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English
Series:
Part 1 of Sense of Hope
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Peja's Wonderful World of Makebelieve Import
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Published:
2020-11-05
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1,310
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1/1
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15
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Shadows

Summary:

On the anniversery of Mariko's death, Logan finds love in an unexpected source.

Work Text:



SHADOWS
by Techie

 
It's always so easy, looking back, when you have a shadow to follow you.

You move, it moves, you fall, it spreads out to catch you.

What happens when someone doesn't have a shadow?

I look down from the roof, seeing the silent figure in the shadows.

Not having one, just standing among them, unseen.

Except by me.

Stepping past the dim light of the mansion with the ease of a hunting wolf, moving with eeiree grace, I watched the figure make it's way into the treeline.

Biting my lip, I slid down to the window, swinging out onto the treelimb and down to the dew-moistened grass.

"Where's Wolverine going?" The cultured, accented voice sent a shiver of anger up my spine, but I knew it really wasn't Warren's fault.

He didn't understand.

He couldn't - he might as well be blind to what was happening, it just didn't register with him.

Warren had been born to priviege, and certain beliefs hammered into him before he was even aware he was a victim.

In a way, I felt sorry for him.

But that could wait.

Now, I hurried across the grass.

 

 

He knew I was coming.

I stood back far enough to try to give him some space while at the same time providing some comfort, but I knew something terrible was happening to Logan.

It broke my heart.

Everyone else - even Jean, even Xavier - saw the invunerable Wolverine.

Resolute.

Fearless.

The hardened warrior.

I saw a man who's heart was in tatters, and no-one even saw.

I didn't know whether to be angry or cry.

Logan knelt next to the small pond, carefully stroking one delicate leaf of a flower I didn't recognize.

Was his touch so sensitive?

A part of me wanted desperately to find out, to touch him in return, to offer myself to him.

"I know yer there." The voice, normally gruff and carrying an almost rumble-purr of an undertone, was raspy and flat.

Oh, God, he's been crying. Somehow that scared me more than an unexpected attack of Sentinals.

I stepped into the dim moonlight, feeling like a voyeur.

"Been a year." The words were spoken almost to himself. "A year t' know that this is gonna happen again...and again...and again..." A long pause, with only the sound of a tattered, weary heart clinging to some dim hope. "I thought when Mags ripped out my skeleton, it'd finally be over." The voice continued, a strange and new thing, almost soft under the weight of his pain. "I was grateful fer that. Finally thought it'd be over. Could finally...rest." His hands gently smoothed the earth around the new-planted seed and stared down at it. "When this tree is as tall as th' others, I'll still be here. An' another. Another. Another...." His voice trailed off, and he stared silently into the gloom.

His body must remember, he must have to carry every touch, every hope - every dying dream.
I couldn't stand it anymore.

Sometimes, it hurts to love someone.

I was afraid, afraid that he'd just see the body, the gender, not the love. I'd loved him since I saw him - he was everything I ever wished for, ever strived to be.

And he was so very tired.

Without saying a word, I stepped up behind him, gently wrapped my arms around him, held him against me.

I was almost suprised when he didn't shove me away.

"Don't love me, kid." The voice was so very flat. Not broken. Just - hollow and hurting. "People who love me tend t' have real short lifespans."

"I don' care." I whispered into his ear, and I saw the gold-flecked eyes turn to me.

He was in too much pain to cry.

"Let me love y'." I caressed his trademark sideburns, traced the sharp planes of his cheeks.

"I can't." He started to turn away, but I turned him back, refusing to let go.

It was then I saw the blood dripping from his claws.

Logan's blood.

Oh, my love. I thought, aching inside in a terrible, horrified way. Is that the only way you know to feel?

I drew a fingertip gently across the side of the blade before he could retract them, brought the fingertip to my mouth, tasting the fire in him - now burning cold, giving nothing but pain and lonliness.

"I've always loved you." I kept the accent out of my voice. I wanted him to hear me, not the drawl everyone else heard. I tightened my hold. "I won't let you go."

His head dropped, and I stroked his back.

"Do you...care for me? A little?" I hated how I sounded like an unsure child, but I had to know.

"Yer the empath." Flat and empty, but a tiny flicker of fire.

Better than the chill.

"Let me...?"

Logan shrugged.

And...a flood. Not just the simple layers of most emotions, but fire and light and unspoken passion.

He wasn't the best at what he did because he fought.

He was the best because he didn't have to.

Logan had mastered himself, struggled with the beast, fought his way into "humanity" - never realizing he was probably more human than anyone around him.

I had never felt such - intensity.

Purity.

No wonder he scared the hell out of telepaths.

They could sense the determination, the complete dedication to a goal, the self-disipline that held in the "beast", but they couldn't see it, couldn't feel it.

The beast was crying.

Logan stood there, aching and alone.

Torn in two.

And they didn't see.

I put a hand on either side of his face and rested my forehead to his.

I showed him.

I poured all the love, all the hopes and fantasies and late night secrecies into that aching void, saw his eyes widen a little, felt a tremor of...?

Hope.

Just a faint flicker, and I reached out, my heart in my empathic hand. Let me love you. Let me show you. I'll be with you forever, just take my hand.

I knew what I was asking.

Some risks are more than painful - they make you look down in those little crevices of your soul where all your fears and hurts live, and I was asking him to do that - to trust me, give me a chance.

I sensed him struggling with himself.

Love or not love?

Trust or not trust?

Give or not give?

Take or not take?

His eyes closed, and a single tear trailed down his haggard cheek.

I had my answer.

Tenderly, I kissed the tear away, gathered him against me, held him.

He was mine, but more than that - I was his.

I opened my eyes, and saw my shadow cradling his.

There was so much he didn't know, had never had, about love and the joy two bodies can share.

I loved him, I would never, never, let that go.

I rested my cheek against his almost-horned hair, whispered, "I love you, Logan." and "J'tamie. Mi amor.

Por siempre." His frame gave one shudder, it would take time for him to let go, to cry - to heal.

I could give him that.

I swore to myself, Remy LeBeau, that I would show him everything that two hearts as well as two bodies could share.

I knew how to be patient.

I had been patient for years.

Now I loved him, wrapped that feeling around him, held him inside and out.

And gently led him home, to show him that even the Wolverine has a shadow
 

end

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