Strong Poison

I wouldn't be here if it weren't for him.

That's the first thing you need to know. It's the literal truth. Logan saved my life, more than once, and that's all there is to say about that.

Of course I adored him.

The first time he left me, it was with a promise to come back and a token to hold onto. And I never doubted him, not for a second. When I told him that I didn't want him to go, all the things I couldn't put into words were wrapped up in that one short sentence. I thought he understood them, though, because he gave me that dogtag to hold, and even then I knew that it was the one single thing he had from his past. It meant something to him. I held onto that too. It was another truth.

Then he came back, and the world just went to hell. Nothing ever feels safe again, not after you've woken up to soldiers with guns breaking down your doors, wanting to drag you away to secret prisons. But Logan saved my life that time too, mine and Bobby's and John's, getting us out of there. But it was different. I saw in his eyes that he'd have stayed right there, faced down that whole army just for the chance to find out more from that man who'd called his name. But I still believed in what he'd said, and I used that against him, calling him away.

He didn't want to go. I felt a cold knot of a different kind of fear in my stomach as soon as I saw him turn away, so reluctantly, from that wall of ice that was standing between him and the answers he wanted. But I told him we wouldn't make it without him. So he came.

He didn't look at me as we drove away. He had his eyes fixed on the road, his jaw set, and I felt sick with what I'd done. I could feel the chain of his tag still wrapped around my wrist, and instead of comforting it just felt hard and heavy against my skin. I wished he'd look at me, even for a second, just give me one glance and maybe half a smile to tell me we were going to be okay. But he didn't, and it was partly just to make him acknowledge that I was there that I unwrapped the tag from my wrist and held it out to him. This is yours, I said.

I was trying to call him back, I know that now. I really thought he'd smile at that, the way he had when he'd given it to me, tell me I should hold onto it. But he just took it, looked down at it for a second, and then put it away. I just stared straight ahead through that whole long night as we drove toward Boston, with John playing lousy music on the radio until Logan finally turned it off somewhere in the middle of Massachusetts. My hands felt bare and cold and I couldn't do anything except sit there twisting them in my lap to remind myself that I didn't have gloves on and I had to be careful. And the thing is, it was all a lie.

We could have run on our own. Bobby knew the way through the tunnels. I don't know what we'd have done, but even if we'd run the exact same way, gone straight to Bobby's parents' house just like we did, I don't think things would have happened the same way. I don't think Bobby would have told his parents about being a mutant, about all of us, and his brother wouldn't have given us away out of hate or prejudice or jealousy or whatever it was.

It was Logan being there that gave him the strength to do that. Bobby always says it's a good thing. Better to know who you can count on and who you can't, he says, and he does talk to his parents now, once in a while. But he's never been quite the same since that awful weekend, and I know why.

Those are people who are just supposed to love you, no matter what, and finding out that that isn't true isn't something you ever really get over. How can you ever make sense of the world, after that?

I can barely remember the next couple of days. Everything happened so fast, and suddenly we were mixed up with the two people I hated the most in the whole world, having to work alongside them just to survive. I wish I could forgive John, even now, for walking away from us and going with them. I might have been able to forgive Erik Lensherr for trying to use me in that machine-some people are just obsessed, and they think whatever they have to do is justified somehow. I almost believed he was sorry, that night on the Statue. But in the plane, when he and that bitch Mystique made fun of me, I knew it wasn't like that. He just didn't give a damn about anything any more, and I was just something he could use to spew that hatred across the whole world, spraying poison over all of it. All of us.

Sometimes I think I know how that feels.

Logan was better than that, better than them. There was something he wanted, something he'd been looking for for fifteen years, and he gave that up to stay with us and fight the good fight. But it wasn't what I thought it was. That night we camped in the woods, I saw something I knew I wasn't supposed to see. I couldn't sleep, and I opened my tent and looked out, hoping someone else was awake. And I saw Jean going into Logan's tent.

I never told anybody that. I just lay back down and stared at the roof of the tent until the sun finally came up and I heard people moving outside, hoping against hope that there was some other explanation, some excuse or reason why she needed to see him.

But I know there wasn't. I saw Logan's face when Jean gave up her life for us, getting the plane off the ground and holding back the water, and it told me everything I needed to know. Everything he'd given up-the reasons for it washed away in that flood of water, and nothing I could say was ever going to call him back again.

I didn't try.

Logan stayed at the Mansion for a while after that. I saw him, once in a while, usually with the Professor or Scott, and there was never anything soft about his expression any more. If he noticed me, I might get a nod or a muttered greeting, but that was worse than if he hadn't seen me at all. So mostly I made sure he didn't see me.

I did notice he didn't wear his tag any more, but it wasn't for a long time after that that I found out why. I was reading in the library and some of the younger kids were talking, outside the window, and I heard this little boy, one of the kids who'd been rescued at Alkali Lake, telling his friends about his big adventure. He said Logan was carrying him to the plane when he'd seen Stryker chained up and left to die by Erik and Mystique. He said Logan had taken off his tag and thrown it at him before he left him to die too.

I guess it didn't mean that much to him after all. But I'm sure he was sorry for that afterwards, when what he'd thrown away that chance for was gone too.

The thing I really didn't understand was the change in the way Logan and Scott Summers were together. From the moment they'd met, they'd just hated each other. I guess it was different, after Jean died. They couldn't both have had her, but they'd both lost her, even if Scott didn't know the truth about when exactly that had happened for him. But after we got back, they were, well, if not exactly best friends, certainly friendly.

And eventually Logan left, for a while. He didn't tell me; there was just one day that I walked down the corridor and saw that the door to his room was open and it was empty, like no one had lived there in years. And that was it. I knew that whatever it was that made him promise to come back didn't matter to him any more, and I didn't really expect to see him again.

But he did come back, maybe six months later, just as unexpectedly. I came downstairs one day and there he was, having coffee with Storm in the kitchen, just as though he'd never been gone. He actually did smile at me when he saw me that time, but I made myself smile back and just keep walking.

By then I was on the team, so I saw him more often. He seemed to have decided that it wasn't such a bad gig, wearing the leather and trying to save the world. I think everyone sort of expected me to fall all over him, go back to being his little pet project, but there was nothing he'd have hated more than for me to ever try to use whatever protective impulse he'd once had toward a scared little girl to attract his attention, ever again.

I was glad he was back, but I hated myself for feeling that way. I tried to forget all those things there had once been between us, the promises he'd made me. They didn't count any more-he'd more than made good on all of them, and they were gone.

I couldn't forget him, not ever. I used to have nightmares the way he did, after I touched him when he stabbed me. He never knew that, and I'd have died before I told him. But somewhere in the time he'd been gone, the nightmares had changed into other dreams, dreams where I saw him again the way I had the very first time, a shirtless brawler in a cage. But in my dream he'd turn around and see me, he'd see me standing there and start towards me.

And I'd wake up, sweating and gasping for breath, and lie awake for the rest of the night hating my traitorous subconscious for keeping that alive.

We weren't supposed to be together on this last assignment. Logan was supposed to go with Scott to meet these people who claimed they had some information about a government project that involved mutant training. The new administration hadn't been very forthcoming with the Professor, and all those old insecurities were stirred up, so when a contact came in they had agreed to meet with these potential moles in Chicago.

And then Scott got called away at the last minute, something he couldn't get out of without raising suspicion. He was the new face of the Good Mutants, an almost-normal, good-looking and well-spoken man who could testify in front of Congress and keep his temper if people lobbed insulting questions. Ororo had classes to teach, everyone was busy. So it was me they asked to go, and I couldn't say no without an explanation I didn't want to give.

So we went. We drove, since Logan was not ever going to be able to fly commercial, not with that amount of metal in his body. And we did it in one day, nearly sixteen hours of all-but-silent driving, because there really wasn't anything to talk about once we'd gone over the assignment.

When we got to Chicago, I was as exhausted as I've ever been in my life. That's the only reason I can give for not turning around and walking out when the hotel told us that no, the reservation hadn't been changed, and we were still booked for one room. And no, they were sorry, but there were three conventions in town, and they were totally booked, and so was every other downtown hotel.

So screw it. It was a big room, two king-sized beds, and we were only going to be there one night, just long enough to meet up with the contact and then back to that interminable drive home. So even though Logan said we could go, get further out of town, we'd be sure to find something, I said no. I was tired and I just wanted to get some sleep.

That was my first mistake.

We got up to the room, and I dumped my stuff on one of the beds and went to take a shower. When I got out, Logan was sitting in one of the chairs with an open bottle of Jack Daniels in front of him, on the coffee table. I took one look, turned around and went back into the bathroom to get a glass for myself.

Second mistake.

I don't drink much. Technically I can't drink at all; not legal yet. But along with the nightmares and the stupid crush, something else Logan left me with was a taste for liquor, and every once in a while it would get the better of me. I should have just had that taste and gone to sleep, and if I had I probably wouldn't be here telling this story.

The thing about drinking is that the first thing that goes is your desire to stop. It makes you feel good at first, and I liked that and didn't want to let it go. I was too tired to notice how much I was actually drinking. Logan noticed. A couple of times, he said we'd probably had enough, but I didn't feel so tired any more, and I disagreed.

And the next thing that happens is you get sociable. We started to talk. That was most of the reason for what happened right there. We started to talk and the incredible rush of just being able to say things, to have him listen and to joke with me, all that uncomfortable silence suddenly a distant memory-it went to my head more than the alcohol.

I should have stopped then. But I didn't, I had one more drink. The next thing that goes is your inhibitions. And healing factor aside, he was putting away at least twice as much as me-I think by this point we'd finished the bottle and were on to the minibar. So when I got up, fairly shakily, to get another drink and he reached out to steady me, it was really easy to slide into his lap, and I guess it was just as easy for him to let me stay there.

I can't even think about what I said to him that night without feeling sick all over again. I told him about the dreams, not the nightmares but the dreams, and how I'd never stopped thinking about him. He tried once more to tell me I should just go to sleep. He was looking at me in a new way, nothing I'd ever seen before, but he didn't look remote and strange any more, it was like we were back in Canada with me sassing him and him being amused and little charmed by it. It was the familiarity that was so intoxicating, that made me cross the line. I was giddy with it. So I stayed where I was, and hand another little bottle of something or other, and then I said it.

I really want you to fuck me.

You're drunk, kid, he told me, and I laughed and said I'm not a kid, Logan.

His eyes changed again when I said that. Guess not, he said. Then he finished the rest of his drink and said Okay. If that's what you want.

It wasn't like I'd dreamed it. It was awkward, what with the problems with my skin and the fact that I didn't have the faintest idea what I was doing. He did it all, really. He got me onto the bed and pulled my pajama pants and underwear down, partway. He had condoms, and he didn't really undress. He couldn't kiss me, and I don't know whether he even realized it was my first time. I think I already knew what a mistake it was, even while we were doing it, but somehow I still didn't care. I had my gloves on, and while he was inside me, thrusting against me, I could run my hands over his shoulders and his chest, and I'd wanted to do that for so long. When he got close his head dropped down and I felt his mouth against my breast, and I held him there as he came, groaning out something that might have been my name but might have been anything, really. And I didn't care. It was enough.

And then it was over. He was gentle, then, and he pulled my clothes back into place and tried to stroke me there, but between the exhaustion and the whiskey and the excitement I was practically passed out already. I shook my head and told him it was all right, I was fine, and finally he just wrapped me up in the blankets. I remember feeling him brushing my hair back from my face, and I think he kissed my cheek, just lightly.

I woke up to a splitting headache and an empty room.

I made it to the bathroom and soaked my head with cold water, which woke me up enough to dig my cell phone out of my bag and call him. He answered on the first ring, and because we were on an assignment, the call was recorded, so I could look it up later. I didn't have to-I remembered every word-but I got Scott to erase it. Having it in the records was more than I could take.

“Logan? Where the hell are you?”

“I'm on my way to the meeting. The time got moved up.” He sounded tired. “Tried to wake you up, but you were flat out.”

“Goddamnit, I'm supposed to be with you.”

“Well, I couldn't exactly wait for you to sleep it off.” I heard a train in the background. “Don't worry about it. I'll tell Summers it was my fault.”

It made me absolutely furious. “I don't need you to make excuses for me. Now get back here. I'll be dressed in five minutes.”

“I'm almost there. It doesn't matter, all right? It's just an exchange of information, no big deal. Just get some more sleep and I'll see you in a couple of hours.”

“No. This is not the way it's supposed to happen.”

He sighed. “Look, kid-“

“Is that it? You don't want me there because I'm just a kid?” I remember standing there, in the middle of that hotel room, not seeing a thing because I was so blindingly angry. “Because I thought we already covered that.”

There was a long pause, so long I almost thought he'd hung up. Then he said it. “Last night was a mistake, Marie. I'm sorry. I know that wasn't what you really wanted.”

“Don't you tell me what I want.” But already I was shaking and I could feel the tears pooling up in my eyes. “Now get back here.”

“Too late-I'm at the site and they're here.” There was another pause. “I've got to go. Just-I didn't mean for that to happen, okay? I didn't plan on that. You understand?”

“No. I don't understand a goddamn thing.” But I did. I understood it perfectly. I'd let myself get drunk just so I could bring myself to ask for something I wanted so much-and it meant nothing to him, beyond vague guilt at taking advantage of the poor drunk kid with the crush. It was nothing, less than nothing, just one more thing he'd taken from me just to throw it away.

“They're waiting.” He was about to say something else, I heard him take a breath, but then I heard the car door open. “Sorry.” And the line went dead.

I didn't even make it back to the bed. I just collapsed to the floor, my chest already heaving with the kind of sobs that are too deep for tears to flow. I lay there until I couldn't cry any more, and then I crawled into the bathroom and huddled on the floor next to the toilet, leaning my face against the cold porcelain and wishing I could just throw up, vomit it all out and never feel it again. I wanted to leave, to just get out of there before he came back and found me like that, but I couldn't even bring myself to move.

I was still sitting there when my cell phone rang. By that time I'd pulled myself together, at least a little bit, but I still didn't move to answer it. And I didn't answer the second time it rang either, or the third.

Then the room phone rang instead, and this time I did get up and stumble back into the other room. When I picked up the receiver-

Scott. Absolutely frantic. Where was I, where was Logan, what was going on and why hadn't I been answering? I didn't understand. I started to make an excuse about why I was still in the room, and then he interrupted me and told me.

It had been a setup, the meeting. They'd opened fire as soon as they were off the street, probably just a minute or two after Logan had ended the call. Scott said they'd still expected him, not me, so they probably weren't looking for me, but that I needed to stay where I was until he and Ororo could come and get me.

I could barely get the words out. What about Logan? But I knew. I knew just from the silence before he answered.

We don't know. But we haven't heard from him, and the building they went into was destroyed-they set a bomb. We'll do everything we can, Rogue, to find out what happened, but you have to stay where you are.

I stayed where I was. There wasn't anything else to do. After Scott got me to promise that and finally hung up, I checked my cell phone, but all the calls I'd heard were from the Mansion's number.

And I still don't know anything more than that. As I said, this government crowd isn't terribly forthcoming. Whatever they found, when they completed their so-called investigation of the 'industrial accident”, as the official determination would have it-they're not talking. That was all I ever knew. All I guess I'll ever know.

The worst part is that everyone is treating me like I have some special right to grieve. Scott, particularly, keeps asking me if I want to talk. I'll never be that drunk, I can tell you that right now. It's ironic, really: both of us, grieving the loss of something we didn't really have. Difference is, I know it and he doesn't.

But I would never tell him that. I just tell him that I know he understands, and that seems to satisfy him, and eventually people will stop walking carefully around me and they won't end conversations just because I come into the room and they'll forget.

I don't think I will. I don't have the dreams anymore, though. I think it's because that last conversation took away the last shreds of my make-believe world, where Logan might one day look up and actually see me. Want me.

He wanted something, that night. He wasn't as drunk as all that-I'm not sure he could be drunk enough to really not know what he was doing. I know he wanted something. I also know it wasn't me.

I was just a mistake.

But this is how pathetic I really am. I pretend, sometimes, that he's still out there somewhere, just gone away for a while again. Sometimes I even really believe it. I mean, it's Logan we're talking about, the Wolverine. In a way, it's harder to believe that they could take him down than to believe that he somehow escaped. Somewhere inside, I still hold onto that flicker of almost-hope and sometimes I fan it into flame, late at night when I can't sleep. I remember him, and I pretend.

The rest of the time, I'm Rogue. Untouchable. X-Man. Dangerous. I'll kick ass, fly planes and take no prisoners. It's just at night, when I'm alone, the Marie in me comes out. I don't want him to be dead. It doesn't matter any more, what he said, what we did, that it would never have happened again or meant anything real. Even if I can't have him, I want to live in a world he's in, somewhere. Because if it weren't for him, I wouldn't be here.

Maybe that's why, without him, I feel like I'm not really here.

Have His Carcase

I was Rogue. Untouchable. All that.

Marie was someone else, someone I didn't like and didn't want to know. She was weak, she cried, she wanted things she couldn't have. She held onto hopes and expectations and unrealistic dreams that I didn't share. She felt things and she wanted me to feel them too.

Most of all, she wanted Logan back. She wasn't reasonable on the subject. It didn't matter how often or how firmly I explained it to her--he was gone, that was all there was to it, and it was time to quit pretending and get on with life, she wouldn't listen. She didn't care what he'd done, that he never really wanted her, that everything she felt was just made up in her own head. She'd be satisfied just to know he was there, and she'd have been happy to go back to mooning around after him, living for glimpses of him as he walked past her and into some other room in the Mansion.

Pathetic whiny little bitch.

I didn't put up with much of it. I told her over and over. The son-of-a-bitch fucked you and told you it was a mistake. And she would look sad and shut up, for a while. Then at least I could get on with my life, even if hers had come to a screeching halt. And so it would go, feeling almost schizophrenic in its intensity sometimes. I've had to learn to live with other people's voices in my head, obviously, but this was a little different.

I mean, is it normal to argue with yourself all the time?

Is it normal to lose?

Because she could always beat me in the end, stupid powerless little thing though she was. She'd turn the puppy-dog eyes on and tell me You want him back too. And she had me there, the sloppy sentimental little brat.

I never wanted him to be dead. Never. Even if it was just so I could scream at him, so I could be the one to walk away for once and let him know how little it all meant to me too. Even if it was just that no matter how you looked at it, it wouldn't have happened if Scott had been there like he was supposed to be, if there'd been backup, if I'd just done my fucking job.

Once, when I just couldn't take it any more, I used that. Shut the fuck up, I told her. You got no right to whine about it. Whose fault is it that he's not here to tell you this himself?

I felt her cry out, and I wanted to take it back. Because it wasn't her fault, it was mine. Rogue is the X-Man, not Marie. She was supposed to stay safe at the hotel room while we took care of the bad guys. She didn't do anything wrong.

I could have gotten rid of her that night if I hadn't turned into a weakling. She'd have shriveled up and blown away in the heat of that guilt, and I'd have been better off without her. Turns out I'm weak in some ways too.

Anyone would have thought I'd gone nuts, the night I had that conversation. I wound up in the corner of my room, my arms wrapped around myself, stroking my own face over and over like it belonged to someone else. I didn't mean that. It wasn't you, it was me. It's my fault. Don't think about it. You're the one he promised to protect, remember?

She was silent for so long I thought she was gone. Finally I heard her voice, very weak. Rogue?

Yeah.

I don't want to die.

I didn't let her. No matter what it cost me after that, no matter how much whining I had to listen to. The responsibility for that helpless little girl had gotten transferred, somehow, and I was the only one left to take care of her.

She was nicer than me, anyway.

It took two years before she did anything more than cry at night. Two years of hard work and ugly fights and seeing the world the way it really was, as we all tried to convince an unwilling public that mutants actually had the right to live and breathe. Two years of living with the excuses and cover-up of the attack on one of our own, one more martyr to the Great Cause. Whatever the hell that was.

Then Scott Summers had had enough. He knew damn well that the training facilities we were supposed to be finding out about in Chicago existed, and he was sick of smiling through gritted teeth and making nice with the enemy. He planned a stealth mission and I was all too eager to be a part of it. The idea was pinpoint targeting, no loss of life if we could help it, no overt attack, just extract the detainees and get out. They'd be hoist on their own petard, because they couldn't demand back prisoners they claimed didn't exist. And trust me, before Scott let the mission go forward he knew more about that damn facility than the designers. He knew the layout of every floor, the alarm system, the manpower they had on site and every weapon they stocked. He knew their schedule down to the bathroom breaks and he knew the names and faces of every person in the place, from the janitors on up. He knew there were eighteen prisoners.

He was wrong about exactly one thing. There were nineteen.

You believe the government is hiding UFOs? You believe oil companies are keeping cold fission under wraps? You believe Lee Harvey Oswald was set up by the FBI?

You're amateurs in conspiracy paranoia. I could've believed any of that before I believed this.

I wasn't on the inside. Storm and I were the pilots and in charge of communication; her powers could act at a distance, anyway, and I was more useful as a pilot. We brought two planes, the Blackbird and our new, smaller stealth craft; she would take off first with the ones we got out and I would wait for the X-Men. She provided distraction in the form of an unexpected and unseasonable near-hurricane, and I monitored the commlinks while the rest of the team infiltrated the facility. Scott and Bobby were most of the firepower-you wouldn't believe how much confusion frozen pipes and the odd unexplained electrical fire will make. The Beast was both brains and muscle, cracking the entry codes and taking out the intervening gates, making it look like the wind had taken them off their hinges, and Shadowcat was like the pawn on the chessboard--seemingly weak in and of herself, but able to slip through defenses that had never been designed to work on the atomic level. While the boys and Storm were keeping everyone distracted up above, she simply sank through six layers of reinforced concrete and steel and brought the prisoners out one at a time. So simple. Kitty brought them out and I watched from above as they were loaded into the Blackbird, Storm took off and then I landed while Kitty went back in to extract the team.

It took too long. It took so long that I was sure something was seriously wrong, that I was seconds from breaking radio silence and demanding to know what was going on. Then I saw a flash of red and part of the containment wall in front of me just vanished.

I ducked away from the glare for a second. I knew something must have gone terribly wrong for Scott to be wiping out walls; this whole mission was planned around stealth. When my eyes had cleared, I looked back out and it took everything I had to hold Marie in check.

They had Logan.

He was between Hank and Scott, an arm over both their shoulders as they half-dragged him between them, Kitty stumbling along in their wake. I put my hands on the controls and held on with all my might because otherwise Marie would have taken over, forced me to run out of the cockpit and meet them. She was incoherent.

Calm down, I told her. I have to stay here. Have to get us home.

Radio silence was pretty futile by then, but there wasn't much point in asking questions. I heard the bay doors closing and automatically my hands moved over the controls, initiating liftoff. As the plane banked up and into the air I heard the cockpit door slide open behind me, and then Scott was there, putting his hands on my shoulders.

“Rogue? Do you need me to take over?” His voice was full of concern.

I didn't trust mine, and when I spoke it didn't even sound like me. “Is he all right?”

“Don't worry. He's going to be fine.” Scott's hands squeezed my shoulders reassuringly. “You're doing great. Just tell me if you want me to take the wheel.”

No. I had to rub the back of my hand under my nose, across my eyes, but if I let go of those controls-- “Just tell me what happened.”

“He was there the whole time.” Tight, controlled, but furious. “I can't even imagine what it took for them to keep this quiet. Kitty couldn't bring him out alone--the adamantium is too dense for her to phase. So we changed the plan.”

I choked on a hysterical giggle. “Threw it out, you mean.”

“Yeah, well. Doesn't matter. After this…at least we won't have to pretend any more.” Scott sounded relieved, and I knew making nice with these people had been harder on him than any of us. “You're sure you're okay to fly?”

I sounded more like myself now. “Like I'm going to let you wreck the landing gear again? I'm fine.” He chuckled a little and patted my shoulder one last time.

“Okay. I'm going back down there. Just get us home.”

As soon as he left, she started in.

I want to see him.

You saw him. You heard Scott. He's all right.

I have to see him. I have to know for sure.

And I have to fly the goddamn plane. Shut up. You got what you wanted, all right? You saw him. I knew that wasn't all she wanted. She wanted to call Scott back, hand over the controls so she could go down there and throw herself at him, hold onto him, and somehow I knew that neither Logan nor I could take that right now. Just take it easy. You waited two years, you can wait another hour.

She quieted down at that. She was going to be a good girl, show that she was willing to wait for the reward to all her hope and faith. I let her have that for the trip home, because it kept her contained, hid my fear and the sick feeling in my stomach from her, because even then I knew she was going to be disappointed. I wanted her to have that optimism for as long as she could.

I knew better.

I broke all records for speed getting us home, and I could see our other doctor, Moira, waiting with a gurney and all kinds of medical equipment at one side of the landing bay as I brought the plane in. As I began shutting down the plane I could see them all, Logan practically hidden behind that mound of blue fur, but walking under his own power now, and even I felt a rush of amused relief as I saw him wave off the others, clearly refusing to be wheeled into the infirmary. He had a blanket around his shoulders and he held onto Hank, but he was by damn going to walk in on his own. Stubborn bastard.

I made myself finish everything, complete the shutdown. Then I sat still for a long moment in the darkened cockpit. I didn't even know what was me and what was her any more; everything was so churned up in my mind. Making that part of myself be someone else was the only way I'd stayed sane this long, and now I couldn't keep the barriers from crumbling. Marie was demanding to come out.

I left the plane and started toward the medbay, only just keeping from running. Just as I got to the doors, Moira came out, and she looked nervous. In that second, I felt Marie shudder and withdraw. She didn't want to hear what Moira was about to say.

I didn't want her to hear it either, but then I already knew what it was. So I said it first. “He doesn't want to see me.”

Moira looked surprised, just for an instant, but she covered it quickly. “He doesn't want to see anyone yet, Rogue. It doesn't mean--he just needs to be alone for a little bit, I think. He's still pretty out of it.”

I nodded. “Sure. I understand.” She looked so relieved; I could tell she'd been expecting a fight.

“I'm sure, tomorrow--he just needs to rest before--“ She came forward and put a hand on my arm. “Just give it some time.” I didn't say anything, and after a second she gave me a quick smile and went back inside.

I leaned back against the wall and waited. I was waiting for the tearful questions, for more demands, for denial. I didn't get any of that. I expected to feel that bright light inside me flicker out for the last time, now that it was finally over, the hope that somehow there was another interpretation to put on that final conversation between us. Somehow I'd always held onto the hope that if only there had been time, he'd have said something else, something that would make it all right. That it was just that he'd wished it had happened a different way, not that he wished it hadn't happened at all.

I couldn't believe that any more. I couldn't even pretend I believed that any more. I just wouldn't have believed that it could still hurt this much after all this time, losing that. Losing hope. Losing her.

But she wasn't gone. I thought she was too weak to handle the truth. Instead, it was shattering me, and she was holding me together.

It's all right. He's all right. It's enough.

I stood there, just breathing in and out. I felt her touch like a gentle breath against my cheek.

It doesn't change that I loved him. He can't change that. It doesn't make it any less real, what I felt. That's mine, no matter what. And he's alive. He's alive.

Quiet joy, cutting through pain. We weren't two people, Marie and I. For so long I'd ridiculed my own feelings, dismissing them as just a crush, just a hopeless schoolgirl passion for a hero that didn't really exist. I wanted to think that so no one else could think it before me. But it wasn't true. It wasn't some idealized notion of Logan that I loved. It was him, rough edges and all.

He didn't feel that. Probably wanted nothing less. It had been easy to make promises to a little girl, to someone who looked at him like he was perfect, made no demands and didn't ask questions. Once I changed, once I grew up--he didn't know what to do with that, when it wasn't so simple after all. Maybe it was something he just couldn't feel, I don't know.

And right then I knew how it would have to be. He did want something that drunken night, maybe even something he saw glimpses of in me, something that normal people take for granted. It isn't his fault that it all went so wrong afterwards. He's had so much of his life torn away from him, and no matter how fast you heal, I think there are some wounds that just never close. Logan can't be what I wanted him to be, and I love him enough not to ask him to try.

So I didn't try to see him during the week he spent in the infirmary, or even when he moved back upstairs. I waited until he came downstairs on his own one day, walked into the room where I was working and stood there until I put down my pen and looked up.

He looked wary, guarded, and I wondered briefly what he saw. I was different now, older of course, shorter hair, muscles and sinew replacing baby fat. I didn't get up from the desk, but I smiled. “Hey. You look good.” He did. Thinner, a little pale still, but almost normal.

“You too.” He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Sorry I haven't seen you.”

“I figured you'd want some time to recover. Before you faced the welcoming committee.” I got up then, came over to him and gave him a quick hug, awkward and almost impersonal. “Good to have you back.”

I felt his arms go around me, just for a second, before I pulled away. I had to, because no matter how many times I'd rehearsed this in my head, it was different with him there. It was making the blood in my veins ache with wanting to hold onto him so tightly he wouldn't be able to let go. But if I'd ever had a doubt, it was erased by the look on his face when I pulled back.

It was relief. He kept a hand on my shoulder, and said what I guess he still had to say. “Look, kid--what happened that night--“

Kid. Oh, that said it more clearly than any amount of other words. I knew what it meant. He needed it to be that simple again, needed for it not to have made a difference, what happened. It meant I could still be near him, as long as I didn't make him acknowledge the truth again.

I'm not a kid, Logan.

So I took a breath and I made it all right. “It doesn't matter, Logan. It was stupid, we were both drunk, and it was a long time ago. I'm just glad you're okay.” I made myself look up at him, meet his gaze, because otherwise he wouldn't have believed me.

For a second I didn't think he would anyway. He searched my face for what felt like an hour before he relaxed, and he tightened his grip on my shoulder for a second before he let go. “Okay. Good.” He smiled a little, and suddenly he reached out and pulled me against him in a real embrace, a little rough but no longer awkward, and so familiar, the kind of hug he'd have given me to make me feel better way back when he first knew me. “I'll see you around,” he said against my head, and then he let me go and he was gone.

So that's the deal now, between me and Logan. We're easy around each other, teasing sometimes, I flirt with Remy or Bobby under his nose and he pretends to threaten their lives. He ruffles my hair when he leaves the room and sometimes throws his arm around me carelessly. I get his jacket if we go for a walk and it gets cold and he gets a sparring partner for when Scott's busy. This is all I can give him, I get that now. All he has to give. And it's all right. I can be what he needs me to be.

It's better this way. I think maybe he would try, if I made him, to face the fact that I'm not really that little girl any more. I think he'd try to feel what he knows I wanted him to feel. I was wrong--that promise he made still meant something to him after all. It's just that he made it to the little girl.

And if that's all I can be to him--that's enough. I tried for more once, and we almost lost this. He needs this, simple and uncomplicated as that. I can do that, because I'm not a little girl any more. There are things you have to give up to grow up. Fairy tales, and Santa Claus, and sitting in the back seat while someone else drives. What you get in return isn't as pretty, but it's real.

This is worth it, even if it's not what I used to want. Because it's real.

Gaudy Night

There's nothing more complicated than simplicity.

It all made perfect sense to me, and Logan sure wasn't asking any questions. The rest of the Mansion-that was another story.

None of them knew what had happened between me and Logan. They just assumed we'd pick up where we left off-and it wasn't like people hadn't been wondering before it all happened where exactly that was. I guess they'd expected a teary reunion, but if any of them were surprised at not getting one, they didn't say anything. Maybe they just figured we'd gotten that over with in private. I think at that point everyone was just so elated at the miracle that they didn't think too much about anything.

For a while, anyway.

It was heaven at first. I don't think you can understand, unless it's happened to you. I was raised to be religious, Bible class every Sunday. This my son was dead, and is alive again; he was lost, and is found. I didn't care about anything else. It was like it was before, when just being near him was enough to make me feel safe and happy.

But before long things started to fall apart.

Bobby was the first one to snap. He and I had given up on our little teen relationship after Boston, after he tried to kiss me and got the ice scared out of him. I guess it reminded him a little too fiercely of past indiscretions, flirting with him. At first he played along. He even said, more than once, how nice it was to see me looking cheerful again. But then finally he pulled me aside after a meeting and asked me to cut it out.

“Christ, Bobby, it doesn't mean anything.” I wasn't totally oblivious; I felt bad. “I'm sorry.”

“I know. Look, Rogue, I'm happy for you. Just-I can't do this again, all right?”

“Do what?” Tough-girl Rogue made a reappearance at that. “You broke up with me, remember?”

Bobby wasn't a kid any more, either. He wasn't about to fall for that. He didn't get mad. He just looked down for a second and then gave me a crooked smile. “Yeah, well, if that's how you remember it. Preemptive strike, if so.” He picked up his clipboard; he was Scott's second-in-command, in charge of the agenda. What a pair. “I just don't think it's a good way to get his attention.”

I turned on my heel and left. I wasn't going to argue with him, and I wasn't going to try and explain it. Bobby had never understood, even back then. He was always trying to prove things to me. He liked me, sure, but tell me any red-blooded teenage boy was going to last for long with a girlfriend who couldn't touch him without freezing the blood in his veins. Even the Ice Man couldn't deal with that. And he was just the first to start asking questions. First people were indulgent. Then they were suspicious. Finally they were impatient.

I started to realize, over the next few weeks, that people were reacting to me the way they were because we'd disappointed their expectations, Logan and I. And slowly that peaceful acceptance I'd felt started to ebb away. I'd told myself it was enough that he was back, that he was safe.

I'd wanted to believe things could go back to the way they'd been. I guess they did, really-I'd just forgotten what it was like. It hadn't really been easy or simple then either.

And finally, what hurt the most was that Logan started to act differently too. I guessed it was inevitable-god knows he wasn't the type to spill his guts to anyone, but even he couldn't go through that kind of hell without some fallout. He started spending more and more time alone, getting moodier all the time, and there wasn't anything I could do about it. That was the deal-keep things simple and I could keep some part of him. Make it difficult and he'd be gone again.

Neither option seemed like it was really working.

The last straw was when Scott tried to step in. I knew he had a better idea of what I'd felt than anyone else and I knew he equated my situation with his own, and I wanted no part of his attempts at mediation. He wanted to talk to me and I wouldn't let him. I didn't want anything to upset the balance I'd set up. Took some doing, I might add, not to let him catch me alone. I spent a lot of time and energy making sure to get to team meetings a little late, and to be the first one out the door afterwards. I didn't leave my room much, unless it was to meet Logan.

What I didn't count on was Logan wanting to talk to him as well. And on the one subject I would have laid my life against his ever, ever bringing up.

Logan told Scott about himself and Jean. I wouldn't have believed it if I hadn't heard it with my own ears.

I was going to meet Logan after a workout. I was nervous anyway, because I knew Scott would be running the simulations, so I was relieved when I got there and saw the control-room door standing open-I thought that meant they were through and Scott had left. Then I heard a voice, emanating from the empty room, and I realized the commlink to the Danger Room below was open. It wasn't even so much what the voice said that stopped me in my tracks. It was that it was Scott's voice, and the dead calm, flat way he spoke was what told me what was going on.

“So you're telling me you slept with her.”

I stood there, frozen with shock and fear. I couldn't believe that Logan would tell him that, give away what I'd kept hidden for so long. And even more than that, Scott was the one person on the team who could really have hurt Logan, and if this was his self-destructive streak coming out-

“Just the one time. It wasn't right, I know that. It was the night before everything happened.” There was a pause. “Maybe I shouldn't be telling you this,” Logan said tiredly, and I just wanted to scream. There was another pause, and then Scott spoke again.

“No. I think I knew, really.” He sounded tired too, almost defeated. “I could see it, in her. I knew.” I felt sick.

“She never said anything?”

“No. She wouldn't have, would she. Not…under the circumstances.” Scott's voice was tight and hard, and it almost broke my heart to hear that. “All right. So what happens now?”

I knew even before Logan answered, what he would say. “Can't stay here. You're the team leader, you can see this isn't working. Just thought you ought to know.”

No. That wasn't the deal. I couldn't listen to anything more. After everything that had happened, after what I'd accepted and what I'd given up, it didn't even matter. I wasn't going to be asked, and what I wanted didn't make a difference. I thought I'd had an understanding with him, but it was only in my head. Again.

I didn't wait around. I knew he'd be expecting me, and when I didn't show up, he'd come find me, that much I was still sure of. I went to my room just long enough to pack enough for a few days and gather all the money I had, and then I borrowed one of the Mansion's cars and left.

What can I tell you? Running away is easy. And I had learned from the best.

I just drove, almost at random, getting off the main roads quickly, as fast and as far as I could before I was too tired to go any further, until I was sure I'd drive off the road if I kept going. I was somewhere in the middle of upstate New York, and I found a cheap motel and crashed for the night.

I was going to do the same thing the next morning, but when I woke up I felt too exhausted to move. It was a pretty fall day, and it was late when I finally dragged myself out of bed. I'd been on winding side roads for so long that I really had no idea where I was, and I figured if I didn't, no one else did either. I ended up staying, going for a long walk in the woods, just wandering in circles for hours until I found a place I wanted to sit and just listen to the silence around me.

I wanted to be alone. I was alone, damn it, but I wanted it to be my choice.

I stayed there for a week. I didn't call anyone, and if I had any thoughts that anyone would come after me I squelched them pretty firmly. I wanted to stay away until I thought I was past the first hurt and shock of it, until I was ready to be someone who could function in public again. It was just a return to what it had been like for two years already, and I made myself face that over and over, tried to make myself numb to it again.

It wasn't working. Not for either of us. Every morning, when I opened my eyes, it was still there. And if I was waiting for some inner voice to feed me the answers, well, that seemed to have dried up at long last. It was just me, myself and I out there, and none of us had any bright ideas on what to do now.

Logan wasn't an idiot, and he wasn't just oblivious. He must have known all along what I'd felt for him, and if that was the way of it, he had his own reasons for not wanting to be with me. Maybe he was even trying to give me that, I don't know. It was just our collective luck, it seemed; we had the worst timing ever.

It was even funny, in a really sick way. Things seemed clearer to me, away from everything. I could see the attraction of just leaving, not having ties to anyone or anything. But he'd tried, I could see that. He'd tried to make sure I was all right, even when that meant staying around a place he didn't want to be.

At least as long as he could.

I didn't want to use credit cards. I knew as soon as I did that, they'd know where I was, and the last thing I wanted was for Storm or Hank or, god forbid, Scott to show up and haul me back home like some juvenile delinquent. And I had to go back eventually. What was I going to do, go back to hitchhiking? So when I couldn't pay cash for any more nights I headed back on my own. It didn't take nearly as long on the return trip; turns out I'd driven in a lot of circles getting there. I made sure it was late when I got back, because I didn't want to see anyone right away. But I still had to know, so I walked down the hallway just to see for myself.

The door to Logan's room was ajar, and I was sure he was gone.

But he wasn't. As I got closer, I could hear him inside, moving around, the sound of a drawer opening and shutting. And then I saw him, saw the knapsack lying on his bed and the way he was pulling things out , throwing them toward the waiting duffel bag, and I knew I was just back a little too early. I'd been feeling so cold and empty, and when the anger came roaring back I welcomed it like an old friend. At least it was something.

Then he stopped.

I didn't even really see him move, but a second later he had hold of my arm. “Where the hell have you been?”

“I didn't feel like watching you leave again. Guess I didn't give you enough time. You must be slowing down.” I put every bit of the fury I was feeling into my words.

His eyes narrowed. “I wasn't going to leave without talking to you.”

“Yeah, right.” I tried to pull my arm free, but he wouldn't let me. “Let go of me.”

“No. What's the matter with you? You can't just disappear on me.” His grip tightened, if anything. “If you want to know, I was about to go after you.”

“So you could leave with a clean conscience? Don't worry about me. I can take care of myself. Just go.”

Logan stared at me for a second, and then he yanked me a couple of steps forward into his room and slammed the door. “All right. You're going to tell me what's going on here.”

“I heard what you said to Scott.” I was so angry I didn't even care if he knew I'd been eavesdropping. And it worked. I saw his expression change to one of shock, and he let go of me. “That was a really shitty thing to do, you know that?”

“I'm sorry,” he muttered. Why in hell he felt the need to apologize to me, I had no idea. “I needed to talk to someone. Thought you and him got along.”

“He didn't need to know that. He should never have known that. You could have talked to me.”

Logan took a step back and rubbed a hand over his face in a weary gesture I'd seen before. “You made it pretty clear you didn't want to talk about it.”

“What? You didn't even know I knew about-“ And then I felt my stomach turn over. Oh, god. The realization hit me all at once. That discussion hadn't been about him and Jean, it was about him and me. And it was too late to call back the words. In the same second that I realized my mistake, I realized what I'd given away.

And he hadn't missed it-no chance. His suspicious look returned. “I didn't even know you knew about what?” I glanced at the door, but he took a step to put himself in between me and it. “No way, Marie. Tell me what the hell is going on here. We're not even talking about the same thing, are we?”

I shook my head mutely; I didn't trust myself to speak. I should have known he wouldn't do that to Scott. I should have known there were some mistakes he'd keep to himself. And he was going to be furious when he realized I knew. Somewhere in the back of my head I felt sick that Scott knew what I'd done, what I'd asked Logan for, but I couldn't even worry about that right now. Then I felt his hands on my shoulders again, gentle this time, and it occurred to me that he hadn't used my real name since he'd been back, not until now.

“Talk to me,” he ordered, but his voice wasn't angry any more. “I need to know what you meant by that. You didn't think I was talking about you?” I shook my head again. “Marie-“

“Why are you calling me that?” I made myself look up at him. His brow knit.

“It's your name.”

“No one uses it.”

“I don't use it in front of other people. You told me. You didn't tell anyone else.”

I didn't want to cry, but I knew I was seconds away. Logan still looked completely confused, and it just didn't seem possible that he didn't understand yet. He was rubbing my shoulders now, trying to get me to relax.

“Look, you're right. I should've talked to you. But now-you gotta tell me what this is about.”

“I know, all right? I know about you and Jean.” Again I braced myself for an explosion that didn't come. He just shook his head, still looking confused.

“What about me and Jean? Darlin'-“

I jerked away from him then as the tears finally did spill over. “Stop it! I saw it, Logan. Don't lie to me. I know about the night before she died. I saw her.”

A sudden understanding came into his eyes then, and my heart sank even further. This was it, I knew-he wouldn't come back after this, knowing that I knew about that night. But he still didn't get angry; he just looked sad. “Jesus, Marie. I'm sorry. I didn't know you saw that.” He shook his head. “Listen. It didn't mean-it was just a kiss, for chrissakes.”

It shook me. I really didn't know what had happened, after all. Maybe-and then I was furious all over again. Because I didn't believe that, and because I wanted to. “And you're right too. I don't want to talk about it.”

“Christ.” He put a hand out towards me and I flinched before I could stop myself; he let it fall back to his side. “Okay. I can see why-but that was all there was to it. It was just a really strange night, you know? I kissed her and she left. It didn't mean anything, Marie.”

“That's what you say.” I dragged a hand over my damp cheeks. “It doesn't matter. Whatever happened, that's between you and Scott now. You deal with it.” I started toward the door, but he didn't move away.

“Wait.” He didn't touch me, but he wouldn't let me by either. “Look, I wish you hadn't seen that. But I swear, there wasn't anything more than that. What you saw-that was the end of it. Nothing else happened. Nothing would've happened. You gotta believe that.” He waited for a second, then sighed. “This is such a fuckin' mess.”

“Don't worry. I won't tell Scott. And I didn't see anything, so I can live without knowing the details.” Maybe that was really all that had happened, maybe not. I'd never know. I started to brush by him, and he caught at my arm again.

“Hold it.” God, it was hard to be this close to him. “You just said you saw us. What is this, some kind of game? That was all there was to it.”

“I don't have x-ray vision, Logan.” I managed to channel some of that anger into my voice, staving off more tears. And then his hand gripped my arm so hard it was painful.

“What did you see? You tell me, straight out. Right now.”

“Stop it! That hurts.” He eased his grip just a little, but he didn't let go. “I saw her going into your tent, all right?”

He let me go so quickly I stumbled back against the wall, and his face went absolutely white. He didn't say anything; he just turned away and walked over to the bed to sit down. I wanted to leave, but my legs were trembling. Finally he looked up at me.

“You should've told me.” He sounded exhausted. “You've been thinking that, all this time?”

“It doesn't matter.” My anger had vanished at his reaction, and I felt shaky. Empty.

“Yeah, it does. Listen. That night-I did kiss Jean. But we were outside, over by the plane. What you saw-“ He held out a hand to me and without meaning to, I came the few steps across the room to him and took it. “That wasn't Jeannie you saw, baby.”

It took a second.

Mystique. The shape-shifter. I couldn't even breathe when it finally hit me. I'd seen her turn herself into Logan, seen her shimmer from one form into another, I knew how much she liked playing mind-games, and it had never even occurred to me. The room spun around me as it sank in, and the only thing I was really aware of was Logan's hand, warm on mine.

“You get it now?”

I nodded. He tugged on my hand and I let him draw me towards him. I felt his hands at my waist, holding me there, and I reached up to touch his cheek. “I'm sorry. I should've talked to you.”

He smiled a little. “Yeah.” He held me there a second longer and then let his hands fall away again. “You were right about one thing. I was thinking of taking off, for a while anyway.”

I swallowed hard. “Sure. I understand.” I didn't have any right to object, that was for sure. There didn't seem to be any possible thing about this I hadn't screwed up.

“Come on. Sit down for a minute. I want to explain something.” He patted a spot beside him and I sank down onto the bed. “What I was telling Summers-how much of that did you hear?”

“I don't know.” I felt like I didn't know anything any more. “Just tell me.”

It took him a minute; he seemed to be searching for a way to start. “What happened that night-you said you didn't want to talk about it.”

Yeah. That night. But I did want to talk about it, I always had. Whatever happened, things needed to be set straight, even if it hurt to hear it. Slowly I reached up and put a hand on his arm. “It's all right, Logan. Just…please don't say it was a mistake again.”

“Goddamnit.” His mouth was a thin line. “I knew you took that the wrong way. I didn't mean-it was just my fault, that it happened like that.”

“I asked you to. I asked you to.”

“I let you get drunk enough to ask. I knew what would happen and I kept letting you drink. You understand?”

I didn't. “I was the one drinking.”

“I could have stopped you. I didn't. Kept telling myself I didn't plan it, but that wasn't true. I thought, if you asked…” He shook his head. “You didn't even talk to me any more, back then. I didn't know what to say to you, so I got you drunk. Fucked up way of dealing with it. And I shouldn't have done that. That's what I meant, when I said it was a mistake.” He looked away. “Been wanting to explain it to you ever since.”

“I'm sorry,” I whispered.

“Nothing for you to be sorry about.” He shifted uncomfortably. “I shouldn't've let it go that far. I should've stopped before-but I thought that would be worse, after I pushed you into saying it out loud. So I tried, but it wasn't any good for you, I know that.” Logan finally did look at me then, and I could see what two years of worrying about this had done to him. “You weren't ready for that. Christ, you were just a kid, no matter what you said. I didn't know you thought that, about…what you saw. I just figured when you didn't want to talk about it, you wanted to forget about all of that. But I can't really forget it, not around here. So that's what I told Summers. I can take off for a while, and you figure out what you want. Okay? That's what I wanted to tell you. It's whatever you want, from here on.”

He looked away when I let my hand drop away from his arm and stood up. I didn't want him to worry any more, but it took me just a second to be able to do what I needed to do. I wasn't drunk tonight, I wasn't confused any more, and I had to make sure that this time there wasn't any misunderstanding. “What if I want this, Logan?” And I slid my arms around his neck as I settled myself on his lap again, totally on purpose this time. “Is this okay?”

His arms went around me, almost reflexively at first, and then they tightened as I put my head down on his shoulder. “Yeah. It's okay.”

I knew I had to be careful, but I couldn't help kissing his neck, lightly enough to be safe. I felt him take in a breath as I brushed my lips over his skin, leaning close to his ear. And for once, I knew the right words to say. “I don't want you to go.”

He swallowed, then nodded. I felt the tension go out of him, finally. “I won't.”

And that was all we said for a long time. Logan just held me close, and both of us let this strange new thing settle around us. Eventually he did move, but he didn't speak. He ran one hand through my hair, then made me look up at him. He held my gaze for a long moment before he leaned in to kiss me-really kiss me for the first time.

It was quick, that first kiss. I knew it was because he didn't want to scare me, didn't want me to have to be the one to pull away because I was absorbing him, so he made sure that didn't happen. But his mouth was so warm on mine, and softer than I'd thought it would be, and he didn't stop with one kiss. He kissed me until I was dizzy with it, over and over, until I was almost crazy with wanting more and more of him. He was so careful, easing his touch whenever he felt the beginning of my mutation pulling at him, and the incredible thing was that each time it seemed to take longer and longer before the pull began. His touch became more assured, more demanding, and when he finally parted my lips and I felt his tongue against mine it was me who drew back, not sure whether I was dreaming or not. “Logan?” I needed to know whether it was just me.

“Shh. I know.” He lifted me up and lay me down on the bed, lowering himself down over me. “It's slowing down. I feel it.” And he kissed me again, and this time it took more than a minute before I felt even the least pull.

That was how we spent that night, just feeling out the limits. Logan pulled off my gloves and brought my hands to his face, kissed my fingertips and let me feel the way his pulse beat under his jaw, and it seemed like my skin accepted more and more of him every time. It was slow, and deliberate, and I think we both wanted it that way. We'd had enough of desperation and rushing in. Making mistakes.

I fell asleep in his arms, and this time when I woke up he was there, he was the first thing I saw. He smiled at me when I opened my eyes. “Hey.”

“Hey, you.” My voice sounded a little rusty. “Didn't you sleep?”

“A little.” He brushed my hair back from my face. “Don't need much.” One hand was lying against my cheek now, and he let it stay there. “You're hardly absorbing me at all,” he said. “I kept testing it. While you were asleep.” He kissed me, long and hard and deep, and he was right. Someday we'd figure out why-overexposure? Tolerance?-but right then I damn well didn't care. Finally he drew back and just looked down at me; I was starting to recognize that expression telling me he was thinking through what he wanted to say. “Listen. One thing you should know. What you saw that night-she came into my tent as Jean, and I didn't realize it at first. I should have. I wasn't paying attention, because-“ He broke off for a second, and I wanted to tell him it didn't matter, but he shook his head when I started to speak. “I wasn't paying attention. Didn't realize it until I saw something on her. A scar.” He paused again, but this time I just waited. “A scar I gave her. After she knew I was onto her, she really started playing games. She turned into Storm, and then-then she turned into you.” That gave me chills.

“What'd you do?”

He half smiled at that. “Threw her across the tent. Point is, if she'd come in looking like you, I'd have known. Because I know you. She couldn't have fooled me, even for a second.” His finger traced over my lips. “I know you,” he repeated. “You understand?”

I nodded. Because I did. I reached up and put my hands on his chest; I didn't even know where my gloves were, but I could feel that strong heartbeat through the white cotton t-shirt and god, he felt so warm and solid. “You've got to tell me, once in a while, okay? I'm kind of dumb that way.”

“Yeah. All right.” It was usually so hard to read his expression, but right then I could see a million things in his eyes. “Goes for you too, kid. If I forget, you remind me.”

“Logan.” But he was already giving me that half-reluctant grin of his and I knew he didn't mean it. “I am not-“ And of course he kissed me before I could finish what I was saying, and we didn't go downstairs and relieve everyone else's mind for a long time.

I tell you, I haven't seen so many I told you so expressions since Jubilee lost that bet with Remy. Not that that's part of this story. Anyway, Scott's the only one I let actually say it to my face, and he was pretty gracious about it. He didn't even say it, come to think of it. I thought he was going to, but in the end all he said was I'm glad you two finally figured it out.

And what could I say? I just hugged him, and it was such a relief to be able to smile up at him and not feel like I was hiding anything. That's the best feeling ever.

Believe me, it's not perfect. It's still like pulling teeth, getting Logan to talk, and he's never going to be the kind of guy who remembers birthdays or brings me flowers. Sometimes he drives me crazy, and sometimes I get clingy and insecure and it makes him nuts. But we deal with it, day by day. He tries to remember that sometimes I need to hear things, and I try to understand that there are things he can't talk about, not yet. I'll remind him I'm not a telepath, and he'll tease me and call me 'kid' right before he pulls me into an empty room and shows me he really doesn't think of me that way any more.

It's messy, and it isn't always easy, but sometimes I'll wake up a little before he does and just look at him for a while, and that's what really tells me it's going to be all right. Part of it's just that he's there, every single night. No matter how withdrawn he's been during the day, it's different when he comes to our room at night and lets me hold him, makes love to me, and then words aren't important at all. And he doesn't have nightmares, or if he does get restless I wake up and put a hand on him, and it goes away. And sometimes I see him watching me, from across a room, like I'm the only thing he sees, and if I don't know exactly what he's thinking, it doesn't matter.

You have to keep trying, make a new promise every day. But I'm here because of him, and he's here because of me, and that's not going to change.

That much I know. And that really is enough. The rest we have to make up as we go. And we will.

Every single night.