He came home. To tell the truth, I was more than a little surprised. I wasn't expecting it. He'd been gone for so long, I'd almost forgotten his promise. I was sure he'd forgotten it. After all, three years without word from another person is enough to make you forget. Or want to forget.

Oh, I still fantasized about him. What girl wouldn't? He was my savior, wasn't he? My honest to goodness hero. He was the older man with the rough good looks any teen-aged girl gets a crush on. And I had to keep reminding myself of that. It was a crush. Nothing more.

Funny thing is, I haven't really had another one. A crush, I mean. You'd think by now, someone would have come along to displace him, wouldn't you? Some cute boy, or another older man, a teacher I could look up to, dream about? But it never happened. I didn't think about him as much, but I didn't pin my hopes on anyone else either. Honestly, I haven't wanted to. I haven't wanted to think about any of that at all. Whenever I do, I get a deep knot way down in my belly. It makes me sick, if you really want to know. I don't want to think about the things I can't have.

Sometimes, I'll be sitting outside, watching the other kids play basketball, or whatever, and Jean and Scott will pass by. They're always holding hands, or hugging each other. And I'll stare at her for as long as they're in my sight. Those moments, I really hate her. And it's not just because she can touch someone, and it's not just because I know Logan loves her. It's because she has so much. So much of everything. I envy her with an intensity I'm embarrassed to admit. Does she know what she has? Is her mind capable of appreciating it? It's those moments that I end up hating myself the most. Because I think about how pathetic it is: pining over things I can't have, envying a woman whose been nothing but kind to me.

And then he came home. I heard about it before I saw him. He'd apparently been back a couple of days before Ororo told me. She had this look on her face when she did, the look I always seem to get from people. That kind of pitying, sad look that always seems to come out when people are reminded that I can never be normal, even for a mutant. And, Isn't it cute and oh so terrible that she can have a crush? I know she didn't mean anything by it, but I'm so sick of people treating me like I'm disabled. If I'm confined to live alone within my skin, I don't want to be reminded of it day in and day out.

I was reading a book when he came in. Wuthering Heights. I hated almost all the characters. Heathcliff and Cathy were despicable, I thought. Really, pretty rotten people. It wasn't until the end of the damned thing that I understood, a little. Anyway, that's what I was reading when he came in. I looked up, half expecting Bobby or Scott, anyone else, but it was him.

He just kind of plopped down on the couch next to me and said, "Hey, Kid" like I'd seen him at breakfast or something. I just sort of looked at him, because I didn't know what to say after so much time. He looked the same. I think the jacket was different but he looked exactly the same.

I couldn't keep my eyes off of him. It was strange, having him there in front of me. He was like a vision. A ghost from the strangest part of my life. He wasn't looking at me, though. I think he was trying to look at anything but me. Maybe he was embarrassed that he didn't know what to say. That's how I was feeling.

Finally, he came up with "How are ya?"

Genius, I thought. I'd never pegged Logan as the kind to exchange pleasantries. He must've been really hard up for things to say. "Fine," I replied, and left it at that.

He frowned a little but nodded and replied "Good" like what I'd said was really profound.

"Where've you been?" I asked, trying hard to keep any hint of bitterness from my voice. There was no point in letting him know just how hurt I was that he didn't seek me out earlier. I wondered just who he'd run into first. Was it Professor X? Or maybe Jean. That thought unsettled me so I tried to concentrate on what he was saying.

"Here and there. I didn't find anything useful up there. Not really." I could see he wasn't telling me the whole truth and I felt another twinge of anger because I knew he thought I was a child and there was no reason to confide in a child. "Mostly, I just fell into my old life. What I was doing before I came down here."

His old life. It didn't surprise me that much, that he'd find a reason to stay away. Even if it was just so he could go back to barroom brawling and living in a beat up trailer.

"Why're you back?" It slipped out before I could contain it. It was what I'd wanted to ask all along. Why had he come back? Had he gotten tired of his old life? Had he missed any of us? Had he missed me?

He gave me a funny look, like wasn't it obvious? "I told you I'd be back."

The words caught me off guard. I wasn't sure if I should be pleased or disheartened. Confused is what I mostly was. Had he come back for the tags?

The damned tags I'd finally buried under layers of scarves and gloves in one of my drawers when I decided long ago he wasn't coming back to me? "I thought you'd forgotten," I muttered, half afraid I was sounding like a five year old.

He raised an eyebrow, in that way of his, and shook his head. "Nope. Just put it off for awhile."

That got to me. He'd put if off? Like you put off doing a chore or something else you really don't want to do? If that's what his promised had meant to him, I really didn't think I wanted him back.

I glanced his way, noticing that this time, he was really looking at me. Staring. Could he tell how pissed off I was? Could he smell it? "You've grown."

I hadn't really. I hadn't changed that much. I wore a little make-up when it suited me, and maybe that made me look a little older. But maybe he wasn't talking about physically. "Time passes," I said, as if that explained everything.

"Yeah," he replied, but he was still looking at me in that funny way. It was making me uncomfortable.

I got up then, because the silence and the staring were putting me on edge.

"I'll go get them. They're upstairs."

"What?"

His eyes boring into mine almost made me forget just what the Hell I was talking about. "Um, the dog tags."

He stood up too. "Oh. Them. I don't need them right now."

It made me feel stupid. He didn't need them, right now. But he did want them back. I'd wanted him to say that he wasn't back for them, that he was back for me. But he didn't say anything.

I picked up my book from my chair. I was suddenly desperate to get out of the room. To get away from him. "Well, I'll be seeing you Logan." It sounded lame, but I couldn't think up a good excuse.

He only nodded. As I made my way out the door, trying to keep my legs from breaking into a run, he called out, "Rogue."

I stopped - it was beyond me - and turned to look at him. He was smiling, a typical Logan smirk. "You look good, Kid." Kid. It couldn't have hurt more if he'd stabbed me through the chest again with one of his claws.

Kitty reads these horrible romance novels that are all about how the protagonists are just destined to be together. It makes love sound like one big cosmic match game. God, or whoever, putting us together before we're born and then just letting us figure it all out. That's bunk, if you ask me. If that were the way it really was, no one would ever find anyone else.

I have to admit, though, when I used to let myself daydream about such things, I thought Logan might be meant for me. It wasn't readily obvious to anyone else, I know. I was seventeen then and he - Lord only knows how old Logan is. I was fairly innocent then, despite everything that'd happened. Logan was - is - as world-weary as they come. But he was so kind to me, so considerate. And he saved my life. And, well, I loved him. Or thought I did, anyway. Who can tell?

The problem, of course, was a pretty big one. He didn't love me. Logan, as far as anyone could see, loved Jean. I knew it; Scott knew it; everyone knew it. It wasn't like Logan was subtle about it. You didn't have to be telepathic to see what he was thinking when she walked by.

And Jean. Well, she didn't encourage it, but she didn't so much put a stop to it, either. His flirting, I mean. I think she liked the attention. If she weren't so nice, I'd be angry with her. Because she gets enough attention as it is. She doesn't really need it from Logan.

I wonder if Logan's gone back to his old ways. I've only really talked to him once since he came back, when he caught me in the study. Afterward, I scurried away because -- God, it really hurts that he still thinks of me as a kid. I wasn't a kid when he left, much less now. But he thought I was. Still does. Maybe he always will.

I saw him one other time, about a day later. I was going down to the kitchen to get a glass of water and he was there, eating from a cold plate.

He was standing by the window looking out. His back was turned to me, so he didn't see me right away. The moonlight was shining on him and it hit me again how beautiful he was. Really beautiful and powerful. He was only wearing his jeans. He looked so comfortable standing there, barefoot and bare-chested. I envied him, a little. All that skin. Usually, that makes me uncomfortable and I have to turn away from such exposure. But right then, I just stood there and admired him.

I don't know how long I stayed that way. A while. When I finally went to get my water, he must have sensed my movement because he said, "Hey, Rogue", without turning around.

I remember thinking how glad I was that he didn't call me "kid." I stared at his back as I drank my water. Finally, after I rinsed the glass, I asked, "What are you doing up so late?"

He turned around then, and the look he gave me made me realize how little I was wearing. I mean, I'm usually very careful about covering myself up, but since I got my own room, I haven't had to put on so much to go to bed. No problems with running into someone in the next bed as you get up, or anything like that. When I went to get my water it was two-thirty in the morning, so I figured it would be pretty safe to go without my robe.

People don't really look at me. I mean, really look at me. I get glanced at, acknowledged, but no one takes the time to see me. I never paid much attention to that until the moment Logan looked at me then.

I don't know what he was thinking. I mean, I could take a guess, but I might be wrong. Still, the way he was staring at me was definitely unsettling. He wasn't looking me in the eyes, either. In fact, he was looking everywhere but my eyes. Then, when his gaze settled right below my line of vision, I remembered I wasn't wearing a bra; that my gown was very sheer and that he could probably see right through it. Self-consciously, I crossed my arms over my chest, forcing him to look up.

He looked a little angry. Putting his plate down on the counter, he finally answered the question I'd forgotten I'd asked. "I was hungry." I muttered something incoherent, upset that he had me babbling like a fool.

He didn't say anything, instead picking up his empty plate and carrying it over to the sink, right by me. As he washed his dish, I was very aware of the proximity of his bare arm to mine. No more than a foot separated us. I could feel the heat radiating off his body.

When he was finished rinsing, he moved right in front of me and gave me a little half-smile. "Shouldn't you be going to bed now?" he asked, his head bobbing closer to mine as he spoke.

"Probably," I whispered, and cursed my own voice for sounding so weak in his presence.

He moved back then, not smiling anymore. "Go to bed," he said, a little forcefully.

He was being authoritative and stern, so I replied, "You're not my father."

I said it playfully because, in my mind, Logan was nowhere near a father figure.

"Go to bed, kid."

I flinched at the words. Slowly, I turned around and started walking away, because I didn't want to say anything I might regret. Just as I reached the doorway, I heard him say, "Wear your robe, Rogue. You'll catch your death walking around like that."

I half-turned and replied, "It's not cold."

For a second, he looked like he didn't know what I was talking about. Then he said, "Wear it anyway." And before I could respond, he walked out of the kitchen, almost brushing against me as he did.

I don't remember my mother, or even if I had one, but I'm sure if I did she had all sorts of advice for me. Like, it's rude to stare. That sort of garbage. Boy, she would have had a fit if she'd seen the little show I put on last night.

When I came back, I told myself it was because I was getting pretty sick of the life I was leading. Fighting and living in a camper only hold so much interest, you know? 'Sides, I was kind of missing Jeannie. The old redhead kept me company on many of my lonelier nights, if you know what I mean.

After some searching at that place Xavier told me about, I realized it was going to be a Hell of a lot harder to dig up anything on my past. I got a couple of clues, some misleading, some promising, but nothing that satisfied me.

So, I headed to the only place I could possibly call "home".

Three years had passed, but I didn't think much of it. Actually, time passes pretty quickly for me. Months go by without my noticing. So, when I showed up at the school, I pretty much expected everything to be the same. And, for the most part, it was.

I chatted with the professor when I first got there. Told him all that I'd found out, which wasn't much. He seemed pretty all right with my showing up. He told me I could stay for as long as I wanted. He even showed me to my room. Yeah, Wheels is real hospitable.

My meager belongings got shoved into a closet, and I headed out to see what I could do. First person I ran into was Jean. She looked pretty good I have to say. She was nice. Asked me the exact same questions Xavier did. She smiled and told me it was nice to see me again, that sort of thing. Still, for some reason, she didn't live up to all the fantasies I'd had. Maybe, all that time dreaming her up in cold Canada distorted the reality.

I was around a day or two before I realized I hadn't seen Marie. It wasn't that I hadn't thought about seeing her; I had. I really was wondering how she was doing, how the geeks were treating her. It's just, like I said, time passes me pretty fast.

Tracking her down was pretty easy. All the kids knew who she was, at least by reputation. I guess when there's someone around who can kill with a touch, you want to find out who it is.

When I asked one of the little bastards where Rogue was, he looked at me like I was crazy, or something. "The one with the gloves?" he asked.

"Yeah, that's her," I said. I could smell the fear on the kid. I don't know what he was afraid of. Me or Rogue.

"Uh, she usually hangs out in the library right now." That was all he said before he disappeared. Actually vanished before my eyes.

So, that's where I found her. Reading in the library.

I have to admit, time had passed. I mean, she's grown up a lot. I told her so, too. And that's what she replied, "Time passes." Goddamn, but it does.

Her outfit was similar to what she'd been wearing when I left. There was the whole scarf and gloves thing going. But she was wearing a skirt that showed off these delicious tight-covered legs. She hadn't changed that much physically. Not really. It was the way she was sitting there, holding her book. Like she'd grown into herself.

Honestly? I didn't know what to say. I kind of looked at her and decided it was maybe safer if I didn't. She probably thought I was really interested in that painting over the fireplace. I couldn't have cared less, really, but I had to look at something.

She asked what I'd been doing and I told her and I could tell she was upset about it. Maybe she was mad 'cause I hadn't called. I don't know. Well, maybe I do but I was never one for picking up a phone. I would have said so but, right then, I didn't think she wanted to hear it.

Then she stood up and told me she'd go get them. Just then, I wasn't paying much attention to what she was saying. Frankly, my world tilted a little when she stood up and left me looking up at her. I had to stand up too, just to keep from getting too dizzy. Them? The dog tags, she clarified.

Ah, the dog tags. I can't say I didn't miss them a little. They were my only constant for fifteen years. When I didn't know anything about myself, or anything else, I had those tags. I'd given them to her because I'd wanted her to keep a little piece of me. The tags were all I could giver her.

And she was going to give them back. I shrugged it off; told her I didn't need them just then. I forgot to add that she should keep them forever. I really wanted her to have them. If she had them, maybe it was proof I existed, I don't know.

She got kind of nervous then. I could tell she was itching to get away. Told me she'd see me around. As she was walking away, shaking that ass of hers so that I shouldn't be looking, I did something really stupid. Even for me.

I told her she looked good. I was trying to pay her a compliment, I guess. Because she did look good. Maybe it freaked her out; she left the room pretty quick after that. Maybe, I'm like her daddy and she doesn't want to hear that sort of thing from me. That thought makes me sick. It really does. I kind of want to believe she's still taken with me, like Jean said she was. Then I remember how long ago that was, and I realize things could be very different.

Then, last night happened, and I don't know what to think anymore. I was minding my own business, eating, when I smell her come into the kitchen. I didn't turn around because I was still a little peeved she hadn't taken my compliment the way I'd hoped. And, anyway, I'd figured she'd get whatever she'd gone for and get out.

Whatever she was doing, it took her forever. I could feel her watching me. My back was to her, so she had to have been looking at my back. I honestly didn't know what she was up to, but I didn't turn around. Finally, she went and got her drink. I thought that was it, but she was still staring at me, sipping at her damned water.

At that point I had enough and broke down and said hello. I guess she was waiting for that acknowledgment because she finally asked what I was doing up.

Turning around to answer was the wrong move. I should have kept my back to her. Sure, it would have been rude but, so what? Since when did being rude bother me?

That thing, that poor excuse for a nightgown she was wearing. I didn't think she was allowed to wear that sort of thing. It was this gauzy material. Just transparent, really. It was like she was wearing nothing at all. Yeah, I stared. I couldn't help myself.

There was so much skin lying beneath that gown. It made me forget it was untouchable. The thin material silhouetted her long legs. My fingers were itching to touch them, run my hand up those silky legs. What my fingers couldn't, I let my eyes do. I ran them up and down her legs. And back up, and up until they settled on her breasts. Geez, I must be old. I almost had a heart attack right then and there. Craving the touch of the young.

Then, she crossed her arms in front of her. My brain switched back on when she did that and I was very angry. Angry that I'd let myself stare at her that way. Angry for having forgotten who she was, and what I was to her.

I washed my plate then, just so I'd have something to do. I had to move pretty close to her to do it. I can't say I'm proud of myself for the things that were running through my head. But I'm not apologizing for them, either.

Then, I asked her if it wasn't time for her to go to bed, because I really wanted her to leave. I wanted her to leave me the sterile kitchen where maybe I'd down a couple of beers and try to forget I ever laid eyes on that gown of hers.

She whispered a little something but I was mostly paying attention to the lilt of her voice. Her siren call.

I was dead already so I just plain told her to go to bed. And the girl had the nerve to smile that crooked, beautiful smile of hers and teasingly remark, "You're not my father."

Oh, that did it. I wasn't her father. I'd known that all along. But I didn't want to find out how she'd react if I tried showing her just how much I wasn't her father. So, I told her to "go to bed, kid" even though every part of my body knew she very well is not a kid.

The smile faded and I could tell she was hurt. Maybe she doesn't like being called a kid anymore. Maybe she realizes she's not a kid as much as I do. She turned to walk away from me, and I was left staring at her backside. I really couldn't win. I wasn't thinking straight anymore. I was angry that she had that sort of effect on me.

So, I told her, not so subtly, that she'd catch cold wearing something like that, that she should wear a robe. She turned back and gave me this wide-eyed look that floored me. Those eyes of hers are amazing. I'd noticed before but that moment really had me intoxicated. Everything was magnified to an extreme. She told me it wasn't cold.

What the Hell did being cold have anything to do with it? I told her to wear a robe anyway and I walked out of that room as fast as I could without breaking into a run. I passed by her so closely I could feel the bottom of her gown against my jeans.

I nearly exploded.

Transparent fabric, pale flesh. That's all I could think of for days after I saw her wearing that goddamned gown of hers.

Would you think any less of me if I told you I hid? Screw that. I don't really care. That's exactly what I did. After that night in the kitchen, I made it a point of finding out what she was doing. Then, I stayed the hell away.

I'll tell you why. That night, I had a dream. I could blame it on bad deli meat, but I won't. It wasn't one of my usual nightmares but, I tell you, it disturbed me more than any I've had in a long time.

Yeah, she was in it. And that poor excuse for a nightgown she had on, too.

The images weren't too vivid - though certain parts of her are indelibly etched in my brain. No, what I can mostly remember are the sensations.

In my nightmares, I can almost taste the blood in my mouth sometimes; the stinging, burning feel of needles penetrating my bones makes me shout so I wake myself up on occasion.

In a way, I think this was even more painful than that.

I remember touching her through that flimsy material, really touching her; grabbing, kneading flesh through that soft, gossamer gown. I don't know why I didn't just go for skin. Maybe, even in my dream I knew I couldn't touch her. But I know I didn't care because I felt her and it felt as good as touching flesh. And she was warm beneath my hands.

In the nightmares I hear sounds, too. Usually, the sound of constant drilling, men murmuring things I can't make out, bubbling liquid metal.

In my dream, Marie was a screamer. Yeah. I know. Quiet, little Rogue? Nah, she's too calm, too laid back for that, right? Shit, that's what I thought, too. Then Dream Rogue showed me. She was loud. She responded to my touch with sounds I never expected. What really got me were the small sounds. Tiny moans of encouragement, hissing breath expelled in pleasure. Oh, that was good. It was just getting better (or very, very bad) when she started purring out my name, whispering "Logan, Logan", like she couldn't get enough of me. Then she started getting louder. That's when I woke up.

I know where her room is. Everything inside me was screaming, "Go and get her." And I almost did. I got out of my bed and walked out of my room and went so far as to reach her door. My hand was on the knob and I was sick to my stomach with need and self-loathing. My palms were slick with sweat and my mouth was dry and I was very aware that it was six in the morning and people would start getting up soon.

So, I ran. And I hid for the next few days, putting up any excuse I could think of so that I wouldn't run into her. It worked. For a while.

Then she came after me. Well, sort of.

I was eating my lunch in the dining area when I knew she was supposed to be in class. No chance of seeing her then, I thought. Trouble is, kids do on occasion cut class. There I am, sitting there, eating something I swiped from the refrigerator, when she walks in. I damn near spit out my food. I don't think she was looking for me, but when she caught sight of me, let's just say she didn't look so pleased.

She walked in and the room tilted a little and I had trouble swallowing the mouthful of food I'd just shoved in my mouth. What could be more pathetic than that? I left.

My food was still in my mouth, my plate was left behind, and I just walked out of there without once glancing back. Spitting out all that garbage was the first thing I did. I'm surprised I didn't throw up.

This never happened with Jean. I was cool, confident, devil-may-care, bad-ass Logan around her. And I didn't give two shakes about what old Cyke thought. Nope. I flirted shamelessly and enjoyed every second.

I didn't know what to do with myself. Hiding ain't my style, and running isn't either. Not when I can help it.

I could lie and say it's the age, but we're both consenting adults. I know Chuck wouldn't approve, but that's neither here nor there.

I'm a bastard, I know, but it's the skin. Untouchable Rogue. And I'm dying to touch her. And I don't know if I can start something I can't finish. Not with her. She doesn't deserve that kind of crap.

So, for now, I go back to doing what I hate. I go hide. And every jerky kid is probably laughing at me for asking, day in and day out, what she's doing so I can run away. And I want to leave the school and I want to go back to cage fighting and I want to go back to my miserable existence. But I can't.

Because I can smell her and I can feel her and, at night, I can taste her in my dreams. And if I have to live like a pansy for that, I don't give a shit.

It was quite some time before I saw Logan again after our little kitchen talk. I frankly thought he was going crazy. He was avoiding me like the plague and I had no idea why.

John and Kitty actually warned me that he was asking lots of questions. Like where I'd be at a certain time of day, what was I doing? It was a little scary but I figured he had his reasons. He would have been a stalker if not for the fact that he was staying away from me instead of stalking. Which left me wondering: what did I do wrong?

Now, I was upset that he had waited so long to actually talk to me. Then, when he did talk to me, he disappeared again. He didn't want to see me and that was really painful because, despite all the time that'd passed, I still considered Logan a friend. Much more than a friend, actually.

One day, I actually skipped class so I could look for him. And I did find him, in the dining hall, eating. When he saw me, he stopped eating, stopped chewing for chrissake, and got up and left. He didn't even acknowledge me. Right then, I wanted nothing more than to hit him, making him look at me, tell me why I was so awful he couldn't bring himself to actually see me anymore. Instead, I just sat at his table and stared at his half eaten food. I leaned my head against the cool, hard wood and tried very hard to keep myself from crying. It was a while before I got up.

I'd like to think that, when I make my mind up about something, there's no stopping me. One morning I woke up convinced that I had to find out just what was going on, what was making him behave that way. I decided then and there, that I would confront Logan about his strange behavior.

Tracking him down was hard. It was like he could smell me coming. Maybe he could. When I finally did run into him, it was not because I was looking for him. In fact, it was purely coincidental. I'm sure it came as an equal surprise to the both of us.

I'm not really an exercise freak but just about the only thing I can do in that arena is run. I can't play basketball with the rest of the kids; team sports are out. So I figure, I have to do something.

The morning I saw Logan again, I was running down a path that leads from the mansion into a rather secluded wooded area. As I made my way down into the woods, I saw him. He was not running. I'm still not quite sure what he was doing.

He was wearing shorts and sneakers and that was it. No socks, no shirt. I was already out of breath from running, I can't tell you what the site of him did to my heart.

It looked like he was meditating, but I really don't think so. He was just sort of sitting there up against a tree, eyes closed, looking very tense. His brow was furrowed and his body was set for action. But, he was just sitting there. Sweat poured down his face and chest so he had to have been doing something strenuous before I showed up.

I knew he could sense me; he could probably hear me, I was breathing so hard. Still, he didn't look up. His eyes remained closed and it looked like he was really concentrating on something.

"Logan," I called out. He didn't move.

I can be stubborn sometimes and I wasn't going to let him ignore me anymore. Moving closer, I called out his name again. No response.

The next thing I did wasn't very dignified, I know, but it was all I could think of at the moment. Well, that's not true. It's what I most felt like doing; I was so angry with him. So, I kicked off one of my shoes and threw it at him. It hit him square in the chest and, yes that certainly got his attention.

I don't think I've seen any non-teleporting mutant move quite as fast as Wolverine did when my shoe landed on him. He sprang up, claws unsheathed, teeth clenched, looking very much like the cage fighter I'd met in Canada. If I hadn't still been so pissed, I might have been afraid.

He saw me, through all his fury, and we both knew there was no reason for him to have his claws out like that. But it still took him quite a few moments to pop them back in. It was like his anger was expressed in the release of his claws, and when he was still mad he wasn't ready to put them away.

When he looked away from me and began eyeing his spot by the tree, I thought he would just go and sit down, ignore me again. Instead, he went and leaned against it and asked, "What'd you do that for?" His voice was gruff but his features had softened slightly.

"I was trying to get your attention." What could I say? You'd been ignoring me all week, you jackass. The least I could do was throw something at you.

He simply raised that insufferable eyebrow and, at that moment, I felt like reaching over and pulling it off his face.

"Logan." I stepped closer to him and I could see his body tense again. If that tree hadn't been at his back, I swear, he would have taken a step backwards. "What did I do, Logan?" It slipped it but, since it was what I'd been meaning to ask anyway, I wasn't too sorry.

He blinked and looked at me like I'd grown another head, or something. "Nothing," he replied, but he didn't sound too sure.

"Then why the hell have you been ignoring me?" I couldn't help myself. And he sounded so darned surprised that the word "hell" had come out of my mouth, I almost wanted to laugh. But, I was still angry and frustrated and I didn't care if he looked like my daddy ready to wash my mouth out with soap. Which he didn't. Look like my daddy, that is. In fact, when he got over his initial shock, Logan looked a little pleased that I'd suddenly become confrontational.

"Don't whine, Marie. It doesn't suit you," he drawled out.

"It doesn't suit me, huh? And what would you know about what suits me, Logan? You've been gone an awful long time. You might have no idea who I really am anymore." That wasn't true. And the look he gave me told me he knew it wasn't either. He still knew me. Somewhere, deep inside, I knew Logan knew me better than anyone else. Just like I knew him. Or thought I knew him. It's easy to be wrong.

He moved towards me now, sauntering over like the Wolverine sizing up his opponents. Out of nowhere, his hand came up and grabbed the tags I was wearing around my neck. "Thought you weren't putting these on anymore?"

"I wasn't," I countered quickly. "I put them on in case I saw you again. So I could give them back." His hand fell away and I instantly drew mine up so I could pull the tags over my head.

He grabbed my arm as I began pulling on the chain. "Don't," he growled. "Keep 'em. It's. They're not that important to me. So. You have them."

"Liar," I whispered, and removed the chain anyway. "Here." I extended it out to him. "Take them. I know what they mean to you, Logan. Don't say they don't mean anything to you." Because, then, your having given them to me will mean absolutely nothing.

He took the tags I dangled before him and studied them briefly before sliding them over his head. "All right," he said, tersely.

"Are you going to tell me why I'm such a horrible person you had to keep away from me?" I didn't mean it the way it came out. And the look he gave me. Well, I didn't want him feeling sorry for me.

"Rogue--"

"What?"

"Listen, kid, why don't you run back now? I have some things to take care of. I'll catch you back at the school. All right?"

He wasn't going to get rid of me that easily. Not again. "I think whatever it is that you want to do can wait until you explain why you've been behaving the way you have."

"And which way is that?" He started turning away from me and I almost reached out to pull him back, until I remembered I wasn't wearing my gloves.

"Like this Logan. I thought we were friends."

"Goddammit, Rogue! Just get out of here!" I could almost see him trembling with fury. What had I done to inspire so much anger?

"No. Just talk to me. Please?" And, yeah, I was pleading. I was almost begging for him to tell me, tell me what I could do to fix whatever I'd broken.

And then, he did it. He turned back to me and in a split second pulled me up to him by the collar of my shirt. I was right up against him, my hands dangling helplessly at my sides. His face was a mixture of anger and pain and something else I couldn't really recognize but I think I knew. And the idiot kissed me. He put his lips right up against my own and opened my mouth to his and, for a split second, I felt his tongue move against mine.

He was out like a light.

I was left to run back to the mansion, babbling incoherently to whoever would listen, that Logan was hurt and, oh god, it was my fault.

She started screaming, she realized, when she saw the mansion loom before her. She didn't realize she was doing it until she heard the disembodied voice and recognized it as her own.

Jean saw her first. She ran up to her and begged her to calm down, to tell her what was going on. Rogue breathed unsteadily, managing to say Logan was hurt. Scott was suddenly next to them, and Rogue wondered briefly if Jean had called him. He asked where Logan was and, when she couldn't quite get the information out, Jean probed her mind and retrieved it from her. The look that flashed across her face was enough to let Rogue know she'd seen more than Rogue wanted her to.

Scott was already running down the path, but Jean remained by Rogue's side. "Do you want to tell me?" she asked.

Rogue was flushed, but she had calmed herself enough to speak. "What for? You saw all there was to it, didn't you?"

Jean shook her head and opened her mouth to speak, but Rogue cut her off. "It's my fault."

"It's not your fault, Rogue."

"I should have left him alone."

"You didn't know."

Rogue dropped down onto the soft, green grass that encircled the mansion so perfectly. "I wanted more."

Jean, the telepath, was surprised. "What?"

Dropping her eyes, Rogue pretended to inspect the blades that surrounded her. "I saw him, lying there, because of me, and I wanted more. I could still feel his lips on mine, his touch and I wanted more. Even though he was lying unconscious at my feet. What kind of person does that make me?"

"Human."

One half of Rogue's mouth crooked up in a pained smile. "I can still feel what he was feeling. And I like it. And it hurts and scares me at the same time."

Jean leaned down and pressed a hand on the girl's shoulder. Suddenly, bone claws slid out of Rogue's hands and it was excruciatingly painful and, somehow, just what she needed. She felt Jean move back instinctively. "I won't hurt you. He wouldn't ever hurt you. He loves you, you know."

"Oh, Rogue. I'm so sorry."

Rogue almost smirked, but thinking the gesture was the Wolverine inside of her, she stopped. She shook her head, trying to quiet his influence, when she realized that what she wanted to say was completely her own. "Why are you sorry? Because he wants you and won't take second best? Because I'm second best?"

Jean's face was hard suddenly and Rogue thought she'd hit a soft spot. Jean's words made her see how wrong she was. "I'm sorry because you're too blind to see what's right in front of you, in your own mind Rogue. I'm sorry because you've been so deprived of touch, you reject the idea you inspire desire in anyone." Jean sighed and her face softened. Her eyes glimmered with unshed tears and Rogue wondered who they were meant for. "What you see in Logan's head isn't reserved for me, Rogue. And you're going to have to deal with that somehow."

Rogue began to cry then, because nothing she was thinking or anyone was saying, was making any sense. She felt Jean guide her up, walk her slowly to the mansion. They made the long trek together to Rogue's room. All the while, Rogue continued to cry and her claws remained unsheathed.

Rogue felt the soft bed beneath her, and cried still. She cried for herself, she cried for Logan, she cried because she didn't know what else to do.

When Jean left her alone, she took her claws and tried smashing things with them. The cuts they made where uneven, and the feeling tore through her entire body. The physical pain intensified the emotional one, and she fell onto her bed again.

The tears stung her eyes and she could feel the first signs of a headache building. It didn't matter. None of it mattered.

She didn't stop crying until she fell asleep and her claws slid back into oblivion.

---

Logan awoke with a start, his eyes flying open, and claws released and ready. Then, he remembered where he was and why he was there, and he relaxed back into the gurney.

Logan.

Shit.

"What?"

"I thought we might discuss why you're here this time around."

"Look, Chuck, I think I know enough not to try that again. There's no reason to discuss it."

"Logan." The voice was sharp enough to garner Logan's attention. "We will talk about what happened today." Charles Xavier sighed and maneuvered his wheel chair so he was directly facing the man on the gurney. "This isn't about you so much as it is about Rogue. I am concerned for her well-being."

"So am I."

Xavier raised an eyebrow. "Are you? Your display this morning suggests otherwise."

"It was a mistake."

"Yes. My question to you is: what are you going to do to correct it?"

Logan sat up, slowly rubbing his hands across his face. After a moment, he responded, "Leave."

"You've come to disrupt her life, Logan, and your solution is leaving?"

"What do you suggest I do?" The question was tinged with sarcasm.

Xavier simply responded, "Talk to her." When Logan rolled his eyes, Xavier continued. "Tell her just what occurred. Explain to her why it happened, why you're sorry. You can't leave her without that much."

Logan jumped angrily from the gurney, instantly sorry because he was still light-headed. The floor was cold beneath his feet and he was more than a little annoyed with the entire situation. "Why don't I ever get a shirt when I'm in here, Chuck? It's cold as hell." Logan glanced over at the professor but was only met with an unsettling gaze. Logan suddenly felt like his mind was being read. "No dice. Get out of there."

"What will you tell her?"

Crossing his arms, Logan answered, "I don't know. I don't even know what happened, so I don't see how I'm going to explain it to her."

"If it was just a momentary -- "

Logan shook his head. "I don't know."

For a moment, Xavier furrowed his brow in consternation, only to return instantly to its normal impassivity. When he asked, "What are your feelings for her?" his face was a blank slate.

Logan, on the other hand, glowered openly. "If I knew that, I wouldn't be sitting here, talking to you."

"It's not fair to her."

"I know that!"

"Then think about what you are doing." Xavier moved towards the automatic door. "If you care about her at all, you will explain your behavior." With that, he moved out of the room, leaving Logan to seethe with frustration.

---

When she awoke, it was late in the evening, and she was amazed by how much she had slept. She had a terrible headache and she knew, before looking in the mirror, that her eyes and nose were red and puffy. She washed her face, running cold water over it, and that served to refresh her a bit. She looked into the mirror again and stared at her own reflection. Her eyes weren't so red, but even though she'd slept the better part of the day, she still looked worn, tired.

Her stomach growled, and she realized that she was starving. Food hadn't been foremost in her mind, but she definitely needed to eat something. Damn it Rogue, she chastised herself, here you are in the middle of an emotional crisis, and you're thinking about your mama's fried chicken.

She was still wearing her running outfit, and she saw that she needed a shower above all else.

After showering and changing into jeans and a long sleeved blouse, she decided it was time to face the world. If only, God willing, not Logan.

When she went down to the kitchen, she saw how late it really was, closer to ten at night than the seven or so she'd thought it was. The halls had been nearly deserted; most students safely tucked in their rooms or in the rec room, most of the adults out on the town, because it was Friday night.

Once inside the kitchen, she remembered the last time she'd been there so late, and a shudder ran through her body. Hindsight is twenty-twenty, and she realized now how he must've viewed her that night. The idea was disconcerting, if not a little exciting.

Rogue rifled though the items in the refrigerator, in the end settling for cereal because she didn't think she could handle Ororo's gumbo so late at night. She was pouring milk into a bowl when she felt someone walk in.

Marie's mother had been a very religious woman, and she'd instilled in her the belief in God, but when Rogue prayed that the person behind her not be Logan with all her heart, and turned around to face the mutton-chopped mutant, she knew there couldn't be a God so cruel.

"Logan," she muttered.

"Hey."

She quickly put the milk away and grabbed for her cereal. "I'll just be getting out of your way."

"No, wait." He took her arm just as she put her hands on the bowl. The gesture alarmed her enough so that she jerked away, the milk and cereal flying out of the bowl, and onto Logan's shirt.

He jumped back, grabbing at his shirt, and growled, "Fuck." Rogue simply put a hand over her mouth, trying to hide the smile that was forming. Anyone else, any other situation, and she would have been rolling on the floor in a fit of laughter. But this was Logan, and she had to get out of there.

"I'm sorry," she said.

"Not your fault," he replied, looking squarely into her eyes.

"Um, listen. I'll clean this up. You go ahead and change your shirt." She was already grabbing for a towel as she spoke.

Without saying anything, Logan pulled his shirt over his head and began sopping up the mess with it. Rogue only watched, mouth slightly agape, still holding the towel in hand. "What are you doing?"

" 'S dirty anyhow."

"All right," she said, nervously, not quite sure what to make of his actions. "I'll just be going then, since you've got this taken care of."

Rogue started for the door, hoping that would be the end of it. Before she made it, she felt his hand on her arm. "I came to talk to you."

She stiffened slightly. "Oh? How did you --?"

"I followed your scent." He looked slightly sheepish as he said it. "I went to your room, but you weren't there."

"How industrious," she mumbled. Inhaling deeply, she asked, "What did you want to talk about?"

He was staring at his hand on her arm. "I just . I wanted to say."

She interrupted. "If it's to explain yourself, to apologize or something, don't. I don't want you to be sorry." He looked into her eyes then, surprised. "I'm not sorry. I mean, I'm sorry you got hurt, but I'm not sorry you did it. So, if you've come to apologize, to take it back, save it. It's all right."

"I."

She shook her head. "I am sorry, Logan. I'm sorry I'm not Jean." His hand on her arm tightened, but she continued. "I know it's her you want, and I'm sorry about that. For the both of you. And for me."

He moved closer to her, his broad chest in her line of sight. She was glad of the proximity, but it was doing nothing to steady her nerves. What he said next didn't help either. "I don't want Jean right now."

She had closed her eyes and was breathing him in now, a strange mixture of masculinity and cocoa puffs. She smiled. "You don't?"

"No," he whispered into her hair. As suddenly as the contact had begun, he pulled back. "But I told you I'd protect you."

"So?" she asked, knowing exactly where he was going.

"So, I have to go."

It was her turn to grab at him. Taking his forearms in her gloved hands, she looked directly into his eyes and pleaded. "Logan," she whispered. "This is my only chance. No one else will come near me. If you want me. You must know I want you." His eyes glazed over at that and she felt a little surge of triumph. "I know it's dangerous, and if you're not willing to risk that, I understand. But don't leave because of me. Because you want to protect me. Listen, it doesn't have to be anything more than this, than touch." Her heartbeat had increased rapidly as she was talking and, as she moved her hand over his chest she could feel his heart thump in rhythm.

His hand moved up and he grabbed her hand. She thought he was going to peel it away but instead, he just held it to his chest a while longer. He smiled at her, and for a second, she thought he was going to respond to her proposal. Instead, he kissed her gloved hand, winked, and walked away, leaving her more bewildered than ever.

Logan had never been one for early mornings and when he heard a knock at his door at seven am, he promptly growled.

He growled because he hated being disturbed so early and, more importantly, the dream he had been having was interrupted just when the going was getting good.

Swearing that whoever was on the other side of that door was just asking for a beating, he plopped out of bed and put on a pair of sweats. He ambled over to the door and opened it with an annoyed, "What?"

To say that he was surprised to see her there would have been an understatement. It wasn't everyday he woke up to the girl of his dreams. But there she was, in the flesh. And what the hell was she doing, exposing so much of it? He frowned. There was a thin scarf around her neck, but little else protected her. Her dress was thin, and short and exposed long legs. He could see she was wearing stockings, but that didn't make things any better.

"Mornin', Logan," she said, sweet smile pasted on her pretty face.

Something akin to a response rumbled from his chest. She merely continued to smile, making her way past him and into his bedroom. Uh oh.

"What're you doing?" he asked, not yet ready to turn around, to face her and his bed in the same room.

"I thought we could go to breakfast together. If you wanted to, of course." She hopped onto the bed. "Or, we could stay here."

He shook his head, affecting disapproval. "Breakfast it is. Just gimme a chance to get dressed, will you?"

"All right," she replied, but she wasn't moving.

He scowled. "What? Do you want to watch?"

Why was she grinning so damn much? "Sure."

Sighing, he moved to sit next to her on the bed. "Look, it's probably my fault. I wasn't too clear on things last night--"

"No," she interrupted. "You weren't. But I believe I was." She put a gloved hand on his shoulder. He jerked at the contact. Seeing this, she removed her hand carefully and shook her head. "If it's not what you want ... I just thought, I thought we had an understanding."

"Understanding," he muttered. "If you knew what you were asking. I just think that you don't. That you're not ready for it."

Turning to face him, she deliberately placed a hand on his thigh. For a second, they both looked at it, neither of them quite breathing right. "I am, Logan," she whispered.

He moved quickly, before either of them had a chance to think about it. He grabbed her hand and dragged it up over her head. He pushed her back into the bed, so that he was looming over her, his breath coming in short bursts. He could see she wasn't breathing at all. His hands encircled her waist and squeezed. The air in Rogue's lungs was finally expelled in one long hiss. "You don't know what you're getting into, Rogue."

Her shuttered eyes were staring at him intently. "I want to find out."

He looked away from her, partly because the look in her eyes was doing funny things to him. His gaze shifted to her exposed legs. He ran an appreciative eye up and down their length. "I can't give you anything more," he said, instantly regretting his words, still knowing they were true.

Her eyes fluttered shut as he leaned in closer. "I know," she replied. "That's all I want."

His eyes narrowed because, suddenly, things felt very wrong. "I don't want to take advantage of you."

Opening wide, dark eyes, she shook her head. "You're not. You won't." Her mouth was suddenly very dry. "I'm a big girl, Logan."

His heart skipped a beat when he saw her tongue move out to wet her lips. This was trouble, he knew. He suddenly realized how the tables had turned. Here he'd been warning her that she didn't know what she was getting into when, in reality, he was the one losing control.

Moving down, he carefully placed his head over her chest. He could hear her heartbeat, strong and a little fast. He wanted to offer her the moon right then. And he almost did, but he felt her hand move over his hair, the leathery feel of her glove jerking him back into reality. He couldn't even offer himself. He could only offer the simplest of touches; maybe that'd be enough.

He kissed her then, over her beating heart. She let out a little gasp, shocked and amazed at the feel of his warm, moist mouth through the fabric of her dress. He pulled back, and gazed upon her visage. The storm brewing in her eyes brought a small smile to Logan's face. The simplest of touches.

Rolling away from her, he took her hand in his and pulled her to her feet. "Come on, kid," he teased, knowing her reaction to the now familiar term. "We have a breakfast date. And I have to get dressed."

The edge of her mouth quirked up as she said, "So, can I watch?"

An involuntary bark of laughter escaped his mouth. When had she become so brazen? Goddammit, he almost considered letting her. Instead, he replied, "Naw. Let's leave it for another time, all right? I'll put on a show."

Eyebrow raised, the aptly-named Rogue simply said, "A show, huh? Well, maybe I'll put one on, too. Like a strip tease: look but don't touch." Small smile playing upon her lips, she quietly exited the room. That left Logan with a very vivid mental image, and the decision that a short, cold shower might not be a bad idea before he went down to breakfast. Not a bad idea at all.

---

Jean caught up to Rogue as she walked past the laboratory. "Hi, Rogue. How're you feeling?"

"Oh, hi, Jean. I'm fine. Thank you."

Jean's brow furrowed in confusion, "Are you? I'm glad. I just thought you might want to further discuss what happened yesterday. That it might help you. But, you do look all right. Can I ask what happened?"

Rogue shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe I just decided not to dwell on it so much. Thought I should seize the day or something."

"What do you mean 'seize the day'?"

Smiling, Rogue let out a small giggle and shrugged again. "Just, I don't know, not be such a slave to my emotions. Take things as they come, you know?"

That stopped Jean dead in her tracks. She wasn't smiling when she said, "Emotions are dangerous things, Rogue. It's easy to say we're going to ignore them, but they always come up. They're part of who we are."

Rogue's expression sobered when she saw how serious Jean appeared. "I know what I'm doing. You don't have to worry about me."

Nodding, Jean replied, "I know. I just wanted to give you advice. As a friend. Don't try to ignore or change your feelings. It's not possible, Rogue."

Rogue looked away from the older woman as she said, "Isn't that what you've done? Ignore your feelings?"

Jean remained impassive. "Excuse me?"

Turning again to face Jean, a look of anger flashed across Rogue's face. "With Logan? Isn't that what you've done? Ignore your feelings? Not wavering, the telepath replied, "You know nothing about my feelings."

"I've seen the way you look at him. When you think Scott's not looking."

"That's unfair, Rogue."

"I know it is. So, I'm going to take what I can. If he can't love me the way he loves you, then I'll let him love me the way he can. I deserve at least that much." That said Rogue hurriedly walked away.

---

Showered and fully dressed, Logan was finishing preparing to go to the dining area when he heard a knock at his door.

Smiling, he called out, "I told you, the strip show's going to have to wait -- " The grin disappeared when he saw the woman on the other side. "Jean."

"Logan. Can I come in?"

"Uh, yeah. Sure, come on in." Any other time, Logan would have relished the idea of Jean Grey in his room. Her demeanor, however, warned that hers was not a social visit. "What can I do for you?"

"What are you doing, Logan?"

He frowned. "What do you mean?"

"What kind of game are you playing with Rogue?"

"No game."

"Logan -- "

"No game," he repeated, raising his voice.

She sighed. "Then just what's going on?"

"Nothing that's any of your business, red," he retorted angrily.

"I'm making it my business, because I care for Rogue. And for you," she added. "But in the end, odds are she's going to be the one getting hurt."

"No one's getting hurt. We're being straight with each other."

"All right," she pronounced exasperatedly. "You're being straight with each other. Did you ever stop to think that she might be hearing one thing, and thinking quite another?"

"I'm not lying," he replied emphatically.

"I know you're not." The tone of her voice softened with the practiced ease of a mind reader. "But in the end -- "

He cut her off, using the same tone of voice, he said, " In the end nothing. Don't worry so much Jean. I'm handling it. It won't get out of hand. All right? It's just something I want to do for her. It might sound cheap to you, but it's not. I care for her, and she needs some affection. She needs to be touched. That's all this is. I'm providing affection to a friend."

The look she gave him suggested Jean wasn't entirely convinced, but she let the matter drop. "Going down to breakfast?"

He nodded, glad to see the interrogation was over. "Yeah, wanna come?"

Smiling slightly, she replied, "Sure. I could use some food."

He was right. I didn't know what I was getting myself into. I watched him walk into the dining area talking with her, smiling, and I felt something inside of me twist. The cereal I was suddenly not going down my throat and my stomach rejected any further thought of food. The spoon clanged loudly as I dropped it into the bowl, not setting it aside, but knowing I would be having no more.

They grabbed their breakfasts and made their way over to my table, sitting and smiling amiably at me. I watched as Logan dug into his meal with the same ferocity with which he tackled everything else. Jean merely picked at her bagel. They continued talking, mostly about nonsense. Logan complained that he preferred something more solid than eggs for breakfast. Jean laughed and said something witty like, "Oh, Logan," and continued nibbling at her bagel. They were so shamelessly flirting, I felt like slapping them both.

Instead, I heard myself say, "So, Logan, we going dancing tonight?"

Jean left her bagel alone and Logan swallowed his mouthful of food before training his eyes on mine. "I don't dance, kid."

I nodded and said, "It's just, well, you've been dancing around Jean the whole time you've been here."

"Rogue!" Jean exclaimed. Guess that ruffled her feathers. Another time, I would have apologized. But this time, I was angry.

Logan was angry, too. His eyes narrowed, his eyebrows knit together in fury. I'm surprised he didn't bare his teeth at me.

I didn't stick around to hear what he would say. I stood up and said, "Really. What would Scott say, Jean?" It was unfair probably. A venomous accusation by someone who had no right to make it but at that point, I didn't care.

Running out of the room, I heard Logan call out, "Now, wait a minute--"

It was too late. I was gone.

---

It was a long day. I spent most of it in my room, curled up in bed, trying to concentrate on my book.

I was reading Therese Raquin and I inadvertently cast Jean as Therese and Logan as her lover. I couldn't really picture Scott as the weakling husband, but I tried anyway. It was sickening, they way I couldn't get them out of my mind.

Thoughts of Logan in Jean's bed flickered through my head and, I had to throw the book across the room so I'd stop torturing myself. I knew what I was doing was wrong. I realized how pathetic I must've seemed to Logan: begging for his touch.

After a while, feeling sorry for myself started weighing too heavily on me and I decided I need some fresh air. I decided I'd go out to the lake. It was a pretty miserable day, cold and cloudy, so I didn't think anyone would be out there. I was right. The area was deserted.

I lay myself on some grass and looked up to the gray sky. It was horrible. I was still feeling sorry for myself, just in a new, slightly more depressing, setting.

I kept thinking about how, yes life had been rough on me, but I'd complicated things so much more with my stupid ideas. Trying to get Logan to touch me was just one of them.

Just as I was getting ready to throw myself into the lake, ready to emulate the mad Ophelia, I heard the crunch of footsteps behind me. The darkening sky was replaced by Logan's scowling face.

No exchange of pleasantries for us. "What the hell did you think you were doing?"

I didn't move. I just watched as his countenance grew as dark as the heavens above. "Answer me, Rogue!"

Sitting up, I shook my head. His anger was unabated by my silence. "This was a bad idea," he said.

A well of anger burst inside of me, and I suddenly remembered why I'd been so upset that morning. "Someone had to say something!" I shouted. "It's embarrassing, watching the two of you. Flirting right in front of everyone, as if you were teenagers."

"It's none of your--" he began.

"I know," I interrupted. "It's none of my business. So what? It wasn't any of her business either, was it? What was going on with us? That didn't stop her from butting in. And of course, she's Jean Grey, and whatever Jean says, Logan listens to. What did she say to you, Logan? Did she tell you to leave me alone? Did she tell you she'd sleep with you instead?"

He reached down and jerked me violently to my feet, his face contorted in fury. "Shut up, Rogue," he whispered roughly. "Shut up."

"Why?" I could feel my eyes begin to sting, but I wasn't going to let the tears loose. "Why the hell should I, Logan? She's married. Or don't you give a fuck about breaking up a marriage, as long as you get what you want?"

He pushed me down again, so I landed on the hard ground. "You stupid girl," he growled.

I wasn't going to let him look down on me. I rose to my feet and moved until I was just inches away from him. "I was stupid. I was stupid for thinking you could possibly care about me. I was stupid for letting myself beg and plead for something.God! What an idiot I've been. What happened, Logan? You decided I wasn't good enough to satisfy your urges with?"

I saw him flinch and, before I knew, he'd pulled my body up to his. I felt the world tilt and I was on the ground and he was on top of me, his body pressing into mine. His fingers were digging into my sides, a thigh pressing up, between my legs. I gasped and he said, "This is what you want? Is it Rogue? You want me to satisfy your urges, don't you?"

I shook my head, the tears insistent now, begging to be released. He took my hands and pinned them above my head, holding them both in one of his hands. For a second, I struggled against him, moving frantically. But then, he moved his other hand to the juncture between my legs, his mouth moved down to my chest. And as I cursed him, I closed my eyes and let him. I let him touch me, even though he hated me. I needed him to touch me.

His mouth was hot and moist against my breast; his hand was resting, unmoving between my legs. I felt cold. The wind was blowing cool against my head and neck, the moisture on the grass chilled me to the bone. I was freezing except for where he was touching me. There, I was burning. He moved his mouth to my other breast and bit down, hard. I winced with the pain, but didn't say anything. I let him. I let him do everything. My other breast, a ring of moisture surrounding it, grew immediately cold, the absence of his mouth immediately felt. I wondered if that's how I would feel when he was gone from me: cold and empty.

He pressed his hand against me and I felt a rush a sensation that left me shaking. He continued pressing, kneading, and it seemed to me I couldn't get enough air into my lungs. I opened my eyes and was left to stare at that dark, bitter sky, the moon and the stars brightening only to be swallowed immediately by the black clouds.

I heard my own heaving breath, strange to my ears. I felt the pressure build inside of my body. I saw Logan look into my eyes; his own inscrutable in the shadows of the evening. His hand moved against me one more time before the damn broke and the pressure dissipated, and my own body was left trembling against his. And the tears finally escaped.

And I watched as he rolled away from me, running away into the overwhelming night. I closed my eyes and felt the winds envelope me, replacing Logan's warm hands with their own, chilled and hard, sweeping against me furiously. And the tears continued falling.

I feel a sickness in my body, like I'm about to throw up. And I don't throw up. I don't get sick. But I'm sick now. I'm sick of myself, I'm sick of this school, and I'm sick of this god dammed back and forth with Rogue. Fuck it. I'm sick of everything.

I need a drink, is what I need. I make my way from my room and into the kitchen, deliberately avoiding Her room or Jean's room. I don't need to see either one of them. Not now.

Some punk-ass kid glares at me as I walk by him. He purposefully knocks into me and, feeling the way I am, I know he's in a danger of getting a claw through his eye. Kid's lucky I've got more self-control than I show.

Rogue. Damn. No I don't.

Once in the kitchen, beer doesn't seem to be good enough. I need something harder, so I reach for a bottle of vodka hidden in one of the cabinets. I don't normally touch the stuff, but I need something to burn this ache in my throat.

I take several swigs straight from the bottle and let myself sick onto the floor. I sit, crossed legged, nursing the bottle, hoping the warmth the liquor provides can do something to alleviate the pain in the pit of my belly. It takes a lot for me to get drunk, but I fully intend to get shit-faced tonight.

I'm chugging the stuff now and ...fuck. Do all roads lead to this fucking kitchen? I go back to my bottle because I don't want to talk to this asshole now. Maybe if I ignore him, he'll go away.

"Logan."

Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck.

"Logan, what the hell are you doing?"

Go away, dick. "What's it look like I'm doing? Or can't you see through that eye of yours?"

He starts coming towards me and I can feel the rage building inside of me again. "Stay back, Summers," I warn.

He stops but doesn't move back. "It's important."

"What the fuck isn't? I don't care."

Sighing, he crosses his arms over his chest. Dumb prick doesn't know what's good for him. "It's about Jean."

Oh. Jean. In that case. "Get out!"

Now he's angry. Good. I was angry twenty minutes ago. "Stay away from her, Logan. I'm not kidding about this. I don't care if you have to leave the school. She's mine. Do you hear me?"

I get up and realize that drinking a full bottle of vodka isn't without its effects. "She's yours, huh? Well, Cyclops, if I wanted to fuck her, there wouldn't be much you could do."

He pushes me with a force I don't expect. I guess I underestimated the guy. My head's swimming a little, and I don't really feel like getting up again. Otherwise, he'd have a claw through his neck for that. Shit. Maybe I deserved it.

I see him reach for his glasses and stop. Then he turns right around and marches out of the kitchen. Over his shoulder, he says, "Keep drinking, Logan, if that's what gets you through the night."

"Keep your philosophical bullshit," I call after him, feeling real good about myself for getting the last word.

But "keep drinking" doesn't sound so bad. So, I do. Let's see. A bottle of. Rum? Too sweet. Tequila? Why not.

Drinking is a comforting activity. Just you and your bottle and warm liquid goodness. I could drown in this stuff. I wish I could.

Hm. Why does Xavier keep so much damned alcohol in the school? Maybe that's why he's always so serene. He always has a shot of something stiff before facing the supervillains. Ha ha. Xavier the drunk. Nah. Maybe it's One-eyes' stash. Or Storms'. The day either of those starts keeping alcohol is the day I turn pansy.

Fuck. Who am I kidding? I already am a pansy. What are you thinking, Logan? You thinking you want to go up to her room and apologize, aren't you? Tell her you didn't mean it. What else you want to do?

You want some more of this shit, is what you want. No more vodka? Rum it is.

My life used to be ... Well, it was crap. But it was uncomplicated crap. Now, what? Now, I have to deal with people's hurt feelings, and apologies, and guilt, and. People's? Naw, just Hers. Fuck.

'S not so bad. Should take her some of this stuff to drink. That way she'll feel better.

Wonder if she's in her room.

Stairs are hard to take. I keep tripping over them. I have to be careful though. I have to make sure I don't spill any of the rest of the rum. That's for Marie. Magic potion for Roguey.

Ah, the door. "Rogue? Rogue? You in there?"

I pound on it 'cause I don't think she can hear me. "Rogue!"

The door creaks open and her pretty, little face pops out. She squints at the light. "Logan." Yup, she's fully awake now. I don't appreciate doors slammed in my face.

Before she has a chance to lock it, I force my way in. I shut the door behind me and hold up the bottle. "Magic potion," I say.

All she says is, "You're drunk."

Mighty keen observer, my Rogue. "Yes," I say. "But also, quite happy. Have some and be happy with me, baby."

"Get out."

God. There's that nightgown of hers again. Sheer. Maybe if she's happy, she'll let me touch it. "Please, have some, darlin'. I just want you to be happy."

She starts to shake her head, stops, and then sort of blinks at me. "If I have some, will you go away?"

Hell no. "Yeah."

She takes the bottle and puts it to her lips. Bottoms up.

"God, Logan, rum?"

"And vodka and tequila."

"Oh."

I start moving towards her and her gown. "But it's the magic stuff. Aren't you happier?"

She turns around and says, "You should go." She says it low, soft. Fuck, but that voice of hers kills me. And that ass.

"Rogue." I hug her from behind, just to feel her up against me. I must've surprised her, 'cause she stiffens up and pulls away.

My head isn't swimming so much. I can almost feel the alcohol being expunged from my system. It's not good. Being drunk one second and not the next. Especially when you find yourself in the room of the one person that caused you to pick up the bottle in the first place.

"Uh."

She turns around and there's that face of hers again. Those lips ... Moving, saying something: "I thought you were leaving."

I move my hand through my hair, scratch an imaginary itch at the back of my neck, just to give myself something to do. "I. No. Did I say I was leaving?"

"You said--"

She's getting irritated, so I interrupt. "I know what I said." I let out a breath, trying to find the words. I want to say something to her, but I can't think of the words.

Then, I watch her get into her bed, pull the covers over her head. Damn. She says, "I'm tired, Logan. I don't want to do this now."

She's tired. Oh. Well that should be enough, shouldn't it? That's my cue to exit. Marie's tired. If I was any kind of decent person, maybe I would leave. Maybe.

Instead: "Rogue," I murmur, as I sit on the bed next to bundle that is her body. I put my hands on her. "I'm not leaving."

I hear her say something, but I can't quite catch it. "What?"

Her mouth pops out. "You're an asshole."

I smile. I can't help it. I am an asshole. "That's the one universal truth, baby."

"We can't fix it, Logan."

"Why not?"

"Because I love you."

Shit. That hurts. I didn't think it would hurt so much. "No, you don't." Please God, don't let her.

She sighs. "All right. I don't." The bundle turns over and those deep, brown eyes are staring into my own and I feel like Magneto's around, 'cause I can't move my body. "So what are you doing here? What do you want from me?"

"I want you to be happy." And I do. I want her to be happy, and normal, and to love a goddammed boy her own age, and to be able to have all the things she ever wanted.

"I am happy." The determination in her face when she says it. She wants to believe it so badly. I want to believe it too.

"You're happy now?"

"No. I'm not happy right now." She lowers her eyes and the weight of her stare is lifted. I can move again. "I meant, in general. In general, I'm happy."

"You mean, like the years I was gone you were happy, right?"

"I don't know. Maybe I was content."

I draw closer to her, because I can't help it. She must've retained some of metal head's powers. "What would make you happy, Marie?" I want to know. I want to do it.

"I don't know." God. Is she crying?

"Please. Tell me, please. I want to help you. I want you to be happy."

She is crying. She's sobbing now. I'm such a bastard. "I don't want your pity, Logan. Not you."

Pity? Hell. "I don't pity you, Rogue. Look at me. I don't."

I'm curled up right next to her now. How'd that happen? Our faces are inches apart. Her breath tickles my nose. "Why'd you do it?" she whispers.

"Do what?"

Her eyes close and I feel like I can breath more steadily than when she stares at me. "Tonight. Why'd you do it?"

"I'm sorry," I say lamely.

She still doesn't open her eyes. "I don't want you to be sorry. I just want you to tell me why."

" 'Cause I'm an asshole." I laugh, but the sound is hollow and she isn't laughing along.

"Why?"

"What do you mean 'why'? Because. I wanted to." And it starts to spill out because I'm in her bed and her body is next to mine and I can't think of a reason to stop. "I wanted to get back at you, for thinking all I wanted was to get into Jean's pants." She flinches a little, but I can't stop. "There isn't a real reason, Rogue. Yeah, I was angry. I was frustrated. But I just wanted to touch you. That's it."

"Why'd you run away?"

I put a hand at her shoulder, relieved to see she's not moving away. "I ... I didn't want to look at you. I was afraid that if I did, I wouldn't want to leave."

"Now?"

I push her towards me, so that our bodies are touching through the blanket. "I want to look at you. I want you to look at me."

She moves down and presses her forehead into my chest. I can feel her head bob up and down as she talks. "I'm tired. I just.I want to sleep. Stay?"

"Yeah." And she tosses and turns a little until she's comfortable. She's facing away from me and her body is connected to mine, through the blanket. I'm not sleeping. I can't. I promise myself, if I'm not gone by 2 am, I'm waking her up. I won't care if she's tired.

Strong arms wrapped around me, pulled me into a warm, hard body while a shower of rain fell on us both. The drops were cold and I felt myself move closer to his body, snuggling into his chest.

"I'll take care of you," he said.

"Promise?" I mumbled into his chest, already feeling his heat envelope me.

"Yeah," he assured in a gentle tone. "Yeah, I promise."

As he said that, a light snow began to fall. We hugged each other fiercely, trying to keep the cold at bay.

"Come on," he growled, pulling me after him.

I followed wordlessly.

We ended up in a small cabin in the middle of the woods. I didn't ask how he knew about it. This was his territory, and I wasn't going to question him.

He must've known the place intimately, for he knew right where to go to find towels to dry us.

I moved to dry my hair while I watched him kneel before a small fireplace. Within a minute he had a fire going.

I was like a moth, instantly attracted to the heat and the light produced by the fire. He turned to look at me as he poked a log into place. "My clothes need to dry. Would you mind.?"

"No," I answered quickly, startled that he'd make the request. "Go right ahead."

"Sure?"

I nodded dumbly. "Yes."

It was hard to keep my eyes averted as he undressed. I tried staring into the blaze before me, but his movements repeatedly averted my gaze as he disrobed.

Finally, I stopped pretending and stared openly, hoping he wouldn't mind such a display of admiration.

Cheeky bastard actually winked at me as he removed his shirt. Not that I'm complaining.

The scene took an enticingly long time to play out. He seemed to delight in watching me squirm as he pulled off each article of clothing slowly and deliberately. By the time he was in his trunks, I was breathing rather shallowly.

Suddenly, I got up and said, "Let's go swimming."

He scowled at the idea, but followed me out of the house, into the warm Mississippi day.

"Amazing, isn't it?" I asked.

"What is?" he wondered, half-smiling.

"This. It's so warm. I didn't know I missed it so much." I grabbed his hand in mine and pulled him down the street. It was reminiscent of his earlier action, but this was less urgent, more relaxed.

"Where we going?" he grumbled amiably.

"The creek. I told you. We're going swimming."

We walked very little before we found ourselves by the creek. I took my shoes off and luxuriated in the feel of the grass between my toes.

"We're swimming in that mud hole?" he complained. I loved him, but he could be a pain in the ass.

"Yes," I explained. "We're swimming in there." As I spoke, I removed my clothes and found I was wearing a swimsuit underneath. I spun around and smiled at him. "You like it?"

He growled in assent and pulled me to him. Before I knew it, I found myself tossed into the creek. As I sputtered and shrieked bloody murder, he ran and dove in beside me, creating a big splash that covered me up again.

We splashed each other and laughed, and chased each other, and had the best time I can remember having. Finally, when we tired of the games, we made our way out of the water and onto the grassy shore, content to be dried by the hot sun.

"You having fun?" I asked.

I heard him mutter something about showing me just what fun was, when he rolled me over on top of him. Our bodies were connected, our legs intertwined. I sighed at the feeling this evoked: a deep satisfaction and fulfillment. I moved to pick some grass out of his hair and he just smiled. I love to see him smile. "Are you happy?" he asked.

"Yes," I answered. I'd never been so happy.

He leaned forward and put his lips on mine, softly at first, tentatively. His mouth was warm and gentle as he slowly moved it across mine. I felt his hands move to my back, drawing lazy circles across it. We kissed like that for a little while until his hands became more insistent, grasping at my waist. My fingers twined in his hair, pulling him, his mouth, more deeply into me. I felt his tongue brush across my lips and I opened them, allowing him in. The sensation of his tongue on mine burned me completely, and I felt the need to grind my hips into his. He groaned with the movement, moving his hands from my waist onto my backside, grabbing and kneading the flesh through my swimsuit. I couldn't get enough of his kisses so, when he removed his mouth from mine, I groaned in protest. The sound turned into something else when his mouth moved down my neck and onto my chest. His breath was hot, sending shivers down my entire body. I felt him lick the hollow of my throat, and move down, slowly but oh so surely, over the flesh above my bikini top. "You're a little salty," he drawled, right before running his tongue over the sensitive flesh.

I chuckled, the sound uneven and hoarse. "Is that bad?"

He moved the fabric of my top off of my breast, glanced up at me and said, "No" before taking my breast in his mouth.

I stopped breathing altogether. All I could feel was my rapid heartbeat, his wet, hot mouth sucking on my flesh, and the insistent ache that was growing in the pit of my stomach. That dull ache, that need, settled in the place between my legs, and I ground against him again in an effort to relieve the pressure.

His mouth left my breast and instantly found its way to my mouth, even as his hand moved to the point that was causing so much exquisite pain. I sucked in my breath when his hand - his magical hand - found its way underneath my suit.

He was murmuring into my ear - warm, moist air streaming in with his words. I heard him say, "God, Marie, you're so beautiful. God, baby."

His hand and his words and the warmth of the day and the feel of the moist dirt underneath my knees.It was enough to drive me crazy. "Logan," I whispered, my voice husky and strange to my own ears. "Logan." I closed my eyes, too far gone to see anything straight.

"Rogue," I heard him call out. He sounded so far away. "Rogue!"

"Logan."

"Rogue!" A cry, near and clear and loud enough to thrust me back into reality with a force I didn't expect. Of course, I wasn't expecting reality.

But there I was, in my bed, covered from head to toe in my blanket; a perplexed-looking - and fully clothed - Wolverine lay by my side. It was enough to make me want to cry.

I didn't.

Instead, I looked away from him and took several steadying breaths, my heartbeat not quite at its normal rate.

"You all right?" he asked. He looked genuinely concerned. And not a little bit curious.

My mouth was so dry, I could barely get the words out. "Yeah. I'm fine. Just. I was having a nightmare, I guess."

Eyebrow raised, head tilted, he replied, "Nightmare?" He didn't look convinced. It made me wonder just what I'd done in my sleep.

"Yes."

He nodded. "Okay. What was it about?"

I was still sleepy - and very aroused - and I couldn't believe I was having this conversation. "Why?"

"Well, I once heard if you tell someone what your nightmare's about, then it won't come true." He sounded like a father trying to comfort his little girl. Oh, god.

I promptly snorted. "That's ridiculous, Logan. Go to sleep." It's what I fully intended to do. Maybe I could get back to my dream.

"Rogue," he said, just as I was drifting back into unconsciousness.

"What?" I muttered, fighting a losing battle with sleep.

The next thing he did had me fully awake. I was trying to get back to the Mississippi creek when a rush of cool air surrounded me. I opened my eyes with a start, realizing that my blanket had just been stolen. The culprit? The clawed bandit.

"Logan, just what do you think you're doing?"

"It's 2am, Rogue. I haven't slept a wink and you were thrashing around your bed like a maniac." His face was dead serious. "You're going to tell me what that dream was about."

I turned away from him, hugging myself into a little ball. "No, I don't think so."

"Rogue." he warned.

"No way, Logan. It's none of your business."

He moved towards me, quickly placing the blanket over my body, pouncing on me so that he was on top and I was left to face him, trapped by my own blanket. "It's my business, darling, if you're calling out my name."

"Your name?" I squeaked.

"Uh huh."

Shaking my head, I replied, "You must have misheard me."

"I don't think so." He was smiling now - a predatory smile.

I exploded. "What do you want me to say, Logan? That the dream was about you? All right. I was having a sex dream about you. There. That was my dream. Nightmare. Whatever."

He smiled, a full-fledged smile that reached his eyes and made them twinkle. "Good."

"Good?"

"Yeah."

I shook my head and half-smiled, despite myself. "Geez, Logan. What am I going to do?" And then I remembered what I'd been about to tell him, before my lame come-ons and the whole Jean debacle. The thing I'd been afraid to admit to him, and to myself. If loving Logan from afar was scary, this information was scarier. "I've got something to tell you."

The smile slid from his face at the tone of my voice. "What?"

I inhaled deeply. "Brace yourself, Logan. I don't know if this is good or bad news. Maybe it's both."

If there's one thing in my life I know it's this: never have the words "I have something to tell you" meant anything good. Never. Ever. So, when I heard them come out of Rogue's mouth I just about threw up. What could she possible have to tell me now?

"You know Hank McCoy?"

Who? "Who?"

She sighed and rolled her eyes. "Dr. McCoy? He's big, blue, and furry? Resident scientist?"

Frankly, I'd never heard of the guy. You'd think I'd remember meeting up with someone like that. "What about him?" I really needed her to get to the point.

She'd averted her gaze. Not good. Not good at all. "Well, Hank and I, we've been working for years. On my mutation." She stopped and finally looked up at me. "He thinks ... Well, he thinks he may have come up with something. To inhibit it."

Oh. Oh, geez. "Really?" I tried to sound like Mr. Cool, but who was I kidding? This was just what she'd said: really good or really bad. Trying to decide which was the hard part. I mean, sure, it was great that she'd finally get to live her life like a normal person. But, and I know this makes me sound like a selfish bastard, where did it leave me?

"Yes." She looked expectant, like she was waiting for me to make some declaration about what it all meant.

"That's great, kid." I couldn't believe how horrible that sounded once it came out. It sounded like I didn't care at all. Like she'd just told me she'd gotten new shoes or something.

"Isn't it?" God, she didn't sound much better than me. The way we were discussing it, you'd think this sort of thing happened everyday. Like it wasn't a life-altering event.

"What's he got planned?" The girl had been having a sex dream about me not too long before; I'd certainly had them about her. Yet, there I was trying to sound calm and interested in the logistics of a plan that could possibly allow me to touch her. My head was beginning to hurt. Did I want to touch her? It seemed to me all this time worrying about not being able to was rather convenient. It didn't force me into thinking about the ramifications of actually doing it. Oh, I wanted to touch her. I certainly did. But, did I want all that came along with that?

Rogue was already talking when I finally decided to tune in. ".works on nerve endings. Something about my mutation causes any sensation against my skin to trigger the absorption. I'm not sure what the specifics are. He's got something that will work on the nerves. To keep them from sending the message to my brain to begin absorption. Or something like that." "Sounds good." I honestly wasn't trying to sound like a dick. I just couldn't think of anything else to say. I was trying to process everything she was saying. "When's he going to try it out?"

"Tomorrow." She shook her head, remembering what time it was. "Today. I'm supposed to go down to his lab at 8 am."

I nodded, trying to figure out what came next. What if it worked? What if she finally had the ability to touch? What would I do? There was no doubt that I wanted her. But I was anything but the right kind of person for her. And she'd be able to choose anyone, now couldn't she? Anyone at all. What made me so sure she'd choose me? "Want me to come with you?" I'd be damned if anyone else would get to touch her first.

Smiling, she replied, "I'd like that. Thank you, Logan."

"It's the least I could do. I. I've been a real asshole." I almost laughed, remembering she'd called me that not a few hours before. "But you know that. I just want to make amends. You deserve this, Rogue. You really do."

She smiled again and settled back into her bed wordlessly. I felt her snuggle up against me through the blanket. For the millionth time I wondered what it would be like to have her up against me without it. Without any barriers. Maybe I'd get to find out after all.

---

It went better than I thought. That's not true. I hadn't really thought about what he would say. I suppose he said all the nice things people are supposed to say when you tell them something about yourself. Like "that's good" or "isn't that wonderful". They're nice words, but they don't really mean much.

What was I expecting him to do? Jump for joy at the thought we'd finally get to touch? Just because the guy had some lustful thoughts about a girl, didn't mean anything. Logan's a great guy. He really is. But he's just that, isn't he? A guy. And don't guys have thoughts about most girls. What's the expression? If it walks and it talks.or is it just if it walks? Oh, well. At least he'd offered to go with me. That certainly made me feel less anxious about the whole thing. The strange part -and it's very strange - is that the entire time I'd been trying to seduce (who was I kidding?) Logan, I'd completely forgotten about what Hank had said. It was like I refused to believe that such a thing was possible. Or - and this is the horrible part - maybe I just wanted to use my mutation as an excuse to get close to Logan. If he felt sorry for me (God this sounds awful), maybe he'd want to make me feel better. And that's all I wanted: Logan close to me. The idea that a solution to my problem could actually distance us made me sick. It sounds so ludicrous.

Logan was gone by the time I woke up around 6:30. I showered and dressed but I was too nervous to have breakfast. Instead, I walked to Logan's room and stood outside. I didn't knock; I just stood out there, waiting for him.

He came out a short while later. His hair was still damp and he smelled of aftershave. I had to smile at that. I never thought of Logan shaving, but I guess men don't naturally grow muttonchops. And then there was that thing he did with his hair. Now that couldn't be natural. Although I have to admit, I do find it rather sexy. Don't ask me why.

"Morning," I said.

He smiled. It was that sort of rare smile that made me warm inside. "How ya doing, kid?" he asked as we both headed to the elevator.

"I'm all right, I guess. A little nervous." Boy, was I. My hands were shaking, the palms sweaty. I hadn't been so nervous in a long time. "What if it doesn't work, Logan?"

He smiled, though it wasn't the same kind he'd given me earlier. It was the kind of smile that doesn't quite reach the eyes. A smile you give to comfort. "Then we'll keep trying, won't we?"

At first, I didn't catch it. The subtle use of the word "we". He could of just said "You'll keep trying." But he didn't. I can't say how good that made me feel.

When we stepped into Hank's lab he was leaning over a microscope, fiddling with magnification. He looked up and greeted us. I introduced him to Logan and they nodded their hellos. Hank is a truly wonderful person and every time I look at him, I feel terrible. I've known him for years and, yet, each time I look at him for the first time. Always I feel awkward look directly at him. I know what it is to have a mutant so extreme you become an outcast. But even I can pass for human. Hank can't. His mutation is so extreme some have called him Beast. He laughs at that. He even encourages the nickname. Still, I have to wonder how much of that humor isn't just a cover for how he really feels.

I sat down and took off my overcoat. I was wearing a tank top - it was the most skin I'd uncovered publicly since I'd left Mississippi - because Hank had warned me he'd need access to both my arms. If I'd worn a long-sleeved shirt I would have had to take it off. Considering Logan was coming along, I didn't think that would be wise.

Hank came up to me, wheeling over a tray that contained -among other things- several large syringes. He gave me a sympathetic look and asked, "Are you ready for this?"

"Yes."

Nodding, he said, "All right. I'm going to give you several injections up and down both arms. We'll wait a few minutes, then do it again." He sighed. "Then, we'll have to test it."

My eyes flew immediately to Logan's. He was staring at me and I knew what he was thinking. I was thinking the same thing. Trouble was I don't think either of us wanted to say it.

Hank looked from me to Logan and back again. "You want me to do it?" he asked.

God bless Hank. With those words, Logan quickly replied, "No. I'll do it."

The needles weren't as bad as I thought they'd be. Hank poked me with them a few times. Then we sat around and said nothing at all. I thought I was having heart palpitations; my heart was beating so fast and erratically. Then he did it again. And we waited again.

Hank was using some foreign instruments to test something or other on my skin. I was watching Logan and Logan was watching the clock.

Finally, the time was up. Hank told us we could try it anytime. It sounded so strange, the way he said it. Try it. Neither of us made a move. I suddenly couldn't look at him anymore; the anticipation was killing me.

I was staring at my hands when I saw one of his inch over. It was hovering right over my knuckles. I wondered if he was scared. "Only if you want to," I whispered.

I saw his hand land on my own. I saw him squeeze my fingers. I looked up at him and he was smiling. Really smiling. I watched as his other hand came up to touch my face. I think I was crying.

Logan stopped smiling. "What's the matter?" he asked urgently.

"It didn't work," I managed.

"What do you mean? Of course it did." He pulled my hand up. "Look, darlin'. We're touching."

"Rogue?" Hank's blue face betrayed his sudden worry.

"It didn't work, Hank."

I think Logan was shaking me. I could see the world move up and down before me. "Rogue, tell us what's wrong."

"I can't feel anything." Logan's hands dropped away. "Not a damned thing."

---

She used to take pleasure in the simple things. The feel of warm blankets on a cold winter's night. Blasts of water forcing her awake during her morning shower. Cool earth under her fingers when she helped Ororo tend the gardens.

Now, that all meant nothing.

The look on Logan's face when he realized what she was saying. He looked how she felt.

Hank had immediately wanted to test it. Needles were pushed into her skin, prodding, angled to elicit a response.

There was none, and Rogue never thought she'd feel so miserable to be rid of her mutation.

Both Hank and Logan tried to reassure her. Hank was busy telling her that he was sure it was a temporary side effect. They'd take care of it. Logan defended everything Hank said, telling her there was no reason to worry.

They were lying. She could see it in their eyes. Hank's were unsure, tentative, filled with consternation. Logan's betrayed his dismay.

She wanted to run out of there. She wanted to be alone. She tried. She hopped off the examination table and tried to run away. She fell flat on her face. But she didn't feel that either.

"I want to go to my room," she screamed. "Get me out of here, Logan."

She had to be carried. Finding her balance was impossible when she couldn't feel anything. Logan took her to her room, laid her on her bed, and promptly left when she asked it of him.

All she could do was stare at the white, white ceiling and wonder what she'd done in her past life to deserve this one. Hank had warned her, as she was being lifted into Logan's arms, that she shouldn't try to move around, that it was possible she'd only hurt herself.

Rogue cried. She cried for herself. She cried at the cruel joke: that she should be allowed to touch and not feel. She cried because every dream she'd allowed herself vanished the moment she saw but didn't feel Logan's hand on her own. She cried because she couldn't even crawl out of bed without hurting herself. She wanted to hurt herself. She wanted to feel the pain.

---

"Rogue? Rogue, wake up."

Her eyelids fluttered open, her dreamless sleep interrupted by a warm, gentle voice soothing her mind awake. "Professor," she mumbled roughly.

"Are you all right?"

The question was perfunctory. Charles Xavier was telepathic. He was a mind reader. Although he didn't have to be to know that his young ward was anything but all right. "Do you expect me to answer that?" she said, more harshly than she'd meant to.

"No. I'm sorry." He moved closer to her and put a hand on her arm. The gesture did not go unperceived. "We'll help you get through this, Rogue. There is always a solution."

She nodded, understanding he was only trying to be helpful. "Not always, Professor. Not for me."

"Especially for you," he replied. "You're very dear to us all. You know that. We will do everything in our power to find an answer. You have my word."

She smiled, slightly comforted by his words. "I know. Thank you."

"Logan's outside. He doesn't know if he should come in."

Rogue shifted in her covers, suddenly realizing the intrusive nature of the Professor's visit. "It's fine," she said. "Tell him it's fine."

"I'll leave you then." Xavier wheeled his chair over to the door. "In the meantime, if there's anything you need."

There were so many things she needed. "No. I'm.all right."

Xavier opened the door and exited, leaving the view clear. On the opposite wall Rogue could see Logan, leaning against it, arms behind his back and head down. He had the look of a man waiting to be executed. He looked like he wanted to run.

But he didn't. When Xavier nodded to him, Logan's body instantly sprung to life. He held himself tall when he entered her room.

"Hey, kid."

"Logan." Rogue found she was burying herself further undercover.

"You all right?" he asked softly, as he sat by her side.

"I'm here."

"Yeah," he replied, gazing over her head. "It'll be all right, you know."

"Will it?" she answered. The response was filled with sarcasm and Logan stiffened at it.

He was silent for a while. Staring at nothingness. Finally, he whispered, "I don't know. I don't know what to tell you." He sighed and moved closer to her. "I'm sorry."

Once upon a time, she would have relished the proximity. She had ached for it. Now, she wondered what it meant. There had been a few moments, moments of pleasure, when she had believed he had wanted her. Really wanted her. Not Jean's memory or anonymous physicality. Her. Then there were other moments, moments that overwhelmed the others, that suggested he was trying to be kind. That maybe he just pitied the poor girl that couldn't touch. It was confusing, to say the least.

That she loved him, that much was certain. But when she'd told him, he'd refused to hear it. He'd told her she didn't and she'd left it at that. He didn't want her love. What he wanted was beyond her.

"Don't be sorry," she said, and chuckled mirthlessly. "At least I can't kill anyone anymore."

"Rogue - "

"No," she interrupted. "Don't say anything. This. This is just the way things are. This has been the way things are since I put that first boy in a coma." She shook her head. "Maybe this is better." She didn't believe that. Deep inside of her, something rebelled against that notion. But what good was rebelling, when her body dictated the rules of the game?

"Listen, Marie," he began.

"I haven't been Marie since I left Mississippi, Logan."

"You have been with me," he replied, putting an arm on her shoulder.

"No, I tried. I tried being Marie. But I couldn't. I can't." She slipped out of his grasp, moving to sit at the other side of the bed.

"You aren't giving up on this are you?" he asked.

"On what? Beating my mutation or us?"

The question evidently caught Logan by surprise. His eyes dropped. His fingers traveled the length of her frayed blanket. "Us?"

She pounced on the question with ferocity. "Yeah, us, Logan. You and me." She crawled over to him and took his face in her hands, forcing him to look at her. "I can't feel pain right now, so let it go. Tell me what you really want. Tell me I'm just a kid to you. Tell me I'm a pity case. Tell me why you couldn't ever want my love."

Her cool hands on his skin made him pause. Brown eyes were boring into hazel and his throat worked, trying to gain control. How had this happened? When had she become this woman, demanding explanations he didn't want to give? "You're not a pity case," he said hoarsely.

"Then what am I?" she demanded.

He hung his head in defeat. "I don't know."

"That's not good enough." She sighed and dropped her hands away. "Thank you for stopping by."

His eyes narrowed. "But - "

"I need to be alone."

"But I - "

"Please, Logan." And there was nothing forceful in her voice anymore. He heard weariness and sadness, and maybe resignation. It was the worst thing he'd ever heard.

---

He left her. He left the room when her sad eyes were too intense for him, when her words cut too deeply, when her skin began to warm on his.

He wandered the halls of Xavier's mansion, the beloved School for the Gifted, and found it all wanting. Maybe it was time to leave again.

Logan walked and walked until he found himself in front of Jean Grey's office. It was an odd place to be but he walked inside.

She looked up, startled to see him there, wondering why he had come. "Logan. What can I do for you?"

Sitting down, he stared at her across her desk. Hers was a beauty that had instinctually attracted him from the first. Her cool countenance hid a passionate nature. He knew she was attracted to him as well. He could smell it. Still, sitting there, with her in front of him. It left him empty.

"I came to talk about Rogue," he announced.

A slim eyebrow rose. "Oh?"

"Yes," he continued. "You heard what happened to her?"

Jean nodded. "Of course. It must have been devastating for her. I have yet to see her, actually. I was planning on doing that a little bit later."

"I'd hold off on that if I were you."

"Why?"

Logan shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "She wants to be alone."

The telepath frowned slightly. "Is that what she told you?"

"Yes."

Sensing there was more to it than that, Jean prodded. "So, what did you want to talk about then?"

"I think it's time for me to go," Logan said.

"Do you?" she replied calmly.

"Yes," he stammered. "I'm only complicating things by staying. I think Rogue can take care of herself now and this thing, it'll work itself out."

Jean stood up and walked to her filing cabinet. Logan frowned as she began rifling through the files. "And you don't want to be around when it does?"

"I ..."

"Listen, Logan," Jean moved to back to her desk and opened the folder before her. "This is private, so I shouldn't be discussing it with you. But I think it might help you understand." She pushed the folder to him. "Go on. Read it."

Logan stared at the computer printouts, the lab reports, the analysis of data and frowned. "What does this mean? Did she..."

"She knew, Logan. She knew this was a very real possibility."

Logan looked up at her, bewildered. "I don't understand. Why would she go through with it?"

Jean removed the glasses she was wearing and leaned back in her chair. "She wasn't going to, at first. This was something Hank had tested long ago, Logan. A year before you got here. He discussed the results - the ones you're holding now - with Rogue. He explained the dangers. And for a year, she held off. For a year, Logan, Rogue refused the treatment because she was afraid of the consequences."

"And then."

Jean offered him a sad smile. "Are you asking yourself what changed her mind?" She sighed. "The minute you walked back into her life, Rogue began acting like the seventeen year-old school girl she hasn't been in a long time. And then, you go and give her false illusions."

Logan snarled, "They weren't false illusions."

"Then what were they, Logan?" she asked, irritated by the interruption. "You walked into my office talking about leaving. She thinks there was more going on with you two."

"No she doesn't."

"Logan! What is wrong with you?" Jean took a breath, obviously trying to steady herself. "I'm not saying what's happened is your fault. It's not. Rogue is old enough to make her own decisions. But, you have to be aware she made them because of you."

He sat still, without saying a word, trying to digest what she'd said to him.

Finally, after what seemed an eternity, Jean asked, "What are you going to do? Are you leaving?"

"I ...no."

Jean stared intently at him. "Are you going to help her?"

"She doesn't want my help." He ran a nervous hand through his hair. "I don't know if I can give her what she wants."

Jean Grey's eyes were a little hard when she asked, "What do you want to give her?"

"She told me she loved me."

"Logan?"

"She's not for me, Jean."

The telepath remained silent, waiting for him to continue.

"I don't even know who I am," he said desperately. "I don't know how old I am, what I've done." He paused. "Who I've killed. Don't you see, Jean? The one good thing in my life I can remember doing is helping that girl. And now I've fucked that up too."

Jean watched as he stood up from the chair and began pacing about the small room.

"You're right," he continued. "I did things to her - maybe even said things - that led her to believe. Shit." A loud snikt broke through his speech. Adamantium claws popped from his hands. He gazed down at them in his fury and they immediately disappeared. The anger in his face faded as well, replaced by weariness and self-loathing. "I'm not good enough for her," he said simply.

"Logan, I don't want to interfere," Logan smiled grimly at that, "but I think that you have to put aside those concerns now. The point is she needs you to help her."

"Then what? I leave?" he asked.

She walked up to him and put a soft hand on his arm. "Then, it's up to you, Logan. It's all up to you."

He looked at her with an edge of disappointment in his eyes, and walked out. He didn't think he liked her advice. No, he didn't like it at all.

---

A hand-rolled Cuban lit up the darkness that surrounded him, and he smoked it with a gusto that came from having little in his life to enjoy.

He sat on the damp grass and waited, waited for the light in her room to go out. He sat, and waited, and thought until he thought he'd never want to do any of those things again.

In his head, he played out dozens of scenarios. He could leave now, head back to Canada, and forget the X-men ever existed. Or try. He could wait for Rogue to overcome her predicament, and then leave. He could stay. His head was pounding with the possibilities. He almost wish whatever forces had stolen his past came and took him away, and did it again. Maybe then the doubt and the guilt wouldn't gnaw away at him until he was sick.

During his stay in the small town near Alkali Lake, he'd met a woman named Rosemary. They'd met in a bar after one of his fights and she'd offered to buy him a drink. She was blond and thin and a little eager, but he'd accepted anyway. She was a talkative little thing and before long he knew the story of her life. He knew how her husband had died (factory accident), that her child was being taken care of by her mother, and that her one dream was to be a famous singer. He'd laughed at that and asked her just how she planned on doing that, stuck as she was in that frozen shithole. Frowning, she'd replied that dreams were dreams because they weren't meant to come true. They were fool's wishes. Dreams, she said, are what keep us going, but you don't take them too seriously, or you're bound to be disappointed.

He hadn't thought of Rosemary in a long time, but he remembered what she'd said now.

When the light finally went out he waited and calculated and hoped to God she was finally asleep before he made his way back into the mansion. Once inside, he walked to her door and listened for the deep, even breathing of slumber. Hearing it, he went into the room.

She'd changed into shorts and a tank top and he had to smile at that. At least she was allowing herself the freedom she hadn't enjoyed for so many years. He moved to stand by the bed, where she lay sprawled over the comforter.

Her chest moved in a cadence that hypnotized. Up and down, slowly and steadily. Her hair fanned out on the pillow, leaving her face uncovered and exposed to his view. He watched her eyelids flutter and wondered what dream she might be having. Was it his dream, too?

He would allow himself this much, he thought as he pulled off his boots. He couldn't wake her, even if he wanted. Removing his socks and his shirt, he lay down beside her on the bed. He wrapped his arms around her body and hugged her to him, so that she was facing away from him. And he let himself dream.

He ran his hand down the length of her arm, felt the warm skin under his fingers, and dreamed she shuddered in response. He stroked her hair and moved it away from her neck, exposing it to his lips, dreaming she stirred into his kiss. He breathed into her ear and heard himself say, "You know what you are? You're everything." And he dreamed she heard.

She heard the words. They came softly, floating through the air like so many bubbles, fragile and ready to burst.

It was past midnight when she'd finally decided to turn the light off in her room. Not because she was tired. She'd been in bed all day and felt like a caged animal. Her body had been at rest so long she wondered what would happen when she regained use of it. If she did.

In fact, she had attempted a daring escape. She thought how pathetic she must have looked, crawling out of her bed and towards the door. Reaching for the doorknob, she realized she wouldn't exactly get very far on her hands and knees. And anyway, where would she go?

She'd tried reading to pass the time but had given up and tossed her books in disgust when she saw that all of their heroines were tortured and doomed to a life of misery.

She must've fallen asleep sometime after that because the next thing she remembered was being awakened by the light streaming in through her open door.

She knew it was him because no one else ever came to her room at night. No one else would be brazen enough to walk in without knocking, or want to disturb her sleep. But he was oblivious of those things. He sauntered in like it was his room too and she watched through almost closed eyes as he walked around her bed. She feigned sleep, partly because she didn't want to talk to him, partly because she wanted to see what he would do.

She felt the bed tip under his weight. She felt it. And just like that, the curse was lifted. It was so easy it almost seemed almost funny. She wanted to laugh at the magnitude of this joke that had been played on her. But she was still waiting for the punch line. Was this it?

Then she felt his arm around her, felt his lips on her neck, and heard the words he whispered. Felt them on her ear as his hot breath carried them. And that, she realized, was the punch line. That strange and wild confession coming from the mouth of a madman was the rim shot. But it wasn't funny.

She moved back into him - still pretending to sleep - and felt him stiffen. She wondered briefly if this was the key. If the physical realm was the way into Logan's mind and heart. She turned around in his arms and opened her eyes, watched as his grew wide with the knowledge she was awake. But that was all he knew. So she showed him.

The palm of her hand slid up to his face and settled. She left it there, feeling the prickly stubble of his beard. She moved her other hand to his mouth, pressing it in, feeling his teeth against it.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"Feeling," she replied easily.

He backed away with the new information but she kept him close by placing a hand against the back of his neck.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, tightening her grip on his neck.

"I thought you were asleep," he responded.

"Well I'm not." She sighed. "What are you doing here?"

"I came to see you."

"Why?"

"To say good-bye." As soon as he said the words they became fact.

"You're leaving?" She hoped her voice didn't betray the tightening in her chest.

"Yes."

"When did you decide that? Just now?"

"Yes."

She let him go as she whispered, "Fuck you."

"Marie - " He took a step forward, as if to comfort her and she saw that to him, she was just a wounded little girl.

She didn't move back. She let him come towards her and when she knew he was going to open his mouth to apologize, she slapped him

It was like slapping steel and it hurt. Her hand stung from the impact and she was glad of it. It seemed appropriate. He looked pained and she was glad of that too. "Fuck you, Logan," she repeated, this time shouting out. "You're leaving?" she asked again, driving a clenched fist into his chest.

"Yes." The word was squeezed from between his clenched teeth.

"You're leaving? You're leaving?" She was hitting him full-force, landing punches on his chest and shoulders, punctuating each word with a physical assault.

For a while, he let her vent her rage, taking her abuse, trying not to flinch at her words. Then, he grabbed her wrists and stopped her, pinning her arms to her side. "I have to go," he said. "I didn't want this." He let her go and turned to leave.

She watched as he made his way to the door. When he put his hand on the knob she bit out, "I thought I was everything?"

That stopped him and he realized his mistake. It was in the dreaming.

What to do, he thought, still holding the doorknob. Would he have to explain himself? Could he possibly just leave, hope that she would get over it and that he could somehow accustom himself to the sickness brewing inside of him? Did he have it in him to tell her the truth?

"You're a coward, Logan." Her voice was hard and unforgiving.

She had the key, he knew. She was right. He was a coward. He had been hiding behind his own body, hoping that it's ability to punish others, to heal itself without exception, would keep him shielded. Twenty years of running and hiding had made him especially good. Practice makes perfect. His heart, encased in unbreakable ribs, had been impenetrable until she had somehow breached its defenses. She was right. He was a coward. He was afraid - not of being shot, or maimed, or beaten to within an inch of his life. He was afraid of her. He was afraid of the power she possessed over him. He was afraid that if he didn't run, she would use it.

"Shouldn't you put your boots on?" he heard her ask. She had crossed the room and was sitting on her bed, facing away from him and staring out her window.

His boots were lying next to her feet. He would have to move next to her to get them.

All the alarms in his head sounded at once as he placed one foot in front of the other, walking slowly but surely towards his boots - and her.

Bootsbootsbootsboots. It was his mantra. It was his mission.

It was his Achilles' heel.

He meant to do it quickly, efficiently. He bent over to pick up one boot, then the other. Each time, his eyes traversed the expanse of her long legs. He was so close his nose almost grazed her thigh.

On his way back up he heard her say it again, quietly, "Coward."

His cage fighting opponents had called him that, and worse, in order to rile him, anger him to the point of distraction. He'd always complied, beating them into a bloody pulp in his berserker rage. Hearing her say it a second time - softly, like a caress - produced the one moment of perfect clarity of the night. It was crystalline, the way he saw it. She wanted him, despite his refusals and rejections. This woman, he thought as he looked up her white leg to the cuff of her blue shorts, wanted him. Of course it was frightening. His gaze traveled upward, over her thighs and stomach and breasts and neck and mouth and nose and landed on her unsettling eyes. They were as bewildered as his probably were. In his enlightened state he saw it all and drank it in and wondered how he'd lived without the knowledge. Of course it was frightening. Everyone was scared. It was all too easy to step off the ledge and let yourself fall. He looked into her deep eyes and wondered how many times he'd taken the plunge. It was addictive, he saw. It was a rush of pleasure and fear and complete exhilaration when he saw that she was falling with him; he could see and hear and feel and smell it coming off of her.

"Are you leaving?" She brushed her leg against him. He knew he was hers. He wondered if she saw it: his surrender to the fall, a fall propelled by a force as pervasive as gravity itself.

He grabbed her leg and felt the muscles twitch and jump beneath his hand. The anger was still present in her eyes, but it was beginning to fade. "I make for a lousy boyfriend," he said, dragging his hand further up her leg.

"I'm not looking for a boyfriend," she said, leaning into him, sliding off the bed and onto the floor. "What are you looking for?" he asked, not quite looking in her eyes.

"You bastard," she hissed. "You want me to say it? I'll say it. You're all I'm looking for Logan, all I want."

Flesh met flesh in a violent collision of will and passion and anger and despair. She grabbed at his hair, pulling it so that he thought it would tear from his scalp. He grabbed her by the arms and hauled her against his chest, letting himself enjoy what he never thought he wanted. What he had always wanted.

"Why are you doing this?" he asked, tearing his mouth away from hers, dragging it down her neck.

"I don't know," she whispered. "I don't know." Her hands had loosened in his hair and she was rubbing slow circles into his head.

"I don't think I can stop," he warned, moving calloused fingertips underneath her top, over the skin beneath.

"I know," she gasped. "Don't."

Few thoughts were really registering in his head. One was that this was wrong, oh so wrong. That the way she felt under his hands was not natural - he could quickly feel himself losing control in a way that was never normal for him. He was touching her skin and he briefly wondered if that was it, if the thought of touching something that had been untouchable was the biggest aphrodisiac of them all. Then his hand moved to grab a short-clad hip and a small sound escaped her lips and he knew, he knew skin had nothing to do with it. Her skin did. Not because it had been forbidden, but simply because it was hers.

He watched her - eyes clenched tightly, mouth slightly opened - and realized he hadn't kissed her. Not properly, not the way she deserved. His roving hands paused for a minute, causing her to open her eyes. A question lingered there and he knew what she was thinking. She was thinking he'd run. "I'm going to kiss you," he said.

Relief and expectation and need flashed across her face as she nodded.

He lowered his mouth to hers in an act that conveyed reverence and self-doubt and pleasure and pain. Slowly, he tasted her, memorizing her flavor, awed by the way she completely gave herself to him. His hand slid into her hair, softly stroking, caressing. In a moment he would be gone, lost in a sea of feeling. Everything he heard, smelled, tasted - everything was her.

It was a long while before he pulled away, his eyes drifting automatically to her swollen lips. Her breath was coming in a quick, unsteady rhythm and he felt a kind of satisfaction in having caused her discomposure.

And for a moment, he was just happy to have her at all.

---

Heat lingered over her mouth when he pulled away. Her lips were tingling and she savored the sensation, keenly aware that she'd never felt anything like it before. The half-kiss she'd shared with David didn't even register. It was like comparing night and day.

It was hard to think because he was so close and his hands were on her, sliding up and down her arms. His breath was tickling her neck. "Logan?"

"Hmm?"

"Have you stopped?"

"No."

He continued his assault, using his mouth on her neck, his hands running up the sides of her torso. She felt his teeth graze the sensitive flesh below her ear and felt herself shiver. He let out a low groan and moved to kiss her mouth again. She felt unsteady hands cup her breasts and she suddenly didn't know how to breathe properly. "Promise me you won't leave tonight, Logan," she said raggedly against his mouth. "Please."

"I won't leave tonight," he responded, reaching underneath her tank top, urging her to help him pull it over her head.

She did and when the garment was removed she instantly reddened, too aware of his gaze, embarrassed and excited by what it meant.

He took her arms, prying them apart where they had instantly crossed - habit and instinct causing her to protect herself. "Don't hide," he said softly.

So she let him. She watched him as he watched her and she trembled from the cold and the awkwardness and the desire it caused.

He removed the rest of her clothing and she tried to do the same for him but found it too difficult to undo the buttons of his jeans, her shaking hands not helping the process. He did it for her, quickly and efficiently.

She was surprised at how deliberate it all seemed. She remembered Kitty's romance novels, how the characters always seemed to be throwing themselves into fits of passion, unable to escape their urges. This wasn't like that at all. She felt like she had a measure of control. Like she could walk away from the situation whenever she wanted. And there, she realized, was the problem. It was in the wanting. She wanted him too much and she wasn't going to stop, no matter how much her better judgment screamed for it.

She felt him whisper something in her ear but she didn't hear it. Their bodies were touching completely now and she didn't know what to think or even feel. It felt good and dangerous and she thought of Kitty's romance novels again and almost laughed because wasn't she supposed to be concentrating on the situation? When he started kissing her again, her body told her it was best not to think.

"Marie," he said, loudly enough to break through her reverie.

"What?" Her voice, she noticed, was low and throaty.

"Bed," he replied, half lifting her himself.

Getting there was a blur but she remembered everything else with extreme clarity, every touch, every sigh. She remembered the feel of his stubble against her stomach. She remembered the moan he forced out of her when he moved lower. Remembered his muscles contracting under her hands. His teeth and tongue. His murmured whispers. His mouth muting the scream that tore through her when she found her release. The look in his face and the silence when he finally did.

He didn't leave. He stayed with her through the night and held her to him. Neither dared say a word. When he finally got up to leave in the morning, she let him.

When she saw him the next day, he was talking to Jean. When he caught sight of her something in his face changed for a moment. Only a moment. Then he turned from her and from Jean and walked away into the depths of the mansion.

He tried explaining it to her once. She'd worked up the nerve to corner him in the garage. He was greasy and smelled of sweat and dirt. She hadn't made a scene, she hadn't screamed and hollered or begged. She simply asked why.

He told her, simply, that they weren't right for each other. That he wasn't right for anyone, let alone her. He said that what happened that night was his fault but that he wouldn't be sorry for it unless she was. He said, staring down at the wrench in his hand, that many boys in the school would want her. And many more outside the school. She could do whatever she wanted to. She could be everything she'd dreamed of before...before her mutation, before the X-Men, before him.

"I keep having memories," she'd whispered to him then. "Of what we never had."

He nodded. "Maybe it'll be easier once I'm gone. Distance, time will let you forget."

"Yeah," she replied, a dull ache creeping into her chest, threatening to drown her.

"Kid?"

She held herself as still as possible. "What?"

"Go to Alaska."

She knew what he was saying but she didn't reply. She walked out of the garage and thought that it was going to take so long for her to forget. For her to lose memories of something that never existed.

---

When I was younger, before my mutation manifested, before I had to run away from my life and forget everything, I thought that doing what you wanted in life was the most important thing.

When I told David about Alaska, I was dead serious. I didn't know when I was going to go, or how exactly I would get there. All I knew was that it was something I wanted to do, so I would.

I learned that getting what you want isn't that easy. Sometimes because even knowing what it is you want is difficult in itself. And once you know... well, there are other complications.

I left the mansion before Logan did. I explained to the professor that I needed some time to myself and he agreed.

"I want you to know that anything you need will be provided. You're part of our family, Rogue."

When he said that, I nearly burst into tears. My family pretty much threw me out of the house when they found out about me. On the long trek to Canada, I never thought I'd have a family again. I thought I would drift endlessly, never being able to carve out any sort of relationship with anyone ever again. Professor Xavier and the X-Men proved me wrong and, as much as I hate sounding like a sap, I will be eternally grateful for that.

The professor offered to buy me my plane ticket but when I told him I preferred to drive he merely handed me the keys to one of the cars. It was that simple. And that's how I left. I drove away.

I said good-bye to a handful of people. My school friends: Bobby, John, Jubilee, and Kitty. My surrogate older siblings: Ororo, Scott, Hank, and Jean. I didn't see Logan, but I had a feeling he knew I was leaving. Something in me wished he would come see me off, maybe ask me to stay. It didn't happen and, much as I wished for it, I hadn't expected it to either.

Jean was the last person I talked with. I had lingering resentments I had to deal with before I left. I didn't want to be angry with her. Not when I had no reason.

"I want you to know that I'm sorry," I told her. "I'm sorry for a lot of the things I said. I had no right to. I know you and Scott are very happy and that Logan...Well, I know there's nothing between the two of you. It's just something I had to latch on to, you know? Something to blame for the way things were going. Or not going."

She smiled warmly and I knew then that all had been forgiven. "I wish things had gone differently, Rogue. I really do." And that was it. No hint of "I-told-you-so". Just that smile and a hug and hopes for my well-being.

---

In the realm of physics the big crunch theory has always held a strange fascination. Where the big bang is purported to have sparked the beginning of the universe, marking the beginning of everything we know to be true today, the big crunch is its antithesis. The big crunch shrinks the universe, causing everything to flow backwards. The arrow of time is reversed and all physical phenomena inverts itself. The big crunch scenario is so weird, so awesomely strange in its machinations it's hard to conceive. When I first read about it, I had to picture things falling up, people getting younger instead of older, the universe with a greater tendency towards order than chaos.

When I first got to Alaska I felt like my life had been in a big crunch. Somehow, one stage of my life had reached its limit: there was no room for expansion, no room for my universe to broaden. So, my life began shrinking, reversing itself, just like the big crunch is supposed to do to the universe. Things started happening that made me feel like time was traveling backwards. Logan showed up and I started feeling like a fifteen year old again, all hormones and hurt feelings. Then the nerve therapy went wrong and I felt like I'd crawled back into the womb. Then my big bang occurred: Logan and a single night and total chaos and the complete and utter paradox of absolute happiness and total desolation all in one package.

The longer I stayed in Alaska the more I got to thinking that physics was total crap.

So I had my Alaskan adventure. I met some people: most nice and some not. I did some things but not a lot. After all, it was Alaska. I stayed long enough to experience the bewilderment induced by a dark day. And I remembered David because he'd told me how cold it was. He was so damn right. A Mississippi swamp rat doesn't belong in a place that cold. But I survived, and I guess I'm the better person for it.

When I realized my "gift" was starting to manifest itself again, I didn't panic. I was almost relieved to have my old life back. When I saw I actually could control it, it was like a missing piece of a puzzle had been discovered. I was complete again.

One of the nicer people I met was an older lady named Ruth. She was really nice; ran the hotel I was staying at. She invited me to tea quite often and there was never a reason not to accept. She first went to Alaska because her husband was stationed there. She told me she'd first thought it was hell frozen over. Eventually, I guess, she grew to hate it less and less. I asked her why she stayed so long. She said that her husband died before he was transferred and that she didn't leave because there was nothing for her to go back for. Everything she'd ever loved had been in Alaska and it remained buried under the hard-packed ice.

"Why are you still here?" she asked, after I'd visited so many times I couldn't keep count.

"I have nothing to go back to," I responded, thinking I was being honest, thinking that was my truth.

"What's wrong with home?"

"Too many memories I don't want to relive yet."

She got a strange look in her eye before sipping her tea and saying, "There's nothing wrong with reliving memories."

"They aren't pleasant," I insisted.

Ruth, bless her heart, responded, "So what? They're just memories. They're in the past. Go home, child. Go create new memories you can leave behind."

I knew she was right but I stayed another month anyway just to be stubborn. And because I enjoyed her company.

One dark day I packed up my things and said good-bye to Ruth and drove until it was light again.

As I drove up Graymalkin Lane I started feeling that anxiety I'd had before I left. I pushed it way down deep and thought about creating new memories.

I hadn't told the professor I was coming but as soon as I parked the car I felt his presence welcoming me and telling me that I should see him as soon as I'd settled. Ororo welcomed me at the door. The anxiety began to dissipate. The big building began feeling more like the home I remembered. Like the course of my universe had been righted.

Part of me wonders what would have happened if the story had ended there. Would I have remained perfectly content forever? Would my memories have been simple and pleasant?

I don't think I was destined for a simple life.

Professor Xavier warned me that he was still prowling around, that he'd never gotten around to actually leaving. For a second I didn't know whom he was talking about. And it all came rushing back, that torrent of memory. But it was less painful than I remembered. And I remembered Ruth's words: "Just memory."

I looked for him and was a little surprised to find him re-tiling one of the pathways. "Don't we have people that take care of that?" I asked of his back.

He stopped working but he didn't turn around right away. I decided not to make it any harder, so I simply walked up to him. "Hey."

"Hi," he managed. "You're back?"

"Apparently." I couldn't help smiling at his total befuddlement.

He cleared his throat and smeared some of the drying cement on his jeans. "So how was Alaska?"

"It was an adventure."

"Was it what you were expecting?"

"More." I paused for a second, because I was finally realizing what the experience had meant to me. "Thanks."

"For what?"

"Making me go."

He nodded and just stood there in the middle of broken clay tile, looking lost.

I thought about creating new memories. Maybe Logan needed that more than I did. "I have to go get cleaned up." I took his hand in mine and was glad that he didn't pull away, instead actually squeezing it a little. "You want to get together later? Have some tea?"

The look on his face was priceless. "Tea?"

"Or beer. Any soothing beverage?"

"Beer soothes you, Marie?"

"The non-alcoholic kind maybe."

He smiled: one of the priceless new memories.