The Wolverine & Rogue Fanfiction Archive
Barely Legal Since 2000
Author's Chapter Notes:
Sorry this one has taken me so long. It proved to be a total bugger of a chapter to write. I'm still not 100% sure I've nailed it, but I've re-edited it so many times now I think my eyeballs are about to drop out, and if I don't post it now, I don't think I ever will. I'll attempt to post the epilogue in a few days to make it up to you. Not beta'd so apologies if I've missed any mistakes. And uh... sorry for what I'm about to do...*hides*
I blink as I wake. Drowsy and disorientated, it takes me a moment to realise it was the feel of the jet lurching to a halt that pulled me from sleep.
I'm home.
A thick kind of weariness settles over me. As the hatch opens, I get assailed by the smell of the engine fuel choking the air. Hands help me upright and guide me down the steps, each one clanking under my boots. I don't pay much attention to where we're going. I just keep moving, do as I'm told, flinching from the glare of each underground light we pass. Then we're at the medbay. Just a precaution, they tell me. Jean's voice is kind. Scott's is proud. I did well. He keeps telling me that.
Logan's voice is there, too. He must have come back again, I realise belatedly. No one told me. Maybe he asked them not to. Didn't want to make things awkward. I don't really hear what he says. I don't hear anything. The three of them are just a general hum of noise that fades into nonsensical tones as my eyelids grow heavier. I just want to sleep. I just want to leave the three of them to it and disappear from existence.
Is that so much to ask?
I don't even notice the uncomfortable hardness of the medbay bed. I just curl up on the sterile white sheets, smearing them with dirt and grime, and I fall right back to sleep again.
It's evening again before I wake up properly. I've slept through a full night and the following day. I don't think I've ever slept that much before.
When I sit up my vision swims. My head's all fuzzy; filled with that thick, blanketing fog that only comes after a really deep night's sleep. I ache all over as well, which doesn't help. Especially my hands. They're cut to shreds from digging through rubble.
And I stink.
God, as I notice it, the smell becomes overpowering. A burnt stench that stings my nose and makes my eyes water.
I look at the nightshirt that Jean must have left for me at the end of the bed. As soon as I can get to my feet, the shower is the first place I head to. I scour everything away until I at least look like Marie again, even if I don't feel like her.
Never nice, but always worth it.
The bright lights in the underground complex flick on one by one as I walk through the otherwise deserted corridor. When I reach the teaching levels, I notice that night has already taken over. The classrooms are empty. The cafeteria and the rec room too. It must be later than I thought.
I hesitate, lost for a moment.
Part of me wants to head up to Logan's room like I always used to do. Just for the company, I tell myself. Just for the comfort. But things are different now that he knows, so I can't. It would seem... wrong. Pathetic.
I don't want to be pathetic tonight.
Instead I pull on a coat and step outside, walk barefoot around the gardens for a bit. I breathe in the cold night air until it clears my head and I can think in straight lines again.
I did a good thing. I know this. Given the opportunity, I would do exactly the same again without hesitation. I know this too. It's just... I still see it all when I close my eyes. I can still hear them. Yesterday I was up to my elbows in blood and death, and I coped. Today I feel like I'm supposed to slip back into some sort of normal again, and I can't even remember what normal is. Surely normal should be easier?
Never nice...
I take a deep breath, and take the cowards way out. I keep walking and try really hard to think of something else instead.
When I finally head up to my room, it's long past midnight. I'm more awake than I was, but I'm restless and uncomfortable in my own skin. I consider watching TV or reading a book, but the thought of doing something so mundane makes me feel trapped. I could unpack my clothes from the holdall that someone thought to bring from the back seat of my truck, but the idea just frustrates me. I could find my gloves. Put them back on. Anything to give me some sense of control. Because I feel like I'm teetering on an edge, and I can't quite decide whether I'm going to run away or scream and throw myself off.
I can't even decide which edge I'm teetering on.
I stare at my door for a long moment. It doesn't provide any answers.
Irrationally, I hate it for that.
With a sigh I step inside. Turn on the light. But when I blink at the sudden brightness it brings, I … hesitate. Freeze where I'm stood.
Because Logan's there, sat in my chair. Waiting for me.
Something inside me just crumples, and I start to cry.
It's no great scene from a romance novel. Logan isn't over in an instant, sweeping me off my feet. He doesn't say all the right things to ensure we live happily ever after. Instead there's this horribly awkward moment when he just looks at me, obviously unsure of how not to make this worse. The Wolverine; perplexed by what to do with the sobbing girl standing in her own doorway. It would be funny if it wasn't so damn tragic.
But then he does get to his feet. He does come over. “Shh kid,” he says. Gruff, but comforting. And when I don't stop crying, he does wrap his strong arms around me, drawing me in, doing everything he shouldn't. He feels so safe. So warm and solid, that when I bury my face in his shirt, the familiar smell of him overwhelms me.
He pulls us both back down to the chair, slowly stretching out his legs to get comfortable. He doesn't say anything else. He doesn't need to. I thought I'd lost this, and the realisation that I haven't makes me cry even harder.
He holds me close, one hand around my waist, the other stroking my hair. “It's okay,” he says, softly. “It's okay.”
And whether it is or not, I no longer care. I can breathe him in. In this moment that's all that matters. I'm half delirious with fatigue and shock, and he is my anchor and I don't want to let him go. I don't ever want to let him go.
I don't know how long we just sit there. Him, and me, and comfort. But when my fingers find his collar, he lets me pull him closer. When my wet cheek moves to press against his, he doesn’t resist. “It's okay,” he says, again. Breathing the words past my ear.
And when I move again, when he's so close that I can't even focus on him, I just close my eyes, lean my head a little to the right, so that we're not so much cheek to cheek as...
He tenses slightly, but he doesn't pull back. And as I press my lips against his, he lets me do that too. Arms still comforting as he lets me kiss him. Hands still warm against my back. His chest moving against mine and the steady thud of his heartbeat.
Eventually I come to my senses and pull away. Look down. Almost ashamed. “Sorry,” I mumble. I can see his lips are damp, wet from my mouth, and I feel the urge to wipe them off. To try and make amends. Mortified, I attempt to get up, but he’s holding me still, though he won’t look at me.
“Logan,” I try, but he stops me, the tips of his fingers pressing against my lips. Then that gaze meets mine, he draws me closer, and the coolness left behind when he takes those fingers away is replaced by the warmth of his breath, then the heat of his mouth.
It’s gentle. Warm. Searching. He tastes like the whiskey he must have drank earlier that night. I feel his hands run up and down my sides. No longer so soothing, but... exploring. And when he picks me up, wrapping my legs around him as he carries me to my bed, I forget about every bit of sense I've ever had drummed into me, and I let him.
The bed creaks and his body feels strangely heavy against mine. I feel him kick off his boots, hear the thud they make as they hit the floor. I'm not really sure what I should be doing, but it doesn't seem to matter. His mouth is hot against my shoulder as he slides the thin straps of my nightdress down. His fingers brush my hair out of my face, hesitating on the strands of white, before reaching for the buttons of his own shirt, pulling it over his head, never once moving far away from me. And when he lies back down he's all heat and skin and warmth.
His hands send tremors through me. The nightdress is slid lower and lower, until I close my eyes and feel the silky material slide over my toes. Then he's working his way back up my body, slowly, and my muscles are liquid and it's so hard to think.
My hand grips the sheets when his tongue first touches my skin. The sound that escapes me is more of a plea than a word, and his eyes darken in response. I reach towards his face, feel the rough stubble along his jawline until he stops to look at me. A slight flick of his head and he captures my fingers with his teeth, drawing them into his mouth, tongue sliding up and down each one in a gesture that’s so erotic my stomach clenches.
I begin to feel him move against me, through his jeans. I can feel the solidness of him. Slow and sensual.
Oh God.
When he releases my fingers, he takes them in his hand and slides them down the muscled hardness of his chest, down so that the tips of my fingers just disappear below the waist of his jeans. This time when he moves against me, I can feel the tip of him. Hot. Damp. His hands reach between us for his buckle, and as he unhitches it I can smell the scent of sex, the salty musky smell that grows as I help him slide the jeans off.
He leans over me and presses a kiss to the inside of my thigh. Then the other. Each time getting higher, until I arch up against him with a sound that's unintelligible on my lips. All the while my pulse is thudding through my ears; my mind is racing, and I keep thinking, we're going to do this. We're really going to do this. Until I can't think at all, and fingers are tugging at the sides of my panties, pulling the scrap of material downwards, and then suddenly he’s there again. Moving up my body; hips easing my legs apart, his face is above mine, and I can feel... oh...
He kisses me and there is the taste of me on his lips. Then his hips shift and he’s pressing against me. Pressing into me. Slowly. His jaw clenching as he fights to control it. And it... hurts. I knew it would... but... it stings, and it doesn’t stop. Not until I can feel him deep within me.
It’s so strange, not at all how I imagined it to be. It’s so…real, and it’s…
I need a moment. I need some time to get used to the feel of this, but he mistakes my sharp gasp for something else. Instead his mouth goes to nuzzle my neck as he flexes his hips against me and it hurts again. He finds my collar bone, then my ear. I can feel him moving; each push, his fingers tangling with mine above my head, catching on my hair as I grit my teeth. With every movement I can hear his breathing grow heavier; I can see his face, only inches above my own. I can feel the sweat form on his skin, both of our bodies damp with it.
“M’rie,” he pauses. Looks down at me, when he realises how still I’ve become.
I can’t meet his eye.
“Marie?” His voice is husky, but firmer this time. “You want me to stop?”
I can’t even bring myself to answer him. God this is a mess. I’m a mess. What am I even doing? I shake my head. “No.” That would be worse because we'd always have this awkward, unfinished thing between us. But I just want it to be over.
He props himself up on his elbows and he frowns down upon me as he brushes my damp hair carefully out of my face. “Does it hurt?”
I clench my lips together and manage a shaky nod.
I feel him shift above me, and for a moment I think he’s going to get up. My hands instinctively try to pull him back down. “Don’t, please.”
Don’t make it worse than it already is.
“It’s okay,” he says quietly. He just pulls us both upright, so that he’s kneeling and I’m pressed warmly against him.
Then he leans close and moves his mouth over mine, doing nothing but kissing me. He’s gentle and considerate, none of the things I'd expect him to be, and despite everything, it starts to warm that fire in my belly again.
When he feels me begin to kiss back, his hands begin a steady slide down from my shoulders to my legs, his hands hooking under my knees to wrap them around his hips. When he moves against me I begin to tense, but he whispers a murmur in my ear. “Relax.” It’s followed by a guttural break of his voice as he moves again, and the sound sends sensation tingling back through me.
His hips grind into mine again, his eyes closing, that same sound. It’s that, the noises he makes, the way his breathing starts to go tense and choppy, that's what wakes the twist of desire. I start to forget the hurt, I just focus on the feel of him.
And when I begin to arch towards him, move with him, he groans, and moves harder.
The hand that’s not clenched on to mine slides behind my back, then lower, pushing me up against him in just the right spot, so that my feet are sliding on the damp of his back, toes curling into the scrunched up sheets, my body arching into his, harder and harder as I feel the pressure grow and grow until it has no where to go, except... oh God...
I feel him with me as I come. Hear the frenzied sounds on his lips, his face buried in my neck as he’s desperately reaching, pulsing into me, gripping me so tightly that I know there’ll be bruises in the morning.
The return to reality is slow. It’s a long while before either of us moves.
Eventually cramp starts to tingle through my legs, and I know I’m going to have to untangle myself from him. He catches my face before I can, though. Makes me look at him. “Okay?” He looks tired, but concern is etched there.
I give him a slightly shaky smile. “Yeah.”
The corner of his mouth turns up. “Good.” Then he twists us both around and pulls the covers over us. And despite it all, I sleep.
When I wake up, he’s gone.
I don’t even notice it straight away, but the knowledge slowly creeps in with the light of morning. A sense of coldness instead of the heavy warmth that had been there throughout the night. A dawning realisation that prickles over my skin.
For a moment it hurts so much that I can hardly breathe. I’m wrapped in my covers, the scent of him lingers on everything around me, there's still a dent in my pillow where his head lay, but he’s not there.
He really has gone.
What did I expect? That I'd be different?
I screw up my eyes. Draw in a shaky breath. It takes me a moment to get myself under control, but I do manage it. A feat of pure willpower alone.
I get up, walk over to my dresser and open my draws, like I'm a perfectly normal functioning individual who is doing nothing but getting dressed. Not someone who's feels ashamed of what they did. Not someone who feels like everything inside of them is not so much shattering, as slowly being crushed.
He just got up and left.
I pick out some clothes. Pull them on. Reach under my bed for my trainers. I tie the laces in tight knots. I scrape my hair back into a neat ponytail. It feels controlled. Then I'm heading for the door, and I'm looking at my feet, and-
The door swings open.
He’s standing there. Balancing a tray in one hand, I can smell coffee, toast. He’s dressed, but all mussed up from sleep, and it looks like he did it in a hurry; he’s barefoot in his jeans and his shirt is one button out, so the tail end of one side hangs below his belt.
It makes me want to cry.
A look crosses his face when he sees my state of dress. “You leavin’?” he says softly. “You had a pretty rough day yesterday. I was gonna wake you up with breakfast.”
And I don’t know what to say to that. Because he is here. And the breakfast gesture is so unlike him that it makes my soul ache with longing. But this is not right. What I'm feeling is not right. None of this is right.
I have to take a few moments. Get myself under control. I can feel my jaw tremble, so I bite my lip. Flex my fingers in to fists.
“I thought you’d gone,” I say carefully, and I see the way this makes him stiffen.
He puts the tray down on the dresser before turning back to me. “You really think I’d do that?” He steps close, a thumb tilts my chin up towards him. “After…?” He can’t quite bring himself to say it.
I don’t need to answer, the look on my face says it all.
“I’m a bastard, Marie, but I’m not that much of a bastard.” He leans towards me, as if to kiss me again. But I move away.
“What?” he says, confusion clouding his vision. “I thought it was what you wanted.”
And that little declaration makes my mind up for me.
It's funny, isn't it, how sometimes moments of complete clarity come at you when you least expect them. When your head is pounding with other emotions, and you want to be anywhere but where you actually are.
Because I finally have the chance for everything I ever wanted.
And it's not enough.
Last night, he let me use him. Comfort. That's what it is between us. The fact that he came back? The breakfast? This is all about me, isn't it? Fixing me up again. Helping me out. But not actually...
When I look into his eyes, I see someone that cares. I see my best friend. Someone who will look out for me and put my life before his own. But all of that is overshadowed by a love that controls him. And that's not for me. It was never for me.
“Marie?”
I take a deep breath. It's shuddery, not very assertive. And I wish I was assertive right now. “It’s not about what I want,” I say, slowly. My voice sounds a little distant. Like it's someone else speaking.
“Okay,” he says. Reasonable. He doesn't even try to argue. I almost wish he would. That way at least I'd know there was enough emotion in this conversation to make him feel something.
“So what is it about?” He folds his arms.
“You already know.”
“Pretend I don't.”
“Don't play with me, please.”
He raises an eyebrow. “You're the one kicking me out in the mornin'. You even gonna tell me why?” He sounds grouchy, and he has no right. No fucking right.
“What do you think, Logan? I'm not blind. I'm not stupid. Or...” my hand goes to wipe my eyes and I can't believe I'm fucking crying. “Maybe I am stupid. I just wish...”
“What?”
“That things were different.”
He's careful now, when he speaks. Like he's considering his words. “In... what way?”
“Just... different.” A world where I did not wish I had red hair and long legs just to attract his attention.
“That ain't really-”
“You love her, don't you.”
To that he says nothing. His mouth flattens into a tense line. He looks away.
It's all the answer I need.
I back away.
“Marie,” he says, reaching forwards, but I shake my head and keep my distance.
“One of us might as well be happy. Let me make you happy.”
Oh that really doesn't help. “You think you settling for me could make me happy?
“I'm not settling. I just-”
“Stop it. Just... just stop it.”
No more. Please.
No more.
I leave him in my room. Walk right out the door. And I don't look back.
I leave him the same ripped up note. Shove it under a beer bottle on his desk. Next to an earring that was probably Jean's.
Didn't want to make things awkward for you.
I have finally made some decisions.
I no longer want to be the obligation, or the one that watches from a distance. I don't want to be the one he feels he should be with just because she wants it so damn much. I don't want to have him in my bed only to wonder who he's thinking of. Or if he's faithful.
I don't want to be broken by this my whole life.
I don't want to let it define me.
I am more than this.
So I leave. For good, this time.