On her first day of school, Bobby gave her an ice rose. Later, when show-off-St. John presented her a bouquet of fire flowers, Bobby smiled and froze them too.
She'd laughed at the time, fragile and a little scared. He was so kind. Gentle. He treated her like she was the one who could be hurt by his touch. His words were deliberately pitched low and soothing, like she was a wounded bird and he was gently cupping her in his hands.
He made her afraid. Gentleness made her afraid. It was too easy to hurt the gentle ones.
What's your name?
Marie.
Marie... He'd breathed her name like a reverent treasure.
Bobby gave her another ice rose today and asked her to be his date for the Valentine dance. She'd fingered the dog tags around her neck unconsciously while saying yes. Afterwards, alone in her room, she'd wondered why she hadn't said no, then laughed to think she could ever say no to Bobby.
Bobby who gave her ice roses and warm laughter, who gazed into her eyes like he'd find infinite wisdom there, who was her friend, her kind, patient and gentle friend, who was certain that one day she'd be able to touch people without hurting them. Bobby was her link to normalcy, and a life like any other girl. Bobby was safe. Bobby was human.
She wasn't human. And only Logan knew.
She'd been tossing and turning in her bed that first night, unable to sleep, remembering J.T. How she'd nearly killed him with their first and only kiss. On cue, his voice had moaned inside of her, reminding her why she shouldn't have taken the roses. Would never be able to take the roses. So she'd run to Logan, just like she'd run to him the first time she saw him, for no rhyme or reason except that she wanted too. Needed to. Needed to run to him. Each time she thought about it, she didn't know whether to laugh or cry.
Logan didn't scare her like Bobby did, even though in his own way, he was as gentle with her as Bobby was. No, she wasn't afraid of him, not even of his claws that'd nearly killed her when she'd come to him. She'd been secretly glad when he'd skewered her, had felt a strange ecstasy as his claws burned in her throat, had even wondered whether she wanted to heal from this fiery pain that was payment and punishment, blood for blood, fire for ice roses. In the end, survival instinct had kicked in and now she wasn't exactly sorry, yet she'd always know a minute shard of pain for her traitorous mind that wanted to live, that had forced her to live with Logan inside her.
Some days she hated his presence, yet most days she wondered how she'd ever lived without it.
Does it hurt?
Every time.
She'd wanted to say, It hurts me too.
It did surprise her some times how much she'd known of him before he'd given part of himself to her, how much she'd guessed (?) just by looking at him. Seen the closed face and known immediately that she could trust him. That in spite of the coiled rage within him, he would never hurt her.
Bobby wouldn't hurt her on purpose either, but Logan was different. He was -- it didn't sound right to call him a friend. Given what he'd done for her, she knew he was more than that.
His feelings inside her confused more than they explained. She knew he was desperately attracted to Jean Grey. God, that'd hurt to find out. After he left, when Jean came across the hall, she'd felt her heart leap strangely and then immediately understood why. It hurt even more that Jean knew why she'd not stopped to think, but run away, and that Jean had pitied, still pitied her.
Don't pity me, she wanted to shout, or at least whisper to this gifted woman who was so much more beautiful than anyone had a right to be. Don't pity me. You think he wants you and you could be right. But he gave me his promise. He'll come back for me.
I'll look out for you.
Promise?
And his hand gently stroking her hair, his arm around her shoulder as if he'd known it had been so long since anyone had held her or dared to touch even her unexposed skin.
And Logan was her protector. He'd shed blood for her, ripping through his hands with the adamantine claws that hurt every time they came out, just so that he could be free to go to her. She knew because she remembered it inside her. How he'd sliced through his own flesh and opened new wounds so that he could get to her. Sliced and fought and shed his blood and more so that she, she would live.
Somehow it didn't make her afraid, even though she'd cry at night, thinking of what he'd done to keep his promise to her. And despite the urges he felt for the woman in red, she knew he'd never forget that he was her protector.
But right now, there was Bobby, and arcade games and the Valentine's dance, and Logan was a trillion miles away searching for the faceless men who made him Wolverine.
Bobby's ice crystals gently swirling around her hand, caressing sweetly before settling into a new shape, a new treasure to make her smile. A sparrow. A flower. Once even a cameo of her face. And his smile so sweet and warm as he watched her take his latest gift, that it was a wonder the ice didn't melt.
Sometimes it was so hard that she wanted to cry, to wrap her arms around herself and curl into a tiny little ball and never come out to face the world again. Because Bobby could make her laugh, and Bobby could make her smile, and Bobby was so sure that one day she'd actually be able to take a rose from him with her naked fingers. But Logan, Logan knew how it hurt to be unable to let your guard down for fear of skewering somebody, or turning their own body against them. Logan knew and Logan had cried for her. Logan who never even cried at his own nightmares, but had known enough to hold her carefully while she cried, and who touched her hair like it was living, breathing and his sacred charge. She thought that was the first time she'd found out that she could be in love with him. That it would be possible to love the both of them.
Then again, she'd probably fallen in love the first time in his truck. He'd rubbed his knuckles while driving, so that she'd already known before asking,
"Do they hurt?"
"Every time." And she knew he'd never told anyone else that.
She'd seen his scars heal, but now, with his life inside her, she felt all the scars that would never heal, the thousand and one bites and scratches that were covered by newborn skin, yet gaped wide open and bleeding.
I hurt too; she wanted to tell him. Every time, I hurt.
I hurt for you.
She'd absorbed his nightmares along with his life force. She knew the dreams that came to him at night, the faceless terrors that sipped from champagne flutes as they watched him burn, flesh remoulding and refitting only to be stripped away again and again. The agony was almost unbearable, yet she wouldn't have it any other way, because it was his. Because it was all she had left of Logan. Apart from dog tags, and his promise that he'd come back.
She held his nightmares to her the way he'd never held her yet, the way no one had ever held her. Crushing them into her heart, absorbing them into her skin, her memories, her very identity. She'd never wanted to remember anyone else's pain, but with him, it seemed right that she do so. Because Bobby was there to fill her days with carefree laughter, so that at night in her bunk, she had the strength to take the nightmares for Logan.
She wondered, touching the dog tags at night, a bedtime ritual -- Please God, keep him safe -- whether Bobby understood and that was why he was so gentle with her despite the sadness in his eyes whenever he looked at Logan's gift looped around her neck. It made her afraid, this teetering see saw of her heart that could care so much for two such beautiful men, knowing all the while that she didn't deserve either. Keep them both safe God. Please don't let anyone hurt them. Especially me.
Bobby gave her an ice rose on the first day of school, his eyes hinting of things to come. Logan gave her his blood and life, looked out for her and promised to come back.
He would keep his promise. They would both keep their promises to her, even though she was Rogue, the fire that melted ice and charred skin, dangerous to touch or feel or love.
Neither of them needed her. But God forgive her, she needed both, needed the fire and the ice roses to keep herself sane.
So, does it hurt?
Every time. Every time, it hurts.
I know, Logan. It hurts for me too.
~ End.
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