Chance Encounter - Wolverine/X-Men Fanfic

Chapter 3: How good are your surgical skills?

She pressed down on the man's chest with her claws as she leaned in to look at him, startled when she felt his ribcage collapse beneath her furred hand. Shit. She'd forgotten how fragile they were.

Max then whirled around to find Logan looking down at her, spattered with bits of bone, gore and blood. His eyes were different now; sharper – feral. He was breathing hard, his mouth turned down in an ugly scowl. Max stayed in a crouch over the man, moving slowly. It was like dealing with any other wild animal; as long as you didn't run, or didn't show fear, they wouldn't attack.

"Logan." she murmured, the word sounding strange with an extended muzzle full of razor sharp teeth. Max closed her eyes, feeling her body shift back.

He was still staring back at her as the change completed, his breathing labored now. Max slowly stood up, keeping her hands at her sides. Logan flinched and she saw the claws slide back into his knuckles. He had a distant expression now, his eyes almost lost. She took a step towards him and he flinched again. He looked almost as if he were having a mild seizure.

"Logan." she breathed as she reached out and touched him, then slowly wrapped her arms around him. She felt him shiver, then felt his hands slide around her waist, resting on her lower back.

The blood on him was quickly cooling and the wolf wanted to lick him clean. She looked over to see the remains of the others. Pieces of the men were strewn about in rather large chunks. It had taken him moments to carve them up with those claws of his. They had sliced through bone and flesh as easily as the metal of their guns. Logan trembled against her and she pulled back to look into his eyes.

"They're gone, Logan. I'm here. It's OK."

***

He was stunned. Not only had she easily taken care of herself, but here she was comforting and reassuring him. He wanted to speak, to say something, but the words wouldn't come. That dark, cold place in him was still struggling to fight and it was all he could do to force it back down now that the threat had been eliminated. Her tone helped more than he thought it would and the darkness slowly receded. It became a little easier to breathe. As the tension finally slipped from him he pulled her close, holding her tightly.

Finally, the words came out, almost choking him. "Where'd you learn to fight?"

Max relaxed, laughing now, knowing that the worst of it was now past.

"Eight brothers. We'd all beat the holy hell out of each other. It was good practice. It's just a good thing that humans aren't as resilient as they are. I would have gotten my ass handed to me. I've been years out of practice."

Logan looked back at her, still unable to believe that she was taking this as well as she was.

"C'mon. Let's get you cleaned up." she murmured, grinning as she began leading him back to the river.

Feeling extremely disoriented, he nodded and followed, letting her take control. It wasn't an entirely unpleasant feeling.

As she scrubbed the blood out of his hair, she asked, "So – how often does that happen to you?"

Logan let out a weak laugh. "More often than I'd like, although a part of me enjoys it."

"What are you, a bullet magnet?" Max gently extracted another piece of metal from his shoulder, relieved that he was recuperating so quickly. As she tossed it behind her, the wound closed up.

Logan laughed then, looking up at her. She was glorious, even with her clothes in bloody tatters. Her skirt seemed to have survived the shift, but the tanktop was practically hanging off her.