“Mein Schatz, it may turn out that you are my greatest sin. But that’s not for me to decide.” I lay my forehead on my crossed arms. “Make me yours. Mark me. Show the vorld that I belong to you.”
“What do you mean?”
“Must I spell it out for you? Use your blades to carve your mark into my flesh.”
“I can’t do that!”
“Vhy not, if I vish it?”
“It will hurt.”
“And you think I do not realize that?” I ask archly.
“I’ve already hurt you enough.”
“Trust me, this is a different kind of hurt. Like you and your extending blades, I am used to feeling it.”
“Uh – you real sure?”
“If I vere not, vould I be lying here like this?”
I feel him shift his weight on the bed and I know he is considering the logistics of vhat I have asked.
“How long can you hold your breath, darlin’?”
When I hear that, I know I have won. “A minute and a half, at least. Is that enough?”
“More than enough.” I feel him kneel next to me and hear the snikt of his claws extending. But it is a very soft sound, as if they are not out very far. Makes sense. He is too close to me to extend them fully and still have room between us. “Take a couple of deep breaths first, then hold it when I tell you to. The center line will be down your spine, and the skin is thin above the vertebrae. If you move at the wrong time –“
“I vill not move. Do it.”
He does. I feel the familiar pain rake slowly and carefully down my back in three long lines from shoulder to just above my tail. It seems to take forever, but I know that is not the truth. I react just as I have always reacted to the feel of a knife on my flesh: the pain combines with that thrill of pleasure deep inside, and I must suppress the urge to catch my breath and arch my back in automatic reaction. This time it is better than ever before, because it is his hand that does this to me, not my own. It is my Wolverine who cuts his symbol into my body. This is not the reminder of a sin. It is a reminder of his love for me, and mine for him, and that cuts more deeply than any words. I will never be able to see this scar directly, but only in a mirror, just as I know that I will very seldom hear his love for me in words, but only see it in his actions. But he will see this mark every night when he holds me in his arms. He will see it, and he will know, and he will know that I know.
Then the cutting stops, and it is safe for me to breathe again. Logan remains crouched above me, frozen. I have not heard anything. Perhaps he is a bit shocked over what he has done.
”Mein Schatz,” I whisper carefully. “Retract your claws.”
“Huh?” Dazed. “Oh. Yeah.”
The claws disappear, but still he remains where he is. I can feel the tickle of blood oozing from the slashes and down the sides of my back onto the towel. I am about to say something when his tongue begins to lick the tickle away. At last, I relax. I am almost asleep when he starts spraying the cuts with antiseptic.
“Ow!” I protest.
“Oh, so now you’re gonna complain, huh? Hold still, so I can get this spray stuff where it belongs and not all over the sheets.”
“Sorry. You startled me.”
“You gonna be able to sleep OK?”
“Ja. I vas almost asleep a minute ago.”
“You’re in the middle of the bed, darlin’. Move over a little.”
A reasonable request, under the circumstances. I scrunch over gingerly toward my side, facing the window. I arrange myself so that I am lying facedown, with my right elbow bent and hanging almost over the edge of the bed, while that hand is snugly tucked under my pillow.
Under ordinary circumstances, we would both be lying on our sides, my back to his chest, with his arm draped across my waist and one of his thighs between mine. But these are not ordinary circumstances, so I can only make myself comfortable as best I can without touching him.
Later on that night, I am awakened when the bed shifts suddenly. It is probably only Logan, getting up to visit the bathroom or go smoke one of his cigars. Without moving, I crack one eye open a little to look around, just to be sure. Moonlight is shining into the room, falling across my face and upper body. There is a figure silhouetted against the window, but it is hard to make out in detail against the brightness of the moon. I have barely begun to get alarmed when I realize it is only Logan, awake and standing at one side of the window, looking outside. He is turned somewhat sideways, so as my eyes adapt to the moonlight, I can make out some of the side of his face and his upper arm, while the rest is hidden in the shadows.
I smile slightly at the sight of him there, but I also wonder why he is not still lying beside me. I close my eyes, ready to succumb to sleep once again. But sleep does not come easily. It is still too new to me that he is here again, safe and willing to stay with me. I savor the joy I am feeling at his presence. I even savor the soreness of my back, because it represents his commitment to being my partner.
Fifteen minutes later, he is still standing there and I am still happily awake, sneaking a quick glance at him every now and again.
At last, he makes a very soft satisfied sound and comes back to bed. As the mattress shifts to hold his weight, he says softly, “You can stop faking now, Elf. I know you’re awake. I could hear it when your breathing changed.”
I should have known that. Oh well.
“What’s the matter? Your back bothering you?”
“Nein. Something voke me. You seemed so intent on gazing out the vindow that I did not vant to disturb you. That is all.”
“Thought I heard a noise outside, so I was just checkin’ it out.”
“For that long?”
“Hey, ya never know. Sometimes it pays to make sure. You go on back to sleep, darlin’. It was nothin’.”
The bed shifts again as he gets comfortable. I miss being in our usual position, but it will not be long before my back heals enough for us to do that again. As it is, his hand cannot help searching for my tail and holding it gently, as if even now he wishes to assure himself that I am there, safe and sound.
At first, that makes me feel good, but then I start to wonder what dangers he fears will come after us, that he is so much on guard and so alert that a slight unfamiliar noise can bring him to our window. He tried to warn me of this earlier, but I would not listen.
As his breath slows and evens out and I feel his body relax into sleep, I am now the one who is wide awake and staring suspiciously at the darkness. I guess I am going to have to get used to this feeling.
When I awaken the following morning, I find Logan sitting cross-legged on the bed. He has pulled the covers entirely down and is just staring at my naked body, almost as if he is in a trance. I am not at all sure what to make of this, so I lie there for a while. The cuts on my back have stiffened and I know it will hurt when I begin to move. For the next week or so, I will be reminded, not of a sin, but of the fact that pain is often an integral part of love. And I will rejoice in it, each twinge telling me once again that I am his. I lie there peacefully, luxuriating in this thought.
He blinks his eyes, once, twice. A look of attention returns to his face, as if he is coming back from some other place.