Archive of Our Own ^beta

  You had definitely had worse missions in your past as an X-Man. However, this one was not one of your bests by any definition of the word.   

Charles Xavier was a funny, funny man. You had always assumed that he was a diplomat; he was a man of honor and respect. The way he ran the school, the manner in which he held himself, and his adamancy towards peace- all of these were reasons that his assignment on this mission surprised you. His assignment for you this time, however, made you realize that he was just an old bald gossip .   

It was simple: a quick jet ride to a small, quaint town in the Rocky Mountains. Spend a few hours scoping out a few of the mobsters that were running a mutant fighting ring. Eventually tail them until you find out the location of their base. Infiltrate, find the captives, get out. It was standard for the X-Men. You took simple notes in the briefing and decided on when it would be best to try and partner with Jean, Scott, or Beast. Those three were the team members that you worked well with, and the ones that most commonly beside whom for you to be chosen to fight.   

However, when the person you were assigned to take a quick trip over the mountains with wasn’t one of those three, the note-taking pencil in your hand snapped in half, almost without your knowledge.   

Of course it had to be fucking Logan.   

______   

The cold wind nipped at the back of your neck. The collar on your leather uniform had been shredded off during the fight. Well, the collar, along with most of the mid-section, the sleeves, and multiple sections of the legs. Snow leaked into your shoes, and it made your shivering penetrate deeper into your bones than you had ever experienced. The only shield you had other than the tatters of your uniform was the dried blood that caked your body.    

However, even with the negative temperatures, frostbitten air, and frozen earth, you still felt a flame within you. With each trudge through the snow, you could feel your anger heating you. Spite charged you like a solar panel.  

With every footstep of your own, you could hear a crunch of the man beside you take a matching stride. Both of you were silent; the only thing to be heard was the angry grinding of your teeth. You couldn’t remember a time that you had felt more enraged than you were right in that moment, and all of the places below that on your list also had something to do with the man walking on your right.   

And just when you thought things couldn’t get worse, you heard a choked mumble fall from Logan’s mouth.   

“What did you say?” The words sounded strangled when they left your much-too-dry throat. You didn’t even have the energy to look his way, your eyes set on the path down the mountain ahead of you. Only a little less than mile was left in the walk, and then you would be able to check in to the quaint mountain inn booked for the two of you by Storm. You couldn’t wait for the amenities, particularly a shower and a fluffy bathrobe that you assumed would be awaiting you- Ororo always prided herself on taking care of her best friend. However, the fantasy of the scalding hot water from a rainfall shower head was scraped away as Logan continued to disrupt your peace.   

“I said, you’re still bleeding.” Finding the strength through your fiery annoyance, your neck broke itself frozen position forward to look at Logan. Apart from his hair, now mussed from its usual tufted hair, he looked completely fine. That was another thing about the snarky-mouthed man that pissed you off. No matter the trauma, no matter the fight, no matter the injury, he always got to be fine. There wasn’t a war in the world that could force Logan to make the tired, injured walk that you were faced with right at that moment.   

Your eyes managed to roll, though you could feel the cold air attempt to prick your tear ducts. “Yes, thank you, captain obvious. I had almost forgotten the searing pain in my back. Quit staring.”   

On everything you believe in, you swore you could hear him roll his eyes. As much as he pissed you off, you knew that you pissed him off equally.   

It took him a few minutes to respond to you. Whether that was because he was fuming at your sardonic response, or because his mouth had miraculously frozen shut, you didn’t know. Frankly, you didn’t care. The silence fell on your ears like a church choir.   

“God forbid I give a fuck whether you bleed out.”   

Once you saw the mountain inn peak into your view, you thought that you were home free. You could relax and fall asleep alone in a hotel room. However, as if sent from Hell to torment you, Logan couldn’t seem to get the hint and stop talking. For a reason you couldn’t figure out, every word of his bubbles an intense feeling in your chest.   

“Oh, oh wow,” you rasped, panting from the severe walk, along with the wounds making it harder to function on the most basic level. “That’s rich after today.” As if the venom laced in your words shot into his face, he stopped walking with a deep scoff.   

When Logan realized that you had no intent to stop walking alongside him, he grabbed your shoulder and whipped you around to face him. His hand lingered with a tight grip. The look on his face was one that you were extremely used to: disdain and irritation. You could feel your features melt into a similar expression.   

“What the hell do you mean by that, kid?” His tone implicated more than his question. You weren’t scared, though, you were just angry. Angry that he didn’t understand your implication, and even angrier that he didn’t know what he did to make you that way.   

“You should know what the hell I mean,” you snapped, ripping your shoulder from his grasp. He only grew more frustrated. “You would’ve let me fucking die back there.”   

Logan released what sounded similar to a snarl. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”   

Eyes rolling, you turned back around to walk away from him and towards the salvation that was the inn. It took a few moments to hear Logan’s crunching footsteps catch up to you. In the few seconds of silence without the notice of his following, you could feel your heart sink further.   

“They had me completely surrounded, Logan. And where were you? Off doing whatever bullshit you were doing. Completely unharmed.” You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him, so you just kept trudging forward. Just a few more minutes and you would be at peace in a warm hotel lobby. “Unbelievable,” you said under your strained breath.   

You heard his footsteps increase, and you feared he would attempt to impede your progress again. However, all Logan wanted to do was match your stride so he could defend himself. You braced yourself for whatever he had to say, knowing it wouldn’t budge your opinion on him.   

“The bullshit was saving those mutants.” He threw his hands up, clearly exasperated. “That’s the whole reason we were there, sweetheart.”   

The nickname made your blood boil so hot that it almost made you forget about the icy surroundings. “The plan was to take out as many as possible, and then go and get the captives. But, no, of course, we had to be on Logan’s schedule. Logan decides the rules, and if that means leaving a teammate behind to die at the hands of those fuckers, then so be it, as long as Logan is happy.” Each time you said his name you punched it with malevolence in order to prove your point. “You left me to die, and you know it. And, like usual, you’re too arrogant to admit it, let alone apologize.”   

With each word you could feel the anger reverberate through Logan’s movements. He stayed quiet for a moment, but you knew better than to think he was done with the conversation. Logan was nothing if not a stubborn shit.   

“I won’t apologize for nothing, ‘cuz I didn’t do anything. I assumed, y’know, since you’re an X-Man like the rest of us, that you could handle a couple of tough guys yourself. But somehow you weren’t even able to do THAT!”   

His words cut you like a knife. Your mind flashed back to the moment of discussion. There were five men coming at you at once in the wide-open warehouse. Your kinetic energy blasts were able to protect you from several at once, but sooner or later, you knew that you would find an opening. One of them had a mutation that allowed them to blow a gust of wind that sliced with the precision of a blade. That man caused the bulk of your injuries, including the large incision on your back that caused you to drop to the ground.  

You clearly remembered the panic that rose in you, catching in your throat like a bad drink or a sick cough. Throughout every mission you had been on with your teams, every trial, every quest, you had never thought that you were in danger of losing your life- not until this one with Logan. That kind of terror tasted with sulfur and regret.   

Eventually, though, you managed to find an opening. You analyzed their movements, their weaknesses, and their mutation refractory periods. It had taken a lot of brain power, but you took advantage of it when a few of them at a time had taken a second to recharge and regain their ground. You released a burst of energy into the ground below you to throw them out of balance, then knocked them to the ground with a circle of energy emanating in a circle from the center of your body.   

The blast of power wounded you internally, as you knew it would. You had coughed up more blood than you had imagined and, along with it, came the fear that you had felt before. While clutching your stomach and throwing up violently, you heard Logan run up to you. Your only thought had been about his betrayal, and how he had left you to die.   

The gut reaction to yell at him was quelled by the sound of several scampering mutants emerging from the back room, following Logan to where you were located. They all looked in worse shape than you were: mangled, malnourished, and terrified. It was as if they hadn’t seen the daylight in days with the way they shielded themselves from the light. In the haze of your hearing, still damaged from your own energy blast, you could make out Logan trying to get you up and out of the warehouse, and that there was a pickup outside for both the former-captives and the two of you.   

It was a gut punch to find out the rescuers were abused mutant recovery agents on snow mobiles, and that they only had enough seats for the captive mutants. You and Logan were forced to make the decision: wait for another agent to come to get you and make the trip down the mountain, which would take about two hours, or make the trip on foot to the reserved Inn, which would take a little less than an hour.   

The less time together, the better, so the decision was clear.   

And here you were, somehow finding a way to fight together on a walk through a snowy mountain that should have frozen both of your mouths shut.   

“Shut up,” you breathed out, finally reaching your limit with arguments. You weren’t sure whether you were tired of expending energy, and therefore warmth, by talking, or if you were tired of Logan’s voice overwhelming your numbed senses. “Just be quiet. We’re almost there, and then we won’t have to see each other for the rest of the night.”   

“Some fucking ‘bonding experience’ this was. Chuck is gonna have to do a lot of kissing up to get me to go on another one of these.” Logan was referring to, of course, Charles Xavier’s intent with this two-man mission. He had noticed that the two of you hadn’t gotten along in the past, and therefore thought it would be helpful for you two to go out on an “easy” mission for a bonding experience. He claimed that a bit of teamwork and relying on each other would go a long way to improving a relationship.   

For a psychic, you thought, Charles couldn’t have been more wrong.   

To your surprise, Logan was silent until you both reached the front of the Elk Lodge, which was the quirky name of the snowed in hotel. Contrary to Ororo’s description, it wasn’t as quaint as it was just… small. There was only one door and one window on the front, and the building didn’t appear to be more than a few stories tall and not many more units wide. It wasn’t the ski resort that you were dreaming of, but it was heated, so you didn’t care.   

As Logan pushed open the main door into the lobby, you felt the painful needles of relief wash over you. The shivers were replaced by shakes of temperature change, and the teeth chattering were alleviated by the sighs of satisfaction.   

Behind the fake oak wood desk in the middle of the tacky-furniture clad room was a woman that couldn’t have been much older than 18. Based on her keyboard clacking on the 90s computer, she was definitely playing a game, or at least doing something completely non work related.  

“Hello welcome in… how can I help you?” Her voice sounded exactly as angsty as her all black outfit. Her curly hair laid in ringlets across her forehead and covered one of her eyes, though she nonchalantly blew it out of her face when you had walked into the lodge. The girl seemed completely unfazed by both your injuries and your disheveled uniforms.   

Logan walked up first, almost shoving past you to get to the counter. You didn’t even have the energy to be frustrated with him, you just sighed and sat down in one of the comfy chairs that lined the wall. The cushions enveloped you in a way that you thought could put you to sleep if you closed your eyes for long enough.   

It wasn’t long since you had accepted your incoming lobby nap before Logan’s voice woke you with a start. Eyes fluttering open, you were affronted with an angry Logan and a very nervous looking woman.   

“Will you please help me here and figure this out.” Logan’s hands were thrown haphazardly towards the poor girl, clearly irritated by something within the conversation you had tuned out. You sighed and managed to claw your way out of the pillowy nest you had made for yourself, bones aching and cuts reopening.   

You locked eyes with the woman behind the counter and frowned, silently apologizing for your rougher counterpart.   

“What’s going on?”   

Her eyes shifted between you and Logan, before speaking with a shake in her voice. “Well, he was asking for a reservation under a name I don’t have. I asked if it could be under any name other than Logan and he said no. So… I just don’t know what to do. We’re full tonight because the town down the mountain’s big international food festival is happening tomorrow. We only have one room that hasn’t been checked into yet.”   

You listened intently to her speech, doing your best to remain calm because you, unlike Logan, knew that this wasn’t her fault. The nametag on her chest read Molly.   

“Molly, listen. I’m sorry for my partner here, he’s a little bit,” you whispered to her, pinching the top of your nose to communicate your irritation. “You know? Did he ask about the rooms being under my name?”   

Molly’s shoulders relaxed as she snorted softly with laughter. Pushing the glasses up on her nose, she asked for your name. You told her slowly, spelling the first and last so that she could type it into the computer. After a second of loading, her face lit up with a smile. She reached into a drawer in the counter and pulled out a bronze key with a room number tag on it. Though it appeared faded from use, the number read 203.   

“It was under yours, yep! Here you go. You folks enjoy your stay.” You waited for a second for what you assumed would be a second key. However, the conversation between the two of you stagnated, which made your heart drop in realization.   

Logan must have felt the same way, because he leaned on the counter next to you and scowled. “There’s another key, right? There’re two fucking rooms, right?”  

“Um, no, I’m sorry. The reservation was made for only one room. It was made under her name… did you not make it yourself?”   

With Molly’s words, your mind flashed a few memories back to you. You remember Ororo, your best friend, offering to make the reservations for you both after a long, ranting conversation about Logan. She had conjectured that a night together would be good for you two, even going as far as to call it a “romantic” and “not a total nightmare.” You had slapped her across the arm, half playfully, half trying to knock some sense into her.   

Ororo had always had fun teasing you over your relationship with Logan, saying that you two had so much chemistry that it was bound to come out in one of two ways: killing each other, or fucking each other. You had laughed at the time and very sternly told her that you didn’t just need separate beds, you needed separate rooms, or you were sure the first of the two ways were to come true.   

And now that it had dawned on you that Ororo, the little prankster, had purposefully housed the two of you in the same room, you were going to kill her.   

As livid as you were, you knew it wasn’t Molly’s fault. Contrary to your empathetic attitude, though, Logan looked like he was ready to unsheathe the claws and rip the poor girl to shreds. Before that could happen, you grabbed onto the collar of Logan’s uniform and dragged him toward the hallway that was labelled with a number range holding your room number. You mumbled a thank you to Molly before disappearing from her view, a stumbling Wolverine right behind you.   

“Let go, kid.” Logan’s voice was stern, but you knew he could pull away from you easily if he really wanted to, since his strength absolutely outweighed yours. You chose not to let go of him until you were right in front of the door. With the chill of the outdoors still settled in your system, it took a minute of fumbling with the keys to get the door unlocked.   

Inside looked like if the 70s got food poisoning and threw up room décor, carpeting, and furniture. Three of the walls were painted a shade of green that was almost able to induce nausea, and the wall behind the bed was layered with cherry wood paneling. Beneath your feet laid a tacky shag carpet imbued in a similar shade of green. There was a rinky-dink TV setup that couldn’t have been less than 30 years old laying atop a mahogany dresser. Next to that was a door covered with a floor length mirror that presumably led to the bathroom. In the corner was a small unassuming desk, on top of which was a green and gold banker’s lamp.   

And, as if all of your wounds had reopened, a shockwave of red ran through your body. What you were staring at looked like it was ripped straight out of a cliché romance book sold at a grocery store checkout to entice the lonely.   

There was only one bed.    

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” Logan breathed. For the first time all day you actually agreed with him. It felt like a kick in the gut, but you didn’t have enough energy to explain your feelings toward the situation. It was as if all of the exhaustion from the day, the long hours, the fights (both with Logan and with the men in the warehouse), and the arduous walk- everything culminated into one long sigh.   

The bed itself couldn’t have been larger than a queen. The headboard was a clashing kind of wood to the accent wall behind it. An ugly muted floral pattern was sewn into the bedspread. Rested at the top of the bed were several pillows, all donning a slightly mismatched sham of other floral prints.  

At the foot of the bed sat a duffle bag that you recognized as your own. You took a couple of steps toward it and unzipped it from the middle. Inside you saw a few of your own clothes; a pair of pajamas, some underwear and a bra, and a T-shirt with a pair of jeans for tomorrow. Alongside your clothes were several that you didn’t recognize by sight, but you certainly recognized by smell.   

Logan’s scent of the ocean, pine trees, and cigar smoke emanated from the set of clothes snuggled next to yours. Nestled into the side of the duffle was a folded piece of paper. Inside was a note that you could tell was from Ororo, seeing as she signed it with a tiny storm cloud.   

You’re welcome. Don’t have too much fun ;)   

Despite yourself, you could feel a blush spread across your cheeks. You mentally cursed yourself for thinking that Ororo wouldn’t pull something like this. During your stay at the X-Mansion, you couldn’t imagine a day that she didn’t attempt in some way to get you and Logan together. She, along with Jean and Scott, had always thought that the two of you would make a perfect couple: both hot-headed, fiery, devoted, and very attractive. With each implication of coupling up from Storm, you made sure to brush it off, but sometimes you found yourself stewing over it for hours at a time.   

Logan’s gruff voice pulled you out of your thought process. “What does it say?” He stepped closer to you and tried to get a view of the note. There would be no way to describe what Storm wrote without becoming even more embarrassed, so you quickly folded the note and placed it into the bottom of the duffle.   

“Nothing! I mean, it’s just from, um, Jean. She said that when she made the reservation, there was only this room left,” you lied. You weren’t a great liar, but the tiredness in your voice seemed to be able to mask any falsehoods that you were spewing. “She also said that you should be the one to sleep on the ground,” you added.   

Logan scoffed. “Bullshit.” You chuckled lightly and pulled his clothes from the duffle bag, being careful not to expose Ororo’s note. Looking over at Logan who was still standing in the doorway, leaning against the wall, you threw his clothes in a bundle right at him. Of course, his reflexes kicked in and he caught the pile, only letting go of a thin white tank top that slipped out of his grip. The throw made the soreness in your arms become even more prevalent, and it took a lot of focus not to wince.   

“You got me. I added that last part,” you told him as you brought out your clothes and folded them neatly into piles- one for pajamas and one for tomorrow’s outfit. “But it’s true. You’re sleeping on the ground.” The only other thing in the bag was a small bag of toiletries and a hard-shell zip case that you knew was your homemade first aid kit.   

Logan walked to the desk in the corner of the room and laid out his clothes in a similar fashion to you. “And explain how that’s fair, sweetheart?”   

“Um, because I don’t have regenerative healing powers and am covered in wounds that could have been prevented if my teammate didn’t treat me like a human shield.” With a fling of the duffle bag to the ground and a quick surrender to the exhaustion, you laid down on the bed, your legs dangling off of the edge. The mattress squeaked as it molded to your body. You could feel the springs ache and groan beneath you. “That’s why it’s fair,” you said with a slight and whine as you stretched your limbs.   

As if a sight was aimed down a barrel at you, Logan’s eyes bore into your form. Though in your peripheral vision you could see him coming closer to the foot of the bed, you couldn’t bring yourself to look at him. His eyes were enough. They filled you with a warmth you assumed was anger, but it was different than before. It was more.   

When he reached the foot of the bed, you anticipated an argument with him. Based on past experiences, you assumed he was going to fight you for the bed, both with words and maybe, eventually, physicality. You half expected him to grab both of your ankles and fling you from the mattress.   

However, when his touch ghosted the top of your shin, you had to bite the inside of your cheek to keep yourself from gasping. Fighting your sore muscles, you propped yourself up on your elbows and made eye contact with him, pulling your leg back from him.   

“What the hell are you doing?” You swallowed thickly and couldn’t tell the emotion you were feeling. It resembled a mix of shame, curiosity, and… something else you couldn’t put your finger on. Whatever it was gave you a pit in your stomach and made your breathing quicken.   

Logan’s hand retracted and his face turned down. He was scanning your body up and down. Though, in his eyes you couldn’t see any real malice. Maybe a bit of irritation, but the majority of his emotions appeared… concerned?   

“You’re really hurt.” His voice was low and coarse. You scoffed at him and sat up, so you were facing him. The distance between the two of you was slim, and Logan took a small step back. You looked up at him, and it suddenly dawned on you how big he really was. His shoulders were broad, he was tall, and his figure was very strong. He blocked most of your view, and you had no choice but to look directly in his eyes- and it pissed you off.   

“Yeah,” you confirmed hoarsely. “I know. Wonder how that happened.” The comment sounded more like an accusation than you had even intended, and Logan’s eye roll combined with him crossing his arms confirmed that you had managed to get under his skin. That fact always delights you.   

He pointed back to the bathroom door behind him. “You should shower, and then get yourself cleaned up.”   

Your face twisted in disgust. “What, do I fuckin smell bad or something?” The moment of closeness between you was gone as Logan stepped back toward the desk.   

“No, Christ, I just don’t want to cart you out of here because you let all your shit get infected and wound up with sepsis. Go shower so I can stitch you up.” You let your mouth hang agape for a second. For once in your relationship with Logan, you actually didn’t feel the need to argue with him. So, you didn’t. The creaks of your sore muscles and fresh cuts caused the walk to feel less like a couple of feet and more like a couple of miles.   

______  

The water could not have been hot enough to rid you of the frost that now wrapped around your bones like a cast. Though, your screaming cuts and burning abrasions had had you breathing heavily during the shower. Folded lazily over the rack was a towel, rough with use, that you had slung over your shoulders once you had stepped out into the moist air of the bathroom.   

It wasn’t until then had you seen the damage that was delt unto you at the warehouse. Unfolding, you truly looked at yourself for the first time since your near-death experience. The sight in front of you made you gasp harshly.   

Up and down your arms were bruises of almost every color- red blood bruises on your shoulders, outlines of purple hand marks down your biceps, and an array of still-forming welts that ranged from a dim yellow to a deep black. Your torso wasn’t in any better shape. Lacerations created macabre patterns that gave your body deep contours. Despite the scrubbing you had done in the shower, the blood that had run down your abdomen seemed to have stained your skin.   

Your legs, despite the intense aching that now resided in their depths, looked to be slightly less injured. The skin on your thighs and shins was tender, probably from the chafing of your tattered uniform on the walk to the Inn. There was no visible frost bite, which shocked you, because you felt truly frozen to the core. Looking down at your palms, rubbed raw from the overuse of your mutation, you could feel the shaking in your hands more than ever.   

Trained like the X-Man you were, you decided to change quickly into the pajamas Storm packed for you and try to forget about the day. All you craved was the kiss of the blankets and the sweet release of sleep.   

However, that was not what you got. As you painstakingly put on the tank top that Ororo picked out, you realized she had picked out the smallest, thinnest one you owned to play into her romantic intent for your evening. Scowling, you heard a knock at the door. Based on how soft the knock was, you had almost assumed it was someone other than Logan.   

“Hey, kid, how’s it going?” The actual concern in his voice was alarming, yes, but it also pissed you off somehow. As if he wasn’t the one that allowed these things to happen to you, he was asking if you were alright.   

Instead of responding to him, you scrunched your hair with the towel one more time and pushed open the door. Walking out of the bathroom, Logan’s eyes surveyed your body. How the welts on your shoulders clashed with the soft hue of your top. The way your pants hung low enough on your hips that he caught a glimpse of a cut on your pelvis.   

His gaze lingered on you even when you walked past him towards the foot of the bed. Logan found himself unable to look away. Even though the two of you had rooms not more than mere feet away from each other at the mansion, he had never seen you like this before. You looked...   

Fuck. You looked good.   

Logan cursed himself for thinking like that at a time like this. Of course, he had always been attracted to you. God, there wasn’t a person in the mansion who wasn’t. You were a bombshell, and he knew it. The way your wet hair framed your face, the way your flannel pajama pants clung to your hips, and God the way you smelled. He knew better than to mention it in hopes he didn’t trigger you to mouth off, but he would bathe in that scent were it possible. He hated you for making him feel this way and hated you even more for hating him back.   

He shook his head, attempting to cast out the shameful thoughts. However, what horrified Logan more than his own admittance of his attraction to you was the gash that was carved into your back. From the top of your right shoulder down to the start of your left ribcage was a deep, dark red scored into your skin. It was raw and deep, and when you bent down Logan saw that it hadn’t closed fully. When you had complained about your lack of regenerative healing, he had assumed that you were being facetious or had just been trying to make the situation his fault. What he didn’t realize was that your complaint had come from a very vulnerable place.   

You were really fucking hurt.     

Silence filled the room. It wasn’t like the terse quiet of the trudge to the Inn. No, this was something else. This was a silence that was loud with realization and guilt.   

You pulled your first aid kit onto the bed with a breathy groan. Standing over it and examining the contents, you suddenly felt a dull pain shoot through your back. In accordance with the state of your body, that made sense, but this one felt triggered by something. And through your exhausted haze, it took you a second to realize that that something was Logan’s large hand ghosting up the gash on your back. The pain worsened as he moved slightly upward toward the center of the wound.   

You made a quick attempt to turn around, but Logan steadied you towards the headboard with a firm grab of your shoulder. If you weren’t so tired you felt as though you could fall asleep standing, you might have fought him harder on it. Instead, you sighed and resigned yourself to trying your best to lean away from his touch. This proved difficult, though, as you realized you were essentially wedged between the bed and Logan’s towering form.   

“What... what’re you doing?” Your voice came out sounding as if you were holding in a cry. That wasn’t the case, though, and you attributed the tone to the influence of your weeping muscles.   

Logan let out a deep breath. “I don’t want to do this just as much as you don’t want me to do this, but...” On your back, you could feel the tip of one of his fingers trace the perimeter of the laceration.   

“Look, you’re a zombie on your feet right, you can barely stand up. And, even if you were any less exhausted, even the strongest mutants can’t see their own back. Just... let me stitch you up, okay? Don’t be an ass about it, just let me help you.”  

The haze in your mind momentarily cleared. Your hold on the first said kit was a shaky one at best, and your next thought made you shiver with realization.    

He was right.   

You never wanted to admit that to yourself in any circumstance, let alone one that would involve an intimate moment between the two of you. In the bathroom you had refused to turn around, but it wasn’t because you were scared of how hurt you were, it was because you knew that this would be the outcome. Logan’s hands on your wound, your back, your shoulders.   

Logan’s hands on you.   

A warm feeling spread throughout your chest, one that caused you to have some trouble breathing. It felt impossible to keep it together at that moment. The chill of your bones briefly paused its attack as his body heat leaked into you. For a second, just a fleeting second, you wondered how much warmer it would be if you leaned back and let yourself rest on his chest.   

“Fine,” you breathed, shaking yourself out of your momentary lapse of judgement. Logan seemed to notice the shift in the mood as well, and he stepped away, and along with it went his warmth.  You turned around and handed him the baggy holding a needle and a few bundles of monofilament thread- your emergency stitching kit. “Just… make it quick. You still haven’t showered so you smell like wet dog.” It was a lie, he still smelled like heaven, but you needed to regain your composure somehow.   

The playful atmosphere had returned between the two of you, though this one had slightly less tenacity. Logan scoffed at the comment; however, he did set the package down momentarily to go and wash his hands. He may like making you mad, but he didn’t want to give you an infection.   

Letting yourself breathe for the first time in what felt like hours, you turned and sat on the bed. You couldn’t figure out what the best position was for Logan to be able to reach your back, as most of them were either awkward or left you much more exposed than you would’ve liked. As your makeshift nurse emerged from the bathroom, now clad in a white t shirt and plain pajama pants, you finally settled on sitting crisscross on the bed with your back to the edge of it, so Logan could work with nothing impeding his closeness to you.   

Now smelling more like the lemon scented hand soap, Logan nodded at you as if to say he approved of your positioning on the bed. You watched him pick up the suturing kit and, after seeing how he fiddled with it, you became uneasy about the procedure.   

“Hey, uh, do you know how to do this? Like… like do you know how to do it well ?” Logan scoffed, apparently having given up opening the baggy because he ended up tearing the unzippable portion of it right off with his teeth, spitting the remnants onto the floor.   

“I was alive when this shit was invented, okay?” He laughed to himself, which made you annoyed, but didn’t turn you off of the situation. You actually laughed a little under your breath, which surprised you. “ Do you know how to do this...? ” Logan mumbled that under his breath, raising his voice to attempt and mimic your own.   

You gasped, partially offended and partially laughing at the hilarity that was his immaturity. “First of all, fuck you are ancient. Second of all, just because you were alive when they were invented, doesn’t mean you have any clue what you’re doing. Just don’t make me bleed out, old man.”  

Logan huffed the same way he always did when you made references to his age. Back in the mansion, just to piss him off you would make snide comments about how his hair would start graying soon enough, or how his eyes were worsening. And when you were in a worse mood than usual, you would even call him Grandpa.   

Though you knew that would make him angry in a way that would have made you laugh, you were a little hesitant to do so when he had a needle so close to your skin.   

“This is gonna hurt, probably.” Despite being turned away from him, you knew Logan had moved closer to you. His words breathed hot onto the back of your neck. Praying that the chills that ran up your spine were covered by your wound, you straightened your back to give him better access.   

You reassured him, “I think I’ll be okay.” Just as the words left your mouth, you felt the sting of a puncture, along with the ache of the tweezers holding the lesion open. It wasn’t as bad as, say, the wound being opened the first time, but it wasn’t as painless as you wanted it to be. A curse fell out of your mouth as the first stitch was pulled through.   

“God, this is gross...” Logan mumbled under his breath. You had half the nerve to turn around smack you for saying something like that at a time like this. You had more sense than that, though. You just settled on craning your head around to glare at him.   

Yet, what you saw made you made the annoyance in your face melt into a surprised conclusion.   

Logan’s brows were furrowed toward one another, the same way he would screw his face up when he would train with the team; he always wore his level of concentration on his face. His eyes were locked on your back, not breaking even to look at you when you peered over your shoulders at him. His hair was falling forward as he leaned to work on you, leaving tufts to frame his face. It reminded you of the time you ran into him during the night at the mansion a few months prior. You were going to get some water, and he was coming back after sneaking a beer. His hair was unkempt and falling in a similar way to how it was when you looked at him now.   

You remembered he had asked you whether you were alright. It hadn’t been a jab at your frilly pajamas or a quip about your hair being messy. No, he had looked you in the eyes and asked how you were doing, no malice anywhere near his eyes. You now realized the look on his face while stitching you up was the same as the look he had given you that night.    

Pure, passionate concern.   

It was also the same look he had given you the moment he saw you in the warehouse, coated in blood and barely standing.   

“Something wrong, sweetheart?” Logan's playful teasing was enough to make you realize that you had been turned around for longer than you had intended. And, you had been staring at him the whole time.  Not only that, but you had been staring with your mouth agape.   

You shook your head and turned around to face forward, hoping he didn’t see the blush creeping onto your cheeks. The time you had spent gazing at Logan had helped ease the pain of the stitches and, from feeling only, you could tell he was already almost halfway finished.   

Your makeshift nurse stitched for a few more minutes in silence, save for the quiet winces and the even quieter apologies the came from the two of you. That was until Logan decided to break the silence in a way you hadn’t expected.   

“I didn’t leave you to die, you know.”   

The phrase leaving his mouth caused your back to tighten, and you began to feel a familiar fiery pool swell in your gut.   

“I mean... you kind of did.” You weren’t intending on starting this argument back up again until you had gotten a night of sleep, but you weren’t going to just sit there and be wrong. “You left me, completely surrounded, to go get those kids.”   

You hoped it was unintentional, but after you had spoken you felt Logan’s grip on the needle tighten, pulling the thread through your raw skin slightly harder.   

“No, that’s not what happened. I didn’t,” Logan huffed out, pausing to take a deep breath in between his sentence. “I didn’t leave you to die. And you weren’t surrounded when I left. I just...”   

His trailing off made you almost as angry as this conversation was making you. A scoff left your throat.   

How dare he try and justify leaving a teammate behind? At every chance Logan got, he dove to protect the others. You had watched him perform sacrifices for your teammates like it was breathing for him. It wasn’t as if you had asked him to take a bullet for you, either. You were only asking him to stay by your side. That’s all that you had wanted from him.   

“I’m sorry? You just what, Logan? You just couldn’t follow orders? You just couldn’t help yourself from being the hero? Is that it?” You had felt him tie the final knot of the last stitch in your back, and he bit the excess thread off. Standing to face him, you finished, “Or was it that you were just so ready to get away from me that you would have rather seen me dead than have worked with me?”   

Logan heard your voice break at the end of your verbal onslaught. Along with your voice went his heart, as well. He never meant to leave you, of course he hadn’t.   

Jesus. All I’ve ever wanted was to know why you wanted to get away from me.   

Under his breath, you heard your name. You were looking up at him with a look he had never seen. Sure, Logan knew he had warranted some looks of disgust, plenty of angry glances, and more than his fair share of annoyed glares. What was plastered to your face now made Logan want to curl into himself. You were staring daggers at him, each of which were laced with deep betrayal.   

“Listen to me, kid. That’s fucking... that’s not what it was. Jesus, that’s not what happened.” Logans voice was beginning to seep with panic. He knew that if he didn’t tell the truth now, he would never be able to win back your trust. It took until that moment for him to realize how dire this situation is.   

Logan didn’t want to lose her before she ever learned to stand him.   

“You can’t just say that that’s not what happened and expect me to believe it, asshole. If that’s not what happened, then what did?” Your tone came across as more accusatory than it was questioning. Logan opened his mouth to speak but no words came to fruition.   

He was scared.   

Your eyes locked with Logan’s, and it seemed like the world paused for a moment. There was so much pain, so much intensity, so much heat.   

“I could smell blood. Their blood.”   

Your face softened, but you weren’t any less adamant about finding out the truth of the situation. “Blood? What are you talking about?”   

Logan took a deep breath, steadying himself. It’s the same way he would before meeting with Charles, and the same way he would before he taught his first class.   

“When we first walked in it was faint, but when we got further into the warehouse it got stronger. I thought it was coming from the few guys we took out from the entrance, so I tried to brush it off. But...”   

Logan looked away from you. He couldn’t make eye contact, not when he was admitting this to you. “But then I smelled iron. Iron, rust, and lots of it. They weren’t just holding them captive; they were keeping them in cages. I could smell it, kid. It smelled like...”  

A soft gasp of realization cut through the lingering silence. There were no words to describe how he made you feel. Logan was here in this hotel room, vulnerable to his past, and you could only listen. You thought back to the stories provided in passing by Jean or Scott to you, explaining away his bad behavior with stories of how Logan spent the many years of life. Many of which were spent in a cage, being experimented on by men viler than could be described.   

Logan must have sensed your understanding. He visually relaxed at the thought of not having to explain his feelings in totality; he’s never been good at that.   

“I had to help them. My mind just... it went blank. I had to go to them. When I left you standing there, I didn’t think there was anyone else in the room. I was so distracted by them, by the captives, that I couldn’t sense anyone else there.”   

Waves of understanding washed over you as Logan explained his point of view. The situation that started this fight, that started your resentment toward him, that made you view him in a different light... he had had a reason to act this way.   

You had accused him of wanting to be a hero, but what he really was, was human.   

“If I had known, trust me, I would have been there,” Logan continued, stuttering slightly. “Shit, I would have killed them all before they could have touched you. And if they had killed you... God, I would have found a way to die there with you. I don’t know what happened, but I would have never left you there if I knew you were going to get hurt. Jesus, kid, I’m so...”   

“Just stop, Logan,” you said, cutting him off before the climax of his apology. “I get it. I understand you.” Guilt made your blood run cold, and you couldn’t stand to hear him apologize for just being a man. He was a man who wanted to save people, and as much as it had hurt you, you didn’t want him to apologize for it.   

His face dropped further, looking down at the floor. He grumbled something that was so bassy that it was hard for you to comprehend. You asked him to speak up, and he looked back at you. His expression was raw, and his eyes shot straight to your heart.   

“I didn’t leave you to die.” Taking a deep breath, only wishing to placate the broken man in front of you, you nodded at him. The understanding must have shown on your face, because Logan nodded back to you.   

You managed to have a small smile. “Thanks for, um, for stitching me up. It would’ve been really hard to do it myself so… I appreciate it.”  The conversation was awkward, and you rubbed your arm in an attempt to make yourself feel better. You were reminded of your aching bones as the argument between you subsided and the fire within you snuffed itself out.   

“Yeah. I used to do it for Chuck all the time. Any time Jean was out, or Hank was too busy, it was always my job.” Logan’s tone was just as awkward as your own, as if it felt unpracticed to talk to each other without picking a fight. And truth be told, it was unnatural in a lot of ways. Although you both would never admit this to anyone, it wasn’t a bad sort of unnatural. It was like travelling to somewhere you had never been, or trying a new food; it was unnerving, but not unwelcome.   

Before you could respond, you felt a chill run down your spine. It spread like poison through the rest of your body. Evidently, you were still exhausted and still freezing cold. The hot shower had helped in the moment, but it hadn’t done anything for the frost that still coated your insides.   

Logan noticed your shiver and, with a start, turned around to face the small closet door that was embedded in the wall next to the bathroom. He reached up, his broad muscles now more defined and prominent in his shoulders and pulled a spare blanket off the top shelf. It looked stiff and worn, but it looked heavy, too, which was the most important thing.   

“You can sleep in the bed; I’ll be on the floor.” Your mouth dropped open slightly at his kindness, and how nonchalant he was being about his selfless act. “Yeah, I’m a saint. Don’t get used to it, kid.”   

You chuckled quietly, finally allowing yourself to sit on the bed behind you. It was old, squeaky, and you could feel the springs groaning under your weight; it was the most comfortable thing you had felt in ages. Letting out a sigh of relief, you let your head lull back. If you had been alone, you would’ve closed your eyes and had sleep take over right then and there.  

But you weren’t alone. Logan was still standing in front of you.   

“Um, do you need something?” You realized that that sounded a little bit too sassy to say to a man who just gave up a warm bed in the middle of winter, so you amended, “Like, from me? Before we go to bed, I mean.”   

Logan shifted his weight hesitantly. He looked like he was contemplating something, but you had no idea how to coax it out of him, so you let him speak on his own terms. He took a step closer to you, holding the blanket so that it was allowed to unfold in his hands.   

“Just... just get in bed. I’m gonna put this on you.” Logan held the blanket up, and you shot him a confused look as you slowly folded down the comforter on your bed.   

“What? You’re sleeping on the ground, you need that. That rug looks... Jesus the rug looks borderline radioactive.” You cast a quick, sorrowful glance at the flaccid shag carpet beneath you both. "Besides, I’ve got blankets on the bed already.” Slowly, you slid your legs underneath the comforter. It wasn’t as warm as you would’ve liked it to be, sure, but it also was the best you could do, and through your exhaustion, that was enough.   

“Nope. You need it more than me. You’re fucking freezing, and I don’t want you shivering all night.” He stepped toward you and somehow zapped your ability to fight back. Though you were selfless in all situations with your teammates, he was right about one thing: you were so, so cold.   

As you laid back, your fatigue overtaking your ability to sit up, Logan gently maneuvered the blanket on top of you. The extra weight it added gave you that last ounce of comfort that you needed to fully relax. A mix between a sigh and a moan escaped your mouth, and it was too much energy to feel ashamed. Tugging the blankets up to your shoulders, you melted into the stale sheets. They smelled like something out of an antique store, which in ordinary circumstances might have grossed you out, but in that moment, they smelled like a spa.   

“Thank you,” you said. Logan just gave a soft grunt in reply, waving you off. As you shut your eyes, Logan’s gaze remained on you for longer than you knew.   

He wanted to make sure you got to sleep okay. Logan would have done this with you, regardless of how the mission went, but he felt as though he needed to this time. He looked you up and down several times, admiring the way you looked. Your eyes closed softly, fluttering a few times before finding their resting place. The curves of your body are shown through the heavy blanket padding. You looked so beautiful, yet so fragile.   

Logan knew you were strong; he knew you were a force to be reckoned with. Every day, he would watch how you would approach life. You faced problems head on, you loved so fiercely, and worked so hard he was never sure how you were still standing at the end of the day.   

But now, curled up like this, he couldn’t imagine a single problem you might have. He couldn’t fathom anything in this world that would try and hurt you.   

And yet, Logan himself hurt you so badly. No matter how understanding you might have been, no matter how forgiving you appeared, he wouldn’t stop until he made it up to you. He wouldn’t stop until you realized how much he cared for you.   

Logan didn’t love, though, that showing you his caring nature also meant sleeping on the floor. As you drifted off to what looked like a very peaceful sleep, he couldn’t help but feel a little jealous. Logan could barely sleep on a normal mattress without waking up to a nightmare, let alone on a shag rug that already looked like a nightmare.   

After a few moments of deliberation, he decided that resting in the desk chair would be the most comfortable option. He sat in the chair, and it was about as uncomfortable as he expected. The cushion was doing nothing to support his back, and his rear wasn’t doing any better.   

With his feet up on the desk, he settled for just relaxing. Sleepless nights weren’t uncommon for Logan, so he wasn’t too worried. Although usually he would read a good book or throw on a TV show to distract himself.   

A TV show would have woken you up, and Storm hadn’t been kind enough to throw in his torn-up copy of Grapes of Wrath that he was rereading for the millionth time. So, he resorted to the only thing he could: watching you.   

Your chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm, growing deeper and shallower as you stirred and relaxed. Rarely would you move more than just a few wiggles down further into the warmth of the blankets or scratch an instinctual itch somewhere on your face. Your hair fell onto your forehead in a way that Logan had never seen before, and it amused him how your breath would occasionally blow a piece out of its position.   

Logan looked at you the way a layman viewed a piece of art: in total awe, no critiques or questions, just pure admiration.   

After what felt like a few minutes more, his eyes began to droop. Logan let himself slide further down into the desk chair until the nape of his neck was perched on the top of it. With one final glance, his eyes fluttered to a close, and for the first time in a while, he felt truly relaxed.   

______  

Wind was rapping on the windows. Newly fallen snow crested the windowsill. Screeches of the HVAC struggling to stay alive filled the room. Wolves howled outside. Despite all of these noises, Logan remained asleep. Not even a nightmare was able to wake him from his neck-craning sleep on the desk chair.   

That was, until he awoke with a start, and before he was able to get up and access the danger that must have awoken him from his sleep, he heard the culprit.   

You were shivering. Loudly. Disturbing clanging filled his ears, and he quickly realized what the noise was: your teeth were chattering. It was a few moments in darkness before he saw you shift in your blanket, attempting to bring them closer to you, despite them already enveloping you up to the neck. You were dead asleep, and yet shaking so hard it had woken Logan up.    

He wasn’t really sure what to do, if he was honest with himself. As a leader, he prided himself on his quick thinking. However, affronted with a pretty girl who was so cold her lips were borderline blue, he was frozen in place.   

You let out a soft moan, one that sounded sickly. Your eyebrows scrunched together in pain as you shifted down into the pillow. Logan was worried. He was worried about you not sleeping well, and he was worried about you getting sick, sure. However, he was mostly worried about the fact that you were suffering.   

Controlling his body weight as best as he could, he lifted himself out of the desk chair, his metallic joints creaking almost as loudly as the wobbly arms of the chair. As quietly as he possibly could, he crept over to the closet door once more. Opening it, he cringed as the noise was louder than he had intended. Logan cast a glance back in your direction, but after seeing you were still motionless and breathing heavily, he continued his mission.   

As if looking back over the empty shelves would cause a blanket to magically appear, Logan’s eyes scoured the closet several times. Cobwebs lined the top corner, but other than that, it was completely barren. He cursed under his breath, sliding the doors shut and turning to rest his back on them.   

You looked peaceful. Pitiful, maybe, but peaceful, nonetheless. Logan’s face scrunched into a miserable smile, wracking his brain on how to help you.   

Well… he knew exactly how to help you. But he also knew you would kill him if he even tried.    

But, as your breathing grew shallower and your tossing became more frequent, Logan’s care for your opinion on your own health grew thinner. With a gulp and a sigh, knowing what he needed to do, he slowly skulked over to the side of the bed you were facing.  
He called your name in a sharp whisper once. Then twice. Then three times, this call was much louder than the previous. After a moment and a bated breath, Logan heard you stir. A little squeak escaped you as your eyes fluttered open and closed repeatedly; it was clear that he had awoken you from a deep sleep.  

“What…?” You grumbled; your voice garbled with sleep. Logan’s eyes met yours and suddenly he regretted ever having tried this stupid plan.   

“Are you… are you cold?” he asked, instantly feeling stupid for asking such an obvious question. His hands rubbed the back of his neck. Logan was reminded by his own warmth exactly why he was doing what he was doing.   

You mumbled a little mhm before opening your eyes with more clarity. Looking at him confused, you asked, “Did I wake you up?”   

“No, um, no you didn’t. Couldn’t sleep,” Logan lied. He knew it would have made you feel bad to know that your shivers had been loud enough to wake him. “You were shivering. I mean, I heard you shivering. I wanted to make sure you weren’t, like, dying.”   

No woman had ever made Logan stumble over his words the way you did. He couldn’t help it, something about you just made him nervous.   

You let out a sleepy laugh and lazily propped yourself up on your closed fist. “Well, I’m definitely not dying. I am really cold, though.” As if summoned to prove your point, a shiver tore through your body. You sucked in a sharp breath and shook slightly. “Like, really fucking cold.”   

Logan’s face was clouded with tired sympathy. If you hadn’t been so sleepy, you might’ve picked a fight with him about how much pity was in his eyes. Without much thinking, Logan walked slowly over to the opposite side of the bed. In your tired confusion, you didn’t make much of it.   

Logan, however- his mind was racing. He felt as though he was about to willingly humiliate himself. It was scarier than most of everything he had ever done, and he wasn’t even sure why. It was more embarrassing than when Scott had gotten him drunk enough for karaoke, and more stressful than his and Rogue’s Connect Four championship game.  He tried to shake the emotions out of his head and thought about how he was just doing you a favor. You were cold, he was a human furnace, and he was going to do you a favor.   

That favor did, unfortunately, involve him taking his tank top off and throwing it onto the floor.   

Palms sweaty and breath quick, he slowly started to crawl into bed, starting with his knee pressing into the edge of the mattress. His confidence was rising, until he felt how far down the bed sank under his weight. He thought, if he wasn’t made of metal, he would have probably been offended by that.   

“What are you doing?” You gained a little more awareness of your surroundings when you felt your body dip towards the middle of the bed. Logan didn’t say anything, but you could hear how his breathing hitched when you spoke up. “Logan?” Your voice was weak, sick with the cold.   

“Just...” he said, nestling himself under the blankets. “Shut up, okay? You’re so cold I could feel you from over there. Just let me help.” His tone was shaky at best, his remark coming out as nothing more than a whisper.   

You couldn’t reply. You could barely breathe. As he found a comfortable position, just inches from you, the thumping in your chest increased. As if you were playing a song too loudly in your headphones, you were nervous that Logan could hear your heart.   

“I’m gonna, um, get near you. An’ put my arm around you.” The gasp you let out was as much as of a surprise to you as it was a fright to Logan. “If that’s okay, obviously.”   

His movements stilled. The world stilled between you. The bed floated in a river of uncertainty, and you had lost your paddles. There was no way in hell even 12 hours ago you would have let Logan this close to you, let alone spoon you like he was suggesting. But as his body opened up to you under the sheets, as his broad shoulders lengthened to accommodate you, you couldn’t help but be drawn to the warmth.   

Logan swallowed audibly, attempting to awkwardly scoot closer to you under the confines of the comforter. Against your better judgement, against your brain, against all that you stood for, you met him in the middle and allowed both of his arms to envelop you in his chest.   

Jesus Christ he’s warm.   

Fire emanated off of his skin and onto your body, and it felt as if it were hot enough to puncture into the very confines of your soul. You couldn’t help but let out a satisfied sigh, hand reaching up to grab onto his forearm for extra warmth.   

Logan’s muscles were as strong as they were summery. You hadn’t really noticed before, never having been this close to him, but his arms were really covered in hair. Almost every inch had a thick coat, and it made you think of the softest pillow you had ever owned. Veins snaked up and down, leading your eyes to and from his large hands, then all the way up his bicep. It was a fascinating sight for you. The Wolverine, Logan Howlet, the toughest, most indescribable X-Man, was holding you tightly against his ever-quickening beating heart. His scent of the sea, the land, and his own vices were now as strong as you had ever known them to be.   

You didn’t know if it was his goal to heat you up by causing an intense blush to storm your cheeks, but either way, it was certainly working.   

“Is this alright?” Logan asked you, his heated breath so close to your neck you could feel when he spoke to you. A chill passed through you. You weren’t sure whether it was from the sudden temperature change, or from Logan’s deep, rumbling whisper being closer and more intimate than ever before.  

In response to his question, you nodded delicately. The arm that was strewn over your chest moved slightly as he unfurled his fingers, wrapping the warm digits around the opposite shoulder. He rubbed lightly, pulling you ever closer to him. Your back was now completely flush with his bare chest. You could feel his muscular frame enwrapping you. It made your breath catch in your throat.   

“Is this alright?” Logan asked, muscles tensing at your reaction. There was no way to describe how alright it really was. You had been intimated with people before, much more intimate than you were with Logan, but you knew that this was different for some reason. It was much more intense. Every touch felt like hot silk. Your heart, a river into which he was throwing stones, interrupting the natural flow.   

It was new. It was strange. It was perfect.   

“This is... fine. This is good,” you replied, voice faint. “Thank you, Logan.” A dull scratching raked up the back of your neck. It was the scruff of his unshaven beard. It was rough and wonderful. It was lovely.   

Logan hummed against you. His position settled, you were notched together, intertwined in a way that brought you closer to him than you had ever been to another human being. Maybe you had been this close physically, but never this emotionally. Joy and anxiety danced in your chest, uncertainty cloaking you from head to toe.   

This is just because he feels bad. He doesn’t want me to freeze to death. You attempted to remind yourself of the practicality of the situation: you were about to be an ice cube and he’s a fucking radiator.   

You don’t know why him doing it out of necessity made your heart ache. With your teammate drifting into quiet dreams beside you, realization crashed over you.   

You wanted him to hold you.   

It wasn’t that you weren’t freezing, Hell, you had been prepared to catch a nasty cold as soon as you got back to the X-Mansion. At that point, though, something new bloomed in your chest. Something soft, serene. Something tender.   

You didn’t want Logan to feel like he needed to hold you, you wanted Logan to want to hold you, too.   

“Stop,” he muttered against your nape. His words burned like fire through your swarming thoughts.   

“Stop… What?” You whispered to him, not knowing what he could possibly be talking about. All you had done was stay perfectly still, and he couldn’t have known about what was going on inside your brain; he wasn’t Charles. Or Jean, for that matter. Jean, though, often didn’t use her psychic powers to read your mind. To her, your thoughts were always plastered on your face. She could read you like a book.   

Logan sighed. “Stop thinking . I know you’re not asleep. You’re keeping yourself awake. Either quit it and sleep or talk to me. I’m not gonna be able to sleep until I know you are.”   

You stand corrected. Jean and Logan can read you like a book. That thought almost made you angry, and you might’ve reacted that way a few hours ago, but you certainly wouldn’t have when you were wrapped in his arms.   

“I’m not… I’m okay, Logan, really. My brain is just,” you paused, trying to find the right words. “Stupid. My brain is being stupid.”    

You weren’t sure if those were the right words, per se, but they certainly fit how you were feeling. Thinking that way about Logan, about The Wolverine, God’s sake; that did make you feel stupid. Warm, fuzzy, and giddy, sure, but stupid, nonetheless.   

“I get that,” he told you, as if sensing something in your tone that needed sympathy. “Lord knows, I’ve got the stupidest brain of all of us.” You breathed a soft chuckle, snuggling deeper into Logan’s chest. “Except for maybe the Elf.”   

You gawked playfully. “Be nice to Kurt. He’s saved my ass and yours more times than I can count.”   

His voice still quiet, however filling now with fervor, “It doesn’t count as saving if all you do is teleport someone to another spot entirely. He once brought me to fuckin’ Kansas and forgot me there. Took me three days to hitchhike home. Saving someone is more like, I don’t know…”   

Logan scanned for the words, clearly deep in thought. You wanted to add, like saving someone from frostbite. The words felt too poignant, though, and you feared it would give Logan the wrong idea.   

“Like you saving those kids today,” Logan finished. His words surprised you enough that you shimmied around to look at him. It was still dark, but you could make out the confused and shocked look on his face. Clearly, he wasn’t expecting to face you at any point, metaphorically or physically.   

“Logan,” you started, unable to look anywhere other than his eyes. Looking at the ceiling was too awkward. Looking down at your bodies clumsily heaped together was too much of a reminder of your precarious situation. Looking into his chest was too… well, too attractive. “Logan, you were the one who saved those kids. Not me.”   

His body stretched upwards, removing his hands from their awkward position around your body. The disappearance of the warmth almost made you whine, but before you could ask for him to return, he rewrapped his limbs around you and pulled you tighter. You weren’t looking at him anymore, but your head was perched on his chest, which was more than enough. Yours and his own breathing quickened.   

“No, bub, you saved them. I’m the one who unlocked the cages, yeah, because I’m an impatient sonofa bitch, but you’re the one who kept them safe.”   

Something bubbled within you, releasing a new framework of thought each time they popped against your heart. Thinking back to most of the fights and more meaningful bickering sessions you and Logan had shared, you remember how most of them started. It was usually something along the lines of him underestimating you, or him accusing you of not pulling your weight.   

That accusation had always made your blood boil and, unbeknownst to even you, your tears pool. You just wanted to be accepted, to be useful, and to be responsible all in the same vein. Logan had never seemed to do so, not until you had shared a bed.   

And now, Logan was validating your needs and crushing your insecurities in one fell swoop. Speechless, all you could do was grab his hand. You weren’t sure why, but it felt right in that moment. His large fingers laced gingerly, almost eagerly, into yours. Much larger than yours, you could feel his callouses surround your almost-trembling hands. It didn’t surprise Logan, you gathered that from the steadiness of his breathing, but you felt his jaw shift just enough that you assumed he was smiling.   

“Thank you, Logan.” He grunted quietly in response, likely unable to form a proper thought when overwhelmed with intimacy. “That’s really all I’ve ever wanted to hear,” you added.   

“Yeah, I know. I’m sorry I don’t say it more often. It’s just that… we fight so much; I never thought you wanted to hear it from me.”   

As if a spark caught from the gasoline that was his words, you managed to prop yourself up on your elbows to look back at him. He was still snuggled in the pillows, his massive body weight creating an indent around his silhouette. Now in a light in which you had never seen him, he looked positively angelic.   

“Are you kidding?” Your voice gained a little volume, as now your sleepiness was fading into dull exhaustion once again. “That’s like… I thought that was the whole reason that we were fighting. I only argue with you when you say I don’t know what I’m doing. All the other bickering is just, I don’t know, for sport, I guess. I just don’t want you to think I’m a kid.”   

Logan shifted up, eventually sitting up and looking right at you. You couldn’t place exactly what his face read, but you decided it was a mix of shock and sympathy. Either way, it strummed your heart chords like a symphony.   

“Listen. I call you kid because I’m an asshole and I call everybody kid. I’m older than everybody here by a fuckin’ century, at the least. But I don’t mean anything behind it. I don’t think you’re a kid. Hell, you’re more mature than most of the others. I’ve always, well, sort of admired it about you,” Logan said, sheepishly avoiding eye contact during the last sentiment.   

“Are you kidding me?” You weren’t sure where it came from, but that was all you could manage to say to him. It was a mix of surprise, anger, and humility. Logan, though, seemed to only sense the anger, so you quickly clarified, “So, what, we’ve been at each other’s throats for nothing?”   

Logan rubbed his eyes. Quick glances were tossed around the room, before he mustered up the courage to say, “Well… no, not for nothing.”   

Like an anvil in a cartoon, you felt your stomach drop into the bed. “What? I only picked fights and started shit to make you see me as a hero, or whatever. Why did you start them with me?”   

Quelling your rising emotions, Logan shot you a bashful smile. He nodded his head as if to imply that the reason was obvious.   

“What? I don’t get it.”   

“Sweetheart,” he said, voice laced with saccharine. “I picked fights with you because I was flirting with you. It’s what guys like me do with pretty girls like you. They only became real when I realized you weren’t flirting back, you were actually trying to argue with me.”   

Like a warm draft feeling from a crack in a window, your words were gone. Your mouth opened and closed helplessly, searching for verbal purchase.   

This man, whose arms were wrapped around you tightly just seconds ago, was now admitting that all of the times you had stormed off angrily, he had been trying to flirt with you.   

Wait, did he just call you pretty?   

“You doing okay?” Logan’s head fell sideways, locking eyes with yours. Your eyes had been zoned out for a few seconds due to embarrassment; if he couldn’t tell that you were blushing before, it was certainly obvious now.   

“Um, yes. I’m all good. Just shocked, I guess!” You spoke. A yawn escaped your throat, and the realization of it being deep into the night hit you like a tanker truck. “Thanks, I guess I should say.”   

Logan said, “For what? Calling you pretty?” His tone had shifted; it was less concerned with your feelings and now more concerned with the heat rising in your chest. “Don’t have to thank me for that. Just being honest.”  

You scoffed quietly, unsure whether to feel flattered or embarrassed. You settled for a bit of both.   

“Now, can we please go to sleep? I am exhausted.” Logan’s arms opened wide as he settled back into the bed. Against your hardheadedness, you leaned into him immediately. His strong biceps curled around you, and for the first time in God knows how long, you finally felt safe. You were calm. Blanketing with sleep, your eyes drifted slowly closed.   

Until you felt him kiss you on the top of the head. Like fireworks had been lit behind your eyes, your brain sparked right back into action. Your cheeks heated with the warmth that had been redistributed through your body through Logan.   

You jerked beneath his grip, craning your neck to look up at him. Logan’s eyes, as if just as shocked as you were at his own action, were stuck wide open, staring at the ceiling.  

“Um,” he whispered, unable to form any other sentiments. What he really wanted to do was sink so far into the bed that he was swallowed whole, but he didn’t want to let you know that. “Sorry, uh, instinct, I guess. Having a pretty girl in my arms, you know.”   

Making sense of the situation wasn’t the first thing on your mind. Sure, you knew that Logan was a bit of a player and had probably been in this exact situation before. Instinctually, his kiss made sense.   

What you were trying to make sense of was your feelings after the kiss. The sparks that flooded your body. Your arm hairs standing on end. A magnetism within your eye contact. His grip on you remained the same, while yours on his forearm grew tighter.   

There was a moment of heavy silence between the two of you. Sounds of crickets chirping in the early morning rang through the stale air. The dull hum of the heater overwhelmed your senses; the only thing you could focus on was the thumping of your own heart. It was cautionary. It was loud.   

And if Logan hadn’t ha d the same rhythmic, quickening pace filling his own ears, he would have been able to hear yours.    

You knew what you had to do. Every fiber, every molecule, every atom in your body was screaming for it. It was what you wanted and what you needed. You knew you shouldn’t want to; you and Logan were known for constantly being at each other’s throats, nothing less. Anything less than constant fighting was always seen as a surprise.   

The true surprise came when you both simultaneously leaned into each other. It was awkward due to your position in bed, but it was the easiest decision you could make. For just a second, you were nose to nose, breath mixing and swirling into a heap of palpable passion.   

Logan closed the gap first, much to your surprise. His lips pounced on yours like they had been trained for it, the precision of it almost pulling a noise from you. You were locked together in a dance of intensity, heat, and desperation. It was as if everything you had been through had led to this moment. Every battle, every argument, every eye roll and toothy sneer; everything you two had experienced together had culminated into this rhythmic display of passion.  

Your hands jumped from his forearms to hold the sides of his face, his own resting delicately over your back and shoulders. Slowly, you moved together to be sitting upright, still intertwined with each other. The kiss was messy, sweet, and fervent. It was magical and otherworldly, and made you feel like you could fly.  

However, you were reminded of your mortality by your need to pull apart in order to breathe. Your lungs were on the verge of burning from the lack of oxygen, so you leaned away from him, much to Logan’s dismay.  

Your breathing breached the ambient noise in the room. Unable to bring yourself to look in his eyes, you stared at his lips. His mouth hung slightly open; lips wet from the kiss. You couldn’t help but want more. More of him.  

Before you could dive right back into Logan, he perched his hand underneath your chin and forced your eyes upwards, meeting his affectionate glare. His eyes, contrary to their usual glare of snark, were soft, and filled to the brim with admiration. It was a look that you had never seen from Logan, or, frankly, from anyone. You were treading in unknown waters and all you wanted to do was swim further out.  

“Is this... is this, okay? Like... is this what you want?” Concern leaked into his voice, though you could tell he was trying to dampen it with suave pride. You nodded feverishly. “I need to hear you say it, sweetheart. I’m not gonna kiss you until you tell me this is what you want.”  

Inside your chest, you felt your heart flutter. The mix of his sweet words and his firm grip on your chin was enough to make you melt right there. You knew he was teasing you, testing you the same way he would before, but this was different. His tone didn’t fill you with dread, nor did it make you want to bash your head against a wall like it did before. No, this made you want something different.  

It made you want to play.  

“Logan...” you started, attempting to put your pride aside and say what he wanted to hear. “I want this. I want... you .”  

At your words you could hear Logan’s breath hitch. His hand tightened slightly, pressing into your soft skin. A grin spread across his face, one that you didn’t recognize from anywhere other than one place: the training room.  

Logan would occasionally get this wild, almost animalistic look on his face during training. When he was faced with a “real challenge,” A.K.A., another strong X-Man, he would get borderline excited to spar with them.  

Though, he had never been pitted against you. This was the first time you had been faced with Logan in this way. Faced with The Wolverine. It lit a fire within you for which you did not know you possessed the kindling.  

“You sure?” Logan asked, his head crooking inward, his lips less than an inch from yours. Boldly, you let out a purposefully shaky breath, hoping to trigger whatever in him you could, and moved ever closer. You were mere moments away from getting what you wanted. However, you were not a woman to pass up a moment to play with a devilishly handsome man.  

“I’m sure,” you whispered into his mouth. He crashed back into you, this time grabbing onto the sides of your face, holding you tightly in place.  

It was everything you had wanted, and you didn’t even know you wanted it until that moment. It was hot, tender, rough, and loud.  

No chance of a good night’s sleep now.