Marie was sprawled on the worn couch, engrossed in a copy of the book Red Dragon she found in the quasi-library, when he returned. Logan slammed through the door and grunted a 'hello', his cheeks flushed and muscles overworked from attacking trees with an axe. In his arms was a healthy pile of firewood, and he dumped it noisily by the fireplace. Marie barely looked up from her book; he felt the uncomfortable need to fill the silence.
"You found your stuff okay?"
"Yeah." She finally looked up. " Say...you uh...did you pack my things?"
He shook his head and squatted on his haunches, bending to the task of starting a fire. "Jubilee and Kitty took care of your clothes and stuff. They said they'd know what to pack."
Ah. So that would explain the ten pairs of lacy panties and emerald silk nightgown. Marie let out a shaky breath, half disappointed that he didn't pick those pieces out himself.
"And ah...why is one of the bags filled with...your stuff?" She tried to look casual. It took him awhile to answer.
"...'Cause I'm stayin' here too."
There was only one reason the Wolverine would agree to share her space, and Marie got mad. "I'm not a baby. I don't need you to watch out for me."
"I know you're not a baby," he growled, "but you can't be out here alone. You're vulnerable right now. Got no defenses against an attack."
"I thought you said this was Xavier's land...who's going to attack me?"
"Ya can never be too prepared."
Marie threw down her book and slid off the couch, turning her back to him. "No, but you can be too paranoid," she muttered spitefully, and then yelped as he grabbed her around the waist, yanking her against him from behind. Her arms flew up to hit him but he easily avoided the blows, gathering both her wrists in one strong hand and holding them high over her head.
"Get off of me!" she spat, twisting in his grasp. It only caused him to tighten his arm around her waist, the breath whooshing from her lungs.
"We live in a tough world that doesn't give a shit about you or me," he growled. "You've depended on your gift to get you out of scrapes...now you have to depend on your fighting skill."
Marie half-turned her face to glare at him out of the corner of her eye. "The big bad wolf gets philosophical? What next, Jubilee joining a convent?" Again she squirmed; again he tightened his grip.
"Don't push me kid. I'm stayin' here and I'm gonna teach you how to fight."
"I know how to fight."
His chin in the crook of her shoulder, his lips practically against her ear. "No. Not that kind of fighting," he rasped. His hot breath flowing over her skin like one of her silk scarves, Marie couldn't repress the shiver than ran up her spine. "To REALLY fight."
"I had you in my head for a long time, Logan. You knew how to fight, so I know how to fight."
"Knowin' it and doin' it are two different things. Otherwise you would have remembered lesson number one, darlin'. Never turn your back on the enemy." He released her and she immediately stepped away, rubbing her wrists and glaring at him with a wounded look on her face.
"Is that what you are? The enemy?"
"Whenever you're fighting, the other person is always the enemy, whether its practice or real." He reached for his bag, rifled through it and brought out a black case. He tossed it at her, she caught it deftly.
"What's this?"
"Consider it a loan 'til we can buy ya some of your own."
She opened the slim black case and gasped. Two knives lay against black velvet.
"Those are 3070 Primitive Bowie knives, thirteen and a half inches long, hardwood grip and brass guard. I have two arm-sheaths. They should be good enough to start you on."
"Whoa whoa whoa. Back up there a second, cowboy. I've taken all the required self-defense classes…you've seen me in action…why do I need to become a knife-wielding maniac?"
He half-turned. "I'm gonna teach you how to shoot, too."
Marie seethed. "I thought you brought me here so I could have some peace and quiet."
Logan shrugged. "There's no TV here, no computer, no Danger Room. What else'r you gonna do with your time?"
It was typical Logan Logic that she could never argue with. But she tried. "Not get my assed kicked by YOU."
That was met with laughter, honest to God laughter. "C'mon, darlin' it'll be just like the old days." Before Jean came back, before he chose the road over the chaos that lay heavy in his heart, they used to spar with each other. "I'll even let you win a few times." There, that brought a smile to her face.
"Who says I wasn't letting you win?" she sassed.
Logan laughed again and bent to the fire. "While we're arguing, you hungry?"
Suddenly she was. "Starved."
"So," Marie mumbled around a mouthful of red-hot chili, "You're staying here."
"Uh-huh." Logan was perched on the end of the couch, wolfing down bowl after bowl of chili. A fire was roaring diligently in the fireplace and the small room had heated up quite substantially.
"Where exactly were you planning on sleeping?" It was a perfectly adult question to ask.
"Outside. I brought my gear with me. When it gets too cold…the couch. Or the floor."
She stopped chewing. He was serious. He would sleep outside on the ground for god knows how long to protect her. In the years he had been away she had doubted the bond they shared but here it was, strong as ever. Why?
"Thank you," she said suddenly, surprised she even spoke.
Logan glanced at her then back at his bowl of chili. "What for?"
"For…this. You didn't have to come. But you did. So...thank you." When he didn't say anything, she added quietly, "...I've missed you, you know."
Logan dropped his spoon in the bowl and threw the bowl in the sink. "I missed you too, kid." He looked at her. "You done?"
She nodded and handed him her bowl, watching in amusement as the big bad Wolverine started to do the dishes.
"Got any more Jack Daniels?"
That won her a rakish glance over his shoulder, one eyebrow arched, a sly grin on his face. "Are you serious?"
"About wanting a drink or about thinking you didn't have some close at hand?"
"Both."
Marie matched his wolf-hungry grin. "C'mon, I'm tired of everyone trying to get me to taaaaaaaalk about my feeeeeeeeelings," she drawled dramatically. "I just wanna forget about what happened and pretend everything is normal. I want to have some mindless fun."
Man oh man, did that sound familiar. She must have retained more of his habits than he realized; this was exactly how he had dealt with his grief after the disastrous mission at Alkali Lake. Was it really a good idea to be drinking around her? Just three hours ago he manically chopped through four trees with an axe before he had managed to grab the reins of his control that slipped from his hands after watching her step from the shower. It wasn't a good idea; like Chuck said, he shouldn't let her ignore the problem...
"What, are you...chicken?" she taunted.
He finished the dishes and wiped his soapy hands on a towel, one eyebrow raised and a predatory grin on his face. The challenge had been issued, and the Wolverine didn't back away from a challenge.
He should have backed away from this challenge. He should have run back to the hills with his tail tucked between his legs, away from this challenge. He should have-
"C'mon, darlin, it's your turn," Marie drawled, breaking into his thoughts. She was holding the mostly empty bottle of whiskey to him, smiling a little too widely to be sober. Her cheeks were flushed from the bite of the alcohol. In a thick white cable knit sweater, grey leggings and fuzzy grey socks, she looked warm, soft, and good enough to eat.
He took the bottle from her, and she swayed slightly, leaning back against the couch and giggling. They were sitting on the floor in front of the fire and toasting each other with every shot. So far they had made their way through world peace, John Wayne movies, power ballads, kicking the shit out of a stranger, Edgar Allen Poe, Canadian beer, Salvador Dali, friendship, and Big Macs.
"What're we drinking to now?" Watching her lick her lips and try to focus through a cloud of whiskey was fifty percent amusing and fifty percent dangerous to the pressure behind the fly of his jeans.
"How about...Sesame Street?" she slurred.
He thought for a minute. "That kid's show?"
"Yup. I used to love Snuffmaga…Mufflepush…Snufflepupa…fuck, that mammoth thing," she swore eventually, giggling.
"Sesame Street it is then," he said and brought the bottle to his lips, throwing his head back, a look of intense pleasure on his face as he felt the burn of the whiskey ride all the way down his throat to the pit of his stomach. He may not be as drunk as Marie, but he was feeling very…nice. For good measure and since there wasn't much left, he tipped the bottle up and drank the last ounce of whiskey. A drop leaked out the side of his mouth and trailed down his the side of his throat.
Marie noticed. "Hey sugar, you're wastin' good booze!" As quick as a thought she leaned over, licked the whiskey off his neck with a giggle, and fell back against the couch with a smartass grin plastered on her plastered face. The entire thing happened so fast he barely registered her tongue on his skin before it was over. "Yum," she laughed, too drunk to see the fire that burned in his eyes.
"Marie…" Most likely whatever he was about to say was going to end in a statement that would alter their relationship forever. Before he could figure out what exactly that was, Marie went from giggling like a girl to frowning and looking miserable.
"I don't feel so good." That was a lie; she looked like she was actually about to feel pretty bad. All over the floor as a matter of fact, if he didn't get her outside in the next ten seconds.
"C'mon darlin'," he muttered, resigned to the inevitable, and in one practiced move scooped her up against his chest and hustled out the door to the bushes where Marie promptly threw up everything she had drank over the course of the evening. He waited until she was done retching miserably, and then carried her back to the cabin and into the tiny bedroom. Caretaker, friend, wolf, man, confidant, protector…it amazed him that he could even fill half those roles; not him, the lone Wolverine. But here he was, depositing Marie on the bed as gently as if she were made of glass.
Her head hit the pillow and she looked up at him with dark, bloodshot eyes. Her hand latched onto his, tugging imploringly. "Don't leave," she whispered low and husky, her throat raw from her night of drinking and violent sickness. Her thumb rubbed warm circles across his knuckles, right over that tender bit where his claws rested just beneath his skin.
He growled. "I don't think that's such a good idea, sweetheart."
She stuck out her lower lip and gave him the most miserable look he had ever seen. "Please? Please Logan…"
He sighed. He had traveled over a thousand miles because she needed him…he wanted badly to give her the comfort she was asking for, but was he strong enough? He laughed quietly but it wasn't a happy sound. He had fought mutants three times his size, he had been cut open and suffered molten metal poured into him, he had even faced down the man that had done it…and yet here he was, scared into a cold sweat at the idea of sharing a bed with Marie.
"I just…I just don't wanna be alone," she whispered on a broken sigh, her eyes drifting shut of their own accord. She fell back against the pillow.
God.
He was her friend. He could do it for his friend. Careful not to disturb her, he crawled onto the double bed and covered them both with the worn comforter. Immediately Marie rolled onto her side and draped her arm across his chest, her cheek a warm comforting weight through his t-shirt.
"Mmm," she purred softly, content. Ten seconds later her breathing had slowed and deepened; she was fast asleep.
Logan was surprised at how perfectly she fit against his body. He'd slept in a lot of places, some of them more menacing than others. But no matter where he'd been, he'd kept a constant vigil; at least one sense left awake to detect any threat. Between staying alert and his constant nightmares, he never rested so deeply that he could call his sleep 'peaceful.' But this…this was the most dangerous spot in the world. Because what if he did sleep peacefully next to her? What would that mean?
While he was turning the troubled thought over in his head, he fell asleep.