and somewhere inside your iris
blooms the reflection of my surprise
as you stroll past every last do not enter
and touch me at my epicenter

---

It took two years before Rogue felt like she really had control of herself again. Two years before Carol was a faint, angry, threatening presence in her mind, instead of a usurper, taking over her body when Rogue least expected it.

And the things Carol had done -- hitting on Logan, on Scott, on Remy. Taunting the professor with Erik's memories. Taunting Logan with images from his nightmares. Carol's unrelenting anger at Rogue was matched only by Rogue's fury at Carol.

It was not a happy place to be, Rogue's mind, but the professor worked with her daily, helping her gain control. A few months after the fight that took her husband's life, Rogue was able to feel secure enough in her battle with Carol to really let herself feel her loss.

It was awful.

She sat in Ororo's garden and sobbed, remembering a hundred sweet moments with Bobby. Not the obvious things like their wedding or their first anniversary, just those perfect moments tucked into daily life.

Bobby coming home with an eager grin and a volume of Dorothy Parker for her.

Laughing so hard her sides ached because he'd thought of everything for a romantic picnic down by the lake -- except silverware.

Surprising him in the hallway with gourmet coffee and a really intense kiss.

Waking up to find him watching her, love and a little bit of awe shining in his eyes.

He was such a good man with an incredible heart, and in that moment in the garden, she almost wanted to lose her battle with Carol, because maybe then she wouldn't have to deal with the gaping hole in her life. Silently, Logan joined her, sitting a few feet away after wrapping a blanket around her shoulders and handing her a clump of tissues. She never knew whether Logan had been there the whole time, but he picked his moment perfectly, just when her despair seemed endless.

That was kind of a theme during the two years after Bobby's death -- Logan's silent, supportive strength. She'd never expected him to be able to stay in one place for a few months, never mind two years, but he had without complaint, even when she smiled and told him he could take off if he wanted to.

Instead, he showed up with uncanny frequency whenever she was struggling -- with Carol or with her grief for Bobby. He took her out on Scott's motorcycle, and eventually he took her to showroom and let her completely uninformed opinion ("Wow, that one's really sexy!") guide his choice when he bought a bike for himself.

Logan took walks with her in the woods near the Mansion, strolling along beside her in comfortable silence. He eased her back into the physical training she'd abandoned after Bobby's death, helping her to design a program to build muscle, not bulk. He, of course, worked on building *more* bulk, and rolled his eyes good-naturedly when she laughed at him. Because his body was already a thing of beauty, but she wasn't about to feed his ego with *that* particular revelation.

On the one-year anniversary of Bobby's death, Logan drove her up to Novia Scotia for two weeks, renting a small, two-bedroom cabin and allowing her to spend as much or as little time with him as she chose. To her surprise, he spent most of his time up there reading. She arched an amused eyebrow, he'd pointed out that he *could* read, after all, and that had been the start of their impromptu book club. They traded favorites and discussed them when the topic came up.

And after that trip, she felt a little bit better about Bobby -- not that she didn't still miss him like crazy, but she knew, finally, that she really would be okay. She would reclaim her life, eventually, and it was more than a little surprising to realize that Logan would, once again, be a pretty important part of it.

Now finally, after two years of rebuilding, Rogue felt like herself. She felt like she could really make it alone, and she figured it was time to let him go.

It seemed fitting, somehow, that she found Logan in the garden. He was sitting on a bench, one arm slung casually along the back, his free hand holding a cigar, and he looked up when she drew close.

"Hey," Rogue greeted, her voice hushed. She squinted up at the late afternoon sun, wishing it were fully spring. The evening air was still crisp, and her short sleeves didn't do much to keep her warm. She rubbed her palms along her bare arms, suppressing a shiver.

"Hey yourself," Logan answered, bringing the cigar up to his lips. He wore jeans and a fitted t-shirt, with a flannel shirt flung carelessly next to him. He glanced pointedly at the red-patterned flannel. "You cold?"

Thankful, she closed the distance between them and slipped his shirt on, laughing a little when the sleeves hung past her fingertips. She settled beside him on the bench and rolled the cuffs up. They sat in companionable silence for some time, watching the breeze dance through the leaves.

"You up for dinner later?" Logan asked after a while.

Rogue shook her head, her gaze fixed on a hedge that needed trimming. "No, sorry. Scott's taking me into Manhattan. Some new place in midtown. Supposed to be great Indian food."

Logan hmphed, bringing the cigar to his lips again.

Another thing Rogue had gained in the past two years was Scott's friendship. They'd never been particularly close before, though he'd always been kind to her. But after Bobby -- they were the only two people around who'd lost a spouse to the cause. Logan was irreplaceable, but sometimes Rogue needed to be near someone who understood the emotional fallout of sudden widowhood. Or widower-hood, in Scott's case.

About once a month, she and Scott would drink themselves stupid, usually on the professor's really good Scotch, and then they'd end up laughing or crying. Sometimes both. It wasn't something either one of them felt comfortable doing sober, but the alcohol gave them an excuse, and their shared pain forged a bond.

The only downside was that Logan's relationship with Scott, which had never been particularly good, grew more and more strained. It bothered Rogue, to be the unwitting cause of more acrimony between them. But she'd grown up a lot in the past decade, and she knew it wasn't the kind of problem she could solve; they'd have to figure it out themselves, if they cared to.

"How about tomorrow?" Rogue asked. She'd learned that it helped ease the tensions if she balanced her time between the two men. Which was kind of funny, since it felt sometimes like she was one of those women in the movies, juggling men. Instead, she was a widow at 29, struggling to spend time with people who weren't yet sick of her grief and her never-quite-successful attempts to get her shit together.

"Tomorrow's fine," Logan answered flatly.

Rogue gave him a sideways look, but he turned his head away and his profile was obscured by cigar smoke. "Listen," she said. "I wanted to talk to you."

He didn't move, didn't even breathe until he asked, "About what?"

Rogue bit her lip, considering how best to broach the subject. "I don't think I would've made it this far without you, Logan," she admitted.

Logan's gaze remained carefully averted. "Yes, you would have."

"I'm not so sure," she argued. "A lot of times, you pulled me back to the surface by sheer force of will." She ignored the familiar surge of indignation -- Carol didn't like being talked about, but Rogue was able to suppress her almost all the time these days. "It was so hard to fight her." Rogue's gaze dropped to her pale hands, still unused to the feel of sun on her bare skin. Her rigorous mental discipline had helped not only with Carol, but with greater control over her mutation.

Beside her, Logan shifted, leaning forward until his elbows rested on his knees. "You're the strongest woman I know," he said.

Rogue blinked rapidly, her chipped nail polish swirling in her watery view. "You're crazy," she said, but his words warmed her more than the flannel around her shoulders.

He glanced back at her and she couldn't read his tone when he said, "Probably so."

Okay, this wasn't going exactly as she'd planned it. Rogue frowned, trying to figure out how to tell Logan he was free to go without hurting his feelings.

"So," Logan began before she could come up with anything, "You and Scott."

What? She and Scott? Rogue stared at the side of his face. He couldn't be implying that she and Scott-- "Logan?"

"I just worry about you," he admitted, his tone gruff. His gaze was fixed on the cigar in his hands, which he turned slowly between his fingers.

"Because of Scott?" Rogue asked dubiously. Because Scott was an overprotective brother, sure, but what Logan was implying was idiotic. And Logan was a lot of things, but stupid wasn't usually one of them.

"Yeah. Be careful, Marie."

Rogue shook her head, stifling the disbelieving laughter, because she knew he'd take it the wrong way. "No, Logan, you're getting this all wrong."

He straightened suddenly, taking a few steps away from the bench. "It's fine, Rogue. You don't have to worry about -- It's fine." He crossed his arms, his cigar trailing smoke as he moved. "I just want you to be careful."

Shivering a little in the evening breeze, Rogue pushed herself upright and circled around to face him. "Logan. Nothing is going on with Scott. He's a friend."

Logan nodded, clearly not believing her. And, damn it, he still wouldn't look at her. "Okay."

"I'm not lying," Rogue said, growing irritated.

"I've been expecting this for a while now," Logan told her, as he fastidiously flicked ashes from the tip of his cigar. "You don't have to hide it from me."

"I'm not hiding anything, either," Rogue shot back, fighting the urge to yell at him. The strength and the invulnerability were definite assets, but Rogue cursed Carol daily for the hair-trigger temper.

"Whatever you say, Rogue," Logan answered.

"Don't patronize me," Rogue ordered, her voice rising with every syllable. "You're acting like an asshole."

He actually grinned, but it was bitter somehow. "I'm not acting."

"Yes," Rogue ground out, punctuating her words by jabbing one finger against his chest, "you are. And it's pissing me off. I was trying to thank you, Logan. You put your whole fucking life on hold to help some crazy girl you hadn't seen in years get her head screwed back on straight."

"Rogue--"

"It's true, Logan. You didn't have to do any of this, but you did. You stayed." She shrugged, her hands landing on her hips as she stared at him. "But it's been two years, and it's time for me to let you go."

His frame tensed, hands fisted at his sides. "Let me go," he repeated, his voice rougher than pavement. The cigar snapped in his hand, and he flung it to the ground.

Rogue let out a frustrated growl. "I don't want to be the reason you stay here," she explained. "You've never, ever stayed this long, and you did it for me, and I don't think I'll ever be able to say thank you enough times to cover what you did. But you shouldn't stay here anymore--"

"Fine," he muttered, turning unsteadily away from her.

"Logan, wait--"

"No."

She really hated using her strength in situations like this; it was playing dirty. But everything she said came out wrong and she'd hurt him and he was going to run away. Again. So she snagged his arm and held on, jerking him to a stop.

"Let go of me," Logan warned, quiet and deadly.

For the first time, she was actually a little bit scared of him. His bicep was like corded steel under her fingers, and her control wasn't good enough to hold on for too long. "Let me explain what I meant," she said, pitching her voice low and gentle.

"You've said enough."

"Logan, come on," she pleaded. "I'm not saying I *want* you to leave. I'm just saying--" She released his arm, wanting desperately to hit something to release her frustration. "God! I'm just saying that I'm better and if you want to leave, you shouldn't stay just for me."

"I *only* stay for you." Briefly, Logan's gaze locked with hers, and she finally understood the cause of this entire, fucked up scene. This heartbroken look he was giving her, she remembered it from the hallway, from her wedding day. Was it possible that he still--?

"Oh, God," Rogue said, one hand lifting to cover her mouth. "Logan, you--"

"I should go," he interrupted, brushing past her.

"Don't you walk away from this," she yelled after him. "Not again."

He whirled on her. "I can't do this," he said, eyes a little bit wild as he glared down at her.

"Why the hell not?" she demanded, rushing forward until they stood toe to toe.

"Because," he answered, matching her angry tone, "you're grieving and I gave up whatever chance I had with you in Iowa." The words seemed to take a lot of the fight out of him. He sighed, staring moodily at the ground. "Just leave it alone, Rogue."

Rogue watched him, at a loss for words. He still loved her, even after all of the shit they'd put each other through for a decade. She shook her head, still trying to make it make sense. "Logan--"

"Leave it alone," he repeated.

She recognized this expression, too. He was about to walk away from her -- again -- and she wasn't going to let that happen. Before she could talk herself out of it, Rogue moved, sliding one hand along his neck and up into his hair, pulling his head down to hers.

She kissed him for all she was worth, pouring all the repressed love and regret she felt into it. He was still as a statue against her, not moving, not reciprocating for an endless moment.

Then his hands were clutching her back, yanking her closer, and she moaned a little in frustration as she felt the slow tingle of his thoughts.

Rogue jerked away from him, eyes wide, breathing unsteadily. They stared at each other, both a little bit in shock, until Logan pushed her away.

"I'm sorry," he said, turning from her, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Logan!" God, the man was stupid sometimes. And, wow, did he really think that about her? She didn't get much from their brief contact -- devotion, lust, and a really ridiculous urge to growl -- but it was enough to know she was right. He still loved her.

"You're upset," Logan bit out. "I shouldn't have done that."

"*I* did that, you idiot," she yelled, exasperated. "And I'm gonna do it again as soon as possible." She flushed, just a little, at the heated look he gave her then. "My control only slows it down. Gives me a few seconds of contact."

Logan shuddered, his eyes drifting shut. Rogue wanted desperately to know what he was thinking about and how quickly she'd be able to persuade him to demonstrate.

He shook his head and caught her gaze. "You're upset," he said again.

Rogue bit back her first reply. "Yes, I'm upset," she agreed, not bothering to modulate her volume. "Right now, I'm upset that you want to walk away from me again."

He cocked his head to the side, and she knew he was curious enough to stand still for a few minutes while she tried to explain. Which meant she'd have to talk fast.

"I loved Bobby," she said simply. Honestly. It was true, and Logan knew it, and if he was trying to put that between them, she needed to explain. "I loved him so much, Logan, and he loved me." She shrugged. "He loved me enough to want my happiness."

The expression on his face was guarded, like he was trying to brace himself for the killing blow. Nodding slowly, Logan said, "I want you to be happy, too."

"I am," she told him. Then she smiled, and gave a self-conscious shrug. "Or I'm getting there, anyway. But you must know that you're a big part of that, Logan."

He looked away, shaking his head. "You did this yourself. All I did was watch."

Frustrated, Rogue paced in a tight circle, searching for the words that would break through his resistance and make him understand. "When I came to Iowa -- No, Logan, come on," she chided, not allowing him to turn away from her. "You weren't ready when I came to Iowa, and maybe I wasn't really ready either." She remembered Bobby's beautiful blue eyes, his quick smile. "I'm sorry that we hurt each other, Logan, but I won't be sorry for Bobby. I loved him, freely and truly, for as long as I had him, and I'll always be grateful for that "

"I know you don't believe me," Logan answered quietly, "but I'm grateful you experienced that, too, Marie." His expression was so open, so honest that it left her unable to answer for a long moment.

"I know." She blinked back tears. "I've loved you for years, Logan," she admitted matter-of-factly. Logan stared at her, hazel eyes intense and a little bit shocked. It occurred to her that in all the years, they'd never said the words. They'd couched everything in talk of want, of need, but never of love.

No wonder they'd fucked it up so badly.

Rogue moved closer and reached out, squeezing Logan's fingers, relaxing just a little when he gripped her hand tightly. "You know it and Bobby knew it. And this," she told him, meeting his gaze with determination, "is what I need you to understand: what I feel for you has nothing to do with my husband."

Tilting his head slightly, Logan gave her a truly baffled look. "I don't know what you're getting at."

She screwed up her courage. "This isn't a rebound thing, or a way for me to escape my pain. I'll miss Bobby 'til the day I die, and you'll have to deal with that. But this," she said, waving a hand in the air between them, "is about you and me, Logan."

The hope in his eyes was nearly her undoing. He swayed closer, his hands running up her arms, smoothing over her shoulders. "Yeah?" he asked.

Reaching up, she traced his silly muttonchops with trembling fingers. "Yeah," she answered, punctuating her statement with a quick kiss on those irresistible lips of his.

Logan's grip tightened, holding her close so that he could deepen the kiss. And, wow, they were really, really good at this. World-class good. Logan reacted to the hum of her mutation in time to pull back, pressing gentle kisses along her jawline as she curled her fingers into his t-shirt.

She groaned in frustration when Logan drew away, studying her from beneath furrowed brows. "You sure about this, Marie?" He still looked unsure, as if he couldn't quite believe she was serious.

Arching her eyebrows in challenge, she asked, "You love me, right?"

The silence stretched out for an uncomfortably long minute. Just before Rogue started to squirm, Logan's lips quirked upward in the beginnings of a smile and he nodded, the movement slow and deliberate.

"Yeah," he said, and his voice was so warm. "I love you."

God, that felt so good to hear. And to her unending relief, it didn't feel wrong or like she was betraying Bobby's memory. It felt like maybe they'd finally reached a place where this might actually work between them, where they could come together as equals. She didn't know how to express that -- and, besides, the idiotically wide smile on her face was entirely outside her control -- so Rogue just beamed up at him and gave an exaggerated shrug. "So? What's the problem?"

And then Logan was laughing, his smile so radiant that it made Rogue's heart actually ache with happiness. She'd never thought she'd get past Bobby's death or Carol's invasion of her mind. She certainly never thought she'd get to a place where she could be happy again, not happy like this. But it felt so *good* to laugh, to enjoy herself, to enjoy someone else.

She glanced up at a sky that was the blue of Bobby's eyes. I'll miss you always, she told him silently.

Then she turned her attention back to the man before her. Logan knew her well enough to recognize when she needed a moment. He hadn't turned away, not exactly, but he was carefully looking up toward the Mansion to allow her some privacy. They'd grown so close the past two years, carefully rebuilding what hurt feelings and time had ruined. And he'd proven what she'd always believed -- that underneath the bluster and the growling and the muttonchops, Logan was a good man.

Rogue watched him for a few seconds, drinking in his familiar form, his proud profile before he glanced over at her. He studied her, his head tilted a little bit to the side. "You really think we're ready for..." Logan shrugged, gesturing between them, "this?"

"I really do," she answered, surprising herself with the certainty of the declaration. Rogue blinked. She really *did* think they were ready. "The real question is," she said, making a conscious effort to lighten the tone, "whether *you* are ready for *me.*"

It took a second her implication to register, but the stunned look on his face was really quite gratifying. He recovered quickly, arching that damn eyebrow of his and saying, "Oh, I'm ready, little girl."

The words rankled, and Rogue's smile faltered, just a little. She stepped closer, staring up at him. "I'm not a little girl anymore, Logan," she told him.

He matched her serious tone, leaning down until they were just inches away. "Believe me, I know that."

Up close, his hazel eyes sparkled with humor and passion and hope and love and, wow, he was just so gorgeous. And she really, really wanted him. Rogue lowered her voice, let all the lust she was feeling leech into her tone when she said, "You're going to have to prove that."

He chuckled, low and sexy, and Rogue could feel it all the way to her toes. "So," Logan said, and she recognized that teasing tone from years ago, "about this control of yours..."

Rogue reached out and looped her arm through his, steering him back towards the house. Towards her room, she thought with a shudder of anticipation. "What about it?"

"Ten seconds, you said?" Logan asked, leering down at her.

"Give or take," Rogue agreed, leaning up to press a kiss to the edge of his mouth. "It's all in the timing."

THE END