"Who is the dream that you wait for
What would he say to me
If I told him what we had inside
Was so much more than he could provide"

- "Jaded Heart"
Silent Iris

---

It was a dream, and she courted it.

It was trick Jean had taught her, reasoning that control of her subconscious would give her control of her power. Years of practice later, she had learned to measure success in the small things. Maybe her mutation did kill a little more slowly--it was hard to tell with volunteers few and far between--but her dreams were her own. She commanded them, directed them.

Controlled them.

They were a universe she could escape to at night, where she could touch memories and taste freedom. They could be anything she wanted. Comfort, love, warmth, trust. Sometimes memories from childhood. Sometimes fantasies of adulthood.

It didn't matter what they were, as long as they were hers.

He was a dream, and she courted him. Drew him closer as time slipped away, and a smile curved on her lips as her fingers touched his. She'd never brought him into her dreams before, never dared open the door she'd kept so carefully shut.

She concentrated as she'd been taught, focusing on the small details. His hair, so carefully arranged to look so artfully unarranged. His lips, well defined and stern, but somehow sensuous. The dogtags, hanging from his neck where he'd put them that morning, leaving an empty space around her wrist and around her heart.

They were a dream. . . and she controlled her dreams. She controlled herself, she controlled her surroundings. . . and she controlled--

"What the fuck are you doing?"

Him?

---

Rogue started awake in her tent, sitting up. She crawled towards the entrance, pulling down the zipper just enough to peer out.

A fire was carefully tended in the middle of the clearing, tents huddled around it. It was a far cry from the comfort and luxury of Xavier's School for the Gifted. A far cry from anything most of them had ever seen before.

Most of them. But not her.

And not Logan.

He sat on the other side of the fire, his eyes staring straight at her. Studying her, as if she'd done something puzzling. Something unusual.

Something unwanted.

Rogue retreated into her tent, curling up in her blankets as she tried to shake the feeling of his eyes watching her back.

She couldn't.

When sleep finally overtook her, she didn't court the dreams.

She fled from them.

---

He watched her the whole next day. Walking, eating, resting, helping Jean fix the jet. . . suddenly everything she did was of the greatest interest. It was like he didn't know her.

It was like he didn't /trust/ her.

She brooded as they waited for Jean and Magneto to patch the jet back together. Rogue had a lot to brood about, with her life in shambles and her home invaded by people who wanted her dead.

And yet, all she saw was the moment her dream had turned upon itself, the moment Logan had opened his eyes and stared at her with shock and mistrust. The moment Dream-Logan had become. . . Logan.

Part of her screamed it wasn't possible. She was Rogue, a human leech. She sucked the life out of people. She stole the things inside them. Sometimes she killed them. She didn't pull waking minds into her dreams.

A small part of her curled in on itself, knowing it was true. Knowing it was possible.

Everyone knew that Magneto had touched her on Liberty Island. Sometimes she could nudge a piece of metal across a table without even touching it.

Everyone knew that Logan had touched her on Liberty Island. Sometimes she could heal cuts and bruises in hours or even minutes.

Almost no one knew that Jean had touched her after they'd returned from Liberty Island.

---

Just a simple procedure, drawing blood, but Rogue felt Logan inside her head and the desire to touch Jean--maybe just a little, to see if the skin on her hand was as soft as it looked.

It was, and even with veins protruding from her skin as her mouth opened in a soundless scream, Logan thought she was sexy.

The needle fell to the floor with a clatter. Jean's head, however, made a hollow thudding sound as it knocked into the table. She sprawled back on the floor, blood seeping from a cut in her forehead.

Rogue screamed. She screamed as she scrambled off the table. Her screams turned into choked sobbing as she ran from the office, horror blossoming inside her at the knowledge that Scott was only around the corner, his mind a jumble of worry and confusion. His thoughts reached out to her like hungry animals, invading her mind, ringing so loudly in her ears that she bit through her lip.

She ran headlong into his arms, clinging to him, because it was what Jean would have done.

She'd huddled in the corner of the lab as Scott and Storm revived Jean, lifting her onto the table near Logan. The cut on her head was small, easily bandaged, but even three days later her face was pale, her movements slow and tentative. It almost seemed like Rogue had sucked the strength out of her.

Jean never told anyone. Not even Logan.

It took nearly three months for the telepathy to fade, with Rogue fighting off an onslaught of thoughts from those on the outside as well as inside her. But sometimes, when she was tired, or when she was lonely, or when someone around her thought too loudly. . .

Almost no one knew that Jean had touched her after they'd returned from Liberty Island Sometimes she could hear the thoughts of others, or make them hear hers.

---

It took the feeling of something wet and cold seeping through her gloves to bring her mind to the present. Rogue stared at the ground, trying to understand the meaning of the rocks digging into her knees as her hands clenched around snow.

It was Logan's hand that wrapped around her jacket and lifted her to her feet as if she weighed no more than a child. His eyes caught hers for a long moment, the eyes of a predator, weighing her chances of escape.

Not very high. They were in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by trees. Beyond the trees. . . civilization. A civilization that had decided to look the other way as men with guns invaded a school.

Glancing away from Logan, she caught Magneto staring at her with an amused look on his face. She felt her mouth twist down into a sneer, a knee-jerk reaction she did nothing to stop.

She wanted to hate him.

She wanted to hurt him.

Logan gave her a little shake, and her attention snapped back to him. "What?"

One eyebrow swept upwards, almost mocking. "You were the one kneeling in the snow. What's wrong with you?"

Granted any wish in the world at that moment, Rogue would have taken Jean's telepathy. To know what was going on behind that inscrutable façade. To know if he'd been in her mind, if she'd dragged him there somehow.

Her mind was as silent as the forest around them. Nothing. Nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing--

"I tripped."

He snorted, and dropped her arm. The insight she'd prayed for a moment before surfaced with a vengeance.

This wasn't over.

---

She dreaded sleep that night, dreaded it all the more because Logan was watching her again, those eyes intent. Waiting.

She thought to feign sleep, but exhaustion was a real thing that wrapped itself around her, taunting her as she dug fingernails into her palms in an attempt to shake off weariness.

Nothing worked, and as she fell backwards into sleep, she wasn't sure if she was terrified . . . or excited.

---

She didn't even know he was there until his hands grasped her arms from behind, fingers digging into her shoulders so hard that she should have bruises.

But of course she didn't, because she was asleep, and dreaming, and he was nothing she controlled. Turning to face him, she recoiled from the fury in his eyes, from the barely leashed violence in his stance.

But the question he asked was not the one she expected. "Who are you?"

She blinked. "Logan?"

And then her dream became a nightmare.

He backhanded her with a casualness that left her reeling from more than physical pain. His hand was around her throat, fingers digging in hard enough to make breathing nearly impossible.

His eyes stared at hers from only a few inches as his fingers clenched tighter. "Who the fuck are you?" he demanded again.

She was struggling now, frantic. Could she die in her dream? Could he strangle her? "Logan, it's me!" Her voice was thin and wheezy. His face was starting to swim.

A wall was suddenly behind her, and he threw her into it. "Bullshit. You think I won't kill you because you look like her?"

He advanced on her again, and she shook her head as she pressed back against the wall. "I don't know what you're talking about! I don't know what you want!"

"I want to know who you are." His voice was a growl, and his hand wrapped around her neck again, dragging her up to eye level. "I want to know why the fuck you're in my head. I want to know what you want."

Silence stretched out between them, and just as suddenly as he'd attacked her, Logan dropped her and turned his back on her. "And I want to know why you decided to use /her/."

"But I'm--"

"Rogue!"

---

She opened her eyes on the world.

"Rogue," Bobby said again, shaking her shoulder. His hands tugged at her wrists, pulling her hands away from her neck. "Rogue, what are you /doing/?"

Rogue shook her head, pushing herself into a sitting position and glancing quickly around her tent. The door was hanging open, letting in light from the fire.

Turning her attention back to Bobby, she blinked at the concern in his eyes. "Why are you in my tent?"

Bobby raised an eyebrow. "You were . . . hell, Rogue. You were strangling yourself." His gloved fingers pulled down the collar of her jacket, and he winced. "You'll have bruises."

She knocked his hands away, tugging her collar back up as she glanced over his shoulder. Logan had emerged from his tent, and was staring directly at them.

Bobby was trying to get her attention, and she snapped. "I don't want to hear about it."

She could feel his resentment like a living, tangible thing. He wasn't going to forgive her soon for this.

Feeling Logan's fingers digging into her neck again, she wasn't sure she cared about Bobby's feelings.

Somehow, it was much easier to stay awake this time.

---

He saw the bruises the next day.

It wasn't an accident, or chance. He simply walked up beside her and tugged down the collar on her jacket before she could pull away.

"Fuck," was all he said, but she caught his eyes before he looked away, and they were filled with guilt.

The hand on her arm was gentle, this time, but firm. Rogue stopped moving as Logan looked over his shoulder and caught Jean's attention. "I've got to talk to Rogue."

If Jean was suspicious, she didn't say anything. In fact, she looked too drained to even care. "Don't go too far away. I think we're almost finished."

Bobby was a different story. The minute he noticed Rogue walking into the woods with Logan, he followed. "What's going on?"

Logan gave him a withering look. "Go stay out of trouble. I need to talk to Rogue."

"I'm not--"

Logan frowned. "Go. Or you think I can't take care of her?" The scorn in his voice was anything but subtle--and Bobby flushed, remembering how Rogue had refused to leave the mansion until Logan was there to protect them.

"Fine." The look he gave Rogue was anything but fine. He turned and walked away, and Rogue got the feeling that this time, he wouldn't be coming back. Not as her boyfriend. Maybe not even as her friend.

It made her less friendly. She glared at Logan when they were alone. "What is your problem?"

His finger touched her throat, touched the bruise. The tip of his glove was warm.

She refused to wince. "What is your problem?"

"It was you." And then she was in his arms, and he was--

--hugging her?

Not just hugging her, but holding her, holding her in the way Bobby never seemed to because he was too shy or too young or just too scared . . .

"Shit. I didn't know it was you, I wouldn't have--" He shook his head, and his fingers were cradling her face, searching her eyes for something. "How did you get in my head?"

Jean's telepathy burst over her like a wave, drenching her in everything that was Logan. Lust flooded through her so quickly that she wasn't sure who it belonged to--except that she had the most overwhelming urge to kiss Logan--or be kissed by him.

And then she was kissing him, his lips so warm against hers, so warm that they burned and parting her lips did no good because his tongue tracing the inside of her lip burned too.

She'd never kissed warm lips before--not since the day when touching had stopped all together. Bobby's lips had been cold . . . the only way he could kiss her and not die.

Logan was heat. His gloves were off suddenly and his hands on her cheeks were warm and possessive, and they tilted her head back and left her open to him and willing . . . god, so willing.

It was the fingers on her face that made her wonder, and when she pulled back she realized the trees and snow were gone. Everything was gone but him, and he was touching her and nothing bad was happening.

He looked at her, and blinked. His hands left her face slowly--so slowly--

And they were back in the forest, his gloved hands holding her face.

He backed away slowly, as if he was terrified. "I was--I was in your head." It was almost an accusation.

She felt shaken, and furious. He'd kissed her, and she'd felt the heat, and the passion--and nothing else that Bobby could give her would ever be enough now.

So she snapped at him. "You're always in my head. I live with it every day."

"Not like that!" he retorted, and he almost looked like he was shaking. "/I/ was in your head, Rogue. Not some memory. Not some shadow. That was me."

He looked so disgusted . . . and it hurt. "Well, what do you expect? I'm like a parasite! Only a matter of time until I started sucking people's minds up along with their bodies!"

And then she was crying, kneeling in the snow and crying because nothing would ever be the same again.

She felt him behind her, felt him gather her up into his side awkwardly, like he'd done on that train so long ago. She watched warily as he drew his hand to his mouth and tugged his glove off with his teeth.

His arm stopped her from recoiling as his fingers reached towards her cheek. She shook her head slowly, leaning back. "Don't, Logan. I'll only hurt--"

But he touched her, and she pulled him into her.

---

It was different. Gentle. Not the horrible wrenching that she'd felt before, but somehow softer. Slower. Bits of him melted through her skin to merge with her, but he was already inside her, balancing out the flow.

She thought about high school, and learning about cells, and how they got saturated and no more water would pass through them. Her cells were so saturated with Logan that she couldn't steal any more of him.

It was like double vision, and for a moment she wondered if he saw it too. They stood on a mirror that reflected the real world back at them. Looking down at her feet, she saw them sitting in the snow, saw them staring into each other's eyes, his fingers resting lightly on her cheek.

Maybe the third time was the charm. Or maybe . . . and she laughed, because the irony was too much . . . maybe she was like some horrible disease that you could build up immunity to. Maybe Logan had gotten sick from her one time too many, and his amazing healing powers saw her as just one more injury to heal.

"Did you ever consider that you might be controlling it?"

She started at Logan's voice, and looked up from their reflection to see the Dream-Logan.

"Not a dream," he said, and his lips curved into a smile. "And I can hear everything you're thinking, so you might want to be careful."

"How--"

"You're controlling it," he repeated, his eyes wandering down her body.

At first she thought he was looking at their reflection, but she blushed as his thoughts washed over her, thoughts of things he could do to her and things he wanted to do to her . . .

It was hard to move the mirror from within the dream, but it was /her/ dream, and she controlled it.

She tore herself away, and found her kneeling in the snow, panting for breath. Logan was not far away, half crouched, his eyes on her.

Eyes of a predator.

Not just that. Eyes filled with possibility.

He laughed when she ran, and she was too far away to stop when she realized that she'd done exactly the wrong thing.

Predators like it when you run.

---

In the rush of planning and movement that followed the repair of the jet, Logan didn't look at her. He didn't talk to her. He crossed his arms over his chest and interjected the occasional comment as the adults discussed and rejected plans as if she weren't there. As if he hadn't been inside her head and changed her.

If he'd looked at her, he might have realized the thing that terrified her.

The bruises, the ones she'd earned from her encounter with him the night before . . . they were still there.

She'd touched Logan, she'd felt the connection. She thought she'd pulled him in.

But there was no healing. None of his powers had become hers.

She was controlling her mutation.

She wanted to strip off her glove and touch Bobby. She wanted to see if it was real, or imaginary.

She wanted to shock Logan into looking at her.

Instead she huddled into herself and said nothing. She wasn't even that upset when Bobby held her back from wrapping her fingers around Magneto's neck.

For all she knew, she wouldn't have done him any harm.

She had always thought the prospect of controlling her powers would make her happy.

So far, all she wanted to do was hide.

---

Logan went off with the other adults to fight their adult war. He didn't look at her. He didn't even speak to her.

Nothing had hurt quite like that.

They left her with Bobby and Johnny in uncomfortable silence, and of course it didn't take long for Johnny to grow impatient and decide to leave.

Rogue tried to stop him. Not because she was particularly worried--Johnny certainly wouldn't hesitate to take care of himself.

She tried to stop him out of fear. She didn't want to be left alone with Bobby.

It was a futile effort. Johnny was gone.

It was a lot harder to hide when there were only two of you.

---

Bobby didn't look at her for a long time. "You love him."

"Bobby--"

He turned to face her, and his eyes were cold. "Don't bother denying it. It's not like everyone doesn't know."

She wanted to reach out to him, because he looked so sad. She lifted her hand, but he shook his head. "Everyone knew, Rogue," he repeated. "I knew."

"They why did you--" She shrugged one shoulder. "Why did you do what you did?"

"Because--" And now Bobby reached out to her, brushing one finger lightly down her cheek. It was ice cold, because Bobby didn't know that she was controlling her power. "Because I didn't think what you and Logan had was real."

"It doesn't have to be." Her voice sounded desperate even to herself. "I don't want it to be real, Bobby--I don't want to--" But she couldn't say the words. She couldn't bring herself to admit, even in denial, that she loved Logan.

"You can't change something like that." Bobby moved a little closer, his finger tracing her lips now. "You love him."

"I care for you, Bobby." It was almost a whisper. "I could love you."

His eyes were sad as he leaned forward to kiss her lightly on the lips. He was cold, and all she could think about was Logan's kiss and how warm it had been.

Bobby pulled back, and smiled. "I don't like being second place. Not even to Logan."

Silence was followed by a moment of perfect understanding, and Bobby took her hands into his and squeezed them lightly. "I don't love you, you know." His tone of voice was matter-of-fact. . . almost joking. "I'm a teenage boy. I've heard the lecture enough times from Scott and Jean, about hormones and urges. So I've got a crush on you. I think half the males at the school do, too."

He gave her a lopsided smile, the one that she could never help but return, no matter how bad things seemed. "Maybe if you give me time, Bobby--"

But he shook his head, and his smile turned a little sad. "I always knew you loved him, Rogue. What I didn't understand until last night was that he might actually love you back."

She wanted to say something to drive the sadness from his eyes. She opened her mouth--

And then the pain started.

---

Her body writhed on the ground, but her mind was curiously clear. She was in the dream place again, staring down at the reflection of the real world, where she was curled with Bobby on the floor of the jet. The pain was a faint echo, more of an annoyance than anything else.

Logan was in front of her, looking determined and--afraid?

Why was Logan afraid?

He reached out to her, touching her face. "Are you okay?"

"I don't know--" Rogue gave a whimper as a wave of pain passed over her, violent enough to weaken her knees even in the dream. "It hurts, Logan."

His arms were around her, holding her. "It'll stop," he promised her, but the next wave sent them both to their knees, and she could hear the lie in his voice.

He knew something she didn't. She could see it in his eyes, see it in the way they looked at her as if trying to memorize her feature. "Logan, what--"

Logan kissed her. The kiss in the forest has been nothing compared to this. His fingers twined into her hair, tilting her head to the side as his lips found hers over and over again. She yielded to passion as her mouth opened under his, frantic and needy. His mouth was hot and demanding, and when one hand freed itself to clutch at her waist, she felt something unfurl in her stomach and realized it was lust.

The next wave of pain took them both by surprise, and she found herself collapsed underneath him, fingers clutching at her head. His eyes were terrified, and she gasped for breath. "What's happening, Logan?"

"Don't think about it," he whispered, propping himself up on one arm to look down at her. "I had to find you--I had to see you in case--" His fingers traced the side of her face.

"In case what?"

But he just shook his head and kissed her again.

It was gentle this time, gentle and tender. One finger traced down the side of her body, under her shirt until there was warm skin touching her side, and it was almost too intense.

His lips found her ear, whispered, "If I'd had time, I would have loved you. I would have taken care of you."

She stared up at him--but he wasn't looking at her. He was looking past her, at the mirror that reflected the real world.

And then he was gone.

---

Rogue opened her eyes on the real world, with Bobby leaning over her with worried eyes. He helped her sit up, and then his arms were tight around her, holding her.

"I thought I'd lost you," he said in a tight voice. "I thought--"

She shook her head, and for a long moment they simply held one another.

They might have stayed like that forever, but Rogue broke away with a low cry, hands going to her head again.

"Rogue--"

But she couldn't see Bobby.

She couldn't see anything except--

---

"Jean?"

Jean reached out, touched her. "I'm sorry, Rogue. I didn't mean to hurt you."

Rogue stared at Jean, confused. "What happened, Jean? It hurt so much--"

Jean put her hands on Rogue's shoulders. "It's complicated--and I don't have time to explain it all now. I need you to do something for us."

Rogue put aside fear for herself. That was easy.

Harder was putting aside fear for Logan, but the words he's whispered into her ear gave her hope. Hope gave her strength.

Strength gave her courage.

When she met Jean's eyes, she didn't feel like a student anymore. She felt like part of the team. "Tell me what to do."

---

"Rogue?"

She climbed to her feet, almost in a daze. Bobby grabbed at her arm, but she shook him off. "I have to do something Bobby."

Bobby would not be so easily brushed aside. "What was that? It was like you weren't there--"

"Jean." Rogue slid into the pilot's seat, ignoring Bobby's shocked look. "Jean found me. She told me how to do this."

One gloved hand reached out, found a button that matched the one in her head. She pressed it, pressed another, found a switch that she /knew/ was the right one--

Bobby looked terrified. "Rogue, are you sure--"

"Sit down, Bobby." Rogue wrapped her fingers around the steering yoke. She could feel the engines humming under them, could feel the power growing.

She reached out for the last switch, seeing Jean's hand like a ghostly echo over her own. She followed the movements confidently, held her cool until the plane lurched off the ground.

The calm surrounding her vanished. Jean's presence vanished.

And then she /felt/ Logan's fear. Terror, powerful and feral.

She gave a choking sob, and then another. The plane lurched to one side, driving a startled yell from Bobby as he held on desperately.

She didn't remember landing the plane. She only barely remembered Storm coming in and prying her fingers from the steering controls. Someone got her into her seat.

Jean, not far behind her, gave her a look of proud approval, and she felt calm creeping over her again.

It didn't take long to vanish.

In fact, it vanished about the same time Jean did.

---

He avoided her for a month.

He avoided everyone, but Rogue could tell that he was taking particular care to never be near her. He ate meals at odd hours, and she could have sworn he knew her schedule by heart and used this knowledge to stay as far away from her as possible.

She'd expected him to leave, and the fact that he didn't was the only thing that gave her hope.

Somehow, he'd stayed out of her dreams since they'd returned from the White House. She hadn't sought him out . . . but she wasn't even sure she knew /how/.

A meeting with the Professor had shown her that her control over her mutation was more instinctive than anything else . . . a final payoff for the carefully cultivated control over her subconscious. Sometimes she still slipped . . . but unlike before, her slips didn't kill.

The Professor's pride was equaled only by the sadness they shared that Jean would never know that she'd been right all along.

In the month after the trip to the President's Office, it became painfully obvious that Logan's protestations of love had been the words of a man sure he was going to die. Rogue had been over it in her head a thousand times since she'd heard the entire story from the Professor, and each time made her more and more convinced that Logan hadn't meant any of what he had said.

He'd known the source of the overwhelming pain. He'd known that Xavier was being forced, somehow, to bring the considerable power of his mind against those he wanted to protect.

Logan had known that they were all going to die.

And he'd known that Rogue was the only person he could reach out and find.

Sometimes she tried to tell herself that being Logan's Last-Night-On-Earth Fuck could be good enough.

Mostly she just wondered if she had the courage to confront him about it.

It turned out she didn't have to.

---

Bobby and Rogue had their own rooms now. They had received them not long after returning from the White House, along with promises that uniforms--better fitting than the ones they'd worn on their visit to the president--would be arriving soon.

Logan found her there one night, up late and looking over college brochures half-heartedly. He didn't knock, didn't wait for an invitation.

He was just there, locking the door softly as she turned around to stare at him.

"What are you doing here?"

Logan just quirked one eyebrow, walking past her to sit on the end of her bed. After he was settled, he looked at her. "You want me to leave?"

She frowned. "You've already made yourself at home . . . which kind of seems strange since I haven't seen you in a month."

Logan shrugged. "I've been busy."

"Have you been /here/?" Rogue retorted.

"In your bedroom?" The slow smile seemed strange on his face. Out of place, after so much sorrow. His words seemed even more surreal, sounding warm and teasing and just a little dirty. "I think you would have noticed. If you hadn't . . . well, I would have been doing something wrong."

He was . . . flirting with her.

Rogue didn't know what he expected, but it certainly wasn't what he got. Her hand clenched around the brochure she'd been browsing through, and she threw it at him.

She'd expected his shock.

It made it much easier to punch him, which she did. She punched him in the chin, with great enthusiasm.

His fingers locked around her wrist in a grip like iron. "What the fuck are you doing, girl?"

He hadn't had the foresight to catch her other arm, so she used the move Scott had taught her that morning and knocked him another good blow aside the head.

She was pinned on the bed before she knew it, her hands trapped on either side of her head. Logan loomed above her, looking furious. "You have a certain amount of leeway for being you, Rogue," he said slowly, and his voice was low. Almost angry, but not quite. Not yet. "Why don't you tell me what you're--"

His shoulder was bared by his tank top, so she bit him. Hard.

Logan reared back, swearing. One hand went to his shoulder, and he glared at her, obviously too taken aback by the fact that she'd bitten him to wonder why her teeth had hurt him more than then her skin.

He pinned her again, and this time he did growl. "What the fuck is going on?"

Rogue smiled sweetly. "You think I'm going to lay here like a good girl and pretend to be Jean for you?"

He recoiled again, and this time she could see the uncertainty in his eyes as she sat up, shoving him off of her.

Somewhere deep inside her, Johnny's voice rose up and told her to hit him again. She couldn't trust the pain in his eyes--because other people's pain was always a trap. The only pain you should tend to was your own.

Erik's voice countered, with a soft chuckle, that other people's pain was an opportunity.

She might have hit him again, but Jean's voice was there, too. And it told her to have compassion.

Logan recovered before Rogue could make a decision, and grasped her wrists again. This time he was gentle, and didn't try to pin her down. His voice sounded hurt. "What gave you that idea?"

Rogue laughed. "Come on, Logan. If you really wanted me, you would have talked to me at least once in the last month."

If Logan had looked hurt before, now he looked offended. "You think I came here for sex?"

She couldn't think of a good answer to that, and wanted to hit him again.

Johnny wanted her to as well.

She tried to tug her hand free, but his fingers tightened immediately. "Oh, no you don't girl. You can talk, but you can't hit me again unless I give you a damn good reason."

She tried to pull away again, but it was a useless gesture. She sighed, suddenly feeling tired. "Fine, Logan. Tell me why you're here."

He released her hands slowly, watching her carefully as if he was afraid she'd attack him again.

He watched her, but it wasn't until she was rubbing at her sore wrist with the fingers of her left hand that he actually /saw/ the thing she'd been waiting for him to notice since he'd entered her room.

He stared at her bare hands.

He stared at the wrists that his own hands had been so tightly clenched around.

He reached towards her face, his eyes lighting up with the wonder of a thousand undreamed of possibilities. "You're not--"

She jerked back. "Still not here for sex?" she demanded, and her voice was mocking. So mocking.

His face closed off. "Fuck you."

She saw real pain in his eyes, but it was easy enough to pretend she hadn't. She had her pride, after all. "I'm still not Jean."

He was off the bed and staring down at her. "No kidding. Jean wasn't a bitch."

And then he was gone.

She picked up the crumpled college brochure and walked to her desk, smoothing it out carefully. It seemed incredibly important that she work out each crease, each line, each imperfection in the paper.

When she started crying, the tears gathered along the creases. It seemed strangely symbolic, and she couldn't figure out why.

---

She dreamt of Logan.

Of him, not with him, and she wasn't sure if it was better or worse. In her dream he loved her, and the feel of her back against the sheets on his bed was so amazingly wonderful that she wanted to cry.

She woke with a vague memory of his mouth on her body and his fingers tangling in her hair, and a dull ache in her chest that told her she still loved Logan, now matter how much time she spent pretending otherwise.

All of the voices in her head had an opinion. She found it ironic that Jean's was the only one that seemed right.

Jean's voice coaxed her into swallowing her pride, murmured gentle encouragement as she crossed the hallway and slipped into Logan's room.

The fact that he hadn't locked the door made her think that, maybe, he'd been expecting her.

He wasn't.

He was packing.

---

She wasn't sure how long she stood in the doorway staring at him, watching in shock as he rolled up t-shirts with a carefulness she never would have expected from him.

She wasn't sure how much time passed before he looked up and met her eyes.

There were a thousand things she wanted to say. Jean's voice whispered of apologies, of pleas, of admissions of love.

Jean's voice wasn't strong enough to override the childlike fear that gripped her.

He was leaving.

No, he was leaving /her/. /Because/ of her.

"Rogue--"

She turned and fled.

It was only when she reached her room that she realized that she'd done exactly the wrong thing.

Predators liked it when you ran.

---

She forgot to lock the door.

Logan didn't. He locked the door and strode across the room and didn't bother to say anything, sinking his hands into her hair and pushing her into the wall and kissing her like he was going to fall into her and never come back out.

It was better than in the dream. It was warmer and wetter and the feeling of his tongue tangling with hers was so much more powerful than anything her imagination could have possibly provided.

It was too much, more than she could handle, and she pushed him away with both hands, terrified by how much effort it took. One touch and she was addicted. One touch and all she wanted was more.

She looked at him with wide eyes. "You were going to leave."

His lips were so close to hers. "I was going to leave," he agreed.

The question was so important, she could hardly ask it. But she had to.

"Why?"

He shrugged. "I used to have two reasons to stay. Now there's only one." His gaze never left hers. "You kinda gave me the impression that there weren't any."

Rogue's voice sounded small. "I'll never be her."

Logan smiled, a small, soft smile. "Would you be surprised to find out that I never wanted you to be?"

"But--"

"Shhhh." Logan freed one hand, put his finger over Rogue's lips. "You like Bobby, Rogue."

"I don't--" Rogue started, but Logan quirked one eyebrow and she subsided.

"You like Bobby," he continued. "Maybe you even love him a little. You can love more than one person, you know. But Bobby . . . he'll never know you like I know you."

His finger slid from her lips, his hand brushing at a few loose strands of hair at her neck. His fingers on her neck were almost hesitant, as if he still wasn't sure how it was happening.

"And Jean?" she whispered softly, eyes drifting shut as his fingers found their way up her cheek.

"I'd never have known her like Scott knew her. Never have understood her like he did."

Rogue opened her eyes. "But you avoided me. You didn't even want to see me . . ."

Logan sighed. Closed his eyes.

Stopped touching her.

"I was almost hoping Bobby would prove me wrong . . . Would learn how to know you. Learn how to love you like--"

After a few moments of silence, Rogue touched Logan's face hesitantly. "Like what, Logan?"

He opened his eyes and found hers. "I don't know if I'll be any good for you. I don't know if love is enough."

Rogue managed a shaky smile. "It doesn't have to be everything. If you get bored of love, I could always kick your ass again."

Logan made an amused noise, and he was smiling now, too. "You'd have to do better than you did before, my girl. If you think /that/ was kicking my--"

She flung herself at him.

He knew how to fall, and he took her with him. They ended up on a heap on her bedroom floor, Rogue stretched out on top of Logan with her chin resting on his chest. "I suppose you could teach me how to fight."

Logan smiled. "Yeah. I suppose I could."

She smiled again, and this time there was no doubt. "Or you could teach me something else."

"Something else, huh?" He did what Rogue wanted him to do, rolling them both over so that he was on top, his weight supported on his arms. "I don't know. From the way you were kissing me earlier, I think you know more than I do."

She punched Logan in the arm. "That is /not/ what I wanted to hear."

"I thought you didn't want me to be here looking for sex," Logan retorted.

"Well, I suppose if you don't know how to do it . . ." Rogue shrugged.

"Shut up." It was close to a growl, and Rogue smirked.

"Make me."

He did.