I'll bet you've never seen Central Park in the middle of a fuckin' thunderstorm.

There's hardly anyone around, even though it's barely noon. And thank God, too -- people get stupid in a hurry when they're cold and wet, and they do stupid things that make me want to pop the claws. Like driving entirely too fucking fast and then nearly skidding into my truck when they try to pass me. Or walking right into me during a downpour because they're too worried about getting water on their glasses to risk looking up.

I found her car about fifteen minutes ago. And I could tell I'm not too far behind her, because the engine was still warm, giving off a few quiet ticks and pings as it cooled. I stood there just long enough to get a sense of where she'd headed, and then I began following her trail toward the heart of the park. Lightening streaked the sky, a boom of thunder followed moments later, and the storm broke overhead while I struggled to keep track of her scent.

The rain's really coming down now, sheet after sheet of it, drenching the earth and everything in sight. Individual scents -- people, animals, food, wet soil -- they're all mixing together now, washing away, and tracking someone in this shit ain't exactly easy.

There's a knot of anticipation twisting in the pit of my stomach, a tightness in my chest bordering on pain. And that's probably not helping anything, either.

I've nearly lost her scent several times now. Whenever someone passes by too closely, smelling like damp wool, wet hair and whatever they had for lunch, I lose track of her for a second or so. Then I catch a hint of her on the wind, only to have that same wind suddenly shift a different direction, leaving me with nothing to go on.

She wants me to find her, there's no doubt in my mind. I taught her how to lose herself in a forest, how to camouflage her presence and cover her tracks. Trained her for nearly an entire summer, until she learned enough to nearly lose me when I tracked her through the woods around the school. She's using none of those skills now. In fact, she seems to be doing everything possible to leave as obvious a trail as she can.

On a clear day I would have found her a little under ten minutes ago, despite the thousands of differing scent trails throughout the park. The storm's made it much more difficult, but not impossible. It's just going to take me longer than usual.

Fucking rain.

A familiar sound catches my attention. It's soft, almost lost between the howling wind and the pounding rain, but I can hear it clearly now that I'm listening.

The sound is to the right of me, from somewhere beyond that thick cluster of trees.

Marie.

And she's laughing.

---

She went searching for answers a week ago. Just as soon as she could think around her hangover and walk without falling right over.

We didn't talk much, the night before, after we got back to the school. What else was there to say, really? Besides, by the time we got past security at the front gate, and then around to the back of the mansion so we could go in through the kitchen doors, she was nearly half-asleep.

She had trouble getting off the bike, and even more trouble standing in her heeled boots. She gripped the edges of my jacket in her gloved hands, swaying on her feet as I gently pulled the helmet off her head. Before I could warn her, she started shaking her hair out, only to stop abruptly, eyes widening. She let go of my jacket immediately and clutched at her stomach with one hand, covering her mouth with the other.

Marie turned and stumbled toward the door, but there was no way in hell she'd make it in time. It was a wonder we made it to the bushes. She doubled over, braced her hands on her thighs, and I swear to God, up came everything she ever ate or drank in her entire life.

I kept her hair away from her face and out of the mess, holding it up behind her head, and I rubbed her back until she started hitting at me with a flailing hand.

"Don't look at me," she croaked out. I didn't move away or let her go, and she groaned, clearly embarrassed, and she pushed at my leg. "I don't want you to see this."

"Too bad, darlin'." Truth be told, I didn't particularly want to see it, either. And I really didn't want to smell it. She didn't need to hear that, though. "I'm not going anywhere."

That took the fight out of her. She leaned her weight against me while she tried to catch her breath between heaves.

"I would have thought you'd be happy to leave me out here."

I shook my head and started rubbing her back again. "We fought. It happens. Doesn't mean I'm done with you." I let that soak into her thick head for a moment. "It don't work like that."

She took a deep breath, but no answer came. Instead, she gave the bush another good coating. We waited a little while to see if there was anything else her body felt like tossing out, but that seemed to be the last of it.

When she straightened up, she leaned so heavily against me it was a wonder she kept her feet under her. I got an arm around her back as we made our way to the door, and I managed to keep her upright while I entered the security code into the keypad.

Once inside with the door locked behind us, I leaned down to get an arm behind her knees. She figured out what I was doing just in time to get an arm around my neck, and she gave this kind of 'urp' sound when I lifted her off the ground.

I didn't trust that 'urp' sound. Not with her face that close to my neck.

I carried her -- quickly -- through the kitchen, down several corridors, and up a flight of stairs to her dorm. I gave the door a few swift kicks, and Jubilee opened it to let us in. Then she immediately backed away once she caught a whiff of Marie.

Kitty was still up, too, sitting on Jubilee's bed with a bag of chips in her lap. She stared at us as if she were watching some fucking movie, sighing deeply when Marie tried to bury her face against my shoulder. Kitty didn't quite grasp that Marie was more interested in hiding from the overhead light than she was in getting closer to me.

I headed for her bed in the corner of the room, leaning down to ease her to the mattress. She clung to me for a few seconds before letting go, and fought me a little when I pulled her arms out of her jacket and stripped off her gloves.

"Careful," she mumbled, half out of it. "My skin -- too close -- be careful of my --"

"Can it, would ya? God."

Behind me, both girls gasped, probably in outrage or something. On the bed, Marie watched me with heavy-lidded, sleepy eyes while I untied her boots and slipped them off her feet.

"Logan."

"What?"

She bit her lower lip, staring up at me while I grabbed her blankets and covered her up. When she still didn't say anything, I sat beside her on the mattress. "You gonna spit it out?"

"I . . . forgot what I was going to say." She blinked a few times, wrinkling her nose. "I think it was important," she added, sounding slightly pissed.

She looked so frustrated, I couldn't help laughing at her. "You should drink some water," I told her. "I'll have Jubilee get you a glass when I leave."

"No, I don't want anything to drink," she said, shaking her head carefully. "Ever."

I didn't blame her. Not after seeing her throw up the entire content of her stomach and then some. "You need to keep hydrated, Marie. Take some aspirin, too."

"Don't want any water."

"You're gonna wake up in hell tomorrow," I warned her. "If you have some water now, it'll be easier for you."

"No!"

I shrugged. Her choice, her mistake to make. "It's your headache," I said, and stood to leave. It looked like she was a second or so from sleep, but she grabbed my sleeve to stop me.

"Wait! Logan!"

"Yeah?"

"I remember what I was going to tell you," she said, suddenly wide awake.

"What, darlin'?"

"I'm sorry," she blurted out, breathing deeply. "For earlier. Logan, I . . . I'm . . . "

I crouched down beside her bed, and took her bare hand in my gloved one. I knew she was just as disappointed with herself for what happened back at the bar, just as frustrated and angry as I was. Probably even more so.

"Hush. We'll get it worked out, Marie."

"Really?"

"I hope so." Couldn't lie. "You need to go to sleep. You're gonna have a pretty tough morning."

She mulled that for a moment. "Are you going to be here tomorrow?"

"For fuck's sake, where do you think --" I stopped before I could say anything else, reminding myself that she only wanted reassurance. "I'll be here tomorrow. I have things I need to do, and I might not be around for a little while, but I wouldn't leave without telling you, kid. You oughta know that by now."

"I do. I just . . . good night, Logan."

"Good night."

I squeezed her hand and let it go, and watched as she folded it up against her chest. Her fingers traced her collarbone, as if searching for something.

Turning away from her, I found Kitty and Jubilee staring at me. Not even bothering to pretend they weren't listening. Jubilee blinked first, opened her mouth to say something, and I pointed at the two of them.

"Don't."

I didn't stop by and check on her the next day, figuring she'd spend the morning sleeping off her hangover and wishing she would die. I wasn't too sure she'd want to see anyone, let alone me, the man responsible for introducing her to bourbon in the first place.

And I wanted to leave her alone, just let her be for awhile. Give her time to think.

I lasted until nearly noon before I went to her room. I spent the morning in the library, writing out a report for Xavier covering my last trip, and I'd brought it with me for Kitty to type up. What I really wanted, though, was to see if Marie was alive and kicking yet.

The suite was empty when I knocked, the door unlocked when I tried it. No one was there. I left the report on Kitty's bed, and then I went over to Marie's corner of the room. I didn't think she'd feel up to leaving her room, or hell, her bed, so I was surprised to find her gone. Her pillow held only the last of her lingering warmth when I laid a hand on it -- she hadn't been there for at least a half hour.

I thought about leaving her a note, saying I'd come by, that I'd be back later. I decided against it, thinking I'd let her come find me when she wanted, and left.

There were things I needed to get done in town, but I'd left my jacket on my bed, so I headed back to get it before I left.

Thirty feet from my room, I saw the door was hanging nearly wide-open. Realized I'd been following a fresh trail, all the way from her room to mine. My stomach twisted, clenching tight, and I knew without a doubt who and what I'd find inside.

Marie. Sitting on the floor, her back to me. Going through my things.

I always knew it could happen. She slept in my bed more often than not when I was gone, did her reading for class in here. Felt free enough to steal cigars from me. I knew, each time I left, that this might be the time she got curious. That she might go looking, dig deep, and find everything.

Strewn all across the carpet were things I've kept over the past several years. An old leather cigar case was sitting open by her knee, and it looked like she'd pulled everything out of it. All the letters she wrote me, kept in order and tied together with string. A watch she gave me for Christmas years ago, which I never wore but couldn't bring myself to throw away.

Pictures were scattered around her in small piles, and I couldn't even begin to imagine what she thought when she saw them. Photos of herself, one after the other, taken by Jubilee at dances and parties, on graduation day and summer trips. All mixed in with shots of her doing nothing but living her life.

She didn't seem to hear me enter the room and shut the door quietly. I leaned against the closet door and watched her for several long minutes. On the floor between her knees was another case, one she'd broken into, and inside she'd found an old pair of her gloves. She had one tugged on, the fit looking a little tight, and I wondered if she ever did remember leaving them in my bed.

I could only guess at what she must be thinking. Her face was blank with utter shock.

"Found it, huh?"

She didn't jump at the sound of my voice, didn't jerk around toward me. She only glanced at me briefly before turning back to the box and everything I had kept inside it. I walked over to her and crouched behind her, leaning lightly against her back as I reached around to hunt through the case.

A phone card for fifty minutes of international call time, used in its entirety on Christmas morning the year she'd turned eighteen. She'd chattered on and on about how happy she was at the mansion, but after awhile she brought up her family in Mississippi. And how she wondered if they ever still thought of her. When I told her that we only had thirty seconds left, she said she missed me and that she wanted me to know how much it meant to her that I'd called. I was cut off before I could say anything, before I could tell her that I missed her, too.

Ticket stubs from a play we'd seen in New York for her eighteenth birthday, because I missed the party by two days and she was upset I hadn't made it in time. I bought her ice cream afterward and we ate it at midnight in Central Park, and she said she'd only forgive me, finally, if I let her have a bite of mine. I told her I'd have to think about it, because the cookie dough was really just that good. She turned the big eyes on me then and before I knew it I was eating chocolate chunk and she was licking happily away at the cookie dough.

There were other little things in the case, other mementos I've tucked inside and locked away. Things that mean nothing to most people, that mean everything to me.

Like a thin strip of cheap paper with a fortune printed on it -- 'Your love is wrapped in careful layers.' Nonsense to anyone else, but I kept it and didn't read it to her. She hadn't liked her own fortune after breaking the cookie open and wanted to switch. I told her I didn't think fortunes worked that way, and that was one time the big eyes didn't work.

I picked up a few pictures and studied them, each smile and arched eyebrow familiar, and I got lost in a few more memories before dropping them back into the box. Her heart was beating wildly, I could feel it against my chest. I wondered if she could feel my heart beating, just as hard, against her back.

I'm not exactly what you'd call the most sentimental man on the planet, but there's a reason I like holding on to all these things, all this useless stuff. These keepsakes remind me of Marie, and the first good times I can recall after forgetting an entire lifetime of memories.

"I don't understand." Whisper quiet, booming in the silence. And surely she did understand, at least a little, with the evidence all around her. "I mean, do you need an engraved invitation or something? I haven't been obvious enough, or blatant enough, or were you waiting for me to strip naked and sit on your bed in some cheap centerfold pose to wait for you?" She took a breath, hands clenching tighter in her lap. "Would that have gotten the point across better?"

"If you had, at least I'd know you weren't scared of being touched."

I didn't pull back and let her go when she stiffened against me. I continued sifting through the items in the case while she thought about it, while she figured it out on her own.

Her response was a long time coming. "It's not that simple," she said, more than a little defensive.

"It is that simple. You want it to be some issue that can't be fixed without divine intervention or some crap like that," I told her, surprised she wasn't already denying it. "And for while there, you didn't think like that -- you didn't make it the center of your universe and the axis on which everything had to turn."

I reached for the glove left draped over the side of the case, picking it up. "And I find these in my room," I continued, deciding not to let her know I found them not just in my room, but my bed. "Granted, it was a nice thought if you did it deliberately, but four hours later I knew you hadn't. You slept with them on, when you were alone, in here. When you couldn't touch anything or hurt anyone."

I let go of the glove, let it fall back in among the other memories. Her breath hitched in her throat but she didn't say anything, didn't pull away.

"So I try to find out what the fuck happened that made you so scared and no one knew for sure, though the first indicator was around the time you and your little boyfriend parted ways. And at first, I thought he'd done somethin' to scare you or hurt you --" Thank God he didn't, because I'd have ripped his head off and handed it to him. "And your buddy Jubilation caught me stalking the poor kid outside and dragged me back in and asked for an explanation.

Jubilee actually hopped on my back when I got in Bobby's face. The kid disappeared while I was distracted, slipped away and ran off while I pulled the annoying little yellow thing off me. Once we were both calmed down enough to talk, she demanded to know what the fuck it was I thought I was doing.

I told her I didn't like it when Marie's feelings were hurt, and that I'd taken the kid aside and warned the little fucker when I first noticed the two of them makin' eyes at one another. She shook her head, telling me I had it all wrong.

Jubilee spilled it all quickly. Said things were going fine between them until they started getting closer. Then Marie started wearing my tags again, even though Bobby didn't like that too well. And it was Marie that broke up with Bobby. Not the other way around.

"She told me that nothing had happened," I said. "And that was the whole problem."

Marie leaned a little more heavily against me, listening to everything I said, fingers shaking in her lap. I took her bare hand in my gloved one, turning it so I could run my thumb across the lines etched along her palm.

"Nothing happened, did it?" I asked her, almost gently.

I waited long moments for her answer.

"No."

"And I considered that it was other people you couldn't trust," I went on. "And I tried to make you see that you could. It took me awhile to work it out -- it wasn't that you didn't trust anyone else, you go to a school for mutants, so they know the score, right? It was you. And I could deal with you being afraid of other people," I told her, doing my best not to sound as frustrated as I felt. "But how the hell do I get into your head to figure out how to fix you being afraid of yourself?

I let her hand go after a minute, and pulled my arm back, resting my elbow on my thigh.

"I'm not a kid anymore," she informed me, voice shaking slightly. "I don't need you to fix me."

I took a deep breath and let it out, holding on to my patience. She leaned back against me, head turning slightly toward mine, and I knew she wasn't nearly so defensive as she sounded.

"You're so young, Marie," I said softly, near her ear. "And I forgot that."

I stood up then, and grabbed my jacket off the end of the bed.

And I left her there so she could think -- about what she'd gone looking for in the first place, and about what she found instead.

---

I'll bet you've never seen such a beautiful sight.

Marie's standing in the middle of a small clearing, cloak lying in a shapeless heap on the ground nearby. She's wearing a plain t-shirt and jeans and they're utterly drenched, clinging wetly to her every curve like a second skin. Her hair's hanging down over her shoulders in thick, heavy strings.

She's got her face turned up toward the sky, giving another little giggle as she spins slowly in place, arms outstretched. The few people passing on the sidewalks look up from under their umbrellas just long enough to stare at her as if she's completely lost it.

And honestly, it don't look like Marie gives a flying fuck what anyone thinks of her right now.

While I watch, she wraps her fingers around the end of her flimsy scarf and tugs it free from her neck. Water-logged, it floats to the ground and she stares at it, watching it fall.

In the past few years, I don't think I've ever seen her wear the same scarf twice in the same month. She has more scarves in more varieties and colors than I ever thought possible. Sturdy cotton in brown, like the one around her neck the first time I laid eyes on her. Thick wool in forest green, actually worn in order to keep warm a time or two. Sheer silk in pale pink, so thin you can hardly tell you're not actually touching her soft, warm skin.

She has scarves to match everything she wears. She's incorporated them into her everyday wardrobe like someone else might remember to wear socks that go together.

She's worn scarves so often for so long now, she doesn't look quite like Marie without one.

Thunder rolls through the park, shaking the ground beneath my feet.

She steps on the scarf.

---

Later that evening, I went looking for Marie when she didn't come to dinner. It's not like her to miss a meal, especially when it's pasta of any sort.

She wasn't in my room, she wasn't in her own room, and beyond that I didn't want to do a search on my own. The school is enormous and there are hundreds of people living in it that double back and retrace their own tracks a dozen times a day; it was much quicker, popping into the security control room and scanning the bank of monitors until I spotted her.

Since I had to pass by the main kitchens to get to her anyway, I stopped to ask one of the cooks if she could make up another plate for me. I know all the cooks pretty well, and some are nicer than others. If I go back for seconds or ask to take something with me when I leave the school, I usually try to ask the redhead. For the life of me, though, I can never remember her name. Melinda? Morgan? M something.

I waited for her to notice me standing there instead of calling her the wrong name. Truly, nothing pisses off a woman more. Try it.

"What can I do for you, Logan? Still hungry?"

"Could you make me up another plate of whatever that was?"

She laughed, her smile brightening her entire face. "Pasta. Alfredo. With grilled chicken breasts. Green beans. Seriously, do you not look at what you eat, or slow down enough to taste it?"

She filled a plate as she spoke and I snagged a beer out of the bottom of the refrigerator. I grabbed a fork out of the drawer along with a paper towel. "Thanks . . . " I looked at her, still drawing a blank.

"Emily!"

Shit. "Sorry." I took the dish before she threw it at me.

Marie was out on one of the mansion's many porches, sitting at the end of a glider. She had one leg tucked up under the other on the seat, slowly rocking the swing with the ball of her foot. Her hair was a mass of brown and white twisted up behind her head and secured there with a clip, tendrils falling free in several places.

There were dark circles under her eyes, and it looked as though she'd fallen out of bed directly into a pile of laundry, putting on the first pair of jeans and t-shirt she landed on. An unbuttoned flannel shirt over the whole thing; it covered her from neck to well past the tips of her fingers, not surprising since the shirt was actually mine. I hadn't noticed, earlier. I was worried about other things.

She didn't look up as I approached. She was too busy reading a letter from the case she'd brought out with her.

"You look like shit, darlin'."

Her mouth quirked a little at that, but her eyes remained on the letter. "I feel like shit. Which birthday of mine is Ororo talking about in this letter she sent to you in Tokyo?"

"Nineteen. Put that down, would ya? I brought you something to eat." That got her attention and she looked up at me. And blinked in surprise.

She folded the letter back up and tucked it in its envelope, and set it with the others in the case. "I missed dinner?"

"Just by a little while." More than two hours ago. "You been out here stewin' all day?"

"Yeah," she answered, taking the plate. "And there are things I still don't understand." I handed her the paper towels and the fork after she tucked both legs up under herself and got comfortable. "Thank you."

"Not a problem." I took the case and put it on the floor so I had room to sit. The glider creaked loudly beneath me. Damned delicate furniture.

She reached for the bottle in my hand. "Did you bring the beer for me?"

"Yes," I said, and popped the top off. There were still some things she didn't understand, eh? I took a long pull off the bottle. "We'll share."

"Hmph."

I stretched my arm out along the back of the glider and brought an ankle up to rest on the other knee. She took the beer from me anyway.

"So," she began, and concentrated on twirling strands of noodles around the tines of her fork. "I have some questions."

"Yeah?"

"Well, it pretty much all boils down to three or four, really."

I could only imagine what those might be. "Shoot."

She ate a few bites first, had a few sips from the bottle. Took a deep breath. "Why didn't you ever say anything?"

"About what?"

"About having . . . I mean, that you . . . urg." She stopped herself and took another deep breath, poking the food around on her plate with her fork. "I used to think I embarrassed you. By following you around when you were here, by wanting to spend every single possible moment with you. I knew people laughed about it, I knew you were teased about having a puppy. And I thought that maybe you'd come back more often, stay longer, you know, if I just left you alone."

God, I felt awful. "I won't lie and say you never made me uncomfortable, the first year or so I knew you," I began, and her shoulders sank a little at the words. "You were so young, still in high school, and everything I said or did with you was watched. By everyone. And it was hard sometimes, trying to figure out how to pay attention to you without leading you on or hurting your feelings."

"Oh."

"Marie," I said, and waited until she looked at me.

"What?" A little testy, and I smiled.

"You were only part of the reason I left and stayed away so long between visits. I had things I needed to do, you know that," I said. "But if anything, you were always the biggest reason I came back. Especially as you grew older."

I thought that would make her feel better, but if anything, that only upset her more. "Why didn't you ever tell me? For years you let me go around believing you saw me as your little sister or something --"

"Actually, you came up with that one on your own."

"-- and all along, all this time I've spent mooning over you and dreaming of being together, you've been . . . I don't know, picking up scrunchies I've dropped on picnics or something, locking them away in the back of your closet. And not letting me know a damn thing about how you felt," she said, getting angrier by the second. "You should have . . . God. You should have told me."

"And said what, exactly? Christ, Marie." I shook my head, and took the beer from her lax fingers. "You were barely eighteen years old when I first started seeing . . . I don't know. Flashes of the woman you'd become. I saw who Rogue would be, who Rogue could be, and I wanted her. I was willing to wait for her. How could I have explained that?"

"I don't know," she whispered, eyes wide. "You could have tried."

"And I would have scared you." Didn't she see that? "Besides, you'd fallen so hard for the idea of me, for the hero version of me you created in your head, you probably would have listened to what I said and heard something else entirely."

"But --"

"You weren't ready to know how I felt. I wasn't ready to tell you."

She thought about that for a moment, wrapping more pasta around and around her fork. "You've been waiting for me," she finally said, voice soft and wondering.

"I'm still waiting." She looked up again at that, surprised. "You're not quite there yet."

That pissed her off. "How do you know if I am or not? Don't you think I'd know?"

I reached out to brush the tendrils of hair away from her face and she flinched, hard, before she could stop herself.

She took a breath and I dropped my hand.

"That's how I know."

Marie set the plate down on the floor beside her ankle. "So it's about touching?" she asked, upset. "That's the test?"

"No," I answered. "It's about being unafraid to be close to someone, and I'm not just talking about sex here. If you let yourself touch and be touched, you'd risk getting injured or injuring someone else. You tell yourself you cover up and keep yourself apart from everyone because you're dangerous. I think it's because if you cared for someone and let them care about you, you might get hurt and you might hurt someone in return. And that's got you scared shitless."

There were angry tears in her eyes by the time I finished. "What makes you so sure?"

I got her hand in my gloved one, squeezed it gently. "You've been asking the wrong questions, Marie," I said quietly. "Ask me why I've kept every letter you ever wrote me. Ask me why I've saved tickets and postcards and pictures of you."

Silence.

"Ask me why I've kept your gloves."

She stared at me, mouth forming voiceless words. Tears welled and the silence stretched on and on.

Her fingers gripped mine tightly and I rubbed my thumb back and forth across her wrist, the pulse strong enough to be felt through a layer of leather. She wasn't going to ask but her eyes said she wanted to know. "It's because I lo --"

"Stop!"

I let her hand go and took a long drink of beer. I hardly tasted it. Disappointment surged through me, heart sinking, and beside me on the glider she began to cry.

I set the bottle on the ground and slipped my arm off the back of the glider, slipped it around her shoulders instead. "C'mere," I said, and pulled her up against me. She laid her cheek against my chest and I gathered her close, resting my chin on top of her head.

We sat like that for quite awhile. I kept the glider rocking slowly, gently, and eventually her shaking slowed to nothing.

Marie sniffled a little and I could feel where she'd soaked my shirt with her tears.

"I don't want to be afraid," she said.

And that was half the battle won, right there.

---

I'll bet you never felt warm standing in the middle of a cold rain.

Marie jerks the hem of her blouse up, pulling it free from the wet t-shirt left beneath, and lifts it over her head. She tosses it to the ground, and stands there looking at the damp skin of her own bare arms.

Bringing her hands up slowly, she stares at the black leather, at the gloves she's rarely been without since she left Meridian and the life she knew there. Then she starts tugging on the wet material covering her fingers.

She strips off her gloves while I watch, and drops them on the ground. Grinning, she steps on one, then the other, stomping them into the mud. Joggers run by, slowing as they pass her, and she raises a pale white hand to wave at them.

"Marie."

She laughs as she turns toward me, like she's been waiting for me, like she knew I'd find her all along. Wet hair falls in her face but it can't hide her smile, or the sparkle in her eyes as she spots me between the trees.

I linger at the tree line, pretty much protected from the rain. "What the fuck are you doing out here?"

"When'd you get back?" she asks, giggling at me. "How'd you find me?"

I guess I'm staring, but that drenched little t-shirt doesn't hide much, including the fact that she's cold. The wet denim of her jeans clings to the curve of her hips, hugs the sleek length of her thighs, and I'll be damned if I've ever wanted anyone the way I want her now.

"Got back an hour ago and followed the route of your car, baby." She's probably wondering what took my ass so long to get here. "I could find you anywhere."

Marie doesn't respond. She's too busy kicking off her heavy boots, adding them to the circle of discarded clothes surrounding her. Water swamps her socks and soaks them instantly, and while I watch she squishes her toes into the muddy ground. That's not enough, though, because then she squirms around and manages to get a sock off her small, white foot.

"I'm assumin' here -- and it's a stretch, darlin' -- that you left that obvious a trail for a reason." I lean my shoulder against a tree and watch as she dips her big toe into a puddle of water. She looks utterly delighted with the sensation. "You wanna share why we're in Central Park in the middle of a damned storm?"

"Not really."

She gets the other sock off, kicking it away, and then jumps. She lands in the center of another puddle, giggling, and water splashes up her legs. She looks over at me, smiling. "Lose some clothes there, sugar," she calls out over the roar of the rain. "Wet leather ain't that much fun -- I just discovered that with wet wool."

Marie pokes at the heap of her water-logged cloak with her toes. She watches me, and for the first time since I can remember, I can't tell what's going on inside her just by looking at her face. No matter how deeply I search her big brown eyes, she gives nothing away, and I don't have the first clue as to what she's thinking.

Her smile grows wider by the second as we stare at one another.

"Do it, Logan."

So I take off my jacket.

---

Five days ago, Xavier got wind of a Sabretooth sighting.

We knew he wasn't dead, we've known for quite awhile now . He'd been keeping to himself for the past several years, living in a cabin up in Adirondacks and pretty much staying far away from populated areas.

Until he was spotted a week or so ago, entering a warehouse in downtown Detroit.

Unsettling, sure, and certainly suspicious, but I wondered why Xavier thought it necessary to gather the entire alpha team together to discuss it. And then, up on the wall-sized screen behind him, he displayed surveillance photos of other former members of the Brotherhood entering the same warehouse.

The series of photos ended with a single shot of an average-looking man in the process of shifting into something with blue scaly skin. Mystique.

It was decided, after very little discussion, that I would go alone to investigate what kind of shit they were up to now. If I were to be discovered digging around -- and Sabretooth's got senses just as sharp as mine -- I'd have a far better chance making it out alive than anyone else. Cyke wasn't too thrilled about being left out of the fun, and neither were Jeannie or Ororo, but Xavier had other plans for them.

The meeting ended and Jeannie caught my arm as I was about to leave. "I'd like to talk to you for a moment," she said. "Alone?"

I followed her to her private office. I'd figured this was coming -- I'd seen it in her eyes the night I got Marie's room number from her. She had concerns. And she clearly wanted to tell me all about them.

The door had barely closed behind us when Jean got right to it.

"She's too young for you, Logan."

"She's twenty-one," I pointed out, making an effort not to grit my teeth. "And it ain't any of your business."

Her eyes narrowed at that. "I'm concerned for her. That makes it my business."

"Like hell it does."

"She's going to get hurt," Jean said, and it looked as though she honestly believed what she was saying. "She's just not ready, you know it as well as I do. Anyone can see it."

The conversation went downhill from there. We kept repeating ourselves and talking in circles. By the end of it, the whole thing had escalated into yelling at one another and frankly, it was eating into time I could have been spending with Marie before I had to leave for Michigan.

I left Jean's office, letting the door slam shut behind me, and I headed for my room to pack, stopping long enough to pick up a packet of information Xavier had ready for me.

Marie was lying on the bed when I got there, a thick novel in her gloved hands. She looked up from her reading, surprised to see me, and smiled. "Hey," she said, and began to put her book away. "What's up?"

"Trouble," I answered as I opened the closet to grab my duffle bag off the floor. I brought it over to the bed and dropped it beside her while she slowly sat up. "I've got to leave for a several days, maybe a week."

"When?"

"Just as soon as I get packed."

She didn't ask where I was going, or why; she's been in training far too long for that. I wouldn't have said anything even if she did, because she was already worried enough without even knowing the details.

I was actually kind of excited about the whole thing. I enjoy beating the shit out of stupid mutants, especially the ones with dumbass plans to conquer something. But damn, the timing couldn't have sucked more -- just when we were starting to get shit worked out between us, I end up having to leave for a little while.

On the other hand, I thought it might be for the better. Maybe time away from me would give her room to breathe and time to think.

Marie sat quietly for awhile, watching me pull clothes out of the dresser. I tossed shirts toward the duffle bag, along with socks, underwear, a few pairs of jeans and a sweater.

"I don't want you to go."

She told me that the very first time I left, in just the same way -- phrasing it so she wasn't actually asking me to stay but instead just letting me know she didn't want me to leave.

"It's just a mission." I grabbed a shaving kit out of the bathroom and tossed it on the bed along with everything else. "Won't take long," I told her. "I'll be back."

Marie started packing everything into the bag. "I don't want you to go," she said again, a slight tremble to her voice.

Having someone give a rat's ass about my personal safety still throws me a little, even after four years. I don't think I'll ever get used to it.

It's nice. Knowing there's someone out there who thinks about you when you're gone, hoping you're all right -- before Marie stowed away in my trailer, I never knew what it felt like to have someone actually care about what happened to me.

I like it.

I grabbed a few more things out of the closet and brought them over to the bed. She had everything packed inside the bag already, and she was far too busy studying its contents to look at me.

"You worry too much, darlin'."

"Yeah," she answered, deceptively light. "I guess if you can survive me, you can survive anything."

I sat beside her and added a few more items to the duffle bag, then zipped it up and dropped it on the floor. She was wringing her bare hands and I took them from her lap. When the leather of my gloves touched her skin she hardly stiffened at all.

"I'll be fine," I told her quietly, giving her fingers a strong squeeze.

Her lower lip trembled with the effort it took not to burst into tears, and then she crawled into my lap, getting her bare hands around me to press flat against my shoulder blades. I wrapped my arms tightly around her shaking body, holding her close, and she tucked her head beneath my chin.

My hands moved over her back in long, soothing strokes while she sniffed back tears. I couldn't resist teasing her a little -- she'd been more emotional in the last several days than she's been in good long while, which I knew irritated her. "You're pretty when you cry, darlin'." She shook her head quickly.

"I'm not crying." She must have noticed the way she sounded all but choked on her own tears, because she cleared her throat immediately after saying it.

"Sure you're not." I slid my hands up over her back and into her hair, tilting her head back to look at her damp face. "Don't worry. I'll be back in one piece. Maybe carve you a new pair of gloves out of the son of a bitch causing problems this time," I said, and smiled at her. "You like Sabretooth's hide?"

She smiled back, giving a strangled little giggle that made me feel better about leaving. I moved her around a little, and dropped her back on the bed while I got to my feet. Lifting the bag, I turned and headed for the door, stopping long enough to glance back at her.

"I stocked up on cigars, baby." I felt a smile tugging at the corners of my mouth. "Feel free."

I shut the door behind me, shouldering the duffle bag as I walked down the hall. I knew she'd worry about me the entire time I was gone, knew she'd smoke my cigars and go through some more of my things. I knew without a doubt she'd sleep in my bed.

What I didn't know until right then was just how much I looked forward to coming back. Because I wasn't even thirty feet away from Marie and I missed her already.

---

I'll bet you never got everything you've ever dreamed of.

She watches my face, bouncing slightly on the balls of her bare feet, and it's all I can do not to grin at how demanding she's being.

I peel off my jacket, the wet leather trying to cling, and I toss it on the ground. I wonder what she'll ask me to strip off next.

"There's this great thing called roofs," I tell her, trying to frown as she skips closer. "Created to keep out of stuff like this. For a reason."

"Be a man, sugar, take a little water." She finally closes the gap between us, giggling, and I reach out to push aside the wet hair that's fallen in her face. She doesn't stiffen even the slightest bit when my fingers brush her bare skin. "You're not getting the full effect," she says, leaning into the touch. "Get out from under that tree."

"No fucking way."

She gets a hold of both my hands and starts tugging, drawing me out from under the shelter of trees.

I'm drenched within seconds. I shake the cold water from my hair, frowning at the chill, and she laughs.

"What the hell is with you?"

"Life. Rain. Greenery," she answers, and stretches her arms out to indicate the park and everything in it. "You ever dance in the rain? You've missed something special, lemme tell you."

She takes a step back, grinning, and deliberately kicks mud all over my jeans. I pull her back towards me with a single jerk, and I watch her face closely as I touch the bare skin at her waist, my gloved hand slipping up under her shirt. For once, it's not fear that makes her gasp like that.

"What are you doin'?"

Marie grins up at me in response.

"Being Rogue," she says. "You like it?"

It takes a moment for the weight of her words to sink in, and her smile begins to fade the longer I stare. My heart leaps inside my chest and something like pure adrenaline rushes right through me as I search her face.

I look down into Marie's big, sparkling brown eyes as she digs her heels into the muddy ground. For the first time, a grown woman looks back.

Do I 'like it?' Good God.

"You're getting filthy."

She grins, and it's a little wicked. "What's wrong with gettin' dirty?"

Before I can think of a damn thing to say, she leans down and quickly scoops up a handful of mud. She smears it right across my chest and I'm so fucking stunned I let go of her completely.
She skips backwards, out of arm's reach.

"You threw mud at me." I still can't quite believe it.

Marie laughs in a way I can't ever recall hearing from her before. She sounds relaxed, even happy. And utterly carefree.

"Smeared it," she corrects, sounding rather proud of herself. "Whatcha gonna do, sugar?"

I know a challenge when I hear one. I drop into a crouch, eyeing her.

I grin at her, eyebrow arching. "You really wanna know?"

"You'll have to catch me first," she teases, taking another big step backwards. Her bare foot lands in the middle of a puddle, and muddy water splashes over her toes.

And I laugh, just for the hell of it.

"You get fifteen seconds, darlin'."

I could have given her a fifteen minute head-start, it wouldn't matter. Hell, even without enhanced sense, I have experience on my side -- I've chased after Rogue for years now, looking for her everywhere.

"Run."

---

I didn't find her gloves until this morning.

The situation in Detroit was taken care of. I'd spent a few days watching the warehouse, tracking everyone who came and went on a regular basis, listening to their meetings. It turned out they didn't have a plan at all -- not yet. It was just talk about forming a new alliance and standing firm against humans and X-Men and, from the sound of it, just about anyone who wasn't one of them.

On day four of surveillance, I got bored and torched the place. Nothing says 'quit it' quite like destroying their headquarters.

After days of sleeping in my truck, if I slept at all, and eating incredibly bad food, I wanted to spend the night in place with an actual bed. So I got a room at a decent looking motel, ordered a pizza and had a good night's sleep.

I checked in with Xavier as soon as I woke up, and let him know I'd be home later in the afternoon. Then I went digging through the duffle bag and there they were, tucked beneath my shaving kit.

Marie's gloves. The ones she wore the last time I saw her, in my room before I left.

I recognized them instantly. And it's a damn wonder I didn't realize it before. When Marie packed my bag, she'd been wearing those gloves. Afterward, when I had her on my lap, her hands had been bare.

She was sending me a message. But what exactly was she telling me?

I drove over six hundred miles in under seven hours to find out.

---

I'll bet you never got more than you ever thought you wanted.

She turns and takes off running, laughing, and I watch her dart between the trees until I can no longer see her.

I tick each second off inside my head. Twelve. Thirteen.

She left all her discarded clothes behind, heaped on the ground, and I grab the sheer scarf from the pile, shoving it in my pocket.

Fourteen. Fifteen, and I take off after her at a dead run.

Her scent is faint, the majority snatched away by the shifting winds and pouring rain, but it's still more than enough to go on. I follow the path she took through the woods, noticing all the times she either lingered in one spot or doubled-back to throw me off.

She's just up ahead, giggling with each step from the sound of it. I catch up in no time, and she never even sees me before I slam into her from the side, tackling her by surprise.

I turned us so I'd break her fall, and I land hard on the ground, grunting, flat on my back. Marie's sprawled out on top of me, the wind knocked right out of her, and she braces a hand on either side of my shoulders. She grins down at me and struggles to catch her breath, wet locks of her hair creating a curtain around us.

I drag a palm across her collarbone, leaving a smear of mud behind, and I reach around her arms to take her face in my hands.

"I think you won," she tells me, a hitch in her voice as she looks at me.

I roll us so she's on her back, and I brace the bulk of my weight on my forearms. My hands have streaked quite a bit of mud along her jaw and cheekbone, and I brush a thumb over her chin, streaking more.

There's probably not even three inches between my mouth and hers, and her hands grip fistfuls of my shirt. "I think so too," I whisper near her lips. "Close your eyes."

She shakes her head just slightly, eyes glittering as she studies my face. "I don't trust you," she says, a hint of laughter in her voice. "You gonna rub mud in my face?"

The idea has merits. She has no idea how beautiful she looks, dirty, wet and disheveled.

"You wouldn't." She stares up at me, searching my eyes.

"I might. Take it like a man, baby. Close your eyes."

She stares up at me, searching my eyes. After a long moment her lashes flutter shut and I get out her scarf, slipping the sheer material over her face. Then I kiss her, through a cold, wet scrap of silk that smells like Marie and the rain and the ground she threw it down on. Her mouth is soft and warm against mine, the taste of her soaking through the scarf, and I've dreamed of this a hundred times. A thousand. Reality is so much better.

In shock she starts to stiffen, letting go of me to dig her fingers into the earth beside her.

"Trust me."

She begins to relax beneath me, through sheer force of her own will. She's chosen to let go of her fear, chosen to live her life around it -- and that was something she had to learn on her own, something I could never teach her.

Against her lips I whisper, "Trust yourself."

I thread my fingers through her hair, getting a hold of her head and tilting, and this time she melts into the kiss, her sweet mouth opening under mine. Cold rain falls all over us, all around us, soaking us both, and God, I've never known heat like this in my entire life.

Tugging the scarf down over her throat, I drag my open mouth along the line of her jaw and she brings her hands up to grip my shoulders. I kiss the hollow of her throat and then lower, grazing her delicate collarbone with my teeth while her heart pounds just as hard as the rain.

Grinning, I lift my head to see her face.

"Say it," she whispers, eyes shining, and I bring my gloved hands back up to her face. She wouldn't let me say it before, too scared to hear what she already knew. My thumbs brush over the curve of her cheeks, streaking dirt and a wet blade of grass across her face, and I stare down into the depths of her eyes.

She's not scared anymore. Not of me, not of this. Not of herself.

"I love you."

I'm so damn proud of her, so happy for her, for us, I can't even think of the words I need to tell her all of it.

She wraps her arms around my back, holding on tight, and she laughs. Thunder rumbles all around us as I drop my forehead to her shoulder, breathing her in, and I smile against her skin.

"What changed?"

I press my mouth to her shoulder, giving her a brief bite through her shirt. Her body arches beneath me and I can feel her nails drag deeply down my back.

Her answer is a breath in my ear. "Everything," she says.

And I believe her.

END