She’s the only person who can deceive his senses, lull him into a false sense of solitude. Which is why she’s also the only person who has any sort of picture of him. He hates pictures. Hates the trails they leave. So he avoids them when at all possible. But she has ways around that. She wears his clothes, moves in time with his steps, keeps her breathing even with his, and remains in the shadows. Remnants from her absorption of him on the Statue of Liberty.

So even now, as he’s bent over the hood of his pick-up (tantalizingly shirtless), he has no idea what’s coming. And when she finally takes the shot, it’s too late for him to do anything but frown in her general direction even as she grins back at him. She feigns interest in engines as an excuse to linger and he’s more than willing to answer whatever inane questions she might come up with. She snaps a few more when she thinks he’s not looking. He grumbles half-heartedly, but admits to himself that he’s glad she’ll always have something to remember him by.

Picture perfect memories/ Scattered all around the floor/ Reaching for the phone/ Cause I can’t fight it anymore

I should have thrown them away when I left the Institute. All twenty-seven of them. They’re completely useless. Nothing more than painful memories of a man I left behind. Or maybe he left me behind, permanently frozen in time as that scrawny sixteen year-old runaway he’d found hiding out in his hitch. Either way, looking at the photographs strewn around me is unpleasant at best.

Whoever said it’s better to have loved and lost is an idiot. Or maybe they’ve just never really been in love.

Then again, can you lose something that was never yours to begin with?

I waited three years for Logan to see me as something more than just a familial obligation. Three years of dropping hints, three years of watching from the sidelines as Dr. Grey brushed off the attention I would have treasured. Three years wasted.

I’m no fool. I wasn’t going to sit around, waiting for something that would never happen. But I knew if I remained at the Institute, I’d never escape Logan or the love I felt for him. So I left eleven weeks into my nineteenth year. I figured one of two things would occur. Logan would realize what an idiot he’d been and come after me. Or he’d let me go.

For two days I waited in the dilapidated motel room I’d rented just outside of Westchester. The second night I cried myself to sleep.

And the next morning I woke up and moved on. Or at least, I thought I had.

And I wonder if I ever cross your mind/ For me it happens all the time

It’s late. So late that perhaps one could consider it early. And she’s haunted by nightmares. Not of Holocaust horrors or scientific experiments, but of all the things that could go wrong. He’s on a mission again and even with his healing factor, she worries what could happen. Especially since Magneto’s involved. Despite having trained exhaustively for over a year, they still refuse to take her with them. She knows he has a hand in that. And it simultaneously thrills and annoys her. His protective tendencies give her hope, yet she longs to be seen as an equal.

For now there’s nothing she can do but wait. Which seems to be all she ever does.

Wrapped in one of the shirts she stole from his room, she creeps down the hallway and towards the small liquor cabinet located in the teacher’s lounge. A whiskey sour would help ease her troubled thoughts.

When she stumbles upon Logan, she’s elated to find him home and safe. She’s less elated when she notices the redhead wrapped in his arms. Shocked, she backs into the wall. The soft noise grabs his attention (though Dr. Grey remains oblivious, her lips all but attached to his neck) and she expects him to break the embrace and mumble something incoherent before escaping to his room.

But he doesn’t.

Their eyes lock for a moment and then he simply looks away, pulling his partner into the nearest room for more privacy.

It takes all of her strength not to break down right there in the middle of the main hall.

Somehow, she’s able to stagger back to her room where she sinks against the door. She doesn’t even realize she’s crying until the river of tears begins to soak through her shirt. His shirt.

In a fit of rage, she rips it off and throws it across the room. It feels good, but it’s not enough. The glass water nymph he bought for her eighteenth birthday is next to go. Followed by the Navajo wood sculpture that came after one of his particularly long absences. By the time she’s done, everything he’s ever given her is broken, ripped, or otherwise damaged beyond repair. Everything but the dog tags. The ones she still wears around her wrist in a makeshift bracelet.

She stares at them for a while, wishing with all her might that she could ruin them too. Just like he’s ruined her.

But she knows she can’t, so instead she tosses them onto the bed and quickly shoves all that she owns into a small duffle bag. Some might say it’s sad that it all fits rather easily, but she wouldn’t have it any other way. When she reaches to grab her scrapbook, she hesitates, but shoves it in after all, knowing if nothing else it will serve as a reminder to never let herself fall so deeply again.

Hastily scribing a note, she places it on the bed next to the dog tags. She hopes Logan’s the one to find it, but hates that she cares.

Perhaps if she were someone else, someone weaker, she’d hesitate. She’d look around the room, remember the people that had sheltered and cared for her these past three years, and slowly talk herself out of leaving. She’d reason she has nowhere else to go and that the world is still a dangerous place for her kind.

But she’s not the timid, lonely girl she used to be. She’s finally become the façade she’s put on for so long. Unpredictable. Uncontrollable. A true Rogue.

And so without another thought, she’s gone.

It’s a quarter after one/ I’m all alone and I need you now/ Said I wouldn’t call but I lost all control/ And I need you now

I’ve spent the last eighteen months trying to drown out the memories of that night. I wandered aimlessly for the first couple weeks. Headed anywhere I knew Logan wouldn’t be. I made it all the way to California before I started thinking maybe it was time for a plan.

Oddly enough, it was Eric’s suggestion that I ended up following. Ever since I’d left the X-men and focused my energy on blocking out Logan’s psyche, he’d been increasingly more vocal. At first, I refused to even consider visiting his old acquaintance, the Wakandan scientist called T’Challa, as New York City was far too close to the Institute for my liking. But when he revealed that T’Challa might be the only person alive with the skills to help me control my mutation, I knew it was a risk I’d have to take.

T’Challa was everything and nothing that I expected. Powerful and frightening, to be sure. But there was a kindness and regality there too that I hadn’t counted on. He and his long-time friend Dr. Reed Richards were able to do what even Professor Xavier couldn’t: give me hope. With T’Challa’s access to the mystics and their combined genius, they managed to find my trigger and manipulate it so that my skin was “off” as a default instead of on.

And just like that, everything changed.

For the first time in my life, I was free to do whatever I wanted. I didn’t have to worry about the consequences of my actions. I could simply be.

So that’s exactly what I did.

I used what little cash I had accumulated to buy an old Ford pick-up and started heading towards Alaska, just like I’d always planned. I went at a straight shot to Niagra Falls, took a detour to Montreal and Quebec, moseyed through Ontario, Manitoba, and Saskatchewan, and now I’ve finally made it to Edmonton, Alberta.

It would have taken me a tenth of the time if I hadn’t felt the need to stop in damn near every semi-interesting town and raise a ruckus in my effort to live life to the fullest. At first, it was just drinking and dancing. But then Logan’s psyche weaseled his way to the forefront of my mind and started going off about how this wasn’t me and I was better than some small town skank, which did nothing but piss me off.

So I stuck it to him the only way I knew how: by becoming exactly what he’d accused me of. I fucked and I fought and I cursed and I drank.

And now, I just wish I’d listened to him.

I don’t think I’ve ever been so scared in my life. Not when my powers manifested and I put poor David in a coma. Not when my parents threw me out with nothing by my dad’s old army duffle and a hundred bucks. Not even when I was trapped in the Statue of Liberty and death seemed certain.

I’d rather live through all that again then face what I’ve brought upon myself now.

A wave of pain washes over me and I muffle my scream by biting down on the nearby pillow. My face is soaked with a combination of tears and sweat and I know that this is my breaking point. This is my limit. This is something I can’t handle. Not on my own.

I stand on shaky legs and limp over to the hotel room’s phone, one hand instinctively grasping my swollen belly as the other reaches for the receiver. I tremble as I dial a number I know by heart, one I’ve never been able to forget no matter how hard I’ve tried.

It rings four times before he answers, his voice gruff and apprehensive. “Who the hell is this?”

I release a cross between a sob and a laugh. My fear of the situation far outweighs the anger I should feel at myself for the complete relief obvious in my voice when I reply.

“Logan.”

And I don’t know how I can do without/ I just need you now

The contender lands a hard punch on his jaw, sending him careening backwards. If his skull weren’t lined in adamantium, the blow would have killed him. That pisses him off and he knows he could unleash the claws and put the little shit in front of him in his place. But he doesn’t. Even if this mutant-only bar has been home to some of the nastiest fights he’s seen, the Wolverine knows that’d be taking it a step too far. Despite the super-strength the gargantuan in front of him possesses, he lacks a healing factor and no matter where the blades would land, the damage they’d cause could kill him. And that’s the unspoken rule of the bar. Always leave ‘em alive.

So instead, the Wolverine shoots the over-confident bastard a shit-eating grin before launching himself in the air, grabbing onto the top of the cage, and aiming a hard kick at his head. He moves so fast that his opponent has no time to react and goes down with a loud thud that shakes the room.

Dropping back down to the mat, the Wolverine shakes his head, ignoring the roar of the crowd in favor of grabbing the bottle of whiskey he has stashed nearby and taking a long, hard swig. It’s only when the door sweeps open and a familiar scent permeates the air that he looks up.

He shouldn’t be so glad to see her. And he definitely shouldn’t admire the way the jeans she wears hug her hips. Or the way the leather jacket fits her like a second skin.

He downs another shot of whiskey.

She’s clearly underage, but the bouncer pays her no mind. They know she’s here with him.

She meets him at the bar and nods at his fallen challenger. “Must of done something mighty stupid to piss you off like that.”

He raises an eyebrow at her observation. “What makes you say that?”

“You usually leave ‘em conscious.”

The wink she gives him and the confidence with which she orders a Molson Dry reminds him once again that she had a birthday last week. A really important one. The one he’d been dreading for two years now.

“That bother you?”

It’s a question he’s always wondered the answer to. Because he still remembers the fear in her eyes the first time she saw him fight back in Laughlin City. He’s a little surprised by the surety in her voice when she responds.

“Naw. The way I see it, they volunteered to get in the cage. Whatever they get, they asked for it.” She laid a gloved hand on his arm, her expression turning serious. “Does it bother you?”

The bar is crowded enough that no one’s paying them any attention, so he lowers his voice and answers honestly. “Maybe it should.”

She studies him as she finishes her beer, clearly weighing her words. When she does speak, her eyes lock steadily with his and the grip she has on his arm tightens. “Logan, you are who you are. Never let anyone make you feel ashamed of that.”

The announcer calls him back to the cage for the final brawl of the night so there’s no time for a lengthy response. Which is fine by him. Words have never been his strong point.

Tugging gently on one of the white streaks framing her face, he gives her a soft smile that he hopes conveys everything he wishes he could say. She beams back at him and for once he’s glad for his amnesia because it’s strengthened his ability to remember everything that’s happened since. And this is one moment he knows he’ll never want to forget.

“Knock ‘em dead, sugah. Well, you know, not literally.”

He snorts back his laughter and makes his way to the cage, gearing up for the fight to come. He normally ends them quick, but when she’s watching he tends to put on more of a show. Because the long, brutal fights always earn him warm hugs from her in the end and there’s something about holding her in his arms that just feels right. Even if he doesn’t consciously recognize it yet.

Another shot of whiskey/ Can’t stop looking at the door/Wishing you’d come sweeping in the way you did before

“Ladies and gentlemen, tonight’s winner and still King of the Cage—the Wolverine.”

Same bar. New management. Which is damn lucky on my part because I didn’t part on good terms with the last owner. The announcer’s the same and that prick I beat down is still here, but we struck a deal: they keep quiet about me, I let them live. Everybody wins. Well, everybody but the idiots who step into the cage with me.

I know I should move on. I’ve been in Laughlin City for over three months now and the fighting season’s all but over. Soon there’ll be no reason left to stay. No reason but the only one that matters.

It’s stupid. I know this is probably the last place she’d ever come. She ain’t a masochist like me. This place’ll hold nothing but painful memories for her now. Memories of meeting a man who’d bring her more pain than he’s worth.

People always talk about the one who got away. I used to think it was bullshit. That they were all idiots for not having the balls to stand up and go after what they want, consequences be damned. I never imagined I’d be one of them.

I’ve always known I wasn’t the smartest of men. But it wasn’t until seventeen months ago that I realized I was a fucking fool.

I spent so much time chasing after a woman that intrigued my dick that I never noticed the one who’d stolen my heart until she was already gone.

And I wonder if I ever cross your mind/ For me it happens all the time

Things fizzled out between Jean and I real quick. She wanted me to be the “good guy.” One who doesn’t rule the cage-fighting circle, who doesn’t drink more whiskey and beer than water and milk. One who’d prefer a nice mansion and all its fancy to-dos over the open road and a rugged camper. And I wanted a woman who didn’t want to change me. One that could cut loose and throw down without remorse. And that sure as hell wasn’t Jean Grey.

“Hey baby doll.”

I’m pulled from my musings by a blonde with a bad dye job. She’s got a nice rack and her face ain’t too bad either. It don’t take a genius to know what she’s after. But I ain’t buying. I tell her so and she just smirks, taking a few steps forward so that she’s brushing up against me, asking if I’m sure about that. I bite back a sigh.

What the fuck is it about me that screams I’m a man whore? Because I ain’t. Don’t know if it’s my animal instincts or what, but when I take a woman, it’s for a damn good reason and for a damn long time. Well, my recent lack of good judgment excluded.

Besides, there’s only one woman I want right now. And the bar fly beside me sure as hell ain’t her.

I refuse her again, and this time I’m much more brusque. She must not be used to rejection because she gets right miffed and tells me I’ll be regretting it soon enough.

Her words would make me laugh if they didn’t bring to light the one memory I do regret.

They’ve just gotten back from a standard mission and Jean’s venting about her idiot fiancé. Something she seems to be doing quite frequently as of late. He challenges their relationship once again, insinuating that perhaps he’d be the better match for her. He waits for the inevitable rebuttal or topic change, so when he’s met with silence instead, he turns to face her fully, surprised at this change of events in their usual routine. The curiosity in her eyes doesn’t shock him nearly as much as her eventual reply.

“Maybe you’re right.”

The next few moments are a blur and then suddenly she’s in his arms, her lips assaulting his ferociously, as if she’d always been forced to be gentle with Summers and was taking her frustrations out on him. He doesn’t complain though. After all, it’s what he’s always wanted.

But then she turns the corner and everything changes. The pain in her eyes is so obvious that his first instinct is to shove the redhead away, mumble an apology, and escape to his room. But he hesitates. Because he recognizes this as what it is: a turning point.

If he tries to pretend it never happened, things will go back to the way they were. Jean anchored to Summers, Rogue besotted over him, and he awkwardly stuck neither here nor there with both of them.

But if he doesn’t simply cut and run like he always does…

Part of him knows his reasons are mainly selfish. After all, he has wanted Jean for quite sometime. And this would undoubtedly force Rogue to move on, which would definitely make things easier for him.

But the temptation is too great. So he ignores the part of him screaming that this is wrong (perhaps it is his conscious, perhaps not) and turns away from the pain in Rogue’s eyes to lead Jean into the nearest supply closet.

He doesn’t see Rogue at all the next day, but knows her temper is as legendary as his and assumes this is probably for the best. It’s not until Jubilee storms into the rec room and throws an open letter and his dog tags in his face that he realizes something is amiss.

The letter is short. It simply says that she no longer feels like she belongs at the Institute and that they shouldn’t expect her to return anytime soon, if ever. The last line is undeniably directed at him and he feels himself swell with anger at her words.

I don’t need you anymore. So don’t bother waiting for a phone call. Cause it’ll never come.

Jubilee’s eyes are accusing as they lock onto him. “Well?”

He glares right back at her. “Well what?”

She scoffs, tapping her foot impatiently. “Well aren’t you going to go after her?”

His hands clench tightly around the abandoned dog tags, his pride blinding him just as surely as it did her. “No.”

It’s a quarter after one/ I’m a little drunk and I need you now/ Said I wouldn’t call but I lost all control and I need you now/ And I don’t know how I can do without/ I just need you now

Two hours and seven beers later, I’m still sitting at the bar. The old camper I bought a couple months back aside, I’ve got no place else to go. Used to be that this sort of life was enough for me. But that ain’t so anymore. The freedom feels like emptiness. The urge to run, the restlessness, is gone. Replaced instead with the desire to settle down for the first time in my life. With a woman with warm brown eyes, white streaks in her hair, and a smile that could knock a grown man to his knees.

Too bad I fucked up every chance I ever had with her.

The shrill sound of a ringing cell phone begins to echo in the nearly empty bar and I look around for the asshole responsible for it. A discrete cough and a nod from the bartender alerts me to the fact that it’s my phone that’s ringing. For a moment, I’m too stunned to answer it. I bought this phone about three years back for one reason. So that Rogue could get a hold of me whenever I was away.

Who the hell knows why I’ve kept it so long, especially after that letter of hers. Wishful thinking, probably. Or maybe it was just instinct.

Since it’s ringing now, I’m gonna go with the latter.

I look down to see a number I don’t recognize, but the area code tells me it’s coming from somewhere in Alberta. I shouldn’t get my hopes up. Chances are it ain’t her. I mean, what the fuck would she be doing in Alberta? It’s probably just a wrong number. Still, I answer it anyway.

“Who the hell is this?”

“Logan.”

There’s no denying it. The voice that responds is definitely hers.

I can feel my heart pounding wildly in my chest. Maybe there is a God after all. And maybe he doesn’t hate me as much as I thought he did. I try to find the words to say all the things I should have before, but in my stupor all I can manage her name.

“Rogue.”

She laughs a bit, but it doesn’t come out right. And immediately, I’m on edge. Something’s wrong. I can feel it. Her breathing is labored and shallow and the way she said my name… It was more than just relief. It carried a hint of desperation. I open my mouth to demand that she tell me what’s got her so upset (mostly so I can kill the fucker responsible), but she beats me to it.

“Look, I know I said I wouldn’t call, but I—I need you now.”

The way her voice cracks at the end has me moving faster than I’ve ever gone before. And by the time she’s finished telling me where she is, I’m already speeding down the highway, pushing the camper well over eighty. Luckily, I’m not too far north of her hotel in Edmonton. But I will need both hands to drive as the snow season is well underway, so I offer her one more reassurance before I hang up.

“I’ll be there as soon as I can, Rogue. Just hold on, okay? I’ll take care of you.”

I hear her bite back a sob and I push the old beast even harder, danger be damned. “Promise?”

I wish I could see her now. Wish I could hold her like I did back on the train. Wish I could show her just how much she meant to me. But I couldn’t. So instead I settle on putting as much meaning behind my next three words as humanly possible. “Yeah, I promise.”

Hang on, baby. I’m coming.

Yes I’d rather hurt than feel nothing at all

I know I shouldn’t have called. He’s probably doing just fine with Dr. Grey and doesn’t need – or want – me mucking up his life. It’s not like he had come after me when I left. So obviously he’s happier without me to weigh him down. And I should just leave him be. That’s what you do when you really love someone, right? You let ‘em go.

Which I guess makes me a selfish bitch. Cause I’ve never been able to do that. As hard as I’ve tried, I just can’t let him go. I wish I could. I’ve prayed that I could. Because being with him without actually being with him, it hurts. An ache so deep that sometimes I can’t breathe because of it.

But right now, as fucked up as it sounds, I just don’t care.

A swell of pain tears a scream from my throat and this one’s so bad that I collapse on the floor, my vision hazy.

My last thoughts before I pass out are ones of Logan. I haven’t allowed myself to entertain fantasies of him for over a year, but now I don’t have the strength to fight it anymore. I imagine him tearing down the frozen roads of Alberta (undoubtedly there’s some lead to his past that’s brought him here in the first place), a cigar clenched tightly between his teeth and his eyes hard.

He’ll take care of me. I know he will. Not because I deserve it or because he loves me, but because he’s a good man. And he promised. Logan never breaks a promise.

As I slip into unconsciousness, I let myself pretend that things were different. That Logan really did love me and it was that, and not a sense of obligation, that had him running to the rescue. It’s such a lovely thought that I smile through the pain and let myself succumb to the darkness.

It’s a quarter after one and I’m all alone/ And I need you now/ And I said I wouldn’t call but I’m a little drunk/ And I need you now

I’m thirty feet from her room when I get the first whiff of it. Blood. Rogue’s blood.

Without another thought, I kick through the door to her room, claws extended and ready to do some damage to the bastard who’s responsible for this. But the sight that greets me isn’t one I was prepared for.

There are no wounds on her body. And no other recent scents in the room. All the blood is pooled around one area in particular and it doesn’t take me long to figure out what this means.

Rouge was pregnant. But not anymore.

I don’t remember moving, but suddenly I’m at her side, gathering her in my arms and pressing her cheek against my own. When her power doesn’t automatically kick in, I panic momentarily. But then I realize I can still hear her heart beating and her breathing, shallow as it is, is still there too. Which means she must have gotten her mutation under control (and that explains the pregnancy).

I don’t have time to be happy for her (or even ponder what this could mean for us). Right now, I need her to wake up. I need her to take my healing. I need her to be all right.

Gently shaking her shoulder, I ease her back into consciousness. Her dark eyes blink up at me drowsily. “Logan?”

I brush her matted hair off her forehead and press a kiss to her clammy skin, relieved that she’s back with me. “Yeah, darlin’. I’m here. Turn your skin on for me, okay?”

She shakes her head resolutely. “No. I don’t know what that’ll do to the baby.”

My heart aches at what I have to do now. The slight glaze over her eyes tells me she’s still out of it, not fully aware of everything that’s going on. But that’s not going to make the news any less painful for her.

“Rogue. The baby’s gone.”

Brown eyes stare up at me in confusion for a moment, but as the haze clears, I can see the realization dawning as well. And then come the tears, pouring over her lashes and down her cheeks. I can feel my heart break with each one that falls.

She raises her hands and finds them sticky and coated with blood. Sobbing loudly, she begins shaking something fierce. “Oh God. Logan. I didn’t mean—I didn’t know—please. Oh God, please help me.”

I’ve never felt so powerless in my life. There was nothing I could do. Not a damn thing. “Tell how, Rogue.”

Please, darlin’. Give me something. Because you being like this, it’ll kill us both. You’re the only one with the power to do it, you know. People have tried, so many damn people. But ever since I saved you on the Statue of Liberty, I’ve known. I’ll live and die by your hand. I would have welcomed death before. Hell, I’d been searching it out for years. But now that I’ve found you again, I don’t want to have to let you go just yet. So give me something, baby. Tell me to move the whole damn world and I will. But you can’t give up on me, Rogue. Not yet.

“Make me forget. Please, just make me forget.”

I don’t think. I just move on instinct. Into the shower, put it on full blast, the heat damn near scalding. But I can tell it helps. That the noise and a different kind of pain are just what she needs to drown it all out.

My clothes are the first to go. There ain’t nothing sexual about it. Just that the wet leather and tight jeans make it awkward to move and I want full functionality. Her shirt (she hadn’t been wearing pants to begin with) is next. I remove it with care and the second it’s gone, she inhales a deep breath and sinks against me, as if it was a huge burden weighing her down.

My arms are wrapped tightly around her waist, holding her to me securely. Her hands rest against my chest, her face buried in the side of my neck. Nothing’s ever felt so right to me before. I know that this is where I’m meant to be.

“Logan, make me forget.”

I look down at her and the meaning is clear in her eyes. I’m not going to lie. As fucked up as it sounds, I want her. But I also know it wouldn’t be right. Not with all she’s been through.

“Rogue, I don’t think--”

“Please, Logan. Just this once. I need this. I need to forget. Please.”

There are tears pooled in her eyes and such misery in her words that I know there’s nothing I could deny her.

Cupping her face gently with my hands, I lean down to kiss her and her eyes flutter shut. I pause then, running the pad of my thumb over the swell of her cheeks.

“Rogue. Look at me.”

She obeys my command. And I can tell by her gaze that she thinks I’m going to turn her away. But that’s not it. That’s not it at all.

“I’m going to kiss you. And I want you to turn your skin on when I do.”

She has to know. She has to know everything. That for me, this is it. There’s no one else but her. For three years I denied it, but in the end I couldn’t escape the truth. A life without her isn’t a life worth living. And once we do this, once we take this step, it’s forever.

She must understand what I’m trying to tell her (mainly the feelings I can’t verbalize) because she slowly nods her head in acceptance.

I tenderly press my lips against her own and as I feel her power start to take over, I welcome the pain that it brings.

And I don’t know how I can do without/ I just need you now/ I just need you now/Oh baby I need you now

I come to a few minutes later, still slumped in the shower. Rogue’s leaning against the wall on the opposite side of the tiny bathroom, her eyes staring off at nothing in particular. The weight of her silence is damn near suffocating me.

“Rogue?”

Her eyes, torturously unreadable, snap up to meet my own. “You’ve been looking for me all this time?”

I nod my head.

I’d spent a little over a year on the road before I settled in Laughlin City, desperately hoping fate would bring us together once again. Truth is I would have moved on from there eventually, but I never would have stopped searching.

“You were an ass,” she states, not angry, just matter of fact.

I swallow hard. “Yeah. Yeah I was.”

I don’t say I’m sorry. She’s got me in her head, she knows I’m sorry. And I’ve always found words a little cheap. Instead, I climb out of the shower and walk over to her. Her dark eyes follow me the entire way, but she doesn’t say anything. When I reach my destination, I cup her cheek with my hand and study her carefully. All the physical damage from earlier is gone, my power took care of that, but there’s other kinds of hurt and all of it is plain to see in her tired eyes.

I know I’m responsible for a lot of that pain. And that knowledge makes me sick inside. Makes me wanna rip into myself with my own claws because the weight of the fury and the grief that comes with that knowledge is overwhelming.

Something wet starts dripping down my face and it takes me a second to realize its tears. My tears.

Well damn.

I’ve never cried before. But it figures my girl would be the one to make me do it.

I deserve worse.

Seeing me break like that must have touched something inside of Rogue because before I know it, the shock in her eyes is gone, replaced with something soft and indecipherable. She kisses the palm of each of my hands before gently leaning into me, one hand stroking my lower back, the other placed directly over my heart.

We stay like that for a long while. Maybe a few minutes, maybe a few hours. To me, it doesn’t matter. I could stand like this forever.

But eventually she pulls away. When her eyes meet mine, there’s no hurt left in them. Just peace. And a bit of curiosity.

“I gotta ask. What was it that made you leave Jean?”

I give her hand a tight squeeze before answering. “It was one of Chuck’s missions. Jean went missing and we all thought she was dead for a minute. I ain’t gonna lie, I was more than a little upset, but then I realized something. The thought of going on without her wasn’t anything close to what I felt when you were trapped in the Statue. Losing Jean I could move on from because I’d just wanted her. But you,” I pause, the mere thought of losing Rogue too much to even consider, “you I need, Rogue.”

“Marie,” she whispers.

“Marie.”

Her lips crash against mine, simultaneously demanding and soft. It’s full of teeth and tongue and sometimes it gets hard to tell when it’s pain and when it’s pleasure. Most of the time it’s both. It’s like everything we are goes into that kiss.

When she breaks it off (cause fuck if I was gonna be the one to do it), she starts tugging me toward the shower and I know exactly what she’s planning. I hesitate, remembering the hell she’s just been through and wondering if she’s as all right as I thought she was. “You still need to forget, darlin’?”

She turns and smiles at me, a real smile, one that makes my breath catch in my throat and marvel at how such a woman could ever want me. “No, sugah, this one’s for me to remember.”