xp_logs | [log] Marie and Logan: Fighting fair.

Monday night, short tempers and insecurity and stress combine for a brief flare up. Following this post.

Fighting tears, Marie slammed her laptop shut and stood up so fast that her computer chair went skittering backwards. "I /hate/ you," she said to it. She made it to her bed before dissolving into tears. "I hate /me/."

"I'm not discussing this here."

Logan pushed away from the desk, storming out of the room, his door crashing into the frame as it closed behind him. He stalked down the stairs and stood breathing outside her door for a long time before he knocked.

The knock at the door was unmistakeably Logan's. Marie threw aside the pillow she'd been hugging and crossed the room to fling the door open and glare at him through her tears. "I'm not discussing it here either." She had intended to slam the door on him but couldn't do it, anger warring with her fear and the desire to bury her head in his shoulder and sob. Instead, she stood there feeling shakey and uncertain, trying not to cry and having too many contradictory things to say to say anything at all.

He growled quietly, low enough that it could barely be heard. He was angry at himself, at her, and at the world in general. "Yes, you are." He put himself in the path of the door.

"There's nothing to discuss, is there?" She let go of the door and turned her back on him, pulling at handfuls of her hair. "I'm obviously the one with the problem." A sob escaped her and she hated herself for being emotional, for not being able to let it all go. "Not mature enough to cope, apparently."

His growl got a little louder; he walked inside and closed the door with a very careful, very precise click. "There sure as hell /is/ somethin' t'discuss." He walked up behind her and wrapped his hand around her wrist; he was still wearing gloves from his earlier practice with staves in the Danger Room.

Marie turned slowly and looked up at him, his leather-clad grip on her arm strangely reassuring, steadying her against the shakes that she was struggling to suppress. "You tell me then," she said in a low voice.

"I'm /not/ hidin' anythin' from you," he growled. "If you don't know that, we need to talk about /why/ y'don't." He clenched his teeth. "'Cause I don't know how y'missed it."

"Not /now/... not now." She dragged in a deep breath, forced herself to keep her eyes on his. "But some time... I don't know when. I don't know who." -God. I'm horrible.- Guilt gripped her and made her stomach tighten painfully.

The anger washed away, replaced by guilt. "No one. Not now, not ever." He closed his eyes, then forced them open again. "I said I wasn't goin' anywhere. I meant it. It's not changin'."

"It's too /good/." Marie's knees were weak suddenly and only his grip and her pride kept her up. "I can't lose this... I can't do that again. I can't see that again. I don't... I don't care who... I don't care why. I just. I want to know before I see it."

"Y're not losin' this." He squeezed her wrist, just a little. "D'you think I wanna lose this? I've been waitin' almost a /year/ to be able t'touch you."

She stared at him, working over the math in her head, not quite comprehending. "...almost a year. You never said anything." She fought down her tears and forced herself to stand straight, chin up. "I spent so long thinking you didn't want me. And then..." She left the rest unsaid and shook her head. Wisps of dark and white hair clung to her damp cheeks. "It's sudden for me."

He nodded, his eyes tight and sad. "I know. I didn't..." He sighed. "It woulda changed you," he repeated, an assertion from an earlier conversation. "It does anyway, but I can't take it back. I won't."

"Don't. Ever." She reached for him with her free hand. "Don't be sorry for making me happy."

He shook his head. "I'm not. Just sorry for makin' y'sad. F'losing your trust."

Marie wound her fingers in his hair and pulled him to her, resting her head on his shoulder. "We'll get it back. We've got a long time."