I Grieve
SacredMacha
Notmysight at aol.com
Rating:
Summary : It was all so different then.
Genre- angst.
Category post X3/AU
Archive : sure!
Disclaimer - I own none of it.
Notes : You have been warned. I am not little miss sunshine. Heck, I can't even control what happens, sometimes.
I don't know if I can take it anymore. It was only an hour ago, and everything was different then. Nothing yet has really sunk in, looks like it always did. Neatly made bed, the way Marie insisted she had to do it every morning. Her hair brush on the vanity, still glinting with hints of ivory among the strands of brunette that clung to the bristles. The candles sitting in their holders, waiting for the flame to set them alight. I struck a match, watching one hint of golden light multiply as I touched it to wick after wick. Burned my fingers lighting the last one, but I didn't care. The sandalwood scent of the candles started to eddy in the air of the room, as if whispers of a dream.
My hands seemed to large, clumsy, as I ran fingertips over her hairbrush, her compact with her powder, the jewel bright perfume bottles she collected, though she didn't wear perfume. Because of me, she'd never bothered unless it was a special occasion. She'd always kept me in mind, with all the little things, besides the big ones. What scents she bathed with, the lotion she spread over her skin in the morning, fresh out of the shower, heat of her skin intensifying the smell for moments while it sank in, keeping her skin smooth and begging to be touched.She told me once she would have given up forever to touch me. I knew now that she had.
A jerk of my arm, sending those empty, pretty bottles to the floor with a crash of broken glass.Knees buckled, and I hit my elbows on the top of her vanity, as my body started to shake silently. No tears, no sounds, just shaking and clinging to that vanity top. My eyes fell on a mahogany box, drawing it to me, falling the rest of the way to the floor in a heap. Fingers stroked over the box like a prized possesion, before I lifted the brass hasp and opened it. Scent of Marie, mix
ed with just a hint of me, rising up out of the box like a djinn from an old rubbed bottle.
Fingers dipped into the velvet lined box, rubbing along the bottle green nap to just have the sensation against my fingertips. The contents of the box were a jumble, and I picked and chose among it, one piece, one memory at a time,
First were the pieces of paper, kept flat in the bottom, tugged up with the clinking of other things that had been resting atop. Unfolding them, letting my hands caress the edges, taking in the words. Paper, for the first anniversary. She'd given me a deed to a little plot of land up north with a cabin on it, and I'd laughed, handing her a similar piece of paper, for the plot by the lake, where we lived, that house, the house I had first touched her in, loved her in. This house, that now seemed to sigh with emptiness. A sound in my throat, as the papers were put aside.
Fingers stirred in the box again, feeling the different shapes. Soft cotton was next, a tiny little washcloth I'd given her for the second anniversary. By then I'd decided I'd follow the old traditions, and give her traditional gifts. Though maybe giving her the washcloth under the edict she let me use it on her, and give her a bath and wash every inch of her with it had been less traditional. But she had loved it, me doting on her, the stroke of the soft cloth over her skin, her dark whiskey eyes burning with love and desire long before I was near to finished with all I had in mind. I pressed the square of fabric to my face, taking in the scent of her it still carried, like a junkie taking a hit they know may be their last. Then it was tossed to the top of the papers, starting a little pile of memories I was sorting through.
Next was easy to pick out, the feel of soft, baby smooth leather gloves. Cool, warming to my hand even as I tugged them up out of the little chest. By our third year, Marie's mutation had come back. She had pretended it was all right, trying to hide her tears. She'd taken the cure, and it had failed her...but enough time had shown her I didn't care. I loved her, held her close. My stubborn girl, arguing when I touched her, kissed her. Until her mutation stopped reacting to me at all, and when she cried then, it was because she didn't have to be afraid to touch me anymore. Rubbing those gloves along my face, imprint of vanilla lotion on good leather, before they were set aside.
Rustling sounds as I chose the next fragment of memory, dried lavender rose, still clinging to a hint of color. I remembered hunting for a dozen of them for our fourth anniversary. She'd mentioned once she thought they were terribly pretty, not pink, not red, just that light purple hue. Seeing her smile, eyes brightening, had made the eight florists I'd had to talk to worth it. Whisper of a scent clung to it, faded like its color, as I set it aside.
Fingers ran along the edge of the wooden case, deep enough to hold the things Marie treasured. Our things that she stored inside it, starting the fifth year, when I had given it to her, making it myself, carving the wood, some of it by claw. Polished until the gleamed in subtle shades of red, bronze, and warm browns in the light, the tiny brass hasp fitted on so she could lock it if she chose. I shut my eyes, remembering how often she opened this, just to look inside.
Year six had been candy, and all that was left to be put in the box was one lone, silver foil wrapped kiss. I'd gotten her a mountain of chocolate covered cherries, boxes of chocolate truffles, chocolate dipped fruit.. and the kisses. Spelling her name for her on our bed in them, red and silver ones. She'd made such a fuss over that, and I had been thankful I had paid attention to a couple of those sappy romantic movies she liked so much, at least enough to get the idea. Spending that weekend in bed, overindulging in enough chocolate to make our nerves jangle, her hairtickling over my chest, her chin on my shoulders as she cajoled me into eating another chocolate cherry.
The seventh year had been a doozy. She'd insisted on going away for vacation, teasing me she didn't want any other women around, in case the seven year itch struck. Woman could be so silly at times, like anyone would ever have me as wrapped up in them as she did. I was worried, leaving a week before our anniversary, without that traditonal gift of copper. I just hadn't had time to think of anything. Sadly, it was a rest stop along the highway on the way to Virginia Beach that had saved me. A penny flattened out but for the raised shape of two hearts. A little good luck piece, she'd said, kissing me long enough people stopped to stare. Not that I gave a damn. Any time Marie wanted to kiss me was fine by me.
Jubilee, or Ju Ju bee, as I never seemed to stop calling her, had helped me with year eight. Bronze worked into a celtic knot, a pin to go through it, that held her hair back from her face. She'd all but fallen in love with it, which earned the little yellow jacket a hefty bribe out of me. I turned it over and over in my fingers, the cold metal that had never looked cold against Marie's hair, bronze bringng out the shades of red and gold in the strands there. Carefully setting it atop the pile, a clink as it hit the flattened penny.
Our ninth anniversary had been hard. Marie had been sick with a cold that just wouldn't quit, and since her skin no longer took to my mutation, I couldn't help her out of it. Instead, I had gotten a Japanese tea set, sharing that age old ceremony with her. She'd protested when I put my mouth where hers had been, forgetting for a moment, or maybe just fretting over me that she did, that I wouldn't catch her cold. Spinning that little cup on my finger, the taste of the tea seeming to linger ghost like on the back of my tongue
.Putting the little piece of pottery aside, to take up the symbol of year ten. What did you get a helluva woman made out of tin, for heaven's sake? Until I'd settled on getting her a pair of her own dog tags, not too unlike the ones I'd thrown away at Alkali Lake, knowing she and the X-geeks were more to me than even my old life. One embossed with her name, and another with mine. She'd worn them for weeks straight, before they were slid int othe box with the other things she called her yearly treasures.
Hand slid into my ppocket, tugging out the three quarter circle of steel, engraved with the date of our wedding, and the word forever. She'd given it up, and now I'd never get to give her her anniversary present to mark our eleventh year as man and wife, that unit everyone around the mansion called Logan and Rogue. I put it with the others, before I placed each piece of our life's memories back into the box. So stupid, all of it seemed so trivial, but it never had been to, not to Marie, not to me. Knowing that these little gifts were the things that moved her more than anything extravgant could have.. it mattered.
She'd been so excited, making plans for us to have an anniversary dinner, glowing and bubbly and just radiating her happiness. I had known, of course, long before, but she obviously was planning on waiting to tell me. To give me my anniversary gift, tell me we were finally, after years, going to be three and not just two. I'd been prepared to argue her out of working on the team after she told me, and warn her I was likely to coddle her, badass reputation be damned.
Then it had happened, three days before our circled day. I had sensed it even as she got out of bed, before she started panicking, crying at the sight of blood. I'd carried her down the driveway, trying to tell her it didn't mean anything, it could be a dozen little things, that she and the baby would be fine.
I'd made myself a liar. Even when it was obvious we were going to lose the baby, I talked as if everything was all right. We would have another baby, everything would be all right. Never had I wished more for her skin to flare again, to take my mutation in, even if I gave up touching her, skin on skin, the rest of our lives.
But it didn't happen. Even after Jeannie had sighed, giving up and taking off those protective gloves, I held her hand. Held her hand and hoped, prayed for her mutation to once more do something unexpected. When the feel of her flesh got cool, almost waxy, I let go.
I made my way up the stairs, back to our tiny home blindly. Her scent luring me as surely as a siren's song... to my doom. This was my prison now, as much as it had once been my palace. Here I'd had everything. Home, family, memories, and Marie. Now it could all fall to ashes and I likely wouldn't care.
I believed we'd have it all, forever. Did I believe the dream, or did I dream to believe?
Box closed, and I curled around it, those fragments of my life with Marie, feeling the carved wood under my cheek as I rested my head against it. Praying vainly, for one last whisper of her touch, one last drawl of my name in those honey tones.. just one last dream.
That was how Scott and Jean found me the next morning. Curled up around a box full of momentos from a life worth living. I was getting cold even as they tried to wake me. I'd found that even the Wolverine could die... from a grieving heart. I want to think Jeannie heard me say goodbye, before I went on. I had found my release, my relief. Now I was free to be with Marie, and she and I could both move on..to whatever adventure was next.
I Grieve
By : Peter Gabriel.
It was only one hour ago
It was all so different then
nothing yet has really sunk in
looks like it always did
this flesh and bone
it's just the way that we are tied in
but there's noone home
i grieve...
for you
you leave...
me
so hard to move on
still loving what's gone
said life carries on...
carries on and on and on...
and on
the news that truely shocks
is the empty, empty page
while the final rattle rocks
its empty, empty cage...
and i can't handle this
i grieve...
for you
you leave...
me
let it out and move on
missing what's gone
said life carries on...
i said life carries on and on...
and on
life carries on in the people i meet
in every one that's out on the street
in all the dogs and cats
in the flies and rats
in the rot and the rust
in the ashes and the dust
life carries on and on and on...
and on
life carries on and on and on...
life carries on and on and on...
and on
life carries on and on and on...
just the car that we ride in
the home we reside in
the face that we hide in
the way we are tied in
as life carries on and on and on...
and on
life carries on and on and on...
did i dream this belief
or did i believe this dream
how i will find relief
i grieve...
The Wolverine & Rogue Fanfiction Archive
Barely Legal Since 2000