Marie parked the snowmobile in the garage. It had taken some convincing, but Logan had finally agreed to let her go on the grocery runs on her own. The snowmobile just couldn’t handle the weight of both of them, and even though Logan was willing to slog through thigh-deep snow drifts so that she didn’t have to go alone she refused to let him.
They’d have to get him a snowmobile of his own if they ended up staying out here, or in a place like it, she mused. She wondered if snowshoes or skis would spread his considerable weight enough to keep him from sinking through the drifts. In any case, on this particular run she was glad he hadn’t accompanied her.
She carefully topped off the tank on the snowmobile, leaving the keys in the ignition. Then she fished through the grocery bags until she found what she was looking for.
Good old Samuel, she thought as she unzipped her snowmobile jacket. She tucked the book into her jacket and zipped up again. She’d just have to get it upstairs and hide it before Logan got too handsy, she thought with a smile.
She filled her arms with the grocery bags and nudged open the door, stamping her feet free of snow.
“I’m back,” she called out. “We got...oh!”
It was hard to figure out which was the prettier sight — the fir tree, still glistening with hints of snow that Logan had managed to sneak in and prop up with a rough-hewn stand, or the man himself, standing next to it looking so damn proud.
______________________________
Marie snuggled back against Logan on the couch, alternating her gaze between the firelight, the Christmas tree, and the small wooden object she held cradled in her hands.
She had experienced many different kinds of Christmases in her life. The ones with her parents, centered around the midnight mass and her mother’s showy holiday party, steeped in tradition and ritual but with very little warmth. The ones on the road, bitterly cold and alone, every wreath and casual holiday wish seeming to mock her isolation and despair. The bustle of Christmas at the mansion, Secret Santas and decorations, trying to show the newest kids — the ones with no homes to go back to — that they were not alone, not rejected. That their new family was here, and would not abandon them, even if their old one had.
And now she had a new kind of Christmas to file away, the memory of it destined to be brighter and warmer and happier than any of the others. Christmas with Logan.
His shy pleasure at receiving gifts — the first in his memory, she realized. The way his hands smoothed the wrapping paper, fingers tracing the line of the ribbon before pulling them open with a very un-Logan-like enthusiasm. He liked the book on motorcycle repair, but his reaction to the other gift was beyond her expectations.
She had almost decided against it — it seemed a little conceited after all, giving him a work of her own art as a gift. Not to mention he had seen it already, it was the one she would always associate with their meeting, the painting of the woods she had completed in those first few months here. Her fears had been unfounded, though. He pulled the wrapping paper from the canvas and then stood frozen for a moment before looking at her — wonder and a flicker of disbelief in his eyes.
“For me?” he asked, seeking the confirmation of her nod before his eyes locked back on the painting, touching the very edge of the canvas reverently.
“For us, maybe,” she said, her voice unexpectedly raspy. “A promise never to sell it. We’ll hang it...in our new place. Wherever that’ll be.”
“For us,” he repeated under his breath. He looked the painting over for long moments before seeming to snap out of his daze. Then he propped it up against the wall, in the middle of the room where he could see it from all angles. His eyes were still glowing with pleasure as he reached into his pocket.
“What’s this?” she asked stupidly before drawing in a sharp breath in surprise.
“It’s a little rough,” he mumbled. “Never done anythin’ like that before, least not that I can remember...”
It was absolutely marvelous — a little wooden figure of a badger, fitting perfectly into the hollow of her hand. He was rolling on his back, tiny feet bicycling in the air, just as they had seen him. Logan had captured him perfectly, carving him out of pale wood and staining sections of it darker to reproduce the charming little black-and-white face.
“You made this?” she asked in astonishment. “For me?”
He smiled shyly. “I call ‘im Frances.”
She laughed, even as tears prickled in her eyes. “After Frances in my book? I can’t believe you remembered.”
His arms wrapped around her, warm and comforting. “‘Course I remembered.” His voice was suddenly raspy too. “They may have taken everythin’ I knew before, but I plan to remember every little thing about this time — about you — for the rest of my life, darlin’.”
Her vision blurred a little just remembering it, and she blinked rapidly to chase the tears away. She turned on her side, snuggling even closer into Logan’s chest, keeping the badger cupped in one hand while the other dipped in between the buttons of his flannel shirt, tickling his chest.
He made that deep, purring sound again, and she smothered a giggle as it tickled her cheek. He had been doing that pretty frequently since their first sparring session, when he had finally let the Wolverine free. He had seemed more relaxed in general since that day, something in him easing. He wasn’t totally comfortable with it yet — the door in her mind to Wolverine still remained solidly locked — but maybe he was getting there.
She nuzzled her cheek into him, her eyes drifting back to the Christmas tree.
She had found some colored paper and tinfoil, and cut out a few stars and other shapes for decoration. Logan sat next to her, watching indulgently. Neither of them even realized he was fidgeting with a piece of paper of his own until he looked down, dropping with startlement the tiny folded crane.
“Origami,” she breathed. “Did you know you could do that?” He shook his head, hesitating briefly before reaching for another piece of paper. They both watched in silent wonder as his hands seemed to move of their volition, creating a flower, a boat, a little pig.
“Huh,” he said, looking down at the folded paper objects, so tiny and delicate in his incongruently large hands.
She listened to the rumble of his purr for a few more moments before tracing her hand up from his chest, running it down his arm to his hand. She squeezed his hand in hers. These hands of his — such a contradiction. Capable of unleashing fury with metal claws or delicately carving her little badger. So large and strong but amazingly deft, able to wield an axe or create tiny wonders from folded paper with equal ease. And the way those hands moved on her body, the things that they made her feel...
She traced her fingernails between his knuckles, feeling his immediate shiver in response.
“Time for bed?” he asked, and she could hear the smile in his voice.
“Time for bed,” she agreed. Time to make some new memories.
Best. Christmas. Ever. she thought dazedly as he carried her up the stairs, before he kissed her and all of her thoughts flew away.
______________________________
She woke up in the middle of the night to Logan slipping out of bed.
“What is it, sugar?” she murmured sleepily.
“Heard a noise,” he answered softly. “Gonna check it out.” His hand brushed her cheek gently. “Go back to sleep, darlin’. I’ll be back in a minute.”
She closed her eyes and let herself drift back into slumber.
She awoke again, shivering. She reached out for Logan — he was always so warm — but the other side of the bed was empty. She squinted at the clock. It was four in the morning. She wasn’t sure what time he had left, but it seemed like hours ago.
She got to her feet, padding toward the stairs. She thought she heard voices and froze for a minute. As she listened, however, she realized it was just Logan’s voice. She couldn’t make out the words but he sounded angry.
She moved to toward the railing of the loft bedroom. The wood floor creaked beneath her feet, and his voice stopped.
She looked over the rail. He was sitting on the couch, still fully dressed. His golden eyes were focused on her but his face was impassive.
“You okay, sugar?” she asked.
He looked at her blankly for a moment, and then seemed to snap out of it, rubbing a hand across his face tiredly. “Yeah, I’m fine. Can’t sleep, figured I’d be better off down here than keepin’ you up.”
“Well, c’mon up, sugar. You won’t bother me.”
He looked away from her, his jaw tense. “Nah, I think I’m up for good. You go on back to sleep. I’ll stay down here.”
Another nightmare? she wondered. A memory? Either way, he seemed more rattled than he had been in awhile. She had never heard him talking to himself before.
“You’re sure?” she said hesitantly.
He sighed heavily. “Yeah. Go on. Get some more sleep.”
She hesitated for a moment more, but maybe he just needed some more time alone. She went back to bed, burrowing under the covers, feeling only coldness where his warmth usually was.
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