Bitter cold wind whipped by him, stinging his cheeks and stealing his straining breath. Branches struck at his face and tore his already abused clothes, scolding him for not taking the well-worn path through the woods. He ignores the stinging pain from the elements and pushes himself further, desperately chasing the scent of honeysuckle.

And tears.

And raw misery.

His keen eyes catch a flash of dark green up ahead and he has to beat down the beast inside of him that liked the chase. No, he would tap into just enough of the feral part to urge himself faster, work his muscles harder. All he has to do is breathe deep to remind the Wolverine that this isn’t play.

She stumbles and it’s his opening. Normally graceful even in this rugged terrain thanks to borrowed powers, his included, her panic overrides training and muscle memory.

Must be a bitch trying to navigate through a haze of tears too. The complete mental breakdown couldn’t have helped either.

She’s faltering, but he doesn’t let up, forces his legs faster instead, punishing his body more than the environment can. But it’s the smell of Marie’s suffering that cuts the deepest.

When he catches her he has to pull back to keep from barreling his weight into her fragile body, rolling to take the brunt of the fall. As soon as they stop tumbling she’s up on coltish legs, tangled in the length of her cloak. Eyes as wide as saucers and leaking a constant hot stream down her stark white face. He’s familiar with this look of panic, but that’s usually on someone else who’s facing the business end of his claws. The sight of it on her makes things inside of him hurt.

Palms out, he rises as slowly as any man who knows too well how things work in the wild. She could still run, she wouldn’t get very far, but the indecision warring with all of the other emotions on her face shows that she’s considering it.

He tries to use a gentle voice when he calls her name, ignoring the part of his mind that’s all too ready to remind him that he’s never done anything gently. Inching closer to her, incrementally, with a patience that he doesn’t feel. Bits of crunched up leaves flutter as her body trembles. A smudge of dirt breaks up the bleak expression on her face and as he draws nearer he can see the flickering colors of her irises. Shit.

Those eyes, vacant for a number of seconds, flick back towards him with awareness and she shuffles back. Wary, scared again and even though it’s not because of him it still compounds the hurt that’s already sitting on his chest.

“Darlin’.” It’s as close as he’s ever come to pleading.

She stills, all but for the uncontrollable trembling that usually follows one of her breakdowns after a recent absorption. Hands wringing forcefully under stained gloves. Her darting eyes finally settle on his and he doubts that his adamantium-laced body can handle the weight of her gaze, especially when it fills with more tears.

“I….I’m not right, am I?” Her voice breaks on the barest of whispers between her trembling lips.

It’s the worst thing he’s ever heard. He’s damned sure his reinforced frame is going to crack with it.

There are no words for her. She split him open and for the first time in a long time he’s uncertain. Unsure if he has anything to offer her. But he stops that train of thought, just shuts down central command altogether and loosens the reigns on his baser self. He steps forward and when he realizes that she won’t run again his arms enfold her, tucking her small body into him. Restraining the worst of her shakes, absorbing the moisture and sounds of her sobbing.

And it’ll have to get them through.