[log] Marie and Logan, aftermath from Saturday night.

[x-rogue.livejournal.com]

Around 2:15pm Sunday.


Marie was airborne again, being swept away from the Blackbird. She couldn't fly anymore. There was nothing but blue air too thin to breathe and the realization that any moment now she was going to begin to fall and there was nothing she could do about it.

She woke up with a jerk, sitting up in bed, gasping for air. The clock beside her bed read 2:15pm. -One nightmare every twenty minutes,- she thought wearily, covering her face with cold, bare hands. -I can't sleep.- She got out of bed and pulled a sweatshirt on, tugging the sleeves down over her hands. She didn't bother with the stairs down to the basement; she just swung over the railing and let herself fall into the opening that went all the way down, fighting back the fear of finding she couldn't fly.

Logan's claws tore through the flesh of his opponent, ripping at skin and muscle and bone, but as the adamantium blades pulled away, the flesh healed itself. He was bleeding and sore; he'd been fighting for hours, now, getting nowhere. His opponent was too fierce -- too /vicious/ -- for him to dispatch easily.

His breath came in short, pained gasps, but his eyes were filled with determination and /need/. He /needed/ this, and he'd thrown himself into it with abandon, knowing it was the only way he'd find any peace.

Marie knew where he was. She read the settings on the Danger Room and knew that it could only be him in there. A voice in the back of her head told her not to disturb him and she silenced it angrily, her nails ticking on the keypad as she shut the program down.

Logan felt adamantium daggers pierce his right shoulder, pushing deep, and then they were /gone/. He dropped to his knees, groaning in pain as his shoulder healed. The room flickered and fell back into place, bare metallic walls taking the place of the laboratory he'd just been in.

The doors slid open and she stepped in, taking in the blood spattered all over the floor and walls with numb curiosity. Logan's ragged breathing was the only sound until she spoke. "I can't sleep." She stood in the doorway, white faced and dark eyed, arms wrapped tightly around herself.

He looked up at her. She seemed ethereal, really, with her too-pale skin and red-rimmed eyes. He spat a mouthful of blood out onto the floor. "I'm sorry. Can I.. Do you.." He stopped, not knowing how to continue.

"I miss you."

It felt strange to say. Where had he gone that he hadn't been all this time and how could he feel farther away than he did when he was across the sea? Still, it was the bare truth, as little sense as it might make.

He looked at the floor. "I miss you, too." And it was entirely his own fault. He felt as though he'd wounded one of his pack and had been turned out, turned against. He felt more alone than he'd felt when he /was/ alone. It was a sobering thought.

She walked to stand in front of him, her bare feet tracking his blood across the floor. "Stand up." It was half-plea, half-order. "I need you. I can't sleep."

He pushed himself to his feet, wiping blood from his hands onto his sweatpants. "Whatever you need," he promised again, meeting her eyes.

Marie held her arms out to him like a child. "I want it to be better," she said hollowly, no tears coming anymore.

He wrapped her up in his arms, getting blood all over her clothing. "Me, too." He stroked her hair with one hand. "I'm so sorry."

She clung to him, careless of the dampness soaking into her old jeans and sweatshirt. "Can I sleep in your room?" Her voice sounded small and lost against him. -I'm too tired to be angry anymore.-

He pushed away the hope that swelled at the idea that she might forgive him and nodded. "'Course you can."

"I'm so tired." It occured to her that she hadn't eaten since lunch the day before but her stomach was too knotted to consider it. All she wanted was to sleep and hold onto the illusion that if she did, she would wake and it would all be easier. "Will you come too?"

"I." He tucked his face down into her shoulder for a moment, taking a deep breath, breathing in her scent. Maybe while she was sleeping he could pretend that everything was okay. Maybe that would make it easier. Maybe. "Yes."

The last of the tension that was holding Marie together started to unravel so quickly that she was dizzy and trembling with relief. "I keep falling," she said softly. "Out of the plane. And I can't fly. I can't sleep."

He could see exactly what she was talking about in his mind. He'd had a nightmare or two about that moment, himself. What if Kurt hadn't been there? Would Jean have pulled it together enough to save her? Or would she have died? "You /can/ fly," he promised. "You'll be okay."

She hung onto him tightly. "I want to be." His warmth and presence were already lulling her into drowsiness. The blood didn't bother her, even though she could feel it on her skin and the smell of it and his sweat filled her head. It was him, just more proof of his proximity and reality.

"You will," he said, and he believed that. Even if she never forgave him, she'd survive, she'd be okay, because she was strong. He scooped her up in his arms. "C'mon, let's get you upstairs."

For a moment, everything felt right again. She was safe and loved and held as though nothing had ever been broken, just then. Marie pushed everything else out of her head and let the feeling linger without qualification. "I love you." It was true and it overrode and underlay everything else between them, even her anger and pain.

"I love you, too." She was his family, his pack. Their relationship had always been layered and complex, but that one simple feeling mattered more than anything else. He carried her out of the Danger Room and up the back stairs. It wouldn't do for anyone to see them like this, with her half-unconscious and both of them covered in blood.

Marie was sound asleep before Logan got her to his room, her arms around his neck and her head on his shoulder.

He laid her down on the bed, careful not to wake her. Tucking her in beneath the sheet, he curled up on top of the sheet, spooning behind her. Every breath he took filled him with the knowledge that she was /there/ and she was safe and with the possibility that things might just be okay. Someday.