“This is great,” she moaned, as she climbed out of his jeep and stretched, working out the kinks after the long drive. Sighing, Rogue reached her arms over her head and arched her back as she looked over the scene before her, turning her face to the sun. Nice little cabin by the lake, miles from any neighbor or the town, no school, and no Bobby and Kitty. “Oh yeh, this is just what I needed.” She went to the trailer behind the jeep and backed his motorcycle down the ramp, then flung her leg over it and stretched again before flopping down over the handlebars. She looked ages younger than her 20 years.

She grinned over at the man tossing duffle bags out of the jeep and he smirked at her, nodding, “No phone, no computer, no electricity, and best of all: no X-geeks. Just about as close to heaven as it gets.”

She laughed at his similar thought and bounded off the bike to grab her two bags and dash for the cabin, taking the stairs two at a time. “Lemme in, I want innnn,” she whined teasingly, pretending to wrestle with the knob.

“Alright, kid, hold yer horses,” he grunted as he hip-checked her to the side and unlocked the front door. She pushed him back and ran upstairs, shouting “Dibs on the bedroom!” He sighed, scuffed his hand through his hair, and rolled his eyes. He was going to let her have the one bedroom anyways while he lumped it on the couch or the floor of the room downstairs, so her calling dibs was unnecessary. But he didn’t mind, he’d let her have the whole damn place and a match to burn it with if she asked for it. His little girl got whatever she wanted, especially when she needed a little recuperation after being hurt by that walking popsicle cheating on her with one of the young women at the Institute.


She’d screamed a bit at first at Bobby, then at Logan when he dragged her off Kitty. He had to, as much as he’d cheered her on in his head, because she’d threatened to suck all the life out of the new pipsqueak, holding the smaller brunette by her hair with one gloved hand and snaking another bared hand forward towards the terrified girl’s face, waggling it menacingly as she hissed impressively obscene threats. When Wolverine had frog-marched his girl away Kitty, to her credit, had stuck her tongue out at Rogue but squeaked and accidentally bit it when Wolverine snarled at her.

Rogue was plenty mad, actually she was as pissed as seven devils, but she never cried. That was his girl, tough to the core. Still he knew it hurt her feelings pretty bad to have that walking ice cube play her like that, and she dealt with it by stomping around the institute for a few days, even more moody than usual, scaring almost as many students as Logan usually did. He had to admit, he was impressed; she could work up a damn decent bad mood when she had motivation. It would’ve been almost cute if she hadn’t taken it too far.

It wasn’t until the 4th day post-meltdown when he found himself in the Danger Room with her during a training exercise and he decided enough was enough. Rogue was acting recklessly, throwing herself into the fight simulation with no thought to tactics or planning, just wild fury driving her to attack the automated and holographic enemies with a ferocity that reminded him a bit of Sabertooth, not butt ugly like the the ugly mongrel, but still unsettling. Her close combat and martial arts skills were second only to his at the Institute; they had to be when her mutation only worked on humans and mutants and was ineffective against machines and holo-generated foes. After demolishing a Sentinel with a well placed clawed punch to the power matrix buried in its chest cavity, Wolverine had turned to find Rogue flying through the air right at him, thrown by another mutant hunting machine. He tried to catch her, but she slammed into him and they both flew off the Sentinel he’d been crouched over and crashed 20 feet to the ground, Wolverine flipping in midair to take the brunt of the impact and save her from injury. He could heal, she’d just bitch at being rescued, and he could live with that.

He’d barely groaned from the crushing impact before she leapt up and flung herself back into the fight, leaping high over a Friend of Humanity toting a shoulder-mounted rock launcher, managing to kick him in the jaw as she sailed above him. The FOH had just hit the ground out cold, and she was already moving on to the Sentinel that had thrown her across the DR. She was aiming powerful and precise strikes at the notoriously weak wrist, elbow, and shoulder joints of the behemoth as she skirted up its arm. Just as she’d almost managed to separate the robot's shoulder from its socket Wolverine saw the Sentinel’s other hand swing over to squash her like a bug.

He barked an order to cease the program, and Rogue stuttered to a stop in the middle of her attack, glaring over her shoulder at him, “Why’d you do that?! I was having fun!” He grunted and pointed above her head and, looking up, she saw the hand of doom frozen 4 feet above her head. She grunted loudly, copying her mentor, and hopped down the Sentinel’s arm, pausing only long enough to lash out a final kick at the last shred of metal holding the demolished forearm to the elbow, shouting “HA!” as it crunched to the ground behind her as she landed lightly in front of Wolverine. She even did a little twirl, sassing him as he glared at her, his arms folded over his chest.

“Alright kid, we’re outta here!” He grabbed her gloved hand and dragged her behind him like a naughty kid on her way to time out. And just like a kid whose been busted she tried to dig the heels of her combat boots into the floor and stop him.

“What did I do?! I was just training!”

He snorted, swiveling his head back to glare at her, eyebrows arched down in a hawkish line, “No, you were being stupid b/c you still pissed off over the ice-prick.”

“So what? Ain’t it healthy to work off some aggression?” She waggled her eyebrows at him, amused when he grinned back.

“Yeh, but there’s better ways to do it than demolish a few hundred thousand of Chuck’s dollars in the DR.”

“Oh reeeeeallly…” she drawled, picking her feet up and letting him propel her down the hallways.

“Wolverine, I dunno if this here’s a place to work off my anger and aggession. Kinda hard to be all sullen in a place like this,” Rogue said as she kicked her combat boots up on the porch railing, tipping back in her rocking chair, raising her beer, and releasing her waist length auburn and white hair from a ponytail.

Wolverine leaned over from his identical pose in the chair next to her, clinking his bottle against hers. “Kinda the idea, kid. There’s better ways to deal with heartbreak than breaking stuff. Of course if you want we can still drive back to the mansion and…”

She laughed, “Nah, I’m tired of breaking stuff, my hands fucking hurt.” She clenched and unclenched them, wincing a bit at the rawness of her knuckles under her gloves. Even with her heavy leather DR gloves on, she’s managed to hamburger both her fists pretty good when she was fantasizing the Sentinel was Bobby. Wolverine had offered to heal her and she blew him off, not wanting mandatory therapy sessions with Xavier if he found out Wolverine had refreshed his faded presence in her mind. Took a couple of weeks for them to fade enough for her to pretend they weren’t there easily. There were there, along with Erik, St. John, a bit of Pete and a couple of other folks, but she said once they just made a kind of background noise most of the time, like white noise with an occasional comment or thought popping through when she was ungarded.

Besides, her ache in her hands was actually a good pain, one from some honest to god blood and sweat, the best kind. “And he didn’t break my heart…just stomped on my feelings a bit.”

He quirked an eyebrow at her, “Reeeeeallly…”

She snorted inelegantly, and swigged some more beer, “Yeh, I was kinda getting over being the ‘it couple’ of Mutant High and he was starting to annoy me, always jumpy like any second I was gonna” and she made a clawing motion with her hand and a sucking noise with her mouth. Wolverine chuckled. “We’d have probably just fallen apart naturally sooner or later anyways, but for him to dog me like that…well….grrrrrrrr!” She gave a convincing imitation of her friend’s own feral snarl, making him laugh.

“Kid, do that the next time you see him, please, I wanna see his face,” he choked a bit on his beer, then sighed in contentment. Oh yeh, this was much better than watching her skulk around pissy at the mansion. His little girl, some beer, no X-geeks, and his cabin. This was the first time she’d been here. Actually it was the first time he’d brought anyone here, preferring to keep it his private sanctuary tucked away in Saskatchewan, He’d bought with a couple years of cage-fighting winnings. But his Rogue, he knew she was the only person he’d share this refuge with. She needed to get away from everyone just like he did. They were like that, the two of them, sides of the same coin.

Later that afternoon, after some lazing about to recuperate from the days long drive, he set to work chopping some wood the old fashioned way, eschewing his claws in favor of some elbow grease, and she swanned around the cabin, giving her commentary on the rustic décor while she unpacked the provisions they’d brought and set the kitchen to order.

“A little masculine in here don’t ya think?” she teased through the window over the sink, while he split logs on a stump nearby.

“Yeh, that’s the point, it’s my place, not some snooty big house with marble and Chippendales shit like Chuck’s.”

“It’s alright…but I was half expecting a dead bear head over the fireplace.”

“Nah, saving that spot for Sabertooth when I finally nail that ugly fucker.”

Her laughter floated though the window and he grinned, mentally patting himself on the back for his brilliant idea to bring her here. This would be fun, a week or so, roaming the woods, swimming in the lake, maybe learning a few things about wilderness survival from him in the meantime, and his girl would be right as rain again.

That ice-prick was going to melt from her memory pretty damn quick, and rightfully so. That little shit hadn’t deserved his little girl. To be honest, he had serious doubts any of the mutants at Xavier’s were good enough for his Rogue. She was just too damn mature for her age, having about 5 different sets of memories rattling around in that head of hers; and she hadn’t been an uncomplicated girl before that either, what with the deadly touch thing.

Ah, kid, life’s been a bit of shit to ya, hasn’t it? he thought to himself, listening to her tuning the radio in the kitchen until she found a rock station she liked. “Well, that’s gonna change long as I’m around. Nothing’s gonna upset my girl, no sir,” and he smiled again as he brought the ax crashing down with a satisfying THWACK, splitting the giant log right down the grain. Rogue started to sing along with the music, and he kept grinning as he bent over to place another log on the stump, hefting the axe once more.

“Hey, watch this!” Of course, as soon as she said that he knew this was not going to be good. He looked up from his perch on the rock shoreline to see Rogue running along the top of the one of the rock outcroppings bordering this side of the lake, then jumping off, falling in a flailing of arms to hit the water feet first. He held his breath for a few seconds, waiting for her head to appear, then released it when she bobbed to the surface, laughing.

“Shit, kid, that’s pretty nervy, ” He called to her and nodded approvingly at her bravado, even as the old man in him was half-tempted to lecture her ass on doing something that dangerous. Then he checked himself and smirked. He was okay when she was in the middle of a battle with the Brotherhood or the FOH or giant robots shooting lasers, but he was going to bend her ear over some cliff diving? Old man, you’re getting soft he chided himself, as he leaned back on one elbow and watched Rogue stroke across the lake in her one piece wetsuit. She looked like a seal, wallowing in the water, sleek and shiny; although he doubted she’d take that as a compliment since she’s groused about having to put on the constricting outfit earlier when he’d tossed it to her.

“There’s no one around for me to touch,” she whined, pouting cutely at him.

“It’s not yer power I’m thinking about; the lake is fed by glaciers” and he gestured to the mountains on the other side of the water about a mile off, dark blue jags of stone topped with snowy peaks even in June. She nodded and flounced off to her room to struggle into the suit, and he chuckled as he heard her swear as she wriggled it on. After she’d gotten her first face full of chilly water, courtesy of an unceremonious toss into the lake from Wolverine, Rogue admitted the wetsuit was a good idea, especially the booties and gloves that came with it, and he’d had a hard time dragging her out of the water for lunch for the last 2 days. She’d never gotten to swim much at the Institute with all the other kids around, all that skin bared and just ripe for the draining. She’d spent years sitting on a lounge watching everyone else have fun, pretending that watching was enough.

Rogue taken to scaling the rocks that ran along the western edge of the lake, opposite the shoreline where he put up two Adirondack chairs, towels, and a cooler. He watched as she scampered like a mouse, moving to all fours then upright again as she hopped from one crag to another, feet protected by the booties that came with the suit. She was really enjoying herself and he enjoyed watching her, only occasionally annoyed when she threw rocks down at him when he was swimming. He didn’t need a wetsuit, the water only felt bracing to him, so he just wore shorts. One time she’s snuck up behind him in the water and grabbed his ankle, yanking him under. When he’d surfaced, blowing out the mouthful of water he’d taken in, she’d leapt onto his shoulders and dunked him again, before streaking off through the water, daring him to chase her, laughing in a loud and free way like he hadn’t heard her do in a long time.

Yup, about as close to heaven as it got. He was starting to drowse in his chair, hand loosening its grip on the beer perched on the arm of the chair, his battered cowboy hat sliding down over his nose. He could listen to her all day, capering around like a kid again, free from all the worry that settled on her shoulder at Xavier’s. The fear of touching anyone by accident, the conscious restraint she always had to practice in a school full of people, teens and adults alike, bumping into each other in the halls and cafeteria, girls hugging each other during a giggle fest, guys high fiving each other and slapping each other’s shoulders after a DR session or during a pick-up game of mutant basketball, couples huddled over books they never read in the library, heads and hands touching. He knew how much it bothered her that she had to keep herself apart from everyone, both physically and emotionally, not wanting to get to close in any sense for fear someone could get hurt or she could wind up with another voice whispering in her head.

It had surprised him when she’d starting dating the ice cube, and he’d briefly wondered how they…but he’d dismissed that thought quickly as none of his business and was just glad she seemed to be happy and was trying to have as normal a life as one could have in a school stuffed to the rafters with kids who could blow up, melt, phase through, and stick to every surface in the blasted place. His only concern had been that Bobby treat her right, and with that thought in mind he’d placed himself in the “intimidating big brother polishing his shotgun on the porch when suitors come a-calling” role. Although in his case he’d just had to flash 6 razor sharp claws that never needed shining and he felt confident the ice-prick wasn’t stupid enough to hurt his little girl. Guess he was wrong, or the guy was just too dense to realize what dangerous ground he was treading on.

Dozing off, his last thought was how happy Rogue was up her, so different from the sour smartass she’d been a few days ago.

Her sudden scream jolted him upright, one set of claws popping reflexively and the other hand sweeping his cowboy hat from his head. Horrified, he saw Rogue lose her grip on an outcropping of rock and start to fall backwards.

Shit, she’s at least 40 feet up and not over the water.

He scrambled to his feet, kicking over his chair in his haste, roaring, “Hang on!” But it was too late. Even as Wolverine ran with all the speed his superhuman body could muster, everything unwound in slow motion before his eyes. She’d had one hand wedged into a crack above her head and both her feet on a shallow ledge, apparently trying to inch her way over the water for a more daring leap than before, when the rock under her feet crumbled. For a second, she hung by her covered right hand, then the rock she was grasping broke free and she fell backwards. This part of the rock face wasn’t a straight up and down shot by any means, and as she tumbled she slammed into a boulder 10 feet down, taking the crushing hit on her right side, folding her nearly in half. She rolled off the boulder to her left and crashed into the ground, her legs folding awkwardly under her as loose rock showered her from above.

“NO!” he screamed as he scrambled to her, throwing himself over her as more stones, fortunately none large than a soccer ball, fell around them. He took the brunt of a few to his back and one sumbitch to his head, before the mini avalanche stopped. He pulled himself up and hovered over her, eyes and hands assessing the damage.

Shit, not good.

She had a huge goose egg already growing on her left temple and he could see the femur of her right leg sticking through the jagged edges of the torn wetsuit. “Rogue, Rogue, c’mon kid, talk to me.” Nothing, she was utterly still. He could hear her breathing, see the faint raise and fall of her chest under the neoprene, but there was something else. A faint gurgle and the coppery tang of blood in her breath. Fuck. She was bleeding internally, maybe a punctured lung b/c he was sure she’d crushed some ribs.

He tested her both her arms, nothing there appeared to be broken, although her right shoulder felt dislocated, maybe a fractured collarbone. Both her legs were broken, based on the angles they were splayed, but he couldn’t tell if left one was a compound fracture or not. He gently eased her out of the rubble, trying to keep her as still as possible but still move expediently. He felt her neck carefully, mindful the wetsuit didn’t reach all the way to her jaw and ascertained it wasn’t broken. He had to get her back to the cabin to help her; it wouldn’t do to touch her, let her drain his healing ability and leave both of them in a bad state by the lake. He had to get her inside, warmth and shelter. Praying he wasn’t doing further damage, he gently lifted her into his arms, wincing as the way her ribs ground together against his chest and the grisly mess of her thigh bone exposed to the air, and moved as quickly as he could back home.

Laying her carefully on the couch b/c he couldn’t take the chance of taking her all the way up the stairs to her room, he felt for her pulse at her neck. Thready but there and he bent down to listen to her breathing. Definitely blood in the lungs and god knows where else. He knew if he just sat on the couch and grabbed her face to heal her me might not be able to let go, her mutation drawing on his power and life force like a magnet, binding him to her, and he might fall onto her when he passed out, which would be a very bad thing. And he wasn’t sure how quickly or even if she could heal from this much damage; he’d never tried it before with anything this serious, with so many compounded injuries. He stripped the glove off her right hand, and draped it over the sofa’s side, then slid down the floor beside it, lying on his back, with his feet towards her head, her hand hanging over his waist covered by jeans and t-shirt. Lying on his back, he closed his eyes and breathed a silent prayer that this worked for both of them, then reached his hand forward and placed it under her limp palm.

For a few seconds he waited in agony, tensing for the pull of her mutation, scared out of his mind it was too late, then he felt it. A burning that started in the back of his hand where she touched him, then suddenly writhed under his skin and up his arm, through his shoulder, crawling over his face and neck and across his torso, snaking its way through every part of his body, sucking out his mutation, his heat, his mind, his soul. He struggled to hold his hand that few inches off the floor for as long as he could, before a gray haze began to form corners at his vision and he felt everything that he was pour from him into her small, still hand. The last thing he remembered before he flew apart was the sound of his hand dropping to the floor.

Wolverine opened his eyes, momentarily bewildered at the view of the ceiling above him, then everything came rushing back. He sat up, swayed at the nauseating sensation that churned in his stomach and head, but shoved it back down as he looked over at Rogue. She looked like shit, but better than she had…he looked at the windup alarm clock on the fireplace mantle. “Shit! Six hours!” He rose cautiously, still woozy and feeling like he’d just gone 5 rounds with Magneto, and crouched over her, checking her vitals carefully. Heart rate better but still not where it needed to be. Her leg was a fucking unholy mess. “Fuck,” he ground out through clenched teeth, horrified at how stupid he’d been. He should have set her damn leg before he touched her, now it looked like her skin was trying to grown over the bone still jutting out grotesquely from her thigh. Knowing how his healing factor worked he wouldn’t be surprised if the other end of her femur had started to knit to the underside of the bone that was still badly out of place. He was going to have to fix that and it was not going to be pretty. “Rogue, Rogue, can you hear me?” He put his hand on the top of her head, trying to wake her without jostling her unnecessarily. No response. Even though the giant knot on her forehead had decreased in size it was still decidedly purple. Damn it She was still really messed up if she hadn’t woken up by now, maybe a skull fracture or, bleeding on the brain. Christ, don't let it be that.

“Kid,” he muttered, steeling himself for what he was about to do, “It’s a good thing you’re not awake right now b/c this is going to fucking hurt.” He popped the center claw on his right hand and carefully sliced away the wetsuit from her leg so he could get a clear view of what was going on and it was exactly what he’d suspected: her leg was healing in the wrong position and if he didn’t fix it she’d be crippled. He dragged his duffel over from the foot of the couch and dragged out the leather gloves from his team uniform. Never leave home without it he thought grimly as he worked his hands into them.

Covered now, he positioned his hands on her thigh, feeling for the right angle and figuring out how much force this would require. He stood up, leaned over, and gritting his teeth bore down with all his strength and re-broke her leg. Her eyes flew open and she made a pathetic wail, and Wolverine felt like the biggest bastard of all time. “I gotta reset it kid. I’m sorry.” He moved to her feet and pulled on the now loosened leg to reposition it, gritted his teeth as she wheezed painfully, as if she had no breath left, then she was unconscious again.

It was a small mercy for both of them.

Punching himself hard in the side of the head for being such a fucking dumbass he had to hurt her on purpose, he took a deep breath, finished repositioning her leg, then made a splint from some of the wood by the fireplace, which he neatly split and shaved to an acceptable size with his claws, and it tied in place with strips of a spare sheet from the closet. Once he’d attended to the most grisly of her injuries, he proceeded to examine the rest of her to see how she was coming together. Thanking god she was out cold again, he carefully sliced off the rest of the wetsuit, peeling it back to see the full scope of what they were dealing with. She’d put a regular one piece bathing suit on before he’d made her to put the neoprene on, and he had to remove that too, moving quickly and clinically, scanning her body for damage.

Her other leg had a closed fracture of the tibia and fibula, and from what he could tell they were coming together okay, so he wouldn’t have to do anymore ham fisted repairs. Badly tweaked ankle that was pretty swollen, but was fading from dark purple to a sickly yellow green that said his touch doing its thing. The ribs on her right side were still bad, black with blood pooled under the surface, and he could still feel a lot of unnatural movement as he probed, so he needed to bind them. He carefully lowered his head to her chest to hear her breathe. Damnit, there's still fluid in her lungs Wolverine e could see some pink froth on her slips where she’d aspirated blood. Not good and only one thing for it.

He didn’t know how much of his healing factor was still kicking in his body, but he was going to have to give her another dose. But before that he was going to do all the triage he could with his hands before going down for the count again. And he wasn’t going to leave her on the damn sofa. He ran quickly up the stairs to her room, stripped the quilt off the bed, and raced back to the ground floor, snagging a first aid-kit from the bathroom. No one would ever think the Wolverine would need gauze, antiseptic, etc. But shit still hurt while he was healing and he didn’t always like watching his own blood drip freely while he waited wound to close. And even if his body could kill just about any infection he got fairly fast, it was annoying to have his skin itching b/c he left a piece of wood or a bullet in too long. So sometimes he’d slap a bandage on it and some Neosporin, but fuck all if anyone else was ever going to know that.

He spread the quilt on the floor, eased Rogue off the couch and onto it where he had more access to her injuries, and he let the field triage training he’d picked up in WWII and from Beast take over. He bound her ribs tightly, but not enough to restrict breathing, braced her other leg and ankle with another homemade split, got a chemical cold pack and cracked it to activate and applied it to her head, wrapping it in place with another winding of gauze. He probed the dislocated shoulder, relieved it hadn’t locked in place yet from the damaged tendons and muscles around it healing, and popped it back in with a wince of his own, although only a twitch in Rogue’s cheek indicated she’d felt anything.

Once he felt satisfied he’s done as much as he could with just his two hands, Wolverine wrapped the quilt carefully around her, and carried her up to her room. He wrapped her up mummy style, leaving one arm free to hand free to drape over the side of the bed, he lay down on the floor once again and grabbed her hand, ready to let her take whatever healing he had.

Alright kid, try not to kill me.

The draw was a bit slower this time, his thoughts, feelings, and memories not rushing out of him in a torrent like before, but in a strong pulse like waves falling quickly on a turbulent shore. It didn’t flare sudden and painful either, but started as a slow burn that spread outward, searing him so gradually he didn’t even notice when he was boiling from the inside out until he finally began to fade out.

It’s like going to sleephe thought hazily. But he was falling into something deeper than sleep or even unconsciousness; a void so dense and black that drew in all the light from his being, his heart, his whole life, from which he was never going to surface…until his hand fell from hers.

Another small mercy.

Something was irritating her nose, something that burned and left a metallic taste in her mouth. She worked her jaw, trying to swallow, and found her throat was raw like she’d gargled gravel. “Uhhhh,” even the sound was painful to make, something in her chest rasping and digging into her, she could hear it too. She opened her eyes and the room swam into focus then became sharply defined, preternaturally so. The sunlight slanted at a severe angle from the west window, telling her it was afternoon. She could see dust motes floating in the light, swirling in a random pattern, dancing, turning in the air. Her nose twitched again, itching, burning, the taste on her tongue growing heavier. “Hurrrggggghhhh,” she tried again, noting that doing even that hurt all over, and the light was making her eyes water. She closed them and tried to roll over to block it out and go back to sleep.

She couldn’t move, wrapped up in the quilt from her bed she realized. She wriggled and gasped at the pain it caused. She couldn’t stay like this, managed to roll to her left side and she saw a glass of water on the bedside table. Rogue tried to shift an arm under her to prop herself up. That’s when she noticed her other arm was free of the blanket and she scrabbled it toward the glass. It was still to far away and she was getting frustrated. Fuck it she thought and wrenched herself up, a horrible wheeze bursting from her lips as she wrestled the covering from her. Gasping from the exertion she took a moment steady herself before she reached over for the blessed water. She drained it, slopping over her chin and down her front. And that was when she realized she was not wearing her own clothes, but one of Wolverine’s t-shirts and a pair of boxers. She reached down to pluck at the shirt when a bolt of pain seared down her side and she fell back, dropping the water glass to the floor where it shattered. Feet thundered up the stairs from below and Wolverine was her room.

“Shit, kid. Scared me to death.”

“Sorry,” she mumbled into the covers, trying to draw them over her face and shut out the light.

“About time you woke up.” She opened one eye and peeked at him, hovering over her, a cloth in his hand that he used to wipe her face, which she now realized was drenched in sweat. She could see every whisker in his mutton chops, a slither of perspiration trickling past his right ear, the pulse ticking at his throat. She could hear it too, racing for a few moment before it started to slow. The click of his teeth as he smiled tightly at her, the rasp of his jeans as he sat carefully on the bed at her side.

“What happened?”

“Got a little cocky up on the rocks. Took a tumble, you’re been out of it for a while. Had to give you a few touches to help you along.” He handed her another glass of water and, putting his arm around the blanket covering her, helped her sit up to drink. It was then she noticed one of her legs was splinted from hip to ankle.

“Must’ve been bad,” she gasped between swallows, relieved to finally feel the razors in her throat dull. The smell in her nose was still there, sharp and metallic, but now tinged with something else, more earthy, “for you to heal me so often.”

“It’s still bad, kid. Lie back.” He eased her back down, and she winced at the grinding sensation in her torso. “Yer still pretty fucked up. Broken ribs aren’t healing like I thought they would. My mutation is working really slow. I’ve had to hit you with it five times in the last two days alone.”

Her eyes felt raw and her lids were heavy. “Why isn’t it working?” she mumbled as she turned towards him, burrowing into his flannel covered chest, the earthy smell stronger now, washing away the unpleasant sensation from her nose.

“It is working. It’s just slower for some reason. It doesn’t rush out like it did before. It’s steady, at a lower frequency…or something.” He took the glass from her hand and put it on the bedside table, then readjusted her so she could stretch out a bit more. “It doesn’t knock me out cold like it did the first couple of times. Now it kinda just makes me sleep.” He cradled her to his chest, stroking her head with his gloved hand. “Which is good b/c I was out for over 24 hours after the second hit, and you can’t be left unattended that long.”

“How long has it been?” Her eyes closed and she focused on the swish of blood through chest, the steady rumble of his heart under her ear, gentle bellows of his breathing relaxing her.

“Six days. But I think you’ll be up on your feet in a couple of days.”

“Six? How…”

“Hush kid, go to sleep.” He squeezed her gently, then rolled her onto her back to let her doze. He watched her for a few minutes, assured she was comfortable, then took off one of his gloves and rested it on her forehead. He felt the draw of her mutation, but he was getting used to that; it didn’t hurt anymore.

He could feel more clearly what she was pulling from him, and it wasn’t his mind or memories. She’d already taken them all and there was nothing left in his head or heart she didn’t already have in hers, even if she didn’t know it yet. He could feel her simply taking his healing, drawing on it quietly now, slowly rebuilding her body in its uniquely evolved fashion. No longer furious, grasping, and frenetic in its draw, her mutation was only a steady drain, repairing her at an accelerated rate for a human but still slow compared to how he healed. If he’d received these sorts of injuries he’d have been up in 2-3 days, completely recovered and unmarked. She was definitely taking longer, but it was working. He didn’t know why it had changed and at the moment he didn’t really care as long as it worked.

He let his hand rest on her for 10 minutes, until he felt himself growing heavy in the way he’d become accustomed to over the last few days, then pulled away, and slipped the glove back on to unwrap the quilt from around her and smooth it over her still form.

He frowned down her face, soft in sleep. She had a shitload of his garbage up there in her head now, a lot more than ever before. He hoped the next time she awoke her mind would be healed as well as her body.

Wolverine was true to his word. Rogue was up and about 2 days later, and it actually wasn’t nearly as bad as she’d expected. Her tib/fib fracture and tweaked ankle were completely healed and the femur break on the other leg no longer needed a splint, even though it still felt sore when she put too much weight on it. Her ribs had taken the longest and it was only today that she could bend without wincing. All things considered, she was feeling pretty good, energized even, despite the aches. And she was reveling in her sharpened senses, borrowed from Wolverine. She smelled the breakfast he was cooking downstairs on the gas stove, eggs and toast. Through the window she caught the sharp scent of pine outside the open window, the cool lightness of the lake a couple of hundred yards away, the peaty aroma of the land around the cabin, even a faint trace of spoor from some animal nearby. She smoothed her jeans down her legs, relishing his heightened sense of touch too, marveling as the rasp of the denim under her fingertips, the silky glide of her hair as she brushed it, even the tickle of her breath as she puffed experimentally on her arm, smiling as the hairs stood at attention from the sensation. She stroked her hand along the polished wood of the handmade bed frame, enjoying that it felt just a honeyed as it looked under the layers of varnish Wolverine had carefully laid over it as he built it, like he built every stick of furniture in the cabin.

Rogue wondered to herself, "Is this what he feels like every day, every waking moment?" It was surreal, the light, colors, the feel of everything was sharp and crisp, snapping against her senses in a pleasurable way as she experimented with every texture in her bedroom. She lay her head down on the quilt she’d been wrapped in for days on end. Ugh, definitely some downsides to the enhanced sniffer; the sheets absolutely needed to be washed. They smelled like blood, a coppery smell that zinged her nose and made it twitch, and sweat and, urgh, her B.O. from going days without a shower, which she’d remedied as soon as she got up this morning.

No washing machine around here for the linens, no electricity except for the batteries in the radio in the kitchen and the flashlights. Guess Wolverine washed his togs in the lake, made sense. Gas stove, old fashioned cold room under the porch, oil lamps for light, truly roughing it and the washing was going to be a chore for sure. Rouge would ask Wolverine to flog the stink out of her bedding, and she gathered them up. As she stripped the pillowcase she sniffed it, but instead of detecting the rank scent of her recuperation she smelled him, where he’d laid his head occasionally. That earthy smell, like freshly turned soil, cigars of course…and something else, something primitive. She smiled, took another sniff and suddenly had a major hankering for the eggs she smelled wafting up from the kitchen.

Rogue attacked breakfast with gusto and drained a couple of glasses of OJ, which Wolverine kept stashed in the underground cold room along with the oh-so-important beer he refused to grant her on her first real day out of the cabin. He insisted she do some tai-chi with him to limber up after being out of commission for over a week and get the internal energy flowing again. They’d practiced for an hour and she was proud she only needed one break for the ache in her bum leg. He seemed a bit proud too, keeping his criticisms of her form and flow to a minimum, only occasionally indicating with a nod or gesture for her to reposition. She felt more fluid through the exercises that she ever remembered, and she knew it was from his borrowed senses.

The smell of the grass crushed under their feet, the slightly salty tang of their sweat rising as the sun beamed down on them tickled her nose, the feel of the breeze on her skin covered in just another pair of his borrowed shorts and t-shirt. No need to worry about touching right now, he’d told her. It was important she got some vitamin D and fresh air to speed along her recovery.

Despite encouraging her to forgo the usual layers, Wolverine was covertly keeping his distance from her, confident that now that she was on the mend her life draining power would ramp back up to its normal levels…but he couldn’t help but look over her long legs, the smooth whiteness of the skin on the inside of her arms, the turn of her ankle as she slid from one position to another.

He’d touched her more than a dozen times since the accident, when she was unconscious or asleep, each time trying to focus on another injury, uncertain as to why it was taking longer each time. He’d stopped using her hands or face and instead turned his attention to the specific wounds that just weren’t healing at the rate he expected.

Her legs. He’d felt like such an old pervert when he’d rubbed his hands over them, consciously trying to stimulate a more powerful pull from her mutation, trying to focus the healing into the bones. Her ribs, as he fanned his fingers across the span of her torso, losing his focus on what he was trying to accomplish, trying to mentally force her splintered ribs knit faster, the bruises to fade. Instead he was found himself fixating on the feel of her skin under his hands, the softness of it. He banished each of those thoughts as they crept into his mind, worried she’d draw them from him as she pulled his restorative mutation slowly from his body.

When he wasn’t touching her and he was just doing things, chopping what was now enough wood to last through three winters, or puttering around the cabin, those thoughts crept back into his mind, stealthily. One moment he’d be watching her still form on the bed from the chair he’d brought into the room to keep on eye on her as when she was out, then next he was pondering how her lips would feel under his, the gentle swell of her hips under that blanket, the way her breath would feel tickling his cheek. Then he’d shake himself from that unseemly reverie and force his brain back to big-brother mode. This happened a lot while she was recuperating, even after she woke up for good and he no longer needed to heal her, he was tempted to reach over while she slept and cup her chin in his bare palm and experience the velvet of her cheek.

God, he was some new breed of letch, fantasizing over the practically comatose form of the kid.

But she wasn’t a kid anymore. He’d finally accepted that, after years of being deliberately blind to her growing up, both physically and emotionally. It had been easier to keep her tucked into the little-sister box he’d built around her, around the image of her he’d had the since the first time he laid on the scared little slip of 15 year old girl in that grungy bar in Laughlin City. She was still his best friend, but after almost losing her this past week, and the strange turn her mutation had taken that allowed her to hold her tenderly to him as he struggled to repair her, his mind had taken a different turn regarding Rogue.

Late that night, after the fire had died down in the fireplace and Wolverine had finished entertaining her with another one of his cage fighting exploits, which she loved to hear and had begged for several episodes, they hunkered down for the night. Wolverine turned uneasily on the couch and finally decided there wasn’t enough room for him to sleep comfortably, not that he’d done it much in the past couple of days with those damned disturbing thoughts of Rogue dancing behind his eyelids every time he closed them. He took the quilt and pillow and flopped down on the rug next to the sofa and tried to get comfortable. After a while he dozed, but lightly, awareness of the woman upstairs always at the edge of his periphery.

She might need a drink of water.

No, she wasn’t a kid anymore and she didn’t need big bro to bring her a drink. Maybe she needs me. Nope, not going there. Otherwise his feet might grow a mind up their own and carry him upstairs to sit in that chair again and stare at her while she slept. He grunted into the pillow and ground his face into it, feeling like had turned into a stalker the way he stole surreptitious looks at her all day as she did tai chi, made a clumsy effort at washing the bed linens and quilt at the lake’s edge until he had to take over and show her how to scrub them against the rocks and beat them over the railing of the porch to get them drying. He shouldn’t have told her to wear the shorts, her old baggy men’s jeans would have been much better.

He was seriously considering going outside for a cigar, since sleep obviously wasn’t coming anytime soon, when he heard her soft footstep on the stairs. Pretending to be asleep, Wolverine covertly watched her from lowered lids as she snuck out the door, and he wondered why the hell Rogue was being so secretive. If she wanted to go sneak one of the beers he’d earlier forbade her, he wasn’t her father. No, his feelings towards her were growing decidedly less familial.

He didn’t hear the creak of her body settling into one of the porch chairs and after a few minutes curiosity got the better of him, and he decided two could play at the stealth game as he followed. Her scent was easy to track and he followed it back to the lake. He crouched behind the brush as his eyes scanned the shoreline, seeking her figure, wondering if she’d gone back to the scene of her accident. She wasn’t anywhere he could see then he saw ripples in the mirror smooth surface of the water.

No wonder Wolverine swam in just shorts, this was pure unadulterated heaven, she thought. The wetsuit was history, and she didn’t mind a smidge. The water no longer felt frigid, her teeth didn’t chatter, and her muscles didn’t shake as she broke the surface. The water was invigorating. She’d shucked the shorts and t-shirt at the water’s edge and had at first waded in tentatively, expecting the cold to shock her silly, but instead it had lapped at her calves with a seductive coolness, inviting her in further where she gasped as the water caressed her stomach, filling her with a new sensation.

How did he walk around without an eternal hard on, she wondered. Everything feels so…delicious.

She sighed and dove under, swimming as far as she could underwater until her lungs started to burn and she felt the twinge that reminded her that her ribs weren’t totally healed, not quite. She broke the surface with a shout, laughing her pleasure out loud, diving under and up again and again, reveling in the discovery of the simple pleasure of cool water on hyper-stimulated skin, her skin, a skin she had forgotten could feel anything besides the cloths of the layer she’d always swaddled herself in and the occasional touch of her own hands when the longing for contact with another had been too great.

Wolverine watched, breathing hard, as Rogue cavorted naked as a jaybird in the lake, rolling over and over again in the water, exposing every inch of porcelain flesh to the moonlight. He knew he should slink back to the cabin and try to forget he saw any of that, all of that, every curve and angle, every single damn thing. Instead he moved downwind of her a hundred yards and lit his cigar, crouched back down behind the brush, and watched her intently, his eyes narrowed through the smoke.

The next morning Wolverine woke up close to noon still tired. He’d slipped around her in the forest and beat her back to the cabin with a few minutes to spare to resume his prone position on the couch so she’d think he’d been here the whole time. It had taken him a long time to finally block out images of naked Rogue swimming before he finally fell asleep.

He found a pleasant surprise in the form of an egg and bacon sandwich waiting for him on the table and figured he must’ve been really wiped out not to hear her or smell the cooking earlier. He wolfed it down, polished it off with some OJ and a beer chaser, and then called Rogue's name. No answer. He sniffed and knew she’d left the house at least an hour ago. Probably back at the lake, hopefully wearing more than her birthday suit

Ok, maybe not hoping that exactly.

He shook his head vigorously to dash away the image and went to take a shower, hurrying through it even though he was tempted to relive the glorious sight he’d seen last night and relieve a bit of the pressure.

Dressed in his requisite jeans and t-shirt he strolled on the deck and called her again. No answer. He sniffed again. She was around, in the woods behind the cabin it seemed. He’d let her go for the time being, no sense in following her around. The whole point of coming up here had been to let her relax and do her own thing, not chaperone her and plan daily activities to keep her busy like a fucking kid at summer camp. If she wanted to wander the woods, that was fine. If she got lost he could track her no problem, her scent was unique and lingering, stronger than it usually was and laced with something new.

He inhaled again, closing his eyes, trying to determine the new tone to her natural scent.

She normally smelled of something like sandalwood and citrus, a bit smoky and with a sweet tang on the tail end. But now there was a new note underlying it all. He furrowed his brows as he sniffed the air again, stepping off the porch and doing a slow circuit of the cabin, tasting her scent on various breezes, the railing of the porch she’d touched, the grass she’d crushed under her feet. The wind shifted and Wolverine caught a whiff that struck him with the force of a punch… an earthy musk.

Shit.

She must've picked that up from him too during all those touches. If her body was putting off scent this strongly he had a feeling she wasn’t feeling quite herself and a bit wolfish. Letting her roam the woods alone now seemed like a decidedly bad idea, so he tracked her about half a mile in before the redolence vanished in a small area cleared of brush between the trees, about 15 yards across. She’d stood here for a good few minutes and not that long ago, then she disappeared.

He didn’t like this at all, it wasn’t right. He should be able to track her, but she hadn’t left the clearing in any direction he could detect as he stalked around the perimeter, not finding any trace of her on the leaves or trees that encircled him.

A giggle. Above him. Looking up her saw her 30 feet off the ground, crouched down on her haunches on a tree limb, perfectly balanced.

She waggled her fingers at him, “I didn’t know you were part bloodhound Wolverine,“ she jeered, bouncing a bit on the limb.

“Damn it Rogue, you barely survive a fall off a cliff and now you’re climbing trees? Get the fuck down here. Now!” Shit, I sound like Cyclops, stick up the ass and all.

She stuck her tongue out at him, stood up effortlessly on the branch, did a frigging pirouette on one booted foot, then flipped backwards in an elegant pike position, to land with a confident thud right in front of him, her knees sinking almost to the ground to take her weight smoothly. His eyes almost bulged out of his head. Not only had she just performed an acrobatic maneuver he’d never thought her capable of, even in the Danger Room, she’d done it with a kind of animal grace, making it look absurdly easy. And she was wearing her X-men uniform, all skintight black and hunter green leather, right down to the gloves.

If the Professor had read his mind right then Wolverine would’ve been booted from the Institute for life, run out by a lynch mob of indignant mutants with flaming torches and pitchforks, for the indecent thoughts that popped into his head.

She remained in the hunched position and grinned up at him, “Your powers, they’re really something.”

“Something alright,” he agreed. Shit, you're something, abso-fucking-lutely “Wait, you have them? Still?” She nodded. He growled, not liking this bit of info. He’d expected them to fade in a few hours like they always did. He tried to remember the last time he’d healed her. Three days? Definitely not normal. Well, nothing had ever really been normal about her mutation, but this was another new twist to accompany the unusual change in how she’d absorbed his powers more slowly the more he fed them to her.

She shrugged and rose to face him on an even level. “I don’t know why they’re sticking around, but they are. Actually I think they’ve increased a bit in intensity; yesterday I realized I had your improved sense of smell and touch. Today, I’m feeling…” She looked down, frowning a bit in her search for the right word, “like something powerful inside me, coiled, needing release.” He tensed at that last word. It was the wrong one for her to be using right now when she was looking like sin incarnate in a uniform that hugged every inch of her body. He felt a fleeting thanks towards Xavier for insisting on leather.

God Wolverine loved leather, especially the kind that looked spray painted on.

She looked up at the limb she’d balanced on a moment earlier. “I came out here for just a walk then started just running and it felt great. I was going faster, jumping farther, and when I got here it came to me just how easy it would be to climb that tree. So I did, in like 3 seconds.” She grinned back at him, then sprang backwards and took a playful fighting stance. “I think the Wolverine in me is itching for some exercise.”

He shook his head, his mouth in a tight line. “Kid, I’m sorry. You shouldn’t have to feel that side, it's the animal. I didn’t want that.”

“I’m not sorry! I’m enjoying the feeling of all this.” She flexed teasingly, making made a muscle pose at him before sliding back to combat position, this time a bit more menacing in her stance. She grinned, and he could have sworn he saw a glimpse of sharpened canines.

Fuck.

“Wolverine, how do you take it all the time?” she whispered. “All this…raw…pure energy, tensed inside….straining…it’s practically vibrating in me and it makes me wanna just…just…” Rogue was practically panting now, her eyes cutting at him dangerously. He tensed unconsciously and fell into a fighting posture himself. “RUN!” she screamed with laughter, whipped past him, and took off through the woods at top speed.

“Alright kid, you wanna race the Wolverine? You got it!” he growled at her quickly retreating back. Good, he’d run it out of her and then maybe she’d be back to normal.

He chased the little witch over 2 miles before he caught up to her. She was almost fast as he was and made just as creative use of the environment, leaping over rocks, flinging herself powerfully to grab branches and swinging around them to propel herself onward and upward, then dropping back to the ground to once again run with heedless abandon. She laughed the whole time. She fell to all fours occasionally and glanced back over her shoulder with a wicked grin, flashing pointy teeth, before once again she swerved suddenly and disappeared from sight, only to reappear above him scrabbling through the treetops. Even as he pursued her at pace he couldn’t help but admire the bestial grace arcing through every muscle and fiber of her body, the animal in her taking over, as she strained, grasped, and flung herself without caution through the forest.

He growled and decided the direct approach wasn’t going to cut it any longer, and he’d have to use some tricks up his sleeve he hoped she didn’t have creeping around in her head. He stopped his pursuit and listened for a few minutes to the sound of her ripping through the trees and brush, heading northwest. He struck out due north, determined to flank her and put an end to the chase. He figured she was too caught up in the adrenalin rush he was sure coursed through her newly evolved senses to think tactically, so he would out-think the Wolverine instincts driving her at the moment.

After a mile of stealthy stalking, quick but silent, always keeping her on the periphery of his senses, he paused to take a sniff of the air and fine tune himself to the surroundings and her trajectory based on her wafting on the breeze. She was coming his way, slower now, no longer thrashing her way through the forest.

Good. She should be wondering where I've gone. Her nerves were jangling with uncertainty as to where the predator has vanished. He took a page from her book, walked into the stream before him and moved downriver 200 yards, then leapt to grasp the braches above him and swung himself into the canopy, hunkering down in the cradle of the truck, his eyes focused with fierce intensity on the spot where he knew she would emerge.

Sure enough, her she came, creeping on her hands and feet towards the stream, her head up, nostrils dilated as she tried to trace his scent. She might have his animal instincts for the time, but she hadn’t learned the finesse that went with them: the ability to track. Something like a growl rumbled from her as she stood up, cricking her neck from side to side, trying to suss him out.

He grinned, his tongue snaking out over canines.

Rogue walked cautiously down the riverbed, not splashing, as she continued to sniff the air, ever turning as she surveyed the land around her. He could see the tension creeping across her face, the twitch in her cheek as she raised her eyes to the treetops. He silently slid behind the tree trunk to evade detection. She knew he was there, but couldn’t pinpoint where, and her hackles were up, literally; he swore he saw them rise between her shoulders as she stalked closer to the ground, eyes scanning back and forth, trying to discover his whereabouts.

She walked right past his hiding place. Good.

He slithered from the tree to the ground behind her, onto a flat boulder by the stream’s edge, silent as night and only 6 feet away. Just to be fair, he gave a snarl before launched himself at her back, intending to throw her into the water and teach her that she couldn’t outrun the Wolverine. To his surprise, she whirled with blinding speed and launched a ferocious roundhouse kick at him in mid-air. Refusing to be caught off, he grabbed her leg as he sailed past her and dragged her down with him into the mud at the water’s edge.

Then they were grappling, all humanity stripped away momentarily in the excitement of the chase, teeth snapping at each other, and his hazel eyes bored into her brown ones, and he realized they were newly flecked with gold. He was momentarily distracted by the change, and she twisted and pinned him with a forearm to the back of his neck, grinding his face into the muck. He flipped from beneath her and slammed her into the ground onto her stomach, heedless of any injuries he could have caused, the creature within him roaring in delight that the chase had turned into close combat. He twisted her arm roughly behind her, forcing her hand up between her shoulder blades and she snarled viciously as she drove her other arm back and slammed her elbow into his nose.

Stunned, Wolverine stumbled back, resetting his nose into place even as she spun and hovered close to the ground, knees bent and legs spread wide. She grinned a toothy smile at him, licking her lips, intent on her former predator now prey. Instinctually, Wolverine popped his claws to assert his alpha status against this saucy whelp that dared to challenge him. He snarled and flashed adamantium in a display of dominance, expecting her to back down.

There was a sick ripping sound as Rogue suddenly bared bone claws from her hands and roared back, the sound that tore from her throat wild and untamed.

For a full minute they stood locked into a battle of heated glares, neither willing to given an inch, the primal beasts inside both of them blinding anything resembling a rational or human thought, the animals within willing the other to submit.

Rogue finally blinked, her eyes clearing, the gold in them dimming suddenly. Looking down at her hands, the gory claws covered in her own blood.

She blinked again, and gave a wry twist of her lips. “Huh…that’s new.” Then she fainted.

Just like the first day they arrived at the cabin, there they were tipped back in matching chairs, striking identical poses with their legs up on the porch railing, beers in hand. But it was a hell of a lot different than the last time they sat like this.

It was damn unnerving, that jagged ripping sound she kept making, popping a set of bone claws on her left hand every minute or so while she sipped beer with her right. They’d already gone through a six pack each since Rogue had roused from her dead faint and announced, “That’s it, we’re getting drunk.”

It was almost time to start with the whiskey. The sun was setting now and they hadn’t said a word since they’d started doing damage to his booze cache, just watching the fiery ball slink towards the horizon as the sky turned purple with brilliant orange and pink clouds zigging across.

She was entranced by the sight, absorbed in her evolved vision, the colors crackling like electricity across her gaze, filling her mind with combinations of hues and textures she never though the simple sky could create. She didn’t even seem to be aware of the regular rip and slide of here claws.

He couldn’t take it anymore. “Would you cut that out?” he barked, making her jump from her reverie. She knocked back the rest of her beer, put the bottle down, then massaged her knuckles as the claws retracted one more. The skin took a minute to heal over the slits, longer than it did for Wolverine but still it was impressive to them both.

“Sorry about that sugah, didn’t realize…” Sugah? Where the fuck did that come from?. Rogue reached for the unopened whiskey next to her chair, briefly considered seeing if she could take the neck off with a claw, then thought better of it and twisted the cap instead.

“Don’t they hurt?” She looked over at his question, cocking one eyebrow.

Shit, did she take that from me too? he thought, annoyed.

“Every time darlin,” she said somberly, then tipped him a wink and raised the bottle for a swig. His hoarse laugh made her smile against the bottle mouth, and a little sloshed over her chin.

“Hey now, don’t be wasting the good shit.” Wolverine reached over and swiped the bottle from her, taking a generous slug for himself, momentarily absorbing the taste of her lips on the mouth, before patting his jacket pockets for a cigar. Finding one, he stuck it in the corner of his mouth, struck a match off the railing and pulled, gazing once again at the setting sun. Rogue’s gloved hand wandered into his sightline and made a beckoning motion. He sighed, handed her the lit cigar, and pulled a fresh one from his pocket.

Wolverine wondered if he displayed cockiness with every movement the way she did now. If so, then people definitely thought he was an even bigger prick than even he believed himself to be. It was like having a freaky twin sitting next to him, unconsciously mirroring his stance, his gestures, his attitude, but they was still hers….and distinctly feminine. Rogue practically oozed smug satisfaction at the moment, which was in complete opposition to what he was feeling.

“Don’t start,” she said, cutting him off just as he opened his mouth.

“What?” he snapped.

“Don’t start with the apologies and shit Wolverine. Neither of us need them.”

“I wasn’t-“

“Yes, you were,” she interrupted. “I don’t know how long I’m gonna retain your mutation. Could be gone tomorrow for all we know, even though it feels different. In the meantime, don’t spoil it.”

“Spoil it? Yer enjoying this?” He glared.

“Hell yeah sugah,” she drawled, meeting his eyes. “I’m faster, stronger, heal like magic, and am having a hell of a time with these enhanced eyes and nose and whatnot…” Sighing, Rogue traced her one ungloved hand over her leather clad legs, almost wallowing in the sensual texture under her fingertips.

She kept doing that, leaving one hand uncovered so she could feel everything. His eyes fastened on those bare fingers, the trimmed neat nails, the blue veins tinged underneath milky white, hands that had hardly ever seen the sun. Are they as soft as they look? He roused himself as she spoke again.

“I feel like I’m understanding you a lot better, seeing what you see, feeling how charged the world is, how it almost….pulses…” he lips lingered on the word. “…around you all the time. All the light, the smells, the sensations.” She puffed on her cigar, then rolled it between her fingers, slitting her eyes against the smoke and studying it. “This is totally different than having your memories for a while. This isn’t in my head. It’s all around me, running through me and over me nonstop. I think I finally get you, what its like for you. And it’s pretty interesting, Wolverine.” Her voice fell on the last word, and he could’ve sworn he heard something like a purr in the back of her throat.

He shifted, his jeans starting to feel uncomfortably tight. He shoved down the fantasy unwinding in his head about running his hands through and over her nonstop, made a noncommittal grunt, and took another drink. Maybe it wasn’t such a bad thing for time being, having her personality a little altered by his, give her something else to think about other than the idea that they would probably have to return to the Institute in the next few days, before Xavier decided they’d been gone too long without contact and sought them out.

She eloquently expressed her opinion when he mentioned it. “Xavier will lock me in the med lab for a month and you too, to figure out why your mutation isn’t fading from. Fuck that!” she spat. “I ain’t going back right now.”

“And I still want to know everything you…I…can do like this,” she waved dramatically, trying to encompass everything that had changed in her with a futile gesture. Wolverine understood perfectly how she was feeling. The responsible, albeit miniscule, part of him had felt obligated to bring up the notion of returning to the school, but he was happy to let her less than articulate reasoning persuade him against the idea. But he’d still have to let Xavier know they were going to be gone longer than expected, and he told he told so before he jumped in the jeep and drove to town to use a payphone on town, about 10 miles away.

Whenever he came to the cabin Wolverine shucked almost all trappings of the outside world, including his cell phone. The whole point of being here was to do your own thing, and he was going to let Rogue do that, even if things had taken an unexpected turn. He wished briefly he had brought his cell phone on the trip. He could’ve called the X-men and the Blackbird could’ve been there quickly with Dr. McCoy to sort her out. Wolverine could’ve avoided giving her claws and a taste for his cigars. But there wasn’t anything to be done for that now except give her the time she wanted.

“Hiya Chuck. Yeh, yeh, everything’s fine, Rogue’s doing better…She definitely needed some time away…Uh, yeh, about that…no. NO! She took a tumble earlier and I had to heal her…wait…yeh, nothing serious, but it was that or take her to a hospital and have her kill a couple of doctors during examination. Sure…yeh, I should’ve let you know, but it wasn’t a big deal…Anyways, she’s uh a little, ummm…feisty right now…yeh, some of my less charming traits...you better not be laughing! Ok, ok…yeh, just…yeh, you’re right. I agree…probably not a good idea to bring her back right now….yeh…you could say that…Another week or two? I dunno……you sure? I’ll let you know…ok. Thanks, Chuck.”

Wolverine was pretty pleased with himself, letting Xavier think it was his idea for them to stay longer. But he didn’t doubt for a moment the telepath wasn’t fooled; even if Rogue and Logan were too far away for Xavier to read their thoughts he was an extremely intuitive man, even without his mutation, and he’d caught the gist of what Wolverine was trying to convey and went along easily with it.

Wolverine stopped at the liquor store on the way back, noting the old bar he used to cage fight in was still tucked behind it, and he wondered if he might have some time to get in some knuckle dusting while up here. But leaving Rogue alone overnight probably wasn’t the smartest idea if right now. She might have gained control of his physical powers to an amazing degree in a short time, but his main concern was what of his was surely knocking around in her head.

When he returned to the cabin Rogue didn’t appear to have moved, except to grab a second whiskey bottle and do some damage to it…and with it. Wolverine vaulted over the door of the jeep and wrenched her gloved hand back when he saw she was slicing her arm with the jagged neck of the bottle.

“What fuck are you doing?” he snarled into her face.

Slitting her eyes at him, she snarled right back, “Nothing, it heals right up, see!” And shoved her bicep under his arm so he could that she’d torn through her uniform at least a half a dozen times and only red welts remained of what had surely been bloody gashes minutes ago.

“I know for a fact it still hurts! What is wrong with you?” he gritted through clenched teeth, twisting her wrist to make her drop the bottle neck.

“What’s wrong with you?” she slurred slightly and he could tell her version of his mutation wasn’t as effective at eliminating intoxication quickly. “Something’s in my head and I want to hurt, make something hurt, bleed. God, it’s like a hunger,” Rogue groaned. “What did you do to me?!” She shoved him hard against the porch railing, which unbalanced him, and he toppled over it. His quick reflexes brought him to his feet without injury.

“Rogue, this is what I tried to talk to you about earlier. The animal inside…it’s not pretty.” He crossed his arms over his chest and glared at her. “I know more about him than you do. He’s got a mind of his own and what’s on his mind is not good most of the time. Xavier’s helped me control him, but it takes work.” He ran a hand over his jaw and sighed. “I can help you…let me.” He held out his hand, beckoning to her.

“How?” She clenched her hands in her hair and shook her head. “How? It’s like I want to break something, everything.” She groaned, folding over in her rocking chair and grinding her face into her knees. She looked like she was being torn apart from the inside.

He stayed where he was knowing all too well the battle raging inside her and that she had to fight it herself, but not all by herself like he’d done. “Rogue, he lives for the hunt, the fight. Domination. And he can’t be caged forever or he’ll go insane, and so will you fighting him nonstop. Why do you think I leave the mansion every few months and always wind up on the cage circuit? I have to let him out.”

“What?” she looked at him through the hair in disarray over her face, her hands slowly unwinding from her temples.

“Fight me. I can take it. I’m the only one who can.” He grimaced, flashing a glint of canines.

She had a strained look on her face, the leaned back and sighed. “Alright sugah, if you think you can handle it. But lemme put on my extra uniform first, don’t wanna hurt you with my own powers.” She gestured to her shredded sleeve.

“Yeh, think I might need to change for this dance too,” and he strode into the cabin, yanked his uniform and gloves boots out of his duffle bag and wrestled them on in the bathroom while Rogue changed upstairs.

Fighting’s like damn foreplay a growly voice in the back of his head whispered, and he mentally slapped himself. Damn it, Rogue needed this and he shouldn’t be thinking about ways to turn a grapple into a grope.

Out on the lawn they sparred, wrestled, punched, kicked, and snapped teeth at each other for over an hour, and managed to put an unfortunate dent in of the jeep’s doors when Rogue caught Wolverine with a left jab that nailed him right in the eye and rocked him into the car. He took his revenge by kicking her into the log splitting stump, which she bounced off of with a howl of anger and dove at him, nailing him in the solar plexus with an incredibly well timed knee, knocking the wind out of him.

It was no longer sparring but a down and dirty fight and fuck all if she didn’t look like she was enjoying it. Rogue tried to take advantage of his momentary shock at her knee strike and dove at his midsection, determined to tackle him. Wolverine saw it coming a mile away and sidestepped, wrapping an arm around her waist and dragging her roughly to his chest and head butting her then flung her back. She raised her hands to her face, blinded by tears of pain, and he drove her to ground, pinning her under him, grinding her into the gravel of the path to the cabin. She struggled futilely under him, and he laughed right in her face. Not getting away this time darlin.Rogue flew into a rage at his laughter, spitting and lashing like a wildcat. Suddenly, she leaned up and sunk her teeth into his cheek hard, snarling. “Shit!” he scrambled off of her, his hand to his face.

She just fucking bit me! Deep too from the way it felt, even as it began to heal.

She spring up, hissing, and unleashed bone claws through the tops of her gloves, advancing furiously on him.

“Rogue,” he warned her, stepping back, still holding his face. He was NOT going to fight her like THAT, way too dangerous. Her healing factor wasn’t as fast as his, so it was entirely possible she could bleed out if he used his claws in this fight. “Rogue!” he yelled, leaping back when she took a viscous swipe at his midsection and came damn close to spilling his entrails on the grass. “Rogue!!!” He skipped away again as she slashed repeatedly at him, spinning and ducking from her deadly hands, flipping out of her reach.

He focused on her claws to the exclusion of all else as she lunged at him again and in his distraction tripped over one of the stones lining the walkway to the cabin and fell backwards. In a heartbeat, Rogue was on top of him, pinning his arms with her knees. She bared her teeth at him, panting, and put her fist under his chin, retracting the middle claw so his face was framed by the other two and the third tickled the flesh where his neck met his jaw.

He was breathing hard and so was she, eyes locked. He wasn’t scared for himself but worried how she would feel when she snapped out of it and realized she’d skewered him through the brainpan. Even though it was past dark and well into night he could still see the gleam of gold in her brown eyes and the darkness that lurked in them.

He was intensely familiar with that look; it was the one most of his enemies saw right before he ended them, the last thing they ever saw: the eyes of a predator bent on the kill.

Shit.

Suddenly the feral grimace Rogue had been bearing flashed into a wicked grin and she winked. “Sugah, you didn’t think I was really gonna hurt you, did you? Awwwwww.” She sprang to her feet lightly, and held out a hand to help him up.

Wolverine batted it away, annoyed she’d fooled him like that. Normally Rogue could never deceive him. He could always smell a lie or even an omission on her b/c she was a terrible liar and an innately honest person. This was something new, this trickiness, this darkly deceptive side that had emerged. To be honest, he wasn’t sure what to think of it, but the animal in his head growled approvingly, seeing it as an interesting twist in the hunt.

“Aw Wolverine, you’re not a sore loser, are you?” Rogue teased and offered her hand again. This time he took it, allowing her to pull him up.

“Nah darlin. Gotta admit, you surprised me though.” She retracted her claws and smacked the dust from her uniform and, still grinning, leaned in to give him a swift kiss on his now healed cheek, too fast for her mutation to notice. Then she strolled away, taking off her gloves as she reached down to grab another beer from the cooler on the porch.

Damn, did she always swing her hips like that when she walked?

“Looks like I’m full of surprises these days,” she drawled as she downed the beer in two long swallows that made the pale column of her throat pulse and arch invitingly. Wolverine bit down on the inside of his cheek as he watched a stray drop spill from the corner of her mouth and slide down her chin, then her neck before disappearing into the high collar of her uniform. She drained the bottle with a contented sighed and grinned at him again. Her mouth was smeared with the blood from his cheek. She chucked the empty bottle into the recycling bin at the end of the porch and sauntered into the house, and a minute later Wolverine heard the shower turn on.

“Fuck,” Wolverine muttered to himself, then went to start on a new bottle of whiskey and light a much needed cigar.

His blood on her mouth.

I must be a truly depraved shit to be hard as a rock right now.

Wolverine had been asleep for a few hours, restfully in fact. His nightmares were still there, as always, but they were distant, as if he were watching an old movie faded and cracked unspooling in his mind, not reliving them, not feeling again and again how they cut him open and poured molten metal into his body. He could still see it all, the masked doctors leaning over him, the generals toasting over his prone body, the green tinge of the suspension fluid in which he’d lived for months.

But it was no longer something he experienced first-hand; rather he saw it from a distance, removed from both the agony and anger of it all. He could still see his body contort under their knives and needles, but in the nightmare his screams were quiet, muffled by time and distance. He didn’t feel fury or sorrow over what had been done to him, all that had been washed over somehow. The closest thing he felt was pity, and it wasn’t for the carcass that he watched being dissected and tested, but for the people who did this to him, pity for the bastards’ utter lack of humanity that allowed them to do these things. They were the real monsters, not that thing they were tearing apart and rebuilding in that lab.

He woke with a start, jerking up abruptly from the floor in front of the dying fire where he’d been sleeping. When did I start feeling anything for those fuckers except the desire to give them an adamantium prostate exam? But he knew. As much as Rogue had taken from him she’d somehow left in him something of her own…something that wasn’t driven by anger and a desire for revenge, despite everything that life had heaped on her, in spite of the isolation her own mutation had punished her with even though she’d never done anything to deserve it.

Hope. For something more, better, than what had been done to her, to him, to both of them. A glimpse of a time when the spite they felt for abuses that had been heaped on them would be abated.

A thump and a muffled cry came from upstairs.

Rogue.

Shit.

He thundered up the stairs and threw open her bedroom door with a bang. Deep in throes of torturous dreams, Rogue didn’t hear Wolverine’s crashing entrance nor notice him by her bedside. She had thrashed the covers from herself, legs flailing, and she began to scream, long and unearthly, as she fought against the captors in her mind, his memories, as they possessed her.

“Rogue!” he shouted, grabbing her, despite the exposed skin of her arms under one of the t-shirts of his she’d continued to wear to bed even after she’d recovered. There wasn’t even time for the expected greedy suck of her mutation to take him. She shrieked, her voice cracking, and lashed her hand at his face. Too late he saw the bone claws, felt the sickening slash as she tore open his throat.

Wolverine fell face first onto the bed, blood gushing, before his legs gave and he slid to the floor. He could feel it all, the squirt of blood as it jetted from his severed carotid artery, the pain of the open wound, the air whistling brokenly through his exposed windpipe as he struggled to say her name. He saw, through reddened vision, her pale face leaning over the bed side looking down at him, her eyes now open. She was awake and screamed in her own voice as she scrambled down to his side. Her claws withdrew she grabbed his face with her bare hands, then wrenched them back, terrified she would drain his mutation when he needed it most.

Instead, she wound her hands in his blood soaked t-shirt and screamed in his face to not die, to fix himself and do it now god damn it, that she was sorry, so sorry, she didn’t mean to, she didn’t know, she thought she knew what it was like, she was wrong, it was fucked up, she was sorry she hadn’t let him tell her.

He was conscious the whole time, wanted to tell her it was ok, that he knew exactly how she felt because she was him, that it wasn’t her fault, but he couldn’t past the blood pooling in his throat and mouth, pouring from his nose. He raised one hand and gently stroked her hair, tangling in the white on auburn, and stared into her eyes, willing her to see in them everything he was incapable of saying.

He knew he wouldn’t die, but if he could die he knew he must have done at least one good thing in his life for her face to be the last thing he saw.

For the first time he saw her cry and it was heart-wrenching and glorious to his blood dimmed vision. She sobbed as her hands danced around his neck, holding a towel against it to stem the blood. Her tears fell on his face as he let got of her hair and gently trailed his fingertips across her face, too lightly for her mutation to detect. His blood stopped gushing. Rogue panicked for a moment and removed the towel, then wept in relief as she watched his severed arteries stretch towards each other, like in some reverse horror movie, sealing and the muscles begin to knit over the exposed gashes, skin creeping back into place and covering the damage. She ground her face into his shirt when he sat up and she broke down utterly. He put his arms carefully around her, the two of them shredded in a way that had nothing to do with the blood soaking them.

“Déjà vu.”

Rogue opened her eyes. She’d been sleeping on Wolverine’s chest, tucked against it, his arm around her sheet covered form. After he’d healed and she’d cried herself into exhaustion he’d tucked her under the sheets, lain on top on them and scooped her to him, nestling her face into his chest, which he had covered with a flannel. The sun was coming up.

Rogue looked up at him with puffy eyes. “That’s not funny.”

She still cringed at the memory of when she’d attempted to wake Wolverine from a nightmare a few days after they’d arrived at the mansion. In a start from the horrors in his mind, he’d plunged adamantium claws into her chest and she’d touched him for the first time and drained his healing factor. She’d take his power again at Liberty, again almost killing him, again healing herself at the expense of her friend.

This time she’d hurt him with his own power, not hers. It was like God was punishing her for some unknown offense. Maybe because she was born. Everything she had inside her seemed to be made for the sole purpose of hurting the one person who cared about her, not in spite of her mutation but because of it, the one person who understood was it was like to lose everything because of what you were.

“Not supposed to be funny.” He looked down at her, hazel eyes serious. “Just seems like everything comes full circle with us. I hurt you, you hurt me…”

“We both bruise too easily” she finished, and they both laughed softly. One of Wolverine’s deepest, blackest, most forbidden secrets was a love of Simon and Garfunkel. Rogue would never tell anyone. Even though she knew Wolverine would never actually kill her, if Cyclops knew about that little tidbit Rogue was quite sure Wolverine would make sure she wished she were dead. She’d probably beg him to finish her off.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, curling her hand into flannel. They hadn’t moved for hours, both needing rest after her violent, albeit unconscious, attack and the physical and emotional drain it had taken on both of them.

“I know. I am too.” He cleared his throat. “I should have tried harder to explain to you what might happen...after. You have my memories and, like my healing factor and enhanced senses, they’re a lot stronger for you than before.” In the past his tortured mind had faded from hers quickly, leaving only an echo she had filed away in the back of her mind with Xavier’s help, and she hadn’t had his dreams. Now they appeared to have taken up strong residence in her mind, just as the claws had take root in her body.

“I should have let you." She sniffed. "ButI was too busy enjoying all the good things about having you in me to pay attention,” she signed. “Do think it’s permanent...all of it?”

He let the brief thought of being in her in another way flash through his head, then turned back to the matter at hand. “I don’t know…maybe.” It had been many days since he’d last touched her skin and nothing was fading. If anything everything was that his was manifesting in her more readily.

Wolverine couldn’t bring himself to think he’d done this to her forever. Even though his intention had been to save her life, the fear of what else he’d poured into her had been there every time he’d done laid his hands on her to mend her broken body.

“Look, Rogue...I...I've been through this. Xavier taught me how to control the nightmares and to a degree, this animal inside me...not let it take over except when I need it.” He closed his eyes and his forehead scrunched at the memory. “Before him it nearly drove me crazy...I won’t let that happen to you," he said firmly and gave her sheet covered shoulder a tight squeeze, determined she would not suffer the way he had: the years of wandering, living only to eat, fight, fuck, only existing and never truly living until she got into his trailer outside Laughlin City.

“Is Xavier the only one who can help me?” Rogue buried her face in his chest again and closed her eyes to ignore the sight of his blood. She took in the smell, however, the coppery tang that was all Wolverine. “Do we have to go back now?” Rather than disturbing her, the scent was like a balm to her tattered nerves, and she felt covered in his protection even as evidence of her own carnage was pressed against her cheek.

“No.”

She looked up at him, deep brown eyes boring into his hazel ones, wanting to understand.

“No. I’m going to help you. I don’t think..." Wolverine chose his words carefully. "I don't think it will be as bad for you. The way you’ve adapted my mutation...everything is a little less than what I have. I understand it…I know how to work through the uncontrollable...to something else on the other side.” He squeezed her again, tighter this time. “Xavier taught me how to lock down the worst, keep it shut in the back of my mind...like he’s done for you...so it can’t come out at the wrong time. I don’t think you have it as much as me.” He sighed, “I hope not anyways. But I’m gonna try.”

Rogue sat up, curling her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. She tilted her head onto her knees. “Ok...thank you.”

With an expected bounce Wolverine hopped out of bed and said gruffly, “Alright, lesson number one!”

Rogue tensed, afraid this was going to involve some sort of scary exercise that involved bearing her claws again. “What?”

“You’re cleaning up this mess while I take a shower.” He stripped off his flannel and filthy t-shirt and winged then right into her face, then went downstairs, leaving her to huff and strip the bed caked with his blood and her own soiled clothes to them wash in the lake.

It wasn’t a fun chore by any means and every second reminded her of the damage she had done to him and the fear she felt as she watched him almost bleed to death at her hands, and all she’d been able to do was watch and cry over what she had done. She was snapping his t-shirt over the railing with frustration when he strolled onto the porch, first beer of the day dangling from one hand. He watched for a few minutes, aware she was studiously ignoring him while she lashed out some of the upset he knew washing his blood out would create. She finally finished and stood up straight, stiffening her back as she glared at him, swiping one sweaty strand of white hair our of her face.

“Lesson two: there’s consequences when you lose control,” he said grimly. “Sorry, kid, but it’s gonna have to be this way.”

She huffed, blowing a white streak out of her face, and nodded. “And what’s lesson three?”

“Hygiene. You fucking stink. Hit the shower.” He tipped his beer at her before taking a slug.

She needed discipline…and she needed to run free and wild. The fine balance Wolverine tried to teach her over the following days was tricky, but it appealed to both the raw, feral side of his soul and the man that he’d taken so long to reclaim. So he trusted his gut that it would help her.

Tai chi in the morning, followed by mediation, before running the animals in them both ragged in the afternoons. Rogue enjoyed tai chi, the slow methodic motions, the concentration on form and flow, the slow unwinding of energy from their natural cores. She’d gotten better at it, Wolverine noted, his eyes watching her even as she focused on the positions and their purpose. His intense study of her was always from a lowered gaze, from the corner of his eye. He found it easier to keep his mind from baser thoughts during tai chi, even if the new suppleness of her movement distracted him from fully focusing the energy in his own form. It was definitely hard to move from his first chakra, the one settled in his groin, but at least he was able to keep from getting hard in front of her during sessions, barely.

Meditation proved more difficult for Rogue. She wasn’t a naturally centered or calm person, quick to anger and sarcasm, so the practice of emptying her mind was challenging to start with. Sitting on the grass with her eyes closed, she found herself falling into everything she could smell and feel, the sunshine on her skin, the scent of pollen in the air around her, the sound of small waves lapping at the lake shore. She simply didn’t have the willpower to push those wonderfully new sensations aside and empty her mind.

It didn’t help that she’d given up most of her own baggy clothes, with the exception of putting on her uniform to run in the later day and the gloves she always wore. She wore Wolverine’s shorts and t-shirts for their morning workouts. The prickle of the grass under her bare legs made her shift back and forth. It didn’t help him either as he faced her, eyes closed, talking softly as he tried to guide her through the steps of meditation.

Just like her, his enhanced senses were picking up everything, but Wolverine wasn’t noticing the mossy smell of the forest or the breeze shuffling the leaves. All he heard was her breath, the small hitches whenever she gave a small sniff, savoring the scents around her. All he smelled was the sweat from her body as the sun rose over them, warming up the day and her skin. All he could feel was the heat he was positive was radiating off her, even though he was several feet away, a safe range from her deadly skin.

Her smell, it was intoxicating, rich and earthy, with a hint of fresh citrus that made his head swim if he thought about it too long. It rolled through his nose as he breathed deeply and settled on his tongue, salty from her sweat and spicy from her natural aroma. It was visceral, the way it made him feel. Like this smell lingered in deepest recesses of his mind, naturally filling a void he hadn’t known was there until he recognized it had slipped inside. It made him feel complete.

“Wolverine?”

He grunted, keeping his eyes closed, still rolling the taste of her in his mouth.

“This isn’t working. I can’t shut it all out.”

He cracked an eye and saw she had done the same. He nodded. “Alright, maybe it’s a bit much to ask so soon. Just focus on one thing that’s at the forefront of your mind. Think about it, let it absorb you attention, memorize every detail of it, try to wrap all your senses around it. If it’s a smell try to figure out how it would feel. If it’s a sound, learn its taste.”

Shit, an I purring? Wolverine doesn’t purr damn it!

He cleared his throat. “Ok, do you have it?”

“Mmmmmm.”

What the fuck was that noise she just made?

Shit, focus you idiot.

“Ok…just let it roll over you and breathe. Concentrate on every aspect of it, let it go in your mind and observe.”

He did just that, taking slow and steady draws, inhaling more of her scent. He could already taste her clearly, so what did that smell feel like, beside insanely erotic?

Concentrate you fucking pervert..

Ok, ok. There we go. The scent…it’s soft but strong.

Like leather.

Shit, leather? That’s not relaxing!

Ok, ok, ok…fuck. Alright, leather it is.

Soft, supple.

Pliable but strong.

Protective yet aggressive.

Flexible but firm.

Raw energy of skin.

Pulse of life.

Present after death.

Feel it.

Under fingertips.

Skin stripped from flesh.

A hunt.

A long pursuit.

Scent the prey,

See it.

Stay out of its sight.

Don’t let it know.

You’re there.

Its end is drawing close.

Lunge, the chase.

It runs.

It’s afraid.

It knows you own it.

Fate.

Inevitable.

Natural.

The heat.

The catch.

Falling.

Slipping.

Torn.

Blood.

Escstasy.

Life.

Conquered.

Owned.

Tamed.

The hunter’s need.

Rogue gasped harshly, her eyes snapping open, her mind clouded from the stream of images, the feel of it all soaring through the bloodlust singing in her veins at the fantasy that had unraveled in her head in full Technicolor. Pulsing sound and feel, the smell, the taste of sweat and bloody flesh, lust roaring in her head.

Wolverine’s eyes had flashed open too.

They were panting, their vision dimmed by a final flash of tearing at a throat with bared teeth and howling in bestial satisfaction over the conquered body of prey.

Wolverine and Rogue had experienced powerful rushes of sensation and heat as they’d stalked each other in their minds and claimed dominion over the other in the most primal way. Neither was cogent of the unusual flow of thought and emotion that had flowed effortlessly between them, unaware that the scent of their own arousals had created the same dark fantasy in each other’s mind.

After a couple of minutes they both calmed down, but neither waa bout to tell the other one what they’d just been thinking, feeling, tasting.

Wolverine broke the silence first.

“Kid, it’s time you learned to hunt.”

“I dunno about this.” She wrinkled her nose.

“For fuck’s sake kid, your burger was not born that way! You eat meat? Then you should look at its face once in a while.” He held the rabbit out to her, and Rogue took it hesitantly.

Ok, the setting traps was fine, it was actually extremely interesting to listen to Wolverine as he taught her how to track small game prints and find the paths they frequented in the forest, how to set a simple snare that entangled around a leg or throat. He knew a lot about how to live in the wild off the natural resources. He was a regular Davy Crockett, but a lot meaner looking.

Fishing had been downright fun since it hadn’t involved any fishing poles. And not just that hoo-doo mystic shit in movies where you stand real still until you can grab a fish with your bare hands. Well, Wolverine could and he was damn good at it. She was pretty hopeless, always getting impatient and scaring fish away as she lunged and splashed. But she was getting better at spear fishing and as a result of their mutual labor they had a good fish fry one night in the front yard, setting up stakes around a fire pit he’d dug. The weather was too fine to stay indoors, so they would outside on top of a couple of quilts, passing bourbon back and forth and trash talking everyone at the school, especially Scott.

Rogue slept better, less nightmares, if he was nearby, so Wolverine had given up his uncozy spot on the living room floor and had been sacking out on the floor next to her bed on nights when the chill drove them indoors. One night he’d curled up next to her when her dreams had apparently been more disturbing and made her retch into the trash can by the bed. When he snugged a quilt around her he’d wrapped himself around her from behind and tucked her head under his chin, she’d quieted eventually and slept soundly and without interruption until morning. Wolverine hadn’t had as easy a time of it as she filled his senses, her hair tickling his neck, the move of her breath under the hand around her waist. It had been a few hours of sheer hell, ones he’d gladly suffer through every night if he could hold onto her.

“Ugh, it’s still warm!”

He snapped out of his reverie to see her holding the dead rabbit away from her with one hand like it was radioactive. “Quit being such a god damned girl and field dress it. NOW.” Serious tone, a little gruff, all business. No trace of the dry mouth he was feeling at the memory of holding her in bed.

She sighed, knowing no matter how much she squirmed he was going to keep her there until she skinned and cleaned the rabbit. The fish hadn’t bothered her, but a mammal? She wrinkled her nose again.

“Look kid, either you do this or I bring back something a helluva lot bigger and you get to dress that. Like a grizzly bear.”

She laughed. “No thanks. Gimme the damn knife.” At first Rogue though she would be squicked out and barf when she gutted the rabbit, but Wolverine’s memories of doing this exact same thing took over instinctually, and she made neat and efficient work of the entrails and organs, then cut the skin in the just right spot to let her strip it off the flesh in one piece. She turned around to Wolverine, beaming, holding one ready for dinner Bugs in one hand and the inside out bloody pelt in the other.

“Nice,” he grunted. Actually that was really good, especially for a first timer. But he wasn’t going to let her get a fat head about it.

“Thanks.” She looked down at her hands, blinked as Wolverine’s memories retreated from her mind, then shrieked “Oh eww!” and threw the rabbit and the hide to the ground and ran to rip off her bloodied gloves and scrub her hands raw. He laughed his ass off.

After throwing some chopped up Peter Cottontail into the stew pot over the fire pit to simmer with the potatoes and vegetables Rogue had prepared, Wolverine grabbed her covered arm. “You ready for some more hunting?”

“What? We just made dinner.”

“We got a few hours, and there’s plenty of daylight. Besides, it’s time you learned to chase prey. Snaring and fishing isn’t enough.”

“Why not?” But she was starting to feel a little excited, the idea of going after a larger animal gnawing at her mind with sharp nips.

“Don’t worry kid, we’re not going to kill anything else today.” Did she just shiver?

“You need to hone those tracking skills and learn how use the animal a guide, learn how it stalks in a hunt.” That damn shiver again. It’s hot as seven hells out here, or maybe it was just him, he thought. “There’s a herd of whitetail deer about 2 clicks east. We’re just going to see how you run against something not on two legs,” he smirked.

“Rock on,” and she headed towards the tree line.

“Nun-uh, not like that. You can’t just go head on at a naturally skittish animal like that, deer are used to being food and know how to bolt damn fast. You have to learn how to come up on them in quiet, so they don’t know you’re there until it’s too late.” Wolverine felt a shiver of his own as a flash of his fantasy from mediation 2 days before flickered in his mind. She nodded. “Follow my lead.”

They spent the next hour gliding through the forest and, by watching Wolverine closely, Rogue saw how, even in his boots and uniform, he could move stealthily through the scrub, leaving barely a trace of himself, everything virtually undisturbed. He even kept his leather from creaking, although that could just be b/c it had softened under repeated workouts with her each day. Mirroring his movement, she watched where she placed her feet, careful at first not to step on any twigs or brush past any limbs then more naturally as his memories and her own new bestial grace slid over her human trepidation.

Wolverine crouched down, balancing forward on the tips of his fingers and sniffed, testing the air. Rogue mimicked him from her perch on a boulder above him, turning her eyes this way and that, trying to lock onto the direction of that slightly sour odor that drifted their way. He noted with satisfaction how quickly she was picking all this up, looking like a pure natural. A growl in the back of his head definitely approved of the way her legs strained against her leather pants as she hunkered there, nostrils dilating, drawing in the scent of prey.

Damn nice he agreed inwardly, then pushed the voice away and looked at her, cocking an eyebrow.

She lifted a hand, pointed, and mouthed, “200 yards.” He nodded approvingly, and took another sniff. They were downwind but should move south of the herd. They stalked quietly through the close underbrush, at times moving to their bellies and working slowly on their elbows and knees until they saw the trees thin and knew they’d found the clearing where the deer often fed. Wolverine gestured for her to work her way to the other side of the clearing, and sniffed to indicate she should pay attention to wind direction and not let her smell alert the deer. She nodded sharply and slithered into the underbrush, only a slight hiss of leaves noting her passage. The sight of her ass shimmying through the bushes evoked a growly chuckle in the back of his mind.

They would close on the heard in a pincer play and attempt to close off avenues of escape by approaching from opposing directions. Then they would select one of the deer and attempt herd it toward the rock escarpment bordering one edge of the clearing. Just trap it there, not kill it, as this was a practice hunt to assess her growing skills and ability to use the animal lurking in her head in a controlled manner.

He might let her really hunt with him in a few days, if he felt she was ready for it. He somehow knew she would. And he’d been hankering for a venison steak.

The image of the two of the bringing down prey together sent a shiver through his spine, right down to the adamantium. Nice. Inner growl.

He knew she would spring at the right moment, his first hand knowledge of the hunter inside her assuring him she would not strike until the time was right. He would let her take the lead; give her an opportunity to assert herself and new abilities. Wolverine moved slowly into position, testing the air and pleased her scent was still blowing away from the herd and right to him. He could tell when her adrenalin ramped up and sensed the slow sizzle of her muscles tightening in advance of the first spring, and then she was darting from cover, loping gracefully in a low pounce.

The herd reared at the intruder and whirled en masse right in his direction. He leapt out and growled loudly, racing to cut off the deer from the one direction he and Rogue had left open, south and away from the rocks. They worked in tandem, snarling and striking back and forth across the glade, thinning the pack and allowing the smaller ones to escape. He saw the one she fixated on, the one large buck that drew her attention even as she capered and danced with fluidity, helping him draw the noose tighter.

They finally separated the buck from the last female and a couple older juvenile males that had instinctually stayed close to him, their own fear winning out as they dashed from the clearing and into the safety of the thick woods. The buck rode on two legs, pawing aggressively at the air, then lowered its head to brandish its heavy rack as the man approached on all fours. Wolverine growled and jumped forward to back the animal closer to the rocks then pulled away to keep the sharp hooves from knocking him down. Rogue was laughing in guttural delight as she dove from the side in a feint to force the buck further towards the rocks before skipping away, canines flashing in a predator’s smile.

The buck was well and truly trapped between the escarpment and the hunters fifteen feet away, and its eyes rolled madly, whites showing as it reared and bleated, desperate to escape and knowing it could not.

Wolverine was devilishly pleased at Rogue’s success; she was not just good at this, she was perfection. It was so much easier to hunt with a partner, a mate, and even more enjoyable. His blood sang with triumph as he watched her growl impressively at the panicked deer.

Suddenly she lunged forward, far too close to the rampaging animal and the buck lowered its head in one last desperate attempt to stave her off. “NO!” Wolverine shouted, terrified Rogue would be trampled or gored on the antlers. To his amazement she flipped over the buck’s head, unsheathing bone claws in mid-air, and sliced through through tendons and deeply bunched flesh. She tore into the buck’s shoulder and down as she flew past it then ripped through the side of its abdomen and spilled its entrails. The thing had barely hit the ground before she rolled into a somersault easily and sprang up, loping over to the still twitching animal. She planted one boot and both hands on it and hissed as she watched the buck give one last spasmodic heave before it died.

Then she threw he head back and roared: a scary and ferocious sound that almost knocked Wolverine back with its force.

Then Rogue lowered her head and her tongue snaked out to taste the freshly spilt blood.

Wolverine snarled and launched himself at her and caught her around the torso, tearing her away from an action he knew she would not be able to live with when she snapped out of the hunting lust. He had done it before, drank blood from fresh kill years ago when he was nothing more than a savage, and it still revolted him when he thought on it. He would not let the animal possess her in that way and strip away her humanity and leave nothing more than the slavering, drooling creature he himself had been years ago. Before he’d remembered he’d been a man once.

Rogue writhed under him, trying to slash with her claws, but Wolverine used his much heavier weight and sheer muscle to force her to the ground, trapping both her wrists in one massive hand above her head. He used the other to clamp onto her jaw, forcing her face away from his neck, demanding she look into his eyes.

What he saw froze his soul. No brown, no fleck of gold dancing mischievously. Her eyes were dark as tar, all pupils, and full of nothing that resembled his little girl.

The animal had staked a very large claim in her during the hunt, and Wolverine had been too busy with the game he thought he was teaching to notice. And now it didn’t want to give her up. It reveled in being fully unleashed to all the new thoughts and feelings of this body, the awareness of young flesh; it drove the animal wild. Wolverine would not let this happen, even if it meant he had to beat the damn thing out of her by force.

Rogue snarled in his face, teeth gnashing, hissed and spit, profane noises spilling from her lips, mocking him, driving Wolverine into a fury. He locked his hand at her throat and pushed down forcefully, even as he crushed her body under his, trapping her thrashing legs under his own adamantium reinforced thighs, and restrained her movement with brute strength.

“LET HER GO!” he shouted.

The animal in Rogue laughed at him, a cruel black sound that pushed him nearly to insanity. He popped the claws on the hand over her throat, grazing her cheek, blooding her and snipping short a lock of white hair. He opened his mouth and screamed in her face, a grating, primal, rasping howl that echoed off the rocks above them and startled distant birds to flight.

Rogue stilled under him and the beast behind her gaze slunk back a bit, cowing in the face of the dominant creature above her.

Wolverine was breathing harshly into her face, his hand still tight around her throat, ready for her next attempt to struggle. He did not expect to see those eyelids slide slowly over her onyx gaze, nor for her to arch her neck invitingly, turning her head to expose the white curve of flesh where he could clearly see her pulse pounding in the delicate white skin below her ear. He released her neck.

Rogue sighed, then purred, and brought her head up to offer her neck, trying to force it against his parted lips. A low growl rumbled from his chest and she moved under him, making that noise in her throat again. Wolverine felt her heartbeat spike and his too. The smell of fresh kill and the adrenalin of the hunt hummed in his head and definitely somewhere south. She strained under him, despite the heavy weight he was thrusting on her and her breasts pushed again chest, the feel of leather sliding making him crazy.

Goose bumps rose as he panted on her skin less than an inch away. Rogue hissed softly and thrust one leather clad thigh between his legs, and grinding into it his groin. She started to gasp, the pale column of her throat above the collar of her uniform thrusting upwards, begging for his touch. There was a dash of the buck’s blood just over the spot where her heart leapt in her throat and Wolverine growled; the predator in him longed to lick it off, to taste fresh kill on her skin.

The smell of her arousal hit him with force of a fist, and his mind cleared in an instant.

She wanted Wolverine to mark her. As his own. His mate.

She hadn’t seen him for hours, and she was not happy when he came back.

Wolverine had left her in the clearing and taken off at a dead run, determined to outpace the growling voice inside him that screamed at him to bite her fucking neck already and claim what was his. To claw the leather from both their bodies and bend her over the still warm carcass of her kill and take her.

So he’d taken off and run like blue blazes.

Very manly.

“I’m a fucking jerk-off,” he growled to himself. He couldn’t do that to her, not when she wasn’t herself and in the grip of the animal he’d forced on her. God, he’d wanted to mark her, own her, make her his. And so had she, at least a part of her did anyways, a part he’d created.

Christ, he’d made an almighty mess. Wolverine had thought he was helping her control it, but all he’d succeeded in doing to allowing her to wallow in the beast’s embrace instead of showing her how to put the fucker down once and for all, lock it up in her mind in a cage no claws could break. Wolverine had watched the bestial side of her emerge and flourish under his guidance. He had been proud and selfishly enjoyed watching her learn to scent, to track, to trap, to run with looping grace and fight like a wildcat, to unleash claws and go primeval.

He’d done it for a lot of reasons, the least of which was that it turned him on immensely. But a much larger part of him wanted her to rampage so there was someone like him. He’d tried to remake her in his own image, playing god with the demon in them. All he’d done was damn them both.

“I am a total bastard,” he muttered as he slashed his way through the underbrush, heedless of where he was going. As he ran, he thought about what he was going to do. The notion of throwing her down and fucking her senseless had something in him growling in delight and agreeing the idea had definite merit.

“Shut up, asshole,” he snarled as he beat the creature back into a dark corner of his mind. He had to get her back to the mansion, to Xavier who might be able to undo the damage Wolverine had done. But as soon as that thought crossed his mind he dismissed it. In this state, Rogue was likely to lash out at someone at the Institute and attack them. The mental image of her impaling a student made his gut twist.

Or she might wind up jumping every guy in the place. He grimaced at that thought, bile rising in his throat at the idea of Rogue spreading her legs for Iceman or that Cajun jackass who’d been sniffing around her ever since he’d shown up. An image of Cyclops thrusting over Rogue’s body almost made him throw up. Now he knew if cold showers didn’t work the idea of Summers’ pasty ass would surely kill every erection he had for the rest of his life.

No, he’d made a glorious cock up of it, and he was going to fix it even if it killed him.

And it just might, judging by the murderous look on Rogue’s face when he finally showed up hours after sunset. He was still picking out bark and splinters lodged in his knuckles after he’d demolished some old growth forest that would have the environmentalists howling for his blood, if they ever came this far north.

Rogue stood on the porch, a pillar of steely ire, arms clenched so tight over her chest he doubted she would ever be able to unwind herself. “Where have you been? What the hell is wrong with you!?” she spat. “Everything was fine and dandy, then you tackle me like a linebacker for the New York Giants, and take off like a bat out of hell and leave me sitting on my ass. What the hell Wolverine?!”

He stopped short. She didn’t think she’d done anything? “What’s wrong with me? What the fuck it wrong with YOU?! Fine and dandy?! You…you…” Wolverine spluttered, unwilling say that she’d practically tried to dry hump him and it had freaked him out. “You fucking killed that buck!” Even to his ears that sounded lame.

“So? You do it, you hunt! You said you would let me really hunt in a few days anyways, so what’s the big deal if I did it early?” She was shooting him looks almost as poisonous as her skin. He almost shivered, but damn it he was the Wolverine and no punk kid was going to take the mickey out of him!

“I told you this was a training exercise! You were supposed to stalk, not massacre the damn thing! You lost control, Rogue! You let HIM take you over!” He stomped right up to her and glared in her face. Grudgingly, he had to admit it was impressive the way she didn’t back down on inch. His admiration turned to annoyance when she laughed in his face scornfully.

“So what?! You do it all the time! You go all bezerker on missions most of the time and god knows what you do up here when you’re alone!” She threw her hands in his face, exasperated. No claws, good, at least she a little under control. But that was the problem, he thought, she had only a little control.

“That’s the point kid! I do it ALONE, where no one around can see me lose it and act like a goddamn animal and not a man. And most importantly, no one gets hurts when I come here by myself! You were out of control!” He was shouting now, they both were.

“I was not out of control! I knew exactly what I was doing!”

“Oh reeeeeeally?” he sneered. Now would be the perfect time to remind her she’d spent some time earlier that day acquainting her thigh with his erection. But the look on her face was positively thunderous, and he thought better of it.

“No one was gonna to get hurt, you dumbass! You’re practically indestructible, I’m almost as good as! And even if I lost it and went after you again you could heal!”

He lost it. She had no idea big a nerve had just hit. “Oh, so you think it’s ok if I get hurt just b/c I heal! Well, kid, it ain’t like that! It’s never been like that! And I’m fucking sick of everyone thinking I don’t feel fucking anything just b/c my boo-boos go away real quick!” She was inflicting some major agony on him right now but not the physical kind. He could not get through to her and it was tearing him up, the guilt and anger at himself ripping him to shreds internally.

Rogue’s face flushed bright red. “Well, if didn’t go around acting like such a mother fucking badass 24-7 then maybe people might not treat you like that! Why don’t you knock off the growling bullshit and man up once in a while and tell them to stop! Why don’t you! Huh, why not?! Why do you always have to act so like you’re so fucking tough and no one else is!” She started hitting him and he let her b/c he was a selfish shit, and he’d earned every blow. “Why do you walk around like everyone else is a pansy and act nothing bothers you when it does! Why don’t you just tell people to stop hurting you!” She was really landing some good punches to his face and gut, and he refused to back down or push her away.

“Now, right now! You’re doing it! You let everyone hurt you! Stop it! Stop it! Stop me! C’mon Mr. Badass! Why don’t you stop me!?” Now she was crying, her hits becoming desperate thuds to his shoulders as she collapsed into his chest. “Why do you let me hurt you?” Her voice was soft now.

“Because I deserve it, kid.” He sighed into her hair then rested his head heavily on top of hers. The stood like that for who knows how long.

Her tears slowed and her breath hitched. “But you don’t deserve it. You’re a good man. You’re my friend.” She’d raised her head, tears brimming from her chocolate yes. “You’re a good man.” She was breathing on his chin softly, the smell of her tears and breath making it hard for him to think. “You don’t deserve it….you’re a good man…please…”

He looked down just as she reached up and brushed her lips softly across his so quickly it felt like a sweet breeze. He froze.

“Please,” she whispered again.

He brought his hands up to grip her shoulders firmly but gently, to keep her from touching him again. He wasn’t worried about her mutation at the moment; it was something much more powerful than having the life drained out of him that had rooted him to the spot.

She wound one hand around his bicep and squeezed. “You don’t deserve pain,” she said softly. “You deserve so much more.”

Oh god.

“You’re a…good…man,” she said whispered and strained towards his mouth again, slicking her tongue across her bottom lip, and he caught a flash of gold in her eyes.

“Stop.” He stepped back and held her at arm’s length. “You’re hurting me.” He closed his eyes, gently pushed her away, and walked into the cabin.

She hadn’t spoken to him hardly at all in almost four days and he was fine with that…for now. There was obviously some shit they needed to hash out but for the time being Wolverine was grateful for the calm before the storm that was surely coming. He knew it was going to be a major bust up when they did start talking. He just wasn’t sure how to start or what the fuck to say. She didn’t seem to be in any hurry either, so he bided his time.

They still did tai chi in the morning, although she shot him glares anytime he tried to correct her posture. And meditation practice wasn’t going well at all as neither of them could concentrate, the tension between them on a rising simmer and ready to boil over anytime. She was irritable in the extreme and kept making huffing noises every few minutes and fidgeting. It seemed to be a lost cause, but he insisted they keep at it. Maybe he just enjoyed banging his thick head against a brick wall. But at least he could sit near her for a little while each day and, with his eyes closed, not have to see Rogue giving him pissed off looks or rolling her eyes at everything he said and did.

She wasn’t giving him anything he could work with. After the first day of her stony silence he’d tried clumsily to slip back into the routine of the way things were before; she’d thrown a lamp at him the when he came into her room after hearing her shout in her sleep. Afterwards, he’d laid on the couch listening all night to her thrash in her dreams, his nightmares. And he’d heard her crying again. Been like that for days now.

Yup, giant bastard, that’s me. Might as well tattoo it on my forehead. He’d done all of to her, to them, acted rashly every step of the way, only thinking about what he’d wanted and not what was best for her. And now she was paying the price for it. He was too, but he didn’t count.

Rogue spoke only to tell him to no longer bother her with sparring in the afternoons and went off on her own into the woods to do god knows what. Skewer some chipmunks or something from the look on her face. She returned each evening around sunset and stomped into the house to change out of her uniform, then flopped into her rocking chair on the porch and proceed to try get off her face on his whiskey, though her healing factor made it harder than before. She’d put a major dent in his liquor supply.

Wolverine could relate. Whenever something was eating at him he tried to drink it away too. Never worked, he knew that from experience too.

He’d tried to cajole her with some drinking banter, just to cut the tension, and all he got was a middle claw rudely extended, so he shut up. He started staying inside the cabin while she drank on the porch each night. He laid on the sofa, occasionally stoking the fireplace, smoking, and chewing the inside of his cheek nonstop. Meals were awkward when they took them together, both of them chewing and not tasting, alternating between trading sulky expressions, and staring at their food.

It was close to lunchtime on the fourth day, and they sat there in fruitless stillness in another mediation clusterfuck, neither able to still their minds to allow for emptiness. While on the outside he looked composed, inwardly Wolverine was beating himself up and alternating between deep bouts of self-pity and roaring arguments with the animal that needled him constantly with selfish, lecherous thoughts.

C’mon bub. She’s been panting for it for days. You can smell it on her, underneath all that delectable pissed off smell. Mmmmm, tasty.

Shut up, she’s just a kid. She’s fucked up and it’s my fault he argued silently.

She hasn’t been a kid for a long time bub. You know it, you can see it. Those legs, that hair, the leather grrrr.

Alright, so she’s a woman now. But she doesn’t need this shit. We’re no good for her and we’re the reason she’s a mess.

She doesn’t look like a mess to us bub. Go on…look at her.

Wolverine cracked an eye and saw that Rogue had abandoned all pretenses at trying to meditate and had instead stretched out on the grass, one hand tucked behind her head. She appeared to be dozing. His eyes roved over her skin, bared by the shorts and t-shirts she was still co-opting from him for some reason, as mad as she was. She probably got a kick out of messing with him, showing all that untouchable skin.

Damn it, she needed to cover her ass up, he didn’t need that sort of temptation. Those long pale legs finely muscled from years of Danger Room training and missions, arms he knew were strong, magnificently so since she’d absorbed a lot of his strength, but still smooth and soft looking, like silk if you touched it.

She made a noise in her sleep and shifted, rubbing one thigh over the other as she stretched.

He closed his eyes again. The notion of touching Rogue’s skin, especially those thighs, made the beast cackle over the possibilities of getting around all that exposed flesh and the danger of slipping up making it even more exciting.

Fuck. He had to get out of here.

He grunted and stood up, flicking grass off his sweatpants, and strode over to his bike. He didn’t bother to look back at her, especially those legs. He hadn’t ridden the damn motorcycle once since he’d been here. Too preoccupied with Rogue and everything that had happened. He needed a nice long ride to clear his mind. Then he’d figure out how to break this impasse they had reached and put this shit behind them and refocus on getting her into a fit state to return to the Institute where Chuck could sort it all out and hopefully repair their friendship…and maybe neuter Wolverine while he was at it.

He stomped on his boots, threw his leather jacket on over his bare chest, kicked the bike to life, and took off.

Yup, a long ride was exactly what he’d needed. Somewhere along the couple hours he drove aimlessly through winding coniferous forests and over a mountain or two, realization had hit his dumbass.

He was in love with the little shit. Oh hell, I am. And if he wasn’t mistaken she wanted him too. She, not it, wanted him, not it.

It wasn’t just lust between them, god he hoped not, although that had helped things along quite a bit. She’d been his best friend for ages, really the only true friend he could ever remember having. Sure he’d had comrades, soldiers in arms from what parts of his fractured memory he could tie together, drinking buddies, guys he played pool and poker and shot the shit with, Chuck the stiff father-ish figure, X-men teammates, but no one like Rogue. And he’d been there for her, almost died a handful of times over to protect her, and not just as a teammate. He’d walk through fire for her. Come to think of it, he had done just that during a raid on mutant slave labor camp in Nebraska.

She was someone he could just be himself and have to always be gruff and snarly all the time. Although he’d done his fair share of that recently. No wonder she was pissed off.

Before he’d shouted in her face that she had a monster inside her, things had been rolling along pretty well. Even though she’d gone wild, just like his selfish side had wanted, she’d been enjoying herself. Dancing around, running, leaping through the trees, reveling in his acquired strength, stealth, enhanced senses.

She’d liked her mutation for the first time in her life and not felt evil or guilty for taking it b/c he’d given it to her freely.

A gift.

One that he’d snatched out of her hands in his anger.

Fuck, she’d even said she understood him better now. And she did, he realized. He had to pull the bike to the side of the road to process that flash of insight. He wasn’t the world’s quickest thinker when it came to anything besides kicking ass, so he needed to sit for a bit and mull it over.

He jammed down the kickstand, levered a leg up over the bike and leaned against it, rubbing his jaw. She was more than his best friend. She was the one person who understood him in this shithole world, knew what he was like at his worst, when he was ripping guys apart on missions then coming back to the mansion in a pissy mood and destroying the Danger Room and snarling at students. He’d killed Jean and she hadn’t felt revulsion or anger towards him like some of the others had. She told him she felt sad for him, not Jean. Rogue knew how much it hurt him to kill her. And she’d helped him move through the guilt and accept he’d done what needed to done, what Jean had needed. When most people shied away from him Rogue had stuck close to him through it all and each time welcomed him back to the mansion like a hero back from war, all hugs and admiration and affection.

Now Rogue taken one a very real and visceral part of his mind and powers, even the basest part of him that he himself had loathed and fought against for so long…and she’d loved it and wanted share her new understanding with him. She knew exactly what it was like to be him now, to have his nightmares, his healing, feel the surge of energy and strength and the need to hunt, draw blood just to satiate primal lust, the desire to inflict pain on her own body just to slake the animal inside for a while.

She’d walked a lot of miles in his shoes and reveled in the journey. He wasn’t alone and that what scared him, not the gold in her eyes or the sight of her going in for a kill or the way she’d arched under him, begging for him to take her. She’d done everything he’d ever asked of her and offered him something more than he’d ever dreamed. Someone at his side, no matter what, a real partner, a mate.

And what had he done? Told her she was fucked up. Just b/c she’d come on to him and he had freaked out. Maybe that hadn’t been totally her, maybe it had, but he hadn’t needed to be such a dick about it and run off like she was radioactive or something. Probably just reminded her that her skin made her poison. He’d never treated her like she was a leper when others did, even the other students at the Institute who should’ve known better.

But he’d done it too, treated her like damaged goods, and he was going to apologize. HIM the fucking Wolverine apologize…and hell hadn’t frozen over. And if that meant he had to tie her to a goddamn chair to make her listen to him he was going to do it and make amends. He would make her see he understood her b/c she was him, and even though he was a world class wanker she had to hear him out, and hopefully forgive him.

Wolverine been too busy brooding over one thing she’d absorbed from him rather than seeing the whole picture, all things she loved about him that were now a part of her. Rogue wasn’t a kid anymore. She was his equal.

Nah, fuck that.

She was definitely his superior in every way, and he was going to explain that to her right now and set shit right and maybe come out of this with something more than he’d ever dared hoped for.

He started the bike again and turned around, a wolfish smile on his face as he prepared for what he was certain was going to be an epic battle. She was as stubborn as him after all. Hell, she was worse.

Wolverine had expected more stony silence when he returned in a spray of gravel under the motorcycle’s wheels, maybe something large and heavy thrown at his head. He would’ve settled for her flaying the skin from his hide with a vicious combination of curses and screaming accusations for leaving again. She had always hated it when he left, always.

What he was not at all prepared for was what greeted his eyes when he pulled up to the cabin just after sunset. Rogue was cooking what very much smelled to be venison over the fire pit in the front yard. There was a blanket spread out, a bottle of red wine sitting next to 2 glasses and Christ almighty she had the radio out and tuned to some country music station and a slow melancholy song drifted on the night air.

He slid from the bike and sniffed the air, paranoid. Nope, not Mystique. And unless body snatching pod people from another planet smelled like sandlewood and citrus that was definitely Rogue sitting there, poking at what smelled like foiled wrapped potatoes in the coals of the fire like it was the most normal thing in the world. She looked over her shoulder and smiled at him, which made his spine stiffen immediately. She was up to something for sure.

He tested the air again. Nope, still not Mystique, although that would explain the scene before him a helluva better than anything his mind could come up with at the moment. Rogue might blow hot and cold in her moods a lot, but this sudden shift from Arctic glacier to sunny tropics was suspicious in the extreme. Right now he’d rather have Magneto show up floating a couple of tanks above Wolverine’s head than deal with the enigmatic, suspiciously smiling woman in front of him. At least with Buckethead you knew where you stood.

“Uh, Rogue,” he cleared his throat.

“Shh, sugah, I don’t wanna talk right now,” she drawled in a honeyed voice and smiled sweetly at him again. Klaxons signaling Def Con 4 danger levels sounded in his head; even the animal inside him was growling at the unseen but obvious danger. “It’s gonna be a few more minutes sugar before the steak is ready. Why don’t you pour us some wine?” She gestured to the merlot sitting on the blanket.

Dumbly, Wolverine did as she asked, using one claw as a corkscrew. He sniffed the wine. Didn’t smell like poison, but he waited for her to take a sip before he did. Hmm. He never drank this stuff, it wasn’t exactly the most manly booze, but this was pretty good. Dry, tart, no sissy fruit taste at all. Not bad. He took a generous slug, rolling it around on his tongue, appreciating the smoky taste. Aged in oak barrels, if he wasn’t mistaken. He shook his head. Next thing you know I’ll be doing fucking wine tours in Napa in a polo shirt. He grunted, disgusted at the image, and swallowed the wine.

Rogue was back at the fire pit, testing the foiled wrapped potatoes and flipping his steak over. “Don’t worry sugah, it’s rare,” she grinned as she slid his steak onto a plate with a potato. He poured them both another glass of wine while he waited for her steak to finish cooking. She also liked hers rare just a little more done than the seared and almost bloody state he liked his. He grunted approvingly as he took his first bite, after the obligatory sniff to make sure she wasn’t feeding him skunk or possum. He arched an eyebrow at her, wondering where the meat had come from.

“I got it this afternoon while you were out: a young female, barely mature. And I didn’t have to chase but trapped her right quick and made it painless.” She smiled sweetly again. Red warning signs were still sounding in his head but they were muted by the delicious taste of the venison and the wine she poured into his glass, refilling it.

“Nice touch not letting it run, saves it from being gamey,” he grunted. He hadn’t taught her that yet, but guess she drew that from his experiences in her mind.

Oh that. He was supposed to talk to her about something important, but exactly what it was momentarily escaped his mind as she took his empty plate into the house, then came back out with another bottle of wine and another sweet smile.

“Hey Rogue-” he began, unsure if he should leap right into telling her he loved her or start off with a straightforward apology for freaking out on her a few days ago or…

“Hush sugah, I don’t want to talk about anything else tonight.” She poured him another glass of wine, then lay down on the blanket, crossed her legs at the ankles and struck a pose of advanced relaxation. “We can talk tomorrow. Tonight I just wanna lay out here and count stars.”

He looked up. Well, it is pretty nice out. And if she had defrosted enough to cook him dinner, was kind enough not to pour strychnine in his drink, and then saved him from starting a difficult conversation he really didn’t know how to have…well, Wolverine wasn’t going to argue with her tonight. He stretched out beside her, grateful she was wearing her old baggy jeans and a long sleeved shirt in the cooling air b/c he didn’t want to get distracted by the sight of her bare skin. He just wanted to relax tonight, let things be good for a night before he had to get down to business tomorrow and the “serious conversation” that might end well or, more likely, blow up in his face.

Rogue kept pouring the wine, a third bottle having appeared as though by magic, and he obligingly let her refill his glass a couple of times. She drank with him, at least she appeared to b/c he was getting too relaxed to notice she only wet her lips and occasionally poured out her glass to give him the impression she was getting as hammered as he was. The only poison Wolverine’s healing factor had to struggle against was wine simply b/c he never drank it and his body wasn’t sure how to handle this new form of inebriation. Also, it didn’t go down hard like beer, whiskey or the other liquors he usually favored so he polished off a lot more of it than he normally would with Jack Daniels or bourbon.

The Wolverine was not a sloppy drunk, but he was feeling insanely relaxed and content as he lay on his back and enjoyed the spins the stars were entertaining him with and the sound and smell of Rogue lying next to him, staring up at the sky. He tried to find a cigar in his jacket and one appeared in front of him, already lit, in a small gloved hand. He smiled and grunted a hazy “Thanks” in her direction, feeling all was right with the world and his girl at the moment. He’d just let it be for tonight.

No sir, Wolverine wasn’t feeling any pain at all as his girl slipped one covered arm around his shoulders and snaked it under his neck. Another arm appeared another across his chest, and she leaned into him.

A kiss would be perfect was the last thought he had before Rogue’s forearms tightened around his neck, crushed the external and internal carotid arteries on both sides, and rendered him unconscious instantly.

She grinned to herself, kicked over the fourth bottle of wine Wolverine had almost finished off single-handed. She’d pulled that little lethal chokehold from Wolverine’s own subconscious reserve of military training that lurked in both their heads. She would’ve killed anyone else with that hold but knew he would be alright and it hadn’t even hurt, which she’d been careful to avoid. Ok, she had been tempted to knock him out with a blow to the head while formulating her plan, but she remembered her own accusations of him inviting people to hurt him and thought a more humane method was appropriate.

Congratulating herself on the perfect execution of step one, Rogue headed for the jeep.

Wolverine groaned. He didn’t need to open his eyes to know that Rogue had ambushed him. Oh, she was a sneaky one, now more than ever. The steak, the wine, the not wanting to talk, yup she definitely knew how to work him but good. Little piece of shit! He was going to bend her over his knee and spank her and not in the sexy way. Using an unsanded 2x4. He sat up and looked around. The fire pit was smoldering quietly. It was obviously late, and something just as important as Rogue was missing.

“MY BIKE!” he roared. Oh, she’d done it now. No one, but no one touched his fucking motorcycle. Not if they wanted to get keep vital organs on the inside and appendages attached by more than a few strings of sinew. Ok, it was Scooter’s motorcycle technically, but still there are some lines you just don’t cross with the Wolverine and she’d taken a flying leap over it. Fuck, the line was so far behind her it was a dot.

He barreled inside to change out of his sweatpants, pull on clean jeans and t-shirt, then stomped his boots back on and grabbed his leather jacket.

Keys, keys.

Shit, the jeep keys were on the same ring as the bike’s, so she had them. No matter, Wolverine had his own set of keys in both hands. He stalked over to the jeep and vaulted over the door, slamming into the driver’s seat. Snapping out one claw he jammed it in the ignition. Instead of a satisfactory roar of the engine the damn thing didn’t make a sound. A cricket chirped. Literally.

You did not just fucking chirp bub.

Another cricket.

Grrrrrrr!

Wolverine flung the jeep’s hood up and started rooting around.

Not good enough girlie he thought grimly, reattaching the battery connectors.

Not nearly good enough!

He tried to crank the engine again and again silence heckled him.

WHAT NOW?!

Now he was really pissed as he dove again into the engine block.

Where the hell is the alternator?!

She’d unscrewed the damn thing and hidden it. He sniffed the air and it took him a few minutes to find where she’d thrown it into the woods behind the cabin by following the oily scent. Jamming it back into place, Wolverine tried to start the jeep again and again it stubbornly refused his cursing pleas to crank.

C'mon, c'mooooon you fucking piece of American horseshit. I'm fucking buying Japanese from now on you hunk of goddamned junk if you don't staaaaaart!

Japanese it is. Hard to picture Wolverine in a Toyota Corolla, but he was a man of his word.

Now thoroughly enraged it took every ounce of self-control not to unleash the claws and rip through the hood as Wolverine flung it up once more. He took a deep breath, willing himself to calm down before he turned the car into scrap metal, and went inside to get a flashlight so he could fully inspect how much sabotage Rogue had managed. It was a lot.

Oh ho, she’s trying to kill me he thought when he found a brake line disconnected.

You first darlin.

Wolverine reattached it then went back to the electrical system to figure out why the fucking thing still wouldn’t turn over. He finally determined the spark plug wire set had been artfully dismantled so it still looked like it was okay but definitely was not. Satisfied he’d found every little trick in the engine she’d thought to throw at him, Wolverine smiled smugly when the engine finally started and he gunned it, determined to track her down.

A hundred yards down the road he realized Rogue had done an even more thorough job than he’d expected and it was so simple. A flat tire shredded with a distinctive 3 slashes. He hadn’t even noticed it during his angry flailing inside the engine block. He cursed her in every combination he could think of and invented some new ones when he discovered the she’d removed the jack. At least she hadn’t shredded the spare. Guess she thought incapacitating the jeep entirely was too much.

Thanks Rogue, that was fucking thoughtful!

I am going to kill her. Mince her into teeny, tiny, very squishy bits. Wolverine snarled and swore nonstop while struggling to lift the jeep enough to kick some logs under it to raise it up so he could change the tire.

Bite sized ones to feed to all the woodland creatures.

As he wrestled with the spare tire, Wolverine entertained himself with fantasies of holding Rogue's face underwater in the lake and laughing while she scrabbled at his arms, desperate for air.

No, not the lake. The toilet. In the men's locker room at the mansion. After the whole team's used it.

Hang her from a tree upside down, tie those fucking steaks to her, and let the bears eat her from the face up. Heh heh.

The animal inside him was also calling bloody murder, all thoughts of tying her to the bed and fucking her to death replaced with a creative usage of the fire pit and the axe as instruments of torture.

Oh, she had fucked with the Wolverine one time too many and she was going to pay.

After 30 minutes spent wrestling the jeep up enough to change the wheel, then having to chase the damn thing 50 yards b/c he’d forgotten to set the emergency brake, his head was filled with the repeated chant KILLKILLKILLKILL, and Wolverine grinned as he envisioned snapping her scrawny neck when he finally got his hands on her.

Until he ran out of gas a mile from the cabin and the jeep spluttered and died. Rogue had siphoned off the tank. That was the capper and resulted in the jeep sporting the no-doors option permanently. He stalked back to the cabin to get the spare gas canister he kept under the porch, which resulted in 20 minutes spent tracing the stink of petrol until he found it buried under some rocks near to the lake.

How fucking long was I out? A week?

He was going to pull every one of his memories, especially the ones of dirty tricks and choke holds, out of her head with several feet of adamantium and no anesthetic.

After stalking back to the jeep and dumping a couple of gallons in the tank, Wolverine was extremely paranoid the car might explode this time around. Once his jangled nerves were soothed by a noted lack of fireballs, he jammed the gas pedal to the floor and followed her scent 10 miles down the dirt track to the cabin, onto the two lane road that lead to town, somewhat relieved Rogue had taken the bike and not the jeep. She could have put the top and windows up and made her scent harder to trace.

Plus, if she had sabotaged his bike Wolverine would have hunted her to the end of her days just so he could beat hear to death with the whatever remained of the machine, ideally the handlebars so he could jam them up her...

As tempted as he was to slaughter Rogue, in truth she was merely in life threatening danger of a public ass-beating and not in genuine immediate peril of certain disembowelment, although he was sorely tempted to play cat's cradle with her guts for all the bullshit she’d just put him through.

He followed her trail to town, still wrapped in scenarios of torturing Rogue with a hot clothes iron and rock salt, before he realized he’d lost her scent. He whipped the jeep in a tight 180 in the middle of the road and backtracked until he picked it up again.

No way. No fucking way.

He shook his head and realized he hadn’t needed to rely on his sniffer to find her and should have just stuck with his gut. Where there was something gnawing at her and she couldn’t figure it out she drank, just like him. He just didn’t expect her to go to his old shithole to do it. He’d expected her to run for the border after screwing with the jeep like that, not park her saucy ass in a bar.

She’s got some nerve…and I’m going to rip every last one out of her body with pliers.

Wolverine pulled around the back of the liquor store and groaned when he saw his bike parked next to an overflowing dumpster. From the number of trucks in the parking lot and the loud cheers and pounding music sounding from inside he knew it was fight night.

Aw shit, does she get off on torturing me?

He recalled grudgingly the way he’d glared at the little slip of a girl perched nervously on a bar stool at that hellhole in Laughlin City, sipping iron tinged tap water hesitantly as she stared at him, scared witless as he unsheathed his claws and threatened to take down a couple of rednecks and a shotgun toting bartender. The way he’d walked out of the bar and left her there with those assholes, not knowing or caring if what happened to her after he stalked out to his old camper, searching for answers.

And here he was again, except this time the thing he was searching for had probably parked it’s cute little ass on a barstool and was laughing herself silly about pulling one over on the Wolverine.

He snarled to himself as he walked in, ignoring the current fight in the cage and looking over to the bar. He almost expected to see her there in her old green cloak, clutching a glass of dirty water, momentarily going back in time. She wasn’t there, so she surveyed the screaming, jostling crowd and took a sniff.

Ugh, bad idea. The place smelled like piss and pigs. Gritting through the nauseating odors assaulting his senses, he finally picked up her smoky scent and raised his eyes to the far side of the bar.

And Wolverine’s jaw hit the floor. Actually his whole head almost hit the floor when his vision swam in front of him and he had to grab the bar to steady himself.

Rogue was in the cage, reaching through the wire to grab a shot of whiskey from the eager hand of some dumb redneck who’d thrust it at her. All gussied up in her emerald green and black leather shirt and pants, ass kicking knee high combat boots hugging every inch of her legs, she was deadliness wrapped up in sin and leather gloves. Wolverine checked his chin for drool, unsure if it was lust or the slavering before murder that made his mouth water.

Rogue leaned on one forearm against the side of the cage and tossed back the shot easily, then leaned over and dragged up a cigar from where it was smoldering in an ashtray on a stool in her corner. She took a drag and worked her jaw, rolling the taste in her mouth, before she threw the shot glass over the cage to let it shatter on the concrete floor on the other side. She put the cigar back down, and blew a stream of smoke through the wire into the face of the guy who’d given her the shot. She gave the asshole a saucy smile, then turned around to watch a couple of bouncers drag the unconscious form of a giant trucker looking fuck across the floor of the cage to dump him unceremoniously outside the gate.

The emcee picked up his mic and started shouting over the blaring music and boisterous crowd. “Alright, people! That’s four down and tonight’s champ is still going strong! Who wants to try their hand against the little lady! In addition to the $2000 pot you get the chance to get your hands all over this hot number!” And he gestured at Rogue, who was fannying around the ring, milking the crowd.

Is she blowing fucking kisses?

Wolverine growled harshly, causing a dyed blonde bimbo near him to squeak and drop her drink. He glared into her wide eyes and she took off, tottering as fast as her hooker heels could carry her away from the scary man at the bar.

He returned his attention to the cage where Rogue was swaggering around the edges, a cigar crammed in the corner of her mouth, taunting the crowd of screaming men around the cage. She wiggled her ass as she bent over to pretend to adjust her boot laces, purposefully driving the crowd into a frenzy.

The emcee continued to scream into the mic. “C’mon lads, no one wants to take on the lady? Are you all pussies?! Who wants to risk their life for shot at heaven? Takers, takers, any takers?! Ah, here we go! A new challenger!”

Wolverine snarled again and started towards the cage, only to stop with an evil grin spreading across his face as he watched a young blonde man in a baseball cap, maybe early 20s, step to the door of the cage, calling out to the emcee. He looked like a fucking college kid.

This should be hilarious.

Wolverine changed his mind about slashing the cage open, returned to the bar, ordered a double bourbon, and kicked back to see what would happen. The punk stepped into the cage and took off his jacket, flexing some unexpected wiry muscles in a dirty wife beater. Rogue put down her cigar and swaggered over to him as the emcee continued to talk up the combatants and urge people to place more bets. He could see the blonde’s lips moving, but he couldn’t hear what the guy was saying over the noise in the bar. The look on his face made it pretty clear he was talking some major smut to his girl. Wolverine’s fist tightened as the urge to snap out 3 feet of adamantium surged. To his chagrin, Rogue’s faced softened and she leaned towards the blonde, one finger twirling a white lock by her face. She said something back and the blonde laughed, a smug smirk on his face.

Flirting...grrrrr.

Wolverine’s chagrin turned to delight when the bell sounded and Rogue launched a surprisingly brutal knee to Blondie’s gut. The guy doubled over, his eyes wide with pain at what Wolverine desperately hoped was a ruptured large intestine. Rogue then jerked her other knee up to crack into the blonde’s jaw, snapping his head back just in time for her to lay an expert snake strike to the back of his neck, knocking the would-be Romeo out for the count.

The crowd went insane, screaming and cheering, and Rogue waggled her way around the cage again, strutting and grabbing drinks thrust at her through the wire, grinning like the Cheshire cat all the while.

Alright, maybe killing her can wait.

Wolverine ordered another double and lit a cigar, ready to enjoy the next victim. And the next, and the next. She beat the piss out of all of them and he was extremely entertained as he watched her knock some senseless in seconds and others she toyed with, letting them think they had the advantage before she got them in a hold or landed just the right blow to knock their teeth out or flood their eyes with blood from cuts she opened on their foreheads. He had to practically hang onto the bar to keep from falling over with uncontrolled laughter when she got one guy in an arm lock, which threatened to rip his shoulder from the socket, and demanded he scream for his mommy before she let him go and knocked him out with a kick to the head.

Hot damn, she’s on a tear.

Wolverine watched as she brought the pain to the 10th contender of the evening with a nice and nasty poke in the eye, then skipped back and laughed as the moron scrubbed at his face. She was all control and conniving and let him put her in a bear hug from behind, struggling like it was hurting for a minute and letting the oaf grin and twirl her around like it was the goddamn prom, then she slammed her head back into his nose, probably breaking it. But this guy did not know when to quit. Maybe it was getting his ass handed to him by a girl who weighed a buck twenty five soaking wet or the fantasy that he might get a chance at seeing what was under that leather if he won, but he wasn’t backing down and Rogue was making him pay the price one painful knock at a time.

Wolverine had gone way past laughing to being speechless at her fighting skills, which were something a couple of notches above what she’d ever shown in training sessions or on missions. She was all about the game, tripping back and forth between toying with her opponent and letting him feel like he got the upper hand for a moment, then batting him down to the floor again with a kick or a punch. She was pure ferocity wrapped in a sassy package, all helpless sweetness one moment and striking like a cobra the next.

Rogue finally put the poor guy of his misery with a hit to the throat that would’ve have put the guy on a ventilator if she hadn’t pulled her punch a wee bit. The emcee was barking for another contender but even the temptation of groping Rogue in the cage wasn’t enticing any more idiots to try their hand and get their asses kicked in front of everyone.

“C’mon, c’mon! No one! None?! You going to let her walk out of her with your money and every stitch of clothing still in place. Is no one willing to take on this little spitfire?!” The crowd was getting antsy, unhappy at the prospect of seeing Rogue waltz out with their hard earned dollars and nary a hair out of place on her pretty little head.

Wolverine cracked his neck and stalked through the crowd, making sure to throw a few snarls and growls and flexes at anyone who gawked at him too closely.

Yeh, don’t let them forget who owns this shit.

He wasn't going to fight. He was going to drag her crazy ass out of there before the crowd turned ugly.

Show’s over kid, time to go home.

He got to the gate and yelled, “Hey!” to Rogue, trying to get her attention.

The emcee’s whirled around and locked eyes on Wolverine. His eyes practically bugged out of his head in delight at the sight of the familiar hairy man. “Alright people, alriiiiiiiiight!!! We have a major treat for you now!!! What we have here is the man who has never lost a fight in this cage!!! The undisputed King of the Ring, your own Canadian Brawler, the Wooooooolverine!!!!” And the crowd went fucking nuts. Apparently his reputation on the cage circuit hadn’t diminished in the year since he’d last fought. The guy on the mic was practically foaming at the mouth at this stroke of good luck.

Wolverine relaxed into a posture of studied boredom at the gate. “Ready to come home darlin?”

C’mon kid, drop the show and let’s beat it He silently willed her to cave in and leave without a fuss. Of course the growly voice in the back of his head didn’t want her to.

“No way sugah, I ain’t leaving until I beat every one in here stupid enough to try me.” She smirked at the crowd, which had dropped several decibels watching the infamous Wolverine and the intriguing chick in leather size each other up. “You look plenty stupid,” she taunted before swaggering back over to her stool to take a puff of her cigar.

One of MY cigars, grr.

The crowd took a collective breath at her insult, many of them aware that the famous fighter Wolverine was not one to suffer insults lightly, usually taking them with a broken bone and some agony on the side.

“What’s the matter Wolverine? Afraid you can’t beat a giiiiiirrrrllll?” she sang mockingly. Now the club had gone silent, ok silent except for the shitty rock music still going. The crowd hung around the cage, breathless in anticipation.

“C’mon Rogue, let’s go, or I’m gonna have to take you over my knee,” he leered and the crowd chuckled. Come quietly one voice in his head begged while another was growling appreciatively at her show.

“You can try!” Rogue tossed back another shot thrust to her by eager male hands, wiped her mouth on the back of her sleeve. “But you’ll be the one getting spanked.” That got the crowd screaming again.

All funny business aside, Wolverine strode into the cage and glared down at her. “No more fucking around Rogue, it’s late.” He grabbed her arm and made to drag her out of the cage. Her eyes blazed.

Oh shit.

Wolverine should’ve known it was coming but the knee to the groin was something he had, mistakenly, considered too low even for Rogue. The one fucking bit of his body not protected by adamantium of course, so he felt it just as bad as any man. Actually it was a lot worse, thanks to his heightened senses.

After he manfully managed to prevent himself from collapsing and forced down the urge to throw up his testicles, Wolverine straightened up, cracked his neck like a bullwhip and said, “Ok, darlin, you just made a BIG mistake.” He took off his jacket and flung it in the face of the emcee who was now shouting for a final round of bets. Just for some added flashiness he growled loudly, which made most of the people pressed against the cage back up a bit.

Rogue just laughed like he was the cutest thing since kittens.

The bell rang and he expected to her jump at him but she was playing cagey, so he would too. The circled each other cautiously, each one feinting a couple punches and kicks to test out how serious the other one was, how well they planned to block. The crowd, used to seeing vicious haymakers from the get-go started to mutter then began shouting for them to just get to it and kick some ass. Money was flowing into the hands of the bartender as bets were placed for and against Wolverine, many people who had previously lost money betting against Rogue hoped now they’d make it back and then some.

The crowd booed the two fighters still circling each other. Rogue threw a loose punch at Wolverine, who sidestepped it with an eye roll, then tried to knock him over with a messy leg sweep at his shins. He hopped over her foot and sighed, “This is fucking stupid.” The emcee’s eyes were pleading him to get into the fight and show some of that insane bloodlust that had made the guy a lot of money over the years he’d allowed the big man to fight in his bar.

Brushing away another half-hearted punch thrown by Rogue, Wolverine strode over to the gate and said to the emcee “Screw this. She ain’t gonna to fight m-“

Wolverine was not entirely sure how he went from walking out of the cage to having his face smashed into the concrete at the seam where the floor met the fencing, and he grunted in annoyance. The bar went ballistic. He realized it was kinda hard to get up with Rogue's knee pressed into the back of his neck, so he made do with what he had and that was two free hands, one of which snaked behind him and grabbed her other leg, locking down just above the knee with crushing force. She gasped and twitched which gave Wolverine just enough room to flip under her and shove her back. He got to his feet.

“C’mon kid, enough bullshit.”

“Nah sugah, I’m just getting warmed up.” Rogue balanced on the balls of her feet, shifting her weight back and forth in a stance he’d practiced with her a million times. She was smiling again.

If that ain’t a shit eating grin I don’t know what is.

“You can’t win kid. I know every move you’ve got and then some.” He went to grab her and shake some sense into her. Her eyes flashed and for a second Wolverine thought he saw gold speckle them, then he found himself flying as she hip checked him unexpectedly, grabbed his shoulder, and levered him up and over her and onto his back. He slammed into the concrete once more.

Ow.

Rogue flashed sharpened canines and tapped one leather clad finger to her temple. “And I got everything you got.”

Wolverine snorted and got up. “Alright kid, you wanna play, I’ll teach you a new game.” And he lunged at her, catching her in the torso and slamming her into the wires of the cage, which bowed under their combined weight.” Rogue struggled against his crushing strength.

“Ready to go quietly?” he said in her ear.

Please say no.

Her knee shot up again, but this time he was prepared and moved one leg to counter the vindictive strike she’d aimed at his balls. Rogue took advantage of his off-balance position to whip around his side and nail a hard punch to his right kidney.

“I know you don’t fall for the same trick twice,” she laughed as he turned around, wincing. “I got plenty more up my sleeve.” She tugged at her gloves for emphasis. “C’mon sugah, let’s dance,” and she made a beckoning motion with one finger, grinning.

Trying to drag her out of here obviously wasn’t cutting it.

Time for another approach.

“C’mon Rogue, knock it off.” Wolverine walked towards her slowly, hands upraised. The crowd jeered at his apparent surrender. “No dancing tonight.” He held out his hand to her in a beseeching motion and the crowd booed more soundly. She hesitated just a second, her eyes flickering down to his hand.

Gotcha.

And he struck, grabbed her arm and swung her around to get her in a half-nelson, dragging one shoulder up in a painful vice while his other hand snaked around her waist to secure the loose arm that was trying to throw an elbow into his gut.

“Alright, darlin, let’s see if you know this number.” Wolverine then shoved Rogue away so hard she tripped and almost lost her balance. People laughed, ecstatic the tough little bitch was getting shown up by the Wolverine.

Rogue glared at him. “Oh yeh sugah, and it’s gonna be a slow jam.”

What movie was that from?

Before he finished the thought Rogue lept at him, throwing a dizzying combination of snake strikes to his face and kicks to his sides. He countered a couple, but she got in three good smacks to his face, one right in the mouth and he felt a tooth crack. She also nailed a crunchy sounding roundhouse kick to his gut.

Wolverine let her get close and shoved her back again and laughed heartily when she lost her footing this time and fell on her ass. Before she could scramble up, he was on top of her, grappling with her in an all out wrestling match. He managed to pin one of her legs behind her in a merciless hold, wrenching her hip in an unnatural position, and he waited for her to give, cry uncle. No such doing.

Just when he thought he had an immovable grip on her joint and was only 3 pounds of pressure away from snapping it, she twisted under him in a serpentine movement and trapped his neck between her calves, locking her boots behind his head with crossed ankles. Wolverine choked and tried to stand up, but her lower legs were frozen around his throat and she used gravity to drag him back down, twisting her body until his face was grinding into the floor and she was on her stomach.

Rogue was panting, but still showcasing that shit-eating grin. Levering herself up on her forearms, she looked over her shoulder at Wolverine’s purpling face and heckled him, “C’mon Billy Badass!” She twisted again, almost strangling him. The noise in the bar rose to jet-taking-off levels at her taunts.

Play time’s over bitch. Wolverine struggled to his feet, Rogue’s calves still locked around his neck. He grabbed her upper legs and swung her with all his force into the cage. Her head connected with the post at the corner, her legs unraveled, and she was off him, face down on the floor.

Oh shit.

“Hey, hey, Rogue.” Wolverine leaned over her, worried as shit he’d just lost control and knocked her brains out. The boot to the chin caught him off guard and he staggered back. “Playing possum,” he growled.

Verrrrrrrry nice.

Rogue growled right back, “I ain’t playing sugah.” And they flung themselves at each other again, this time throwing hard jabs, all fucking around over. Each one was out for blood and the crowd could smell it.

She caught him with an elbow to the temple and rattled his brain for a second, long enough to kick his right knee and knock it out from under him. When she raised her face to gloat at the crowd, he reached up, grabbed her ankle and twisted it savagely, bringing her down to his level. She tried to get a choke hold on him, but he broke it.

Thought you knew I didn’t fall for the same trick twice.

He punched her in the gut then rolled on top of her back, pinning down her legs with a knee grinding into the back of each thigh. She screamed in pain when he grabbed one wrist and forced it up between her shoulder blades.

“Give up Rogue! You can’t beat me!” Wolverine yelled into her ear as she flung back to try a head butt and missed. “I’m the King of the Cage darlin,” he taunted as she howled. He shook her other hand away as she clawed back, trying to reach his face. “Can’t beat this Canu-“

SNIKT! Bone claws slashed his cheek. He jumped back, holding his hand to his face, and Rogue scrabbled to her feet and unleashed the other set.

If records were still used you could’ve heard the needle scratch across vinyl when the music came to an abrupt halt. The crowd went still, all eyes on 6 pink tinged ivory foot long claws extending through the back of Rogue’s gloves. She was panting, her eyes dark and murderous. Wolverine backed up a step. He wiped the blood from his face and a murmur went through the crowd as they watched the long gouges in his face heal miraculously.

Then someone screamed.

“MUTIE FIIIIIIIIIIIGHT!!!!”

The crowd went berserk, surging against the cage and throwing beer bottles over the top to smash around Wolverine and Rogue as they stared each other down. The emcee was screaming that this was a first, a real live mutant battle in his cage! God, he was going to make a fortune in this newly realized niche market, the man crowed inwardly.

“Fight me. I can take it,” Rogue panted, grinning. Wolverine searched her eyes, but there was no gold in them, only warm brown. She was in control, her eyes clear, none of the wildness he’d seen in them during the hunt. She’d taken charge and was channeling the animal to her advantage.

“You’re the only one who can,” he agreed solemnly, then roared and dove at her, knocking her back into the cage. When she rebounded her landed a neat clock-cleaning roundhouse at her jaw and rocked her head back. Rogue staggered for a moment, shook her head to clear it, and danced forward to launch a kick at his gut. When he grabbed her leg to block she brought the other one around and whipped it into his head, the leather and steel buckles of her boots cushioning her shin against his adamantium clad skull.

It was Wolverine’s turn to stumble back, then he grinned and snaked tongue over teeth before he flung a flurry of kicks at her, spinning, crouching then rising, relying on long-buried memories of training in Japan at least two lifetimes ago. He got in a good jab to her ribs and another precisely aimed at her left thigh, which caused Rogue to crumple as her leg spasmed in a world class charley-horse. Wolverine was just about to thump her on the top of the head with a metal reinforced fist when she lashed out with her claws and he flung bank to avoid being filleted. Rogue took the advantage, ducking under his reach and flashing out with bony knives. Then she skipped away, laughing hard.

The catcalls were deafening as Wolverine’s shirt dropped away, neatly sliced to ribbons by Rogue’s dancing hands.

She leaned against the fencing and applauded lazily at the sight of Wolverine’s impressive chest then put two fingers between her lips and wolf whistled sharply, causing the crowd to laugh. Just for his own chuckles, the big man flexed his pecs a bit, noting with satisfaction a rising chorus of female screeches was drowning out the men yelling for blood, before cracking his neck again and stalking towards his opponent. Despite his speed, Rogue flipped over his head with a neat hand spring, landing lightly behind him and kicking the back of one knee and making him fall to a half kneeling position. One a flash she was on his back, legs wrapped around his torso and locked in front, one arm like steel around his neck, a trio of claws tickling his muttonchops. Her other hand grabbed a fistful of his hair.

For a second Wolverine thought Rogue was going to try and choke him out again, so he thrust one hand up to try and get it under the forearm across his throat. Nope, it was another trick.

“Yee haw! Ride ‘em cowgirl!”

Oh no she is not.

Oh yes, she was.

Rogue was shrieking and bouncing up and down on Wolverine’s back like he was a goddamn pony at the fair.

She wrenched back on his hair so he was looking straight up at her and she giggled and yelled “Giddy up!” and kneed him in a kidney.

This is not happening.

Yes, it was.

The women’s screams of delight from the crowd completely buried the men’s and Wolverine was utterly embarrassed to feel a blush creep over his face.

I don’t not fucking blush!

When Rogue let go of his hair to reach down and slap his ass, Wolverine reversed his assessment of his blushing capability since his face was hot as blazes right now.

I’ll give you a ride Wolverine promised grimly as he flung them backwards into the cage, pinning Rogue behind him.

She didn’t budge, if anything her legs clinched tighter around his waist as did the forearm across his throat, making it harder to breathe. Rogue was cackling with laughter despite his efforts to crush her into grind her through the fencing. Wolverine tried to throw a few elbows behind to catch her gut and get her off his goddamn back but no dice, she shifted from side to side to avoid the blows, still yanking his head backward and forward.

“Gallop horsey! Woo hoo! C’mon boy!” Then she whipped his ass a few more times and the whole bar was rolling in gales of laughter and taunts aimed at My Pretty Pony Wolverine.

Ok, this was officially the worst fight of his life, surpassing even the time he’d thrown up on his opponent b/c he was so drunk.

I still won that one.

No, strike that. This was the worst fight ever in the entire history of cage fighting. Not only had a chick, an American at that, held her own against him in the cage but she had managed to humiliate the shit out of him in front of a crowd of seasoned roughnecks in his own country.

He would never EVER live it down. Not if he lived a million years.

When or if he died someone would write on his headstone, “Here’s lies the Wolverine, a sorry sack of shit who was ridden like Seabiscuit by an American bird and shamed all of Canada. Wanker.”

Fuck, maybe I should take the Professor up on that threat to make me believe I am a 6 year old girl. At least a kid with braids wouldn’t die of acute embarrassment at playing horsey.

Wolverine groaned and slipped to the ground, raking Rogue down the cage with him, and collapsed on the floor, wishing more than anything this whole stupid fight was over.

Why had he ever gotten into a cage in the first place? Oh yeh, because he was great at kicking ass…until Rogue metaphorically neutered him in front of everyone and their redneck brother.

If there was any possible way to actually expire from complete shame he was praying it would reveal itself right this fucking minute so he could end his misery. C’mon, die already old man.

Rogue struggled up from behind Wolverine’s now prone form, and leaned over him. His eyes were closed so he didn’t have to see the hellish sight of her face over his looking like the cat that ate the fucking canary, like his tortured mind envisioned behind closed lids.

“Give up sugah? Or do I have to slap a saddle on ya and call ya Blossom?” an acidly sweet voice taunted from above him. He groaned and slid further down on the floor, definitely surrendering and internally begging she not stomp him while he was down or stick a bow in his hair. He felt her move away.

A small mercy. Infinitesimal really.

The emcee was screaming out Rogue’s name as the winner and the crowd surged against the cage in ecstasy. No hands pushed forward with shots now, as Rogue’s claws were still out and not even the drunks were hammered enough to get too close to her, but she didn’t care. In a fit of triumph she scaled to the top of the cage and straddled the fence, dangling a leg on either side and making muscles poses and blowing kisses to the enraptured masses below her. A waitress sailed past with a bottle of Maker’s Mark on a tray over her head and Rogue leaned over and swiped it, evoking more cheers from the crowd. Showing off, she sliced off the top of the bottle with a claw and began pouring it down her throat and all over her face and leather shirt.

Almost a hundred cell phones whipped out and digital photos were taken of the beautiful clawed wild woman straddling the cage and dumping liquor all over herself. Within a day this indelible image would be downloaded over a million times, introducing men all over the world to a new side of horny they hadn’t known since Princess Leia first appeared in a gold bikini.

Rogue was hamming it up on the top of the cage still, when a metal laced hand locked onto her ankle. Looking down she saw Wolverine had given up dying from terminal mortification and had grabbed onto her with a verrrrrrry scary look in his eyes. Before she could kick his hand away the other one snacked up and latched into the top of her boot and he wrenched her off the cage fence, and dragged her down to the cage floor roughly. Before she could even protest or attempt to slash at him with her claws Wolverine wrapped both of Rogue’s wrists in one massive hand, knelt, and hauled her down to him. She tried to kick, but he grabbed her hair viciously and forced her over.

“No! NOOOOOO!” Rogue screamed and struggled.

Too late, she was over one of Wolverine’s knees and he was dishing out the spanking that she had been overdue for…oh…about 20 years. All the leather in the world could not protect Rogue’s backside from the world class ass tanning Wolverine dished out. Adamantium enforced hands had that effect.

SMACK! “That is for getting me drunk.”

SMACK! “That is for using my own choke hold on me!”

SMACK! “For fucking throwing car parts in the woods!”

SMACK! “Stealing the jack! Do you know how much that fucking jeep weighs?”

SMACK! “Stealing my BIKE!” Wolverine roared.

SMACK! “KICKING ME IN THE NUTS!” SMACK! SMACK!

“What was that for?!” she screamed

SMACK! “Kicking me in the nuts is worth more than one kid.” He laughed, the horrible hand rose and fell again, and Rogue screamed and writhed in his lap.

SMACK! “Riding me like a goddamn hobby horse in front of everyone!”

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!

Rogue was crying good and proper now, claws withdrawn, and begging him to let her up Wolverine felt bad…almost.

Ok, not at all.

He lifted her up and roughly tossed his now thoroughly deflated opponent over his shoulder and stalked towards the cage gate. The emcee thrust a wad of large bills into Wolverine’s hand, gasping, “Here take it! $1660 for this fight only! She doesn’t get anything for the earlier ones b/c no one knew she was a mutant!” The man flinched as Wolverine looked him over and was terrified the brawler would knock his teeth out, but the big man just shrugged, which was impressive with the leather chick slung over his shoulder like a rucksack, and nodded.

“Gimme 2 bottles of the good shit and we’re out of here.” More than happy to get the two freaks out before the excitement of the evening wore off and the customers turned ugly, he handed Wolverine two large bottles of whiskey and wiped his brow as the couple strode away through the bar, the crowd parting before them like the Red Sea.

Just as he got to the door, Wolverine turned around to face the ocean of faces and eyes locked on him and Rogue and snarled. He smirked as the crowd drew back en masse as he unsheathed his own set of shiny metal claws. The collective gasp was sweet music, especially the murmurs when he reached up with his hand and rubbed it over Rogue’s leather clad but nevertheless extremely sore butt hanging over his shoulder.

He growled at breathless patrons. “She’s going home with the winner.”

Rogue burst out laughing from her upside down position and as Wolverine swung around to exit she leaned up, bracing against his back, and giggling hysterically she waved coyly at the stunned faces at the fight club before the door slammed shut on them all.

Rogue had just started complaining about blood rushing to her head when Logan unceremoniously dumped her off his shoulder and firmly plunked her on his bike. With a little more force that was strictly necessary. She’d put him through the ringer tonight so it was the least she deserved.

“Ow, my ass!” she rubbed her backside and tried to glare at Wolverine, but the intention of the nasty look was lost due the silly grin she was sporting.

“You’ll heal,” he snorted and gestured at her face, which was already pretty much back to its normal delicate shade of pale peach despite the various bruises and contusions she’d sustained over the course of the evening. They were fading before his eyes.

Rogue checked her reflection in one of the bike’s side view mirrors, turning to inspect herself under the lamplight in the parking lot. “Is that your blood or mine?” she asked, pointing to a smear across her cheek.

He leaned over and sniffed, separating her own delectable smell from the bourbon generously poured all over her and his own scent. “Mine. Think it’s from where you hit me in the mouth. I might’ve spit on you,” he said unapologetically as Rogue made a disgusted expression and scrubbed at her cheek. He held up one hand, inspecting his knuckles, and inhaled. Mmmmmm. “This is yours. Think your nose bled.”

“Yeh, I felt that one,” and Rogue rubbed one gloved hand under her nose, brushing away flaked blood. “Nice shot.” Instead of looking perturbed she quirked a grin at him.

He grunted, “You too.” Something clicked in his head. Ok, maybe it didn’t click as much as grind painfully into place, like a rusty cog. “How many times did you get hit in the face tonight?”

Rogue snorted and swung off the bike, rubbing her aching rear end vigorously. “What, you counting? I beat you, admit it!” She leaned towards him, gloved fingers playing with the white streaks framing her face.

“I don’t give a shit who won," he growled. I did. “I’m serious Rogue. How many times did you get hit in the face?” Wolverine’s tone brooked no back talk this time.

Rogue’s fingers stilled in her hair and her smile ratcheted down a notch at his voice. “None of those other fuckers got a chance too," she snorted derisively at her earlier competitors, "Only you. Lucky shots too!" The look on his face darkened, but she smiled at him anyways. "I dunno…maybe a dozen times. Maybe more if you count those fucking elbows,” she winced and massaged her jaw. “But I got you more! And I got in a helluva lot more kicks and-“

“Shut up,” he growled.

“Don’t you te-“ Her face flushed angrily.

Wolverine’s hand covered her mouth roughly. Rogue’s eyes widened in surprise then narrowed in annoyance as his grip tightened on her jaw and kept her from jerking her head away to tell him off.

“Don’t…move…” he said gruffly. Rogue stilled, startled at the intense look in Wolverine’s eyes. He was focused intently on her face, his hand over her mouth, drilling into her eyes. He held her like that for over a minute, then took a sharp breath and released her. “Nothing…I didn’t feel anything.”

Rogue’s expression changed and she smirked slyly at him. “Wow sugah, you sure know how to make a girl feel special.”

Impatient at her apparently deliberate denseness, Wolverine grabbed her by her shoulders and shook her, “Your mutation, Rogue. I can’t feel it. It’s gone.”

Rogue batted his hands away, “No, it’s not silly!”

Silly? I’d be freaking out if my claws disappeared…or I had to deal with razor burn.

“Yes it is, I touched and nothing pulled, look” and he laid his hand on her face again for several seconds, brows furrowed sharply as he stared into her eyes, then he pulled back again. “I don’t feel anything right now, not even the slower drain I felt before when…you were hurt,” his voice soft, serious. “I didn’t even realize it during the fight, I was…”

“Distracted? That was the point sugah.” Rogue leaned into his hand and rubbed her face against his roughened, dirty palm. “It’s still there…for everyone else...except you.” His face was a mass of confusion, and she closed her eyes to the sight. She spoke quietly, relieved to finally share what she’d know for days and days. “The last few days when I went in the woods by myself I was testing my touch against animals. That’s how I brought down that deer for dinner, not the claws. It still works…just not on you. I touched you tonight before I left, when you were...uh...asleep to confirm it.” She had the decency to look a bit ashamed of ambushing him after dinner.

“What are you s-” Rogue put one dirty glove on Wolverine’s lips, silencing him.

“You told me my mutation stopping taking yours as hard when I was injured, that I needed more touches to heal me...I was awake that last time” she whispered, referring to when after she’d woken up and smashed the drinking glass. Thinking she was asleep he’d held her face for many minutes. She’d held still and quiet and felt it all, his concern, his yet unrecognized love for her, the slow pulsing sensation of her mutation that eventually stilled entirely under his hand, leaving only a soft malaise on both of them.

She’d known then he’d changed her in so many ways and unconsciously allowed her to recognize his powers, his life, his feelings, everything he had was inextricably entwined within her, in her soul.

“It felt so…different. Like I had already everything of you, your memories, your thoughts, you power…everything you could give me...” She opened her eyes and the look in them stopped Wolverine’s heart, “…and I didn’t need any thing else. It stopped.”

“How?” His hand hovered over her cheek again, still not fully believing what she was saying.

“I didn’t know how to explain with words…it’s still hard to…” Her forehead creased thoughtfully as she sought for the right way to express it. “It’s like you are me.”

Wolverine’s mouth dropped open. That’s what I wanted to tell you Rogue.

“I don’t think my mutation recognizes you as ‘other’ anymore. Every part of me, my power, my mind...my heart…it sees you as a part of me now. Your touch feels as natural and safe as my own hand…” her eyes drifted open and her gaze was soft on his face. “You gave me more than either of us expected...more than anyone ever has.” She feathered a kiss over the fingers at her cheek and Wolverine’s eyes closed at the sensation.

It made sense, he hadn’t touched her bare skin long enough to notice any change to her mutations since that time. He’d just assumed it had recovered as fully as her body had.

“Why didn’t you say something before? Why’d you make me fight you tonight?” Wolverine pressed his forehead against hers, willing everything she said to be true.

She titled her head back and that mischievous grin reappeared. “Well sugah, I DID try to put the moves on you…twice. And that was a bust. I had to do something!”

“What?” He shook his head. He would have noticed if she’d…wait…

3...2...1...

I am fucking retarded.

“The clearing, after the buck, dumbass. What did you think I was doing? I was practically dry humping you!” She burst out laughing. “Oh my god, the look on your face was priceless.”She fanned her face. "Who knew you could scream like that? That was HOT."

Wolverine huffed and pushed her back and Rogue stumbled into the bike still giggling. “That wasn’t you. It was HIM.”

To her credit, Rogue didn’t flare up at being rudely shoved back. “Oh yes it was sugah. He is me, just as much as you are and I wouldn’t part with either of you for anything...the growly guy inside my head just…ah…helped me see things a little clearer.” She swaggered up to him again, refusing to be pushed aside, and leaned against him.

“He knows how much the smell of blood and the hunt turns you on sugah. And I got a little secret: gets me hot too.” The animal inside him growled with satisfaction. “The idea of hunting with you has been a little fantasy of mine for years,” she whispered in his ear, her warm breath causing his heart rate to spike. Taking her gloves off, Rogue laid her hands on both sides of Wolverine’s face, winding them through his muttonchops, teasing his ear with her lips.

He took a deep breath, drinking in the smell of her sweat, their combined blood, that smoky sweet scent that was all her own that drove him crazy, and as if it couldn’t get better…she was soaked in Kentucky bourbon.

There is a God and he really likes me.

Is that her tongue? Holy-

She was saying something. He figured it might be important so he tried to listen through the celebratory roaring in his head. “But you ran off.”

He blushed at the memory of that most un-Wolverine exit.

“The second time I tried to appeal to the man instead of the Wolverine, which backfired and upset both of us. Sooooo…this was plan C.” Rogue was now nibbling down his jaw line, and Wolverine convulsively grabbed her hips and dragged her against him roughly.

“Plan C?” he muttered, eyes rolling back in his head. Keep moving darlin, a little lower.

Rogue titled her head back and Wolverine growled a little at the loss of her lips against his skin. “Sugah, even before I got a little you running around in my head I knew a good cage match makes you angry as hell and horny as fuck, so I…” and she circled her hand to encapsulate the bar, the bike, them.

Devious…works for me. Wolverine inwardly shrugged and returned his attention to the feel of Rogue pressed against him and dragged one of her hands to his mouth and licked the bare palm in a slow, lazy circle. Her breath hitched in a satisfactory way and he smirked. Still got it. “I like plan C.”

“Oh reeeeeeaally?” she drawled. “How much?” Her dark chocolate eyes were deeply inviting, as was every inch of her that was pressed against him.

“Hold these,” he grunted and thrust the two bottles of whiskey at her.

“What the hell?” It was Rogue turn to look completely confused. One second she was tracing nice little patterns on Wolverine’s neck while his hands massaged her no-longer-sore bottom in a delightful way and the next he was several feet away and the only thing she had in her hands was booze.

Wolverine swung a leg over the bike and braced himself to kick start it. “Darlin, we gotta go. I ain’t giving any of those assholes,” jerking his head at the bar behind him, “a complimentary peep show.”

She grinned and swung her own leg over the motorcycle. “Wait!” she shouted just as the bike roared to life and Wolverine’s hand made to twist the throttle. “Uh…how am I supposed to hold on with these?” He held the two fifths of booze out to her sides so he could see them over his shoulder.

“You got 10 seconds to get creative,” he growled, extremely anxious to get on the road and back to the cabin ASAP. Rogue unzipped the front of her uniform, which gave Wolverine ample reason to raise one then both eyebrows until they almost disappeared into his hairline. She shoved one fifth into her cleavage and nestled the other one in between his thighs snugly up against his groin and secured it with one hand, wrapping the other one around his bare waist

God damn, she is perfect.

He pushed the bike to 80 intent on the road in front of him, willing the miles to pass faster, leaning over the handlebars. Rogue was whooping with pleasure into his back, the hand under his jacket playing over the muscles. She suddenly pinched his nipple hard and Wolverine swerved, causing the bike to wobble precariously before he straightened it back up.

“Nuh uh sugar! No killing us! Concentrate on the road!” Rogue yelled.

“Could concentrate if you kept your hands to yourself!” he snapped, but his tone didn’t do anything but encourage her uncovered roaming hand, which teased the side of his stomach, caressing, scratching, causing his nerves to spark and sizzle wherever her touch landed. He had to clench his jaw and steel himself against every stroke, despite the voice in his head snarling to pull over to the side of the road and bend her over the bike. When her free hand crept underneath the bottle and cupped him the speedometer hit 100mph and he breathed a silent prayer to the God he was sure now was a big Wolverine fan that no police cars appeared behind him.

God apparently was in a good mood and let them make it back in one piece. He jammed on the brake, causing the bike to slide to the side in a spray of gravel, and immediately jumped off the bike and reached for Rogue, sweeping her up into his arms and carrying her to the cabin door. She wriggled delightfully in his arms, allowing him to cup the side of one breast and nip at her throat when her arms went around his neck. He carried her up the porch and kicked the door open, settled her down on her feet then tipped her face up to his.

Finally.

Wolverine wrapped his arms around Rogue and crushed her to his chest, capturing her lips in a fiery kiss. She tasted even better than she smelled, if that was at all possible. Spice and sweetness, sweat, blood, liquor, all his favorite flavors rolled into the perfect woman. Rogue moaned into his mouth, unable to keep quiet the relief she felt at finally being in his arms the way she’d wanted for so long. His tongue crept forward between her lips and he savored every millimeter of the sweetness of her breath tinged with cigar smoke, the silkiness of her tongue, the blistering heat of her skin pressed against his face. Rogue, as enraptured as she was at Wolverine’s powerful desire for her knew it was not enough, she needed so much more. Even as she pressed every more fiercely against his lips, she dug her hands under his leather jacket and clawed it from him, then wrapped her arms around his back and pressed against him, clutching at his face, wanting only to drown in the feel of his lips on hers. For minutes, hours, several sun-filled days they clutched at each other, hands roaming to place before forbidden, exploring textures and curves and angles.

Rogue finally twined a hand in his hair and forced his head back roughly. “Not here,” she panted.

He looked down at her lust glazed eyes and shook himself. “Right…bed” and moved to sweep her legs up and carry her upstairs.

“No,” she pushed at his chest. He looked at her with an almost pained expression. “Not here, inside. Out there.” And she gestured to the still open door and the dark night. “Please.”

Anything you want.

“Anything?”

Oh shit, did I say that out loud?

She smirked at the expression on his face, took Wolverine’s hand and dragged him outside. “Anything I want?” Rogue’s tongue slicked over his bottom lip, then she latched her teeth onto it and bit down, not too hard but enough to make him growl into her mouth in approval at her actions.

Mmmm. Just like that.

She nibbled again and tugged on his lip. He ran his fingers through her hair, stroking the back of her neck, then traced the edge the collar of her uniform until his fingers found the zipper and he inched it down. Reaching to touch her Wolverine encountered the fifth of whiskey nestled in her cleavage.

Why don’t these come standard on all models? he thought hazily as he slipped the bottle out and dropped it to the floor with a thunk. His hand reached up again, half his mind on the amazing things her hands were doing to his head as she massaged her fingers through his hair, the intoxicating feelings swirling through mind at the sinful patterns she was drawing on bottom lip with her tongue and teeth, and the incredibly soft feel of the skin showing between her curve of her breasts.

Rogue nipped his lip sharply, drawing a hint of blood. “Nah-ah sugah…you gotta win the race to get the prize.” The look in her eyes was playful and positively smoked with desire. “You have to catch me first!” And she was gone, leaping over the railing and jetting towards the lake.

He grinned, licking blood of his lip. A little hunt?

Damn, she does have me in her head.

The idea of chasing her through the wood, trapping her, and stripping her of all that leather was exhilarating. He growled loudly in answer to her challenge, evoking a faint laugh as she ran.

You can’t out run the Wolverine darlin. You don't even want to try.

And he vaulted off the porch and began the pursuit, intent on making this hunt as pleasurable for her and he knew it would be for him. Admittedly, Rogue didn’t try very hard to evade capture, but she gave a half-hearted effort anyways as she knew the thrill of the chase would only ramp up both their lust in a most primal way, ensuring both would be victors at the end.

He tracked her to the far side of the lake, the strong scent of bourbon, sweat, and blood impossible to miss. He lost her twice when she doubled back, but her soft laughter floating through the forest enticed him onward, a siren’s call he could not resist any longer. And there she was perched lightly on a tree limb, hunkered down and balancing on her boot tips and fingers as she looked down at him, eyes glimmering from the shadows.

“Tag, you’re it,” he growled as Rogue sprang lightly to the ground, before doing a tidy handspring backwards to land in a feral crouch near the lake’s edge. Wolverine eyed her appreciatively, all leather and lust.

Lethal combination of the best kind he though to himself, admiring every inch of her, especially the lowered zipper of her uniform and the white gleam of promising flesh beneath it.

“Enough games Rogue, come here,” he growled, his voice low and menacing as he stalked towards her, unleashing his claws.

Rogue unleashed a set of her own. “I’m not playing, bub,” her tone was light but her eyes smoldered, all games behind them, and she held out a hand to stop his forward progress. Wolverine crouched, radiating tension from every fiber as he watched Rogue slid her hands delicately over her body, white exposed bone glimmering in the half light of the moon. She brought claw one to the loop at the zipper to her outfit, hooked it on one ivory tip and dragged it slowly down, showing him everything he’d stupidly missed out on for years. Her flesh was pearly opalescent in the night, glowing like a white flame that warmed his blood to the boiling point. She unzipped down to where he saw lacy panties peeking from low under her navel.

Wolverine swallowed hard, but stilled himself at the look in Rogue’s eye when he started forward. Rogue raised her right hand and trailed it over her left shoulder slicing through the sleeve as easily as if it were silk, stripping it from her body slowly in an unwinding ribbon of leather. She repeated the gesture with the right sleeve, then bent over, offering Wolverine an incomprehensible amount of cleavage before she ran both sets of delicate, but razor sharp, claws up the seams of her leather pants then the rest of her uniform, slicing it away from her body until she was naked except for her knee high combat boots in front of him. No more games, no more chases. The thrill of the capture flashed in her eyes.

“Rogue-“

She held up a finger. “Marie.”

He hadn’t called her that in years, not since she’d formally joined the X-men and insisted her code name was the only one she’d answer too.

My Marie, only mine.

He swallowed hard, the vision of her in front of him almost blinding in its perfection, every surface gilded in moonlight. She seemed to glow from within, a pure streak of light illuminating his previously dark life. “Marie.” Her name dropped as a reverent whisper from his lips and she smiled softly and stepped towards him. He brought his hands towards her and she shook her head, freezing him once more. Without caution, but an immeasurable amount of skill that made his breath hitch in his chest, Rogue sliced Wolverine’s jeans from his body leaving him naked. She leaned towards him, her near touch raising every hair on his body to attention as she whispered in his ear and his hands rose to carefully trace her arms, his claws carefully skimming her skin, raising goosebump in their wake.

Marie shivered in his arms, her breath gentle on his face. “Logan.“

This time he rested the blunt edge of a claw on her lips.

“James.” His eyes were dark and serious, boring into hers. He knew his memories in her would tell her what this was, how sacred a thing it was to share with her.

Marie’s eyes widened. She knew Logan wasn’t his given name, but he’d never told her or anyone else it before, and she never tried to pry it from his memories as she’d assumed even he didn’t know what it was. She recognized it for what it was: a part of him he’d never shared with anyone until now.

The ultimate gift.

She swayed into him, rocked by the trust he was placing in her, and murmured into his lips, “James…please...please touch me.” Her voice fell on his ears, a fervent prayer, a sibilant thanks that she was finally being granted what she’d so longer for. James felt a shiver roll through his body at the sound of his true name on the lips of the woman he loved, had always loved. And he knew he’d found his true mate, his only mate. His Marie.