Klaxons were blaring when huge doors started to open, warning the personnel working in the near vicinity of the containment chamber. Two heavy doors decorated with black and yellow stripes parted slowly, revealing heavily shackled occupant of the chamber. He appeared to be sleeping, chained to standing position; head tilted forward, jaw resting against chest. When lights of the chamber flickered on he raised his head and peered from under thick bangs of black hair fallen over his forehead with narrowed eyes, lips curling to a grimace that bared rows of perfectly aligned teeth and an impressive pair of slightly overgrown incisors on his jaws.

Nearly animalistic growl greeted a group of men clad to lab coats who passed the open chamber, chatting quite animatedly with each other. They paid very little attention to the man hanging from the chains. He wasn’t their concern. One of the men glanced towards the chained beast briefly, meeting hazel eyes burning from hate, rage and sheer malice. Feel of dread made his steps falter. Loud, victorious growl and sudden tightening of the chains, the beast was struggling to get his hands free. It made the technician snap out of the momentarily stupor and hurry after his co-workers.

The Wolverine. Having a shitty morning. Again. That seemed to happen more often now that they had released him out to the field. Perhaps it was because he was having hard time adjusting to the things he was facing. Or perhaps he was just an arrogant bastard getting his regular fix from the stench of fear and scared looks thrown at his direction when chains opened automatically and he stepped out from the chamber, stretching his muscles and flashing his claws briefly before going to his locker to get his clothes and new orders.



His brows knit together in annoyance as he patted down his pockets. Something was missing. Keys to his camper, wallet, lighter… He swirled around and grabbed the cigars from the waiting technician, snarling softly and inhaling deeply the heady mixture of fear and repulsion wafting around the man before smirking.
“Make sure that everything is ready next time, bub…” He purred low in his throat, leaning in to technician’s personal space. Man looked about ready to wet himself, torn between orders to escort his homicidal charge to the hangar and sudden urge to run away from him screaming.

“I’m not afraid of you, you fucking freak…” The technician stuttered, standing tall, face paling with every passing second. Wolverine tilted his head, making sure the technician saw his nostrils flaring before widening his smirk until it was more a grimace than actual smile.
“Bullshit. We both know you’re going to need a change of clothes after I’m done with you…” He whispered with conspiratory tone, unsheathing one of the six claws that lay hidden inside of his forearms and tapping the technician’s cheek with the dull outer edge, pupils dilating when the acrid scent of fresh urine saturated the air around them. When technician backed away from him Wolverine lunged slightly forward, his bared teeth snapping loudly together.
“Christ! Let’s go already before I fuck you to the carpet!” He barked to the trembling technician.



According to the briefing this was to be the final test run before they were ready to let him go. Final test to try and see if there were flaws in the design, errs in calculations. He knew when he turned the key in the ignition that the week he would spend on the road this time wouldn’t be easy. They’d throw everything and anything in their arsenal at him until he broke or rode through.
“Let the games begin…” He grunted, driving slowly out from the hangar, reaching for the radio and fiddling with it until he found music for his liking. He’d get 24 hours head start, after that everything was fair game. Everything. That applied to him as well.

He was going to use most of his ‘free time’ getting as much distance between the base and himself as possible without jeopardizing his need to rest. First twelve hours driving, then four to sleep, then four for driving again. That would leave him four hours to cover his tracks.

He hadn’t counted in the possibility that they could have been tampering with his camper. They had. Three hours later he was standing at the side of the road, cursing the pathetic excuse of a truck, kicking tires and punching in windows. Flat tire? Broken radiator hose? Doable. One hour and he’d been good to go. Broken gearbox and mysteriously jammed handbrake crippled the vehicle and his chances to get under the radar permanently.

After he had beaten the shit out of his now useless camper and vented out his rage and frustration he gathered his meager belongings, stuffing a change of clothes and few odd knickknacks to a knapsack and slung it over his shoulder, lighting a cigar, then discarding it and its companions to the curb after realizing that the camper wasn’t probably the only thing they had been messing with and started walking down the road. He couldn’t feel or smell anything extra in his boots or clothes, so it was pretty safe to assume that they hadn’t planted anything extra in to them.



His inner clock was ticking, counting down seconds and minutes as they passed, every step taking him further from the base and closer to the moment when they released the hounds after him. He wanted to run, but knew it would be extremely bad idea under the current situation. He knew himself well enough to tell that he was prone to panic. If he’d give up and start to run he’d quickly forget everything. He’d forget everything important and keep running until he collapsed, and after that he’d be easy picking for them.

Instead of running he hunched his shoulders and raised the collar of his jacket, stuffing his hands deep in to pockets. Weather was cold and he had forgotten his gloves in to the camper. First mistake. He’d have to be more careful if he wished to come up on top with this.

Night was silent around him. Huge, wet flakes of snow were landing on him, soaking through his jeans and making the leather of his jacket gleaming and heavy. He shook his head to dislodge the layer of slush that had been gathering on top of his head. Grinned widely when he heard the sound of an approaching car, stopped and stuck out his thumb.



An hour later Wolverine wasn’t grinning anymore. It was taking all his restraint not to clock out the owner of the gleaming black SUV as he prattled and chatted about everything and anything to do with his current ‘shitty streak’ in his miserable life. The man had everything mapped in front of him. A good career. Perfect wife. Impending coronary disease looming in the distant future when he climbed up the ladder of the corporation he was working for. Expensive suit, hairpiece covering the bald spot on top of his head and pricy watch adorning his wrist.

“…And then the bastard had the guts to call me in the middle of the night and tell me that I was supposed to be in Laughlin City tomorrow morning!” Jeff huffed. He grunted and nodded, hoping it would convey his sympathy rather than his yearning for blood.
“But that’s enough of me. I’m sorry, I’m not usually this wound up… What the hell were you doing out there in this weather?” Jeff asked. He grunted again, then shook his head. Grunting got you only so far in the conversation.
“Car trouble,” he spoke briefly, gritting his teeth when it launched the Good Samaritan to yet another heated spiel of the state of the economy and how the people in power should stop importing cheap foreign cars that just didn’t deliver when it mattered.

Laughlin City. He’d have to keep it together only three more hours and he’d be better than safe. Cross the border. They wouldn’t expect that from him. Up until now he had stayed in U.S. in every scenario they had put him through. Just three more hours and he could kiss goodbye this fucking SUV and the oblivious john driving it.

“Where were you heading?” Jeff asked, fiddling with the radio, keeping his eyes glued to the road and cursing under his breath the weather, anything and everything in general, and especially the morons who had arranged his appointment in to the middle of nowhere, Bumfuck, Canada.
“Laughlin will do.” He kept his answers brief. That did nothing to Jeff’s need to talk and ask questions he’d rather not answer.
“What’s in Laughlin?” Jeff asked. He shrugged his shoulders, pretending sudden interest towards the patterns the water left to the window when they sped through the night.
“I have to warn you. From what I have heard there’s nothing much but a bunch of redneck truckers. Not exactly the party central…” Jeff said. Again he shrugged his shoulders. It didn’t really matter.
“Look, Jack…” He started.
“Jeff. My name’s Jeff.”
“What ever. I just need a ride. I couldn’t care less about you or your life. Shut your trap and keep driving.”

Three hours later he left the sullen Jeff The Corporate Bunny And Family Man Extraordinaire and his SUV to the parking lot in front of rather seedy looking motel. Jeff was very alive and breathing, yet a bit frazzled after seeing his claws up close and personal, shoved at his face when he had tried to propose sharing a room for the night.



The bar he walked in was even seedier than the motel he had checked in. It wasn’t much more than a barn with rickety floor, furnished with rickety stools and equally rickety tables. What drew his attention was a large cage smack dab in the middle of the establishment. There were three men inside, two of them beating the shit out of each other, the third one hovering close by, hollering in to a microphone so fast that it was a small wonder anybody understood a word that came out of his mouth.

He adjusted the knapsack on his shoulder and walked in to the bar. The barkeep eyed him with mild disinterest.
“What’s with the cage?” He asked. The barkeep snorted.
“What the fuck does it look like?”
“Looks like it’s filled with dancing dipshits. How much?” He asked.
“How much for what?”
“What’s in it for the winner?”
“Winner gets to walk out. And fifty percent of the income of the fight.”
“Sign me up,” he asked, already counting how far fifty percent of the loot scribbled down on to chalkboard at the side of the cage would take him. The barkeep shrugged his shoulders, pulling a notebook from under the counter.
“Name?” He asked, not even batting a lash when Wolverine gave it. Apparently there were far more interesting and unique names in the list in front of him than The Wolverine.

He joined to the cheering crowd around the cage, already scanning his possible opponents and their vulnerabilities. He’d have to make it fast. Dodge and finish quickly before they got in good blows. He’d heal from every scrape and bruise too fast and he couldn’t afford to raise attention and curiosity.

He had stripped down to his jeans and stood at the corner of the cage, draining his fifth beer for the night, waiting for the MC to persuade and cajole somebody, anybody to try and take on him when his senses perked up. Familiar scent of vanilla and peppermint floated from the bar. He squinted his eyes and peered through the thick smoke, managing to catch a glimpse from something green before crowd moved and blocked his view. He grabbed the fuming MC from the arm, bringing it close enough to see the watch strapped around the chubby wrist and cursed out loud. They had given him measly ten hours and the game was on.



His last opponent hadn’t been even worth the time he had spent dodging his rather badly aimed kicks and punches. When he sauntered to the bar, following the scent he had caught earlier he noticed slight change in it. Vanilla and peppermint was heavily laden with nervousness. He chose a stool right next to the source of the scent, young girl wearing green, hooded cloak. Ordered yet another beer and a cigar to go with it. Lit the cigar before turning to face the girl.

“Rogue…” He purred his greeting. Girl scanned their surroundings with a quick glance, then nodded.
“I came to warn you,” she whispered leaning closer. He took a drag from the cigar and puffed the smoke at her face, narrowing his eyes.
“Is this the same kind of warning you gave me last time? I have to tell you… Waking up chained to that radiator really pissed me off. Free advice: cuff my both hands next time if you really want me to stay put, okay?” He hissed.
“Fuck you, Beast Boy. I really came to warn you. They sent Creed after you.”
“And I’m supposed to believe that? You have to try harder.”
“They don’t like you that much. Creed is easier to control. He at least follows the orders. They gave you three hours and let him loose. I managed to distract him…” Rogue hissed and let out a string of curses when he caught her arm, intending to shake her a bit. Instead he let go of her, brows knitting together in confusion when she curled around herself, cradling her arm on her lap.
“I caught him few hours ago… Gave me a good beating but I managed to drain him… He’s out at least few days,” she whispered, nearly toppling down from the stool. Her cloak parted slightly, revealing torn and bloodied shirt. Coppery scent engulfed vanilla and peppermint completely; among with unique tang of snow and pine he had learned to combine to Victor Creed.

“Shit.” He finished his beer, giving her time to gather her strength and smoked his cigar, keeping his eyes glued to a black and white TV mounted on a shelf above a row of dusty bottles in front of him. When she straightened herself and peeled her gloved fingers from the edge of the counter he made his decision.
“I have a room,” he spoke softly, still staring at the flickering screen of the TV.
“Thanks…” She hissed, clearly in pain. He turned to look at her and leaned close enough to see the small flecks of gold floating in her brown irises.
“Try any of that shit you have tried earlier, and I hurt you. Are we clear?” He growled. Rogue nodded, sliding carefully down from the stool, grasping his arm for the support when her knees buckled. He took her arm and brought it over his neck, supporting her from the waist with one arm. For casual observer it would look like he was escorting rather intoxicated barfly instead of dragging severely beaten assassin with him.

“Jesus. He really did a number on you. Anything broken?” He asked when she started to peel off her blood soaked clothes. She shook her head, folding each piece of torn and soiled clothing carefully to a chair before opening the braid that had kept back her long sable hair.
“Just my pride. You wouldn’t happen to have any aspirin?” She asked.
“Do I look like a fucking pharmacist? Shoo, get in to the bathroom before you bleed all over the place. Kind of hard to explain to the manager of this roach-motel why the carpet looks like I slaughtered a pig in here,” he growled picking up her clothes.
“I saw a Laundromat outside. I toss these in and go to see if I can find a drugstore.”
“Thanks… I really appreciate… Fuck. You do realize there was nothing personal when we met the last time?” Rogue asked, leaning against the doorjamb.
“Yeah. Don’t worry about it now. Just go and get yourself cleaned up, okay?”



He started to question his sanity when he trudged through the wind and snow back towards the motel. Rogue wasn’t to be taken lightly. She was every bit of as crooked as he himself. Very skilled at what she did. That she had warned him wasn’t any kind of assurance. For all he knew she could be working with Creed. Stalling him until the mangy cat had the chance to catch up them.

Instead of returning straight to the room he now shared with Rogue he crept behind the building, finding the small window of the bathroom. It was steamed up, but he could make out the blurry outlines of a woman sitting on the floor, under the spray of water. Legs drawn against her chest, hands curled around her knees and face hidden, thick mass of hair hanging wet and limp over her back and sides. As he watched she started to tremble. She was crying.

He took his time at the Laundromat, wanting to give her a chance to regain her composure. It didn’t feel right, he felt disgusted and dirty after having seen her that vulnerable. Crying and broken little girl suited poorly together with what he had seen before. Cruel and ruthless killer, hardened bitch from hell.

He closed his eyes and tried to remember her as he had seen her just three months earlier, arrogant smirk plastered over her face, scent of her arousal suddenly surging up when he had lunged towards her, only to be yanked backwards when the chain off the cuffs refused to give. How she had tsked and wagged her finger when he had growled, trying stupidly to reach after her instead of cutting the chain with his free hand.

It wasn’t working. It wasn’t working at all. When he got back in to the room with still steaming pile of her clothes he threw them to the bed and knocked open the bathroom door, scent of her tears waking every shred of protective instincts that were still left in him.

He grasped a towel, turned off the water and wrapped the ratty, grey cloth around her before lifting her from the floor, wincing when she cried out loud from the pain.
“Couldn’t find a pharmacist. How’s your control?” He asked placing her on the bed, sitting next to her trembling form.
“No… I’m too tired… I’d drain you dry. We better wait for the morning…” She whispered curling on her side, already falling to sleep. He glanced towards flee-ridden armchair by the window. Decided to sleep next to her instead, shedding his jacket and taking off his boots before curling his carcass as carefully as possible around the sleeping girl. Closed his eyes and allowed the oblivion fall after only briefest moments of hesitation.



He woke up to the feeling of being watched. Opened his eyes and found the girl, now fully awake and staring at him, her face only inches from his. Rogue.
“Hi,” she whispered. He blinked, eyes drawn to her lips, wondering whether she’d taste like vanilla or peppermint. Scent of them permeated the air, along with dried blood. He blinked again when she started to blush and turned his eyes from her lips to her eyes. Curled his right hand to a loose fist and brought it against her breast, just above her heart.
“Take what you need,” he murmured, closing the gap between them and taking her lips under his. For a moment he felt only confusion coming from her, then she moved, grabbing his fist and bringing it more firmly against her flesh, and he could feel the slightest tingle going through his system when she started leeching out his regenerative power.

After a while she let go of his wrist and grasped his hair instead, combing her fingers through the coarse and uneven cut, mussing the unruly peaks from either side of his head and started to respond to his kisses, her slippery tongue dueling with his, one hand snaking between their bodies, finding the bulge of his cock straining the front of his jeans and cupped him. He groaned in to her mouth, grinding against her palm, nearly choking to the delicious feeling of friction.

Scent of musk covered soon vanilla, peppermint and blood. When he peeled off the towel from around her he found pale, flawless skin where battered and torn muscle had lain earlier. He kissed, licked and nibbled every exposed inch, reveling in sighs and gasps that escaped from her lips. He nuzzled his face against her breasts, his coarse muttonchops scraping over nipples and making them pucker up to hard pebbles that he sucked between his lips, sucking and teasing them with light nibbles until she grasped his hair again, pushing him down, lower on her body until he was staring at her already moist cleft.

He parted her lips carefully, finding her clit and flicking over it with his tongue, placing his palms over her thighs to keep them apart. She was squirming and writhing when he continued his slow but thorough assault on her sex.

“Wolverine…”
“Logan. My name’s Logan,” he whispered and crawled higher on the bed, kissing her again, letting her taste mingle between their tongues.
“I’m Marie…” The girl gasped when he trailed the side of her throat with his fingers, following their path with his tongue. Her hands were busy opening his jeans.

He let out a relieved hiss when she managed to get his fly open and pushed the jeans down, past his buttocks, freeing his throbbing cock. He kicked the jeans off, letting them fall to the floor. Her fingers wrapped around his shaft, stroking him firmly but gently. He turned on his back and started unbuttoning his shirt with trembling fingers, cursing when small buttons proved to be an impossible task to conquer and tore it open, discarding it fast to the floor among with his jeans and her towel.

When he turned back to the girl some shred of sanity and healthy paranoia made him crawl on top of her with his claws bared. They framed her head against the pillow as he entered in to her hot and slick core with swift stroke, his buttocks clenching when her feet wrapped around his waist and her bare palms grasped his shoulders.

They were teetering at the edge, straining bodies glistening from sweat and burning from coiled desire, almost there, almost… He narrowed his eyes and forced the claws from his right hand to retreat, bringing the fist to the soft underside of her jaw. He could feel the change in her, short burst of anger flaring through her, then her hands locked more firmly over his shoulders and he could feel the slight buzz from her mutation, all ready to go if needed. He met her defiant eyes just before release tore through them both, sending them up high, swirling in the darkness, hearts hammering, breathing almost impossible.



“My car is parked in front of the bar. Keys are in the pocket,” she said pointing towards her cloak that hung on a coat rack next to door. He was sitting on the side of the bed, lacing his boots. She hadn’t moved an inch the whole time it had taken him to shower and get dressed. Now she turned on her side, curling around his back where he sat.
“You’re screwed. Creed will come around eventually,” he said. She chuckled.
“Yeah. I’ll just have to drain him again.”

He just sat there, staring at the worn toes of his boots. She nudged his side gently with her knee.
“Hey, big guy…” He turned to look at her.
“They screwed you up. I thought I should even the odds.”
“Yeah…” He croaked, his throat suddenly dry as Sahara. She nudged him again, soft look on her eyes.
“Go. I trail after Creed and catch you in the next town.”



He managed a whole mile before he took a sharp U-turn, tires of the small jeep skidding over the icy asphalt. Small pebbles thrummed against the floor of the car when he sped towards the exit of the motel’s parking lot. The girl was standing at the side of the road already, almost comical expression of puzzlement spreading over her delicate features when he stopped and rolled down the window.
“Get in.”
“Are you sure?” She asked, shifting her feet in the snow.
“Creed won’t be so careless and sloppy next time. He’ll tear your head off before you have the time to even think about draining him. Get in.”
“I thought you worked alone.”
“I don’t give a flying fuck about what you thought. Get in to the fucking car, Marie.”

For a moment he was afraid that he’d have to resort to kidnapping her, but finally she walked over to the passenger’s side and climbed in, arranging her cloak tighter around her before closing the door.
“What are you going to do next? Do you have a plan?” She asked when he turned the car.
“I figured I’d keep running until they give up chasing me. Then go back and start chasing them, one by one. Any objections?” He asked. The girl shook her head, movement filling the car with scent of vanilla and peppermint. He inhaled deeply, letting the scent fill his lungs and savored the taste on his tongue, finding it far more intoxicating than the cheap thrill he had gotten used to get from rather foul stench of fear and terror.



“You know, you should really wear your seatbelt…”

She was bored. Bored out of her skull for pretending to be a meek little girl, pretending to be learning things they had taught her already, sitting quietly in classes and avoiding cheesy pick-up lines from the buys while teachers droned on about things she was already familiar with.

She was getting restless. Restless from sitting still and not getting her daily dose of exercises. Restless from sheer lust and anger because they had ordered her to sleep her nights in girl’s dorm instead of Logan’s bed.

She was getting antsy because she was supposed to be a timid, sixteen year old girl, interested in boys and shopping, when in reality her sixteenth birthday had been nearly five years ago, and that birthday she had spent sparring with Creed, nearly getting killed in the process but coming up on top with the aid of her mutation. After that Creed had given her a present. Quick and ruthless fuck against the nearest wall before it was time for him to leave out to the field.



It had been Logan’s idea to use her cover. Vulnerable runaway from somewhere Mississippi, unable to control her mutation, scared little princess in a world filled with potential threats.

She had to admit that professor Xavier and his people were probably more welcoming towards Marie than they would have been towards Rogue, but pitying looks and limping words of consolation she received left her wanting to bash their heads in.

On top of it all another mutant had taken interest in her. A man professor Xavier called Magneto. As if The Company panting close at Logan’s heels wasn’t enough.

She was sick of it all, in dire need of some violence and a good fuck, unable to lie still and sleep when whispers around her started to peter out and giggles turned to sleepy murmurs of good night. She sat up in her bed, hating how the long gown made of cotton cling to her skin. She usually slept nude, but now, with her ‘uncontrollable mutation’ it simply wasn’t possible for her to share the same space with other people unclothed. She rolled her shoulders and dropped her bare feet to the floor, enjoying the feel of the cool boards against the soles. Then pulled open a small drawer and hunted down a pair of socks. God forbid if she encountered somebody while wandering down the halls and corridors, and accidentally kicked with her bare feet. She wriggled her toes and nearly gagged when socks sucked themselves against her skin. It just wasn’t right to wear clothes in the night.



Her feet carried her through the night in front of a door. She knew she would find Logan from behind that door. She couldn’t help wondering how he managed to sleep without the isolation chamber. Longest stretches he had gone without decent rest had been week long at tops, after that he had been already going berserk, climbing up the walls, nearly screaming from the cacophony of scents and noises.

She pushed open the door and crept in to the waiting darkness.

Logan lay on his back, covers kicked low on his chest. He was clearly having troubles sleeping. Flinching and moaning from the slightest of the sounds coming through the walls. Hands and feet, his whole body twisting and turning in his sleep. Lips curling to a snarl, brows knitting together, small beads of sweat gathering to the hollow of his throat and on to his forehead.

She crept closer, leaning over him, intending to wake him up for some company.

When her hand landed on his shoulder his eyes opened. Narrowed to tiny slits, and an angry snarl tore from his throat. He moved faster than she had thought was possible, bolting to a seated position, his fist rising and pressing against her, something fast and sharp burning through her left shoulder.

He had nicked an artery, she could tell from the rapid cooling of her body and sudden loss of strength when he sheathed his claws and crawled away from her, suspicious look in his eyes.
“What the fuck were you playing at?” He snarled, not even flinching when she brought her bare hand against his cheek. She scrunched her forehead, trying to concentrate. It was hard when her own blood was running down her front and back, warm, cold and eager to escape from her veins.
“Sorry about this…” She choked out and opened the connection, drawing in something she hoped that Logan could afford to share.




“I’m sorry about last night. Shit, Marie… You should have known better than to try and wake me up like that!” Logan huffed, falling down on the cushioned seat next to hers.
“There’s a reason why they shackled me in to that chamber every night. They got tired of replacing technicians…” He whispered, throwing an arm around her shoulders. She gave in to her urge for closeness and leaned in to him.
“I’m sorry, too. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I… I thought I was drawing your mutation only,” she whispered, knowing nobody but Logan would be able to pick up her hushed voice.
“Yeah… Look, I think we should get back to Xavier’s. I don’t think it’s a good idea to ditch them yet. Not before we know what that Magneto-guy is after for.” She raised her head and scanned his face.
“You’re not mad at me?” She asked. Logan sighed and shook his head.
“I was. But I guess I got what I deserved. We both screwed up. We’re both sorry…” He whispered, leaning closer and pressed a kiss to her lips, snarling softly and throwing a glance towards a woman staring at them, flipping a finger at her condemning face.

“Okay, lets go before this train leaves…” Logan murmured. Suddenly the car around them started to shudder and tremble, raising partly off from the tracks and bouncing back down. Back wall of the car started to tear open. The people were screaming.

Logan bolted at his feet, turning to face the threat. A man dressed to a uniform of sorts, suit made from grey cloth and shrouded with a cape of matching color, his head covered with blood red helmet. She could only peer over the backrest of her seat, dread filling her veins with numb coldness from the display of sheer power.
“Logan…” She started, realizing there was nothing he could do to stop Magneto. Not with all that metal covering his bones. But the Wolverine refused to back out. Without sparing her even a glance he unsheathed his claws and bared his teeth. Magneto tsked and flicked his fingers, grasping Logan in to the grip of the magnetic field he was wielding and raised him off from the ground. She could hear the tendons and joints crunching and snapping under the strain, and Logan’s pained grunt when Magneto laughed, sending him flying backwards through the air.

She snapped out of her daze when she heard a metallic clunk, Logan hitting heavily against the wall of the car, and bolted after him. She managed two whole steps before something sharp lodged in to her neck and her world plummeted to darkness.



She woke up shackled from her hands and feet. Scent and movement told her she was in a ship or a boat of some sort. Old man, Magneto was standing next to her, staring out from a small, round window. She snarled low in her throat, pulling her bindings, testing them. She heard Magneto chuckling, then the man crouched next to her, just out of her reach.
“Good evening, my dear. I must apologize my earlier rudeness,” he spoke with a cultivated voice, words only slightly marred with an accent she couldn’t quite put her finger on. French? Russian? Maybe German?
“What do you want from me?” She asked, huge chunk of nausea settling to the pit of her stomach when she spotted Victor Creed standing behind Magneto, as well as an unknown woman covered from head to toe with blue scales.
“Oh, nothing you couldn’t afford to part…” Magneto mused.
“Just your life, my dear.”

She ranted and raved, spat and cursed, trying to loosen the plastic cords that were binding her wrists and ankles. Sharp edges tore in to her skin, making her bleed, but the residual regeneration from when she drained Logan kept her healing and alive, making it impossible to even knock herself unconscious. Creed was sitting opposite her, wide smirk on his face. Magneto was somewhere outside with the blue woman. She could hear them talking.

“So… You and the runt, eh?” Creed asked. She narrowed her eyes and spat at him. The beast only smirked wider, wiping the saliva from his face with the pad of his thumb and sucking it in to his mouth, purring from contentment.
“Did he make you scream as I did? Were you begging for more when he was finished?” He asked.
“I didn’t have to beg for more. Wolverine is good at what he does. Very attentive and thorough…” She hissed, wrangling her wrists, enjoying from the way Creed’s pupils dilated from the scent of her blood.
“He fucked me long and hard… Finally I got to feel what a real cock feels like…” If she were lucky Victor would get angry enough to try and hurt her. He was already fuming.
“Real cock? I doubt that. You do know he’s been enhanced. Me? All nature…” Creed purred, grabbing his groin, drawing her attention to the huge bulge straining the front of his trousers. She snorted.
“Enhanced or not, at least I could feel him inside of me. I didn’t have to fake anything like I did with you.” That made Creed bolt up and stalk closer at her, clawed paws drawn to tight fists, gleaming teeth bared to a threatening grimace. For a moment he looked about ready to swipe off her head. Then Magneto stepped between them, clucking his tongue and sending the beast outside with a disapproving glance before turning towards her.
“My dear, I must ask you to refrain from aggravating our mutual friend. He’s wound up as it is, and I’d hate to see you getting hurt needlessly.”
“Bite me!” She spat. Magneto shook his head, looking suddenly very tired.
“What is it with kids today…” He muttered before walking out, leaving her alone with her thoughts.



Apparently Creed had found more profitable alliance with Magneto than what he had with The Company. Either that, or he was counting on Magneto’s ability to control metal to bring Logan to his lap. Either way it didn’t look good. And she still had no idea of what Magneto was after for. If the man had wanted Logan, he could have taken him in the train. Instead he had kidnapped her.

“Hey! Bucket Head!” She shouted. Magneto peered in, leaning to the doorframe.
“Oh, my dear. Must you be so vulgar?” He asked.
“Fuck you. What is it that you want from me anyway?” She asked.
“I have found a way to mutate the world leaders, make them our brothers. For that I need you, and your quite unique powers.”
“What?”
“It’s quite simple, actually. You will absorb my ability to manipulate metal, and use it to power a machine that creates radiation that induces mutations in normal human cells. Unfortunately you’ll find the experience quite draining. I’m afraid the machine will kill you, my dear. For that I am sorry.”
“You’re insane if you think that I will absorb you!” She shouted. Again Magneto tsked, shaking his head.
“I happen to know that your friend, the one from the train… He’s coming for you. With Xavier’s little team. Either you drain me, or I’ll hand over your friend to Mr. Creed.”
“And I’m supposed to believe that?” She laughed. Magneto peered her with indifferent look in his eyes.
“I have no interest whatsoever towards the abomination you know as Wolverine. As long as I get what I want and he won’t get in my way, he’s free to go. So, what is it going to be?”
“Fuck you. Touch me and I’ll drain you dry…”
“In case of that happening my team, The Brotherhood, has permanent orders to aid Mr. Creed in capturing Wolverine. Though he may seem unstoppable to you, I can assure that I have several people in my ranks capable of bringing him down.”

Allotted week from Logan’s release had already passed. Creed still being after him meant only one thing. The Company wanted to get rid of him. And Magneto, aside from his homicidal intentions, seemed sincere enough. And she could stall. Magneto had said that Logan was coming for her. Maybe he would find a way to save her.
“Fine. I’ll do it.”



She realized her stupidity when the machine she was strapped on rose high up in the sky, and she could see Xavier’s team, The X-Men, tightly restrained and Logan battling against Creed on top of the Statue Of Liberty. Magneto had no interest in Logan; therefore he had no reason to call Creed off from his back. She could only watch and scream when the humungous cat-man grabbed Logan and threw him down. She could hear distant screeching, metal against metal, then nothing. She tried to crane her neck to see, to see Logan for the one last time, even if it were only his crushed corpse down below, but the machine started, blurring her vision, making her forget everybody and everything, slowly but inevitable eating her away.

He could feel the burn of his mutation inside of his abused shoulders. Regenerative process was unfinished, working on feverish pace, trying to repair the damage he had taken, first from Mystique posing as him, then from his own claws and last but not least from when Creed had been smacking him around.

Unfinished. He’d fall to pieces if he let her borrow from him now. He gazed his surroundings, trying to find a way out from this, but there was none. Nobody else to take care of the mess. Nobody else to bring back the girl from the darkness the machine had pulled her in. The X-Men, Xavier’s divine do-gooders were useless for him now. None of them had the power to rouse Rogue. None of them could help him bring her back.

“Fuck… You’d better appreciate this, kid…” He muttered, cutting the strings that tied her to the machine, pulling her hands off from the pedals, wincing when the sound of tearing skin reached his ears, and scent of burnt flesh assaulted his sinuses.

He caught her in his arms before she fell. Fragile shell, cold corpse, but he could tell there was a small spark of life inside of her left. It would just need fuel and it would start burning as bright as it had been before. He tore off the glove from his left hand. Placed his bare palm against her cold cheek, closing his eyes, bracing for the greedy pull of her mutation. Unconscious she was unable to control it. She’d take everything.

Seconds ticked by. Nothing was happening. Absolutely nothing. He opened his eyes to make sure that he was actually touching her. His palm was covering the half of her face, thumb resting over her lips, and nothing was happening.

“Don’t you dare to die on me… Come on, kid. Who else is going to keep The Company off from my tracks?” He whispered, combing back thick, white streak of hair from her forehead.

He gasped and pulled her limp body against his, cradling the back of her head with his palm. She had gone through the wringer, slain the best The Company had to send after her. She had kept his ass safe from Creed. She had given him her trust and love. He wasn’t going to let Magneto and his infernal machine take her away from him. He fumbled with the zipper of his jacket, opening it, shivering slightly when cold air whirled over his heated flesh, then pressed the side of her face against his bare chest, hoping against hope that her mutation would need just more contact to trigger.

He was still sitting there, holding the struggling girl against his heart, sitting in a growing puddle of his own blood that flowed from the numerous re-opened cuts, only barely conscious when the X-Men finally reached them. They had to pry off his hands forcibly before Rogue’s mutation drained him completely.



Return to consciousness was strange mixture of warmth and coldness. He could feel something skimming over his side, tickling. When he opened his eyes he met the greenest eyes he had ever seen, framed with red hair. The doctor. Jean. Jeannie. She was peeling off bandages from him, strictly professional and distant look on her face.

“That was a brave thing to do,” she said. For a moment he couldn’t bring himself to remember what exactly had happened. Then everything rushed back.
“Did it work? Is she okay?” He asked. He had a vague memory of Marie struggling and screaming.
“She’s fine. She absorbed some of your personal traits for a while, but other than that… She’s fine.” Somehow it sounded like that wasn’t everything Jean wanted to say. She was holding back.
“I think… I think she’s little taken with you,” she finally whispered, throwing a worried glance towards the door of the infirmary.
“Professor Xavier had to order her to get some rest. You have been out nearly a week, and she has stayed nearly as long down here.” Somehow the good doctor made it sound like it was somehow wrong and filthy, and it took him a moment to realize why.
“Well, you can tell her that my heart belongs to somebody else…” He huffed quickly, sitting up and reaching for his clothes somebody had folded neatly on to a chair next to his bed.



Sixteen. She was supposed to be sixteen. He’d have to find her and talk with her before Jean got the chance to do so. To clear things up.

She was sitting in a common room with a boy. The boy had his arm slung over her shoulder and they were chatting quite animatedly. He stopped, hand resting on the doorjamb, peering through the window on the door.

She looked like she was having a good time. She was laughing. Even holding hands with the boy. Of course with gloves on. Couldn’t forget those. Maybe the boy was leaning too close for his liking. Maybe their intertwined fingers didn’t radiate purity and everything platonic. Maybe he felt a stab of jealousy slicing through his chest. Maybe. But he saw something he hadn’t thought was even possible.

The youth and energy The Company had managed to strip from her was slowly returning.

He turned on his heels, trying not to think too hard what he was about to do. Walked stiffly towards the professor’s office. Then remembered seeing him going towards Cerebro when he had left the infirmary, and went to the elevator instead.



“I was hoping we could persuade you to join to our rank,” professor spoke slowly, clearly selecting every word carefully.
“Yeah… Well… I have some unfinished business to take care of. Maybe when it’s over…”
“What about Rogue?” Professor asked sharply. Logan’s brows knit together in confusion.
“What about her?” He asked. Professor Xavier turned his gaze towards the Cerebro’s controls, like he suddenly found them utterly fascinating. Then he cleared his throat.

“I am aware of the fact that your… Your relationship with her is rather… Unorthodox. I do not encourage it, but I’m also not in the position to judge. Have you considered how your departure will affect her?” He asked.
“Last time I saw her she was joined from hip with one of your students. Good for her,” Logan grunted, craving for cigar skyrocketing. Something, anything to plug his mouth before he let out something he shouldn’t.
“She spent the previous week in vigil at your bedside. I ordered her to get some rest and to join to her friends for a while when it started to look like you’d make it through. I wouldn’t make any hasty conclusions based on her current behavior,” professor spoke with calm voice.
“Jesus Christ. I’m trying to do the right thing in here. It’s hard enough to leave her as it is, you don’t have to make it impossible!” Logan huffed. Professor Xavier pinched the bridge of his nose, scrunching his eyes shut, hiding rather impressive grimace behind his palm before turning to look at him again, clearly disgusted at himself and what he was going to say next.
“I really hope that you stayed. Be it with Rogue or without her. We could use your skills and knowledge.”



“Professor knows.” He raised his head from the sound of her voice. He had been puffing a cigar, staring at the toes of his boots and frayed patch of carpet between them for God knows how long, trying to decide what to do. Long enough to fill the small ashtray lying on a table beside him. Long enough for the sun to escape from his window to the other side of the building. Long enough for the frayed patch to blur from edges because he had forgotten to blink.

“He knows that we have been fucking. What else does he know?” He asked with hoarse voice. Marie pulled a chair in front of him and sat down.
“I was asleep. Didn’t hear him get in. Next thing I knew he was sitting right behind me, his hands on both sides of my head, nearly touching me. I don’t think he knows that much about me, my mind had been mostly on you for the last days. He probably knows about The Company and your involvement with them, but as far as he’s concerned, I’m just a sixteen year old runaway from Mississippi.”
“He wants me to stay. Offered you as a trade-off for my time and skills,” he said, watching the blush creeping up to Marie’s cheeks. Not from embarrassment. Out of anger. She was positively pissed off.

“Who the hell does he think he is? I’m not a whore! I’m not a thing to be used for bargaining! I’ll fucking drain the bastard!” She fumed, pacing back and forth, rickety chair turned over from her abrupt move to stand up.
“I have tried! I swear, Logan that I have tried! I have done everything right, by the book! They all think of me as Marie! Poor little Marie, incapable of physical contact, thrown out from her family, oh, woe is me! And I’m sick of it! And this is how Xavier repays my efforts?”
“Excuse me?”
“Jesus, Logan… I thought you were smarter than this….” She muttered, stopping to stare at him. He stubbed the cigar to the ashtray and narrowed his eyes.
“You looked happy. I thought you liked it here. I was going to… I was going to leave. Let you live a little. Have the life you never had,” he said.
“Leave me here and I swear I’ll hunt you down and drain you… Slowly. I know how to do that so that it feels like it’s taking forever…” She hissed.
“You’re not happy here?” He asked perplexed.
“I have to wrap myself up like a freaking mummy! People are afraid of me! I have to pretend that I’m just some love-struck bimbo admiring her hero instead of fucking you to the carpet like I wanted to do from the minute I realized what you did for me at The Liberty! Do the math!”

She plopped on her back on his bed, letting out an enormous sigh. He grabbed yet another cigar and lit it.
“You’re not happy. Shit. And I was beginning to think that we could stick around for a while. Wait, hear me out,” he added quickly when she threw a murderous glare towards him.
“I’m not completely convinced that Creed was the only schmuck sent after me. What if there’s more? Xavier could cover our asses. And it’s not all bad in here. Considering that he sounded willing to let us move in together…”
“More people after us? We can deal with them, Logan. We don’t need Xavier…”
“I’m not fucking immortal, Marie! If I go down out there, you have nobody. Absolutely nobody to turn to. At least in here you’d have people who trust you. People who you can trust if something happens to me.”
“Trust? You’re telling me I should trust to a man who’s ready to pimp me out for some extra muscle?” She snarked sitting up.
“Come on, kid… You make it sound like…”
“Fuck you, Wolverine! Stay if you like. I’m leaving… Oh, what the hell am I talking about? Of course you’re staying! Jean already told me how your heart belongs to her!” She growled, jumping down from the bed and walking towards the door. She reached for the doorknob, turned it and opened the door right before Logan’s palm landed flat on the wooden surface, slamming it shut again. He grabbed her shoulder and spun her around, grasping a firm hold from the front of her shirt and slamming her against the door.

“Logan…”
“Oh, it’s Logan now, is it?” He snarled, not knowing if he should kiss her or turn her over his knee and give her a proper spanking. His claws were itching just under the surface, stretching the thin layer of sensitive skin between his knuckles.
“Logan, I…”
“Shut up, bitch.”
“But…”
“You know, Marie, I rather like it in here. We have people around us. The best alarm system there is, lots of curious muties milling all around the campus. Best possible defense and shield. I don’t know if you have noticed, but getting shot at and getting beaten hurts. Hurts a lot. I get off from pain, but even I’m not twisted enough to enjoy it when I’m the one hurting. From what I have seen, life here in general would be pretty easy and comfortable. Magneto’s in jail, and this place is a school. The X-Team? Primarily teachers. Teachers, Marie. Not too many chances of them strapping on leathers and going in to battle. Not too many chances of either of us getting hurt.”
“Logan, I…”
“Shut up.”
“But…” His lips landing on hers cut her further attempts to speak.

He raised his head and covered her mouth with his palm, bracing her in place against the door with his hips and tearing in to their clothes with his free hand. She was struggling frantically, biting his palm and scratching him. All the while the scent of her arousal was thickening, until air was thick as syrup and if he had tried he could have probably taken bites out of it. Acrid tang of her fear only sweetened the mixture when he leaned closer to look in to her eyes. Released her lips from under his palm and grabbed her hair instead, twining his fingers in to thick brown and white tresses.
“I’m not going to lie to you… I’d love to fuck Jean. But had it been her instead of you strapped in to that machine… I wouldn’t have bothered to strap on the leather,” he snarled, slamming his cock in to her slick and grasping sheath.



“We’re staying. For now. We need a home base if we’re going after those fuckers from The Company.” He spoke with quiet but strong voice, leaning against the windowsill, winding down from their earlier tryst. Marie was still standing at the door, trying to arrange her clothes and smooth down her ruffled hair.
“Fine. I’ll go and tell the professor that I’m moving in with you,” she said.
“No. You’re bunking in the dormitory,” he said. For a moment she stared at him her mouth gaping open.
“What? Why?”
“You don’t want your friends to think of you as a some sort of pervert, bunking with an old man. And…”
“I don’t fucking care what they think!”
“And I don’t want to go sleeping at night worrying if you’re going to end up skewered because you sneezed at the wrong moment.”
“Oh… What about… Can you sleep in here? With all the ruckus coming from everywhere around you?” She asked.
“I’ll ask professor to get this room soundproofed. Shouldn’t be a problem.”
“Okay…” She whispered, lowering her head and turning to leave.

“Hey,” he called after her. She turned to look at him.
“This doesn’t mean that I’d be happy from they way you keep ogling that little prick.”
“Who, Bobby? So it’s okay for you to bag Jean, but I can’t have some fun? Who died and made you God?” She hissed, anger flaring and burning in her eyes.
“I’m not going to fuck Jean. You’re not going to fuck Bobby.”
“Really?”
“Have you forgotten your little skin problem? You can’t fuck anybody but me. Wouldn’t be fair from me to screw with Jean now, would it. If you get an itch, come to me and we’ll scratch it together.”
“But I thought you said…”
“We don’t have to sleep together to sleep together.”