The pain is so intense. Like a shredder running through her insides, ripping her up and breaking her down. Tears slide down her cheeks, but she keeps herself from actually sobbing for fear that he should hear it. Tears are blurring her vision and she stares at her gloved hands. They’re just blobs of navy blue. Shaking. She’s actually shaking with the effort of holding it all in.

“Oh!” A cry from inside, and she knows it’s her.

How strange to think of the immaculate woman coming undone in the wild man’s arms, stabbing her closest friend in the back. Oh, what she wouldn’t give to be able to look at it so objectively. If only she weren’t the only being stabbed in the back. She wraps her deadly bare arms around herself, hugging herself the way a mother might hold a child, and isn’t it ironic that if it was anyone else in that room with him she’d be going to Ororo for that hug?

But she isn’t a masochist, and if she isn’t going to go in there and stop them, she is going to stop holding her ear to the flimsy wall. She throws her long legs over the side of the bed and, almost like a reflex, makes a grab for the pretty blue robe hanging over her chair. But when her fingers are an inch away from it, she lets her arm drop back down into her lap. Oh, fuck it. The man she loves and her best friend are having sex in the next room. Might as well take a risk. She peels her gloves off.

So she hurries out of her room, banging her door shut in a minutely rebellious way. She isn’t bothering to be quiet as she walks down the creaking wooden staircase, down into the first floor. She goes to the soda machine standing in the corner beside the trash can. Noticing a quarter on the tiled floor, she picks it up and tosses it in. Diet Coke, Coke, Sprite, Logan is having sex with Ororo, orange soda, Mountain Dew. A sigh. She isn’t even in the mood for soda but she punches in the number and waits for the loud ‘thunk’ signaling the can falling down. She reaches into the little compartment, grabs hold of the can, and when she stands up, Logan is at the top of the stairs, watching.

She stares back for a split second, then she opens the can and takes a sip, eyes averted. Oh. She forgot Magneto hates Mountain Dew, Well, might as well drink it. Another long sip, and she’s completely aware of him and she wonders where Ororo is. Waiting in bed? Maybe he only noticed her on the way to the bathroom? Another sip. No. Probably not. Usually she makes a point out of believing in coincidence (there is no other way to survive with poison skin) but now she admits to herself that he probably knows she knows.

By the time she takes the third sip, he’s already coming down the stairs. What she really wants to do is run away, or yell at him, or retreat into someone else’s personality. So much easier to be somebody else in a situation like this. Fourth sip, and he’s beside her.

“Hey.” Hey? What a ridiculous thing to say.

She turns slightly, angling her body towards him, a sarcastic smile (courtesy of John) tugging at her lips. She never used to smile sarcastically, but now it’s kind of fitting.

“Hey?” she echoes coolly. “Was that the best you could come up with?”

“That’s not all I was gonna say,” Logan growled, but there was no heart in it.

The can is cold in her hand, and she remembers when she used to get a brain freeze from making out with Bobby. It would’ve been so much easier if she could’ve just persuaded herself to be in love with him. He’d been good to her. A little clumsy, but he was inexperienced. But she hadn’t fallen for him, and now she’s smiling at the man that broke her heart with a Mountain Dew in her hand. He frowns slightly, shifts, and leans against the machine with one arm.

“You heard.” His voice is soft, not uncaring, but not quite upset either.

“Yeah, I heard you with her.” Her. Can’t say the name yet, but let’s at least say what we mean here.

He opens his mouth to speak, and she’s afraid of what he’ll say so she walks away. Away from him and away from the entire conversation. Yes, she’s a coward for not wanting to face him. But if he tells her he loves her best friend, she’ll have almost an obligation to be happy for them. It’s what the good person does, the bigger person does, and she wants to feel like the victim without having to shoulder something else.

“Hey!”

Is he actually going to follow her? Force her to talk to him? Has he showered? A hand on her arm, and she she’s whirled around.

“You’re just gonna walk away from this?” His face is close to her, and she wants to kiss him and kill him at the same time. It isn’t fair that she still wants him while she’s shattered.

“Why shouldn’t I?” she answers hotly, and she glares at his hand ‘cause his face is too damn handsome. No gloves. Thank God she has long sleeves. But if he slides his hand down just slightly further…

“I don’t believe you’re just gonna let me get away with this, Marie. That’s not your style.” He has such a nice voice, all rumbly and soft at the same time.

She feels tears gathering in her eyes again, and it doesn’t matter, because he can probably see she was crying before.

“What’s there to get away with? You’re not…my boyfriend. You don’t have a commitment to me, and ‘Ro…well, ‘Ro’s her own person, she’ll do as she pleases. Tonight will attest to that.” A bitter laugh. Maybe she is angrier with Ororo. Maybe Logan is just making her feel…well, angry isn’t the word for it. Or at least not the whole story.

“No, I’m not your boyfriend.” He takes hold of her chin, forcing her to look up into his face. “What we’ve got goes much deeper than that boyfriend-girlfriend shit.” God, why is he telling her this after just getting out of bed with 'Ro?

More tears, and she doesn’t even try to stop them. “Then why? Why did you do it?” Her voice trembles with the effort not to sob.

He sighs deeply, runs his fingers through his hair the way he always does when he’s frustrated. She’s wanted to do that for a long time. Not many girls spend their teenaged years wondering what their crush’s hair feels like. But Logan wasn’t just a crush.

“We were talking about…about Jean, and I wanted someone. I wanted to either kick the shit out somebody or fuck them and ‘Ro’d fry my ass if I started something, so I fucked her.” He sounds cold.

She glowers at him, unable to keep her disgust at bay. “Fine. Fine, if you wanted to fuck someone, why her? Why my best friend? You could have knocked on my door.”

He stares at her for a moment. She didn’t expect him to look so darkly amused. She though he’d be surprised. Not shocked, but certainly taken aback.

“You would’ve, huh?” His voice has a strange edge, and she finds herself wanting to step away from him. “You would’ve given me a pity fuck? Made the sacrifice? You’re fucking right, baby, I’m no boyfriend. I don’t have to answer to you.” He turns away, ready to walk away. But that’s not right. He messed up, he’s supposed to be the one feeling bad.

“Is that what it would’ve been, Logan?” she asks.

A pause, and he stops walking. He doesn’t turn, but she knows he’s listening as she begins to speak.

“If you would’ve knocked on my door, do you think it would’ve been pity that made me do it? Do you really?” She wonders if he really does, if he has underestimated her feelings that much.

In two long strides he’s with her again, and his strong arms hold her tightly to him. “Do you think you would’ve said ‘yes’ if I came to your door?” He sounds so desperate, wanting to believe it. Angry and desperate and sad.

She inhales. He smells like sweat and sex and her perfume. Slowly, she disentangles herself from him. And yeah, maybe she is masochistic, because it’s hurting her as much as him to walk away from the possibility.

“Guess we’ll never know.”