Logan wasn't used to living with people.

He was a solitary man. A loner. The kind of man who stayed a couple nights at a stretch in a fleabag motel before moving on. And usually his choice of motels had less to do with the amount of money it cost than the number of vehicles parked in the lot. He didn't much care for overhearing people's boring little lives. Especially not their prosaic sex lives.

So being back at the Mansion, with forty-something kids and nearly fifteen teachers and domestic workers, was something of an adjustment.

He could hear Ororo's nightly rituals -- prayer or something in a language he couldn't identify.

He could hear the giddy whispers of teenagers up way past their bedtimes.

He could hear Scott, still mourning Jeannie eight months later.

It was hell, and Logan would've taken off again if Rogue hadn't refused to leave. She ignored all of his arguments about the government targeting mutants after the Stryker mess. She scoffed at his fear of retribution. But what really got him was the soft determination in her voice when she'd said, "I'm not running, Logan. I'll understand if you want to; you barely know these people. But they're my family, and if I leave them now, when they need me the most, what kind of person does that make me?"

So he stayed, wondering if her words were a veiled comment on his own determination to leave. He understood her point, though, probably more than she knew -- she was his family, and hell if he'd leave her to danger.

Logan passed his sleepless nights with marathon sessions in the Danger Room, long walks in the darkened woods around the Mansion, and, of course, roaming the wood-paneled hallways, determined to hear the next attack before the fuckers set foot inside.

Instead, on this particular night, he heard Rogue. Sobbing.

Panic hit immediately. Was she hurt? Was someone hurting her?

Logan sprinted the last few feet to her door and started to pound on it. "Rogue? Rogue!" He turned the knob and breathed a sigh of relief that it was open. He scanned the empty room, his gaze drawn inevitably to the half-open bathroom door. Soft light glowed around the edges.

Logan heard a strangled gasp, and the sound of water lapping against ceramic, and then the scent of bubblebath and sorrow hit him. Breathing hard, he jerked to a halt in the middle of her darkened room. Bubblebath. She was most definitely alone in there, and she was taking a bath. Maybe storming in there without announcing himself would be a bad idea.

He stood, fighting the urge to barge in anyway, just to reassure himself that she was unhurt. "Are you okay?"

"Logan?" Rogue asked, sounding more than a little startled.

Slowly, inexorably, Logan moved toward Rogue's private bathroom. The door stood ajar, dim candlelight twinkling inside. All Logan could see from his vantage point was part of the vanity, where a few candles dripped wax. Now that the burst of panic was fading, he was starting to focus on the part where Rogue was taking a bath.

Miles of pale, flawless, damp skin, just in the next room.

Shit.

Logan told himself to ignore the bubblebath. Ignore the implication that she was naked in the next room. He wanted desperately to see her in the tub, but he knew the image would be burned into his mind, torturing him until the end of his days.

"I heard--" He stopped, searching for words. Tact wasn't his strong suit, but he suspected she wouldn't appreciate something along the lines of "you were crying; tell me why."

Before he could come up with anything diplomatic, Rogue answered, her voice stronger, "I'm fine." She sniffled, the water shifting as she moved in the bathtub.

Logan repressed a groan at the mental images he couldn't seem to shake. "Are you sure?" He couldn't stop moving toward the bathroom, toward Rogue. She was nude in there, clothed in warm water and scented bubbles. As much as he craved the opportunity to witness her bath, she was upset, and the last thing she probably wanted right now was him, leering at her.

"Yeah," she answered immediately. "I'm just -- I'm fine, Logan." Her voice started to rise, sounding a little bit panicky. "Are you -- what are you doing?"

One hand on the doorknob, Logan forced himself to halt. "Checking on you." He told himself to leave immediately, but didn't move.

"I'm in the tub," she answered anxiously. "I'm -- I'm fine."

God, she smelled intoxicating. The bubblebath was far too strong, its artificially enhanced scent amplified in the damp air. But underneath, he could smell Marie.

Concentrate, asshole, he told himself. He wanted to know why she was upset. "You were crying."

She gave a watery laugh. "Yeah."

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing," she insisted.

He remained silent, waiting her out. She was a shitty liar, and she usually felt too guilty to let a lie stand for long. Especially with him.

"It's stupid," she said finally, sounding frustrated.

"It's not stupid," Logan answered quietly, "if it makes you upset." He leaned forward, resting his forehead against the cool wooden door. What the hell was wrong with him? Why was he pushing this? Why was he standing there, mere feet from Rogue's naked body?

"I just--" Rogue stopped, drew in a shaky breath. "I was talking to Scott earlier," she confessed, her tone hushed. "And we were talking about -- about Jean. It just -- it brought it all back, and so I decided to wallow."

Logan considered her words, feeling the familiar swell of grief at Jean's name. She really had been one of the good ones. And now that he had some perspective, he could appreciate what she'd been to him -- one of the first people who'd cared about him for no reason. He missed her, but he could think about her now without that aching grief.

"I'm sorry, Logan," Rogue said quickly. "I'm so sorry. I know how you --" She broke off, blew out a frustrated breath. "Would you come in here, please?" she asked, her voice a little unsteady. "Just for a second?" He could hear the embarrassed determination when she added, "There are bubbles."

He was pretty sure he made a strangled noise of some kind. There were bubbles. A thin layer of bubbles covering her naked body, and she wanted him to go in there. While she bathed.

He wanted to see her there, skin damp and glistening in the candlelight, but he wasn't particularly good at impulse control. If he crossed that threshold, there was a better than even shot he'd give the game away, and the last thing he wanted to do was upset her further.

Then again, she'd asked him. Into her bath. He tried not to read anything into that, especially since she was talking about mourning Jean, the woman he'd kind of loved. Or maybe the woman he could've loved, if he'd had more time. And if she hadn't been in love with someone else.

Logan inhaled slowly, steeling himself, and pushed the door open wider. Because Rogue had asked, and he'd do pretty much anything for her. Took him a while to figure out what that meant, but he understood now.

His gaze immediately went to her, and he felt his entire body tighten.

She stared back at him, her wide dark eyes watching him warily, pale face framed by wet white streaks. Her nose was slightly red, and when he looked closely, he could see the puffiness around her eyes that indicated intense crying.

She was beautiful.

She was also right about the bubbles -- there was a respectable amount of frothy white bubbles covering her, but he couldn't stop trying to imagine what she'd look like when they seeped away.

Her scent was nearly overwhelming in such close proximity. Rogue reached one hand out along the edge of the tub, urging him closer. It was heavenly torture, but he obeyed, dropping awkwardly to the lip of the porcelain tub. He told himself not to stare at the few places where the bubbles had dissipated, not to stare at her knees where they peeked out at him. Instead, he concentrated on her eyes, nearly black in the dim candlelight. They were every bit as mesmerizing as the glimpses he caught of pale, wet skin.

Her damp fingers closed around his shirtsleeve, gripping tightly. "I'm sorry," she told him. "Really. I know you --" She swallowed, her eyes shining with tears. "You loved her, and I--"

"Don't apologize for mourning her," Logan interrupted. His voice sounded rough, too loud as it echoed off the tiled walls. "You loved her, too, Rogue."

Logan watched her as his words registered. Her grasp on his wrist tightened momentarily then she withdrew her hand, sinking a little further into the bubbles. But what worried him was the way her expression closed off, her gaze dropping to the bubbles covering her body. She drew a listless hand through the foam, holding a small cloud up to her mouth and blowing it, watching the bubbles flutter down.

"Marie?" he asked gently. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," she answered immediately. "I'm just sad. That's all." She forced a false brightness into her tone and met his eyes briefly. "Thanks for checking on me, but I'm fine."

You can go now. She left it unspoken, but Logan understood her meaning and tried to figure out why he was being so summarily dismissed.

Puzzled, he crossed his arms over his chest and stared at her. She bit her lip, keeping her gaze averted. Logan tilted his head. "I do something to offend you?" he asked, his tone gruff. Because not too many men would be so restrained sitting right beside a gorgeous, naked woman in a tub. Deadly skin or no deadly skin, she was temptation within reach, and he was exhibiting some pretty damn strong willpower not reaching for her.

"No," Rogue answered almost reluctantly. "No, it's just --" She stole a glance at his face. "You shouldn't be in here."

Logan quirked an eyebrow. "I shouldn't," he repeated, skepticism more than evident in his tone.

"Nope," Rogue answered smugly. "You're a teacher."

Logan snorted. "Because Xavier knew I wouldn't stay here if I couldn't earn my keep. Playing human punching bag for a bunch of teenagers doesn't really make me a teacher, Rogue."

"Still," she countered primly. "It's improper."

"You invited me in here," Logan pointed out with no small measure of irritation.

She chewed her lip for a moment, considering his point. Then she brightened and actually smiled up at him. "And now I'm inviting you out."

Why was she so determined to kick him out? She admitted that was upset about Jean, and he told her she shouldn't be sorry about mourning -- and when he figured it out, he nearly laughed aloud. He'd said Rogue loved Jean, too. In so many words, he'd admitted it -- that he'd loved Jean --and Rogue was hurt. Which meant that Rogue--

Rogue shifted uncomfortably in his speculative gaze. "What?"

He didn't honestly know how to answer her. What he'd said, what she'd read into it -- it seemed like they'd unexpectedly come to a fork in the road, and he wasn't sure how to proceed. She'd been so sweet to him, so solicitous after Jean's death, allowing him to grieve for her the way no one else at the Mansion would. And in the process, she'd never betrayed any hint of her former crush.

Logan had logically concluded that she'd gotten over him, that she'd outgrown a childish kind of hero worship. Which was ironic, considering he'd finally figured out that his complicated mess of feelings for Rogue included a deep, abiding bond that he thought was maybe love. He wasn't any good at things like that anyway, so he chose to be what she needed, what she'd been to him. He'd be a good friend -- the best friend she could want -- and leave his desires alone.

But her reaction to his words made him wonder: was it really possible she'd been repressing just like he had?

"You loved Jean, didn't you?" Logan asked finally. Because he had a feeling they couldn't possibly move forward without laying Jean's ghost to rest. He knew Rogue was self-confident in many ways. But putting her first boyfriend in a coma and watching her second boyfriend be scared off by her skin -- it had made her start to doubt herself, just a little. Add to that Logan's inability to be subtle about his attraction to Jean, and he knew this was one obstacle that could only be overcome by explaining some things.

And fuck if he wasn't just about the most inarticulate person in the world when it came to feelings. But if that was what Rogue needed, he'd try.

Rogue's eyes narrowed, but she nodded. "Yes. She was... loveable." She winced, then, probably waiting for some kind of reaction from him.

Logan shifted -- the edge of the tub wasn't the most comfortable place he'd ever sat, but it was close to Rogue, so he'd manage. "What did you and Scott talk about?"

"Logan," Rogue said, touching his arm briefly. "You don't have to do this." She was so compassionate, so kind, it made him ache. She was, clearly upset about Jean, but she'd rather deal with that herself than put someone else -- than put him -- through any pain.

Logan's voice was husky when he asked, "Do what?"

She blew out an exasperated breath. "Talk about -- about Jean. I mean, I understand that it's hard, and I'm really fine. Really." She reached up and swiped her fingers across her cheeks. "See?" she said. "No tears."

"You were crying before." He tried not to smile when he added, "Your nose is red."

"What?" she squeaked, her hands flying up to cover her face.

He couldn't stop himself from chuckling, and she gave him a perplexed look. Logan lifted one shoulder in a shrug. "It's cute."

"Cute?" She sounded offended by his choice of adjective, eyes wide, mouth hanging open. He recognized the look -- if she weren't in the tub, she'd be standing with her hands on her hips, glaring up at him.

Logan lifted an eyebrow and let his gaze slide down her neck, across the tops of her shoulders. "I didn't say you were cute," he murmured, certain implications dripping from the words. "Definitely wouldn't choose that word."

Rogue's mouth actually dropped open, just a little, and she flushed red as she gaped at him. He watched, amused, as she turned his comment over in her mind, trying to figure it out. Then she shook her head and said very carefully, "No, you didn't say I was cute."

As close to neutral as she could get and still use actual words instead of "hmmm," Logan thought. She actually was cute. The way her mind worked, the way every single thought flitting through her head flashed across her face. Of course, she was also sexy as hell, but he didn't feel comfortable voicing that particular observation just yet.

"I want to talk about Jean," Logan said instead. "Tell me what you miss about her."

Her hopeful expression shifted, and she slumped a little into her bath. "This isn't how I usually wallow, Logan."

"I don't know how to wallow," Logan countered. "Teach me." He was more of a brooder, preferring to retreat to a dark, quiet bar and settle in for the evening with a couple bottles of top shelf whisky. His gaze caught on the wine glass sitting beside the wall on the opposite edge of the tub and he wondered if wallowing was the girly version of brooding.

Rogue frowned, tapping her nails against the other side of the tub. "It's sort of a solitary pursuit."

Logan growled. "Would you help me out, here?" he ordered.

Her expression was open and honest when she met his gaze and said, "I don't know what you're doing." She really was bewildered. He supposed it made sense, if she really believed he was mourning his great love or whatever line of bullshit those stupid movies fed girls.

"Fine," Logan said, "I'll start. I miss her influence over Cyke, 'cause he is a serious pain in the ass."

She shifted a little, her skin squeaking against the ceramic, and Logan swallowed a groan. This was torture -- he was right next to her and she was naked. He told himself to concentrate on the conversation.

Rogue studied his face, a small frown on her lips. "You would like Scott if you gave him a chance."

"He's a dick," Logan answered, brushing off her suggestion. He did have a certain grudging respect for Scott, but there was no need to go into all of that. "But he loved Jeannie well."

Rogue's frown deepened and she sounded a little worried when she said, "Logan, I really don't think you understand the point of wallowing. Maybe you should go get a beer. And take it back to your room."

"I'm fine here." He glanced down at the water, barely restraining the urge to reach down and test the water with his fingers. "How's the temperature in there?" The bubbles, he noticed, seemed to be less abundant than when he'd come in.

Rogue looked down at the water and flushed again, eyes wide. "Fine. Perfect."

Nodding, he tore his gaze from the dwindling bubbles and considered his next move. "It's good Scott loved her like that. It's good she was loved like that, before she died." He knew Rogue well enough to know that she was past irritation, past surprise, and moving quickly into utter shock. She stared, uncomprehending, as he continued, "They made sense." Logan shrugged. "He's a tightass, but that never seemed to bother her. And the professor told me something about how they met."

She swallowed. "With -- the story about his glasses," she said, her voice faint. "He wanted to--" Rogue made a jabbing motion towards her eye and Logan flinched.

"And she convinced him to trust her," Logan pointed out, studying her as he spoke. She'd understand, wouldn't she? "They trusted each other."

"Yeah," Rogue said rather hesitantly.

"Good basis for a relationship," Logan observed, wondering if she'd noticed the question in his tone.

Tilting her head, Rogue ventured, "Jean trusted you, too, Logan. You know she did."

Logan sighed, frustrated. "You're not making this easy, kid."

She slapped one hand into the water, the sound echoing loudly off the tiled walls. "I don't know what the hell you're doing, Logan."

"I'm trying to explain something to you," he answered, equally irritated. Why couldn't she understand what he was saying?

"Something about Scott and Jean?" she guessed.

"Something about you and me," Logan shot back without really thinking about it first.

"You," Rogue repeated slowly, those dark, dark eyes focused intently on him. "You and me."

"Yes." Goddamn it. He'd just blurted it out. He knew he was gonna fuck this up. What was worse, he had no idea how to fix it, or what to say next. "You trust me, right?"

"Of course," she began haltingly, "you -- you saved my life." Her accent was thick, suddenly, and he knew she was upset.

"You trust me," Logan agreed, "but it's not just about the Statue of Liberty. You trust me to touch you."

She shrank away from him a little, eyes round. "Logan..."

"You know I wouldn't hurt you," Logan said, letting her think about before adding, "And it goes both ways."

She was shaking her head again, seemingly without even noticing. "I don't understand. Logan, you--" She broke off with a little laugh.

"I what?"

Lifting her chin to a defiant angle, she said, "You love Jean."

"I don't," Logan answered immediately. "I never did."

"What?" she spluttered. "You have got to be kidding--"

"It's true. I didn't know her well enough to love her, Marie. I certainly didn't trust her. Not like I trust you."

She froze, eyes wide, and stared up at him. "You haven't called me that in... You've never called me that."

"We usually have an audience," he told her. "And I wasn't sure who knows your real name."

"No one," Rogue whispered. "No one but you."

Logan tried to ignore the way her confession settled into his body, easing the tension in his muscles. He stared at her. "Marie?"

She glanced away, idly trailing her hand through the bubbles. But he could see tears shining in her eyes. "Logan, what--" She stopped, shook her head slightly.

The words stuck in his throat. He stared at her until she lifted her chin and met his gaze. The expression on her face -- it was nervousness and anticipation and... hope. He inhaled, gathered his courage, and said, "I stayed here for you."

For an unending moment, they stared at each other, not breathing.

Then Rogue blinked and shook her head. "That doesn't--"

"I stayed for you," he repeated, his voice stronger, now, and more confident. "You know it's true." He leaned forward, one bare hand sliding through her damp hair, skimming across her cheek.

She still didn't believe him, not entirely. "You wanted Jean," she declared, as if it were the answer to any questions she might have.

Logan shrugged, shifting uncomfortably on the edge of the tub. Rogue wouldn't take this well, and he didn't want to hurt her. But he wouldn't lie to her, either. "Maybe I did," Logan admitted slowly, flinching at the way her expression crumbled. "But not--"

Rogue turned her face away, eyes closed, muscles tense.

Logan dipped his hand in the water, hoping the liquid would provide enough of a buffer for him to touch her skin. With two fingers, he touched her jaw, urging her to face him. She stiffened at his touch, and although he felt the burn of her mutation, it wasn't anything like the other two times.

He let go and Rogue stared up at him with wide, shocked eyes.

"Maybe I wanted Jean," Logan said again. "But I didn't love her." It was so hard, and he choked on the words. But she was watching him with unabashed hope and he couldn't not say it. "Not like I love you," he said in a rush. It was easier than he'd thought it would be to say that; he suspected that was only because he was saying it to her.

Rogue gasped, shaking her head slightly. "But--"

"It's true," he told her, gaining confidence. "You know it's true."

Her mouth opened and shut a couple times, but she didn't seem able to answer.

And then she was moving, sitting up in the tub, the bubbles sliding down her skin as one long arm reached for him. Logan's eyes widened, but he didn't have time to protest before her fingers closed around the collar of his shirt, yanking him to her.

He planted a hand on the wall, his palm slipping a little on the damp tile, but he couldn't be bothered with such trivialities. Not when Rogue was leaning up to press her lips against his. He felt a little flare of panic as she kissed him, wondering just how long he'd be in the medlab as a result. But it was worth it to kiss her, and he let his eyes close, leaning closer, opening her mouth with his tongue.

He was so overcome by the sensation of kissing Marie -- of finally, finally kissing her -- that he didn't notice the slow burn of her mutation until she pulled away. The arm bracing him above her trembled, but he gasped in a breath and managed not to fall into the tub.

Logan raked his gaze down her naked torso, dragging in harsh breaths at the sight of so much damp, deadly, gorgeous skin. He managed to make his voice work, forced himself to stop staring at her breasts. "Marie. How did you--?"

She beamed up at him, her hands smoothing over his chest, moving up to brush through his hair. "I can't stop it totally, but I can slow it down."

She could slow it down. She could touch. For short periods of time, but still. She could touch.

Logan blinked. He could touch her.

Re-energized, Logan sat upright on the edge of the tub and reached down for her, his bare hands wrapping around her upper arms, so tantalizing close to those amazing breasts. "C'mere," he ordered roughly.

Rogue's smile softened and she pushed against his chest. "Stand up."

With a growl of protest, Logan complied, very reluctantly letting go of her. Seconds later, he was rewarded by Rogue moving gracefully to her feet, water and bubbles sliding down her nude form.

Logan couldn't move, couldn't breathe until she smiled and said, "Could you hand me that towel?"

He fumbled for it blindly, unable to tear his gaze from her body until she accepted the towel and rubbed the water away.

Rogue stepped gracefully from the tub, sliding right past him and wrenching a heartfelt groan from his lips. And he'd thought sitting next to her while she was covered was torture?

"Patience," she murmured, rummaging through a drawer in the vanity. Then she turned back to him, a black silky scarf wrapped around one bare hand. Rogue let the towel drop and raised an eyebrow. "Shall we?"

Logan made a strangled noise and took her hand, following her eagerly into the bedroom. "Rogue," he said, because he actually did love her, and if she wanted to, he could wait. "We don't have to do this."

Rogue reached the edge of the bed and turned back to him, a soft smile on her lips. "I trust you," she told him. "And I want you to touch me."

So he did.

THE END