War Hero

by aranenumenesse

The war is over.

1. War Hero

Title: Homecoming

Author: aranenumenesse

Email: aranenumenesse at yahoo dot com

Rating: NC-17

Summary: The war is over

Series: War Hero

Category: AU

Disclaimer: I do not own these characters. I just loan them for a while from Marvel and 20th Century Fox.

Archive: Go ahead if you like it. But please, notify me if you take it.

Spoilers/Continuity: No spoilers

Genre: Dark

Author's notes: Thanks for everybody for comments. You really helped me to pull this through, and now I realize there's more of this. Thank you, again! 

After long grueling years of war he had come to her. Now he was standing at her doorstep, shoulders hunched, grim, hard lines marring his visage, soaked through from the rain. His hair was slicked back against his skull. Gone were wild ear-like peaks. He had lost weight; hard muscle had been replaced with stringy tendons. Series of numbers decorated his left cheek just below his eye, and she recognized them immediately. Same numbers she had been carrying with her ever since he had given her his dog tag, all those years ago. There was writing below the line of numbers. "Model: destroyer Code: Wolverine" There was a metal collar around his neck.

"We have been instructed to release it under your supervision. If you could sign here and here…" She took papers from the men escorting him and scribbled her name hastily to indicated lines. Men took the papers and turned to leave.

"Wait! What about his collar?" She shouted after them.

"We were unable to remove Wolverine's personal weapons. Under no circumstances should you remove it," other man shouted over his shoulder. They stepped to the truck and drove away.

She took his hand and led him inside. Her house wasn't big, but she had two bedrooms, kitchen and a bathroom. He followed her mutely there, and just stood when she undressed him. Clothes were tattered and dirty scraps, some of it too big even for him. When last scrap of them fell from him to the floor, she couldn't stop the sob that escaped from her. She could practically see every bone in his body, jutting sharply through his skin. There were old scars criss-crossing all over him, some white and thin, some as wide as her palm, angry red and purple. She trailed one especially nasty looking softly with her fingertips from his right shoulder to left side of his navel. He flinched, but stood on his ground, staring off to distance.

"Lets get you cleaned up…" Her voice was thick. Tears stung in her eyes. Five long years she had waited and prayed for his return. All she had gotten back of the man she loved was a dried, used up husk, a walking corpse.

He was cold and hungry. Female unit smelt vaguely familiar, but he discarded that notion fast. No use to wallow in past. She was better left forgotten. This was now. He had been assigned to a new camp. Female was most likely his new mechanic. He was hoping she could do better than the one before her. Man had been careless drunk, and had often left him for days without food and adequate shelter in the field.

Logan stepped under the shower voluntarily, but didn't make a move to wash himself. He just stood there, staring dumbly at the wall in front of him. She took the sponge and squirted generous amount of gel on to it. Climbed in the tub after him and started scrubbing him clean.

This was something new. Warm water and soft sponge. He suppressed the satisfied sigh that threatened to escape. Usually they just hosed him down with cold water after battle. Sponge traveled over his shoulder blades, dipping lower, scratching his skin lightly with every stroke. It felt too good. He closed his eyes and shivered. His mind was reeling. He braced his hands to the wall and leaned his forehead against his arms, granting the female better access. He was quite sure it was allowed. He felt her fingers again, trailing faded scars on his back, just below his right shoulder blade. Shrapnel from a grenade. Hand trailed lower, finding tangled mess of coarse skin just above his buttocks. That one had taken him out of commission nearly for a full day. Sniper had blown out his guts. He had lain in a puddle of shredded innards couple of hours before anybody noticed he was missing. Not a nice feeling. But they had taken off the collar quickly after that and let him heal. They needed him to take down that sniper before he got anybody else.

She urged him to turn around. He obeyed, observing her every move silently with dull eyes. She added some gel to the sponge and started lathering his front side. Small muscle in his throat ticked slightly every time sponge slid over his nipples. She worked methodically, making her way from his head towards his toes. There was a blank look on his face when she reached his crotch. No reaction when she touched him there, cleaning him with bare hands.

Female was efficient and thorough. Not many of his mechanics had bothered to clean his privates. He wasn't allowed to touch there himself. After the incident, when they had slapped the collar on him, it had had some less desirable results. Quite a few nasty infections had settled in. They had pumped him full of antibiotics and it had taken care of the problems. No more hot coals in his lower abdomen, no more wetting himself. Female kneeled in front of him and started rubbing his legs clean. Good. Good God in heaven. He hadn't had any idea his legs were this sensitive. He had worn heavy combat boots for years now, and he had thought they would have chafed all the feeling off from below his knees.

"Can you lean forward a bit?" She asked, indicating what she meant by placing her hand over his neck and pulling slightly. He bent his back obediently, hint of curiosity lurking in his eyes. She squirted some shampoo to her palms.

She was going to wash his head, too? They had probably told her about the lice-problem. Well, it really hadn't been problem for a while now. Not after they gassed him to get rid of those critters. Gas they used burnt off his hair as well, but it worked, and hair grew back in a few months. He closed his eyes, preparing for the inevitable sting. They used quite strong stuff when they wanted him to a presentable condition. Then he opened his eyes again, surprised. Instead of painful burning sensation he felt only her fingers massaging his scalp. There was a hint of vanilla in the air. It smelled almost exactly the same Marie had used. Better not to think about her. Not now. Not ever. He concentrated to the female standing in front of him. She looked familiar in a comforting way. She was dressed as a civilian. Perhaps they weren't so strict with the code in this camp.

Warm water cascaded over him again. She had instructed him to put his head under the spray and rub with his fingers. All right. He could do that. That wasn't forbidden. But it was easier to wait instructions than to act. He had learned that quite quickly after first whippings. No touching. No talking. No sleeping. No breathing. No living. Not unless they told you to. At first he had disobeyed every possible rule. He had been daring enough to escape. They had caught him surprisingly easily. Maybe that locator, placed inside of him, just above is liver, had something to do with their swiftness. For some reason they had removed it before relocating him to here. Maybe they had changed it to a newer model. He had tried to dig the old one out couple times, but both times he had accidentally shredded his liver. That little bugger was so fragile that all it took to puncture it was a small nick. Not a good thing to do if you wanted to stay conscious.

He looked more at ease immediately after she started telling him what to do. He rinsed himself, took the towel she offered and dried off.

"Are you hungry?" She asked. He nodded little hesitantly

"Good. Put this on, and we'll go and make something to eat," she said, giving him her bathrobe. Under any other circumstances it would have been absolutely too small to him. Now it engulfed his worn and battered form easily.

She reminded a bit one man he had known years ago. Earl. He had been a mechanic, too. Older, grandfatherly figure. Earl had been taking care of another unit. His own mechanic had gotten shot, and he had been temporarily assigned under Earl's supervision. Earl hadn't been exactly thrilled.

"You make one peep, and I'll put a hole through your skull. Understood?" He had asked, stabbing him to chest with one, chubby finger. He had nodded. Earl had led him to his tent. His own unit had been already waiting there. Messenger. No name. Had to be a clone. Small, limber and agile looking girl. From the sight of him she had retreated to the furthest corner, hissing and shivering. Without his collar he would have sprung his claws. With it on he had to settle just to a menacing growl. And then messenger had attacked, kicking, and biting. Earl had separated them. He had been dangling the messenger from the back of her jacket in front of his face, close enough that it saw his tattoo.

"See? It's one of our own." He had plunked the messenger back to ground, and then turned back to him, smiling almost apologetically.

"She's a little spitfire." He had spent one night with Earl and his Spitfire. Earl had offered him generous amount of food. Spitfire had offered him little more after she had been sure Earl was asleep. Back then it had still mattered. Gentle touch. Pleasure that being inside of another living being evoked. Few days later he had been gathering intel behind enemy lines, and came across Spitfire again. She had been agile and limber no more. Rigor mortis had settled in. He had dragged the cold corpse back to Earl. Old man had actually thanked him, shaking his hand and squeezing his shoulder.

"Take care of yourself, buddy," he had said.

They had eaten in silence. For some reason he seemed extremely reluctant to speak. She put it out of her mind, labeling it stress related. You didn't go through five years of hell unscathed. He did, however, seemed to pay serious attention to her every move and word. Every time she asked something he did it. Passed the salt, poured himself some milk, took second helpings.

This was good. Food. His body needed the fuel. It had been over eighty hours when he had last eaten. Just after he had gotten back from the field. Rations. Usually he got two pouches of proteins and few capsules of something he couldn't identify. This time he had gotten double the amount. He wondered if they had noticed what he was doing to replace the lack of food? Hell, every unit did it. You did it to survive. Bodies were so mutilated to begin with, nobody noticed if there were some pieces missing. He usually chose soft and small organs. Easy to swallow, full of nutrients. He had heard of one guy, who had developed serious issues about it. They had given him a new name. Tepes. He had taken up drinking blood. He had been stupid enough to get caught red handed, so to speak.

"We'll just leave the dishes. I'm wiped. Are you tired?" She asked, stretching and yawning widely. She actually wasn't that tired, but Logan looked like he was ready to fall asleep at any minute now, eyes hooded, swaying slightly on his seat.

Sleep? She was going to bed now? He should probably go to sleep too. They didn't like it when he was shuffling around while they slept. Made them feel uncomfortable. One of his mechanics had gone as far as to shackle him in the corner every night to keep him at bay. He didn't sleep that much back then. Didn't need to. That was before they put the collar on. After that he needed sleep just like anybody else. At first it had been quite scary, to be that tired. He had tried to stay awake, but his body simply refused to obey. Finally he had given up.

"You can sleep in there. Linens are clean; I changed them yesterday. I'll see you in the morning." Leaving him to his own devices, closing the bedroom door behind her, was probably hardest task during this whole evening. She would have wanted to cuddle next to him, under same blanket, just to feel and hear him breathing, to know he was alive and there with her. But somehow she got the picture he wasn't ready for it.

Clean linens? She gave him a bed? Only times he had slept in a bed during these years were those when somebody had needed his services. That hadn't happened so often, last three years not once. They tend to steer clear from battle units, and chose more pliable ones. They preferred clones. Safer that way. Clones weren't fertile. And they were prettier. Battle units carried scars, and like him, often cases in-built weaponry. Not so big turn on in bed.

"Christ! Would you look at that!"

"Yeah. No way to remove those. Look at that tattoo. It was built before war."

"And we are supposed to turn it loose?"

"Just leave the collar on. There's an address it's supposed to be taken. Lonely woman, Probably a mutie, too. A wife! Christ! This one's got a wife!"

"It was legal before the war."

He woke up. That had got to be the weirdest dream so far. A wife? He snorted. He didn't have a wife, that much he remembered. There had been no one. Nobody but Marie. She hadn't been a wife. She had been just a kid. Just a kid, and so much more. It hurt to think about her. She had been his life. Everything good in it came from her. Everything he was before the war. At the lab they had taken away the man, giving him claws and will to kill. She had restored what they had taken from him. She had done even more. And now he couldn't even remember her face. Everything else from her he remembered. Her scent. Their conversations. How she moved and talked. And that god awful baggy, green cloak she wore. She had given him a piece from it when he left. He had lost it. He wasn't sure when. He had held it when he had lain in the puddle of his own blood and shit. It had been raining. There had been no feeling below his waist. He hadn't dared to look. Hadn't wanted to know. Later they had told him there had been only his skeletal structures left from below his ribcage to his toes. He had lain there, staring at that small tattered piece of green cloth.

She lay wide-awake. She had tried reading. It wasn't working. Logan was here. Just a thin wall separated her from him. Just a thin wall, and five years. She wanted to go to him, and erase those five years. Make them disappear. She wanted him back so bad it hurt.

"Are you awake?" Whisper from the door. Female stood there. He turned to look at her, to show her he had acknowledged her presence. She walked to him and climbed to bed next to him, on top of covers. He expected her to strip and get on to business. Instead she just lay there, placing her head on his chest.

"I couldn't sleep." They usually didn't come to him for comfort. This was weird. He was a living, breathing reminder of all that was expecting when you opened your eyes next morning.

"Could you… Could you hold me?" Hold her? Maybe she was just shy? Or needed this? Needed a little foreplay? Wanted to pretend they were something else than just expendable pieces of machinery? Well, he could do that. He wrapped his other arm around her, placing his hand on her hip. She sighed and cuddled even closer.

"Do you mind if I stay here for the night??" He didn't know what to do. Did she expect him to answer that? Probably. Was it okay to talk now? They sometimes wanted him to talk.

"No. I don't mind." Words sounded weird. Scratched his throat. There was something wet on his face, rolling down his temples. She fumbled a bit, and placed her hand over his chest, palm ending on top of his heart. Her whole body was tense. Why was she doing this if this made her feel uncomfortable? Surely she could go and pretend with somebody else? They didn't encourage relationships between units, but there was no actual rule against them.

"I have missed this. I know it sounds stupid. We never slept together, but…" Poor thing. He knew exactly what she was talking about. First year had been the hardest. He had never slept with Marie. Not slept with her, not fucked with her, and yet he had missed both acts with her. Well, she would get over it. Had to get over it. One could go nuts out there if didn't learn to numb one's feelings.

"It will get easier." She hadn't punished him for talking, so it was safe to assume he was allowed to speak now.

"I'm glad it's over. You're finally home. I missed you so much…" She started to stutter, and gave up, burying her face to his chest. She was crying now.

Home?

"Uh… What do you mean? Over? Home? What is this?" He pushed her away from him and stood up, heart hammering. She was still crying.

"Didn't they tell you? The war is over. You don't have to… You don't have to go back… You're home now."

Well that would certainly explain the way she had treated him, to some extent. But it didn't explain why he was here. Home? He didn't have a home. And if she wasn't a mechanic, who the fuck she was? And why the hell he still wore his collar? Was this some kind of rehabilitation program? If that was the case, they could just remove the collar, then.

"Take this off. Now." He was leaning closer, yanking the collar around his neck.

"I can't… They didn't give me the keys." He was struggling with it in earnest now, fingers curled around it, cursing and pulling.

Fuck it. He could do it. Had done it before. He closed his eyes. Had to be quick. Quick enough to cut all the way through before blood loss did him in.

Oh, no. He wasn't going to… She screamed when claws shredded their way out from his hands. Within a second both of his arms were almost black and swollen, blood flowing from wounds between his knuckles. Soft clunk when collar fell to the floor. Then he was on top of her, claws back in, but other fist pressed threateningly against the soft underside of her jaw. His breathing was harsh and labored, and he looked like he was ready to keel over at any second.

"Who the fuck are you, and what is going on in here?" She could feel tips of his claws, digging in to her skin. For a moment she contemplated on turning her skin on, but that would most likely kill him to the spot. And that wasn't something she was ready to deal with.

His mutation kicked in slowly. He started to hear her heartbeat. Fast and erratic. He could feel texture of her skin against his straining knuckles. Soft and warm. There were small golden flecks mingling with brown in her eyes. White strands of hair on her forehead. Just a few. For some reason she had been plucking her hair from there. Last one to return was his sense of smell. Message that came through was enough to release her and back off. He knew that scent. Knew it well. And he had nearly maimed her. Finally there was a face he could connect with the rest of his memories.

He sat outside. It was still dark, but only in few hours sun would rise. This wasn't happening. Warm, tingling sensation washed over him. They had never left him free this long. They had slapped collar on as soon as they were sure he was able to go on. Now his mutation was working overtime, repairing old scars, getting rid of dead tissues. This simply wasn't happening. He had spent years forgetting her. Now all those memories were coming back, linking together with the face he had found. It hurt. His brain hurt. His gut hurt. Torn look on her face. Scent of fear and disappointment masking vanilla and peppermint.

He groaned and wrapped his arms around him, swaying back and forth. He didn't dare to close his eyes. As soon as he tried, he saw her under him, blinking back tears, scared out of her wits. And she had never, ever before been scared of him.

He had just gotten dressed, she had been keeping some of his old clothes for him, and walked out. Had he left? She was slowly collecting her courage. She got up from the bed. Small trickle of blood escaped from her throat to the front of her nightgown. He had nicked her. Just a little, nothing life threatening. But he had nicked her. Never before. And he hadn't known her. She went to her room and locked the door behind her. She wasn't ready to go out and see if he had truly left. Not yet. She curled on her bed and closed her eyes. Conjured up a memory from past. Logan sitting on a swing at Xavier's front porch, smoking a cigar and smiling.

Last one to go was a tattoo on his cheek. He could feel when it started to fade. Soft burn when his metabolism ate the ink. Few hours more, and nobody could tell what he was. Where he had been. What he had done. Nobody. He could just leave. Away from her. Away from her face and life. His memories were now complete, and he had gotten even some extra. But that didn't matter. He could forget. He had gotten quite skilled with it. He could just take few nice memories about her, and forget the rest of them. He had done it before.

He started to get up, when suddenly door behind him opened. Small hands wrapped around him from behind, and he could feel warm breath tickling his neck. Soft lips pressing a single kiss to his skin.

"Welcome home, Logan."

"Don't." He tried feebly to shrug off her hands around him, but she held on tightly.

"I want you to come inside. Now. It's cold out here."

"No." Then the scent of her blood wafted to him and he bolted to his feet. What had he done?

"I can't even heal you. I can't. I don't want you to see me. I don't want…" He trailed the little brownish red path with his finger, from her jaw to her breasts where it ended.

"I don't want you to heal me. I don't need you to heal me. I need you. All of you." He saw from her eyes she was telling the truth.

"There's not much left, Marie. Maybe nothing. Is that really what you want?" He whispered, afraid of what she would answer.

"Come home, Logan. Come home with me. We can make this work."

He sat down again and buried his face to his hands. That was the answer he had feared for. There was no way he could leave now. He felt like throwing up. Like crying and screaming. Claws were itching. He was itching all over. Now that he had broken the collar, there was no way to stop that itch. No way to escape. He was trapped. And he wasn't absolutely sure if it was a bad thing.

She knew she had won when he started to cry. Silent sobs, face hidden to his palms. She had seen him like that only once before, right after Jean's death. Right after he had killed her. So now that it was safe to assume he would be here when she woke up, she returned back inside. He needed to deal with things on his own before he was ready to come to her.

All those years memory of her had kept him going. One time he had gotten caught, and spent less pleasant week behind enemy lines. They had kept him sedated so they could use him for entertainment. Marie had been there, in his hazed dreams, holding him, guiding him through it all. When the camp he had been held as a hostage was destroyed, his mechanic had found him crawling from the ground, naked as a day he was born, covered with sweat, blood, semen and other bodily fluids, and grinning like an idiot.

"I saw an angel." Well, after that he had seen pretty horrible things, when they had pumped his system full with some shit which was supposed to clear his head, but that was an entirely different story.

"I have got to pull my shit together. I can't keep relying on you. Not anymore." There was newfound strength in his posture and his words, when he stood there leaning to the doorframe.

"You deserve better than what I have to offer right now. I don't want you to settle to second helping from the government. Let me go."

She watched his retreating back. This time he hadn't left his tags with her. There was no need to. She already had those, and now she had even more. His promise to return.