They were on a train and her gloves were off, and she was running her fingertip across the trim of his eyelashes. "It tickles," he complained, and she just smiled.

"You've got lines around your eyes," she said softly. "Did you used to laugh a lot?"

And he stared at her and caught her arm at the wrist, at the edge of cloth's permission. "I don't remember."

She leaned in, breathed into his beard. "What a terrible thing to forget."

---

The little boy in the train station spoke Dutch, his vowels long and some sounds thick in his throat. He watched her with big blue eyes; she knelt and whispered, "I don't understand."

He giggled at her strange words, reached to skim chubby fingers across her face, and she flinched, scrambling back, and nearly fell. Logan caught her; Logan always caught her. "It's okay," he said. "He's okay."

She forced a jerky nod. "Okay."

"And you?"

"I'm okay," she whispered. "Just... he's so little, y'know. I'm scared of how few seconds it would take."

"None at all," and he pulled her in and rubbed her hair. "You didn't let it happen, so it doesn't matter."

"Right," she whispered to herself. "Should we go ahead and go?"

"Yeah," he agreed, but he took a minute to let her go.

---

"It'll rain soon," he told her as they walked up the long driveway.

"You know?"

He shrugged. "I can just tell."

"Neat." She glanced up at him. "What're you thinking?"

"Wondering what we say to them. About this... us."

"Oh." She grinned. "That's easy. They like the truth."

"Which would be?"

"Oh, you know, same as six months ago. I had to admit that with my skin, I can't be picky, so a stubborn mule at least four times my age was the best I could get. And you—why, you're a masochistic weathervane with a penchant for young girls with dangerous skin. How can we go wrong with that?"

"Marie," he groaned, but he was laughing. Rain began falling, small drops that made him right. "What is the truth, really?"

"Fine, fine." She stared up at the mansion. "That you've stopped walkin' away, and I've found things that go beyond touch, and that if they need us, they take us. Think that'll work?"

"Sounds good."

"What's your truth?"

"Yours works just fine," he muttered.

"Logan."

And the rain fell harder, and she tilted her head up to be drenched as he said, "That I'm selfish enough to have it not always matter if you have everything you need, so long as I can have you."

She started laughing as they reached the front door. "Let's tell them that. It'll make Scott's day."

---

Professor Xavier and his pale, gentle warmth made up for the dark wood and intimidating furnishings of his office; the room, for all their serious moods, was light, airy, comfortable. He was watching them, Rogue especially, and his words were low and careful. "Do you fully understand your role in this?"

She matched his gaze evenly, if with some difficulty. "We know what's at stake here, and we all know this decision rests with you, Professor."

And he nodded; he knew. "I believe six months has been long enough to disagree, and I regret your feeling that leaving was the only option. Things were handled poorly, and for that I apologize. To both of you."

Logan was slouched in his chair and looked guardedly bored when she glanced over at him. But when she raised a questioning eyebrow, he nodded. "Then it's good to be back, Professor. I've missed you."

Xavier nodded. "And I, you. I hope you'll both consider returning to the team, even after this mission."

"We'll see." Logan finally spoke, his tone careful but absolute. "Do we need to get things rolling tonight, or can we get some rest? It was a long trip."

"By all means. The third room on the first floor has been prepared."

"Thank you," Rogue murmured, and she hoped it said enough.

---

"You don't have to do this," he was saying, watching her undress and slip into a gauzy jumper.

"I know that." She pulled a brush through her hair and sat next to him, and he started rubbing her shoulders. "The other options won't work, and that's all there is to it."

"You still don't have to," he grumbled, and his mouth came down between her shoulder blades, breathy and moist through the thin material, as thin as the specialty seamstress could make it.

"I don't have to, or you don't want me to?"

"Does it matter?"

She reached back to squeeze his knee. "It always matters. But I am doing it."

"Okay," he pressed into her back. His arms came around her waist and she wondered why safety like this had taken 24 years to find. "Okay," he breathed again, his hands moving restlessly.

"Okay?" She twisted around, pushed him back and pressed him down, finding purchase for her mouth on cotton-clad nipple.

"Yeah," he groaned, and rolled. "Yeah, okay. Long as I'm there."

"Every time," she hissed, and he looked at her, questioning in his eyes. She only nodded, nodded and then found his lips. And there was the crackle they'd gotten used to, the pull that wasn't astonishing enough anymore to make her lose the feel of his anxious kiss. Aching fear and tension and torrid protectiveness leaked into the corners of her brain, and she remembered to push him back. "Logan?"

"Yeah," he got out weakly, and rolled onto his back. She followed, and these moments were made for her and her mouth and her gently roaming hands. Until his could come back to her, until he got his arms back around and lifted up against her heat and then they could move. Move fingers and hands and hips, and she slid a condom on him and she'd gotten better with her mouth, and not much later he was weak again and she was breathing raggedly into the side of his chest as his fingers stroked against her.

"Hey," he said in sleepy haziness. "I lo—"

"Shh," she mumbled. "I know. You always let me know."

---

Scott hugged her at breakfast; she stared him down until he offered a hand to Logan. "Can you try?" she asked quietly. "Can you see that I'm happy and try?"

"Yes," he said, and Logan was already moving to find a seat. There was buzzing gossip amongst the students; they all remembered everything. "I can try."

"Good. Fill us in while we eat?"

"Sure," he agreed, and followed her to the table Logan had found. "Jean is with Mystique now. We're going to move tonight, if you're up to it that soon."

"That's fine." She elbowed Logan. "That's fine, right?"

"Whatever," he bit out. "Sooner they're done using you, the better."

"Nobody wants this," Scott snapped. "We're not jumping up and down over it. And face it, but neither of you are safe until we get Magneto."

"I can take care of us."

"Like you did last time? Sabretooth cracked your skull, Magneto took you for a joke, and hell, Mystique kicked your ass before you managed to make a mark. Fine job there."

"Both of you stop it," Rogue mumbled wearily into her eggs. "Logan, drink some coffee and act like a human being, and Scott... Scott, just stop, okay?"

She didn't think it would stop; she wondered what might happen that night.

---

Mystique looked at her with hatred deep in her eyes; she reminded herself to tuck that to the back of her mind.

It wasn't so easy. After Jean pulled her away she looked at Logan, who looked at her, and everything was confused in her thoughts. "Logan," she whispered. It came out half plea, half accusation. Hesitant worry flickered across his face, then a flash of distrust. Her skin itched as ridges and scales formed, and she concentrated on holding that until it felt stable, and then struggled to find her own form again.

Control came slowly, clarity came even slower. She couldn't sort through Mystique as well as she had learned to with Logan; she shook her head and squeezed her eyes shut. "Okay," she finally said. "Let's get goin', and forgive me if I say somethin' I shouldn't say."

Jean shook her head, holding back a laugh as she checked on Mystique. With a glance at Logan, a pointed glance, she shrugged. "I think we've learned how to handle your slips."

Logan had the decency to look away, vaguely embarrassed, and Rogue felt a relieving swell of her own emotions. "Are you... you?" he muttered at her.

"More or less." She winked at him. "It's not right that I've said things to Jean that I've never even said to you."

"I think that's just fine," he growled. "I don't need to hear it and be reminded."

"Rogue," Scott broke in, all business. "Are you okay? Got a handle on it all?"

"I think so." She nodded. "I'll work on the shifting in the jet. We should get going."

Magneto, for all his well-laid plans, for all his attention to detail, had failed within the trap of his own confidences. He'd never expected Mystique to be captured as she had, and moreso, he thought he knew Xavier. He thought he knew the extent to which Xavier would go, and so he'd never even considered his downfall being Rogue.

She confirmed the location Xavier had already gleaned from Mystique's mind, and as they flew to the compound, she got a firm grip on the technique behind changing her shape and sank into muddled thoughts and memories that didn't seem as detached as they ought to.

Scott and Storm were quiet and focused on their task. But Logan—Logan was rigid in his seat, mired in misgivings and tension. He stared at Rogue and saw Mystique, and he kept saying, "Marie," like he had to know that she was still herself. And half the time, she didn't feel like nodding; half the time, she couldn't recall her love for him.

But for all his doubts, most of it went smoothly. She tricked the sensors because they weren't made with mutants in mind, and Magneto hadn't expected Mystique but he didn't question it for long. And she managed to disengage the security measure, and it was the last possible moment when Magneto understood. He reached to touch her shoulder fondly and she flinched, and his guard went up. By then there was the noise of the other three moving in, and Rogue slipped out of Mystique's shape.

"You," Magneto murmured. His voice was soft and crisp, a strange blend of anger and respect.

The doors to the room slid open and there they all were, and with strength his aged body didn't seem to have, he lunged for her, and they fell.

And they fell and fell, and she kept falling because there was a long metal table between her head and the floor. Scott was shouting, something about Logan and stopping and don't kill, and she closed herself to it all.

---

She opened her eyes to Logan prowling through the medlab, and all she could say was, "Cut that out."

He jerked and then was at her side, and he looked tired, more tired than she'd ever seen. "Hey," he offered back. "How do you—"

"It hurts," she whispered. "Why didn't you just—"

"Jean said no." His voice cracked with brittle anger. "She stopped me and said something about your head, about not being sure what would happen with your brain, with your thoughts, if I—so I didn't."

And she nodded slowly. "And what does Jean say now?"

He scowled. "Jean said it would be good if you woke up."

"Got it covered," she teased weakly. "Logan... it hurts."

So he nodded and the brush of his thumb across her lips wasn't enough to even tug, but then there were lips and teeth and solid muscle warmth and nothing hurt anymore, except for feeling his bitter rage at her injury. He slipped; he fell to his knees and pressed his forehead to the edge of the metal bed, and she slid her fingers through his hair. "Logan?"

He grunted at her. "Gimme a minute."

It took five; twice he tried to stand and sagged back down, and on the third try she sat up and held him steady between her knees. "Are we good?" she whispered.

"Getting there."

"Oh," she murmured, and pressed her cheek against his chest. "Any better?"

He laughed down into her hair. "Damn near perfect. Your head?"

With a grin, she looked up. "Don't tell Jean, but you're the best doctor I've ever had."

"Jean heard that," Jean said, coming in. "Logan, didn't I tell you not to lay a hand on her unless I said you could?"

"Didn't I tell you I didn't give a damn?" he grumbled. "Besides, hands weren't involved."

Jean just rolled her eyes. "Fine. Rogue, how do you feel?"

"I'm fine," Rogue said, still holding onto Logan. "Figure you wanna check me out to make sure, though."

"Got it in one." Jean fiddled with the MRI controls and nodded at her. "You, over here. Logan, I suggest you go somewhere and lie down. You look like hell."

"I'm not leaving."

"Yes, you are. Go rest, and this won't take long. Later, the three of us might need to have a talk about a few things."

---

Jean stared at the images of Rogue's brain and shook her head. "When was the last time Logan touched you before this?"

"Last night," Rogue mumbled, pulling on a sweater. "Or night before last, if I was out all night."

"How long?"

"Just for a few seconds... never longer than a few seconds."

"A few seconds?" Jean echoed sharply. "Longer than it used to take?"

And Rogue blinked at her slowly. "I guess so. We—we've gotten used to it."

"I'd say. It only took an instant with Mystique." Jean stared at her thoughtfully. "About Mystique... you still have her in there?"

"Of course I do," Rogue muttered darkly. "She's locked away as securely as Magneto now, right?"

"They're both in maximum security," Jean assured her. "Rogue... use Mystique's power for a second, so I can see. Become anyone."

Puzzled, Rogue shrugged, and by the time the motion was completed, white hair tumbled over her shoulders and she spoke with Storm's gentle voice. "Like this?"

"Yeah," Jean murmured. "Be you again, okay?" And that, too, only took a moment. "You've gotten better at controlling it."

Rogue shrugged again. "Mystique knew how, so I know how. I just had to find all the memories of learning to use the power, so I could learn to."

"How do you do it?"

"What is this, show and tell?" Rogue griped, then sighed. "Sorry. Logan... wasn't in a great mood when he touched me."

"No problem," Jean said, smiling slightly. "But seriously, do you understand consciously how to do it?"

"I think so." She closed her eyes and nodded. "It's complicated, but yeah. Mystique was on her own when she was young; she had to figure it out step by step. Jean... why?"

Jean just watched her. "I wonder, is all. You know, if you could use that for yourself."

---

She went upstairs to where Logan was lying, but not sleeping, and she stared at him silently. "What's wrong?" he asked, relaxing visibly at the sight of her. "Jean give you the green light?"

"Green light for what?"

"For getting the hell out of there... coming back to me," he finished, quirking an eyebrow.

"Yeah," she said softly. "Green light. Full speed ahead."

"Hey." He sat up, watching her. "What is it?"

"Nothin'." She looked down and shuffled over to the bed, where he pulled her down and against him. "I'm worn out. Thought we could nap and then get lunch."

He rubbed her hip with slow, even motions. "Think we can get back to normal now?"

"Hope so," she mumbled, feeling her fatigue hit her. "Just gotta finish figurin' out what normal involves."

She slept soundly for several hours until lunch, aside from old dreams coming back. Dreams she hadn't had for nearly a year, of Logan being able to touch her and have nothing happen, dreams that had faded away when she knew he wanted her, even without normal skin.

And when she woke up she was angry with Jean, because Jean had started it and Rogue wished she hadn't. She wanted things as they had been, when she had been able to find a balance between hopes and reality.

Logan was leaning against the footboard, watching her. "Hi," she yawned, rubbing her eyes. "Watcha lookin' at?"

He smiled slightly and didn't answer. "You were having a good dream," he said instead. "I hope it wasn't about One-Eye."

"Logan!" She snorted and kicked his leg. "That's...that's... you're gonna pay for even putting that thought in my head."

His smile became a grin. "Glad it's that kind of thought."

"Rat," she muttered, crawling out of bed. "I'm starving. Lunch?"

"Yeah," he agreed, but caught her at the door for a long, tight hug.

"Thanks, you know."

"What for?" Her voice came out muffled into his shirt.

"For being okay and all." He sighed, obviously uncomfortable with being so open, even to her. "For being... here."

She slipped away after eating; she went to the greenhouse and noted how it had been changed around since she'd left with Logan. Someone else had taken over its care, and she idly wondered who it might be. Then she just let it go, just let herself go in Jean's words and thoughts of Logan and the school and the team.

And that night when Logan wanted to kiss her she shook her head and curled up facing away. "Twice in two days is already a lot," she said as an excuse. "Let's not push it."

He didn't push it, simply wrapped his arms around her and kissed her hair. And the next day she thought maybe... maybe Jean was right, and she spent hours sorting through Mystique's lingering memories and trying to apply conscious knowledge to herself.

But then Logan kissed her and she found out that he'd actually gotten along with Scott that day, and she nearly started crying as he lay still and let his strength return. When he realized how upset she was, he turned the lamp on and stared hard at her. "What?" he demanded. "What's wr — Did I do something?"

She shook her head, still fighting tears. "No, I—" and her voice caught. "Just—come back, please?"

And in the dark and in his disjointed touch she tried to forget, but she woke up angry with Jean again.

She couldn't forget, and so she couldn't stop trying.

---

On the fourth try, over a week later, she finally managed to make Mystique's technique work for her. And she expected Logan to react, expected him to want answers and explanations. But when he could keep touching her, he did; his mouth roughened against hers and his hands came to touch her face and know it like they only had once before, and she got lost in realizing that she could taste him like the interference of the connection had never allowed.

Then he groaned, "Marie," his breath harsh and torn, and it was like he'd only needed a reminder. That she was Marie, that he wasn't supposed to be conscious, if even alive, after that kind of a kiss with her. He jerked back and blinked at her, his eyes darting over her features. "Marie... " and she recognized the panic in his eyes too late. "Oh, fuck, Marie," he whispered. "Shit."

He sat up and wouldn't look at her anymore; he just sat on the edge of the bed and rubbed his face in his hands. "Logan," she finally started, her voice quiet in the chill silence of the room. "Logan, I'm sorry, I should've—"

"Stop," he muttered. "Just stop... Goddamn it." He trailed off in his curses, and she felt near tears. And finally he looked at her, something scarily steady in his gaze. "I'll be back later," he said, nearly calm. "I'll... be back later."

He didn't come back, and she didn't sleep. At breakfast, she saw him at a back table, hunched over and staring at the wood grain. "Hi," she said nervously, setting two mugs of coffee down. "Been here all night?"

"No," he said shortly. "I went for a walk."

"Long walk."

"Yeah, well." He was looking anywhere but at her; she in turn stared into her coffee. "How'd you do it? After all this time?"

"Mystique," she mumbled. "She had a huge grasp on how to direct the power of her skin. I managed to adapt it to me."

"Huh. Nice job, I guess." Logan fixed a long stare on her at last. "I was thinking I'll probably take off tomorrow."

Rogue sucked in a sharp breath and forced herself to let it out again. "Where did you want to go?" she asked slowly, carefully. "I know we talked about Nevada, or—"

"I said I, not we." He looked away again. "You'd stay here."

And she just blinked at him. "You're crazy," she breathed. "My damn skin sucked every last bit of sanity right outta you."

Logan scowled. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"You have another explanation for why you're talkin' like an idiot?"

"Everyone loves you here, Marie," he muttered, standing up. He reached towards her; his hand hesitated before ruffling her hair. "No more settling. Congratulations."

---

Out of all she'd ever absorbed from other people, Logan's temper was the thing that stayed like nothing else. It entrenched itself within her, found common ground with the seeds of her own aching fury at what she could and couldn't do, and it became a part of her. She let Logan walk out of the dining hall, and she made small talk with some students and Scott and Storm, but when she caught Xavier looking at her with glinting concern in his eyes, she scowled and hurried out.

And Logan was nowhere to be found, and he didn't come back to their room for most of the day. But when she came back from dinner, he was there, stuffing his few belongings into a bag, and her anger flared. "You said you were done walkin' away."

He barely glanced at her. "You said that, not me."

"Then what about what you did say?" she demanded. "You weren't lying; I'd know if you'd lied to me."

"I never lied to you. I told you once," and there was more dangerous warning in his voice than she'd ever heard, "and this is the last time. I'm a selfish son of a bitch. None of this should surprise you."

"That doesn't surprise me one bit. I don't see how that has anything to do with this, though."

Logan stuffed a t-shirt into his bag and didn't answer. "Dammit," she hissed. "Fine. Go if you want. But if you ever realize what a jackass you're bein', I'll be here."

"No, you won't."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"That means," he snarled, "that you've got it all now, okay? You can do everything you always said you dreamed about, and you can be with anyone you want. Not just some jackass four times your age who happens to be able to survive your touch."

"You idiot," she snapped, and her stomach knotted at the thought that if she didn't convince him soon, the bag would get full. "Never once was it about settling for you. Never once was it... It doesn't work like you think, Logan. If you leave, I don't get to just move on. What happens is that I go back to being just Rogue to everyone, just the woman nobody can touch. Because anything else would be settling, and that's never been my habit."

He glared at her. "You wouldn't do that."

"No? Go, then. Go growl at people and pride yourself on protecting the poor girl who somehow thought she loved you, and come back here in a year and just see how many people I've let lay a hand on me." Her fury abruptly ebbed away and she fought tears. "You made me certain my skin didn't matter to you, and I love you even more for that. But if you don't get it through your head that this control means nothing if you leave, I might have to kill you."

Scowling, Logan sank onto the bed and clenched his jaw for a moment. "How can you know every single thing about me and just not get it?" he muttered.

"Why can't you just explain for once, instead of expecting me to sift through it all?" she countered, coming to sit next to him. "Logan... there's a lot of you. I can't deal with it all; sometimes I need you to help."

His eyes flashed in the direction of the opposite wall, and she watched, entrance by every twitch of agitated muscle beneath his skin. "I can't do it," he ground out. "I can't just—just sit back and wait for you to realize they were all right."

"Who? About what?"

"*Them*. About me being bad news for you."

"I thought we settled that already," she said quietly. "Logan, I left with you in March because I knew they were wrong then. I still know they were wrong, and I'll leave with you with absolutely no regrets if you don't feel like we're welcome here—like you're welcome here."

"That's not it. They were right, okay? I love you and you know that. But you don't need to stick yourself with someone who'd rather you not be able to touch anyone than be afraid of losing you all the time." He lunged to his feet and stode to the door. "I'm sorry, for what it's worth."

She winced at the sound the door made closing, and stared blankly at the half-empty bag sitting a space down from her on the bed. And for the first time, she gave up and cried, curling up and hugging the bag to her until she fell asleep.

---

Being with him had always been an accident.

He'd kept his promise and come back, sooner rather than later, and even though he always left, he also always came back. And he always had a kind word for her, and never asked for his dogtags back, and so she finished growing up with a continual gleam of fondness for the scruffy guy who had saved her life.

It was in college that it eased, because she had her life there, and he was never around when she went back to the mansion on breaks. She'd never worn his tags, anyway, but after a year they stopped being something she pulled out to look at occasionally, and they went into a box of the kind of important things you just keep in a box. Out of sight, but where you could get to them if you had to.

And when she graduated, when she went back, he was very calmly settled and keeping himself on hand since social tensions towards mutants had been heating up lately. He treated her like a friend; he told her bad jokes and traded good-natured insults, and when she remembered how she'd once been awe-stricken over him, she laughed at herself and thought she was glad they could be friends.

But when he smiled at her, her day always felt like it went better, and when he came to see her in the greenhouse, she usually felt like she was seventeen again. He started teaching her how to fight so she could join the team, and she nearly got herself hurt multiple times by trying too hard. Too hard, for him.

She hadn't meant any of it: hadn't meant to be a mutant; hadn't meant to become an X-man; hadn't meant to fall in love. But she was twenty-three and all of it, and the accident came right after Christmas. There was an explosion during a mission and she and Storm got hurt, and within minutes she passed out because the debris had nicked an artery in her arm.

And she woke up in bloody snow, with her arm aching but healed, and Logan lying, barely conscious, next to her. All he said was that he was sorry, but he'd had to, and in a minute he would need help getting Storm back to the jet.

She gave him his minute, and Storm was fine. And then she gave him two days while she tried to deny that there was, indeed, something very different in his feelings for her than there had been the last time he touched her. But after two days he was helping her in the greenhouse when she stared at a sack of fertilizer and forced herself to say that he could touch her anytime, and he didn't say anything but that night he slipped into her room and made her come for the first time in her life.

They kept it quiet, but by February everyone knew, and nothing went well. Scott and Logan fought all the time, Jean and Storm looked at Rogue with concern, and Professor Xavier drew her aside to express his hopes that she was fully considering all her choices. In March she lay in Logan's arms and said that if he wanted to go, she would be with him, and three days later, they were gone. To Canada and to Alaska, and to Maine and back across to Washington and Oregon.

Until Magneto escaped and Mystique was captured, and Xavier tracked them down because they needed Rogue. By the time she fell asleep, she wished they never set foot in New York again.

---

She opened her eyes to the heavy blackness of night, and with Logan's arms around her, his breath slow and steady against the back of her neck. "You leavin'?" she asked stiffly.

"I can't," he replied, the words muffled.

"Why not?"

And he started laughing. "Well, you're lying on all my stuff, for one thing."

She blinked into the darkness, unsure of how to take his laughter.

"Then I guess I just won't move."

"You will," he murmured confidently.

"Don't bet on it," she muttered darkly.

He just started laughing again. "Hey. You got it turned off?"

"Yeah, why?"

She stiffened as he shifted, propping himself up on one elbow and leaning in. "I won't go anywhere," he whispered, and then found her ear. "I can't, and it has nothing to do with my stuff."

"You promise?"

"Mm-hmm," came back to her, and she shivered because his hand was under her shirt, skimming light circles over soft flesh and moving up. She twisted, pressing against him. "Logan. Do you promise?"

"Hey," and he tugged her, moving her just far enough to be able to shove everything else to the floor. "I promise," he said after the noise settled.

"Okay." She found his mouth, plied it open, and a minute later, or maybe five, broke away gasping. And Logan pushed her shirt up and off; his fingers were callused but softer on her than she'd ever been able to imagine. Pressing her down into pillow and blanket and restless sensation, he nuzzled one breast and thumbed the nipple. "Marie... "

She let him unfasten her jeans and tug them off, and she let him mouth his way back up one leg, over her hip, all the way up to fasten on her neck and groan against tendon and bone. Then she pushed, rolling him over and down to take her own turn. They had to wrestle to get his shirt off, and after it was gone and forgotten, she held him, sitting up, to kiss firmly. And his arms went around her, around her waist and back, but when he thrust up gently against her, she pushed him back down.

Tucking her face into the bristle of chest hair was new; scratching her bare fingers down the thin flesh covering his ribcage was new. He gasped when she reached his sides, just below the ribs, and he squirmed. "Hey, hey," he protested. "That—that tickles."

"Too bad," she mumbled, and breathed mercilessly against the sensitive area. Her fingers fumbled at his pants; she lifted her head to stare into a face she could barely see in the shadows. "We have a condom, right?"

"On the floor somewhere," he replied, and laughed when she cursed and rolled away to search over the edge of the bed. And only minutes later he was pressing into her and it hurt, and she could hear a tiny creak of protest in her pelvis, but she curled her legs around his hips and just moved. Just found his lips and dug her nails into his back and moved, and she thought about all the times they'd been so close but not quite, not quite this. Heat built up beneath her skin and she felt like she was going to scream, and when Logan shifted and moved just the right way, she bit his shoulder to stop the noise.

And later he drew her tightly against him and spoke into her neck. "I'm sorry."

"You scared me," she let herself whisper. "Don't do it again."

"I love you."

She hesitated. "I know." She closed her eyes and yawned. "You let me know."

---

Her body ached when she woke up; her lower back screamed mutiny that echoed through her groin and down into her thighs, and she just winced and slipped out of Logan's grasp to take a shower. The hot water helped, and by the time he coughed and rolled onto his back, tangled in the sheets, she was dressed and sitting on the end of the bed, and her thoughts were on something else entirely.

And he sat up halfway, leaned his head and shoulders against the headboard and scratched his stomach, and she could feel him staring at her.

"Morning," he finally said, his voice gravelly. "Are you—"

She turned a soft smile on him before he could finish the question.

"I'm okay. Just thinkin'."

"Yeah? ‘Bout what?"

"Everything," she replied, waving her hand at the scattered mess on the floor. "Just... everything."

"Oh," he muttered. "Heavy load."

"It's not too bad." She found his foot under the sheet near her leg and rubbed it. "Do you want to leave, Logan. I mean... apart from us, do you not like it here?"

He frowned at her. "What?"

"Well, we did what we came to do. So now what?"

"I don't know."

She shook her head, exasperated. "Don't say that."

"Wait. What's wrong with me not knowing?"

"I just—It's like in only two days of not touchin' you, like the old kind of... it's like you could have all this new stuff in your head that—that I would never know about. I'm not used to having to wonder, and... it's always like that for you, isn't it?" Logan just watched her silently. "I wish I could reverse it, y'know. I wish—I wish I could give you everything in me like you've given it to me."

"Why?"

"So I could be sure you always understand." She sighed. "So I could be sure you knew how much."

"How much... " he prompted.

"How much everything. How much I love you, how much you make me happy, or angry, how much I want to find some way to make sure you're never gone." She looked back down at the mess. "How much it scares me that you still can scare me."

"Fuck," he said under his breath, and got up. He found a pair of boxers on the floor and yanked them on, then paced the room. "Anytime you want, you know, okay? Turn it on, or off, or whatever, and... "

"No," she broke in. "No. That's not... I didn't say it to make you upset. You worry and I worry... just promise you'll figure out how to talk to me, even if it's hard? Figure out how to... how to let me know without me touchin' you?"

"It is hard," he muttered. "I... I do promise, though. I'll figure it out."

"Good," and she smiled. "So? We leaving or not?"

And he crouched in front of her and tugged her down to bite gently at her ear. "I say we decide later. Sound good?"

"Yeah," she said. "Sounds... good."

**end**