, shakily moving the covers off her, forcing herself to stand on wobbly legs. As she did so, the room spun, and she quickly shot an arm out to steady herself against the foot of the bed. Her instincts were so much better, so much more fine-tuned and natural, that even a few days’ worth of not eating had her still able to stand upright. But at a devastating cost.
I can’t do this.
Marie….
She closed her eyes, remembering to breathe out. Steadily as she could manage, she purposefully made her way to the bathroom, the tile cold under her bare feet. She shed her nightgown, standing naked in the bathroom for a long moment, before she cranked the shower faucet to the right, turning it on as hot as it would go. Quickly, plumes of steam billowed up from the shower stall, and suddenly an image of thick plumes of smoke rising up from a tiny village filled her mind, as an orange rain began to fall. Then, the smell of burning flesh, the smell of napalm. She saw his hand, reaching out for a small boy, only to find the boy’s skin slipping off like a glove….
Marie cried out, gripping the tile of the shower, shoving the memory back through the crack in that shoddily constructed door in her mind, the door that needed to be opened. The door she could practically feel him standing behind, pacing, waiting.
Three weeks ago she had stared down at his lifeless body, his hand going cold in her own. Just as the plan demanded, she had robotically called the hospital. The ambulance came. He had been declared dead on the scene, inside the house. They had taken his body away and two days later had brought it back only to lower him into the ground.
And since then, she had done nothing.
In their closet, all of his clothes. His shoes, his belts, his coats. In their bathroom, his razors, his aftershave. On the coffee table, the paper he’d been reading that last day, his glasses still laying upside down and open on top of three-week old news.
Marie.
She desperately reaches for the loufa, ripping it off the handle and wetting it before bringing it to her skin. She closed her eyes as the scalding water poured over her, and then she began to scrub her scalp and skin until it was raw. Until her newly-acquired healing factor couldn't quite catch up. Until it hurt.
Three weeks earlier
She knew it from the moment she woke up, because he was already awake. It was a buen dia . They had been waiting for one for days, which meant this was it.
Today was it.
No one had said it out loud. Breakfast had been oddly normal, although Marie had made everyone eggs and pancakes and bacon. They all ate more than usual, talking and laughing like it was months earlier. Like it wasn’t going to be the end. Laura had loaded her plate with syrup. Logan had let her. At one point, Laura had even snagged Logan’s glasses off his face, pretended to read the paper with them. Logan had chuckled. Marie had smiled.
After breakfast, subtle plans began to take shape. Marie suggested she drop by Kay’s shop so that Logan and Laura could go on a hike. She knew, even as she murmured the suggestion, it was so they would have time together. To say goodbye. Again, everyone knew, but no one said anything. Afterward, Marie had returned, and Laura had said something about wanting to go to Kay’s to spend the night. She knew Logan had probably suggested it, but she also knew none of them wanted Laura to be in the house when it happened. Logan himself had driven her to Kay’s, and Marie watched silently from the window as the small girl embraced her father once more, before climbing into the passenger seat of the Bronco.
Marie had tried occupying herself while they were gone. She had tried sketching, reading, cooking. The cooking stuck. As she rhythmically sliced vegetables, simmered sauce her mind focused on little else. Moving her hands did her good, she realized, and she fell into a sort of quiet hypnosis, so much so she barely noticed the sound of the Bronco as it made its way up the drive.
The sound of the tires on gravel. The sound of a door shutting. His heavy footsteps ascending the deck stairs, keys jingling in his hand.
She was frozen to the spot as he opened the door, offering her a quiet smile before he shut it firmly behind him. She watched him as he walked to the kitchen island, fumbling with the keys before setting them down on the counter.
“Smells good,” he finally murmured. She said nothing, and as she took in the sight of him, a twisted thought passed through her mind: that was the last time she would see him walk through the door, keys in hand.
That’s when the bottom fell out from under her.
“Is Laura ok?” she found herself asking. He said nothing, noticing the waver in her voice, how her hand shook slightly as it still clung to the dishtowel. Slowly he stalked forward, coming right up to stand in front of her, staring her dead in the eye.
“She’ll be ok,” he finally said, and then she broke his stare, unable to take it, and he growled, stepping even further into her space. He was then kissing her roughly, fiercely, and she melted into him, dropping the dish towel as his tongue idly explored her mouth, and he pressed her back into the side of the counter. They both breathed hard, a new desperation clinging to every grip, every word.
“I first claimed you in a fucking kitchen,” he finally muttered into the side of her neck.
“I know,” she whispered.
“You remember what that felt like?” he asked her.
“Yes,” she murmured through a rasp, and then he was lifting her up by her waist, setting her on the kitchen island, hands and mouth running under her shirt, over her breasts.
“You asked me what it was like...what it was like for me to smell that fucking scent on you...” he said, moving to undo the gentle tie of her apron, sliding her sweater upward.
“Baby…” she pled.
“What?”
“We need to talk about this…” she surprised him by saying. He only growled, quickly snapping her bra and pulling it off with the rest of her shirt.
“We will,” he muttered, large hands running over her thin torso.
“When?” she breathed
“Later… after,” he growled.
She quickly inhaled. “After?”
“After I fuck you in every room in this house, or at least as many of them as I can manage. After I sear the feeling of my touch into your fucking brain,” he muttered before teasing at a nipple, pinching it roughly between thumb and forefinger.
“Baby…” she muttered again, losing resolve.
“S’what I want, darlin’,” he said, before bringing his mouth to her nipple, sucking and biting it roughly. She arched, but tried to stay focused.
“What about what I want?” she asked, and that caused him to pause, withdrawing his mouth and looking upward, eyes dancing.
“And what’s that’?” he asked.
“I’m scared,” she mumbled, and he was frowning, bringing her closer to him, so that her legs encircled his waist tightly, his head close to her heart.
“I know,” he finally said. “We’ll talk,” he muttered. “...but first.”
His grip tightened on her waist and she finally melted into him, the oven still on, but the food forgotten.
--
Later, they lay tangled in the sheets. They had made love several times, had spent the night wrapped up in each other, and now their bodies were doused in the early, pre-dawn light. They dozed on and off, as the early hours of the morning turned into something else.
Slowly, she stirred, stretching her back.The truth was, she was sore. She hadn’t made love for that long and that often in months. All over her flushed skin, bite marks and bruises. She smelled like sex, they both did, and her muscles felt loose, rubbery.
As she opened her eyes, she stared at him. His lean, lithe body was stretched out, and we was sleeping, but only lightly. He lie on his stomach, and she paid quiet homage to the way his ribs met muscle, the dusting of grey in his sideburns and hair, even the slight furrow of his brow in his sleep. As she watched him silently, her heart began to fall, as the knowledge of what was coming weighed down on her, as if it was pressing her further into the blankets. Suddenly, she wanted to be closer to him.
She nuzzled him gently, and he intuitively turned to his side slightly, so he could bring an arm around her. They lay like that for a long time, breathing in and out, before she realized that he was stirring once more, lazily blinking his eyes opened. She frowned a little, rolling more onto her side to face him.
“Logan,” she murmured. “We need to talk.”
“Not yet,” he managed, chest growling as his hand went lower, cupping her ass and bringing her closer to him.
“When?” she numbly whispered. He truly opened his eyes then, staring at her intently, before he brought his lips closer to hers. “After. Once more,” he murmured against her, and then his hands were all over her again, kissing her hard, and she responded, arching off the bed as he planted kisses down the side of her neck. She inhaled sharply as he ran his hands roughly up the length of her body, and his teeth hit her skin on her neck and he was biting down as hard as he could, so hard the blood bloomed again, so hard she knew he had let the animal have control, at least for a moment, letting him take his last fill. She moaned. She had already been wet, he had already cleaned her, but he moved downward again, tasting her with a rough lick, hands hardly trembling at all as they firmly gripped her thighs. She came undone easily, and he stayed there once more until it happened again.
Back up now, lips on hers again, her hands wrapped in his hair. At first, he moved gently inside her, his forehead resting on hers for a moment. She could feel all of him, every part, as he looked at her and she at him. And then, he thrust forward once more, harder now, and she gasped, the pain of being sore mixing with the pleasure of him stretching her, filling her. His pace quickened then, and she held his arms tightly, whole, and yet not. Complete, but somehow not enough. Not ever enough. Spirals of her own pleasure had him growling low in his chest as he spent himself, and her walls clamped down on him as she felt the steady throb, white ribbons pulsing deep inside her.
It wasn’t until the feelings of pleasure subsided did she realize she was sobbing.
“Don’t leave me,” was all that she could say .
He lifted himself onto his forearms, turning his head so his lips were hovering just over her ear, “I’m never leaving you again.”
--
Eventually, he had made the point that they should probably take showers, get properly dressed. The plan for after wasn’t all that complicated, but Marie had still committed it to memory. After she absorbed him, she would call 911. They would make arrangements, take his body to the morgue. He’d be buried in the backyard, near the edge of the forest. He had wanted to be cremated, but, of course, that was yet another thing the adamantium had stolen from him. Somethin’ short , he had said of the funeral. No music or nothing. Maybe you or Kay can say a few word s, he had added after a thought. Now these wishes flowed through her head as she toweled off, Logan having already taken a shower. They had decided to do so separately, to give each other a little space, before, well...before there was to be no space left to give.
That’s the part they still needed to talk about.
While Marie had touched many mutants and humans briefly while her skin was on, Marie had only killed four people via absorption. All of them had been human beings, and all of them had been, in some form, the enemy. Early on, long before she knew the Logan she did today, she had worked extensively with Charles to gain better control of her powers, but also of how to mentally lock away and contain the personalities and memories of those individuals.
This would be the first time she would be absorbing someone she wanted to have stick around.
Still though, some of Logan’s memories were his own. Private. And while she had already seen more than her fair share, it was going to take a lot of work, a whole hell of a lot of work, to carefully place most of them--two hundred years’ worth-- away, without shutting him completely out as well.
And what would that be like? she wondered. Ever since Logan had asked, she’d gone over the various possibilities and scenarios in her mind. Even if he could mentally excuse himself at points, even if that was possible, he’d see everything. Everything she’d ever again do, from here on out. And god knows how much longer she would live; that would all depend on if she was to absorb his healing factor in-tact or somehow damaged. Neither of them really knew.
Slowly, she towel-dried her hair, keeping it damp. She had opted for a simple, white long-sleeved v-neck and a pair of jeans. She skipped the make-up, any extra flourish, really, looking at herself through clean, brown eyes. She breathed out, considering herself. She was, for the most part, alone in her mind. She would never be again. She exhaled, before turning, opening the door. She frowned, realizing he was no longer in the bedroom. She padded out into the living room, realizing he was on the deck. From his spot in the chair, she saw the trail of smoke of a cigar, and she smiled a bit. She slowly opened the door and quietly moved to sit beside him. A bottle of the good stuff sat between the two deck chairs. He arched a brow at her as she took in the scene of him in a fresh flannel, wife beater and pair of jeans, work boots on and propped up on the edge of the deck as he idly smoked his cigar in the cool night air.
He silently offered her a spare Cuban, and she scrunched her nose a bit in disgust. He laughed then, a deep rumble that was rich and crisp as the smell of the tobacco that coiled around them.
“Yer gonna like ‘em after today, so might as well have one,” he said, his eyes dancing. She exhaled through a short laugh, and slid one out. She held it out for him to light, and he did so, before she took a long pull of the cigar, trying not to cough afterward.
“I never knew why you liked these things, baby. They’re awful,” she said through mild disgust, although she didn’t move to snub it out. He only grinned a little, even through a couple of his own coughs. She knew the smoke exacerbated the damage in his lungs, and the fact was she hadn’t seen Logan smoke a cigar in months and months, since just before they moved to the lake house. He had tried, had tried so hard, to care for himself in a way he never had to before, to maintain the life they had built for themselves here. But the time for that was over, and now she watched as he closed his eyes in pleasure, breathing in the rich waft of tobacco deeply through another brief cough.
“Fuck, I’ve missed that,” he said quietly. She smiled at him, settling in a bit more as she took another drag of the cigar, eyes staring out at the purple sky. The sunrise was only about half an hour away. She glanced downward, noticing the bottle of unopened whiskey, and smiled.
“You gonna open up that bottle of whiskey or am I just gonna hafta make eyes at it all night?” she teased. He shot her a grin back, setting down his cigar on the ashtray that had suddenly appeared on the deck ledge, popping off the cap and handing the bottle over to her, giving her the first sip. She arched a brow at him, but murmured a sincere “thanks” and took the whiskey, sipping generously. The burn felt good and right, and suddenly everything seemed a little more possible.
She handed the bottle back to him after a moment and he gave her an appreciative nod. He drank heavily, sighing afterward, lowering the bottle and looking back over to her.
“So, you wanna lay out some ground rules, kid?” he asked quietly, before handing the liquor back her way.
“It’s...complicated,” she said after some time. “I won’t know what it will be like for you.” Logan looked thoughtful as he picked up the cigar once more, and, realizing it had gone out, lit it again.
“Not so concerned about me. More worried about you, darlin’. What’ll be like for you, ” he murmured quietly, offering her an intent look. Marie bit her lip, thoughtfully considering.
“At first...it’s a lot. You’ve got a lot of memories, baby. I’m gonna need some time to pack them all away, get things organized. I’ve done that before...but I’ve never...kept the personality around...you know… in the forefront of my mind.” Logan looked at her carefully as he took another drag of his cigar, breathing smoke out through his nose.
“Anyone I can expect to bump into in there?” he finally asked. She was already shaking her head through another sip of the whiskey.
“Err. No. They’re locked away. They have been for years. And you can’t, uhhh...bump... into anyone. At least I don’t think you can. No metaphysical forms, as far as I know. From what Charles has described to me about personalities in the past, you’ll feel like your own presence, distinctively you, at least I hope so, but you’ll get all my signals. See what I see. Hear what I hear. Feel what I feel,” she said quietly, intuitively handing him the bottle once more. She noticed he had already snubbed out his finished cigar.
“Fuck,” he cursed under his breath, taking the offered whiskey from her and drinking heavily. Marie frowned, and, as he noticed the downturn of his lips, he clarified.
“I mean… I don’t mind seein’ the world through your eyes, kid. I just was hopin’ I’d be able to give you a little privacy sometimes...like retreatin’ a bit,” he said quietly. Marie nodded, understanding.
“You might be able to, eventually. We’d have to both work on it,” she muttered, before admitting, “God I’m rusty. I’ve been trying to remember everything Charles taught me, but it’s been a while. I’m pretty sure you could take over too, if you ever needed. Like pushing your presence forward.”
At this, Logan was now the one shaking his head through another gulp of whiskey. Around her, the landscape dances, her head now spinning.
“Uh Uh, no way. You deserve your own autonomy,” he said curtly. Marie sighed, remembering her discarded cigar, and, holding it up, he lit it again for her. She took a long draw of it, coming around a little now to its warmth and flavor.
“Maybe,” she finally muttered, casting her eyes out toward the lake once more.
“Darlin’? Can I ask ya somethin’?” Logan muttered quietly, and she glanced back over to him, sliding her eyes up his jeans, the coiled and smooth muscles evident under his wife beater. She met his eyes, unsure of what he might say next.
“Before...in the kitchen… you said you were afraid,” he muttered. “Of what?”
“I thought you said you knew…” she trailed off.
“Not...exactly. Tell me,” he said quietly.
Marie wrung her hands, snubbing out the last of the cigar and reaching for the bottle once more.
“What if...what if we’re making the wrong choice?” she finally asked.
“What do you mean?” Logan mumbled.
“I don’t know…” she trailed off. She was afraid for myriad of reasons. Afraid of the timing...of jumping the shark. Afraid still of the impact it would have on Laura. How it would change her relationship with her newly adopted daughter. Marie had killed people, but it had always been in the scuffle, during some incredibly important moment on a mission. To kill deliberately, in cold blood...
“Yer wonderin’ about the ethics of it all... ?” he asked quietly. Marie looked up to him sharply.
“I don’t want to be the one to end your life,” she said simply, and she realized she had finally articulated what she was trying to say. Please god, let anyone else but me. I don’t want to be the one to send Logan out of this world.
“Well...that puts us at a standstill, baby, because you’re the only one I want doing it,” he said softly. Marie looked down at her hands, realizing they were gripping the whiskey bottle so tightly her knuckles were white.
“I’ll still do it,” she whispered, clarifying slightly, and he moved closer to her, taking her hand.
“Maybe...we figure the rest out once we get there...yeah? Sounds like we got some ground rules covered. And god knows we’ll have the rest of time to talk…” he muttered, finally moving to stand, offering her his freshly-healed hand once more. She took it firmly and for a moment it felt like it had so many years ago, that look in his eyes reminiscent of just before a dangerous mission, one where the team’s lives could be at stake. Not Logan’s life though. Never Logan’s.
Images now. Flashes of scene. The feeling of his heavy hand on the small of her back, gently leading her inside. The way she caught him looking at her as he closed the bedroom door behind him, shrouded in the early dawn light. The weight of his voice as he murmured “lay down on the bed with me, baby.” The fear welling up inside her as he idly stroked her arm, the way she couldn’t stop crying, tears hot and wet and rolling down her cheeks. How he kissed her, how she almost fought the kiss, not wanting it to be the last. The way his strong grip around her tightened, holding her close.
“I don’t wanna hurt you,” she finally sobbed after breaking away slightly.
“Be strong, darlin’,” he muttered. He kissed her hard once more, before traveling down her neck, the light brush of his lips lining up with the scar he’d given her, placing them gently around the new marks and bruises.
“I want you to clear yer mind, understand?” he said firmly.
“No,” she cried softly, and he leaned back a little, threading his strong hands through hers tightly.
“Marie, look at me. Really look at me,” he murmured, and she saw him, saw his pain, saw his anguish, and she realized she needed to be strong. Stronger than this. Perhaps for the first time, stronger than him. She swallowed heavily, demanding herself to focus.
“Go somewhere peaceful, and when I say so, let go.”
“No, no, no,” she murmured. “I can’t. God, I love you.”
“I love you too, kid. Always have, always will,” he said. And, with a final kiss to her forehead, he added, “Now, do it, babe. Just...let go.”
Let go.
Let go.
And then, the song stopped, the music stopped, everything stopped as the powers she was born with, the powers she had been ashamed of and had struggled and fought to control for so long, took hold, ripping away the world they had created, his world, hers, all of it, as everything she had ever known, everything she could ever depend on, changed for good.
--
She had wrapped herself up in one of Logan’s flannel shirts, tearstained and distant, her hair still damp from the shower, when she heard Laura’s wary voice from the door.
“ Café con leche , Marie?” the girl was saying. Marie’s eyes opened quietly, and she shakily moved to sit.
“Yeah...c-come in,” she managed, and then Laura was coming inside, handing Marie the mug of hot coffee. It smelled pungent and acrid, and Marie’s stomach churned. Laura looked at Marie blankly, and Marie could do nothing but stare back, blinking.
“Do you need a ride?” she heard herself asking Laura quietly.
“Marie...school’s out,” she said softly. Was it?
It’s been out for a few days now. She could barely make out his voice in the depths of his mind, and she closed her eyes for a moment, desperate for silence.
“Oh… yeah,” was all she said. Laura stood there, wringing her hands, before she murmured something else.
“I’m going to go for a walk,” Laura was saying.
“Ok,” was all she whispered.
Marie, she heard him say again.
She watched Laura walk out, and then she put two hands to her head, shutting her eyes tightly. She lay that way for a long time, trying as hard as she could to will the headache away.
After it had happened, she had panicked, doing the only thing she knew how. She had thrown everything behind a door, and had locked him out. But he was there. Waiting. Waiting for her to be ready. Ready for her to invite him forward. Ready to deal with the onslaught of memories and moods and feelings.
She wrapped the fabric of his shirt more tightly around her, as the image of the dead look in his eyes, his beautiful eyes, filled her mind. Logan. Dead. Logan. Dead. Logan. Dead.
Marie. It’s time.
And then, the ring of the doorbell. Her eyes lazily opened once more as she fumbled for a spare pair of jeans to pull on, and then she was unsteadily making her way to the door, opening it to find a solid, warm woman on the other side, with russet skin and thick black hair, holding a cake.
A cake?
“Jody,” Marie murmured, one hand still on the door.
“Hi Marie. Mind if I set this down?” Jody asked, holding the cake up for a moment, a look of concern still settled on her features.
Marie blinked once, before stepping back, letting the woman walk in to set down the cake carefully on the counter. Marie hadn’t left her spot by the door.
“Where’s Laura?” Jody asked quietly, looking around the cluttered living room. Marie frowned for a moment, trying to recall from where Laura said she was going from the deep recesses of her mind.
A walk, baby, Logan murmured from behind the door.
“A walk,” Marie blankly echoed, and to her surprise, Jody smiled slightly.
“Always a wild one, that girl,” Jody said, through a small laugh and slight shake of the head.
“She’d hike the whole country if I let her. Have to give her some limits,” Marie found herself saying, as she slid her thin fingers into the pockets of her jeans, slowly padding over to where Jody stood.
“What we do for our children, yes?” Jody said through another smile.
Our children.
Marie only blinked at Jody, and then stared down once more at the cake. It had white frosting, with blue icing on top, the loops of someone’s cursive handwriting making out the words: Happy Birthday Laura!
Birthday?
Oh god.
Marie must have been crying, because suddenly Jody was pulling the thin woman into a warm hug.
“You will persevere, Marie. His bedáyíné is at rest, yes?” Jody said seriously, before standing back, looking at her with a bit of concern. Marie stared back at the other woman, the woman she now knew had gone through domestic abuse and divorce, who was now raising her two sons single-handedly, who still worked long hours managing the department store. Who would have never let herself sink this low…
Stop that, kid. Once again, his voice distant in her mind.
“Thanks for the cake, Jody. I’m sure Laura will love it,” she heard herself saying, and then Jody solemnly offered her a nod of her head, before excusing herself. Marie could do nothing more to respond, and the other woman let herself out, as Marie once more stared down at the cake, the smells of vanilla and cocoa beans and shortening greeting her. She was crying again, bringing a hand to her mouth, before gently moving to lay down in their bedroom once more.
It’s her birthday and I forgot, she thought solemnly.
No one said anything.
Logan?
She breathed out once or twice, knowing it was time. Knowing she couldn’t go on like this.
“Ok,” Marie said. “The door’s gone.”
Suddenly, the familiar rush of warmth and terror, of pain and joy, of complex and bitter emotions inundated her mind. Images of women screaming and skin falling off and bullets in another Marie’s shoulder and concentration camps….and...and… him.
His distinct, unique presence taking up space in her mind. So different than the other presences; he felt warm almost. And there...so close. So close she could almost feel him.
Almost.
She had been afraid of this, of him. But why? And then she was trying to apologize.
I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I just...I couldn’t. I couldn’t yet.
It’s alright baby, just breathe.
The memories are awful….
I know kid. Deal with them. Let me help you. Pack ‘em away, at least temporarily, but for god’s sake keep me here. I was bored out of my brain in that place you put me.
Then Rogue laughed, despite herself. “Bored out of your brain?” she asked.
Heh. Glad to see ya laughing.There ya go kid. Now get to work.
It took her hours. Slowly, silently she took armfuls of memories, some long and winding and some short and staccato like, and she categorized them by decade, by intensity. She slowly brought down boxes and stored things away, knowing eventually she would have to go through everything with a fine tooth comb to really be ok, but not right now. Not right now.
After a while, she felt some of the overwhelming rush subside, and she breathed out from her spot on her bed, as she felt Logan’s reassuring presence in her mind.
Good work, kid.
It’s gonna take me years to sort through all your shit, she thought frustratingly. Again, his inward chuckle.
Sorry darlin’. One step at a time.
Marie blinked...wondering if…
Yeah kid. I could still see the funeral. I saw it all.
Was it how you wanted? she meekly asked.
It was perfect, baby. Simple. I liked that.
Marie blinked again...curious. Are you ok…? she finally asked.
Yeah. I think so, Logan muttered.
What...what does it feel like? Do you feel like you?
There was a distinct pause, and it was obvious he was thinking about it.
I...don’t know, kid. Sort of. I’m watching things like they’re on a TV, but I can smell what you smell, taste what you taste, just like you said. But I’m not you. It’s the strangest fucking thing.
You’re just a voice to me, Marie thought sadly.
I know, baby.
I was hoping...I could be able to see you. That maybe with you… it would be different.
Maybe...in time, Logan said from inside her mind. If it helps, I can’t see you either. Unless you look in the mirror, he added through a chuckle
Rogue breathed out through her own bitter laugh. And then...considering….
Can you-
-read your thoughts? Yeah...I can. All of ‘em, even the ones you ain’t quite aware of. I try not to. Give you your privacy and such, but it’s a lot. Still learnin’, kid.
God, Rogue inwardly murmured.
I know.
I can’t read yours, she practically pouted.
It ain’t my head, Marie, he remarked.
What does that mean? she thought frustratingly.
Again from inside her mind, his deep, rich laugh, and instantly she felt warmer.
I don’t know. Felt like the right thing to say.
Marie paused, returning momentarily to the outer world. She watched the ceiling fan above, felt the cool air of the AC kicking on. The room was still fairly dark, the shades still drawn to block out most of the afternoon light, but she found herself curious, and, slowly, her hands traveled underneath the flannel of his shirt, upward to her neck, to that spot where his mark had been, to her now-dry hair.
You feel all that? She finally asked.
Logan was quiet for a moment before answering.
No, not really. Touch… that one’s not the same. Sorta. But it ain’t my body, baby, so it’s not like how you feel it. Not like when I… was alive.
You’re still alive, aren’t you?
Marie. You buried me.
That was just your body.
Marie…
God, I just want you to touch me. I want…I want…you back.
Enough of this.
Enough of what? Marie asked, surprised by his tone.
You need to get up. You need to think about Laura.
Marie closed her eyes, hugging the shirt more tightly to her, fighting back tears.
It’s Laura’s birthday, Logan muttered.
I know. I know that now, she said simply
She doesn’t know that you do.
Marie said nothing.
I told her...she needs to be there for you. But you need to be there for her too. Today, especially, she needs you.
Marie frowned once more. She had been paralyzed these last few weeks. Out of grief, out of fear. Laura, and Laura only, had paid the price.
Make it up to her, kid.
How? Marie asked.
I don’t know baby. But make it up to her. There’s a cake out there with her name on it. Maybe start with that.
I don’t...I don’t want this to end. I don’t want you to leave me... she finally stammered.
Didn’t you hear me before? I’m never leaving you again. Unless you put me in that weird place, you know, in the cheap seats. Don’t do that again.
Marie laughed, despite herself.
Sorry, baby. Never again. First row for you, from now on.
From within her, a strong growl of approval.
Good. Then I’m not going anywhere. No more leaving. Never again.
--
She did the dishes by hand.
She cleaned each one, rhythmically running her fingers over the ceramic and glass, the warm water feeling good on her hands. She smiled at the small post-it note she had found on the coffee maker, Laura’s careful cursive handwriting noting how to brew it.
After washing the dishes, she dried each one, while Logan sat still in the front of her mind, simply content to watch her. Carefully she ran a dry dish towel over each plate and mug, before nestling them back in the cupboards where they belonged. Perusing the fridge, she frowned to find it mostly empty, but then remembered the casseroles she had frozen several weeks ago, and turned on the oven to bake one. It was not coq au vin, but it would do.
She set the table, after a while removing the cake from the fridge where she had put it and now setting it in the middle. She scrumaged around for candles and was lucky enough to find an unopened package, picked up randomly from the grocery store months back. She carefully wedged twelve purple and white candles around the perimeter of the cake, and, for the twentieth time, felt bad there were no presents.
It’s enough, Logan murmured.
She assumed Laura would be back before nightfall, and she was warmed to find she was correct. Logan’s gift of overwhelmingly perceptive hearing picked up Laura’s footsteps long before she finally trudged up the deck stairs, and, taking a deep breath in, Marie turned around to see Laura, boots muddied and jacket tied around her waist, standing in the doorway, assessing the situation.
The young girl frowned, seemingly suspicious of Marie’s sudden change in behavior.
“I’m sorry I forgot Laura. God, hija, I’m so sorry,” Marie murmured. Laura was still frowning a little, glancing down at her boots, and that’s when Marie noticed Logan’s dog tags slung around her slender neck.
Well would you look at that, Logan remarked quietly.
“It’s ok, mamá,” Laura finally murmured. “ I’m sorry too. For not helping you more, ” Laura added through a mumble, standing awkwardly near the door. Marie couldn’t take it, a she quickly closed the space between them, grabbing the young girl and holding her tightly in her arms. They were both tearless, but for a while no one wanted to let go.
“Happy Birthday, hija,” she finally whispered in Laura’s ear.
Tell her I say happy birthday too, Logan said.
“ Oh ,” Marie gasped, as Laura stepped back a little in surprise.
“What?” Laura asked curiously, tilting her head slightly in an exact mimicry of Logan. Marie stopped, forcing a smile on her face.
“Sorry. It’s just...your father says happy birthday too, mi amada ,” she whispered. Laura’s eyes went wide at this, but then, the smallest of smiles on her face, as she reached out and squeezed the woman’s hand gently.
Later, there was music, and dinner, and then Marie had gestured to the cake between them.
“Jody brought it over. Looks good, doesn’t it?” Marie asked through a smile. Laura nodded knowingly, watching her through an interested stare as Marie carefully lit the twelve candles perched on top with the same lighter Logan had used to light their cigars a few weeks ago, the small flames now flickering between mother and daughter, between la mujer y la nina.
Marie sang the song gently, and she realized it had been years since the tune escaped her lips. She kept her voice even and steady, and Laura faintly smiled, staring at the alit cake.
“I’ve never had a birthday,” she finally murmured to the cake after Marie had finished.
“This is one of many. So...make a wish,” Marie quietly insisted, and in response Laura cocked a brow.
“A wish?” she asked.
“Yeah, you get a wish before you blow them out,” Marie whispered through a small grin.
Wonder what she’ll wish for, Logan murmured inside her mind.
Laura frowned a little, but then a peculiar spark in those brown eyes, a knowing smile, and then a quick breath, twelve flickering flames going out, the familiar smell of candle smoke coiling up into the rich, summer air.
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