Chapter 13 Never Show Your Weaknesses(Desert Thirst and Ocean Water)

The med bay. I made it to the medbay. I know by the sound, the way it makes sound echo. The smell of disinfectant bites through the tubes up my nose. My head hurts. Hell, everything hurts. My eyes have trouble adjusting to the light. I can smell blood everywhere, mine, Marie's. I can hear Hank, yelling commands, but I'm not sure what he's saying. Shapes are still blurry. Machines are bleeping. I notice the gurgle of air bubbling through blood, the unmistakable snap of paddles.

"Logan, you need to stay down." The professor, talking to me in my head. "You have received a large gash to your abdomen. You have lost a lot of blood. Your healing factor has been reduced significantly." His warm hands encompass my head, gentle. Calm, I feel calm, I know Marie is home, she is safe. I rest.


The room sounds quieter this time. Hank's not yelling. Machines aren't blaring. I open my eyes. Kitty is standing next to me. She smiles.

"Hank, he's awake." She writes something down on her clip board. "Good to see you came back, Logan."

My throat is really dry, my head still wavering. I sit up. The skin on my chest is a little tight, raw.

"You can't sit up yet, you still have stitches." Kitty tries to push me down. "Hank!"

Hank forces me down with both hands to my shoulders. They ache a bit. Surprisingly, I lose the bit of balance I had, and give up.

"Logan, you are still not completely healed. You have to lay down. You have had a lot of healing to make up for. Do you remember what happened?"

I look into his eyes to find deep concern, fear. Something he never shows. She must be in rough shape.

"Where's Rogue?"

"She's stable, for now. You need to rest,"

"I'm fine." I sit up and feel the pull under my chest. My head blurs out. I'm not used to this sluggish, dazed feeling. I swing me feet over the side, regretting it immediately.

"Logan, I will not let you leave, if I have to put you in restraints myself."

"Try it, Bub,"

"You know I'll win." I hate it when he right. I know if I tried to even walk five feet away from this bed, I wouldn't make it that far.

I pull my head up enough to see down the expansive room. I see the bed where she is laying, but I can barely see Marie. Machines surround her, tubes and hoses cover the view of her face. I can see her arms, covered in deep bruises.

"The accident took its toll on her body. It will be touch and go for a while."

"She got shot three times, I tried to heal her some, before running." I couldn't do enough. It was my fault. The accident was my fault.

"I know, the blood loss doesn't help the situation any. The car crumpled around her, shattering her spine, the entire thoracic and lower cervical vertebrate, among other things. Your body was on top of her when they finally got to you. There must have been some transfer of healing capabilities to help her enough until we got her stable. She is still not out of the woods."

"I can help her now!" I must be missing something. It's not adding up.

"Logan you need to rest. You could kill yourself. You body has not repaired itself enough to help her."

I lose all energy to fight. I sit back on the bed and lean over to soothe my head. Words slur together, chills shudder through me. Someone pulls the covers back over me. I keep my eyes closed out of exhaustion, but I won't let myself sleep. I listen to the machine keeping Marie alive. The rhythm is enough to concentrate on. The beeping gives me something to keep me awake.

I realize I haven't heard Hank leave the room. He's stayed by her side constantly monitoring her progress. I can't smell her through the bite of the alcohol and disinfectant. I can smell everyone but her. I should have done more to protect her. I should have grabbed on and forced her to come back with me before she ever got to the bank, I am the only one to blame for her being so broken.

How did I let it get to this? Why did she knock me out at the hotel? I was standing there looking at Marie, but that name belongs to the girl I met in Laughlin City, not the mess lying in that bed. Marie doesn't instigate to kill people, creating harm for herself, using her mutation for vengeance. She crossed that line, the thin line between an outlaw on the run and martyrdom. But she pulled me into to it to. It will take me a long time to forgive her. I killed, brutally, for no other purpose that to save her. Rogue was robbing that bank. The guards were doing what they were supposed to be doing, protecting assets. This wasn't based on mutants being held against their will. This wasn't a played out morality tale. This was someone else's revenge. And Rogue was wrapped up in it.

I have to wonder how much she hurt to be a part of something totally opposite to everything she was taught for the last seven years. What made her rebel, so viciously, heinously give in to stealing, setting herself up to get killed? She wanted to disappear, and she found a way to do it. I think maybe anyone that lost, that alone, would think it an option better than slitting their own wrists. It is someone else pulling the trigger, but lining yourself up with the bullet. If that is the case, I've already lost her. She is just as hollow as me.

The heart rate monitor starts to speed up, breaking into my thoughts, I listen as Hank starts to rush around her.

"Moira, check her temp, the last thing she needs now is a fever. I don't see any redness coming from the pin in her leg. Kitty, grab me a iv bag of anti-…"

I finally let go, enter the blackness of sleep. I need to be stronger for her…
*****

"Homme, wake up. Logan." Remy, announced as usual by the unmistakable stench of stale cigarette smoke.

I open my eyes. My head is clearer. When I sit up, I don't feel the pain this time. Hank is sleeping in a chair by Marie's bed. No one else is puttering around in the room. I figure it must mean things are getting better.
"I'm breaking you out of here. Breakfast is upstairs and you need to eat. Anyway, I'm sick of teaching your classes." Narcissistic, a bit isn't he?

My bare feet hit the cold floor, sending chills up my spine. It stopped me a little, a hesitation he picks up on.

"You gonna make it?" We keep going toward the elevator. He's a step behind me, guarding.

"Yeah, just getting my bearings. I need to change first. I'll meet you down there."

"You're not getting off that easy. I'm following you until you eat something."

It feels good to stretch my legs. I can feel my body begging for more time. I'm already tired and the walk three floors up seems more like climbing a mountain. With Remy so close behind, I am less like the Wolverine and more like a sick puppy.

I flop across my bed. A nap would be good, but hunger is setting in, and I have no clue how long I was out from the accident, details I will have to catch up on after I eat. I get dressed, think about my boots, hoping they were still in the med bay somewhere, trying not to think they were unsalvageable. I grab the pillow that was Marie's. It still smells like she used to. Maybe I have to think about giving up on finding that girl; she may be gone. The woman fighting for her own life isn't going to fit the mold everyone else tried to place around her.

"You okay?"

I forget he is outside my door waiting for me. This time he leads, staying a couple of stairs in front. I think that if I did fall, I would crush his body like a twig, but the gesture was comforting. I'm usually covering everyone else; now someone is looking out for me.
Ororo takes one look at me at the kitchen door. Her shock at seeing me registers only in her eyes.

"Sit down, Logan, I'll fix you a plate. Coffee?"

"I'm fine-"

"No arguing, or I'll give you tofu bacon and bulgur wheat toast."

"Very funny, Storm." I sit and look straight ahead. All eyes are staring at me, all actions suspended, frozen for a brief moment. Milk's sliding down spoons, mouths hang slack jawed. Kids and their rumors, they travel like wildfire. I probably killed a few just by showing up. I have to think there are just as many to debunk about Rogue.

"Remy, was Hank still downstairs?" Ororo asks Remy.

"Yes, sleeping in a chair in the med bay. Snoring is more like it."

"I'll make sure Kitty moves him to the cot in his office. Moira is taking over for the afternoon." It's funny that they are together. As small as she is, she still has the Beast wrapped around her little finger.

"Logan, I see you are up and moving around. Good!" The professor is too cheerful for my current state. "I would like to meet with everyone who went the other day, including you Logan. I have some things I would like to discuss."

"We will meet you in your office." Remy's playing the part of the good boy.

"Take your time. Classes don't start for a bit longer."
Remy and Ororo's hovering is getting annoying. I'm not dead, or helpless. I haven't looked in the mirror lately, my face may to telling a different story. They both jump, when I stand to take care of my plate.

As I head out the door, Michael gives an innocent wave, as if he is relieved to see me. I remember in great detail, that what he said was right. I do not wish to see what that boy's nightmares tell him, what he sees for any of us. He may see how we all die. He may see how we all grieve and move on. He does not understand the longer he stays here, the more pain and suffering he will envision, the guilt he will carry, and none of it his own.

My two shadows and I make it to the professor's office. This time the door is open. He's looking out the window, apparently in deep thought, but he breaks away when we enter. Jubilee, Kurt, Bobby and Colossus aren't far behind.

"Professor, Kitty is still in the med bay. She won't be joining us."

"Thank you, Jubilee. I've called this meeting to explain all the information I have received about the incident at the bank. It does appear they were set up."

"Did they expect us to fish her out? Was it only set for Rogue?" Ororo inquired.

"There had to have been a leak somewhere, something that let Mystique know defense money was being transferred. After all the stings they had pulled, someone had connected the dots. They were going after mutant blood money. Logan, do you remember how many units there were the night you pulled out Rogue?" Colossus is always a step head.

A night I am trying to forget. "I think it was just local SWAT. Nobody looked like government. It was dark and my focus really wasn't on who, at the time."

Chuck continues, "The two must have been gaining too much confidence, or getting sloppy, but having them work as a pair allowed their movements to be traced, no matter how they disguised themselves. Mystique's work with the FBI and CIA during the siege in San Francisco allowed the government to completely understand her mutation. The slightest remnants of DNA would give away her cover."

"If they know of Mystique, do they know Rogue was with her? She took the cure. They must have info in some databank someone where on her?" Ice prick can't let her past die, can he? "I counted the holes she had. Her blood must have been spilled everywhere, like a bread crumb trail-"

"Shut it Bub! Were you willing to get her out of there? Four months ago, you were droppin' her like last week's garbage. YOU HAVE NO Right-"

"ALL of you, settle this instant!" I rarely have seen Chuck raise his voice like that. "We need to focus on whether they know she is alive and here. We are not here to judge her. Nothing is ever so purely black and white. Am I right, Robert?"

"Yes, sir," he mumbles, looking down at his feet. Like a little school boy.

"I will be tracking Mystique's movements for the time being. She knows Logan came for Rogue and I will assume, for now, that connection has led her to believe she is in our care. Mystique has as much reason to hide, as much to lose out of this as Rogue. I do not think she will let down her cover for quite a while. I still have a few friends that can do some digging for me. We must not act as if we know about or are connected in any way to these incidences."

"How is Rogue?" Jubilee looked to be holding back tears.
I wait for Chuck to answer that one. I can't put it into words. A brief lift of his eyebrow answered more for me than what was to follow. He didn't know, but he wouldn't lie.

"She is stable. Once Dr. McCoy allows, you can see her for yourself. For the rest of you, keep a vigilant eye on the grounds for anything out of the ordinary. While out on missions, watch every movement, with great care. We are always being watched."

Everyone else takes that as a cue to leave. At the moment, I don't have the energy to move. The weight on my bones has made gaining my strength back twice as hard.

"Logan, I'm glad you have stayed behind. I have a few questions for you, about Rogue."

"I'm not sure what I can tell you, Chuck. We didn't get into talking much." That's more loaded than I would like to admit.

"Did she tell you, or did she do anything that leads you to believe she's gained control of her mutation?"

"No, not really." All I could think about was the first time I found her, how fast she dropped me, how different it felt. It stung, not like the pull I felt before, like electricity being pulled from the core.

"Do you know how we found you?"

"Not at all, no." I fidget with the rips on my jeans. I really don't want to hear about it.

"The car was upside down, fallen from the cliff. You were on top of Rogue. Your bare arm was against her chest for quite some time. Dr. McCoy had seen some scar tissue in a scan, leading him to believe she had controlled her mutation before losing consciousness. If she had no control, with your weight and condition of the car, she would have had no way to pull away without taking your life in the process. She has blocked that part of her mind, but with her being so ill, I cannot uncover if this is permanent, or her way of controlling it."

Silence. We both know what that actually means. Because her skin is off, I have no way to help heal her. The one thing I can give her right now, the one thing to bring her back from the brink, is useless.

"Dr. McCoy has not given me much reason to hope, but I promise you, we are doing everything within our power to help her. She is still a member of this household." He's holding back. I can see guilt taking over, just like before, when he was apologizing to me for not being here. She fell, too, and no one was here to catch her.
"Have you spoken to Dr. McCoy?"

"Remy got me out this morning."

"Would you like me to walk with you? Kitty is the only one on the team that even has an understanding of her condition."

"No, I'm fine" There is a knock on the door and his class starts barging in anyway, grabbing chairs. And that's my cue to find my way out.

I'm sure if I'm ready to go back there yet. The last four months of my life have been hell, filling my head with other things to think about besides Rogue. The minute I drift away from what's in front of me, all my thoughts go directly to her. I promised to protect her, and I failed miserably. I should have been here to stop her from leaving in the first place. And after that, I shouldn't have let her walk away.

I come out of my daze in front of the door to the med bay. Sub-consciously, I was doing the right thing. I can no longer walk away. She dealt a hand and was playing me for a better life. I folded and walked away the first time. I can't do that again.

I make it past the doors, which are a lot harder to cross. I stare down at the floor until Hank notices the statue I've become.

"Logan, you slipped away before I could give you a thorough exam."

"And you're supposed to be sleeping-" I think I actually was trying to smile.

"Did Ororo send you down here? Now sit down, and let me do my job, so you can do yours."

He said it in such a way that I could almost take him for a mad scientist, with plans far beyond the obvious. "I'm fine. I can walk, talk and still manage to piss a few people off."

"Just a minute….." he holds a small light directly into my eyes, and they ache from the abruptness of it. "Have you been seeing any hallows, blurriness…"

"NO! I told you I'm fine…"

"Very well. You had a grade 3 concussion, something you can still suffer from, even with the adamantium around your skull. Your brain is still floating around just like everyone else's. You seem to be over the worst of it. If you weren't, you would still be dazed and confused, but your light sensitivity should wane in a couple of days at the most."

"How is she?"

He takes a deep breath in, looks my way. I'm not sure if he's trying to read me, deciding how much of the truth he wants to share. Finally, he breathes out, heavily. He's going to tell it straight. Good choice.

"I will be deeply honest. Her spinal fractures are the least of my worries at the moment. Her left lung collapsed, which we have been able to alleviate, from the bullet wound more so than the accident. Her spleen was ruptured. I had to remove it, or she would have bled out. The right leg we had to set with pins. Her circulation is improving to her toes which is actually good news…"

We walk closer to her bedside. I stop listening, words fade to the background. She looks so fragile, her skin is grey where it isn't bruised. Her lips are cracked. Her eye sockets deeply stained. Tubes drip fluids into her arms from bags hanging off poles. Her neck is in a collar. She's breathing through a tube in a hole in her throat, in a rhythm set by another machine. Small clusters of stitches cover what I can see of her arms and a few spots on her face, cuts from the glass, I assume. Her legs are covered in a light blanket. I can't see the pins Hank was referring to before, something about infection...

"….she's made it this far. I had to sedate her when she woke up briefly. This will be too much of a shock at first, if she is not somewhat healed from her prior surgery."

"She woke up? Did she say anything?"

"She can't, not until her lungs are stabilized and her esophagus is more healed. Then we can remove her trach. We will have to think about another surgery, later on, to stabilize her neck, once we see how she progresses."
There is a long silence between us, then he pulls up a chair next to her bed.

"You can stay with her, for a while. Moira will be coming down shortly. I'll be over in the office, if you need anything."

He walks away as I try to remember why I am standing until my legs were giving out on their own. The only thing I didn't do for Rogue was kill her. That accident was my fault. No one can tell me otherwise. No one ever talks about how I had to kill Jean, because she was already dead, to the Phoenix. I was saving her. I was supposed to save Rogue, and she is all but dead because I failed her.

I hesitate to touch her, but her hand laying on the bed, even with the needles and tape, looks to be asking to be held. I hover over her. No heat is coming off her. I lower my hand gently and feel how soft her skin is, not dangerous. Silky and velvet at the same time. Her hand is so small compared to mine. She still has polish on her nails. It's ironic; they seem so delicate, but I know she has done some deadly things. I have too, because of her. She was terrified of me. I saw it on her face. She saw the beast, the one thing I was trying to never let her see. I was ferocious, brutal, swift. But the animal was protecting her, saving her, the only way it knew how. I could smell the fear, adrenalin, through everything, gunfire, blood, sweat. She has parts of me, the Wolverine, the beast in her head. She had to understand. I think seeing it for the first time, how deadly I can be, unforgiving, it wasn't just a name on dog tags, but real. She was scared, the hesitation, then pulling away, the complete opposite from the girl running to meet me at the door, her arms around my neck, my hands around her waist, wanting so much more. I remember her asking me to stay, the look in her eyes, the nightmares of my life playing out in her head. I couldn't, I wasn't ready to be part of something bigger. It was still someone else's dream. But I wouldn't let them save her; I had to be the one to do it. I let her slip through my fingers once. I had to be the one to bring her back home. I wasn't brave. I wasn't brave enough to stay.

"Logan, wake up." A hand is shaking my shoulder, "Logan, I need to change some bandages. You can come back in a few hours."

I lift my head and feel the dampness on her hand. I was still holding it. My face was hot.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to do that." God, I feel so stupid. Moira smiles. I think she can tell. It will be our secret.

"It's okay, the professor was hoping you would stay around, if she wakes up." She busies herself, writing down numbers, getting her tray ready with gauze, tape, scissors.

My feet carry me out. I float through the halls, all sounds, echoes, whispers, all are gone. I don't let myself hear them.

Moira's words keep replaying in my head. "If", there isn't another way, she will. She has to; I deserve it. I killed for her, she should at least have the decency to be awake to know what I did for her. If. Like she's walking on top of the blade of a sword, unaware of how thin the line is that she has to hold to.

The snap of my bedroom door shutting brings me back to reality. I lay down to sleep, even if only for a while. The afternoon sessions are going. The grounds are quiet. The draft from the cracked open window smells of pine, dried leaves, and cold. I can't think of a better way to fall asleep.



They engaged their guns, ready to fire. Soldiers, in their field camo, me against a pole. I was staring down the barrels of an M16. I didn't feel fear. I raise my head towards the beating sun, blistering heat. A guard off to my left was reading off the charge, and I was leaning into the bindings around my wrists. Something caught the corner of my eye. It was a girl, walking from behind the firing line. I could feel my heart racing. It couldn't be her; she's not supposed to be here. My arms were tied. I couldn't let out the claws to cut the ropes, they wouldn't respond.

"Marie, no—" but she didn't listen. She was running, happy to see me, throwing her duffle bag down, tossing down her green coat, running to throw her arms around me. "Rogue, no, you're gonna get killed! Marie, listen to me!"

They couldn't see her. The guard called the arms to ready. They were going to shoot through her. She is going to die because of me.

"No, you have to stop! Marie, MARIE! You need to get out of here!" No matter how much I pulled, the ropes were changing to metal, I couldn't break free from them. She was just a few feet from me. I heard the guns fire, bullets went through her, her blood splattered against my face. I saw it dripping from my chest. "Noooooooooo" She froze, reaching for me, but I couldn't reach back. I felt her hand brush my chest, her eyes large, becoming sad.

"I'm sorry Logan—" and something pulls her back, disappearing, her arm still stretched to reach for me. Smoke wafting in as tall as the guards.

My bindings finally let loose. I can't find her through the smoke. I pop my claws, going after the soldiers, still primed to shoot. I take a bullet to my left shoulder. I feel a kidney jab from the butt of a gun. I am fast enough to grab it, and pull the soldier forward. I force both my hands through his stomach, watch him slide lifelessly to my feet. I feel more bullets penetrate my leg. I see the shadow of another gunman. I thrust forward, pulling his shoulders down, across my bent leg with one hand, my other going for the kill in the upper chest. With a quick glance, I look at his face, but it's not a soldiers face, it's Marie.

My fingers drenched in her blood, her body already cold. I killed her. How could I have done that? I was trying to protect her, and I killed her.

"AWWWWwwwww-" ,but the smoke fades, it becomes as dark as night. I look down to her, but she has fallen. I reach forward to grab her, and only grab air.

I feel the cold shock me awake, my body covered in sweat, my blankets torn to pieces. I try to control my breathing. I need to slow it down. I reach for the light to turn it on. That centers me, being in my room, to focus on where I really am. I am safe. I am home.

It's completely black outside. I must have slept for hours. I change out of the wet clothes, and head down to the med bay.

I rush down the directionless halls, feeling like I've missed something important. The elevator isn't fast enough, the sliding doors barely keep pace as I dive through them. When I get there, nothing has changed. Marie is still frozen in the same position. Hank is in the office, milling over papers. The chair is now on the other side of the room. I don't move it closer. Some part of me is still afraid to be that close to her. That's the part that always tells me to run, tells me alone is better.

I listen to the sounds of the machines keeping her alive. Her heart is steady and slow. I watch her chest rise and fall with unnatural rhythm. I smelled for the first time a bit of her through all the sterility of the room.
Hank comes in to change a bag on a pole, connecting it to the tubes draining into her arm. He glances my way with a nod, not saying anything. I don't know what else to do but sit and watch her. It's what I always did, when we talked. She did all the talking; I always listened. I would never admit it but I sometimes I would drift away, taking in just the sound of her voice, the change in how she smelled from season to season, strawberries for summer, vanilla and spice in the winter. Feeling the sadness flow off of her, or how the tone changed when she was happy. Most of the time, she had already made up her mind, but I think sometimes, she needed to hear that whatever it was, she would be ok, she had a place to land when the weather changed.

Something pulls me out of my daze, a gasp. I look her way, not expecting to see her eyes fixed on me. Her eye lids look heavy. She can barely keep them open, I rush to her, knowing this time may be the only chance.

"Turn your skin on." She uses everything she has to keep her eyes locked on mine, I can smell fear filling the room. "Whatever you did, undo it."

I'm gripping her hand so hard, I could swear I feel a crack in her knuckle. I can't panic, I have always been able to help her, but nothing's working. "Marie, turn it on!" She had to turn it off somehow, so she has to bring it back. She has no idea how much I need for her to bring it back. My hand starts shaking. I can feel my throat tighten. I look back down at her face, and she's trying to smile at me, I don't know what to do. Jean smiled the same way the last time I saw her alive. Marie can't leave me like Jean did.

"Kid, listen to me." I move a bit of hair out of her face, feeling the softness of her skin. Something comes over her, fear, panic, letting go of hope. Tears start rolling down her cheeks. I feel the coolness of wet covering mine. Sounds are blaring suddenly. I can't let go of her hand. I can't let it go. It isn't supposed to go like this...

"HANK, get in here!" He was already running in our direction, with force and determination.

"Logan you have to step back. Moira, get the cart!" He pulls the hose off her neck, pushing me out of the way, I feel her hand slide out of mine. I'm not ready to let go. Moira starts to hand pump air into her chest. Hank plunges syringes of God only knows what into her veins.

"Rogue, I've given you a sedative, but I want you to listen carefully to me. I know you can still hear me. You were in an accident. It damaged your spine. You cannot breathe without assistance. You have swelling constricting blood flow to your spinal cord, your back is shattered in multiple places, Rogue, try your best to relax, find a place in your mind…."

"Dr. McCoy!" The professor and Hank's eyes met briefly. A pause. They were silently sharing a conversation I wasn't supposed to hear.

"I'm getting resistance!" Moira shot a hard look to Hank. She stopped pumping.

"What's going on? Someone tell me what the fuck is going on!" More carts and trays get pulled what seems like nowhere. The professor is at her head, his eyes closed, oblivious to the flurry going on around him, his hands hovering over her temples.

Kitty comes out of thin air, pulling down the blanket, lifting the gown to give access to her chest. I see Hank grab a scalpel, cutting into her, then forcing a tube into her side.

"Try it now. Did it re-inflate?"

"It's better. Kitty what's her oxygen level?"

"Only 69…She's getting dusky..." The heart monitor starts to speed up, the screen flashing. "She's in V-Fib…" Moira pushes one thing out of the way, and pulls up another, then she runs to the other side of the bed. Marie's hand dangles over the side. I can't help but reach out for it.

"Logan, talk to her… " What the fuck am I supposed to say? She's really cold.

"Tell me something!"

Hanks eyes meet mine for a quick second, "Her lung collapsed. Her heart is under a lot of stress. You need to let go of her hand NOW!" Kitty squirted gel onto the paddles in his hands. "Charge!"

Everyone, even me, takes a step back. Her body moves in shock.

"Epinephrine?"

"Yes!"

Nothing.

"Charge!" Again, everyone stops. Kitty takes over for Moira, begins compressing Marie's chest.

"Chuck, do you have her? Does she want to try? Come on Marie! I won't let you leave. Hank, fuckin' DO something!"

"Charge...Clear!" Nothing, just a long whine from the machine.

The professor looks up. Marie's eyes crack open a bit as well, I grab her arm out of desperation.

"NOW!"
I don't know what that means, until I feel the pull, slowly, like a tingle. Then, like an out of control train, it starts to take over.

""Take it." I won't let you let go, "Take it!" I feel myself hit the floor. All the blaring sounds fade, but I won't let go.

Finding a Lost Key

Two days. I lost another two whole days spent in the med lab, out cold, a recurring guest within the ever-so-familiar steel walls. The stillness and peace there are calming to me, and I hope to the other occupant sleeping at the other end of the room.

Relaxed and resting, she looks better now, the color back in her lips, a bright contrast to the natural ivory glow of her face. I lost myself watching her breathe, the sweetness that calls me to her reaching deep within, becoming my drug. Her hands rest above the covers, looking delicate again, almost angelic, in the dim light.

I had touched her, held her hand, felt the softness of her face, her skin against mine, how sweet it was, how deadly it could be now. I wanted all of her, every crook and crevice, every flaw, every scar. But I have to settle for those few moments, never knowing if she felt me back, my hand against hers. I have no idea how much more of me she has, the nightmares, the anger, the regret. I can believe she will hate how much she understands of my own inner struggle, two separate parts never meshing as one whole being.

"You know, gazing from afar is not the most effective way of sharing one's feelings. It's great to see you up and about." Xavier's approach is guarded, contradictory to his demeanor. I hadn't heard the doors open or his entrance through them. It crosses my mind that he had been waiting for me to wake up.

"Don't you ever knock?" Deflecting, I know, but I suddenly feel naked, exposed. How much had he seen? Did he wander through my mind, seeing if my intensions for saving Marie were selfish? It's hard for me to trust anyone, let alone a path.

"Dr. McTaggart said she will make a full recovery. She will be right as rain. I hope that brings comfort to you. I know full well what it took to bring her home."

"We'll see." I turn my back to him, getting off the bed, hoping he gets that I really don't want to talk anymore.

"The battle is won, but the war for Rogue is not over. She is safe, but will she want to stay?" A long pause. I guess he's waiting for me to answer, but I don't give in. "As you know, everyone in this house will be willing to help her rebuild her life if she is eager to do so. But my concern is what your intensions are now that she is here."

"That will depend on her, on what she wants to do. No one asked her the first time. And I'm no shining beacon of guiding light, so don't expect me to be the one to do it!" I hadn't expected to be so angry. The sound of my voice echoing catches me off-guard and I suddenly realize I could have disturbed Marie. I wasn't ready to see her, to talk to her at that point, and the Professor even hinting at it is too much to handle.

"I am having her moved to her old room. She is out of danger, and waking up here may make her feel hostile, trapped."

"Do whatever makes you feel comfortable. I hope it makes everyone feel better..." The urge to run never reared its head so strongly. The fight or flight never had me running, but this was turning into a mental game, a battle of wills.

My confrontational exit, I hope leaves him guessing, but I recognize it for what it was, a pathetic attempt at covering my own disgust at allowing anyone to see me lose control. I question how much I would have done if it were Kitty, or Jubes instead of Rogue. I did nothing to corral Pyro, so why did I go to such lengths with her?
r32;
The danger room is occupied, so the next best place to clear my head is out on the grounds with a walk through the dense brush, the coolness of the dry northern air chilling my lungs, the grey sky blocking any hint of sun. The leaves had long ago fallen from the trees, their constant sound under my feet a reminder of winter's inevitable approach. Pines providing the only cover, and the damp earth filling my nose, reminding me that I had allowed this state of being to control me. The Wolverine knows this place, knows how to control this space, and find safety in it. Even in this existence, parts of me would be satisfied, if this would be what I settled for, to call a living. The shadow of the mansion, more than a mile back, the brick and mortar creating a different life, an unnatural warmth, protecting, unchanging, the glazed windows reflecting back the wild. I had lived that life and could find balance within it. Or is that a lie, one that I am good at living?

An eerie silence creeps within the woods. My own presence permeates the air. I hear the scurry of other creatures fleeing. Sensing the animal rising, they know to run. And yet one creature I so dearly want to run toward me, unaware of the danger or blindly accepting it, either of which I managed to deflect. But who is more the fool?
I turn back toward the mansion, my intentions still unclear. Do I return, go back to being the teacher others believe I am, or is this my moment to break away, to continue on my never-ending journey? Part of my head is still weighing my options when I realize I've made it all the way to the second floor of the mansion, where a sudden change in direction yanks me out of my fucked up stupor.


"We are going out." Remy's determination is unwavering, never giving me the chance to object. I wrestle my arm out of his grip, bucking my shoulders in protest.

"No, you're not backing out, we are going out. I'm sick and tired of watching you wallow in your own fucking self-pity, get all bent out of shape over whatever happen or didn't happen. And that fucking wall you hide behind? It's fini, mon ami, fini! I'm raising hell, I'm getting laid, and I don't care if I have to drag you with me. Well, perhaps not together in that order, but you get the idea, n'est pas?"

"Are you done? Because all I really want is a beer, from the fridge, and you to fucking get out of my way!" Somehow I knew I wasn't going to get away with that one.

"Fine, you take a bar stool, and Remy gets all the ladies, but you're coming. The bikes are ready." Without missing a step, he throws keys at my face, making me catch them with a flinch as he steps nimbly out of my arm's reach. Damn if he hasn't just talked me into doing more than I ever would have on my own. A long bike ride might be the perfect antidote to my self-induced struggle.

The Cajun never disappoints. The joint we land in has all his favorite elements – underground, smoke-filled, dimly lit aura. Tables covered in cards and chips, easy banter, mutants and mutant-friendly without the perfume of fear, the roar of raucous laughter over a round of shots. Remy's centered at a table with a lady on either side. I settle at the bar as promised, light a cigar, and hope the constant barrage of beers might just pound my mood into something resembling enjoyment.

"Hey, Flannel!" Like a dart shot directly into my ear. She's close enough for her hot breath to raise the hairs on the back of my neck. "Did you come alone?"
I knew who she was. I'd noticed her noticing me when we walked in. How could I not? A mutant with tigress-like features, large eyes, slightly triangulated nose, canines barely exposed. It wouldn't surprise me if she had a tail. She wore a leather choker, like a collar, maybe poking fun at her own appearance? I wasn't sure, but she didn't leave much to the imagination.

"I can tell who's a real animal, when see I see one. You aren't the only one with enhanced senses you know. I could make you purrr." I feel her hardened nail trace the outside of my shoulder. I buck back at her advances. She doesn't exactly look shocked by my reaction. "Or not. Your loss. Why would you come here, if not for a little fun?"

I let a rumble fill my chest. She gets the message and moves on, leaving a trail of arousal that made it hard to concentrate on anything but her. I'm guessing she enjoyed leaving me wondering if it was truly my loss. Boo-hoo for me. Still, I knew she'd have no trouble finding a sucker to get her fill.

I glance Remy's way, watching him rake the chips to his favor, his lady friends stacking them for him, while he tosses back more whiskey. A sneer of disgust comes across his face, his eyes glowing red and I know right away somebody is going down. I follow his gaze and catch sight of what Remy is staring down – a small figure of a man with the scent of a rat and twitchy hands seated across from the Cajun. Guess he must have pulled a fast one on Remy once upon a time. Nobody gets away with that. Remy always wins. I can tell he's charging the cards, masking his power with tricks that have his girls squealing with delight. I need to diffuse this quick or everybody's night will be shot to hell.

Remy knows I'm onto him. He sees me of me out of the corner of his eye, his fan of cards suspended in mid air, ready to fire them off. His expression gives nothing away, but he hesitates – one heartbeat, then two, and then stacks the cards back on the table. If anyone but me sees the red glow surrounding the deck, they never let on, but we're not out of the woods yet.

"I think your game needs a fresh buy-in. Don't you think so, Remy? I think it's time for the rat to go find another place to...."

"Ladies, I need another glass of this sweet bourbon, and could you bring my friend here a fine whiskey? Merci..." He pauses, waits for them to leave. They pout, disappointed at being dismissed, but so eager to please. "Logan, I think it is time to show this rat what we do to people who cheat."

"I think we let this rat go with a warning to never show his face here again," I reply, crouching now right at the rat's ear, whispering with a guttural rumble, "...or I'll show him what wild animals do with small rodents." I slide just one claw out by his other ear, knowing he can hear the metal-on-metal whisper as the blade leaves its sheath. He's frozen for a moment with fear, except for his eyes, which dart furiously around the room, seeking an escape route. Rats don't need much room to run, so the second I drop my hand he ducks out of the chair and scurries away, disappearing in the crowd. Fine by me, but Remy looks less than thrilled, until his girls return with our drinks. His eyes lose the red shine and his hand finally leaves the deck.

"Sit, you look like you should be a bouncer for this place." The blond of the pair puts a glass in front of me, while Remy grabs her back to his shoulder, to occupy his free hand, the brunette filling his other. "I sent Deirdre to entertain you. You did not find her to your taste?"

"You of all people should know I didn't come here to--"

"What? Lose yourself for a little while? Remember what's it's like to have a little fun? Ladies, this man suffers from a broken heart, only he doesn't like to admit he actually has one." A sly smile crosses his face as he nibbles at the neck of the blonde, who closes her eyes in pure enjoyment. The brunette has me in her sights, staring deeply at me, sipping from her glass as if reading the thoughts of the Wolverine, willing to satisfy him, even if it were deadly.

I down the glass, looking away from the pair of eyes eating away at my resolve, the scent of the room suddenly making me sick. The night and my need to be part of it have begun to wear thin. The once perfect atmosphere now felt excessive, too much drunkenness, too much sex, too much of everything settling into my lungs. I felt like I was drowning. Remy had been right, painfully truthful, and no amount of lust and booze would shut off the constant barrage of shit raking my brain.

"Look, thanks for getting me out, but I'm going to head back…"

"All right, fair enough. I can't have fun while watching you wallow. It's depressing for everybody. Bonsoir, mesdames. Bientot, mes chers…Soon, I promise..."
I head out to my bike while he finishes with the girls, leaves them wanting more, as usual. The weight of the day pulls any energy away from my body, making me forget what I had accomplished, what I was healing from. Remy's bike roars to life before I even notice he's behind me. It's unsettling to realize I'd so thoroughly shut myself off to my surroundings, an alley full of people noisily going about their evening.

"Hey, we are grabbing food before we cross the bridge. I know a great place for sushi." He's in front of me before I can get my hands on the grips. No time to protest; I think he liked it that way. He'd found a way to lead around the Wolverine, with a collar made of exhaustion and melancholy.

The scent surrounding the Japanese restaurant seems familiar. I notice the adrenalin rush, but have no idea what's got me all worked up. It isn't fear, or aggression. That much I know. We sit at the bar and Remy orders drinks. Sake in hand, I watch Remy scan the menu choices, my mind floating in constant question. Why does this feel so familiar?

"Nice work with chop sticks, man, never had you pegged for such a skill. Can skewer the tuna with one hand, slice and dice, and eat elegantly with hand-chiseled chopsticks, all in less than a minute. You are a man of mystery." Remy's look of awe is unnecessary and unappreciated.

"Do you want me to add you as a side dish?" I actually hadn't noticed anything that I was doing, or how I was doing it. That eerie feeling of familiarity is still ghosting in the back of my mind. The flavors, the customs, even the din of Japanese conversation going on around me bring a sense of…of belonging…of peace. Something snaps in my head and memories rush forward…crisp, cool air, magnolias, different oceans, mountains, snow…crimson snow, blood, hate, rage. Sweat beads on my forehead as the conflicting images crowd my mind. My hands shake with the uncertainty of it all as the Wolverine rages in the cage I'm so desperately trying to hold him in.

"James Howlette !!!" a voice shouts from behind me. I turn to find a man more in silhouette, but sweating in excitement, adrenalin coursing through him. "You're James Howlette!!" he shouts gain, almost grabbing my arm.

"I think you got the wrong guy." I look at Remy who is also surprised at this man's eagerness to approach me.

"No, you ARE James Howlette!!!" His accent thickening with his insistence, he turns me with shocking strength on the barstool. I hear metal unsheathing, my instincts taking over.

Remy grabs my shoulder, staring me down, making sure I understand. "Logan, no, not here."

"Kuzuri!"*


*Japanese for 'Wolverine'.