Road Trip

The highway drifted by in thick black streaks, broken briefly by dull flashes of white, and Marie watched it happen because there really wasn't much else to do. Her fingers drummed on one leather-coated leg in the rhythm of a song she couldn't remember.

"Where are we going?"

No answer.

But why the hell would he make it easy? It'd never been easy--not for him, not for her, not for him in her at those odd moments that seem somewhere between dreams and rated fantasies and memories that always involved sharp objects and someone screaming. And she'd had a few of all of those.

More than a few.

And she couldn't even say she hadn't enjoyed some of them.

She brushed her hair back and turned her eyes on him. He wasn't looking at her, but that could be because the road stretched far and wide and God knew if even he knew where he was going.

She hadn't even known he'd come back.

He'd come home and was going again and this time he was taking her with him, embodying every sordid fantasy of her life and then some. No bags packed because whatever the hell was driving him might not last and she didn't want to waste a second to let him reconsider. Pulled out of her room at midnight, dressing in his in the clothes she'd grabbed by touch on her closet floor. Dog tags and all, a loose sweater and jeans and his jacket, blood staining the only gloves she could find, from a fight three days before that she'd been trying to forget. She'd forgotten underwear but didn't much care right now.

"Logan?"

He didn't answer and she let it slide, because this was Logan and he didn't explain and somehow she didn't want him to. Instead, she looked out the window and thought that maybe if this was part of one of those dreams, she already knew the ending.

There was snow on the ground and she remembered taking the younger kids out one day in early November to play in it and getting defeated by Scott in a snow battle where his visor came in too damned handy. She remembered looking up to see Logan watching her again and remembered when her breath caught that she could only be second best and substitute.

She remembered Scott looking at her and wondered if Scott thought the same thing.

But the difference between seventeen and twenty-four was as obvious as the blood soaked into the leather on her hands and a touch on her skin from bare human fingers that she hadn't had in more years than she cared to remember. On the back of her neck, so brief her body didn't betray her for once and she'd turned in bed and taken his hand without comment when he pulled her up and out and on his little cross-country run that she'd shared only in his memories, never in his life.

That was four hours ago and the road they were taking was north. She'd never been this far from home before off a mission and she wanted it to last.

"Can I turn on the radio?" Maybe he didn't hear the irony in her voice.

At least, so her nerves didn't work themselves into knots because she was learning control of herself faster every day and nerves didn't help it stay put.

"Sure."

That was the first word he'd said to her since he'd wakened her.

She stripped the glove off, stretching her fingers briefly, before reaching and pressing the tiny button as she never could have managed with fingers encased in stiffening leather. The station was rock and it was better than silence so she leaned back and stripped her other hand bare. The leather smelled like blood and a long dormant memory enjoyed it more than she could quite admit.

She was twenty-four going on a hundred. Nothing could really surprise her anymore.

"Marie."

Well, he could.

She turned her head so fast that there was a brief amused image of her skull floating past him out the open window. That's sleep deprivation, Rogue. Don't giggle.

"Yeah."

She wondered if answering had been the wrong thing to do, the silence stretched so long.

"This'll be the last town for awhile." She looked out the window--and indeed, that was a town out there. His wallet landed squarely in her lap and she hadn't even seen him move.

Translated from Loganesque--hungry/bathroom/toiletries, get them here. She had the card.

"Got it."


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She got gloves first, because the ones she had weren't going to last much longer and she hated the feel of drying blood flaking on her skin. She got a toothbrush because dental hygiene was the only good memory she had of her mother, and she picked up nachos and cheese and bread at the back of the store because she figured if she wasn't hungry now, she would be soon. She picked up those other things that the five minutes she hadn't been willing to risk would have gotten her for free from her bathroom and figured Logan would understand. Then she went to the restroom at the side of the store and stripped off his jacket and filled the sink and got her hands clean, scrubbed the flaked blood from her nails and ran wet fingers through her hair. When she looked in the mirror, she was still surprised to see the woman look back at her, impossibly older than the image she carried of herself. The fine bones, the dark eyes, the dark hair laced in a slowly increasing line of white.

Then she touched the back of her neck with a wondering finger, because he'd touched her there and it had been too long.

When she came out, he opened the trunk and dropped everything in and she relaxed into the seat and wondered why he was running and wanted her along for the ride.


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She was half-asleep when she felt the car stop and drowsily reached for her new gloves, but gloved fingers closed on her wrist. Slitting her eyes open, she saw dawn rising over snowy hills and apparently, wherever they were running was where they were.

Temporarily, anyway.

"Awake?"

"Yeah." She stretched her back and the joints popped audibly. She heard him get out and opened her door to view the motel that didn't look too inspiring at first glance, but if it had a useable mattress she'd be thrilled. He gave her a key and she went inside--it wasn't locked, so he'd already scouted the area--and found something firm and warm by touch and fell down on it without worrying about her boots or his jacket wrapped around her. She was trying to get the blanket out from under her hips with minimal moving when she heard the door close and the sound of blinds being drawn down.

He didn't want to drive during the day. Fair enough, a good adventure always occurred at night in the woods, where they most assuredly were. He moved so silently that she didn't know where he was and exhaustion didn't contribute toward general alertness, but on the other hand, this was Logan and she suspected that the silence would have been the same if she was fully awake as well. She got the blanket out finally and felt him catch her feet, stripping her boots off of her. His hands lingered on her calves and she drowsily enjoyed the touch on soft leather, almost like bare skin.

"Where are we?" She could barely find the thoughts to put together into speech.

"Canada, one hour ago." He pulled the rest of the blanket and sheet from under her hips. His voice was rough. "Go to sleep."

"I need m'gloves." She felt naked without them.

"No you don't."

The blanket settled over her and she stopped trying to fight the exhaustion and let herself drift off. There was an fanciful moment where she thought he brushed rough fingers through her hair.

Had to be her imagination. She wasn't Jean.


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It was after dark when he woke her up, dropping a greasy bag beside her head with a smell that would wake the dead. The questions she wanted to ask weren't worth the risk and she ate in silence, picking up the soda from the nightstand as he went outside. She wondered vaguely if he was worried about being followed.

She also wondered who would have the nerve to follow Logan when he ran.

She was cross-legged on the bed eating the last piece of chicken when he came back in and placed a hand on either side of her, looking into her eyes. She couldn't read what was in the cool hazel.

She'd never been afraid of him. He knew that.

"You smell like him." His voice was low.

She dropped the bones back in the bag and set her hands just inside his, leaning back look up at him from beneath half-closed eyes, so the advantage wasn't all his. She wouldn't let him see her hands shake.

"Didn't think you'd noticed."

"Take a shower."

She'd do it because she wanted one badly, not because it was an order direct from him--and she told herself that too. The bags were on the floor at her feet and she stripped to the skin with the bathroom door open so he could watch her do it. The shower was hot, a marvel she'd not really believed possible, and she scrubbed the sweat away and checked the injuries she'd sustained a few days before.

The bruises on her skin weren't from fighting and he'd known that when he'd seen them, and she got a kind of sick satisfaction out of that. When she came out he was gone and so were her clothes, but there were clean clothes on the bed--no underwear still--and she got the jeans and sweater on and twisted her hair up out of her eyes.

When he came back in, she was ready, tags visible outside the sweater and he glanced at them once before he went into the bathroom.


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The difference between seventeen and twenty-four wasn't the loss of baby fat or the curves of her body or the look in her eyes that was a good indicator that whatever was behind them, it wasn't young anymore and possibly hadn't been in a long time. It was all internal in what she could and couldn't do, what she could settle for, and when he stopped to pick up the bags in front of her she ran her bare fingers down his leather-covered back, felt the muscles tense but he didn't move away. She pulled on his jacket and followed him outside and it was snowing. The air was cold and she had vague amused notions of her wet hair freezing into the shapeless mass it was now before she dropped the motel key on the bed.

It was beautiful. New York didn't snow like this.

"Can you drive in this?" She waved a bare hand at the flakes and watched them settle on the sleeve of the jacket.

He cracked a grin and she answered it without thinking.

"I've driven in worse. Get in."

She crawled in through the driver's side and found the car surprisingly warm--so that's what he'd been doing. He restarted and they were moving down a road that was more white than black even in the latest part of dusk and she put on her seatbelt because her flesh didn't regenerate and her bones weren't made of metal.

"Where are we going?"

"I'll know when we get there."

Which is how he'd lived his whole life. She liked it and opened the jacket so she wouldn't get too warm..

She wouldn't ask why they were running. She might agree with the answer.

"How long?" He could have been asking her opinion of the snow outside, for all the expression he put in it. It was one of those disturbing things that kept the girls of the mansion fascinated--Marie in their number--he had the hottest and fastest temper anyone had ever seen, but when his mood switched was when they watched him, because it was when he was quiet that he was his most dangerous.

As so many mutants on the wrong side of their silent war had found out to their monumental dismay.

She didn't pretend she didn't understand what he was asking--and who he was asking about.

"A year or so." He'd left and come back and left again and waiting just wasn't an option anymore. She could substitute just as well as he could. He'd taught her that.

Too damned bad it wasn't as successful as she wanted it to be.

"Last night?"

She'd been alone when he'd found her but an hour earlier she hadn't been. And she wondered at the back of her mind if he'd waited for Remy to leave or it had been the purest and best form of good luck in the universe that he'd come in afterward.

"Yeah."

Remy was going to be pissed. That was a thought that belonged in the mansion, not on the road. She let her hair down and braided it back from her face, watching the snow fall and trying to stop the quivering of her hands.

He'd never asked before. Her personal life had never caught his interest.

"How far?"

From the corner of her eye, she saw him considering his answer.

"Another night."

This was Canada post-equinox--she knew how he went when something was driving him and thought of eleven hours of silent darkness. It wasn't unpleasant--she shared a room with three girls and trained in groups when she wasn't there, and she could remember times running in the woods just to get away from it all. It would be slogging in three feet of snow with muscles that hadn't been developed enough to do it and dropping in exhaustion against a tree and wondering where he was now.

Who he was with, why he was there, what her name was this time or if he even cared. He probably couldn't remember all his lovers--she knew the ones at the school, when she'd been eighteen and watched from behind a corner of the hall when they went to his room. She knew the ones he'd taken before that one long ago day he'd touched her without gloves to protect him, surrounded by twisted metal and beside the body of the man who'd tried to kill her.

There was some irony in that she'd lost her virginity before she had sex.

"Do you even know where we're going?"

{Don't ask why. God, don't, Rogue, don't even think it.}

"Yeah."

She turned on the radio and noticed that she still didn't have her gloves. Twisting around, she rummaged in the backseat and he caught her bare wrist without his eyes leaving the road.

"You can control yourself, right?"

She considered the question, twisted it in her mind, and gave her answer.

"Yeah." She dropped the gloves on the floor and turned around again, sitting back in the seat and trying to remember if anyone except Xavier had let her test herself. If anyone had not been afraid to let her try. She knew she could do it.

But her bare fingers made her feel more exposed than standing naked in front of him in the motel room.


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It couldn't possibly qualify as a town, but it had an all-night convenience store and a disturbingly cheerful clerk and when Logan sent her out to finish the shopping, she kept watching him from the corner of her eyes. She got the directions to an obscure and doubtless dirt road glorified into prominence with a name like Algera that was apparently the last leg of this journey and while she was checking out, she looked at a map of Canada and tried to trace their route to date. At best, it was convoluted. At worst, it was damned impossible to follow.

When she got back in, she let her eyes close briefly and leaned back into the seat.

"Tired?"

She was always tired--that was the definition of superhero. Anyone playing at the corporate rat race could have sympathized with four hour sleep and days that sometimes bled into night into nothing but constant and unending motion.

They couldn't have sympathized with the things she did during those periods of activity, because a superhero didn't brag. A pity. She'd like just once to see some human wander up and tell her he thought her mutation was the best thing he'd ever seen, since she'd just saved his life with it.

She liked the stillness around and inside her and lowered her head onto his thigh, letting her eyes drift closed to the steady hum of the engine and the skin-warmed denim under her bare cheek.

"They work you too hard."

She smiled at the concern. There were those long days when she didn't see him at all and then he'd come--at eighteen, she'd run down the stairs so fast she'd almost tripped over her own feet and he'd picked her up off the floor and she curled her head into his jacket because his was the only physical contact she ever got. At nineteen, she'd controlled herself with some effort and walked and at twenty, she'd only quivered inside when she heard the motorcycle outside.

Even his steady gaze at Jean Grey couldn't dampen that sheer exultation, though. Every time.

"I'm fine."

Right now, she was, as fine as she'd ever been in her life. She was a college graduate and she had studied biology and anatomy under Jean for a year before she started the advanced science classes to complete her degree. And Jean had left her the passwords for the computer when she studied alone and probably knew what Marie had been using them to access. The body beneath her cheek she'd only seen naked once and long ago, but she knew every inch, every mutated gene, and every muscle better than her own. She caught herself tracing the line of his thigh to his knee with one hand and stopped herself, but he hadn't said anything, so she let herself enjoy it.

"Go to sleep. I'll wake you up when we get there." She felt his hand in her hair curving against her cheek and she caught his fingers between her teeth with a twist of her head. The leather was new and she pressed harder, taking in the supple feel and scent.

And he still didn't pull away.

She let it go and felt his hand settle in her hair, and the rhythmic stroking put her to sleep.

There were no dreams. She didn't need them now.


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Into the Woods

Marie woke up with a tap on her cheek and tried to knock it away with one hand, turning to bury her head in--oh my, this wasn't her pillow. She heard a low chuckle and opened her eyes, rolling on her back. Logan shook his head and she liked the smile on his face when he looked at her, a smile that was for her and her alone.

"We're here."

"Where's here?" It was dark outside and she couldn't get a view of the area from the window.

"Look around." She reluctantly sat up and shook her head as he got out. Still nothing, but it was dark and she didn't have his vision either. Carefully, aware of the soreness of muscles that had spent too long in one position, she sat up and pushed the door open, balancing herself against the window and getting a good look around.

It defined the term boondocks. There were trees and snow and what looked like a good-size cabin and a generator and that's all it had to recommend it. She pushed the door shut behind her with her foot and turned in a slow circle.

It was also breathtaking and isolated and she liked that more than she'd expected. A light wind picked up stray strands of hair like a caress and she tucked her hands up under her arms.

She couldn't remember the last time she'd had the option of letting her hands get cold.

Then she turned to the back seat and unloaded the remaining baggage they'd acquired at a hefty loss to his cash reserves. Logan usually traveled light--this was a concession to the fact that she'd never traveled at all.

Maybe he'd teach her.

But he wasn't in view even if she'd suddenly asked for lessons and she shook her head as she walked up the worn stone steps and into the door.

The bags touched the floor and she felt him pick her up and the weight of both their bodies slammed the door closed. Her toes barely brushed the floor.

"How good's your control?" It was a whisper in her ear and she shut her eyes, dragging out the concentration lessons she'd practiced until she dropped--and she'd refined until she knew how far she could push herself. She turned her head, meeting his eyes, sucking in a breath at what was behind them.

"Good enough."

A bare finger traced the line of her jaw experimentally and she shivered at the brush of lips against the high bone of her cheek. And when he tilted her head to kiss her--it was hot and delicious and no fantasy could have prepared her for that

She got her hands up and around his shoulders, avoiding exposed skin because there wasn't any good reason to take extra chances with bare hands, digging into his back when he lifted her off her feet, pressing her against rough wood, fingers twisting in her hair and drawing her mouth closer when she didn't have any intention of pulling away. She slid a leg around his, trying to get closer, pushing his jacket off and felt him growl softly into her mouth before he bit her tongue and it took everything in her not to shudder.

God, it was good, it was better than any memory could ever be, and it was him.

Seven years and a thousand miles and this was what she'd wanted since she'd first seen him, in a greasy bar that was so many years and memories ago that the colors of it shouldn't still be so bright in her mind. Then, slowly, he let her back down and she wasn't sure her legs would hold her when he did it.

"Don't stop." She breathed it against his lips.

It was too dark to see if he was smiling. One hand traced the line of her cheek and ended at the corner of her mouth.

"Get unpacked."

He had to have been a fucking general or something in that former life. She'd never been a good subordinate, but she was a damned good actress and could play the part when her heart was in it. He left her standing there and she waited a second to get her bearings and her head cleared before she fumbled along the wall for a light switch. When on, she gave a cursory look around a room that was spartanly furnished and wondered if they'd just broken into someone's little hunting lodge. There was familiarity here, though, in the design of the furniture and the simplicity of decoration and she wished she could put her finger on what about it was telling her she'd been here before.

From the other room--kitchen?--she heard his voice--apparently, there was a telephone here somewhere.

"We're fine."

Then the phone was hung up and she watched him disconnect it from the wall and leave it on the desk, a big, expensive paperweight for all the use it was now, and something drifted to the floor when he dropped his coat on the chair. She watched him go out through the back door and went to pick it up.

A scrap of pale blue paper, the stationary of a lady. The handwriting was Jean's and the directions were in northern Canada.

She knew why she recognized this place.

Slowly, she settled on the desk chair and gripped that paper for a moment that could have lasted forever and probably wasn't even long enough for her to blink.

Second best, second choice, it stopped mattering, and she tucked the paper back in his pocket and went to find out what else this place had.

It had one bedroom and a bathroom and was pretty much the concept of minimalism. It appealed to her in the light furniture and the high ceilings and she half wished Jean's taste wasn't so damned good. The kitchen was pretty bare but the freezer wasn't and Marie took a few minutes to peruse the contents and wondered, rather uncertainly, if Logan could even cook, because she certainly couldn't--the irony of starving to death surrounded by food appealed to her darker sense of humor, an inheritance from Magneto she rarely regretted. She shook her head and her gaze fell on the microwave.

Oh yeah. She could use one of those.

Well, barely.

She unpacked the bags and went into the bathroom to strip off her clothes and get herself as clean as possible. The shower was large--she was getting amusing images of Scott and Jean trying to keep his visor out of the shower's range--Is it waterproof?--against the tiled back and stifled a giggle that their Fearless Leader probably wouldn't have appreciated. When she got out, she dried off and lifted the his tags back over her head as she studied the clothes on the floor, poking them with one toe.

Clean ones had to be here somewhere.

She didn't bother grabbing a towel to cover herself as she rummaged through the varied drawers. A green shirt that went spectacularly with red hair and jeans she was too short to wear. In the back of the closet were black leather pants that fit better and a loose white buttoned shirt that was too large. She put them on and pulled her hair back from her face and wondered what the hell he was doing outside.

And stared at her naked hands for a long time and wondered how he managed to keep from flinching when he saw them. Even if her control was good, even if he trusted her, even if she was careful. She shivered at the sight of her own bare skin, far more unfamiliar to her than anything else on her body.

After all, she didn't spend a lot of time staring at her own hands.

"Marie?" A door closed with what was possibly a kick.

She walked to the door and watched him--carry in firewood. He caught her look at the stack and grinned. Marie tried to remember the last time she'd seen him so relaxed and failed.

"Central heating runs down the generator too much." He dropped it in the bin and brushed his hands off on his jeans and she sucked in a breath just watching him move around the room. Leaning against the doorway, she considered her options for conversation and decided on none of them.

It was enough to have him to herself, even in Jean's cabin wearing Jean's clothes.

"I'm hungry." It'd been hours since she'd finished the last of the bread, and fruit just didn't appeal to her right now.

He gave her a questioning glance and she elaborated.

"Can you cook?"

One eyebrow arched.

"What the hell do you think I eat when I'm gone?" The amusement was obvious and she smiled in response. She could imagine that he stopped at every fast food place that existed between destinations, but it was comforting to know that someone here could actually cook those steaks. The microwave wasn't going to cut it.

But food was suddenly the last thing on her mind, because--he was watching her. Watching the nervous movement of her hands over the hips of her pants and her fingers playing with the edge of her shirt and she found her breathing was erratic and liked that too. Even liked the flush that was heating her skin and the focus of his eyes on the shirt she wore half-buttoned.

"Say something," she whispered, and she wondered if he looked like that when he fought in the ring and when he won--yes, he did, she'd felt that expression before on her own face in a memory or dream, she wasn't sure which. He moved toward her, and she saw he was gloved again and one hand reached out and traced the line of the chain from her collar into the hollow between her breasts.

Then he met her eyes and she thought she'd waited her entire life for him to look at her like that.

"I want you."

Seven years wasn't so long after all.

She set her concentration and brushed her fingers over the rough skin of his jaw and he didn't stiffen and pull away and then lifted herself on her toes and brushed her mouth across his, catching his lip briefly between her teeth. He backed her into the bedroom and she heard him kick the door shut, turning her against the door and she braced her hands on his shoulders and lifted herself flat against him. One hand was in her hair, tilting her head back and he bit the edge of her jaw lightly.

They had to be careful. But she'd practiced for this.

Never without her gloves, though.

She'd expected it to go faster. But he didn't seem interested in moving on, working slowly down her jawline and pushing her higher on the door and she wrapped a leg around him to balance herself. She could hear her own breathing in the quiet of the room and was vaguely aware that his hands had slid beneath her shirt and were running up her bare back.

She liked the feel of leather on her bare skin, always had. Leaned into the touch and closed her eyes and he slid his hands down her back, bracing her up, and she obediently wrapped her legs around his waist and buried her face against his shoulder.

{Keep concentrating. Keep it even. Don't lose control.}

She felt the mattress against her back and lifted her head, meeting eyes darker than she ever remembered seeing them before.

"I didn't ask." His voice was soft and the fingers stroking her hair back were softer still. She sat up, trying to control her breathing and her hands that wanted to shake but she didn't want him to think he was afraid.

"You don't need to."

She watched him unbutton his shirt, her mouth going dry just from that, lowered herself onto his lap when he sat down so she could finish doing it for him, tracing the lines of skin and muscle and not a single scar anywhere when she pushed it off his shoulders, memorizing the feel of him beneath her hands. Dug her nails into his back when he kissed her again, slowly, parting her lips almost carefully.

It could have been one of countless times in her plural memory, and she remembered him fucking a woman in Laughlin City fifteen hours before he found her in that bar. He hadn't been this careful, this restrained, and she knew he didn't want to scare her, not knowing that nothing he did could ever frighten her.

"I won't break," she whispered, running her teeth across his ear. Being a superhero meant she knew how to take bruises. Having him in her head meant she'd learned to like them.

He ripped the buttons straight down her shirt and she rocked up slowly against him, felt his low growl through her entire body when she did it and enjoyed the grasp of his hands on her hips, pulling her tightly against him, moving with her.

He cupped her breast beneath her shirt and she moaned softly, rocking into him again, fascinated by the reactions she got out of him--her, not Jean or that nameless woman in a city she should want to forget. How hard he was between her legs and how much she wanted to touch him but wanted her gloves when she did it, because it would be just too ironic if her control slipped now. But she traced his stomach with her fingers and dipped them in the waist of the jeans briefly, then pushed him back and unbuttoned them with her teeth and slid the zipper down with the strength of her tongue, brushing his skin with every movement, her hair falling around his chest and hips. His fingers in her hair tightened and she didn't fight him for control when he pulled her back up to kiss her again, bruising her lips and breaking the skin so her blood was caught by the tip of his tongue in her mouth. He rolled her onto her back and pulled her shirt open and she rested her fingers in his hair when he followed the line of exposed flesh that should have scared any reasonable man. But Logan was anything but reasonable. She liked that about him.

Then a soft gasp when he ran his teeth over her breast and her nails dug into his scalp and something wet slid up against her nails. She'd never be able to leave a mark on him--in some ways it was unfair.

He traced the lines of her ribs and her stomach, leaving teeth marks wherever he stopped and she knew she'd be bruised tomorrow but could have cared less with each low gasp, and when he slid a hand between her legs, she shut her eyes.

"God. Logan."

She felt the low chuckle and let herself smile. Then it faded, when he pulled a glove off with his teeth, when she heard the unmistakable sound of metal and she jerked when she realized there was three inches worth on one knuckle.

"Trust me."

That was easier than breathing. He cut the leather open from zipper all the way to her ass and she shivered when that ungloved hand spread her legs apart and traced the damp leather clinging to her skin. She arched into the careful touch and he pushed lightly into her with a finger, then hard enough to arch her off the bed--because, frankly, memory couldn't compare to the real thing by a long shot.

She was five steps beyond ready.

The Professor had never been surprised by how hard she worked to control her gift. She'd sometimes suspected he knew the reason.

When he kissed her, she bit his tongue and he growled into her mouth.

"Marie--"

"Now."

He met her eyes and she ran her fingers down to his lower back, pulling him against her and arching lightly, rocking until his eyes closed and his breathing became ragged against her ear. God, it couldn't be easy for him, she could feel the wanting coming off him and it must hurt to be that close and still two layers of clothes away.

Hell, it wasn't easy for her, either.

He let her roll him onto his back, pull down the jeans and the shorts, taking her time to touch every inch of newly exposed skin, study the contrast of colors and taste, trying to rein in what was building in her even when he was touching only her hair and stroking her thighs--because God, it had been too long and it was the first time both. And it was him beneath her hands and mouth and it was the achievement that only years of endless patience had managed and even if it was only once, she wanted it burned so deeply in her mind that no other memory could ever compete. She wanted it burned into him so no one else could ever dim it. She reached with one hand to the floor, found his jeans, pulled the condom from the pocket and ripped it with her fingernail.

Latex would protect him if she lost control. And she would, because even now it was hard to hold on--it licked gently at her mind, wanting to draw him in and whispering she could have him forever this way.

But it wasn't a temptation.

It was a trick learned from a Vegas prostitute she'd never met, holding it lightly between her teeth and lowering it over his erection, feeling his hand on the back of her neck, liking the sounds she was getting out of him with every movement, and she held him there, briefly, feeling the shudder of his hips against her lips before she slowly dragged herself up his body and positioned herself over him, his memory guiding her every movement, letting his hands drop to her hips.

"God, Marie."

It was the first time and it was as new as it was familiar, and she shuddered again at the way he said her name. She bit her lip at the stretch as she lowered herself, hands braced on the bed, the feel, hearing her own breathing and the shock when he pushed up against her and was all the way in--God, it was so good and so natural and it was everything she had woken from alone on nights that she preferred to forget. Because reality was so much better than anything she could have imagined or remembered.

He cupped her face as she shuddered over him. Leather and latex would keep them both safe. And he kissed her and she took in the taste of him and the feel, then reached for the sheet to pull between them, blocking the contact of bared skin and lowering her head to bite him through the finest linen she'd ever felt, a signal that she couldn't hold it much longer that he'd understand.

And slowly, she lifted her hips and his hands guided her into a rhythm that dug her bared nails into the bed on either side of his shoulders. It was slow--it had to be, as she felt the stretch and the heat and tried to temper the rise of her power within her, but it finally broke when he moved under her, guiding her movements when she stopped being able to, touching her with his gloved hand across her bare back and his ungloved stroking her thigh.

Saying things she could barely hear, couldn't understand, feeling his gaze on her face.

And then she couldn't think at all. Didn't want to when he rolled her onto her back and thrusted into her hard enough to lift her from the bed. She lifted her legs, wrapping them around his waist at the next thrust, grabbing the headboard so she wouldn't be tempted to touch him, breathing sharply at the build in her that was making her forget her own name. Careful of uncovered skin, he traced her body through the sheet with his teeth, finally burying his mouth in her protected neck while she cried out something that was his name--and God, it was everything she had ever wanted.

She was still shuddering when he came too--saying something against her ear that she couldn't quite understand, and his grip on her hip tightened until she almost thought the bone would break under the pressure.

God, memory had nothing on this. With care, she twisted her bare arms in the sheet and drew them around him, feeling the sweat soak quickly through the linen.

As Logan might say, that was a *fucking* good ride. She was still twitching from the aftershocks when he slid over beside her, her shirt protecting his bare chest from her back, because she was too tired to even try to control her gift right now. His gloved hand traced her shoulder and slid around her waist, drawing her closer.

"Be careful," she managed to whisper. "I can't--"

"I know."

Marie fell asleep almost before she felt the blanket wrapped around her.


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The odd thing was that she didn't wake up alone.

She expected to, was ready for it. But no--he was still asleep and the arm around her waist tightened when she tried to move.

Apparently, he wasn't so asleep, which could have been a good thing. When he woke up badly he woke up very, very badly and she had no interest in finding out how those claws would feel going into her back.

"Don't." It was a sleepy growl. "Good morning--shit, afternoon." A muffled afterthought and she felt him shift closer, head buried in her hair, protected from her skin.

Why did this seem so--normal? Damn, she could get used to this--there was a certain amount of amusement in the fact that they were two people wholly unsuited to ever sharing a bed with anyone for a night. When one of you could kill with a touch and the other could put nine inches of metal in your flesh without thinking about it--well, it would certainly make domestic life interesting.

"Good afternoon." For a shock, her voice didn't shake. Her stomach rumbled audibly and she choked back a laugh. "I'm hungry, Logan. Let me up."

"I'll feed you if you just stay put." She felt his breath tickle back of her neck and was suddenly worried how close he was to her skin.

"Be careful," she said. "I'm not--"

"Yeah, got it." There was a pause and she felt him raise himself on an elbow behind her. It was sudden, a fit of shyness that made her flush. "Did I hurt you?"

There was a throbbing between her legs that could have been pain but it felt too damned good and she shuddered a little in memory, feeling more hot color spread across her face.

She owed Jean some new leather pants.

"Nope." She covered his hand with hers, playing with the soft leather, and he laced their fingers together against her bare stomach. "Not really."

He caught her shoulder and rolled her onto her back, pulling the sheet down below her waist and tracking her skin with his eyes, watching them linger on every mark. She watched the stretch of his arm just over her head and felt her mouth go dry--

--how the hell did he do that to her just by moving?

"It doesn't hurt."

He nodded. He found his glove under her hip and pulled it on, then slid over her, stretching her arms above her head, fingers lacing through hers.

"You look good when you wake up, baby."

She knew what she looked like--God, did she touch him by accident and screw up his head? But he only smiled, brushing a kiss against her hair, eyes locked with hers and her breathing just stopped--she lifted a leather-covered knee against his hip, rubbing softly against him, saw the dark eyes close briefly--

--and her stomach rumbled. And he began to laugh, collapsing safely beside her. She couldn't stop the giggle and tried to bury it in her hair, since her hands were still out of service above her head.

"You said something about food." She tried to sound apologetic.

"Damn it. Give me a minute--where are--" He did quick visual reconnaissance of the room.

"On the other side of the bed."

Reluctantly, she thought, he freed her hands and she felt the bed move as he went searching for his jeans. And it was cold--she turned on her side to watch him dress and he didn't bother with his shirt, which did nicely for the view but still--

"Aren't you cold?"

A flash of teeth in a grin.

"Never." She smirked at him. "What do you want?"

"What's there?"

His eyes closed in mock patience.

"I didn't exactly check for provisions, Marie."

"Something fast."

"That I can do." He padded out on bare feet and she tucked her toes up under the comforter in sympathy, imagining how cold that wood must be. Glancing out the window, she realized it was coming on late afternoon. The sun was orange on the horizon.

She was--partially--naked in bed. And she couldn't help it--she ran her hands down her sides, wincing at the pull of bruised muscles, stretching her legs and hissing as the throbbing increased. It hadn't hurt--she'd thought it would, but then, God--. Stretching her arms above her head, she stared at the ceiling.

"I don't believe it," she told it candidly.

The ceiling didn't answer, but since it had witnessed the whole thing, it probably thought she'd lost her mind. And that was possible--but she'd lived her life with merciless sanity and what had it gotten her before?

Then something--something *big* and growling and very warm--landed on her and she let out her breath in a gasp and she heard him laughing.

"I hate you can move that quietly."

"I never promised to play fair."

He straddled her hips, putting something on the bed beside her and leaning so close she could feel his breath on her lips, eyes looking into hers, and she wasn't wrong, she'd never seen him like this before, and not just the half-naked on top of her part either. He worked the sheet out from between them and grinned.

"Close your eyes."

When she could look at him? She shook her head, and he took the simple expedient of pulling the edge of the sheet over the top of her face.

"*Logan*--"

And something sweet--an orange--was pressed between her lips and it was chew or choke.

"It'd be easier if you didn't fight me," he commented, and she realized he was gloved when caught both her hands before she could think to use them, trapping them under his knees. "Better."

"What the hell--"

More fruit. She could get used to this.

"Logan--"

Another piece. He balanced himself easily when she tried to buck him off.

"Damn, Marie--didn't they ever teach you anything useful in those combat classes? I gotta talk to Scooter 'bout that. Now lay still--I'm enjoying this. Nice view."

That's right, her shirt was still unbuttoned. He ran a gloved finger between her breasts, following the line of the chain, and she shuddered, then laughed when he brushed against her ribs and almost choked on the slice of apple.

"You didn't cook."

He pulled the sheet off her face and she watched him cut another piece from the apple with a knife.

"With the company I can get in here if I just scrounge through what we brought?" Carefully, he took the slice and cut it into pieces, carefully placing them in a line starting at her throat. She shivered at each touch of the soft leather on her skin, tracked his progress with every piece of fruit, until he ended at her stomach and she felt him lean over her.

"I'll be careful," he said softly, and she shut her eyes when his teeth brushed her skin picking up the first piece. Then the second, and he shifted down, keeping her hands secure when he took the next piece. Then the next, and another shudder went through her body and she knew he felt it. "Never liked fruit much before now." He traced the line of her hips when he picked up the next piece and then a hand rested lightly between her legs with the last.

And her hands were free but they were digging into the mattress.

"Are you--" he stopped, obviously consider how to phrase the question--Logan being tactful, God, she'd never seen that--and she shook her head quickly, moving against his hand. He hesitated, studying her face, and she caught his other hand, bringing it to her lips, biting the tip of his finger.

"I feel fine." Slowly, she traced the line of his thighs, heard his indrawn breath, and grinned a little wickedly. Sitting up, she continued the careful tactile survey of hard muscle and slid her fingers lightly between his legs. She heard his breath catch. "And so do you."

He stopped her, one hand covering hers briefly, then twisting her onto her stomach, drawing a slow hand down her back. She wriggled her hips back against him, hearing the catch of breath, the growl, and grabbed the headboard in both hands.

"Interesting," she whispered softly, as he brushed a kiss through her shirt on her upper back, the hand on her stomach lifting her and she repositioned herself easily, shutting her eyes at the feel of leather on her bare skin.

"Creativity is never bad."

"I'm not complaining." She hissed when the gloved fingers slid between her breasts, rubbing back against him, smiling when he groaned. "You're going to get a glove fetish out of this, you know."

"I'm not complaining." His hands settled on her hips and she slid back against him, eyes closing at the sudden, convulsive grip on her waist. "Marie--"

"What are you waiting for?" And a gasp as he slid fingers between her legs--and yeah, she was getting a glove fetish out of this too.

"Not a damned thing."


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Instinctual

Fantasies didn't have time limits. That was the best things about them. The second best thing was that you didn't need to have any justification and that's why she didn't ask what inspired him to fulfill one of hers. Several times.

Logan had showed her the borders of the property on a map and while he slept she went exploring the area while the snow fell softly on her--endless white and trees could be pretty redundant after awhile, but she stumbled across a frozen brook and briefly wondered if Jean had any ice-skates, to match the blue jacket and ski pants she'd found in her rummage through the closet. Finding a rock in marvelous convenience against a tree, she sat down to take in the view--distantly, she could see mountains, dark purple against the sky, and she thought of Logan in bed where she left him, hair rumpled, the sheet barely pulled to cover his hip. He slept on his stomach and she'd spent an hour just watching him, careful to remain silent, tracing his body with her eyes.

She wanted to remember everything.

And she shifted on the rock then, because she was *damned* sore and shouldn't be getting warm just from thinking about him.

God, it was beautiful here. For the first time, she understood, really understood, why Logan had to get away so much, why so often she traced his path on her map across the least settled of the seven continents.

And damn it, dusk was approaching and she had to get back. An image of what she was getting back to made her grin and she stood up, brushing the snow from her lap.

"Hey."

He had the nerve to laugh at her when she tripped backward from her sudden turn and fell into a drift, narrowly avoiding hitting her head. He was still laughing when he offered her a hand to pull her out, pulling her close and drawing his hands slowly down her back over her coat. She took a breath and set her concentration, leaning up to kiss him.

And had to stop, because there was no way in hell they could accomplish anything in frostbite weather, though that tree just behind her looked damned sturdy--

{You need some therapy, Rogue.}

"How'd you find me?" she finally asked when he let her go, taking one of her hands and lacing his fingers through hers.

"Smelled you out." He smirked a little at her disbelief. Marie looked around quickly, but her tracks were gone--she'd been here awhile, contemplating that water and the fantasy she was living.

"Across snow?"

"I could track your scent anywhere."

She came to face with him, the white of her breath puffing on his lips.

"Prove it."

He looked around briefly, then up at the sky, checking the fall of the snow, it seemed.

"I could follow your footprints right now. And I don't need to prove it--you've been out here three goddamned hours--your prints are long gone." He seemed to be considering something and it made him smirk. "I would have *loved* to see you try to get back if I hadn't come out after you."

She hadn't even considered that and he laughed again at her expression.

"That, Marie, is why you have me." Easily, he turned her around. She settled into a steady walk beside him, taking in the sight of him when he wasn't looking. There was snow in his hair and she noted he'd shaved.

"Did you cook yet?"

"Do you ever think about anything besides food?" He glanced at her, possibly read her expression or guessed at it, and shook his head, even if she could see his eyes dilate. "Besides that."

"Not really. You know, the basic drives--food, shelter, clothing--"

"Sex. Hmm." He stopped suddenly, turning her toward him before she could say anything and she felt him take a breath over her hair--he was smelling her. "I thought so--so you're the one that's raided my room for the cigars. I thought one of those damned kids did it."

There was half of one left in her pocket.

"It took you that long to figure it out. Hell of a hunter, Logan." She couldn't help laughing at his expression and he picked her up, tossing her over his shoulder effortlessly. She tried to kick and he caught her foot before it could make contact with his stomach. She was still laughing when she balanced herself semi-upright against his shoulder.

"Shut up. You don't look the type."

"Got a taste for whiskey too," she added.

"Glad I could broaden you education."

Then he started walking again, and she was unbalanced and fell back down, hands grabbing for the edge of his jacket. That made her laugh harder.

"You can't carry me all the way back." She hit his back with one fist and he didn't even dignify it with a grunt. Metal grafted bones and instant regeneration, damn it, it was unfair and she couldn't do a damned thing about it.

"The great part about being a mutant is that I can and I very fucking well might if you don't stop laughing." He sounded smug, probably looked it too.

Nothing could have stopped her then. There were tears in her eyes and it was hard to get enough breath back to speak coherently.

"Not if I fight you."

"You'd slow me down, that's all. Relax, enjoy the nice view of the ground. If you're a good girl and we get back fast enough, your steak might still be hot."

"Fuck you, Logan."

"Here and now?" And he stopped and actually sounded interested. Her breath caught and she felt her face flush.

"Or someplace a little less wet and a lot warmer?" He didn't move and Marie tried to pull herself up again.

"Maybe inside."

"Anything you want." He sounded smug and probably looked it and she stifled another laugh as she looked down-because it was a damned good view, and not just the ground either.

And there was steak waiting for her.


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He stripped her in the living room in front of the fire, straight down to the jeans she'd folded up enough to wear comfortably and the blue sweater she'd rummaged in three drawers to find. She sat down to take off her boots

"Get warmed up." He was already turning toward the kitchen.

"I don't believe you're waiting on me." Marie curled up on the couch, pulling the blanket onto her legs from where he'd dropped it at her feet.

"Neither do I. Must have lost my damned mind."

"You're just trying to hurry me along so I'll go back to bed."

"That obvious?" And she flushed at the look he gave her before he smirked and disappeared.

She'd never pegged Logan for the romantic type. Fire, food--she'd just slipped into an alternate universe, but it was a damned good place to be and far be it from her to remind him that his usual concept of romance was to check the bed for a good weight distribution and a lack of other occupants before he dropped the girl on it.

That made her giggle and she buried it in her bare hands.

Her gloves were God knew where--he'd taken those first, with two whispered words in her ear.

"Trust me."

It should have been more along the lines of 'I trust you not to kill me by accident'. But maybe that was a given--of everyone at the school, everyone she'd met, he was the only one who didn't stiffen when they came in contact with her body, when her hand came too near theirs, even gloved, even clothed within an inch of her life.

And he *knew* what it felt like when accidents happened. She'd never broken that faith, that trust, had developed habits to make sure that couldn't happen.

She heard something crash in the kitchen and winced at the muffled and lengthy monologue that followed and buried her head in the pillow so he wouldn't hear her laugh.


--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Why'd you take such a damned convoluted way to get here?" she asked softly. Stretched on her stomach on the couch, head rested on his thigh, she knew she didn't want to move. Since he didn't seem interested it either, it worked out pretty damn well.

"Ah. That." He sounded perfectly relaxed just above her. Absently, she played with the gloved fingers in hers. "Well--the short version--I didn't want to be followed."

"Who'd do that?"

"Scooter, the minute he realized you were gone. And why, which might have taken a little longer if Ororo hadn't wandered out of her room before I could get out of sight."

She nodded slowly, trying to imagine the look on Storm's face when Logan had been trying to prowl by her. It was priceless.

"How long do we have?"

Silence, and Marie hated herself for asking the question. But the slow stroking of her back didn't stop and the world didn't grow suddenly cold and meaningless when he answered.

"Probably a week. Maybe a little more, Cyke can't track very well but he will probably talk to Xavier--when he thinks to ask the right question, not rant about kidnapping children from their beds."

"I'm not a kid."

"I'm not arguing with that."

A week was a hell of a lot more than she expected. She nodded into the denim and felt him lean over her, not quite touching her, breath brushing against her cheek and the side of her neck..

He was smelling her again and she still couldn't quite figure out why he did it.

"Why do you keep doing that?"

"I like it."

"That's not an explanation. I keep feeling like I need a shower."

"Nope." Fingers lifted her hair and he slid a hand under her sweater briefly. "You smell good."

Or Jean's clothes did. She tried not to think about that, forcing her mind away from that one aspect that she didn't even dare think about, because it would hurt--God, would it hurt. Even if it was the truth she'd accepted implicitly when he'd pulled her from her room four days before, when she'd gasped beneath him in bed, when she felt his leather-covered fingers run over her skin.

"Scott's going to be furious at me for leaving." She couldn't even pretend like she cared.

"Tell 'em I tied you up in the trunk. They'll believe you."

She rather thought they'd seriously consider she might have done that to him--and chuckled despite herself.

"I left an explanation for the Professor." He slid his fingers down the side of her neck so it took a minute for his comment to sink in.

She turned on her back so suddenly he almost pulled her hair.

"You did?" She got images of the paper, scribbled in his barely legible writing--'Kidnapped Marie, will bring her back in one piece, tell Jean I missed her.'

"Uh-huh." He didn't seem terribly interested--he ran a hand through her hair and damned if he wasn't tracing the line of white. She'd never got this much attention from anyone in her entire life and this concentration was incredible.

And damned arousing.

"What if they need us?"

"He knows how to contact me if there's an emergency."

"You unplugged the phone."

He laughed.

"Noticed that, did you?" He flipped her back on her stomach with enviable ease and ran a finger down her cheek lightly. "That's not how I meant."

"Oh." She closed her eyes, breathing in the scent of him, with a complete understanding of why cats always looked so content.

"Marie--"

"You never call me Rogue."

Where the fuck had *that* come from? She felt her whole body go stiff and Logan stopped stroking her back--probably because she'd gotten so stiff. Slowly, she stretched her arms out before her and pushed herself into a sitting position beside him.

Nothing. She couldn't look at him, couldn't even understand what she'd been thinking--and why the hell was she doing this now? Crossing her arms across her chest, she leaned back against the opposite corner of the couch.

"That bothers you?"

"No. I just noticed."

Like he'd let her get out of it *that* easily. She felt his steady gaze on her, and simply couldn't force herself to look at him.

"You never asked why."

God, no, not now. She couldn't face it, tried to turn her head away, but he'd already caught her chin and it took effort to keep her gaze fixed on his knee, not his face.

"I didn't--"

"You knew why already, you don't care, or you didn't want to know?" She couldn't get free of his hand and was reminded, with uncomfortable suddenness, just how strong he really was.

She swallowed a breath, feeling her skin flush.

"I didn't want to know." There, she said it, and her fantasy was over and she hated herself for it. But nothing seemed to change and when she dared a glance at his face, she didn't see anything but a cool thoughtful patience, as if he was weighing the options.

"You got thirty minutes."

"Huh?"

He freed her chin, leaning back, and she met the dark eyes and saw something in them she didn't recognize--not yet.

"Run."

That wasn't what she expected him to say.

"Run?"

"I can track you anywhere. You wanted proof, it's snowing enough to cover your tracks, and it's dark enough. Run. I'll give you a thirty minute head start."

"I could get lost." She was already standing up on unsteady feet, and her hands were groping for her coat on the far couch.

"I'll find you."

"What if you don't?"

One eyebrow lifted in what could have been a threat.

"You've never seen me hunt."


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Under the Moon

The property was nearly featureless and heavily wooded, and Marie counted on that. She also counted on seven years of training to be a superhero and the instincts she'd gotten from her rummage in Logan's mind, faded but treasured and never forgotten.

But she did run--and she put her whole mind and body into it. She'd trained in snow and woods and the desert and the plains under the supervision of some of the best fighters in the world, imported by Xavier to see to their education. She'd practiced in bad weather, in good, in rain and sleet and God-forsaken hail and bad wind and snowstorms.

And Logan had taken her on personally one long-ago summer when she was twenty, one of those times that he'd seemed relatively content to stay in one place, and she'd come to the gym to find him waiting and looking over her evaluations and telling her that she didn't know shit.

It was one of the best summers of her life.

There were few that could match her, even fewer that surpassed her. But she'd never competed against anyone that came close to his level of expertise, no one with an unremembered military background and the mutations that made him a perfect weapon in stalking and hunting.

He might win, but she'd make it damned hard.

So she dodged trees, crossed that charming brook that had so fascinated her when she'd first seen it, covered her tracks, and counted the minutes in her head until she knew he'd started and knew also the fall of snow had made it impossible for him to be sure where her tracks were. She avoided drifts and kept off the trails and twisted through the forest using every scrap of knowledge she had from her instructors, muddling her trail.

Even he couldn't follow her scent if it was covered in snow.

Maybe.

Finally, she timed herself a break and collapsed in a shade of rock and trees that made her practically invisible if you didn't know what to look for and considered the mess she'd made.

She'd asked the question and still didn't have an answer. Which sucked beyond words to describe, and she had no idea what he was thinking, which was even worse.

What the hell did he think he was doing? Whatever point he was trying to make was lost in translation.

Time was up. She stretched her chilled legs and did quick visual reconnaissance of the area. There was *no* way he could find her yet--no way he could have gotten this far.

But then--well, how much could she count on that, really?

What did she want? She knew she could settle when she stepped into the car, knew she'd settle now if that's what it took, because she'd waited and tried other things and other people and there just wasn't a comparison. He'd never have Jean, not as long as Scott lived and Marie would make it her personal mission to assure he did if that kept one obsession from becoming reality--not to mention she liked Scott a lot.

Beside the point. She started moving, checking her surroundings reflexively.

But what she wanted--she wanted to wear her own clothes and see him look at her like that. She wanted him to want her with that same heat and intensity she'd envied Jean, and she wanted to know in her own head that there would never be anything to complete against, even in his fantasies.

She wanted him to have a glove fetish.

She wanted ownership, because he'd owned her for a damned long time and turnabout was fair play.

But she could settle, because he wouldn't have Jean, ever, and he could have her, free of any entanglements except something to protect his skin.

She could settle.

"Marie."

"Shit." She twisted, saw him at fifty feet, and broke into a dead run.

It wasn't a real contest--he had the height, weight, strength, and speed, and all she had was sheer dogged determination and the desperation of a rabbit that just noticed the wolf, and instinct took over before she could even think about maybe giving up and declaring defeat. She dodged between the trees, trying to regulate her breathing but it wasn't working, because she wasn't really Marie being chased by her lover she was a small animal being hunted by a predator and that changed everything.

It wasn't enough to win but it was enough to lengthen and that was the best she could hope for.

It wasn't enough, or even close. Even for hope.

He brought her down five feet from the last tree and she spun onto her back, bringing up her knee.

"God, Marie, I *trained* you to do that! Why the hell did you think it would work on me?" He knocked it aside, getting hold of her hands and pinning them above her head, balancing his weight between not crushing her and keeping perfect leverage.

It worked, and she pulled up every remembered profanity and then some, yelling it in a language she didn't even know and he shook his head and jerked her onto her stomach when she kicked him, pinning one arm behind her back.

"Give?" He sounded amused, damn him.

"Not in your fucking life."

"You've never been easy."

"Yeah, so you'd think, huh?"

Silence--she heard the bitterness in her voice and so did he, and he leaned close over her back.

"You want the answer?"

Did she? God, she hadn't even considered that far--did she want it or not, did she want confirmation of what she'd accepted already?

"I waited three hours for him to leave your room."

She stopped struggling but he didn't let go of her arm and she turned her head, wishing she could see his face.

"Took an hour rummaging through the office to find the address and another hour to find the car keys--whoever organized that place is going to hear from me damned soon. Left a message on Xavier's desk so he'd know you weren't dead and another on your door so your roommates wouldn't raise the entire fucking school when they realized you weren't there. Ten minutes to get Ororo to keep her mouth shut until we were gone and an extra fucking four hours of driving in case Cyke got it into his head I was taking you against your will and Xavier couldn't keep him under control."

A pause.

"Now you fucking tell me why you're here."

Marie shut her eyes.

"You're angry." She could feel it in every muscle against her body.

"And you're a bright girl to figure it out so damned quick. Give me an answer--why are you here? And why do you wear these?" He picked the chain from her neck and she swallowed hard, biting down on her lip. "If it's just for sex, we could have done it in your room and been done with it, not crossed half a damned continent. Why come here?"

"You like to run."

"I also like cheeseburgers but that doesn't mean I'll go into fucking northern Canada to get a good one."

She had to laugh at that, and it slipped out and maybe, just maybe, she felt him relax.

"I'm getting cold." The snow had worked into her jacket and lay damply against her sweater

"I'll let you touch me so you don't die of frostbite. Answer the question."

"I wanted you."

"I've heard that before, and much as that helps my ego, I don't think I'm so good in bed that you'd follow me to Canada to find out how I compare."

She'd need a standard to compare against. He'd always been that standard. Damn, damn, damn.

"I thought you didn't like heart to hearts."

"I've grown."

She breathed into the snow.

"I've settled."

"And that's *much* better."

Her eyes widened when she realized what she'd said. His grip had loosened enough for her to pull away and she turned on her back, staring up at him. It was well after nightfall and if she hadn't opened her mouth she could be--well, she could try on a few more of Jean's clothes and see which ones would work for what she wanted to be doing.

Instead, she was sitting--laying--in snow staring up at eyes she couldn't read at all, with nothing in her head from him to help her through this moment--and wow, she'd just told him the wrong thing in such a spectacular fashion.

"That's not what I meant."

"Good to hear. Try again." He crossed his arms over his chest and she belatedly realized that he was perfectly willing to wait as long as it took her to give an answer.

She searched his face, trying to find something, but he wasn't giving away a damned thing.

"I can be second best."

He considered for a minute, then slowly nodded, almost to himself.

"Should have guessed." Before she could come up with a response, before she had time to hurt, before she even had time to absorb what he'd said and what it meant and how incredibly thoroughly she'd managed to wreck everything, he leaned close and stared into her eyes.

"There's no second best."

For a moment, he didn't say anything at all and Marie didn't either. Then, in a single moment, he stood up, pulling her unceremoniously to her feet before turning away briefly, fingers clenched into his palms.

"What the hell were you thinking?" It was low, soft, and dangerous, and Marie caught herself taking a step back.

"Don't."

God, she hated this. Hated that she'd said anything, hated that for once she couldn't keep her tongue still--hated that he could do this to her, when she wasn't a seventeen year old kid with a crush but a grown woman who had the memories of three men pattering around in her head.

And she had to get out of here.

"Running?"

She would have, too, but there was a sudden and extremely embarrassing realization that she had no clue where the hell she was and that slowed her down--she had response before she thought better of it.

"That's what you do. I learned from the best."

"Tell me what you want."

She wanted to be in the cabin, in the bedroom alone, and she wanted to lock the door and cry, but the difference between seventeen and twenty-four wasn't so great after all, that at seventeen, she would have told him--

--and at twenty-four, she did too.

"I don't want to be her substitute."

"But you'd settle for it. And you think I'd settle with something less than what I actually want."

She took a moment to think through that, then turned around, leaning against the tree beside her--trying to work out what he said, what he meant--because damn it, it couldn't be as simple as that. And he was stalking her, slowly, approaching her as if she'd run--and maybe she would, she didn't know.

"I know what you taste like, what you smell like, I know what sounds you make when I touch you and I know what you look like when you're asleep. I know your favorite foods and I know your favorite color and I know how your hands feel without your gloves." He stopped, three inches away, and she caught her breath. "I know what it takes to make you smile and I know what it takes to make you scream--I know you."

"Logan--"

"Tell me you love me." One hand rested beside her face and he leaned close. "Tell me it wasn't a mistake, tell me that we didn't drive for twenty-two fucking hours so you could stop being a virgin and I could learn to like apples."

Her hands were shaking and maybe he noticed, because he took one of her hands, rubbing his thumb distractingly along the palm. And she tried to find words, tried to think of something that wouldn't come out sounding fifteen and dramatic and--God--

In his Logan way, he said he loved her.

"It wasn't a mistake." She could barely get the words out and just left them there, unable to really elaborate--

--because this part had never been in her fantasies at all.

"Now wasn't that easy?" He took her hand, turned her in the opposite direction--apparently the way home--and pulled her unresistingly along behind him. "Let's go."

It had been easy.