Marie didn’t really feel nervous until she stepped into the cage and the door was swung shut behind her. Right up until that point her concern for Logan had outweighed everything else, her only thought when she saw him cooped up like a damn animal to get him out of there. As she eyed the man on the other side of the metal enclosure, however, misgivings began to bite at her. The tight black pants and bare chest were familiar enough from the one other time she had seen him fight, but the menace he exuded was new. Marie began to feel like a lamb who had wandered into the slaughterhouse. This wasn’t so much Logan as the Wolverine, and she knew just what he was capable of.

Marie had had to be physically restrained when the others had returned to the jet without Logan at Alkali Lake. At first she had feared that he was dead, but then reports had begun to reach the Mansion of a new weapon in Stryker’s arsenal: a predatory assasin with claws that could slice open a man with one blow. Clearly Logan had been more use to Stryker alive, and Marie could only guess at the damage being done to Logan’s psyche by the constant mind control he must be under. But Stryker had miscalculated in one important respect: Logan’s healing mutation had, as far as they could tell, warped the drug’s effects. He had broken Stryker’s control and escaped, taking out most of Stryker’s men in the process. Xavier had despatched a team to gather what information they could, but what they had discovered from the handful of surviving witnesses suggested that Logan had no idea who or what he was. He was consumed with pain and rage, a deadly anger that would be unleashed on anyone who crossed him. More recent reports from Xavier’s network of contacts revealed that Logan was back in Canada, earning a living with his fists again. As soon as they had a lock on him, Marie had begged Xavier to let her go, but he had been reluctant, especially as it seemed that Logan retained an intense hatred of other mutants, possibly a result of Styker’s intensive indoctrination. In the end she had resorted to sneaking out of the Mansion at night and hitching her way to Canada. It had seemed like a good idea at the time, and was nothing she hadn’t done before.

Viewing him now across the cage, Marie was forced to admit that Xavier and the others may have been right. The Professor had argued that they should delay any rescue attempt until Scott had returned. The loss of Jean had affected him particularly badly, and he had needed some time alone. Marie understood Xavier’s thinking, but no one had been able to tell her when Scott might return, and she couldn’t sit and wait any longer. Logan had been her friend and protector; he had saved her life at the risk of his own. How could she do any less? Besides, she was hopeful that, given their shared history, she was the one person who might be able to get through to Logan. Moreover, her power was the one weapon that had proven its effectiveness against the Wolverine’s formidable healing abilities. She had near enough killed him once before, so if he should prove difficult the plan was she would hang on long enough to render him harmless. Well, that was the plan. Getting into a fighting cage with him hadn’t exactly been on the agenda.

Aware of the whooping and catcalls from the crowded bar, Marie tried to focus on Logan, wishing there had been some other way to see him, but the manager had been adamant: if you wanted to tangle with the Wolverine then you took your chances in the cage. She had already watched him finish off two contenders with frightening swiftness and her courage had nearly failed her, but seeing Logan was what she had come for after all, and she was a fully-fledged member of the X-Men team now. Plus she hadn’t liked the goddamn smirk on the manager’s face one little bit.

Logan’s heaving chest was the only sign that he had been in a fight at all, the various blows he had received having no impact on his adamantium frame. His hair was a little longer and wilder than the last time she had seen him, but it still made her want to run her hands through it. Christ, she needed to get a grip! This wasn’t the Logan she knew, and even if it had been he wouldn’t have welcomed the sentiment. In recent years she had done her best to hide the evidence of a crush that showed no signs of fading, even attempting the semblance of a normal relationship with Bobby, but it had been doomed to failure. Even if her skin had been able to co-operate, her heart just wouldn’t, and when Logan had been captured she had abandoned the pretence and told Bobby that they had no future.

“I don’t fight little girls.” His words cut into her reverie, too low for the crowd to hear, but they gave Marie hope that the man she knew was still there, somewhere. Logan had his back to her, his upper body braced against the mesh of the cage, seemingly oblivious to the spectators calling to him only inches away. In one hand he held a tumbler full of whiskey, and as she watched he drained it then turned to face her, surveying her thoughtfully. Casually he threw the glass aside and placed a smouldering cigar between his teeth. The action was so familiar to Marie that for one instant she felt the urge to hurl herself into his arms, an urge that she rapidly suppressed.

“I’m tougher than I look, Sugar,” she drawled loud enough for their audience to hear. “You might wanna put that cigar out before we start.”

“Hell, I could take you with one hand behind my back, but where would be the fun?” He tossed the cigar out through the bars and strolled towards her, stopping just a foot away and regarding her through narrowed eyes. His gaze was deliberately insolent, lingering for too long on the curves of her body. Then his mouth quirked and he drew one finger down her cheek. Luckily for him, the contact was brief. “I like the leather. Did you wear it specially for me?”

For an instant Marie stopped breathing altogether, stunned by this unexpected turn of events and the physical sensation of another person’s flesh against hers. Logan had never looked at her this way, not even in her dreams. It was a timely reminder that the man before her was a stranger, and she dug her fingernails into her palms in an attempt to stop herself shaking.

“Logan, it’s me. It’s Marie, I…I’ve come to bring you home,” she whispered, seizing the chance to try to reach him.

As though a shutter had been drawn behind them his eyes turned a shade of liquid steel and his face hardened.

“I don’t know you, lady, and unless you’ve come here to fight I suggest you get outta the cage. Right now.”

“Please, Logan, you have to listen to me. I don’t know what Stryker’s done to you—“

Instantly a hand shot out and grabbed the front of her leather suit, effortlessly yanking her so that they were chest to chest. Marie heard the gasp of her own breath, and the crowd outside the cage began to jeer.

“Sweetheart, you are wastin’ my time. Go home before you hurt yourself.”

He shoved her away sharply and she staggered, a hot tide of humiliation sweeping over her. Why had she thought that she, of all people, could jog his memory? How dumb was she? She acknowledged that the smart thing to do now would be to get outta this fucking cage and return to the school, admit to Xavier that she had failed, and wait for the grown-ups to do the rescuing. Yup, that would be the smart thing to do. Unfortunately her brain seemed to be disconnected from her mouth. She glared at Logan’s retreating back and began to peel off her leather gloves.

“Jeez, Honey, have I frightened you?”

Logan halted in mid-stride and stiffened, the action doing interesting things to the muscles in his back. Then his head whipped round, his brows lowered and something that sounded like a growl contorting his lips. Slowly he turned until he was facing her again, but this time he looked seriously pissed. Strike one for Rogue.

“Are you still here?” His words were low but the threat was unmistakable. Marie felt sweat begin to bead her forehead but she swallowed the fear as best she could. She wasn’t a fool: she knew that she was no match for him in a fight. But she was in this up to her neck anyway, and she didn’t feel like running away. Not this time.

“Well, I don’t know ‘bout you but I came here for some action. Seems all you wanna do is talk. When do we get to the good stuff?”

In a heartbeat Logan crossed the space dividing them, his fist aiming for her chin. The patrons of the bar, who had evidently been wondering when the fun was going to begin, sent up a roar of approval. Marie saw it all happening in a blur and some detached part of her simply waited for the blow to fall, but at the last possible moment the hours of training she had been forced to endure kicked in. She ducked low and whirled away, at the same time sweeping out with her leg and having some small measure of satisfaction when her foot connected with his shin. It would have been more satisfying if it hadn’t hurt like hell. Note to self: kicking someone with metal-plated bones is not a good idea.

“Not bad for a little girl,” Logan snarled, stalking towards her, his grin distinctly wolfish, “why don’t you come closer?”

“No thanks, Grandma, your teeth are way too big.” Was that her voice? She actually sounded unconcerned. Dear Lord, the muscles in his arms were huge; if she let him close she was done for. Deciding that the only way to go was to keep him at a distance she backed off. He lunged for her again and she whipped away, keeping her eyes fixed on his face all the while. He was actually enjoying this, she realized sickly, ever the predator.

Slow minutes passed, and Marie knew that they were the worst of her life. The dance remained the same: Logan would stalk and then attack, while Marie avoided him as well as she could, thanking God that, while he had superior strength, she was the more nimble of the two. The critical question was how long she could continue to avoid him. Her practice sessions in the danger room hadn’t prepared her for this mind-numbing mental exhaustion, and unless she got closer to him there was no way she could use her mutation to overcome him. Her breath was coming in rasping pants now, sweat kept running into her eyes and her hair hung in lank wet clumps about her face. Logan looked like he had indulged in a spot of light gardening. She was finally reunited with the man of her dreams, but unfortunately the man of her dreams wanted nothing more than to beat her to a bloody pulp. Life sucked.

Suddenly she saw him coming at her again and tried to whirl away like before. This time she was too slow. His curled fist connected with the top of her arm and she heard a snap as fire consumed her flesh. She cried out involuntarily and was rewarded with a look of sheer triumph, then Logan turned away and raised his hands in the air to the screams of the spectators. Staggering to the edge of the cage she knelt and puked through the bars, grimly satisfied when a few outraged gawpers got splattered. As she sat slumped on the floor she watched the Wolverine advancing and sheer willpower forced her to her feet, her broken arm hanging uselessly at her side. She wiped the back of her hand across her mouth and faced him belligerently, grimly enjoying the look of incredulity that crossed his features.

“You think this is over, Wolverine?” She refused to call him Logan. Logan would have ripped apart anyone who hurt her. Logan had been possibly the best friend she’d ever had, and she owed it to him to give this her all.

“You gotta be kiddin’ me.” He shook his head and looked down at the ground. “Give it up, darlin’. We’re done here.”

“And I heard you were so hard on mutants.” She knew she was taking a chance admitting such a thing in a public place, but the only way she was leaving this damn cage was with Logan. Somehow she had to goad him into a response and get him into a position where she could grab some flesh, and by all accounts a mutant was the one thing guaranteed to make him go crazy. The floor of the cage was heaving up and down, pain and adrenalin making her vision go fuzzy, but even so she knew the moment her words hit home. If she had thought him menacing before she knew better now. His eyes assumed a silver sheen that didn’t seem human, and as he advanced his claws slid from his clenched fists, extending to their full length with a metallic *shing* .

Those closest to the cage who had heard their exchange began to whoop and cheer, chanting ‘Mutant, Mutant’, and Marie realized with bewilderment that this was clearly not the first time they had watched the Wolverine’s own personal solution to the Mutant problem. The chant spread, and soon the audience were a sea of raised fists punching the air, the blatant hostility almost a physical thing in the stuffy confines of the bar. If she had looked for any kind of help if things got out of hand then that hope was gone now; to them she was no longer a young woman but a mutant: a different breed entirely.

“Like the claws?” he sneered, prowling closer as she backed away nervously, “I keep them for scum just like you, pretty thing.”

“Does that make me special?” she replied, but as a snappy retort it was ruined by the terror in her voice. Her back was against the bars now. There was no place to go.

He attacked with deadly swiftness and she leapt to one side, avoiding the claws but her own momentum throwing her to the ground. He aimed a savage kick at her stomach and seemed satisfied when she screamed, striding away a few paces and cracking his neck. As he did so she saw the mark, like a cigarette burn, on his nape where Stryker had applied his drug. The fact that it still hadn’t healed said a lot about its potency, and in that second all her anger and fear drained away. If she could spare him any more of this waking nightmare then she would, even if that meant risking her own life. She just fervently hoped that if she touched him she could drain the dregs of poison out of his system. As he turned and walked back towards her she hauled herself to her feet and managed a shaky grin.

“Come on, sugar, show me what you’ve got,” she muttered just loud enough for him to hear.

His face was blazing with hatred, but when he approached she didn’t flinch, and this time she didn’t try to evade the blow that she knew would kill her. He slammed his fist into her chest, his claws slicing through the leather and burying themselves deep into her flesh, and even as she gasped in pain she welcomed the icy caress. They stood swaying eye to eye, as intimate as lovers, and Marie slowly raised her hand and laid it against his face, touching the warmth of his skin and the prickle of stubble.

“Anything about this strike you as familiar?” she managed to choke as she felt the first surges of his life-force begin to flow into her.

At the edge of her vision she saw a sweeping red light cutting through the dingy interior of the bar, heard cries of outrage and an unexpected rumble of thunder, but she seemed unable to tear her gaze from Logan. She watched the blood bulge in his veins, his features start to contort in agony, then with a sigh she fell to the floor and the contact was broken.

***

Logan sat by the side of her bed and tried to keep his eyes open. How long had he been awake now? Somewhere over 36 hours; he had stopped counting. Scott had tried to persuade him to take a break, but there was no way in hell he was leaving the medlab until she had regained conciousness. The bleeping of the heart monitor, which had annoyed the fuck out of him at first, was now almost soothing, and he jerked his head impatiently as he caught himself drifting off, sat up straighter and rubbed his eyes.

His first thought when he had come round had been to kill himself. Well, kinda. He hadn’t needed the others to tell him what had happened, he could replay it in his own memory in glorious technicolour any time he wanted. Amnesia would have been a blessing in comparison. Marie had come to that bar to rescue him, and in return the monster he had become had beaten her almost to death then stabbed her in the chest three times.

The fact it had only taken one blow was besides the point.

When he had woken up to see her lying beside him, hooked up to those machines and as white as a ghost, he had gone a little beserk. One dose of sedation and a hefty lecture from the Professor later and he was forced to agree that tearing the place apart wouldn’t help matters, but he was determined to give her his powers so that she could heal herself. Apparently that was also a bad idea: Logan himself was still too weak from his last contact with her skin to do her any good, and it would in all probability kill him. Still seemed like a damn fine plan, until Ororo called him a selfish jerk and explained, with a lot of unnecessary finger-pointing, that Rogue might just be a little pissed to save Logan only to have him kill himself at the first opportunity. Huh. Besides, she had emphasised, Marie was going to be fine. It would just take a little time, but her body would mend the old-fashioned way.

Thank God Marie had held on just long enough in the cage to absorb a little of his mutation, otherwise the cavalry would have arrived too late, he acknowledged as he picked up her hand, his own encased in leather gloves. He had rarely seen her hands without their protective covering, and it made him sick to his stomach to see how small and slender they were. What the hell had she been thinking, taking him on like that? She was half his size, and the bruises mottling her arms and torso were testimony to the inequality of the fight. Self-loathing rose within him, but he squashed it, determined to focus on Marie at this moment rather than his own need to punish himself. To his own shame, he was almost scared of facing her when she did wake up. Scared of her potential reaction to the man who had almost killed her. Again. Logan was so used to seeing shy adoration in her face when she gazed at him that the idea of seeing only hatred or, worse, fear felt like a fist twisting his guts. He ran one gloved finger across the contours of her face and then dropped the lightest of kisses on her lips.

Ororo had been right. He was a selfish jerk. He was also possibly the stupidest man on the planet, because he had only realised just how much he loved Marie when he had totally fucked everything up.

***

The first thing Marie became aware of was a blinding white light, and she quickly closed her eyes against the glare.

The next was the pain that suffused her whole body. What the hell was going on? Slowly the world swam into focus. She was in the lab under the school; she recognised it at once. She had spent enough time there waiting for Logan to recover after he had saved her life on the Statue of Liberty, had hoped that she would never have to see the fuckin’ place again. Her throat was sandpaper raw, her arm was throbbing like crazy and she felt like she’d been beaten black and blue.

Oh yeah. That was pretty much what had happened.

For endless moments she remained as she was, staring up at the ceiling light. Breathing normally seemed to be a problem, the air wheezing from her lungs reluctantly, but she could still wiggle her toes so it wasn’t all bad news. Tentatively she lowered her chin until she could see the bandages wrapped around her chest and the cast on her arm. No surprises there. She moved her head carefully to the side and her eyes landed with a thump of joy on Logan. He was slumped over almost double in a high-backed chair drawn up close to her bed, and he looked like shit. He was also, she realised incredulously, snoring like a freight train. It was a wonder she hadn’t woken before.

Marie licked her lips and tried to push herself into a sitting position. Big mistake. The pain lancing through her chest forced a gasp from her, and Logan came to with a start, leaping out of the chair and instantly alert. His gaze riveted on her and he stilled, dropping his arms to his sides, his fists curled. His mouth opened but nothing came out, and she decided to put him out of his misery.

“Hey Logan.”

“Hey Marie,” he responded gruffly.

“So you’re back then, huh? I sure did miss you.”

“You did?” His voice was filled with so much pain that she had to swallow a lump in her throat, but she tried to keep her voice light.

“Uhuh. Ran into this mean sonovabitch in a bar. Could have used your help. Don’t stay away so long next time willya?”

“There’s not going to be a next time,” he bit our grimly, leaning over the bed and caging her within his braced arms, “’cause I’m never letting you out of my sight again. You got that, brat? As soon as you’re well enough to move you’re coming straight to my room and I may not let you out for days, weeks--months even.” He stopped and blew out a breath, his eyes seemingly hooked on the swathe of bandages wrapped around her upper body, and when he raised his head again it was etched with self-condemnation. “If you can even bear to look at me, Marie.”

In answer Marie smiled up into his face, breathing chokily, “It sounds wonderful.”

Logan stared hungrily down at her for a second, and then her heart faltered as he took her mouth in a searing kiss that sent tingles right to the tip of her toes, even before she felt her skin begin to exert itself. His tongue swept her lips, explored every hollow of her mouth, and when she began to pull away he put his hand behind her head, pinning her ruthlessly in place. Marie became frantic as she felt her body start to absorb his mutation, but Logan wouldn’t release her, and she screamed in frustration, the sound muffled by his mouth. Only when her body had sufficiently repaired itself to enable her to push him away forcibly did their lips break apart, and Logan slid to the floor.

“Logan!” she cried, scrambling off the bed and dropping down beside him, “Logan, are you okay?”

To her relief not only was he concious but there was even the trace of a smile on his lips. “Hey,” he slurred, “I think I’m getting used to this. It hardly even hurt that time.”

“Logan, what the hell were you thinking?”

“I was thinking that I couldn’t wait until you were better to have you in my room, Marie. I’m not a patient man.” Even sprawled on the floor of the medlab like a ragdoll his arrogance was astounding. And kind of endearing. “Now tell me you love me.”

“I love you Logan,” she replied truthfully, reaching out to caress his hair, “But now I have a cast on my arm that I don’t need.”

“No problem, honey.” He snapped a claw and swifly despatched the cast, then cradled her head in his hands. “I love you, Marie. Just give me a minute and I’ll prove it to you.”

“No proof necessary, sugar,” Marie whispered, hardly daring to believe her dreams were finally being realised. In the damn medlab of all places. “But what about my skin?”

“Don’t you worry about that, Marie. I’ve been thinkin’ up ways to touch you even before I knew how I felt about you. Guess I’m just a lecherous bastard.” He wiggled his eyebrows at her wickedly, and the warmth kindled by his kiss began to suffuse her whole body.

Biting her lip she said nonchalantly, “Hope it makes up for the snoring, then.”

“Snoring?” The indignation in his tone forced her latent grin to the surface. “What the--? Honey, there is no way I snore.”

“I heard you, clear as a bell and twice as loud.”

“It’s that goddamned chair,” he growled, scowling at the offending piece of furniture.

“Uhuh. Sure. I believe you.”

“Well, sweetheart, I guess there’s only one way you’re going to know for sure now, isn’t there?” He hauled himself to his feet and suddenly scooped her up into his arms, making her squeal. “Might take a lot of nights to convince you, though.”

He strode to the door of the lab and manoeuvred through it effortlessly. It swung shut behind them, only the echo of their laughter lingering in the empty room.



The End