"Always knew someday you'd come walkin' back through my door." The pretty brunette put her hands on her hips, and smiled secretively. "I never doubted that. Something made it inevitable. So what are you doing here?"

"I need one of the –"

THWACK!

"I learned to hate you in the last ten years!" The man rubbed his jaw, raw from her punch.

"I never meant to hurt you."

"I was a child! I was in love! It was wrong and you knew it!"

"You knew what you were doing."

"Now I –" =bzzt=

At last Logan had located the remote control, and he switched off the re-run of Raiders of the Lost Ark with relief. Thank god. Suddenly, free cable had lost its attraction. He sighed, leaned back against the headboard and stared at the peeling patch on the ceiling.

Marie.

Mariemariemariemariemariemariemariemarie.

Somehow it always came back to her. Every resting moment, it seemed, she was there to haunt him. He couldn't stop thinking about her. In the two years since he'd seen her the feeling had grown steadily worse – the feeling that someone had torn out his still-beating heart and taken it far away. Someone with little gloved hands. Sometimes he thought he'd rather cut out his own heart than have to think about her any more. He kept active, or his thoughts would have driven him crazy by now.

She thought he was crazy. "You're crazy," she'd said, with that little smile that woke him at night in a feverish sweat. Big old hairy crazy man. That was him. He rested his head on his knuckles and contemplated popping his claws to see if his astounding powers of healing extended to self-inflicted lobotomies.

Stopitstopitstopitstopitstopit. Stop thinking about her. Don't think about her smile or her eyes or her little hands, and especially don't think of the way she'd rested her head on his shoulder and smiled up at him. No. That way madness lies.

Not his, Logan's, shoulder, that was. Whatever-his-name-was, the Popsicle kid. And she'd been smiling at Popsicle like she was blissfully happy, and resting her hand... No.

Best not to think about it.

Logan took a deep, cleansing breath and released it slowly, willing all the thought from his head. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exxxxxhale. Marie smiling up. Inhale. Popsicle smiling down. Exhale. Marie's hand in Popsicle's. Inhale. Marie's bare hand.

"Goddammit!"

He opened his eyes and looked around for something to throw. Something to hit. Anything to relieve the violence of his feelings. His hand closed around the remote, and he threw it with all his force against the opposite wall. It bounced harmlessly, and he stared at it in disbelief. Right. That was it. He was going to have a drink. He was going to have lots of drinks, and a fight, and maybe some sex. He got up from his hotel bed, grabbed his jacket, and threw himself out of the door, slamming the offending piece of wood shut behind him.

---

She would be twenty-one by now. She'd been nineteen when he'd gone back. Two years. Who'd have thought that just two years, the years between seventeen and nineteen, could have made such a difference? Okay, and admittedly a new life, in a new school, with everything she needed and people who didn't treat her like a freak... Maybe he should have expected some differences. He should have had time to prepare himself before he saw her. Someone should have warned him, he thought, angrily knocking back another shot. He shouldn't have had to walk around that corner and seen her, hand in hand with the human Popsicle like that, looking all... smoochy. That was just plain unfair.

Someone jostled him from behind, but when he turned around and growled they merely apologized profusely and backed away. Damn. Wuss. He leaned over his new shot.

Of course, she'd been delighted to see him, and he'd just glared at the Popsicle, and Marie'd hugged him and babbled about how great it was that he was back, and look, she could touch now, she'd got some kind of mind control over her power, had anyone told him? And was he staying long and and and...

"That's great, kid," he'd said, sincerely, and kissed her cheek, hugging her in return. "I'm glad for you." He'd noticed then what a sweet armful she was, and how nice she smelled, and how comfy it was to have his arm about her waist. Looked like Popsicle felt the same, from the looks he'd given Logan, but Logan wasn't about to back down from a kid. "C'mon in with me, I gotta talk to the Professor."

Marie had pulled back slightly at this, and smiled up at him. "I can't right now, Logan. Bobby and I are just off out. But I'll be back real soon, and you have to tell me everything. Promise me?" And he'd agreed, dazedly, suddenly feeling a lurching in his heart. Something had changed. The Marie he'd known two years ago wouldn't have turned him down for this kid. She'd have followed him anywhere. What had happened?

As she slipped out of his arms she'd smiled dazzlingly at him, and then turned to the Popsicle, who'd put his arms about her, claiming her possessively, dragging her quickly away from his influence, and normally he'd of found that sort of thing funny, but now – it just wasn't.

He growled quietly to himself, deep in his throat, and the barman quickly poured another shot for this intimidating stranger. There was something about the man that spoke straight to his primal instincts, and made him want to climb the nearest tree for safety. Logan downed another shot, lost in memories.

That hadn't been the worst, but that had been the beginning. He'd stayed for about three weeks at the School that time, the first time he'd been back in two years. He'd seen Marie all the time, in the halls, in the dining room, in the rec room, out on the lawns. She'd been so happy, and he hadn't known why that had got him so bothered. That was what he'd wanted, surely? He'd found her, and taken care of her, and put her in a safe place where no one could touch her, and that had been the end of his responsibility, thank god. He couldn't have taken her with him, even if he'd wanted to – which he didn't. There was no place in his life for a teenage girl.

Except she wasn't looking so much of a girl, any more. She'd grown up, and filled out, and bloomed in ways he'd been completely unprepared for. She looked happy, and busy, and thriving... and, he realized one evening, *damn* fine. She was off out on another of her goddamn dates with Popsicle, and she'd shown off for him in the rec room, twirling in her new dress – something dark green and clingy, he remembered vaguely. She ran her hands down her body, smoothing the dress out, and he'd suddenly seen that she was just... just... sex on legs. That was it. Unbe-fucking-lievable. She'd grinned at him.

"How'd I look?"

He'd had to clear his throat. "Fantastic, Marie."

Her eyes had lit up at that. "Really? Wow, thanks. I can't wait 'till Bobby sees me!"

And all the light had abruptly left his world, and he was breathless, frozen, unable to move when she kissed his cheek swiftly and run to meet Popsicle at the door, unable to react as she waved goodbye and vanished out into the warm summer's night.

He'd sat there in silence for a long time after she'd gone, trying to analyze the feelings ripping through him. There was anger, oh yes, lots of anger, and frustration, and annoyance at himself, and melancholy, and unexpected lust, and a vast, freezing lake of fear. Fear? What was he afraid of?

He was afraid he'd lost her, came the unwelcome reply. He was afraid that this was it, this was The Girl, and he'd had his moment, and he hadn't seen it, hadn't even realized what she was, how her spirit glowed out, dazzling him and burning him and blinding him to everything else. He was hers, entirely, from that moment on, but, he realized with a bitter sense of disillusionment, *she* was not *his*.

He was going to *kill* the Popsicle.

He'd walked for some time after that, through the grounds of the house. Plotting how to get her back, make her his again. He wanted to be the only one she turned to with that dazzling smile, the one she put those dresses on for. The one – he shivered – she took them off for. That was a thought that occupied him for some time, until he found himself beside the house again, and it must have been some hours later, because her car was just pulling up. The Popsicle got out, and quickly ran around to let her out of the driver's door, and for a moment Logan's mouth quirked into a wry smile because he couldn't ever imagine himself doing that. The smile faded as Marie got out, and leaned in to the Popsicle as they walked up the steps of the house. She put her head on his shoulder, trustingly, and he looked around swiftly, and pulled her into a passionate embrace outside the door. Even as far as he was, Logan could hear her breathless murmur.

"Bobby..."

Logan turned away, and he left the next day, although it tore at him to do it. But there was one thing he couldn't do, and that was hurt her. Never, not his Marie. If he'd stayed he couldn't have hidden how he felt from her, not for very long, and that would hurt her because she'd always cared for him. Cared. That was the salt in the wound, the thing that made it so hard to leave, but so impossible to stay. No matter that she didn't want him – that was for him to hurt over, and it was his heart that was twisting in his chest as he sped away. But not hers. And that was the important thing.

So now here he was in this bar, in the ass end of god-knows-where, and on his... tenth? fifteenth? shot. All desire for a fight or for anything else had dropped from him, with the corroding remembrance that she could never be his. He didn't deserve her. She deserved someone young, someone with a clean past, someone who could love her with no hang-ups to twist her young heart and make it old and cynical and damaged.

Logan leaned his head on his arm, on the bar, and stared into the personal darkness he had created. The ache in his heart was overwhelming, and he screwed his eyes shut to press the pain deep within him, crushing his insides in an effort to hold on to his self-control.

The bartender stared at the shoulders of the weird stranger. This was one that he wasn't going to try his bar-tendering wise words on.

---

He awoke the next day in his bed in the hotel, with no recollection of getting back there. He didn't have a hangover, thank fuck, that was one of the benefits of his particular gift, but he couldn't remember the last time he'd been that drunk. He lay there, fully dressed, and stared at the ceiling for what felt like the millionth time. It could be the same ceiling in almost any of the hotels he'd ever visited. He could be anywhere, but he didn't want to be. He wanted to be *somewhere*. He wanted to be home. A pang of longing so strong shot through him that he was up and packing before he realized what he was doing.

When had he started thinking of the School as home? It had crept up on him gradually. When he'd first left Marie there, and gone off traveling, the memory of the place had stayed with him like a warm, comfortable part of his heart. It had all got mixed up with knowing she was there, and secure, and that he could go back and see her and be sure of a welcome. It had given him a base, when he'd been struggling to find the answers to his past. It had kept him sane when he was frustrated, knowing he might never uncover those truths that had been hidden from him. Home. Marie. He couldn't fight it any more.

What he would do when he got there, he didn't know. She and the Popsicle would probably be like a junior version of Scott and Jean by now. Disgusting. But hopefully he could find some way of settling his soul to the inevitable. He would see that she was happy, and talk calmly with the Professor, and be a sort of father figure to her. No, hell no, not a father figure. An uncle figure, perhaps. A cool sort of uncle that came and went mysteriously in her life, never quite explained but always to be relied on in times of trouble.

He knew he was lying to himself. But he couldn't stay away any longer.

---

You know, in the movies, when people have a soundtrack to their big entrance? I swear I heard one playing when I saw Logan again. I just turned, one day, and there he was, and I could practically feel that long, aching chord from 'Wild Thing' rip down my spine, doing all sorts of funny things to my insides. He fixed me with his 100-megawatt stare, and I'm not ashamed to say that my knees turned to jelly and I believe I probably turned a bright shade of plum. I was definitely grinning like an idiot.

Then he pushed those broad, strong shoulders away from the wall and walked towards me, and the guitars kicked in, and my throat dried up, and at that moment I would have done anything he asked. *Woah, girl, steady. You're a superhero now, remember? You're big and tough, and you go out on missions. And you do NOT have a crush on him any more. You grew out of it, you moved on. Keep that in mind.* Oh god, then he quirked that eyebrow at me, and I was lost. The guys were gonna kick my ass over this. *Get a grip, Marie.*

"Hello, Marie. Long time no see. How're you doing? They treatin' you okay?"

"Missions," I croaked weakly, before I could stop myself. I got a hold of my unruly tongue, and cleared my throat. "I mean, I'm just great, Logan. I'm one of the team now, ya know? Go out on missions and everything." Yay. Go me. Three sentences and I was driveling already. Logan wasn't laughing at me, though, so I took courage. "How've you been?" He shrugged non-committally. Typical Logan. It's been two years since I've seen him, and how's he doing? Shrug. Oh well, I'd weasel it out of him later. "Seen the Professor yet?"

"I was just on my way there."

"Oh. Hey, can I come?" For the first time in our meeting I saw the glimmerings of a smile on his lips.

"You're not busy?"

"Busy? Heck, no." I mentally consigned to hell my morning tasks. That was when he stepped forwards and hugged me, one-armed, about the shoulders. "I'm glad you're back," I whispered into his jacket.

"Good to be back, kid." He let go and turned away abruptly, eyes not meeting mine. "C'mon then."

He started walking down the hall, and I couldn't help it; my gaze was drawn to that beautiful behind of his. Unconsciously, I licked my lips.

*Mmmm. Wild Thing, I think I love you.*

---

I clamped down on my feelings as we entered the Professor's office. I knew he could read me like a book anyway, but I didn't actually want to be projecting to the rooftops. It was ridiculous to be this happy just because Logan had decided to pop back for a little bit, I told myself sternly. You are his friend; you are The Little Sister He Never Had. The Little Sister That Never Gets Had. Nevertheless, there was a distinct twinkle of amusement in Xavier's eyes when they met mine.

"Logan. Good to see you again. How have you been keeping?"

I sat in one of the chairs in front of the Professor's desk. Logan, after shaking hands, prowled restlessly around the room. Normal behavior from the Wolverine. "Fine. School okay?"

"Yes. Everyone is well, thank you. Did you get the invite to Scott and Jean's wedding?"

I looked anxiously at Logan. That had to have hurt him at least a little bit, considering his feelings for Jean before. He didn't look overly concerned, however, and I was relieved. "Yeah. I couldn't get back. I was in the middle of something."

"Ah. Well, you've been assigned a new room – the old one was merely one of our guest quarters. Rogue can show you where it is. And Rogue, if you would ask someone to fill in for you this morning – maybe Kitty or Jubilee?" The Professor coughed politely. "Um, Logan, may I ask... is there a reason for your visit?"

Logan looked at me, and couldn't seem to look away. "No," he said. "Not really. Just catching up. I thought it was about time."

"Well, I'm glad you came back. We all are. You know you can consider this place home."

Logan's intense gaze broke from me at that, and he smiled at the Professor. "I do, Chuck," he said. "I really do." I couldn't understand the slight wistfulness in his voice.

---

I could feel Logan watching me as I walked him to his new quarters. I was beginning to wonder what I had done to deserve such an intense scrutiny when he at last broke the silence.

"Sorry if I interrupted you this morning."

"Oh, that's fine," I said, in surprise. "It wasn't important. Kitty'll cover for my reading group, and Bobby and I were due to teach some T'ai Chi later, but he'll be fine on his own. I'd much rather have the time with you, before you go running off again."

Logan said nothing, and when I glanced sideways at him his face was set grimly, not looking at me any more. I wondered what on earth I'd said that could make him pull that expression. Did he not approve of T'ai Chi? Or reading groups, perhaps? Or my lackadaisical attitude towards my teaching responsibilities? It didn't seem likely, somehow. Maybe there was a reason he'd come back, and he hadn't wanted to tell the Professor. "Are you in trouble, Logan?" I asked quietly, not knowing how he'd respond.

He looked down at me, and smiled slightly at my concerned expression. "No one's after me, kid," he said, not entirely answering the question.

Kid. Oh, how I was starting to hate that word. "I'm not a kid any more, Logan," I reminded him, a little more sharply than I'd intended.

His lips twisted wryly. "I know, ki – I mean, Marie. Force of habit. I'm sorry."

"Can I help in any way? If you are in any kind of trouble, I mean. You needn't tell me what's going on if you don't want to." Logan sighed deeply, and closed his eyes briefly, as if he were in pain. He was making me more anxious by the second.

"No, Marie. I'm fine." 'Fine' was quite obviously what he wasn't, but it was just as obvious that he didn't intend to tell me what was happening. Right. He would see that stonewalling me wasn't going to work. He would tell me eventually, that I was determined, if I had to drag it out of him every step of the way. Although, short of chaining him in his room and tickling him until he told me – and there was a thought – I wasn't sure how I'd do it. Ah well. I had faith in inspiration, or failing that, winging it.

"Hmm. Well, this is your room." I flung open the door, and looked around. Comfortable, elegant, sparsely furnished: he should like it. "I'm just down the hall, number 42, if you want me. Jean and Scott are in number 49, and most of the others are around here, too. The kids call this place the X-quarters." I smiled dryly, and looked around, and surprised an expression on his face that took my breath away.

Want. Need. Yearning. Naked desire. His eyes locked with mine, and I could feel my body tremble with the force of that stare. It was a look that said 'I want to pick you up, throw you on that bed, and ravish you until you can't walk.' I took an involuntary step forwards, drawn magnetically to him, and then he looked away. I felt like a puppet whose strings had been cut.

"You'd better go, Marie," he said harshly.

"Logan, I –"

"Get *out*." He grabbed my shoulder in a bruising grip, and thrust me out of the door, slamming it shut. I turned back in confusion, about to knock, but I knew he wouldn't open the door to me again. I leaned my hands and forehead on the wood. Logan. Dear god, Logan.

"Logan," I whispered miserably. My heart was thumping so loud I thought he could probably hear it in there, with his animal senses. I felt tears welling up in my eyes. After two years, he comes back, and then this? What was going on? Then I caught the sound of approaching footsteps from down the hall, and fled to the safety of my room.

I shut the door as quietly as possible. I didn't want anyone to know I was there. Then I leaned back on it, and my knees gave out, and I sank gently to the floor, my back to the door. The tears had gone, replaced by a feeling of shock. Logan – wanted me? He desired me? But he threw me out? My ears were ringing with the blood pounding in them, and I tried desperately to think, to puzzle out why he was acting like this.

Maybe his craving for me was simply lust, nothing more. I knew he cared for me. He loved me like his little sister. His desire was there because he was Logan, he was the Wolverine, and the embodiment of masculinity. It was entirely separate to his love for me. He wanted me because I was beautiful, but he didn't love me as a peer.

He called me kid. Oh god. I felt like I was suffocating. Strange to my ears, I heard myself whimper.

"Lo–" my voice broke. "Logan. Oh god, I love you, Logan. What are you doing to me?"

I pressed my hands to my sides, and curled into a tight ball, there against the door.

---

Logan didn't know how long he paced the room after she'd gone. He recalled every look, every gesture that she'd made, replaying them in his mind and fixing them there. That had to be the last time he saw her, he decided feverishly. He would try to make it up to her somehow, but he couldn't do it face-to-face. He knew he couldn't be trusted to spend five minutes alone with her without trying to bring back that look to her face, the look he'd glimpsed for a moment, when she'd swayed towards him...

He hadn't been able to stop himself. She was just so goddamn beautiful, framed in the doorway, with a glimpse of the room and that vast, comfy bed beyond her. He didn't think he'd ever seen anything so desirable in his entire life. Then she'd turned to him, and he'd known his face has betrayed him when the trusting friendliness in her eyes turned to shock. And something else. Her eyes had gone dark with desire, and she'd made to step towards him, which he knew would be his undoing. With a wrench, he reined back the Wolverine. He couldn't let her do this. She'd always had a crush on him, he knew, but he couldn't do what he wanted to do to her. She'd never forgive him, when she came to her senses. She'd never forgive herself.

So he threw her out, because that was all he was capable of at that moment, only that much control. He'd waited, staring at the door, heart pounding, whilst she stood outside, and he almost prayed that she'd open it again. He knew she was close to tears, and he nearly threw it open himself, damn the consequences, if he could only be with her, be the one to comfort her. And then she'd fled, and he paced, and was pacing still, going through a steady list of every swearword he'd ever known. Oh god, she'd trusted him, and he'd lost that in a few short seconds. He'd hurt her, and now he just wanted someone to put him out of his misery.

---

I slowly came back to myself, lying on the floor of my room. I unclenched my hands and lay still for a while, allowing my breathing to return to normal. I felt washed out and weak, but I didn't cry. My sense of pride wouldn't let me. And then a growing sense of injustice.

*Damn*. How dare he treat me like that? How dare he treat me like a kid, and love me as a friend, and how dare he want to jump my bones a moment later? And how *dare* he throw me out because... because why? That was some insane Logan-logic. I got progressively angrier, until I had to get up and wash my face. The man was mad. I kicked the base of the sink in the bathroom, staring at my reflection. He was mad, and I loved him, and he'd thrown me out. Damn, shit, hell, fuck. I could happily have throttled him.

Goddamn it. And I *am* a superhero. I had three near-death experiences last month. I wasn't going to stand for this.

---

There was a sharp rap on Logan's door. It wasn't a Marie-type knock; he'd have known whether it was her through doors of solid steel, so he went to open it. It was Scott.

"Hey, Logan, I heard you were back. Just came – is everything okay?" Fuck. Even Scott could see it. He pulled the other man into the room, noticing that Scott had brought up his bag. Good.

"I'm going again, One-Eye. You have to do me a fa–"

"You're *what*?"

"I'm leaving. For good. Never coming back. Comprende? You have to do something for me. But not until I've gone, okay?"

"What the hell's going on, Logan? You've only just got here. What's happened?" Scott was seriously worried. He'd never seen Logan so agitated, and much though he disliked the man on general principles, he was concerned.

Logan ignored the questions – he didn't hear them – and searched through the desk for paper. There was a full pad of writing paper in one of the drawers, and a selection of pens. He scrawled a few lines of writing, and then folded it and tucked it into an envelope. This he handed to the baffled Scott. "Give this to Marie. Give me at least an hour's start."

"Marie–? You mean Rogue? Logan, what have you done?"

Logan turned, and a cold feeling ran down Scott's back at the desolation he saw in those eyes. "Tell her I'm sorry, but I have to go. Tell her that's just the way it is. Tell her not to be upset. Tell her... tell her I'm not coming back." He took Scott's shoulders in a hard grasp. "And she's not to come looking, you have to make sure of that. I'm trusting you, Summers. You have to watch her for me."

"Dear god above, what's *happened*?"

Logan shook his head. "Tell the Popsicle to take care of her or I'll cut his balls off."

"The Popsicle... Logan, are you ill? You're talking gibberish."

"The Popsicle," repeated Logan, frustratedly. "You know, the blond kid who turns to ice. Her boyfriend."

"Logan. Sit *down*." Scott gave a quick shove, and landed Logan in the chair behind him. "Tell me what this is about. Bobby and Rogue haven't been going out for nearly two years now. They're good friends, nothing more."

Logan's eyes widened, but then he slumped. "It doesn't make a damn difference," he said wearily.

"So... you've argued with Rogue about something? She's got a thing about you and you don't love her. Is that it?" He examined Logan's averted face. "No. That isn't it, is it? You *do* love her. Dammit, Logan, so why are you leaving?"

"Because he's a god damn blasted idiot, that's why," came a cold voice from the doorway, and Logan's head snapped up. Framed by the open doorway was Marie. And she was *angry*. Oh boy, was she angry. She was positively incandescent. "Scott, would you give us a minute?" she asked politely. Scott had an impulse to stay – to protect Logan. But then he saw the look in Marie's eyes, and recalled that discretion was the better part of valor.

"I'll be in the rec room if you need me," he said, and left quickly.

Marie shut the door with a snap. She strolled slowly into the room, and Logan couldn't take his eyes from her. Marie, however, wasn't looking at him. She examined the room with an angry curiosity that suggested she wasn't taking in any of it. "Marie, I –"

"Shut up." He did. She swung to face him, hands on her hips. "Exactly how old do you think I am?" she asked.

"How old...? Twenty-one."

"Give the man a cigar. Well done, Logan. Twenty-one. An adult. Remember that?" He glanced at the closed door, and wondered if he could make it out before she killed him. Possibly not. "So, as I am an adult, and you know I'm an adult, I'd like you to explain to me exactly why you still treat me like I'm a child." He opened his mouth. "In words of few syllables, please."

Logan opened his mouth again. And then shut it. Was it his imagination, or had he seen a spark of approval in her eyes at that?

"I see we're coming to some understanding." He had. Hey, wait a minute, what was the little vixen doing? Logan's brows drew together. *She* was trying to boss *him* around? The *Wolverine*? "As we're doing so well, I'd now like you to explain just exactly what you meant by throwing me out of your room earlier."

Logan stood up, feeling a growl coming to his throat. "Stay away from me, Marie. You have no idea what you're messing with."

"I have no idea?" She drew herself up to her full height – just above his shoulder in her heels. "You think so? Do you think I've led a sheltered life, Logan? Do you think, with all the things I've seen, and done, and the personalities I've touched and absorbed, that I'm an *innocent*? I touched *you*, remember? I have you in my head still. I *know* you. Do you really think I don't know what it is that I want?"

Logan wouldn't weaken. He was the Wolverine, and he wouldn't be beaten by this girl. Not even when she stepped forwards with the anger radiating from her like heat haze. "You're young, you'll get over it," he snarled, refusing to back away as she stepped close.

He wasn't quick enough to stop the punch, but he was quick enough to catch her hand as it withdrew. He could feel the heat in his cheek as it healed, and the heat of his hand around her wrist, and the blood as it pounded through her veins under his fingers. He pushed her roughly backwards, so that she stumbled and had to catch herself. Her face stayed averted for a moment, and when she turned back there was a tear on her cheek. She brushed it away unconsciously, and all the fury left him in a rush when his eyes met hers, and he saw the hurt in them. "You stand your ground against anything else. Why not this?" she whispered.

He tried to recall the arguments to his bewildered mind, but all he could think of was the pain she was in, now, because of him. Because he was *rejecting* her. A pain that mirrored his own at having to reject her. That wasn't right. That wasn't what was supposed to happen. He should send her away, and then she'd be happy? No, that couldn't be right... She wouldn't be happy, he could see that clearly. He would go so she would be unhappy for her own good... what? That was crazy. "I can't remember," he confessed. Her mouth quirked into that smile, the smile he'd been dreaming of for the last two years. Damn. What was wrong with him? He couldn't recall a single reason why he shouldn't be the one to stay here and make her happy. Which he was suddenly, blindingly certain that he could.

He narrowed his eyes at her, and stalked forwards, and she walked back involuntarily until she hit the wall and couldn't reverse any more. He moved before she could react, and secured her by putting a possessive arm about her. His other hand went to her face, and soothed away the tear drying on her cheeks. Her eyes closed, and she leaned in to his hand. "Logan," she breathed, and a tremor ran through him.

"Marie..." Oh god. She loved him. The feeling was beyond belief. "Marie, open your eyes."

She did, and his breath caught in his throat. That expression was back, heavy-lidded eyes and mouth slightly open. Desire. Love. His gaze dropped to the dog tags she still wore about her neck, and his finger traced down her throat to the chain. How had he not seen this before? He must have been blind. It only took a little movement to draw her to him and to kiss her.

The world spiraled away with the feeling of her mouth against his, and he found himself whispering nonsense against her lips. "Marie... never hurt you... Love you..."

"I love you too, Logan." God. He didn't deserve it. But, damn it, he was going to take it, and make sure she never regretted it.

---

Some time later – a *long* time later, after lots of activities that he shouldn't even think about in public or he'd be in danger of breaking a good few decency laws – and his Marie was attempting to explain to Ororo, Scott and Jean what exactly had happened. Logan wouldn't let her out of his arms, so she'd ended up curled up in his lap on the sofa of the rec room. Logan knew he looked like the world's biggest pansy, and he probably (if the others' expressions were anything to go by) had the goofiest, most besotted grin on his face, but who needed dignity when they had sweet Marie?

"Logan came back too soon, before, and got confused, because I was still just growing up then and wasn't ready," she summarized. Logan wasn't listening. He was concentrating on trying to distract her. He started an inaudible growl that he knew she could feel throughout her body, and her breath caught, her voice faltering. His fingers traced a pattern on her back, and she swallowed. He was plotting her downfall. She would be screaming his name. Oh yes.

Why were they here? She'd insisted. She'd said the whole school would be worried sick by now. He'd retorted that, unless the whole school was deaf, they probably had a good idea of where things were at. But, of course, he could refuse her nothing. Not when she looked at him like that. Or did those things...

She was still talking to them. This was wrong. Oh well, he had her at an advantage. He simply kept his arms about her and stood up, picking her up. Her surprised eyes came to meet his, and then her pupils dilated, and her breathing quickened. Right.

"Oh. Um, bye, guys –"

THE END.