"Wilt thou be gone? It is not yet near day. / It was the nightingale, and not the lark, / That pierced the fearful hollow of thine ear. / Nightly she sings on yon pomegranate tree. / Believe me, love, it was the nightingale.”
“Romeo & Juliet,” William Shakespeare, Act 3, Scene 5

“There’s nothing I can say that’ll change your mind, is there?” she asked, her eyes never looking away from her hands as she scrubbed at the dinner plates.

He leaned against the cabinets next to her. “Marie,” he sighed.

“No,” she stopped him from speaking, still looking at her hands as they rinsed the plate and put it on the side to dry. “There’s no reason for this, Logan,” she said. “You know there isn’t,” she continued scrubbing another plate.

“I can’t stay here,” he said, his voice low enough so that no one in the common room a few feet away from the kitchen could hear them.

Her hands stilled in the sudsy water for a moment and she swallowed hard. “You won’t, you mean,” she challenged, and her accent had thickened as it did when she was angry or emotional, her voice rough. “No one’s telling you to leave.”

“Don’t do this, Marie,” he requested.

She looked at him and he felt his heart drop at the emotion he saw in her eyes. “Don’t what, Logan?” she asked. “Don’t point out how stupid it is that you want to leave the Mansion and never come back for no good reason?” Her voice was strained from the effort of keeping it low to not draw attention. “Don’t point out how stupid it is for you to insist on being alone when there are so many people that want you around?” she asked. “People that ne-” her voice cracked a little and she stopped, turning her face away from him, hands braced on the edge of the sink. She inhaled and exhaled slowly. She looked up at him. “People that need you.”

“Look at you,” he said, a note of pride in his voice. “You’ve grown up strong and fierce.” He shook his head. “You don’t need me, darlin’,” he said. “You haven’t for a long while,” he added with a wry smile.

She stared at him for a moment, and then her expression closed in on itself. “Fine,” she said stiffly, grabbing a dishtowel to wipe her hands as she turned away from him. “Just go, then,” she said over her shoulder, tossing the towel onto a table and walking out of the kitchen.

It was almost three am before she lost the battle with herself. She was so mad at him for giving up on them, for giving up on himself and retreating back into the Wolverine who wouldn’t accept help from anyone and needed to roam the world alone. She knew he had always needed alone time, but she thought he had come to look on them all as a family, one he would always come back to. It had been nearly ten years since they’d found each other in Laughlin City and she thought he’d maybe grown accustomed to being around them all.

But something must’ve triggered his flight reflex, even though she couldn’t figure out what it was, because he had told them all that he was leaving and to not expect him back.

And the thought was tearing her up from the inside.

Ten years had seen her go through so much “ grow so much, mature so much, hurt so much and laugh so much. She had fought with the X-Men, she had taught younger generations, she had loved, sometimes been loved back, but through it all, Logan had been there.

Through it all, she had never really lost that love she’d felt for him almost from the first moment she’d met him. Sure, it had changed - gone from little girl crush to hero worship to puppy love to lust -deepened with the years, respect, admiration and trust to a banked kind of love, kept alive by their friendship and the chemistry she always felt between them, even if it had never been acknowledged.

As she had grown, she’d felt the spark between them shift and change, and it had taken her very little to realize that the Wolverine had recognized that she was not a little girl anymore. And although he had never even insinuated at anything physical with her, she couldn’t fail to miss the magnetism between them - the current like the smell of ozone in the air between them that foretold, even to her limited sexual experience, an amazing connection should they take that next physical step together.

She also had no illusions that if things had been different - if he had met her in a bar somewhere, or hell, a bus stop or grocery store even, he would’ve acted on that spark a long time ago. But she wasn’t just another woman, and even when she learned to control her mutation so that she could touch and be touched, she was content to sacrifice the possibility of how amazing they’d be in bed together to not chance losing him or making what they did have different or awkward.

But, around three am the night he’d announced he was leaving, it occurred to her to wonder: what did she have to lose now?

It wouldn’t make him stay, she knew that, but she wanted something to hold on to - she wanted to see if the promise she’d always sensed between them would be fulfilled the way she always thought it would.

He answered the door in sweatpants and nothing else, his hair mussed from sleep, but his eyes open and alert. It hadn’t taken him long to answer the door, but she knew that except for the nights he was caught in the depths of nightmares, he was never so asleep that a soft rap at his door wouldn’t wake him up, so she wasn’t surprised.

A quick glance at her told him there was no trouble, so he scowled. “You should be sleeping,” he told her gruffly.

She stepped toward him, lifting a hand to his chest when she was close enough to nudge him out of the way so she could enter.

“Marie,” he said, turning around to watch her step into his room and walk all the way inside, stopping only when she was at the foot of the bed. “I thought you were done with this.”

“I am,” she said, turning around to face him. “I’m not going to try to make you stay anymore.” She shook her head, the curls she’d loosened shifting with the movement. “If that’s what you want, fine,” she said.

He sniffed and scowled, noting something in her scent that put him on edge. “Then what are you doing here?” he asked, kicking the door closed behind him, plunging the room into the soft glow from the bedside table lamp. “I thought you were pissed at me.”

“I was,” she said simply, but paused and shrugged. “I am,” she corrected herself. “But there’s also something I -“ she faltered, unsure suddenly how to put it. She hadn’t really thought about how to convince him, or what she’d say.

“What, Marie?” he prompted.

She didn’t know what to say, but realized she could only speak from her heart, and hope it was enough. Unable to keep his gaze, however, she lowered her head and her hair rushed forward to hide her face from his view. She could feel the blood rushing to her cheeks, amazed that at 26 she still had the capacity to blush. “If this is my last night with you,” she spoke, softer than she had intended. “There’s something I want to ask of you.”

She heard him exhale and felt it when he walked a little further into the room. “What?” he prodded.

She looked up at him and the look of quiet expectation in his eyes emboldened her. “Would you make love to me?”

Surprised, Logan’s jaw went a little slack and his arms came down to his sides as he frowned, trying to grasp what she’d asked. “You want me to what?” he growled.

She shrank back a bit from his tone, not because she was afraid he’d do anything to hurt her, but because something akin to anger wasn’t anywhere in the emotional wheelhouse she had anticipated as a response to her request.

“I just want you to give me a memory I can keep when you’re gone,” she told him. She saw him start to speak again, and she rushed to speak before he could. “For so long I’ve -“ she trailed off and shook her head, thinking she couldn’t say it so baldly, but then she straightened her spine and looked him in the eyes. “I don’t know if you’ve wanted me the way I’ve wanted you, but I never pressed you for more than just friendship because I knew taking this step with me might make things awkward, and I wanted your friendship more than I wanted to sleep with you,” the words came out in a bit of a rush, and she stopped and took a breath to slow herself down. “But now you’re leaving,” she said, a finality to her voice she didn’t recognize as her own. “So, if you’ve ever wondered what it would be like with me,” she took a step closer to him. “If you ever looked at me and wanted to know what I felt like, tasted like-” when she saw he hadn’t stepped away, she took another step closer. “Then do this for me-” she cut herself off, correcting herself again, “with me, Logan,” she said, her voice soft and a little breathless. “Let’s pretend we’re not scared of ruining anything.” She took another step. “Let’s pretend we’re not scared of having nothing left,” she urged.

She was almost toe to toe with him now, and since he was still looking at her intensely, without moving, she reached out and took his right hand by the wrist, “Hold me,” she breathed, raising his arm, unresisting, until she could bring it to her cheek. “Like I’m more than just a friend,” she continued. Her right hand reached out and touched the fingers of his left hand. “Take me by the hand,” she let the fingers of her right hand touch and explore the fingers of his left hand, “and let’s do what lovers do,” she let her fingers entwine with his, a part of her heart soaring as she realized he wasn’t stopping her, that his thumb on his right hand was caressing the side of her face.

“Marie,” his voice was low and rough, now his left hand had gripped her hand and taken control of the movement, bringing her hand around her back as he pressed her close. His right hand cupped her cheek and lifted her face to meet his eyes. “Do you know what you’re asking me?” he asked, searching her eyes. “This can’t -“ he cut himself off and shook his head as he looked at her. “I can’t-”

She stopped him by holding her fingers to his lips. “I know,” she whispered. “I know you’re not promising me tomorrow,” her eyes were trained on his lips and how they’d parted just slightly, and how his nostrils flared, but she looked up into his eyes. “You don’t have to say it,” she whispered. “I know.”

Emboldened by the fact he wasn’t pushing her away and that he didn’t look disgusted at the prospect, she let her fingers trace the line of his lips and felt him take a deep breath. She searched his eyes and saw the stirrings of desire in their depths, but stopped from searching for anything more. “I don’t need to hear you say you don’t love me,” she whispered, lowering her gaze once more and letting her fingers graze from his lips to his cheek, the feel of his stubble giving her highly sensitized skin goosebumps. “I promise I’ll leave my heart at the door,” she added. “This is just physical, just…” she trailed off again, searching for the right words to describe where this was coming from, what she needed and as her fingers reached the sides of his face, just next to his eyes, she couldn’t help but meet them again. “It matters how this ends,” she decided, unsure if he’d understand.

But he leaned forward, his hand holding her hand at her back tensed, bringing her close as he pressed his lips to hers and she knew he understood.

Of course he’d understand.

No one knew her like he did, after all.

And at the press of him against her, at the feel of being wrapped up in his strong embrace, she let her eyelids flutter closed.

She had always thought, when she let herself think of it at all, that if they ever kissed, he’d devour her mouth, plunder its depths with his tongue, be demanding and hungry with his kiss, the temper and feeling she’d seen him display in other areas of his life converted to passion. Much to her surprise, however, when he pressed his lips to hers, he was gentle and soft, not tentative, but tender, his tongue exploring her mouth in short little bursts.

At first, she responded, because how couldn’t she? Soon enough, though, the realization of what this gentleness meant became clear to her and she pushed away from him. He let her go and frowned at her.

“I …“ she couldn’t figure out what to say or how to phrase it. She shook her head. “I know I just begged you to make love to me, but if you don’t really want me, then don’t do it out of pity,” she told him, the tears burning her eyes. He looked surprised, and she sighed. “You still see me as just a little girl, don’t you?” she asked. “Just a girl you need to protect,” she shook her head again. “I don’t want a pity screw, Logan,” she said, “And if you don’t want me, then, I might as well just…” she turned around and started to leave, but before she got two steps, she suddenly found herself turned around and lifted, pressed between his body and the wall, her legs automatically wrapping around his middle to keep her balance and his hands burning up her arms, pushing her arms around his neck, her hands finding a natural purchase in his hair.

“Don’t want you?” he growled, face inches from hers. “It’s all I can do to keep from bruisin’ you, and you think I don’t want you?” he demanded.

She couldn’t help it - she smiled. Because there, in his eyes, she could see the desire. In the press of his body, she could feel it, and her heart sped in response. “I don’t bruise easy,” she replied, slightly breathless.

He scoffed and then grinned a feral grin that sent fire through every nerve ending in her body. “Then all you had to say was “harder” darlin’,” he rumbled, before taking her mouth in a kiss that made her hands fist in his shirt, her heels dig into his ass and her legs press him tighter against her.

When he let her up for air, his mouth and tongue finding the sensitive spot at the juncture of her neck and shoulder, it was all she could do to get enough air in her lungs to gasp, “Harder,” into his ear. He groaned in response and they were pressed so close together, she felt it vibrate through his body and resonate in hers. The next thing she knew, he had pulled her away from the wall, and she was spinning, the initial sensation of disorientation dying in the security of his embrace. As he pulled her close, his nose bumping against the skin behind her ear, she closed her eyes and leaned her head on his shoulder, breathing in the scent of earth and the faint herbal smell of his cigar still clinging to his clothes. Eventually, she felt the soft cushioning of his mattress underneath her, and the sheets that were still warm from his body as he laid her down.

When he pulled away from her, she let her hands trail across his back over his ribs, hooking on the front hem of his shirt. He stopped pulling away before the fabric tangled in her fingers pulled free. She looked up at him, trying to read the expression but it was hidden in the shadows of the only half-lit room. She just thought of sitting up, but her body must’ve betrayed some tell of her intention, because he leaned down then, his face coming into the light of his bedside lamp, and she gasped his name at the naked need there.

Then, he kissed her, his hands everywhere. One moment, cradling her head, the next sliding her t-shirt up the side of her ribcage, or pulling her leg up his side, nudging open the space for himself against her.

And Marie knew nothing but sensation; touch and smell and taste and pleasure building from deep inside her until it spilled out and over them both with her name guttural and desperate on his lips.

x-x

“You can open your eyes, you know,” he grumbled. “I know you’re awake.”

She exhaled, almost a laugh, and turned onto her back. Her eyes, when she looked at him, were amused. “Busted,” she spoke, her voice a little hoarse. She rubbed at her eyes with the back of her hand and turned a little on her other side to face him. For a few moments, their eyes met and watching him laying casually on his side with his hand holding up his head, sheets pooled at his hips tugged at something inside her - something more than the mere lust she’d felt for him or the reminder of what he could make her feel, but she pushed that thought down deep where she could forget about it. Still, the smile slipped from her expression as she admitted, “I was trying to give you a clean way out.”

He smiled and reached a hand to her cheek, caressing it gently. “If I hadn’t wanted you to wake up, you wouldn’t have,” he said.

“Ah, true,” she allowed, goosebumps rising on her flesh from his touch. His smile widened at her reaction, but he didn’t pursue the contact, bringing his hand back onto the mattress between them instead.

She raised a brow at his choice and he mimicked her, a challenge in his eyes. She smirked and shrugged as best she could while still laying down. Exhaling, she shifted onto her back and stretched, reaching above her head, her legs stretching out, and her back arching a bit off the mattress, not unlike a cat. She winced a little at the new aches and soreness, but didn’t complain.

Seeing her wince, he leaned close to her, extending his palm in front of her. She looked a question at him but he didn’t move it. “You’re in pain,” he observed. “Take a hit,” he urged her.

She chuckled and shook her head. “No, thanks,” she took his hand in both of hers, curled up his fingers and brought it back to the mattress. “I like this ache,” she admitted, offering him a knowing little grin. “I wanna keep it for awhile.”

“Do you now?” he challenged, his voice going low and deep even as he gracefully cut the distance between them so that he was leaning over her, his arms caging her on either side against the mattress.

She raised one of her hands and ran it softly over his scruffy jaw. “Yeah, I do,” she replied.

Something occurred to her, however, because the smile slowly faded from her expression. “Is it almost time?” she asked. He grew still, but didn’t answer right away and her head started to turn to the left, seeking a clock or the window, but Logan’s hand on her chin stopped her and he brought her face back to look at him.

“Nope, darlin’, nowhere near,” he answered. “We’ve got hours yet,” he said as he leaned down and kissed her.