So here's to you
Guilty of being you is the
Easiest of all the things you do

---

At 21, Rogue decided that she was all done with waiting around.

She was finished waiting for Logan to come back. She was done waiting for Logan to catch a clue. And she was so over waiting for her adult life to start.

It was a gradual realization, like being woken by the sun on a warm summer morning. She already *was* an adult, and she sort of knew it long before she acknowledged it. But once she figured it out, once she embraced her newfound confidence and maturity, she realized she couldn't just keep wait around for her life to start.

She was 21 and since her arrival at the Mansion, she'd been, well, waiting. For him. For life. For *something*. And it was tiresome, so she decided not to wait anymore. Not for anyone, not for anything.

Rogue told Bobby she needed time to get her head on straight. She felt awful, and she very nearly changed her mind when he started to cry -- she really *did* love him -- but she knew, deep down, that she was right.

"I need to put away childish things, Bobby," she'd explained.

He'd given her an incredibly resentful look with those beautiful blue eyes and said, "I've called him a lot of things over the years, Rogue, but childish isn't one of them."

Bobby's remark had been dead on and she'd flushed, but she hadn't backed down. Logan wasn't childish, not really, but he'd been more and more uncomfortable with her as she grew into a woman. The disconcerted looks gave way to short, clipped answers, and then he started spending more and more time on the road until, one day, he called and gave her his new address. In Iowa.

She'd never pictured her grand adventure being set in Iowa, but if she needed closure, she needed Logan. And Logan was in Iowa.

So there she was, impatient in an old, vaguely smelly Amtrak passenger car because Xavier preferred they avoid plane travel and its requisite background check. She could've taken her car, but it was third-hand and she didn't really feel like breaking down in the middle of Iowa.

She had yet to figure out why *Logan* was in Iowa, of all places.

When she stumbled off the train in Ames, exhausted and in desperate need of a shower, she saw Logan waiting for her. It was a cliché and she hated that it was true, but her heart actually sped up at the sight. He was so fiercely beautiful, all aggression and denim and leather and just... *Logan.*

He stood halfway across the parking lot, leaning casually against a beat-up pickup, arms crossed over another worn leather jacket. And he didn't look particularly happy to see her. He wasn't frowning, not quite, but he wasn't dancing a jig either.

Not that Rogue had *any* desire to see the Wolverine dance a jig. Might kind of ruin him for her, now that she thought about it. And why was she thinking about it, anyway? Stupid man with his stupid unflappable cool making her nervous.

Rogue hitched her bag higher on her shoulder and crossed the last few feet to his side.

"Hey, kid," he greeted. Bastard. He knew why she was here, and he was warning her off already.

She bit back an angry reply and gave him a sarcastic little wave. Two years ago, she would've flung herself in his arms, but she wasn't a kid anymore, and he needed to know it.

That agile eyebrow of his arched upward in reply, and she knew he'd understood. "C'mon, then," he grumbled, yanking the door open. "That all you have?"

"Yeah," she answered, tossing her bag onto the floorboards and climbing into the truck. It was a little chilly, and she reached over and flicked on his heater, giving him a challenging look. He didn't take his eyes off the road.

They drove in silence, Rogue watching the scenery pass by outside the window, soaking up what Iowa looked like. She'd never been there. Seemed flat and... green. She wondered why in God's name Logan had chosen *Iowa*.

"This a social visit?" Logan asked, and if it had been two years ago, she would've felt an idiotic sense of triumph that he'd spoken first.

Rogue glanced over and held his gaze for a moment, but didn't reply. She couldn't really put it into words, and he knew her reasons anyway, so what was the point in trying?

Logan's jaw tightened, and he was the first to look away, fingers gripping the steering wheel with excessive force. A few minutes later, they pulled in front of a small frame house, its pale yellow shingles dingy and depressed. Still, it was surprisingly... homey. For Logan.

Rogue slid down from the truck and slung her bag over her shoulder. "Jubes would love this place," she murmured.

Logan gave an amused snort. "Wasn't my choice."

"The house?"

He cut her an annoyed look. "The color of the house."

She wanted to ask why he'd chosen this house, why he'd chosen this city, this state, but he didn't seem like he was in a particularly chatty mood. Instead, she followed him inside, glancing around, taking it in. Sparsely furnished, but comfortable. Mismatched overstuffed chairs (who was sitting in the other one, she wondered), shades instead of curtains on the window -- very bachelor-pad.

She glanced over at him. "Shower?" she asked hopefully.

Silently, Logan led her through the single bedroom -- king-sized bed, she noted, brutally repressing the flare of jealousy -- and flipped the overhead light on in the bathroom. Old but clean, with pale blue tile and a black bathmat.

"Here," he said, handing her a surprisingly fluffy black towel.

She raised her eyebrows. "New?"

"No," he answered, gazing down at her with an unreadable look. "Guest towels."

Rogue smothered an amused snort. "My mama'd be proud of you, Logan."

He stood there, leaning arrogantly against the doorframe, and let his gaze slide so, so slowly down her body. "Doubt it," he answered with a meaningful look.

Swallowing hard, Rogue couldn't think of a blessed thing to say in response. Her entire body thrummed under his heated gaze.

"You hungry?" Logan asked.

"Sure." Her mouth was too dry and her voice sounded funny. Because she was sure he was aware of the double entendre, and why the hell wasn't he ever thrown off balance, goddamnit?

He nodded. "I'll make dinner." And then he was gone, pulling the door firmly shut behind him.

Rogue realized with a bit of annoyance that she was trembling, just a little. Damn that man, anyway. Wrenching the knobs roughly, Rogue adjusted the water temperature to just this side of scorching, then stripped and stepped into the shower.

She hissed at the feel, letting the heated water burn away accumulated hours on the train. She used his shampoo, sniffling a little at the small bottle of conditioner he'd clearly bought for her. It was the brand she'd used two years ago, back when he'd stayed at the Mansion regularly. Back when they'd been friends.

She'd only given him a day's warning that she was coming, and he'd obviously gone out of his way to pick up the conditioner. It doesn't mean anything, she scolded herself.

When Rogue emerged from the shower, she felt about seven hundred times better. She slipped on a pair of jeans and her favorite jade green tank top, then padded barefoot out into the kitchen, easing the tangles out of her hair as she walked. Droplets slid down her spine occasionally, and she shivered, rubbing her upper arms for warmth.

He'd made steak. And potatoes. It smelled absolutely amazing, and not just because her last two days' worth of meals consisted of train food.

Rogue blinked, a little impressed at his abilities. "Looks great," she told him, sliding into a seat. She reached back and tied her damp hair into a loose knot. It wouldn't last terribly long, but it felt great to have it up off of her neck.

He glanced over at her with hooded eyes. "Good." Padding over to the refrigerator, he asked, "Beer?"

"Sure," she answered, accepting the proffered bottle with a small smile. "Thanks."

Logan shrugged and sat opposite her. It was so strange, being here with him. Like this. They'd eaten together plenty of times, but among other people, either in the Mansion's large dining room or at one of a million dingy diners in the New York metropolitan area. This, sitting down in Logan's house to eat a meal that Logan had cooked -- it felt different.

If they were different people, she'd consider it a date. Given who they were, she just considered it weird.

A little awkwardly, they sat opposite each other at the small, scratched table. Rogue ate slowly, savoring the taste. Whatever his faults, the man could cook.

She took a swig of beer and glanced around the kitchen. The cabinets were scratched, the countertop an ugly shade of grey, and the olive green appliances clearly dated from the seventies. The only sign that someone actually lived here was a pile of take-out menus near the wall-mounted telephone.

Rogue caught his eye and Logan gave her a questioning look. "Food okay?"

"It's delicious, Logan," she answered with enthusiasm. Happily cutting herself another bite-sized piece, she smiled at him. "Really."

He nodded. "Good." Discomfort had never seemed to affect Logan's appetite, and he left his plate pretty much spotless. Rogue could feel his heated gaze on her, and it was making her crazy and much too nervous to eat.

She told herself to concentrate on the food, not on the other thing. The thing she'd come to Iowa to discuss. But it wasn't working; she couldn't *stop* thinking about it, and it was hard to eat with her stomach in knots.

"Why are you here?" he asked finally.

Rogue snorted. "Gee, it feels so lovely to be wanted." She took another swig of beer. Liquid courage, she thought wryly. But, hey, whatever worked.

"Rogue." Logan slouched in his chair, looking for all the world like his interest in the topic was purely academic. But she could read the tension in his shoulders, in the set of his mouth, and she knew he was as nervous as she was. He'd probably been dreading this moment since the day they met.

Rogue took a deep breath, shoring up her courage. She teetered at the edge of the cliff for a long moment before jumping off. "You know why I'm here."

"I don't," he insisted, but he was lying. His fingers clenched the beer bottle a little too tightly and he took a long swallow, keeping his gaze locked on hers the whole time. Which was really damn sexy, and was he sending out mixed messages, or what?

"You do," she said. She pushed her plate away and leaned back in her chair, grinning triumphantly when his gaze dropped to her chest. "I'm here to resolve things."

Logan's gaze jerked back up to meet hers. "Resolve how?" His voice was oddly strangled, which she chose to take as a positive sign. At least the idea was having *some* affect on him.

Rogue gave him her best 'come fuck me' look. "How do you think?"

And then Logan was up and pacing the small room, not sparing her a glance. He drained the rest of his beer and slammed the bottle onto the countertop as he passed. "Not gonna happen, Rogue."

Was it her imagination, or did he sound a little bit regretful? She moved, quietly and quickly, the way he'd taught her, and planted herself in his path. "Why not?"

He jerked to a halt before her, widening his stance, trying to intimidate her. "Rogue." For a moment, she thought he'd say more, but he just glared down at her.

Raising a challenging eyebrow, she crossed her arms, drawing his attention back to her chest. "Why not?" she repeated.

"Because," he answered, his voice hoarse. "It's just not going to happen."

"I'm 21," she pointed out. "And I'm way past willing."

The sound he made was something approximating a growl. "I'm not."

She laughed at that, loud and long, while he stood there and watched her like she was a crazy person. "You're not willing," she managed finally. "Oh, that's rich."

"Rogue--"

"You can't even keep track of how many women you've fucked, Logan," she said, trying desperately to hold onto her amusement. Because it was either that or incredible anger, and she was still hoping that particular emotion wouldn't be called for this evening. "So saying you're unwilling isn't gonna work here."

"Fine," he shot back angrily. "I don't want to have sex with *you*."

She flinched, but told herself to ignore the sting of his words. "Wrong again," she argued, reaching for him before he could move away. Carefully, she draped her arms around his neck and followed him when he tried to back away, pressing her body against his. He was tense, unmoving, unwilling to touch her. "You *do* want me," she insisted, a little plaintively.

He was so beautiful up close, and so tortured. Logan closed his eyes, shut her out and said, "Doesn't matter."

"It matters to me," she answered, and she couldn't quite hide her insecurity. Maybe she was wrong about him. Maybe this entire sexual tension thing existed only in her head.

Those hazel eyes of his opened, peering down at her. "I want you," he admitted roughly, and she shivered a little against him. It was almost too much to hear those words from him, from *Logan*. Her arms tightened instinctively around him.

Then he shook his head. "I want you," he repeated, his voice stronger now, "but not enough to fuck up what we have."

"It's already fucked up," she argued, moaning a little as his hands landed on her hips, finally. He grasped her tightly, his fingers digging into her flesh. "You couldn't handle wanting me and you ran. And I let you." She pressed a kiss to his neck, too quickly for her mutation, too quickly for him to pull away. He pulled her closer, her body pressing flush against his. It took her a moment to remember what she'd been trying to say. "I miss you, Logan, and this is the only way it can work."

His entire body tensed against hers, and she knew it was coming before he even moved. "It can't work," he said, lifting her easily and putting her on her feet an arm's length away. "I can't do this, Marie."

She flinched at the use of her name. He only rarely used it, only when he needed her to understand the seriousness of the situation. He'd said exactly what she didn't want to hear. Exactly what she'd hoped he'd never say.

Silently, she stood in his kitchen, staring down at the cracked linoleum as her hands dropped, empty, to her sides. "Okay," she whispered. "Okay."

He was reaching for her, and his eyes were so, so sad when he said, "Marie--"

"Don't," she ordered, holding one hand out in front of her, warding him off. "I--" She shook her head. "Just don't."

They stood there, two feet away from each other, a million miles away from each other, until Logan shrugged a little and asked, "Why now?"

Rogue smiled, her gaze shifting to the table. She leaned over and snagged her beer. After a long, soothing swig, she said, "Bobby asked me to marry him."

She knew even as she said it that it wouldn't change his mind. She knew Logan had made his decision years ago, and he wouldn't back down now.

"Oh." Logan stood there, just as uncertain, just as broken as she was, and when she looked up at his face, she knew they'd resolved things, finally. Resolution had always seemed like such a good thing, but she knew, now, that it wasn't.

Her head down, Rogue moved silently towards the living room. "I'll leave tomorrow," she said quietly. "I'll leave you alone, Logan, if that's what you want."

She glanced at him quickly, then away, but it was enough for her to see that he couldn't answer her. It wasn't what he wanted, but he was too scared for anything else.

And she was finished with waiting around.

THE END