Disclaimer: I do not claim any rights to the X-Men or any recognizable characters herein. No monetarily gain is made from this story.
AN: Thanks everyone for all of the reviews and feedback. I really do appreciate hearing your opinions, good or bad. So feel free to let me know what you think.
This chapter is another angsty one. Unfortunately the road to healing is rather brutal. Such is life. But I promise we'll see some blue skies again soon. At least this chapter is in Logan's POV. Woohoo!
Logan stood facing Jean. They were back on the island. This time, they were alone. The ground was free of debris and the Golden Gate Bridge was visible through the light mist in the distance.
"I can be the good guy, Jean."
Jean sent him a small smile.
"I don't remember what kind of guy I was before. Maybe I was the good guy."
Her smile widened and the earth trembled.
"I think Chuck knew I could be. He believed in this good. He wanted me to be part of it."
She rose a brow in question. Her voice was deeper than he remembered. "The X-Men? The Professor didn't keep you around to play the hero, Wolverine. You could do things that the good guys couldn't. Guys like Scott."
"No darlin'," He pleaded with her, "Charles -"
She barked out a sharp laugh. "Charles is dead! You couldn't save him." Her eyes turned black and her hair glowed like fire. "You couldn't save Scott. They're Dead! They're dead because you don't know how to be the hero."
This felt familiar to him somehow. He remembered seeing this before. He knew that it was wrong somehow.
The beast inside him growled in warning. Before Jean could react, he sent his claws through her chest.
"No, Jean. You killed them," he whispered softly to her.
Phoenix faltered and grabbed his shoulders to keep from falling. She put her lips to his ear and he could feel her blood drip down his neck.
"But you killed me, Logan."
"I - I tried to save you. I loved you. I wanted to save you."
"You killed me."
Logan opened his eyes slowly, hesitantly. He had been asleep for hours, but his muscles were tense. His body was tired.
Marie sat folded up in his chair, still sleeping. It was barely morning. Just a few moments past dawn.
He turned on his bed to look at her better. Her hair was longer than he remembered, and lighter from the summer sun. Her face still held the image of innocence, but even in her sleep, he could tell that she had grown up. Without her gloves and scarves, and with the attitude she had when she burst into his room last night, he saw a confidence in her that he didn't recognize before.
And she was beautiful.
Images of the night they spent together tangled in his bed played before his eyes, and forced him to look away from her. He didn't deserve to have those memories of her. Didn't deserve to have her here, now.
Last night, she came to him and he wondered how she could still care. She refused to leave his side. Like an asshole, he asked her if she planned on hand feeding him, and she practically did. In her own fire-tempered way she let him know that she would stay. And he knew she would. His Rogue.
She shifted in the chair, as if she felt him watching her. Her eyelids fluttered open and she smiled softly at him. He remembered that smile. It was almost enough to make him smile back.
But he didn't. He didn't move.
Slowly, she stood from the chair and inched her way towards him. She moved as someone would who didn't want to frighten a skittish animal. Smart girl.
He thought she was going to embrace him. Instead, she jerked the covers down his body, grabbed his shirt and tugged it to her nose.
"I can't tell what's worse, the room or you."
She was still smiling at him.
"Go get in the shower and get yourself cleaned up. I'll take care of this." She gestured around with her hands. He didn't know if she meant the state of his room, or the broken door on the floor. He hoped it was the latter.
When he didn't move, she raised a brow. "Need help, sugah?"
Logan felt himself shake his head like an idiot and moved to the bathroom on autopilot. Once the door was shut, he stripped and turned the faucet as hot as it would go. He stepped under the spray and scrubbed and scratched at his skin until it was pink, raw, and tender. When his mutation healed his skin he did it again. And again. And again.
Every time he closed his eyes, if he so much as blinked, he saw Jean trembling with his claws buried in her chest. He saw the blame in her eyes. Sometimes there were others with her. Scott or The Professor looking at him in disappointment.
He lost track of how long he tried to wash the guilt away. He felt detached from everything but the ever-present pain.
Marie came in and turned the shower off when the water was already like ice. She didn't say anything to him, just took his hand and lead him to stand on the bathmat. He stood still while she took her time drying off his entire body. He watched her move slowly and delicately. Her soothing touch was a sharp contrast to the roughness of his fingernails moments ago. If he wasn't so numb, he might have considered her feathery touch to be sensual.
After Marie had completely dried him off, she wrapped a towel around his waist and he sat on the toilet lid as instructed.
She reached to the counter for a razor that he'd never seen before, and when she brought it to his face he could smell Iceboy. For a fleeting moment, he tried to guess the probability that she had gone back to being with Bobby.
When she finished shaving him, she grabbed a pair of scissors and moved to cut his hair.
He jerked away from her touch.
"Why are you doing this, Rogue?" He asked. His voice was rough and he sounded harsher than he meant to.
She looked at him for a long moment, but didn't answer. He closed his eyes to break the connection and she began to cut. He felt his tears run down his skin, but she didn't stop.
The sound of the scissors dropping back against the counter top made him open his eyes. He watched as she leaned forward and kissed his cheeks, her lips becoming shiny from his tears. She pulled back to lock her eyes with his again, and he wondered what she saw. He couldn't read it in her face anymore. She must be picking up on her training. As she reached down to grasp his hand, he didn't question why that idea stung him.
"C'mon," she prompted and she tugged at him to stand up. When he did, she sighed audibly and began to clean the clippings at his feet.
He stood there, waiting for her to make the next move again.
She left him alone in the bathroom after handing him sweatpants and a tee-shirt, promising to be in his room when he was ready to come out. He dressed and moved to the mirror that sat above his sink and looked a face he had tried to ignore for months. Marie had trimmed his trademark mutton chops and cut his hair similar to how he normally wore it. He looked the same as he did a year ago. He hadn't aged. He didn't have any new wrinkles or grey hair. Despite how tired he felt, he didn't have inky bags under his eyes. And his frame didn't reflect his drop in food intake.
Looking at the man in his reflection, Logan felt like a liar.
He snarled and put his fist into the center of the glass, sending it cascading to the floor.
Suddenly, he wanted to run. Run from these do-gooders, from Jean, from the monster hidden behind that face in the mirror. He tore open the bathroom door, with more force than he'd exerted in months, ready to scare off his last tie to this place.
She was sitting cross-legged on his bed, chewing on her nails with her brows furrowed. When the door opened, he caught her quickly relax her face and she smiled at him. He could tell that her posture was tense, but she tried to make her body language casual.
Guilt crept back through him, and he remembered why he hadn't left. Why he wouldn't leave.
This time it was Marie who waited for him to make the next move. But he didn't know what she expected. He didn't know what to say. His body felt heavy and he was tired again.
He felt her eyes on him as he moved around to the other side of his bed. Not caring that it was still sometime in the afternoon, he lay down on his back next to her and closed his eyes. Instead of resisting her when she curled onto his chest, he tugged her up his body and buried his nose into her hair. He locked his arms tightly around her and selfishly sought whatever comfort she could give him.
He wasn't aware that he was crying again until he whispered a muffled, "Jean," and she sobbed with him.