Logan was a man of definites, his likes and dislikes clearcut. Meat should be rare, beer cold, and women grown up. He was aware of the speculation his arrival with Marie had caused - even if he hadn't been able to hear every word whispered in the hallways, the sly insinuations were far from subtle - but he refused to let it bother him. Marie might mean more to him than any other human alive, but she was just a kid, and sex didn't enter the equation.

At 16, she had been adorable but vulnerable, and his fondness was tempered with concern. He left his tags with her as a tangible reminder of his promise - he would always be thinking of her, always be there if she needed him. After over a year on the road yielded nothing but frostbite and frustration, he returned a month before her 18th birthday. Marie hurtled into his arms as soon as the door opened, a newly curvaceous spitfire that surprised and delighted him - her nervousness had gone, and guts and sass had become the dominant part of the package. And the fact that the package was tempting did not mean he was tempted, Logan told himself.

Just a few weeks later, lying in a tent with Mystique above him, that faith was shaken. Her disguise as Jean Grey catapulted him straight into his own fantasies, but when reality intervened in the shape of three clawmarks on her abdomen, Logan was able to push away from the shapechanger. Her morph into Storm failed to have any impact, but when he saw Marie's chocolate eyes and white streaks, his body was fooled in more ways than one.

Even now, weeks later, he shuddered at the memory. The urgent flash of arousal, wilder and stronger than anything he had ever felt. His cock so hard, it hurt - already beginning to pulse just at the thought of being inside that liquid warmth. The bone-deep knowledge that she was his - HIS - and that anyone who tried to come between them would end up skewered on his claws.

Mystique had sniggered derisively. His cock had told her exactly what she wanted to know, and her smirk told him she wouldn't fail to use the information. It was that, more than anything else, which gave Logan the strength to throw her from him ... he would not be used to hurt Marie. His job - no matter what his body thought - was to keep her safe.

As days and then weeks flashed by, even the tragedy at Alkali Lake receded into the background for Logan. He coped, and did his best to help others cope by taking over the day to day running of the X-Men. Scooter was helpless in his grief for Jean, Storm dispirited with their loss, and the Professor seemed suddenly smaller and older. It fell to Logan to keep the kids together, safe and fed as they disappeared into the world of safe houses and underground mutant networks. But underneath all the planning, worrying and motivational ass-kicking, Logan was aware of the Wolverine's constant focus on Marie.

"She's mine. Mine. MINE," his feral soul howled. And Logan was losing the will to disagree.

He was willing to concede that - one day - Marie would be his. Even that Marie wanted to be his - right now. But the Wolverine had no use for human conceits such as "age of consent" or "authority figure" (and just laughed at the farcical "big brother" label most of the X-geeks wanted to fix him with). And Logan refused to take a child as his lover. A standoff was entered, but the truce could break at any time. Desperate action was required.

"Rogue." Logan beckoned her away from Bobby and Piotr with a surly grunt and barest tilt of his head towards his room. As her eyebrows rose in question, he frowned but deigned to explain. "Need a word."

"Try "please" then, sugar. Heard that works real nice," she fired back, but nonetheless unfolded herself from the ratty couch the three of them were sharing in front of a broken-down TV.

"I'll leave the beggin’ up to your lapdogs, kid," he said, closing the door behind her and then coming to a halt as she stretched out on his bed, all big brown eyes and knowing smile. Usually, he would take the other end of the bed - not like there was any other furniture in the place - but this time, he decided against it. Proximity had become too dangerous, and Logan suspected Marie knew that. When he dropped to the floor to lean back against the door, her catlike satisfaction wavered and doubt crept across her face.

"What's wrong, Logan?"

Wrong? What was fuckin' wrong was that he had no idea how to start this conversation, Logan sweated. "Uh, there's somethin' we need to talk about," he forced out, not looking at her. "Somethin' about you an' me."

"Us? Logan? What's wrong with us? We're good, aren't we?" Marie's rising concern was fed by Logan's evasiveness, and his refusal to look at her. He might not talk a lot, but Logan always sat close, and his million little touches told her more than his words ever did. Why was he sitting clear on the other side of the room and refusing to look at her?

"Yeah, Marie. We're good," he rushed to answer. "But..." his struggle ground to a halt as Logan's patience evaporated. "You just have to quit it!" he snapped, suddenly uncaring of his reception. "Stop lookin' at me as if I'm lunch and you're hungry! Wear some clothes that will cover you for a change and for fuck's sake, stop with that lip thing," he groaned.

"Lunch ... clothes .. What? What lip thing?" Marie's concern was banished by his peremptory tone. Suddenly, she was pissed. "What the fuck are you talkin' about, sugar?"

Even without looking at her, Logan could pick up the false chord in her voice, and her scent was two parts satisfaction to one part anger. She had been playing him - and she was pissed off at getting caught, not at being misread. His heart ached at the lack of honesty: once, he knew her every thought and emotion before she did. Once, he would have been able to express himself without hiding behind anger. Suddenly, he decided to be straight with her. Completely straight.

"Do you know why I call you "kid", Marie?" She shook her head, her annoyance fading into curiosity. "Cause I know you're not, not anymore. But if we pretend for a bit longer, that's safer. Because you're not all grown up yet, either."

Marie's mind was still playing with the implications of his first statement ... why was it safer? Why should her growing up not be safe?" It was her inner-Logan that finally supplied the answer, his own self-disgust whispering in her ear "safe, as in, safe from me...".

Logan knew the minute she realised. Her brain thundered "he wants me" and her hormones responded with a flood of arousal that rolled over him like a wave. He threw his head back and closed his eyes to drown in that scent, and when his claws sprang in reaction, he plunged them into the doorframe to keep him there. Every sense he had was screaming "bed, now!"

Nine parts adamantium to one part willpower kept him braced against the door. Grabbing at his control, he opened his eyes to slide them over Marie's rosy face. She looked embarrassed, but not ashamed. Dragging her eyes up from the obvious bulge in his jeans, she returned his stare with equal measures of defiance and sensuality.

"I haven't been a kid for a while, Logan. You just getting' round to noticing now?" The low question dared him to admit, aloud, what his body had already told her. Marie's hot gaze said something else: she wanted the full shebang, the whole nine yards; nothing less than Logan as her lover. Now.

"That would be what I mean by "lunch", Marie," he spoke gently into the taut silence. "You shouldn't look at me like that. Or wear those little skirts with the boots. And the leather ... aah, Marie, the leather's the worst ..." his words trailed into an agonised sigh.

Still stunned by his admission, Marie knew it was time to come clean. Inner-Logan had explained the conflict he would be facing, with the Wolverine's slavering need tempered by Logan's stubborn honour. She had been playing on it, dressing herself directly from his fantasies and enlisting every flirtatious trick that had ever been directed at him. She wasn't surprised it had worked, but to be expected to talk about it ... that was new. Oh well, game over, she thought. Here's where he gives me the 'maybe I want to but we can't' speech.

"Why do you think I wear it, sugar? I know you like the leather, and the boots ... I just wasn't sure you liked them ... on me," she purred, refusing to back down. If Logan wanted to talk this out, talk they would, she vowed.

"I'm a man, Marie. 'Course I like them on you. I'm also your friend, and at least 20 years older than you. Two good reasons I can't do anything about it. And you're 17! No fucking way in hell will this happen," he said, an edge of desperation creeping in. The elephant in the room had been acknowledged, so wasn't this meant to get easier?

"Why not, sugar? What's wrong with more? What's wrong with a little lovin' between friends? Or you being a little older than me? I mean, you're probably older than EVERYONE, but you still deserve someone to love you. And I don't just mean fucking." Marie's words were soft, but still tinged with defiance.

You had to give it to the girl, Logan thought, she was willing to fight for what she wanted. And if she had employed his own memories against him, well, she was just using all the weapons she had available. It wasn't her fault he was a goddamn tomcat with the morals of ... well, no morals at all, really.

"Marie. I don't do little girls. I especially don't do little girls I'm responsible for. And there's no way in hell I'm doing you. No matter how much I want to." He frowned as Marie flinched at the finality in his voice. Rejection, no matter how noble, was still rejection. But Marie, being Marie, wasn't willing to give up just yet.

"What am I supposed to do, Logan? Ignore the way you make me hot just by walking into the room? Pretend I don't see you watching me and smelling me and wanting me, just so's you don't get too horny? Use Bobby or Pete when I get too horny to think? To walk, even? Just to scratch YOUR itch? That's not fair, Logan. Even they know they're not the ones making me hot."

His eyes closed as her monologue bit into his self control. He hadn't known it was mutual. Innocent arousal, yes, but strategies to satisfy it? The tearing need that an ungovernable lust could bring? He wondered if it was him-in-her-head that fired it. Or perhaps - and his throat went dry at the possibility - little Marie was perfectly capable of her own feral passion.

"Shit, Marie. We got a problem here," he groaned. "I'm not going to pretend I don't want you. I do. But I just can't have you yet. Not while the X-men and the kids need me. I can't have you and be the man they need me to be," he said, counting on her understanding.

No one but Marie knew how much he struggled with The Wolverine ... they thought the curt, rude badass was his rough side. Only Marie knew that THAT man was Logan, constantly bad tempered under the strain of keeping his feral qualities under control. The Wolverine didn't give a fuck about any of them - he would have taken off immediately after Stryker's attack. With Marie, Logan reminded himself. And he sure as hell knew what would have happened next if he'd let that happen.

And that's why we need to fix this, he reminded himself. 'Cause it ain't gonna happen. "Jesus, kid. We've got to sort this out. It's gonna kill us both otherwise ... or get us killed," he reminded her. "You ain't concentratin' when you're fighting. I can't concentrate unless I'm fighting ... and we don't have the Danger Room to let off steam anymore ... how the fuck are we going to get through this?"

Marie surrendered in the face of his frustration. She knew how much being a good man meant to him. The world could go fuck itself - it was Logan that he needed to keep square with. And with the Wolverine inside, that was rarely easy. Marie sighed. Time to be the martyr. Again.

"Okay, sugar. I'll stop. I'll pretend you're the big brother I ain't never had and will go paddle in the kid's pool. But it's just for a while. Like a truce or something," she said, her reluctance clear. "I need to know this isn't forever, Logan. That, one day, you're going pull your head outta your ass on this and realise you and me together is a good thing. The right thing for us both," she said, her quiet voice losing all sarcasm in its seriousness.

He couldn't disagree with her. Good wouldn't begin to describe what they would be together. He knew it, Wolverine knew it, and it looked like Marie knew it too. His voice gruff with emotion, Logan took her up her offer: "Thanks, sweetheart. Just for a while. I'll make you a deal. Let's keep it light until the X-geeks are back on their cloud or whatever. Play with the kids, do whatever you need to do. But remember you're mine, and when this is all over, we're taking off. Just the two of us, no holding back."

Marie gulped at that. The air thickened again, and Logan closed his eyes. He'd obviously said somethin' she liked; he wondered which part. Threatenin' her with "no holding back" wasn't smart - did Marie even know the Wolverine wanted her as much - more - than he did? And could she, in her innocence, possibly know what that meant?

"No holding back."

Marie stumbled out of Logan’s room on wobbly legs as his words rang in her mind. Over and over. On endless loop. “Just the two of us, no holding back.”

She wanted to curl up somewhere quiet and soak in those thoughts for a while. Preferably naked, behind a locked door. Unfortunately, there were no quiet places in this over-filled house, and even fewer locked doors. Every room was a virtual dormitory, and privacy was the least of the luxuries left behind in their exodus from the mansion.

“Just the two of us”. Her dazed steps took her back to the living room, where Piotr and Bobby were rock-paper-scissoring their way through an ad break. “No holding back”. Marie nearly hyperventilated at the thought: for Logan, “holding back” was all about keeping the Wolverine chained up; the memories in Marie’s head showed her exactly what happened when the Wolverine was let loose. Mayhem. Chaos. Murder. And horribly rough, scary sex.

You’re wondering about that, aren’t you sugar, she mused. You’re wondering if I could possibly understand about the Wolverine and sex. And why you keep such a tight leash on him. You’re wondering if I know the difference between you. A smile spread across her face, slow and wicked. I sure do, sugar, and I sure ain’t scared. Logan makes me feel warm and safe and loved, but the Wolverine … the Wolverine’s gonna make me scream. A lot. The very thought sent a wave of pleasure up her spine, Marie shivering noticeably as she stared sightlessly at the pair on the couch.

“Rogue?”

She jumped when Bobby’s voice startled her out of her internal conversation. Shit, she was thinking sex thoughts in the living room. In front of her BOYFRIEND. Whom she hadn’t broken up with yet. Shouldn’t she feel more guilty?

“Rogue. Rogue! What did Wolverine want?” Bobby’s pale blue eyes were shuttered with suspicion. Ever since that night in the car, Bobby had been unrelentingly hostile towards Logan. Marie could understand a little jealousy – she had been kinda’ hidin’ the fact she wore the tags to bed - but this went way beyond that: Bobby seemed to blame Logan for everything that had gone wrong since the attack on the mansion. Jesus H. Christ – the man had saved their lives! Got them out of Dodge and set up new lives for them all! He had DIED, for Christ’s sakes, on Bobby’s front porch in Boston – didn’t that deserve just a little respect? Apparently not, and Bobby’s attitude was making it real easy for Marie to push away.

“It was personal, Bobby. None of your business,” Marie snapped, turning on her heel to leave the living room and go … where exactly, she pondered. Bedroom? Full of screaming girls. Back porch? Full of gloomy X-men. Kitchen? Jubilee and Kitty on kitchen duty, and she couldn’t face them right now. She almost missed the Mansion: it’d always been easy to get lost there. Rogue grabbed the black leather coat Logan had thrown at her just days ago, and slipped out the front door. The anonymity of the New York streets was the only sort of alone she could hope for right now. She had some serious thinking to do.

Stepping off the coop of the nondescript house Logan had found in Chelsea, Marie stumbled straight into the path of an overdressed blonde and her poodle. Mumbling her apologies, she struck out in the opposite direction, keen to put as much distance between herself and the house as possible. They’d been there nearly six weeks now, and everybody was well and truly sick of being in hiding. And for the girl with the untouchable skin, living in a small room with eight – EIGHT – roommates was no party. The only concession to her skin was a couple of screens put up around her bed, which was, of course, right near the door so that no one had to scramble over her bed to get to their own. Oh well, Marie sighed. It could be worse – at least I’ve got my own bed, and don’t have to sleep in shifts like the guys do.

Only Logan had his own room, as nobody seemed to want to sleep within reach of his claws. And “room” was an overstatement – Logan had cleared out the understairs cupboard and stuck a bed in there: it was the gloomiest space Marie had ever seen, but it was private. “And his door locks,” whispered Logan-in-her-head. “Just in case you want to test the conditions of this truce, baby.”

Marie’s pace faltered as the events of the morning came flooding back: Logan, head thrown back and sniffing the air, claws braced in the doorframe as she watched his cock push at his jeans, for her! For HER. The want ripped through her, and her unruly body had her heading home before she summoned the willpower to stop. Deep breaths, Marie. Self control. Truce, truce, truce, she chanted under her breath as she spun on her heel and resumed her trek up West 30th towards the buzz of Eighth Street. She needed coffee and distraction … that cost no more than $4, she realised on turning out her pockets.

Did anyone else realise that the Professor was no longer supporting them, and the “spending money” that kept cropping up in their weekly meetings was coming direct from Logan’s pocket? She suspected he was cage-fighting again – no way else he could make enough to keep four households of mutants while still being around during the day – and her heart ached at what he was doing for them all.

They’d returned to the mansion initially, after the first attack, all self-congratulatory and reassured by the President’s words – “tolerance and understanding, my ass,” Marie muttered. Even with mourning Jean, they’d all rushed back into the usual routines, and everybody – including Marie – had been glad to embrace the usual worries – will I pass math? Does my butt look big in this? – rather than dwell on issues such as mutant genocide. But she knew Logan had never stopped worrying, and just days after returning to the mansion, he’d told her to keep a bag packed under her bed. All the stuff she’d need if they had to run again.

At first, she’d gotten all excited he wanted her to take off with him, but he dashed those hopes by telling her to pass on the message to her friends. When the second attack came, less than a month later, Logan’s constant drilling had ensured the evacuation was orderly and effective – no one was taken, this time, and more than half of the student body had escaped with a small bag of personal items.

This time, they all knew there was no going back. A whispered conference among the X-men – Logan excluded, standing there glowering like a reproving god – had seen them adopt a plan obviously laid out by Logan immediately after the first attack. And from the day they left the mansion, he had been running the entire show. The Professor, Scott and Ororo might not have even been there.

Eight weeks, she mused. Eight weeks and they’re still acting like he’s just some stranger who shat on their dream. Eight weeks when he’s been keeping us all alive. Clothed, fed, even schooled. During the day, training was pretty much the only vestige of their old routine that remained, though the style of combat had changed markedly since Logan had taken over the programme. Even the littlest kids were getting lessons in offensive as well as defensive strategies, and the seniors and juniors were learning some serious death-and-destruction shit Marie suspected the Professor had no idea about. Or, perhaps, being a telepath and all, did know about but didn’t want to acknowledge.

It was Ororo she was most worried about, though. The Professor had been forced to leave behind more than just his family’s old mansion: they’d also left his long-cherished dream in tatters. No one could pretend human-mutant relations could recover from the second attack – this time, they hadn’t come armed with darts, and the small number of armed transports had suggested the soldiers hadn’t been keen to take prisoners. Without Logan’s suspicion and obsessive evacuation training, how many Xavier students would have died? The Professor knew this, and he was crushed, but thankful. Scott knew it too, but was beyond caring. Storm – the cool, calm and ever collected Goddess of the Winds - had been completely unable to cope. Her despondency had ensured the sun hadn’t shone in months, and she had become just one more person who needed looking after. If Ororo, once the emotional centre of Xavier’s, couldn’t recover from the blow, the school would never exist again. And that was unacceptable, given that Logan had just upped the stakes. She wanted him sooner, rather than later, and that meant getting Xavier and his team back to some approaching normal. And she couldn’t help but think that meant starting with Ororo.

Well, it wasn’t as if she didn’t need a project, Marie chuckled bitterly. Wanting Logan was going to drive her out of her mind if she didn’t have some sort of distraction, and if it got her and Logan on the road sooner, hallelujah for that.

Turning on her heel once again, she headed back towards the Chelsea house, and braced herself for the dinner rush. Usually, she avoided it, but today, she had a plan to execute.

XXXXX

“Miss Munro, I was wondering if you could help me a little?” Marie wandered up to Storm with an anthropology textbook she had found in a second-hand bookstore on her way home. It was probably a better use of her $4 than coffee and donuts, she had thought ruefully. Logan had taught her props were important, and right now, she was a schoolgirl needing help from her favourite teacher.

Ororo looked surprised, even a little annoyed, to be bothered. “What’s the problem, Rogue?”

“Well, I know we’re not doing lessons and all, but I still want to get into college next year, so I figure I need to keep up with my reading. But, I just can’t seem to figure out exactly how this works,” Marie complained in her most perplexed-student voice, stabbing at finger at the section on dating the past.

“Oh, carbon dating. A lot of people find that confusing on the first read – they just can’t understand that anthropology and archaeology are sciences too …” Ororo shook her head in vexation, while Marie hid her secret smile.

“The trick is to remember the standard deviation has to be doubled … otherwise, the date taken directly from the object is only 62% accurate. Once we take two standard deviations, the date is 90% likely to fall within the range of dates quoted,” Ororo lectured. “And don’t forget, any dates taken directly from the lab results have to be calibrated on a curve to be translated into calendrical years.”

“Mmm, I got that part, but the standard deviations threw me … too much like math, I guess. And I am SO bad at math,” Marie smiled. And you just think about how much we need to get me back into math class, and its one superhero teacher, back in action, she silently crowed.

Ororo looked troubled. “Perhaps I should talk to Logan about getting some lessons started again. Maybe Scott could …” Ororo’s words died at the thought of asking Scott to do anything, when eating and sleeping was so obviously beyond him right now. “Perhaps Logan might…”

Marie interrupted on that front. “Logan is so busy with training us all and keeping the houses secure, and at night he has to go out and earn money so we can eat … I don’t think he’ll be wanting to teach math anytime soon.” The confused student had vanished, and Marie’s anger was tangible.

Ororo flinched, her expressive face a study in guilt. She dragged in a breath, head down, before inclining her chin to look at Rogue with a more familiar hauteur. “I will speak with Logan about what we can do, Rogue. No need for you kids to worry about it. Enjoy your holiday while you can – we’ll have you back in class soon,” she said.

Repressing the urge to curtsy, Rogue smiled sweetly and muttered an obedient assent. “Thanks, Miss Munro. It’ll be nice to have things back to normal.” So that this kid can get out of your precious little crusade, head north with the man that’s been carrying your lazy ass for weeks, and fuck him blind, she added in her mind. “I’m gonna go see if Logan needs me to help out at all – see ya.” Marie walked to the other end of the table, and stood behind Logan, bending to talk softly into his ear.

“Take me with you tonight.”

He ignored her at first, taking a scoop of potato and a spoonful of peas before acknowledging her presence.

“Who says I’m goin’ anywhere? And if I was, why should you come,” he muttered, taking care to keep his voice below the general level of conversation at the crowded table. Even so, her presence at his side had already attracted attention, and he could already hear the buzz of gossip it produced.

“Saturday night fights, sugar. Figured we needed the money. And, well, I should come because …” her voice dropped even lower, knowing he would catch the merest puff of sound “then I might not need to crawl into your bed so bad. Watching you fight is a powerful thing.”

Logan spluttered, his peas spraying across the table. After a cough or two, he shot a furious glance her way. She smiled brilliantly in return, the perfect image of an adoring little sister. One eyebrow shot up at her act, but his lips were twitching as he growled “10pm, round the back. Dress for the bike.”

“OK. Just as well some guy bought me some new leathers when we had to leave my old ones at the mansion,” she whispered, straightening up slowly to hide the slow sweep of her hand along his corded thigh.

His growl was so loud half of the table turned to look, but the gossips were disappointed: Marie was already halfway out the door.

XXXXXXXXXX

Marie loved Logan’s bike. She loved it in its own right, of course – there was no more potent mix of speed, beauty and danger – but what she really loved was the clothes she got to wear while riding it. Logan had bought her first set of motorcycle leathers almost immediately on his return, and had replaced them as soon as he could after they fled the mansion.

“And here you are saying ‘we can’t do this’. That’s not what I’m hearing, sugar,” she told herself as she pulled the skintight leathers over her hips and zipped the jacket to just below the scooped neckline of her red silk tank. Marie wasn’t a vain girl, but she knew how she looked in black leather. And Logan was the ultimate sensualist - he would hear every creak, smell the unique tang of the hide, and trail his fingers over the nap almost compulsively. And that was before they even got on the bike. Her heart began to hammer at the prospect, and Marie forced herself to choke down her excitement. You’ve just agreed to a truce, girl, she scolded herself. He’s taking you out to get rid of some of these crazy hormones!

Dodging the raised eyebrows and curious questions her leathers prompted from her roommates – why shouldn’t she and Logan have a mission on a Saturday night? – Marie worked her way to the back of the house, praying she wouldn’t run into Bobby. Logan’s bike was usually parked inside the small gate that led onto the alley, and he was already wheeling it through as she ran down the back steps.

One sweeping gaze, and Marie was fairly sure Logan knew she was braless and knickerless – not from an attempt to seduce, but from a complete lack of clean underwear. The emergency bag hadn’t run to underwear, and the paltry few items she’d bought since needed to be washed more than she’d managed that week. She ignored the raised eyebrow – as if he EVER wore underwear – and climbed on behind him. The acceleration was almost immediate, and she took the opportunity to grab him – tight – and align every part of their bodies.

Twenty minutes at a highly illegal speed had them pulling up outside a fight bar somewhere in deepest Newark. Apart from the temperature, they could have been in Laughlin City, Marie thought as she climbed off the bike. Row of choppers, check. Grandpa-bearded bouncers, check. Drunken sots loitering outside, check. Rusty-looking neon with only the odd letters working, check.

“Sugar, are there any fight bars in the world that don’t look like this?” Marie asked as Logan dismounted to stand beside her. He laughed, the tension between them having dissipated with the exhiliration of the ride.

“I only take you to the nice ones, darlin’,” he winked, throwing his arm over her shoulders and pulling her close. “Listen up. I’m gonna be fighting a lot of the night, and you’re gonna have to do as you’re told. Stay where I sit you. Don’t talk to anyone, even when they wanna talk to you. If they won’t leave you alone, tell them you’re mine. And I will kill them.” His eyes were serious as he gave the instructions, and Marie had no intention of disobeying.

“No problem, sugar. It’s pretty much the truth anyway. Even if we’re not doing anything about it just yet,” Marie said softly.

He harrumphed at that, but pulled her into a hard hug, smoothing his hands over her waist and hips as they broke apart. “True enough. But I’m trying not to think about it for now, darlin’. Hard enough with you in the leather as it is.”

Marie smiled as they turned to go into the bar. She loved Logan’s bike.

Logan’s conscience was shrieking as his hands clasped around Marie’s waist before moving down to caress her hipbones, his fingers drawing tiny circles as he fought their imperative to go lower. Let her go, bub, you’re just PRETENDING she’s yours, it yelled at him, as his arms clasped her even tighter. Nobody said anything about pretending, he corrected, just that she’s to tell any bastard that bothers her she’s mine. And if she thinks it’s true, it is, the Wolverine roared triumphantly.

Her breathy admission had affected Logan more than he could have anticipated: he had been fighting Wolverine’s possessiveness for so long, he’d forgotten that Logan felt it too. Her casual acceptance of the fact had astonished him, destroying every careful argument he’d constructed to the contrary. Marie was his, and if she wanted him, he was hers. They could have that, without endangering his self-respect, or her innocence, Logan realised. Yeah, though – bringing her to a fight bar? Not good with the innocence, his conscience sneered.

Logan shook his head to silence the traitorous voice once and for all, and moved away from Marie, letting her know he’d received her message loud and clear. He couldn’t help but comment on the leather: she had to know how much it endangered his self-control. The first set of leathers had been an idle thought he’d had while buying her a helmet in his local bike shop. The second set? Logan reckoned he may as well have shouted “you’re my girl and I want you to look like it,”. Luckily, nobody but Marie seemed to be listening that day.

Chuckling at the thought, Logan opened the outer door for Marie, ushering her ahead of him. The roar of crowd hit them, and then the smell came up - first beer, then sweat, then blood. Logan saw Marie swallow in disgust, but for Logan, the atrocious mix of scents was familiar, almost seductive. The Wolverine pricked up his ears and came stalking out of his cave: Marie had put him on alert, but the fights … the fights were his. And if his mate was here to watch him prove his superiority, so much the better.

Ushering Marie through the inner door, Logan held her still for a second while the whole bar turned to assess the new arrivals. He wanted everyone in the place to see her, and then see him plastered to her back, one hand on her shoulder, the other on her hip. No words were necessary: his entire demeanour yelled possession.

The moment lasted a long few seconds before Logan nudged her forward and guided them to the bar. Signalling for the bartender, he ordered a half-dozen Molsons, and a bottle of Wild Turkey to chase them down. He was about to ask Marie what she’d have when she expertly flicked the top off the first of the beers to arrive and took a long sip.

“What, sugar? You think I could have you in my head and survive without Molson’s? I don’t think so,” she chided in response to the eyebrow he arched in enquiry.

“Well, I ain’t about lecture ya on underage drinking, kid. But go steady, ‘cause you need to keep your wits about ya tonight,” he warned. Marie was seductive enough without alcohol in her system: he wondered briefly what she’d be like without her inhibitions. You wouldn’t survive, his conscience retorted. Forget it, bub.

As the bartender delivered the rest of his order, Logan was pointed in the direction of the bar’s owner – Mo – busy playing bookmaker as he sat in a booth taking details of fighters and bets for the night. Logan sat Marie at a table immediately beside the cage, glared at everyone in staring distance, and then left her to organise the night’s work.

Striding up to the owner’s booth, he quickly dismissed the man as the usual sort of human trash engaged in running fights. Luckily, he didn’t have to like the man to take his money.

“Bet or fight,” the owner asked, without even looking up at him.

“Fight. Name’s Wolverine.”

It took a few seconds before rheumy red eyes looked up in shock. “Wolverine, did you say? Heard of you. When do you want to go on?” Most fighters only lasted a few rounds, so the good ones tended to go on late in the night when the crowd was thickest, to maximise their cash before they inevitably took a beating. This guy, though: he was the nearest thing to a superstar on the fight circuit. Dollar signs began to flash in front of his eyes.

“Whenever. Soon as possible, I guess,” Wolverine shrugged. It’s not like anyone ever beat him, so the longer he fought, the more money he made.

“Ah, I’ll just give you a half-hour or so to get your ladyfriend settled,” Mo smarmed. “11pm OK with you?”

Wolverine nodded. He knew damn well that Mo had a series of phone calls to make, and the crowd in the bar would be twice as thick by the time he set foot in the cage.

“Yeah. But I get 60% of the take.” He expected Mo to argue – usually, fighters got 40%, the really good ones maybe 50%, but had underestimated his own celebrity. The worm didn’t even bother to debate it, too keen to get on the blower to start spreading his name around.

“Fine. 60%. Good luck in the cage.”

Shaking his head, Wolverine stalked back to the table he had claimed for Marie. Her eyes locked onto his when he was still six feet away, and the laughter in their depths almost made him smile. She was enjoying this, the minx. She may as well have been branded “property of The Wolverine” and she was enjoying it. The nearly imperceptible twitch of his lips was met with an openmouthed smile that knocked the breath from his lungs. 100 watt, full-on Marie. Very, very happy to see him. What a man wouldn’t do for that smile.

“All set, sugar?” He grunted in assent and sank into the chair beside her, angling it away from the table so he could look straight into her face.

“Marie? Stop looking so fucking gorgeous. Right now, every man here wants to get into your pants.”

She spluttered, and he could tell she didn’t know whether to take it as a compliment or a warning. He was only half-joking, concerned that some idiot would let lust win out over brains and try to take advantage of his absence later on. But he also wanted to let her know just how beautiful she was. The only bright spot in this dingy bar – hell, the only bright spot in his dingy LIFE.

Obviously deciding to gloss over the warning, Marie rose to the occasion. Sliding from her own chair to drop into his lap, she curled her fingers in the hair at his temples and spoke directly into his mouth, as close as she could get without actually touching his skin. “They can want all they like, sugar. There’s hardly any room in these pants for me. And the only one whose getting me out of them anytime soon is you,” she finished with a smile, her chocolate eyes making a million hot promises as they gazed into his hazel.

Logan swallowed, reigned the Wolverine back in, and cleared his suddenly hoarse throat. They were in a dangerous situation, both vulnerable on a range of fronts, and it was vital every move he made was a smart one. So why he yanked her to him and kissed her full on the lips – very hard, very fast, but also very naked – he had no idea. The pull was momentary before Logan was able to disengage with no ill effects other than the slightest dizziness. He held her as he recovered, her chin against his chest as she tamed the new feelings, memories and powers she had taken from him.

“Marie? You mad at me?”

“Fuck no, sugar.” She lifted her head to growl at him. “Stupid thing to do, but,” she rubbed her hips against his crotch, heedless of their audience “God, I needed you to do it. Problem is … now I need a hell of a lot more.”

Her scent was telling him the tale even before she finished the sentence. Usually, she smelt like vanilla mixed with the lightest musk. Her arousal upped that to musk tinged with vanilla, but now, the vanilla was flavouring an altogether different mix – Marie’s musk, with the sharp tang of fox and earth that marked his own arousal. Logan kicked himself at the same time as the Wolverine began to fight his control. Great. Just what we need. TWO uncontrollable libidos, Logan berated himself. Clamping down on his primal self, Logan rose, setting her back in her chair and moving away a few feet to collect himself.

“Marie. Not the time or the place. Fuck, I’m sorry,” he said wearily, scrubbing at his eyes.

She seemed to accept his regret, and the scent receded a little. Impressed at her ability to reign in the animal, Logan realised just how much self-control Marie had. Juggling five minds – not including your own - obviously wasn’t easy, and Marie had perfected a control he would never have.

“S’Ok, sugar. It was worth it. Do you realise that’s the first time you’ve ever kissed me? You know, properly?” Perplexed, Logan opened his mouth to disagree, only to realise she was right. How could it be that he had never kissed this girl, this child who held the other half of his soul? CHILD, Logan, emphasis on child, his conscience chimed sourly. Uh, yeah. That was why. But he was minded to argue back. This CHILD has more self-control than I do, and more brains, and more heart. Tell me why I’m not claiming her again?

The silence echoed in his brain, his conscience clearly deciding to opt out of the conversation. Coward, he jeered, staring at Marie with a growing appreciation. Their truce was less than 24 hours old, and already it was on shaky ground.

The harsh squeal of a mishandled microphone pulled both Logan and Marie from the laden silence. “Ladeez and gennelmen. Tonight, we have a real treat for yous all,” Mo had taken the stage, swapping his bookie hat for that of MC.

“I have some 15 fighters on the book for tonight, and that book ain’t closed yet. And we’ll be needing some more of yous brave boys, because we got ourselves a gen-u-wine fighting legend in the cage tonight.”

Logan glanced around, noting that the crowd had increased from 50-odd to close to 150 in the time he had been wrapped up in Marie. Many of the newcomers were faces he had seen before; serious gamblers, violence junkies, and cagefight groupies. Several had already spotted him and he could hear the whispers circulating in the crowd. “Wolverine! I’m sure it’s him. That’s the Wolverine,” and variants thereof.

“Ladeez and gennelman, Mo’s Fight Bar presents … The Wolverine,” the over-excited greaseball said, flinging an arm towards him. Unwilling to play up to the grandstanding, Wolverine just lit his cigar and glowered. They’d see plenty of drama in the cage.

Nonplussed by his failure to react, Mo lurched back into his spiel, describing the first fighter he would be facing tonight. Logan suspected the order would have been massaged to bring one of the heavy hitters down to start with him; if the fights were too uneven, no one made any money. The guy that strode into the cage amidst Mo’s excited babble stood a good foot taller than Logan, and a foot wider too. Not an inch of it was fat: unusually for a big guy, “Goliath” was in good shape. His buzzcut and calculating gaze suggested ex-military, and his stance showed the guy knew his way around a fight in and out of the ring.

As his introduction drew to a close, Mo signalled Logan it was time he took to the cage. In one smooth motion, Logan peeled off his shirt and wifebeater, throwing them over the back of the chair already holding his jacket. He bent to kiss Marie on the temple, this time staying just inside the safety of her hair. “Enjoy the show,” he whispered, staying there for the extra second his breath needed to warm her ear.

“Oh, I will, sugar,” she purred, running her gloved fingers over the ripple of abdominal muscles to where his belt buckle stood proud. “You have fun, too.”

Logan was uncharacteristically light-hearted as he leapt up the stairs into the cage, and took his place on the mat opposite his opponent. He rotated his neck, felt the orgasmic pop of the vertebra there, and gave a token growl to intimidate his opponent. As the other guy’s meaty fist slammed under his chin, he smiled and slipped the leash on the Wolverine. He had the feeling this WAS going to be fun.

XXXXXXXXXXX

After several minutes of feeling each other out, Goliath started throwing real punches, and Logan stopped avoiding them. The crowd loved that, growing increasingly frenzied with every purple bruise that blossomed on his skin, and not seeming to notice that, beyond bruising, little real damage was being sustained. As the clock ticked towards 15 minutes, a respectable time for any opponent to last, Logan willed the Wolverine to stay leashed and just soak up the pain. His time would come.

Seemingly beaten, Logan bided his time until the betting turned against him enough to make the take worthwhile. As the odds on his victory extended, Logan endured, feinted, and then grinned with a ferality he could not mask. It was time to party. His opponent had been lulled into dropping his defence, and Logan’s adamantium-enhanced fists found little to stop them as he put a combination right under the guy’s chin. It was a blow that would have dropped most fighters, but not this one – they were surprisingly evenly matched, Logan noted, as long as the Wolverine stayed out of it. The big guy simply shook his head to clear it, and looked at Logan with a new respect. There would be no more easy shots.

Ten minutes later, both of the men were liberally coated in blood (all Goliath’s but neither the crowd or Goliath knew that) and their blows were relentless, and increasingly aimed to end it. Both knew exactly where to hit to induce unconsciousness, and both knew where to protect. Logan had two advantages, if he chose to use them: he was quicker, and with the Wolverine in play, much, much meaner. He decided to unleash both simultaneously, and brought Goliath down with a ringing punch to the side of the head. Logan prayed he was a mutant with some degree of resilience, or if he was human, that his skull was as thick as the rest of his body, ‘cause he’d been a good opponent. He was smarter than the average, and had a gleeful glint in his eye that the feral in Logan recognised. Like him, this guy actually liked the fight – win was good, but a good fight was better.

As Logan had suspected, the quality of opponents went downhill for a while, Logan having fallen into a pattern of punch-punch-drop. He’d been averaging less than two minutes per opponent, and the crowd was getting ugly. Recognising their need to see him damaged, Logan decided to take it easy on the next likely contender.

He turned out to be a side-of-beef type, with a shitty attitude to go with his ugly, ugly mug. Logan chained up the Wolverine briefly in order to go soft on the guy for a few punches - he wanted to make SOME money tonight – but his clueless opponent wasn’t making it easy. The guy was more creative in his cursing than his punches, but the occasional one that connected did have a force capable of causing some pretty bruises. When he judged himself sufficiently black and blue, Logan got set to retaliate, but his attention was suddenly claimed by events outside of the cage. Some young trucker had pressed a bit close to Marie, and had thought to take his chances with the unaccompanied beauty. He ignored two brushoffs from Marie before the Wolverine decided enough was enough.

“Hey, dipshit!” Logan yelled, striding to the edge of the cage, closest to Marie’s table. “When the lady says fuck off? She’s actually bein’ nice. Trying to keep you alive. ‘Cause she knows I will KILL you if you even think of laying a hand on her.”

The hush that had descended when Logan turned his back on his opponent broke into catcalls of advice for the persistent young buck.

“Ya better back off or the Wolverine will want ya in the cage,” one old timer yelled; a brassy blonde cackled “why would she want you when she’s got HIM?” Marie’s answering smirk made the whole table of barflies dissolve into envious shrieks of laughter.

His pride hurt, the unwise suitor observed sourly “I don’t see no lady, anyhow. Jailbait’s jailbait, however good it looks in black leather. Didja have to steal her from school or something?”

The wash of red that descended gave Logan no time to fight the Wolverine; the beast was out, and after its prey. He took the steps of the cage in one leap, and even before Marie could rise to her feet, the young trucker was screaming on the floor, felled by two flying punches that left his face a montage of blood and gristle. Logan had his knee in the small of the guy’s back, and was banging his head face-first into the floor when Marie laid a single hand on his naked back.

“Shh, sugar, shhh. He doesn’t know, love. He just doesn’t know.” Her soft voice penetrated the rage that had obliterated all sound, and every other being from the Wolverine’s reality. Her touch calmed him enough to let the human side push forward and take control. He picked the guy up, sat him in a chair and threw a pitcher of water directly in his face. When his bleary, battered eyes were able to focus again, Logan made sure everyone in the bar could hear him.

“Maybe she is jailbait. But she’s my fucking jailbait. And I kill anyone who touches what’s mine,” he said, voice deadlier than his flying fists had been a minute earlier. “Right, Marie?”

“Right, sugar. All yours. All of the time,” she replied, her soft drawl equally audible throughout the room.

Suddenly realising just how close he’d come to death, the terrified man figured an apology was in order. “Jesus, lady – Miss Marie – I’m really sorry. I shoulda listened to ya, but you’re so pretty an all, and I can be kinda’ stupid …”

Marie took pity on the guy and dazzled him with a kind smile. “Next time, try to listen a bit better. Wolverine’s kinda possessive, but I don’t want no one else,” she said.

Still struggling with the Wolverine, Logan grunted a final warning at the shaking youth, and after a long look at Marie, returned to the cage. He was in no mood to toy with the guy – side-of-beef, he didn’t catch the guy’s cage name – and couldn’t risk letting the Wolverine loose in his current frame of mind. A casual kick to the knee dropped him, and a gentle tap of the back of the neck put the guy out of his misery. He would wake up an hour later, knowing the Wolverine had let him off lightly.

Signalling he needed five minutes before the next fight, Logan dropped down to sit with Marie, pulling her into his lap and nuzzling the top of her head. He needed to kill the angry maelstrom swirling inside before he hurt – really hurt – anyone else, and being close to Marie was the best way to do that.

She seemed to know, Logan thought. Gentle murmurs of comfort were interspersed with practical measures; she put her own beer to his lips so he could gulp down the taste of her along with the precious brew, and then poured him a glass of bourbon to chase it. The alcohol never did much for him, but the feeling of being looked after did. The Wolverine was no longer snapping at his chains when Logan set Marie aside and climbed the stairs into the cage once more; he was waiting quietly to be summoned, enjoying the calm that came with being loved.

Eyeing Logan warily, Mo climbed into the cage and began to talk up his next opponent. “He’s young, he’s inexperienced, but boy, is this kid BIG. And here at Mo’s, he’s never been beaten. Will the Wolverine be the one to do it? Folks, we can only wait for the blood to flow and see who gets carried out first. I give you our resident champion – Colossus!”

Wolverine heard the name, but was still unprepared for the shock when Piotr Rasputin walked slowly into the cage. The young Russian, Logan’s star pupil in hand-to-hand combat, seemed unable to meet his eyes. Obviously, he’d been putting those lessons to good use earning some pocket money, Logan smirked. But why be embarrassed about it? It wasn’t until he saw the boy’s frantic gaze flit from Rogue to a table further back in the room that comprehension dawned. Colossus had seen Logan’s frenzied attack on the young trucker. And heard Logan’s crude claim of ownership afterwards. As had the kid’s little friends, and her Ice-prick boyfriend, sitting in a shocked tableau just a few metres away.

Bobby’s first thought on seeing the musclebound brawler in the cage was “gee, that guy can fight.” Followed rapidly by, “Fuck, that’s the Wolverine!” The realisation obviously struck them all at the same time – the synchronised gasps were almost funny – but only Jubilee spoke.

“Uh, guys? Maybe we should leave, like, NOW.” Nobody thought it was a good idea to get caught in a bar – especially a fight bar – by their teacher, and Jubilee and Kitty would catch it harder than most by virtue of their friendship with Rogue. That thought brought Bobby right back around to “oh fuck …” cause he just KNEW the Wolverine wouldn’t keep quiet about something like this, and then he’d have to explain to Rogue about sneaking out on her.

Preoccupied with his internal drama, Bobby nearly jumped out of his skin when the Wolverine’s bellow split the air.

“Hey, dipshit!” Bobby flinched, familiar with the label and the derision that usually followed. He looked up in dread only to find the Wolverine’s attention focused elsewhere: a table right by the steps to the cage, where some redneck trucker was trying to sweettalk a hot-looking brunette in black leather. Jesus, the poor guy, Bobby commiserated, his attention riveted by the rage on the Wolverine’s face.

“When the lady says fuck off? She’s actually bein’ nice. Trying to keep you alive. ‘Cause she knows I will KILL you if you even think of laying a hand on her.”

Bobby sneered at the possessiveness in the Wolverine’s snarl, and couldn’t help but wonder if Rogue knew the Wolverine had a girlfriend. She didn’t hide her crush on the guy very well, and Bobby was pretty sure the knowledge would hurt her. Which was stupid, because it wasn’t as if he would ever be interested in her – Rogue was cute and all, but she wasn’t as sexy as Jubilee or as pretty as Kitty, she was just … nice. Sometimes. Though not so much, lately.

Eyeing the luscious curves of Wolverine’s mystery woman, he just KNEW she wouldn’t be nice. He was straining to get a better look at her features in the dim light when the idiot redneck chose to talk back to Wolverine … it was too noisy in the bar to hear exactly what he said, but it couldn’t have been smart. Not the way the Wolverine bolted out of the cage and knocked the guy to the floor in one smooth movement. By the time Bobby stood up to get a better look, the Wolverine had the poor guy pinned to the ground, and was banging his face into the floor.

Bobby was beginning to panic – Wolverine would surely kill the guy – when the woman stepped forward and crouched to place her hand on his back. Almost immediately, Wolverine stilled, and you could see him drinking in her touch. Amazed at the instantaneous halt to the violence, Bobby stood staring at the couple. Her hand was gloved, he noted absently. And her face was quite beautiful, he thought, as she shifted to bring her profile into view. Head tilted down, her hair slipped forward, wreathing the man below her in mahogany swirls dressed with … two long, white streaks. Bobby’s brain screamed with recognition, even as he tried to deny the possibility. Rogue? Why would Rogue be here?

Bobby didn’t realise he’d spoken aloud until Kitty, her eyes equally huge, ventured “uh, we know they’re friends and all … maybe he wanted to show her some stuff about fighting?” Bobby could tell Jubilee was about to add something equally hopeful, but she went quiet – everyone went quiet – when the Wolverine shot a challenging glare around the room, and then proceeded to murder every single illusion he had ever had.

“Maybe she is jailbait. But she’s my fucking jailbait. And I kill anyone who touches what’s mine. Right, Marie?”

Fate chose not to be kind, and her reply carried equally well.

“Right, sugar. All yours. All of the time.”

As usual, Jubilee didn’t think before opening her mouth. “Fighting, huh? Or, can we say, fucking like small furry animals?” She clapped a hand over her mouth as Bobby flinched at her words, realising too late just how cruel the situation must be for him.

His voice, when it came, seemed to belong to someone else. “Huh. Her name is Marie.” While it wasn’t unusual for the kids at Mutant High to use their power names to the exclusion of their given names, Rogue had never admitted to having any other name. He had asked, and had been brushed off, a million times.

Apparently, the Wolverine hadn’t been. And by the sound of it, he hadn’t been given the brushoff in any department.

The pain that had begun to churn in Bobby’s gut was suddenly banished, anger and bitterness settling like a stone. The millions of reassurances she had given over the past year echoed in his head, taunting him: he’s a friend, Bobby. I wear the tags as a reminder of what he did for me, Bobby. He saved my life, Bobby. I like him, but you’re my boyfriend, Bobby…

Strange how her pleading had never sounded as convincing as one throw-away sentence in the midst of an ugly bar fight.

XXXXXXXXXX


They had exactly fourteen minutes of anonymity before Colossus was called to the cage, and the Wolverine’s intent stare flew from the big Russian to find the other three hiding in the shadows towards the back of the room. Fourteen minutes in which Bobby’s anger had burned hot, then cold, as he watched Rogue – Marie? – minister to the Wolverine between fights.

Any lingering doubts about the status of their relationship was dispelled by the sight of her sitting in the older man’s lap, running her gloved fingers through his hair and over the brawny shoulders while feeding him – FEEDING him, for God’s sake – sips of beer and something that looked a lot stronger. Wolverine wasn’t bothering to limit the PDA, either, Bobby thought sourly, his face in her hair and his hands wandering over her body. Public display of affection, my ass, he thought. Public display of freakin’ ownership.

He wondered whether they would act any different had they known the others were watching. Would Rogue even bother to be embarrassed about flaunting her – my God, he was her LOVER – in her boyfriend’s face? He didn’t know the Wolverine well enough to guess what he would do, but he suspected not much would change. This guy, he realised, wasn’t the same man who taught them self-defence and did whatever needed to be done to keep nearly 100 mutants in pizza and cornchips. This guy didn’t give a fuck about anyone. Except Rogue, it seemed, as he watched the Wolverine return to the cage without ever losing eye contact with the girl in black.

As the MC started the spiel that would bring Colossus to the cage, each of the teenagers sitting at the table tensed, knowing discovery was just seconds away. The name “Colossus” didn’t seem to register at first, and when his eyes landed on Piotr, he seemed more amused than anything. When Piotr glanced back at their table, though, the Wolverine’s gaze followed, and his face turned to stone. His eyes flicked at Rogue, to see if she had noticed their presence, but her mouth was still hanging open as she processed Colossus’ appearance. Then, however, her brows came together and Bobby could almost see the calculation as her knowledge of teenage pack habits kicked in: she looked up, and half rose to take a good look around the bar.

Finding them shrinking in the shadows, Rogue stared directly at Bobby for several long seconds. Her face was pale under the yellow light, but her proud expression never faltered. So what, it screamed at him. I might be sorry, but I’m not ashamed. She acknowledged Kitty and Jubilee with a quick nod, and a half smile - perhaps of apology, perhaps not - crossed her face before she calmly turned back to the cage as the fight began.

“Well, lah-di-dah to you too, cheatin’ whore,” Jubilee spluttered. Kitty made an annoyed noise of dissent – even though she knew Jubilee didn’t REALLY mean the whore part – but was equally put out. Bobby just fumed. Was it too much to expect a little shame? Regret?

“We should go up there and sit with her. I wanna see Colossus kick the Wolverine’s ass,” Jubilee recovered. “And I REALLY want to hear what she has to say about all of this,” her annoyance vanishing in the face of some choice gossip.

“NO!” Bobby couldn’t. Wouldn’t. It was bad enough that his supposed girlfriend had been caught cheating by his best friends, but to have to sit with her and talk about it? No freakin’ way.

Kitty understood. “I’ll stay right here with Bobby. You go if you want to, Jubilee. She’ll probably have a perfectly good explanation for us, but now’s not the time,” she said, her habitual generosity obviously strained in the face of her friend’s perfidy.

Jubilee chose not to join Rogue, and it soon became obvious her confidence in Colossus was vastly misplaced. It became clear, to Xavier’s students, if not the general audience, that Wolverine was placing his fists very carefully to minimise the damage to the young giant. Even so, Colossus took the beating of his life: Bobby winced every time his friend collapsed over the Wolverine’s vicious knee, or a sudden blow to the temple. He kept getting up, though, and that was more than the Wolverine had allowed any other opponent.

Bobby began to wonder when, exactly, a cage fight ended. Was anybody keeping score, or did they just beat on each other for a certain amount of time? He searched the corners of the room for a scoreboard, but couldn’t see one. Nor did the screaming patrons seem to expect the fight to let up anytime soon: one woman to the right of his table kept shrieking “knock ‘em down, gorgeous, knock ‘em right out,” while a table of bikers at the front of the room were accompanying their chant of “blood, blood, blood, blood,” with a synchronised thumping of empty beer bottles on the table. Bobby didn’t even bother to hide his scorn: it wasn’t as if anyone would be looking at him anyway. All eyes were glued to Colossus and the Wolverine.

The bout was rounding 40 minutes by the time Colossus started to waver on his feet, and his recovery time began to stretch into minutes rather than seconds. A sick feeling in Bobby’s chest was telling him this could only end one way, and the Wolverine seemed to agree. With a roar, he launched an attack on Colossus that made their earlier skirmishes look like play: in a spectacular helicopter-like manoeuvre, Wolverine’s right foot left the ground to tap Colossus behind the knee, and his left crunched into the Russian’s lower back, felling him like a lumberjack would a particularly large tree. Wolverine then followed Colossus to the floor, pinning him with a knee on each massive bicep, before chopping his deadly hands together under Colossus’ ears. Even without the claws, the efficacy of the move was immediately apparent: Colossus’ eyes rolled back, and his head slumped to the floor. Terrified for his friend, Bobby still managed to wonder why the Wolverine hadn’t shown them THAT in combat class - it had taken less than four seconds to drop a man most would consider invulnerable. Now, Bobby just had to pray Colossus wasn’t dead.

Kitty had already leapt up and run to the edge of the cage, with Jubilee not far behind her. A quelling glance from the Wolverine held more warning than menace, and Bobby put aside his hatred for a moment to bow to the dangers of the situation: it would be a very bad idea indeed if anyone connected the two cage fighters with each other. Their obvious supremacy over all other comers just screamed ‘mutant’, and that wasn’t a truth anybody wanted to get out. Bobby grabbed the two girls and dragged them back to their table, managing not to look at Rogue the whole time. It was an impressive performance, he felt.

Colossus had regained consciousness by the time they sat down, and was sitting groggily on the steps of the cage. He had even offered his hand to the victor, much to the amusement of the crowd, and a few onlookers gave the gesture a half-hearted cheer. The Wolverine, however, had just raised an eyebrow at the courtesy. Bastard, Bobby fumed. Mother … freakin’ uncivilised animal. Colossus seemed less perturbed, and made his way shakily back to their table.

As the girls squawked over Piotr’s bruises, Bobby went to get the guy a beer, suspecting it wasn’t likely he’d get carded in this dump. He was right: the bartender even offered him hard liquor, “cause the big kid sure deserves it after a beating like that.” Bobby thought a minute and then went with vodka … Pete was Russian, after all. He was going to get some orange juice and some coke on the side – what the heck did you drink with vodka anyway? – but the bartender just snorted and piled some shot glasses onto a tray. “Never insult a Russian, kid. Especially a Russian that can survive a bout with the Wolverine,” he joked, shaking his head. “It’s on the house.”

Colossus had his hand out for the vodka even before Bobby reached the table, and obviously knew exactly what to do with a shot glass. He had downed three before Bobby could sit, apologising for drinking alone but obviously in need of a reviver.

“Got a message from the Wolverine,” he said quietly, as he poured them a shot each. “We leave in half an hour. He’s calling us a cab. We’ll see them back at the house at 4am,” Colossus reported, his eyes sympathetic as he glanced at Bobby.

“Uh, and what are THEY going to do for the next two hours, I wonder,” Jubilee said, her sneer suggesting she had a few ideas. Bobby tried not to think about it, because it hurt too much to think of them together at all. And, in some weird way, he felt it wasn’t any of his business.

He tried to regain the cold anger and betrayal that he had felt earlier, but a sense of detachment seemed to be shrouding him like a blanket. He had cared about Rogue – Marie, he reminded himself – he really had, but maybe things hadn’t been good for a while. And it’s not like she was ever really yours anyway, a bitter little voice whispered somewhere at the back of his brain. You WANTED her to be Rogue – mysterious and untouchable. Maybe ‘Marie’ is someone different.

Shaken by the thought, Bobby looked up to find his three companions studying him closely. Or Kitty was, at least. Piotr broke off to close his eyes, obviously in pain, while Jubilee kept shooting glances to Rogue’s table, where the Wolverine was once again sprawled in a chair, Rogue reclining against his chest like a sleek cat.

Bobby refused to look. He downed a shot, welcoming the burn and pondering the promise of oblivion. Funny how “drowning his sorrows” seemed so apt now. Sorrow seemed all that he had left with Rogue, and unconsciousness seemed the best strategy to adopt in the march to 4am.

Marie turned her face into Logan’s shoulder, and tried not to think about their audience. It wasn’t as hard as it should have been: Wolverine-in-her-head had reinforced her own resentful temper, releasing the brazen streak she usually worked to hide. Rubbing her nose into his now t-shirt covered chest, she took in a deep draught of Logan-scent and allowed her hands to wander. Right now, she felt too cherished to move, and too horny to care about who saw what.

Touching Logan was always … interesting, she reflected. Whereas Logan’s mental presence felt like a pair of warm arms wrapped around her, reassuring and constant and loving, the Wolverine manifested differently. HIS energy made her twitchy and aggressive, and his lust snapped at her nerve endings, making it hard to concentrate. It was much easier to just … feel. Feel the warmth of him surrounding her, the corded strength of his thighs beneath her ass, the slight jump of his cock every time she shifted. As her fingers slid slowly from his cloth-covered pectoral muscles to encounter the bulge of a bicep, Marie groaned at the blaze of bare skin under her fingers, so hot her hand might have been naked.

His breath changed tempo as her nails bit into the muscle, then traced the vein traversing the glorious landscape of his arm. Marie bit her lip as it throbbed under her fingers, raising her head slowly to stare directly into his eyes. They were half-closed, and glowing like coals. The Wolverine was very, very close to the surface, in both of them, Marie acknowledged. Just the tiniest nudge, she thought, her hand stilling for the moment, just the tiniest shift towards temptation, and their bargain would be broken. She had to decide, before Wolverine took that decision out of both of their hands. She had to decide whether she could do that to Logan.

Her head was still bowed in thought when his hand snuck between her legs and began to stroke along the seam of her pants. And circle. And press. Marie moaned – loudly – and tried to resist the urge to writhe under his fingers. She doubted anyone could see what was going on, but it didn’t change the fact that Logan had his hand between her legs in a public place, and was about five seconds from getting her off. And four of her classmates - BOYFRIEND shrieked her brain, BOYFRIEND – were sitting less than six metres away. She swallowed the groan that threatened to escape and pushed against his enclosing arm. He growled, but let her rise to her feet, swaying slightly before she dropped into the other chair.

“For Christ’s sake, Logan!” She glanced around but was reassured - no one wanted to be caught eavesdropping on the murderous cage fighter. “Two o’clock this afternoon, you told me we couldn’t do this. Now” – his growl interrupted her, and she realised subtlety was useless – “now, sugar, it hasn’t been 24 hours and you’re trying figure out how many times you can fuck me before we get home!”

His smirk was dangerous. “Not just how many times, darlin’. How many different ways do you think you can bend?”

Bend? Why … oh. Marie’s eyes widened in understanding and she felt a flush rising from somewhere deep within. Him-in-her-head chose that moment to flood her with salacious memories, and she gaped. “Uh. Oh .. mmm.” She tried to force her stammer to sound less intrigued, but failed. “Wolverine!”

He was grinning hugely at her discomfort, the predatory gleam turned up a notch and genuine amusement making his usual smoulder near irresistible. Once again, Marie seesawed on the edge of surrender. It was his golden eyes, however, that forced her libido into retreat – right now, Logan WAS the Wolverine, his own personality completely submerged in the testosterone rush of the fights. A magnificent animal intent on moving to stage two of the fight-fuck equation.

Even as her legs turned to jelly, Marie took a deep breath to strengthen her resolve and moved even further away, to the other side of the table. She growled at her own reluctance – damn hormones! Bad libido! – but managed to collect some composure. She had a deal with Logan, and right now, he wasn’t in the room.

“Logan.” Her serious tone communicated the danger they were in, and she saw resentment flash across his face as he began the struggle to regain control. Ornery man, coming right up, she told herself sourly. Miss Marie of the hormone police calling, ‘cause ya wouldn’t wanna hafta control those urges all by yourself, would ya sugar?

He just growled at her, but didn’t attempt to haul her back, instead grabbing their coats and rising to his feet. “You comin’?” He didn’t wait for an answer, stalking towards Mo to collect his winnings and then – without even checking to see if she was still behind him – pushing his way through the crowd to the door.

Marie smiled wanly as she passed Bobby’s table, wincing at Colossus’ battered visage and ignoring the glares of outrage from Kitty and Jubilee. Bobby, she saw, had failed to notice her presence, so intent was he in trying to coax vodka from bottle to shot glass. More ended up on the table than anywhere else, and Marie resisted the urge to tell him he’d obviously had enough. She doubted it would go down well.

Inclining her brows in a mute farewell, Marie turned her back on her friends and followed Logan to the door. He was out of sight even before she reached the exit, and two huge bikers coming in pushed her hard against the wall. Irritation flashed through her, annoyance threaded with ugly resentment.“Where’s Mr Overprotective Bad-ass when I need him, huh,” she asked the wall. “Girl says no just once and he takes off. Jesus, Logan. The things I do for you.” She was still fuming when she barrelled through the outer doors into the cold.

“Settle down, kid. I can just about see steam coming off ya.” Logan was leaning on the wall several metres away. His eyes were still more golden than green, but the Wolverine no longer seemed set to pounce. “Sorry ‘bout that, in there. Things got a bit … crazy.”

“Yeah, crazy like a horny Wolverine,” she snapped back, still pissed at his cavalier treatment. “It’s not like I asked for this deal, you know. It was all you. Or him.” Marie was unsure of whether the Wolverine recognised the differentiation between his human and animal psyches. And she wasn’t exactly sure just who was in charge now, either.

He kicked at the dirt with the toe of his boot and busied his hands with preparing a cigar. “I know, Marie. I know. I should have never bought you to the fights. It’s kinda … well, it’s his territory. Here, you’re his too, and he’s not real keen on waitin’,” he mumbled, keeping his eyes fixed on the cigar.

Marie crumpled at the guilt in his voice, and went to hug him. “I’m just glad you’re back, sugar. It was gettin’ a little intense and I knew we hadta stop,” she admitted. “I was worried I wouldn’t be able to say no.”

Logan’s head snapped up. “Marie – you know we’d never force ya, don’t you? I’d never do that to ya, and he wouldn’t either. He might push a bit, but - he wants ya willing, kid.” He frowned at the last statement, realising it didn’t sit well with the attempt to derail their fast-developing sexual relationship.

Marie laughed. “Hell, sugar – I know THAT. But the problem is I can be a bit too willing, and I’m trying to honour our agreement. But Wolverine made it awful … hard,” she purred, relieved to be able to flirt again now that Logan was back to squelch his own impulses.

Her innuendo pulled a smile from him, and the familiar sparkle returned to his eyes. “Hard, huh? You have no idea, baby. One of these days, I might just have to show ya.” With that, he swung onto the bike, handing her the helmet he insisted she wear to ride with him. Marie was still grinning when he gunned the Harley out onto the highway, and she made more than one onlooker smile when she threw both arms above her head in an exuberant salute to the moment, the night, and what felt like the first day of the rest of her life.

XXXXXXXXXX

Her joyous mood lasted throughout the trip back to Chelsea and even made it up the back steps and into the house. It then crashed spectacularly when Logan remembered to mention his covert discussion with Colussus. In between blows, it seemed they had found the time to agree to meet. Tonight. At 4am. Marie quailed at the thought.

“Gee, great. At least I’ve got a whole ..” she glanced at her watch “fifty-two minutes to figure out what the FUCK I’m going to say,” Marie snarled, nearly shouting the last words at him. Or, shouting as loud as you could when you were trying not to a wake a houseful of sleeping mutants.

“What’s to figure out? We can tell’em the truth, or we can lie, Marie. First is easier to remember and the second is probably easier to live with. It’s up to you.” Logan, it was clear, didn’t care one way or another. He stomped his way through the house and headed into his closet of a room. Marie followed him, fuming.

“I ain’t even sure what the truth is,” she fired at him, not sure whether she actually believed that, or whether she was just trying to hurt him. “I mean, apparently we’re not doing stuff, because I’m too young. But your hands were pretty damn happy to ignore that an hour ago, Mister. Or maybe we’re just friends … like always, poor little Marie trailing after her hero. She has such a crush, but he’s SOOOO nice to her, he just pats her on the head and even gives her a big hug occasionally …” she couldn’t maintain the level of venom, because it was just too sad. Their situation sucked.

“Marie.” He had collapsed on his bed as she stood by the door, an ironic reversal of their positions earlier in the day. He looked tired – the adrenaline rush of the fights, coupled with the need to heal afterwards – and her heart panged for him in that moment. Annoying, gorgeous, tired man.

“The truth is what we want it to be. Like we said, at the bar. Just because we’re not fucking doesn’t mean you’re not mine, and if that’s how you wanna play it, then that’s what we’ll do. But if you wanna pretend it’s all a mistake, I can live with that too.” His shrug suggested it was no biggie, but Marie could read the tightness on his face. Her answer was important to him.

“So – us together. But not … together?” She liked the first part of the idea, and could live with the second if she had to. But why … “Why not, the second part? If everyone thinks we already are?”

“You know why, Marie. It’s not about what people think, it’s about you and me. And who we are, and how much I … need to protect you. You’re still very young and once we do this, everything changes.” He laughed, a dry, ugly rasp full of self-hate. “It already kills me to see you look at Bobby or the other kids … you think I’m possessive or over-protective now, you just wait, kid. You have absolutely no idea.”

His eyes were flashing golden again as they raked over her, and she wondered if he was imagining them together, naked, fucking. She certainly was, though she suspected her vision of candles and soft music bore little relation to whatever Logan was thinking. Marie drew in a ragged breath and returned her attention to the man on the bed. He wasn’t finished, though.

“And while we’re on it, the problem isn’t just me being older. It’s,” Logan stopped, his careful approach a bald contrast with the lascivious Wolverine. “It’s me, really. What I am. How I … do things.”

“Things? Like, sex things?”

“Yeah,” he answered, reluctance written in every line of his body. “I mean, you know how I get in the fights? Kinda insane, so it’s all the Wolverine?” He took a deep breath and seemed to brace for her reaction. “Well, sex can be like that too. Sometimes I lose control, get a little rough. Or a lot rough. It’s not always pretty.” He frowned down at his boots, obviously pissed at having to make the admission. Obviously concerned about her reaction.

Marie wanted to set his mind at ease, but her indignation wouldn’t let her.

“You think I just want hearts and flowers? Candles and satin sheets?” Marie conveniently ignored her longings of just moments ago. “Jesus, Logan! Are you forgetting I’ve got you in my head? I’ve seen what you like – Christ on the cross, I’ve seen what the Wolverine likes, and I’m still here!” She stared at him as he lounged on the bed, and wondered if she had the guts to cross the room. “I’m still here,” she whispered. “But I want to be over there. With you.”

He shook his head, refusing to allow her to bridge the gap between them. Suddenly, she wasn’t interested in his permission. Two strides, and she was sitting on his legs, her knees bracketing his thighs, and his bony under her ass.

As he moved to push her away, she grabbed a leather-encased hand in each of her silk-clad ones, and stared him into stillness.

“Logan. Give me this. I stopped tonight because I wanted YOU to be first. Not the Wolverine. But I understand about you and him. And sex. I’m not saying I’m not scared, but,” she hesitated, peeking up at him and biting her lip in a way she KNEW affected him, “you’ll help me get over it. And the sooner we start? The sooner I’ll be ready for the Wolverine. ‘Cause he’s mine too.” The bold words needed a coda, she realised. Her greedy eyes swept from his face to the cords of his neck and the jut of his collar bones before moving to the magnificent chest. The thin wifebeater showed her the pinpoints of hard male nipples through the cotton and she suddenly needed to find out for herself whether they really were as sensitive as his memories suggested. One gloved fingertip wandered briefly over them, before she dipped her head to bite him – hard.

“Holy Jesus, Marie. Fuck.” Logan’s head was back, his eyes closed, and she was pretty sure he wasn’t in THAT much pain. He held the tortured position for long minutes – please don’t think, she prayed; don’t think – before his fingers went straight to the zip on her leathers. As he shucked her of the jacket, Marie tried not to crow in victory – Mama always said true lady wins or loses with grace. Wonder what else Mama would have said about this, she pondered as she bent her head again to leave a trail of wet cotton from one nipple to the other.

Logan groaned in response, and tugged her silky t-shirt up and over her face, his lips slanting over hers even before she registered the tantalising barrier between them. First heat, and then wetness filtered through the silk knit; then the taste of him came thundering through, drowning her in cigars and whiskey and peat and water and chocolate and icecream and all things that were ever good.

The swirl of pleasure only intensified as his gloved hands relinquished the edge of her t-shirt to sweep down her back, mapping every dip and curve, before grasping her ass as she sat astride him. She hadn’t dared to sit directly in his lap – he remedied that with the barest flex of his biceps, banging their hipbones together in his haste. Marie struggled not to hyperventilate as she felt his cock nudge her right THERE – God, so good – and the buck of her hips wasn’t even conscious.

“God, Logan. Logan, please …” her litany collapsed into wordlessness as his hands swept forwards to swallow her breasts, gloved fingers kissing the individual bumps on her areolas before skimming lightly over the nipple in an eternal tease. The delicate dance provoked a fevered moan from Marie as her undulations became increasingly frantic. “Fuck, Logan. Harder,” she growled at him, and his sharp pinch sent her half way to heaven. When he grabbed her hips and ground her into his denim-encased cock, she was flung the rest of the way … and then some, as the spasms that gripped her body eradicated her ability to see, or think. Eyes shut, face still shrouded in red silk, she curled against his chest to ride out the moment.

When she came to, Logan lifted her chin to look straight into her eyes. “You okay, kid?”

Marie choked on her laugh. “OK? Am I OK? Logan, you gotta know I’m pretty fucking fabulous right about now. Just don’t expect me to walk anywhere, is all,” she said, refusing to be embarrassed. “And did you really just call me kid?”

His bark of laughter was both amused and mocking. “Yeah, well, its obviously worked so well for me before. Real good at keeping my hands off you, I am.” She listened for the usual – self-disgust, anger, guilt – but for once, it wasn’t there. Had he accepted her argument? Or was this simply a moment of post-orgasmic contentment?

Marie’s train of thought screeched to a halt. For her, perhaps. He was still hard as a rock beneath her, and here she was expecting him to be all satisfied and happy. Was she the most stupid girl in creation? Or just the most selfish?

“Uh, you didn’t, um,” her voice trailed into nothing as a scarlet blush worked its way up to her hairline.

Now Logan really was amused. He rumbled, deep in his chest, and forced her to look at him. “Marie, if you’re old enough to do it, you’re old enough to say it. Come. C-O-M-E. Come like a thousand freight trains.” She hid her eyes against his chest as she flushed even redder and his chuckle became a belly laugh. Unable to be more embarrassed than she already was, she punched him and pouted.

“Come, then. But there were absolutely no trains involved at all,” she sniffed. A smile crept over her face. “More like … a wave. Or stars. And there were colours.” She frowned at him, and moved her hand tentatively towards his belt buckle. “You should get the colours as well, Logan.”

He grabbed her hand and his lips touched each gloved finger in turn before he rose, drawing them both to stand. “Not just yet, baby. No time.” He tapped her leather clad ass and pointed her towards the bathroom. “You go wash up a bit, and then we’ve got to talk to the others, remember?”

“Why can’t I stay like this?” she pouted, aware of the stickiness in her leather pants, but kind of liking the slide and heat of it. Logan smiled, slowly and fully, with the Wolverine glinting from his eyes.

“Baby, you smell like that for much longer, and I can’t guarantee what I’ll say to those kids. I can’t even guarantee I won’t start howling at the fuckin’ moon with you smellin’ like that.”

Marie smiled and went to wash. But not too well. Good to keep Logan on his … toes, she thought.

XXXXXXXXXXX

Walking into the kitchen that night – morning, she reminded herself – was one of the hardest things she had ever done. Even with Logan’s protective warmth at her back, Marie struggled to keep her head high once she saw Jubilee, Kitty, Piotr and Bobby lined up like executioners on one side of the long table. The sudden rush of shame must have been revealed in her scent, as Logan chose that moment to whisper in her ear. “Mine. All mine.”

She felt the smile return to her face and straightened her spine. Being worthy of the Wolverine was no small matter.

Logan sank into the chair at the head of the table and without even saying a word, pulled her into his lap. This time, she wasn’t even embarrassed. She stopped herself from purring out of respect for Bobby, but nor did she hide the pleasure of being in his arms.

“So. You kids got a problem with this?” Logan made no bones about his meaning, running his hand along her hip and raising his eyebrows in enquiry. Kitty went as pink as the scarlet top she was wearing, while Jubilee was struck dumb, unable to do more splutter in outrage. Bobby could barely focus, let alone vocalise, which left Colossus to speak for him.

“It’s none of our business, but,” Piotr looked beseechingly at Marie, “you need to talk to him. He is not very happy,” the Russian said, his understatement almost funny under the circumstances.

“I know, Pete. I’ve been trying for a while, but he just doesn’t want to listen to me,” Marie confessed. “This, uh, this is kinda new,” she blushed, realising from the wooden faces that none of her friends believed her. “It is! We never …” Marie stopped as Logan’s hand clasped her gloved wrist.

“As you said, none of your business. Rogue is mine, and pretty much always was. If he thought otherwise,” he ended the thought with a negligent shrug that expressed just how stupid that assumption was.

“You’re not in school anymore, and things are different now. Accept it.” With that, Logan stood Marie on her feet, and rose to stand behind her. He didn’t even look at the four teenagers before steering Marie to his bedroom, and locking the door behind her.

Marie stood immobile just inside the locked door. “Uh. Logan. That’s not going stop them, uh, saying stuff.” She wondered if he realised that sheer intimidation wouldn’t quell the gossip, and that news of their liaison would filter its way back to Storm and the Professor within days.

“They’ll say stuff anyway. Better that we deal with it together than you have to put up with it alone,” he shrugged.

“True. So we’re going public, then. To everyone?” Marie wanted to be sure on this.

“Well, let’s just say we’re gonna have a sleep-in tomorrow. And then we’re gonna get up together. And you’ll smile all pretty and I’ll be slightly less of a mean SOB, and they’ll figure it out. No point making it too easy for ‘em.”

“Good plan, sugar. Tomorrow might even be fun,” Marie smiled. Truth was, she didn’t really care. Logan had a way of cutting through the unnecessary bullshit in life, and maybe she was learning to do the same.

Of a morning, Logan’s senses came alive one by one. Strongest, of course, was his sense of smell, so it was happy-content-Marie, still drenched with satisfaction, that registered first. Her tiny snuffles and contented exhalations tickled his ears, and even through sweatpants, socks, and long-sleeved t, he could feel her body pressed into every hollow of his own. He was already stroking himself before thought registered, and was damn close when he realised exactly what he was doing. And then he felt Marie tense, heard the intrigued hitch in her breath, and smelt the tang of her curiosity. He froze, cock still in hand, and screwed his eyes even more tightly shut.

“Don’t stop.” Her voice was husky, possibly with sleep, but the change in her scent suggested another contributor. “Logan. I want to see.”

He protested wordlessly, the straight lines of his mouth and a tic over one eye suggesting just how uncomfortable this was for him. He wasn’t shy, but solo sex was generally that. To be watched … he hated to be that vulnerable. Even to Marie. But … he opened his eyes to gaze into brown, and his hand was inside his sweatpants again before he was aware of making a decision. There was no threat there, and her increasingly harsh breathing and thickening scent suggested that even this act could be shared. If he wanted it to be.

Logan relaxed into the purely physical tension, and stripped himself of the sweatpants in one economical movement. He lay on his back, cock in hand, and looked at her. She had risen to her knees to watch him, inadvertently showcasing her body in his old t-shirt. He could see the press of pink nipples, and gloriously toned thighs peeking from under the hem before curving into long, perfect legs. He wanted to see more.

“Take it off.” Her momentary confusion was banished by his focus on her chest, eyes locked to her nipples as they pushed against the thin cotton. She flushed, mouth rounded in an O of surprise, but then took a deep breath and lifted the t-shirt off. The movement was slow and unsure, but fuck if it wasn’t the most seductive thing he had ever witnessed.

“You can’t touch …” Marie stopped, obviously realising he didn’t plan to touch her, though his gloves on the nightstand would have made it possible. Instead, he slid his hand along his cock as his eyes visited the temptations he had been trying to avoid for so long. The sinful curve of her lips. The glorious upthrust of pink on pink on cream. The dip where her small waist gave way to the flare of her hips. A small patch of dark curls at the apex of her thighs. Growing darker, he noted with satisfaction, his strokes growing increasingly rapid.

“Marie. Touch yourself.” He was so far gone, he couldn’t restrain the command, and when her fingers drifted shyly towards one nipple, he had to pinch the base of his cock to gain him a few precious moments. “No. I want you to come with me. You know how to get yourself off, don’t you?”

Her scalding blush – even her toes went pink, he noted – failed to dampen the surge in her arousal, but her fingers only moved so far before hovering over her mound, seemingly unable to go further. Logan berated himself briefly – she’s still a virgin, fuckwit, even if she is the most sensual creature you’ve ever met – before losing patience with her sudden shyness. What the fuck had she expected when she tried to talk her way into his bed? How could this girl expect to cope with the Wolverine? Even now the animal wanted to tear and bite and slam his need into her, and goddamn but innocence should NOT be a fuckin’ aphrodisiac.

“Marie. I’m gonna come, baby,” he grunted, pleadingly, as his hand yanked once, twice. “Please …” just do it, kid, this is fuckin’ torture … so close … he felt the pressure building in front of his tailbone and eased off again as she ran her fingers down her slit, and spread her legs and GOD, he could see her all pink and glistening and he so wanted to bury his face there and taste…. and he was coming, and what had Marie said about colours, there was no colour just red and black and heat and pressure and his body churning and falling and erupting …

As the spasms released their iron grip on his body, he opened his eyes to see her sitting slightly apart from him, still gloriously naked and flushed pink. He didn’t think it was the pink of embarrassment, so he was betting orgasm. How could he have been so far gone he didn’t see her come? Then he registered the ache throughout his body, the utter languor in every muscle, and realised he wouldn’t have seen fuckin’ Sabretooth in the room, he’d come so hard. Just from a bit of morning wood and an eyeful of little girl.

“So, colours then?” Shy Marie was back to Mischievous Marie, and God, wasn’t that his favourite Marie of all.

“More like a freight train. Or two,” he replied. “Nice way to wake up. You all warm and snuggly.” And smelling like my fuckin’ downfall, he thought.

“Why …” the question trailed off as Marie seemed to run out of sass.

“Why what? You gotta right to ask anything you want, kid. Ask for anything you want, too,” Logan added, not unaware of the darting glances she had been directing at his rapidly hardening cock.

“Why did you want me to … uh … masturbate?” Her face flamed, but her voice regained its steadiness with admirable speed. “And why did you want to see me naked?”

Logan stared at her as he put his thoughts in order. Somehow, he realised, they had passed the point of no return and he hadn’t even noticed. He’d never be able to think “untouchable” again, or put her back in the mental box he’d marked “kid”.

“Remember what I said yesterday? About not touching you? I guess I needed you to show me you weren’t really a kid. That you … you could keep up with me. Match me.” He was making no fucking sense, trying to pussyfoot around the issue. “I needed you to see who I am, what a bastard I can be. And for you to take what you need, ‘cause I ain’t always gonna give it to you.”

“Oh.” She sounded wary, maybe a little disappointed. But then her chin lifted to look him straight in the eye. “Well, hell, sugar, I’m the one with poisonous skin, so there’s all sortsa stuff I can’t give you. But there’s other stuff, too,” she said, her eyes roaming over him as if looking for a place to start. His cock stood up to volunteer, and Marie managed to blush and giggle at the same time.

He mock-growled and reached for his gloves. Girl needed to be taught a lesson. Preferably one that involved her screaming his name loud enough to wake the entire house. He sobered as he realised he was only half-joking, and was forced to acknowledge the truth. Their relationship had been inevitable, as much as age, time and circumstance had conspired against it. He had never been immune to the sexual allure this girl had for him; he had simply submerged the attraction in the welter of protective feelings that came with recognising his mate. Whether she was 17 or 37, she was his, and he wasn’t prepared to wait another six minutes, let alone six months, to claim her.

They both groaned when a rapping on the door was followed by Storm demanding Logan’s attention. “We can’t find Rogue, Logan. She didn’t sleep in her bed and no one’s seen her since 10 last night. Her friends seem to know something, but they’re not telling me, so I thought you …”

Just as well, Logan thought as he pulled some spare sweatpants and a shirt for her out of his duffle. They needed to invest in some body suits. And latex. Anything in latex could be good.

“Keep your panties on, Storm, we’re coming.” Logan wondered if Storm had noticed his plural, and then dismissed the thought. They were X-men – extraordinarily good at being oblivious.

XXXXX

It was almost a rerun of the previous night, Logan thought, just with way more anger and some pretty bad weather. Lightning cracked outside and torrents of water poured from the gutters as Storm processed the fact that Logan and Marie were lovers. Cyclops sat at the table and glowered as only a laser-equipped mutant could, and the Professor was doing his best line in cold disapproval. Logan could care less about their reaction, but Marie’s white face had him worried. He had tried to warn her about just how ugly things would get, but she obviously hadn’t been prepared for words like “pervert” and “paedophile”.

He hated them for putting her through this – hell, he hated himself for putting her through this – but restrained the urge to loose the Wolverine and scare them stupid. (Stupider, his feral self growled.) It wasn’t as if the accusations were unfounded, after all, and Marie would have been confronted with them at some point. Better that she heard his explanations, and realised just how much she meant to him. And that this wasn’t new, or sudden, or just convenient, as they were insinuating.

“Logan!” Storm’s reprimand was punctuated with the stink of ozone and her very words vibrated with thunder. “This can’t happen. You can’t use Rogue like this – we simply won’t allow it. As much as we appreciate everything you’ve done for us,” and at least she had the grace to look shamefaced, “you’re going to have to leave”.

Professor Xavier inclined his head in agreement. “I’m afraid so, Logan. We understand that yourself and Rogue have a – connection – but this is not appropriate behaviour for a teacher and his student. It may not be illegal, but it is immoral and inappropriate for authority figure to take advantage of a young girl like this. It must stop – immediately – and I think it would be best if you leave us for a while.”

Logan barked with laughter, unable to mask his contempt. “Number one, I ain’t never pretended to be any teacher. Rogue asked me to train her, and I agreed. The rest of you just took advantage,” he bared his teeth in a savage grin. “Number two, when I leave – and it’s when, kids, not if – I don’t think I’ll be going alone. Rogue’s not an inmate here, and she makes her own decisions.”

His meaning was clear, and their shocked glances swung to Rogue. He shook his head, unable to believe they had ever thought he’d go quietly, leaving his lover – his LOVER, for fuck’s sake – in their clutches. “The only reason I’ve stayed with you geeks so far is to keep Ma-Rogue safe, ‘cause you sure as hell can’t seem to do that.”

Cyclops and Storm both flushed at his reminder of their inadequacies, and the Professor fairly hummed with annoyance. “This situation is a temporary aberration. I have provided a secure, loving environment for mutant children for many, many years, and will continue to do so in future. Rogue will be a part of that, as we are rebuilding now, and in the future as one of my X-men,” the Professor said, with a small mental push that made the words ring with conviction and confidence. You hadta hand it to the guy, Logan thought sourly, he sure knew how to make a humdinger of a speech. He tried not to be too smug as the girl sitting next to him gave an outraged gasp at the Professor’s presumption.

“Professor! You’ve never even asked me if I wanted to be an X-man. Just handed me suit and ASSUMED that was my future. I’m grateful and all, don’t think I’m not, but this my life and I will choose how I spend it. And I chose Logan a long time ago. We just ended up at the school, but I chose to get in his trailer and in his camper and – for that matter - in his BED. And when he leaves, I sure as hell will CHOOSE to go with him.” Marie had risen to stand, hands on hips, leaning forward to stab every word straight at the Professor. Logan could smell her steaming with anger, her system flooded with adrenaline and just itching to take them on. He wondered briefly if Outraged Marie was his new favourite, and shifted under the table to make some extra space in his jeans, profoundly thankful his mind was so hostile to telepaths.

“So do we go, or do we stay, Chuck? Seems to me, you need my help more than we need yours, right now,” Logan said, unable to resist a sarcastic quirk of his eyebrows. Time for a quick reality check, Chuckie.

“You have no money, no mansion, 96 students, two useless teachers, and three safe houses in different parts of the city – two of which I own, by the way.” Logan gave them a moment to digest that piece of information before continuing. “And a plan. Do you even HAVE a fuckin’ plan?” He snarled the last few words with a ferocity that seem to leave even Xavier shocked. Good. Maybe it was time to wake up and smell the fuckin’ napalm.

Storm was the first to recover from his verbal assault. Logan wasn’t surprised – for all her serenity, Storm had never been blind to the real world like Xavier, Cyclops or Jean. She took a deep breath and while the rain still bucketed outside, she suddenly smelt more human and less like a force of nature. And somewhat chastened, Logan realised.

“We have been letting too much ride on your shoulders,” she said, looking into his eyes for the first time that morning. “I’m sorry we’ve been so … remote, Logan. You’ve taken us all by surprise with this,” her hands made disconcerted patterns in the air, “and perhaps we haven’t dealt with it well. But that doesn’t lessen the fact you’ve been keeping us afloat, and perhaps that needs to change. Regardless of what yourself and Rogue decide to do.” Cyclops and Xavier frowned at her tacit acceptance of the relationship, but stayed silent, obviously unable to deny their vulnerability.

“We need to think about our position and consider our options. And then maybe, come up with a plan,” Storm grimaced. “Perhaps we should have a full meeting of the X-men, and all potential X-men, after lunch? Then we can decide what to do, as a team.” Her silver eyes drilled into Logan and then shifted to Marie. Storm, for one, was still assuming they belonged on that team.

The Professor, ultimately, was a realist and would accept Logan and Marie’s relationship in the interests of convenience, but Cyclops … Logan was pretty sure that Scott Summers was too much of an honourable idiot to countenance the idea of a grown man screwing a teenage girl. Fine, Logan snorted as he slipped an arm around Marie’s shoulders and guided her out of the room; this ain’t YOUR girl, Cyke. And I sure as hell don’t need your approval.

XXXXX

“So sugar, am I moving in with you then?” Marie’s smile was saucy, even if her spirits were still somewhat dimmed by the dramatics of the morning. While the kitchen cabinet had been convened behind closed doors, Logan suspected more than a few kids had been eavesdropping, either with enhanced mutant senses, or with the good old ear-to-the-door. The gossip seemed to have reached every kid in the overcrowded house, and if Logan had to listen to one more “Omigod, Rogue’s doing the Wolverine!” he might just gut someone. Or carve out their tongue. That’d work.

“Yeah, baby, that’d be good. If that’s what you wanna do,” he smiled, stroking her hair as they sprawled on the couch in the suddenly crowded living room. “I’ll clear out the wardrobe next to mine.” She laughed at that, knowing damn well that he kept his clothes in a duffel under the bed, as would she. His closet of a bedroom didn’t have room for anything else.

“And a drawer. I want my own drawer!” Her exaggerated pout suggested she was joking, but Logan still felt bad. As soon as they were shot of the X-geeks, he’d give Marie a wardrobe, all the drawers she wanted, and the moon too.

“Let’s see what we can do.” He rose to his feet, pulling her up his body to stand in front of him. Suddenly, he wanted to give the kids something to talk about, and the square of silk Marie had draped around her neck was so thin it would … mmm. It did. It did taste like heaven, like nothing, in fact. Like naked lips soaked with Marie-taste and Marie-smell and Marie-love. He could drown in those things.

Logan lifted his head after trailing his lips along her nose and both eyelids before pressing them fervently against her forehead. In the back of his mind, he realised it mirrored their embrace on Magneto’s machine, and wondered once again if his interest had been … sordid, back then. Was his love for her ever pure, or had it been tainted by sex, all along? He pushed away the question as unanswerable and released her with a last, chaste kiss. Once again, they had drawn an audience – “What the fuck are we? Entertainment?” he growled, scattering wide-eyed kids in every direction.

Two stayed: Marie’s yellow friend and the girl who walked through walls. Logan tried to scare them off, but Marie put her hand on his arm. “Sugar, I need to have a word with Jubilee and Kitkat. I’ll see ya later?” He grunted assent and decided some fresh air would do him good. Fresh air and a store that sold gloves and condoms and bodysuits. In bulk. He was still smiling when the Harley roared out into the street minutes later.

Hell. Her life had fallen into the seven levels of hell, and it wasn’t even lunch time yet.

“Optimist. Stupid, fucking optimist who thinks all of your girls are straight with you and that Roguey – dear, SWEET Roguey - wouldn’t tell a lie to save her life. Bitch.” Jubilee wasn’t sure what hurt most – the deception by a girl she considered her best bud, or the crushed bewilderment that an entire bottle of vodka hadn’t been able to erase from Bobby’s face. Life sucked. Friends sucked. And fucking Wolverine sucked most of all.

“Hmm, I wonder …” Jubilee snapped her mouth shut. That way led insanity, and major, major ass kicking. She did NOT want to know about her combat teacher’s sex life. Nup. No way, not ever. Even if said sex life seemed to include her best friend. Her frown returned.

It’s not that he wasn’t doable, or anything. I mean - the guy was built. Like Mr Universe, or something. But – well, there were so many buts that she just didn’t know where to start. Apart from the whole Bobby/Rogue thing – I mean, SO cute together, so right for each other – the fact was that the Wolverine was … kinda old. And WAY grumpy and snarly. And far too hairy. Jubilee was still cataloguing the Wolverine’s offences when she and Kitkat walked in the lovers playing tonsil hockey in the living room. She tried to stay annoyed, but the bliss on Rogue’s face made it hard. So the old man knew how to kiss, Jubilee conceded. He was still a girlfriend-stealing lecher.

When Wolverine lifted his head to sweep the room with his “get out or die” stare, Jubilee felt Kitkat tense, and clapped a hand on her arm. They weren’t about to be scared off by a homicidal feral, uh, uh. Not one they’d once found fast asleep in their former roomie’s bed, anyway. Now, that, dude, was entertainment, she thought sourly, remembering waking to find a half-naked man asleep with an armful of happy Rogue snoring on his chest.

Jubilee tried not to think just what THAT should have told her, and concentrated on looking blasé. No intimidation here, bud. You’ve become just another boyf, and will now receive the Jubilee stare of whatever. WHATEVER, dude.

She heard Rogue muffle a giggle at the familiar expression, and then tell the Wolverine to find an elsewhere. Hah! Girltalk was imminent, and this better be good. It better be worth being lied to, and seeing Bobby’s heart break, and finding out your best friend actually had a name she hadn’t bothered to share with you. Marie, huh. Well, Marie, you’ve got a LOT of talking to do.

“Are you guys really mad at me?” Rogue sounded more sad than apologetic, as if upsetting her friends was of more import than the lying and sneaking. Jubilee tried not to bristle and let Kitty handle it. She was acquainted with tact.

“Oh, sweetie. We’re upset, because we just don’t know what’s been going on with you. It’s a bit of a shock, you know? But if this makes you happy…” she broke off, unable to devalue a friend’s happiness, but Jubes just KNEW she was thinking about Bobby. So, apparently, did Rogue.

“It’s not fair to Bobby. I should have told him, before anything happened. But – honest? For me, it was always Logan. Always. I felt like I was cheatin’ every time Bobby kissed me.” Rogue, Jubilee thought cynically, was all big eyes and quivering lip, working her Southern gal schtick for all it was worth. Nonetheless, her words rang with truth. Not that they were news: Kitty and Jubilee had spent six months talking Rogue down from her crush on Logan. Six months of watching her hide his tags under her clothes. Six months of hearing her sob for him after a nightmare. Six months of breathy little moans in the middle of the night, his name laden with joy rather than a bereft ache. Oh yeah, it had been Logan all right.

“And when he kissed me, he was SO scared, and even holding my hand was huge risk … I mean, you guys touch me more than Bobby ever did, and I figured, maybe Bobby never really WANTED to touch me. Maybe he was just being a friend, and felt he had to be a boyfriend. Logan was never afraid to touch me, and he WANTS to. He wants to touch me, and I need to touch him.” Rogue was defiant, unapologetic.

“Yo chica. We figured, OK. We pretty much saw that firsthand what with the lapdancing and all,” Jubilee snarked. “It’s not like we didn’t know you were hot for the Wolverine, we just thought it was, like, a crush or something. Mr Unobtainable, as opposed to Mr Really Cute Boy Who’s Goddamn Crazy About You. And now has a BROKEN HEART!”#

Her accusation rose to a crescendo just as two sophomores wandered in the door and headed for the TV. They spun to stare, and Jubilee pointed to the door. “Vanish. Pretend like you were never here and we won’t be forced to kill you.” The two girls donned fake smiles at the joke, but still stumbled in their haste to retreat. Jubilee retrained her gimlet stare on Rogue.

“I mean, I get the need for touch, OK? And I even get that Hairy Scary might just be the man for you. But you couldn’t have said “hey Bobby, take a hike” before climbing into bed with the guy? Or worse – playing his little DOG in the middle of a grody fight bar?”

“Jubes. Number one – yeah, I should have. Number two – you weren’t meant to BE at the fucking fight bar! And – number three – there was no climbing into bed before last night. You mightn’t have believed me when I said this was new, but it is. REALLY new.”

Jubilee wasn’t sure if she was ready to believe that just yet. This situation was making all those incidents back at the mansion look less innocent. This time, she refused to bite her lip in the interests of playing nice. She had to know.

“So last year, in his room. No hanky panky before the stabby sucky? And when he used to creep in and sleep on your bed? I mean, babe, HIGHLY suspect,” Jubilee tried to keep the sarcasm out of her voice, but failed. And look – bullseye! Rogue had paled and couldn’t look at them.

“No! I was just a kid, and Wolverine would never have touched me!” Rogue hunched herself down into the sofa, and hurt radiated from her shaky voice. “He was looking after me, looking out for me. It wasn’t about … this, then.”

“For you, maybe. But what about him? How do you know he doesn’t just like little girls, chica? Little bit of virgin meat? Jail-fucking-bait?” Jubilee tried to hide her own flinch as the cruel words bit deep. But that’s what the bar had thought last night, and Wolverine had said the words himself. Rogue would have to learn to deal.

Kitty gasped and Jubilee braced herself for tears, or fury, or Rogue’s own brand of silent hurt. They were unprepared for the lazy smile that worked its way across her face like a sunrise.

“Oh, guys. I know. I know the face of every woman he’s ever fucked – hell, I know what they felt like inside! I know every thought he had about me from the day he first saw me to the day he saved me on the Statue of Liberty. And last night, he touched me enough that I know exactly how he feels about me now. Every little thing he wants to do to me.” Jubilee watched, fascinated, as Rogue’s hands wandered briefly over her own body, and the Southern girl’s eyes darkened from their usual milk chocolate to a darker, more potent variety. Chica was getting her freak on, bigtime.

Jubilee hid her smile as Rogue refocused. Aaand BACK we come to the real world … now, what WERE you saying, Roguey?

“Uh … and even if I didn’t have his memories? Well, let’s just say he didn’t start this. I did. And he made me work pretty damn hard for it, too,” Rogue confessed.

Kitty seemed to bristle at that, and Jubilee just KNEW she was going to jump in on Bobby’s behalf. Crush much, Kitkat?

“So if you wanted the Wolverine, and you were chasing him,” Kitty, of course, avoided the KEY question of exactly how Rogue managed that, “why didn’t you break up with Bobby first? Last night? He was completely surprised, you know. He wouldn’t believe it was you at first, because he didn’t think you would ever cheat, Rogue,” Kitty said, blue eyes were filled with reproach.

“I know, Kitkat. It was … unforgivable of me, really. But, did he really think I wouldn’t cheat, or did he think no one else would ever want me enough for me to bother? He wasn’t always kind to me, Kitkat, and we weren’t very together.” Rogue paused, and her eyes glittered as the girl they didn’t know came to the fore. “You’re welcome to him, Kitty. No need to feel guilty any more.”

Kitty’s eyes widened and her jaw dropped in outrage. Oops. Catfight. Jubilee resisted the urge to place bets and reluctantly accepted the role of peacemaker. “Oh, come on Kit. You know she’s right and I know she’s right, so just stow it, huh? This could be the best thing that ever happened for you and Bobby, even if Roguey’s being a bitch about it.” Jubilee levelled her glare at the both of them – took two to catfight, after all – and moved the conversation on.

“Why didn’t you tell us, chica? I mean, its like you’re a completely different person to who we thought you were! Sweet little Southern gal done gone missing, and here’s this bitch in leather walking around in her body. And did I hear her name was Marie?” Jubilee knew her southern twang sucked, but the point seem to be made. Rogue looked appropriately discomfited, and the familiar blush raced up to her face. Huh. Now THAT was Roguey, Jubilee thought triumphantly.

“My real name was Marie. Logan’s the only person I ever told.” She spoke quietly, tasting the words as if she was unsure they were true anymore. “Rogue is my name now – its who I am with everyone else in my head. Logan’s the only person who ever really knew Marie, and sometimes he needs me to be her.” Jubilee hoped Rogue didn’t mean in bed, ‘cause that would be truly sick. But she was fairly sure it was some emo thing, one of those secrets that lovers shared. Or perhaps it was that safety thing that Logan did for Rogue. He let her be whoever she was, and made the rest of the world leave her alone. Jubilee pushed away the envy she felt, and concentrated on trying to communicate her understanding to her friend. Sometimes, the mallrat mask had to slip, and this might be one of them.

“Okay, babe. Rogue it is. But … it would been nice to meet Marie. I think I woulda liked her,” Jubilee moved close to hug her friend, and KitKat joined them after a short moment. They all ignored the snuffles and quiet sobs somebody seemed to be making. Mallrats never cried.

XXXXX

Emotional catharsis seemed to do wonders for the appetite, Jubilee realised as she piled toppings onto her burger. Slab of meat, check. Cheese, check. Lettuce, check. Beetroot, check. Pickles. Check. Avocado – uh, obviously budget doesn’t run to avocado any more. Yet another reason to hate the mutant-hating government nazis. Jubilee eyed the table where Logan and Marie sat close, surrounded by a bubble of shocked silence. Jubester to the rescue, it seemed.

“Hey Roguey, Wolvie. Decided to come up for air, did we?” Sliding in next to Rogue, Jubilee directed a subliminal plea at the usually taciturn feral. Come on, play it, dude. Make them laugh with you, not at you. Wolverine seemed to get the message.

“Well, the rest of you mortals might need to breathe, but … I got my girl to keep happy,” he smirked, and the whole table gaped when his teeth flashed into something that might even be called a smile. “How’m I doing?” he asked Rogue, raising her gloved hand to his lips in antique gesture Jubilee had seen on TV once.

“Pretty good, sugar, pretty good.” Her blush said Rogue was embarrassed by the attention – 20 kids at the table were watching their every move – but liked the public claim on her affections. Jubilee tried to disguise her happy dance as half the table laughed, and a few more kids sat down, filling the gap between the controversial couple and the rest of the students. When Colossus strode into view and slid his bulk next to Wolverine, she nearly cheered. Now, maybe Bobby and the Wolverine will shake hands and be buddies, she fantasised. Got to have some impossible dreams.

Rogue had come to cry on Jubilee’s shoulder after a painful confrontation with Bobby. Apparently, he hadn’t appreciated being told he never really loved her anyway and the not-touching thing had been getting old. Funny that. Asked if the discussion might have been prejudiced by Bobby’s killer hangover, Jubilee had skipped the sympathy to point out that the regular bouts of throwing up had probably minimised the fireworks. Iceworks. Whatever. Bobby had a right to be pissed, and if he’d been feeling vaguely healthy, he would have REALLY made Rogue cry. She’d cheated, for Chrissakes. Nobody deserved to get away with that lightly.

Chastened, Rogue had slunk off to move her stuff into the Wolverine’s room. How they were getting away with THAT, Jubilee didn’t know, but suspected the X-men had no clue. Not after the yelling fest that had eventuated at breakfast – some of the key highlights had been available from that Shelley girl who had a weird hearing-hair thing going on. Nasty gossip had raced through the entire student body, and horrible things were being said. Roguey and the Wolverine needed all the help they could get. Jubilee’s mood brightened again. Laughter was a good first step. And – my God – a Wolverine smile. That was like, the holy Grail of the Mutant High experience. Unprecedented.

“So chica, you all moved in? You think you’ll both fit inta that little bed?” It’s not like everybody wasn’t already talking about it, Jubilee reasoned. Gossip wasn’t gossip once you included the people involved.

She nearly swallowed her tongue when Wolverine stepped up again. With a full on GRIN this time. “We’ll manage. All the more fun if its … cosy,” he said, raising a distinctly teasing eyebrow at Rogue. Cosy? Jubilee had seen cosy, but that closet wasn’t it. “Yeah, whatever dudes. Privacy is cool, even if it is tiny, crowded, privacy. And from what I saw last night, you two SO need it…” Jubilee froze, cursing her loose tongue. Had Wolverine said anything about their late-night encounter? Or had she just gotten everyone in deep shit? She slowly lifted her head to glance around – thank God, no senior team anywhere. She shot Wolverine a dirty look – bastard was chuckling now – and returned to her burger. Let’s concentrate on eating for a minute or two. Not at the top of my game, here.

Rogue jumped in, a look that was suspiciously like amusement lurking in her eyes. “So, are you ready for this afternoon’s meeting, Jubes? They’ve asked us all to think about how we go forward, what the plan should be. Do you have any ideas?”

“A few. But none that make a lot of sense. I mean,” she lowered her voice, bending her head closer to Rogue and the Wolverine, “I think we’re fucked. Royally fucked, if we don’t make a move soon. But where the hell can we go?” Without the Professor’s mansion, they had no way of housing the unwanted kids, let alone schooling them. And safe houses were only safe if no one stayed there for long. Anyone who knew anything about hiding knew six weeks in one place was far too long.

Normally, the senior team didn’t bother to share this kinda stuff with the juniors, but Wolverine didn’t appear to be big on rules. He kept his voice low, and damned if he wasn’t honest, too. “You’re right, Jubes. Things have gotta change, or we’re all going to end up in someone’s lab. But we’ve got lots of options – just no decisions yet. Hopefully, that’ll change soon, and I think you kids are gonna need to get involved. So start thinkin’.”

She nodded quietly, flashing him a wry smile in thanks. It was kinda nice to be treated like an adult. Specially when you were expected to fight like one, and Jubilee knew her induction to the junior team wouldn’t be bloodless for much longer. Not that she wanted it to be, really. She’d just about died in that fuckin’ hole, waiting helplessly for the others to come and get her out while the government assholes had plotted their destruction. She had as much right as anyone else to kick some ass.

“Yeah. You’re right. And I’m glad you’ve been teaching us how to fight properly, you know? Because I don’t think they were playing by the Professor’s rules, and we were real lucky you were there. We’d all be dead, otherwise.” She wasn’t real good at saying thank you, but hopefully Wolvie would get the message. He just grunted, but Jubilee thought it mighta been a grateful kinda grunt. Maybe.

And maybe, when she made her really stupid suggestion at the meeting later, he wouldn’t sneer. Or threaten to gut her. Because it was really the only thing she could think of, right now.

XXXXX

The kitchen cabinet resumed session, but this time eleven X-men circled the rickety table. Xavier had rolled to the head, Cyclops to his left, and Storm to his right. The new doc, Hank McCoy, sat next to Scott, and the other blue guy, Kurt something, was next to Ororo. Then came the juniors – Iceman and Colossus lined up opposite Shadowcat and herself, with Rogue to her left. Wolverine faced Xavier down the table, his features grim and unmoving. An empty chair to his left served as an aching reminder of Pyro’s defection. Damn firebug, Jubilee thought angrily. Ya couldn’t picked a better time to turn evil?

Xavier banged the table with his palm to bring the meeting to order, and launched into his usual spiel. Jubilee tried to listen … it had been a while and things were dire, but after five minutes or so she was began to wonder when the listening would start. “Danger,” yadda yadda yadda, “resources” yadda yadda yadda, “no school, no hope, no future.” Wait. Maybe that was The Terminator. She choked on a snicker and drew icy glares from the other end of the table.

“And that is why we have asked you to help us formulate the way forward,” the Professor said. “The X-men are more than just the mansion, or the jet, or the school. We are the only hope for a peaceful future, and we must all do our utmost to ensure that future arrives.” He fixed his benevolent gaze on the Wolverine, who seemed to be enjoying the lecture as much as Jubilee. “We are all a part of this team. We are all in this together. And thus, our plan must be one we all believe in.”

“Yeah, Chuck, we get it. Happy smiley people. Let’s get to the real world stuff, huh?” Jubilee tried not to snort at the Wolverine’s heavy sarcasm. Xavier, none, Wolverine, one.

“Of course, Logan. You may start. What do you identify as our key problems, and thus, our key priorities,” the Prof said. Keeping his cool, even.

“I told you this morning. You got no money. Lots of kids. Nowhere to live, and a bunch of fuckin’ commandos on your asses. Priority would be safety, for all of you. I say get the fuck out of Dodge.”

Kitty, taking the official minutes for this meeting, paled. “Uh, professor? Do I have to write that, um, verbatim?”

“In your own words, Kitty. Put down Logan’s suggestion as ‘relocation’. And Logan. Try to limit your cursing to words Kitty can write without blushing.” Wolverine looked annoyed at the Professor’s reprimand, but still looked at Kitty with a bob of his head that might have been an apology.

“I’ll just clarify one thing before we move on to Colossus. I am not completely without funds. I still have a considerable amount invested, both openly and … less so … in Europe. I need time, and some technological assistance, to be able to access that money, but it’s not a major problem,” the Professor said. Suddenly, he looked more like the leader he had been before the school had been desecrated. Before Jean had died. It must be cool to have money, Jubes mused. It seemed to have the power to make bad things go away.

“How much we talkin’ Chuck? A mill? Two? What we got to shopping with?”

Professor Xavier hesitated, obviously calculating. “I can free up about fifteen million or so in the short term. Conservatively, ten million. Longer term, its closer to twenty.” He seemed unaware of the jaws that dropped all around the table. “Oh, that’s pounds, by the way.”

“Fuck.” Wolverine spoke without thinking and then darted a glance at Kitty. “Uh, strike the record”. He put his head down in thought and then looked up again. “So, there’s money. Enough to get some decent buildings somewhere. But you gotta decide where, and how the hell we find ‘em. Can’t exactly hire a real estate agent.”

“Hmm.” The Professor looked thoughtful and then nodded at Colossus. “We’ll come back to that issue. But in the meantime, what do you think we should do, Colossus?”

The big Russian was shy in such an open forum, but his ideas were always strong. He felt security was their biggest challenge, and agreed with Logan that they needed to be moving on. “I don’t think we can wait to find another school – I think we need to move now. As soon as possible. More safe houses, somewhere else.”

Wolverine nodded in agreement, as did the Professor. Scott looked pissed, but it that was the most animated he had looked in weeks. Storm looked grave, but seemed to accept the need to move on.

As they moved around the table, there were few new ideas offered, simply expansions on the theme: better protection, move on soon, start looking for somewhere long term. When Kitkat had pointed out they needed to start organising the younger kids more, perhaps involving them to keep their spirits up, Jubilee held her breath, knowing she was up next. She was pretty sure her idea wouldn’t meet with the same validation.

“Jubilee. How do you feel about the situation?” The Professor’s enquiring glance was replicated all the way down the table. Jubilee took a deep breath and just waded in.

“The Brotherhood. I think that maybe the Brotherhood might help us.” She waited, knowing the stunned silence was simply a short reprieve. “I know they’re the enemy and all, but they don’t want mutant kids to be killed. And Magneto’s been in hiding for months and nobody’s found him, so maybe they can help us do that too.”

It was all she had to say, really, the only thing she could think of. Being evil was a lot safer than being good, and while most of the kids never admitted it, everyone wondered if maybe Magneto was right. Peaceful co-existence was hard when the government attacked your school in the middle of the night.

Rogue, of course, would never agree, because Mags had tried to kill her. And Wolverine hated anyone who hurt Rogue. So she couldn’t expect any support from that corner. But maybe …

“She’s right. We need to talk to Magneto. He knows how to live underground. He has the contacts to help you do that. And you have the money to make him want to help you.” Wolverine’s voice was thick with distaste, obviously hating the idea, but unable to reject it. “In fact, I think that has to be the first step. We find Magneto, let him know we’re looking for new digs. Then move camp to be closer to wherever he is. It’d work.”

Jubilee was so shocked at his support, she nearly missed Rogue’s quiet drawl. “I agree. He always said there was a war coming. I think we all realise it’s here, and that we hafta choose a side. And I choose to live.”

Her words hung in the air like a benediction. Even the Professor was silent for a moment, before speaking softly into the hush.

“You may be right, Rogue. Perhaps our need to survive will accommodate a truce with Erik for the moment. I will try to make contact with him, and report back to you all as soon as we have some news. In the meantime, all of your suggestions are good, and we will start putting them into action.” The Professor closed the meeting with a quiet nod to them all, as he rolled away from the table.

Jubilee swung to look at Rogue, still expecting to see hatred in her eyes. “Roguey, I know he tried to kill you, but…”

Rogue broke in, her calm voice a balm to Jubilee’s sick nerves. “Really, Jubes. It’s the best idea. It ain’t gonna be easy seeing the guy again but he can help y’all. And you need all the help you can get.

The kitchen was still thick with emotion when they all filed out. It was only later that Jubilee remembered exactly what Rogue had said. “Y’all.” As in, you. Not us. Surely it was just a slip of the tongue. Once an X-man, always an X-man, right?

XXXXX

With tension still thick in the air, Kit had decided some good old-fashioned fun was needed. Scrabble was always her choice of fun, even though the rest of them groaned. The older X-men had begged off, and Rogue had said something about the Wolverine scoutin’ down some leads, so it was just the five of them – KitKat, Bobby, and Rogue, with Jubilee and Piotr teamed up due to the second language disadvantage. (Jubilee’s Cantonese was actually worse than her English, but hey, what they didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them. Especially when it came to board games.)

Having taken part in the summit, and even been able to maintain an appropriately adult professional distance, Bobby and Rogue seemed to have decided to ignore each other and last night’s heartbreak. They hadn’t exactly talked, but he wasn’t looking anything but sick, and she was being very, very careful not to mention Logan’s name. It wouldn’t last, but right now, Jubes was just grateful for the peace. Scrabble tended to need all of her concentration.

“And that’s a triple word score, too,” Kitkat squealed, plonking down her tiles – omigod, was that really a Z – what was ‘zure’ anyway? Jubilee opened her mouth to object when she remembered you had to join your word with a letter already on the board. And yes, azure. Freakin’ geniuses.

“Ah, so that’s – fourteen times three is 42. Kitkat, you win by about a zillion points,” Roguey said as she calculated the scores. “The rest of us are so far behind there’s not much point going on!” Jubilee laughed and tipped their tiles – Q and U, what word ever had them anyway – in the box to stop anyone from forcing them to play on.

Rogue was pouting, Bobby was sulking, Colossus thought Kitty’s glee was just cute, and as per usual, he and Jubes were losing. It was all surprisingly comforting, just like old times, Jubilee thought contentedly. Just without the fussball table and the sickening goo-goo eyes between Bobby and Rogue. Kickin’ back, intimidating the underclassmen, hanging out with her buds. And when Siryn’s scream rent the air, that too was familiar. Horribly, gut-wrenchingly familiar. They were under attack again, and this time, Logan wasn’t there to save them.

Logan moved from one intriguing display to the next, raising his eyebrows at some and wrinkling his brow in sheer puzzlement at others. Where sex was concerned, he had thought he was pretty experienced. Madame X’s Emporium was teaching him otherwise.

Juggling two jars of edible body paint, a black leather thing that would make Marie’s already world-class tits look lethal, and several supersize boxes of condoms, Logan began to regret not collecting a dinky little basket at the entrance. He hadn’t wanted to look like a pervert, and how much stuff did he need anyway? His scowl lifted when he thought about just how much fun it would be to bring Marie here – and explain, oh-so-explicitly, exactly what could be achieved with the various toys. Huh. A basket would have hidden his hard-on as well. Maybe that’s why every one else seemed to have one.

What Logan couldn’t see were the bodysuits he’d actually come for. Right, sales desk. You can do this shopping thing. He tried not to laugh as he saw the woman silhouetted by a thousand raunchy items at the cash register – 50ish, sharp-curled grey hair and a perfectly ironed white blouse with a demure peter-pan collar. He peered at the nametag on her well-concealed bosom.

“Uh, Mavis? I rang up earlier looking for full-body skinsuits, and I was told you had some here?”

“Oh yes, sweetheart. We don’t get a lot of call for them so they’re in the back. I’ll get someone to bring them up for you. What size?”

“I think she said a size six. But curvy. She’s very curvy.” Mavis’ motherly smile stretched even broader, and her warm regard made him thankful he hadn’t brought Marie in with him. He suspected the lady wouldn’t be nearly so sweet if she saw his teenage lover. He certainly wouldn’t give anyone like him the time of day.

Good mood derailed, he prowled about the store for the next few minutes, no longer able to take any pleasure in the weird accoutrements. When a weedy guy arrived nearly buried under swathes of multi-coloured fabric, he jumped the poor bastard in his keenness to escape.

“Wotcha got?” Logan examined each bodysuit with an eye to transparency, softness on the skin, and the potential to transmit touch. After consideration, he discarded nylon as too irritating, and lycra as too much of a barrier to sensation. Silk by itself didn’t have enough resilience, but this blend … stretchy, silky, damn-near transparent. His mouth watered obligingly, and that was pretty much that.

“I’ll take that one you’ve got there, the creamy colour. And can you have others made up in size six? Whole bunch of colours? Reds and greens, maybe a couple in black?”

He was forced to look through a little book of materials and mark his choices before handing over an obscene amount of cash. Organising to have the day’s purchases couriered over, and the rest sent on as soon as they were available, Logan strode out onto the street and restrained himself from making a beeline for the house in Chelsea. Business first. Then pleasure.

XXXXX

Where was the fuckin’ contact anyway? Logan glanced at his watch for the fifth time and growled at the ten minutes that had elapsed since the dickhead was supposed to be here. Street signs said West 41st and Ninth, and the fucking buses seemed to think this was the bus terminal, so he was in the right place. Waiting. He hated waiting, and still wasn’t convinced some Brotherhood motherfucker was worth waiting for.

“Wolverine”. He nearly laughed at the familiar voice that drew his attention. Kid had learnt something. He could smell the tang of lighter fuel and raw flame: Pyro, for sure. But he couldn’t see the kid yet, and he’d kept his voice so soft that only someone with augmented senses would be able to hear. Wolverine had to admit he was impressed. Traitorous little fucker got smart.

Following the voice into a derelict-looking doorway, it opened quickly to admit him. Pyro grabbed his arm as the door shut, already hustling him towards the back of the house. Wolverine would have bristled, but the stricken expression on the kid’s face had him worried.

“Pyro! What’s wrong? What’s going on?” Wolverine dug his feet into the floor and 300 pounds of adamantium-enhanced feral stopped dead. Pyro – what was his real name? John something? – swore loudly but refused to look into his eyes.

“Look, man, there’s some serious shit going down and you’ve gotta talk to the man. Mutual non-agression, truce, whatever. Fine. But things just got ugly and we need to do something. Now.” The words were sour with fear and desperation, the scent convincing him more than any fast talking ever would. Logan’s mind began to race with possibilities as he followed Pyro up the stairs.

Beyond an iron door with the kinda locks that looked like nothing he ever remembered seeing, but still knew how to pick, Wolverine scoped the full complement of Brotherhood. Magneto. Fucker. Mystique. Bitch. But useful. Sabretooth. Must get round to gutting that bastard.

Several scents that he didn’t know rushed to meet him before he was even able to count how many people were crowded into the metal-shrouded room. Lots. Lots of very scared, very angry mutants had swollen the ranks of the Brotherhood.

“Wolverine. I have some dreadful news for you.” For once, Magneto skipped all the usual preliminary taunts. Huh.

“There’s been an attack. Several attacks, really. Your house in Chelsea, the one down the road, and the one in Brooklyn.” Wolverine could smell the sorrow in Magneto’s voice, and knew the outcome couldn’t be positive. But they knew about it – surely that meant survivors. He been drilling them and drilling them, and Marie, at least, had paid attention. She would have got away.

“We have reports of several casualties. Mainly children. A few escaped, but … none with powers of any interest to the government. We believe most have been captured. Right now, we are trying to find out where they’ve been sent.” Magneto, of all people, had sympathy oozing from his pores.

“Powers of interest”. Marie. Captured. He knew it, as innately as he had known the face of the man who poured adamantium onto his bones. Stryker might be dead, but his evil lingered. And that evil had taken Marie.

He felt the soldier they told him he’d once been snap into place, drowning out even the Wolverine’s dull roar. There was a plan to be made, and executed. He was on familiar ground. Logan ignored the tiny voice that protested he had never cared this much before. Never had so much to lose.

“What do you know, and when do we move?” He didn’t have to pledge his support to the Brotherhood. That was the good thing about the bad guys – they already knew every man was in it for himself. Little details like allegiance and motives were easily overlooked in the race to death and destruction. The Wolverine approved.

Magneto inclined his head, and unlike Xavier, didn’t even bother to ask Logan to sit down. He simply pushed the map across the table, and indicated several locations already ringed in red. “They’ve split them up. From what we can tell, the alphas are being kept here,” Lensherr said, motioning to a spot on the map which showed nothing other than a lonely rural intersection in upstate New York.

“Supposedly it’s a mental hospital. But the guards are armed with a hell of a lot more than batons, and Nurse Ratchet looks like an angel compared to most of the humans that work there,” he spat.

Logan had only one question. “Alphas?”

“Yes, those the government considers dangerous. Charles, Summers, Storm, Rogue, Colossus, Shadowcat. Apparently Iceman and Jubilee didn’t make the cut, because they are being held at the other location,” Magneto tapped another red circle, this time in deepest suburban New Jersey. “Most of the younger children are with them. Ironically, it seems to be a school. But again, rather unfriendly guards.”

“What’s the other one,” Logan asked, staring at a third location, this time highlighted in black.

“That, my feral friend, is our rendezvous point. Once yourself, Mystique, Pyro and Sabretooth have recovered whomsoever you can, get them there and we will get them out. Our very own Underground Railway.”

The Wolverine grunted his approval, and looked around at his new team. “Anyone hurts an X-man, or any of the kids, and I will kill them. Every one else is fair game.” Sabretooth snarled at the restriction, Mystique masked her intentions with a surprisingly sweet smile, and Pyro was honestly pissed. Logan suspected it was because it hadn’t occurred to him to go after the X-men: he wasn’t used to being one of the bad guys just yet.

“We going then?” Magneto rolled his eyes at Logan’s impatience, and signalled to Mystique.

“I trust this might increase your success rate,” he quipped, as Mystique took a small pack from the cupboard. Night vision glasses, gas grenades, first-aid kit, even a cunning little Beretta with two full clips and a box of bullets. Logan could feel the Wolverine pushing forward, drawn by the scent of gun oil. Even he knew that slice-and-dice might be fun, but bang bang was a lot more efficient.

“Nice. We going NOW?” Mystique nodded and donned her own pack, Sabretooth and Pyro joining them. “Yourself and Sabretooth have got the same basic kit. I’ve got a decoder and system scrambler as well; Pyro has a few nice toys that light up,” the blue mutant explained as they headed up the stairs. “And we’re flying,” she added needlessly as they emerged onto the roof of the building, a newly marked helipad and gleaming white helicopter disguised by a simple grey sheet erected overhead.

Logan strapped himself into the seat besides Pyro as Mystique ran through the pre-flight routine. The fire thrower was agitated, his usual flick-flick having escalated into a constant flow of flame dancing from hand to hand. As they lifted from the heli-pad, Logan raised his voice to be heard over the whomping of the blades.

“Hey, kid.” Pyro looked at him, his mouth twisting into a mocking smile.

“Bet you don’t call Rogue that anymore,” he said. “How long did it take you to get into her pants,anyway?”

Logan choked, wondering just how interlinked the Brotherhood and Xavier’s crew really were. He wouldn’t have expected the gossip to have reached the so-called enemy by now.

“Jesus, man, it’s written all over your face. Always was. I knew she was yours the minute you walked back in that door – hell, she was probably yours the day you walked out, but you were trying hard not to notice.” Pyro laughed, bitter but amused. “Bobby was a fool for thinking that girl ever belonged to anyone but you. I mean, if there was ever a chance? I would have SO been there. But I can see the signs, and Rogue? Hers was a big, flashing ‘Wolverine’.”

Logan was trying hard not to like Pyro, but he was making all kinds of sense. Always had, really.

“S’none of your business, kid. But I wanted to say thank you. That time in Boston – I failed, and you looked out for Rogue. Thanks.”

“Fuck, dude, you were DEAD. Some failure! And in the end, Rogue stopped me, not them.” Pyro’s typical sullenness was back, and acrid resentment assaulted the Wolverine’s over-sensitive nose.

“Well, Xavier had them pretty well brainwashed. You weren’t afraid to strike, to protect yourself and your friends. You were right, they were wrong – and they know it now. Probably screaming it to the fuckin’ walls right now.”

Logan winced at his own words. It was said now, and he couldn’t pretend he hadn’t said it, hadn’t thought it. He felt bile rising in the back of his throat at the thought of Marie in the hands of his torturers. He spat and called on every ounce of detachment he possessed. Not now. He couldn’t think of this now.

XXXXX

Flying time was 42 minutes exactly, the Wolverine noted as he leapt from the helicopter. Hidden in a copse at the back of the asylum, they would move as a team, then split up in search of the detainees. Everyone knew who his priority was, and Mystique had been entrusted with extracting Xavier safely. Everyone else would take their chances.

Taking point, with Mystique and Pyro behind him and Sabretooth on the flank, Wolverine ran in a low crouch towards a set of anonymous double doors that were obviously little used – the rust running across the centre line suggested they’d not been opened in years. Rather than try and muscle a recalcitrant lock, Wolverine simply sliced around it, and then shouldered the doors open. No alarm. He rolled his eyes in disgust – did they expect intruders to come through the front door or something?

It was a laundry exit, he noted, scanning banks of dirty washing, chemicals and piles of folded clothes. Including uniforms. He smirked, and took a moment to exchange his civvies for camo gear. He handed one to Pyro, and then eyed Sabretooth’s massive bulk. Guy would be more convincing as an inmate, anyway. Regardless of whether the staff thought they were housing psychos or mutants.

Wolverine outlined his plan to Mystique, who overrode Sabretooth’s snarled objections without glancing at the giant feral. Somewhat surprised at her support, Wolverine was astonished when she even embellished his plan: she would slip out to find a high-ranking doctor to impersonate, and access the prisoner files. Precise locations for each of their targets would make the extraction that much more rapid. And everybody liked the idea of knowing exactly what the government had planned for their mutant captives.

Blue woman was a fuckin’ tactical genius, Wolverine grudgingly admitted. Right now, needs must, but perhaps a long term alliance with the Brotherhood would be in Xavier’s interest. God knows Mystique was better equipped to do the thinkin’ than Scotty-boy was. And if Sabretooth could be kept on the straight and narrow, he’d be a good match for Colossus in the big-and-brawny stakes, adding serious depth to their combat capability. A combined Brotherhood-Xmen force would be formidable, and maybe no one would notice the absence of a cranky superhealer and a little touch empath.

Retrieving his thoughts from the rosy path they were skipping along, Wolverine growled at his own inability to focus and investigated their readiness to proceed. Barking an order at Pyro, he shook his head at the subordination on the kid’s face, and explained – not patiently, but this wasn’t fuckin’ chess – the need to make like soldiers.

“When I give you an order, you say ‘Sir!’ and you fuckin’ do it. And stand up straight, and get all that hair outta ya face. You’re in the army now, kid.” Wolverine was almost smirking when he finished.

“And you.” He turned to Sabretooth and looked critically at the angry feral. “We don’t have any restraints, so we’re gonna have to pretend you’re drugged. Walk slow, shuffle even. And keep your eyes half closed.”

Sabretooth growled threateningly and slowly showed Wolverine his middle claw. “And the horse you rode in on, runt.” Nonetheless, he practiced looking docile, as Pyro made encouraging sounds. It was like walkin’ in on a game of charades, Wolverine thought with cold amusement. Difference was, the guns were real.

Moments later, a white-coated doctor cracked open the door, and only the familiar scent suggested he was actually a she.

“All done,” Mystique said quietly in deep baritone. “They’re on the second floor, in adjacent rooms. Guards at the lifts and spaced throughout the corridor, so we’re going to go in softly, and get out fast. This guy is the head “psychiatrist” so no one should give us trouble. And I downloaded everything they had on the mainframe – nice, fast computers here. And very good access to the Department of Defense, I might add,” the suddenly balding, overweight Mystique said.

“Your patient ready for transfer then, doctor,” Wolverine said with a sharp salute. Mystique smiled widely at the joke, chuckled and poked her head out of the laundry room.

“Well then, let’s proceed, sergeant,” she said, in a tone that Wolverine found disturbingly flirtatious coming from such an unattractive man.

With “Dr Harrison” in the lead, the prisoner transfer was waved through the reception area, into the lift, and was exiting the second floor before anyone thought to challenge them.

“Uh, doc? We haven’t seen any paperwork on this one at all. Ain’t we supposed to identify all of the prisoners before they check in?” Wolverine could tell the red-headed kid in the oversized fatigues was doing his best not to piss off the head honcho. Didn’t mean he’d succeed, though.

“The papers, Jones, are in the reception,” Mystique-as-Harrison snapped. “You obviously haven’t read the new protocols as they made me spend a fucking HOUR down there going through it all. Now, you want me to go through it again? Or would you prefer we get this animal – who is due for new tranks – in his cell?”

At the suggestion he might emerge from his stupor, Sabretooth attempted to focus his bleary eyes on the over-zealous guards and let rip with a sleepy but ferocious growl. They were waved on within seconds.

Trying to maintain his bored expression – who knew Sabretooth could act? – Wolverine snapped out yet another salute and nearly goosestepped away. Pompous jerks. One more set of guards and they’d be reaching the first of the rooms – Xavier’s, it happened. They’d be bypassing that to get straight to Rogue in 206, if he had anything to say about it.

“Guard, I have a prisoner for Room – 206, I do believe. Has the room been prepared?” Shocked, Wolverine wondered briefly if Mystique was a telepath too. Or was he just that fucking transparent?

“Uh, sorry doc – we’ve already got someone in there. A girl – you don’t want to be putting him in with her,” the older of the two guards – Crowther, according to his badge – said. “But, you’ll want him locked up asap, so we’ll just get her out for you; she’s easy enough to control.”

Wolverine braced himself not to react to seeing Marie. Beaten Marie? Brutalised? He hardened himself as Crowther stomped into the room, and then she was there, all tumbled hair and sleepy eyes. Flinching at the sight of the doctor, she shot a mutinous look in the direction of the soldiers and their prisoner. Wolverine had tutored Marie in what to do if this ever happened, and she had paid attention. The disinterested gaze that flicked over him held no recognition, little regard, and nil warmth.

“We’ll take her downstairs for reassignment. I think she’s on our list to transfer out,” Mystique said, frowning down at the clipboard she says. “Papers are all downstairs, I’ve just got room numbers here – 201 through 206.”

Crowther shrugged. “Guess that makes sense, them moving them all out together. Came in together. Maybe they want ‘em somewhere safer. Something about this lot – not like the usual scum, you know.” He frowned reprovingly at Wolverine and Pyro. “You treat ‘em OK, ‘cause they might be mutants, but they’re not bad people. Unlike some,” he said, outright glaring at the fake doctor.

Wolverine suppressed an annoyed groan as he realised Crowther had just earned the right to live. How fuckin’ inconvenient. He snarled and motioned towards the doors either side of Marie. “Just open up and let’s get out of here. All these muties make my skin crawl.”

Five minutes later, their little convoy, Mystique in the lead and Wolverine and Pyro in the back, sailed through reception. Xavier hadn’t even had to push anyone to let them through, and while Scott was itching to blast their way out, Logan made uncharacteristic call for a low key exit. He just wanted Marie out of there, and away. If the cost was a bloodless victory, so be it.

As they marched steadily through the halls towards the reception area, Wolverine kept darting sidelong glances at Marie. There was something going on, something he couldn’t put his finger on or identify in her scent. The apathy on her face chilled him, and the constant hand-over-hand motion was driving him nuts. Perhaps she was missing her gloves.

He stopped dead. Her gloves? Why wasn’t Rogue wearing her gloves – surely they hadn’t wanted her to risk touching a guard by accident. No one would take that sort of chance. His eyes roved over her familiar frame, cataloguing every change. There. A flash of black ink not quite hidden by the sleeve of her t-shirt. Unthinkingly, he moved to push her shirt up for a better look, drawing the attention of the nurse at the desk.

“No need to worry about that one,” the blowsy blonde said snidely. “The tattoos have worked like a charm. Can’t hurt anyone now – neutered like a little bitch she is,” the woman tittered, targeting the fuming Wolverine with a smile she obviously thought seductive.

“Heard about the technology but never seen it before,” he responded, gritting his teeth through a toothy grin. “Interesting.”

“Nothing but the best for mutie control,” the blonde simpered. “We get all the fun toys.” Wolverine couldn’t even pretend to respond this time, simply nodding and turning his back to march his little crew out through the front door. A sharp turn through the shrubbery had them heading back to the helicopter, and Mystique had resumed her own form before the runners left the ground.

“Good job, team,” she grinned, throwing a taunting smile at Xavier. He was too shaken up to respond: discussions of a truce with the Brotherhood obviously hadn’t prepared him for the reality of being rescued by them. Again.

Wolverine’s amusement faded as he contemplated Marie, sitting opposite him in the bench seat. She still hadn’t said a word, or even smiled. They were safe now, so why the fuck was she still acting like a prisoner?

“Marie?” Chocolate eyes lifted to stare at him, the rich colour failing to disguise the coldness in their depths.

“So. You’re the Wolverine. I was wondering when I’d meet you.” Disinterested, cold, clinical. And very, very definitely NOT his Marie.

The little glances were annoying her. Where are you? Are you safe? Are you happy? Marie had warned her the man was a little protective, but this was ridiculous. Rogue wanted to punch him. Or something else equally violent, she thought, running lascivious eyes over the bulging muscles only partially hidden by the fatigues. She wondered if this was Logan or the Wolverine. She, of all people, needed to know the difference.

“Marie?” The concern in his eyes was cloying, dampening her arousal before it had really begun. So, that would be Logan. He was a fine, fine specimen and her senses couldn’t help but respond to the earthy smell that signalled the nearness of her mate. But he wasn’t, not really. If she pushed a little …

“So. You’re the Wolverine. I was wondering when I’d meet you.” Her vocal cords were sore, strained and exhausted. Was that really her voice? It didn’t sound like Marie at all, but she wasn’t convinced it was really Rogue, either. She shrugged. There would be time. She was a completely new human being, after all.

“Who the fuck are you? What have you done with Marie?” Rogue could smell the Wolverine’s outrage, the reek of fox strengthening with every slam of his heart. Undershot with terror and confusion, unable to comprehend the mix of familiar and unfamiliar. She needed to explain, but a helicopter crowded with strangers wasn’t the venue. Because she might just have to show him, too.

“I’m Rogue. Marie decided to take a little holiday.” How did you explain a psyche so fractured that the person whose body it was didn’t want to be in charge anymore? A life so traumatised that retreat was the only way forward? A person who loved a man so completely that she had submerged herself to create the perfect mate for him?

You couldn’t, particularly when you barely understood it yourself. But this was Marie’s idea, and she suspected Marie was lingering somewhere, willing to help. So she followed her gut and bent forward to whisper into Logan’s ear.

“Trust us, baby. We saved your life, once.” And then her tongue had to taste and her teeth had to scrape and Rogue realised life was a wonderful, wonderful thing. Because he tasted like hers. Maybe not hers alone, but still hers.

XXXXX

Touch, of course, was the big thing. Logan had jumped a mile when her tongue slipped into his ear, and Rogue knew it wasn’t the eroticism of the act that startled him. Not just the eroticism, because, well – that worked. She had smelt his arousal heat up, seen the eyes veer towards gold, sensed the Wolverine as he raised his head to investigate this new entity. This Rogue.

Restraint, restraint, restraint. Rogue chained her own wildness and drew on every piece of emotional knowledge she had. A lot, she reflected. Compassion, from Marie. Bobby’s ability to trust. Pyro’s cunning. Logan’s ruthlessness. And Erik’s genius for manipulation. Dancing in a mad spiral at the edge of her consciousness was a jumble of other intelligences that hadn’t had the benefit of assimilation. Once they’d started the experiments, they’d exposed Marie to one creature after another, moving up through the orders from fish to bird to cat to chimp to human to mutant. They called it science, and observed her behaviour as well as vital signs immediately after each absorbtion. They never noticed the disintegration of Marie’s mind.

Rogue liked to think she was Marie’s idea, but they both knew she was born in darkest recesses of the Wolverine id. She was the primal spirit the man would never admit to wanting, and the unleashed elemental that Marie could not admit to wanting to be. Where Marie had been tormented by the individual personalities in her head, Rogue was their master: she WAS them, a distillation of personalities guided by the most secret wish of a feral spirit. Two feral spirits, Rogue acknowledged. Wolverine and that part of Marie that knew she would never be able to handle him. The part that she took, and built upon, to create Rogue.

“Rogue!” Sequestered in her own head, long minutes had dragged by and she still hadn’t spoken to anyone other than Logan. Her teammates were unnerved by the silence, and she tried not to smirk at their obvious discomfort. No one, except Logan and possibly Xavier, would understand what was going on. But they all knew something had happened, and she was changed.

“I’m OK. They ran a few experiments but nothing too … invasive. When they realised my mutation couldn’t be used to help them, they gave me these rather beautiful tattoos.” She pushed up both sleeves, to display what looked like tribal arm bands. “They suppress it somehow. There must be something in the ink. Or under the skin – I wasn’t conscious when they did them.”

“Slave bracelets,” Mystique spat from the pilot’s seat. “We’d heard they were doing research into mutation suppression technologies, but we weren’t sure how far they’d gotten. Erik may be able to help you if some of what we’ve heard is right.”

The X-men tensed, expecting her to reject any contact with Lensherr. Marie would have done, but Rogue wasn’t Marie. She was already weighing the options with Erik’s own brand of careful analysis. It would be hypocritical to reject the opportunity to know more.

“Thank you, Raven. I’d certainly like to know how they work, and how long I have before the effect wears off.” Rogue slid her gaze to Logan. “Let the countdown begin, and all that.” She licked her lips as she stared into his still-gold eyes. Oh yeah, message received.

It was Storm who broke the heavy silence. “Logan. The kids. Do you know where they are? After … we just didn’t see them again. They must have been taken somewhere else …” her words trailed off as her face crumpled. Her desperation and guilt were tangible.

“There’s another facility. Most of the kids are there, and Iceman and Jubilee. Not sure what the plan is.” Logan’s voice was gruff, his inner conflict patently visible to Rogue. He wanted to run.

“Magneto was thinking we needed more information, a recon mission before hitting that one. There’s kids – normal human kids – there, and he doesn’t want anybody hurt that doesn’t have to be.” Pyro’s voice was quiet, tactical. “This is the war he always said was coming, but he hasn’t abandoned your principles totally, Professor.”

Xavier nodded his head, a show of respect for his once friend, recent adversary and current ally. “We will formulate a plan together, and execute it together. The combined forces of the Brotherhood and the X-men will ensure this can never happen again.”

Rogue spoke, her voice calm and decisive amidst the emotion. “Logan and I will help you get the kids out. Then we’re leaving. Just so you know.” She smiled, serene in the face of their shock and disappointment. Only the twitching muscle at the corner of her mouth signalled her amusement: Logan sat with his mouth open, astonished eyebrows nearly flying off his face. Rogue resisted the urge to wink, but wished he could read her mind. What’s wrong, sweetheart? That your line?

XXXXX

Logan didn’t say a word to her for the rest of the trip, and his military-man persona kept him curt and impersonal throughout the meeting to plan the next extraction. Mystique and Shadowcat were nominated to do the recon; they would be back by 2200 hours, and the mission to recover the kids would move out at 0100. Rogue glanced at Marie’s Hello Kitty watch and winced. Lurid pink. How could she? And she had just three hours to corner Logan and explain.

She found him sacked out in a corner upstairs. Good strategy – might not get much sleep for a while, Rogue reflected. First the extraction, and then they’d be on the road. And if she had anything to say about it, on each other too. Sleep well, Wolvie. Backing away quietly, she decided to say her goodbyes. They wouldn’t be back.

“Professor Xavier?” The weary old man had spoken little throughout the planning session, and Rogue could smell sickness and despair whenever he entered the room. The guards had gossiped each time they delivered her to her tormentors, and she hadn’t been the only one subjected to experiments. What had they done to this man to make him look so beaten?

“Rogue.” He smiled, trying to maintain a facsimile of his usual self. “I hope you are recovered from your ordeal.” The self-hate that crossed his face told her more about what had been done to him than anything else. His blocks. Under the suit, once again impeccable, were tattoos similar to those she wore. And while Rogue’s were a blessing, Xavier’s removed his one defence from the world.

“You saw? You had to see everything?” Rogue’s barbarian soul raged at the cruelty of it. It was one thing to be put through experiments. It was another to be forced to undergo the mental torture again and again and again as each of your students was experimented upon. Herself. Storm. Cyclops. Shadowcat. Colossus. She doubted anyone had escaped, and the professor had been forced to endure their psychic screams. “Oh professor…”

“Thank you, Rogue. It is my burden. You have your own. It was a very drastic solution to the problem, my dear.” Some traces of the benevolent professor had returned, pushing away his own trauma to enquire after hers.

“It was Marie’s solution. I didn’t really get a choice in it – she created me to survive, because she couldn’t.” And she created me for Wolverine, because she couldn’t, Rogue thought, but didn’t share it with the Professor. But suspected he knew, anyway.

“Indeed. You are a very different creature. Marie – if I may call her that – maintained control by compartmentalising. You are the exactly opposite of that – you came into being when she let everything flood together. All the strengths, all of the passions. Was there some level of conscious control, do you think, in what you have become?” The professor had that detached look, as if the question was purely academic, and didn’t involve the living, breathing creature that stood in front of him.

“Yes. She was very controlled,” Rogue snapped, annoyed at the suggestion Marie had simply … caved, or something. “Marie had tremendous discipline, and she took the raw material and shaped it into something she wanted to be. The best, the strongest. The boldest. Into me.”

Rogue heard a heavy tread behind them, and Logan’s breathing rasped heavily in her sensitive ears. “Marie – made you? Created you?” The pain in his voice was mingled with what she hoped was a growing understanding.

“Yes, sugar. And some of her is here too. Just not all of her. Not the parts she couldn’t live with anymore. She gave me a message for you, you know.” Rogue stepped lightly to him and whispered just above the range of his hearing. “She is what I might have been if I’d had the chance. What I wanted to be. For you, and for the Wolverine.”

She felt the shudder rise inside of him, and the heat blasting from his core. Wordlessly, he grabbed her hand – bare, skin kissing skin – and turned her out of the room and into the street, the Professor forgotten. Ten minutes later, they were hidden in the back of a no-name diner, two cups of coffee, black, steaming on the table.

“Talk.” Well, hello, Wolverine, she thought, revelling in his presence. Words of one syllable or less, and what, exactly, is your hand doing with my knee?

“You pretty much heard it all. Except that it wasn’t just about survival. It was about us, too. You needed me, and Marie needed to be me. That simple.”

“Simple? Fuck that. Marie was just fine with me, darlin’. Where’d the hell you get off stealing her body?” If only his hands weren’t playing with her seams under the table, it might be more convincing, Rogue thought. If only she couldn’t smell the arousal leaking from him as they sat close and stared. And scented. And planned.

“Marie was young, and scared, and damaged. She could barely handle Logan, and she knew he loved her, needed her. She loved him, but she wanted you too.” Rogue’s hands stopped teasing, and unbuttoned their way into his jeans under the table. “She wanted the Wolverine. Knew you would never let that happen. So she created me.”

“And you think you can handle the Wolverine, woman? I’ll fuckin’ snap you like a twig. Fuck you like an animal.” His hips were moving, thrusting his cock into her greedy hands with every word. Lacing her fingers with pre-come.

“You promise?” She smiled, a sweetness reminiscent of that girl on the train, and then slipped out of sight. His cock was sweet and hard like iron and she could taste the forest and the soil and the wildness that ran through every living thing. When her tongue got tired of doing all the work, she used her teeth and when they drew blood, she lapped that up too. He came and it was like he was in her head, the pain making everything real and she could just SEE the girl on her knees in a red booth in the back of a diner near the bus terminal in the Garment District. People could see and he was coming and she didn’t care. Hand down her own pants and her own hips jerking and she was coming and now she REALLY didn’t care.

Wiping her mouth and sucking her fingers clean, Rogue rose to her feet and took her seat across from the Wolverine. His eyes were glassy, three quarters post-orgasmic and one quarter pure shock. She smiled indulgently at him, and ran her still-damp fingers across his knuckles. “So sugar, let’s get out of here so you can fuck me properly. I think the kids have learnt enough for today,” Rogue said, nodding across the aisle at four wide-eyed kids who smelled like they’d just seen some really hot porn.

Wolverine stumbled to his feet, threw some bills down, and grabbed her hand to pull her outside. As she sashayed past the opposite booth, Rogue gave the foursome a slow wink that had the boys blushing red and their dates looking speculative.

“Fellatio 101, kids. Don’t forget to sign up for the next course,” she quipped as the Wolverine towed her away. He growled, but still ran his hand over her ass before sliding it in the top of her jeans to stay in constant contact with her skin. Rogue smiled. Logan might take some time, but the Wolverine was hers.

XXXXX

They detoured towards Chelsea, and miracle of miracles, the Harley was still there. Still chained in the yard. The broken glass and blood she could smell made the warrior spirit bellow and they needed to fuck NOW to exorcise the pain and the loss and their sheer anger at yet another fucking invasion.

Begging wasn’t why Rogue had been created, but she wasn’t proud, and when finally, FINALLY Marie lost her virginity, it was on the back steps of that cursed house, straddling Logan’s lap as his bare ass moved on bare brick. Later, she would find glass embedded in the hard muscles, and fuck it must have hurt, but he swears he never even noticed. Rogue’s not sure that she would have, even if she hadn’t pushed her lust and cynicism deep inside and willed Marie to come forward and take this, because it was hers.

She remembers the swirl of his tongue and the heat of his hands as they slid nipple-belly-clit-belly-nipple, but her eyes closed and the world just went away except for the smell and sound and sight of him. And then, as he slid inside, the pinch followed by a slow stretch and pull as he balances her in his huge hands. Her patience evaporates and she squirms and bucks and eludes him, tilting to take him deep and SLAMMING down. God and she can feel him pounding the mouth of her womb and why did no one ever tell her his cock would kiss every inch of her inside and there are wiry curls tickling against her clit and all she can think is “more of that, please”. She rises up, and then down, down, down to his shout and crazy yellow eyes and the clash of hipbones and the grind of her pelvis against his. Frantic need and shaking oblivion just creeping up from fucking NOWHERE, and then she is shivering in his arms, the cold air blowing over her sensitised skin, and crying.

Why was she crying? Rogue tried not to think too hard as she said goodbye to the life another girl had had, and goodbye to Marie. The love, the longing, even the frustration had been all hers, and it was finally ending and she should have that, have him. But now, he is hers, and she knows she will never relinquish this man, this animal. And it is HER name he is chanting – “Rogue, Rogue, Rogue” – as he shakes in her arms, satiated at last.

They shared a cigar in silence, passing it backwards and forwards like a joint and sometimes breathing the smoke directly from him to her or her to him. Her tears were nearly dry by the time Logan mentioned them, tipping her chin up to look into her eyes.

“Hey. What’s going on in there?” Logan had a right to be surprised – raw carnality, followed by tears – but Rogue suspected he knew exactly what had happened. As only another fractured personality could.

“Just saying goodbye, really. That was for Marie, she needed it. But I don’t think she’ll be back,” Rogue said softly, watching his eyes for understanding. They darkened with sadness, but it was the sadness of acceptance.

“I wish she’d had a chance to grow up properly. Without me – pushing her. Sexualising her.” She could hear the self hate, the question as to his motives and intentions, but couldn’t restrain the sad laugh.

“Oh, sugar.” Marie’s endearment no longer seemed forced, Rogue noticed. The need to constantly demarcate who she was had lessened with Wolverine’s understanding. “You didn’t. Not really. If anything, she was angry she couldn’t push you, force you to take her,” Rogue explained.

“Did you know that Marie wanted this from that very first moment she saw you? In the cage? Sixteen and a virgin and she wanted you to fuck her. Hard. But she could never tell you that, and then you were friends and you thought she was this pure thing, and she could NEVER tell you what she really wanted from you, so … well, here I am.”

He stilled, then spluttered in an attempt to disagree. She cut him off – if he was honest, he would remember her arousal in that bar, the eyes that had roamed over his body in a state of shock.

“Little girls feel lust too, baby. Even before you saved her life, even before she had you in her head? She wanted to lick the sweat from your body, sweetheart. She wanted to abduct you and find out exactly how all that hair would feel against her skin.” Rogue undulated against him, closing her eyes at the rasp of coarse whorls against still-bare nipples.

“So – it wasn’t all me, in her head? I didn’t change her, or pollute her or anything?” Logan was close to pleading, even as his body responded to Rogue’s memories of a libidinous Marie.

“You gave her a whole lot of fantasy material, and some … detail … she might not have had otherwise. Those friends of yours in Vegas, out at the Canyon? She SO wanted to try that, Logan.” Rogue laughed at his astonishment, but didn’t want to make light of a serious topic. “When you touched her, she got your confidence for a while. Your shamelessness. But the lust was all hers.”

Still cradled against his body, Rogue felt the sigh as it flowed through him. Absolution. He would never accept it wasn’t needed, so she offered it gladly.

XXXXX

Mystique and Shadowcat returned from recon visibly confused. No guards, other than a nightwatchman who seemed more janitor than jailer, and minimal electronic security. Each of the Xavier kids was teamed with another child, rooming two by two, in a massive facility that was on government land, yet marked as a school: the Sandeman School for Boys and Girls. Professor Xavier looked troubled on hearing the name, but couldn’t put any firm suspicions to his unease. Rogue knew they were all asking the same question: why would the government capture – and even kill – students from one school simply to send them to another? That fact alone suggested maximum caution was needed.

Caution, yes, but no need to complicate the plan if there were no specific barriers to overcome. Two teams would go in – the first by air to secure the place, and second by road to recover the Xavier’s students. Ten assault specialists would play demolition derby, and the ten defenders would use the cover to collect their people and get them out safely. Rogue would be in the second team, led by Mystique, while Wolverine would lead the first. He hadn’t been happy at that idea, but Rogue had insisted: “Those kids need you concentratin’ on them, not me. I’ll see you back here, baby.” She winked, the long sweep of eyelashes a seductive promise. She would be back.

The gates of the Sandeman school stood open as Rogue eased the black van to a halt, her vehicle the second in a convoy of five. Pyro’s signature was evident everywhere, the pall of smoke and charred timber heavy in the air, and Wolverine, too, had left his mark. The door hung on its hinges, its lock sheared away.

Paired with Shadowcat, she moved cautiously through the smoke-filled halls towards the dormitory at the rear of the building. Why were there no children milling about in response to the fire alarm? Surely they wouldn’t allow themselves to be burnt in their beds? Rounding the corner, the two young women were faced with an unpalatable answer: a rank of children, shaven-headed and vacant-eyed, posed in battle formation. Mystique’s impressive combat skills were suffering under a joint assault by two girls who may not have even broken puberty; metres away, Wolverine was snarling and biting in an attempt to keep his claws sheathed so as not to hurt an attacker who was eluding him with mind-bending agility. Rogue would have been surprised if any of the identically-clad children was more than 12 years of age, and every single one of them was targeting an adult mutant with one killing blow after another.

They could not be human. But who had trained young mutants into a pint-size fighting force? Rogue shuddered, not wanting to know the answer, and snapped her focus to getting through to the dorms.

“Shadowcat? Can we go round, somehow?” Kitty Pryde simply nodded, grabbed Rogue and ran straight through the battle, phasing through one child soldier after another. Their gaping mouths and shocked exclamations would have been funny if circumstances had been different.

Behind them, Wolverine bellowed his fury, and blades sang as they surged free of his hands. Someone had done something very, very stupid, and the horror at fighting children had been overcome by pain or bloodlust. Rogue signalled Shadowcat to go in search of the captives, but turned to join the battle herself. She needed to spare Logan as much death as possible. He was too vulnerable right now to have the slaughter of children on his conscience.

“Logan, go! I can’t get through the defenders right now - you need to fight through to the dorms,” she yelled, twin Berettas materialising in her hands. Logan’s three attackers turned to meet the new threat, and two fell within moments, a little round hole in each forehead all that remained of their short lives. He paled at the easy carnage, but she stared back relentlessly. This is Rogue, baby. Lick it up. He nodded once, and then turned to batter his way through the pre-adolescent hoard. Obviously the “so, you’re a killer now” conversation would have to wait.

As he sliced his way up the hall, Rogue slipped her hunting knife from the small of her back, and turned to face the seven kids still blocking the hallway. She growled and bared her teeth in a feral grin that would have been familiar to anyone who had seen the Wolverine fight. She could see the fear her berserker haze was creating, and fed on it. The fury rose up, spilling from her hands like blood as the blade rose and fell in a dance of wicked and seductive beauty. One hungry-looking kid in a shapeless white coat fell to a slash at the back of his knees – another looked identical but the scent said it was a girl, even if her attack was stronger and faster, and needed to be stopped with quick rip through the jugular. A third child - and it was BEYOND weird how similar these warrior children were – darted up and Rogue was down, a chop to her solar plexus making the world leach away into dizziness. But even dizzy, her skill with the blade won out, and the victorious smile was transformed into a rictus as the knife slid through skin and muscle and sinew with delicious ease. Rogue fought back the blackness, and forced herself to acknowledge the three children – two wounded, one dead – who lay around her. We fought, they lost. Pity is for the weak, and these children were not weak. It was a salute of sorts, and a promise to find out exactly which sick bastards had sent these children against her.

She looked up to find the hall had cleared, smoke rolling aside and a path littered with carnage leading to the dorms. Where each of the Xavier kids had a roommate that was probably more jailer than friend. The battle had drawn several more childish faces to the doors lining the hall opposite, and a strange wariness lurked in those identikit eyes.

Suddenly, Bobby was there. “Rogue!” She didn’t know this person well – Marie had cared, but not enough to transmit large amounts of Bobby-memories – but his tortured face was enough to give pause to a stranger. “We’ve got to help them. They’ll fight us to the death, but we’ve got to try and stop them, and get them out of here.”

His guard was a somewhat older child, might even have been 15 or 16. Small, dark, Latina, with a shaven head that couldn’t hide the beauty of feline features dominated by ancient eyes as dark as her own. The girl was crouched in a defensive stance, but didn’t seem to be taking the field against them.

“Well, well, well, Bobby. Get yourself taken prisoner by the prettiest girl around? Don’t YOU do it hard.” Rogue didn’t bother to hide her amusement, even as murder crossed the younger girl’s beautiful face.

Bobby flushed. Wasn’t that interesting. Rogue wondered if he had a guilty conscience, and then remembered Marie’s boyfriend had been shat on – rather royally – by her other self. Marie mightn’t have been a match for the Wolverine, but she was still way out of this kid’s league, and he’d been right to move on. Though looking at the young girl who was standing next to Bobby so protectively, she couldn’t help but wonder if he’d overreached himself once again. Girl was tiny, but still managed to be all long lines and delicious curves, with a mouth that rivalled her own for sensuality.

Aware she had stared just a little too long, Rogue flashed the girl a flippant smile and moved her gaze to Bobby. “People kind of have to WANT to be rescued, Bobby. We can’t go about rescuing them against their will.”

Suddenly, the dark girl spoke. “Some of us have tried to escape, but they caught us. We’d come with you, if you’d promise to leave us alone.” Her gaze was suspicious, shifting from Rogue to Bobby with hard intent. This was a negotiation, neither surrender or grateful plea. “We’d help you get out, then you let us go.”

“Deal. How many of you are there?” Rogue wasn’t one to kick a gifthorse in the mouth, and if Xavier had a problem letting these kids go their merry way, then he’d have to convince them to stay.

“Fifteen. If everyone survived you getting in here. You fight well for civilians.”

Rogue nearly choked. The word “civilians” should not belong in a teenage girl’s vocabulary. Nor should that so-be-it tone when talking about the possible deaths of her friends. Not for the first time, she wondered who the fuck these kids were.

“Um? Rogue? Max? We should be getting outta here. Before anyone else gets killed?” Bobby may have been a dweeb, but no one had accused him of being a dumb dweeb. The two girls moved in unison, the older sheathing a bloody knife while the younger ran into her cell to pull on more serviceable clothes. Still white, still clinical, but the sweatsuit would at least pass on the street, Rogue noted. And the lack of any personal items – a single photograph, a favourite book – was completely chilling.

Max was already briefing them as they walked down the hallway. “Your friend is in with Alec, he’s with us. The younger children are in with X-sixes, and I doubt they’ll come around. They’re … not like us,” she said with a sad shake of her head. “You’ll have to fight to get your people out of there.”

Figures, Rogue thought sourly. Now you’re making us all sorry for you, and we have to kill more of your friends. She stomped down the hall after Bobby and Max, leading the way towards Jubilee’s room. Alec turned out to be a young god – the exact reverse of Max’s dark beauty – and Jubilee didn’t seem harmed by her captivity. If anything, she was pissed, and when Rogue stepped inside the room, sex hung heavy in the air. She tried not to smirk, but couldn’t resist tilting an eyebrow at Jubilee. Receiving a glare in return, she simply mouthed it: “jail-fucking-bait?” Jubilee flushed – an interesting colour on an Asian girl – and looked away.

Rogue and Bobby shared the plan with Jubes as their captors had a muttered exchange, Alec throwing up his hands in disgust before storming out the door. At Rogue’s raised eyebrow, Max shrugged and explained he was passing the message on to the other “X-fives.”

Of the 60-something children abducted from the three safe houses, they were able to recover 55. Rogue tried not to think about who had not made it – and why – and walked numbly through the fracas as they organised themselves into clusters around the children prior to fighting their way out. Max’s friends were weird – scary weird, she acknowledged, with their mostly shaven heads and quiet, assessing eyes. They were older than the relentless little soldiers Logan had encountered in the hallway, but just as deadly. Possibly even more so, Rogue thought, as she watched their identical moves and admired their beauty – uncanny beauty, and not one lacked it. A chill of unease stole up Rogue’s spine. She and Wolverine would be well away from these people and whatever it was that would come chasing them. She had the feeling it would be relentless, because no one let go of perfection.

Numbers were still overwhelmingly against them, but 20 X-men and 15 whatever-the-fuck-they-were X-fives made a powerful escort. With concealment and stealth blown in the first two seconds of the assault, brute force was the prime mover of the rescue, and they had that in spades. More children fell around them as shuffled their little army towards to front door; more children lined up like cannon fodder to be killed by Cyclops’ blasts, Wolverine’s blades, Pyro’s blazes. Rogue prayed that Xavier’s young ones knew they were valued, and that whoever sent these children to die would rot in hell. The compassion kept welling up and biting her at inopportune times, but someone deserved to burn for this. To roast slowly on an eternal spit.

“Watcha laughin’ at?” Wolverine’s words were husky and pained, but he seemed able to accept the atrocity that had been forced upon them.

“Whoever did this. I had this really detailed vision of them burning in hell,” Rogue shared. “How ‘bout you, sugar?”

“Thinking about us getting out of here, away from all this. Sounds good,” he grunted. He wasn’t smiling – probably wouldn’t be able to for a few days – but his mood wasn’t the unrelieved black it might once have been. Rogue shot him a coquettish look as they exited the gutted school and decided to share her surprise.

“That’s good, sugar, ‘cause tomorrow we’re going shopping. How much do you think we should spend on a camper anyway?”

This time, he did laugh. “Should’a guessed. You was just desperate to spend some time in the back of that thing, weren’t ya, girlie?”

She batted her eyelashes as she climbed into her transport and he pulled himself up beside her. “Why, sugar, I don’t know what you mean.”

Logan stared at the rust working its way up from the wheel arches of the vehicle, eyed the slight skew on the rear doors, and thought hard about the over-worked engine. He shook his head again, and Rogue pouted. For a hard-ass bitch, she sure wanted this camper. He sighed, and handed over the $3000 the guy was asking. A good bed should not be the deciding factor in the purchase of a camper van.

Her gleeful bounce sparked a pang of regret he was too slow to banish. Sometimes, she looked just like Marie. The mile-wide smile, the eager eyes. The bashful glance up from under her lashes. When he saw that, he knew she was playing him, because there was nothing bashful about Rogue. But other times, Marie just seemed to creep through her defences. His joy when that happened was tempered by vague feelings of disloyalty – though he was fucked if he knew who he was being disloyal to.

He had loved Marie – strangely, he could face that now – but what he felt for Rogue was different. Visceral. She spurned his protectiveness and rejected soft feelings with a ruthlessness that scared him, but he gloried in her independence and savagery.

Instead of following him about like a faithful puppy, she stalked at his side like a proud lioness, and that excited him. Beyond bearing. And as they always did now, his thoughts bolted south. To sex. Fucking on a kids roundabout at the local park in the dead of night. Getting her off during a movie just for the taste of her on his fingers. Locking themselves in the one spare room at Lensherr’s and not emerging the whole day because Rogue had just remembered a kink she wanted to try. That thin little whip had left the walls splashed with blood, and neither of them knew whose it was. Or could count how many times they had fucked that day, inside the door and against the wall, in bed so often the sheets were vile and they rolled to the floor. At least they hadn’t broken the furniture.

He looked across at her, the features so familiar but the spirit within still surprising. She was taking the relevant details from the dealer, and asking keen questions about preparing it for the road. He laughed at that, because he knew they’d be on the road within the hour. Everything they owned was stuffed in one duffel, they’d said goodbye to the X-men and even the strange kids from Manticore, and supplies would be acquired on the road.

“C’mon darlin’. Time to move out,” he smiled at the two conversationalists. “We’ve got a lotta miles to cover today if we’re gonna make it to the border anytime soon.”

“Where you folks planning on going, then?” the seller – Barry or Garry or something – enquired with the studied glee of the enthusiastic traveller.

“Down to Mexico. Got a yen to see this girl in a bikini,” Logan drawled with a crude wink. True, of course, but they would actually be heading north. Nobody alive knew about his cabin in the wild stretch of forest beyond Laughlin City, and he was looking forward to settling Rogue into its comforts.

“I’m a southern girl, don’t like the cold much. Margaritas and the beach for me!” she prattled, the perfect picture of an empty-headed trophy fuck. He would remember them, allright, and when the government came looking for them, they would head south instead of north.

Visions of Rogue in a barely-there bikini danced in front of his eyes, and he dismissed them because THAT was Marie; Rogue would be naked and proud, and he would fuck her into the sand, scratching and biting and snarling all the while. He promised himself they would head south one day, but Mexico didn’t have enough deserted beaches. Brazil. An island. He would start saving now to buy an island off Salvador, or maybe somewhere sleepier. There’d be a hut right on the beach, palm trees and no more children or war or death. And they would never, never wear any clothes.

Logan realised he was snickering at himself and looked up shamefaced to find Rogue doubled over with laughter. The guy had gone, and the keys to their freedom were dangling from her hand. “Where the hell were you, sweetheart? Standing there with a huge grin on your face and laughing? The Wolverine laughing?”

He growled at her and swatted her behind as he moved to the Harley. Back of the camper for now, and then he’d sort out a little trailer for her later. “Just had me an idea. You won’t be laughing when I tell you later,” he promised, raising his eyebrow in an outrageous sneer that promised all sorts of devilment.

He manoeuvred the bike inside – a lot more difficult than it used to be, what with the bed/table set up and the dinky little sink and even a gas cooker. A real little home on wheels that meant they’d only ever have to stop for a shower or a crap, and could take as long as the liked heading north, or south again. Thanks to Xavier, he had a dozen sets of numberplates to switch around, and a stash of auto paint to complete the disguise. Vans were generally black or white, so for the first leg of this trip, he’d make it … pink. With spots or something. Because no one would expect two fugitive mutants to be travelling in a hippy dippy love wagon. Maybe he’d grow his hair long and get Rogue to stick flowers in her hair. And lovebeads. They needed lovebeads.

Logan pulled himself up with a start. He was getting carried away, and it frightened him. He couldn’t remember ever feeling like this – happy, almost joyful. Giddy with it. He suspected some of it was the relief of escaping the responsibilities at Xavier’s – Rogue had simply cut through their ties like ribbons – but a part of him knew it was even deeper than that.

It was Marie. He had loved her, but hated himself every minute he did it. He knew he was wrong for her, but couldn’t stay away, couldn’t give up on the idea of them together. But she had known, seen his reluctance and decided to do something about it. She had turned herself into the woman he was allowed to love, allowed to have. If he was glad to be away from Xavier’s, he was ecstatic to have escaped the vicious self-disgust that had been eating him from the inside.

He glanced across to the woman sitting across from him in the cab of the camper. She looked different from the girl that had once gobbled beef jerky in that same seat. It wasn’t just the lushness that a few years had added, but the lack of fear and self-consciousness. Rogue held herself like a weapon about to be fired. Deadly, seductive, yet comfortable with herself. And him. Marie hadn’t been afraid of him, but hadn’t been comfortable either. Rogue knew he couldn’t hurt her, and didn’t particularly care about the fact that he wouldn’t.

“Want me to drive, baby?” The sensible question broke into his reverie and jerked him back to the task at hand. Interstate. Traffic. West. They were heading west, weren’t they?

“Later, darlin’. You navigate for now. What do you reckon the best way up to Laughlin City is? Do we head for the border straight away or head west a bit first?”

They had discussed the plan – skirting west around the lakes and then heading up into Ontario and Manitoba, mainly because neither Rogue or Marie had been through there before. They weren’t worried about getting across the border – the Brotherhood had supplied their passports, and they were actually real – but there was no point hurrying straight to the nearest crossing. Canada could wait a day or two, and Logan was keen to spend some time on the side of the road. In a rest stop. Just like that one.

He yanks the steering wheel to the right, and they are screened behind a stand of trees before Rogue realises what is going on. The Wolverine already has his jeans undone and his cock sticks out like a flag, red and proud and ready. He is remembering bowed pink lips on an innocent young girl, and the thoughts that went through his mind every time she looked at him.

“Suck it.”

Rogue simply licks her lips in response, widens her eyes and slides across to position herself in front of him. “Really? You’ll really let me?” Wolverine growls at her and that mouth is around him and God it could have been the first time around with those eyes glancing up to him every few minutes and that mouth sliding up and down with the lack of focus that yells inexperience. But she has natural talent and a blow job is a blow job and soon he is coming and its nothing to do with the 16 year old girl forced to suck him off in the front of a camper. Nothing at all, even if he is hard again just at the sight of a curtain of dark hair and those blowjob lips.

She smiles shyly as she wipes her mouth with the end of his t-shirt and climbs up next to him. She lays her head on his shoulder and looks at him with knowing eyes, and suddenly is seventeen going on eighteen, with a dozen lifetimes of memories in her head. “Was that what you were thinking about the first time?” Rogue asked.

He grunted. Even with his cock still drying in the air, it was hard to admit. He buttoned himself away, glad of the small physical task, before he spoke. “Yeah. Every time I looked at her. Your lips. I couldn’t look at them without seeing them around my cock.”

“But you didn’t do anything about it, Logan. You didn’t make her go down on you, even if you wanted to. You didn’t make her do anything – except save her life, get a better life. You loved her, and you let it be all about her, and not about you. That’s the best anyone can do for someone they love,” Rogue said gently.

“And Marie knew it. She knew you wanted to touch her, wanted her to touch you, but that you were holding back. Waiting for her to grow up a bit. Hell – you nearly made it to eighteen, for God’s sake. A few more months and she would have been a legal adult. Don’t you think she appreciated that? Appreciated you letting her play with Bobby for a while? It got old, sure, waiting for you to make a move, but it was the right thing to do. You did the right thing.”

He grunted, then frowned. “How come she didn’t have that in her head? The fact that I wanted her to … at night, it used to be in my nightmares. There’d be the guys in masks and stuff and the pain, and then there’d be Marie, on her knees and begging me not to make her. And I’d just push her head down.” A sharp breath shuddered into his lungs.

Rogue shrugged. “No idea. Maybe you didn’t think about it as much as you thought you did. Maybe other things had taken over by the time you touched her. She got a lot of stuff, but I don’t think that was there. She didn’t tell me, anyway. My oral fixation is all my own,” she said with a sly grin.

He smiled, but still weary, still heartsore. Brushed his hand over her hair, as he would have done with Marie, and leaned in for a hot, slow kiss. Which he could never have done. “Thanks, darlin’. You’re pretty good at this psychoanalysis stuff for a hell bitch.”

She laughed, but if it rang a little hollow, Logan didn’t want to know why. It was time they were back on the road – miles to go and all that crap. He guided the camper back onto the highway and pointed it west. He could do this. It wasn’t like travelling with Marie at all. It wasn’t.

XXXXX

Looking at the map Rogue insisted they buy – as if he didn’t know the way to fuckin’ Canada! – Logan had to admit the route they had taken was new to him. It had meandered after leaving the Interstate, skirting the lakes as much for their beauty as convenience, and choosing secondary roads on which to make their way west and north.

They’d seen lots of stuff – gentle forests that were more forgiving than the frozen pines further north, a river valley that unfolded like the most secret of smiles as they rolled around a bend. A number of fug-ugly towns, too, but they were best forgotton, Logan grimaced. He preferred to remember the old guy with the 1940s tractor that had been stalled at a crossroads, and the flower stalls either side of the road a few hours back. Signs of a quieter, simpler life, where no one had adamantium coating their bones and mutants were the stuff of sci-fi movies.

They were passing through the latest in a succession of hoky little towns when he realised something. Marie was gone, and in her place was a woman he barely knew. Her scent screamed to him, and her familiar features soothed the confused beast inside, but he didn’t know HER – the woman she was. And he didn’t know if he loved her.

He had thought he had, but he suspected he might have been thinking with his cock. Or, worse. Thinking with the heart that loved Marie, and had been unable to let her go. Rogue had done her best to shock him out of that misconception – he still got hard thinking about that blowjob in the diner – but she looked at him with chocolate eyes and spoke through pouty red lips and used long, elegant hands to push back mahogany hair streaked with pure silver. It was easy to forget and dream of a Marie he could touch, who fought at his side and fucked like a she-demon.

Another sidelong glance and she’s there in his peripheral vision, combat boots crossed on the dash and sunglasses slipping off her face as she dozes in the mid-morning sun. He feels the familiar heat rise just by looking at her and pushes it away, seeking the emotions underneath.

Friendship. It was there, honed by map-reading spats and joint shopping expeditions and her quiet understanding of his fears. Possession. A flood of it. Marie would have been annoyed and Rogue fuckin’ outraged, but it didn’t stop the primal need to bellow “this is mine”. Nothing new there. It swelled in him as his eyes traced her cheek and her lips and her chin and the erotic sprawl of her there, sleeping.

Her lips twisted a little, a huffed exhalation, and there … something else. A warmth. No name for it yet, but it certainly precluded him from allowing anyone to hurt her. Or make her cry. He wondered, briefly, if Rogue DID cry, or if that was beyond her emotions. And then the thought chilled him. Because that led to love, and he didn’t want to go there. The thought that she might not love him – might not know him, either – was too painful to consider.

She stirred then, her eyes cracking open and her gorgeous mouth stretching into a smile as she finds him watching her. A quick shuffle along the bench seat and she is next to him, lips whispering from his ear to cheek to the corner of his mouth. Tongue darting out to say hello. His heart thumping so hard it makes him ask the question. Is this just me wanting her? Is it?

He can’t deny he is hard – and Christ, her hand there is NOT helping – but he wants it to be more, even just a little bit pure. So he takes her hand in his own and kisses her fingers.

“Sleep well?” A fond smile, friends. More than just lovers.

“Mmm. I feel like a kitten, all warm and just needing to stretch. Wanna go for a walk or something?”

And that’s a good idea, because short of some exuberant fucking in the back last night, they’ve had no exercise in the past 24 hours, just driving and talking and stopping to eat.

“Where are we, anyway?” she asks, looking out at the endless stretch of lake.

“Just crossed into Minnesota. Heading up 61, like you wanted. Not that you’ve been awake to see all this.” Logan waves his hand at the postcard-worthy scenery, cliffs giving way to hidden coves punctuated by a million little streams racing down to meet Lake Superior. “Next town is Silver Bay.”

She grabbed the map and traced her finger over their route. “There’s a hiking trail up in there somewhere. It must be signposted, or we could ask in Silver Bay.”

He snorted. He was The Wolverine. Walking tracks were for pussies, and as if he’d have to ASK to find his way in the forest. “We’ll cope. Just need somewhere to leave the van.”

Minutes later, they had pulled into a picnic area, and Wolverine led them off into the brush. A little pushing their way through undergrowth and they were following an animal trail, winding and weaving through gullies and along ridges until it levelled, emerging into an open floor of old-growth forest. Wolverine centred himself and breathed deep. The only human he could smell was Rogue. And her scent was painted with all sorts of wildness that suggested her humanity was, at best, a compromise. They could run together in this place without spoiling its sanctity.

He glanced back, arched an eyebrow in invitation and broke into a run. Heavy as he was, the leaf-carpeted floor absorbed his footfalls and he felt its benevolence as he loped through. He could hear Rogue behind him, quieter than him, really, but her breathing and the tang of sweat keeping him alert to her presence. They ran, startling the small creatures of the forest even as they moved silently through the green loaming. They ran, and for a little while, they were able to outdistance pain, and loss, and the agony of rebirth.

The incline was small, but long minutes of running were beginning to tell as the Wolverine’s pace faltered. He was still running, but slow enough to be able to stop when the world fell away, and the cliff revealed a panorama hundreds of metres below. A wide swathe of blue, the glare of white sand, and a town set deep into the cove. He felt Rogue skid to a stop beside him, and threw his arms around her as she doubled over to drag in an extra breath.

“So … beautiful,” she gasped, sides heaving from their headlong rush through the forest. “Fucking unexpected,” she said, peering over the cliff, “but beautiful!”

Flopping down on the rise, they drank in the view, and enjoyed the noisy silence of the forest. He lay on his back, staring up at the canopy, and her head was cushioned on his belly, eyes closed. When her hands began to wander – one to his buckle, the other tracing the inside of his thigh, he catches them in his own and drags her to her feet.

“Later, darlin’. Hungry for food after all that exercise,” he lies, keen to take the pressure off. Sex was a too-familiar retreat for them, and he wanted to see what they had without it. He wasn’t sure how long it would last, but even that would be revealing, he Logan felt.

She looked surprised but didn’t object. “Then, old man, we better get going.” Her stomach rumbled in sharp counterpoint. “Guess I could do with some food as well.”

They wandered back more gently, and as he stepped back off the path, Logan sent a wordless thanks to whatever spirit had created this sanctuary. He knew he did his best thinking in the green, and it looked like he might do his best feeling there as well.

XXXXX

Hamburgers at Silver Bay were followed by a walk along the bay – she’d turned him into a damn tourist – before the drive to the border. Skirting Thunder Bay, they headed west on the 11, Logan quietly congratulating Canada on the better road that had fewer cars. It was good to be home.

They still had a ways to go before they could stop for the night, he calculated, if they wanted to make the cabin this week. Taking it slow and easy sounded like fun, but the multi-coloured show around him suggested fall was settling in, and winter wasn’t far off. There was a lot to do to get a cabin in the Yukon ready for the winter.
And Rogue needed to see it, think about the isolation and the prospect of being locked in with him for a full winter. Have the chance to change her mind before the snow piled so high she couldn’t. So, for that matter, did he.

When no sex before lunch turned into no sex after dinner, Rogue was pissed. Logan was sympathetic – it’s not like he had stopped wanting the woman, and her frustrated arousal was driving HIM nuts – but didn’t bother to explain. She needed to figure it out for herself.

It took three days. Things had become almost companionable, Rogue resigned to the buddy-buddy atmosphere and no longer intent on provoking him into passion, and only the nights were strained as they lay side by side in the narrow camper.

She had been munching on an apple, quieter than usual, obviously running things through her filter in the same way Marie used to do.

“I do love you, you know.”

He nearly swerved off the road. She grabbed the wheel and righted it with a quick epithet, and then returned to her apple as he regained control. For long minutes, he was unable to say a thing, his brain paralysed by emotion.

“Do you really? Or are they just Marie’s memories of loving me?” He wanted to ask more but couldn’t, the pain of self-disclosure gumming up his mouth.

“Logan, I was created to be a mate for the Wolverine. Love isn’t a part of that. But Marie knew you needed it. She thought you deserved love. So she made that possible for me. But she didn’t force me to feel it, to inherit it, if that’s what you’re asking. I didn’t love you before all of this, but now … now I do.”

She had fallen in love with him. In her own right. In less than a week. It seemed far too unlikely to be true, but he could smell the truth of the words. He was aware of a tear rolling down his face, and wondered if she would despise him for that. It shouldn’t matter so much, to be loved. But he couldn’t deny that it did.

“Why don’t you want to touch me?” Her question, this time. And the pain and confusion she had hidden for days were laid bare.

“It was too good. Too much. I couldn’t think, couldn’t feel anything but the beast. And you,” he threw her a rueful smile, willing her to believe him. She was nodding, so he continued.

“I thought maybe if we held off for a while, we could think about what was going on and figure out where we needed to go. And then, if it worked out, maybe would be able to … make love, instead of rut like animals.” He rushed the last few phrases, embarrassed by the need to acknowledge his feral nature.

She tilted her head, obviously wanting to blurt something out, but moulding it into a careful enquiry instead.

“I can tell the difference, you know. Between you and the Wolverine. I’m not just for him. I’m for you too - Marie wanted you to make love to me.”

He didn’t know how to answer that. How to explain the dichotomy in his soul, the lines that couldn’t be crossed. So far, only the Wolverine had been allowed to have Rogue. Logan had been far, far away, dreaming of Marie. But as Rogue set about healing the wounds on his soul, Logan had begun to long for her too.

XXXXX

Five days, and Logan snapped. Rogue had sunk into dismissiveness, angered by his inability to love her. Every breath dragged in a thick stew of pheromones, and her sullenness annoyed the man while arousing the animal.

It was breakfast that did it. She voted for pancakes and coffee, he wanted the full-on diner breakfast. And the diner they chose must have been the only one in Canada that didn’t have both on the menu. Enraged, she refused to eat anything at all, and barely looked at him as she sipped her coffee.

“Get over yourself, kid. Have something else for fuckin’ breakfast,” he sneered.

She raised an eyebrow and leant across the table, right into his face. “Once upon a time, darlin’, I would’a had you for breakfast. In a place just like this. My head between your knees, baby.”

He froze, and desperately tried to banish the image. It didn’t work. Logan dug in his wallet for a twenty while swigging the last of his coffee. He was out the door seconds later, and was backing the van out of the diner carpark when Marie banged on the door.

“So you’re just going to LEAVE me here, you scared old fuck? Is that it? You’re gonna run?” She was shaking with fury, hair in a wild halo around her face and anger pouring from her skin.

“Well, fuck you! Just fuck right off! God forbid you should ever love anyone who had the guts to love you back! Anyone who might be your equal!”

Rogue stormed to the back of the van, and wrenched the double doors open, crawling inside to get her duffel and to collect the underwear drying on their dinky clothesline.

Logan cut the engine, and simply sat, lowering his head to the steering wheel. The Wolverine prowled, and then pounced. Jumping down from the cab with an earth-shaking thud, and slamming the door so hard it shuddered, he stalked to the back of the van to find Rogue climbing out, ready to leave.

The growl rumbled up from his belly, two parts threat and one part displeasure. She chose to ignore it, brushing aside the restraining hand. He roared, and flipped her around, throwing her face first into the van. His mate did not leave. Ever.

With a snarl, Wolverine leapt forward, and grabbed her by both ankles. A quick tug and her ass landed in his crotch, exactly where it should be and already throbbing for her. One claw exposed and the denim parted like silk, stripped away from the waistband with a quick flick of his wrist. No underwear and he could see her from cleft to clit, shaking with anger but more drenched with every minute. And when he ran the blunt side of one claw down that cleft to nudge at her pleasure, the cold thrill of it sent her writhing upwards to grind against his cock.

She was close but hadn’t come just yet. Wolverine sneered. The bitch would have to beg a little before that happened and if she thought she was begging now … he dropped to his knees to bury his face in her. Little licks. Just a taste. And she had risen to all fours in her desperation to grant him access and FUCK teasin, because the sight of her ass swaying in front of his face was just too much.

Buckle off, jeans down and he was fucking her so hard she was propelled forward with every plunge. Hands stretched out in front, braced against the bed and she was slamming back with every stroke. Bruises on her hips from his hands and her fingers bloody from trying to grip the floor and her ass banging him so hard he thought his balls just might explode if he didn’t come soon. Oh. Oh. The roar originated at the base of his cock and ricocheted upwards, spilling out his throat as the spasms overtook him. One bellow after another and he just kept coming and coming for fuckin’ ever. And ever.

When he marshalled his senses, he was sprawled on top of Rogue, still embedded deep inside. He raised his bulk off her – she responded with a grateful drag of air into her lungs – and damned if the girl didn’t rock back with him, settling into his lap. And contracting as if to remind him he was still captive.

“Jesus, Rogue, I’m sorry.” Given her current position, Logan figured she wasn’t too mad at him, but he needed to apologise anyway. There hadn’t been much opportunity for the usual niceties – candlelight, condom, simple consent, for example - and a cursory inspection revealed bruises blooming on her hips, a chain of toothmarks around her neck, and her hands cut and bloodied. He shuddered in disgust and apologised again.

“Why? Me and the Wolverine get on just fine,” she purred, running her hands through his hair and shimmying her hips just enough to reignite every ember in him. “But now,” she said, looking deep in his eyes, “I want to make love with Logan.” And she was already moving, hips in circles over him, and little internal ripples that were insanely good as they gripped him like a thousand hands. Logan cursed and closed his eyes. Somewhere, somehow she had absorbed the memories of Persian harem girl, because this wasn’t normal. Wasn’t possible that he could be about to come again, minutes after the first. And if this was about love … he scooped her up and deposited her on the camper’s mattress, stretching out above her. Eye to eye, mouth to mouth, chest to chest and hip to hip. The symmetry was astounding and Logan wondered if this was why they called it the missionary position. It was the best way to worship each other.

He could see every freckle on her chest and the smile on her face and that made him just HAVE to dip down to pull her delicious nipple into his mouth. And then the other, because it would be mean to play favourites and they both tasted so good he was nearly coming again. And then she started with the rippling and he WAS coming so it was time to stroke in and out and in and out and she was convulsing around him, and that was it. That was heaven. There was no love talk and no pet names, just a twist so they could lie face to face and stare into each others eyes as sleep crept over them. And then a happy darkness, welcoming and dreamless.

He awoke an hour later to wonder exactly where they were parked, and why the back doors were still open. As memory came trickling back, he tensed, and looked down at Rogue, curled into his body just as Marie had liked to do.

Had he betrayed her? The girl he had made love to – with, he reminded himself – hadn’t been the same creature he had fought into submission minutes earlier, or on countless occasions before that. She had been softer, more giving, more … more Marie. It was possible he was wishing the similarity into being, or – and this chilled him – that he was being manipulated, but he didn’t think so. Something told him to trust her, trust them.

Love had proven its power to him – made him a man again, saved his soul, broken his heart, but, he told himself, at least now he knew he had a heart. And Marie had been so good at love, so rich with it, he couldn’t believe she would abandon it totally. So maybe, he wondered, she was still in there. Waiting. All he had to do was find the key.

XXXXX

North, and the sky seemed to be growing with every mile. Crop land had given way to pasture and then to range, followed by the endless stretch of dark pines that blanketed the rolling country around Laughlin City. They had been driving for eleven hours, bar pee stops, and just wanted to get there already. Then the alternator gave a hiccup and the damn truck stalled, and they weren’t going any farther tonight.

“Fuck! I was dreaming about a hot shower. I swear, I was drooling at the thought earlier,” Rogue groused. “Oh well, it could be worse – we could be freezing in the snow or something.”

Logan looked at the long stretch of road ahead of them, and a similar stretch behind them, and the pines in every direction. He sniffed, and wasn’t sure, but thought it might be. Each place had its own smell, and this one did seem familiar.

“Last time, you were about to freeze in the snow.” He stopped, and walked up the road a little way, coming back convinced.

“This is where we met. Properly, I mean, not like in the bar. Where I kicked you out of my trailer and made you run after me.”

She hadn’t noticed the slip in pronouns. Rogue and Marie were not interchangeable, or so she liked to say. But this time, the magic of the place had overcome that truculence.

“Where I climbed in your trailer? And ate your jerky? God – how weird.” And, he thought, weird how her intonation had changed, thickening a little into soft Southern. Not yet Mississippi thick, but not New York sharp, either.

“Yup. This is the place. Our beginning, I guess.” It so easily could have been the end, for her. Left to freeze on the side of the highway by a heartless bastard who still didn’t know why he had stopped. Who had wondered, day in and day out, if it was because of the girl’s innocent sensuality and sinful red lips.

“Let’s camp here. Not in the van, out there – in the forest. Let’s make a big campfire and sleep under the stars and celebrate that.”

He was shocked to his core. That was Marie. Surely, that was Marie – exuberance, youth, that commitment to commemorating even those everyday acts that proved so very special in retrospect. Logan didn’t dare say so, but he knew it was Marie. And he couldn’t disagree with her suggestion.

They dragged the mattress out from the camper, laid it on a groundsheet and the sleeping bags on top. It was still fall, but the mercury would get pretty low tonight, even if there wasn’t any snow in the air. A campfire, properly built, would burn all night and keep them warm as well as a little bit safe.

Later that night, after Rogue had crept into her sleeping bag to escape the cold, Logan sat by the fire contemplating their situation. Tomorrow, he would stock up on edibles and necessary tools, and they would head up the mountain to his cabin. He would give Rogue a week to make up her mind whether to stay or go.

He still didn’t know what he wanted her to do. One part of him was frantic with hope, sure that Marie would come back and waiting, just waiting, for Rogue to be gone. Another part hissed at his inability to appreciate the wild one, the mate.

Lulled into a trance by the flames, the Wolverine stirred and looked about him. The forest. The mate. Home. Soon they would be home.

He was sad for the man. The girlchild had been warm feelings, like curled in the frozen black with your mate, cubs snuffling through her fur, wind howling outside rock walls safe, warm. But past, past. Roguefemale was running through forest with wind, wild rut in first of the green, lash of heat and flash of claw and mounting and inside, inside, inside. Roguefemale was life. Animal. Human. All things. Always.

Unfolding himself from the campfire, the animal-man stood tall in the glow for a minute more. The dancing flames had lured his feral self into expression, and the wisdom there had shocked Logan to the core. How long had he divorced himself from the Wolverine, hating that part of himself with such passion that he had been unable to see the truth? See the primitive wisdom that informed his every move, his every desire?

For 15 years he had pretended to be a man with an animal trapped inside, an animal that needed to be leashed and chained and bent to his will. And he had done it, blindly chasing the label, the status that would never be his. Should never be his. Stryker would never see him as a man. Xavier would never see a man. Magneto had no desire to see a man, and perhaps he had been right. Homo superior. A being that was not a man, and not an animal. A new species, a mutation so powerful and so transforming that the words of ordinary men had no way of describing what he was.

But Marie. Marie hadn’t needed words. Her own gift – her true gift, for understanding and insight and knowing what was needed – had seen him, had seen what he was and what he needed. And her mutation had responded, sifting through the awarenesses in her mind to create the perfect counterpart, a being who could match him in word and deed and tooth and claw. Rogue. His mate. Not ‘their’ mate. His mate. Because he was finally whole.

Wolverine kicked in the ashes of the campfire, scented the air for predators one last time, and slid soundlessly over to the sleeping bag where his mate lay waiting. “Sssh, love, sleep,” he whispered as she stirred, tracing the sharp edge of her cheekbone with his tongue to taste her happiness. “Goodbye, Marie, my love. Thank you for this gift. This life. Your love. I’m sorry Logan never realised he deserved it, couldn’t take it from you. But I can. I will.”

He rolled the blankets around them both, and snuggled down into her warmth. And in a clearing in the forest in northern Canada, near a spot on the highway where a man could have left a girl to freeze, Wolverine and his Rogue slept. And watching over them both, a girl called Marie waited. And hoped.

FIN