He was still on the couch when she came down in the morning, half-stumbling down the stairs, stifling a yawn. She had dozed off and on, unable to sleep soundly without him beside her. Her head still felt a little fuzzy.
She waited until the coffee was brewed and ready, fixing hers up and bringing a cup for him as well. She sat next to him on the couch, setting his coffee on the table in front of him before curling her legs up and gratefully sipping her own.
He grunted in appreciation for the coffee. He stared morosely into his cup, his body still taut with tension, his expression brooding. She ached to reach out and touch him, but something about his posture told her it would be unwelcome.
“Wanna talk about it, sugar?” she finally asked.
“No,” he said curtly, and she flinched a little at his tone. He met her eyes for the first time, and sighed. “I’m sorry. I just...I need a little time to myself, okay?”
“Sure.” She felt torn between concern and irritation. After everything they had shared, he still was going to shut her out like this when he got upset?
She took a deep breath, trying to push aside her own hurt feelings and annoyance. Maybe he just needed time to sort through whatever it was on his own before he talked to her. Logan had lived such a solitary life before they met, he was probably used to dealing with things on his own. Smothering him wouldn’t help. After all, they had been in this cabin for months, with only each other for company — maybe he was just getting a little stir-crazy.
“I’m gonna take a walk,” he said, as if he had read her mind.
“Okay. Stay warm sugar.”
He pulled on his coat and gloves and left without another word. She shrugged mentally and got started on breakfast. Hopefully he would work it out of his system.
Her breakfast dishes had long since been cleared by the time he returned from his walk, caked with snow. He seemed a little calmer — still quiet, but less tense. She thought that maybe the fresh air had done him good.
She tried to keep herself busy and out of his way, doing record amounts of laundry and making sure the kitchen sparkled. By lunchtime they were able to eat in relatively companionable silence.
Then she decided to paint, while he settled in to read. Her easel was already set up, and she started to unpack her brushes. She frowned for a moment, peering into the interior of her leather satchel. She always packed it carefully, the palette flat against the side and the brushes in the elastic bands she had sewn into the other side, boxes of her lesser-used charcoals on the bottom and her tubes of acrylics and oils on top. Now the charcoals were on top and a few brushes were rolling around in the bottom of the bag.
“Logan, were you messin’ with my paint stuff?” she asked distractedly.
“Why in the hell would I do that?” he snapped.
She closed her eyes in frustration. She had forgotten for a moment the mood he was in. “Just wonderin’, things seemed a little messed up in here.”
His jaw ticked with tension. “I tripped over that damn bag of yours. You should be more careful where you leave your shit.”
She drew in her breath in surprise, her pulse speeding in anger. “Logan, what the hell has gotten into you? If you’re worried, or stressed or somethin’ talk to me, sugar, let me help. Don’t act like this.”
His golden eyes were cold, his body hunched with tension. “Just quit fuckin’ naggin’ me, all right? That’s what’ll help.”
She was beyond furious. “You need some ‘alone time’? You got it. Just stay the hell away from me until you’re ready to talk about this like a grown-up.”
“Fine with me,” he replied, his voice sullen.
She went up to the bedroom, just barely resisting the urge to stomp up the stairs, her eyes prickling with angry tears. She stayed up there through dinner, her appetite gone. Not that he seemed to worry about her, she thought bitterly. That night she went to bed alone, staring at the ceiling and feeling as cold inside as she was outside without his warmth next to her.
____________________
She was in the clearing, painting. It was late fall, and Logan was standing beside her, looking at her with warmth and affection in his golden gaze. Joy and relief flooded her heart. She reached for him, but he was suddenly a few steps away, nothing but empty space where he had been.
“Logan?” she said.
She hadn’t seen him move but now he was even further, by the chopping block.
“Marie,” he said, but his voice was cold and distant.
“Logan!” She started to run towards him but stopped as he disappeared again. She turned in a circle, searching the trees. She thought she saw a glimpse of him, standing amongst the tree trunks.
“Logan!” she called again, but he was gone.
She was suddenly back in her bedroom at the mansion, Bobby hovering uncertainly in the doorway. She hugged her pillow to her chest, curling her knees up.
“He left me,” she told Bobby. “I’m alone again.”
His ice-blue eyes were sympathetic in his handsome face. “Of course you are, Rogue,” he said gently. “It was never about your skin. It was always you.”
She buried her face in her pillow. “Don’t say that,” she mumbled. “It’s not true.”
“Of course it is, Anna Marie.” She lifted her head in surprise at hearing her mother’s voice.
She was in her bedroom in Meridian now. Her mother was sitting on the edge of the bed, looking at her sternly. She looked over her mother’s shoulder to where her father was standing, his back to her, roughly shoving some of her clothes into his old Army duffel bag.
“Daddy?” she said hesitantly. She could tell he heard her, could see the new tension in his shoulders, but he didn’t turn around. He didn’t even pause as he moved to the next drawer, cramming the top few items of clothing into the bag.
“Don’t sulk, Anna Marie,” her mother said sharply. “You had to know this was coming.” She got up and moved to the foot of the bed, picking up the quilt that was lying in a jumble on the floor. Marie realized that it had fallen when the paramedics had pulled Cody, still seizing, off her bed.
“Is Cody okay?” she heard herself asking.
“He’s fine, Anna Marie,” her mother said, folding the quilt and laying it carefully across the foot of the bed. She smoothed it out with her hand. “You’re the one who’s broken.”
“I’m not broken!” Marie cried, hating the teenage whine she heard in her own voice. She looked down at her hands. “I’m not,” she mumbled.
“Yes you are, Anna Marie,” her mother said, her voice flat and emotionless. “Just look.” She gestured to the dresser mirror. Marie saw herself reflected there. She was sixteen again, her hair a solid auburn with no trace of white, the map with her route to Alaska pinned to the wall behind her.
As she looked, she saw fine lines blooming across her forehead. No, not lines. Cracks. she pressed her palm to her forehead but it was no help. The cracks slowly spread down her face and neck. She looked down in horror as the skin of her arm cracked like a porcelain doll.
“Help me, Mama.” Her mother shook her head pityingly. “Daddy, help me!” she cried through cracking lips, but it was no use. Her father doggedly continued packing the duffel bag as she shattered, falling to pieces.
____________________
Marie woke with a start, her whole body shaking, her gut churning with nausea. She lifted a hand to her face to find her cheeks wet with tears. She curled up in the bed, feeling miserable.
This was ridiculous. It was just a fight. All couples fought from time to time — living in a mansion filled with interpersonal drama had certainly taught her that. There had to be some way they could fix this. Logan loved her, she knew he did. That’s not something that just goes away. Or does it? a small voice in her head inquired. Did your Mama and Daddy never love you, or did they just stop when you became a mutant?
“I’m not broken,” she mumbled to herself, but even to her own ears the words sounded unconvincing.
It was still early in the morning, but she forced herself out of bed and into the shower. She felt a little better after she had showered and dressed. She would go downstairs and talk to Logan, and they would work this out. They had to.
He was asleep on the couch when she came downstairs. She started the coffee and then sat in the big leather chair, watching him. He looked even rougher than she felt — his cheeks shaded with a short beard instead of his usual stubble, dark circles under his eyes that she would have thought a healing factor would prevent. Her heart twisted. She didn’t know why he was acting this way, but he was obviously in pain.
His body twitched restlessly, his brow furrowed. A low growl burst from him and then he was startling awake, panic in his eyes. Her body trembled with the effort it took not to go to him, but she sat still, waiting for him to calm. His darting eyes landed on her and he took a deep breath, rubbing his hand over his face before sinking back onto the couch.
“Hey, sugar,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady. “Coffee?”
He nodded and she went to the kitchen to fix both their mugs. She stared down into the dark coffee as she spooned the sugar in. Just come up behind me like you used to, Logan, she wished fervently. Wrap your arms around me and bury your face in my neck, tickling me with your stubble like you always do when I’m making us coffee. Make everything all right again. But when she raised her head he was still on the couch, his head in his hands.
She put his coffee on the table in front of him and then sat back in the chair, curling her feet up underneath her. They both sipped in silence for awhile.
“Are we gonna be okay, Logan?” she finally asked, her voice raspy with the tears she was trying to contain.
He looked up in surprise. Then he smiled. Not the usual almost-reluctant quirk of his mouth, but a toothy smile that looked completely insincere on his face. “Of course we are.” He sat up straighter, taking a big gulp of his coffee. “I’m sorry I’ve been so moody lately. I’ve got a lot on my mind.”
She suppressed the shiver of uneasiness that smile had caused. At least he was making an effort, even if it was superficial. “Like what, Logan? Can’t you tell me?”
His eyes shifted back to his coffee. “I was thinking about leavin’ here as soon as the road becomes passable.”
She felt her heart lurch in her chest. “Leavin’ here? Or leavin’ me?” she asked frozenly.
“Us leavin’ together.” His eyes looked into hers, suddenly sharp and watchful. “Maybe see that friend of yours, Xavier.”
She felt like her mind was tumbling, relief and confusion fighting for dominance. “Sugar, I’d love it if we could go back to the mansion together, but why now? Is whatever’s goin’ on with you somethin’ you think the Professor can help you with?”
He leaned forward, suddenly eager. “Yeah. I think that he could. He’s this amazing telepath, right? Maybe that’s just what I need.”
She found herself instinctively leaning away from him, the hair on the back of her neck prickling with unfocused apprehension. “Is somethin’ goin’ on with your memories, Logan? Are the blocks breakin’ down?”
His face pinched with annoyance. “I told you I don’t wanna talk about it. If you want to help me, just take me to Xavier.”
She stood up suddenly, her whole body restless with nervous energy. She opened and closed her fists, jittery with apprehension. She needed to clear her head. She went back into the kitchen, shoving a few granola bars in her pocket. Then she grabbed her boots and sat back in the chair, pulling them on.
“What are you doin’?” he asked.
“Goin’ for a walk,” she said shortly.
She grabbed her jacket and pulled it on.
“Wait.” His hand was on her arm, holding her back. She wheeled around, blinking tears from her eyes.
“It’s miserable out there,” he said. “If you need some time alone, I’ll go out.”
“I can handle it,” she snapped. She turned to go and his hand tightened almost painfully on her arm.
She felt her rollercoaster emotions tipping again, icy fury rushing through her veins. “We both know I can hurt you if I want to, sugar,” she said coldly. “You wanna let me go before that happens?”
She saw the thoughts ticking through his eyes before he finally loosened his grip, letting her go.
“Suit yourself,” he said sullenly.
She slammed out the door, stumbling down the icy porch steps. The snow was knee-deep and she hadn’t dressed appropriately, but she welcomed the distraction of the icy sting on her legs. The day was clear and bright and she took a deep breath, feeling the frigid air fill her lungs, bracing her.
She started walking, no destination in mind. The snow around the house was almost completely muddled, she realized. Logan must have paced all around here. She walked blindly into the forest, the occasional breeze whipping her hair around her face.
She couldn’t make sense of Logan’s sudden wish to seek out Xavier. Was something happening to his mind? She could imagine that freaking him out, making him moody, but why couldn’t he talk to her about it? Of all the people who would understand what it would be like to deal with mental barriers...
She took another step and stumbled as her foot sank deeper than she expected. She fell forward hard on her hands and knees. Dammit, there must be a ditch here. She scrabbled to her feet in aggravation, a twig cracking under her boot. She wiped her hands off on the front of her jeans, and then suddenly her world fell apart.
From the corner of her eye she saw what had cracked under her boot, and it wasn’t a twig. It was a finger, bent grotesquely back now from the rest of the frozen hand that her movements had unburied from the snowy grave.
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