She didn't know if it was the sound of the camper's engine turning off that made her open her eyes, but she knew from the touch on her wrist that he wanted something this time.

"We're here. Get up."

"Where's here?"

He didn't answer, simply opened the door and got out, letting in a cold wind that brought her fully and completely awake. They'd stopped three times since they'd left Magneto's lair. Each time, she'd stared up at the ceiling of the camper and wondered if she had time to make a run for it. Each time, something held her in place, closing her eyes again and curling a little closer into Mystique's jacket. She wondered why he didn't threaten her, tie her up--*something*. But he never did. She wondered if she could run--but more than that, she wondered if he would follow her.

Oddly, that uncertainty was what held her in place, cheek pressed into the rough upholstery, eyes closed each time until he'd gotten back. He'd bought things, though she didn't know what, hadn't looked to see.

Slowly, she levered herself up on one elbow and pushed her hair back from her face with the back of her hand, frowning at how filthy it felt against her face. Pushing the door open, she stepped out on the slick, dirty asphalt and looked around the almost deserted parking lot trying to figure out where they were. Just to get her bearings. Small town, decent motel, utterly silent. The sort of place serial killers usually grew up.

"Marie."

She winced at the tone in his voice and shut the door with her hip, trudging around the front of the camper and passing him to go inside the small wooden doorway.

"Go take a shower."

She couldn't help her wince that time, and tried to cover it better--she knew he'd seen the first one.

"I'm--"

"Now."

She gritted her teeth, turning around and taking a quick survey of the room. One bed, pea-green bedspread, a TV. One bed. Dear God.

"Unless you're really hot to spend more time dirty." He didn't sound terribly interested in whether he did it or not, walking back out the door and shutting it with a casual brush of his hand, and God, it was just a shower. Not something she needed to dig her heels in on. Slowly, she walked to the bathroom, ducking inside and checking the door. No interior lock.

The man had metal claws. Locks weren't going to stop him if he wanted inside. She took a breath and flipped the lights on, shutting the door behind her.

It was easier to undress with the gloves, though the leather pulled from where the interior lining had stuck and dried into the clotted blood on her palms. Shivering, she pulled the sweater over her head, then fumbled the button open on the pants, which slid off her thin hips even faster than they'd slid on. She winced away from the image of the frightened, bruised girl in the mirror, looking down at her gloved hands. The leather was too big and thick, but she couldn't wash her hair with her bare hands, there was just no way.

Even more slowly, she moved across the green tile floor and onto the paper bathmat, pushing back the shower curtain. Okay, clean enough in there. Carefully, using the tips of her fingers, she got the hot water on and stepped inside, wincing as the full spray hit her skin. A washcloth was laying on the edge of the tub--she picked it up gingerly and jerked the shower curtain into place, finding the little paper-wrapped package of motel soap and fumbling it open, not really caring that the paper fell on the floor of the tub. Soaping the cloth, she took a deep breath and disciplined herself out of noticing her hands and went to work.

Eight weeks of accumulated grime--she couldn't possibly count the quick washes she'd done in random bathrooms or the buckets of water Logan or Mystique brought her every day. St. Mary's shelter in New York. They'd had showers and given her a new coat and the last meal she could remember actually eating. Ducking completely under the hot spray, she shut her eyes tight and refused to curl away from the heat of the water, scrubbing at her skin until it felt pink and painful to touch and raw, but God, it was clean. *Clean*. Carefully, she ran the cloth across her back, but Creed's claw had caught her arm and the slash hadn't completely healed, so it was painful to stretch. After several minutes, she looked down at the washcloth and shuddered to see it black with dirt and streaked with fresh blood. Glancing down, she saw watery-red tracing her newly-cleaned forearms from her gloved hands. The water and scrubbing had dissolved the scabs.

Shaking, she screwed her eyes tighter and put her head under the spray, finding the little bottle of motel shampoo by touch, and dumped the entire bottle on top of her head. Her hands hurt now--seriously, painfully hurt, soap worked into the gloves, but she gritted her teeth and kept washing, running her hands through each strand until she could be sure she was clean; really, seriously, completely clean. She knew she was crying but tried to be quiet, didn't want to attract Logan's attention.

The water was running cold before she finally got out, gingerly wringing her hair dry and wiping away the remains of the tears from her face. The clothes she'd worn were gone--he'd come in and went out and she'd never noticed. Towels were stacked on the toilet, though--picking up the top one, she wound it around her head and fixed the end in place in a neat fold, then picked up the second, drying off her pinkened skin. Blood dripped sluggishly down her arms from the cuffs of her gloves and she felt trickles on her back. Ignoring both, she wrapped the towel tightly around herself, looking down. Painfully thin body, and even so, the towel barely brushed the tops of her thighs

He was sprawled across the bed, idly flipping through channels on the small TV, but her eyes caught a variety of items on the bedside table laid out in neat rows. Instantly, the cool hazel eyes found her and she hesitated at the door as he sat up, lightly turning to rest both booted feet on the floor. He reached for something on the table and she realized they were latex gloves. He'd bought latex gloves.

"Strip."

She grabbed the towel tighter, holding it to her breasts--he'd seen her before, God, he'd even seen her in the shower now, but....

"Marie, rule number one. Obey me. Lose the towel and come here."

He couldn't--do anything with her naked. That much was true. One by one, she forced her throbbing fingers to open and the towel fell around her ankles. It was a physical effort to make her walk those few feet over the mustard-yellow carpet that separated them, and she winced away when he stood up, his shirt brushing against her naked skin.

"Sit."

Her legs wouldn't hold her much longer anyway. She dropped down onto the rough bedspread and shivered a little from the chill of the room, goosebumps spreading over her skin, but he was only looking at her again with clinical interest, tilting her head forward and lifting her arm over her head, tracing the line of Creed's claws on her arm and her shoulder.

"Anything else?"

"My--my back. And hands," she answered steadily.

He nodded slowly, sitting on the bed beside her and running his fingers across the slash across her shoulder blade. The latex was warm from his body heat.

"A week ago?"

She nodded numbly.

"You didn't tell Mystique when she brought you that crap for your hands."

She blinked, giving him a surprised look.

"Why would she care?"

He shrugged and didn't answer, swiveling neatly beside her and picking up a bottle she recognized as rubbing alcohol, as well as a small basin. Pouring some into the basin, he set it against her back and she realized what he was going to do just as he poured it across her raw flesh.

"*GOD*." Involuntary muscle reactions took over, but he seemed ready for that and a hand on her shoulder forced her back down. Breathing deeply, she gritted her teeth and felt something scratchy run over the wound, before he turned away and got something else from the end table.

"You know a lot of first aid," she ground out, teeth clenched.

"In my line of work, it always pays to know the basics." Something cool and vaguely medicine-smelling was smeared across the cut, then she felt soft cloth and adhesive that would keep the bandage in place. "Probably scar, but not much. Not too deep."

With clinical efficiency, he performed the same procedure on her arm, then tilted her head up, removing the towel, mapping her head inch by inch with careful fingers, before checking her face. It was just bruising--she'd gotten a glimpse in the mirror before she shied away from her own reflection.

"All right--hold still while I take off the gloves."

Nodding numbly, she waited as he worked them down--it was easier than expected, since the soap and water had dissolved the scabbing that made the material cling to her hands, but it still hurt. Turning her palms over, she locked her teeth together at the look of the torn, raw flesh, but he didn't seem to notice, lifting each hand and studying the wounds.

"Might have been worth it," he murmured, and she opened her eyes to look at him. A little half smile stole across his face and he glanced up at her with real amusement.

"What?"

"Knocking out Creed and letting you get some of his healing."

She couldn't control her shudder and the amusement vanished--she wished it hadn't. He didn't scare her as badly when he smiled.

"I'm going to soak your hands in alcohol," he told her, tilting her head up again to hold her gaze. "Shit if I know any doctor in this area who wouldn't ask questions about an underage mutant runaway. Look at me." She forced herself to meet the serious gaze. "It's going to hurt like hell. Don't fight me."

So that was what the basin was for.

Her hands trembled as he moved it between them, and she turned to face it, flexing her hands and wincing from it, but unable to stop the twitching.

"I--don't think I can." She stared at the bowl and swallowed hard. She could do this. Before she could find the courage, before she could even think, gloved hands closed over her wrists and her hands were forced into the alcohol.

It was beyond pain--like her hands had been thrust into molten metal, and she heard her own choked whimper. Instinct wanted to jerk her away--but dammit, she was stronger than that, knew infection would be bad, very bad, and mutants and hospitals didn't mix. It wasn't worth the risk. It wasn't. It *wasn't*. Something in her mouth stung and she tasted blood, wondered hazily if she'd bitten her tongue and focused on that, focused on the taste and sting in her mouth.

She didn't even realize when he lifted her hands up out of it until she felt something soft draped across the backs of her hands, patting the burning skin dry.

"Good girl," he said, and she saw that little smile again, before he put the basin on the floor and shifted closer. She shut her eyes tight as he dried the alcohol away, then he stood up. "Good girl. You're doing fine."

She nodded through the tears that squeezed themselves out of her eyes. She didn't care if he saw them now.

"Keep your hands up."

She didn't move--even the slightest twitch was exquisitely painful. She felt him sit back down and turn her hands over, smoothing something thick and creamy over the raw flesh, then began to wrap something around her hands. Curious, she opened her eyes and watched him using lengths of gauze expertly. When he was done, she was covered from the bottom joint of each finger to the middle of her wrist. Elegantly done--she remembered spraining her wrist and her doctor wrapping her wrist just as efficiently. She thought he had a lot of practice.

"Stiff?"

She licked her dry lips and nodded, knowing her voice wouldn't do anything but shake if she tried a verbal answer.

"All right. Don't move."

He was gone again--she was beginning to associate him with restless energy, remembered how he'd always seemed to be in motion when she saw him in Magneto's caverns, always doing something. Idleness probably didn't suit him well. When she saw he was holding clothes, she held up her arms without a word and the heavy cotton fabric of the sweatshirt dropped over her head effortlessly. She worked her arms into the openings and took a breath of relief once her hands were free. Very large, easy to get into. She appreciated that.

"Don't get used to this," he murmured, and she saw the humor had returned. "You can dress yourself in the morning."

"Okay." She turned a little and refused to acknowledge her embarrassment when he carefully worked the sweats up her legs and helped her stand before pulling them up. They were loose, but at least they didn't slide right off her hips, like Mystique's pants had threatened to do every second. Maybe there was more than one reason she hadn't made a run for it yet.

"Where are we?"

He shrugged and turned to the bedside table, beginning to put up the varied items. She watched as he packed everything efficiently into a small bag she didn't think he'd had when they'd left, then noticed a variety of shopping bags on the floor. Curious, she almost got up to look and stopped herself, but he must have caught the motion from the corner of his eye, even though he never turned around.

"Your stuff," he said. "Go look and see if it fits."

Slowly, she got up, keeping her hands clear of anything they could accidentally touch, and knelt beside the bags. Using the tips of her fingers, she opened the first, pulling out a variety of--oh, thank God, clean shirts. Two sweaters too. Sizes didn't matter in shirts unless they were too small and these most assuredly were not. Carefully laying them aside, she burrowed into the next one and found jeans. Thermals. Underwear.

God, underwear. She'd wouldn't think of that too much; she was just grateful there were some.

"You can get any other stuff you need tomorrow," he said behind her, and she dropped the green cotton--how on earth did he get her underwear size from one look?--and turned around.

"This is fine."

"Girl stuff."

Oh. *Oh*. She felt herself flush and nodded. He looked comfortable sitting on the bed, back to flipping through channels. She didn't want to get up. She didn't want to sit on the floor all night either. These clothes were very covering.

He was sitting on the only bed.

"Marie."

She jumped a little and hated herself for it.

"Y-yeah?"

"What did I tell you at Erik's?"

Erik. Magneto. She swallowed, trying to figure out what he wanted to hear. After a second, she got her feet under her and took a breath.

"Nothing I wouldn't do willingly."

"Right. How old are you?" He still wasn't looking at her.

"Seventeen."

"Then you have very fucking little to worry about from me. Lay down."

She was already moving to the bed--to him--before she realized she was doing it. Obedience and habit--powerful things. He was already training her. Slowly, she circled the bed and crawled on top, and he moved the covers back for her. Another wonderful thing--a mattress. A real, honest to God mattress with springs, no matter how creaky. She knew she was going liquid and didn't even care. Floors and alleys and streets, the rough cot in Magneto's caves, all distant memories compared to the reality of sleeping on something warm and soft.

"Are you hungry?"

Her stomach wasn't interested.

"Not really."

"Just a sec." He was moving again, and she couldn't help but watch him--he was so restless. She tried to imagine him sitting still and couldn't, not at all. From somewhere, he got out a paper bag and pulled out a Styrofoam cup that smelled like chicken.

"I'm not--"

"I know how much you've been eating, Marie. Just drink this. You'll feel better."

He'd really thought of everything. She wasn't sure how she felt about that, but took the cup and sat up, drinking the broth carefully. Not too hot, not too cool, a little salty, but it didn't bother her stomach too much either. A bottle of water was dropped by her knee when she was done and she drank a few mouthfuls before her stomach actively protested. Carefully, she screwed the lid back on and put it on the side table.

He watched her the entire time.

"Were you going to force feed me if I didn't finish it?"

"General thought. First aid skills not up to semi-starvation." Another smile--he looked nicer and a lot less intimidating when he smiled, and she couldn't help smiling back, just a little. "Go to sleep, Marie."

"You could call me Rogue."

He laughed then, and she didn't even realize she was relaxing with him until she felt her smile widen.

"When you grow up, I'll call you Rogue." Almost parentally, he ruffled her hair, then pushed her gently down onto the pillow, spreading out the strands of her hair on the pillow. "Any hot water left?"

"There wasn't when I was done," she admitted, and felt herself stiffen, suddenly reminded how strong he was. He caught that too, and she got a curious expression from him before he nodded and got up, still looking at her.

"Don't sleep yet. I'm gonna take a shower. We gotta talk."

---

He was fast. Not a surprise--she didn't even have time to begin to feel sleepy before he wandered back out in a controlled wave of energy. She felt like she'd melt into the bed from exhaustion and he seemed like he wanted to run a few deer down for entertainment. Damn.

He was naked too, and really didn't seem to care that she was watching, wide-eyed, her first ever view of a naked male. Completely, absolutely naked male, that is. She wasn't sure what to think about that. Embarrassment didn't cover it. Shock didn't either. No one acted that comfortable naked. No one. He wouldn't--he wouldn't risk sleeping that way with her in the bed, would he?

Her mouth went dry and she pulled the covers close and covered her eyes, feeling a flush stain her face. No secrets between them, it seemed. She'd been naked, he'd been naked, they'd seen each other naked.

"You can come out now."

She was just a regular comedian for him apparently--she thought he might be laughing at her, but when she looked up, all she saw was a trace of a smile. Dressed with a smile. Sweat bottoms, a t-shirt. She got the feeling he didn't dress for bed often. She was glad he did this time.

When he was laying down beside her, a hand closed over her upper arm and gently pulled until their bodies touched. She went stiff and couldn't control it.

"What did I say?"

She bit her lip and couldn't look at him so close to her.

"Nothing I didn't want."

"You weren't willing to do, but close enough." His hand stroked over her arm comfortingly. "I need to make sure I have your scent."

"What?" That made her look up and she caught a rueful look on his face.

"Coupla years ago, Mystique made the mistake of moving when we were sleeping." He shrugged. "Almost killed her. We've been more careful. This works."

"Killed her?"

Without a word, he lifted a hand. The metal slid out with a sharp sound, and she turned her head to study the claws.

"Oh. I'm sorry."

"So was she." He let them slide back in and she watched, fascinated. Last time she'd seen them, in the bar, there hadn't been time to do more than panic. "Are you going to sleep tonight or worry?"

"About the claws?"

"Among other things."

She began to flush again, and was suddenly aware again of the body pressed to hers, warm and hard, pure muscle, only the suddenly flimsy cotton between them. Licking her lips, she tried to look in his eyes, but couldn't get past his neck. She could see the edges of a thin chain--his tags--and followed the line of it until it disappeared into his shirt.

"I--don't know."

"I won't hurt you. Marie, look at me." She forced her gaze upward and the very serious expression on his face was somehow comforting. "If I want sex, I can find someone willing to do it."

"I've done--" she stopped the words on her tongue. He'd never made it a condition, and offering now would be just stupid.

Silence for a few minutes and she shut her eyes, locking her teeth together.

"You've done it before."

She didn't know how to answer, what he would do if she did.

"Some things," she whispered finally, and the hand on her arm stopped stroking briefly, before she felt the fingers in her hair.

"That's not going to happen anymore."

She held her eyes closed. She didn't want to see the expression on his face.

"I don't understand."

"Neither do I." She wondered what he meant by that, but he let her go, trailing her hair across her face, the ends tickling her nose "I'm going to make this very clear now. You awake enough to listen?"

"Yeah." She took a breath, let it out, and looked up, trying not to move.

"Rules of the road--listen to me, don't disobey. It's easy and it makes life simple, and I like it when life's simple. Don't try to run, because then I'll have to decide if I want to go after you, and that will piss me off. You need something, you tell me. I will never hit you. I will never hurt you. Is that clear enough?"

She slowly nodded.

"Good. I got your scent. Go to sleep." Easily, he pushed her back over, putting several full inches of space between them and closed his eyes.

"Why are you doing this?"

He sighed and the hazel eyes opened again. He looked more amused than angry, and that helped, relaxed her more.

"If I had a dime for every fucking time I did something that made no sense to me, I wouldn't be taking jobs from Lensherr." He smiled again then, and she wondered if he was doing it deliberately to make her stop asking questions. "Go to sleep." Nodding, she wrapped herself more securely in the blanket, shutting her eyes.

It seemed enough, for now, that she was alive.