Indomitable Will, Tender Heart - 6


Author: Taryn
Email: Write Me!
Rating: Strong R (language - this chapter)
Disclaimer: Don't own them, yadda yadda.  See Chapter 1...
Author's Notes: Inspiration for the laboratory sequence came from Barry Windsor-Smith's "Weapon X" story.  The story
of how Logan received his Adamantium skeleton is simply chilling.  While Mr. Smith's rendition of Logan is a lot more bestial than mine, I used his fantastic illustrations to stoke my imagination (and - hopefully - do it some semblance of justice as well)!
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*/FLASH/*

The room was dimly lit, but he could tell by the scent (chemicals, sterile, antiseptic) that he was in some sort of medical facility. Not a hospital....a lab?  When he tried to sit up, he realized that he was strapped to a hard metal examination table.  He groaned, tugging violently at the metal cuffs around his wrists, waist and ankles, but they held firm.

His head hurt - a dull throbbing - and his body ached all over, as if he'd been beaten. Suddenly, he realized that's exactly what had happened.  He had another flash, vividly recalling the men who'd surprised him in the darkened alley.  They'd taken him out from the fire escape, above, and he berated himself now, knowing he should've smelled them coming.  His senses had still been a bit dulled from the drinking he'd done at the bar, which was the only way they'd had the advantage....he hadn't even suspected they were following him.  He must've gotten knocked out, then, because everything after that was fuzzy and trying to remember the details only made the hammering in his head even more acute.
 
The room spun as he craned his neck to look down, immediately aware that he was naked and there were some kind of black markings drawn all over him.  Upon closer inspection, they appeared to be a diagram - mapping?- of every bone in his body.  An icy finger of fear began creeping up his spine, causing the hair on his neck to stand on end.  What in the hell kind of place was this, and what did they want with him?  

Footsteps were rapidly approaching and a blinding light came on suddenly, just overhead.  He groaned, reflexively snapping his eyes shut.  Ghostly afterimages writhed and pulsed in his head, and then he forced his eyes open again. A man in pale green scrubs was standing next to him, holding a large syringe.  Struggling was futile... he could only watch, helplessly, as the man squirted some of the fluid into the air and then began probing for the vein inside his left elbow.  He tried to twist away, growling.

“What’re ya givin’ me?  Who the fuck are you?”

There was no reply except for the bite of the needle in his arm and he winced - more from anger than pain.  An icy coldness began seeping rapidly through his veins.  He clenched his fists, trying to ward it off and maintain control, but his thoughts were losing their clarity and his vision was growing hazy.  He felt like relaxing, wanting to sleep, just dozing off for a little while, as the coldness turned to a dull warmth and his head filled with cotton......

Then, abruptly, his world exploded:  rough hands on him - a steady beeping - sharp medicinal odors - searing pain.  Oh, God it hurts, it hurts....fuck, it hurts...   This was wrong, he shouldn't be here, they'd made a mistake. There was a fog in his head.  He couldn't think clearly, or even remember his name.  Another needle jabbing into his right arm.....he forced his eyes open and immediately wished that he'd kept them shut.  This isn't happening!   He was vaguely aware of the sensation that something was protruding from his skin, covering his entire body, but he couldn't lift his head to look and see what it was....wasn't at all sure he even wanted to.   Why are they doin' this to me?

"We'll begin the insertion once he's in the Stasis tank.  Let's get him ready...."

The fog grew thicker, enveloping him again, and this time he welcomed it.

*/FLASH/*

Sometime later - how long? - he was fighting his way back to consciousness, hearing voices around him but unable to understand what was being said.  Pain tore through him, a razor's edge, slicing through and taking over all other thought.

//painpainpainpainstopthepainstopthepainpleaseohgodpleasemakeitstop//

His body felt as if it were on fire from the inside-out.  Flashes of light danced in front of his eyes, prism shades of red, blue and green.  He thought there was a man standing next to him, but he couldn't be sure.  Everything had taken on a surreal, dreamlike quality.  All except the pain....that was certainly real enough and it remained sharp and white-hot.

"He's ready."  The voice sounded far away even as a shadowy figure leaned over him.
"Put him in the tank."

He was still strapped down, but now he could feel himself being raised and then lowered into an oblong container - like a coffin -.  He tried to fight, tried to protest, but his body just wouldn't obey the commands his brain was screaming at him.  Another needle, this time into the muscle between his neck and shoulder.  He wished he could black out again.  He didn't want to be here, didn't want to feel what was being done to him.....why couldn't they just kill him and get it over with?

His body was turning to lead again, his thoughts growing fuzzy.  Faint sensations broke through the haze enveloping his brain (cold, wet....water?) - wait....he was underwater?  Instinctively, his eyes shot open and he tried to sit up, the sudden fear of drowning taking over and temporarily increasing his strength, sheer adrenalin kicking in.

"Sir, the inhibitor doesn't seem to be working.  His metabolism must be overriding it."

"He can fight it all he wants.....it won't matter now."

A figure was suddenly standing next to him with yet another syringe.  He clenched his teeth when the needle pierced the still-tender flesh of his neck again.  Then his mouth was forced open and a plastic tube was inserted down his throat.  He gagged, but was too weak to fight it.  Sterile, metallic-tasting air began pumping into his lungs and everything started to fade.

". . . still awake -- in pain. . . .  "
". . . proceed . . . . "
". . . drugs aren't working -- dosage increase?. . . "
". . . no -- have our orders . . . "
". . . but - rhythm spiking -- goddammit -- feeling everything. . . . . "
". . . no - need his healing factor at 100% -- proceed . . . "

He felt his lungs filling up with the metallic air and acrid chemicals.  His stomach churned and he tried to cough, but only managed to choke instead.  It felt like something was being forced into his body....something hot, invading every pore, every fiber of his being, burning him from the inside-out.  He tried to yell, to fight, but the breathing tube choked him.  Then, as if he'd finally reached his limit and something inside his mind just snapped - Jesus, just let me die - he passed out again.

*/FLASH/*

The next time he came to, the needles and tubes were gone, but he was still strapped down, underwater, with a mask over his face.  He saw, or thought he saw, distorted figures moving beside the tank.  A hand holding something shiny dipped into the water next to his left arm.  With a slow horror, he realized it was a scalpel.  He tried to fight, tried to shout that he was
still awake, to stop hurting him, to die and fucking go to hell, but the drugs and the mask prevented it.  He was helpless, could only lay there as the scalpel sliced into his forearm, flaying the skin open, exposing muscle and bone from the elbow to the wrist.  He watched with a morbid fascination as his blood streamed lazily, like ribbons, and the water in the tank turned pink

The making of Weapon X

The rest of the flashes were even more fragmented, puzzle pieces that didn't quite fit.  Metal searing his bones. . . voices distorted. . . mind-numbing pain . . . so much blood - his blood. His identity - his very humanity - ripped from him (security wipe?). . . laughter and the clink of champagne glasses. . . and then blackness and nothing.   It was as though he'd ceased to exist....

*/FLASH/*

--------------------------------------------

Marie sat up in bed, gasping for breath.  Her stomach lurched slightly and she was acutely aware of her pulse thudding loudly in her ears and adrenalin surging through her veins.  It was several long minutes before she was able to calm her racing heart and try to figure out what had caused her to bolt up out of a deep sleep in the middle of the night.  She was pretty sure she hadn't been dreaming - she wasn't shaking and there weren't any remnants of a nightmare poking at her brain. So, then....what --?

The bedside clock told her it was a few minutes after 3:00 in the morning.  She let her eyes adjust to the gloom, studying the bedroom for anything amiss, but found nothing out of place.  Likewise, her hearing wasn't picking up any unusual sounds.   Wow, this is weird....

She could feel a headache coming on and decided it would probably be a good idea to take some aspirin now, before it got worse. That's it - no more wine or coffee before bed for you, girl!   Stumbling out of bed and down the hall, she made it to the bathroom as quietly as possible.  Downing the aspirin and running a cold washcloth over her face made her feel a little bit better.  She was even starting to think she might be able to get back to sleep again when she noticed the door to the guest room was thrown open.  Hmm, that door was shut when I went to bed....

After she'd told him goodnight, Wolverine had taken her up on her offer to use the shower.  She'd been folding laundry when she finally heard him leave the bathroom and go straight to the guest room, shutting the door behind him.  Once the hot water had replenished itself in the tank, she quickly washed the dinner dishes before deciding to call it a night herself.  She hadn't heard a sound from the guest room as she passed by the door on her way to bed, but now....

Wolverine.  Is he okay? Something feels wrong....?

Curiously, Marie tiptoed toward the open door and softly called his name.  When no reply was forthcoming, she peeked inside, the smell of vomit assaulting her nose.  As her eyes adjusted to the dim glow of the nightlight, she realized that the bedding looked as though it had been shredded, and there were scratches in the headboard.  As she turned quickly to leave the room and find her wayward guest, she noticed the matching gouges - in 3 uniform rows - alongside the doorframe.  Oh my God....  Swallowing hard, her heart hammering in her chest, she silently but swiftly made her way down the hall toward the living room.

She heard him before she saw him; a low, gutteral tone that sounded like an animal in pain.  As she came around the side of the couch, she discovered him curled up in front of the now-cold fireplace.  He was naked, his t-shirt and jeans apparently left behind in the bedroom, and his arms were wrapped around himself protectively as he shivered, rocking rhythmically back and forth.

He.....he looks wild, like an animal....God, what happened to him?

Grabbing a woven throw off the back of the couch, she approached him cautiously, not wanting to startle or frighten him any further.  When she was only a few feet behind him, she crouched so as to not appear threatening and whispered his name.  His rocking stilled momentarily and he sniffed the air.  She knew he was taking in her scent.  Then he made a sound between a growl and a whimper, and the rocking resumed.  She swallowed hard and tried again.

"Wolverine.....it-it's Marie.  Can you hear me?  I think you had a bad dream, b-but you're okay now.  ...Wolverine?"

He stilled again but didn't look at her.  Instead, he unwrapped his arms from around himself and dropped his head into his hands.  The shivering became more violent and she could hear his teeth chattering.  She realized it had to be more from the trauma of the nightmare than from the temperature of the room.

Creeping toward him on her haunches, she slowly placed the throw around his shoulders and back.  At the contact, his head snapped up and he turned to look at her as if aware of her for the first time.  The pained, haunted expression in his eyes made her gasp.  She was certain she'd never seen anyone look more lost.

"It's okay.....it-it's just me -- Marie," she whispered, gently stroking his back.  "It was just a dream and it's over now.  You're okay.....you're safe."

He shook his head, wrapping his arms around himself again.  His shivering grew more pronounced.  Marie frowned, feeling an overwhelming urge to comfort him but not sure exactly how to proceed.  Steeling herself, she made a quick decision.

Leaning toward him from behind, she tentatively put her arms around him and drew him slowly back against her, hoping that her warmth and the solid feel of her against his back would help soothe him.  She half expected him to yank away from her, so when he grasped her forearms and pulled them tighter around himself she was surprised.

They remained that way for nearly half an hour.  She murmured softly to him, the words nonsensical but the tone comforting.  His shivering began to abate, but he continued to rock slightly and she moved with him, cradling him from behind.  He was clinging to her like a drowning man to a life preserver, his grip on her arms almost painful.  Finally, she thought she'd better try to reach him again.

"Wolverine....it's Marie. Please....can you talk to me?"  She spoke quietly against his neck, his sweat-damp hair cool against her cheek.  The rocking motions suddenly stilled again and she felt him swallow, his upper body still tense but no longer tightly coiled.

"L-Logan."

It sounded more like a grunt than a word.  She frowned.  "I-I'm sorry.....what --?"

"My name."  He swallowed again, his voice hoarse.  "It's Logan."

Marie nodded, squeezing him a little from behind, like a backwards hug.  "Logan.  Hmm....I like it.  Such a strong name."  She smiled against his neck.  "It suits you much better than Wolverine."

"Th-that's what they called me."  It was said so quietly, she almost didn't hear him, even pressed right up against him as she was.

"They?"

He didn't answer her, instead shaking his head slowly as if trying to dislodge the cobwebs clinging to his mind.  "Wh-what happened?"

That was a loaded question -- how to respond?  She bit her lip, deciding to go with the honest - yet abbreviated - truth.  "I think y-you had...one of your nightmares.  It must've made you sick and, uh, the guest room is, well, messed up, but it's okay.  You're okay.....you're safe now.  It was just a bad dream."

He gave her a sharp, sideways glance. "The room's....messed up?"

Marie frowned.  This certainly wasn't getting any easier.  "Umm, well.....you, uh, threw up and...."  she trailed off, not knowing how to explain the rest of what she'd seen.

"And what?"  He had turned to face her.  She met his gaze and saw that a semblance of coherency had returned to his eyes, the haunted look having dissipated somewhat.  She desperately didn't want to say or do anything to make him upset again.

"And.....well, the bed and the, uh, doorframe got carved up, kind of," she paused, then finished quickly.  "But it's no problem, really......it can all be fixed.  The important thing is that you're okay."

His eyes narrowed and he shivered again, suddenly pulling the throw tighter around himself.  "Whaddya mean....carved -?"

Oh, crap...he's not going to let this go.   She swallowed.  "Cut....with something sharp, like a knife, or --"

"Fuck! --"

His reaction was immediate and Marie fell back onto her haunches as he abruptly stood up on still-wobbly legs, the throw clasped around him, and started down the hallway toward the guest room.  Recovering quickly, she got up and went after him, placing a firm hand on his arm as he neared the doorway.

"Logan, don't......it's okay. Don't worry about it.  Everything can be fixed.  It wasn't your fault."

He shrugged away from her, stepping inside and flipping on the lightswitch.  Marie winced.  In the unforgiving glare from the ceiling light, the room looked even more horrible than she remembered it.  She saw Logan's nostrils flare at the sour odor permeating the air.  His eyes were wide as he took in the damage done to the bedding, the headboard and - turning
around slowly - the doorframe.

"Shit.  I - I.....oh, God --"

"Logan," she tried again, "Come back to the living room.  You can sleep on the couch, by the fire.  I'll even turn it back on for you.  It's okay.  I'll just clean this up in the morning.  Come  on --"

"I did this.  Fuck!  I'm s-sorry.  God, I'm so sorry......"

He abruptly whirled back around to face her, gripping her by the shoulders, the throw landing in a heap at his feet, forgotten.  Marie stared directly into his eyes, acutely aware of his powerful  (naked)  form, just inches away from her.

"Marie......Shit!  I -- I didn't h-hurt ya, did I?"  His voice was frantic as he turned her around, his large hands already giving her a skilled once-over, checking for injuries.  She shook her head.

"No, no --" she insisted, trying to soothe him.  "Logan - I'm fine.  You didn't hurt me....."

"Oh, God --"  It was a low, strangled moan.  Cradling his head in his hands for a moment, he abruptly grabbed his shirt and jeans from the chair by the bed, then turned and fled the room.  Momentarily startled, Marie sucked in a gasp of air and darted after him.  He was standing by the front door with his back to her, mumbling "I'm sorry, shit, I'm so sorry" over and over, while trying to shove his unsteady legs into the jeans.

She recognized his 'fight or flight' mindset immediately and, since there was nothing tangible to fight, it was obvious which choice he'd instinctively made.  At the thought of him fleeing into the dark in this condition, her heart jumped in her chest and she impulsively wrapped her arms around him from behind, like before, holding him tight.  Again, she didn't know which one of them was more stunned by her  increasing boldness.

"Logan, stop.  Listen to me.  Stop - Please......"

He'd managed to pull the denim up around his hips, but couldn't seem to work the zipper or the button in his haste to get away.  Marie stilled his hands with hers, causing him to jerk away from her, his eyes wide, his expression tormented.

"No....don't get near me!  I-I'll hurt ya.  I-I don't wanna hurt ya -- "

Marie swallowed, shaking her head, her eyes never leaving his.  "You're not going to hurt me, okay?  I'm fine.  What you did to the guest room was an accident.  It's no big deal.  I'll just fix it back up, good as new.  You can even help me, if you want to.  We --"

"No!"  He was trembling now, his fists clenching and unclenching.  "I-I'm dangerous!  I don't wanna hurt ya, but I might - I can't always stop it.  I-- Just stay the fuck away from me!"

He was edging toward the front door and Marie knew the situation had just gone from bad to critical.  She couldn't let him go out into the night, alone - not in his current agitated state.  He wasn't even dressed properly, only wearing jeans - no shirt, no boots - but he seemed oblivious.  How could she convince him that what he really needed to do was stay?

"Logan....." she took a tentative step toward him, holding her hands out, palms showing in a non-threatening gesture. "Please let me help you. You're in no condition to be out there alone. You're just not thinking straight.....hell, you're not even fully dressed! Just - just stay here and let me help you.  We can figure out what's wrong together, in the morning -- "

His eyes were wild and he was shaking again, a low growl reverberating up from the depths of his chest.  "No, you can't help me......y-you don't understand......"

"Then explain it to me."  Marie took another step toward him.  "Please, Logan....I want to understand!"

*SNIKT*

Her eyes widened and an involuntary gasp escaped her lips.  Logan's fists were tightly clenched, and protruding from between the knuckles on both hands were what appeared to be 6 long knives.   No, not knives....they're blades!   Six impossibly long, incredibly sharp-looking metal blades.  I know he said he's a mutant, but Dear God, there is NO way that could be a natural mutation!

He was scowling at her with angry eyes.  "How can you help me?"  His voice was laced with sarcasm and disgust. "I can't even help myself."

He raised his fists, making sure she got a good look at the claws.  Marie jumped slightly, but didn't pull away.   More fuckin' points for her.  "Can ya make these disappear?" he muttered darkly.  "Is that one of your 'mutant 'gifts'?"  He practically spat the words.  "Can ya reverse the damage that's been done to me?  Make it all just go away?"
 
Now Marie was the one visibly trembling, but Logan's sense of smell told him it wasn't from fear.  She wasn't afraid of him, although she damn-well should be.  No, it was something else that was making her shake.  It smelled like....pain? sadness?    What the-- ?  She's feeling sad.....for me?  Her reaction caught him off-guard.  He'd been expecting her to scream and order him to get out, or at the very least to run away, but she was doing neither.  She just continued to stand there, tears in her eyes and sympathy - She's hurting for me! - coming off of her in waves.

"No," she admitted softly.  "I can't change the past, but...."  She lowered her eyes, daring to reach out and take his right hand, cradling it in both of hers.  He froze, terrified that he would accidentally cut her.  "....I can be your friend, and try to be there for you - maybe help you deal with some of your pain.  Th-that's something.....isn't it?"

Logan was struck dumb.  The idea that a total stranger could feel anything but fear or revulsion around him - especially after he'd revealed the claws - had completely thrown him for a loop.  Carefully, he extracted his hand from hers, retracting the blades and - still shaking - edged hesitantly away from the door, watching her with a mixture of both guilt....and wonder.

The second *SNIKT* startled Marie out of her reverie.  She raised her eyes to meet his and he saw the tears were beginning to spill over.  Damn....is this kid for real?  Maybe I'm still stuck in a crazy dream.  No one's ever cried for me.....not ever.   She should be terrifed, or disgusted, or.....

With trembling fingers, she reached once more for his hand, tracing the skin between his knuckles where the deadly claws now lay dormant,  - Oh My God... - marveling at how the flesh had already healed around the entrance/exit wounds.  Logan's breath caught in his chest. The sensation of her fingers on his hand, tracing his knuckles - coupled with her incredible offer - threatened to overwhelm him.

She had given him everything - food, a warm place to sleep, even her friendship - and now she was offering him the greatest gift of all:  her acceptance.  She knew what he was now, what he was capable of, and she wasn't afraid of him.  Didn't judge him.  Didn't consider him an animal or look at him with revulsion.  He had her compassion, but not her pity.   God, I don't deserve any of this.

Marie was watching him, awaiting his decision, as he stared into her eyes.  He could see no ulterior motives, sense no personal agenda.  She was helping him only because she cared, although he had no idea why she would.  She didn't really know him, certainly didn't owe him anything.....hell, she had her own life and probably more than enough of her own problems without getting herself mixed up in his.  Yet, she was practically pleading with him to let her in, so she could just....simply...help...him.

"Logan, your nightmares --"  She paused, swiping at the tears on her cheeks.  "I'm no expert or anything, but I've never heard of anyone having such a viol- er, such a powerful reaction to a dream...."

He stiffened.  "Whaddya mean?"  His recollection of the night's events was foggy at best, and his head was beginning to ache just thinking about it.

"Well - if you can describe your nightmare to me, maybe I can help you make some sense out of it?"  He started to pull away from her, panic welling up within him, but Marie grasped his hands in hers firmly.  "Please, Logan?  Will you at least let me try....?"  Her eyes were bright with unshed tears.

Damn, there she goes, cryin' for me again.  She should be more worried about herself, gettin' involved with a freak like me.  She's gonna fuckin' regret the day she brought me here.....if she hasn't already.

Her request went against his most basic instincts, but he knew the least he could do to try and make amends was give her a straight answer.....hell, he owed her that much, especially after he'd eaten most of her food, redecorated her guest room and awakened her from a sound sleep.

Shit.  " I dunno, uh....I think I'm in some kind of a medical place.  Not a hospital....a lab, maybe.  Th-they're operatin' on me - cuttin' me - and I can't get loose...can't make 'em stop..."  He glanced at Marie out of the corner of his eye, wondering if he should say more.  She was staring at him, eyes wide, silently encouraging him to continue.   Fuck.  Do I gotta  talk about this?  She really don't need to hear this shit!   His knuckles itched and he fought back the urge to rub them, clearing his throat instead.  "Uh, th-there's a big tank, with liquid in it.  They stick m-me in it and I....I can't breathe.  Feels like I'm drownin'.  The fuckers....they j-just keep cuttin' me and they....."  He choked, continuing in a whisper infused with agony  "....I'm awake, the whole goddamned time!  They know they're hurtin' me, but they don't give a fuck.  They just keep--"  He broke off abruptly, not looking at her, and Marie swallowed hard around the lump in her throat.  She forced herself to meet his gaze as she spoke.

"Logan....when you showed me your, uh....."  What do I call them?  "....claws.....well, it's starting to make more sense now."  She continued to hold his confused gaze.  "I think your nightmare was more than just a bad dream.  Whatever it was that you were dreaming about may have really happened to you.  I think, maybe, that they might've been....well,  memories."  The words were coming in a rush now, as she tried desperately to explain.  "It's the only feasible explanation for your reaction to them!   And since you know something traumatic has happened to you, causing you to lose your conscious memories, it only makes sense that those memories might try to re-assert themselves while you're sleeping.....don't you think?"

For not bein' a telepath, she's perceptive....I'll give her that.  All of a sudden, his head was spinning and he couldn't breathe.   I can't fuckin' do this. She don't need my shit, and I'll only hurt her if I stay.   A low growl emanated from his throat.

"I'm....I gotta go....Sorry. "  He stood up and began fumbling with the button and zipper on his jeans again, cursing under his breath, but Marie didn't hesitate this time.  She arose from the couch and moved toward him, deftly taking the zipper pull from his fingers and refastening his jeans in one swift motion.  Before he could react, she took advantage of the moment and wrapped her arms around him, enveloping his large body in as much of a hug as her smaller body was capable of.  Logan gasped, the panic welling up within him and he tried to pull away from her.  His efforts were in vain - she tightened her grip and hung on for all she was worth.  There was no way he could pry her loose without bruising or hurting her.

"Marie, goddammit, let go!  It ain't safe.  I ain't safe....."

"You're not going to hurt me, Logan."  She stubbornly refused to release him and, even in his confused, emotional state, he knew it was pointless to try and force the matter.  "You're in no condition to go anywhere right now, so you're just going to have to trust me and let me help you."

"You can't help me," he bit out, his tone filled with anger and a resigned sadness.  "No one can fuckin' help me."

"You don't know that."  With her cheek pressed against his chest, Marie could hear his heartbeat, a strong staccato rhythm.  His skin was warm against her face.  "I'll bet you've never even let anyone try...."

His heart suddenly skipped a beat.  No one had ever hugged him like this before - he was quite certain no one had ever even entertained the thought.  Without relaxing her hold on his body, she raised her head and looked up at him curiously.  He glanced away from her, trying to be casual, but there was no mistaking the emotions in his eyes: melancholy mixed with pain.

"Nobody's ever wanted to."

Marie felt the tears threaten to spill over again and she fought them back down, striving hard for a casual tone.  "Yeah, well....I want to.  And, in case you hadn't noticed, I can be pretty damned stubborn when there's something I want."

"I noticed."  It was said gruffly, but with a hint of an underlying smirk.  He knew that she had no intention of letting go of him until she got her way, but he adopted a threatening stance nonetheless, fixing her with a fierce glare.  Logan knew full-well that the very sight of him - his hair wild, the tension visible in his bare biceps and powerful chest, the claws itching to slide out from his clenched fists - was extremely intimidating to most people.  He doubted she'd be an exception for long....

....Until he felt he barest hint of a smile on Marie's face, against his chest, effectively blowing a gaping hole right through the whole intimidation factor.  Logan was momentarily stunned.  People feared the Wolverine, and rightly so.  Hell, he'd already given her mucho points - albeit grudgingly - for picking him up on the side of the road and especially for coming near him at all after he'd shown her the claws.   Shit....this little girl has me - has the Animal - wrapped around her little finger.  Where in the hell did my badass self go running off to?  Still, if nothin' else, I'd bet from now on she's gonna think twice before volunteering for Good Friend duty again....Heh.

"So, it's settled then.  You're staying?"  Marie was still smiling against his chest, knowing he could feel it.  Logan glanced down at her, growling for good measure, but finally admitted defeat, lifting one shoulder in a resigned shrug.

"Yeah, okay.  Fine.  But only until I get your guest room cleaned up and fixed.  And find a way to pay you back for all the food I've eaten, the wine I've drunk and the trouble I've caused.  Christ.   Then I really gotta go."  He fixed his intense gaze on her.  "I meant what I said, Marie.  I - I ain't safe to be around.  I could h-hurt ya, or -- "

"It won't happen.  I trust you."  As far as she was concerned, the subject was closed.  Logan gave her an incredulous look and then shook his head.   She's just full of surprises...  He allowed himself to relax a bit then, squeezing her gently in a tentative, reciprocal embrace.  It was the first real hug he could remember getting, to say nothing of giving back, and that scared him, because it felt so damned good. - Too good - He knew it would be way too easy to get used to this....to her....and that was a complication he just couldn't afford.  For her sake as well as his own.
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Posted April 2002


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