Chapter 3: Logan
The voices bustled on the busy platform. The sound of a hiss and a jolt. Mothers grabbed small children by the arm, yanking them out of the way. Hotdog vendors. Freshly printed evening edition newspapers, still bundled with plastic. Pigeons on the wind. More noises and smells than typical, but she was still easy to pick out. Her scent was clean and pure and… there. On the quickest train headed outta town, headed north. He grabbed the handle, boots on the grated metal of the steps. And then, there she was, about halfway down the aisle, the telltale green of her winter coat against the red vinyl of the seats. He almost couldn’t help but swagger as he walked closer to her—I found her, and I found her first—but as he walked further down the aisle his bravado fell. Her notes were sadder somehow, more somber, and he could see that she was wholly inside some inner world, heavy lidded and feelin’ real sorry for herself.
“Hey kid,” he said, and the look she gave him was almost a smile, and he couldn’t help but offer a slight smirk back. But then, that frown again. Sit down. Show her you mean this. Apologize for what happened.
“I’m sorry ‘bout last night,” he finally murmured, hoping that was enough.
“Me too,” she said quietly.
“You runnin’ again?”
“I heard the professor was mad at me,” she said bashfully, and he had to stifle the urge to laugh in surprise. So fucking young. The fucking picture of innocence.
“Well who told you that?” he asked.
“A boy at school,” she said quietly. He said nothing. He wouldn’t tell her what to do. He wouldn’t tell her how to live her life. That wasn’t his fucking job.
I’m not your father, I’m your friend.
“You think I should go back,” she said simply. He could barely look at her, meet her gaze.
Yes. You out there, floatin’ on the wind. Ain’t a good look on you, kid.
“I think you should follow your instincts,” he said carefully, glancing at the vacant chair in front of him. But she still stared at him, and he knew as she bit her lip she was about to say something she couldn’t take back.
“The first boy I ever kissed ended up in a coma for three weeks. I can still feel him inside my head. And it’s the same with you.” She was crying now. Motherfucker, she was crying. He looked at her, looked at those big round eyes, and then he couldn’t anymore and he looked away. What did she mean? How was he in her head? What of him was in her head? She was still crying. She needed…what did she need? His arm moved before he willed it, instinctively pulling her in closer, and then she leaned into him, and oh god that scent. Nectar, and…mint. Holy fuck. Holy god. Say something. Make her feel better. Make her stay.
“There’s not many people that’ll understand what you’re going through. But I think this guy Xavier is one of ‘em. He seems to genuinely wanna help you, and that’s a rare thing…for people like us,” he added through a murmur.
The train, the dream, the memory, jolting, shifting, swaying and then another sort of train rumbling in the distance. Yashida’s sword trembled, the glass of water shuddered, everything disturbed in its place where the heat never yielded.
“I got a long ride for some good money, but when I get back we’re gonna get out of here. We’re gonna drive down to Yelapa, get ourselves a boat and we’re gonna live out on the ocean.”
“Will you be safe there?”
Logan looked up confusedly at Charles. The old man, tending to his little plants, wrinkled and lost. Distant and drifting. Logan blinked once, staring at him blankly.
“Yeah, yeah, we’ll be safe.”
A snarled gasp, as he whipped up from the bed, trying to breathe, desperate for air. Something squeezed tighter, something that felt like drowning, so very much like drowning. Like when he’d been tossed like a rag doll into the Potomac.
Air, air, air! The animal snarled, confused and lurking underneath his convulsing body. We need to breathe. We need to breathe. And then, finally, relief, slow and steady, like ridin’ a bike without the training wheels or makin’ love for the first time, and then he dragged his fevered gaze upward to see her staring at him.
She was telling him to breathe. He was murmuring that he couldn’t. She was telling him he had to. Who was this fucking woman? The girl or the woman? Which woman? A pouting red lip, a hesitation, a moment…
Ok, so, what do ya say? Give these geeks one more shot? C’mon, I’ll take care of you.
You promise?
Yeah. Yeah, I promise.
Then, the look in her eyes, her shaking hand as she clutched the washcloth. That pity. A growl from exhaustion as he bristled under her touch.
“Stop pulling back from me,” she snapped. He looked up to her quizzically, something in her voice dragging him out of his agitated stupor enough to finally understand. Marie. His Marie. Abandoned drive-ins. Her bare feet up on the Ford’s dashboard. A shining Panhead. Christmas snow.
There are some things in this world, Marie, that words don’t do a very good job explainin’.
He growled softly, finally relinquishing the hold on his stubbornness. And then it was the feeling of Marie’s hands, her beautiful hands that had folded tiny cranes and cradled hundreds of books, hands that were now painting and packing lunches, hands that had seen a lifetime of use, rubbing balm into the wounds of his knuckles underneath the harsh bathroom light.
Will you be safe there?
Those tears she tried to hide as she did so.
Yeah. Yeah. We’ll be safe.
And, later, he had kept his watch on her endless brown eyes as he had run his tongue up that beautiful creamy body, before one rough, scarred finger trailed up her skin, felt the impossible warmth and wetness of her mouth as she tasted him. Meanwhile, her painting in the background. The black line, that lonely divide, marring the canvas, hovering just beyond them as they made love on the hard wooden floor of her study. He had seen loneliness in the painting. Marie’s loneliness. Open and vast and overwhelming.
Was peace lonely?
Was this even peace?
The long lines of water had also dripped down her flawless back. She arched underneath him as he steadied his grip in the shower, as he sank deep within her, filling in the empty spaces, breath hot and airy on her neck, even as the steam billowed. Running down, rolling up, shoving her hard against the wall, her body surrounding every part of him.
“This what you wanted?” he had breathed.
“God, yes,” she moaned.
Yes.
A Phillips driving a screw into drywall. A brush drawn across a canvas. Another packed lunch, another lurch of the engine. A kiss goodnight. A hug goodbye. A flick of a light, a candle being blown out.
Yeah. Yeah, we’ll be safe.
Yeah. Yeah, I promise.
--
Logan had always secretly loved the duality of a hammer. The heaviness on one end, the smooth and firm grip on the other. The way it felt, using it. How it served two purposes, to drive in and take out. It symbolized progress and destruction, and the irony was not lost on Logan. For months, he had been for the most part preoccupied with various remodeling jobs with the house. The peeling vinyl of the bathroom floor had been replaced with tile. The electric wiring had been redone. He had installed dark granite countertops in the kitchen while Marie had painted the cabinets a stark white. Replaced flooring. Installed drywall. Converted the loft into a real bedroom for Laura.
Slowly, the projects had dwindled. Just a few small jobs were left, odds and ends here and there, and with the project finished, his skin had started to crawl once more. Especially after rough nights. Nights like last night had been happening more and more now, and the harder they got and the more often they happened, the less he felt like himself. Last night especially was a haze, drenched in the fog of a fever, but he remembered falling back asleep in the morning, after Laura had left for school. After Laura… with that distant, worried look. The same one Marie liked to give. Logan shifted his weight a bit, frowning again as he took the nail he had been holding between his teeth and positioned it carefully on the pencil mark of the wall, trying, and failing once more, to banish the murky memories from his mind.
The shower had been painful, mentally trying as he had to will the skin to heal over his hands as the hot steam beat down on his body. Eating pills like candy, chasing the bitter taste of them down with cheap liquor he kept stowed underneath the bathroom sink after the shower. The liquor Marie knew was there, but never commented on. And then, afterward, he had accidentally caught his fucking reflection in the mirror. A goddamn ghost. He fucking hated the mirror, because it served as an ever-loyal catalyst. It was a one-way ticket to self-loathing and desperation, to further stepping away from parts of his old self into something deep and floating, something lost.
The painting was straight. Had been for five whole minutes. The picture was a framed reprint of two boys whitewashing a fence, and for a moment Logan simply blinked at it, before he hopped back off the stool, giving it a final once over and then finally turning back to the elderly woman who had been watching him from the breakfast nook, a mug of decaffeinated coffee between her wrinkled hands.
“That look about right, Mrs. Roberts?” he asked.
“Fine job, my dear boy,” she said. Logan smirked a bit at the nickname, but didn’t comment on it as he moved to the kitchen to put the tools back inside the duffle he had brought with him. Hanging pictures for elderly women. A far cry from a whirl around the globe in the X-Jet, even if it did give him something to do.
“That’s a Norman Rockwell, you know,” she said lifting one red-painted nail up to the picture behind him. Logan turned around to stare at it once more. “Rockwell was commissioned to do a whole series of them for the book,” she added.
“Tom Sawyer?” he asked, looking back at the woman again.
“Well done. You know your literature,” she praised.
“No. I just have a wife who does,” he said, before mentally stopping in his tracks as he realized the words he had just uttered. Wife. Wife?! Where the hell did that come from? Meanwhile, Mrs. Roberts was still talking.
“I grew up in Hannibal, you know. Lived there for most of my life, before the country fell to pieces. When we moved to Canada, and I wanted to live in a remote place just like it. Hannibal was a river town too. Although it had the tourism going for it too. Twain’s boyhood home. Caves and the like. They have the originals there, you know,” she said.
“Originals?” Logan asked.
“The Rockwells. The paintings,” she clarified. Logan blinked once, and the old woman smiled. “You tell that wife of yours to come ‘round here and we’ll talk about old Tom sometime.”
“Uh, yes ma’am,” was all he could say.
“How much do I owe you, son?” she was asking, frail, shaking hands reaching for the checkbook on the table, fountain pen already in hand. The words no charge were already summoned in his mind, when he heard the shrill vibration from his duffle bag.
“Beg your pardon, ma’am,” Logan awkwardly said, the conversation about Twain or perhaps the woman’s age encouraging Logan to fall back on a more antiquated dialect lodged in the recesses of his brain as he stared down at the phone and reality once more summoned him forward.
Laura. Fights. Laura. In trouble. Laura. Outed. Laura. Mutant.
They know.
Logan sighed, gripping the phone more tightly.
“No charge,” he said solemnly, before looking up once at the old woman. “But I’ll see if I can get Marie to come ‘round and chat with you about Huck Finn.”
“Tom Sawyer, my son. Tom Sawyer. Huck Finn’s another matter entirely,” she said through a knowing smile.
“Right,” Logan said still clutching the phone, which was alerting him to the news once more. “Right.”
--
“Shit,” Logan murmured, slowly looking up to see kids starting to flit here and there. The random shouts, the slamming of lockers from inside the school. And the adults, too, some of them now glancing over to the Bronco, and some not. He was trying his best to drown it all out, but it was obvious the news was spreading like wild fire.
“Everyone’s talkin’ about her,” he grumbled to Marie, who raised her eyebrows in response. And then there she was, walking slowly out of the school, eyes cast downward, hands clutching the straps of her backpack. Logan studied her for a moment, before shooting a nervous glance up to Marie, unsure of what to do.
“Is the talk really bad?” Marie was asking. Logan sighed quietly for a moment, sharpening his focus and listening in.
Mutant. Mutant. Mom, Laura definitely is. Mom, I saw what happened. You think her dad is too? He has to be, right? He’s so scary. I thought you said they were all extinct.
Logan would have chuckled if it weren’t all hitting so close to home. After a few more minutes, he muttered, “Harmless enough. But probably enough to drive the little one nuts.”
Marie bit her lip in response before murmuring, “Go to her. I’ll drive.” And his hand was already opening up the door of the Bronco and he was stepping out, as dozens of pairs of eyes settled on him.
He ran his palm instinctively over the hood of the Bronco as he walked in front of it, the metal of the hood from where it had sat idling warm underneath his palm as he passed. He locked eyes with Laura then. The look on her face was crestfallen and muted, as the conversation and gossip swirled around them both.
I bet she has super strength. I bet she can fly.
He covered the three or four paces of distance between them quickly, placing a hand on her shoulder, muttering a “It’ll be ok, kid,” as he did so. He could tell, for a brief moment, she was instinctively leaning into his protective gesture, until the conversation got louder.
Are mutants even human, mom? Is she human?
Laura looked up to Logan momentarily, and there were tears in her eyes, before her frown became sharper and then Laura was shoving his hand off her shoulder, growling quietly as she walked more quickly to the Bronco. Logan frowned a bit, a little crestfallen himself now, as he felt his anger burgeon in response to all the fucking gossip around him, at all the ignorance and morbid curiosity and impolite stares, but still he tried to keep a hold of it, even as he watched Laura dejectedly climb in the back of the Bronco. Logan trailed behind her slowly, before moving to put the seat back up, climbing in and closing the passenger door firmly behind him.
No one said anything for a moment, as they all sat in the idling Bronco, the crowds of children slowly dispersing, the sun already beginning its slow slide downward into the horizon.
“They know,” Laura finally said, simply. Rogue shot a look to Logan and he frowned once more.
“We know they know,” Logan grumbled. “Gundalson called us in to talk.” At this, Laura perked up a bit. It was obvious by her movements that she hadn’t been told that particular detail.
“Que? Why?”
“They wanted us to confirm it,” Logan murmured, turning back to look Laura in the eye.
“Did you?” she asked.
“You didn’t leave us much of a choice, hija,” Logan grumbled through an exasperated sigh. Marie was biting her lip and gripping the leather of the steering wheel tightly, even though she hadn’t moved the car out of park.
“If it’s any condolence, Marie let it slip to Gundalson we both were too,” he grumbled. Marie turned to glare at him. He only offered her a half-hearted shrug of the shoulders in response. It was the truth. Best to be honest.
“Que?!” Laura was saying, the notes of betrayal and flourishing paranoia evident in her features as she cast her stare at Rogue. Marie turned to her, making sure to shoot a nasty look at Logan once more as she did so, before addressing the girl.
“Sorry, Laura. It sorta slipped out,” she said quietly.
“Kay knows too,” she added through a mumble.
“What?!” Logan blurted out before he could stop himself. “Ya failed to mention that particular fact this afternoon,” he added through a growl.
“There was no time. And besides, at least on Kay’s end, it seems like she’s known for a long while. Maybe since the beginning. Hell, I think she even knows we were X-Men.”
At this, Laura’s eyebrows shot up and Logan could practically hear her salivate at the word. Despite her misfortunes, despite any situation that might have befallen her, Laura was always inherently desperate for any news or stories about Logan and Marie’s former lives, almost to the point of obsession. Logan rarely indulged her. Marie was slightly more generous, but not by much. Some wounds ran too deep.
“You better do some explain’ as to how darlin,” Logan was grumbling.
“She calls you Naghaye, baby. You ever think to look that up?” Marie was asking. Logan just continued to stare at her blankly.
“Me neither. But I sure as hell googled it on my walk over to the school today after our little conversation. One guess as to what that means,” Marie unceremoniously offered.
“Wolverine,” Laura whispered under her breath. Logan once more threw Laura a sharp, accusatory stare.
“That’s enough of that,” he growled, rounding on the younger girl. “Just because I’m now pissed at Rogue too and I feel a little bad about the kids gossipin’ about ya, doesn’t mean you’re off the hook. You’re still in a shit load of trouble for beating up that kid.”
“Is she in trouble?” Marie was asking Logan just as Laura was murmuring, “Rogue and Wolverine.”
Logan gave Laura a face, as he turned back to Marie.
“I don’t know. Shouldn’t she be? Conner’s out for two weeks because of her little stunt.”
“How do you think Kay knew—” Laura was saying.
“—she needs to learn to control it—” Logan kept talking.
“—do you think she has super powers?—”
“-there’s a difference between defending yourself and—”
“—or do you think she knows I’m a mutant?—”
“—kid needs to keep that feral shit to a minimum or there’s gonna be hell to pay—”
“Everybody, just…shut up,” Marie growled, slamming a hand down on the steering wheel as she did so. “People are staring at us.” Logan looked up to realize people were still ogling them, but most of them from afar. The Bronco was still idling in the school parking lot after all, not having gone anywhere.
“Laura…can you tell us what happened?” Marie asked softly. Logan had always been impressed with how careful Marie was to not overstep whatever boundaries they had in their relationship, which he knew couldn’t be easy, the role of both friend and parental figure always deftly balanced in Marie’s hands.
“We were playing soccer. Connor tripped me, shoved me to the ground. I didn’t mean to get hurt…” Laura trailed off. Logan noticed Marie looking at him, wanting him now to contribute in some way.
“But you didn’t hold back when you socked him eh?” he added, unable to contain a random swell of irrational pride. Marie only glared at him.
“No,” Laura said, helpless to a devilish grin of her own.
“Laura,” Marie sighed, throwing Logan a look once more before turning to the younger mutant. “Like we were saying, Mrs. Gundaloson brought us in. We’re gonna start you with an IEP,” she added.
“What?!” Laura protested from the back seat, sitting up once more as a new anxiety overcame her.
“What’s wrong with that?” Logan mumbled.
“It’s for…well… it’s for estudiantes con discapacidades,” Laura murmured. Logan squirmed. He had figured an IEP was typically used as such, but the way Laura said the word had him cringing.
“What?” Marie asked, looking to Logan for clarification.
“Students with….disabilities,” Logan practically hissed. Marie sighed.
“Look, Laura, not in your case, ok? Not that there’s anything wrong with students with disabilities,” she chastised both of them. “But being a mutant is not an illness or a disability, and no one who’s setting this IEP up for you thinks that either. It’s just that Gundalson thinks you could benefit from a few…accommodations…to help you learn,” Rogue chose her words carefully.
But now Laura had her head in her hands and was shaking it back and forth dramatically, muttering in Spanish. “Nadie me pedirá que vaya al baile ahora.” Muffled as her words were and with how limited his Spanish still was, Logan’s mind struggled to understand what she was saying.
El baile? What the fuck?
“What does it mean?” Marie was asking Logan, even as he was already shrugging his shoulders in response.
“It means I’m fucked,” Laura said rudely from the back seat, and now both adults were whipping around to face her, although Marie’s face was tempered and Logan was straight-up snarling at Laura’s new-found insubordination.
“Que? Papa says it constantemente,” she growled moodily.
“He’s an adult,” Marie was saying, her words sharper now as the ever-patient woman’s anger grew, even as she turned to move the car out of park, backing the Bronco out of the spot to finally leave the school behind.
“You means he’s un hombre,” Laura nastily shot back.
“Man. Adult. Doesn’t fucking matter,” Logan rounded on Laura. “Look at me, hija,” he growled out a warning, but Laura moodily and willfully kept her eyes cast downward.
“Look at me,” he snarled, and she deliberately took a few moments to ignore him before moving her gaze upward, glaring at Logan through fiery brown eyes. “I won’t have you talkin’ to Marie that way. You understand me? And don’t you dare go forgettin’ the fact that you went and started this thing, kid. Because you’re gonna sure as hell help us fix it. Yer gonna do as we say. Play by our rules. Or did you forget the deal we made?”
“Deal?” Marie asked quietly.
“Before I dragged her sorry self up north,” he growled, and then Laura was once more throwing daggers at him. It was another nonverbal, feral look, a look that threatened, a look that verged on a little too wild. Logan easily responded in kind.
“You better stop while yer ahead with those threats” he grumbled.
“No dije nada,” she growled back.
“You didn’t need to, kid. I heard ya loud and clear,” he threatened.
“Qué? No tengo permitido hablar? No tengo permitido mirar? Bien entonces! No lo hare!” Laura practically shouted, before slumping down in her seat once more, whipping out her phone as she did so. Logan felt the anger he was trying so desperately hard to control begin to rise once more at her petulance, as Laura began incessantly tapping on the phone. That goddamn phone. Gone were the days of Laura’s innocent outdated iPod, Laura having sweetly conned Logan into a phone for Christmas. Ever since, it seemed that she was constantly on it, constantly typing, constantly vacant. It numbed her senses, Logan thought, drowned everything out.
“Who are you talking to?” Logan groused, knowing a smarter man would have given up the fight for now, as Laura reticently retreated into herself, but still he found himself unwilling to.
“No one,” Laura barked.
“Let’s all just calm down…” Marie was warning.
“Laura, who is it?” he rounded on her, moving to completely turn around in his seat as he did so.
“Baby…let it go. None of this is helping,” Marie harshly whispered.
“Rictor,” Laura practically spat.
“What? That kid from Transigen again? Why the hell would you still be talking to him?” Logan was asking. Meanwhile, Marie was offering him a practically poisonous look at his inanity, even if her hands were still on the wheel.
“What are you telling him?” Logan pressed.
“Stuff,” Laura taunted and then that was the last straw as Logan growled, reaching backward, trying to pluck the phone out of her hand as Laura began shouting protests in Spanish.
“Real mature, baby,” Marie mumbled.
“Parar! Solo porque estés enfermo no significa que puedas tenerlo todo!” Laura yelled.
“Laura! What…the…fuck?” he grumbled, as he tried to swipe for the phone while holding on to only every other word she was firing at him in Spanish.
“Tal vez si te tomas un poco de tiempo, preocúpate más por lo que hago en lugar de solo hablar con Marie. Amor! Amor para todos! Todos menos yo!”
“What the fuck are you saying?” he demanded, even as he managed a few more half-hearted grasps for the device, starting to realize how fucking ridiculous it all was.
“Déjame en paz!” she shouted.
And then Laura and Logan both flung forward a bit, as the breaks of the Bronco squealed, and Logan barely had time to whip out a forearm to steady himself against the dashboard to keep from flying through the windshield. Meanwhile, Laura was practically in the front seat and would have been had she not instinctively grabbed the passenger headrest for support.
“Rogue.. the fuck?” he looked at her like she’d lost it as the Bronco settled into a halt.
“Out,” Marie growled.
“Excuse me?” Logan asked.
“You’re walking the rest of the way back. Both of you,” she said.
“Por que?” Laura whined.
“Two reasons,” Marie snapped. “If I’ve told you once I’ve told you both a hundred times to wear your goddamn seatbelts. If you’re not going to be safe in the car, you don’t get to ride in the car.” Logan glanced backed at Laura, a look of pure guilt plaguing her features now.
“And two, you both need to figure your shit out. Figure your shit out, and then maybe you’ll have something to eat for dinner. Maybe. And if you don’t, feel free to go hunt down something or whatever you two are capable of. Meanwhile, I’ll be indulging in a generous glass of Merlot, two aspirin and a significant portion of Coq au vin I planned on making for dinner, probably by myself,” she muttered.
“But Coq au vin’s my favorite,” Laura practically moaned.
“I know,” Marie said curtly. “Out.” Logan hadn’t thought she was serious until she looked at him directly in the eye, where he found the world on fire.
“Marie -” he tried again.
“-If you are a feral mutant, you need to exit the vehicle!!!” Marie practically shouted. He then couldn’t help the small upturn of his lips, a smirk forming on his face at that particular quip. Rogue only glared at him.
Logan glanced back at Laura, and he noticed that Laura’s anger was fading as well, although she was still frowning deeply, obviously uncomfortable with Marie’s disapproval.
“Better do what she says,” he mumbled. He gave Marie another smirk, now thoroughly amused, and Rogue offered up a snarl in response. It seemed both of their mannerisms were rubbing off on her.
“Out.”
--
Logan couldn’t help but still watch amusedly as the wheels of the Bronco tore off, Marie deliberately leaving Logan and Laura on the side of the road, making good on her threats. The sun had sunken down in the sky, and around them the pines stood tall, while the temperature steadily dropped. It would have seemed a desolate and cruel punishment, if Logan and Laura hadn’t known they actually didn’t have that far to walk. Half a mile at most, although Logan realized that it was largely an up-hill climb.
“We really pissed her off that time,” Logan muttered, finally looking down at his daughter. Laura only growled a little, crossing her thin arms over her body.
“So you’re still mad?” he said, through a raised eyebrow. She looked up to him with a small frown. He exhaled slowly, leaving her to her sullen mood as he started up the gravel drive, and, despite her anger, she silently followed him. Above, the sky had grown orange and russet, and a gentle wind blew, tousling their hair and gently biting at their skin. After about ten minutes of walking, she finally spoke. It was quiet and curt, but honestly-meant as her words hit the air.
“Lo siento,” she murmured. Logan turned back to her and offered her a small smile, before murmuring a, “Me too, kid.” For a while, no one spoke again, the dark of the twilight now completely enveloping them. Soon enough, the distinct white of the lake house in the distance. Logan could make out the parked Bronco in the drive, and, inside, he could already hear Miles Davis on the record player, the sizzle of butter in a pan, Marie’s off-key singing gentle and quiet and interrupted occasionally through a sip of what was probably red wine. Logan smiled to himself, and as he turned to Laura he realized she had stopped short of the steps leading up to the deck. It was obvious she didn’t want to go inside yet. She had things she wanted to still say.
He turned back to her knowingly, before moving to take a seat on the bottom step, intently keeping his eyes on her.
“What is it, hija?” he asked. Laura stalled momentarily, arms still crossed as she kicked one of the rocks nestled in the gravel with her sneaker, awkwardly standing a couple paces in front of him, looking uncharacteristically uncomfortable in her own skin.
“Did I do the right thing?” she quietly asked, before looking up to him meekly.
“What do ya mean, kid?” Logan asked.
“It’s just… it seems sometimes what feels right and what is right are... no es siempre lo mismo,” she finished. Not always the same. Logan sighed, taking to resting an elbow on his knee as he did so.
“That’s because they ain’t,” Logan grumbled, and he found Laura looking up to him, eyes full of dread.
“Look, I don’t know how to explain it to you,” Logan began, running a hand through his too-long hair, “But what is right is a hard thing to know. It changes on ya, you see? Flips over, turns around. Some people— hell a lot of people—might think they know what is right, but that doesn’t mean it’s the way it really is,” he finished. Laura only continued to stand there uncomfortably, biting her lip
“But what about el animal?” she finally murmured.
“What do ya mean, kid?” he asked, eyes narrowing in knowing concern.
“They have a saying here… ‘go with your gut.’ When they talk about instinct, are they talking about el animal?” she asked. Logan considered this carefully. The truth was, he had no idea what other people, mutants or otherwise, knew of their gut instinct. Just how loud or clear was that inner voice? He had tried asking Marie about it a few times, but he had never seemed to be able to summon the correct words to really get to the heart of the matter. He looked up to Laura then and he saw how desperately she was searching for an answer to the question that had plagued them both, the question she really wanted to ask, but couldn’t: Just how different are we from them?
“Honestly, kid, I’m not sure. When they say that, I mean…yeah. Maybe. We all have instincts. At least to an extent…” he trailed off, realizing what he was saying wasn’t enough, couldn’t be enough.
“But not like us,” Laura said sadly, and the words bit at him.
“No. You know, hija. That’s…a bit different,” he finished lamely.
More silence. The light had almost left the sky, and now the warmth of the house beckoned, but still he didn’t move a muscle. Laura had taken up to pacing in front of him now, mind still alive and swimming with questions.
“Can we…” she trailed off, turning on her heel in the gravel, finishing another round of pacing before she added, “Can we trust it?”
“Why you asking kid?” he questioned. She stalled then, stopping and crossing her arms once more.
“Because…sometimes…it scares me. It feels malvado,” she muttered. An involuntary chill shot down Logan’s spine at Laura’s words of cold truth, and he struggled to keep his composure. All he wanted was, right now, to lift Laura up out of everything bad, everything malo he had unknowingly given her, pluck that little girl right out from underneath that dark cloud, and forever shelter her from anything else like it. Logan struggled for his words as he was unable to stifle a low, protective growl in response.
“It can…it can feel like that. But it’s not always. It’ll save your life sometimes, you know that, right?”
“How?” she asked.
“When you… hell. There might be times, kid, when you get tired. When you don’t always wanna… go on. It’s those times that it’ll pick ya back up, set ya on your feet.” Laura gave Logan a dark, serious look, before she exhaled tiredly, finally dropping to sit on the step next to Logan.
“I scare them all,” Laura said flatly.
“I know,” Logan muttered.
“And now I’m really going to scare them,” she mumbled.
“Well…” Logan trailed off.
“What?” Laura asked.
“We told ‘em about the healing and such, but the claws… we didn’t disclose,” Logan said quietly. Laura looked up to him then, seemingly surprised by this answer.
“Por que?” she asked.
“It’s complicated, but…you know, the claws…they ain’t natural, kid, right? It’s the part they gave you. Medical experimentation. And…well, Marie and I could lose you if enough people found out about ‘em.”
“Más secretos, entonces?” she asked flatly.
“Hardly, kid. You ever find a reason to use them at school? I mean, even at your maddest, a real reason?” Logan asked.
“No,” Laura answered simply.
“Then that’s not pretending. And, later, things will change. You can make your own choices when you’re grown.”
“What kinds of choices?” she asked.
“To use ‘em, or, hell, even tell people about ‘em or not. Like if you were ever to get...uh, you know, close to someone eventually, that could be news you choose to share,” Logan finished awkwardly.
“Close to someone?” she asked quietly. “Like amor?”
“Umm, yeah,” Logan mumbled, realizing that he had just fucking backed himself up against a wall once more. There was that word again. Amor. Love. Laura had been saying it a lot lately. He had assumed, maybe falsely so, that it was because Marie was now in their lives. Logan and Marie had never quite outwardly stated the extent or nature of their relationship to Laura, because it always seemed like Laura inherently understood. Although… as Logan considered this, there was a lot Laura still didn’t know. The part about losing Marie more than just the once, for example. Hell, the news about the alternative timeline itself, everything before the jump. At the time he had abstained telling Laura because he hadn’t thought she was old enough to understand, but now the girl that was growing up quickly before his eyes was trying to change his mind.
“You know…like me and Marie,” he finally added. At this Laura’s face truly fell, and she slumped against the railing of the deck stairs.
“You have Marie. I have no one,” she muttered, and Logan raised a brow at her newfound melancholy. Logan had been incredibly careful to still try and offer Laura as much of his time and attention as he had before Marie had come into their lives, and Marie’s presence seemed to have never bothered Laura before.
“Hey, enough of that. You know Marie is here for you too.”
“That’s not the same,” Laura muttered, and alarm bells started ringing in his ears as he realized what she really meant.
“Hell, kid. You might be reading too many stories. Why you thinking about this right now? You’re eleven. You got all the time in the world for that shit. Hell, you’ll have more time than most,” he found himself saying. He had eluded on several occasions that her lifespan might be longer than the other people around her, but he doubted Laura could fully comprehend yet what it meant. Maybe it was simply something she wouldn’t be able to, until it happened.
“I ain’t gonna lie to you, kid. That’s the other part of this thing. You understand? You could live a very, very long time. Even if you meet someone you wanna… settle down with. If you meet that person earlier on, there’s a chance you might outlive him…or her.”
“Papa,” Laura murmured, blushing five shades of red as she took his meaning.
“Whatever. It’s the truth. So. There’s no use rushing into things, ya hear me?” he said seriously. Laura nodded, but still seemed disturbed, somehow unconvinced.
“Settling down…when you love someone very much. Yes?” she asked.
“Yeah,” Logan murmured.
“Well, then what about the rest of the times?” she asked, and Logan nearly swallowed his tongue.
“Excuse me?”
“You know,” Laura was mumbling, and he suspected this was harder for her to ask than for him to listen to, even if he was drowning in a newfound alarm and anxiety. “… el fisico. Lujuria.” The physical. Lust.
Fuck. He thought he had wormed his way outta that conversation.
“You don’t… you ain’t feeling anything like that yet, are ya?” he stammered. Another blush from Laura, and then a sigh.
“No. Well, I don’t know. Kids at school, maybe,” she said.
“At school? Aren’t you all a little young for that?” he wildly asked, and Laura only shrugged her shoulders in response.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” he swore, but when she looked at him dejectedly, he added, “I didn’t mean…fuck. Laura, you’re just a kid.”
“I’m almost twelve,” she said. Logan became quickly entangled in thought then as he considered this, so much so that Laura had started to look at him with fresh concern.
“Daddy, esta bien?” she asked quietly.
“Uhh, yeah, I just …it’s something Marie said today. About the differences between you and me.”
“Differences?” she asked.
“You know. You bein’ a girl and all,” he murmured. He realized her eyes were dark as the night around them now, as she began to understand what he was saying.
“You think it’s different?” she whispered.
“Hell if I know, hija. If you had any real motherin’, maybe, I’d know more. But…” he said through a sigh, before looking back over to her.
“Look, Marie can walk you through the, uhh, girl stuff, if you need clarification or a refresher course, hija. And thank god we have her around to help with that. But as far as the rest…”
“El animal,” Laura mumbled.
Logan swallowed hard.
“It’s like anything else. You might have… needs. Some that might… go beyond convention,” he muttered. Fuck. What the hell was he saying? “You gotta do your best to control them. Not stifle ‘em, mind you. Control. And consent. That’s important. Whenever you’re ready for that, hopefully a long fucking ass time from now, whatever yer feeling, the other person’s gotta be feeling too. You understand?”
“Si,” she murmured.
“There ain’t nothing wrong with…being with someone that way. But you gotta be ready for it, yeah?” he asked.
“Si,” she said again, with a little more confidence.
“Control. Balance. Just like with the rest of your life. Like you’ve been practicin’ with your kata, yeah?”
“Balance,” Laura murmured.
“Right. And maybe…this is why the kids at school knowin’ about your healin’ and extra senses is a good thing. A little less pressure off you, and maybe a little more on them. They gotta part too, you know? They have to learn how to accept you, to be tolerant, as much as you gotta learn to stop kicking the shit out of them,” he said through a quiet smile.
“Maybe you’re right,” she murmure, and it was then she leaned into his shoulder. He hesitated slightly, before moving an arm around her. They were rarely snuggly people, but the feel of her warm head leaning on his chest made him hum in parental content. She was his. And he’d go to whatever fucking lengths he needed to to protect her, even if that meant offering up what was left of his sorry, sad life.
They sat like that for a long while, listening to the quiet around them, fluent now in that language that wasn’t entirely human, but wholly their own. Instinctive, feral even, but real. You’re my father. You’ll protect me. You’re my daughter. I’ll protect you. After a bit more time passed, Laura was finally using real words again under her breath, although she stayed right by him still.
“You think Marie is still mad at us? For losing our cool?” Logan couldn’t help but chuckle at Laura’s use of a Marie-colloquialism, and gave Laura’s shoulder another squeeze.
“Probably. But we’ll win her back.”
“How?”
“The old-fashioned way. Apologize,” he said, as Laura straightened.
“Papa… I didn’t mean. What I said earlier. I’m glad Marie is here,” she said, awkwardly tripping over her words as she stood up.
“I know, hija,” he said, moving to stand himself. “And kid,” he added, stopping her from beginning to walk up the steps.
“Eventually,” he murmured quietly, the raw emotion strange and a bit foreign on his tongue as he spoke, “You’ll find your Marie. Whoever that person is. But first, find out who you are, huh?”
She smiled at him then, before murmuring a, “Si papa.”
“Bien,” he said, and then he moved to follow Laura up the stairs to the deck and inside the warm hum of the lake house.
--
The smell was intoxicating. It was all butter and garlic and spice, and as they made their way inside, the heat encompassed them both, a welcomed respite from the cool spring night air. A jazz record was still playing, and Marie was in the kitchen, pouring over a cookbook. Her hair was done up the way he liked it, and she wore an apron as she cradled a wine glass in one hand, before absently taking a sip. And there, perched low on her perfect nose, were a pair of his readers. A wild grin gripped Logan as he appreciated the sight. From her languid movements alone, he knew Marie was two glasses of wine in, maybe three. Marie buzzed on wine while cooking was one of the most beautiful things on god’s green earth. And the glasses, fuck. It was perfection.
Laura was also watching her, and smiled mischievously at the sight of Marie in Logan’s glasses before Logan realized they had once more been guilty of entering the house in their typical fashion, completely silent. It was something she was always getting on them about—you scare the living daylights out of me when you sneak up on me like that!— and, also in her typical fashion, Marie hadn’t yet noticed their appearance.
“Ya know, I have absolutely no qualms about you wearin’ mine, but we could always get you your own pair, if you need ‘em…” Logan teased, finally announcing his presence.
She brought her head up quickly from where she had been perusing the cookbook, a surprised look in her eyes and a blush spreading across her already wine-flushed cheeks, before she whipped them off her face.
“I would if I needed them,” she muttered. Laura once more grinned at Logan, before they both looked back at Marie. There was a covered pan simmering on the back burner, and Logan noticed three plates had already been set out on the table that separated the kitchen from the rest of the living room, candles already lit.
“Smells good,” Logan murmured, padding over to the kitchen predatorily to linger, simply standing behind her for a moment and breathing in her scent, before planting a warm kiss on the faint scar on her neck, the one he had given her that first night they had found themselves in Hay River. His mark. The one she had asked for.
“What help do you need?” He hummed the question into her ear.
“Mmm,” she couldn’t help but murmur. Realizing, however, Laura was still sneaking glances at them, she added, “Dinner’s almost done, so… Laura, would you mind grabbing some silverware and adding them to the place settings on the table?” Laura nodded through another small grin, before moving to the farthest drawer to collect the forks and knives.
“And you,” Marie said, turning around, taking a brief moment to drink in him with her eyes, “That bottle of Blanton’s. Mind getting it down from the top cupboard and cracking it open?” Logan raised his eyebrows in surprise. It wasn’t a bottle from Xavier’s private stock, but it was still the best bottle of whiskey in the house.
“What’s the occasion?” he asked playfully.
“I outed us,” she said through a quiet laugh. “Might as well… celebrate.” Logan snorted a little, even as he faithfully moved to fetch the bottle and Rocks glasses.
Ten minutes later they were eating, the music still quietly humming in the background. Laura, in her typical fashion, was eating like it was the first meal or the last meal she was going to receive in a long while. As Laura inhaled her food, Marie fiddled with her fork. Logan nursed the whiskey, the taste of it smooth and warm and good on his perpetually sore throat.
“So…” Marie finally murmured. “You two seem better.”
“Yeah,” Laura acknowledged through a wide smile between bites.
“You clear the air, then?” she asked Logan.
“More or less,” he smiled, setting down his glass.
“I’m sorry I kicked you guys out of the car,” she said.
“It’s ok, Marie. We weren’t being very maduro, especially Papa,” Laura said. Logan smiled faintly, before offering a “heh” as a gruff reply.
“Well that’s the truth,” Marie said, and then, thoughtfully biting her lip she added, “Laura?”
“Si?” she asked, putting down her fork to truly look at the woman in front of her.
“I’m sorry about earlier. About spilling the beans. It just…in the moment it seemed like the right thing to do.” Marie glanced up at Logan as she said this last bit, their eyes meeting carefully, and then she deliberately looked away and back at Laura as she added, “It’s hard pretending, you know?”
Laura dramatically sighed, adding an, “Oh, I know. It’s so tiring. We shouldn’t have to do it all the time.”
“That’s right,” she said, and once more her eyes lingered on Logan through another long and slow sip of her drink.
--
After dinner, It’s a Wonderful Life had come on television, despite the fact it was the last day in April. Logan already knew that Marie loved the movie. It was one of those few remnants of her childhood she kept as a tradition, despite the falling out with her parents so long ago, --we used to watch this every Christmas eve—and Laura had never seen it, so Jimmy Stewart was now dancing with Donna Reed in black and white on the screen in front of them all. Laura had been snacking on popcorn, choosing deliberately to sit next to Marie on the large sectional, but had discarded the bowl as the movie progressed, eyes now wide with wonder.
You know, if it wasn't me talking I'd say you were the prettiest girl in town.
Well, why don't you say it?
I don't know. Maybe I will.
Meanwhile, Logan watched them watching the movie quietly from the opposite side of the couch for a long while. Marie’s sketching was forgotten beside her as she also steadily became entranced by the film. He noticed, too, Laura had leaned into Marie a bit more, and now the woman was squeezing the girl closer to her. Every once in a while Marie would steal a subtle glance at Logan, but, for the most part, Laura had Marie’s full and apt attention as they watched the movie together.
What is it you want, Mary? What do you want? You want the moon? Just say the word and I'll throw a lasso around it and pull it down. Hey, that's a pretty good idea. I'll give you the moon, Mary.
Eventually, Laura’s eyes had drooped as she had found her way of laying between them on the sectional, her head in Marie’s lap and her feet in Logan’s. As George Bailey took in what the world would have been like without him, Logan realized Laura had fallen asleep. Glancing at his watch, he realized that it was later than they all had intended, but still, no one moved, letting the movie play out its final act.
Good idea, Ernie. A toast…to my big brother, George. The richest man in town!
Remember no man is a failure who has friends.
Attaboy, Clarence.
Logan watched as Marie smiled slightly as the black and white bells rang as Auld Lang Syne played into the credits. Only after the final chorus gave out did she bring her gaze up to Logan, stifling a yawn herself as she looked down to Laura once more.
“She’s out,” Marie murmured through a smile, the soft pad of her thumb tracing Laura’s cheek. “I know she texts and can’t keep her mind off boys and she totally beat the shit out of a kid today, but right now she looks like she’s five. Such a baby.”
Some silence passed as he watched Marie watching Laura, before he resigned himself to sit up, muttering a “I’ll get her.”
“You sure?” Marie asked.
“Yeah,” he murmured, and, quietly, he carefully picked up the sleeping girl, just as he had that night so long ago outside the farmhouse.
Yeah. Yeah, we’ll be safe.
Logan frowned a little as he carried her upstairs, but still Laura barely stirred. She had to be tired. Logan knew sometimes she stayed up at night, listening for him. He also knew she forgot occasionally that he could hear her as well as she could hear him. He moved to lay her down on the bed gently, before pulling a quilt up over her. Logan lingered for a moment then, pausing to move a strand of her hair from her face, before standing.
Meanwhile, the twinkle lights in her window glittered, making the orange and purple dance across the room. On the bedside table, her phone where Marie must have plugged it in to charge. On the other table, a propped open copy of The House on Mango Street.
--
Logan tiredly walked back downstairs to find that the table had been cleared apart from the whiskey and a few glasses, and now Marie had taken to sketching on the couch again. He picked up the half-empty bottle of whiskey from the table on his way and took a moment to replenish a glass of the amber liquid before setting it down beside her, taking a moment to study the sketch Marie was working on.
“Wow,” he murmured quietly, and he felt Marie blush. “That’s just about damn perfect.” The sketch book contained the impeccable detail of something now only part of a memory. Their old bedroom from Westchester, from the perspective of her side of the bed, expertly captured, down to how the light was hitting the floor in the afternoon sun.
“Thanks. I guess I just…sometimes it feels good to recall it, you know?” she said, eyes on him as he took a seat next to her on the sectional.
“That’s always how you handled things,” Logan murmured through a sip of whiskey. His lungs had not put up much of a fight today at all, a fact that he was incredibly grateful for, considering how fucking eventful the day had ended up being.
“All’s well that ends well,” he finally said. Marie sighed a bit, switching out her sketch pad for the glass of whiskey as she turned to face him on the couch, tucking her feet up under her as she did so.
“Things are gonna change,” she murmured.
“You think they’re gonna be worse to her?” he asked carefully, turning to look at the woman beside him. Marie offered him a thoughtful look, as she considered what he had said.
“You know… I’ve been wondering about it. And I’m starting to think maybe…not. We were both so wrapped up in Westchester, sort of sheltered from it all, but people idolized mutants out in the world in this timeline. I mean…until Transigen started secretly wiping us out,” she added bleakly, before taking another generous gulp of whiskey.
“You mean like with the shit about the comics?” he added through a raised brow. Marie grinned at that.
“Yeah…those are good,” she said playfully.
“You read ‘em?” Logan asked, honestly a bit surprised.
“Might’ve peeped at Laura’s a few times,” she said through a breathy laugh. “I’m quite the looker.” Logan growled in agreement.
“That’s damn straight,” he said, reaching to gently smack her ass. “In ink and in the flesh,” he added. She smiled as she playfully socked him in the shoulder, before he grabbed her hand, unwilling to relinquish it, squeezing it gently under his own.
“You know,” she said through a hazy murmur, “They never put us together in the comics though.” Logan smiled faintly and amusedly at this.
“Well, we weren’t back then, were we?” he asked quietly.
“No,” she said through a tired sigh.
“You know, darlin’, I wanted to be though,” he added. At this, Marie’s lips tugged up into a playful smile, a fresh spark in her eyes.
“Really now?” she asked.
“You all doe-eyed, not knowin’ which way was up and which was down, trying to throw me a bit of sass, the fucking picture of innocence…” he trailed off, and suddenly an image of Rogue sitting on a red vinyl seat of a train filled his mind, and he mentally chastised himself. Wrong timeline.
“Great ass I bet too,” Marie was muttering a bit cynically. At this, though, Logan only grinned once more.
“Hey, you still got a great ass,” he said through a devilish smirk. “Some things just don’t change, woman…. Although,” he stopped, hesitating slightly through a small fall of his grin. “There’s not a day goes by that I… don’t regret…” he stammered unable to put what he wanted into words.
“Hey, stop that. We’re together now,” Marie murmured.
“Right,” he said quietly.
“And thank god life doesn’t really imitate art,” she said, raising her glass slightly. He smiled slightly once more, dutifully clinking the edge of his whiskey with hers, as he muttered a “Thank god,” in return. A few moments passed as they stared at each other quietly as they polished off their whiskey, his thumb now rubbing the top of her hand idly, before he added, “She asked about us, though.”
“Laura?” Marie questioned.
“Yeah,” he said.
“In what way?” she asked, setting down her mostly-empty glass on the table and then offering to take his to do the same.
“Well, she didn’t quite ask so much as comment. She said… hell I’m gonna fuck it up…she said something like, ‘You have Marie and I have nobody.’” Marie’s face fell at that, and she brought the hand Logan wasn’t holding to her mouth.
“Oh. That’s the saddest and most dramatic thing I’ve ever heard. What did you say?” she asked. Logan shrugged his shoulders slightly.
“I said you would always be there for her. Tried to throw her that bone. She wasn’t biting.” Marie glanced down at the floor for a moment, seemingly deep in thought over this news.
“Ya might… “ Logan added quietly, “Have a chat with her about that some time,” he finished a bit lamely.
“What? About romance? Sex?” she asked.
“Naw, well maybe. Just about all of it. I think some kids at school, might be tryin’ stuff. I don’t know what kinda stuff, and I’m not sure I want to know, but… yeah."
“Hmmm,” Marie said gently.
“She asked about some of it, and I tried, fuck, I tried saying my peace. On our end of things, you know. As she puts it, el animal, and all that.” At this Marie’s brow lifted in surprise.
“You talked about that with her?”
“Sorta,” he grumbled. Marie’s smile was strange and a bit wider now.
“Hell, I would’ve paid money to see that,” she said.
“Well, all you had to do was not kick us out of the car,” he replied, moving to tuck a loose tendril of her hair behind her ear.
“It wouldn’t have happened then, and you know it,” she said softly, and he realized, of course, she was right. He growled approvingly as he pulled the hand he had been keeping as his closer to him, and she smirked as she settled into his hold.
“I was thinking about it all tonight while cooking,” she lazily murmured, practically to herself.
“What’s that, darlin’?” he found himself asking.
“How we all pretend a little bit,” she said. He stiffened slightly around her at that. He couldn’t pretend that some of what she had said at dinner hadn’t irked him, if only because she was getting a little too close to the truth of it all.
“We pretend around Laura a little,” she murmured.
“Yeah?” he asked idly.
“Yep. I mean. We’re honest, but we have to put on brave faces, you know? Not lie, but show her the best version of things. Sometimes, I swear to God baby, sometimes being strong for Laura requires more courage than anything I faced back east.”
“Suppose you’re right,” he muttered. A beat, and then Marie added, “We pretend with each other a little, too. You pretend to feel better than you do.” At that, he stiffened a bit more under her.
“Marie-” he started, before she cut him off. “But I do it too,” she said quietly.
“How’s that?” he asked.
“Well, stealing these for one,” she said through a laugh, as she gently slid the spare pair of readers off his face. “I can’t see close up for shit nowadays. Soon enough I’ll be worse off than you,” she added as she set the glasses aside. He chuckled a bit, despite himself, squeezing her arm once more.
“Hell darlin’. No one’s blaming you for that,” he said as he moved over her playfully and then she was laying down on the couch, him hovering just above her.
“I know,” she said thoughtfully, before adding, “But there are other things, too.” He was only partially listening though, as he ran a hand down her body, cupping a breast momentarily before he nosed the hem of her shirt, hoping to distract her. Something about her tone had him worried, and he vaguely wished that she would just let it go.
She kept on.
“We think we’re helping the ones we love from the little wounds, you know? Life’s little aches. That pretending makes it all… more bearable. But now, I’m not so sure,” she said coldly. He truly paused then, lifting his head back up to look her in the eye. Below them, her midriff was exposed, white skin darker in the firelight, the telltale red of her scars marking her body here and there. Angrier than his mark on her neck, but just as much a part of her. He drew a finger over one, frowning as he did so.
“Tumor,” she barely whispered. He froze at the words for a few moments, before he quickly sat back.
“What?” he asked.
“You know,” she said. She meant the scars. What had she called it? Laparoscopic hysterectomy.
“Marie,” he murmured, his voice deep and gruff as he willed her to stop.
“It was ovarian, but they took it all,” she said carefully. His eyes traveled over her, staring at her body openly, unable to believe this news, even as an image of her under the harsh lights of a surgical room filled his mind. He must have looked spooked, because Marie softened slightly as she quietly lifted a hand out to touch his. He couldn’t help but flinch.
“Baby. It’s all better now,” she soothed, but still he didn’t move to return her touch. At his hesitance, she sighed, obviously feeling a bit dejected as she moved to cradle her legs instead.
“This is why I didn’t tell you,” she said flatly. No one said anything for a considerable length of time, and the only sounds were the ticking of the clock on the wall and Laura’s steady and even breathing from upstairs.
“I wasn’t there,” he murmured. She finally glanced back in his direction at this.
“Don’t you see? It wouldn’t have mattered, baby. None of it worked anyway,” she said a bit bitterly. He softened a little at this, eyes sliding up her once more.
“No,” he murmured quietly, sadly.
“And it would’ve happened anyway,” she added.
“Now there you’re wrong,” he growled slightly. “I could’ve healed you, kid.” At this she looked up to him sharply, eyes wide and on fire once more.
“Really, baby? Haven’t you saved my life enough with that little hat trick?” she asked, her voice volatile and wary now. He cocked his head, confused by her anger, even as she plodded on.
“Even if I come out of remission, which I’ve been reassured I won’t, I wouldn’t let you. You’re not giving me any more of your healing ever again. You understand me? Not for sex, not for the small aches or pains, not to…to feel closer. Nothing,” she ended forcibly.
Something about her obstinate tone, or the way she was rejecting one of the few things he had left to offer her suddenly had him angry. Tired and angry, so much so that an involuntary snarl escaped from his lips.
“What? Does that make you mad?” she asked sharply. He gave her a look, before immediately standing, turned off by her taunts.
“You sure as hell are tempting me, woman,” he barked.
“Good,” Marie said darkly. “Get mad. Because you should be. Because this fucking sucks, baby. Cancer sucks. Adamantium poisoning sucks. Laura looking at us like we ruined her whole world today sucks. And, besides, mad’s better than depressed,” she added coldly, her eyes narrowing at him. He stopped then, staring widely at this woman who seemed suddenly so intent on hurting him tonight, before he growled, rounding on her once more.
“Depressed ain’t the half of it, darlin’. Having you back…havin’ Laura…you both scare the shit out of me. You know how much easier, how much fucking easier it would have been had you just let me…” he stopped suddenly, unable, or perhaps just unwilling to finish the sentence.
“Say it,” she said, through tears.
“God, Marie,” he snarled, before ripping his gaze off her, staring instead at the dying fire in the hearth.
“Say it,” she growled again. He looked quietly back to her, before dropping down to sit on the couch once more, his head partially hanging in his hands.
“What? You thought this was going to be easy?” she asked bitterly, moving over to him, lifting his head up with her hand, bringing his eyes to meet hers. “Life never is. So…maybe we need to stop pretending. Stop all the little white lies, all the bitten lips and unsaid things. So here’s the truth,” she added, through silent, fresh tears.
“I know you’re dying,” she said blankly. “And I’m fucking terrified.”
At her words he snarled, and then his hands were clutching her waist hard as he pulled her impossibly close to him.
“You listen to me, woman,” he said, as he breathed into her neck. “You listenin’? I’m not sure what you’re playing at tonight, but I think you’re forgettin’ I lost you twice, Marie. Twice. You think I’m keen on losing you again? You don’t think I fucking know what’s happening to me? That I’m not fucking fighting like hell to hold onto the two of you?”
She was openly crying now, hot tears rolling down her cheeks as she stared at him.
“You know, it wasn’t you, not the you here, but I once told ya all the same that I’d take care of you. I made the same promise to Charles. And guess what? I fucking failed you both. You, starin’ at me through that portal, that poison pumping through you ‘cause of me and my stupidity…and then Charles in the back of that fucking truck, bleedin’ out, starin’ at me as his eyes went dark. Dark as dead stars.”
His hands were gripping her arms hard enough to leave bruises.
“And it’s not gonna happen again. At least, not yet,” he said bitterly. “Just because I have a fucking bad night or two. So take that mounting fear, that paranoia you have about me and shove it,” he growled, and then her eyes were wide as she stared at him unbelievingly for a moment, before he kissed her roughly and she was leaning into him, breathing him in, as he sharply bit her bottom lip in response.
“Fuck, Logan,” she breathed, as he easily lifted her up, standing as she straddled his waist.
“Where?” he asked gruffly, putting both strong hands on her ass to bring her even closer.
“Table,” she exhaled, and he was already swinging her around to the dining room, setting her body down on the hard surface, a couple of the mostly-empty glasses toppling over as he did so, uncaring as he tore her jeans off her. He growled, before sinking into her easily, unwilling and uninterested in readying her, preparing for the always impossibly tight fit of him inside her. It was punishment, perhaps. He knew why she had chosen the table, because now the large, floor length mirror on the far wall of the dining room threw their reflections back at them. He snarled as she gasped, closing her eyes in a mixture of pain and pleasure as she moaned hungrily and he clutched her wrists above her.
“You wanted to watch, then fucking watch,” he growled, as he moved to run his mouth over the fragile skin of her neck, forcing her head to the left, before yanking her sweater up over her body, running his thumbs over her nipples, pinching them hard, the touch of it bordering on abusive as he shoved into her deeper, her now-wet, tight heat cradling him completely.
“This enough for you?” he taunted from above.
“No,” she said sharply.
“You need more?” his tone was dark and rough.
“Yes,” she moaned.
“Selfish thing,” he breathed, after a particularly savage thrust inside her.
“The worst,” she exhaled. He rose to drink her in again, biting her lip roughly once more, this time making it bleed, and she growled approvingly in response.
“Like that,” she murmured, even as a hot tear rolled down her cheek. “Make it hurt.” And then he had a hand threaded in her hair, growling low in his throat as he pulled.
All the while, the mirror taunted them as Marie’s eyes locked with their reflection, even as their slick bodies met again and again as he rocked inside her, Marie whispering a steady stream of murmurs, pleading with him for something, nothing, everything. He held out as long as he could, but quickly he felt the pressure building within him.
“Fuck, darlin’,” he muttered. Heat. Need. All involuntary now, the pulse. Throbbing. Shaking. A hiss. A jolt. A sway. Cursing and bucking as he came violently and she took him in, took him all, her legs harboring him, sheltering him, her body, her sex, her heart, home.
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Author's Chapter Notes:
Oh lord I'm so behind on updating this on WAR. Just thought I would take the time to finish the upload!