Notes: I don't like stories like this, (cause I don't EVER believe that Marie would do it) and cause I think they're kind of corny…but I wrote one anyway. Its all because I read a story where Logan totally tramples Marie's heart and then she forgives him and takes him back. At the end of it I was still mad at him and felt like he should suffer for what he said. This is the result and unfortunately I've sacrificed Marie to do that. I apologize.

Disclaimer: I have nothing to do with X-men. I'm just writing for fun.

Steps To An Open Window

One step closer.

Shallow breaths. Hallow gaze. Eyes full, puffed and heavy from the hours of tears, of crying and dripping cheeks, of choking through sobs. The scenery before her might as well be blank. It might as well be a dark, empty space for all she notices the summer gardens below her window or the children playing across the lawn.

One step closer.

No lithe, delicate limbs. They are leaden and heavy to move, shuffling across the floor, dragging slowly one foot, then another onto the sill. Weighted arms touch the dark wood frame. Too heavy to stay in place, they slide to her side again, splinters in her fingers. Warm June breeze wraps through her dress without a touch. There is no sensation there. Her skin is numb, like the rest of her. She can't even smell the heated rush of rose petals, lilacs and hyacinth. The voices below her drown before her ears. Words and phrases, tone and quality, all is muffled into ambience. Sweet, indifferent ambience.

Indifferent.

'Life's tough Kid. Get over it or get out of it. But don't knock around my door again.'

One tear.

One step.

One –

Hot wind. Whip. Whistle. Rose. Iris. Lavender. Pine. Grass. Jade. Wet. Shimmer. White. Blaze. Laugh. Shrill. Cold. Gasp.

ooo

In small resistant steps, Logan inched toward the window. His mouth hung inanely, still almost forming the first word of his tardy apology but breath had not returned to him. He could hear them down below. A sick melody of screams, anguished cries, repulsion and grief swathed into each note of their herald. It grew louder with every step he took.

The sudden shuddering in his chest brought a sweet gasp of air back to his lungs. With this vivacity his vision blurred wet, swimming the world into fluid abstractions as he peered over the ledge and so the first sight of her was nothing more than a colorful pool. He closed his eyes tightly. A flurry of tears fell to the garden below him.

' Logan?'

Her voice. She always speaks his name tenderly as though tasting it along her tongue. It would be a soft, lady-like voice had she not the smallest rasp at the end of each word. Her clothed fingers catch his own, twining between, clutching desperately. 'I…I think I lov-'.

The end of eternity, of everlasting, is what he longed for. He craved it while he clenched daylight from his vision, recalling his words the days before and retracing the moments he would never have back.

'Just stop right there.' A hard pull from her soft grip. Her dark eyes looking up at him, surrounding him with undying surrender, hope and most of all trust. The honesty there is startling to him as he backs away. 'You don't know what you want.'

'I know what I feel.'

A cold laugh, a little frightened. 'And what's that? Love? What do you know about love? This little infatuation is embarrassing, for me and you.'

Surrender is gone.

'You don't mean that.'

She's looking right through him, seeing right through him. He draws a controlled breath. 'I mean it. Don't build me up into something I'm not. Don't waste your time on a…romance that doesn't exist.'

No more Hope in her red eyes.

'I thought you might…feel this way.' She shudders, holding back tears, keeping her dignity, still gazing at him with a half smile. 'I guess I wanted to think you didn't. I wanted to think it all meant something more than just keeping a promise to a kid.'

A tear that would break his heart. A tear that tugs at his arm to wipe it away. A tear that scares him by its effect so that he stands rigid.

'Want isn't the same thing as having.' He expels an exasperated sigh, directed at her but meant for himself. 'I don't think of you like that and I never could. Let's face it, you're no Jean.' Small, cold, ironic laugh. 'You're just a little kid.'

He's crushed her Trust.

The girl's eyes have fallen to the floor. Any strength in her body has left her and a distinct slump overcomes her shoulders and chest. He wants to pick her up and tell her he's sorry. He wants to be gentle as he brushes the hair from her eyes when he wipes her tears.

She pulls her gaze upward, capturing his for the last time. In the depths, a hallow more frightening than anything he has known before addresses him. Her brown orbs are swelling from a new rush of tears through a blank and hopeless expression. Dead expression, void of all emotion but those thin wet streaks that rapidly trace her cheeks, spilling onto her motionless, half open lips.

Finally she breathes one long, painful sigh. She looks as if she's going to speak but only manages to shake her head softly.

'Life's tough Kid. Get over it or get out of it. But don't knock around my door again.'

He had regretted the moment the words left his lips but he'd told himself it was for the best. So he left her alone.

When almost three days had passed, when he'd been questioned about her behavior, when he'd been encouraged to speak with her despite his reluctance, her image sprang to mind. It wasn't conjured by guilt, not at first. Rather, a sudden brief marvel into all that she had offered made him startle during his meditation that morning. Only then was it shortly followed by a wave of remorse for the way he handled things. For his unexplainable fear that had caused him to act so harshly and speak without care. He could have been gentle. He could have refused her without breaking her. He could have treated her as the friend she was and behaved as the friend she thought she had.

Approaching her room he saw that her door wasn't locked, but was slightly ajar and he was relieved. Would she forgive him? Would she listen to his sorry explanations that he couldn't even understand? He'd wanted her to. He'd hoped. When she didn't answer he'd almost given up and walked away. But instead he pushed the unlatched door open a little more and saw her standing on the ledge of the window.

She was a soft, fragile Angel whose white dress billowed against the breeze that rushed to caress her. Unaware of him, she drew her bottom lip in and released it moist, her wet lashes falling, her slowly drawn breath barely audible. Sunlight spilled between her graceful limbs, touched the ends of her hair that lifted in the wind. It cast a blinding halo around his Marie so that her presence suffused the small bed room. An ethereal vision, unearthly and pure.

He was so overwhelmed by the beauty of her that he forgot everything he'd rehearsed. Apologetic words stopped short in his throat while his heart quickened. Entranced by this being, he felt the truth rush through him as real and as shocking as a live bolt shivering up his body and the feeling elated him, drawing a smile upon his lips.

Then she stepped…

Three stories below him her body slept sprawled among the roses. Her white neck twisted around awkwardly where her head lay against the stone path. The crack of it making contact would forever haunt his dreams. And every time he closed his eyes there would be nothing but red. Like the red pool, glistening in the sunlight and the red spotted stains tainting her dress.