A/N: Did I mention that politically correct timelines aren't my thing? At all? And yes, I know the pairing is terribly original, but who'd you have me pair her with? Chuck?
He loved the cold and he loved the North. A place wasn’t home unless winter lasted at least six months and she got lost in the snow drifts a least once a year.
He never got lost. He was like an animal in the woods, smelling, tracking, seeing things that she couldn’t even guess at and so every time he dropped out of nowhere in the middle of the woods, giving her his sexiest predator grin, she called him her wolf. He’d sweep her off her feet, growling playfully and throw her over his shoulder to carry her back home and ravish her. That was how they played the game. It was who they were.
Two people, not quite human, living in a world that was filled with snow and trees and roaring fireplaces. A world where there were no other people around, no-one to judge and no mob to come after them with pitch forks. They spent their days laughing and lounging in bed and acting like silly young lovers.
That was what she loved most about him, the way that ever after twenty, thirty, fifty years, she still felt like a lovesick teenage girl in his arms even though she remembered neither being a teenager nor lovesick, ever. But then she didn’t remember all that much before 1875 because that was the year she’d first met him and he was the one who’d given the time streams and loops, the slow and fast winding rivers she floated on meaning. His face was the first thing that stood out since she’d learned of her freakishness at the tender age of twelve.
She’d sat in the garden of her parents’ country manor, making a flower grow. She’d put the seed in the earth and then she’d concentrated on it really hard, willing it to grow. And it had. In the space of seconds.
The maid had seen it first. “Miss Lizzy, what are you doing?”
“I’m making the flower grow!”
After that she’d been lost. It had been her first try manipulating time and it had opened a door somewhere inside of her, leaving her wide open for time to flow through her, forward, backward, sideways and in damn swirls. Some days she lived a hundred times, some not at all. Her life was a blur of days, minutes, hours and seconds, all wrong and messed up and the only constant was mistrust, fear, disgust and hatred.
And then he came. His gift was more subtle than hers. He healed like a hero of legend and his senses were like that of a wolf and his face stood out in every single one of her days, giving her something to focus on, something to cling to. And the flood of time subsided until it was a slowly trickling river that flowed at the back of her mind, gently. But that wasn’t the most important thing. No, what really mattered was that he was like her.
She was, as far as she ever knew, the first and he was the second. The thought that there might have been more, killed by fearing parents or hating mobs was not one she ever lingered on. She was the first. He was the second. He loved her and she loved him. She was a city girl but she lived with him in the cold woods of wherever he took them because they belonged together in a world that moved ever faster and he kept her safe. She was an eighteenth century girl and he a nineteenth century boy and together they made things work, somehow.
And when the others started popping up on the radar, they sometimes left their icy domain to help, to protect, to teach. Control, tolerance, peace, those were their lessons and they taught them well. Well enough that two of their students, two boys they helped when there was no-one else left to take on the task, took over from them. Erik and Charles were down somewhere in New York, starting a school even now.
So Lizzy and Logan returned to their land of snow and ice and they spent days in front of the fireplace and played hide and seek in the woods, which she always lost, even if she slowed time around him down to a trickle. He always caught her in the end and dragged her home.
Except that one time when he didn’t.
She spent the whole day hiking around the woods, waiting for him to drop to the ground before her and grin roguishly at her. She waited and waited and eventually she decided to turn back because it was getting late. Too late. She twisted time with a flick of her wrist, speeding it up around herself. She was home within minutes.
She was home, standing in front of a door that was kicked off its hinges, looking in on a room that was torn to pieces, smashed and shattered. She stood in the doorway of her home, staring at the destruction inside, waiting for him to come out of his hiding place and yell, “Gotcha.”
Only he never did.
So she stood there, wordlessly and she felt colder than she ever had before.