Everything had changed.
Things hadn't been the same after the Professor had died. Of course they hadn't, he had been the heart and soul of this place.
But ever since Jean had died – since Logan had killed her – things had become even worse.
Not that I hadn't expected that. I just hadn't had any idea of just how bad it would be.

People were walking around with pale, anxious faces, always looking over their shoulders and seeming tense. They had all seen danger and they had seen war. War that had taken its toll on members of our team, on people we had looked up to.

Of course I had little or no right to be scared or traumatized, according to most of the others. After all, I was the traitor. I hadn't been there, I hadn't fought with them. I had been standing in line for the cure.
I had picked a normal life over this one and I hadn't taken a stand with the other mutants when they would have needed me to.

Even though I wasn't the one in the greatest pain because of Jean's death, I was still sad. I could have used a shoulder to cry on every now and then...or maybe just someone to talk.
Because it wasn't only about war or about death for me. I had been hoping for a better life after taking the cure, had expected everything to suddenly be okay because I could touch people again. That had been pretty damn stupid and I knew it now.

Instead of being “normal”, I was now an outcast among outcasts. I was living with a house full of mutants and I wasn't one anymore. I was isolated in a way that I didn't even know was possible. I used to be a bit of an outsider because of my skin, because people were scared of me. But then again, they all had their special abilities and it was something they could get used to.

But now...nobody even knew how to treat me. I gave up on trying to get close to people and just hid in my room and behind the walls I had built around myself.
I was just a regular girl, I didn't belong at Mutant High.
What was I even doing here anymore?
That seemed to be the question a lot of people were asking themselves.
And quite honestly, I didn't know why I had stayed at the Mansion. Maybe it was just that I had no other place to go. This was my home now. I didn't want to go back to my parents' house and I didn't want to travel on my own again.

Another reason for staying; one that I didn't like to admit to myself, was Logan.
It's not that he made me feel better or anything. As a matter of fact, what we had now was just a faint echo of the deep friendship we had shared some time ago. Just like me, he had cut himself off from the rest of the world.

He couldn't deal with what he had done, that he had killed the woman he loved. I flinched at that thought. Had he really loved her? I couldn't be sure and it didn't matter anymore. The fact was that he had killed someone he had cared about and nobody would be able to cope with that very well.

Sometimes, Logan disappeared for days without saying goodbye. Every time I wondered if this was going to be the end; if this meant that he was gone for good.
But he always returned. He couldn't leave this place, very much like I couldn't. After all, he had nowhere else to go either.



~x~x~x~



One night, when I saw Logan walk out the door and towards the garage, I did something that reminded me of the old days when we had first met. I hid in the trunk of Scott's car that Logan was driving now.

I'm not sure why I did it. Maybe because I wanted to know what he did when he was on his own. Maybe because I thought that wherever he went was a place that could help me feel better as well. Or maybe because I knew he needed a friend, even if he pushed everyone away.

Logan was broken, nothing more than the shadow of who he used to be and it tore my heart apart to see him like that. He rarely talked to anyone, even to me, and if he did, he always sounded tired. There was a pain in his eyes that caused me physical pain, so I never looked into his eyes anymore.

But I was the only one who could help him, if anyone could. And he was the only one who understood me and could make me feel better. Someone had to take the first step and maybe things would get a little more bearable for both of us. I really hoped they would.


We drove for over and hour and I was about to scream out for Logan to stop and let me get out a couple of times. He drove at break-neck speed, taking narrow turns and bumpy roads. He didn't seem to care if he got into an accident or anything; he would heal and the car was expendable.

For some reason, that made me sad. Just because he quickly recovered from injuries, it didn't mean they didn't hurt him like they would hurt anyone else. And thinking he wouldn't mind the pain, would probably even welcome it, broke my heart all over again. If only there was something I could say to him to make this stop.

Once Logan had parked the car and I was sure he had left and wasn't coming back, I opened the trunk door and climbed out, groaning. Every bone in my body hurt and I was sure I would have a few bruises as well. I considered taking the bus for the way back.

I found myself in the dirty parking lot of a shabby-looking bar named Memory. A few other cars and various motorbikes were parked near the small building and I saw two bulky men walking out the door. I was really glad that Logan was around because despite my time spent on the street and experience with shady bars and motels, I was still a tiny bit scared of places like this one.

I showed my ID and quickly found myself a place to sit on a small couch in a corner. I didn't want Logan to spot me right away, I wanted to see what he was doing here first. It seemed obvious, with this place being a bar, but there had to be something more to it. He could have a drink at a place closer to the mansion or just go out to the liquor store. Plus driving here didn't take three or four days, which was the amount of time he was usually gone for.

I ordered a beer and closely watched the people in the bar. Anticipation was in the air. The place got more crowded by the minute and about half an hour after I had arrived, it was practically bursting. I was suspecting where this was leading and an uncomfortable feeling manifested at the pit of my stomach.

My assumptions were confirmed when the bartender opened two grand doors in the back of the club and revealed a huge cage. Of course. Beating up other people had always been Logan's way to deal with pain. Or loneliness. Or any other emotion for that matter.

When I got up and made my way through the crowd, it wasn't a conscious decision. My legs were moving on their own, carrying me all the way to the cage. I ducked behind a bunch of large men so Logan wouldn't see me.

A tiny man stepped into the cage and announced the first fighters to be someone named The Destructor and...Wolverine. His name sent a wave of nausea through my body and I groaned in discomfort, squeezing my eyes shut and breathing heavily. I wasn't sure whether I was ready to see this.

But before I could even think about leaving, I saw Logan enter the cage. The crowd was screaming and stomping and I knew I couldn't go. He had an empty expression in his eyes, like he wasn't really aware of where he was or what he was doing. The pain was gone but this emptiness seemed even worse in some ways.

“Logan,” I whispered. “Don't.”

Of course he couldn't hear me, but I needed to hear myself.

“Logan, Logan, Logan......come back to me.”

I watched his opponent enter the cage, a tall man in a black band shirt with short blond spiky hair. He looked slightly uncomfortable for a moment before he seemed to get a grip on himself and showed off his muscles to the spectators.

Logan was looking at him from a distance but didn't seem to really see anything. He was just staring into space, lost in his own world.

The announcer screamed and the fight started. Logan didn't move or show any kind of reaction. The blond man launched himself at him, beating his face hard and shoving his knee into Logan's stomach.
He still wasn't moving.

An emotion I couldn't quite make out flickered across his face before he took the next hit. And the next. Logan let his opponent beat and kick him until he was on the floor, gasping and shaking.

I wanted to look away or close my eyes, but I couldn't. I could only imagine in how much pain he had to be right now and it made me feel sick. I wanted to cry and scream and just do something, anything, to make this stop.

Without thinking, I pushed myself forward through the rows of people until I was standing right in front of the cage of which the floor was a good 4 feet higher than the rest of the room.

I wrapped my fingers around two of the thick metal bars and pressed my face against the cage. Logan was still on the floor, his face not very far away from mine now.

I whispered his name and he weakly lifted his head to look at me.
Emptiness.
I couldn't even be sure he recognized me. He seemed to far gone to register anything right now, not far away from blacking out.

Briefly wondering how a human could even harm him to this degree, I took a closer look at his opponent. His skin had an unnatural tone of yellow-ish, his eyes black.
Of course. He was a mutant. This was a bar for mutant cage fights.

“Logan,” I whispered again, my fingers cramping around the bars of the cage.

So this was what he wanted. Pain, and as much of it as possible. Getting beat up by regular people wouldn't do, he needed more than that, it had to be mutants now. That was probably why he always stayed away for multiple days. Even with his healing ability, Logan needed some time to recover from these sorts of fights.

Tears were burning in my eyes now and I had to concentrate very hard in order not to let the current of emotions pull me under. I had to stay on top. For him.

Finally, Logan seemed to notice me and his mouth opened slightly, blood dripping out.

“Marie....”
His voice broke and he had to take a moment to focus.
“Go away.”

“No!” I gasped, pressing my face closer to the metal bars, closer to him.

“Go. The. Fuck. Away,” he growled at me, seconds before he took another kick to his stomach and his eyes closed.


I was unable to move for a few seconds, watching in horror how the other mutant in the cage roared in victory and urged the crowd on to cheer for him, while two employees picked up Logan's limp body and carried him out of the cage.

Finally, I managed to control my legs enough to squeeze my way through the crowd, following the two men to the door of what looked like a storage room.

I hid behind a corner until they came out again and then quickly slipped through the door before it could fall shut.

Logan was lying on an old leather couch, his chest slowly moving with deep breaths. I rushed to his side and knelt down before the sofa, taking his hand in mine and pressing my forehead into his side.

“I'm here,” I whispered breathlessly, even though I knew he couldn't hear me.

Silent tears were now rolling down my cheeks and I felt my body shake uncontrollably.

I stayed in that position for a while, crying and talking and thinking.

He didn't need to explain anything to me. I understood this all too well, which made it hurt even more. The need to feel pain, to drown everything out...I felt it too, everyone probably did sometimes. It was part of the grief, the trauma...but we had all dealt with it in other ways.

And what Logan was doing...I didn't even find the words. It made my heart ache for him and I wanted to help him so badly that it almost tore me apart.

How could I not have done this earlier? How could I have let him exist in so much pain without ever trying to understand or talk to him?

I quickly pushed those thoughts out of my mind. Guilt wouldn't serve for anything right now.

Everybody had been busy dealing with their own issues; grieving and coping in their own ways. Nobody had really had time or energy to be a big help for others. And Logan wasn't one to ask for emotional support, or any kind of support really, so it was easy to just ignore his suffering. A pretty big part of him wanted it that way.

Logan opened his eyes with a groan and tried to sit up on the couch, when he noticed my hands holding on to his and my head on his chest.

“What are you still doing here?” he asked and I could tell he wanted to make it sound intimidating but wasn't strong enough for that just yet.

I lifted my head and moved into an upright position to face him, but didn't let go of his hand.

“I came for you,” I simply replied.

He saw the tears in my eyes and his features softened for a moment. Sighing, he gave my hand a quick squeeze and then pushed himself up.

“You shouldn't be here.”

“No, Logan, I need to be here. I should have been here weeks ago. I...I'm sorry.”

“You got nothin' to be sorry for,” he said angrily and pulled his hand from mine, putting his feet to the floor and dizzily getting up from the couch.

Of course he wouldn't just open up and let me be there for him, I had expected that. But a little more emotion would have been nice. I knew it was there, I had seen it on his face, but he refused to show it.

“I'm not gonna go,” I said with as much determination as I could manage.

“Well, I am,” came the cold reply and he turned to stumble out the door.

“Logan!” I yelled after him.

He didn't hesitate so I took two big steps forward and grabbed his shoulder, turning him around to face me. We were standing in the door frame now, scowling at each other.

“What?” he hissed.

I swallowed hard and bit down on my lip, trying to fight the tears that were pooling in my eyes yet again. I couldn't speak, I just started at him.

Logan was about to turn and walk away yet again when I took my opportunity. My small fist collided with his jaw, making a thudding noise and probably causing me more pain than him.

“Fuck, Logan!” I screamed at him. “Is this what you want?”

Tears were streaming down my face freely now. Tears of shock, pain, helplessness...my head was spinning with emotions and I felt like it was about to explode.

I had no idea what in the world had made me punch Logan in the face, but it had obviously worked. He had frozen in place, staring at me with wide eyes.

Neither one of us moved for a moment, we just looked at each other, not knowing what to say.

Suddenly, I felt myself pulled into a hug that pressed all air out of my lungs. Logan crushed me against his chest, his arms around my shoulders and his face in my hair. He had practically collapsed onto me and my knees buckled under his weight, so I leaned back against the door frame for support.

After the initial shock, I managed to wrap my arms around him as well, my hands gently rubbing his back. I could feel his uneven breath against my neck and the tight grip of his hands on my shoulders for almost a minute before he pulled away to look at me, but kept me in his arms.

I studied his tired features and the shadows under his sad eyes, shaking my head when he opened his mouth to say something.

“It's okay,” I whispered.

And it was. I had dropped my defense the moment I had climbed into his trunk and now I had finally managed to get through his as well.



~x~x~x~


Everything had changed.
It was about to change again and I had no idea in what direction.

I dragged Logan's battered body across the parking lot, doing my best to keep him upright.

We would probably go back to the Mansion tonight, but I wasn't entirely sure we would stay.

He didn't complain when I maneuvered him onto the passenger seat and then slid behind the wheel, starting the engine.

Either way, at least this time I wouldn't be alone to face the change.

I almost managed a smile at that thought as I pulled onto the highway, driving us into the darkness of a starless night.