Marie was not even sure how she managed to get herself back to the cabin on such wobbly legs. She was exhausted by the time she got back and wearily climbed the stairs to the loft bedroom.
She washed her hands at the bathroom sink, scrubbing her fingers to try to get the caked blood off. She caught a glimpse of herself in the bathroom mirror, wincing at her blood-streaked face. She stopped and looked closer.
“Jesus Christ...” she breathed.
She ran her damp fingertips over her left cheekbone, where her scar had been. Nothing but smooth skin remained. She yanked her hair aside, baring the left side of her neck. The burned, puckered skin had smoothed out. She could still feel a trace of scarring under her fingertips, but it was almost imperceptible.
Holding her breath, she turned around, looking over her shoulder. The scarring was faded -- no, make that fading. Even before her eyes it seemed to be lessening. She raised her arm, taking in the sensation of full range of motion in her shoulder without the stretch of pain she usually felt over her scarred skin.
“Holy crap,” she said to herself.
Feeling beyond overwhelmed, she climbed into the shower, letting the hot spray beat down on her as she pressed her forehead against the cool tile wall. When all the blood had been washed from her hair and body, she put the plug into the drain and turned the knob to start the bath filling.
She lay down in the tub, feeling the warmth of the water lessening some of the shock. She would try to sort through all that had happened later, but for now she let her mind drift. She closed her eyes, feeling almost weightless in the water.
A stifling mask covered her face, each frantic breath rasping roughly through her dry throat. She looked down to see her brawny arms and legs, naked in the viscous green liquid of the tank, thick black lines tracing the path of the bones. And then it started, pain worse than she had ever felt in her life, pain so overwhelming her mind could barely process it. Every inch of her body was screaming in agony, burning alive from the inside. She turned her head in anguish, looking desperately for escape, but all she could see was the smug faces of the scientists and generals, clinking champagne glasses to celebrate their success...
Marie shot upright, gasping for breath, her whole body shaking with remembered pain. The tub was overflowing. She reached out with shaking hands and turned the water off, pulling the plug from the drain. She stood up shakily, feeling like she was going to throw up. She wrapped a towel around herself and staggered to the bed, sitting on it and putting her head between her knees so that she didn’t pass out, trying to take deep breaths.
What the hell was that? Some kind of nightmare? But as she thought it, she suddenly knew. Not a nightmare, at least not at first. It was a memory. His memory.
Mutant experimentation. She had heard rumors, of course, every mutant had. In between run-of-the-mill pickups and the usual tangles with the Brotherhood or with the Friends of Humanity, the X-Men had even checked up on some of those rumors. But there had never been any confirmation, not even a shred of proof. Every facility they had checked had been innocuous, or simply empty.
It wasn’t just rumors. She knew it now -- knew it with ever fiber of her being. The metal of his claws was just the part that was visible. They had taken this man, and put the metal inside him -- slowly, agonizingly, along every bone in his skeleton.
She crawled under the covers, her mind reeling with the horror of it. “What did they do to you?” she breathed, even though she already knew the answer.
_________________
When the alarm rang, Marie’s first thought was that it had been an especially vivid dream. Her hand sought out her shoulder, and she was surprised anew to feel the skin, smooth and unmarred beneath her fingertips. She pushed herself wearily out of bed, her hair -- irretrievably tangled from having been slept on wet -- another confirmation of the events of the evening before.
She stumbled into the shower, letting the hot water scour the fuzziness from her brain, assessing what she knew. And by the time she emerged she had a plan.
__________________
She sat on the porch swing with her breakfast, as usual, but she couldn’t suppress this new awareness of the woods around her. He could be there. Anywhere.
After breakfast she set up her easel, trying to immerse herself in her work. Her thoughts kept straying back to the man, however. Her mind was still shying away somewhat from what she had learned while she was containing his personality. Was she mistaken? How could that bright spot -- the only bright spot in everything he knew and felt -- how could that be her? She didn’t even know he existed until two days ago.
That sort of intensity should scare her, she knew that rationally. And yet, somehow, it didn’t. Maybe because she had caught enough of a sense of it to know that it was not obsessive, or even salacious. To him she was just...comfort, and peace, and goodness. What she had done to make him feel that way she had no idea -- there was nothing special about her.
Through conversations with Hank, she had come to understand a little bit about how a feral sees the world. And this man was feral, she had no doubts about that. The sheer intensity of his experiences -- the sounds and smells and colors, the deep wells of emotion -- it made her world seem flat and faded in comparison. So he was feral, and instinct had drawn him to her, for whatever reason.
She knew for certain that he would not harm her -- would in fact protect her at great risk to himself, as he had proven yesterday. The thought of it made her heart twist a little. Even in the small glimpses she had gotten of his life there had been so much pain, and loneliness, and betrayal. She had hurt him yesterday. Did he understand that she had no control of it? Or did he now count her amongst the many people who had used him -- taken from him, careless of the hurt it had caused?
She wanted -- needed -- to make him understand. Instinct had drawn him to her, and she could only hope that it would do so again.
__________________
By afternoon, she felt that she had given him enough time. Perhaps he despised her, and would never come near her again. But...perhaps not.
She laid out a blanket, and went back into the house for a moment. When she came back out she had two plates, and enough food to fill them both. She put one plate and a bottle of water on the far end of the blanket, and sat down at the other end.
She took a bite of her sandwich, contemplating the quiet woods.
“Will you eat with me?” she asked.
She got no answer except the rustle of the wind through the trees.
“I think you might be there...I hope you might be there. And I wanted to talk to you. Wanted to explain to you what happened.”
She took a sip of her water, trying to formulate the words. “I’m a mutant. Like you. Except, my mutation is my skin. I can’t control it -- can’t stop it, or anything. Whenever someone’s skin touches mine, I hurt them. And it hurts me too.”
She heard a different rustle then, like something in the underbrush. Her eyes snapped up, but she still could see nothing but the trees.
“I mean, usually it does. When I touch someone, I get...I don’t know, their life force, you might call it. Their thoughts, and memories, and emotions. And if they’re mutants, I get their mutations. But it hurts them, real bad. I can kill someone if I touch them too long.”
She took another bite of her sandwich. Maybe it was her imagination but she was certain he was there -- it was almost like she could feel him.
“That’s what happened yesterday. That’s why I didn’t want you to touch me. Not ‘cause I was afraid of you, or anythin’. I know that’s what you thought, I -- I saw it on your face. But it wasn’t like that. I just...I didn’t wanna hurt you. I thought I was as good as dead already, and I didn’t wanna hurt you too. But you helped me anyway, and you saved me. You healed me.”
She absent-mindedly pulled some grapes off a stem, rolling one between her fingers. “Anyway, that’s mostly what I wanted to say. Thanks, for helpin’ me. And that I’m sorry I hurt you, I didn’t mean to. I wish I could stop it -- that’s why I came out here, to be by myself to find a way to stop it. I don’t want to hurt people, and I didn’t want to hurt you. I just hope you’re not...mad or nothin’ about it,” she ended lamely.
She suddenly felt ridiculous. He probably wasn’t even there -- she was probably just talking to herself like a damn fool. She threw the grape aside, her hands clenching into fists. “This is stupid,” she muttered.
She picked up the full plate she had made for him and stacked it on top of hers. She stood up, and...he was just there, at the edge of the clearing, standing silent and still among the tree trunks.
“Oh,” she breathed, startled.
“I...” she took a step towards him, and he took a step back, half-turning as if to leave.
She took a step back also. “Wait...don’t go.”
His eyes met hers again, silent and unreadable.
“Were you here...all that time? Did you hear what I said?”
His head tilted slightly -- in inquiry or assent, she couldn’t tell.
“Anyway, I’m sorry that I hurt you. I didn’t mean to. I know...I know that you like to hang around here...”
His eyes widened, and she rushed to reassure him.
“No, I mean...it’s okay. I understand. I know that you aren’t gonna hurt me or anythin’, right?”
He just looked at her, his gaze steady and intense, making her feel fidgety.
“I just meant...it’s okay with me if you wanna hang around here. And if you wanna eat with me or talk...that’s okay too. I mean, I know that you’re not a big talker...”
Was that the slightest quirk of his mouth? Had she actually made him smile?
She couldn’t stop the grin from spreading across her own face. “My momma usedta tell me I could talk enough for any two people. So maybe we could do that. If you wanted.”
She reached down and picked up the water bottle she had brought for him. “I brought you some...”
But when she looked up he was already gone.
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