"Gimme two."

"I'll stand."

"Grwwwll…"

"Raise you."

Quarters slid to the center of the small table, and one of the two men in plain gray uniforms pulled out a cigarette and lit it.

"GRRwwwlll."

"Romanski catches you smoking down here, you're dead."

"Doc can kiss my ass."

"Yeah, say that to his face. You'll end up in one of his little 'tests.'"

"GRWWLL."

"Would you SHUT UP!"

Behind the Plexiglas cage front, the growling continued.

"Shit, he's been like that all day."

"Yeah, he always does when we get new subjects in. Smells 'em, or something."

"And all that pacing is making me nervous."

"He'll settle down in a while. Won'tcha, Wolverine?"

"GRWWWLLLL!!!"

"Where did they come up with a name like Wolverine?"

"Maybe Romanski's a Michigan fan."

"Whatever. How long's he been here, anyway?"

"Longer than me. I heard one of the docs sayin' it's his mutation, or some shit. Heals fast, even after all the tests they run on 'im. You in or out?"

"In. Call."

"Pair of queens."

"You're a queen. Three nines."

"Shit."

The small pile of quarters shifted to the other side of the table, and the cards were shuffled and redealt.

"Ggrrrrwwwl."

"Dammit, he's giving me the creeps."

The guard left his cards and watched the creature in the Plexiglas cage. Unlike the others in the cells down this hallway, sleeping or blankly staring, this inhabitant was pacing, pent rage evident in every line of his body. Naked other than the metal collar around his neck, he growled in uncompromising hostility. The one size fits all hospital scrub shirt lay crumpled on the floor.

"Sure is a hairy mother. Can't we drug him or something?"

"Nope. Give 'em much more than the daily, they start breaking house training. Then you can clean it up. Hell, we can't even keep him dressed, most days."

"Maybe he needs something to keep him occupied."

"Richardson, you sick bastard…"

"Not me, asshole. I'm thinking that little piece down the row."

"The one who's always picking on her roommate?"

"Yeah."

"They'll either kill each other, or…"

Richardson giggled, an ugly sound. "Yeah."

The Wolverine watched the bad one disappear from view, then turned his glare on the other bad one, still standing in front of his cage door. He paced, still grumbling in his chest. The odors of the bad ones and the new subjects came to him through the holes in the clear front wall. He knew others were behind the solid wall beside him; he heard them, sometimes. But the only wall to see anything through was the one with the door, and the door never opened unless one, usually two or three of the bad ones were on the other side. And when the bad ones were there, that meant bad things for him.

He continued to pace and growl. Pacing, growling, bad ones, and bad things. That was all there was. And the food. That wasn't actually a bad thing, but Wolverine didn't regard it as a not-bad thing. It simply was, like the soft spot in the corner, or the water that came out of the wall. Having very little concept of time, he had no idea how long it was until the other bad one came back into view, all but dragging one of the others with him, his short, stubby fingers clamped around the back of its collar like a handle.

"Thought you were gonna get the mean one?"

"I was. Bitch bit me. This one was easier to catch."

"Any special instructions on her?"

"Nope. She's new."

"What if he kills her?"

"So what? These freaks die all the time. No special instructions, the eggheads don't care."

"Okeydoke."

The Wolverine tensed as the bad ones opened the door of his cage. Instead of coming after him, like they usually did, they thrust the other into his cage and slammed the door. The other did not come after him either, which was unexpected. It slid to the floor in a tangle of skinny limbs, clumsy cover, and long brown hair. The bad ones stayed outside, making odd noises, and he was torn between watching the known and investigating the unknown who was invading his territory.

He crept closer, nostrils flaring as he took in the scent. Female, young, scared. He growled again, more for the bad ones than the female, and went closer to her. The bad ones were still watching, still too close for comfort. He poked her shoulder with his knuckles, and she shrank from him. The scent of her fear was strong. Another shove, and she went over backwards, cowering. He snorted in satisfaction, then snarled at the bad ones still outside his cell. Still growling, he retreated to the soft spot in the corner and curled up on it.

"That was a bust."

"Yeah, well. Whose deal?"

"Yours, I think. Hey, you think we oughta get her out of there?"

"No way. If he's shut up, I'm happy. Besides, you wanna go in there and get her?"

"Hell, no. All right. Dollar ante, this time. Jacks are wild."

---

The Wolverine smelled the female as soon as he awoke, heard her moving. He growled at her and she cringed, but continued to scuttle around the perimeter of the space until she reached the metal bowl on the floor of the cage and used it. Then she retreated to the far corner again. The distinctive squeak of the food trolley caught his hearing and he ignored her as he approached the Plexiglas wall. Soon, the guard came by and shoved a flimsy cardboard tray through the slot at the bottom of the door.

This was different. Today, there were two portions of the bland, mealy bars, and two of the small sweet squares. He ignored the female as she edged forward and wolfed down one of the small white squares that tasted, well, better than the tan bars. The female edged forward again and he rumbled warningly and retreated to the soft spot with his booty.

The female picked at the crumbs in the little tray forlornly, but he was busy enjoying the extra portion of food. He ate the other sweet piece first – there was always one sweet piece a day, no more, no less, and it always came after the dark time was over. But this time there were two. He ate all of the food with immense satisfaction, then stretched out on the soft rectangle to enjoy the sensation of a full belly. All day, he lay on the soft spot, dozing and ignoring the female. The urge to use the metal bowl came and went, but he was oddly reluctant to move.

When the evening portion was shoved in, he blinked at it and growled when the female grabbed it first. He tried to roll over, but the room wouldn't hold still. She quickly ate more than half, staring at him as if expecting him to lunge at her at any moment. Finally, he made it to the metal bowl and used it, to his bladder's immense relief. He thought about challenging the female for what was left of the food bar in her hand, then crawled back to the soft spot and flopped down with an 'oomph.'

When the lights came back on in the morning, the pattern repeated itself. Ravenous, he charged the door and took both portions of the breakfast and the sweet white squares, then spent the day dozing and barely able to move.

After several days, the female grew bolder, exploring the cage, shying away from him as he snarled at her feebly, but eventually snatching away the length of fabric from under his insensate body and making herself a nest in the corner. She began to save some of the evening portion to eat in the morning, to nibble on complacently as she watched him stuff himself. The guards never spoke to her, and her cage mate was better than the last one, who used to poke her and hit her. This one only growled, but kept his distance and spent most of his time sleeping.

The sounds of the place changed slightly, and the hole in the clear wall she leaned against began to blow air on her face. She reached a tentative hand to the opening in the Plexiglas and let the flow rush over her fingers. A memory fragment stirred in her mind of something green, moving in the same thing that played over her fingers. Before the image cleared, the climate control ceased pumping and the airflow stopped. She thrust her fingers through the hole, seeking the airflow, and something struck her as wrong. Her hands. They needed something. They were missing something, but thinking about it make her head hurt, and she gave up.

The next morning, the trolley passed their cage without giving them any food. The Wolverine growled at the female as she reached under her blanket for her hoarded food and started to eat it, eyeing him warily. He was so absorbed by the food in her hand that he didn't hear the bad ones approaching until his cage door opened.

The sticks that hurt so bad jutted in his direction, and he retreated. The female tried to follow him across the floor, but the bad ones flanked her and grabbed her by the hair. For the first time he heard her make a noise, a small screech as she was dragged away. The Wolverine considered challenging the bad ones for possession of the female, but by the time he decided the door had slammed shut and he was left staring at it, furious. She wasn't a bad thing, and she belonged to him, just like the soft spot or the water that came from the wall.

He was still furious when the cardboard tray was shoved under his door, this time with only one white square. When another bad one came to spray him and his cage with water and gather up the accumulated cardboard trays, he was so enraged that the guards threw the fresh cover at him and withdrew with a shaky curse. The Wolverine paced and growled at every figure that passed his cage. Finally, after the evening portion of bars was shoved through his door, which he ignored, the bad ones came back.

He growled at them, mostly out of habit, but his attention was on the female who was thrust into the cage and promptly collapsed on the still damp floor. He could smell the misery and the pain coming off her in great waves, and he crept closer. Her breathing was in great shuddering sighs, and she flinched violently as he touched her.

A whimper came from his throat in sympathy, rolling into a low growl, as he smelled the blood. She pushed at him feebly as he investigated, finding the raw marks on her arms, the blood from the corner of her elbow and from rectangular spots on her back. Snorting decisively, he scooped her up and took her to the soft spot in the corner and licked the wounds he could reach on her arms and neck, nudging her metal collar out of the way so he could reach. She curled up on herself, and he curled around her until her body stopped shaking and she slept.

In the morning, two portions again appeared under the door. After consideration, he carried the tray to the female and held out a piece to her mouth. He had to push her hair out of the way; she hid behind a curtain of her hair most days, and it annoyed him. She batted the food away. He looked at the tray again, at the two sweet squares on it, and in a gesture of supreme generosity, he bit one of the sweets in half and gave her the remainder. She allowed him to push it into her mouth, but after a moment she spit the piece into her hand and looked at it. The pain from the tests had cleared her mind a little more, and somehow she made the mental connection between the sweet in her hand and the fog in her brain.

"Bad," she murmured, and the Wolverine looked at her, puzzled by the sound coming from her mouth. The effort of thinking was too much, she let her head sag down, the piece dropping on the floor. The Wolverine contemplated picking it up and eating it, but was more concerned with the female. She smelled like pain and the bad ones, and he curled around her.

While she healed, his smell rubbed off on her and he liked that. He liked sleeping curled around her; she was warm and soft in interesting places. She wouldn't let him touch her as much as he wanted to, and she pushed him away from her when his body got hard, refusing to come near him until he was soft again. But sometimes at night he woke to the feel of her body against his, and it was not a bad thing. She had tried to take both sweets from him in the mornings, and while he was willing to share, finally, he wasn't about to give her both pieces. But other than that, he found her company tolerable.

The female was new in this place; he understood that in some way. When the food trolley again passed their cage by without sliding their portion through, he knew it was not right, but she was only confused. She picked up on his nervousness, though, when the bad ones came and opened the door.

He hated them, growling at the three who entered, shoving the female behind him. The sticks hit his chest, and even through the cover the female had insisted he put on, the pain lanced through his body and drove him to his knees. Again and again the sticks hit him, until he could no longer move and they dragged him from the cage and shut the door.

He wasn't surprised by anything that happened during the long times of pain, when the bad ones took him somewhere else and the ones in the white covers hurt him and hurt him, and when he felt as though he was dying, they finally took the collar off his neck. Then his body hurt like fire, though he didn't know what fire was, and when he ran out of breath from screaming, they poked him with the sharp thing. When he awoke, bleary and still in pain, he had the collar on again.

When they at last dragged the Wolverine back to her, just after the evening portion, Marie was frantic. She had just remembered she had a name, finally felt like she was getting her mental legs under her, when the guards came and tore her cellmate from her. Now they brought him back, and she was appalled.

He lay on the floor of their cell, moaning, and she could see the fading red marks on his body. They hadn't bothered to put a cover back on him, and he lay naked on the cold floor, twitching feebly, wearing only the collar around his neck that matched hers. Despite her best efforts he was too heavy to drag to the corner. She finally settled for curling up behind him, the same as he did for her, and covering them both with the blanket. Eventually his shaking stopped, and he slept, not even flinching when the lights went out.

Hours later, in the darkness, he woke with a start, his body aching, the remembered pain still echoing through his body. Blindly he struck out, hitting something softer than the floor, but still hard. He rolled to his knees and saw the female, hand to her bloody mouth, staring at him with huge, scared eyes in the pervading gloom. He'd hurt her, and that combined with the memory of the tests brought a whine to his throat. He didn't mean to hurt her.

The horror in his eyes reached her and she held out her hand to him. He crawled to her, burying his face against her as his body shook with pain and shock. She gathered him against her, wrapping the blanket around them again. After a while, she got him on the bed (that was another word she remembered, along with floor, wall, and more and more each day) and he cuddled up to her, holding her tightly around the waist, his face buried between her breasts as she stroked his shoulders and back.

He lay there a long time, smelling her, feeling his body grow hard. She didn't like that, wouldn't let him touch her when he was like that, and he didn't like the smell of fear on her when he was hard. He rolled to his other side, miserable, not wanting to leave her comforting presence but not wanting her to reject him.

Marie felt him roll and readjust his body. She tried to pull the blanket up again, and realized what was wrong when he huddled away from her. He gave a small, pitiful sigh, and her heart went out to him. Bad things happened to him, and now he was having one of those moments where she usually pulled away from him.

She wrapped her arms around him from behind, noticing for the first time how nice the feeling of his hairy chest was. Now, naked, he was warmer, and the hair tickled her palms as she hugged him. He relaxed slowly, then tentatively touched himself. She didn't pull away, even when he began to move his hips with his hand. The feel of her hands stroking his chest while he found his release made him rumble in appreciation, and she snuggled into his back.

In the morning, their breakfast portion was slid through the slot in the door. Marie got it and brought it back, but held the sweet away from him. He growled at her, softly. She scanned quickly for a guard, then bent her head to his.

"Bad," she said. He frowned at her, then reached again.

"Bad," she repeated. This time he looked at her, and she could see the struggle to understand going on behind his hazel eyes. His hand rose to the collar around his neck, and his lips moved slightly.

She nodded. "Bad."

He heaved a sigh, still fingering his collar. A feral look of hate crossed his face as he yanked at the metal ring, then turned to glare out the Plexiglas wall of their cell. Finally he turned the same glare on the morsels in her hand. He hated the collar as much as he hated the bad ones, and the ones in white, and now the female was saying the sweet squares were bad things, too.

She dropped them in the toilet, and though he really wanted them, he let the female do that. The guards neglected to throw him another cover, so when they curled up to sleep that night, she again found herself holding him from behind, aware of his erection. Memories of someone, a woman, warning her about boys, ran through her head but she blocked it out as he pulled her hand down to touch him.

On some level, she knew he needed this release. She buried her face in his back, smelling the masculine scent of him, her hand exploring his shaft with gentle fingers until he wrapped his own hand around hers, showing her what he wanted. Afterwards, he slept peacefully, and she was glad she could do something to make him feel better.

Several days passed, and with her days spent remembering more and more, Marie became more and more aware of the need to hide her reawakening memories and faculties from the guards. She tried to communicate with the other, the man she shared the cell and bed with and regarded with some degree of fondness. The guards called him Wolverine, but surely that wasn't a name. He did not talk much yet, but she had gotten a few words out of him, and she'd heard the guards talking enough to figure out he'd been here far longer, been on the mind altering drug for an extended period of time. She could only hope he would recover.

They eventually threw him another of the one size fits all covers, which didn't cover nearly as much of him as it did her. He wore it if she put it on him, but he seemed unconcerned by his nudity. At night, he continued to use her hands, obviously smelling the nervousness on her when he reached for her. She was aware it would be only a matter of time before his undeniable masculinity overcame her reluctance. She knew she had never been with a man, and her memory provided the word for her at the same time she remembered why.

Mutant. She was a mutant. That was why she was here, why they had taken her from the road. She had run away from somewhere, or something, and had been getting rides from people. She couldn't remember where she had been going. But words, phrases, memories were flooding back at a rate that threatened to drown her. She'd remembered her name, the one she had planned on leaving behind, and the nickname she'd given herself after…. After something. She was so busy concentrating on the stubborn memories that she didn't notice the guards approaching until the Wolverine growled, deep and hateful in his chest. Three of them, this time, and two used their shock prods to keep him away from her as the third grabbed her by the arm and her collar and propelled her from the cage.

She could hear him howling as they closed the cell door again, actually understood her handlers' cursing and the comment to give him something to howl about. A yelp and a thud of a large body hitting the floor accompanied the sound of the taser discharging.

Marie closed her eyes, trying desperately to remember how she'd acted the last time. The guards held her, one on each side, as the third stripped her cover with impersonal efficiency, shoved her into a shower that blasted her from all sides with cold water, then roughly dried her. The other two grabbed her again and pushed her into another room and strapped her to a table. Her arm was pulled to one wing-like extension and white velco strips held it in place while a man in a white coat started an IV. Within moments, she recognized the familiar haze it imparted, although less than usual.

"She looks cold," one of the technicians joked, and the others laughed while she closed her eyes in mortification that her body should so betray her.

"So, what have we got here, anyway?"

"Female, late teens, runaway. Not a blip on missing persons, so she's expendable. We weren't even sure she was a mutant until one of our procurement guys touched her. Seems she dropped him just by touching him. The suppression collar works just fine, though. Other than her skin, no other manifestations of genetic aberration."

The clinical terms washed over her as they swabbed her belly with something that smelled of chemicals, or cleaning supplies.

"We took some skin samples last time, but you know how backed up the lab has been…"

"Okay, get the collar off…"

Something landed on her bare stomach, a latex-clad hand, then a small tickling sensation, tiny claws. A sensation of curiosity, soft warm fur, then sudden terror as the rat on her died, it's small life force sucked away.

"Would you look at that," someone breathed. "Dead, in less than fifteen seconds. Damn, if we could bottle this one, we could make a fortune."

"Try it again. I want to get this on tape."

Again, a small and terrified bit of life entered Marie, lodging in her soul, and she struggled, desperate to escape the straps, the voices, but the need to keep silent was uppermost in her mind. The memory of someone telling her to keep quiet about a rumor she'd heard, to just bite her tongue, young lady….

"Damn, what's she doing? Make her stop!" One of the latex clad hands grabbed her hair, forcing her head to stop thrashing from side to side.

"She's biting her tongue. The absorption process might be painful."

"Well, either gag her or sedate her! This is pissing me off."

A rubber gag was shoved in her mouth, strapped tight, and the straps on her body tightened, the leather restraints biting into her skin.

Several more rats gave their life in the pursuit of science, punctuated by laughter and expressions of disbelief from the scientists. Parts of her body were heated, or chilled, as they placed one test animal on another test animal to see the results. The scientists found it interesting that a snake's scales rendered it immune to her, but it's flickering tongue coming into contact with her skin eventually sent it into convulsions. A tourniquet went around her leg, cutting deep, going numb, to see whether circulation, or lack thereof, made a difference. On and on, their inventive quest continued.

A scalpel carved a section of her arm, decided on after an extended debate over whether her belly would bleed less than her extremity and make more of a mess. The sliver of skin, removed and draped over the back of a hairless experimental mouse, apparently did nothing, and the enthusiasm waned in the room.

"Well, shit. Maybe that Canadian outfit will be interested in her. I hear they turn out assassins or some shit up there. Brainwash 'em or something."

"Nah, I think they went out of business. Screw it -- we've got room to keep her for a while – and Bill says she's been useful in keeping the Wolverine quiet."

"What, our organ donor? That last kidney we sold brought some serious cash. If she keeps him happy, good enough. We gave her a Depo shot, right?"

"Yeah. No worries in that department."

"Alright, keep her. She might come in handy."

The needle was removed from her arm, and she realized they were putting their instruments away, leaving her alone. She wanted to scream in relief, but held it down as her mind cleared, and waited.

A guard came, finally, and snapped the collar back onto her neck. Marie waited, but felt nothing different. Finally, bare fingers unbuckled the gag and removed it. It dropped to the floor with a bouncy thud, and she did her best to appear unfocused, confused. It wasn't that hard.

"That's better, isn't it?" came the man's soft voice. It wasn't until his hand stroked her cheek that she was really afraid. She concentrated on the ceiling, tried to keep her breathing quiet as he stroked down her body, pinching, squeezing, and summoning automatic responses from her nipples. His chuckle filled the air as his hands ran between her thighs, massaging the flesh and cupping her pubic mound possessively.

Marie swallowed hard, fighting the panic that rose in her. She could do this, endure this. Couldn't give it up. Not if she ever wanted out of this lab, ever wanted this hell to end.

The door to the examination bay flipped open with a loud clang. "Hey, you got that—God damn it, Richardson!"

"Sir, I…"

"I don't give a shit! You wanna fuck some mutant, do it on your own time. Right now I need your ass upstairs. You've got three minutes to put her back in her cage and make yourself useful, or I'll dock your pay! Is that clear?"

"Yes, sir," he muttered to the doors flapping behind his departed superior. The straps were suddenly off of her, her cover thrust over her head. One arm found the proper aperture, and then the guard was all but dragging her back down a hallway. Her feet stumbled continuously, sliding out from under her as she was hustled through a security door and into the familiar holding arena.

Wolverine heard the outer doors open with a whoosh and surged to his feet. There she was, the female, HIS female, being dragged to the door of his cell and shoved inside. She landed in a familiar heap on the floor and the guard shut the door in his face as he growled. It had been a long time since only one of the bad ones had come to his cell – normally it was in twos and threes, because he'd gotten one, once. He remembered that.

He growled at the heap of shaking limbs on the floor, hating the stench of chemicals and the bad ones on her. Then he caught a whiff of her blood, and that set off alarms he had never felt before. He gathered her up, ignoring her small sound of protest, and examined the wounds in her arm. One still bled sluggishly, and he licked it.

The female looked up at him, her eyes full of pain, and it pulled at something inside of him. She heaved a breath, pressing her hand flat against her mouth, and water began to form in her eyes. Almost of its own free will, his arm went around her while he brushed her eyes, pushing the hair out of the way. The scent of salt and anguish and fear rose from her trembling body. Hesitantly, her head dropped onto his chest, wetting it with her tears as she shuddered and locked her arms around him. Small sounds, almost whines, came from her, and he wanted to whine back in sympathy.

He tightened his grip on her and stood, holding her in his arms in a way that felt oddly familiar. He'd carried a woman like this before. Woman. Not female. He put her on the soft place and pulled the blanket around them, just as she had done after his last tests. He remembered that as well. That was when she made him start throwing away the sweet bits. It came to him that he'd been tested before the last time, more than once had come back shaking and hurting, just as she was now. He didn't remember the water, though. Crying. It had a name.

He folded her in his arms, and was surprised when she burrowed into his chest, her arms locked around him. He could feel her shaking, could still smell the others on her. He rubbed her back, because that's what she did to him, and he liked it, so maybe she would like it if he did it. She didn't object, and he kept it at it for a long time.

After a long while, after the lights had gone out, she lay limply in his arms. Her breathing was even, but he knew she wasn't asleep. She didn't move when he took her arm, looking again at the wound and giving it a tentative lick. She snuggled against him, and he liked that. But he hated the smell. She didn't smell right; she didn't have his scent on her any more.

He reached down and rubbed his chin on her shoulder. His beard tickled, and she gave him a small smile. She didn't object when he pulled the blood-splotched cover off of her – only one of her arms had gone through the armhole of the voluminous garment. The other had gone through the neck hole with her head and it hung oddly on her.

He sniffed her all over. She smelled like blood, chemicals, small furry animals, and latex. And a man. It was the last one that made the growl come to his chest. He licked her face where the scent was, then tested it. Rubbed his cheek on it.

Licking and rubbing, he began to eradicate the other scents. He didn't even realize he was touching the soft part of her that she normally didn't let him touch until it reacted, hardening into a peak as he licked it. He drew back, looking to her for her reaction. Her eyes were wide, but no anger or fear this time. In fact… he sniffed her again. A new scent was in the air, one he'd only caught faintly on a few occasions from her. Experimentally, he licked the soft peak again, slowly, and the scent grew stronger. Arousal. He moved over her, straddling her legs, and she didn't push him away. His hands cupped her soft mounds, bringing the other side up to his mouth and licking both alternately until he could smell her desire easily.

Encouraged, excited, he decided to finish his task. Her belly was the source of the other smells, and took a little work to get rid of. Then he was down to the hair that grew between her legs, and the smell of the guard was especially offensive. His bearded chin and cheeks rubbed hard, his hands holding her hips down as he overlaid his own scent.

He pushed her legs apart, and the scent of her desire flared, making him growl in a way she'd never heard. His tongue caressed her thighs, seeking out and obliterating the last remaining traces of the bad one who'd touched her. Then the scent rising from her core drew him, and she didn't push him away as he lapped at her. He couldn't smell anyone else here, just her, and the breathless whimpers coming from her made his blood pound as he laid his scent and his claim. He rose over her and positioned himself, pushing into her, and groaned with pleasure at the feel of her warmth surrounding him. He surged vigorously, and she suddenly stiffened under him.

He waited, to see if she would push him away, but she moved her hips under him and he cautiously resumed pushing, until he was all the way in. Her hips moved again, and he withdrew, then returned. A gasp came from her and he happily recognized it as one of pleasure. Cradling her in his arms he rocked into her again, establishing a rhythm.

Marie clung to the hard body above her, desperately blocking the memory of the testing and the guard with the sensations she was now experiencing. It came to her vaguely that she was using him, and if her mother had warned her about boys taking liberties with her, she had never imagined she'd be on the other side of the equation.

His arms had helped block the memories, held her while she cried and finally got a hold on her rampaging emotions. He was barely verbal and primitive as a caveman, but he was concerned for her, when the intelligent, conversant men around her were savages of a new order. When he'd first licked her arm and pulled off the scrub marked with her blood, she had only been grateful for the fact that he wasn't hurting her. But his touch on her cheek, his bearded chin rubbing on her skin, had erased the physical memory of the guard and tickled pleasantly at the same time. The non-threatening touches and her fatigue had lulled her, relaxed her, until his licking had touched her breast.

The contrast between the studied, deliberate caresses of the guard and the clumsy, earnest ministrations of her hairy cellmate were worlds apart, and she knew which she preferred. The memory of the guard had tried to surface again, and she concentrated on the mouth moving over her, his hair prickling her skin, his tongue and lips soft and warm. She felt her body react, as it had before when his hands had roved over her as they lay together in the dark. This time she let him continue, even when he moved over her and began cupping her breasts. His hands kept the memories away, helped replace them with something of her choice.

She had known what was coming as he moved down and held back the impulse to struggle as his big hands held her thighs open, his mouth on her, licking, sucking in a way that robbed her of thought. Instinct alone led her to reach up to him as he reared over her, helped her hips lift to meet his thrust. The sudden pain had made her wince, and he'd slowed down, but the feel of his body on hers, the taste of his hairy chest, and the smell of him overwhelmed her, and the sudden pleasure that he brought with his movements let her stop thinking entirely. He growled and plunged into her just as she felt that something else was yet to come, but she supposed that it could wait.

He looked down at her, a half smile forming in his beard. She smiled back at the unfamiliar expression on his face, barely visible in the dark, and maintained eye contact when he reached out and touched her face, slowly pushing the hair out of her eyes. His blunt fingers traced the curve of her lips, and she could see the struggle in his eyes as he tried to remember something. She hugged him, reassuring him as well as herself, and he settled down beside her, stroking her back and her hair until they both fell asleep.

When the lights went out the next night he tentatively reached for her, still a little surprised at her willingness. After three more nights with him, she began to throw off her cover moments after the lights went off. During the next days, she tried to get him to repeat words, whispered quietly in the dark or those times when no guards were in the holding facility. He seemed to understand the need to be quiet around the guards. He acted circumspectly, but took every opportunity to touch her when no one was around. Stroking her hair or back, licking her wrist in quick, stolen moments of possessive intimacy. Their nights were spent coupling and whispering in the dark, the days spent lazing and dozing, just like the other drugged subjects.

The worst was when another dead body was dragged past. It was almost incentive enough to start eating the white squares again, if only to deaden the horror of what went on around them. That night, he made love to her slowly, carefully, and she orgasmed for the first time. He seemed pleased with himself, and she accused him of being smug. He only smirked and nuzzled her face.

The next morning the guard brought their morning feed. They sat down to share it, and only at the last moment did Marie realize the guard was watching them, eyeing them sharply, suspiciously. Panicking, she grabbed both sweet bits and fled across the cell. In a flash, Wolverine was after her, snarling menacingly. She screeched at him, holding the sweets away, but was not strong enough to keep him from pinning her down and forcing one of her fists open and getting the sweet away from her.

"Goddamn monkey freaks," muttered the guard, satisfied, and wandered away.

The feral expression above her face faded in to a smirk, and the drugged chew appeared between his even white teeth. With amazing accuracy, he raised his head and spit the tidbit into the toilet.

Then he smiled at her and she could see the understanding in his eyes, knew that he had been playing along with her. She smiled back, and he brought his mouth down and kissed her. Not the lick or nuzzle of before, but a genuine human kiss that slowly deepened until she grew light-headed.

The first passionate kiss she'd ever experienced had ended badly. This was entirely different. David (odd that she should suddenly remember his name, when she didn't even know the name of man who shared her bed) had been a boy, with smooth cheeks and inexperienced despite his cocky attitude. Whoever this man the guards called Wolverine was, he knew exactly what he was doing. The hands that caressed her body every night had grown steadily more confidant, more assured as his mental faculties cleared, and now he was kissing her. Although it could not have taken place in a more horrific setting, she knew she would remember this kiss for her entire life. Savoring the taste of him, the feel of his skin on hers, she knew it would never happen again once they got out.

The probability that they would never leave the lab alive was something her brain skittered away from.

They returned to their breakfast, and belatedly Marie considered Wolverine as a man, not just another lab animal. Eating the bland food in quick, precise bites, his eyes scanning continuously for the guards, occasionally falling on her, he could have been anyone. Well, anyone wearing a hospital scrub and in serious need of a barber.

He was a mutant like her, she supposed. Several of the other prisoners she'd seen had pronounced physical differences, but a few looked as human as she and Wolverine did. True, he was hairier than average, but she'd seen worse at the public swimming pool back home. Then there was the whole growling thing, but his eyes were intelligent, observant, and his hands were long and well shaped, as she had intimate reason to know. He must have had a life before this. A single eyebrow rose on his puzzled face as she grabbed his left hand, examining his ring finger.

No indents showed, though that didn't definitively mean he wasn't married. Oh, God. What would her mother say about her losing her virginity to a married man? Probably not anything worse than she'd said when she found out Marie was a mutant.

The Wolverine reached out and pushed her hair behind her ear; he always wanted to look her in the eyes when he was puzzled by her behavior. She tried to smile reassuringly, but he wasn't fooled. Leaving his food, he gathered her into his arms and held her. They were still folded together on the spongy floor when the guards came past, herding three new prisoners with vacant, staring eyes. Marie buried her face in his chest.

"We have to get out of here. Somehow, we have to."

"Go," he said, quietly.

She nodded, her head against his chest. "Yes. Go."

---

Their evening portion of food had long since been consumed, and the Wolverine was pacing back and forth. Marie gave him an amused smile. He growled back at her, unable to keep the smile off his own face. He was impatient for the lights to go out, and she knew it. Occasionally the guards just plain forgot, and left the light on all night long. This looked like another of those times, and the Wolverine flatly refused to touch her with the lights on.

She had no way of gauging time, but thought it had been about a month since her last test. She was waiting for the day they showed up at their door with their stun prods again, to take either him or her away, and the dread was beginning to eat at her. Every day the trolley came by and gave them their breakfast was another day the dread was pushed back, only to intensify as soon as she woke in the morning.

Evening portion was the best; then she and the Wolverine would eat, practice saying words, and as soon as the lights went off, would be on each other like, well, animals. When in Rome, she thought irreverently. Finally, she rose off the bed, caught his hand in mid-pace and dragged him to the ground.

"Walk," she whispered.

He frowned back at her. "Walk," he repeated, hesitantly. "Run."

"Swim," she replied, free-associating words to help build their vocabulary. She still found appalling gaps in her words, the simplest concepts refusing to reveal their name to her while she struggled to remember something she knew she should know.

"Water," he agreed.

"Drink."

An odd expression crossed his face. "Beer," he breathed, the longing in his voice making her giggle. He gaped at her, affronted by her merriment over his craving. "Chocolate," he added viciously, and grinned at her sudden lack of amusement.

"You're mean," she accused him with a smile, and he only grinned wider.

The grin abruptly slid off his face as he turned to watch the clear wall. After a moment, she heard the footsteps, too. One of the guards walked past their cage, and she kept her eyes on the ground as Wolverine growled. The footsteps continued down the hall to the middle of the containment facility, but the growling did not stop. Marie looked up at him, noting the tense set of his arms and shoulders under the pale green fabric of his scrub.

Uneasy, she pressed herself against his back. The uneasiness was answered when the footsteps returned, and stopped outside their door. The jingle of keys, then the beep as the keycard opened the lock on the heavy aluminum frame. Wolverine pulled her to her feet behind him and backed them up to the wall as the guard entered.

Richardson smiled nastily at the two lab animals and swung the stun prod lazily in his hand. "Don't you be giving me any trouble, hair boy, and we'll get along just fine. I just want to borrow your girlfriend for a little bit. You don't mind sharing, do ya?"

Wolverine growled back. Marie wasn't sure he understood entirely what Richardson had said, but she certainly did. Shrinking back against the wall, she tried to get herself under control in preparation of the acting performance of her life. She was going to have to let this walking filth rape her and pretend she didn't have the metal ability to understand what was happening.

The stun prod leapt out and nailed Wolverine on the shoulder, bringing a snarl of outraged pain. "Back off, hairball," Richardson snarled back, the prod leaving two more circles of singed flesh on Wolverine's arm and neck. Growling, he retreated another two steps, and Richardson leaned down and grabbed her by the arm.

"You and that animal seem to be getting along just fine. I'll just bet you and I can get along, too. Bet ya like it rough, don'tcha?"

Marie kept her eyes on the floor, not daring to look at Wolverine's face as she was taken away from him. She felt as though she were deliberately betraying him. She could hear him growling, low and continuously, but she didn't see his nostrils flare as he took in the musk from the man holding her. The ferocious roar startled her, and she tripped as Richardson backpedaled frantically, screaming.

She knew that the guards never entered their cage one at a time, but she'd never consciously taken into account why. It was explained plainly to both her and to Richardson as her cellmate batted away the prod, ignoring the maximum discharge's annoyance as he seized the guard and slammed him against the Plexiglas. Richardson's feeble attempts to punch Wolverine's face, gouge at his eyes were ineffective, and the movements slowed as the inexorable grip on his throat tightened. The rolling growl was the last sounds he ever heard; the snapping of his neck vertebrae was barely audible.

Panting, rage bristling the hair on his body, Wolverine stared down at the corpse. He kicked it once and grunted in satisfaction. Marie watched him stalk across the floor to her, too startled to move even if she'd wanted to, and unable to evade his hands as he seized her and roughly pulled her to her feet. Sniffing, he inspected her for injury, and was slightly surprised when she threw her arms around his neck and hugged him hard. He was surprised again when she released him just as suddenly and moved to the clear wall, absently stepping over the legs of the dead guard as she reached for the metal-clad door. The open door.

Barely able to believe, she pushed the heavy slab and watched it swing open several more inches on its balanced hinges. Huge eyes under the spill of brown hair met his as they shared an incredulous grin. Marie stuck her head out into the hall, peering up and down into the empty area. At the opposite end, a bright red sign gleamed four letters. E-X-I-T.

All but dancing in excitement, Marie checked the dead guard. On a grimy cord around his neck was an ID card, two key cards, and several keys. One was longer than the others, oddly shaped and made of heavy stainless steel, and her hands shook as she unsnapped the lanyard and tugged it from beneath the dead man's head. Wolverine stooped down as she gestured to him, and after two shaky tries the lock on his collar clicked, the collar springing open without argument.

Wolverine caught the collar as it fell from his neck, and stared at it a moment. His eyes met hers, then closed as a slight shudder racked him, and he shook his head like someone experiencing a dizzy spell. Worried, Marie touched his shoulder, but he took a deep breath and gave her a smirk she recognized. He pulled Richardson's body away from the wall and dragged it over to their bed, patting the man's pockets then ruthlessly unbuckling the belt and stripping off the shoes and pants. They were too big around and too short, but he pulled them on without a second thought. Marie was amazed at the swift, decisive movements he made as he covered the body with the rough blanket, making it resemble a sleeping form. He pulled her into the hall and peered up and down just as she had earlier.

He glanced at the key cards and ring in her hand, then pulled her out after him and shut the door to their cell. His stride was swift and silent as he led the way towards the red lit sign at the end of the hall. The first two cells were empty, but he noticed almost immediately when she paused at the one containing a blankly staring woman with green hair. His hazel eyes were wide in disbelief and the urge to hurry. Swallowing, she ran the key card across the reader. It gave a tiny beep, the LED turning green. The lock clicked a moment later.

She knew they had a better chance of escaping if no one knew they were gone, but she could not leave these others here. Pleading silently, she stared at Wolverine until he sighed hard and took the key card from her and pushed the collar key into her hands. Working together, they swiftly released and de-collared more than a dozen mutants, who gathered, dazed, in the hallway. After the last collar fell on the floor, he looked at it, then her.

"Yeah, I know," she replied to his obvious skepticism. "They could burn this place to the ground and never be smart enough to get out of the way, but it wouldn't be right to leave them here." Wolverine nodded, understanding, then reached for the collar still around her neck.

"No, sugar, I've got to leave it on. I'm dangerous without it."

"Dangerous?"

It was the biggest word he'd ever said, and she paused, amazed. He seemed to be recovering incredibly fast.

"Yeah. It's dangerous. I could hurt someone."

"Let's go," he said. "Me first, you at the end."

Him pulling, her pushing from behind, they got the group moving towards the end of the hall. The door revealed a staircase, leading up, and Wolverine lead the way. The marks on the wall read 'Sub-3,' confirming they were in an underground facility. The red signs continued to point up, and she heard the metal hinges squeal obscenely loudly above her as the Wolverine, two flights above, opened the door. The bare footsteps of their fellow prisoners padded softly upwards. The main level was quite dark when they entered into a main avenue, and the thought that this was incredibly easy crossed her mind just moments before the sound of gunshots rang out.

Screams, growls, and more shots reached her ears, and she frantically pushed past the confused mutants cringing on the floor as she sought the source of the battle. Two more gunshots sounded, along with Wolverine's distinctive roar, and she threw herself at the only figure still standing. Too scared for rational thought, she punched at the man blindly before familiar hands caught her wrists.

"Wolverine?" she asked softly, uncertainly. He grinned at her, then kissed her quickly.

His scrub had several blood-rimmed holes, but when she pulled up the shirt, only fading red marks showed. She touched the spots in disbelief until he captured her hand again in his.

"I heal fast."

An alarm claxon went off over her head, robbing her of an answer, and he swiftly pushed her towards the end of the corridor. Double wide, marked with yellow and black striped tape, it obviously led outside, but the push bars refused to move more than an inch when she pushed on them. Kicking didn't help, either, and she slammed her hip and shoulder against it. It still refused to budge, causing the panic to rise in her again. Wolverine joined her, pushing at the door handles just as she did.

"We've got to find another way out!" she shouted, barely able to hear herself over the siren.

"No," he said, his grip on her scrub forestalling her attempt to go searching. He held his fist out to one side, and she squeaked as knives shot out of his fist. Two disappeared, leaving the center blade to plunge between the doors and shear the lock mechanism and the pick plate as well.

Cool night air rushed in as he kicked the door open and the drugged mutants at last seemed to understand they were leaving this place. Rushing out in a mass, the crossed the pavement and the grassy expanse beyond. The faint moonlight glimmered on a chain link fence, eight feet tall, and the charge faltered as they pulled up and confronted the barrier. Again, Wolverine extended claws, ignoring the shouting from the building behind them, and slashed through the wire mesh. Marie held it open from one side, he from the other, and they pulled the half-dressed escapees through. The last one made it through as a shot rang out.

Wasting no more time, Wolverine grabbed her arm and hauled her after him into the brush and the scrubby forest around the compound. A glance behind showed a squad of guards making their way through the opening in the fence, and the grip on her arm was brutal as he pulled her swiftly through the vegetation, plunging into the sparse cover.

The other mutants scattered, and she saw one fall as bullets rang out in the night. Running desperately, she gave up trying to keep an eye on their pursuers and concentrated only on keeping her feet under her. She was aware of them changing directions several times, backtracking and circling as they hid from the jeeps that bounced and crisscrossed over the rough ground.

They stumbled across the corpse of another mutant, and Wolverine put his arms around her hard, shielding her.

"Don't look." He was stringing more words together, but speaking only when necessary. "Be dawn soon. Hide. Cave, maybe a big tree."

"What are you, Davy Crockett?" she muttered, exhausted, and he gave her a puzzled look. "You like the woods, right? You like, "and her arm swung out to encompass the trees surrounding them, "all this?"

He flashed a huge grin at her. "Yeah. Like it." He fingered the collar around her neck. "Don't like this."

"I don't much like it either, but it's necessary. It keeps you safe."

He frowned at her.

"My skin is dangerous. It can hurt you if I don't keep this thing on."

He still didn't like it and his chin jutted sharply, the beard bristling, but he didn't argue. He pulled her after him, then pulled her into the grass, freezing, listening. After a moment, she heard the engine as well. A jeep, bouncing over the ground, weaving between the thinning trees, and it suddenly occurred to her that the collar might have a tracking device in it. Shit! Wolverine yanked her to her feet and they were off again.

Fumbling with the keys, running, she did not match Wolverine as he darted to one side, and the headlights of the jeep swept across her, the pale green of her cover blazing in the lights. She heard several shots ring out, but didn't comprehend she'd been hit until the ground slammed into her.

Limbs still moving feebly, she blinked at the dark stunted grass. Dimly she heard a howl, the sound of the jeep's motor changing, men screaming, and a crash. A sweet copper taste in her mouth, then hands were on her, turning her over, and Wolverine's face came into focus. Blood on his forehead, and she reached up to it, but there was blood on her hand, too.

He was whining, no, he was saying something. She had to concentrate hard to make the words make sense. "Don't die. Please, don't die." He was begging, his hands rough on her shoulders as he tried to rouse her.

She tried to speak, but her mouth wouldn't work right. His head came down, kissing her eyes, her cheeks, his hands brushing the hair from her face. The sounds he made had no more sense to them. Drugged, she must have been drugged, right?

A roaring went overhead, and Wolverine glanced up at it, but his only concern was the woman dying on the ground before him. He could smell the death on her, and there was nothing he could do about it. The life was fading in her eyes, and his teeth ground together in impotent rage and despair. He wanted to howl, to rampage and kill, but he could only rock on his knees, hovering over her. At last her hand slid off her blood soaked stomach, the key ring jingling brightly as it fell from her fingers and hit the ground.

Hands shaking, he took the keys, found the long one, and fit it into her collar. When it sprang open, he gently removed the metal ring from her neck, then flung it savagely into the brush. He heard voices, calling to one another, and he growled. He would not leave her body here for them to find.

Gathering up her lifeless form, he struck out into the deeper woods, her hair hanging loose over his arm. He stumbled down the slight slope into a natural culvert, suddenly feeling light-headed. The dizziness increased, and he shook his head to clear it. It didn't work, and he managed only a few more steps before he collapsed to his knees.

She tumbled from his arms, rolling limply, but his head cleared. He paused, listening for the others, pinpointing their locations so he could hunt them as soon as he found a place to hide her body. And that's when he heard the single heartbeat. Then another. And after a short pause, another. Hope, an emotion he had not felt in longer than he wanted to know, sprang up within him.

He reached for her, rolling her to her back, and another heartbeat sounded. The sickening light-headed sensation returned strongly as he touched her arm, and he yanked back his hand. He stared at it, and her, and the sound of her heart again reached his sensitive ears. Faltering, unsure, it fluttered, then slowed again, skipping.

Slowly, deliberately, he cupped her face in his hand. The draw was instantaneous and brutal, but the sound of her heartbeat was all he heard as he lost consciousness.

He never heard the voices, calling out, "Scott! There's two down here!"

---

Marie woke with a start and sat up, panicked, only to realize what a bad move that was. Not only did she have a pounding headache, but a red-haired woman with a clipboard and wearing a white lab coat was in the room. The woman smiled at her, a pair of dark rimmed glasses perched halfway down her nose, and Marie made a convulsive reach for the collar around her neck. It wasn't there.

"It's okay, I'm not going to hurt you," soothed the woman, reaching out one hand. Marie flinched. "Wait, sorry," said the other, pulling on a pair of blue latex gloves. "That's better. How are you feeling?" The hands took her face in their grasp as the woman peered into her eyes with the crisp movements of a doctor.

"Where…" Marie looked from side to side, but the other beds in the room were empty. A teenage girl was sullenly changing the linens on one bed, her body language loudly announcing it was a punishment detail.

"You're in Westchester, New York," answered the woman, misunderstanding her question. "You're safe here."

"Safe?" echoed Marie, dubious.

"Yes," smiled the woman, picking up a small, lighted instrument and peering into her eyes again. "I'm Doctor Jean Grey. We picked you and the others up after you escaped. You're the last to wake up."

"Others," she repeated, feeling like a rather poorly trained parrot.

"Yes, the others," Doctor Grey assured her, continuing her examination. "I analyzed some blood samples and discovered the neural inhibitor compound that you all seemed to have in your systems, although you and Logan seemed to have much less. Once I found a way to neutralize it, they all recovered quite well."

Logan, Marie mused. His name must be Logan. "Is he all right?"

Jean frowned thoughtfully. "He seems to be physically recovered, but apparently that's part of his mutation. His memory is still foggy, but it should come back."

The significance of the word mutation came back to Marie, and she looked at Jean's gloved hands. The woman smiled reassuringly. "Yes, I know you're a mutant. I am, too." She laid down the instruments, then cocked her head to one side. "So, how are you feeling? You never answered me."

Frowning, Marie thought about it. "Hungry. I'm actually kind of hungry."

"Good!" beamed Jean. "Considering your injuries, that's excellent. Why don't we get you some clothes and see what's in the kitchen?"

Injuries? The memory of the frantic run through the woods came back to her, and her breath caught with a hitch. "I got hurt, didn't I? I was… shot?"

The concern was back in Jean's face. "Yes. You were apparently shot twice, with a high powered rifle. When we found you, you were covered with blood, but the wounds were closing." The memory of Wolverine – no, Logan's – wounds closing came back to her. "He touched me, didn't he? That's how you knew to wear gloves? Is he all right?"

"He's fine," soothed Jean. "I told you. He probably didn't even need the neutralizing agent I gave him. He's been driving Scott crazy for days."

Marie's head came up. "How long have I been asleep?"

A sigh came from that expressive mouth. "Three days, now. Logan's been in here to check on you several times, but he can't seem to stay in here for more than a few minutes."

"And you said he's okay? I mean, his memory will come back, right?"

The clipboard in her hands dipped as Jean hugged it against her chest. "I'm sorry, I can't really discuss this any further with you. I know you're concerned, but without Logan's permission…" She trailed off, and Marie nodded mutely. She wasn't next of kin. She wasn't his sister, his girlfriend. She had no claim on him.

"Well, I have a few questions for you," Jean continued cheerfully. "First of all, what's your name?"

"Name?" Marie shook herself mentally, she was doing the parrot thing again.

"Yes, your name. Logan couldn't tell us; he just said you were responsible for getting them all out."

Marie looked at her hands, clasped loosely in her hospital gown covered lap. He didn't even know her name. "Call me Rogue."

With only a slight hesitation, Jean wrote it down. "All right, Rogue. How old are you?"

She thought about it. "What's the date today?" Jean told her, and Marie did the math. "I'm seventeen."

That was jotted down as well. "Have you finished high school?"

"No… I ran away from home."

"That happens," Jean replied nonchalantly. "Well, we may be able to do something about that. But what do you say to some lunch?"

The rumble from her stomach saved her from answering, and Jean smiled that warm, cheerful smile again and went off to find her some clothes and helped her dress after a quick shower. The hairbrush was even more appreciated; it took the two of them some time to work through all the snarls in her hair. She caught her reflection in the bathroom mirror when she used the toothbrush Jean supplied and was astonished. She didn't look that different from the last time she'd been clean; only her eyes, huge, dark and haunted, were different than the last picture she could remember being taken before she ran away.

As she ate in the small staff kitchen, Jean told her about the place she was in, the other students who attended the school. Marie was astonished that a school for mutants even existed. Her appetite for her sandwich waned a bit when she found that only seven of the prisoners they had freed had survived.

Jean looked at Marie sympathetically as it became clear that nearly half of the dazed inmates had been killed as they escaped. "The facility you were in has been destroyed – the people there must have evacuated and blown it up as soon as they realized their subjects were being rescued." She put a hand on Marie's sleeve. "If you hadn't released those people, they would all have been killed. We're sure of that. The Professor had been hearing rumors about it for awhile, but we didn't know for sure… you must believe that we would have come in after you if we'd known you were there."

Marie nodded, then frowned. "You would have tried to rescue us? How? You're a doctor, not police, right?"

Jean's smile turned enigmatic. "We'll go over that later. Scott!" she called over Marie's shoulder, and she turned to see a tall man wearing red sunglasses passing in the hall. He backtracked and stuck his head in the kitchen.

"Hey! You're awake!" he said, flashing her a friendly grin. Marie returned it, but her eyes were on the even taller man behind Scott. His long hair had been cut, and the beard was nearly gone.

"Scott, this is Rogue. Rogue, this is my fiancée, Scott."

Marie held out her hand automatically, then pulled her bare fingers back quickly as she remembered she was without gloves. The man nodded understandingly, and he gestured to Wolverine.

"I guess you know Logan."

"Yeah. Hi," she said softly, and he jerked his head once. From the tenseness in his flannel-covered shoulders, she could tell he was annoyed at something. Scott's body was tense as well, and she could only guess that the two had been rubbing each other the wrong way.

Only by sheer force of will was she able to focus on Scott's words, and she vaguely understood he was repeating the same things Jean had told her earlier, making the same apologies for what she'd gone through. She nodded in agreement when Jean told her about some gloves she'd seen in a medical supply catalog, light and stretchy for burn victims, and she forced herself to smile and pay attention as Logan slouched off and left the room without a word.

After several more bites of food and all the helpful, earnest conversation she could stand, Marie finally confessed to being tired. Jean immediately apologized and showed her to a generic guestroom on the second floor with a single bed. She flopped down on it and fell asleep immediately.

---

The late afternoon sun was beginning to slant through the window when she awoke, and the unaccustomed brightness startled her. Jean appeared almost immediately, as if she'd known the instant Marie woke, with an armful of clothing and several catalogs including the promised medical supply catalog turned to the burn dressing page. Marie nodded and smiled obediently, and trotted behind the energetic woman as they went off to dinner.

She saw Logan only once, sitting at a smaller table with a bald man in a wheel chair. The two men were complete opposites, bald head to shaggy one, ferocious intensity versus a sophisticated casualness, but they were involved in a deep conversation that never flagged the entire time it took Marie to finish her dinner. She finally stopped watching the two men and allowed herself to be drawn into the laughter and questions being peppered her way by the teenage girls seated around her.

It was strange to hear people talk out loud, casually shouting over the top of each other as they shoved bowls of colorful vegetables and buttered bread and sliced pot roast up and down the table. The fork fit oddly in her hand, making her feel awkward, and by the time she finished the incredible tasting chocolate cake, Logan and the other man were gone.

---

In the same room she'd napped in, Marie woke, startled, for the umpteenth time. The little clock she'd been given said it was early morning, but sleeping was proving impossible in the far too normal bed. She went to the bathroom and was proud of herself for remembering to flush, then rushed back to make the bed. She dressed, then tiptoed gingerly down the stairs to the main hallway, lush with wood carved panels and deep carpet beneath her sock-covered feet. She explored a little, discovering the kitchen again, and then a game room full of the toys to divert teenagers from the rigors of school.

For some reason she wasn't surprised to see Logan sitting on a chair near the silent big-screen television. She wasn't surprised to see the bulging shoulder pack at his feet, either.

"Hi," she said softly, sitting down on the nearby sofa.

"Hey," he replied, glancing at her, then back to the floor. "You feeling better?"

"Mostly," she replied. "I had trouble sleeping. From the dreams," she clarified, not wanting to sound like she missed the feel of his body next to hers.

"Yeah, me too," he said diffidently. "Lotta dreams."

"So," she continued, when the awkward pause got to her, "you're leaving?"

He nodded once. "I'm going to Canada. I'm pretty sure I've got a cabin up there. This Professor Xavier is giving me some wheels, so I'm gonna go see what looks familiar."

'Do you.. do you have a family up there?"

"No – I'm pretty sure I was on my own." He looked at her. "What about you?"

Brown hair waved as she shook her head. "I ran away from home when I found out I was a mutant – my parents didn't take it well. Nobody in town took it well."

"Gotcha," he said. He glanced around the room, seemingly unwilling to look at her, and she couldn't resist the small smile that came to her mouth, the tiny bubble of ridiculous amusement that was so totally out of place.

"I am seventeen now. Age of consent, if that makes you feel any better."

His head came up with a jerk, the corner of his mouth twitching. "A little." He held up his thumb and index finger, barely an inch apart. "That much better."

"I should really apologize to you, ya know," she said. "I was the one taking advantage of you."

Hazel eyes stared into hers, and she felt suddenly embarrassed. "I used you. After that guard -- I didn't want to feel his hands on me anymore."

"It's okay," he interrupted. "I understand. I remember what you smelled like. I'm glad I could… help you, at least a little."

He shifted uncomfortably, then turned to her, intense. "I wanted to thank you, for what you did. You saved me, you saved all of us."

"Except the ones who died," she said bitterly.

"They would have died anyway, Rogue."

"Marie," she corrected softly. She didn't want any of these other bright, happy people to know it, but for some reason she wanted him to know her real name.

"Marie," he agreed with a nod. "You were the one who got your head together. You were the one who made it happen."

She felt the little smile come back. "Only because you're such a pig."

He laughed then, his face alight, and she felt her heart give a lurch and knew she was in love with him. Naked and hairy, or in jeans and a flannel shirt with his hair trimmed and beard tamed to overgrown sideburns, she was in love with him. Much older than her, with a life that had nothing to do with a little runaway from the South who was only technically legal and certainly nothing a mature man needed.

"Well," she said decisively, fighting down the tears that were threatening. "I guess you'd better be going, huh?" She stood and lifted the backpack to him as he stood as well. "Take care of yourself, okay?" She'd be damned if she asked him to send her a postcard. He'd walk away, and she'd never see him again. She was strong, she knew that now. She would be Rogue, and she would survive. She'd get over it. Eventually.

"I will. You, too. You're staying here, right?" He shifted the pack onto his shoulder, standing uneasily, almost fidgeting.

"Yeah, I think so. This place is actually a school. Dr. Grey says I can stay here and get my high school diploma. Maybe even get some college courses in."

"That's good. It sounds great. I, uh.. I talked to Xavier awhile yesterday. You ought to be safe here."

Marie shrugged in acquiescence. Not trusting herself to speak she attempted a bright smile, but he didn't return it. His eyes, darker now, peered into her face as they had a hundred times, as though trying to find something, understand something. Her chest began to ache as her lungs demanded to breathe, but she was suspended in time, waiting for him to say goodbye and walk out of her life.

"I'll be back," he said softly. "I don't know when, but I will be back." He carefully pushed her hair away from her face, tucking it behind her ear without ever actually touching her skin. "Do you understand?"

Eyes wide and solemn, she gulped air like someone suddenly saved from drowning.

"I understand," she whispered. "I'll be here."

He stared into her eyes for another long moment, then nodded once, turned and went out the door.