He wasn’t used to this feeling in the pit of his stomach, something like fear and anticipation -- like dread and happiness all mixed together. He could still hear Rogue’s voice in his head, the way she’d formed her words and the breathless catch on the end of her sentences letting him know that she was feeling much the same. They hadn’t really said anything, seeming to simply talk in shallow circles. It was enough of an event to simply hear each other’s voices as they hadn’t spoken since they had each left on their individual searches for answers.

They hadn’t told each other where they were, the only hint of any kind of location coming when Logan had asked in a quietly rough voice, desperate for some kind of conversation even if it was small talk, “Where ya headed?”

With a peculiar warmth in her tone, she’d answered simply, “South.”

Though he hadn’t known it until she’d said that, his reply was immediate and decisive: “Me too.”

Her voice was soft, almost shy, when she’d whispered, “Good,” and that was when the feeling had started in his stomach, that twisting, tickling sensation like he was falling at a break-neck speed from a long way up -- and he was probably one of the few people still alive who knew what that felt like.

To be honest, his mind hadn’t been entirely occupied with Rogue’s question while he’d been on the road. He’d been trying to flee the fire that fascinated him, that woman with more power over him than he’d ever wanted to give anyone but somehow didn’t mind that she had. Jean. He’d been trying to convince himself that it was really over, that his longing would never find fulfillment. The first moment his focus had shifted was when Hank had told him that Rogue had left her number for him. When it had become his obsession was when he’d called her and she’d murmured his name in a tone of voice that told him everything she was feeling -- everything that was now knotted inside himself.

At first it was like brushing up against ice on a hot summer’s day -- unexpected, a shock to his system. His mind shied away from the thought of Rogue as anything more than his best friend. But he’d begun to consider it despite himself, to skim exploring fingertips across the surface of the idea, finding that it became more palatable the more he thought about it. And now that her voice was lodged in his head, so soft and unsure, drenched with the startling new emotions she was beginning to discover, he could think of little else.

A sudden click beside him let him know that the gas tank was finally full and he looked at the register on the pump that told him how much he was being charged, frowning at the numbers. Damn gasoline prices. Reaching into the cab of the truck he yanked the keys out of the ignition and stuffed them into his jeans, reaching around to his back pocket to dig out his wallet. As he strode into the small, dusty convenience store, chewing an unlit cigar, he flipped the wallet open and rifled through the bills, pulling out two twenties which he thrust unceremoniously at the woman behind the cash register.

“What pump were you using, sir?” she asked without looking up, and he cast a pointed look out the window at the gas pumps which were completely unoccupied except for his truck.

“Two,” he said slowly, arching an eyebrow sharply.

“Anything else for ya?” It was said with a tone that implied she didn’t expect him to want anything else, but something had caught his eye.

“This.” He dangled the chain in front of her and she punched a few more keys on the cash register.

“That it?”

“Yeah.” He saw the total on the register and ended up having to dig another ten out of his wallet. While he was waiting for the small amount of change he was due, he fingered the small pewter charm on the end of the chain thoughtfully. The woman handed him back a couple of singles and a handful of change and he dropped them into his pocket along with the necklace.

Returning to the truck, he climbed in and sat for a moment behind the wheel before he turned the key in the ignition. The feeling of vertigo kept getting stronger and he knew his world was changing for good. No matter what happened now, which direction he and Rogue decided to take their relationship -- back to just-friends or onward to more (and see, “just friends” was now back; they’d moved on from that already) -- it would never be the same. Either they would become lovers, or they would live the rest of their lives with the awareness that they almost had become lovers once and passed by the opportunity, and a friendship couldn’t stay the same with that kind of knowledge in it.

He owed it to Rogue to seriously consider the idea, though, and not just jump into one or the other because he thought that’s what she wanted. Whichever choice he made, it would have to be an honest one, and that required some thought. He’d already been wrestling it over endlessly and the dilemma was starting to feel stale. He had no new arguments for himself, no evidence to sway his opinion either way.

Frustrated, he flipped on the radio and began scanning the stations, pausing when he heard the familiar sound of the Eagles. They were Rogue’s favorite band, and he didn’t mind them much, either. He was especially fond of their early stuff, and though the current song was highly overplayed in his opinion, he left the station on out of a sense of obligation to his friendship with Rogue. He was only half paying attention to the song, still trying to figure out his current problem, when one line filtered into his chaotic thoughts.

“Seems to me some fine things have been layed upon your table, but you only want the ones that you can’t have.”

A forgotten memory surfaced with vivid clarity, and he found himself thinking back to one night about three years prior when he’d been out trying to drown his demons in a bottle of Jack Daniels. The whiskey had worn off before his problems, though, and he’d found himself in Rogue’s room, sitting in a chair at the foot of her bed, staring out the window at the moonlit landscape.

The measured sound of her breathing, the steady thrum of her pulse and the quiet rushing of her blood through her veins had provided a soothing atmosphere for him as he’d tried to wrestle himself under control. He had kissed Jean that night, and she’d kissed him back, but pushed him away roughly and held him still with her telekinesis as she’d walked to the door as if nothing had happened, opening it to find Scott on the other side. She’d kissed her lover’s cheek softly and murmured a quiet greeting before passing out of sight. As soon as she was gone, she’d dropped her psychic hold on Logan’s body, but he had stood in the same place, in the same position, jealousy churning in his stomach at the display of intimacy with Cyclops, as casual as if she hadn’t just been in his own arms.

Rogue had awakened while he was still silently brooding, sitting up in surprise and then relaxing when she saw his familiar silhouette. It wasn’t the first time he’d found solace in her room while she was sleeping.

“Whatcha doin’?” she’d asked in a hushed tone, and he’d shrugged, not answering for long moments.

“Thinkin’ ‘bout things I can’t have,” he’d finally drawled, and he could just make out her frown in the dim light.

“Well, that’s no fun,” she’d murmured.

He’d shrugged. “Used to it.”

“That,” she’d said decisively, “is very, very sad.” He’d just shrugged again and she’d shifted, holding one hand out to him. “C’mere.”

“What for?” he’d asked with a little suspicion.

“You need to think about somethin’ different.”

His eyebrows had arched with mock surprise and he’d joked, “Whadja have in mind, darlin’?”

Mild disapproval had shown on her face and she’d motioned with her still-outstretched hand for him to get up and come there. “Nothin’ more than the usual.”

“The usual” was their post-trauma ritual. When she had a fight with Remy or he’d had a bad day, they somehow always managed to end up comforting each other. He would run his fingers through her hair or squeeze the tension out of her shoulders, or she would stroke his temples to soothe a headache or massage his hands, rubbing between the knuckles to chase away the stubborn ghost of an ache where the claws came out.

Somehow, the simple touches were usually exactly what they needed to relax enough to sort things out. He’d been reluctant that night, wondering if he wouldn’t rather wallow, but she’d been insistent. He’d ended up lying awake for hours, holding her as she breathed after her gloved hands had stilled in his hair and she’d drifted into sleep.

He remembered how even the warmth of her body against his, the staggering trust evident in the fact that she felt safe sleeping on his chest, had brought him more comfort that night than the entire bottle of whiskey.

It was a strangely calming thought, this realization that her company felt, in some odd way, peaceful. He felt settled with her, as if the whole world had sort of paused, waiting for him to step in and take charge... and he was capable.

The revelation rocked him back on his heels and he started looking at the situation from an entirely different angle. Up until now, his subconscious thought had been that she would stand the most to gain, emotionally, from allowing their relationship to turn romantic. He had never considered the possibility that it might be one of the best things to ever happen to him, but when he thought about it now, he could see it clearly. How she trusted him, how she respected him even when they disagreed, the way she was confident in who he was and what he was capable of without having any illusions about him.

He almost laughed, the irony hitting him with all the subtlety of a two-by-four. In some respects, they were already in love. The emotional intimacy they shared was, by far, the most honest and vulnerable in his life. The only thing missing was the physical... and that was the thought that was taking some getting used to.

He decided then that he would spend that night in a hotel in whatever town he happened to be in when he got tired of driving. He would call Rogue from the in-room phone and ask her, specifically, where she was going. He’d made up his mind about where he stood on the possibilities of a relationship with her, and it was time to work them out, face to face. Their friendship was built on honesty and it only made sense that it would move forward on the same.

Whatever remaining conundrums they had to work out they could tackle together. They had time.