Rogue woke abruptly, and sat up straight, gasping for breath. The details of the dream were already slipping away from her, but she remembered the cold figure just above her with its arms stretched out and its pale green eyes glowing. It had been a long time since she'd had a dream like it. She was accustomed to others' nightmares. Logan's hazy nightmares filled with searing pain and blind panic, Erik's (for he was Erik to her now, not Magneto) troubled dreams laced with recollections of the camps, and even John's dreams came to her sometimes. But her own were rare, they only came to haunt her in daytime.

Touching her cheek with her finger, she felt it was damp from tears. Rogue glanced at the alarm clock beside her bed, its numbers glowing yellow in the dark. Their glow reminded her of the person's eyes in her dream, and it agitated her. 2:16 AM. She allowed her dark eyes to roam across the room, seeing if she had woken anyone else up. She'd done so before, some nights she'd woken up screaming. But Jubilee and Kitty were sound asleep, their quiet snoring like a lullaby.

Knowing she would not sleep tonight, Rogue left her bed. For a moment she thought of wearing her robe over her nightgown, but decided not to. Night was the only time she had the chance to walk with bare arms, and she wouldn't let her fears stop her. So she soundlessly left the room, clad in a long nightgown and no gloves. It gave her a tingling feeling inside, the heady rush of doing something potentially dangerous. If Jubilee was awake she would've laughed at her, but if she had been Rogue wouldn't have bare arms in the first place, so what did it matter?

The mansion was fairly quiet. There was the occasional creak of stairs, or clattering window that startled her, but nothing else. Curfews were strongly enforced at Xavier's, and none of the students were brave enough to face an angry Scott this time of night. The thought of Scott Summers didn't frighten Rogue very much. If he stopped her in the hall, she'd just make some excuse about insomnia. That was something they both suffered from at times, him now more than ever since Jean had passed.

Passed. The word made Logan start growling inside her mind, and she understood. 'Passed' just wasn't the right word to describe Jean's death. 'Passed' sounded peaceful, like an old woman painlessly dying in her bed, surrounded by her family. Jean hadn't been with family, she hadn't even been with Scott. She had been all alone, holding the waters apart and explaining about sacrifice. Rogue hadn't known Jean very well, only as her math and bio teacher. Neither of them had been particularly fond of each other, though they hadn't disliked each other either. But Logan's fiery lust and love for Jean raged inside of her since Liberty Island and she had sobbed violently at Jean's memorial, expressing the grief he felt but didn't show.

She was swinging her pale arms as she walked, enjoying the feel of cool air on them. It was so rare not to feel things through a barrier of silk or cotton, and she savored it now. In fact, she was so caught up in simply feeling, that she didn't notice the smell of cigars that lingered on the stairwell. Two more steps, and she reached the first floor. Rogue paused for a moment, tracing the flowers carved into the railing. Then she pulled herself away and walked towards the kitchen.

In a place like Xavier's there was always leftovers to eat as midnight snacks, and maybe she could even sneak a cold beer out of that secret little cabinet. She wasn't supposed to know about it, but she smelled it whenever entering the kitchen. It hadn't been there when she first came to the school and she suspected it was there for Logan.

Rogue never used to drink that much, her mother had always said that a woman drunk was disgraceful. Apparently her father's almost constant drunken state was just fine, just because he was male. The memory made her smirk as she opened the cabinet and took out a bottle of scotch. Beer was Logan's favorite but she didn't like the smell. Scotch was good, burning in her throat and with just a hint of something almost smoky. To indulge Logan inside she drank it straight from the bottle. When she lowered it, she sensed him in the doorway. She made a face, realizing she should've eaten something before drinking. Turning her back to him and scouring the freezer for ice cream, she pretended not to notice him. If he knew she had some of his powers still, he'd be disturbed. Acting was one of Rogue's many talents.

"Hey, kid." She jumped slightly, as if startled. He would've startled anyone else, he was as quiet and careful as a cat. Then, just to add to the performance, she swiveled around and let out a quiet laugh of surprise.

"Logan! Don't sneak up on me like that!" There. Just a sweet, innocent little kid. Oh, with a bottle of scotch. Damn. How was she going to explain that? He grinned at her, but didn't move to give his customary hug. That threw her off for a moment. He had been gone for three weeks and, like always after a trip, he was supposed to hug her with all the affection of a favorite older brother and ask her how she'd been. Not knowing enough that she was never okay, no matter what she said, but knowing enough that she would confide in him if the situation was dramatic enough.

So there was an awkward pause, his grin fading away, her frozen with a carton of mint-chocolate-chip in her hands. But Rogue was used to these awkward pauses with others, and she recovered after a moment. "Did you bring me something?" Her lips curled into the mischievous smile that still made Bobby's knees weak. Not that she expected it to have any kind of arousing effect for Logan, but it was bound to result in their usual happy banter. Her best friend. Nothing more, not ever. Jean stood between them.

"No, what did you want me to get ya, baby?" Baby? Another oddity. He seemed almost...flirtatious? No, it was just a joke, a bluff. She could play too. God knows she'd had enough practice with Remy. Another coy smile, a flutter of eyelashes. Look at me, her expression said. See what you're missing.

"I dunno.I like surprises." A second of indecision, and then one step towards him. Surprisingly, he was beside her in two short strides. Before she could even ponder her next move, his arms were around her waist. Strong, certain. His eyes were so dark, burning. But something was off. He never called her 'baby'.

"What kinds of surprises?" His face was so close to hers, only her breath was between them. Too close. Had he forgotten that pesky little mutation of hers? Lips almost touching, a whisper: "Why don't you surprise me, baby?" Then, seemingly catching himself, he pulled back. But only slightly.

"What kind of a surprise would you like?" Her voice wasn't the sexy purr she had intended it to be. Just a breathless whisper, and she hated how young she sounded.

Then, suddenly, she realized what this might be. She was barely past childhood in his eyes, a pet to be indulged. He was mocking her. He had to be, because he knew this couldn't go much further. As if to prove herself as an experienced woman, she trailed her (bare!) fingers up his back. Her eyes suddenly narrowed. Go on, she found herself thinking, step back. Wince. Stammer. Show me how scared you are. Show me you're just like Remy and Bobby in the end. Lay your cards on the table.

But he wasn't frightened, or at least not visibly so. "I'd like a kiss, baby." A kiss! Oh, the very thing she had fantasized about in an endless number of French classes. She had imagined his taste, his lips, the moistness of his tongue. But it had been self-torture, just an idle daydream she'd pay for with detention after not paying attention.

"I can't." It wasn't a game, and she wouldn't play with him anymore. She tried to step out of his embrace, but he tightened his hold on her.

"You can't or you won't?"

A flash of anger. "Pick one," she snapped. Roles reversed, he was the one offering reality and she was the one rejecting it. He growled, and his face was close to hers again. She fought wildly, frightened for his life, for her safety.

He spoke again, his voice dark with something she refused to identify. "Where am I supposed to go, Marie?" Her line.

She stopped fighting, and stared at him instead. "What?" she whispered, and was horrified to feel tears beginning to burn in her eyes.

"I saved your life, save mine. Take a chance on me, Marie." His face was so dark, so tortured. She didn't want to do or say anything to make him stop looking at her like that, like he wanted to kiss her and kill her at the same time, but she had to ask.

"I'd save your life by...what? Being with you?" It didn't sound sarcastic. Just forlorn. All defenses gone.

He leaned down, pressed his lips to the top of her head. "Yeah."

Okay, she could accept that. "Why now? What happened to you, Logan?"

He sighed deeply. "A lot."

Then she saw it, and it took a lot not to start crying. It was a number, written in blue ink, plain as day on his throat. His throat. 21886-PHOENIX. "Phoenix..?" she repeated, and when she felt him go rigid and his arms fell to his sides in defeat, she did begin to cry. They were silent tears, raining down her cheeks like rivers.

"I'll take care of you."

He met her eyes, a smile forming on his face. "You promise?" His smile made her light up, made her want him so much it ached.

"Yeah," she whispered, covering her lips with the top of her nightgown. "I promise."

He kissed her, and he was saved.