Title: Healing
Summery: Her wrist is now free of the wrap but she still holds it gingerly. Her black eye is healing; it's still dark on the inside but turning yellow and green on the outside. (Takes place after A Conversation)
Rating: K+
Disclaimer: Don't make me bitch slap you.
A/N: My muse wouldn't leave me alone with this idea for a fic until I wrote it and let me tell you…it was hard. So I would love it if anyone would tell me if it made any sense, I would be ever so grateful.
Also, I've found mistakes and I've fixed most of them but if you find any let me know.
A/N 12/23/06: A bit late I know, but I fixed the mistakes that Ingridmr had been kind enough to point out to me. Thank you very much.
Oh, and thanks in advance for reading it.
She had been on a mission.
He had been out of state.
She had gotten cornered and into a fight that left her in the Med. Lab for two and a half days.
She broke her leg and sprang her wrist.
She has multi colored bruises and a black eye and a split lip.
And she REFUSES to let him heal her.
It's driving him fucking mad.
When he looks at her, his hands itch to touch her. He thinks of the ways it could be interpreted as an accident.
He could be passing her in the hall and if she has her gloves off, well…everybody loses their balance.
Same goes if he happens to see her with a short sleeve shirt, everybody brushes up against each other when they reach for something. Happens everyday.
Or, he could wait for her pain meds to kick in and then when she's asleep, work his mutation on her.
Or, he could just out right grab her hand and hold on while she tries to get away.
It's his responsibility to take care of her.
He is supposed to use his mutation to heal her.
She is HIS to take care of.
Not Jeans.
And definitely NOT Hanks.
He's standing on the balcony again. The same one where she blew him a kiss as she walked away.
He takes his cigar out of his mouth and rolls it around between his fingers and inhales the smoke after he has exhaled what was in his lungs.
This time it's summer, it's sweltering and sultry and confining. He's still in his jeans, though now, instead of looking like second skin, it feels like second skin. He wishes he lived by himself so he could go nude.
But if he lived by himself, he couldn't be with Marie.
In the purely platonic way, of course.
He's still not entirely comfortable looking that close at his feelings for the young runaway. The Wolverine may be but not Logan.
He stubs his cigar out in the potted plant that now holds six cigar ends. It has become a sort of ritual for him to come here when he has any extreme emotion regarding Marie.
He runs his hands through his hair quickly and if it's possible, he manages to make his hair stand up even pointer.
He turns and walks through the French doors that lead to the library and gives a slight shiver as the A/C hits his skin.
He realizes he must have been out there for a long while for him to sweat.
He heads down to the entertainment area (and vaguely wonders if he should put on a shirt and socks) and finds her with her leg propped up on a pile of pillows that have been put on the coffee table. Her crutches are next to her, beside the couch.
The entire mansion knows that she is not to use those crutches unless there is nobody around and only if it's an emergency. He made sure that they knew that.
He scans the area and finds that she is by herself and feels a stab of anger that someone has left her alone. He pushes the anger down because he's also relieved.
It has been a week and the bruises are slowly fading and the deep ones are rising up, the busted lip had needed a stitch but it had been taken out two days ago.
Her wrist is now free of the wrap but she still holds it gingerly. Her black eye is healing; it's still dark on the inside but turning yellow and green on the outside.
He knows what he is going to do now. And he knows that she'll be mad, part of the reason she doesn't want him to heal her is because, slowly but surely, he is fading from her head.
Logan just wants to heal someone special to him (Liar. The Wolverine in him wants to possess her in every way possible. Mind, body and soul).
He sits down next to her on the sofa and looks at the TV.
"What're you watchin'?" he asked as he crossed his arms against his chest. He hid the smile when he heard her inhale sharply; she saw he wasn't wearing a shirt.
"Golden Girls." She whispers hoarsely and she clears her throat.
They are silent for a few minutes and she lets out a tiny smile when she hears him chuckle at the banter between Rose and Blanche.
"Rose is a little…" he trails off. Not sure if the TV's character is stupid or slow or both.
"Slow on the uptake?" Marie fills in for him. He lets out a short chuckle.
She feels the charge in the air. It's different than what's usually between them. It's heavy and dark and almost primal. Its also carries a secret with it.
It makes her uneasy and she knows that he can smell the little bit of fear that she has. But she knows that he won't comment on it because she's being big and brave, fighting it down and not fidgeting in his presence.
"Professor says that he has a surprise for me today. Can't imagine why he'd have a surprise for me, but whatever." She says with a shrug.
"Really?" His eyes are still on the show but his others senses are all focused on her.
"Said he didn't know if it was a good surprise or a bad one, but he figured either way I'd like it in the end."
He's on alert now, spine straight, ears pricked for any sounds and nose ready to smell something out of place.
He hates anything that makes her upset. He'll either get rid of it or kill it. He likes it better when it's the latter.
He lifts his hips up and drags the gloves he had in his back pocket out and puts them on.
Slowly.
He can feel her gaze on him as he fits his fingers into the proper places and he can smell a faint hint of arousal.
He nearly growls.
Instead he grabs her chin and says: " Let me take a look at your eye."
He looks at the bruise on her eye and notices the varying shades of yellow and green. The black that had been on the inside is now fading to a dark purple.
He turns his gaze to her mouth and looks at the healing cut and for minute he forgets that he needs to breathe.
His gloved thumb comes up and slowly and gingerly runs over it. Her breathing hitches.
"Logan, what are…?"
The press of his mouth on hers cuts her question short and her eyes widen as she tries pushing him away.
But she's no match for his weight (adamantium) and his strength.
Finally she's tries to push him back but he slumps forward and lays across her chest so she grabs the blanket that was next to her and covers him with it and wraps her arms around him.
"You stupid idiot." She whispers, tears coat her tongue and the back of her throat and she tries to blink them back as they (Wolverine and Logan) invade her mind and become one with her.
"Rogue…" The Professor (his voice is kind and sympathetic) is in the doorway; beside him stand a woman and a man. Their eyes are wide and disbelieving and their mouths hang open.
She looks up and she's too upset and scared to be shocked. A tear races down the curve of her cheek and slides under her jaw and then down her neck, leaving behind a ghost trail.
"Mamma…Daddy…" Is all she gets out before she buries her nose into Logan's hair.
So….what do you think?