Life is a lot like a gala.

Being in a crowded room with no place to move except forward, nudging people and spilling their drinks while they glare at you just because you exist inside their personal space, is no way to live. Unless you’re an emotional masochist. Unless you enjoy the withering looks and barely suppressed “fuck you”s. Being in a crowded brain tends to have the same effect.

Rogue sighed loudly at the thought. It earned an annoyed look from Storm. Few months back, the weather goddess would have simpered at her side, asking her what was wrong, to divulge her soul. Ever since the…ugliness, she was less sympathetic. So Rogue sighed again, because in a way, she relished the hatred that had suddenly bubbled up in the mansion against her. It made her feel like she had a reason to be angry too. But this time, Ororo just ignored her.

Passive aggressive bitch.

Thank God there weren’t resident psychics around to hear that.

And then in a flash Rogue’s mouth turned into a thin line. What a fucking awful thought. Thank God? Thank God that Jean and Xavier were dead? That was a new low for her.

Realizing that now Storm and Bobby were peripherally watching her, she got up with as much dignity as she could muster, which wasn’t much these days, and headed out of the library. As she pushed the heavy doors open, a few of the junior students jumped out of her way. Maybe it was because she still held the demeanor of a girl too deadly to touch. Or maybe it was because you don’t just brush past mutant pariahs.

What is a pariah anyway? It sounds like a fruit. She’d always thought it was until a few weeks back, while she yelled and screamed at Hank about how he couldn’t understand. How he couldn’t relate his blue fuzziness to poisonous skin now cured and still held against her. She was still a loner, still an outcast and in her muddled, ranting mind, Erik finally supplied the word. But not before he called her an ignoramus for not knowing what it meant.

Ignoramus. What a weird word. Like pariah. Who the hell talks like that anyway? A queer old man with a fetish for inflicting pain and correcting grammar, apparently.

I have three children, his voice drifted from the depths, through the fog. And little girls with dementia shouldn’t discriminate.

Fine, the queer remark is retracted. Rogue still thought he was a tool.

Entering the empty kitchen, Rogue headed straight for the stash. Opening the cabinets in the kitchen where the beer was hidden felt like a crime. In fact every little breath she took in this infernal house felt like betrayal, which was stupid really. It had been her home, her sanctuary. She’d grown up relatively happy, considering the cruel hand fate had dealt her, with her skin and all. Friends, mentors, education, safety. Even an honest to God boyfriend. Who turned out to also be a tool, one she had to see every day. Yet if it came down to it, she was the one expected to leave. This place was just as much hers as anyone else’s, but apparently the keys came with a clause. How the hell did the back panel pop out again?

Rogue grunted when she finally gave up and started wrestling with the false back of the cupboard, nearly ripping out the whole damned wall. Damn Danvers.

By the time she got to her coveted case of Molsons, she wasn’t sure she even wanted them, but that’s the test of a true alcoholic. You don’t want it. You need it. The fact that it was his favorite brand just added to the humiliation of it all.

It’s pathetic, she thinks, seeing as not so long ago all the things that made her happy were still around. Her life fell apart so quickly and so spectacularly, it’s hard to believe that she went from zero to one hundred on the degenerate scale so fast. Rogue’s come to realize that those things that she listed as things she won, were actually crutches for her, stilts on which she stood and now she’s lower than low without them.

I lost Bobby to Kitty.
I lost one mentor to prejudice, the other to his wife.
I lost my father figure to a friend.
I lost my first love to the memory of that friend.
I lost my safety, because I am alone.

The chant is carved into the headboard Rogue now rests her back against, hidden behind a fluffy chantilly pillow. It’s the girliest thing in her room, an out of place presence, the one thing she took when they divided up Scott and Jean’s room, aside from his extra set of keys to the bike Logan took.

He’d been gone now four months, not a hint he’d ever be back. With all the dead buried in the backyard, she couldn’t really blame him.

Rogue shook her head, her hair perfectly tousled, like a just bed-fucked Bardot, falling over her face before she pushed it back again. She hated thinking of him, because when she did, she missed something. And it wasn’t him. It was the idea of her lost fragility. Back then she would have missed him. Nowadays, she didn’t miss anything.

Rogue looked at the remaining five cans. She wondered how they made it, if it would be a long shot for her to just hit the road and get a job at one of their breweries. That would be idiotic; boarder-line alcoholism was never cured by making a career of making the stuff.

Of course, if she got an apartment nearby, she could call it The LaBatt Cave. She chuckled to herself but shook her head as she flipped the tab on the next can. Somehow, it didn’t quite sway her.

But getting sauced in the day, before her life as the resident Math tutor started, was usually the only way to move forward. And in a crowded room, that’s all you can do.

Ah sure have come along way. Ahn alcoholic, ignoramus pariah who refers to herself in the third person. Maybe Ah am crazy.

Life is a lot like a fruit basket. As in Ah’m a pariah and a basket case.

Ah take it back.
Life is not a lot like a gala.
But Hell must be one helluva shindig.

Ah don’t know why Ah let John talk me into this. Why Ah agreed that maybe Ororo was extending the olive branch by asking me to help them on their reconnaissance outing to the Mayor’s big gala event. ‘Specially after Ah’d spent the day before bitchin’ about these things. Sure, Ah’m supposed to be smarter than that; smart enough to see that having a ‘cured mutant’ in the ranks could diffuse a situation, sharp enough to know the invite was a last ditch effort to make me feel Ah was still on the team. And damn sure clever enough not to do something when the Pyro in my brainpan tells me it’s a good idea.

Oh well. Too late now. Ah’m officially in hell. But at least Ah look hot to boot. Just get a drink in my hand, and maybe I’ll survive this.

Of course, she thought, Ah spoke too soon. Not one full second had passed before she surveyed the room and found she was not in good company. It was like a panoramic nightmare. Her eyes swept from left to right, and in that time she managed to recognize a few fellow freedom fighters. The ones whose good books, she was not in.

Rogue was sure that she must have flushed so furiously she matched the red satin gown Jubilee had leant her, because it was hard to keep her cool when Lorna Dane was staring right at her. Dear God, what circle of hell had she trounced into?

Doing a one eighty with surprising grace, she darted toward the thicket of people in the middle of the ballroom, luckily the only two people there she knew were Kitty and Bobby. Huh. Never thought I’d lump them in with my luck, she thought sarcastically. And as if to illustrate the point, Bobby leaned over, his arm looping around the petite girl’s waist, and planted a firm but sweet kiss on her cheek. Rogue rolled her eyes. First circle of hell, check.

God, even on missions they’re couple-y, she thought with a surprising amount of venom. Rogue may have been hurt by their tryst before, but the fact that they no longer seemed to care enough to hide it stung worse. But that’s what you get when you’re mansion enemy number one.

She thought better of her decision to head towards them and instead skirted toward the bar. Her glass was dry as a bone already, and she couldn’t think of anything better to do than hide in that glass. Of course, he would be standing there already, nursing his own glass of brown liquor. And as their eyes met, Rogue knew she couldn’t get away without saying hello. Which irked her to no end.

Sidling up to the rich, oaken bar, she pushed her glass, gave her order and waited. Waited for him to say hello first. And waited. Damn it, wasn’t he Canadian? Weren’t they supposed to be polite?

“Didn’t expect to see you here.” She grimaced at the sound of her own voice. She broke first. She could feel him shift at her side, but refused to look at him just yet.

“Could say the same for you.” His voice sounded gruffer. Grittier. Harder. And suddenly that frozen, stranded girl came roaring back and she felt her stomach flip.

“Just tryin’ tah be a team player.” She purposely thickened her accent before throwing her hair over her shoulder and looking at him with that doe eyed gaze she had down pat. He seemed unfazed. Didn’t even smile. Bastard.

“Surprised they let you leave the house lookin’ like that kid.” And he gulped down more whiskey. She looked down at her strapless, long, curve hugging, red satin gown that ended in a small train. He didn’t look the least bit impressed. Double bastard.

“Seein’ as Ah ain’t a kid anymore, sugah, don’t see they had any choice.” She was surprised at how serene that sounded, since at the moment she was torn between the fantasy of concussin’ him or kissing him. His mouth’s edge did quirk, but she wasn’t sure if it was a smile or a frown. Rogue’s lips had barely parted when she felt someone bump her shoulder, and reflexively she recoiled.

“Oh, I’m so sorry!” Rogue looked at the girl who had brushed by her, instantly focused on her red hair and grimaced. Her eyes darted to Logan. His eyes had darkened as well, but not for the same reason. After all, he liked redheads.

“No problem.” Rogue replied curtly, as the woman blushed prettily. She hated that.

“Mary Jane, come on, the Mayor wants to meet you.” A voice called from behind a wall of people. The rosy haired woman responded, tried to peer around them.

“Okay Harry, just let me find a clearing.” She called back, then turned to address Rogue again. “I hate these things, too many people, don’t you think?”

Rogue managed a bland “uh-huh” while the girl continued on her way, passing Logan as she went, his eyes following her for the briefest moment. And then her urge to concuss him won over.

“Well Ah better make the rounds, do mah duty, or whatever.” She thought she heard him begin to say something but she’d already twirled to face away from him and pushed her way into the crowd. This was always an exhausting thing for Rogue. Trying to remember that touch was okay now, while also trying not to forget that she had the strength to pitch an elephant across an ocean.

Emerging from the swarm, she had the sudden urge to gasp for air and fan herself but coming face to face with Lorna Dane put a damper on her sense of escape. Sure her telltale blanket of green hair was covered by a wig. Those pissed off green eyes were no one else’s.

“Lorna.” Was all Rogue could think to say as a greeting. She would never fake pleasantries. The green eyes narrowed. Maybe fake would have been better actually…

“You’ve got some guts, I’ll give you that.”

“Any chance you don’t want to spill those guts all over this dance floor?”

“Witty and gutsy. You’re a real class act, aren’t you?” Rogue could have answered but she knew it was sarcasm. And even with her entire wall of shit life crashing on top of her in the span of one evening, she figured that this was one encounter she was due. And she wasn’t the only one in her head who owed Lorna.

“Ah s’pose telling you Ah’m sorry for the hundredth time would be redundant…”

“I just don’t get you.” Lorna cut in, crossing her pale arms over her chest. “We genuinely trusted you, practically took care of you, and you put him in the hospital.” Rogue felt that stomach flip again, except this time it was accompanied by the impulse to throw up. “He’s still not the same. He’s only just started walking again, and his hands shake all the time-“

De shakes? Oh no. What good t’be a t’ief wit da shakes? Ah, Chere, why ya did dis to Remy, uhn? Fuck, Rogue swore internally, after a month of silence he had to choose this night to bob to the surface?

“-and the worst part is he still won’t say one word against you.” Rogue blinked. She didn’t know what to say. She already felt horrible enough. “Well?” She steeled herself up.

“Was there a question in there?” She replied as nonchalantly as she could. For a moment, Lorna looked like the top of her head would pop off and steam would billow out. Then that raging green fire in her eyes turned into bitter ash.

“Don’t you feel even a little bit guilty?”

“So that’s what yah want, is it? To say that Ah feel badly about what happened?”

“What you did-“

“Yah know what. Ah’m not talking to yah about this here. Because Ah told yah Ah was sorry, told yah both, Ah stayed with him as long as Ah could, and every day Ah feel that fuckin’ guilt that yah want me tah feel so bad, so don’t beat me down with what Ah did.” She was speaking heatedly, but low enough that the nearby crowd didn’t seem to notice. Feeling moisture behind her eyes collect, which was the signal that it was definitely time to run again. “Ah’m sorry.” There. One hundred ‘I’m sorry’s. Could she come out of time out yet?

Again, Rogue could have sworn she’d heard a reply. Marvelous job, that British jeer floated into her ear, you really are a wordsmith. The anger and gut wrenching sadness became fury.

Ya’ll’re one tah talk, Lehnsherr. Does she even know? Rogue called back, into the depths of her brain. Erik knew what she meant and she glowed at his pause.

Some things are best left covered, he replied delicately. If there was one thing Magneto didn’t excel at, it was being a father.

My, my, grown a set a’ morals, have we? Rogue skewered back.

It seemed to shut him up in the meantime. She had more pressing matters. Like the tears on the edge of her eyelids. Crying was not something she would do, not here where everyone who wanted to see her cry would relish it. Blinking rapidly, once she was satisfied no spillage would come, she made her way over to the white haired weather goddess. When your personal life kicks you in the teeth, there’s nothing like getting stuck into work.

“…Registration Act was never something Hank and I saw eye to eye on, but if push came to shove, he could convince me of anything.” Ororo chuckled in that sage way that seemed too old for her. Usually it soothed Rogue. Now it needled her.

“Excuse me.” Rogue said with a small cough, doing her best to remember her etiquette. Both eyes turned on her, and didn’t seem hostile. Her tension momentarily vacated, the first time the whole evening. “I was wondering if I could speak with Ms. Munroe for a moment.”

“This is one of the students from my school.” Ororo introduced, smiling widely and indicating for Rogue to shake the portly gentleman’s hand. “This is General Burke, an old friend of Dr. McCoy’s.” They shook hands. Rogue’s hand felt moist afterwards.

“I hope you’re enjoying yourself, young lady.”

A full ten seconds passed.

“Ah sure am.”

It seemed to appease him. He walked off to find someone else’s hand to dampen. “What is it Rogue?” It wasn’t said snidely, so Rogue remained relaxed. Ororo had turned to face her but those dark eyes remained on the crowd, probably scanning for her next target to haul on the mutant bandwagon.

“Well…uh…” Now that she was standing there, she really didn’t know what she was supposed to be doing. “Ah just wondered if there was anyone specific Ah should be talkin’ to, you know?” Finally their eyes met. And Storm smiled at her for the first time in over a month.

“Well.” She said, looking the younger woman over as if thinking. Rogue fidgeted with her sash. “Bobby flopped with Mayor Duncock…” She shook her head suddenly. “No, Logan said he’d take care of it.” Rogue had to suppress a snort. Logan’s diplomatic skills were questionable at best. “Actually there is one Government Doctor who has been eluding me all night. Perhaps you could take over the hunt?” She smiled again. Rogue felt her resolve breaking. That’s what happens when you’re a pariah. Any little bit of positive feedback is like food for the starving.

“Sure, he got a name?”

Forty five minutes later she managed to peel herself away from the Doctor Feelgood and made a beeline for the bar top again. Rogue let out a heavy sigh and pushed her finger through her hair once more. She felt someone gently pull her hand out of the long waves.

“Don’t ruin your hair.” A middle aged woman signaled she wanted another glass of the champagne and then tilted her head toward the Rogue, who was still shocked a complete stranger had just touched her. “I know what you people are doing here.” Rogue swallowed thickly and tried to look as naïve as possible. “Well, I hope you made an impression on the Doctor.” Well, he’d made an impression. A handprint on her hip at least. “I mean, an impression on Mutant Rights, not on the pros of playing doctor with a younger woman.” For a moment Rogue thought her jaw must have hit the floor. No sooner had the flute been handed to the woman, she walked off. Ororo slipped into her spot almost immediately.

“I don’t think I need to inform you,” her voice was tight and low, “that was his wife.” And then she walked off as well.

Ah. Hello circle number four. Well, so much for excelling at her mission tonight. Or keeping in Storm’s good graces.

It was like death by a thousand small cuts.

She wandered to the end of the bar, in a little nook where a solemn chair was propped up, probably for the waitstaff. Rogue shrugged and sat down, subtly pushing her chair father into the corner which was obscured by decorative plants. Maybe if she couldn’t see anyone, they wouldn’t notice her. She was sure that would make the evening more enjoyable for everyone all round.

It worked for about half an hour, Rogue only leaving her haven to get refills, and no one seemed to miss her. It was too perfect to last forever.

“Logan.”

“Stark. Rhodes.”

Satan’s balls. Did everyone need to make an appearance tonight?

“Good to see you again, man.” A sound, like a clap on the back. “Excuse me a minute though, I gotta check on the wife.” And then there were two. Rogue imagined she could feel her ears straining.

“Didn’t expect to see you hear tonight.” Can’t anyone come up with anything original anymore, Rogue thought as she sunk even farther into the shadows.

“Can’t say the same. I know you’d never miss a chance to flash your shit around the upper crust.” Her hand went to her mouth, both to stop the snort of laughter and the gasp of surprise. She knew he didn’t give two flying leaps but he was talking to Tony fucking Stark! She could see a hand clench around a drink, but she didn’t know whose it was.

“Fury called you too, huh?” She heard a grunt response, probably a yes. “No surprise then. Well, I’m sorry I couldn’t return the favor.” A gruff chuckle followed, and Rogue couldn’t help her curiosity as she peeked through the foliage to watch the exchange.

“No girl tonight?” It was said with an air of joking. Of camaraderie. But immediately the billionaire’s eyes flashed, and he didn’t smile.

“The only girl on my mind isn’t capable of being vertical, thanks to your pal Stripes.” Rogue froze.

Stripes. Her fingers absent-mindedly found her white locks at her cheek. Carol.

A thousand deep gashes. Dealt by a novice butcher.

There was a pregnant pause, and for the first time in a long time, Marie could feel real chest pounding fear roll off of her. She immediately sat back, curiosity be damned. It killed the cat after all.

“Back off Stark.” Logan growled, warningly. But now Marie could hear the other’s laugh.

“Or what? Are you gonna tell Fury on me?”

“You’re a juvenile bastard sometimes, you know.” Logan retorted around the rim of his glass.

“She’s not a scorch mark, I’d say that’s pretty damn big of me.” She saw their feet shuffle closer to her secret nook, and like a child she lightning fast grew her legs up, knees held fast to her chest.

“You so much as look at her sideways and I’d gut you.”

“Think you could?” The friendly banter was edging out of their voices and for a moment Marie envisioned a brawl breaking out.

“Check yourself squint.” Logan said dangerously, “Wearing the wrong suit to be actin’ like you own a pair.”

“If Carol were around, she could vouch for their existence.”

It was so fast that had she not been so paralyzed with fear, Marie would have squealed as just one claw was popped, only visible to the three of them. Well, four of them.

For fuck’s sake Tony, why do you have to go running your mouth? The Rogue part of her groaned at the Bostonian lilt’s words. And just like that it wasn’t only Marie but Carol behind her eyes. What was going on? Marie was desperate to know, but Carol was ignoring her and assessing her two teammates. That’s right, Marie suddenly remembered; S.H.I.E.L.D and the Avengers. Logan’s life without us.

“Bad taste, Tony.” Logan finally huffed. There was a deep baritone sigh.

“I know.” The claw retracted. “Way to keep a low profile, by the way.” Joke. It was sarcasm, a joke. The situation diffused, Marie slipped her mask back on and turned inward on Carol.

So, Rogue said coolly, you hook up with ALL your teammates?

Carol didn’t answer, skipping a beat was like an admission of guilt. Rogue laughed, Wow, Danvers, all that crap about feminine power an’ you’re just a plain lil’ whore!

You don’t have to be a bitch just because I slept with Logan and you haven’t. That soured Rogue a bit. Besides, it happened once, on assignment because we were lonely, it’s not like I’m as pathetic as you are, hung up on the Wolverine.

Am not, was the only sulky reply Rogue could counter with. This time Carol laughed. Rogue felt her resolve strengthen. And Stark? Was he just another bit of ‘comfort’. Silence. Come on, you coward, tell me!

Hush now Chere, de woman is not worth it. Rogue inhaled deeply and smelled cigarette smoke and cinnamon and it calmed her. Both men, they are fou! De stupid Stark man, ‘e only sleep wit’ Danver because ‘e is in love wit’ de Rhodes man, and she is de closest t’ing. Rogue giggled genuinely inside. And then she felt a pang of loneliness at the sound of his voice. Tell me you forgive me…

Before an answer could be given, Rogue felt a rough shake over take her body and her head knocked against the back of the chair hard enough for her to see stars. Well, no, actually all she could see now was Logan.

“You in there, kid?” He asked, preparing the shake her some more. She quickly lopped her small hands as far around his wrists as they could and nearly picked him up off the ground.

“Ah’m fine, Logan!” She insisted, instinctively glancing behind him. Logan smirked.

“He’s gone.” She nodded. Then paused.

“Who’s gone?”

“Don’t play stupid Marie, it’s not very attractive.” So she pouted comedically and in turn he chuckled. “Hope the wind don’t change.”

"Ah seem tah be charmin' enough, how 'bout you? Ah nearly keeled over right there when Ororo said YOU were talkin' to the Mayor 'bout the Registration Act." Logan sniffed.

"Don't have much faith, huh darlin'." She barely had time to soak in the endearment, "He said he'd make an appointment, some shit like that." She cocked an eyebrow.

"Yah believe him?"

"You don't?"

"Ah dunno...you trust a guy 'wose got the word "cock" in his name?" He just about snorted his whiskey through his nose.

"Jesus Marie, don't do that." He pinched the bridge of his nose as she aimed her best impish look at him. "An' you know the "ck" is silent..."

"He still signs his name-"

"Yeah, well you're the one sniffin' round the Fonze over there." He thrust one finger out across the room.

"That's DOCTOR Fonze." She corrected, "An' if you was watchin' us, why the hell didn't you help me outta there?"

"...then I couldn't watch."

“You ain’t no gentleman, sir.” Rogue laughed, her cheeks reddening.

“You know it.” And he winked, which moved her to give him her wide smile reserved only for him.

Then she remembered she was mad at him. She remembered that they weren’t buddies, or teammates, or a pair on the run anymore. It didn’t feel right for it to be this easy between them. Her smile disappeared lightning fast.

“Maybe you shoulda let him.” Logan blinked.

“Let who? What?”

“Stark. Maybe yah shoulda let him turn me into a scorch mark.”

“Marie…” But there were no words. She already knew why.

Right before he left, she touched his skin for the first time and that was when she’d discovered the cure hadn’t worked. Not completely. She pulled thoughts out of him and he didn’t even know. The last thing she heard him say were those thoughts:

“I’ve lost the three most important women in my life.
Jean’s dead, and I made her that way.
Carol’s in a coma, not spunky, tough-as-nails Ace anymore.
Marie’s not Marie anymore, not the same since Carol.”

“Rogue.” She said, because she had memorized everything already and it only took a nanosecond for the weight of it to hit her. “Remember, my name is Rogue.”

There. My seven circles of hell. And the last one surrounds me always. The cacophony in mah head. Erik, John, Carol, Remy, Logan. All Ah'm sayin' is if heaven is eternal peace, and hell the opposite, it’s safe to say Ah’m circlin’ the drain.

Life is a lot like Dante’s Inferno.

Life’s like getting a passport.

You line up for two hours, hurtling toward a desk clerk at the speed of smell, for 32 blank pages and your vital stats bound in a leather cover. Because the only thing people wanna know is a few details, where you've been and if you're legal. Anything else is incidental.

For most people, obtaining one of these debasing, soul-sucking booklets is a boring process. Their impatience is usually subdued by chewing gum or playing sudoku or chatting with others. Thank god she'd downed that Nyquil and shut the other residents of her head the hell up for a few hours. Otherwise she'd be going mental while everyone else tapped their heels, bitchin' about how slow the line was moving.

For Rogue, she felt like she wanted to dig in her heels every time they moved another step toward the counter.

For Rogue, life is a lot like trying to get a passport... when you're a criminal.

Her hands were clammy. Her eyes were darting around, she knew she looked shifty but she couldn’t bear to focus on anything too long. Her legs were pins and needles, and the half a’ McMuffin in her stomach threatened to make an encore appearance.

That's what you feel like when you're about to slide forged papers across a government agency's table and ask that they pretty please let you out of the country. The same would probably happen to any mutant in this position. With the Registration Act breathing down all their fuckin’ necks, it had managed to sneak in a small bill retracting international movements of mutants without first registering with the Department of Homeland Security. Fuckin' bureaucracies.

But besides the federal laws she was preparing to stamp all over, there was the added secrecy of it all. That she was preparing to run across borders by herself, without telling anyone. Pulling a Logan, so to speak. It felt illicit. It felt criminal. It felt like the last nail in the coffin of betrayal.

She'd never needed a passport before. Back when, she was too young to travel, and by the time she was old enough the X-Jet was all the credentials she needed to get around. But now that she was planning on sneaking off like a bad lover in the middle of the night, she'd have to go low profile. Fuckin' Canadian/American border control and their new passport laws.

She stepped forward, now at the very front of the line and she felt her knees begin to tingle in that telltale way they always did when she was about to get caught doing something wrong. Her mama called them ‘the wiggles’.

"Number 388! Three Eight Eight!" Brushing a white lock behind her ear (and wiping a nervous bead of sweat), she walked brusquely over to the woman who had waved her forward, and practically shoved her papers at her. After a few minutes passed, she seemed to be in the clear.

"How long does it take?" Rogue asked while the woman, who looked younger than she, began typing at lightning speed.

"About a month, Miss..." She took hold of the license, "Drake." Rogue felt her cheeks flare up. That had been John's sick little joke, she hadn't realized that was the name she gave the forger until it was too late. She swallowed down the hurt.

"Um, any chance of gettin' it sooner?" The steady chattering of keys stopped. "Yah see, Ah'm in an awful hurry. Ah just found out a friend a' mine up North is sick, and Ah'd like to get there before the funeral." The woman raised an eyebrow, apparently not thrilled by the Southern sarcasm. Rogue scanned her nametag. "Please... Amanda." The clerk opened her mouth indignantly.

"Fucking freaks!" Both of their eyes flicked a man walking past her desk, crumpling up a piece of paper and temporarily interrupting their conversation.

"Another mutie problem, Bill?" Rogue tensed, and felt her blood run cold when Amanda's eyes seemed to flash in recognition.

"They get bolder every time, don't they know they have to Register to get a’hold of visas?!" He was almost shouting and suddenly seemed to remember there were about thirty people in the room with him. He immediately spotted Amanda, sitting just an arm's length away. "I'm sorry Miss Sefton, I didn't mean to interrupt."

"Uh, no problem Mr. Polock..." Her eyes were still locked on Rogue, though. This was a very bad idea...

"Um, you know, Ah forgot mah coat in the Waitin' Room, Ah'll just go-"

"You don't have to be afraid of me." That was certainly unexpected. Rogue still itched to bolt, not quite at ease. Amanda glanced back at where her boss had been, then leaned forward ever so casually. "I think we might be in the same boat, you and me." Definitely unexpected. Well, she'd managed to get one of the few mutants working in the God damn passport office. Finally some kismet, how refreshing.

"If that's true, then you see mah problem." There was a few seconds wherein she could practically see the cogs turning in Amanda's brain behind her brown eyes. Then a subtle, sly smile broke across her face.

"I think I can arrange something..."

Forty-eight hours later, Rogue had in her mitts the passport promised to her by the clerk. After giving the sending address as Xavier's School, Rogue found out Amanda was a friend of Nightcrawler's, who had been singing the X-Men's praises to high heaven. Rogue sighed; it would be hard to give up the association with the school. It did wonders for underground mutant networking. But if she was going to strike out on her own and not get tracked, she had to be as invisible as possible. She flipped open the booklet and took in her stony gaze and unsmiling face. Born in Tallahatchie Mississippi on March 26th, 1985. Stella Jean Drake. It wasn't at all funny she didn't even get to pick her own name. John chose Drake because he was a prick. Logan's immediate vote was for the name Jean, because even though he was inside her mind, he was still thick and ignorant to the fact she was insanely jealous. And Erik had suggested Stella. It surprised her. He was the only one who'd chosen a purely random moniker.

Her bags were already packed when the brown envelope arrived. All that was left to do was bum a ride to the nearest airport or train station and she'd be home free. Or at least, free of this home. Hah. Runnin' again. What a trip down memory lane.

Logan was sitting in the kitchen when a familiar and yet distant scent hit his nose. He tried to brush it off with a wrinkle of his nose, ignored the slightly disapproving look when he wiped it on his sleeve and tried to actually listen to Hank's lecture on... whatever he was saying. Storm seemed to be fascinated. He tasted cigar smoke and Screech on the back of his tonsils. Screech, that disgustin' Newfie hooch, of all things. The smell was trickling down his throat and finally his limited sense of courtesy dropped like a sack of potatoes and he wandered out of the kitchen without an explanation. It was wafting down the staircase, and he tracked it up into the residence rooms. In his gut, he hoped it wouldn’t lead him to the kid’s door.

Probably because he hadn’t stoked up the nerve and knocked on her door and told her he was stickin' around for a while, burrowin’ in. She was in her room all day, he knew, he coulda gone up anytime and told her the news, but he kept putting it off. Why the hell do I keep puttin’ it off?

Logan could be thick sometimes, but this particular time it was pure denial. Yeah, a thick coating of sweet denial. He knew why he didn’t want to see her but he just kept shoving it back into that mental cage with the more feral aspects of his nature. That way he didn’t have to fix his skewed vision of Marie. Didn’t have to address the fact that every damn time he saw her, even when he saw her that night and rose to her defense, he felt like protecting her and beating her unconscious all at the same time. If he was honest, and opened up that cage, he might even fuckin’ kill her.

He sniffed the air, brows knitting, forgetting the caged emotions for a moment and feeling older, earthier ones come flooding forward. That smell… that smell of tangy metal cage links, spilt beer and snow and gasoline. It smelled like his camper. His poor, totaled camper. The smell of... was that Laughlin City…

There was only one reason he'd smell that, and it barreled into him on the way out of her room. She looked confused by his sudden appearance. He’d prepared himself for that reaction. He didn’t know if she’d be happy he was plannin’ on stayin’ put. Seeing her in that old green coat with the coweled hood, that familiar green dugout bag slung over one shoulder, apparently she wasn't.

"Where you goin' kid?" Looking at her was gut wrenching. She looked just like when she climbed into his truck. Even the naive, wide eyed expression was the same. Suddenly those killing urges were light-years from his mind.

"Ah... uh..." She stumbled over her words, and that made it feel worse, the gut twist, that is. Then she expelled a breath, and for the first time in a long time, she was gonna be open with him. "Ah gotta get outta here, Logan. Ah can't take it anymore." Even knowing it was coming, he was surprised by her response. They hadn't talked much in the last six months.

"Wait, whaddya mean?" His hands were extended, not actually touching her but guarding her arms as if to grab her if she tried to leave. She gave him a look that screamed… something. "Start talkin' Stripes, tell me what's wrong." She rolled her eyes.

"Maybe Ah coulda told yah if you were around before, but it's too late now." He actually did take hold of her now and she forgot how lovely the strength in his hands felt when they were touching her. He breathed deep. Looked at her close. She was older. She wasn’t innocent. He reminded himself not to pop the claws.

"Listen, Rogue, I can't tell you what to do, but where you gonna go, huh?" He asked severely, frowning down at her. She shrugged. "That's not good enough, girlie." Her cheeks instantly went red, and eyes narrowing.

"It's not like Ah'm new tah this. Christ Logan, you met me on the road and Ah was sixteen back then, seemed tah be doin' just fine!" He snorted.

"I remember a scrawny kid in a bar she had no place in, who stole rides and wolfed down expired jerky, gettin' chased by-"

"Alright! Ah know, Ah was there!" She cut in, feeling as though this was taking on a very father-child sort of tone, and not one that she appreciated. She decided the best way to get around this obstacle was to make him not want to be one anymore. “Ah’m twenty fuckin’ years old Logan, Ah can do whatevah Ah want, you ain’t mah daddy and if anythin’ Ah thought you’d want me outta here!” She paused long enough to let him deny it, he didn’t, so Rogue knew she was on the right track. “Last time Ah checked, Ah’m not one a ya’ll anymore, Ah fucked up the most important mission we evah had, an’ Ah nearly killed on a’ your friends!” She couldn’t tell if the sudden intake of breath was him or her. “So if anythin’ you should be drivin’ me tah that station and buyin’ mah ticket for me!”

It hurt. It stung. It was the truth. Logan grit his teeth and opened his mouth but she cut him off.

“An’ don’t say it doesn’t mattah, don’t say it’s nothin’, cause we both know it’s everythin’.” She shucked his hold on her arms, but didn’t run around him like he figured she would. He stared at her. Time was he could look at her and think, God, what’s a good little girl like her doin’ hangin’ around an ornery bastard like me?

She finally let out a bitter bleat, and hunched down to pick up her dropped duffle bag. And the Wolverine had had enough, he wanted to hurt her back, and if the man wouldn’t let him do it with his fists, he’d do it with words.

“I was gonna ask what station.”

“What?” Rogue blinked at him, and those were the doe eyes again, watching as he pulled the car keys out of his pocket and grabbed her bag. Slinging it over her shoulder, she still looked at him like he couldn’t possibly mean it, so he turned and started walking. She really thought she could say those things and he’d still try to make her stay?

“If I’m givin’ you a lift,” he called over his shoulder like a stranger, “what station?”

Life’s a lot like Laughlin City. You blink, and she grew up wrong.

Life is a lot like a wall.

If Logan were poetical, he could pretend that meant life was one long obstacle race, or a desperate scramble to the top like a bad military movie. But for the Wolverine, life was a wall of shit that continuously fell on top of him. And it seemed that he had finally had enough of one particular shit brick.

He didn’t lie to himself much. Sure, it was tough watching her disappear into the distance, standing in a fog of steam and grime at the steps of the train station, and it killed him a little bit to think that it felt all too familiar, all too much like Laughlin. With a different outcome.

He actually released his claws once he was back on the freeway. Was pretty sure he scared the shit right outta that Chinese take-out guy in the sedan next to him. But even though he knew he was doing the right thing for every party involved, letting Rogue go wasn’t easy. If he was completely honest, it was the hardest fuckin’ thing he’d ever done. Harder than the gut wrenching disappointments about his past, even fuckin’ harder than skewering the woman of his dreams to save the world.

Or maybe it was hard to let go the idea of Rogue. No, the idea of Marie. Marie. The poor, sweet, delicate little runaway that fashioned a protector out of him when he was just Jack Nobody in the boons of Upper Canada Nowhere.

Letting his claws unsheathe brought on the physical pain he needed to ignore the chest ache of letting Marie go. Letting go of the first person to give him a purpose. Letting go of that old, fucked up, glorious promise that they were two of a’ unsound kind and he’d always look out for her. He sure had done a crap job, judging by what he came home to.

He hated what she had become. Not sweet, not young anymore, and definitely not frail. Her sharp glares and thin smiles, that awful white streak she refused to hide, all ravaged her old familiar, fawn-like face. He detested her sarcastic quips and her ever present PMS. He hated that she had broken up with the harmless icy twerp and taken up with Gumbo, that Cajun dick, then fucked that up too. He absolutely loathed that she’d grown more comfortable wearing touchable attire, while her scent remained tinged with lingering anxiety over the actual act.

Logan growled deeply, wanting to kick her out of his head the way he’d kicked her out of his truck, out of his life. And she deserved it.

It all went downhill after the Phoenix stand-off, after she took the cure. That was enough to make her enemy to most people in the mansion. But she was Marie, and he was Logan. They still had a connection, even if it had been chipping away for some time, by her boyfriend, by Jean, by responsibilities to the younger mutants, by the War, by the cure…

Logan shifted uneasily, felt the seatbelt was suddenly a little too constricting. He kept waiting for her to pull herself out of the sinky sand. Give her space, and time, that’s what Storm had told them all after Alcatraz. Not that she needed to request it, since she and Hank seemed to spend all their spare time in the lab with the mysterious Patient X, while Bobby and Piotr were too wrapped up in that Kitty critter, and most of the mansion still had a hate on for the non-mutant. And, okay, maybe he had been a little distant. He liked to mope in solitude. And after killing the woman he truly believed was the love of his life, he was entitled to a little brooding peace, wasn’t he? Besides, all Rogue had to do was tell him she needed him and he woulda dropped everythin’ running. With or without Jean, he was there for her. He asked her if she was sure about the cure, asked if she needed a ride. She said no. At least he tried. Didn’t he?

Logan shoved a hand gruffly through his thick hair, felt the prickling of ripping knuckle flesh against freed claws, and swallowed down the twinge of guilt in exchange for pain. He knew better than to step in without her asking for it, but his absence seemed to be what spurred her on. Still, all the shit that went down wasn’t his doing. She was a grown ass woman now, despite him still calling her ‘the kid’. Everyone makes choices, and usually he’d be the last one to step up to that soap box and preach leaving your neighbor the fuck alone, but she was so much better than all the things he’d done. Things she’d now done too. Tainted.

It felt like every fuck up, great or small, was aimed at tearing down the neatly packaged ideal he had of her. Nearly killing Ace had been the final straw to tweak the beast’s nose. Or something like that.

He just couldn’t forgive her. Not for keeping her renewed powers a secret. Not for going AWOL for a month and joining up with the fuckin’ Brotherhood for Christ’s sake, the damned force behind Chuck and Scooter and Jean’s deaths. And definitely not for pulling half the life out of his ex-partner like a demonic leech, then scurrying back under Hank’s skirts when things turned sour.

Big Bad Blue said she didn’t know what she was doing. He said the cure had an adverse effect, stimulated when the forsaken skin roared back to life. Temporary insanity, basically. Didn’t really matter. Still took Logan three weeks to even be able to walk past her and not want to throw her through a glass window. Probably because she didn’t even seem repentant.

Pulling into the drive of Xavier’s School brought him abruptly to the conclusion that he did what he had to do. What was best for everybody. Let her run for it. Let her go rogue. That was her name now, anyway.

He took three strides inside, the slam of the door a distant noise, bent on storming up to his quarters and slicing up all that irreplaceable antique furniture. And then he’d get drunk, maybe stumble into a particularly nasty dive, and fuck some brunette chick savagely until he couldn’t see white streaks anymore. Yeah… that’d make him feel better.

“Logan!”

FUCK!

The feral snort that erupted from him before he could mask it made the white witch jump. He reeled himself in a bit. Not much. Just enough to look as though he wasn’t about to forgo the furniture and slash up Ro instead.

“What?” He snapped grouchily. He didn’t even acknowledge the ghostly Pride girl or Drake, who stood just on the periphery looking sullen. Storm blinked at him a few times, her long delicate fingers clutching a manila envelope hard enough to turn her knuckles white.

“Have…have you seen Rogue?” Fuck, sure he has. On the inside of his eyeballs for the last hour long drive.

“She decided to take a hike. Better for everyone, you ask me.” He worked his shoulders to hear the tell tale crack of metal, smirked inwardly at Kitty’s wince before he turned toward the winding staircase.

“Oh, no.”

It was said in a small, Kenyan lilted voice. It had him spinning, hurtling into fury.

“Oh no? Oh, no?! I thought you wanted her outta here! We all want her outta here, and now it’s ‘oh no’? Jesus Christ, Storm, her takin’ off is for the best, right?!” Her words thrown back at her made her flinch and Drake’s face darken. Made him pause, grappling with the churning in his bones. He was in a very agitated state, and the Wolverine didn’t play well with others when that happened. He clenched his jaw, and shook his head. “Un-fuckin’-believable. What now? Some other tin-head tryin’ to kidnap her? I think after an hour hearin’ the kid talk, he’ll ship her bac-”

“Logan.” Her voice was firm, but she shifted eerily, uneasily, not at all like herself, “I think…Mother Goddess, forgive me, I think I made a huge mistake about Rogue.” His eyebrow rose. She was a proud weather witch, more so now that she ran the place, and he couldn’t remember the last time she admitted to being wrong. The fury paced inside his skull.

“What are you talkin-“

“This,” she finally held up the brown envelope, “is a… it tells a different story…” Logan eyed it like a caged predator while Storm offered up the splendiferous mystery alibi that exonerated the kid. When he didn’t immediately snatch it from her hand, Ororo’s forehead creased further. “If you’ve left her corner, then she’s lost for good.” The guilty twinge returned full force and he emitted an uncensored growl before seizing it roughly.

He nearly tore the pages when he saw the familiar hand written scrawl on documented paper. Half the damn thing was obscured by strokes from felt tipped pens. Luckily, he’d worked for Nick Fury. He could read between the bastard’s ill-disguised lines.

Mission objectives… “Brotherhood” infiltration... Decommission Avengers project... operative disengaged by partner… He could have gone on with fragmented sentences. But his feral eyes, already fueled by wrath, zeroed in on the only tidbit he needed to deduce why Ororo was suddenly so shaken. Rogue Agent.

To any government official, it would appear one of the Avengers had gone haywire, or deserted. But Fury had a sick fascination with codes and double-speak. And it was no coincidence he used the term ‘Rogue’.

It took him all of forty seconds to reel through the scenario the black marks did little to hide. Rogue had been recruited by the Avengers Team. She and Ace were partners. Something had gone wrong.

Logan’s heart stopped. Honest to God, screeched to a halt. In this moment, he thought breathlessly, he was as close to death as he’d ever been. That was sayin’ something.

Life is a lot like a cup.
When it finally runneth over, you feel like an idiot for not watching her more carefully.

“I assume you’ve come to the conclusion we have.” The inner beast snapped to attention and snarled at the heaviness in Bobby’s tone. “We’ve got to get her back here. Pronto. Make her tell us what really happened that night...” Logan shook his hanging head.

“Yeah, well that ain’t gonna happen. I just turfed her out at the train station. She’s half way to fuck knows where by now…”

“Shit.” Kitty whispered.

“She had to have told you where she was going!” Ororo cried graspingly. “You must have some idea-“

“Well I don’t. Too busy giving her that space you prescribed her!”

“Hey, it’s not our fault!” Drake yelled back, finally stepping up to Storm’s side defensively, trying to match the glare Logan had fixed them with. “She could have told us the truth any time!”

“See that’s where you’re wrong, Iceman,” Logan barked, “when you work for the Feds you keep your trap shut unless otherwise told.” The lies she told weren’t the ones he thought. It must have eaten her alive, like Ace had been gobbled up after her first mission, except worse. Jesus, Ace and Rogue. One in the same.

That sparked an idea. Logan wheeled around toward the door.

“Where are you going?!”

“She’s headin’ north.” He called over his shoulder. Before he reached the door handle, it froze over, extending up the crease of the doorframe.

“How can you know that? You just said-“

“Listen limpdick,” Bobby didn’t have time to even block when Logan deked back and wrapped his steely grip around the man-boy’s throat, “we fucked up, and I got a hunch. I got 86 hours to find the girl before she becomes damn near impossible to track, an’ I ain’t stickin’ round here with you assholes while she gets away!” Before the frost could inch up his hand, he threw the reedy twerp back a few steps toward his girlfriend and fixed him with his most intimidating stare.

“North’s an awfully vague hunch!” Kitty spat as she rubbed Bobby’s back soothingly. Logan sniffed.

“I got connections enough, I know she’s in Canada-“

“The second largest country in the world!"

“-only a few places she knows ‘nough about to hide-“

“-it’s fucking winter, it’s Siberia up there-“

“-and I got some ideas on findin’ things that don’t want to be found-”

“-and you don’t even know if she really IS heading north-“

“Shut the fuck up, kiddo, unless you’re lookin’ for a steel rod up your rectum-“

“Wolverine.” Although the commanding boom in Storm’s voice silenced the three, their eyes remained fixed and glaring, and Logan still favored the idea of impaling the little squirt. “Go if you’re going. We’ll stay and try to track her down from here.” As if aware of Bobby’s protest bubbling up, she grabbed the young man’s arm and in an unusually graceless move, yanked him from Logan’s path. The larger man didn’t hesitate to dart out of the foyer, sending ice crystals flying from the door as it was wrenched open. He bolted for his truck, barely allowing time to hoist and chain his bike to the flatbed before veering off into the night.

He knew she was heading for Canada. The call would be too strong. Carol always said if she were lookin’ to lie low, she’d go deep into Northern Ontario or maybe even Quebec. And Marie… well, Canada’s where he found her the first time.

It was cold, but he could feel the humid sweat and guilt rolling off his usually impermeable skin in waves. He felt the sting of salt roll into his eyes, but he refused to blink, couldn’t stand the thought of shutting his eyes a nanosecond until he got to that border.

He needed to shove those dog tags back in her hands, ‘cause like it or not, she still needed saving, good and thorough, and he was the only one who had experience with the job.

Life’s a fuckin’ gauntlet. It’s been thrown and taken up over and over again. It surprised him though, that he was still bending to pick it back up.

Pick her back up.

Life was like a latte from Second Cup. Expensive but more than worth the cost.

Marie exhaled. Her breath smelled like White Mocha, looked like a blast of fog that hung in the frigid air. Winter in Montreal was a bitch. No wonder the Wolverine was fond of body hair; if this was Canadian winter, she almost envied Beast for his perma-shag-coat.

She was jolted from this comical thought when she was almost clipped by a city bus that whizzed dangerously close to her position on the sidewalk. That was another thing about Montreal she hated. The sociopathic driving style.

When the crosswalk finally blared walk across, she felt the day’s fatigue settle over her, felt every step in her bones. She only work five blocks from her apartment, but the work and bills were killing her. It didn’t help that the wind was howling up a storm and that she hadn’t yet given in and sacrificed style for slush proof boots. Although after two months of calling this city her home, she was doing remarkably well for a Southern girl in 21 degree weather.

She had to admit it surprised her how normal independence felt, how well she’d slipped back into her old routine of living hand to mouth with no plans but her own to concern her. It surprised her even more when she’d wander home from a bar at three in the morning, and her roommate Johnny didn’t even notice, let alone reprimand her. She was positively flabbergasted that it had been one month and fourteen days since she’d had to share her head with someone else. Freedom, in its entirety, was hers.

One thing that hadn’t surprised her was that no one had come to bring her back.

Marie pulled open the door to the apartment building and jabbed the elevator button. Screw it. She lived on the second floor, but was too tired to climb the one floor up. When the elevator came, she slumped against the wall and pressed the CLOSE DOOR button twice. To anyone observing her, they might feel sorry for her work-weary exterior. But these days, inside, she was always aglow.

Lykke Li’s “Little Bit” drifted through the door of her apartment, making her shake her head, not a trace of white left in the brown tresses. Only Johnny would be secure enough in his masculinity to blast Swedish chick music at four in the afternoon. Pushing her key in the lock and twisting the knob, the smell of pork and chive dumplings surrounded her. And she wasn’t fatigued enough to resist its siren aroma.

“Johnny?”

“Whassup?”

“Do ya’ll still say that up here?” She asked playfully, ignoring the withering look he shot her.

“How should I know? I’m not a local either, y’know.” But he’d been here for three years, studying at McGill, bartending to supplement his family money and the notches on his bedpost. “You look terrible.”

“Ah’m just tired. Thanks, by the by.” She smiled, trying to brighten up a bit. That was the weird thing. She’d done a total one eighty from the “thorny bitch” Logan had once told her she was. And even though she’d never fake her mood for anyone, she genuinely liked that Johnny had never thought of her as hormonal.

“You’re working too hard. I hope they pay you overtime.” She glowed inside. It was comforting that her only problem in the world was worrying about fair wages. “You thought anymore about taking some classes?” Ladies man or not, Johnny was a keen academic; he’d spent three years at Metro College before McGill, and he was intent on Rogue joining him on campus.

“Kind of hard to enrol, seeing as my passport says Ah’m someone who doesn’t exist.” She still wasn’t comfortable using her alias when she didn’t have to. She wasn’t interested in testing Canadian-American extradition laws concerning illegal mutant immigration.

“Maybe next year...” That was Johnny, always with the hopeful platitudes.

“Yeah. Maybe.” She echoed before dipping a dumpling in the soy sauce. It was better to just play along.

“So listen, I’ve been meaning to talk to you... but with you being a workaholic and all...” His wink made her eyes roll, “remember that night we went to B-side and you had one too many, and you told me about your head problem?”

“Ah told you, that’s all in the past. Not a peep for ages.” Marie said around a mouthful of pork.

“Yeah, well, what if it’s only temporary?” Rogue swallowed hard, because he’d brought up a subject that plagued her some nights, so much so that she’d run on two hours of sleep at work. “If they make a repeat performance, I’d rather not have to look for a new roomie because my last one was a headcase.”

“Aw, you do like me.” Marie stole the dumpling from his hand and popped it in her mouth. She loved teasing him like that. She loved that she could. He grumbled, separating the remaining dumplings into two piles on the plate.

“Don’t flatter yourself. Do you know how many freaks are out there?”

“We’re freaks John.”

“Mutant genetics aside, there are some real doozies out there, I interviewed like a hundred people before you came along.”

“Aw, you-“

“Yes, yes, fine, I like living with you.” Suddenly his face became serious and Marie felt herself fidget. “I even like you well enough I don’t want to see you hurting. My sister’s boyfriend is a scientist. And I told him about your problem-“

“You what?!”

“Calm down, he’s cool. Dr. Richard Reed. We were in the same ‘accident’, you know.” He waggled his eyebrows and Marie got the message. “He said he’s been working on something that might help evict your... tenants permanently.”

“Johnny Storm, Ah could kill you,” she whined, placing her head in her hands, feeling the grease from the dumplings soak into her roots, “Ah don’t need anybody stickin’ me with electrodes and needles. Ah just escaped from that.”

“Marie, you’re being stupid. It’s worth a shot, anything is considering what you told-“

“No, Johnny, for fuck’s sake, leave it alone!”
That night in bed, Rogue agonized over yelling at Johnny, but she logically had nothing to worry about. Her skin had been in check, roared back to life and then come under control. Maybe, just like her toxic epidermis, her brain had found the happy medium and she had finally put her inner inmates on lockdown. Johnny meant well, but she was fine.

Yah right, chere, ‘e don’ know what he says.

Marie clamped her hands over her ears, a habit that was essentially pointless. She spent the whole night trying to quiet Remy’s soft, comforting voice. Around quarter after seven, he took the hint and turned mute. But he’d returned, and the silence had been broken. Johnny was right. She needed to evict them all permanently. Or at least try.

The month of February went by in what seemed like days. Marie was so busy picking up extra shifts at Chez Cora’s and helping Johnny study for midterms, she barely had time to laze around her apartment watching MTV like she wanted. And the few hours she did have free, she was at Doc Reed’s lab.

She almost felt sorry for the guy. He seemed so intrigued, so incredibly certain that his method for exorcising her demons would work. So full of hope. He hadn’t been disproved and disappointed as many times as Professor X, Beast and Storm. He didn’t know any better.

And he seemed genuinely confused as to why Marie wasn’t as gleeful with his “cure” as he was. But she had agreed that February 30th they would start treatment. And today was the 29th.

Marie knew how rigorous some lab experiments could be, so she got ready for bed at ten and snuggled up to a book until she fell asleep, determined to be well rested for her nine a.m. appointment. The fates interceded when the loud knocking from her front door woke her from a deep slumber.

The clock on the wall shone 3:47. Marie rolled over, pulling her robe haphazardly over her shoulders and shuffling toward the hallway. She was going to kill Johnny for this. She had to be up at eight to get across town, and this was the third time he’d forgotten his keys. She flipped the lock, slid the chain free and pulled open the door.

“When Ah’m done with you, Ah-“

Her eyes turned to saucers. Her shoulders bunched beneath her robe. Lightning quick she grabbed the door with both hands and threw it closed, her fingers already clasping the lock bolt. But he was lightning fast too. Lightning and a second fast.

He shoved the toe of his boot in between the frame and the door before it slammed home. For a nanosecond she thought about breaking his foot with it. But Johnny wouldn’t be happy if she broke their door.

“No hug, Rogue?”

“Whataya want?” His fingers gripped the door, shoving it open as he moved to step inside, but this time she grabbed a fistful of his plaid shirt and with all her strength focused, hauled him into the hallway, pulling the door closed behind her. She cursed in her head; now she’d have to break down the door to get back inside.

“Guess you’re more choosey than the doorman.”

“What’d yah slip him? A twenty or a claw? Cause anyone can see you’re all kinds of trouble...”

“Missed your sense of humour, kid.” She couldn’t tell if he was being sarcastic, so she just assumed he was. He cocked his head to the side, staring at her in a way that made her feel sixteen again. “Your hair’s different.”

“My boss didn’t like the skunk look.” Logan frowned.

“That’s a bit harsh...”

“Ah seem to remember you not bein’ all too fond of callin’ me ‘Stripes’, sugah.”

“Guess I was wrong.” There was a pregnant pause where he stared at her dauntingly, and she shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot.

“What’re you doin’ here Logan?” It came out a mixture of exasperation and a whine. Logan rolled his neck, the thick cracking sound of metal and bone made her tense.

“Vacation’s over. Get your stuff.”

“Ah’m not goin’ anywhere with you Wolverine.” Marie replied tiredly.

“Says you.”

“-actually, you’re the one who kicked me outta your truck-”

“You wanted a ride to the station-“

“And you just couldn’t get me there fast enough.”

He didn’t argue. But to her brief surprise, or her imagination, she thought she saw guilt flit across his face that inexplicably needled her. She didn’t want that. She wanted them to have a screaming match, ending with him storming out of the complex in an emasculated huff, while she spared him a quick laugh and went back to sleep effortlessly.

“I wanted to sit down and talk to you, but seein’ as you don’t seem so amenable to that...” Rogue folded her arms over her chest defiantly. “Didn’t think you’d be so pissy about it.”

“You thought we’d just chat over a pot of green tea and become all buddy-buddy again? Ah never pegged ya for a dreamer.”

“I guess I missed you verbally kicking me in the balls every chance you get.”

“You can’t use a phone?”

“You didn’t leave a number, kiddo.” She resented the nickname almost as much as his inability to call ahead.

“Ah’ve been settling in. Plus it didn’t seem like anybody’d miss me.” She leaned against the wall, finally taking the time to look at him. He looked the same as the day they’d met; not just the fact that he hadn’t aged, but the way his clothes were wrinkled, like he’d slept in the car, and the way he held himself, like he’d gone a few rounds in the cage and was vibrating with weary energy. “So how long have Ah been under your special brand of surveillance?”

“Just got into the city yesterday. Found out where you lived, came straight away.”

“Wow. How gung-ho of yah.” She wondered how he found her, wondered how much of her new life he knew about already. “Well, it’s been swell, but Ah gotta rise and shine real early tomorrow for work.” She blatantly lied, hoping he had no idea yet about Doc Reed.

“So quit. You could sleep in.”

“In the real world, you gotta work to pay rent. Hand to hand combat doesn’t call to me like it does you.”

“So settle up and come home. I could spot you if you need-“

“Alright, hold up. If me talkin’ to you gave ya the impression Ah might be comin’ back with you, Ah shoulda just broken your foot when Ah’d had a mind to.” She thought she saw his mouth quirk, a reluctant smile that was gone so quick she couldn’t be sure it ever existed.

“You can’t just haul ass and expect no one to come get you.”

“Yeah, it’s fine when you do it.” She grumbled. He ruffled a little at the accusation in her voice and stood up a little straighter, a little more commanding.

“I’m here now. You’ve had your space; it’s time for you to come home so we can sort out what happened.” That caught her attention. What happened? He said it like he knew something she didn’t, which was impossible because she knew it all and no one else could have. Carol, Remy, Fury. It was her burden to bear, and after tomorrow, she had a slim chance at getting past it all. Couldn’t they just let her have that?

“My space? How about my life? My freedom? Some goddamn solitude?!”

“Marie?” Johnny couldn’t have picked a worse moment to introduce himself to the equation. He ruffled his bed-head hair, squinting at the hall light. His hangover from Friday night bartending was obviously setting in. “You alright?” Judging by the way Logan flared his nostrils, it wasn’t Marie who needed protecting. She turned her back on the glaring Wolverine and put her hand on John’s arm, gently pushing him back inside, lest he get sliced and diced.

“Yeah, Johnny, go back inside.” He didn’t budge, not until she shot him her patented (remember I’m stronger than you could possibly imagine) look. And even then he turned the lock in the door so it stayed open. She avoided looking at Logan for as long as possible; she wasn’t sure if he’d look smug or outraged.

“Solitude, huh.” His voice said it all. Outraged it is. “Kind of hard to get when you’re shackin’ up with... Who’s the douche bag?”

“He’s not. And we’re not.” Was that a flicker of relief in his eye? “Ah don’t expect you tah get it, but Ah don’t sleep with every member a’ the opposite sex Ah cross paths with.” That barb was something that would have hurt him in the past, especially coming from sweet little Marie. But from his stony, unmoved face, Rogue guessed they’d long since passed the point of hurting each other with words alone. “You want me to come back with ya? Ah’d take down this whole building with you tryin’ tah drag me out of it.”

“I’ll take down this whole building myself, starting with pretty boy in there-”

She was in his face so fast, he actually moved back a millimetre in shock.

“You will not threaten me. Or my friend.” Her nose was almost touching his, she could feel his breath on her chin, but his eyes weren’t rattled like she wanted them. She could feel the heat of his chest radiating onto hers, almost felt the air move between then with every deep, angered breath they took. Looking into those stubborn, hazel eyes, she had the sudden urge to grab him and shake some sense into him. She needed him to go, before she hurled him through a wall.

She broke eye contact, sank back down from her toes and made to move away. Marie hadn’t counted on Logan having a similar urge to shake her. His adamantium grip snagged her left arm; he didn’t yank her back, but she couldn’t move any farther away.

“I won’t let you go again. You’re not safe. You’re living with a stranger for fuck’s sake. Does he even know what you’re capable of?”

“Ah went on the road with you before we knew each other. There was a time Ah thought that showed Ah had a good judge a’ character.” She pulled back, but his grip wasn’t loosening and he was actually starting to pull her toward him. “You think women actually like you bein’ all ass-backward, psycho protective of them? Or’d you forget Ah could toss your big kittycat ass across the province?”

“Go ahead Marie. You hate me so much, why don’t you punch it out?” She froze, looking at him intently. Tempting. “Go on. Try and put a dent in me. Tire yourself out.” Oh, how she wanted to. But that’s what he wanted too. For her to damage her new life and by default, have to go back with him.

“Ah’m already tired of you. Go away Logan.” He looked infuriated, and a bit deflated. She peeled his fingers off her small bicep, and they curled into a fist when she let him go. She pushed open the door to her apartment, but before entering, she turned and gave him her best wounded look. “You said you weren’t my father. You said you were my friend.” Logan shook his head.

“That was a long time ago.” He said it with no emotion. She waited for him to say more, leaning against the open door. She needed him to say more. When he didn’t, she sighed, massaging her aching forehead.

“Well you’re still not my father.”

“I’ll wait you out.” The door was closing already.

“Then you’ll be waitin’ a lifetime.”

“I can do that.”

She shut the door soundly in his face and threw the deadlock in place. She leaned against it, hoping he’d realize that cutting down the barrier would cut her up too. After five minutes, his footfalls began to sound farther away and she slumped forward, cussing him out in her head. She was tired, but knew she’d be unable to sleep the rest of the night.

“Who’s the hairy tool?”

“He’s gone now. Go back to bed, Johnny.”

“He’s gonna come back though. Isn’t he?”

“Fuck if I care.”

“Yeah. Right.” From his tone, Marie figured he knew she was lying, but wouldn’t press the issue at four in the fucking morning. He shuffled back into his bedroom and closed the door, leaving her in the hallway to think about how seething mad Logan made her, and how mad she made herself for noticing how lovely his breath felt on her face.

Life is like a coffee, the espresso does you no good, but you keep on taking a sip.

When Marie ducked into work ten minutes late for the lunch hour rush, she just barely had time to notice the other waitress Manon had left her a note on her locker. She had to ask her what it said because of her terrible English writing.

“A grumpy man wearing peejamas came in looking for you.”

“Pajamas?”

“Yes... uh, un chemise comme...ca.” She pointed at a hipster student wearing an orange plaid button up. “But not like dis colour.” Oh, god. So he was harassing her at work now. Fan-freaking-tastic.

“This grumpy man... Did you tell him I was coming in late?”

“Mais oui.” Marie couldn’t stifle her exasperated groan. “Pardon, Marie.” And the thin blonde Quebecois flitted off to seat a party of seven in her section, acing Marie out of a hefty tip. Balls.

Rogue spent the next two hours on edge, her neck craning every time the door jingled open. She almost wished he’d just put her out of her misery. But of course he’d do it when she was deep in conversation with her boss.

“Nice apron, kid.” Marie slowly turned to face him, hoping her boss was used to large Anglo-Canadian lumberjacks with aerodynamic hair interrupting them. Given the raised eyebrows, she guessed not so much. “She’s taking her break.”

“No. I’m not.” She commanded, giving Logan a pronounced stink eye. “Uh... je m’excuse.” Her boss just shrugged and moved away toward the kitchens. “Ah don’t remember you bein’ this bossy.”

“I never thought I’d have to be.” He retorted in a low voice.

“Take a seat. I’ll break in half an hour. Ya’ll can leave, or order and wait.” Logan took the proffered seat.

“Bourbon.”

“It’s two in the afternoon.” She dropped a tall glass in front of him and began to pour. “Here. Water.” He looked as if the clear glass in front of him was a personal insult. “Half an hour.” Before Logan could protest, she whipped around to take another table’s orders and didn’t glance at him once until thirty minutes had passed.

“Half an hour. You said.”

“Ah did, didn’t Ah?” She paused, pretending to think about postponing her break until she heard the chair scrape menacingly under him. “Manon, Ah’m takin’ twenty. You. Outside.”

Four minutes later they were on the back stoop behind the kitchens, her with a coffee, him with the bourbon he’d threatened out of the fry cook.

“Hafta say, Ah don’t like bein’ ordered around.”

“Then why are you a waitress?”

“By you, Logan. Ah don’t like bein’ ordered around by you. Seriously, what happened to all that crap about you bein’ a friend and not makin’ my decisions for me?”

“That rule doesn’t apply internationally.”

“Har har. You grew a sense of humour while Ah was gone.” She took a long draw from her coffee, trying to suppress a shiver.

“You really like this gig? Slingin’ substandard hash browns for hungover University kids and families with snotty rug rats? For minimum wage and shitty tips?”

“It’s fine for now. Things are tight, with the bills, but Ah’m gettin’ by. Considering Ah never had a job before... it’s actually kinda thrillin’.”

“Uh huh. You’ve battled evil super villains, but blue plate specials really get you going.”

“Again. Har. Har.”

“Gotta ask... why Quebec?”

“Extra insurance. You hate French people.” He snorted. At least she wasn’t running low on spunk.

“So deep down, you knew I’d come after you.”

“Deep down, Ah knew you hated French people. Maybe Ah came here to spite you.”

“That so?”

“Maybe.” And then she smiled. It was small, but her mask cracked enough. The tension in his gut that’d taken up residence since she left eased a little. “How long we gonna play twenty questions?”

“Till I get caught up. You been gone three months.” Three months he’d spent on the road trying to pick up her trail. He’d taught her well. He was halfway to the Yukon before a guy called Wyatt Wingnutt or some stupid name called him with information on a girl named Stella Drake.

“Yeah, Ah’m real interestin’.” She said it in a sarcastic voice. It was a relief. Montreal was full of college kids and clubs and he’d imagined infinite scenes in which Rogue found her way into trouble. Not danger, just trouble.

“Well, I wanna hear it all. Start to finish. Nothin’ left out.”

“Why the sudden interest? Even before Ah left... you didn’t seem so keen on heart-tah-heartin’ with me...” The year prelude to her departure wedged between them like an invisible elephant. He wanted to answer her, but this wasn’t the place. There wasn’t enough time.

“You wanna talk about this now, or do I get more than ten minutes?” At first, a flash of anxiety swept across her face, followed by uncertainty. His grip on the bourbon threatened to shatter the glass, so he downed the liquid in case.

“What’d you have in mind?” She finally asked tentatively. He shrugged, relishing the warmth trickling down his abdomen.

“I walk you home. We go inside. No green tea buddy-buddy shit, just you an’ me talkin’ like right now.” Marie nodded slowly, rolling the idea around for a moment. She eyed him suspiciously.

“This ain’t a trick. Ya’ll aren’t plannin’ on kidnappin’ me or havin’ another screaming match, or-“

“Just talking, Marie.” Another nod. More considering.

“No skewering my roommate either.” He looked displeased with this arrangement. “Wolverine...”

“We’ll see.” He conceded. She shook her head.

“No. Not ‘we’ll see’. Ah see your knuckles reflectin’ light, you’ll be takin’ a flight out the window.”

“...Maybe it’d be best if he stayed out late.”

“He usually does. He’s a bartender. And a lotta times he sleeps... elsewhere.” She paused, as if an epiphany had just struck her dumb. “Actually, under different circumstances, Ah think you two’d really hit it off.”

“Sure.” They watched a cat dart out from behind the garbage dumpster and up the alleyway toward the fish market. “He’s still a douchebag.”

Marie wanted to throw her lukewarm coffee in his lap.

Life is like an open book.

At least that’s how Marie was trying to live it this time around. Nothing shameful in need of concealment or lies being told to cover up unnecessary mistakes. She wanted just for once not to use her extensive reference of lies in order to have a conversation with someone.

So when Logan stopped by for a beer and a chat, why did she feel tempted to fall back into old patterns?

“You’re sure this roommate of yours is legit?” Marie was glad Johnny was staying overnight at his sister’s.

“Yes, dad, he’s a lovely boy.” He cringed whenever she called him a paternal nickname, glared when she laughed at his discomfort. “He’s a mutant. Let’s just say, we never have to pay a heating bill.”

“Sounds dirty.” He grinned, fangs bared.

“Gross. And Ah already told you, we ain’t like that. He’s not a ‘one woman’ kinda guy.”

“I see.” Logan mulled that statement over while taking a long draw from his Molson beer bottle. “Met anyone?”

He wasn’t asking if she’d had any ‘gentlemen callers’, so much as he was asking if she’d done any unladylike things. She smirked. Fine, if he wanted to know, she’d be an open book.

“No one Ah ever wanted to see again. ‘Though there was this one guy. A brit musician.” She waggled her eyebrows while Logan sniffed haughtily. “We got acquainted backstage at a Duckworth & Sons concert.” She tried to hide the smug look behind the rim of her mug, but it must have crept up into her eyes, because Logan’s narrowed with suspicion.

“Duckworth?”

“One of the Sons, actually.” He looked pretty perturbed either way. “Sexy dark eyes, cute little dimple on his left cheek. He sure knew how to strum a banjo.” She added a wink.

“Aw, hell Marie, I didn’t need to know that.”

It got her thinking; she’d been in town only a week and Johnny had forced her out in an attempt to ‘get to know each other’. She’d had the feeling he found her attractive, so when he left with a perky blonde bartender, she felt a sexual ache replace her initial relief. It didn’t take more than a minute for Rogue to go on the hunt, and when she found the banjo player loafing around by the stage door she already knew how things would progress. They’d talked for all of ten minutes before he had her up against an unplugged amplifier, dexterously unbuttoning her shirt while seducing her with his delicious liquid accent that could have melted her pants off. There had only been one bump in the road – he was deep inside her at the time – when she felt the adrenaline pumping furiously through her veins and she bit his neck a bit roughly. He hadn’t complained, but in her head she felt more than heard the Wolverine. It was... confusing. She felt that feral intrusion magnify her lust tenfold, while alternately whining inside that the man she was with was the wrong one. Whoever the right one was, she had been too busy at the time to consider.

“Earth to Rogue.” She was propelled back to her kitchen by one of Logan’s massive hands waving in front of her eyes. She batted it away, rolling her eyes.

“Ah thought we were done with twenty questions.”

“Alright. Anything you wanna ask me?”

“Not especially.”

“I can smell that lie rolling off you.”

“Sounds dirty.” She echoed, purposely taking a drink of her tea so she wouldn’t have to see his reaction. “What’s the point in askin’ you about mah old life? That’s done. Ah don’t wanna ask to make small talk.”

“That really how you feel, kid? We’re your ghost life?” It was surprising how angry and hurt he could look, and how he could make her care.

“Look, don’t you want me to be happy?” She asked frankly, feeling her upper hand slipping away.

“Of course.” He answered slowly.

“Then what are you doin’ here?”

“What the fuck kind of question is that, Marie? I know we’ve been at each other’s throats this past year, but I’m trying!”

“So Ah should try back? Ah’m sorry if it hurts your feelings Logan, but Ah’ve been changin’ for the past year and Ah’m finally likin’ the place mah head’s at, and you’re tryin’ to drag be back a step! Doesn’t it matter to you that Ah was miserable the last six months Ah was at the mansion-”

“It’ll be different this time!” He was leaning forward across the table, his abdomen pressed against the IKEA table hard enough to shove it against her knee. “And you runnin’ all over hell’s half acre ain’t growth when you’re runnin’ away from somethin’. Me comin’ to take you home, isn’t draggin’ you back a step. It’s for your own good!” He chanted the last sentence in his head – even if deep down it was a half truth.

“Horseshit! You’re not here for me. You’re here for yourself.” She mimicked his zeal and found herself doubled over the table, getting in his face. She realized too late that his proximity to her was miles too close, so she stuttered over her words like the shy teenager he first met. “Or Storm. Or Bobby... or the X-men, but you ain’t here for ‘my own good’. Don’t pretend any different.” She leant back in her chair, and exhaustion swept over her and embedded itself in the form of a headache. “Please, let’s not fight anymore. It makes me tired.”

“What am I supposed to do?” She wanted to laugh. He was lost without the option of fighting.

“Just... Ah don’t know.” They were not like when Johnny’s old school friends visited, crashed on the futon and had nostalgic toga parties. “We’ve never had the most normal relationship.” The easiness she injected in her tone seemed to soothe him enough so he sat back, a little less on edge.

“That’s a hell of a’understatement.” He glowered, reaching for his next bottle. He took a long drink before saying what was so obvious. ”I just wanna look out for you.” It really hit home on his drive up there that she wasn’t evil, wasn’t dead or lost for good. She was all he had left. Maybe that’s why he was so fiercely protective.

“That’s nice.” She said casually, then considered being honest. “Well, sometimes it’s nice.”

“I know I’m a bastard, you don’t have to sugar coat it.”

“Ah’d never do a thing like that, sugah.” Well, Logan thought, ‘sugah’ is better than ‘dad’. Without asking, he grasped the handle on the tea pot and poured her more peppermint tea. She smiled, eyes sparkling. “Well thank you.”

“Is this what we’re gonna be like now? Tea parties? Do I need to wear my Sunday hat?”

“As opposed to beer guzzlin’ hockey nights, talkin’ about girls and monster trucks?”

“I don’t watch monster trucks.” He heaved a bereaved sigh and scratched his chest uncomfortably. “Damn Marie, seein’ you here... you can take care of yourself. It scares me kinda.”

“But you’ve hidden it so well.” She deadpanned.

“That’s what I’m afraid of. That you’re hiding shit from me. Maybe everything’s not as perfect as you’ve been telling me.”To his credit, he wasn’t yelling anymore. He actually sounded more run down than after Alcatraz. “After this past year... it’s hard to imagine you being alright.”

“For fuck’s sake, Logan, don’t give me those pity eyes. Up until Ah don’t know when, you hated my guts.” Again her tone was casual, but there was sourness in the way her mouth formed the words.

“I never hated you. I was fucking fuming as hell, probably had a few thoughts of throwin’ you through some solid objects. And then I get gut punched by this,” without missing a beat, he slipped a folded brown envelope across the table toward her, “and then I was pissed again ‘cause you never told me yourself.” Frowning as she rifled the manila envelope open, it was a split second before she recognized the insignia, handwriting and government stamp work.

“How did you get this? It’s classified...” It was a stupid question, Rogue realized. Only one person had access to these files and the ability to make copies. “Fury sent it?”

“Fuck if I know... or care...” Her grip crumpled the pages in rage, feeling completely exposed. Sure, it was clear he’d found something out from the moment she opened her door to him, but this... she braced herself for the yelling to continue. “What the hell were you thinking? Taking up with the Avengers and never saying boo diddly fuck all to me?”

“Fury said-“

“Fury says a lot of bullshit.”

“Stark said-“

“Don’t even get me started on that tin can asswipe...” In another time and place, she probably would have giggled at that. “You and me, we’ve always been in this together.” Marie’s hands unclenched, letting the document slide from her grip back onto the table. She massaged the bridge of her nose. She hadn’t thought about all this in weeks.

“We haven’t been in anything together for a long time. Since before Jean died the first time.” There was a pregnant pause. She should have felt badly for bringing it up, but she could only muster a half-hearted apology. Logan glared for a moment, finished his beer, kept staring.

“Go on. I’m not yelling, so you best be explaining.”

Marie wasn’t sure that was a fair trade. She fiddled with her skirt. Fidgeted in her chair. There was silence in the flickering florescent light of her small kitchen, made even more claustrophobic by the way Logan just sat unmoving a couple feet across from her. There was a crazy moment when Marie thought about excusing herself then climbing down the fire escape in her room. She began playing with her hem again. Then she took a deep breath, and began:

“It was Tony Stark who approached me. Carol was there too. Ah didn’t meet Fury until after...” Until after Carol was hooked up to a ventilating machine. Marie pushed past the tears threatening to explode from her eyes in a sobbing mess. “They said they needed me to infiltrate the Brotherhood and gather information on a possible terrorist cell in D.C. They said since Ah had a friend in the group, it’d make it easier for me to get in than any of their other agents. But to make sure Ah’d get in, and get out if somethin’ went south, Ah had to take these injections that’d temporarily give mah skin its power back. What they really wanted was for me to suck the memories out of some high level Brotherhood inductee who masterminded the whole plot...”

“Doesn’t sound like somethin’ you’d volunteer for.”

“Yeah. Not usually. But Ah was a pariah at school. Nobody wanted to admit it, but Ah was like a traitor. It was...lonely. Bobby wouldn’t even look at me for a month.” Oh boy, here come the tears.

“I thought you didn’t care what Bobby thought. I thought you got the cure for you.”

“Ah didn’t have any illusions about us. We were done bein’ a couple. But Ah still loved him and he was still mah best friend.” An image of their study hall thumb wrestling sessions invaded her mind before she shook her head. “Or was. Ah wanted it all. Ah wanted to be an X-man, and not hurt people anymore.” She laughed bitterly, sniffed and patted her cheeks dry. She thought she saw Logan’s hand reach for her, but he had second thoughts and left it halfway between them. “Ah figured Ah’d do my tour and then when the injections wore off it’d show Ah was still on their side. So, Ah contacted St. John-”

“Flame boy? That’s your friend in the Brotherhood?”

“It wasn’t easy. Took a couple rendez-vous and picked fights with Storm and Hank to convince him Ah was really turnin’ coat. And after that... some of the things Ah had to do...” God, the people she had to hurt... Logan knew all too well the price of joining the Avengers under Fury’s reign. That was why he’d been so livid to learn they’d gone behind his back and recruited Rogue. And that the girl had done it on the sly.

“So what happened? With Ace? Gambit?” She could tell he was restraining himself. He knew it wasn’t her fault, but it was still somebody’s fault, and he was itching to put a hole in whoever that somebody was.

“Ah was closin’ in on some intel about the cell when this boob Avalanche decided to take a detour en route back from a meetin’. Wanted to ‘raise a little hell’. That’s a direct quote.” She sniffled, wondered offhandedly how bad her mascara was running. “He didn’t even know the shindig we were bustin’ in on was infested with Avengers. You know the rest.” It had been all over the news: MUTANT TERRORISTS CAUSE HAVOK AT DEFENSE DINNER. Three people died. Ace and thirty others ended up in the hospital. “It was an accident, Logan, Ah swear. Carol was throwin’ punches and pianos and anythin’ she could get her hands on. Ah didn’t mean to hold on so long, Ah just wanted her to stop.” Logan willed his hands to stay unclenched, for his claws to remain sheathed. He hated what had happened to Carol. But Marie was the gun, not the one who pulled the trigger. He had to believe that.

“And Gambit?” He asked gruffly when it seemed she’d say no more. A fresh wave of nausea and self-hate washed over Rogue’s face.

“Remy...” She said his name so reverently, that Logan wished he hadn’t brought it up. “He and Lorna took me in. Ah was half dead Ah think. Carol was half dead. Mah cover was blown. Ah thought Tony was going to kill me.” And at the time she wished he had, wished he’d been wearing his Ironman suit instead of the navy blue Hugo Boss. “But Ah wasn’t takin’ those injections anymore. Ah got stronger again, Lorna made sure of that. And Remy and Ah...”

“An accident.” He knew they’d been having sex when it happened. Just by the look in her wounded doe eyes.

“Don’t say it like that.” Her voice cracked, and for the life of him, he didn’t know why he’d said it so coldly.

“Like what?”

“Like you don’t believe it was an accident!” She screamed, and the tears were flowing again. “Ah really care about Remy. And it tears me up, because he doesn’t even hate me like he should.” Looking at Logan through watery eyes, Rogue felt her chest burn with guilt. “Apparently no one hates me like they should.”

“Why haven’t you gone to see him?” Logan’s mind was fixated on the present tense in which she declared her ‘care’ for Gambit.

“Can’t face him. Saw Lorna at that gala thing. Ah treated her like shit ‘cause it was the only way Ah knew how to act. And all she did was take care of me. Even after all Ah did, even when Ah was stealin’ her beau...” God, she knew rehashing her past behaviour would destroy her, why did she have to be an open book? “How are they?”

“Thought you didn’t wanna know.” But Logan could never withhold anything from Marie when she looked so thoroughly damaged. “They’re not together, if that’s what you mean.” Is that better? He wanted to ask.

“And Carol? Tony?”

“You knew she was awake. She’s finally in physio. No sign of her powers, though. Stark wants her to move in with him, but she told him they’d kill each other within a week, and even without her powers she’d probably win.” He chuckled, but it made Rogue’s heart lurch more to hear about these people she’d spent so much time trying to think of as imaginary. She sagged, her head pounding with an honest to God migraine. She wondered if she threw up on him if he’d leave. “What’s wrong?”

“Ah wish you’d never come here.”

“This again?” She heard the scrape of his chair against the linoleum floor but she was too busy staring at the flickering ceiling light, batting back the flood in her eyes, head pounding. He touched her shoulder. She still wouldn’t look.

“Why’d you have to do this?”

“I had to know Marie.”

“You. You, you, you, you, you.”

“Stop it Marie.” His grip on her shoulder tightened, and Rogue wondered idly if her collarbone would snap. She deserved it. She deserved worse. “Stop it.” Logan shook her this time, like he knew what she was thinking. “Stop all of it. Everyone’s alive. You’re going to be okay.” She didn’t even try to push him away as he gathered her into his arms, pulling her off her seat and then into his lap when he took her place. She didn’t fight him off when she felt the almost too stiff pull of his hand in hair, stroking her in what he probably thought was a comforting manner. She felt the tiniest patch of stubble on her forehead and the exhale of his breath on her scalp, and the warmth bleeding through his shirt into her shoulder. “Here’s the deal. You’re not coming back to the mansion. Yet. I can accept that. But you will call. Doesn’t have to be anyone but me, but you’re gonna call every week or I’ll be back up here like the Flash and you’ll be anchored to the flatbed of my truck all the way back.”

She didn’t answer him, just nuzzled into his neck, which he assumed was a nod. She woke up the next morning tucked safely in bed, and he was already crossing the border.

Life is like an open and shut case. Apparently the final verdict was forgiveness.