Age of Heroes

Chapter One

Nights were different now. The Wolverine's nightmares were terrible enough with his own torture, and they were now interspersed with watching Jean's body disappear beneath the blue. He had lost any chance he'd had that day, when he thought he had saved them, protected them, and then she had to sacrifice herself. In the nightmare, he heard Jean's message relayed through Xavier. Then he remembered One Eye, and he had to wonder if he was wrong for his passion. But he did not go so far as to feel guilty.

So he was back to roaming the halls of Xavier's school by night, sleeping only a couple of hours. He convinced himself he was useful. He sniffed around, listened. The incident of a few weeks ago would not repeat itself. He had needed a little while to accustom himself to the scents of the students who also tended to roam, but none of those episodes were remotely dangerous and fewer students had taken to restless nights. Good thing, really, made it easier to keep guard.

Logan rounded the corner of the first residence hall. He needed little light to see his way and his other senses were strong enough to provide details on his surroundings. Scott had been out recently, probably to get sedatives from Jean's old lab. Logan passed his own door. He could go in, maybe return to an uneasy sleep. He paused. At 2 a.m., the school was safe for the night. He reached for the door handle, felt the cold metal, and heard a whimper.

Marie. She was dreaming or crying. It didn't matter which; both were brutal. They were his nightmares and she didn't deserve that anguish. The dreams began after the first night his mutation saved her life, but, she confided later, the onslaught did not truly begin until Liberty Island. She claimed the nightmares were a small price to pay for life, but it burned him. She was just a baby.

She cried out and Logan took three fast strides and reached her door. He opened it quietly and moved straight to the bed. He was forced to this more frequently; twice this week he'd come into her room and woken her. Usually she slept soundly after that. He smelled fear and salt.

Marie twitched around, gasping and coughing, and whimpered, "please." Logan clutched her shoulder – the blanket protecting his skin – and she jerked awake, her fist coming out and colliding solidly with his chest.

"Hey, kid."

Marie stared, flexing her fingers and breathing hard. Dropping back on the bed, she looked away. The white streaks in her hair were almost hidden by the pillow, but the dimness of the room did not hide the darkness of her expression. "I'm sorry," she said.

"That's the first thing I thought. 'Oh god, I'm sorry.'" He smiled, barely. "I don't know how you live with it."

"The dreams or the people in my head? The dreams only bother me when I sleep."

Logan nodded. He groped, finding her hand under the quilt and squeezing it. He was sorry for that, too, for all of it, but he was not sorry that she was still here.

"I'm all right, Logan. You can go to bed," she said quietly. "You don't have to stay."

"You can tell me. You can talk to me about anything going on in there." He motioned to her head.

Marie hesitated. He felt guilt then. What was it like having his pain on top of hers? She was timid once, he had seen the vestiges of it in the cab of his truck in Alberta. Maybe she was hardened before they ever met, maybe surviving alone on the road bruised her, but she was darker now than when he went after her on the train, darker still than when they returned an X-Man short from Alkali Lake.

"Stop apologizing. It doesn't sound right. And I've told you. You're in here too. I know how you feel about what happened. You can't have any idea how strange it is to see yourself dying through someone else's eyes, to feel what you felt, to have to sort out what it means to be willing to die – basically – for yourself." She tried to smile. "Every once in a while, I have to work to figure out which voice is mine, but even mine isn't like it used to be."

Logan sat on the bed. He was in her head too, he hoped his voice was reassuring, but he had known panic in his years.

"You used to wish for death," she told him. He flinched at the bluntness and met her eyes. "You don't anymore. You have to stay alive. You promised you'd take care of me."

He nodded. "I will. You should sleep now. You'll be better." He started to stand.

"Logan. They're changing. I hardly dream anymore, it's you…. At night, I'm you, you and me. The first night here, the bar in Laughlin City, Liberty Island, but all through your eyes. And other things." She reached out toward his face and he did not move, but she only hovered on the edge of touch. "You know terrible things."

"Yeah." He looked to the window and saw she had cracked it slightly. He appreciated the fresh air. The rest of the room was staggeringly bare for a young girl. When they came back from Alkali Lake and Xavier realized the extent of her nightmares, he moved her roommates and now she occupied a single room next to Logan. Logan knew that was why the other girls moved and not Marie.

"Something is happening with my memories, your memories. I don't know if it's because I've absorbed you more, or if it's because you're the only one who can't remember his past," she continued softly, her eyes focused on his hand. "Sometimes I just have dreams."

He gazed down where she stared and squeezed again. "You don't have to-"

"Erik knows. He knows how this happened, when, why." She stroked the space between his knuckles, just briefly enough to beat the pull of her skin. She shivered. "I can tell you things…about your past. I can give you some of the pieces back."

Logan raised an eyebrow, cognizant of her touch, of his trust. He had not moved. She reeked of fear, and he had to wonder what residue of him was left in her – could she smell his fear? And then he saw Stryker. Volunteered. Animal. He had not told Marie of this last encounter and she had not asked as to the fate of the dogtag she once held for him.

"But it's strange," Marie whispered.

"What?"

"The you in my head won't listen to Erik. The Wolverine tells me none of it matters anymore."

Logan met her eyes. She had stopped crying and those big, brown eyes bore into him like his own claws. That soft smile of hers slowly spread. "I told him it doesn't matter where you come from, it only matters who you are and what you do now."

"Pretty wise for so young." He smiled back.

"It ain't so young in here anymore."

He nodded. That was partly his fault, especially considering how old he was, but Magneto did not help that either. She told him months ago that the first boy she ever kissed was still in there. Who else had invaded her mind since? They both had so much they needed to leave behind, but it was impossible for both of them. Those other people were unlikely to ever fade from her psyche, and his very skeleton was a constant reminder of the few fragments he had.

"You're right. I don't know if you can let it go, but I have. My life is here now."

Marie let out a deep sigh. She almost looked younger. "I believe in you. From the first day we met in Alberta. At the bar, you gave me this look like 'what's a kid like her doing in this dive?' I know that my watching wasn't the only reason you didn't kill that logger. That's why I followed you."

So this was bare-all night, eh? She finally found a voice and if he stopped her – well, he wouldn't stop her, but if she had any ideas about him sharing, she might as well abandon them now.

"Go on, kid."

"I'm not a kid anymore," she growled, sounding so like him he had to smile and that was a mistake. "You think it's funny?" she spat.

Logan frowned, his brows tense, and barked, "No!" a little more gruffly than he had intended.

Marie flinched but didn't look away. She was not really afraid of him. Maybe she never had been, maybe having him inside her head told her better, or maybe it was who she was. He closed his eyes. He never wanted her to fear him. He knew he could die on Liberty Island and he chose her. He could not remember anyone else that meant so much to him, who by God loved him, or whom he loved so much.

"You want to talk, I'll listen." He tapped his shoulder. "Room here."

"You know, everyone else tries to pretend they aren't afraid to touch me, but you're the only one who really isn't, and I've nearly killed you twice. It hurts, that I can't touch anything without causing pain." The southern accent thickened, as it always did when she was bitter. "We're both Death, you and me. The only ones we save are ourselves."

"And each other," Logan asserted. The expression on her face then made his chest tight. He knew he was everything to her, that at least they shared that, and he knew what might have once been a school girl crush had become something different. She'd kill for him, it was in her wide, vulnerable eyes, die for him too. She was the only person who might ever understand him.

"Don't forget that, kid. You saved my life."

She turned a look on him then that he knew she'd gotten from him, like she could see down to his cells, a look he used to give Jean. He grinned. "There's too much of me in there."

"Naw, honey, I can deal with you. It's the craving for cigars that gets to me."

Logan laughed, deep in his gut, loud in his throat, like he hadn't done since before Jean. He could almost off her a beer and sit back for a hockey game.

Marie blushed. "That's not the only thing I crave because of you."

He felt his own cheeks grow a little warm at that. "I think this is a good time to say goodnight." He stood up, glanced at the clock. They might both sleep peacefully tonight. "Get some rest, darlin'."

Marie nodded. She dropped back into her pillows and he pulled the covers up to kiss the top of her head, her hair warm and safe. He inhaled her scent. No more fear, the only lingering sweetness was a smell he almost didn't recognize. He dismissed it, that crush notwithstanding, and left her snuggled under fleece blankets.

Back in his own room, he shook himself, tried to free the tension that never seemed to leave him. He pulled on flannel pants and crawled – surprisingly tired – into his bed. He might have been asleep when he heard the click, but he was instantly alert, and knew it was Marie before he smelled her.

She walked softly by nature, but she must have known he was awake because she wasn't trying to tiptoe. When she came within the light of the window, he saw she had changed. Instead of that scant little gown she was wearing a sweatshirt and pants, gloves and socks. He frowned.

"Marie."

"Just for a little while." Her eyes were bright and damp. The words came out in a rush, as though she was not ready to say them, but he knew better. Sometimes he wished she was just a little afraid of him, then she would not be so familiar with him. "I just want to be held," she murmured, "and if I go to Bobby, he would think something else."

He would think like any teenage boy would if his girlfriend came to him in middle of the night, and she didn't need that, not even if she craved it on some level. And then he'd have to explain to Xavier why Iceman needed stitches. Damn it. He didn't need this. What if he forgot himself in his sleep, clawed her, or touched her? He kissed Jean that night, but he couldn't remember the last time he'd slept with a woman.

Marie was watching him, bundled Marie, loving Marie who only wanted his comfort. "Get me a shirt," he growled.

She gestured to her own clothes, but he shook his head. "Get me a shirt. Top drawer."

She followed his direction and tossed him a white tee shirt which he donned. Not looking at her, he pulled the covers up and gestured beside him. Marie didn't hesitate. She slid in beside him, not quite so far to touch. Logan pulled her over, her bare face against his clothed shoulder and his arm around her waist. She shifted several times, enough to make him regret he allowed this, but then she settled, and while he was trying to ignore her body heat, she began to cry. She sobbed hard, not like the time on the train. Her whole little body shook. He could think of a dozen reasons she would cry for and they were all worth it when you've been through what she'd survived. So he hugged her to him, kissed the top of her head, and crooned to her that it was okay, that she would make it through this, that they all would. He rocked her, uncertain where he'd learned such tenderness, until she finally fell asleep. Content with that small victory, he let himself sleep.

Rogue dreamed of kissing Bobby, of the icy breath she possessed, but mostly of the feel of touch, real touch. She woke when Logan moved and realized he was lying on his side and she was curled against that broad expanse of his back, her arm around his neck. She'd forgotten how solid he was, but then a good portion of him was metal.

Logan stirred again, lengthened and stretched, and she heard him inhale deeply, and then he grunted. "What time is it?"

She rolled over far enough to see the clock. "Six. It's so early."

"Time to go, kid." He pulled himself to the edge of the bed.

Rogue let her arm drop to the mattress and closed her eyes. She smelled Logan so strong she reeled in it, and she was completely safe, no nightmares, no phantom pain from claws she did not have. It was obvious he had no idea how much of him was in there.

"I'm going to train." He stood up, began rifling through drawers. "Don't you have to be in class?"

"Not until eight." He was soon to join her in that fate it he did as the Professor asked and began teaching the students self-defense. He could also teach French but she was not sure Logan was aware of that and it was something she would leave for him to discover. She did not feel like getting yelled at, not this early, not at all, not like she was some damned ten-year-old.

"You all right, kid?"

"I told you-" She sat up.

"Are you all right?" He met her eyes, his expression unfalteringly no nonsense. He was referring to last night, when something – the influence of the Wolverine in her head maybe – drove her to make that brazen and embarrassing comment about cravings which, thank God, Logan had ignored. He was referring to her cry-fest and everything else.

"Yeah, I'm okay," she worked to say calmly, but it still came out grudgingly. And she realized it was all her own bitterness, not Wolverine's or Erik's or John's. None of the others had begun that daily fight for Rogue's consciousness. She was only Rogue, and for all that was worth, it only made the events of the last year that much worse. It was her anger – not John's – and her disdain – not Erik's – that swept through her like the waters from the dam. She had fled home to be accosted several times before she wound up in a bar in Canada with the man now watching her uneasily. She had been stabbed, though she was still more sorry for Logan for herself. She had been rudely invaded by a human magnet, and had to watch as Logan nearly died for her. She stopped then, calming, because she knew he would do it again. What he did not know was that she would do the same for him.

"I'm sorry, Logan. I'm not a morning person, and I'm sorry about being such a little crybaby-"

"No, no, no." His hand came up. "Save it." The eyes said clearly, don't apologize for feeling, they said things Logan could not say aloud or did not have the words to express. They were the only saving grace when his sentences seldom surpassed five brusque words.

"We're all in pain, Marie. We all deal with it in our own ways."

Scott. Three weeks now and Rogue had watched the uneasy bond between the two men as it strengthened. She had come upon one conversation when Scott poured it all out and Logan took it, took the tears and the desperation and the rage. Logan controlled Scott's controlled burn like only Jean could have done if she were not the source of it. And Rogue stayed long enough to hear Logan remark, "she died for all of us. She chose us, and you have to accept that you could not stop her, and if you had or if I had, we would have been terribly wrong. There was no other way."

Rogue looked to Logan. "There was no other way." He knew it; did he need to hear it too? She needed to talk about Jean, now that she had cried for her and everything else, but she sensed now was not the time. Bobby. Logan might never open his mouth and grieve with words though his mourning was apparent. She could talk to Bobby, who knew Dr. Grey longer after all.

His face questioned her comment and she had enough of him in her to intuit his line of thought – if he had done more… She stopped there. She was on the jet; she only knew pieces of what transpired underground, pieces gleaned from Storm or Nightcrawler when one of them was willing to speak about that day. Once they were all back in the jet, resistance was not an option given by Jean.

And suddenly there was Erik and his fury, and she knew Jean died because the world feared people like them, like herself and the others lodging beneath her pale skin. "We do not have to let it happen again," Rogue offered. "We are certainly not defenseless in this fight."

Logan tensed. He searched her eyes and waited, but she had made her point, Magneto's point. Ah, that was what her confidant disliked. He pointed at her. "Don't listen to that one, Marie."

Because he tried to kill her? Funny how little that mattered when Erik's voice mingled with her own. She smiled and he did not seem to like that either.

"Out."

How familiar that sounded. Last time he had not meant it. This time he did. She smelled his anger and it evoked the Wolverine from within herself.

"You spend the rest of your life unable to touch without killing, we'll see how gleeful you are." She finally got out of bed, but then she couldn't leave. She stood up straight, unable to dam the emotions rushing out, or quell the urge to lift him up and send that metal skeleton crashing against the door. Only she did not have Erik's power any more, just his spite. "You live with more than five voices in your head that aren't yours! You live knowing that if only you could have channeled one of their powers, Jean wouldn't have had to die! Stop acting like you don't give a damn because I know better."

He threw the sweats he was holding and for cotton, they hit the dresser impressively hard. "Don't pick a fight with me, Marie. You won't like where it goes."

"It won't go anywhere, like a lot of other things. Test me and we can see what residual power I do still have." Inside, Rogue cowered. She had lost control and Pyro was out. She charged Logan, silently screaming for John to stop as she collided with her friend. Logan staggered and coughed, but caught her easily and softly pushed her back. But Pyro wasn't finished yet. Rogue swung, caught Logan across the jaw, and screamed. Bones in her hand shattered, her knees buckled, and down she went, victorious if only because the pain had brought her back to the surface. How Pyro gave her such muscle, she did not know, but adamantium was a sorry punching target.

"Marie!" Logan caught her as she sank.

Crying again now, not for her hand, but for her actions, she looked up at him. It wasn't me, she pleaded. You know that wasn't me. She could not tell if he knew.

"Don't ever do that again," he said softly, and she recognized that face. She hurt him, not physically that was evident. No, she hurt him.

Marie shook her head, clenching her teeth for the pain. "I didn't – I couldn't –"

He led her to the bed, sat her down, and pulled the glove from her right hand. He grimaced. The damage was significant and obvious. He did not look at her, but reached his bare hand out to touch hers, and she jerked back. "No!"

"Marie."

"No, I deserve it. I let him-"

Logan met her eyes and this time she detected the faint scent of fear in the air. He clutched her arm and held it in his vice of a fist, tugged her slightly. She could not look at him, could not believe he thought her capable of hurting him even if he was invincible.

"You have to control it, Marie."

"They're stronger than me."

"No, they're not. But I am."

But the Wolverine was curiously absent when Pyro raged at the real thing. She needed him or even Bobby. Erik only cheered the confrontation onward.

"Don't touch me. It will heal itself."

He growled. "Don't piss me off more than I already am. We've had enough martyrs." His skin met hers then, his hand warm and rough. Angry, desperate, loving her pain, she fought the pull, but it was no use. Three seconds passed before he gasped. Her bones cracked back into place, the blood bruise disappeared, the pain ceased. Still he held on. She tugged her arm to stop him, but he did not let go. Healed, her body began to draw out more than his regenerative power. The Wolverine washed over her, pushed the others back, and roared. Logan let go, his breath ragged. Rogue snatched for her glove. The anger was still there and it was not being hushed by the wave of pity he had just sent her. She did not seek pity. Finally Bobby's voice rose up and told her plainly – almost jealously – that there was a difference between pity and empathy, that this was the latter.

Logan stood, swayed, seized his change of clothes, and marched to the door. He opened it and told her without looking at her that they would finish this later. The door should have whimpered when it slammed shut.

Rogue exhaled and collapsed back onto the bed. Voices shouted at her from within and she was not certain whose voice advised her not to run, but she listened. She ached all over from the tension of a few seconds of their fight, but her hurt was easing with the Wolverine in the foreground, assuring her that he still loved her, and that she was strong.

Reviews are appreciated. They're what encourage me to add more...