Older'n God and Twice as Grumpy

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Logan returns from the mission Sunday afternoon, debriefs with Xavier, then heads up to his suite. He sends Marie an email, letting her know he's home.

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Hey,
I'm home. Come upstairs if you want to talk?
--Logan
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Logan hears footsteps in the hall and a strange sort of bouncing. He's just turning toward the door when the knocking starts. "C'mon in, Marie," he says, just loud enough to be heard in the hall.

He's already curled up in his armchair, flipping through file folders with no identifying markings, making thoughtful grunting noises. Marie's arrival prompts him to put the files down, but his gaze strays to them while he asks her to come in.

Marie opens the door and steps in, closing it behind her and leaning on it, her eyes searching his face. "Hi." She's a little breathless, a small smile on her face. "How'd it go?"

"Bloody," he says, grinning. "But informative." He crawls out of the chair and walks toward her, opening his arms enough that she can step into them if she wants. "Miss me?"

She bounces into his arms and wraps hers around his waist, pressing her cheek into his shoulder. "Yes. And I worried." Her voice is muffled in his shirt. "Just a little."

He hugs her tightly. "Don't worry about me. I'm a survivor, remember?" He slowly relaxes his hold on her. "Did you have a good weekend?"

"Yes," she snuggles against him happily. "But it was boring. Tell me about what you did... what you can, I mean." She lets him go reluctantly.

He grins and tugs on a lock of her hair. "We got more of Stryker's men. Mostly research, with some pure muscle around, too, for guards."

"Details?" She sprawls in 'her' chair, legs over one arm, back against the other. She glances at the files, but says nothing about them.

He curls up in his chair, legs underneath him. "Well, there were a lot of bodies when we left, but mostly what we went in for -- what /I/ went in for -- was information."

She shifts a little so she can look at him easily, radiating contentment. "Did you find anything good?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I did. I should be able to figure out what they did to me, from the records of what they did to Yuriko..." He glances at the files on the table. "And apparently I'm older'n god."

Her face becomes more serious. "Are you doing okay with what you're finding?" she asks quietly.

Logan looks at the files for a long moment. "I think I am. I mean, it's not /great/ news, but it's good to /know/." He looks at her to see if she understands.

She nods, biting her lip a little. "It gonna come back and bite you on the ass, you think? Or is it just how it is?"

"Probably both," he replies, unconcerned. "But I'm not gonna worry about it. Not yet." His lips curl into a grin. "Maybe later."

She smiles at him. "You have time, don't you? So. How old is older than god, anyway?"

He smirks. "A hundred fifty. About. They couldn't be more specific than that. Something about the tests proving 'inconclusive'."

She blinks but recovers quickly. "Wow. I guess that puts a whole new spin on the May-December concept. More like, what... Cenozoic-Mesozoic." Her grin is impish. "So, Grampa, anything else you want to share?"

He mock-frowns at her, then his expression turns more serious. "Marie...last Tuesday." He stops, thinking.

Her expression is puzzled at first and then the day clicks with her memories. "Oh," she says, wrinkling her nose. "What?"

"When I healed, there were patterns on my arms," he says, watching her face.

Her face bleaches and she sits upright, eyes wide and dark. "Oh.. God. You.. God, I thought you didn't notice." She's flooded with fear and she lurches to her feet, wrapping her arms around herself, ducking her head to let her hair fall in a veil around her face as she turns away. "I'm sorry," she says, almost inaudibly.

He stands quickly, just behind her, and touches her shoulder. "Marie. It's okay. Just...what's going on? Why are you doing that to yourself? Is it..." He stops, then starts again. "Is it something I did?"

"No!" She spins around to look up at him with glittering, dry eyes. "No... I just. Sometimes, it just needs doing, Logan." She rubs at her arms. "I don't expect you to understand. It was the best I could do at the time."

He draws his hand down from her shoulder to curl around her arm. "I don't understand. You're right. But..." His eyes are pinched and filled with worry.

"But what?" She draws in a tremulous breath and straightens. "What do you want to know?"

"Nothing, unless you want to tell me." He shakes his head slowly. "I won't push. I just wanted you to know that I'm worried, I guess."

She laughs, short and bitter. "It's not the first time. But then again..." She pulls her gloves off to reveal her white, flawless forearms, turning them so that the pale veins are facing up. "I used to be quite the work of art. See, someone keeps healing me." She pulls up her shirt and pulls down the waist band of her jeans to display the unmarked skin of her belly as well. "Not a mark left anymore. I felt a little guilty when I started again, you making it all perfect for me and me ruining it..." She catches her breath and starts turning her gloves back right side out. "It helps. That's all."

He touches her hair, petting. "I'm sorry."

"Why?" She pulls her gloves on with short, angry jerks. "What did you do? You didn't make me this way."

"No, I didn't. But I'm still sorry that I can't help." Logan's voice is filled with tension.

"Me too." She leans her forehead on his chest. "Me too. You fix almost everything, though." Her voice trembles. "Are you mad at me?"

"No," he says, curling his arms around her back. "No. I'm not mad at you."

"Good. I... It just helps," she says softly, melting against him. "When everything else hurts."

"I don't want you to hurt like that," he murmurs. "I don't want you to have to do things like that to yourself."

She tries to keep the tears out of her voice. "It's better than the alternative," she says.

"Yes," he says, finally realising what she's been saying all this time. "It is. But I wish there was more I could do..." He hugs her more tightly.

"You help." She hugs him back as tightly as she can. "You're one of my good things. Top of my list of reasons. You fix more than you'll ever know. I don't say it because I don't want to tie you down, you know, but it's true."

"Just. Next time? Talk to me instead, okay?" He rubs rough hands over her back. "Or, well, try talking to me. See if it helps. No matter what I'm doing, no matter where I am. If it doesn't help..." He shrugs; the answer to that is obvious. More scrollwork.

"I will." She nod, rubbing her face against his shirt front. "I promise. I was... I was doing good. It just... blew up in my face, that's all. I mean, it doesn't hurt anyone else, so it makes sense. Wouldn't you hate this skin, too?"

"Yeah," he says quietly. "Yeah, I guess I would." His hand skims the back of her head, stroking her hair.

"Thanks." She sighs. "I was... I thought you'd not noticed. I panicked when I was in the shower, when I took off the bandages and saw everything was gone, but then you didn't say anything."

"I didn't know what to say," he admits. "I didn't realise what they were until later, and then I didn't know what to say or how to say it."

"I understand," she says quietly. "I'm... I'll talk to you first next time. I will."

"Thank you," he says, and he means it. He knows that's all he can ask.

She looks up at him with a pale and solemn face. "Are we still good?"

He nods, then brushes a kiss over her hair. "We're good."

"Okay." She nods seriously. "Everything's going to be alright then. Now. You. Files... or did you want something to eat? I could go make you something."

"I grabbed one of the leftover burgers from the barbecue before I came upstairs," he assures her. "But thank you." After a pause, "Have you eaten? D'you want to make something and bring it up here?"

"Not recently," she admits. "And I'd offer to help with your files, but I think you're going to want to go over every one of them yourself, so... at the least I can get you some coffee or a beer or something while you work. If you're hungry, I could definitely dig us up something."

"Coffee, I think," he says, loosening his hold on her again. His kitchenette is empty, completely unstocked. He should fix that, sometime. "If you want to sit up here and eat while I read, that'd be fine by me."

"Sure." She reaches up and takes his face in her hands, pulling him down and standing on her toes to brush a kiss across his cheek, her lips skimming the stubble. "I'm glad you're home." Her pale sadness melts as fast it came and she gives him a brilliant smile. "I'll be back soon."

He smiles at her, happy that she's not sad anymore. "I'm glad I'm home, too." He settles down in the chair again, flipping open the files and waiting for her to come back.