A/N: Yes another new story from me, as if I don't have enough WIP's out there already. Updates are coming I promise people!
This was initially going to be a one-off piece, but then the wheels started turning and let's just say the story ran away with itself!
The story will be surreal, due to an added dimension of Marie's mutation in that she will be alongside Logan in his nightmares as he tries to find the answers to his past. I figured Logan had a past deliberately taken from him, Marie sets out to show him that past.
But Logan has his own battles namely fighting against the Wolverine inside him, the part that tells him he doesn't have to give a shit, that he should let it go, the part that's driving him crazy.
I usually have a background track on as I write, the song usually lends itself to the mood of a fic, so I'll be adding those to the end of each part. LOL.


Just Give Me The Details, And The Map Of Your Hell

Part 1- 'Salvation no more…'

It amazed her the way they couldn't see, the way they were blind to the times, the hollowed nights in which he suffered. It seemed they wilfully shut themselves off to the fact that with all his strength, all his energy, every ounce of his bravado, he was after all painfully human.

Or he had been, once upon a time. Unlike the rest of them, herself included, he hadn't been born a mutant, and she believed he once had a life outside the confines of his now haunted mind.

Perhaps that was what troubled him the most, a flash, a momentary remembrance of being 'normal'. Not that he would ever admit to that, he'd see it as a betrayal, an insult to the group of friends he'd believed he'd found at last.

It'd taken practically rolling across half the country and back again to find a place he at last thought maybe he'd be able to call home. Besides, these days he just felt too tired to start again, move onto somewhere new. It was here, amongst a group, that as well meaning as they were wouldn't take a risk in seeing him anything less than invincible.

It suited them to see him as unbreakable, a leader, infallible, encompassed with a strength beyond words. He was all those, but more…he was also weak, chased by phantoms, haunted by demons, broken in so many pieces, that he was afraid it would take the rest of his life, if ever to put it all back together again.

They didn't see it, but she did, because she too had a recollection of what it had once meant to be normal. Her powers may have been instigated from birth but they only manifested in her teenage years. She had known what it was to live a life; one not marred with fear, a love of touch not tainted by bitter reproach.

But whereas she had 16 years of memories of that life, he had only snatches, glimpses, snapshots of what he may have been. And he'd see it all in those dreams, chinks of light in a darkened nightmare existence.

It was difficult to ascertain which one of them had it harder, her for the 16 years she had to lament, or him for only the fragments of a past he'd barely had before it was brutally erased from his memory, a hope he clung to even though it was slowly driving him insane.

And it was driving him insane, slowly, painfully…a release that would not come. He did not ask for much, just to know what he was and what he had been.

She, well she asked for even less, to be something of what she had once been, happy…free.

Both lost, bereft of faith, fearful of redemption that always seemed to elude, it was only natural that she'd see something in him everyone else missed. His bruises healed slower now, the cuts taking longer to knit together. He tired more at the end of missions, his temper frayed more than usual, and his tone gruffer in the few moments he spoke at all.

And he drank far, far too much, even for him with his healing; he drank to dull the sensations, dull the taste of a life he only half-lived.

It had been worse since Stryker had promised him answers he'd never intended to deliver, that had taken the last of his faith. He believed in salvation no more, and because he had given up on it, he was content to believe that it had given up on him.
She couldn't remember when she'd started sneaking down the hallway in the middle of the night, to turn the handle of his room and quietly step inside. And she couldn't remember how many nights it was before she'd had the courage to step forwards into the room, instead of turning and running just as soon as she'd spied his huddled figure entangled in the bed sheets.

He rarely slept, she knew that, and when he did sleep it was always with a sorrowful pity that she'd stand at the end of the bed watching over him because she knew he would soon start to dream. And then he'd suffer, even as he slept he'd suffer, and in the dreams she knew the bruises never healed, the cuts never closed, the blood never stopped.

And he always knew she was there, keeping by his side, silently watching over him, helpless as he fell apart. He never spoke to her about it, a silent agreement subsided between them; she could come to his room, sit in that large chair opposite the bed as long as she liked, even fall asleep there just as long she never asked, as long as, come morning she never spoke about it.

Determined to hold to that agreement because she needed this as much as he did, it was selfish really, as long as she watched him suffer from the hell of his nightmarish existence, she knew her dreams, the memories she'd snatched from him as he'd saved her life on Liberty Isle, could never be, would never even come close to his horrors.

But watching him, it spared her, strange but she always slept peacefully curled up in that chair of his, recovery, lethargy being assumed from all the force, all the energy he expended in those nights as he would thrash wildly against assailants unseen.

Then perhaps it was the guilt of slowly watching him break and bend through a personal hell that offered no respite, even in the cold light of day, which moved her to finally do something.

The first time she'd tried to crawl into bed beside him, he'd growled menacingly and she'd given up, padding gently in her sock covered feet over to her usual station, the chair.

She'd sat there and shivered most of the night, only to wake a few hours later with a heavy blanket draped over her, she'd smiled quietly to herself, and looked over at him, laying on his side, curled up, his feral eyes peering into the distance, across and out of the window, looking but not really seeing anything.

He wasn't ready to let her change the rules, not yet.


It was a good few weeks later that she'd try again, this time as she slipped quietly into his room, she looked around confused, he wasn't in the bed. She panicked thinking he'd pulled another one of his leaving acts, until she saw the light under his bathroom door.

Approaching the closed door slowly, she listened as he dry heaved, and the sound had her shaking. She'd never heard him throw up before, all the missions they'd been on, all the mess of broken bones and bloodied bodies hadn't ever made him flinch, but tonight, he seemed to retching for all he was worth.

Taking a deep breath, she turned the handle and opened the door slowly, she found him slumped over the toilet bowl, a heavy sweat covering his face, one hand clutched to his stomach, the other pounding the floor as he fought bitterly to overcome the nausea.

He looked up at her and growled, but it wasn't menacing this time, it was a fading noise really, a pathetic sound, one filled with sorrow and weariness. She knelt by his side, he looked away as her eyes brimmed with tears from the pain, wretched pain that threatened to overwhelm the both of them.

Taking off her gloves she wore even to bed, she held up her hands slowly, making sure he saw what she was doing, making sure he wouldn't be threatened by her. He shook his head resolutely at her, but she only smiled gently, and bringing her lips close to his ear whispered, 'Let me do this for ya Logan…'

He stared at her as she brought up her hands, placing the palms gently on either side of his face, clutching his cheeks, brushing her thumbs slowly over his aching eyes; she closed them for him gently. And at last she concentrated, drawing him quietly into herself.

She dreamed for him that night, allowing him a brief respite from the horrors. She took it all in, convulsed in pain on the bathroom floor, allowing herself to be taken away to his nightmare, washed away by his sorrow, knowing all along that he stretched out beside her, passed out and oblivious to the world, was safe, for one night at least.


"Best Of You"- The Foo Fighters

I've got another confession to make
I'm your fool
Everyone's got their chains to break
Holdin' you

Were you born to resist or be abused?
Is someone getting the best, the best, the best, the best of you?

Is someone getting the best, the best, the best, the best of you?

Are you gone and onto someone new?
I needed somewhere to hang my head
Without your noose
You gave me something that I didn't have
But had no use
I was too weak to give in
Too strong to lose
My heart is under arrest again
But I break loose
My head is giving me life or death
But I can't choose
I swear I'll never give in
I refuse

Is someone getting the best, the best, the best, the best of you?
Is someone getting the best, the best, the best, the best of you?
Has someone taken your faith?
Its real, the pain you feel
You trust, you must
Confess
Is someone getting the best, the best, the best, the best of you?
Oh...

Oh...Oh...Oh...Oh...

Has someone taken your faith?
Its real, the pain you feel
The life, the love you'd die to heal
The hope that starts the broken hearts
You trust, you must
Confess

Is someone getting the best, the best, the best, the best of you?
Is someone getting the best, the best, the best, the best of you?

I've got another confession my friend
I'm no fool
I'm getting tired of starting again
Somewhere new

Were you born to resist or be abused?
I swear I'll never give in
I refuse

Is someone getting the best, the best, the best, the best of you?
Is someone getting the best, the best, the best, the best of you?
Has someone taken your faith?
Its real, the pain you feel
You trust, you must
Confess
Is someone getting the best, the best, the best, the best of you?
Oh...