When Xavier casually suggested carbon testing as a way to determine his age, Logan balked at the idea. Drawing bone marrow? Sounded painful. He’d had enough pain to last three lifetimes.

Unfortunately, the idea wouldn’t leave him alone. It floated behind his closed lids as he lay in bed at night. It teased him whenever he walked by a cluster of teenagers, a table of middle aged guys watching a football game and drinking beer, a car full of old ladies on the way to the supermarket. Which group did he belong to?

His age shouldn’t matter. It was lumped under the category of “Before.” Everything he couldn’t remember was listed in the Before category. Before the experiments. Before the X-Men. Before he settled down…long enough, at least, to warrant a permanent room at the mansion. “Before” didn’t matter, only “Now” mattered.

Now, he was out back on the porch sneaking a beer and a cigar when he heard her approaching. She never bothered to hide her steps; she knew he could hear them. He liked that bravado about her.

“Hey kid,” he said softly.

“Hey,” she answered just as softly, finally coming into his field of vision. It was dark by now, her tight white t-shirt and that telltale white streak of her hair glowed in the moonlight. She hoisted herself up on the porch railing and kicked her legs back and forth.

“No gloves tonight?”

She shrugged and shook her head. “Didn’t feel like it. Anyway…I just wanted to say hi before my hot date tonight.”

His eyebrow rose as he hoisted the bottle to his lips for another swig. “Hot date?” he growled.

“Yup. Me and Patrick Swayze and some Dirty Dancing with lots of HOT fudge.”

Logan visibly relaxed. He didn’t like the idea of Marie dating. She’d tried going out with a few of the students, and they always dumped her when her skin got too much for them. It hurt her every time, and every time he watched it happen, it hurt him a little bit too.

She sniffed. “What’re you thinkin’?” Marie asked.

“Huh?”

“You only drink on school grounds when you’re moody. You get moody when you think about somethin’ you don’t like.” She cocked her head at him. “So what are you thinkin’ about?”

He finished the beer. “That carbon dating thing the Prof mentioned.”

“You gonna do it?”

He shrugged, and leaned against the porch railing next to her. “I dunno. I just…I don’t see the point, but I also kinda do. Know what I mean?”

Marie nodded. “Yeah, I do. It’d be something about your past that you would KNOW.”

That was it exactly. It’d be nice to KNOW something concrete, have a small tidbit of information move from the “Before” file into the “Now” file.

“Can you do that? Carbon date something living?”

He chuffed, took a drag of his cigar. “I guess. It depends. If we do it and there’s no reading, Xavier said it meant my C14 levels were too young to be typed, which means I was probably born after the 1950’s. But if I was born before…he may be able to pinpoint my age within a few years.”

“You could be pretty old,” she said softly.

Yeah, he agreed silently. I could be.

Logan glanced over at her. She was turned, her dark eyes watching him carefully. She was more open with him than with anyone else, and yet he could tell there was something she kept from him. Something in her eyes gave her away.

He thought about Jean Grey, and about what she had said to him after they rescued Marie from the Statue of Liberty almost two years ago.

~I think she’s a little taken with you.~

Logan thought he might know what secret she was holding back.

“What do you think, kid?”

She smiled, her teeth white in the darkness. “I think you’ve already made up your mind.”

She was right.

---

He let the Professor test him. It had been pretty bad…drawing a tissue sample had brought back a lot of the nightmares. But he closed his eyes and let the new doctor, Hank McCoy, do his thing. McCoy reminded him of the Cookie Monster; he was giant and kind and covered in blue fur. He looked like he belonged in a zoo instead of a laboratory, but he was one of the leading minds of mutant biology, astrophysics, and chemistry in the country.

Go figure.

He thought he had been prepared to hear the results. At best, he’d be unable to be typed, which placed him between thirty and fifty years old. Fifty he could deal with…it wasn’t that bad. Hell, it’s not like he looked fifty, right?

Worst-case scenario would place him at sixty or seventy. He would be Xavier’s senior. He was trying to prepare himself to hear that. He wasn’t sure why it bothered him to possibly be that old…it just made him uncomfortable. People retired at seventy, they didn’t fight mutants or race motorcycles or kiss the girls. If he looked like this at seventy, what would he look like when he was ninety? Or a hundred?

He laughed at that thought.

He should never have laughed.

He’d heard the results, had heard the number, but he didn’t believe it. McCoy had very carefully gone over the results until the claws and the Wolverine came out. He’d begun to lose it, and that’s when McCoy backed off and let him run out. He ran all the way down to the lake, the number like a chant in his head.

One hundred and nine…he was fucking a hundred and nine years old. A hundred and nine. He’d been born over a century ago. 109. Where had he been all this time? What had he done in his century of living? He could have been anyone, done anything…hurt anyone.

He was so absorbed in shock he didn’t hear her approach, even though she wasn’t making any attempt to disguise her footsteps. Same old Marie. He nearly rounded on her with claws before her scent reached him and he relaxed.

“Dr. McCoy called. He said you were upset.”

Logan grunted.

“I thought you might be down here.” She sat on a fallen log, her gloved hands between her knees. “Wanna talk?”

Whether he wanted to or not, he wasn’t sure he could. His throat was closed up tight.

“I saw the results.”

His eyes darted to hers, wide and outraged at the new blue doctor.

“Don’t be mad. I snuck a peek when he left the room.” She smiled nervously at him. “I’ll be honest…I wasn’t expecting…that.”

He swallowed painfully, and managed a small croak. “Yeah.”

“Logan, it’s ok-“

“NO, it’s NOT okay!” he yelled, turning on her suddenly like a wild animal. Out came the claws again, he lashed out at a sapling on the shore and down it went. He was snarling, glaring, tearing.

“It’s NOT FUCKING OKAY!” Slash. “I was born in the nineteenth FUCKING CENTURY.” Crash. “I could be your FUCKING GREAT GRANDFATHER!” He round kicked a rotten log and split it in two. Marie watched the entire display in silence until he was done, sitting in the dirt with his claws still extended, emotionally exhausted.

“Does that make you feel bad?” she asked quietly, after awhile.

He wasn’t sure what she meant.

She repeated herself, even quieter now “…to think you could be my great grandfather. Does that bother you?”

He was about to say hell YES; it bothered him, when he realized exactly what he was about to say.

It bothered him to be that old. If he had been sixty, perhaps he could have accepted it enough to be able to remain where he was, at the Institute, with the X-Men…

…and with Marie.

It was like a punch to the stomach realizing that he WANTED to think of her like that. Eighteen and sixty were far apart but they could be forgiven.

A hundred and nine… it was so out of the ballpark it couldn’t even be a consideration.

Judging by the light in her eyes, he wasn’t the only one who had considered it.

“We…could get tested,” she said softly, her eyes staring straight at the ground and not at him. “To make sure…we’re not related.”

It took him a few moments to find his voice. When he did, it was slow and husky. “Why would we want to do that?” But it was a rhetorical question.

She glanced at him from beneath the shock of white hair that hung in her eyes. “You know why.” For the first time she had dropped all her protective walls and the answer was written blatantly across her face.

She really did want him.

Before he could think of what he could possibly say, she had walked over to him and kneeled in front of him.

“Marie, what the fuck-“

“Shhh,” she whispered, and drew the thin silk scarf that was around her neck to his face before she caught his mouth with hers.

He reacted instinctively, his body registering only the beautiful girl that was climbing into his lap to straddle his thighs, her lips on his. His claws retracted and he grasped her bottom in his hands, pulled her closer as he let her kiss him, her tongue and the silk in his mouth. She moaned as the kiss deepened.

Then his brain kicked in. This was Marie, who wasn’t forty years younger than he but nearly a hundred. This. Could. Not. Happen. He froze; his lips hardened against her mouth, and his hands dropped to his sides.

It took her a few seconds to realize he was no longer a willing participant in the kiss. She drew back, and the silk fell from his face. He looked at her silently, sadly. Her lips were swollen; he had been fierce for a few seconds. She stared at him silently for a long time.

When she spoke, she was blunt. “You’re gonna run again, aren’t you?”

He didn’t need to answer her. The look on his face was enough.

She sighed in frustration and climbed off him, started to pace back and forth. He could see the wheels turning in her head as she decided what to say.

“I want you to stay.”

“Marie, I can’t.”

“WHY?” she yelled, turning on her heel and continuing to pace. “I mean, yeah, the age thing is a real kick in the gut, but it doesn’t change how I feel. You could be a thousand years old and I still wouldn’t care.”

“I care. I can’t. I have to know…who, what, when, all that shit. I could be anyone. It’s…too much to leave alone.”

She stopped, hung her head in defeat. “I love you, you know.”

He sighed heavily, and crawled slowly to his feet. “Yeah. I know.”

“Then why don’t you fucking STAY for once?” This from between gritted teeth.

“You’re young, kid.” Young? Shit, compared to him she was a BABY. “You’ll get over it.”

“No, I won’t,” she stubbornly insisted. Stronger and braver now in her anger, she was able to look at him as she said it. “Take me with you then.”

“No! Think about it, Marie. REALLY think about it. What do you think I’m gonna look like in five years? Ten? Fifty? You’re going to grow old. I’m not. Doesn’t that bother you?”

“No,” she retorted hotly, “does it bother YOU?” She stepped close to him, her hands on her hips. She looked like she was ready to scream at him or punch him. She chose the former. “Already thinking to when you’re gonna be strapped down to a white haired old lady while you still look like a sex god? Is THAT it?”

She wouldn’t let him get a word in edgewise for five minutes, choosing instead to rant and rave like a pissed off teenage girl. He let her blow off steam until she started shoving him.

He grabbed her wrists in one hand, and pulled her against his body. She didn’t back down, even though she saw he was angry.

“Kid…Marie…darlin’,” he said gruffly. “I just don’t think I can handle watching you die.”

There were tears in her eyes. “So because you’re afraid of something that hasn’t happened yet, you’re not even gonna show up for the game.”

He figured silence was the best answer. She pulled away from him, crying a little harder now.

“I’ll wait for you,” she said softly.

A small, unhappy worm chewed at his gut. “Marie, no-“

“Yes,” she said simply, firm in her decision. “I’ve waited this long, I can wait longer. You will get used to the idea, eventually. I’ll wait for you…as long as it takes.”

She smiled at him, innocent and sweet, and he felt his heart lurch. Then she wiped a gloved hand across her wet cheeks, sniffed, and walked back to the mansion before he could tell her ‘no’ again.

“Marie,” he whispered, but she didn’t hear him.

He left that night, on a motorcycle. He didn’t say good-bye to anyone, and he was alone.

Logan didn’t see her again for eleven years.

---

He expected things to look different. Whether he expected his memories to fade or the landscape to change, he wasn’t sure. But both were intact and it was exactly as he remembered it.

His truck shuddered to a halt in the driveway. It was on its last legs, but it held up longer than the last truck. And that one had been with him for five years.

No one came out to greet him. He wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not.

He pushed the doorbell, but didn’t hear it ring. He pushed again harder.

"Can I help you?"

Logan looked up in surprise. This was new: a voice box just above the bell. He suspected there were cameras being trained on him at that very moment.

"Hey…who’s this?" he asked.

"Who is THIS?" the tiny, distorted voice replied slightly testily.

Logan resisted the urge to growl. He had been gone a long time; there was no reason to believe that people around here still knew who he was. Still, he was grumpy. And nervous: even though he thought about her every day, he hadn’t seen her in over a decade. He had no clue how she was going to react.

"Name’s Logan. Codename: Wolverine. And I really gotta take a piss. Are you gonna let me in or do I water your rosebushes?"

There was a pause, and then a mechanism inside the mansion unlocked and the door opened for him. He pushed inside, and shut the door behind him. Shit, the place even smelled the same: kids and steel and lots of lemon Pledge for the wood detailing.

"Hello, Logan," an exotically elegant voice said from behind him. He turned, and there was Storm. "We’ve missed you."

"It's been a long time."

Storm nodded. "Almost...twelve years. Welcome back."

Her numerous African bracelets jingled as she offered him a smile and a strong handshake. Her white hair, which used to hang relaxed and loosely around her shoulders, had grown out to natural curls that surrounded her head like a cloud. It suited her, and he told her so. She smiled benignly in that way she had, and Logan was struck with a moment of unease; although the mansion had not changed, it was obvious that its occupants had.

"We have a room for you, if you are tired."

He was. He really was. He had been wandering for too long.

Six hours later, rested, showered and shaved with an empty bladder and a full stomach, he was sitting in front of the massive mahogany desk in Xavier’s study. It had been a shock to find out that it was actually Storm’s study now. When Xavier retired she was appointed as his successor.

"Where’s the Prof then?"

"He is in Scotland with Excalibur."

"Who’s Excalibur?"

"Not ‘who.’ ‘What.’ Excalibur is a team of colleagues in the British Isles. Smaller than the X-Men. But very efficient."

"How long have you been runnin’ this place?"

"Three years."

"Where’s One-Eye?"

Storm smiled slightly, and tented her fingers on the desk in front of her. "Why do I get the feeling that Scott is not who you really wish to inquire after?"

He had so many burning questions. But one burned brighter than the rest. He sighed.

"How’s Rogue?" Is she still here? Is she still waiting for me?

Storm was looking at him thoughtfully now. Logan had never had precognition or telepathy in his life, but he was suddenly aware that she was about to tell him something he very much did not want to hear.

"Logan…as Rogue’s friend, I was aware that there was…something…between you two. However she did not want to talk about it and I am not one to pry."

Now her smile was sad.

"There is no easy way to say this so I will just say it. Two years ago, Rogue and Hank…"

Logan stiffened. Dead? Were they DEAD?

"…they were married."

Logan’s knee jerk reaction didn’t involve jerking his knee, but it did involve releasing his claws into the upholstery of the armchair he was sitting in. His face never twitched once.

Storm glanced at his stony face, to his claws embedded in antique upholstery, and then back to his face. His claws retracted, and he raised an eyebrow at her. She sighed.

"I know this comes as a shock."

Lady you have no idea, he thought.

"We were surprised when Rogue did not invite you."

There were a thousand more questions slamming around inside his head, but all he could manage to get out was:

"Why?"

Storm shrugged elegantly. "I do not know. It was not an issue one forced with her."

That’s all right. Deep in his heart, he knew. She didn’t want him to know she was breaking her vow.

~I’ll wait for you…as long as it takes~

For the next hour Logan listened to the whole story of their courtship, how one day in the laboratory, Rogue’s bare arm touched Hank…and nothing happened. Upon further investigation, they found out his blue fur acted as a natural protective barrier against Rogue’s skin. How that drew Rogue to Hank until one day they crossed the line from colleagues to dating. Eventually dating led to love.

Logan felt like he wanted to vomit.

Sure, he’d wondered whether or not she was still sticking with her vow to wait for him. He’d wondered if she’d be happy to see him when he returned, or if he’d have to slowly win her over.

He never thought he wouldn’t even get the chance.

Once married, the new Mr. & Mrs. McCoy moved to New York City, and established a Halfway Home for mutants that partnered with the Institute for the Gifted. Rogue ran the home, Hank worked for a cancer lab in Manhattan. Both were respected members of the community, both mutant and human alike.

He couldn’t remember much of what was said after that. He was sure he was following Storm because she never stopped the easy conversation of who was where and what they were doing now.

He didn’t really give a shit.

Inside, he was raging. The last eleven years of his life hadn’t been easy. A lot of leads led to even more dead ends, and he’s suffered a lot of frustration and setbacks when it came to tracking his mysterious past. Possible leads had led him all over the world, shit, even to Japan and New Zealand. Some truths he found about himself were nice, and some were not so nice.

But no matter where he was, Marie was always a constant itch in the back of his skull, a tie to the Institute, to a group of mutants he got along with well enough, which was the closest a guy like him could come to a real family. He knew he shouldn’t have, but he expected her to wait for him.

He should have written.

He should have called.

Logan couldn’t decide whether to hate her or love her.

"Logan?"

Fuck, Storm was talking to him.

He grunted.

"…if you like, I can phone her…try and talk with her-"

"No."

Storm’s white eyebrows lifted.

"No?"

"No. She clearly doesn’t want me in her life. No sense in starting shit up again now." It had been painful to hear from Storm, it was a thousand times worse coming from his own voice. She had said she would wait for him, as long as it took. He wasn’t mistaken; she had said she would WAIT.

Logan got up to leave. "Don’t tell her I came by."

He didn’t want Storm giving Marie any heads up about what was heading her way.

---

He drove like a bat out of hell down to New York City, set up camp at a transient hotel, and track them down all within two days.

He was sitting in his truck outside the Halfway Home that Marie ran. It was easy enough to identify the shelter, it made no attempt to hide that it was run by grants set up especially for mutant charities. And Hank was a rather big name in the scientific community; it only made sense that his wife was as well. And both their names were attached to the project.

His wife. Marie McCoy. Shit.

Logan rubbed at his eyes. He also hadn’t slept in two days. He couldn’t.

He had no idea what he was going to say to her. All he knew was that he HAD to see her. Had to know why she gave up on him.

It’s not like you gave her a reason to hope, jackass.

Did you really expect her to wait forever?

Well…yes!

Did you come back because you were ready to see her like she wanted you to see her eleven years ago?

. . .

. . .

No answer came. His subconscious shrugged its shoulders, and then tentatively offered a suggestion.

Or is this one of those ‘I want what I can’t have’ deals?

Logan growled, and his knuckles tightened on the steering wheel until they went white.

He was so busy arguing with himself that he almost missed them coming out of the halfway house. He wanted to jump out of the car and have it out with her in the street, but he was just so surprised that she was THERE. He froze; total system failure.

Marie and Hank walked down the front steps and down the sidewalk on the other side of the street from his truck. They were hand in hand, and they were smiling.

As Logan watched, his mouth open in shock, Hank leaned down from his massive height and whispered something into Marie’s ear that made her laugh and pull Hank closer by tucking her arm in his. They looked like the oddest couple; a six foot seven giant covered in blue fur and a curvaceous woman with red lips and a white streak in her auburn hair.

The moment happened so quickly, but Logan was able to see everything in crystal clarity as if time had slowed down. Strands of her hair that had escaped her twist were blowing in the breeze. Hank slipped his arm around her waist, but not before dropping down to playfully squeeze her ass. She swatted his hand away, mock-scowling, but five seconds later her hand had snuck down to his butt to give it a similar pat. Her deadly skin was bared to the world in a short-sleeved blouse, but she was laughing and comfortable with her mutation, thanks to a husband who couldn’t be hurt by it.

They strolled along their way, and Logan followed their progress in the cracked side mirror of his truck. At the corner, the couple stopped and exchanged a loving kiss before parting ways; Marie donning elbow length gloves and heading down into the subway while Hank flagged a cab.

It would be so easy. It would be so easy to wait until Hank left and then track her down in the subway.

It was what he wanted, right? To talk to her, confront her?

For some odd reason, Logan stayed put.

That smile on her face. It was that smile that kept him from leaping out of the truck.

He had never seen that smile on her face when he had been around. She had lots of different smiles that he remembered; shy smiles, cocky smiles, brave smiles, and even the unabashed smile that she greeted him with when he'd returned to the mansion after his initial foray to Alkali Lake.

The smile that had just been on her face was one of complete and utter happiness.

Marie was happy.

Who the hell was he to disrupt that happiness?

The stubborn part of him argued: he was her first love. He had every right to claim what she promised him. He had every right to demand to know why she broke that promise.

It was a futile argument. Someone else already claimed her as his mate, and that someone else put that smile on her face. Not him. He’d never come close to making her that happy.

She deserved to be happy.

---

"Shit." She must’ve dropped her Metrocard on the sidewalk. It was a lost cause; those things littered around every subway station like weeds in a garden, but she might as well look.

Marie hurried back up the stairs. What luck, there it was, the only one lying on the sidewalk.

As she bent to pick it up, a battered blue Chevy truck across the street roared to life and jerked into the street, cutting off a taxi cab before gunning off.

"Crazy drivers," she muttered, and headed back into the subway.

---

He lost himself there, for a few years. Time passed in a meaningless manner, his waking moments filled with cage fights and beer and snow and cheap motels. When he got tired of the snow, he drove south until the snow was replaced with dust, and the beer with tequila. Life continued for a few more years.

Time passed. He stayed the same. He did this. He did that. More time passed.

He kept in sporadic contact with Storm, under the strict condition that she not reveal their communication to anyone. The weather goddess agreed easily enough. Her influence helped him out of sticky situations. He did favors for her. It was a mutually beneficial arrangement.

‘What if’ always stayed with him. Sometimes, when it was late at night and he had nothing to do but lie on his back and stare at the stars, he thought about what could have been: a comfy job at the Institute fighting the bad guys with a team.

Often, on these nights, he would think of Marie. How old she’d be now. How her declaration of love was a lifetime ago. What would his life have been like if he accepted it? If he had never given her the chance to cast eyes at the good doctor? He still remembered that moment years ago that he last saw her; a grown woman in a silk blouse and linen skirt, happy in Manhattan. If he had stayed, if he chose her instead of the road, she wouldn’t be a New York socialite with a filled calendar. She’d be a lot further down the social ladder, that’s for sure. What if he had wanted to wander again? Would she have come with him?

As much as he sometimes wished it had happened, he couldn’t picture Marie happy with a life on the road.

Did that mean he was happy?

He didn’t know.

---

More years passed, uncounted, until one day he saw an article on the front page of the newspaper of town he was currently calling home.

ACCLAIMED MUTANT SCIENTIST DIES screamed the headline.

Logan closed his eyes. He should leave well enough alone. He should remember that she asked their friends not to include him in her life. He should not even consider the idea.

Really.

---

He didn’t feel comfortable crashing the service, so he hung back behind a stone mausoleum until it was over.

He shoved his hands in his pockets and debated about staying. She had just lost her husband. Maybe now was not the best time-

Then, suddenly, there she was. She had aged; there were lines at the corners of her eyes, and her trademark streak was not the only white in her hair, but she still smelled the same. Marie.

She was wearing a sleek black suit that didn’t look like it came off the rack, black heels that looked just as expensive, and a pair of black leather gloves. He smiled sadly to himself at the sight of those gloves; he had hoped that over the years she would have learned to control her power just a little bit, just enough to let her touch every once in awhile.

She was talking to a slim woman with short brown hair and a black tattoo, a string of numbers, running across her cheek. The sign of a mutant who had been interred during the Sentinel War. With a jolt, Logan realized it was Kitty Pryde. Although still beautiful, the tattoo was a testament to the life she lived. What had happened to her, what had happened to the X-Men, that they would have left her to be branded like that?

The two women were hugging now; saying farewell, and then Marie was walking up the hill towards him. Would she want to see him after all this time? Would she even remember him? It had been nearly thirty years; surely she would have forgotten him by now…

Logan was choosing whether he should stay or leave when she took the decision away from him. She had looked up and spotted him, her brown eyes narrowing in recognition. She froze in mid-step as if trying to decide herself whether to stop or to move on like she had never seen him. Civility and curiosity won out, and she moved toward him slowly until she was standing four feet away.

They stared at each other for a long time.

Hating the awkwardness that lay in the air between them, Logan finally broke the silence.

“I…I’m really sorry to hear about Hank. He was a nice guy.”

She still stared silently, a strange look on her face. Inwardly he was groaning, how stupid could he be? Was that really all he could offer her, some lame comment that sounded like it belonged on a greeting card?

His chin was tilted to the ground, his eyes darting between the wet grass they were standing on and her face, trying to figure out for himself why exactly he was there, when she spoke.

“Yes. He was.” That same voice he remembered in his dreams was older now, less energetic but also more elegant- like how Jean used to talk- and her Mississippi accent diluted due to her years spent in the north. “What are you doing here?”

“I saw…in the paper…”

The silence descended again. He felt as awkward as a teenager asking a girl out, which was extremely inappropriate considering the situation.

“Was that Kitty?” he grunted.

“She goes by Kate now. Has for years.”

“…was she in the camps?”

“Yes.”

“No one tried to rescue her?” If he had known, he would have.

Marie cocked her head at him quizzically. “It’s a long story,” she said finally, and left it at that.

He wondered about a lot of things, like when had she decided that he wasn’t coming back, and how had she gotten over him enough to marry Hank. Who from the X-Men survived the War? And did she still remember that kiss from so long ago it seemed like another lifetime…

She looked at her watch like she had to be somewhere. “Did you want something, Logan?”

Old habits died hard, and although she had grown up, and in appearance looked to be his senior, he cocked his eyebrow at her. “What makes you think I want something?”

His attempt at friendly banter fell short on her. She sighed, her gaze darting to the departing cars. Some things really did change, he thought sadly.

“Do you have somewhere to be?” he asked a little too gruffly. She looked at him in surprise. She opened her mouth, most likely to tell him to kiss off…but she paused for a brief moment and in that moment he saw a flash of the young Marie, the Marie that wasn’t scared of him in Laughlin City, the Marie that had enough bravado in her to tell him she’d wait forever for him.

Then a look of relief crossed her face, she seemed almost happy to give him an excuse. “I have to meet with the real estate agent at three to sell our house.”

“Is your car here?” He had already seen that she arrived in the hearse with the coffin.

She stood silently, unwilling to admit that it wasn’t.

“Come on,” he asked quietly. “I’ll give you a ride.”

Again there was that pause, and he knew part of her did want to go with him, however small a part. He latched onto that part and before she could protest again she was in his truck and they were driving away from the cemetery.

He lit a cigar and kept his gaze on the road.

“I really am sorry about Hank.”

She was looking out the window but her eyes were unfocused and staring off in the distance. He wondered what she was really seeing.

“I know,” she said softly.

“Do you…do you want to talk about it?” He had to refrain from calling her kid. Another old habit that died hard.

She uttered a small laugh. “With you? Why?” Translated: why bother? There it was, the bitterness. His jaw tightened but he wasn’t angry; he deserved it. He deserved everything she wanted to dish out. After all, he was the one who waited too long. Thirty fuckin’ years, to be exact.

“Where are we goin’?” he asked.

“My house. I need to get some things before I meet with the agent.” She told him which way to drive.

“Not living in the city anymore?” He shouldn’t have said anything, but he couldn’t help the one snide comment. A small part of him hated her for running off with someone else.

He glanced at her. Her eyes were wide, her mouth opened and closed without a sound coming out. She lowered her gaze, stared at her gloved hands. “You came for me.” She said it in a flat, emotionless tone. “When?”

“About two years after you married Hank.” He debated on whether or not he should tell her he had tracked her down when again she took the choice out of his hands.

“That was you…in the blue truck that day, wasn’t it?”

She asked him so softly that if he didn’t have extra sensitive hearing, he would have missed it. He was so surprised he nearly swallowed his cigar. It took a full minute for his heart to restart before he could answer her. “Yeah. It was.” He didn’t ask how she knew. Some things you just didn’t ask.

He was beginning to wonder why she agreed to come with him, when she spoke in a hushed tone.

“I waited…for a long time, you know.”

His throat tightened. “What made you stop?” Once he asked, he wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

“I grew up. Realized you were never gonna come for me…”

She looked at him then with tears in her eyes. “Part of me died that day.”

Now it was more than his jaw that was tightening; his fingers tightened on the steering wheel and his claws pressed against the inside of his skin. He wanted to howl, to rage and tear and hurt. Not because she was crying but because she was right. It was when he realized he could no longer have her that the wanting kicked in.

It was only then he realized what she had gone through, waiting for him to want her.

He deserved whatever she gave him for that.

“For what it’s worth,” he said, his voice husky even to his own ears, “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah,” she said, and shut up.

The rest of the trip was spent in silence, Marie pointing this way and that until he was parked in the driveway of a very nice house in a quaint little neighborhood with expensive houses. It even had a fence, although it wasn’t white. As they got out of the car and Logan looked around, his heart pained and supported him at the same time. She belonged in a place like this, a family place, like where she grew up. He wouldn’t have been able to give this to her. Maybe all his suffering really was for the best.

She unlocked the door and held it open for him, silently inviting him inside. He stepped in with a bit of trepidation; this was her home. Not just her home, this was her and her husband’s home. They had been a family in these rooms. It was hard to imagine, even with the blatant evidence: pictures of a smiling Marie and Hank on a beach, in the snow, in the garden, with the kids from the foster home…

…they looked like they loved each other very much.

“Come upstairs with me.”

He followed her silently up the stairs, down the hall and into her bedroom. He stood awkwardly in the doorway while she rummaged through her dresser.

“Wait right here. I need to slip into something more comfortable; these shoes are killing me.” Before he could say anything she retreated into the bathroom and shut the door.

Logan felt like a fish out of water; a being completely removed from its natural habitat. He did the math in his head; he was now a hundred and thirty nine years old. Marie was forty-eight.

“Tell me something,” she said through the door. “Did you ever find what you were looking for?”

“Yeah,” he rasped.

“Tell me something else.”

“Sure.” He leaned against the doorframe.

Whatever she was doing in there, the noises stopped for a second. “Was it worth it?”

Was it worth losing me, was what she meant.

“No,” he said softly.

The bathroom door opened. His eyes widened.

Marie stood there in nothing but a sheer black body stocking that covered her from head to toe, and those black leather gloves. Her auburn hair, tempered with streaks of white at the temples and crown, fell in waves over her breasts, to her waist. She looked incredibly calm.

“I loved my husband. He is the only man I have ever slept with.” She sighed. “I need this,” she said simply. “Right now, I need this. I need to feel alive.”

“But-”

“No,” she shook her head firmly. “If we have to talk about it, then it’s no good.” It wasn’t an affirmation of her previous statement. He knew it was yes or no. He didn’t know if destiny was laughing at him or not. All the years of wondering about the ‘what if’ led up to this moment.

He shrugged his jacket off. Crossing the distance between them in two steps, he had her in his arms, his face buried in her hair. She smelled the exact same as she had thirty years ago and he wanted to weep. His desire filled him until he thought it would spill over.

“Do you have a condom?” she asked breathily. “For protection?” He knew what she meant: not protection FOR her, protection FROM her. From her skin.

Silently he slipped his wallet out of the back of his jeans and grabbed the condom he always kept tucked behind a folded up twenty. His just in case items. She smiled briefly, and then gasped as he pulled her against him tightly; she could feel how hard he was already.

“Wait,” she murmured. “Not here. Down the hall. Guest bedroom.”

It was hard to rein in his need enough for her words to register, but he did. Logan closed his eyes and nodded. This was their room, she was right, they couldn’t do this here.

He scooped her in his arms and, still nuzzling her through the nylon stocking, walked down the hallway to the room she pointed at. It had the same color scheme, and same bed, but it lacked that lived-in look. It was devoid of personality.

He laid her on the bed and stood, staring down at her. She let him look his fill.

“You are so beautiful.”

“I’m old,” she said matter-of factly.

“I’m old,” he corrected her.

“But I look it.”

She did. Although the tight, ripe body of her youth hadn’t gotten fat or lost its curves, it had settled. She didn’t have wrinkles so much as smile lines at the corners of her eyes and mouth. Her skin wasn’t as resilient as her youth; her breasts were fuller, and the veins in her hands were more pronounced, but she was still Marie. And he still loved her.

God, he loved her.

“The reason you left…“ she broke up, not needing to finish the sentence. “What you were afraid of happening…me getting old and you staying young…it happened, didn‘t it?”

Logan smiled sadly. “You know what, Marie?” His throat worked, and his voice was painful.

“I was wrong.”

At that, she started to cry. She pulled him down on top of her, crying and spreading for him at the same time. He knew there was a lot to cry for; Hank, Logan, herself, the past, the future, what could have been, the life they had each chosen to lead, and where they were headed. By the time he covered himself with the condom, he was crying too. He could have had this. This house, this life. Marie as his wife.

Now it was too late.

He had agreed to this, to making her feel alive. He just wasn’t sure he’d be able to give her up afterwards.

Sliding into her was like sliding into some pristine oil. She was hot and wet and tight and surrounded him completely. She bound him to her with silk-clad thighs and arms, her hips bucking wildly under his. At the beginning Logan was careful not to touch her skin but by the time she bit his arm to keep from screaming, he didn’t give a shit if she absorbed him or not. Right now the only place he ever wanted to be again was with her.

She came on him, and when she cried out, it wasn’t his name. That was all right. He deserved that much, at least. He came soon afterwards, groaning as he filled the condom.

He rocked his hips against her a few more times to prolong the fleeing pleasure before pulling out. He shivered and looked down at her. Her eyes were closed and she was smiling. His heart skipped a beat; it was that smile he saw on her on a hot New York sidewalk. It was a smile of complete happiness.

She looked beautiful. She always had.

“Logan?” she murmured, shifting her thighs around his hips. “Gotta move my legs before they fall off.” She opened her eyes. Her smile stayed.

He felt like he was standing on the edge of a very precarious cliff. If he moved the slightest in the wrong direction, he would topple over.

He loved her. He had no idea how she felt about him beyond a vague conception that she did NOT hate his guts. And he had just fucked someone who lost her husband two days ago.

What was the right thing to say in that situation?

She wiggled beneath him, her legs growing stiff.

He shifted, and became instantly aware of the potential stickiness of the situation. He wanted to hold her, smell her, taste her, but first things first.

“Be right back.” Grimacing, he got up and padded heavily to the bathroom to dispose of the rubber and wash off. When he got back the bed was empty, the body stocking lying on the floor, and she was walking out of the guest room as naked as a jaybird. Curious and slightly disappointed that she hadn’t wanted to linger like he had, he followed her.

She was in her own bedroom, wriggling into a lace bra and a pair of matching panties. For the briefest second, he was afraid that she was ignoring him now that she had gotten what she needed.

“Marie?”

She looked at him then, an unreadable look on her face. She half-smiled at him, that polite smile reserved for introductions at a cocktail party, and his heart fell.

“I have to meet with my agent at three. It’s two-thirty now. I have to hurry. Can you drive me?”

He nodded. At least it was something.

He couldn’t help it. “Marie?”

“Yes?” She was sliding into a forest green wraparound dress, tying it in place.

He raked a hand through his hair. He’d waited thirty years to tell her this.

“I love you, you know.”

That stopped her in her tracks. She was staring at him, her eyes wide, barely breathing.

“I know now’s not the best time,” he said apologetically, “but I’ve been waiting a long time to say it. I couldn’t wait any longer.”

She didn’t answer him.

“So,” he said more nervously than he wanted to sound, “do you still want me to drive you?” He was giving her an out if she wanted it. Her car was in the driveway; she could drive herself if she wasn’t ready to accept him.

He waited for her answer.

---

It was a picture perfect day; the grass was green, the sky was blue, and the magnolia trees that decorated the gravesite were in full bloom.

They were standing in a cemetary. Every year, on this day, Logan and his wife came to pay their respects. It was a promise he made to the woman he loved a long time ago.

He looked at her. She squeezed his hand. He smiled.

Logan knelt in the lush grass with a small grunt; his joints were hurting slightly these days, a sign that time could catch up with him after all. He wiped some scattered blossoms from the polished gravestone.

Marie McCoy Logan

"Rogue"

1980-2080

Beloved wife

Another century had gone by since the day Marie died, plenty of time to mourn and move on. But Logan knew better...there were some things that he was okay with holding onto. The memory of his first wife, and the part of his heart that was still hers, were some of those things.

"Happy birthday, baby." He leaned over and kissed her name. It was cold beneath his lips.

He closed his eyes and let himself remember.

He had waited a year for Marie to mourn properly after the death of her husband, and then it had taken him another year to convince her that he wanted to marry her...love her.

They'd had fifty good years together. What he feared would happen did; she grew older, he stayed the same. But that was okay. He cherished the years that she gave him, even those at the end when the cancer made her sick, made her hair fall out and her skin hang off her bones. She kept insisting that he leave, find someone younger...and he kept smiling and taking her in his arms and holding her. He didn't just see a little old woman, he could look at her and still see the bright eyed young girl he met in a nameless bar in Canada. The woman who shared long years of happiness with him, years of smiles and laughter and love.

Marie died in his arms. Even through his tears, he had thanked God for that.

A tear slipped down his cheek now. His second wife, Alex, saw it and laid a hand on his shoulder. He covered it with his own, threading their fingers together. He stood and slipped and arm around her waist.

"It's such a beautiful day," Alex said softly, her blonde curls tangling in the breeze.

Logan nodded. "Yeah. It is."

Alex slipped out of the circle of his arm and knelt. She placed a single white rose on the marker and traced Marie's name with the tip of a finger. Wishing Marie 'Happy Birthday' was Logan's yearly ritual. This was hers. A single white rose. And the words.

"Thank you," Alex whispered to Marie. Each of them; Alex, Logan, and Marie, knew what it was for. Marie taught Logan it wasn't enough just to show up for the game, he had to play. Alex thanked Marie every day for that.

It was okay to love and lose. At least he played the game.

She stood, and took his hand again. They stood that way for a long time.

"Bye, kid," he said eventually, when he was ready.

Logan and Alex turned, walked down the cobblestone path and out of the cemetary.

---

Lyrics for 100, by Five for Fighting

I'm 15 for a moment
Caught in between 10 and 20
And I'm just dreaming
Counting the ways to where you are
I'm 22 for a moment
She feels better than ever
And we're on fire
Making our way back from Mars
15 there's still time for you
Time to buy and time to lose
15, there's never a wish better than this
When you only got 100 years to live
I'm 33 for a moment
Still the man, but you see I'm a they
A kid on the way
A family on my mind
I'm 45 for a moment
The sea is high
And I'm heading into a crisis
Chasing the years of my life
15 there's still time for you
Time to buy, Time to lose yourself
Within a morning star
15 I'm all right with you
15, there's never a wish better than this
When you only got 100 years to live
Half time goes by
Suddenly you’re wise
Another blink of an eye
67 is gone
The sun is getting high
We're moving on...
I'm 99 for a moment
Dying for just another moment
And I'm just dreaming
Counting the ways to where you are
15 there's still time for you
22 I feel her too
33 you’re on your way
Every day's a new day...
15 there's still time for you
Time to buy and time to choose
Hey 15, there's never a wish better than this
When you only got 100 years to live