FRIGHTENING THE HORSES

DISCLAIMER: I make no money from this, but I don't care too much for money, beacuse money can't buy me claws.

Chapter One: The Love You Make Is Equal to the Love You Take

Alkali Lake. Night

I: Rogue

Rogue didn't sleep in the Blackbird, with John and Bobby, and she didn't sleep in the encampment.

At least, not just yet.

She went off into the woods.

Once, it seemed like a thousand years ago, she had lived in a shack in a swamp much less hospitable than this pristine wilderness, by her wits and with the aid of an old 12-gauge.

Besides, she was a feral, now, had been for a long time.

So, the woods didn't scare her.

What scared her was the encampment.

Rogue lived a double life that was like walking a tightrope.

The secret was not to look down or look back.

But, with both parts of that life convering in one encampment, she could feel the rope unraveling beneath her feet.

"There you are, Marie."

And then it snapped.

"Ah have not forgiven you, yet. Erik."

"Haven't you? I had the opportunity to take a good look at Mitchell Laurio's dead body. Someone had very recently given him a very serious beating. And they carved a big, bloody "X" on his chest. In triplicate. I don't think it was Logan who felt it was necessary to avenge me."

"I did it out of duty. Not out of forgiveness."

"Rogue, has it ever occurred to you that perhaps I have never forgiven you? I saved you. I trained you. You were my heir apparent. You could have been the best and brightest of the Brotherhood. I don't know what I find more insulting. That you threw over the Brotherhood for that hairy little man, or that you threw me over for him."

"Do you think that little of me? That I would throw away mah whole life, the only life ah ever knew, the only family ah ever had for Logan's cock?"

Magneto's face flushed, and she knew it hurt him, for her to speak to him that way, but Rogue was glad; right now she wanted to hurt him, without really knowing why.

He recovered his poise, quickly.

"Well, considering you risked your physical well being for a certain other mutant, on a regular basis, yes."

Rogue considered taking her gloves off before she slapped him, but she didn't.

"I'm not trying to purposely insult you. I'm just trying to show you what a convoluted young woman you've become. You're such a believer in Charles' dream that you carve an "X" for X-Men in a man's flesh, but this is a man you beat and terrorized to the point of death for the sake of my well-being, and I am Charles' dream's worst enemy. Not to mention that if Charles knew that you attacked Laurio, he would have probably drummed you out of his school, but you risked everything for me, anyway. And still, you claim that you haven't forgiven me? As if that's all- important. And finally, you go proclaiming your undying love for Logan while he's in love with another woman and you know it, and you're most likely in love with another man. You don't know what you want, anymore, do you?"

"You're trying to trip me up by making simple things sound convoluted. Ah know what I believe in."

Magneto laughed.

"Believe? You don't believe in anything, Rogue. You think you do, but that fact of the matter is, you're still too young to know which side of the playpen smells the best. Still, I don't blame you for choosing the X-Men. I can see why Wolverine's stuck with them, too. Three squares a day. A room of your own. With private bath, no less. Steady work. Limited federal interference. All things I can't offer you. At least, I hope those are your motivations. Because if you've fallen in love with Wolverine, you're barking up the wrong mutant. He's head over heels for Jean Grey. If you're extremely lucky, he's not thinking of her while he's making love to you. But, then again, considering we both know who you're thinking of when you're with him, it doesn't matter, does it?"

"Why don't you go to hell, Erik! You're an evil old man, full of lies!"

"No. I am an evil old man full of truths. This has gone far enough, Rogue. I am not some stranger in the street. And neither is Raven. You are a grown woman, I will not ask you to give up either of your men. But, when you have graduated from the X-Institute, I want you to come home, while you attend university. You are too young to make the decisions you are making, and far too young to be living with a man who is older than me. Do you imagine that Logan isn't an evil old man? He's a lot older than I am. And he's killed many, many, many more times than I have. And he's your new mentor? Your new love? You can get that at home. From someone…whose name I will not mention."

Rogue put her face in her hands.

She still wasn't sure if Erik had really meant to sacrifice her life for the good of mutantkind on Liberty Island, or if she believed his protestations that he knew she was a feral, at the time.

But she did know that he had no right to cast aspersions on Logan.

Logan was a gentleman with her; he treated her like a lady. They have been travelling together for, well, it had to be a couple of months before she finally got him to roll over.

But it wasn't just rolling over for Logan; what they did in the bed in that cabin cemented things between them.

It made her his woman, and even if it was Jean Grey he loved; Rogue didn't care.

Logan was passionate, and protective, tender and territorial, brutal and benevolent; she was his in that old-time, old-West, grimy-faced and grim Man With No Name sort of way.

And he was hers.

He saved her life, he imprinted his powers on her, he gave her his dog tags when he went away and she never doubted his promise to come back.

Logan never use his rooms at the X-Mansion until she came, and made them a home for him.

He slept in her bed and she slept in his arms, and lived with and through his nightmares.

She washed his clothes and fixed his meals and picked up his beer cans, and he watched over her, protected her, made love to her every night with all that made him an animal and all that made him a man.

He was her lover, and her friend, and her teacher, and they fought together side by side.

They could depend on each other.

Erik could never understand that.

"Love is for morons, Erik. Morons, idiots, fools, and stupid little girls. What Logan and I have together, is a whole hell of a lot stronger than love. I have to go. He's waiting."

"Marie-"

"He's waiting."

Erik grabbed her arm.

Where it was bare.

"Don't!" she insisted.

She could see the pain in his face, but he would not loosen his grasp.

"Please!"

"Do you want me to suffer for the mistakes I made? I'll do it. I will endure any pain for you, Mraie. Pass any test. Please. You can't live like this forever. Will you at least consider coming home?"

"I will."

Erik let her go, and Rogue turned around and ran back towards the campsite.

II: Logan

Logan lay in his tent, bristling from Mystique's advances towards him.

He felt guilty, about Jeannie, angry at himself, and he was wondering where the fuck Rogue was.

He'd laughed it off, Drake saying he was Rogue's boyfriend; after all she had to play it some way; the students didn't know that she was with him.

Chuck said that would set up a bad example.

A bad example.

Right.

But, what if she was?

They never had more than a minute alone since he got back.

He was so lost in thought he didn't know she was coming until she unzipped the tent, and came in, sniffing the air with distaste.

"Well, that tears it. This is officially one of the worst nights of mah life. Ah wish Mama and ah didn't have the same taste in men." she sighed.

She zipped the tent, and started taking off her clothes, folding them, and putting them beside Logan's.

"You didn't, Logan, did you?"

"Raven came here sniffin' around for somethin', darlin'. But she didn't get it."

Logan unzipped the sleeping bag, and Rogue crawled inside it, with him.

"Ah just want this day to end, Logan."

He held her close against his chest and she breathed the scent of him in, deeply, and sighed.

"Didja miss me, darlin'?"

"Did ah? With you gone, ah had to carry on like ah was nothin' but a little schoolgirl. With alla those boys. Why, even without mah powers, it would have killed poor Bobby if ah let mahself loose on him. The things a girl has to go through, to get a high school diploma."

Wolverine laughed, and his laugh rumbled through his chest.

"You ain't far from it, Rogue. Why, you must be all of 19, by now. Shit, I'm a horrible man. I've got no business being with a pretty young girl like you. Fuck, I'm so short, you're an inch or so taller'n me. No neck. Like a ball sittin' on top of a barrel. Not to mention I'm hairy as a bear an' I'm old enough to be your grandfather's grandfather. What d'you want with a man like me?"

"Are you fishin' for complements, Logan? Alright, then. You're smarter than people think you are, an' you're a fine, strong, decent man, like the way I was brought up to think a man should be. An' ah think you're good-lookin'. You may not be pretty, but a man ain't supposed to be pretty. Except your eyes. You got the most beautiful blue eyes. An' you may be short, sugah, but you've got a hell of a body on you. An' then, there's that part of you which I am too much of a lady to mention."

"That the part you missed the most?" he chuckled.

"I missed all of you, Logan. Night's passin' us quick. An' who knows what's gonna happen, tomorrow? Ah don't wanna talk, anymore."

"Me neither."


Somewhere in Canada. Winter. About 18 months before Alkali Lake.

Rogue stood, rather calmly, at the edge of the chain link cage in which Logan was taking quite a beating from a man who was easily seven feet tall.

He was also giving the man quite a beating, and Rogue knew that eventually he would win.

She also knew that whatever the big, drunken beast did to him, he'd be healed from it by the time he was done counting his five hundred dollars.

Five hundred dollars is a lot of money.

She was warm, at least, in the ugly clothes she had brought with her.

But still, she shivered a little, even though under her parka and on top of her sweater she was buttoned into one of Logan's plaid flannel shirts, this one with a quilted lining.

It was so cold, and she was unused to this kind of cold, even the cold in winters in New York City that she only had to feel when she left Erik's brownstone, chilled her to the bone.

Rogue had left Erik's brownstone for the last time about a month and a half, ago, and had spent the last month with Logan.

But they were always out.

There was no in.

She lived with him in the back of his truck.

Logan had no reason to let her stay with him, he had no reason to want to keep her around, and no reason to care if she lived or died, or look after her, but he had done all of those things.

Cold gnawed at Rogue's bones, and hunger at her guts; she hadn't eaten for a day or two, and Logan hadn't eaten for longer; he said it didn't bother him.

She had begged him not to take this fight, but, he explained, with five hundred dollars they could buy supplies and food, and they'd have enough gas money to get the truck to a cabin high on a mountain near the little town of Howlett, British Columbia, where another man named Logan would not turn them away.

But, despite his stoicism and his adamantium skeleton, despite his healing factor and his sense of honor, Logan was still a man, a human being, and it had to bother him.

The cold, and the hunger, and the gnawing uncertainty over what the next day might bring.

Not to mention pain.

And that was why Rogue didn't feel bad at all about sticking two fingers in through the chain link, and touching Logan's opponent on his bare ankle, above the top of his sock.

Rogue had little control over her power, but, if she concentrated, she found she could focus it.

And she focused it on harming Logan's opponent.

The man gasped, and stiffened, Rogue moved her hand and Logan knocked him cold.

Calmly, Rogue took off her gloves when the bar owner refused to pay Logan.

Just as calmly, she unbuttoned the second button on his shirt and put one finger over his heart.

"If ah put mah whole haind down, you're dead. Why don't you just pay the man?" she suggested.

The bar owner paid up, and between Logan's claws and both of her outstretched, ungloved hands, they made it out to the truck.

Logan must have drove fifty miles until he went off the road, down into the snowy brush a little, and stopped the car.

"You didn't have to do that, darlin'."

Somewhere along the ride, Logan had stopped calling her "kid" and started calling her "darlin'"

That was as much as she could get out of him, even though she had discovered that she could touch him without any harm, mental or physical, coming to him.

Unlike most other humans, mutant or otherwise, on the planet.

"Yes ah did, Logan. I'm not just some dumb little girl. Ah was being groomed to for the Brotherhood. Ah can take mah share of tough."

"I know you can. I just don't want you to."

"Why? Because I'm just a girl."

"No. Because you're my girl."

He climbed into the back of the truck, where the sleeping bags and the pillows and the blankets were.

"I am? Really? I would have thought ah was like a little sister to you." Rogue complained, crawling into the back with him.

"It's not just rolling over to me, darlin'. Not to you, either. Besides, this ain't no place for romance."

They settled in under the layers of blankets and the two sleeping bags.

Back to back.

After Logan fell asleep, Rogue usually turned over to hug him, and sometimes, while he was sleeping, he'd roll over, too, and she'd wake up snuggled against his chest.

That was always nice.

It was how she had discovered her touch wouldn't harm him.

Waking up one morning with her face half against his chest and half-against his undershirt, with his arms around her.

And he was just fine.

"You always tell me that. What the hell do you mean?"

"I mean you're a good girl. A lady. A real, genuine lady. Where I come from, the way I was raised, a man doesn't treat a lady like a whore. And your people raised you to be a lady, an' I'm gonna treat you like one. That don't include screwin' you in the back of a truck."

Rogue didn't try and disagree with him.

"Well, then, can we use some of that money to get a hotel room?"

"No. Not until I get you home."

Home.

That was a strange word, coming from Logan.

"Did you grow up there?"

"Pa says I did. I don't remember much. What I do remember is the good parts about the place. When I was a boy. When Pa showed me what I was, and how to survive, up in those woods. When I lived there with Victor, and he was lookin' after me, all those years Pa was on the lam. I know there were bad parts, but I don't recall them. And Pa never told me. It's better that way. I just get a feelin' when I go there. Maybe it ain't my home, but it's the closest thing I got. An' when I say that, I mean the closest thing we got."

Rogue knew the rest of Logan's plan.

He was going to spend the winter at his father's cabin, working at the logging camp, and in the spring he was going to take her to New York.

To the X-Institute.

Rogue had come to long for something like a normal life.

To finish high school, and go to college, and then?

Well, something other than being in the Brotherhood of Evil Mutants.

It seemed like a dream come true, but she didn't want to go if he couldn't stay with her.

"Logan, what if they won't accept that…you've retired?"

"They'll have to. Charlie never turns a mutant away. I can do a lot of things, darlin'. I'm sure there'll be a job for me for a coupla years."

"As an X-Man?"

"Fuck no! I'll never put on a uniform again. I told you, I'm done with that .The goddam world can fuck itself, I ain't savin' it no more. I mean a real job. There's lot of jobs a man like me can do. Fixin' cars. Groundskeepin'. Maintenance. I got a pilot's license too. An' u used to own a bar, back in the day. I think. Hell, there's a town nearby, they know the old Canucklehead there, I'll get me a job, or buy some dump, get an apartment. Have a normal life. You can tell the team I said hello. Drop in and see me. But I ain't goin back an' puttin' that uniform on. Not me. Fuck that. Ship sailed. All I need's a steady paycheck, an' a roof over my head, in a quiet life where nobody's chasin me an' tryna kill me. If I hafta, I'll cook burgers an' corndogs for the kiddies in the kitchen."

"You're too good for that kind of work, sugah."

"Rogue, my Pa was born in 1760, in a god-forsaken shack in a backwater bog in Ireland. He left home at 15 an' joined the British army, an' he fought all over the world in every army you can think of in every war from 1775 until 1865. That's when he retired to that mountain, first to become a groundskeeper for Squire Howlett, an' after Pa ran off with his wife an made me, to become a logger an' a mountain man. He was about the same age I am when he got out of the savin' the world business, an' he's told me the last 110 years of his life have been a damn sight better than the first. That, and in a war, even men like us die. I got no plans to die. I'd like to live to see two hundred. So, I'm done. The only world I wanna save is mine. An' yours. Now, get your hand outa my back pocket, an' go to sleep."

"And it's got nothing to do with Dr. Grey's marriage?"

Logan's body stiffened.

"That was just the cherry onna fuckin' cake. I said to go to sleep."


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The next day, Logan drove them in the general direction of civilization.

When they passed a mini-mall with a thrift store, a drugstore and a McDonalds in it, he parked the truck.

He gave Rogue fiftyy dollars.

"Get yourself a coupla shirts like the one I gave you. An' get three for me, I don't care what color they are, as long as they're the right size. An' if they have an M-65 jacket in there in size extra large, short, buy it. You need anything in the drugstore?"

"Yes. A package of socks. Women's socks. And two packages of panties. Size 6. Ah am not wearin' used socks an' underwear. Also, in…six days, I'll be needing some…personal supplies."

"What? Oh, ya mean tampons, or pads? I'll get both, what the hell. They got a nurse or somethin' inna back of these joints. You better go in and get them to refill your pills."

"Logan!"

Rogue was actually shocked.

"What? Most of the time I been alive, darlin', I've tried to keep a woman around. I know the drill."


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Rogue wanted to buy some pretty things, but she took Logan's advice.

She bought herself some flannel pyjamas.

And they had the jacket Logan was looking for.

She was left with five dollars change.

Outside, she folded everything, took off the tags, and packed Logan's stuff into his duffel bag, and her things into hers.

She loaded it all into the back of the truck, using the extra key Logan gave her.

She walked over to the Shoppers Drug Mart.

Up and down the aisles, she couldn't find Logan, but spotted him in the back, where the clinic was, with a plastic bag on the seat next to him.

"You're next." He told her.


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"You can pick up your prescription at the front counter, Miss Lehnsherr."

The doctor looked concerned.

He was a small, round, middle-aged man, balding, with a moustache, a kind face, and laugh lines around a pair of soft brown eyes.

He had an accent that wasn't Canadian, it sounded English, Rogue thought.

"Is there something you're not asking me, doctor?"

"Yes, actually. You look awfully disheveled, and awfully thin. I see you have a New York driver's license, and that your address is in New York City. It also tells me that you are awfully young. Just because you're a mutant, that doesn't mean that you have to live this kind of life. This man who made your appointment, did he take you away from your home? I can help you. I'll call the police, and they'll make sure you get back to your family, safe."

Rogue was touched by the doctor's genuine concern.

"Thank you, Doctor. But I have no family. My parents are dead, and my aunt threw me out of the house when ah I was just 13. I met a man from New York, named Lehnsherr who took me in. He adopted me. But ah have recently discovered that mah father was not the man I thought he was. He was not a good man, and what he had planned for me was downright evil. So ah left him. The man who brought me here, he is a good man. He does have my best interests at heart. Come spring, he's going to take me to a school, back in New York, where they give people like me a chance at a normal life. Please, don't call the police. You'll be sending me back to hell."

"But that man whose name you took, he should be arrested? Don't you realise what he did to you?"

"He's a worse man than you can know. But there was nothing like that. You should stay away from him, doctor. Forget you ever met me, or your family will never see you again. And yes, I know that what he did was wrong." Rogue said, softly.

The doctor, of course, was implying that Erik was a child molester, but he would never do something like that to her.

Erik was a twisted man, but not that twisted.

And he'd had a terrible life.

He was kind to her, he took care of her, he was her Papa, and he loved her.

He was probably terribly worried about her, right now.

Perhaps it didn't matter if he was grooming her for a terrible fate.

In his mind, they were both making the ultimate sacrifice for the good of mutantkind.

Let someone else pass judgment on Papa; Rogue just wanted to get on with her life.

II: Logan

Logan owed Rogue a lot.

Perhaps even his life.

He wasn't sure how long he had been living the way he was.

A drunken, homeless drifter who neither knew nor cared where he was, as long as there was a drink there for him, and when he thought of it, a woman who wasn't too picky to share it with.

He realized he was trying to drink himself to death, which was going to be a difficult thing, but he was a determined man.

A few times, he had nearly achieved his goal.

And then he found her, sleeping in the back of his truck, wrapped around that big army green duffle bag with the wheels on the bottom.

She was cold, and hungry, and lost, and right from the start she clung to him like he was a life preserver and she was drowning.

Almost right from the start, he clung to her the same way.

She might have been lost, but not terrified.

There was strength in her, great strength that came from great hardship, and she bore the life they led with resolve and quiet dignity.

Rogue was quite a woman; and she was the kind of woman who didn't go dying on you, that was for sure.

She made him want to turn his life around, to have a life, and even if all he did with that life was to protect her, maybe even love her, that would be good enough.

It was something to live for, and he hadn't had that since Jeannie married Cyke.

And with Rogue, there was something. Something in her clam, stoic, abiding green eyes that spoke to him, right in his soul.

Of course, he had known for a long time that she wasn't telling him everything.

He knew she came from Magneto, and he knew that his brother was Magneto's right hand mutant, so he let that explain to him why the smell of Victor Creed clung to her.

But she once asked him to get an extra blanket for them out of her duffel bag, and when he opened it; the whole thing was permeated with Victor, like they were his things, and not Rogue's.

He looked at the way the duffel was packed, the duffel, itself, and the clothes and supplies that were in it, and the way they were arranged.

Heavy, practical clothes, survival supplies, right down to the snub-nosed, nickel-plated Colt revolver that she kept strapped to her ankle all the time, except when she was sleeping.

The cartridges were even packed in a military-grade waterproof pouch.

He realized that Victor had bought the bag, and the clothes, and the supplies, and he had carefully packed it for her.

Packed it for her and sent her to the Great White North.

And probably told her to find his brother.

Needing more information, Logan looked in her wallet while she was sleeping.

Rogue's real name was Marie Lehnsherr, and if that was the legal name on her New York driver's license, that meant that Magneto had adopted her.

He was her father, not her boyfriend.

It didn't take mental gymnastics to figure out who the boyfriend might have been.

Shorty after making his discoveries, while they were eating at a greasy spoon, Logan told Rogue he was going to the john, but went to the back of the diner they were in to use the pay phone.

"Hello? Jimmy, is that you?"

"Yeah, it's me. What the fuck is going on? Are you tryin' to fuck me even harder than I already been fucked?"

"You're fucked? You're fucked! You wanna talk fucked, little brother? I am fucked. I am triple-monkey fucked. I'll tell you what's goin' on. I fucked up, that's what. I fucked up everything."

Victor sounded incredibly drunk.

Logan realized, with stupid belatedness, that was because Victor he was going through the same thing he was.

Rogue, Jeus H. Christ, she was Victor's woman.

"Jesus, Vic, I can't do this to you. Not even you, you son of a bitch. If you feel the way I felt, all these years…fuck, you're still my brother. Why? I mean what the fuck is going on with you packing up your woman, and sending her to me? Because I think she's gettin' attached to me. And I'm gettin' attached to her. I don't wanna do this shit a second time. Worse, I don't want to do to you what's been done to me." Sabretooth laughed, in an ugly way.

"So, you remember you're my brother, huh? Takes a woman to remind you of that, Jimmy? That's alright. Stripe, she's quite a woman. It ain't like that dog and pony show with your red-headed doctor. You're not doin' shit to me. You're doin'somethin' for me. Like a brother should. I told her to forget about me, Jimmy. Just take care of her, alright? Get her to Chuck X's school. Make sure she gets to have a fucking life. I want you to take over where I left off."

"Why, Vic?"

"Like you said. You're my brother, Jimmy. My baby brother. You're the one who's still pissed off at me. I got over it a long time ago. I trust you."

"What if you decide to quit being so fuckin' noble, an' you want her back? Then what?"

Victor laughed.

"Then I guess we share and share alike. Like we did in the old days. Before you started putting frails before me. Me, your goddamn flesh and blood. Who was practically a father to you."

Logan let that one go.

He leaned against the phone.

"What did you do, Victor? What did Magneto do?"

"Nothin' yet. That's the thing."

"Because, yunno, Vic, I might just be in love with that girl."

"It ain't hard to do, Jimmy. I was hopin' you would be. That way I know, you'll keep her safe. I can't keep her safe, anymore. Fuck, I never could. And if I could keep her safe from the world, she'd never be safe from me. So, I'm goin, now, Jimmy. For once in your life, just do what I ask you to do. Okay?"

Abruptly, Victor hung up the phone.

Logan just looked at it.

He and Victor, they had a tendency to go for the same kind of girls, and girls who liked Victor usually liked him, and vice versa.

When they were just kids, they almost killed each other over a woman a couple of times, until they decided, what the hell, we're brothers, we share and share alike.

That had worked out pretty well, until Logan really fell in love with a girl.

Now it was Victor who had really fallen in love, and Logan was pretty sure he was following in his brother's footsteps.

Now, either Victor really didn't have feelings like any other man did, or he was sacrificing something precious, all the more precious to him, because of the kind of man he was.

Logan's resolve, and his feelings for Rogue both strengthened.

Come Hell or high water, he would see her safely to Charlie and the X-Institute.

And, as for him?

Well, it was about time for him to quit running and hiding and crying like a little bitch, and face the music.

Take it like a man.

He came back, and slid into the booth across from Rogue.

She had looked desperately unhappy, sitting there, by herself, but her eyes lit up like a Christmas tree when he came and sat with her.

He understood.

He knew that loving Victor was a hard thing to do, and that in the end it brought you nothing but pain and misery.

He knew that when you were out from under the influence of bad men who were good to you, out in the same world with everybody else, how new and bright and clean it looked.

And how devoted you were to the person who pulled you out of the hole.

She smiled at him, and he smiled back.

"You hungry, darlin'?"

"Starved."

"Well, get whatever you want. My credit's good, here."


Howlett Logging Company, Canadian Rockies. Near Howlett, British Columbia.

I: Tom

Thomas "Old Black Tom" Logan threw his axe and his chainsaw into the back of his worn yet still reliable 1950 Ford F2 pickup.

As a man who was 240, he didn't think keeping a car for 50 years was anything unusual, and besides, the newer models weren't superior, all made of plastic, they were.

He sniffed the air and looked at the heavily falling snow, and put the chains on his tires.

Then he started the truck, and went back into the office.

Black Tom always gave the truck about ten minutes to run, in this bad weather.

His boss had a funny look on his face, sitting behind his desk, staring at the phone.

"Tom, it's your son. It's Jimmy."

The last time anybody at Howlett Logging heard from Jimmy was 1985.

Not a long time for Black Tom and his son, but quite some time for most people.

"Well, gi'me the phone! Jimmy, you little bastard, I been lookin' all over for you! I thought you was sure to die, and so did your people in New York."

"I thought I might have too. Pop, you think they need another logger this winter?"

"They sure do? I know ye've hit hard times, Jimmy lad. Ya looked awful last time I sawr yer. Awful an;' drunk. And close to death."

"I hit bottom, Pa. I was makin' money on cage fights."

"But you met a woman, an' she's made you want ter turn yer life around, an' you want to spend the winter workin' so's you can take yourselves someplace, an' have a decent life. Right?"

"I guess you've heard this before, huh, Pa?"

"I have, Jimmy. But it's a good idea every time. Did you get smart and pick somebody like us this time? Somebody your brother can't hurt?"

There was a pause on the line, like he was looking both ways.

"More like somebody my brother won't hurt."

"So you found her, huh?"

"I did. He did quite a number on her head, Pa. It might just be worse havin' Victor love you than hate you."

"It's been worse on you, hasn't it, Jimmy, lad? Why the fuck are ye whispering? Speak up, I'm in the office of a loggin' camp, not the powder room of a cathouse!"

Tom heard another voice.

"That's right, Logan. Ah know all about you and Victor. You keep it a secret. He doesn't."

"Darlin', I only got so much time on this pay phone."

"Well, alright. I'll be in the McDonalds. Havin' everythin' with a side of everythin' else."

"She sounds young, Jimmy. An' Southern. You an' a little Southern belle? Who can kill a man as just by touchin' him? Tough enough to run with the Brotherhood? You're gettin' smarter as you get older, lad. I'll be waitin' for you. How's the truck?"

"Lousy."

"Don't worry. We'll get it up to the camp, and you an me an' the lads, we'll fix her. You done the deed to the girl yet?"

"Pa!"

"Well, don't. If you're gonna put all your eggs in her basket, puttin' the boots to her in the back of that old rustbucket don't exactly say that you're in it for the long haul."

"I figured that out, Pa."

"Good."

Black Tom's Logan's homestead. Canadian Rockies. Near Howlett, BC

III: Rogue

For the past three miles up the winding mountain road, Rogue had literally been praying, silently, that Logan's ailing truck would make it.

As they rumbled off the rough road onto a narrow gravel path, their visibility almost zero due to the relentlessly falling snow, Rogue began praying out loud.

She was surprised Logan knew the words, but he would, wouldn't he?

He was born into a far more religious time than she was.

Rogue had her eyes shut tight, and she was prepared for the eventuality of the horrible crash, hoping that Logan could impart his healing factor to her to prevent her from being permanently maimed or crippled.

The truck stalled and slipped backwards down the road.

For some reason, Rogue waited for Logan to scream before she did.

They ended up in a snowbank.

"Are ya hurt, Rogue?"

"Marie, Logan. My real name is Marie Lehnsherr."

"So, Magneto's your father? I kinda figured that."

Rogue bit her lip.

Victor Creed did not make it general knowledge that Logan was his brother; he had told Rogue because they had become…close.

Erik had adopted her, legally, he was her father, and he had certainly never made an improper advance to her.

Rogue's lover in the Brotherhood had been another man that her touch couldn't harm.

Victor Creed.

She had gone to Canada looking for the mysterious "Jimmy", the good and decent version of the man she had taken to her bed, in the hopes he could protect her, that he would want to.

She never really expected to find him, and she never really expected to come to care for him so deeply, and every time she went to tell him the truth, she thought about how Logan was using her as a cornerstone to build his new life on, just as she was with him, and the words stuck in her throat.

But, as Logan coaxed the truck to start again, and gingerly pulled it out of the snowbank and began their ascent, again, she felt a pang of mortal terror.

I have to tell him.

I can't die with this on my conscience.

"Logan, ah have to tell you something. You've got it all wrong. Erik adopted me, he's my father, as if he'd been there the day I was born. There was never anything improper between us. He might be a megalomaniac, but he's not a monster."

Logan pulled the truck over into the brush, and opened his door.

"We're gonna hafta hike up the rest of the way. Truck won't go without killin' us. Me an Pa will hafta use his truck to tow it up, after the storm's over. I got your duffel, you just worry about the backpack. So, if it wasn't Magneto, why'd you let me think it was?"

Rogue cursed herself.

She had literally spoken to soon.

Wildly, her mind reached for any lie, but there really was no use.

"Logan, I came to Canada looking for you. My father wanst to kill me. And he..he said you could protect me. You and Professor Xavier, and the X-Men."

Logan sighed, heavily.

"And by he, I s'pose you mean my sunnuvabitch brother."

"I'm sorry, Logan. Ah am. But ah never thought I'd meet a man, any man that could touch me without my killing him. Ah couldn't even touch mah own father's hand without wearin' gloves. An' I trusted Victor, because he worked for mah father. Ah had no idea the kind of man he was. It didn't bother me, knowin' he couldn't love me. Not the way another man could. Ah knew that love wasn't something Victor is capable of. What we did have was good enough. But he would always talk about you. I couldn't help but think that you were a far better man than he was. Mah father found out, about Victor and I, and d he was furious. I won't even tell you what he did to Victor, no matter how much you hate him, he's still your brother, and you wouldn't want to know. Tortured him. With hot metal. And fire. It took him Three months to recover, and after that Papa, Magneto, you know, suspended him from the Brotherhood for a year. He said if Victor ever touched me again, he'd kill him. Of course, he sat me down and told me, in great and terrible detail, what kind of a man Victor is. I was appalled. Ah still am. But somehow, it didn't seem to matter. Victor came back to me as soon as he was able, and I begged Papa to at least let him go back to being my bodyguard, I swore to him that Victor and ah were through. But I was lyin'. Ah loved Victor. Ah suppose ah still do. But it was so hard to love him, it's almost like now it's a weight off my shoulders,. And it's been so easy for me to fall in love with you, Logan, Ah do love you. You have to believe me. An don't hate me. Please."

She looked at Logan and saw that he was smiling.

Grimly.

"You knew, didn't you?"

"Yup."

"For how long?"

"Month. A little more, maybe."

"Oh, Logan! You must think I'm an awful whore!" She cried.

"Why? Marie, I'm Victor's baby brother. Most of the memories I do have, he's in them. From the time I was, 12, or somethin', Victor raised me like he was my father, not my brother. Hell, even when I was a grown man, a young man, though, I thought Victor was just about the smartest man in the world. He said the way it was and I believed him. Of course, as time went on I started seeing how nobody else agreed with him, and his way of lookin' at the world, and I realized, neither did I. Still, even after I renounced him, and I lost most of my memories, it took me awhile to get out from under the shadow of my brother. And when I got out in the light, it just about blinded me. And then, like a fool, I went and fell in love with the person who showed me how the other half lived. I couldn't help it. I clung to her like a drowning man clings to a piece of driftwood. And when she made it plain to me I wasn't the man she loved, well, I lost my mind. It nearly killed me. Then, I met you. The good news for you, darlin' is you can go right ahead and cling to me. I'm holdin' onto you just as tight."

"Ah won't leave you, Logan. Ever. Not even if you live to be a thousand. Ah will find a way."

Logan had never kissed her, but, just then, he pulled her into his arms, and he did, and it was just the right time to do it.

Rogue let everything go.

She forgot it all, and just kissed him back.

When they parted she felt a little…strange.

"Logan, did that bother you, just now? Us kissing?"

"Got me pretty hot an' bothered, darlin'. I promised myself I'd leave you alone till we got to Pa's cabin, and now I'm in a big fuckin' hurry to get there. Why?"

"Because ah feel…funny."

Rogue had to sit down.

A flood of images assaulted Rogue's mind; Logan's whole life that was locked away from him, rushing into her in seconds.

And then…

It was like the whole world had been put under a microscope, but one that magnified all of the senses, not just sight.

She could see through the veil of snow like it wasn't there at all.

Familiar smells assailed her nose with great clarity; on the wind she caught a whiff of a scent a lot like Logan's, but still different.

She could also smell chicken cooking.

The cold was much colder but it didn't seem to bother her as much, and she could hear the cars crunching through the snow on the main road way down the mountain.

Rogue's limbs felt full of energy, she felt like she could have sprinted up the mountain.

Everything was awake, new, exciting.

"Logan, ah think ah know what Victor meant when he said that you could give me everything he couldn't! Because ah can smell chicken cooking in your father's cabin. And ah can see through that snow clear as day. And ah can hear the cars goin' down the road on the main highway down below."

She looked at her hands

And thought:

All right, come on out.

SHUNK!

"AAAAAAAAAAAAUUUUUGHHHH!"

Pain still hurts.

There was not, however, very much blood.

Rogue marveled at them.

Claws.

Just like Logan's.

They were a little thinner, and a little shorter, but they looked wickeder, being made of white bone, talon-like.

"Logan! Look at me! Claws! Ah got claws!"

Logan looked horrified.

"Why are you lookin' at me like that? Shoot, sugah, you didn't do anything wrong. This is what ah wanted, since ah got involved with Victor. Ah wanted it even more, since ah met you. Don't you see? Now ah won't grow old an sick and die, while you live another hundred years. Another thousand years! Ahm not just some poor little girl nobody can touch. Now ah got claws of mah own, and nobody's ever gonna push me around, again."

Shunk!

This time, all she did was wince, and say a bunch of words she normally didn't use.

"Hurts less the second time."

"No it don't. You just get used to it. So you want to be a feral mutant? You and Victor…he was tryin' to make you like us?"

"Every day! Hell, Logan, you show me a mutant who doesn't wish he was a feral! Y'all have the most fun!"

Logan had to laugh.

"Fun, huh? Now listen to me. Don't tell anybody you're like me. Not Pa. Not anybody at that school. Nobody. Not until you have to."

"Why?"

"Because it's your Ace In the Hole. Anybody but Victor, you can kill by laying a finger on him. You don't need to be a feral. You might need that little surprise, sometime. Understand?"

"Yes."

"Good. Let's keep going."

Logan still carried her duffel bag, even as Rogue sprang up the trail after him like a mountain goat.

"Why doesn't it seem odd to me, Logan?"

"Instinct. People have instincts, too. They're tellin' ya what to do now. Most of the time you can trust them. But not until you learn about them. I take that back about not tellin' Pa. You could stand to learn a few lessons from him, too."

"Lessons? About what?"

"You may be a feral, now, but you don't know how to live like one. We'll give you your start. And after that, I guess I'll just keep teachin' you. We've got nothin' but time, right? You ready for lesson number one?"

"Yes."

"Just about everything Vic ever told you was wrong. Now that you're a feral, it's twice as important that you know that."

"Ah knew that. Why are you still carrying my bag?"

"Because that's the way I was brought up, darlin'."

Chapter Two: Tainted Love

Upper East Side, New York City, Central Park West. Fall 1995

I: Victor

“Of course he’s not dead, Raven…he just looks that way. His eyes are open, now. Victor? Can you hear me?”

Sabretooth focused on the several Eriks that were expanding and contracting from one to many in his blurry vision.

“I lied to you, Erik. I never let go of her. I lied to you for years. Make good on your threat. Kill me. I lost my brother. I lost my little girl. I don’t wanna live anymore. I’m too damn old. I’ve seen too much.”

Magneto looked sympathetic.

“I’ve lost her too, Victor. But we’ll get her back. You’ll see.”

“No, you won’t. You’d better kill me. Because I sent her away. You’ll never get her now. You’ll never see her again, and neither will I, but you won’t get to fuckin’ kill her. You own daughter. You heartless son of a bitch.”

“Is that what you thought? My God, Creed, you are in love with her!”

“I told you he was, Erik. I would know.”

“Please, Raven, not now.”

Magneto sighed.

“Maybe it’s for the best. Whether you love Marie or not, you’re no good for her. And if she’s at Charles’ school, at least she’ll be with her own kind. And she’ll get to see, firsthand, that he’s living in a dream world. Come on, Victor. Get up.”

“You’re not going to kill me?”

Sabretooth was in a daze.

He had gotten extremely drunk after talking to Wolverine on the phone, trashed his apartment, and made several attempts at suicide, including shooting himself multiple times, slitting his own throat, and clawing his guts out.

His vision was poor, because he had clawed out one of his own eyes, in anguish.

It was an extremely grisly scene.

“No. I am going to try to help you. Raven, could you change into someone very large, and help me pick Victor up? Because you’ve done it, Victor. Made my plan possible, and not at the extent of Marie’s life. If he hasn’t already, your brother, will bond with Marie, and she will absorb his powers. Permanently. Then, she will be able to survive just about anything.”

Victor was about to announce that he wouldn’t let Erik do it, only over his dead body, but then he shut his mouth.

“Yeah, I guess I did,” he said, instead.

Thinking that, when the time came, he would do whatever he had to do.

That was, after all, what he did best.

***
Victor Creed was every dark and evil thing that Magneto had told Rogue that he was, and more.

He was a murderer and a mercenary, a man with no ties to his fellow men or to any God.

He was fond of his adopted country, because it often provided him with steady work, in the intelligence and tactical military communities, but even so, after thirty years of government work dried up during the Clinton administration, he drifted back to working with the Brotherhood, biding his time until his country needed him again.

To women, whom he called frails, he was somewhere between a fantasy and a nightmare.

There were women who were attracted to him who survived their encounters with him, in fact more did than didn’t.

Creed wasn’t a pervert in the sexual sense of the word; he just lost his temper easily, and human life, male or female, meant little to him.

As for lasting entanglements, he had few, and if you asked him, he would tell you that love was something he wasn’t capable of.

There were, however a few women living, all of them mutants, who could tell you otherwise.

Because Sabretooth was a vicious killer, a beast of a man, twisted and evil and psychopathic, but his dark and deeply mutated soul was not devoid of love.

That was his greatest curse.

He still loved his baby brother, and hoped that someday the little runt would cut the bullshit over a couple of frails and some stupid fight they had over nothing back in the 70’s, and they could be goddamn brothers, again.

And Pa?

What reason did he have not to love his real father, although he had plenty of reasons to hate Zebediah Creed, the stepfather who had tortured him his whole life, murdered his mother in front of him, and mutilated him , horribly.

But that was another story.

Once, about a million years ago, he had loved Raven Darkholme, but she was never as interested in him as he was in her, and neither of them were too interested in their ungrateful misbegotten homo sapien son, Greydon.

Maybe, then it was a simple twist of fate, that thing which befell him, one fall afternoon.

Victor had hardly given Rogue a second look when she was just some little Southern Fried brat that Raven and Erik had decided to take in, but she was a scrappy little thing, devoid of fear, probably because she knew she had the capacity to kill anything she touched.

But not him.

That fascinated the kid even more, so whenever he was around Erik’s brownstone, the kid was never far away.
New York was a dangerous place, and since the kid had taken to him, anyway, Erik made Victor his adopted daughter’s unofficial bodyguard.

The kid was quite a piece of work.

She was 14 going on 45; there was never anything childish about her.

As came to know her, Victor changed his mind about her being just a little Southern Fried brat.

She reminded him a little of himself when he was that age, a little shell-shocked from living too much in too little time.

The other thing was, Rogue was a lady.

In the old-fashioned sense of the word, the way his mother, Victoria, had been a lady.

It took him until she was 15, however, to see that she was also a woman.

She came home from school one day, and Victor just happened to be in conference with Erik and Raven.

They hardly noticed the girl running up the stairs, but Victor smelled blood, and lots of it, and, almost as a reflex, considering his job as her informal bodyguard, curious, he excused himself from the table and followed her.

Drops of blood on the stairs, leading to the bathroom door that slammed in his face.

“Open this door, Stripe. You gotta show somebody how bad you’re hurt. Better me than your father.”

She opened the door.

“Don’t be melodramatic, Victor. It looks far worse than it is. Why, if I was still living in the swamp, I’d call this Tuesday. The thing that bothers me is I had to be wearing white, today. Mama just bought me this skirt, and now look at it! All over mud. It’s a good thing mah shirt is navy-blue; the bloodstains don’t show up so much. Ah have to take care of mah things, you know. Never know when all this might be taken away from us.”

Rogue was standing regally erect and straight-backed in front of the bathroom mirror, with not a tear on her eye, holding a rapidly reddening towel with one hand to a cut on her forehead while trying to clean the blood off her shirt and skirt with the other.

Her lip was split and puffy and one of her eyes was blackened, but her poise was uninterrupted.

It reminded him of his mother.

Zebediah used to beat the unholy fuck out of her all the time, but she never let him get to her, and it wasn’t just her healing factor.

He remembered his mother standing in front of a mirror after a beating, with the same gravity, straightening her clothes.

“I just wish your stepfather would keep his hands off me when I’m wearing the clothes I teach in. It’s so hard to get blood out of a good blouse. Victor, go and get the baking soda for Mother.”

He cleared his throat.

“You know, kid, baking soda will take that right out, with a little water.”

“Would you go downstairs at get some for me, Victor?”

“Just gimme the clothes an’ I’ll soak ‘em in the sink in the laundry room. I know the drill, I usedta do this for my Ma when my stepfather beat the shit out of her. Your father’s going to want me to take care of those guys, you know?”

She held up one hand, and it was ungloved.

“They are taken care of. Ah had no choice. It was me, or them. And ah would appreciate it if Papa and Mama didn’t know. The doctors can’t touch me, anyway.”

“Yeah, but I can. Let me fix you up, Stripe.”

“Fix mah clothes up, first, Victor.”

He came and knocked on the door again, and she had a tank top and a pair of women’s boxer shorts on, so you could see she was beat up bad.

Her legs were bruised, her knees were skinned, and she had road rash all over one leg and one arm.

But, as Rogue pointed out, doctors couldn’t touch her, even with rubber gloves on their hands, if their skin brushed up against hers in any way, they might end up as dead as the punks who had attacked Rogue.

Eventually, Erik got to wondering what was taking Victor so long.

One of the only times you knew that Magneto had a heart was when he was with Raven and Rogue, and he just about cried when he saw her, all beat to hell.

“Marie! What in God’s name happened to you?”

“Ah was mugged, Papa. It’s alright. I’ll be alright. Victor’s patching me up. Did you know he knows how to suture?”

“Five stitches over her eye, Erik.”

“Who did this to you? Where are they?”

Rogue looked at the bathroom floor.

“Ah tried to tell them they had better leave me alone. But they wanted what they wanted, and it wasn’t just mah purse. Ah took mah gloves off, and ah did what ah had to do. After all, ah am a lady. They could have had mah money, Papa, but they weren’t going to steal my virtue.”

“Victor, from now on, I want you to walk with Marie to school, and back.”

“I was gonna suggest that.”

That stuck in his head.

What Stripe said about her being a lady, and preserving her virtue.

Broads didn’t think like that, anymore.

Little girls wanted to lose their virginity to the first junkie punk or big black gangbanger they could get their legs around, then e-mail all their little whore friends about it.

You’d see them, even in this neighbourhood, at the end of that train, 19 or 20 years old, either fat as a pig or all scrawny and scraggly, with a cigarette in their mouths and a dead look on their faces, all used up and fucked out and doped up, some of them with a kid or two from different guys straggling behind them.

But Rogue wasn’t like them.

She was a good girl.

She spent most of her time at libraries and bookstores, reading or studying.

If she wanted to get crazy she went to the movies, and if she went to let her hair down and have a drink, it was at Starbucks.

With him.

As far as Sabretooth could see, she wasn’t real close to any of the kids she went to school with.

For one thing, she was about a year and a half older than the kids in her class, for another, she was light-years away from them.

Stripe, that’s what he called her, because of her one lock of pure white hair, was a serious student; she was first in her class and had plans to go to NYU and study several foreign languages and History or something, in expectation of becoming a professor, or some kind of UN diplomat.

Rogue was a lady raised with 19th century values, and Sabretooth was a man raised during the 19th century to know the difference between a lady and a whore.

He courted her, accordingly.

First, the formalities.

Victor insisted on carrying her backpack to and from school, and carrying her books to and from the library.

He opened the car door for her, and any other doors they came upon, and when they went anywhere, he insisted on paying for everything.

It was Erik’s money, but hers was Erik’s money, too; it was the principle of the thing.

He helped her on and off with her coat and held her umbrella, the whole nine yards.

Stripe would often comment to him on it.

“Victor, you’re not like the boys I go to school with; you’re a gentleman.”

Unlike his brother, who was raised by their crazy Pa, and then Victor took over, on some God-forsaken homestead in the mountains, Victoria Creed had always raised her son to be a gentleman.

He tried, when people deserved it, and most of the time, they didn’t.

More importantly, though, as Rogue pointed out, a lady guards her virtue with her life, and Victor made no attempts on it.

After he had been her bodyguard for eight months, Rogue hesitantly reached for his hand when they were walking home from a movie, and it made him feel like he was a boy again, dressed in a high-collared shirt, accidentally brushing against a girl’s ram leaving church.

It was the same kind of thrill, and this time there was no Zebediah Creed looking down on him for it.

That said, Sabretooth was no monk; after Rogue went to bed, or when he was away, doing her father’s dirty work, he had more than his share of broads.

And it wasn’t to say that his relationship with Rogue was formal; he was just about her only friend in the world. And that, oddly enough was how the man who was over a century and the girl who wasn’t yet twenty interacted, as friends.

Two storm-tossed mutants, against the world.

She was sixteen when the improbable predated the unthinkable.

Rogue came into her local Starbucks, well, one of her local Starbucks, when school let out early after there was a water main break.

Sabretooth was there with one of his broads, a fairly pretty punkette who was a graduate of the X-Institute, a poor little rich girl pursuing some kind of artistic pursuit as far as Victor could fathom.

She was a metamorph, like Raven, which got interesting.

Speaking of interesting, Rogue took one look at them and marched over to the table like the devil had just blown a handful of red pepper up her ass.

She slammed her books down on the table, and took off her glove.

“Ah don’t know who the hell you are, Little Miss Piercing, but ah do know that if ah put this hand of mine on one of your jailhouse tattoos and hold it there, you’ll be as dead as your oh so 1991 look is within about five minutes. Peddle that elsewhere, sugah.”

“What the fuck is…”

Rogue grabbed the other mutant’s arm.

“Jesus, Stripe!”

“Shut your God-damn mouth, Victor Creed!”

She let the other girl go, and as soon as the terrified metamorph could move, she did.

Before Sabretooth could wipe the slack-jawed expression off his face, Rogue slapped him in it.

“Damn you, Victor, cain’t you keep your whores out of mah face! It’s bad enough you have them, without parading them around in front of me!”

Then she stalked out the door.

Victor went after her, and caught her by the arm in the street.

It was all very typical, especially for that part of town, at that time of day.

“What the hell, Stripe? Is there something going on I don’t know about?’

“Yes! Ah understand that you’re afraid that if you…get any closer to me you might…get seriously hurt, but you might be decent enough to to rub it in that every cheap ho in town has from you what ah will never get. It’s bad enough, without you dragging them all out in front of me.”

Victor was a gentleman, and Rogue was a lady, and a gentleman always waits until a lady is ready.

Seemed like she was, alright.

“You got me all wrong, Stripe. What did you want me to do, crawl all over you?”

“What I want you to do, Victor, is to tell me the truth. Do you love me?”

They were standing in the middle of a busy street in Manhattan, but Sabretooth didn’t even bat an eye.

“Of course I do, Stripe. You’re my girl. Other frails, they don’t mean a thing to me. It’s just, I’m a man, yunno?”

“Yes, Victor, ah am very much aware of that. And ah am, after all, am a woman.”

“I noticed.”

“I do love you, Victor. And it’s not just by default, because you’re the only man I’ve ever met that I can touch without killing him. Or beacuse you're tall and blond and good-lookin'. Ah love you, Victor, all that's good in you. Ah love you…the way a woman loves a man. But ah wouldn’t want to put your life in danger. Ah would understand, if you wanted us to leave things…the way they are.”

With belated stupidity, Victor realized that she thought he was holding her off because he was afraid that she could kill him with her pussy.

He laughed.

“Baby, I’ve lived a long fucking time. Longer than any man should. If I have to die to have you, then I’m ready to go, right now, today. I promise you’ll never regret it. Not the first time, or the last. Besides, I don’t think there’s any more powers in any other parts of your body than there are in your hands.”

“But what if there are, Victor?”

“Then I’ll get better real fast. Stripe, a gentleman waits until a lady is ready. And, you seem pretty goddam ready, to me.”

“Oh ah am, Victor! Ah am!”

That was enough for Old Black Tom Logan’s sonny boy Vic Creed, yes it was.

He bundled Rogue into his car and drove her to the Village where he had an apartment that was less flash than Erik’s, but it was no dive.

They went straight from the car to his bedroom, where Victor peeled every stitch of clothing off of Stripe’s eager, starving, hot little body and he discovered not only that her sweet teenage pussy wasn’t going to kill him, but that she was that kind of woman that men of his generation valued most of all.

A lady in the parlor, a whore in the bedroom.

She was 16, she was beautiful, and she was his, all his, and it certainly didn’t help that Stripe couldn’t seem to get enough of him.

Life being what it is, despite their best efforts, they got a little what you might call, indiscreet.

It wasn’t her fault.

Victor should have exercised some self control when she started climbing all over him in Erik’s fucking living room, but she was such a sweet, dirty little thing.

It could make a grown man cry, the way she looked into his eyes with an expression of misty-eyed pleasure on her face while she was sucking his cock, and that look of lust and gratitude and love shining in her big green eyes.

Now, when any man comes home and finds his teenage daughter smoking a guy’s pole on his couch, in his living room, he’s going to be an unhappy son of a bitch. And if the guy in question happens to be his employee, he’s going to be unhappier, yet.

Now, make that guy Magneto, and Victor knew right away that he was in a world of shit.

It was a big scene, with Erik aiming metal objects at Victor’s head, and Rogue clinging to his clothes, screaming, “No, Papa! No, I love him! I love him!”

Which only made things worse.

Now Victor imagined that when Bill Stryker, the son of a bitch, put all that metal on Jimmy, that Jimmy was in a world of hurt, and he could understand why a thing like that might make your mind a little fuzzy.

But, what he went through at the hands of the master of magnetism made all that look like nothing.
When Magneto found out, he went crazy, and Sabretooth couldn’t blame him.

Under horrible torture that it took him three months to completely heal from, Sabretooth promised Magneto that he would never touch Rogue again, but he broke his promise as soon as he was physically able to.

He had the feeling Erik knew, or suspected, but he didn’t do anything about it, because under the same horrible torture Victor kept declaring over and over again that he was not lying about loving Marie.

Erik did go and tell Rogue every lousy, dirty, crumby, evil, no-good rotten thing he had ever done in his life, and then some that he hadn’t but that he was rumored to have done, but Stripe was pretty philosophical about it.

If he wasn’t doing it to her, them what he did to other people she never knew and never would didn’t matter.

And Erik should have expected that Machiavellian attitude from any child of his.

The only thing that really seemed to bother her was the alleged rape and murder of Kayla Sliverfox, his brother’s woman.

Which Victor straightened out right the fuck away.

“Alright, first of all, Stripe, I did not kill her. As far as I know, as of right now, today, she still ain’t dead. My CO, Bill Stryker set Jimmy up with that broad, she was an operative of his. To keep tabs on the runt. Well, Jimmy’s a sucker for a broad, especially if she’s the wrong broad for him, so he fell for her like a ton of bricks. And Kayla fell for him, too. Anyway, I was supposed to make it look like I killed her so that Bill could get Jimmy mad enough at me to get the adamantium on him. Naturally, Bill told me that it was so he could bring Jimmy back into the fold, and it would get his mind right, and we could go back to working together again. And I was getting promoted to Colonel , which Jimmy got in fucking 1945. The son of a bitch was lying. Turns out he and his brother are the founding members of the C of H, and he fucked up Jimmy’s mind, and his whole life, and fucked up my life, too, because I never could convince my brother after that I wasn’t his enemy. There was bad blood between us in the past, but after all that shit? Forget it.”

“I believe you, Victor. That covers the murder. What about the rape?”

“Awww, shit! Excuse my language, Stripe, but of all the women for Jimmy to fall for, that fuckin’ cunt? I mean, you might say, well she’s an empath, it’s her nature, but as far as I know, there’s no mutation that turns you into a complete fuckin’ whore. I mean, Jimmy, he used to go up on the mountain, every day, to that logging camp where our Pa still works, sometimes, and work like a fuckin’ dog for that woman. Hell, he built the place they lived in from the ground up, with his own two hands. And she didn’t do shit. She taught kids in kindergarten in the fuckin’ morning. Big deal. And when Bill sent me in to get briefed, I ended up nearly getting de-briefed. I mean, my foot wasn’t through the door before Kayla was all over my belt buckle. And I thought of my brother, up there bustin’ his butt so her Injun ass could live in style, and what’s the squaw doing behind his back? Hopping on every dick that came through the door? I was the only guy that walked into that house that didn’t fuck her. Now I won’t lie to you, Stripe, me an’ Jimmy, we shared everything, we had the same woman before, but in those days, there weren’t a whole pile of broads around, two guys havin’ the same woman wasn’t such an unusual thing. But this wasn’t like that. I never touched her. Naturally, she went and told Jimmy I did, while she was allegedly dying, the vindictive bitch. Now I’ve killed frails. I’ve killed just about everything that walks, crawls, or flies on this Earth, and I been in more wars than I can remember. But I ain’t no rapo. That’s not how I was brought up.”

Stripe believed him on that, too, and she should have, because it was true.

Victor didn’t know where it was all going to end up, and he didn’t really think about it.

Things were good. He took care of Stripe, and she took care of him. Every night, she cooked his dinner for him, and she took over cleaning his place, and doing his laundry.

Victor never cleaned, and when his clothes got too dirty, he usually just threw them out.

He knew he was a spendthrift, and he was also a degenerate gambler; it was just that nobody in New York was dumb enough to try to get him to pay up when he didn’t feel like it, or refuse his bets.

So, if he blew all his money on some spree, she’d get some dough from Erik to pay his bills, and buy his groceries, and everything.

He never apologized for being the man he was, and she never got on his ass about it.

Victor even tried to clean up his act, a little, to make it easier on Stripe.

As for the future, he imagined that Stripe would finish high school, and go to college, and get her job, and if she wasn’t tired of old Vic Creed by then, she’s be way past the age of 21 and Erik could take a flying fuck at a rolling donut if he didn’t like it.

Besides, by then there would be another war, another terrorist act, another big thing for Uncle Sam to get his boxers in a bunch over, and have to call on Major Victor Creed, USMC Special Forces to go do the voodoo that he did so well, and he could get out of this two-bit idealistic civilian bullshit.

Because Sabretooth though that Magneto was every bit as much of a bullshit idealist as Charlie X, except he was too dumb to soft-pedal it so he could get the okee dokee from Uncle Sam, like his old pal had.

Who knew, Pa was about his age when he was born.

Maybe it was about time to get a head start on the next generation; Jimmy’s taste in broads was so lousy, he wasn’t going to do much about it.

Maybe he could succeed in getting Stripe to permanently absorb his powers.

After that, shit, the sky was the limit.

Maybe, just maybe, the sun was going to shine on Old Black Tom Logan’s sonny boy Victor Creed.

Then came the initial briefing for Erik’s Liberty Island Scheme.

It was one of his more way-out plans, one he sad that might take up to a year to realize.

Some crazy shit about a death ray or something like it that would turn all humans into mutants, and he needed to use the Statue of Liberty for it, or some shit, Victor wasn’t listening.

Until he heard Stripe’s name mentioned.

“…of course, there’s a chance, and a good one that it might be harmful or fatal to Marie to absorb my powers and act as the catalyst, but, if I have to sacrifice her life for the well being of our entire race, well, they have driven me to it, the humans…”

He said something else after that, about tests and healing factors and so on, but Victor didn’t hear another word.

He sat through the whole briefing like he was over the broad and didn’t give a shit, but right after, he went out and packed Rogue a survival kit, and got some cash together, and a plane ticket to Vancouver.

The next day, he picked her up from school, as usual, and they went to his place, as usual, and that’s where he laid the bad news on her.

He hadn’t counted on how much it would hurt, when she was gone, at the hole that opened up in his life, the yawning crater where Stripe had been.

He had been able to stand it, until he heard from Jimmy, and that was when he realized that she was really gone, that in all possibility she was gone from his life, forever.

And, lying in a pool of his own blood in the ruins of his apartment, Victor came face to face with the irony of ironies.

He could kill everything that walked and crawled and flew on this Earth, except himself.

And now that he wanted to die, who the hell was going to kill him?

“God damn you, Jimmy, you’re never here when I need you.” He gurgled.

And knew nothing more, until Erik and Raven discovered him.

Later on, he would realize that he had lain there for days.

II:Rogue

Rogue had not yet decided if she believed in her father’s cause; and he never pressured her, at 18, not even finished with high school, to make such a choice.

Nor did Rogue wish to.

She had the feeling that choosing might entail losing her home and her family, and she didn’t want that.

She had endured awful hardships as an orphan growing up in fear of her neighbors and genteel poverty in the Deep South, a ward of her dead parent’s wary relatives, and then living in a swamp in fear of her life from the same people she always thought had killed her parents.

A life that Papa and Mama, Erik and Raven, Magneto and Mystique, had rescued her from.

The last thing she wanted to do was betray them.

And she had a good life, with her parents, living in a brownstone on the Upper East Side, on Central Park West. She went to a very good school, and was planning on attending NYU after she graduated high school.

She would be 19, then, a little older than her classmates, but better late than never.

Rogue had problems, to be sure.

At school, she blamed her long sleeves and gloves on a skin condition; the truth was that more than a passing touch from Rogue could kill, and even brief contact was dangerous.

Even more dangerous to mutants and masks; she was capable of absorbing their powers.

But, as Papa always said, most teenagers have embarrassing skin conditions.

He and Mama were trying to find a telepath to help her gain control of her powers; as a last-ditch effort Charles Xavier was not out of the question.

And, Rogue thought, as she brushed her hair in preparation to go to bed, a lot of teenage girls’ fathers did not approve of their choice of male companions.

Not that Rogue had a lot of choices open to her.

Even if she had, she thought, she would choose Victor.

He was a hard man to love, but she didn't mind.

He ain't heavy, he's my Victor.

Then, on one ordinary afternoon, her life changed.

It was after school, and she was fixing Victor's dinner, as usual, when he stopped her.

“ Stripe, I don’t know how to tell you this, so I’ll just tell you straight . He means to fucking kill you. Your own father. He’s got some crazy fuckin’ scheme to change everybody into mutants, and he needs you as his catalyst. He wins his war, but you die in the process. I just heard him lay this plan out, with my own ears. Get dressed, baby. Take this bag, and this money. There’s a plane ticket in the bag to take you to Vancouver. And some clothes, and things you’re gonna need. Go find Jimmy. Have him take you to the X-Men. Jimmy will protect you, and so will Professor X, and all of ‘em. Forget all about me, and Erik. Jimmy’s a better man than I am. I trust you with him. You’re a good woman, you deserve better than me. An’ he can give you everything I can’t. Not to mention after all the lousy luck he’s had with broads, he deserves a good woman. Good as gold. Now, don’t say anything, Stripe. Take this stuff and go.”

“But Victor…he’s your brother…I…I…”

He kissed her, furiously.

“I know he is. And you can trust him like you trust me. I know he’ll fall for you as hard as I did, and when he does, he’ll never let anything hurt you."

"I don't care, Victor. Ah would rather die than lose you. Why don't you take me away? I'll go with you."

"Because I can't protect you from your crazy father. Or from myself, if I lose my shit. Jimmy can. And so can Chuck X, and the X-Men. Marie, listen to me. Please.
Baby, if you love me, do what I say. Go. And never look back. If there's a way I can come back to you, someday, I will, Even if it takes me a thousand fucking years."

And so, Rogue went once more into the world with next to nothing, running heedlessly from the past, to blindly embrace the future.

But she would not forget Victor Creed.

Any more than Logan would forget Jean Grey.

Chapter Three: Journeys End In Lovers Meeting

I: Logan

Home.

Coming up out of that blinding blizzard and seeing the familiar lights of Pa's homestead, smoke pouring out of the chimney, it was a helluva sight.

He paused a minute, as a crowd of half-formed fragments of memory tumbled in on him.

Pa sitting on the wood porch, when the homestead was nothing more than a cabin and a vegetable patch, in his chair with a jug of whiskey on one side of him and a bucket full of stones to throw at the rabbits on the other.

How old was he, then, nine or ten, running from the big house after his lessons sniffing and sneezing, shedding his fancy clothes along the way?

A boy who loved and feared his Pa, in equal amounts.

A flash of Victor on the roof of one of the new rooms they put on, yelling for him not to run with a saw in his hands.

More recent memories, in his WWII fatigues, scowling at the local yokel who was laying the pipes and wiring up the place for electricity.

Not to mention is recollections of the last twenty years, wandering home, somehow, after Weapon X, and working with Pa as a logger for…

…a long time.

He clomped up the porch steps in his engineer boots, dragging their gear behind him.

"This is it, Rogue. We're home."

Rogue hesitated.

"C'mon, darlin.' Pa won't bite you."

Pa opened up the door.

"Well, you look a damn sight better than ya did when I found ya half dead down on the road a few months ago, Jimmy lad! Where you been? I was about to go out on this bastard storm, and look for you. Got your job all lined up, an' I aired out your room. There was mice livin' it it, but I tracked 'em down. Hadda clean the place up, too."

"Thanks, Pa. This is Marie."

"Pleased to meet you, Miss Marie."

"Ahm sorry, Mr. Logan. I don't mean to stare, but you and your son…why, he's a dead ringer for you!"

"Yeah, Jimmy's a real chip off the old block. And you call me Black Tom, everybody does. So, Victor's told me you've got an interest in history. It ain't history to me! Yunno, I first come to this part of the world during the War Between the States. I was a hired mercenary in the Confederate Army for four years. That's what convinced me to retire. After that war, I was through. Now Victor's mother, she was a Southern belle, too. You do remind me of her, a little. Now, Victoria was from Georgia, and she was a beautiful woman. Tall, blond hair, and green eyes like a great cat. My Victoria, she was a real, genuine lady. Dunno what she saw in me. She lost everything in the war, her whole family died, she only survived because she was like me. I promised her we'd start all over again. We came up here to Canada with Victor's mother, Victoria, an' I took a job workin' for the Howletts as groundskeeper. And Victor, he was born, right here, in this room, back in 77. He surprised the hell out of both if us, because Victoria was almost as old as I am. 1877, I mean. Musta been four or five years later we had some damn fight and Victoria said I was unfit to be a father or a husband, though we was never married, an' she took Victor away. I think he was four or five, and he cried for me like a little banshee. I always thought she would come back, but she were a strong-willed woman, and she never did. By the time that bastard she did marry killed my Victoria and Victor made short work of him, an' came back here, the Squire' son, I reckon he was the Squire then, he married an English girl. Beth. That was Jimmy's mother. She was a fine English lady. I reckon you remind me a little of her, too. You look a little like her. Jimmy, you remember your Ma?"

"No much, Pa. I remember she was beautiful. But she always looked sad."

"That was my fault, alright. Oh, I should have left her alone, Miss Marie, but I loved her. That's the way with me and Jimmy, when we love a woman we go crazy in the head for her. Bastard crazy. And Beth loved me. More than she loved old Soft John. He was no use to her! Gave her two boys, one died inside her, the other when he was a baby. I gave her Jimmy, he was a fine, strong boy. That was what she wanted, more than anything, a fine, strong son. That was my Jimmy . He did a lot of sneezin', though. Always had a drippy nose, when he was little. He still sneezes in the springtime, when the flowers come in."

"Pa…"

"I know you and Victor told this girl nothin' about our family. You don't remember, and Victor don't like to talk about the past. Before you hear otherwise, my girl, I loved Beth. So much it was like to take my bastard breath away. She never tried to take Jimmy away from me, though she did pass him off as Soft John's boy. He weren't so bad, old Soft John, I suppose. Took good care of Jimmy, and Beth. I tried to take them both away, and they say I killed her, but I didn't. It was all an accident, of sorts. Soft John had a gun, and I had the claws, and we went at each other and she got in the middle. That's the first time I seen Jimmy's claws. He thought I'd killed his Ma, too. Stuck 'em right through me. Poor boy thought I was dead. When I come to he was still crying. I told him to run, and I'd take all the blame. Run up to the homestead, I'll fetch your brother back to you."

Black Tom was banging pots and pans together as he told his tale, finishing dinner.

Rogue was entranced.

"Ten years I was on the lam, and Victor, well, he was a grown man and gone by then, he had to come back and take care of Jimmy. He went south, became a cowboy in California, or someplace like that. Come up here in his ten gallon hat with his guns on. Jimmy, you remember that?"

"A little bit, Pa. I kinda remember Victor ridin' up over that hill, and me runnin' out to meet him. I was so little. And so damn scared. You should seen him, Marie. He looked just like General Custer to me." Logan chuckled.

"See how it works? It's all in there with him, you just got to jog his memory. Anyway, ten years went by and the mansion went to rack and ruin, by and by, so I came back. The boys had the places all built up to this, it was two rooms when I left. They built that barn, and the chicken coop, and the corral. My garden there, well ya can't see it in the snow, it was half the size. When summer comes I plant. Never have to buy vegetables in the summer. I still keep a cow, and chickens. And a workhorse. I've had to go up to the camp on horseback, or with him pullin' a cart, before. A horse can get where a truck can't, in the snow. An' why buy milk and eggs? B'sides, animals are good for company. That reminds me. Jimmy, go out to the bran, milk the cow. Take this basket, get some eggs. An' feed the animals while I commence to feed you. And find that bastard dog, he'll freeze out there, tonight."

"Yes, Pa."

Victor always gave a trouble when he was asked to do something, but not Logan.

He was a man who loved and feared his Pa in equal amounts.

Logan heard him talking to Marie as he put his coat on and his hat and went back outside.

"But when I come back, that was when we all went to the Yukon. During the Gold Rush. We had a claim, the three of us, and we built us a shack on our land. It was a good claim, so the bastards was forever tryin' to rob old Black Tom and his boys. They come for a piece, but they left us in pieces…"

Rogue, who was a history enthusiast sat at Black Tom's kitchen table raptly, soaking up the old man's hodgepodge of tall tales, obscure truths, and family anecdotes while Logan took care of the animals.

He came back in with Pa's dog, a big mutt who looked like he had wolf, husky and malamute in him, maybe a little spitz, too.

Then Logan took their gear into his bedroom, and unpacked it.

Their bedroom, now.

Marie got his powers, and some of his memories, you could slice that any way you liked, but she had a little piece of his soul.

And, just by being Victor's brother and knowing what it was to be young, and influenced by him, he had a little piece of hers.

Logan shook his head to clear those thought away.

He had work to do this winter, him and Pa.

They had to make sure she didn't turn out like Victor.

And he had some work of his own, to do.

"…bastard foolin' around in there, Jimmy! Food's on the table!"

Logan went back into the front room, where the kitchen, the pantry, and the table were.

He sat down, and his father smacked him upside the head.

"Go and wash your hands, Jimmy, lad, and don't eat with your hands, we're in the presence of a lady."

Rogue blushed.

They all sat down.

"Well, Eddie, look at us, havin dinner with our Jimmy, and his girl!" Black Tom told the dog.

"What happened to Zoe?" Logan asked.

"Aww, she got sore at me. Went back up to the Blackfoot village. She said she was staying until spring, this time, and I think she meant it. But she'll be back. She has been, for, Jesus, it must be 25 years now. Sometimse I think I hear her up in the trees, but then I look and she's gone."

"Trees?" Rogue asked.

"Zoe Blackfeather, that's my girl. She's French an Injun."

"That doesn't explain why she's in the trees, Pa."

"Oh. She's got wings. Pass the potatoes, Jimmy."

"Really? Are there a lot of us, living in these parts?"

"Sure. There's always a lot of us mutants livin' in remote places. Everybody down in Howlettt is either one of us or related to one of us." Logan explained.

"A whole village of mutants? Logan, why did you ever leave here?"

"That's' what I want to know?"

Logan shrugged and put the bowl of potatoes down.

"I guess I enjoy a little variety in m'life." He said.

One month later…

II: Rogue

Living with Logan, in his room at his cabin was peaceful, serene, and quiet.

They had stayed with Black Tom for about a week, a week in which Logan spent much of his time that he wasn't at the logging camp on some mysterious errand, and Rogue spent a lot of time with Black Tom, who filled her in on the recent history of his taciturn sons.

He did this mostly as he took her on hikes through the forest, acquainting her with things he thought a feral should know.

Tracking was the most difficult of the things Black Tom taught her; sometimes they sat in one place for hours, following a trail.

Usually Zoe Blackfeather's.

Rogue sat bundled up in the cold, whereas Black Tom only wore a corduroy and sheepskin coat and what looked like an extremely old Confederate cavalry hat.

It probably was one.

"Where did I leave off last time. Oh. Right. Well, it was, '78, or '79, nineteen that is. I got this call from Victor, telling me about how he and Jimmy had another falling out. And this was the big one. Jimmy does not recall, but his brothers' always been a hard man to get along with. They've had two or three falling outs where Jimmy swore he'd never speak to him again. It was different when they were younger. I used to tell Jimmy when he was about your age, Jimmy, lad your brother ain't the king of the world. He don't know everything. Jimmy, he used to think his brother was Buffalo Bill and General Custer and Wyatt Earp all rolled into one. Anyway, I had to drive down to Pennsylvania, and find the boy. He hardly knew me. He looked at me like I was a stranger and said 'Pa?' like he didn't know his own name, let alone mine. He knew I was his Pa, though, Instinct, maybe. Looks, possibly."

"Poor Logan. It must have been horrible for him."

"It was. I didn't know what to do with him, so I brought him up here. I told him who he was, Jimmy Logan, and that he was a lumberjack, an' I was his father, an' he worked for the Howlett Logging Company. I showed him I had claws like his, and I told him he'd been in the Marines, the Special Forces, and that some bastard officer must have lured him back, and did what they did to him, with all that metal, and it shorted out his brain. That was good enough for the boy, for awhile. He stayed here for a year or two, and in that time, he pretty much got as much of his memory back as he has now. Just enough to pain him, and not enough to give him any real satisfaction. He got to remembering enough about Victor, and about Kayla, and he went off, again. He come back in about 1983, wantin' to do something more than chop trees. So I told him how he used to be with the X-Men. I never said so before because I didn't know if his mind could take it, but when he come back from, Japan I think he was, and Madripoor, he were there, too, he seemed to have evened out, some."

"Logan was with the X men before he lost his memory?"

"Oh yeah. See, him and Victor had their second big falling out after World War II. Jimmy met a woman there, and married her, and so did Victor, and both their wives got killed. Jimmy thought that it was Victor who killed his wife, and Victor thought it was Jimmy, out of spite, who outed his wife as a mutant to the C of H. Turns out they was both wrong, but that was when Jimmy made his first real steps out of his brothers' shadow. He went to work for S.H.I.E.L.D, and when Professor Xavier started his school in 1963, they sent Jimmy in to look after things, him being a mutant and all. He ended up leaving S.H.I.E.L.D and becoming an X-Man, and he left them in 1971 when Victor got him involved in Vietnam, and everything else, good and bad, came from that."

"Is that when he met Dr. Grey? When he went back to the X-Men?"

"Well, she wasn't Dr. Grey, then. He went back, and he called me to tell me that he recalled Charles Xavier, now that he'd net him, and your mother, she was still there, in those days, and the whole place seemed rather familiar. As for the good doctor, in those days, she was a 17 year old red-headed stepchild of a schoolgirl and hotshot young X-Man who went by the name Marvel Girl. She was keepin' company even then with Cyclops, but Jimmy still fell for her like the old ton of bricks. He looked at her and the thunderbolt hit him. Came back up here in the summer of '84, an' fixed his cabin all up him that him and Kayla used to live in. Now, Jimmy's never admitted to it, but I think that Professor Logan the Combat Instructor and Miss Marvel Girl had themselves a red hot affair, in those days, when she was still a student at the Institute. Except I think the future Dr. Grey took it less seriously than Jimmy did. Or maybe she didn't. At any rate, my fool son, who was 94 at the time, he asked her to marry him, as soon as she turned 18. You know what she told him?"

"What?"

"She told him she was only 18, and she was too young to know who she wanted to marry, or if she wanted to marry, and Jimmy said he'd wait. And he meant it. He waited eleven years while all the time she went and became Dr. Grey, and kept up with seein' Cyclops. They even got engaged. Meanwhile, Dr. Grey and Jimmy, they became real close friends. Then, in 1995, she upped and became Mrs. Scott Summers. And poor Jimmy upped and lost his head, and spent the next five years wanderin' around these parts and up in the Yukon, doin' his level best to drink himself to death, livin' like a homeless derelict bum who didn't know where he had been the day before and didn't care where he was goin' the day after."

Rogue took in what Black Tom had told her.

SHUNK!

"What an awful bitch! How could she do that to Logan! He's such a kind, gentle, good-hearted man? How could she string him along for eleven years? And these are the good guys?"

"Don't get all riled up, Rogue. You put them pig stickers away, now, there's nobody here but you an' me. I'm not sure if she quite strung him along. Maybe she really didn't know who she was gonna say yes to until she did it. It just may be she loved Jimmy, too, but she feels about him the way you do about Victor. That he ain't no good for her, and that he's too hard to love. Either way, she sure ain't gonna be too glad to see you." Black Tom chuckled.

"Can I ask you one more thing, Black Tom?"

"Shoot."

"What became of Kayla Silverfox? I'm not sure I believe what Victor told me."

"She's dead, alright, poor girl. But Victor didn't kill her. That Stryker bastard did."

"But what about the rest of the story? Was she really one of his operatives, who fell in love with Logan, anyway? Did she really cheat on him with everybody?"

"Well, it was the seventies, little girl, people had a different idea of what cheating was, in those days. That was some fine time to be a man, I can tell you. I wish days like that would come back. Its' just like you say, except for the cheating with everybody part. Victor, he don't even know how to spell monogamy, but he expects women to not even think of any other man but him. I knew Kayla, she was half-Injun too, she was kin to my Zoe, and the way I heard it, later, from Zoe was that Victor decided that what was good for Logan was good for him, and there was a little matter of a bottle of cherry brandy and a case of Newcastle Brown involved, and well, it was the 70's. Long story short, Victor neither raped nor murdered Kayla, God rest her soul."

"That sounds more like Victor. To seduce a woman and then call her a whore because she gave in."

"He's too old-fashioned, our Victor is. And you look just about blue with the cold. Well, I expect Zoe's given us the slip, because I've run my mouth too long. Let's get ourselves home, Jimmy must be there, by now."

At the end of that week, Logan had a surprise for her.

He had been spending his spare time making his little house on the mountain habitable, again.

Knowing Logan's history. Rogue realized that Logan's cabin was the wellspring of his lifelong dream.

To have a home of his own, and a woman of his own, and a family.

That wasn't so hard, for other men, for lesser men, but for Logan it was an impossible dream, littered with death, disappointment, and heartbreak.

Well, having it seemed, permanently absorbed Logan's mutation, Rogue knew that it was going to be very difficult for her to die.

And as for disappointing Logan, she was determined to never do that, and promised herself she would die before she broke his heart.

Rogue resolved that wherever they were, she would make that place a home for Logan; and she began with this place that was closest to his heart, his home on top of the mountain where he was born and raised.

He got up early in the morning, around five and Marie got up with him, and always insisted on cooking his breakfast.

Logan's truck was still ailing, so Black Tom always came up the path, which was about a half mile up the mountain from his own homestead, and they would load it up with the tools of their trade, and get on their way to the Howlett Logging Company by six.

And after they were gone, Marie often went back to bed for a little while.

She'd get up again, around nine, and take a bath, and get dressed, and go for a long walk, and try to put all of the things that Logan and Black Tom had been teaching her about being a feral mutant into practice.

If the weather permitted, she made a hot meal for both of them, and braved the moodiness of Logan's truck to take it to the logging camp in time for lunch at noon.

If she had shopping to do, or laundry, she'd drive into Howlett, and go to the store and the Laundromat, and, of course, the beer distributor.

Then, it was back up the mountain, grateful that the truck had held out.

In the afternoon, she usually lazed by the fire in the big room with a book, listening to the local jazz station on the radio.

Rogue was an old-fashioned girl, and she liked old-fashioned music.

They also played quite a bit of blues from the thirties and the forties, which Rogue also liked.

At least once a week, she would call the station, if the telephone lines were working, and request "I Know You, Rider."

They usually played Billie Holliday's version, although sometimes' Janis' Joplin's, but that was alright, Rogue liked both.

To love you baby, it's as easy as fallin' off a log.

Wanna be your baby, but I sure won't be your dog.

Those were the lyrics she liked best.

Both lines had applied to loving Victor, but only the first to loving Logan.

He was a good man, a fine and decent man; it was easy to love him, and easy to be loved by him, and she was on her way to meeting an entire school full of good, decent people, Logan's people, who had never done an evil thing in all their lives.

Well, except maybe Dr. Jean Grey, but Rogue tried to think of the woman in the light Black Tom had presented her in.

It wasn't right to judge someone you had not even met, yet.

Rogue tried to keep her feet treading the upward path, on her way, as Logan put it, into the light, with him the one taking her there.

Perhaps, at a great cost to his own personal happiness.

It wasn't so much that she didn't think about Victor.

She thought about Victor every day; she had a crush on him since she was a little girl, and he had been her lover since she was 16.

But she was falling in love again, in love with Logan, and she didn't feel bad about that, because he was Victor's brother, because Victor had sent him to her.

Because she saw no reason in the world why she couldn't or shouldn't have them both.

And loving Logan, well, it was as easy as falling off a log.

Noble, tragic, ruggedly handsome Logan, who had the soul of a poet in the body of the Wolverine.

He reminded her of the kind of character that Clint Eastwood played in his Westerns.

A flawed man with a past best left unmentioned, but still quiet and stalwart, a good man underneath the veneer of tarnish that was on his shin armor.

A good man despite all the bad that had happened to him.

That was probably the biggest difference between Logan and Victor, right there.

He seemed a lot happier, far less troubled than he was when they had met.

He fell back into regular habits, changing his clothes every morning, trimming his beard and shaving every day, and taking a bath and washing his hair every other night.

After his first payday, Logan abruptly went into town and came back with new clothes, well, new for him, from the local thrift shop which was also an army surplus store, and, excepting his hat, his two coats, his boots and a favorite pair of Levis, he threw all of his raggedly old clothes had had been dying in for five years into the fire.

Rogue burnt his old socks and underwear, and went into town to the army surplus store the next day and bought him new ones; he had forgotten about those.

Life was getting better and better, she woke up in the morning happy, and stayed that way all day long.

Rogue had dinner on the table at six, when Logan came home.

After dinner, if there was a game on, Logan would go up on the roof and wrestle with the TV antenna until he could pick something up on his ancient set, and she would sit in the rocking chair by the window, reading while he was glued to the TV.

The matter was compounded by the fact that, where they were, there was of course, no cable, and usually, bad reception.

Logan's battles with the ancient relic were epic.

He would turn the dial and turn the dial, as if he could will something to come up out of the snow on every channel.

"Tomorrow I'm goin up onna roof and fuck around with that antenna. Even if all I can get is soap operas an' Sesame Street, that'll be somethin'. That's' one thing I do miss about New York. Charlie's TV. He's got the biggest goddamn TV you can get. Me and Kurt and Pete, we was always parked in front of that TV. Now Cyke, he liked football. He was Mr. Boy Scout, until it was Sunday during football season, an' it was time for the Jets game. You shoulda seen him when they were losin'. Cursin' and throwin' things at the TV. I remember during the playoffs, I think it was about ten years ago, he was jumpin' up and down on the couch, yellin', 'Go, you fuckin' sunnuvabitch, go!' I dunno, darlin'. Maybe it ain't just the TV I miss. I guess I miss my friends, too." He told Rogue.

"Well, we'll be back there soon, Logan. And I'm sure they've all missed you, too."

Logan was feeling a little blue, all the sudden, thinking about New York.

He reached over and turned the dial on the old TV, searching vainly for something.

"Fuck it. I'm going up on that son of a bitch roof right now!" he snarled.

You would hear him, cursing and stomping around on the roof, and he did fall off of it once or twice, but he always managed to get something, and even if it was Sesame Street, he'd watch it.

Then Logan would turn off the TV, and go into the big room to throw away his beer bottles, and that was when Rogue would leap out of her clothes and into bed.

He'd come back in, and throw another log on the fire, and then crawl into the old brass bed with her, under the pile of fading home-made quilts.

His skin always smelled of sweat, and pine sap, and that certain scent that was just Logan.

She honestly didn't know how it was Logan could get up every morning so early and go to work, because they made love for half the night, sometimes with such a desperate intensity that it made Rogue wonder if she really was the only thing holding Logan back from the abyss.

The thought made her hold onto him even tighter.

Maybe it was because he had been so lonely for so long, or maybe it was because of his healing factor, or maybe Logan was just a horny little devil, but he always made love to her once, sometimes twice, and then again, when they awoke in the morning.

And make no mistake, Logan was one hell of a lover; Rogue thought that even if she could have slept with a thousand men, Logan still would have been the best among them; they really burnt up the sheets. He put his heart and his soul and his ninety years of experience into it. He wasn't trying to impress upon her what a great lover he was. She always got the impression with Victor that he was trying to prove something to her, again and again.

Logan made love to her because she was his girl, his Marie, but also because he just plain old loved to fuck, and was glad to find she did, too.

The first time she saw him naked, she was just struck by how unapologetically and rudely masculine his body was.

He would occasionally make jokes at his own expense about how short he was, but Rogue hardly noticed because of the sheer muscular massiveness of his stocky, burly, hairy body.

She didn't know whether to laugh or scream, though, that first time, because on a man as short as Logan, it really did look like he had three legs.

He even laughed when she told him she thought he had an inch or so on his brother, who was more than a foot taller than him.

"Yeah, I know. I remember when I first pointed that out to him. I ain't never going to forget that. Ol' Vic, he got so damn mad. He's been pissed off at me over it for almost eighty years."

Rogue looked forward all day to nights with Logan, and not just because she enjoyed making love.

It was because the bedroom was the one place she didn't have to worry about acting like a lady.

The whole time she was growing up, it was a constant debriefing on when and how you should act like a lady.

When you're at school, when you're at a friend's house while you're in public.

Everywhere and for every damn thing, there was rule about acting like a lady.

Well, nobody ever told you to act like a lady in bed, because it was assumed that ladies didn't do that sort of thing unless they absolutely had to.

Well, some of us like it.

No sir, nobody ever told you how a lady was meant to act when she was getting fucked within an inch of her fine, upstanding life.

There were no rules at all on what a lady did with a man who was just this side of a wild animal locked between her legs, a wild, burly, hairy real-life lumberjack, smelling of pine sap and dirt and sweat, driving his big, hard cock into you until you felt as though you might come so hard you would die.

That your brains would just shoot out of your ears.

In that case, in the bedroom was the one time that you weren't meat to act like a lady at all.

In the bedroom, a man wanted you to act like a whore.

A brazen, lustful, cock-hungry harlot.

She imagined some ladies had a problem with that, but Rogue didn't.

She was in that bed when Logan was still throwing out his empties and getting firewood for the night not just because she was 100% convinced he was the world's greatest lover, and he had so very much to give her, in more ways than one, but because she liked to let her hair down.

And get down.

And dirty.

Very dirty.

On hockey nights, Logan would go to the bar in Howlett to watch the game, and if it was too snowy to drive, he would start out early and walk.

Rogue still wet to bed ay her usual time, around 11.

And lie awake, waiting for him.

Somewhere after midnight, Logan would wake her up, getting into bed with her.

The smell of the sweat of his labors and the outdoors still clung to his skin, and he would usually be a little drunk.

When she had been a young girl, Rogue was convinced that if she ever did get to make love to a man, that it would only be with her mouth.

Reasoning that the only part of her body to touch his would be her lips, and that if the man was, like they drilled into your head at school, wearing a rubber, she wouldn't be able to hurt him.

All of her fantasies were settled around that act, and when she finally had the opportunity to do it; without any protection being necessary, in their case, it wasn't like she had imagined.

It was better.

She was still, in some ways, an innocent girl, and didn't realize the premium that men put on it; she knew that it pleased her lovers, and it pleased her to give as well as to receive, just as much as it pleased her to make love.

When Logan was a little drunk, it loosened his tongue, and he would wake her up, kissing her neck and murmuring obscene sweet nothings into her ear.

And when he was drunk, she had the courage to say certain things to him that she would never be able to bring herself to say when he was sober.

"Hello, little darlin'. You keepin' my bed warm for me?"

"Always, sugah. Are you drunk again?"

"Who, me?"

He laughed, foolishly, as he found his way out of his shirt, and kicked off his boots.

"You're a fine man, Logan. Butsin in here at one in the mornin', drunk, thinkin' I been up all night', waitin' for you to come home, so ah could have the divine pleasure of suckin' your dick for you."

"Little darlin', I know you have."

"You got me there, sugah. Bring that rocket over here, before it goes off in your pants."

And she would unbuckle his belt, and unzip his pants, and push his pants and his shorts down, if he had remembered to wear shorts, and, without looking away from his beautiful blue eyes, she'd get her mouth all the way around his big, magnificent cock, until she could feel his ten gallon balls banging against her chin.

Then, she would roll over for him like falling off a log.

Logan didn't seem to be shocked at all; he was a real natural man.

She and Logan did just about every damn thing you could do just about every night, and Logan, bless his feral soul was never shy about wanting to love her up with his talented mouth.

He'd tell her that it was her smell that got him; it just drove him crazy.

Everything about Logan drove Rogue crazy; there were nights when she thought she would just become deranged with lust; and she never hesitated to give into her passions; those nights she'd get right on top of him and ride him like he could take her all the way to the moon and back again.

Under normal circumstances the most swearing you got out of Rogue were a few damns, hells and shits.

When she was very angry, perhaps a goddamn or a bastard or a son of a bitch, but it was rare she'd say such things.

Now Logan, he was just as bad as Victor with his fuck this, and fuck that, and he swore like the old soldier he was, freely giving voice to motherfucker and cocksucker, and even the dreaded C-U-Know-What.

Had he ever used that word in conjunction with her, Rogue would have clawed at least one of his eyes out.

But, then again, there were certain times at which his saying a word like that to her, even that word, well, that was alright.

Logan had this way of saying the absolute filthiest things he could think of, very quietly, in her ears while they were locked together, and it just about made her deranged.

On week-ends, she and Logan would spend most of the day in the woods, her survival training, and often they' sleep in a tent on Friday or Saturday nights.

It was one such night, rolled up in her sleeping bag, that Rogue came to realize what Victor meant when he told her that his brother was a tactless son of a bitch, on account of being brought up with their Pa, and he didn't know there were some things you just didn't talk about.

"Darlin', I've known a lot of women, in my time, but I never met one before whose got a mouth on her in the sack like you have. I swear the more turned on you get, the dirtier your mouth is. I hope nobody ever walks by this tent while I'm fuckin' you, because to hear the things you call me an' the volume you do it at, they'd think I was murderin' you. ."

"LOGAN!" Rogue exclaimed.

He just laughed.

"Now I now Vic must have really liked you, because if you talked to him like that, shit, I'm surprised he didn't murder you." Logan chuckled

"Logan! Don't you know there's some things you just shouldn't talk about?" Rogue shouted.

"Well, we're goin to go live in a mansion where we'll be cheek by jowl with a lot of other people. And if you're gonna howl at the top of your lungs when I pop your cork for you, an' call me everything but a white man, they're all gonna think I'm just a dirty old man, and I'm forcin' you into it. Hell, my rooms are right next to Scooter's, and if he hears you screamin'and cursin in the middle of the night, he's gonna assume I'm launching an unwanted attack on your virtue, and bust the door in…"

Rogue was aware she was blushing to the roost of her hair.

"…I mean, how am I going to explain to him that you screamin' at me as how I'm a bastard fucking devil of a hellbound son of a bitch is just love talk, an' that you just kind of develop Tourette's in the middle of bustin' a nut?"

"LOGAN!"

"It's the truth, darlin'."

Rogue realized that he really did have no shame.

"Logan, I can't help what comes out of my mouth when ah, as you put it, pop my cork. If it offends, you're just going to have to put your hand over mah mouth, or we'll get some foam and soundproof the bedroom walls."

"It don't offend me. And if you won't be embarrassed, shit, I live to offend Scooter. I mean, we get along well enough, if somebody asked me, I would tell them he's my friend, but, he's so uptight. You're really gonna offend the shit outa him." Logan replied, gleefully.

Rogue gave him a big hug.

"You really are a natural man, Logan. Just like God made you. As if you grew outa this snow along with the trees."

She almost didn't want the winter to end, she almost didn't want to leave the cabin, and their happy, and, if not a touch heatedly pornographic, idyllic existence there.

But, as life seemed to want to teach Rogue over and over again, nothing lasts forever.

X-Institute, 1983

I: Jean

Somewhere in the neighborhood of four in the morning, and accompanied by Billy Idol on the radio, Tony Stark, 19, Boy Wonder, Wonderboy, parked his car by the gates of the X-Institute.

"Turn that off! You wanna wake up the whole place? Fucking hell, Tony, you almost ran into the gate."

Said Jean Grey, 17.

Model student and good girl by day, teenage head-case hellcat by night.

"That's because I am incredibly drunk. Look, Jean, watch yourself. I know you think he's Fuck On A Stick, but this Wolverine guy, he's killed more people than cancer."

"He's just a man, Tony. And I'm not going to marry him, I'm just going to fuck him. He's a big boy. I'm sure he'll get the message."

Jean was three sheets to the wind, herself, she could hardly get out of the car.

"Jesus H. Christ, I am totally fucked. How about a bump to straighten me out?"

Tony uncapped the little vial around his neck, and unzipped his pants.

"Man, you are such a perv." Jean giggled.

"Well? Do you think this is pleasant for me? My cock's going numb." he insisted.

"Yeah. I'll bet."

Jean opened the car door, and got down on her knees to snort the white powder.

She lingered, awhile.

"Tomorrow, tomorrow, my dear? Same Bat-time, same Bat-channel?" Tony asked

"Totally." Jean agreed.

She kissed him good-bye, and watched the car roar unevenly away, this time to the tune of the Ramones.

First she snuck into the school, and then she snuck into Professor Logan's office, which was off of the gym.

He was a pretty tough nut to crack, but she knew he wanted her, bad.

So, she was just going to help him along.

Marvel Girl snuck into his office, locked the door, took off her clothes, and put on her mask.

She crept over to the Murphy bed where he slept, and got in with him.

SNIKT!

"Whoa! Take it easy, Professor. I'm not here to hurt you."

He sure sat up like she was.

"Jeannie? What the hell are you fuckin' doin?"

Marvel Girl dove under the blankets.

"You're a big boy. You'll figure it out…Holy fuck! You really are a big boy…"

"Oh, Jeannie…my sweet little darlin'…"

Getting his nut didn't slow the Combat Instructor down.

Before Jean knew what hit her, Logan was on top of her, hell he was all over her.

Even though she was drunk, and had a headful of coke, well she would have had to be dead not to feel what he was doing to her, with his unexpectedly nimble hands, and his incredibly talented mouth.

She was screaming for him by the time he got it into her, all of it, and Jean knew what people meant when they siad they saw stars.

Forget Scott.

Hell, even forget Tony.

They were boys.

This, this was what it was like with a MAN.

He told her to come for him, and she did.

And she did and she did and she did.

"Oh wow, like, Logan, oh man, I am so totally in love with you right now. That was fuckin' awesome! Can we do it again, tomorrow night? Same time?"

He hugged her so close to his barrel chest in his massive arms that Jean almost couldn't breathe.

"Whatever you want. You own me, darlin'. I'm all yours." Logan promised.

Canada. Seventeen years later.

"That's the road, Scott. Right there."

"Jean, honey, that's not a road."

"Well, whatever it is, this is the way. Turn right."

Over the last five years, Jean had replayed in her mind all of the better ways she could have handled telling Logan she was going to marry Scott, and not him.

They were all better than what she did.

For starters, Jean thought she should have told him back when she was still Marvel Girl, and he was, in her mind, Professor Logan, the terribly exotic adventurer with whom she was having a very forbidden and terribly torrid affair.

Jean fought with herself, over that.

Sometimes she would get up on her high horse, and tell herself that she was 17 years old and Logan was very much a grown man, a man of the world, and that it was up to him to do the right thing and refuse her advances, and he was crazy to fall in love with her like she was as grown up as he was, and expect her to be ready for marriage, at 18.

But then again she would recall that she was two different people in her teens.

On one hand she was at the head of her class. A good student, a model mutant, an up and coming young superhero, and Scott, who was all of the above was her fine and upstanding boyfriend.

So fine and upstanding that she had to talk him into sleeping with her, initially.

On the other hand, she was a red-haired hellcat, who snuck away from the Institute at night to go to New York and live it up.

Black leather jackets and heavy-metal concerts, and punk joints and after-hours all night clubs and everything that went with it.

At the same time as she was having her official relationship with Scott, she was having a very sordid affair with the debonair and yet degenerate Tony Stark, who was two years or so older than her, but already a college graduate and well on his way to becoming the genius colossus astride the world he would become.

He was also well on the way to being the mess who, as of 2000, was on his second or third turn at rehab for just about everything but sex addiction, a thing Tony considered to be completely fictitious.

Tony was her usual companion in those days, and they spent his money as fast as he made it, living high, getting high, and, incidentally, doing a whole lot of fucking.

So it didn't seem too radical to Jean when she decided she wanted Professor Logan to just have him, and when he tried to weasel out of her grasp, she went to his office, where he slept, in the middle of the night, took off her clothes, crawled into bed with him, and woke him up going down like the Titanic.

Of course, Jean grew out of her wild phase and let Tony go on to bigger and better heights of degeneracy, and also thought better of the affair with Professor Logan, ending it right after she graduated from high school, except she meant that she wanted to be just good friends.

He shocked the hell out of her when he told her he loved her and asked her to marry him.

It had been just fucking, to her.

Jean wasn't even sure if she loved Scott, and it made her feel horrible, realizing that she had very callously played with the older man's fragile emotions.

And what she told him at the time was the truth; she was too young to know what she wanted.

As the years went on she became as close to Logan as she was to Scott.

Closer, in some ways.

He became her very best friend in the world; she felt like she could tell him anything, trust him with any secret, count on him no matter what.

Her love for Scott grew; he was very much her most natural choice for a husband and a lover, but the attraction she had to Logan never went away.

As she got older and they grew closer, it deepened.

Then Scott asked her to marry him, too.

Dr. Grey suddenly had a hell of a choice to make.

She had a whole pile of reasons why she chose Scott, for one thing, she loved him, and there were many other reasons, but she ended up with the happiest day of her life also being one of the saddest.

The day she married Scott Summers was also the day that Logan left the X-Men.

That had been five years ago.

Scott tried to tell her that it wasn't her fault, and that Logan was over a hundred years old, five years wasn't a lot of time for him, he'd be back.

But Jean thought all that was bullshit.

Five years was a long time for her, long enough for her to realize that, in a way, she did love Logan, and that she would always be attracted to him, and that she had, quite callously, hurt him, terribly, in some way that she could never, ever make up to him.

But that was not her biggest mistake.

Oh no.

Her wedding to Scott had been a very big party, and everyone had too much to drink.

Oh hell, everyone got stinking drunk.

Scott got so thoroughly hammered that he spent his wedding night unconscious and snoring like a goat.

But, Jean, due to the wild days of her youth, had a greater tolerance for booze.

And so did Logan.

She went for a walk, to clear her head, and came upon him, wandering the grounds, drunk and miserable.

He was in a rage, close to berserk., and he had shouted at her, and called her every dirty name he could think of.

Logan even backed her against a tree to the point where she was almost afraid he would hurt her.

But all he did was kiss her.

With such passion, and fury, and emotion that Jean couldn't help herself but kiss him back.

You are not supposed to spend your wedding night making wild, drunken monkey love on the ground with a man not your husband, and Jean supposed it was the final insult.

Logan woke up before she did, packed up a few things, piled his motorcycle into his truck and he was gone.

They had both paid a price for that one night of passion, but sometimes, Jean thought it was close to worth it; Logan was one hell of a man.

You near even heard of fucking like that; it was so hot she thought the goddamn ground was going to burst into flames.

Maybe it had.

Briefly.

But, then again, she lost her best friend, and the team lost Wolverine, and the school lost Professor Logan, and Logan lost his home and his family and they lost him.

It was too high a price to pay for their foolishness, and Jean spent a lot of time over the next five years trying to make things right.

She wasn't the only one.

It would have been hard to convince Logan, but needing Wolverine, tactically took a back seat to losing their friend, Logan.

And, of course, Jean knew, everybody blamed her for it, even though they had no idea the extent to which it really was.

Jean had never told Scott any of it; every time she tried she realized that he would never understand.

Logan's trail began in New England, and they followed it over five years all the way back to his roots in the Great White North, in the Canadian Rockies of British Columbia, and in the fabled Yukon.

It was a trail that led down into the depths of depravity and despair.

At first they had found people who knew Logan as a mechanic or a truck driver, sometimes a groundskeeper and even as a night watchman.

But, as they followed him north and west his trail led down and down until last year they were in BC talking to men who had known him for quite some time, twenty years or so, off and on, shaking their heads about what had happened to "Jimmy Logan".

"He's up in the Yukon, as far as we know. Lives in his old beater of a truck, and makes his money for drinkin an' gas an' greasy-spoon meals takin' cage matches."

One night in Howlett, British Columbia, Logan's home town, they ran into a man they had thought largely mythological.

"Black Tom" Logan.

Wolverine's father.

The short, stocky man in the lumberjack shirt and work pants couldn't have been anyone else, he looked so much like Logan it was uncanny; the biggest difference was that there was a little grey in his hair around the temples, and he wore an old-fashioned moustache with his sideburns.

He seemed awfully drunk, but he still recognized them.

"You two are from that bunch my boy used to run with. Have you seen my Jimmy? Is he still alive?"

Jean was too shocked to speak.

That Logan's father was alive, and that he feared his son wasn't.

"We hope so, Mr. Logan. We haven't seen him in five years. When was the last time you saw him?"

"About two years back, I think it s now? What is this, '99? Then it would be two years. And he was in a bastard bad way, then. Drunk, Shabby. Homeless. I told him, come with me, Jimmy lad, you know there's always a job for you at Howlett Logging. But whatever he was looking for in the bottom of that bottle, he hadn't found it yet. They're a problem, my boys. Jimmy's got too much heart, and Victor's got too little. But I wouldn't trade 'em for the world. You two got any little ones, yet?"

Scott blushed.

"No." he replied.

"They're a bastard pain in the ass. Especially little mutants. Maybe I was too old to be their Dad, I dunno. I was better than that bastard preacher my Victoria married, Victor is the way he is because of that Zebediah Creed. He killed my Victoria, and I'd piss on his grave if I could find it. They say I killed my Elizabeth, but it's a lie, you know. It was all an accident. A bastard accident. Too bad Jimmy had to see it. But I'm an old man, very old, I was born in 1760, and I'm drunk. And worried about my son. At least Victor has a fucking job, you know? I know where he is, and I know he's not out in the cold, somewhere, and at least he calls. Jimmy never calls. I don't know where my boy is, I wish I done. He was doin' so well with you lot, too. I got a whole scrapbook fulla pictures."

Jean couldn't take it.

She remembered all the way back to 1983, when she looked at what Professor Logan did for an undershirt and a pair of sweatpants, and through the years of their friendship, and that last, terrible, wonderful, heartbreaking night they had spent, together.

"Mr. Logan, it's all my fault. I'm sorry." Jean blurted out.

"Your fault, lass? It takes two to make a fault. It's his fault, too. He's that way, my Jimmy. He's got the soul of a poet in the body of a drunken Mick, and a feral drunken Mick, at that. Comes from his mother. Jimmy, he falls in love hard, an' he always falls for the wrong woman. The ones who live belong to other men, and the ones he manages to hold onto, they never make it. He tries to blame it all on his brother, but he's made enough of his own messes, he has. It's a bastard blessing to him he can't remember most of them."

Black Tom took another drink.

"D'you go in a' fight with my Jimmy, lass, right beside him, shoulder to shoulder?" he asked.

"Yes. Your son is my best friend. I've known him for most of my life, and I guess I took if for granted he would always be there. Until he was gone. Whatever you have to tell me, I need to hear it." Jean said.

"Then you're tough enough to take the truth."

Black Tom paused.

"I seen the boy a month or so back. I found his truck down by where the path to my land meets the road. The door was open, they key was in the ignition, but no Jimmy. I found him a little bit away, lyin' face down with the snow yellow all around him. I turned him over, an' he was cold, and his face were blue. He'd not just pissed himself, he'd been sick, and he was lyin' there in a puddle of his own sick, breathin' it back into his lungs. I thought he were dead, I really did, but I hefted him up and carried him to the cabin. I poured ice cold water over him, and shouted in his ears, an' smacked him in the face, and he came round a little, and he was sick again. I got him walkin, into the house an' he were with me there a week or so. I tried to make him stay, but he left, again. I'm goin' to the Yukon meself to look for him. Because it's death and nothing else Jimmy's looking for; someone to put him in his grave. Not while I live. It ain't natural for a father to have to bury his child."

Jean could not abide that.

"Well stay here and look. Where can I contact you if we find him?"

Black Tom gave them Howlett Logging's number, and she and Scott spent another two weeks driving around and staying in motels before they went back to the X-Institute.

Another month or two went by before they got the call from Logan's father that he was safe and sound at the cabin, and in a lot better shape.

But, the story had changed.

In the dead of winter, he had met a girl on the road, a young girl, 18 or 19, 20, maybe, a girl of his own kind, and it changed him.

Friends of his seemed to be more optimistic.

"Jimmy'a a changed man since he met his Southern belle. He's been working at the logging camp with me through the worst part of this winter. In the spring, he wants to take her back to New York, to you lot, so she can finish with school. Poor girl, she's runnin' from something, but you can see plain that they've saved each other."

Scott would have been satisfied with waiting for Spring, but Jean didn't like it.

"What if Magneto decides he wants his daughter back, right now? What if he finds out where she is? What if he sends Sabretooth to come and get her? I don't like it, Scott. We'd better go get Logan. And the girl. Now."

Jean's words seemed prophetic to her, because as they came close to the old homestead, she and Scott caught up to Logan having a confrontation with Sabretooth , right in front of their father's cabin, with the Southern belle in question and Old Black Tom warily looking on.

They came upon a very confusing conversation, already in progress.

"Can't you fuckin' do anything right, Jimmy? Do I hafta draw you a picture? I'm not the bad guy, this time. He sent me here to get her. To get her and take her back so he can kill her. And you're fuckin' around here, puttin' Pop an the girl in danger because of some fuckin' frail who married another man? What are you, stupid! Can't you do anything right, runt?"

SNIKT!

SHUNK!

"His father has claws?" Scott asked.

"Apparently. I always thought there was bone under the adamantium. Military intelligence isn't that bright." Jean replied.

"Jimmy! Vic! That's' it! I'll swat yer eyes out, and ye can go home in the dark!"

"Yes , Pa." Logan said, dutifully.

"But Pa…" Victor protested.

His father smacked him upside the head.

"Not on my land, you don't! Why don't you boys bury the hatchet? You can't kill each other, anyway, God knows you've tried."

"You know what, Vic? I don't know what the fuck you're talking about but…."

"I'm talking about her father. Magneto. He wants to kill her."

Logan looked shocked.

"Kill her? Why would he want to kill her? Why do you two keep telling me he wants to kill her?"

That was when Sabretooth saw her and Scott.

"You tell him."

Logan whirled around.

"It's complicated. But Sabretooth isn't lying. Both of you, get your things and come with us, and I'll tell you on the way back home." Scott explained, succinctly.

"Marie?" Logan asked.

"It's true, Logan."

"Marie, darlin', go get our stuff. Pa, my duffel's awful heavy. Maybe you can help her."

"I see. Don't look back, Rogue. I think Jimmy's gonna have to make it look good when Victor goes back to tell his boss he couldn't shift you."

Logan waited until they were in the cabin.

"How good does this have to look to Magneto?" he asked Sabretooth.

"He and Raven are waiting at the diner in Howlett. I better look ripped up. Or what he'll do to me will make the nightmares you have about when they stuck all that metal on your ass look like a blowjob from a French whore."

SNIKT!

Logan stuck one set of claws in Creed's stomach, and slashed his face with the other, ripping his eye out.

Jean and Scott both averted their eyes.

"That good?" Wolverine grunted.

"Yeah." Sabretooth gasped.

"She's comin' back. Get your ass out of sight!"

Sabretooth retreated towards the treeline.

"Jimmy?"

"What?"

"You mind me for once, little brother. Take good care of her for me. Don't let her come back. Ever."

"I won't, Vic. You can be one hundred per-cent motherfuckin' sure of that."

They all walked down the mountain, together, where Logan's truck, and Scott's waited.

"Holy shit, Cyke, that's a real nice truck! Dodge, right? The kind with the Hemi in it. What year is it?"

Scott had been worrying about what to say to Logan, after five years.

When he was a boy, Logan had been his teacher, and although the older man had never said anything about his student becoming his boss, he never changed the way he related to him.

In a way, Scott still looked up to Logan; and when Cyclops was in a jam he couldn't figure a way out of, Wolverine was always the first teammate he needed to talk to.

Scott was glad to have the opportunity for an icebreaker.

"It's a 2000. And I sent it down to Mason's Auto, on the Lower East Side, for some special modifications."

"Superhero shit?"

"You bet. How's the old beater running?"

"I hadda do some repairs, but she runs like a dream. Most of the time. I guess she needs a trip to Mason's Auto, too."

"Well, there's room enough in the cargo hold of the Blackbird for both of them. And all your stuff. Look, Logan, I'd like you to come back and join the team. But even if you're not willing to suit up, again, I'd still like you to come back. Everybody missed you. Hell, even I miss you. I mean, we're your family, Logan. As much as your father is, and more than your brother, who wants to kill you half the time and wants you to be a serial killer like him, the other half. We want you to come home."

Jean could tell from the look on Logan's face that he was surprised to hear that from Scott.

"What about you, Jeannie?" he asked.

Jean bit her lip.

It didn't work.

As her students would say, she totally lost her shit.

"You hairy little jerk ! Look at you! Look at the condition you're in! This is good shape? What kind of shape were you in before? What the hell have you been doing to yourself for five years? What the hell is the matter with you? You just left! Left! Do you know the kind of resources we allocated to find you? No, I came all the way up here in the middle of the winter to say have a nice life! Of course I came to get you! You're only my best friend in the whole world! I've only known you since I was 17? Why would I give a fuck if you just sort of upped and left! Logan, you are coming with us one way, or the other, goddamn you! "

Jean looked at the girl, and she had her poker face on.

"Well, I'll come back with you. But I'm never putting that uniform on, again." Logan replied, evenly.

"What? Are you completely fucked in your head? Did you drink something loose? What are you going to do? Buy a bar? Drive a cab? Get a job at McDonalds? " Jean insisted.

"That's what he was thinkin'. But ah told him that's no work for him. You should have seen the state he was in when ah first met him, three months ago."

That was volunteered by Rogue.

"Logan, if it's because we have some…personal problems, you and Jean and I, we can work them out. There was never any reason for you to leave, well, not just your team, but your home. Hell, I would have stayed engaged to Jean, indefinitely, if I knew you were going to take it that hard."

"It ain't that. I wanna have a normal life. I realized that when I met Marie. When she's older, after she's done with school at the Institute, and college, we can get married. Maybe she'll be a teacher or somethin' like that, an' we can live in a fuckin' house, like other people do, an' I can have a wife an' a family an' a normal fuckin' life."

"What about when Sabretooth shows up?" Jean asked.

"Victor won't harm me. And if ah had any children, they'd all have claws." Rogue interjected.

"He wouldn't hurt them. He's got some decency. The war's between him and me, and nobody else." Logan added.

"Do you love the girl, Logan? Is that in there?" Jean insisted.

"Of course I do. What kind of a man would I be if I didn't?" Logan bristled.

Scott cut in.

"Logan, we are not trying to do make you do anything that you don't want to do. But I'm not sure your enemies would let you have a normal life. You don't have to give up on having a wife and a family, because you're in the X-Men. And I have to agree with Miss Lehnsherr. You won't be happy driving a cab or being a grease monkey. You're not the idiot you pretend to be."

"Please, Logan, just stay at the Institute until ah get mah bearings." Rogue added.

"You too, Marie?"

"You want what's best for me, don't you, sugah? Ah want what's best for you. Oh, and Mr. Summers, how do you know my name?"

"Your…father has been at the X-Mansion every week since you disappeared. We thought it was an attack the first time. He seems extremely distraught. According to him, you have been…a little too chummy with Victor Creed for quite some time, and he came up with an outrageous lie about your life being in danger to get you away from your home and make his enemy, Logan, look like a fool in the process."

"What do you believe, Mr. Summers?"

"I believe that neither Sabretooth or Magneto can be trusted, and that's one of the reasons I'm here. The other is Logan."

"I still can't believe you came all the way up here just for me?'

Rogue rolled her eyes, and Jean exploded.

She grabbed Logan by the collar of his jacket.

"That's' right, you tell him. He refuses to listen to me." Rogue said.

"Will you wake the fuck up and smell the coffee, Logan? People like us don't get to have normal lives. The X-Men need you. The students need you. The city needs you. Hell, there are times when the whole world needs you. You and your girlfriend can play housie-housie just as well at the Mansion as you could anywhere else." Jean snapped.

Now, Rogue broke in.

"Now just you wait a minute. Ah don't like your tone, Dr. Grey. Whatever bad blood there is between you and Logan doesn't concern me, and I will not sit here and let you paint me like I'm some cheap two dollar whore. What Logan and ah have, together, is important and meaningful to both of us, and ah will thank you not to cast aspersions on it."

Logan swallowed a laugh, and Jean looked at Magneto's daughter like she had ten heads.

"You really want to make a home for him, don't you?" Jean asked.

"Ah do. Ah have. And ah will continue to do so. But I agree, Logan. Wherever else we went, we'd have nothing. And ah wouldn't stay one minute at that school without you. And not as a God-damned groundskeeper. As an X-Man. As Wolverine. Ah have no idea what mah father is planning. And Ah could not begin to imagine what Victor may do next. But ah do know that you will be needed to try and stop it."

Logan looked at his knuckles.

"Alright. Alright, I'll suit up with you, again. Just until whatever Magneto has planned is dealt with. Then we'll see." He said.

"Thank you, Logan." Scott said

Jean didn't say a word.

"So, do I get a new leather uniform, too? I like the new uniforms. That goddamn spandex, it makes your balls itch an it's always ridin' up the crack in your ass."

Scott blushed a little.

"We'd better get going. Before the badguys catch up to us." He decided.

"What about my uniform?"

"Well, when we had the new uniforms made, I took the liberty of having one made for you. Just in case." Scott confessed.

Jean took Logan aside white Scott coaxed Logan's old beater of a truck into the X-Jet, with Rogue spotting for him.

"What's with the kid, Logan?"

"I'm with her, Jeannie. That's what."

"Are you crazy? She's Magneto's kid, and she was Creed's before she was yours. I know I was that age when this whole mess started, and I screwed everything up, but that doesn't mean you have to start over again in the same place."

"I'm not. Rogue ain't you, Jean. And I'm not the man I used to be. I got a little smarter', darlin'."

Logan went to enter the X-Jet and Jean stopped him.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Jeannie, I love you. I will die loving you. But I'm not going to die from loving you. You married Cyke, you got on with your life. And I'm gonna get on with mine. You're my best friend too, you know. But from now on, that's it. It's better that way. For both of us."

Scott and Rogue finished up, and got in the jet, and Logan parked himself in the pilot's chair, just as if it had been five days and not five years.

Scott seated himself beside Logan, with great pomp and circumstance, and he and Wolverine proceeded to have a conversation in which Logan persisted in calling him "Scooter", until he lost his cool, and after that things went smoothly between them.

First, Jean felt as if she was going to cry, and then, quietly, she did.

"Dr. Grey?"

Rogue quietly slipped her a tissue, with her gloved hand.

"Ah understand. Sometimes, ah cry a little, when ah think of Victor, too. Count your blessings that even though Logan wasn't the right man for you, you can still be friends. Victor and ah, we will never have that opportunity." She whispered.

"Thank you." Jean replied.

She took the tissue, and wiped her eyes.

Chapter Four: Bringing It All Back Home

Westchester New York. Xavier Institute . Shortly after Logan & Rogue's arrival from Canada

I: Charles

Dressed in bulky, utilitarian thrift-store clothes, and ragged and weary from the road, Marie Lehnsherr still retained a certain gravity and dignity that made Charles understand what Eric meant when he said that she couldn't "live in a truck like an animal. My daughter is a lady."

"…and ah was just horrified upon mah first look at Logan's quarters. Do you know he's never even been inside his suite of rooms? He keeps a small fridge and a Murphy bed in his "office" behind the gym, and that's where he lives. Why, there isn't so much as a stick of furniture in his whole suite, and he has never touched a cent of the money that was allotted to him to furnish his rooms!"

"I know that, Miss Lehnsherr. But that was Logan's own choice."

"I would prefer it if you called me Rogue, Professor. And if you had seen the state Logan was in when ah first met him, you would know that even though he's a wise man, a good man, and a survivor, he doesn't always choose what's right for himself. Ah know it's irregular for a teacher to cohabitate with a student, but ah am of legal age, and well, Logan and I have been living together for some time. Ah just want to make a home for him. He lives like a bum in a skid row flop. I'd like to furnish his rooms, and keep them for him. Ah don't think Logan's had a woman to look after him for a long time.. To do the little things. Keep a house, Wash his clothes. Fix his food. Ahm not a little doormat, ah assure you, raised by Mystique, ah certainly am a feminist. But Logan's a good man. Would it be so terrible for him to have a real home, and a good woman?"

Charles looked across the table and saw a young woman who had never known her real parents, who had been mistreated by her family and abandoned at a young age, only to be rescued, and given a second chance at a home and a family.

Because she had been deprived of both, having them was a priority for her, and now, because of Erik, or Victor, or a combination of the two, she had lost her family, again.

And Logan had nearly destroyed himself after Jean married.

These two people needed each other, desperately, in this dark time in their lives.

And lasting relationships had been forged on less solid ground.

"Actually, Rogue, it would be good for him. Logan tries to convince himself that because he's Wolverine, he's not a man like other men. But he feels pain, and loneliness and alienation and bitter heartbreak as much as any of us do. But, you should consider that you are only 18 years old. You may come to change your mind about Logan. If you invest yourself deeply in his life, it will break his heart all the more when you are gone from it."

"Can you keep a secret for Logan and I, Professor?"

"That depends on what it is."

SHUNK!

Charles was somewhat taken aback.

"Ah have absorbed Logan's powers, permanently. And some of his memories. And if ah am right, in the exchange, he got a little piece of mah soul, too. So, as you can see, Professor, ah will never be gone from Logan's life."

Inwardly, Professor X cringed.

He could see a great tragedy in the making unfolding before his eyes.

But, the die was already cast.

He smiled at her, reassuringly.

"I will keep your secret. Considering that you and Logan came here, together, I have no authority to tell you what do to with your private lives. I would ask, however, that you allow the formality of being assigned a dorm room. I am sure that Jubilee and Kitty will keep your secret. They are both very close to Logan. No one else knows this, but they are the only people here that he kept in touch with. Logan is their mentor; he wanted to make sure that they were making their way successfully without him. When he stopped writing to them of a weekly basis, about a year ago, that was when I myself began to worry that we might never see him again."

Actually, Professor Xavier worried quite a bit about Logan, for a number of reasons, but he did not want to burden Rogue with them.

"I would, however, prefer that you do not make your connection to Logan known to any of the other students. That might be disruptive, and you might have to endure people saying unkind thinsg about you, behind your back. "

"Of course, Professor. Ah was raised to understand the importance of discretion in matters of the heart."

"Good. Perhaps you can impart that skill to Logan."
_____________________________________________________________________________

"Hello?"

"Good morning, Raven. I have good news for you and Erik. Your daughter has arrived safely at the school."

"Wait, let me get Erik on the phone."

Professor X waited.

"Hello, Charles? Is Marie well? Was she alright? Does she really believe that…madness of Victor's, that I have some plot to murder her? That's what it is. Madness. The man's a psychopath. He wants to isolate her from her mother and I so that he can have her all to himself. To do God knows what with her, in the end."

"One question at a time. Erik. Your daughter is in excellent health, and good spirits. I think she finds it hard to believe that you would endanger her life, but she's just not sure."

"Of course she isn't. It's my fault. Not yours, Raven, it's my fault. She told me, Charles. Don't let Marie get too close to Victor. I didn't listen. Now he's poisoned her mind against me. Convinced her I have some mad plan to murder her for my own selfish ends. You don't believe that, do you?"

"Certainly he doesn't believe it, Erik. He knows Victor's crazy. He lives with Logan, after all."

Charles chose his words, carefully.

"I do not believe that you would willingly murder your daughter, Erik, no."

"Does she?"

"I'm not sure. She's very confused. I do agree with you that Victor Creed has done much to destabilize her."

"Well, at any rate, this has to stop. Marie needs to gain control over her powers so that she can make reasonable choices about her life, and who she spends it with. And I have decided it will be good for her, to be in an environment where all the students are her own kind. She also needs to make some friends her own age. She has none. To feel less isolated. And, of course, you have hired teachers who are the best in their fields. But you were going t to let her stay, regardless, weren't you?"

Charles could tell that Erik was spoiling for a fight.

"I would rather have your permission than not, Erik. I will tell Marie that you and her mother support her choice to finish her education here. And, should he regret his nobility, I can assure you, we will not allow Victor Creed on these premises."

"That is the best reason of all for Marie to attend your school. One thing that we all could agree upon, even his brother, is that Marie should be away from Victor. Completely."

II: Jean

"There they go, again! Scott, do you hear that?"

Scott did not hear it.

He was asleep.

Jean woke him up.

"Wha? Huh?"

"They're at it, again! Over there in the bomb crater! Didn't you ask Logan to move his bed away from the wall?"

Scott yawned.

"Yeah, sure I did, honey. And he moved it. I can't hear anything. Put the radio on or something. The radio won't bother me. Go back to sleep."

"How can I? How can you sleep through all that racket?"

"I don't know. I'm awake, now. Look, honey, when you live in a place with other people, you just have to get used to things. I hardly hear anything. These walls are pretty thick."

"…oh, you goddamn dirty fucking son of a bitch! You bastard, you dirty, horny, god damn bastard…"

"Did you hear that?" Jean insisted.

"Yes."

Scott blushed in the dark.

He rolled back over.

"But I wouldn't have if you hadn't woke me up. Go to sleep, Jean. It's not that loud."

Scott fell asleep again.

"Maybe not to you, Scott. Maybe not to you."

Jean got up, and went down to the common room, to watch some TV.
____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
"What do you mean, that's the wrong answer? I'm tellin' you, Scooter, I was at the goddamn Battle of the Ardennes Forest and that's exactly how it happened! You better change Rogue's grade."

"I thought you didn't remember anything about the past." Scott teased.

"So I forget a few details about shit that happened to me, so what? I goddamn well remember World War I! Well, parts of it, anyway. Especially that part! It was the first time I died, and woke up to find myself alive, later."

"Alright, Logan. You don't have to get so angry. I believe you. But what about this answer to the question about the Battle of Antietam Creek? You weren't in the Civil War, were you?"

"My father was! N' he told me all about it? You callin' Black Tom Logan a liar? He's a lot of things, my father, but he's not a goddamn liar!"

"Sure, I believe you. I believe your father, too. But, listen. Are you serious about wanting Rogue to graduate from here and go to college? Because her professors will expect her to go with what's written in the book, and if you go telling anybody else in the world that the book is full of shit because you were in the Gold Rush, and your father was at Waterloo, they're going to fail her and put you in the booby hatch. I'll change her grade, this time. But from now on, you make sure Rogue knows that she has to go with what the book says, not your stories."

Jean interrupted.

"Why don't you tell her that, yourself, Scott? Logan doesn't own the girl." She bristled.

"No, Jeannie, I don't. But comin' from me, she'll take it a little better. If Cyke tells her, she'll just think he's tryin' to make me look like a fool. She doesn't know you guys yet, the way I do. An, Marie, it takes her awhile to get to trust people. You gotta point, Cyke."

Jean realized she was scowling at Logan, even though she had no reason to, and he looked so unhappy about it that she wished she could stop.

Scott gave her an odd look.

"Logan, I didn't mean to be insulting. About you, or your father. But, I would like to hear that story." He began.

Jean left them alone, to talk, but Scott came to see her, in the infirmary, later.

"Jean, what was all that about? Charles wants us to make Rogue feel welcome, and Logan, too. He's still pretty jumpy, and the last thing anybody wants is for him to take that girl and run so that we can never find either of them again. How was that helping?"

"Do you think Logan's helping Rogue? Is that what you would call it? She's 18, and he's, I don't know, about a hundred."

Scott frowned.

"A hundred and ten, I think. Under normal circumstances, Jean, I would agree with you. But you have to consider, Rogue is not the usual 18 year old. The poor kid, she's the poster child for what Charles tells us can happen to a young mutant without this school. When you and I were 13, we were here, with the Professor. Rogue's family threw her out. She lived in a shack in a swamp, for two years. I mean, how long were we in Stryker's jail? A month? Two months? It was horrible, but at least we had each other. Rogue was alone. For years. And then, who discovers her but Magneto, and even that was a blessing for her. He gave her a home, and he looked after her, gave her the idea she was worth something. But then he fell in with Victor Creed. Can you imagine falling in with him, when you were sixteen? The things she must have seen, being so close to him? Logan's the first decent, good person who's ever taken an interest in her, with no ulterior motives. Sure, he's a little rough around the edges, but he's a good man. She needs him. Hell, I think he needs her, too. Logan's the kind of guy who can get a woman for the night, but not for the duration. We had our happy ending. Logan deserves to have his. Besides, it's alright with the Professor."

Scott was what you might call a Company Man.

If it was alright with the Professor, it was alright with him.

It was like that with everyone on the team.

Ro said it was none of her business. Hank's only comment was that he was glad they kept it discreet. Kurt wouldn't venture an opinion, other than to say that he didn't see any sin in two lonely people finding each other.

She had not spoken to Charles about it; she wondered what he really thought.

Because it bothered her.

They didn't all live in the suite next to the one Rogue and Logan occupied.

Before she really knew she was going to Charles' office, Jean was there.

She knocked.

"Come in, Jean."

Of course, there was no hiding from him that she was troubled.

Or even what it was that troubled her.

"I thought it would be Scott who came to talk to me about Rogue."'

"Scott agrees with you, Charles. Without even knowing what he's agreeing with. Why? Why are you allowing something like this to go on?"

"What do you suggest I do, Jean? Rogue is 18 years old. Old enough to vote, and marry, and drive, a legal adult. Not old enough to drink, which, I might add, Logan strictly prevents her from doing. It may seem odd to you, the position he holds in her life. Mentor. Lover. Father figure. That is the position that Victor Creed used to hold. Do you think that was better for her? After what Erik did to her, she needs Logan. How would you feel, Jean, if the man who saved your life, trained you, fed you and clothed you and put the roof over your head, a man you regarded as your father, who regarded you as his child, who professed to love you decided to sacrifice your life at the drop of a hat for his latest grandiose whim? And, the only reason you believe this possibly hideous lie is because it came from the sick, twisted mind of the sick twisted man that you, despite everything, love? That said, how would you feel about a man who owed nothing to you, who had no reason at all to care if you lived or died, willingly took up your burdens as if they were his, protected you, took care of you, risked his own life to save you? If you had finally found real love, true love with a man who had no ulterior motives for loving you, if some virtual stranger, demanded that you give that man up, would you listen?"

Jean could see his point.

"Probably not."

"Jean, if I told Rogue that I thought her relationship with Logan was inappropriate, she would tell him I said so, and they would both be gone, tomorrow. Rogue needs a home. She needs to finish her education, gain control of her powers, and be able to make a sound choice of what to do with her life. And you know as well as I that Logan's whole life, almost from birth, has been a tragedy. He's been used, manipulated, and betrayed by anyone who ever professed to care if he lived or died. He has no real home. No family, except for his psychopathic half-brother, and an embittered old man living on a lonely mountain in the snow, because the world has been even unkinder to the father than it has to the son. We are his home. We are his family. He left us, twice, each time coming close to death and ruin. I do not think he can afford to lose us a third time."

"All that might be true, Professor, but is it right? You don't sleep in the bedroom next to theirs. None of you really think about what they're up to, because you'd rather not, but I'm the one who listens to their bedsprings squeaking for half the night. She's like his little wife. Picks up his beer cans, and his dirty undershirts. She does his laundry, she cooks his meals, it's like she's playing house. And Logan, when he's not wearing out the mattress, he's telling her everything he can remember about his life, and teaching her all kinds of things she shouldn't have to learn. Rogue doesn't even realize what he's done to her, making her a feral mutant, like him. He has to train her! To do what? To be a foul-mouthed, beer-swilling, uncouth…"

Jean stopped talking, because of the way the Professor was looking at her.

"Charles, don't. Please!"

He spoke to her gently, but firmly.

"Jean, I don't think this has much to do with Rogue's welfare. Logan never meant to make Rogue a feral mutant, and now that he has, he considers it his responsibility to show her how to live with her new powers, so that she doesn't end up going the way his enemy, Sabretooth has. You may think I'm old-fashioned, but I see nothing wrong with a woman cooking a man's meals, or doing his washing. It's not as if she's his wilting little flower, after all. I also see nothing wrong with Logan trying to impart the wisdom of his lifetime to Rogue. Her mind is full of what Victor, Erik and Raven put in it, and Logan and I share a goal of replacing that poison with something positive. No, Jean, this is not about Rogue and Logan, it's about you and Logan."

"Me? Charles, are you insinuating that I'm jealous? That I want him all to myself? That I wish it was me in bed with him, and not Rogue?"

"Jean, do you really think that I don't know?"

That took the wind out of Dr. Grey's sails.

She sank into a chair.

"Do you know…everything?"

"Yes."

"But I thought I had hidden my thoughts from you so well!"

Charles smiled.

"Jean, a person with no psi-ability at all could have looked at Marvel Girl and Professor Logan and known that there was something unprofessional going on. I suspected. But I did not know until Logan told me."

"He did what?" Jean insisted

"He burst in here one night in 1985, and poured his heart out to me. He told me that you had been running with a fast crowd, and that you had seduced him, and that he had been having an affair with you not just because you were a pretty young teenager, but because he wanted to draw your attention away from drink, cocaine, the wrong kind of men, and general rack and ruin. He told me he loved you, that he wanted to marry you, and asked me for my permission. He also offered to leave, and never come back."

That hit Jean like a ton of bricks.

"Why didn't you…the school rules…" she stammered.

"You weren't concerned with the school rules then, Jean. You just wanted what you wanted. To prove to yourself that you were smart enough to have it. Never mind that it might cost a good man his last chance at a decent life." He rebuked her.

"I realize that now, Charles."

"I know you do, Jean. I didn't fire Logan for two reasons. The first was that I knew he was telling the truth about loving you. The second was that he may have done it in an unorthodox fashion, but he saved you. After you became involved with him, I'll bet you had little time to go out and raise hell."

"I had no reason to."

Jean smiled fondly, in spite of herself.

Logan, having been a cowboy, a mountain man, a lumberjack, a prospector, a Special Forces Marine, a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent and a superhero was pretty much the embodiment of every hyper-masculine super-macho archetype in existence.

And his hairy, muscular, massive and fearsome appearance, topped off by his wolfish blue eyes, were just the icing on the cake.

He was everything a man should be.

After she took up with him, and began spending three or four nights a week in his embrace and under his tutelage, listening raptly to his wild tall tales and sleeping at night in his strong arms, she forgot all about painting the town red with Tony.

"No. You didn't. Logan distracted you long enough for you to overcome your destructive phase and go on with your life. I was glad to see that the two of you became close friends, in the subsequent years. Now, you've married Scott. That was the right choice for you. And Logan had his long dark night of the soul. He's made peace with your choice, and he is trying to go on with his life. Don't stop him."

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Jean went directly to the gym, where the office of the Combat Instructor was located.

Logan was inside, packing some of his things into a box.

"Where are you going now?"

"Just movin' the rest of my stuff up to where I live now, that's all."

"I'm sorry I've been such a bitch you to. I'll admit it. I'm jealous. When I pictured you coming home, I didn't picture you have a rider by your side. But I guess its stupid of me. You can be Rogue's boyfriend and my best friend all at the same time. There's enough of you to go around."

"You don't hafta be jealous, Jeannie. I ain't changed towards you."

"I know. But, Jesus, I don't know what to do, Logan. I'm not sure if I should apologize to you for wrecking your life, and wish you good luck with the kid, or grab you by the shirt and tell you that you're making a terrible mistake."

Logan looked stricken.

"Well, you could always get on your knees and rip my pants open and start suckin' my dick. That's how you used to solve your problems."

Jean was shocked, and hurt by his sudden cruelty.

"Why do you have to be so hostile about it?"

Logan slammed the box down on his desk, and, as her students would say, got right up in Jean's face.

He grabbed her arm and pulled her down and inch or three to his level so he could do it, too.

"Because I might just be a tiny little bit mad at you, Jeannie, when you come in here about eleven years too late to say that to me!"

"Look, Logan, this isn't about you and me. It's about you and that kid. You know. The one who calls you a motherfucker while you're making love to her. I smashed your heart into smithereens. Do you want to repeat it? How do you think it's going to feel when your psycho brother comes rolling up here in his Escalade and honks the horn and yells "Hey, baby", and that little girl goes running back to him like you never existed? Maybe it doesn't happen now. Maybe it happens in another five years. Another ten. By then, it's really going to smart. You have the bad habit of falling in love with women who belong to other men. Break it. Break it right now, Logan. It's going to come back to bite you on the ass, really, really hard. You and I, we used to be lovers. You are still, hands down, bar none, the best I ever had. And you're my best friend. I would take a bullet for you, even though I know it might kill me, and wouldn't harm you, just to save you a minute of pain. Listen to me, Logan. The whole world is full of women. So, I'll bet, is your address book. Go and buy a nice pair of black jeans, and a new flannel shirt, get your hat blocked, and go find one. Send baby home to Daddy and Victor, and get on with your life."

Logan relaxed his grip on her.

He picked up his box of things, shaking his head.

"I can't. I'm in too deep, darlin'?"

"All the way up to your big ol' balls, huh? Too bad you've got your brain and your heart in there with them. Alright, Logan. Just remember this. When this thing blows up, don't run out. I'll still be here for you. I will always be here for you. Hell, if nothing else works out for you, I'll just have tell Scott that he's going to have to put up with a little polyandry. Just don't ever leave like that again. I don't think I could bear it."

Jean forced herself to smile.

Logan laughed a little, and smiled, genuinely.

"Okay, Jeannie."

Jean left Logan's office, promising herself that if that little southern fried chicklet spattered poor Logan's big dumb heart all over the pavement, she wasn't going to live long enough regret it.

III: Rogue

It was kind of like living a double life.

But that was par for the course for Rogue.

Logan was very much like Victor in many ways, but just as unlike him in many more.

He was, indeed a better man, he was a good man, a decent man, things nobody would have said about Victor Creed.

Loving Victor was hard, but she hadn't minded. Rogue always had to keep looking for the good in him, trying to find what it was that made her love him, in spite of who he was and what he did.

And he loved her as much as he could, but he had to keep so much of himself from her.

It was like she only had a shred of the man, the tiny shred of decency that was Victor Creed and not Sabretooth.

Logan was the exact opposite.

He never kept a secret from her, about anything, and though his heart and his soul were heavy, they were neither twisted nor black, and he gave her both willingly having kept them to himself for such a long time.

One thing was the same.

Both men made her feel safe and protected and loved.

Loving Logan, though, was easy as falling off a log.

He was such a wonderful man, kind and what her Aunt Carrie used to call ruggedly handsome; and he was never ashamed to be exactly who he was.

But Charles was right about Logan.

He was always trying to mortify himself.

The first thing she did was take the money he never used and get in Logan's truck and drive a little ways to the store in Westchester where her father had always bought his furniture.

Papa liked to buy simple, tasteful things that were good quality and would last a long time.

Victor always said that was because he was a miserly old Jew, but Victor spent his money on bullshit in a profligate way until he was flat broke.

He'd go on a spree and she'd lie and say he was taking her to school, and them if he didn't show up for a week she'd go to his apartment, and throw out whatever whore was in there robbing him blind, and and rouse Victor from his drunken stupor and have to contract the flu so she could take a few days off of school to clean the place up, do mountains of laundry, and nurse Victor back to health after he had abused himself abominably.

On those occasions, she had to steal money from Papa, so that Victor could pay his rent and his utilities, and get some food.

She thought Logan's tastes would be more in line with Papa's and her own.

They had three rooms.

A bathroom, a bedroom, and a living space with a kitchenette.

He was fond of television, so she bought the biggest one that would fit in their living space, and also a stereo with a record player, as Logan had two boxes of records, and Rogue, who didn't own any music recorded after about 1979, mostly jazz and blues albums, had a large record collection.

She had spoken to Papa on the phone, at Professor X's urging.

He swore up and down that he had no intent to harm her, and that it was all some vindictive scheme of Victor's.

He didn't insist on her coming home, because he wanted her to be away from Victor, to learn to control her powers, and to get a good education in a place where she was with her own kind.

Rogue wanted to believe Papa.

But she couldn't be sure.

She asked him to send her records and some of her other things, and all of her clothes along.

Rogue was quite happy to get rid of all those ugly things she had worn all winter; she was not in the habit of ever wearing slacks, let alone jeans.

In wintertime, she wore long coats, and long shirts and woolen stockings.

The rest of the room was furnished in a large overstuffed easy chair and a sofa that were both brown corduroy, so that the stains Logan would invariably get on them would not be obvious and easily wash away.

For the same reason, she bought indoor-outdoor blue multicolor carpeting for both rooms.

She found one of those old 50's style fridges at a resale shop for the kitchenette, and bought a small but sturdy blonde oak table and chairs for them to eat their meals on, and all the dishes and cups and plates she purchased were Corelle or plastic.

Both she and Logan had a great number of books, so she bought two bookcases, and a reading chair for herself, and two floor lamps.

Logan liked to keep things simple, so that and a set of blue and brown striped curtains made the living room.

She got towels in blue and brown for the bathroom.

The bedroom was large enough for a big bed, and even though she and Logan were not very big people; Rogue, at 5'4 or so was the tallest, and she thought a California King sized bed was a bit much, so she got the king sized bed.

And an old-fashioned brass bed; she knew that Logan favored those.

Like the one at the cabin on top of the mountain.

Again, she went with sheets and blankets that were brown and blue.

Logan didn't own much in the way of clothes and there was a closet in the room, so she got a wardrobe and a chest of drawers with a mirror on it , and a full-length mirror to hang on the back of the door.

Also two end tables, one for each side of the bed.

Two more floor lamps.

Lamps for the night-stand would have ended up on the floor anyway.

Same curtains as in the living room.

She furnished the rest of the place with her own odds and ends, and when she was satisfied, she had to practically drag Logan to his own rooms.

He walked from room to room, absently hanging his hat on the hook on the back of the door to the living room where she thought he would.

"That's a big bed, darlin'. An' a nice big TV. And there's all your records. You do have a lot of records, don't ya? Are those speakers for the TV and the hi-fi?"

Hi-fi.

Don't laugh, Marie.

"They cal it a stereo now, Logan. And yes, they are."

He sat down on the couch, and seemed to like the way he sunk into it.

Without saying anything else, he went downstairs and came back with his duffel over his shoulder and a case of Molson's, which he loaded into the fridge.

And returned to the living room with a bottle of beer and one of the Slim Jims from the box she had bought and put on top of the fridge, picked up the remote and sank into the overstuffed blue and brown plaid chair that she had figured had "Logan" written all over it.

He turned on the TV.

"Does this mean you like it?" she asked.

He smiled at her.

"Darlin', you did great. Like they say, a home's got to have a woman as much as a woman has got to have a home."

Rogue made most of their meals in the little kitchenette, although Logan did some of it, at his insistence.

Once a week, she did his washing along with hers in the laundry room.

Having an ashtray on every surface and two trash cans in every room went a long way towards picking up after Logan; but he surprised her in that, he still did most of his picking up, himself.

Unlike Victor, who would sneeze into a tissue and then drop it on the floor.

Rogue always did her homework in her dorm room, to keep up appearances, and she made two friends close to her image, protégés of Logan's, who credited her with bringing him home, and helped her keep her affair with Logan a secret.

Keeping things under his hat was not Logan's strong suit, but between her and Kitty and Jubilee, they managed to at least keep up the pretense that Rogue was just another, if not a little older, student.

Among the rest of the X-Men, Rogue took to Nightcrawler the most.

The first day she was there, he greeted her warmly, hugging her and calling her little sister.

Rogue was confused.

"But surely you zee ze family resemblance? Raven is my muzzer, too. Zat makes you, my little sister. I have heard so much about you from muzzer, but I never came to meet you, because, well, of ziz feud between Charles and Erik. But I am glad zat we haff finally met."

Kurt took his role as older brother very seriously; he genuinely considered Rogue to be family, and she came to see him the same way.

They shared more than just the same mother.

Rogue was raised Catholic, and though she was what the Church called a cafeteria Catholic, she tried to attend mass at least twice a month, something she had not done since she left New York, and something none of the other X-Men were concerned with.

Kurt was a devout Catholic; he had, for a while, left the X-Men to become a priest.

He went to a small church in Salem Center whose parishioners were all mutants and their non-mutant family members, and she joined the parish.

Like her older brother, she found great comfort in her religion.

They also shared a love for the culture of the bygone world that World War II killed off; Rogue was as interested in Kurt's DVD collection as he was in her records.

They spent long hours watching movies, listening to records, and sometimes just talking about those shining days gone by.

Every Wednesday, Kurt took her to New York, to a theatre that showed only Golden Age films, and they got quite a few strange looks, but she didn't care; they always had a good time.

Generally, Rogue was enjoying her life at the X-Mansion like a new birth of freedom.

There was no undercurrent of tension at the X-Institute; they didn't live in the same kind of paranoia as she had become accustomed to at home.

To Rogue, raised amongst the Brotherhood, everyone seemed friendly and nice, essentially good and it was quite a relief, not having to hide, anymore.

The best times, however were when she and Logan and Kurt all sat around and watched old movies together.

Logan always had a story from the past to tell.

"Look, Logan. The Sea Hawk is on AMC!"

"That's' a good one. "

Rogue went and made some popcorn, and during the commercials, Logan told her and Kurt a story.

"Ya know, Flynn ain't dead. Not even close. He was with Nick Fury in the OSS and then with S.H.I.E.L.D. from the beginning. He's one of us. A teleporter and a partial metamorph. He can just change his own appearance. Got some healing, not as good as me and Vic, but good enough. Him and Nick fell out after he went to Cuba in '58, and Nick forced him out of his own life, and into deep cover. Turned out though, he had a point about how we shoulda backed Castro, so the Russkies didn't."

"Well, where is he now?" Rogue asked

Logan took a sip of beer, just to keep her and Kurt hanging.

"Flynn? He moved on to his next career or two. You know that war correspondent for CNN? Robert Blood? The one who kinda looks just like Errol Flynn?"

"That's him?" Kurt asked.

"Sure is. He's still with S.H.I.E.L.D. Who do you think cleans up the messes Tony Stark leaves behind him?"

"What does Errol Flynn have to do with Tony Stark?" Rogue asked.

"Plenty. Howard Stark was a great businessman, and a great producer, but he was a shitty father. Him and Flynn were neighbors, in the thirties and forties. Friends, too. Now, in the sixties, when Tony was a kid living out in LA, his father's best buddyroo was a writer, journalist, and war correspondent named Peter Hood. Peter Hood was also Errol Flynn. That was his first new identity after Nick let him resurface in '65. After Howard's old lady died, he let the kid run wild, and I guess Hood, that is, Flynn, felt bad for him. In his will, Howard made Hood his kid's guardian. Although, even before Howard kicked, Flynn was more Tony's father than Stark ever was." Logan reported.

"This has to be bullshit." Rogue interrupted.

"No, no. Tony has a common interest in zeze old films mit us. I am fairly friendly mit him, and I happen to know zat ven his fazzer died, zat his fazzer's friend, ze famous journalist Peter Hood became hiz guardian. Und if you azk Tony who his best friends are, he vill tell you James Rhodes, unt Robert Blood." Kurt added.

"Wait a minute! That's' awful close to Robin Hood and Captain Peter Blood!" Rogue exclaimed.

"I'm not done yet. When we were in 'Nam, together, Eddie Blake told me that Flynn told him that he had an affair with Maria Stark, and Tony was actually his kid, not Howard's. I dunno if that's true. But Eddie knew Flynn better than I did. He played him in that movie they made about the Comedian."

"I heard he's not dead, either."

"Oh, shoot, everybody knows he's not dead, Kurt."

"Who, Eddie? He's still the Director of S.H.I.E.L.D., Covert Division. After he went out the window, he just decided to stay underground. I know. We were in the Big One, together. With the Invaders. Me an' Eddie, we been buddies for years. He got me into S.H.I.E.L.D, and talked Charlie into giving me my first shot with the X-Men. "

"Is he a mutant, too?' Rogue asked.

"Nope. He got shot up with the super soldier serum. Shot himself up, actually. He got sent in to clean up the mess, and just helped himself to what was left."

"Zat's not vat I heardt. I heradt zat he vas always a mutant, just passink as a normal human." Kurt interrupted.

Rogue interrupted both of them.

"So, you have it on the authority of Director Blake, who was friends with Errol Flynn, and his boss in S.H.I.E.L.D. that Robert Blood is Peter Hood is Errol Flynn who is Tony Stark's biological father?"

"Yup."

Marie shook her head.

"You know, Logan, if ah put this shit on the Internet, nobody would believe me?"

"Go ahead. Fuck, some nut probably already has. But everybody knows the Internet is fulla shit, so nobody pays any attention."

In the interim before Captain Blood, Logan got up to use the bathroom.

"I never know whezzer to take him at his wordt on zeze stories. But I hope it's true. Zat means I might someday get to meet Herr Flynn."

"You never know, Kurt. You jest never know. That would, however, explain a lot about Tony Stark. Put CNN on, for a minute."

They caught the last few minutes of "Robert Blood Reports", the subject of which was the crises facing modern Africa.

"…and here, in what used to be called darkest Africa, it is all that much darker in the 21st century than it was in the 19th, when that term was coined. The great nations of world cannot turn their back on the so-called Dark Continent, because it is the actions of the nations of the world, in the time before our time, that have brought this curtain of night to the very cradle of the civilizations that spawned them, thousands of years ago. I'm Robert Blood, and this is my report. Until we meet again."

He smiled, and tipped his hat.

Logan sat back down, and switched the channel back to AMC, just for effect.

"Oh mah God, Kurt, it's him! It's really him!"

"Gott in Himmel!"

"Toleja." Logan said.

"So? When do we get to meet him?" Rogue insisted.

"Any time you want, Kurt. As for you, darlin', how about never?"

"Logan! Ah wouldn't!"

"The hell you wouldn't! Maybe if you were a lezzie, ore dead, you wouldn't. Otherwise, like I said, never's good for me." Logan laughed.

He opened a fresh can of beer.

"An' that goes double for Tony Stark." He finished.

Chapter Five: Thorn Tree in the Garden

Greenwich Village, New York. Somewhere in the Not Too Distant Past

I: Victor

For a man who had been run over by a tank, slowly, three days before, Victor Creed was in good shape.

He still felt like ten pounds of shit shoved into a five pound sack.

All of his wounds had healed completely, but he was left with pain and stiffness that permeated his entire body.

No to mention it s pretty hard to sleep lying in a cot in a military hospital, without the benefit of any medical treatment, as your body slowly knits itself back together.

Now, had it been the kind of situation where there were a limited amount of medics and medicine, he could have understood them leaving him without treatment to heal on his own, but the hospital was miles from the combat zone, and both well-stocked and well staffed.

The only explanation then, was that it didn’t matter to whoever was in charge that he probably outranked every grunt in the place, or that he had been getting torn to pieces for Uncle Sam since 1910, they didn’t treat him because he was a mutie.

Some of the guys on the ward with him felt bad, guys he didn’t know, and since it was a UN operation, guys who didn’t even speak English, some of them, those who could get out of their beds tried to help him.

There were these two younger guys who ripped some of their bed sheets into strips to make bandages for him, and there was one older guy, the Australian in the bed next to him, who shared his food, his water and his painkillers.

Then, when the Sarge showed up to check on his people and found Major Creed hastily tied together with makeshift bandages in a bed so saturated with blood that the mattress was dripping onto the floor, he raised six kinds of Hell until Victor got some treatment.
And beat up the administrator in charge so badly that he ended up being admitted to another floor.

All in all, though, it had been a shit experience and Sabretooth vowed that he wasn’t going to put a uniform on again until Uncle Sam was willing to treat him like a marine, not a hired mercenary.

He could definitely see why Jimmy took his uniform off after Weapon X, and had been working solely in the private sector ever since.

The worst part of it, though. Victor thought, as he dragged his tired old bones and his duffel bag up the six flights to his apartment would be coming home to a dark and empty flat, with nothing in the fridge but a can of beer and a desiccated apple to suffer alone and in silence.

This is the price you pay, Creed, for being what you are.

Nobody loves you when you’re Sabretooth.

But when Victor unlocked the door of his apartment, the lights were on, and he smelled food cooking.

“Stripe?”

“I’m in the kitchen, Victor. Ah’m nearly done, ah started right when ah found out your flight landed.”

The place was immaculate, just the way he liked it, and the table was set.

And there was Stripe, in the kitchen.

She had an apron over the long skirt and sweater she was wearing, and she had three pots on the stove and something in the oven.

“Oh, Victor, you look terrible! What did they do to you, now?”

“You wouldn’t wanna know, baby.”

“Well, I’ll have dinner ready in another half hour. Do you want me to get you a drink?”

She was about to zoom over to the bar.

“I’m just gonna take a shower, and take off this goddamn uniform. What I wish I had, not to sound too much like my runt brother, is a cold beer.”

In less than thirty seconds, there was a frosty, sweating can of Molson’s in his hand.

“Ah drove over the border to Niagara Falls to get that, because I know you don’t like the stuff they import here to America.”

“Baby, you drove from Manhattan to Canada to buy me a case of beer? Why do you go to all this trouble for the likes of me?”

“Because ah love you, Victor.”

She just looked up at him, with her eyes all shiny with love and happiness that her man was back home in one piece, and as usual when they were together, things stirred in Sabretooth’s soul that he thought were dead and buried, forever.

“I love you too, Stripe. You’re the best thing that’s’ happened to me in fifty years.”


Greenwich Village, New York. Victor Creed’s Apartment, Right after the events of last chapter

Unlike his brother, who had several pairs of Levis that were older than the girl he was living with was, Victor Creed was usually very particular about his clothes, and his appearance.

Commonly, it took him two or three hours in the morning to bathe, shave, comb his hair, and dress.

Sabretooth also liked to keep things tidy and neat in his surroundings.

Even when Stripe was around, he had a maid come in once a week to keep everything shipshape.

He had wit left in him, then, to observe that there was great irony in the fact his life would end in such a messy way.

Home, they say, is the place you go when they won’t take you anywhere else.

He considered going back to Pa, but when Victor rode away from that homestead in 1905, he promised himself that although he might come back to visit, he would never live there again.

There were few places on Earth he hated more than that God-forsaken mountain.

Lying in a tubful of bloody and rapidly cooling water, Victor scratched his matted, greasy hair, thoughtfully, and pondered his options.

In the past week he had jumped off a building, caught the A-train right between the eyes, and tore three bums to pieces just because he could.

Usually, Victor wore dark glasses for effect, but now, he was wearing them because he was blind.

Sabretooth, furious at himself for crying over Stripe, yet again, ripped out his own eyes, in anguish.

Under the bandages over his eyes were two bloody, empty sockets.

He had blinded himself earlier that week, but his healing factor was so busy dealing with his more serious injuries, it hadn’t gotten to his eyes yet.

His legs remained twisted and smashed, and his chest was still little more than a blood-filled, bluish hematoma of shattered ribs and half-healed flesh.

Those insults had merely been the capper in Sabretooth’s dogged campaign to murder himself.

He figured that the only way he could accomplish it was to overwhelm his healing factor such that it couldn’t keep up with the damage he was doing to his body.

Following a few weeks of binge drinking, not eating, and inflicting random puncture and gunshot wounds to himself, followed by these more drastic measures, he felt very close to achieving his goal, and had dragged his broken body into the bath such that the hot water might ease the pain of his passing.

On the floor beside the bathtub was a Glock, a bottle of Johnnie Walker Black, and his cell phone.

As death approached, the mortal terror that all living things feel at the end of their lives overtook Victor Creed, and with it, the first time he had felt fear in decades, came a stunning moment of clarity.

Victor, you fucking idiot, there is another way.

Do you really want to do this, Vic? Leave Jimmy and Stripe alone in the world? And what about Pa? He buried your mother, he buried Jimmy’s mother, what if he has to bury you?

He’s an old man; the shock could kill him.

Then your baby brother, he really would be alone in the world.

Remember what you told Stripe?

Leave and never look back.

Never look back.

Victor reached for the phone, and called the only number he knew at the X-Mansion.

Rogue’s cell.

“…wait a minute, Logan.”

“Cantcha tell them to call you back? I been tryin’ to tell you this since we were in Howlett, darlin’!

“Ah can’t! It’s Victor! Somethin’ must be wrong! Hello, Victor?”

“Hey, Stripe. I gotta talk to Jimmy.”

“Victor, you sound awful!”

“I’m just drunk, baby. Nothin’s wrong.”

Jimmy must have heard, because he was on the phone, pissed off.

As usual.

“What the fuck are you doing, you fuckin’ asshole?”

“Keep that up, Jimmy. Do not react to what I’m about to tell you. I’m hurt real bad. Dying. My body’s so smashed up, my healing factor can’t keep up. If you got anything like an ambulance there at the mutie hospital, I need it. And bring Raven’s kid. He usedta be a priest. That hasta be good enough.”

“Alright, Victor.”

Victor hoped his brother wasn’t as calm as he sounded.

“You remember any of the way I used to be, Jimmy? When you were a kid? Back when I was just a mean, ornery, two-tone motherfucker of a son of a bitch, not the devil on Earth?”

“Yeah, Vic.”

“If I live, you’ll see it, again.”

“Hey, darlin’, we’re outa beer. Take my keys, and go get me another case, huh? If they don’t have Molson, get Foster’s. Alright?”

“What about Victor?”

“He’s just drunk. I’ll take care of it.”

Victor heard a door open and shut.

“What the fuck is the matter with you, you stupid son of a bitch? What about Marie? What about Pa? Don’t you fucking dare die over there, you hear me! I’ll never forgive you, if you fucking die like this!”

Victor could hear him running down the hall.

He laughed.

“What’s the matter, runt? You gonna miss me?”

“You’re my brother, Vic. Nobody kills you but me.”

***

Time meant little to Victor, in his state.

He had a drink, the water got cold, he let some out, ran some hot water.

Had another drink.

Around that time, he could hear some commotion from the front door.

“Mein Gott!”

“Victor? Where the fuck are you?”

“In the bathroom, Jimmy.”

Jimmy didn’t get there first, the first person to get there was the Grey broad, the doctor.

He could smell her, and hear the squeaky wheel on the stretcher.

“Oh, Jesus! Oh my God! Logan, don’t come in here! Kurt, I need your help.”

“You two can’t lift him by your…Oh Christ! Victor!”

Jimmy was trying to lift him out of the bath, all on his own.

“Since when can you pick me up, runt?”

“Awww, fuck you, Vic. You ain’t heavy. You’re my brother."

***

The next thing Victor knew, he was in the ambulance. Or the medical van, whatever the fuck.

It was very cold.

“He’s in shock.” The doctor was saying.

Victor heard the familiar words Nightcrawler spoke, in Latin, the half-forgotten words.

The oily cross over his bloody forehead.

He was in the ambulance, or whatever the fuck, now, and the doctor broad was sticking needles in him, and things like that.

It all seemed very far away, but he stopped her from putting the mask over his face.

“Vait, Jean. He iss conscious. I am listentink, Herr Creed.”

“Bless me Father, for I have sinned. And I ain’t got time to tell you how much. But if it’s bad, and it’s wrong, and it’s evil I’ve done it. Killed everything that walks, crawls, or flies. Worse. Much worse.”

“Yes, Herr Creed. I know. Do you repent?”

Victor had to think about that.

“I dunno if I’m sorry I did any of it, for my sake, Elf. But I’m sorry for my Pa, and my Ma, that their son is a monster. I’m sorry for everything I did to my brother, whether I meant to hurt him, or I did, anyway. I’m sorry I couldn’t save my wife, that I let her down when I promised to protect her. I’m sorry that Stripe had to fall in love with a man like me. The only reason I don’t wanna go to hell, is that I know I’d never see any of them again. I deserved to be damned, if anybody does. But they don’t. And, I'd kinda like to see my Ma again. I wish to God I hadn't been such a hellbound bastard, if she'll knwo that I'm in Hell, and that she'll never see me again. Is that repentance enough, Elf?”

“Yes, Herr Creed. I absolve you of your sins. In ze name of Ze Fazzer, and of Ze Son, und of Ze Holy Spirit. Amen.”

Victor smiled.

He said his mother's name.

After the doctor put the mask over his face, Victor slipped away.


II: Jean

Jean Grey did not, as a general rule, have a lot of sympathy for Sabretooth.

But, you would have to be more of a psychopath than he was not to feel sympathy for the wreck of a human being that Logan and she wheeled into the infirmary.

He had died on the way, right after Kurt gave him absolution.

Jean used the defibrillator on him, four times, at full voltage.

Just before they reached the Institute, she got a weak pulse.

Hank McCoy was on call, and waiting.

They went to work on the dying giant, immediately.

Jean had never seen such massive trauma to one person.

Victor Creed’s body was a bullet-riddled, torn, ragged, mass of tortured, bruised flesh, and twisted, shattered bone.

There was scarcely an inch of him that had not suffered massive trauma.

His face, too, was wreckage.

There was a bloody white band tied around his head, and under it were staring, empty sockets and torn flesh.

“Jean. He tore out his own eyes.” Hank said.

“I know.”
“Suicide.”

That was all Logan said.

He was still there, and Jean really didn’t have the heart to ask him to leave.

“What?”

“He’s tryin’ to overwhelm his healin’ factor. He figures if he keeps beatin’ his body up bad enough for long enough, it’ll just give up the ghost.”

“Why would Sabretooth want to commit suicide?” Beast wanted to know.

“He has his reasons.” Logan said.

***

Drs. McCoy and Grey treated Sabretooth the way they would have any patient coming into their infirmary in that kind of shape.

They removed the bullets from his body, repaired what was left of his internal organs the best they could, generally bathed him, stitched him back together, dressed his wounds, set his bones, and put him on an IV with fluids and antibiotics.

It took over four hours, even with Creed’s incredible healing factor helping them along.

He responded well to treatment; all his healing factor needed was a little push, and all his body needed was a little rest.

What surprised her, though was the way Logan just sat quietly in a chair by the bed.

Jean was still washing up when she heard Sabretooth speak for the first time since they had brought him in.

“Jimmy?”

“Right here, Vic.”

"Good."

He lifted the corner of the bandages over his eyes.

“Can you see, yet, Mr. Creed?” Jean asked.

She sat by the other side of the bed, and listened to his heart with her stethoscope.

It was beating quite normally.

“I can see light. Nothing else. At least I got eyes again.”

“Logan seems to think that you inflicted all of the injuries you suffered on yourself.”

“I had a little help from Mr. Colt. And from the A-Train. And the pavement six or seven stories down. But nobody pushed me. I jumped off the roof, and threw myself under the train, shot myself and ripped my eyes out. I tried to cut off my own head, but I passed out from losin’ too much blood. Ya see, Doc, when you heal up as well as I do, suicide gets very, very messy.”

“You almost succeeded. What made you change your mind?”

“I thought about my Pa. And Jimmy. And how she would feel if I was dead. That made me think. If I can’t live without that little girl, and fucking stupid old fool I’ve somehow become, I can’t, then I’m going to have to change my ways. Straighten up and fly right. I figure I can get back in good with the G. As long as Eddie’s still in charge of S.H.I.E.L.D Covert, he’ll let me slide back in. I might have to do ten years in the salt mines, though. Doin’ what I’m told. Keepin’ my nose clean. It’s gonna take a whole fuckin’ lot of that to convince you people, and Jimmy that I can tread the upward path. Maybe in five years, maybe in ten. But that’s not a long time for a man like me. And Stripe, she’s young, yet.”

Jean didn’t know what to say.

This was a side of Victor Creed she had never seen, before.

Logan rocked backwards on his chair.

“So, you’re gonna turn over a new leaf, huh, Vic? Be one of the good guys?”

Sabretooth laughed.

It was a harsh, joyless noise, and rumbled up through his bandaged chest like a growl.

Not a pleasant sound.

“Jimmy doesn’t remember, but I used to be a different man. Oh I was still a mean, violent son of a bitch and a born killer who had little use for anybody on God’s Green Earth, and didn’t care whether any of ‘em that wasn’t of me an’ mine lived or died. Whether it was me that killed ‘em, or not. But I wasn’t a monster. I wasn’t an animal. I wasn’t Sabretooth. I was Major Victor Logan Creed, of the Marines. Special Forces. I had a brother, a Colonel Howlett, of the same, who thought I was kind of asshole, but he was still my brother. I lived in Japan, and I had a wife. She was a mutant, too. A Nymph, named Matsuko. And you had a wife, Jimmy. Do you remember?”

“I remember Itsu, Vic. And I remember, a little, what you were like before Matsuko died. You were no picnic. You were still a son of a bitch. But at least you were a man.”

Sabretooth lifted his bandages again.

His hard amber eyes focused on Jean’s face, and she knew he could see, again.

“You look shocked, Dr. Grey. Didja think I was born this way? My mother married a preacher named Zebediah Creed, when I was five. He did nothing but beat us up, and terrorize us until I was 13. Ma tried to stop him from pulling out my teeth and claws with a pliers, and he cut off her head. Right in front of me. That started the ball rolling. When the C of H got to my Matsuko, that finished it. They tortured her, and they raped her, and they used fire at hot metal to disfigure her. But she didn’t die. She healed. Into a broken, twisted, crippled thing. She begged me to put her out of her misery. So I did. After that, for about fifty years, I never had any use for what my Pa used to call the world of men, and men’s things. I never had a reason to be anything more than an animal. A mad animal. I do now.”

Jean had no idea what to say.

“I believe you, Victor. I believe that every man deserves a second chance.”

That was Charles.

Jean had not even notice him entering the ward.

He was always there when he needed to be, and he always knew what to say.

“I figured you would, there, Charlie. You been tryin’ to get me on the upward path for decades. But what about you, Jimmy? What about the Sarge?”

“You know, Vic, I think I’d go a long way towards believing you, and so would Eddie, if you were to tell us what you knew about Magneto’s big plans.” Logan commented.

Victor Creed laughed, again.

“You’re a real fuckin’ piece of work, runt. Are you trying to bullshit me, Jimmy? Because that would be funny. I’ll tell you what. You bring the Sarge here, and sure, I’ll spill my guts. But not before I get some fuckin assurances that you’re not all just gonna dump my ass back out in the snow.”

“You have my assurances, Victor. Whether or not Director Blake accepts you back into the federal fold, you may stay here, as long as you need to. And I will do whatever I can to help you.”

“Charles!”

“Jean, if I turn this man away, a man who needs our help the most, then everything I have taught you has no meaning.” Charles persisted.

“But he’s…he’s?”

Another laugh from Sabretooth, this one containing genuine mirth.

“The Bad Guy? The Man In the Black Hat? You know what the difference is between the Good Guys and the Bad Guys, doc? The color of your uniform and who signs your paychecks. I’ve done worse shit for Uncle Sam since I joined the Marines in 1910 than I ever did as a freelance merc. You know what they did? Gave me a chestful of fucking medals and promoted me. Wake up and smell the fuckin’ coffee, sweetheart.” Victor Creed advised.

Charles glanced at Jean, and they continued to speak, telepathically.

You see, Jean? Do you see why I say Victor needs my help the most?

I see. But doesn’t he seem beyond hope?

Would Kurt have given him absolution if he was beyond hope?

That's different. Kurt thought the man was dying. And its' not as if Creed has much to work with. What, he can rehabilitate himself enough that he's more Eddie Blake than Satan Incarnate?

It's something, Jean. There are may people who do not see the Comedian as a monster. His daughter, who reconciled with him decades ago. Her mother, who loved him, and probably still does. His paramour, who teaches at this school. Director Blake is a violent man and so is Mr. Creed; violence comes to them just as naturally as breathing. Something inside both men is cracked, the way a doll gets when a spoiled child throws it against a wall. But there is a difference. Victor has suffered too much, as many of our kind have, and he no longer believes that there is kindness or mercy in the world for him, so he sees no reason to show either to the world. He has let the animal in him take over much of the man. But, although the Major’s soul is wounded, it is not yet broken. He may not believe in mercy, but he holds a hope to find it. The Comedian found that hope in the Silk Spectre, and in their child, and, eventually in the reconciliation between the three of them. Sabretooth has found that hope in Rogue.

Where there is life, Jean, there is hope. No one is beyond it.

Meanwhile, the conversation between Wolverine and Sabretooth continued.

“Well, Vic, your terms seem reasonable to me. Jeannie, when do you think he’s gonna be back to his usual, horrible self?"

“At this rate of healing? First thing, tomorrow.”

“Then I got a phone call to make. You want to see her now, or after?”

“After. If it’s no dice, I don’t want to see her. But I want you to do me a favor, Jimmy. You’re my brother. My baby brother. I left a good job in a boomtown in Montana to raise you up to be a man, ten years eking out a living like a chicken scratching in shit on the top of that God-forsaken mountain. I saw you through four wars, and after Bill Stryker fucked us both, I made sure that you got back to Pa, to get your head right. You may not believe it, but I been lookin’ out for you your whole fuckin’ life. Nobody kills you but me. You owe me. Runt.”

“Maybe I do, and maybe I don’t.”

“You’re still a smart ass, ya know that? Yeah, well this is a favor you won’t mind doing me. I got nothing on top of my bones but muscle and blood. If the Sarge says no dice, if I can’t come in from the cold, I want you to get those pig stickers out and slice my head off, and then throw it far enough that my body will die before it finds it. I’m an old man. I’ve seen enough. Sure as fuck have done enough. If I got no future with Stripe, I don’t want no future, at all. Promise me, Jimmy.”

Jean was shocked, Charles looked sad, but she could see from the expression on Logan’s face that he was not even mildly surprised.

“I promise. Vic. After you’re gone, I’ll make sure you get back to Montana. Beside your Ma.” Logan replied.

“And you’ll take care of Stripe?”

“Till the day I die, Vic.”

“Good.”

Sabretooth yawned.

“I guess I’m gonna catch some shut-eye, here, Jimmy.”

“You do that.”

Logan sat there until it was obvious that Victor Creed had fallen asleep, and the he left the infirmary.

He came back with an old paper sack.

“These are his. A set of his S.H.I.E.L.D. fatigues. They got mixed up with my gear, and I never threw them out. He’ll need ‘em, in the morning.”

Logan went to leave, again.

“Logan, wait. Do you think he’s serious? About reforming?”

“Shit, Jeannie, me and Vic are both too old to reform. But he’s serious about changing which side of the cape he’s on. An’ about tryin’ ta act like a man, an’ not an animal. That’s as much as you can expect. And it’s more than I ever expected.”

“Will you go through with it? Killing him?”

“It’s what he wants. And I know how he feels. Someday, the boot might be on the other foot, and I might have to ask him to do it for me.”

With that, Logan took his leave.

“Charles?” she asked.

“Death can sometimes be a mercy, Jean. Do you remember asking me if, after everything, Logan could still love his brother, as much as he hates him?”

“You said you didn’t know.”

“I know now. Now, we’d better let your patient sleep. He has a long road ahead of him.”


III: Rogue
It was dark when Logan returned to their rooms, but it wasn’t late, yet.

All day, she had sworn she could smell him- Victor- and all the professors looked distracted and edgy.

Then, Logan returned to their rooms, having taken a shower and changed his clothes in the middle of the day.

But she could still catch the faint scent of two things that terrified her.

Victor, and blood.

Victor’s blood.

Magneto and Mystique, however, didn’t raise any idiots, so Rogue fixed Logan his dinner when he woke up from his nap and went to her dorm room to do her homework and went to bed at her usual time.

Logan went to bed early and when she came to bed he was sound asleep.

It was better that way.

She threw a couple of sandwiches together, quickly, and lifted a can of Logan’s beer, thinking he wouldn’t be angry in this case, and snuck out of the room with the beer and sandwiches in a paper bag.

She did so in her camisole and pajama boxer shorts, so as to look as if she was just raiding the big fridge for a snack, or going to watch the big TV not to disturb Logan while he was sleeping so soundly, in case anybody asked.

Rogue went downstairs, and then crept into the infirmary.

Under the familiarly unpleasant smells of soap, disinfectant and rubbing alcohol was a very strong smell of Victor and blood.

Panic began to crawl around in her guts like a virus.

She tiptoed past Dr. Grey’s office, where the lights were still on, and made her way into the ward.

All ten of the beds were empty but one.

Rogue snuck over to it, her eyes shining in the dark, like a cat’s.

She heard a low growl.

Her heart leapt.

He was, st the very least, alive, aware, and awake.

Then it stopped.

“Stripe?”

Rogue was at his beside, by then.

There were two white medical patches on Victor’s eyes, his chest was all bandaged up and both of his legs were in traction and in plaster casts up to his thighs.

“Victor, did Papa do this to you?”

“What are you doin’ here? I told Jimmy not to tell you I was here!”

“Ah sniffed you out.”

“Oh yeah. That’s right. You’re like us, now. Sorry I growled at you, Stripe. I didn’t recognize your new smell, right away. An’ I can’t see in the dark, yet.”

“He put out your eyes!”

“Erik had nothin’ to do with this. I put out my eyes. An’ did a whole lot of other awful shit to myself. I was tryin’ to commit suicide. I did pretty good, too. It’s never taken me this long to heal.”

“Why?”

“You. If there was no you in my life, I didn’t want it, anymore.”

“Oh, Victor, no! You can change. Ah know you can! The man who raised Logan, who was his brother and his friend for fifty years, he has to still be in there, somewhere.”

“That’s the way I figure. He still ain’t no picnic in the park in July. I never was a real nice guy, Stripe. I mean, I’ve pretty much always been a mean, ornery bastard and a real two-tone son of a bitch. But I used to be a man, and not an animal. I’m gonna give it a shot. For your sake. And Jimmy’s. He still needs me, the little runt.”

“Does that mean it would be alright if you and I saw a little of each other?”

“Hell no! Not while your father’s plan is still up in the air! And not until I know I can do it. Turnin’ back the clock on fifty years of Sabretooth to see if there’s enough left of Victor Creed ain’t gonna be easy. I may not be able to pull it off. Until I know for sure, and until we get Erik’s scheme put outa the way, there ain’t gonna be any you an’ me.”

“We? Who’s we?"

“I’m gonna see if I can get Eddie to gimme my old job back. I’m pretty sure he will. I’ll prob’ly get sent back into the Brotherhood as a double agent.”

“A double agent! If Papa finds out…”

“He’s gonna have a hard time killin’ me, Stripe. It took me a month of torturing my body to get this bad. Don’t worry about me. Worry about you.”

“I’m confused, Victor. Papa sent mah things. He talks to me on the phone. When ah told him ah was drivin’ around in Logan’s truck, he bought me a car and had it delivered. He’s not acting like we wants me daid.”

“He doesn’t. Somehow, he found out you’re turned permanently feral, and so he thinks that what he’s got planned won’t kill you. He’s wrong. I don’t know what to tell you, Stripe. Erik’s a little nuts. I was a guest at Hitler’s Hilton, and I saw my Ma die, right in front of me, so I can understand how that kind of shit would make you a little nuts. But your Pa, well he’s a lot nuts about what happened under the Nazis to Jews never happenin’ to mutants. He’s got tunnel vision about it. You really can't blame him for that, all things considered.”

“Are they going to put Papa in jail?"

“I’d say they’re gonna send him to Arkham, for awhile. But you know your old man. He’ll bust out, and think up a new scheme. One that doesn’t involve you. Look, Stripe, don’t worry about me. Or Magneto. Fuck, he could make the North Pole the South Pole and make the South Pole Detroit, if he wanted to. You just stay here with Jimmy, and finish school and learn how to control your powers from Chuck X. You and me an Jimmy, we got alla time inna world. Did you bring me food?”

Rogue finally relaxed.

If he was hungry, that meant he was going to be alright.

“Yes. And I stole some of Logan’s beer for you.”

“Yeah? I’ll tell him you made me do it. I’m starving. I guess they figured I was still too banged up to eat.”

Victor sniffed the bag.

“They’re fried chicken sandwiches. Ah made fried chicken the other night.”

Victor had demolished all the food and one can of beer, and he had just taken a sip of the other and put it on the wheeled table beside him when all the lights came on.

“What’s going on in here?” Dr. Grey demanded.

“Take it easy, Doc. Rogue just came down here to see me, and bring me something to eat, that’s all.”

“We didn’t realize you’d be hungry, already.”

“Would Jimmy be hungry, already?”

“Well…yes, but…”

“Then so’m I.”

“That’s not the point. Rogue, how did you know Mr. Creed was here?” Dr. Grey demanded.

Victor instinctively put his arm around her, pulling her against his bandaged chest.

Nobody but Logan and Professor X knew Rogue was a feral, and she was completely at a loss for what to say.

“Well, everyone’s been acting so odd, today. Logan went to bed early and he’s sound asleep like he’s just exhausted. And its’ not like him to take two showers and change his clothes twice in one day. Not the clothes he was wearing this morning were not in the hamper. I decided to take a look around, and see what was going on. When I came in here, I found Victor. Nobody had to tell me anything,” she quickly explained.

“Go back to your room, Rogue. Now.”

Rogue didn’t like Dr. Grey’s tone, and neither, for that matter, did Victor.

“Wait a second, frail! This is a school, not a concentration camp. An’ I’m a patient, not a prisoner. After this, I’m probably not gonna see the girl for months. Maybe even years. What's there gonna be between us, a coupla phone calls, now and then? I almost died today. Is it a fuckin’ crime if a sick man spends a little time with his girl?” Victor bristled.

“Don’t you mean your brother’s girl?”

“Well, not that it’s any of your fuckin’ business, but she’s ours. Ya now, kinda like you’re with One-Eye. And my brother. And Tony Stark. Except, in your case, Scooter looks the other way, and I bet neither him or Jimmy have no idea about Tony and I ain’t even sure what kinda bullshit you got Shellhead sold on.”

Victor spat those last words at Dr. Grey maliciously and Rogue could smell rage coming up in him.

If what he said was true, Rogue knew the same rage would come up in her every time she looked at Dr. Grey.

A snarl wanted to curl her lip, and the fangs that she didn’t quite have control over when she was angry started to descend and Rogue had to make a concerted effort to get them to retract.

“Goddamnit, Creed, my personal life is none of your business!”

“The fuck it ain’t, sister! Anything that affects my brother is my goddamn business! An’ your personal life is the talk of fuckin’ New York City. Every mask on both sides of the cape knows all about it. Except Scooter and my brother. The two biggest suckers in the world. You better ride that high horse back into your office, doll.”

“You know something, Creed? You’ve got a lot less room to take the moral high ground than I do! Rogue, I will be finishing up my work and going to my rooms in about an hour. By the time I leave this office again, you had better be back in bed!”

Dr. Grey gave Victor a dirty look, turned on her heel, and left.

“Is that all true, Victor?” Rogue demanded.

“Look at you, baby! You got fangs, just like mine. I figured it wasn’t all Jimmy.”

“Mine retract.”

“That would come in handy. I saw your eyes shinin’ in the dark. That’s from me, too.”

“But is it true, Victor? About Dr. Grey?”

“Stripe, you don’t know how that red devil of a woman has tortured poor dumb Jimmy since 1983. When she was your age, she was a little fuckin’ coke whore an’ a drunk with safety pins in her ears, paintin’ the town red with Tony Stark. It was Jimmy who got her on the straight an’ narrow, and if he hadda do it with his dick, it's because dick is the only thing a broad like that understands. He did himself a favor, runnin’ out on her.”

“So it’s true, what Kitty and Jubilee told me? About Logan and Dr. Grey? And Wednesdays?”

“That’s how she kept him on the string. He thought the bitch was really torn between him and Scooter, when all the time she was just havin’ a high old time with her good buddy Logan. He still doesn’t know about her and Shellhead.”

“Victor, everybody knows that! It’s all over town!”

“I know. After we go see Eddie. I’m gonna take the runt aside, buy him a beer an’ tell him what’s really goin’ on. He’s got a right ta know. And I don’t wanna see that whore bitch cunt in there gettin’ in the way of Jimmy bein’ happy with you. I didn’t share the only good thing that’s happened to me since 1946 with him just so The Great an’ Powerful Jean Grey could fuck it up for him.”

“But Victor, it’ll destroy him! It’ll just break his heart!”

“I know, Stripe. But somebody’s gotta tell him. An’ he already hates me. You better go back to bed. I gotta get some sleep, if I wanna be on my feet in the morning.”

“Victor?”

“Yeah?”

“Is it wrong for me to feel the way I do?... About you and Logan?”

“Of course not. Hell, Jimmy’s my brother and I’m his. Whether he wants to admit it or not, we’re practically the same guy. Listen, Stripe. Even since he was a little boy, Jimmy’s shared everything with me, and I’ve shared everything with him. Everything I have is his, and everything he has is mine. The good and the bad. Even with him hatin’ me, and me bein’ mad enough to kill him, well, that’s somethin’ we share, too. That’s just the way it is with us. That’s the way it’s always gonna be.”

Rogue wasn’t sure she completely understood what Victor meant, but it eased her mind a little.

“Ah guess ah’d better go. Victor, are you really going to call me on my phone, and talk to me every week?”

“I said I was, didn’t I?”

Rogue smiled.

That would certainly make things easier.

On both of them.


IV: Victor

The last time Victor had his S.H.I.E.L.D. uniform on was in 1996, when he was in Kosovo, and him and the Sarge, that is, Col. Edward M. Blake, USMC, Special Forces, had a falling out.

He was wearing it, though, when he went aboard the S.H.I.E.L.D Helicarrier flying over the general area of Westchester, the next day.

Victor has spent at least an hour brushing the tangles out of his hair that morning, and then he made sure he was properly shaved and dressed.

His boots were polished to a high shine, and he had to iron the black fatigues four times before his BDU’s looked shipshape enough for him to put them on.

With his hair pulled back, and his uniform back on, identifying him as not only a Level 10 Agent of S.H.I.E.L.D. Covert, but also as Maj. Victor L. Creed, USMC, Special Forces, with a chest full of medals, Victor felt like he was getting somewhere, and looked the part.

Which was far less than he could say for Jimmy, who not only didn’t bother to put his uniform on, but he the only reason he wasn’t wearing the same clothes he had on the day before was because they had been too stiff with blood and gore.

“Christ, Jimmy, can'tcha at fuckin’ least button your shirt an’ tuck it in? Look at you, with your undershirt showin’! Your dirty undershirt. You are such a fuckin’ slob! Did you even comb your hair?”

“Not all of us can be beautiful, Vic.”

“Fuck you, runt.”

“Right back at ya, bub.”

Victor had to wait about a thousand years before he got in to see Mr. Director Blake, who was still on the phone when he sent into the office.

“Major Creed and Colonel Logan to see you, sir.”

The flunky looked terrified.

As well he should.

Of all three of them.

“He looks just the same.” Victor commented.

“Eddie never changes.” Logan said.

"Mr Director, sir? Colonel Logan and..."

“What? I can see that! I got eyes. What the fuck is the matter with you, Watkins, you're so fuckin' twitchy! Go on, get the fuck outa here. Go take a fuckin' nap with your teddy bear or somethin', just settle yourself the fuck down. Youse makes me fuckin' nervous. Christ almighty. Huh... No, Lar, I was talkin’ to one of my men. Vic and Jimmy are here….Look. I toleja not to marry that fuckin’ idiot, didn’t I? He did what…he cried?”

The Comedian started to laugh.

“He cried.? He catches you in bed with Wayne, and he cries? Jesus, what a fuckin’ pussy. At least the Bat’s a real man. What did he do…Yeah, well I woulda laughed at him, too…look, Lar, I gotta go. Vic Creed’s here. I’ll call youse right back. Just don’t feel bad about it, alright? It ain’t your fault that Danny Boy’s toast at fifty and you’re just gettin’ into your prime. Yeah…makes me wish the Doc was still around too…maybe , somehow, he’ll know you and Danny Boy are quits, an’ come back…well, you’re just lucky my grandson took after you and me and not Drieberg... See? I was right about you givin’ him my name, not fucko’s. I knew the kid was gonna grow up to be a Blake...Is your mother still mad at me...what, it's my fault the Infinity Formula don't agree with her...tell her to buy some Pepto, it beats gettin' old an' froggy an' dyin, anytime. Awright…Take it easy, kid. G'bye ”

The Comedian hung up, still laughing.

“Cries. What a pussy. And Sal, can youse fuckin' believe it? I jump through all these fuckin' hoops to get her on the real short fuckin' list of people who get Infinity Formula, and she finds somethin' to bitch about. And it's my fault. Everthing's my fault. The goddamn squid was my fault. You know why?"

"The coffee table." Logan chuckled.

"Everybody has a fuckin' cofee table! That's the first thing she said to me. Eddie, you stupid sunnuvabitch, if you hadn't tripped over that fuckin' coffee table, you would have won that fight with Adrian and you wouldn't have gone out the window and there would have been no squid. Shit, Cap and Supes and the Doc couldn't stop that thing! What the fuck was I going to do? Show it my cock? Women. Jesus Christ."

Mr. Director Blake lit a cigar.

"Somethin’ I can do for you, Vic? Jimmy here, he tells me you want to come in from the cold.”

“That’s right. I want my job back, Sarge. Even if I don’t get my promotion.”

“Do ya, huh? So, ya met a nice girl, and ya wanna impress upon her what a good guy youse is, huh?”

Victor shook his head.

“Runt, you gotta big mouth.”

“You want me to lie to Eddie?”

“Awww, I already knew. The walls in Chuck X’s place got ears. My ears. If it was all my dog and pony show, Vic, ya know I’d say sure. Without any intel. But Nick, he ‘s not your biggest fan, these days. You got something big for me to feed him?”

“You know anything about Magneto’s latest plot, Sarge?”

“Only that he’s got one.”

“Well, let’s say I know all about it. How many pounds of flesh would you want, Sarge?”

“About a hundred and sixty pounds of devious old Jew. Uncle Sam is getting real tired of Magneto and his bullshit. And that prick is making people like you and me look bad. There’s only so far guys like me can stick our necks out for the rest of us without getting read. We get rid of that fuckin’ asshole, who gets your average dickhead thinkin’ that all mutants are kill crazy commie subversive terrorist militia asswipes, shit quiets down for the rest of us. Now if you work with Jimmy, and you two make nice, and make sure I get Magneto locked up, I get out the big eraser and you get to be Major Creed, USMC Special Forces, S.H.I.E.L.D. Covert, Level 10, again. You bring me the old man’s head with the helmet still on it? We’ll make that Colonel.”

Victor didn’t have to think about it, twice.

Sorry, Erik.

You fucked with the wrong guy.

“Sounds good to me, Sarge.”

He offered the Comedian his hand, and Eddie stood up and shook it.

That was good enough for both of them.

“Good to have youse back, Vic. No matter how hard I try, I can’t find anybody as good at our job as you. Except me. An’ I can’t be everywhere at once. What about you, Jimmy? You think you can work with your brother, without rippin’ his face off, every day?”

Logan thought of Rogue.

And, deep inside him, something in his heart was leaping at the idea that somehow, someday, Victor and he could be brothers, again.

“I can if he can.”

“You’re the one who’s mad at me, runt.”

“I can’t imagine why.”

Victor was about to lay into the little jerk, but he thought better of it.

“Okay, so what have youse got?” Director Blake asked.

“Well, if you look at the list of crazy fuckers, I think this one puts Erik right up there with Crazy Jack Napier. Even the fuckin’ Joker would think this plot was too fuckin’ much. Erik has built himself a Doomsday Machine. I don’t know how. I’m not a tech guy. What I know is, when he gets in it, he uses his powers to create some kind of ray, or forcefield. You put a human, or a bunch of humans, in the path of the wave, and it’ll turn them into mutants. Now this is the part he’s foggy on. He’s not sure if he can turn everybody in the whole fucking world into mutants, all at once. So he’s gonna start small. He’s gonna sit the sunnuvabitch onna top of the Statue of Liberty. He’s not sure if he’s just gonna turn everybody at the UN into a mutant, or, what the fuck, maybe the whole city. Even the whole New York Metro Area. He must be drinkin’ Drano. But it works. He’s done small-scale tests. Most of the people he’s tried it on, they’ve died. A few have just become mutants. But Erik figures, ya can’t make an omelette without breakin’ a few eggs. The only thing is, every time he puts himself in as the guinea pig, it almost breaks his eggs. So he wants to use Stripe, instead. Marie Lehnsherr. His own daughter. Now, what she does is absorb other mutant’s powers, so he’s gonna transfer his to her, stick her in the machine, and he figures, since she’s absorbed Jimmy’s powers, including his healing factor, she’ll be fine. Bullshit. I’ve seen what the machine takes out of the old man, on the small scale. It might be hard to kill ferals, but we can still die. I figure, healing factor or no, the machine will kill her. And, how many people are living in the Metro area? About 20 million? You can say good night to about three-quarters of the ones who are human. Including masks, on both sides of the cape. This is the Big One, Eddie. If this shit is goes down, it’s going to make Veidt’s psychic death squid from another dimension look like a five car pileup on the Thruway.”

The Comedian shook his head.

“Whatta fuckin’ nutcase! Of all the fuckin' stupid shit ideas! An’ why do they always pick New York? Has he got his shit together, yet? I mean, can he do this shit, within the next coupla weeks? Months?”

“Fuck no. Right now he hasn’t got shit. It’s all small scale. I don’t even know if it’ll get off the ground. He’s had less crazy schemes that didn’t. No, I figure we got at least eight months, maybe a year before he can pull this off.”

The Comedian leaned back in his chair, and puffed his cigar.

“Who knows you went over to the X-Men, Vic?”

“Just them.”

“Nobody in the Brotherhood knows?”

“One guy did. He doesn’t know anything now except what two feet of cement tastes like.”

“Good. Here’s what I want youse to do. Go back to Lehnsherr. Make nice. Make him think that you’re all for his big plans. And when you get back in, I wanna know everything. What the fucker eats for breakfast in the morning, how many times he balls the blue broad at night. And, if this fuckin’ scheme of his ever comes to pass, you get in there with Jimmy and make sure it doesn’t. In the mean time, we’re gonna get ready for him. Maybe that shit with Ozzy and the squid got past me, but that was the last fuckin’ time. Whadda you think, Jimmy?”

“I think I’d better watch Victor watchin’ Magneto. Just in case.”

“You think I’m bullshitting you, ya little runt?”

Sabretooth extended his nails.

Wolverine popped his claws.

“Yeah, this is gonna go well. Don’t bleed on my fuckin’ carpet. I’ll rip you both a new asshole.” The Comedian chuckled.

“Well, runt?”

“You big stupid fuckin’ asshole, I mean ta watch your back, not stab you in it! You’re life won’t be worth a shit of Magneto finds out you’re a double agent. That would upset Pa, and Marie. Me, I don’t give a fuck, but I’ll keep an eye on you for their sake.”

“You’re all heart, Jimmy.” Victor said.

Reluctantly, they both retracted their weapons.

"That's better. Alright, you're dismissed. Hey, Jimmy, me and Steve are gonna go on a bar crawl in Brooklyn next Wednesday. Bullshit about the good old days an' all that. We ain't seen much of youse for five years. Ya wanna come?"

"What about the cops?"

"Cops? What cops? Fuck the cops! What are they gonna do ta the Comedian, Wolverine and Captain America?"

"Sounds good to me."

"What about me, Sarge?" Victor asked.

"Don't push your luck, Vic. Stay in touch."

***

The chopper from the Helicarrier dropped them off at McGuire Air Force Base, in Jersey, where Sabretooth convinced Wolverine to give him a ride back to the city.

“Hey Jimmy, turn down that alleyway right there, you can park right by those trash cans. Lets you an’ me go have a beer.”

“Don’t you think it might look suspicious to Magneto if he finds out you been drinkin’ with me?”

“Nah. He knows you’re my brother. Besides, they know me in this place. Nobody would be stupid enough to rat on me. C’mon. I’m buyin.”

The place was a dive and a shithole, but it was quiet, and as Victor explained, they knew him there.

He sat at his usual table, in the back corner, and Jimmy sat with him.

The barmaid brought a bottle of Jack Daniels and a pitcher of Guinness, and glasses.

“So, you think I should see her, Jimmy?”

“You did this for her, Vic. But Marie, she’s pretty confused, right now. She’s just startin’ to get a good grip on everything. You told her to turn away from you and never look back. And she’s had a real hard time doin’ that. Now, if you turn around and tell her, never mind what I said, it’s gonna fuck with her head even more than you already fucked with her head.”

Victor thought about that.

“And I haven’t quite proved myself to you that you’d let me see her, is that right?

“I do believe you love her, Victor. Enough to try and be the best man you can be. The man you usedta be, an’ not the fuckin’ animal you’ve become. But it remains to be seen if that’s gonna be good enough.”

“You’re right, Jimmy. I ain’t tried to be anything other than the most evil son of a bitch you’re ever going to meet for so long, I don’t know how it’s gonna turn out. And no matter how you slice the pie, I can’t be anything other than the man I am.”

“You had some times, Vic, if my fuzzy memory serves me right, when you weren’t so bad. And, considerin’ Marie is just about as bulletproof as you and I are, if she wants to take the chance on Major Creed I’d never let her take on Sabretooth, that’s up to her.”

They drank in silence, for awhile.

“Wouldn’t hurt for me to just talk to her. On the phone, you know?”

“That would ease both your minds. And no, it wouldn’t hurt.”

“Maybe just once a week. You’re busy Wednesday nights, anyway.”

Victor punched his brother on the arm.

He knew all about this Jean Grey thing.

Victor made it his business to know all Jimmy’s business.

The little runt had to have somebody looking after him, and Pa was too old and too crazy, after what life had done to him in 300 years and change.

“Sure I am. Busy gettin’ shitfaced. Eddie's probably worried about me. I know Cap is. I been gettin' so drunk on Wednesdays that Steve's had to carry me home.”

“Oh yeah? So Marvel Girl finally went off you, huh?”

Victor hoped that was the case.

It would save him having to break the little runt’s heart.

“No. Hell, I think she’s pissed at me that four months have gone by and I haven’t been around, Wednesdays. I just can’t do it, Vic. I can’t get back on that train. She’s married, now. Why do you think I'm drinkin' Wednesday nights away?”

Sabretooth couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

Jimmy had no fucking idea.

“Married? Jimmy, Jesus Christ! You and old One-Eye! I know what you’ve been up to. I keep my eye on you, little brother. You tell Stripe you’re thinkin’ of joinin’ the Avengers, and maybe they did ask you, but all you do Wednesdays is crawl bars with Steve Rogers, and sometimes Tony Stark. And then Cap has to shepherd both of your wasted asses home. That goddam Jean Grey, she’s a real piece of fuckin’ work, Jimmy. She acts like she’s such a great lady. My ass. She’s two timin’ you and Scooter, both.”

“What? What the fuck are you talking about?”

Logan jumped up, his chair scraping behind him.

Victor poured him another drink.

“Siddown, Jimmy! Listen to me. Just for once , fuckin’ listen to me. You can stick your claws through my head as soon as I’m done talkin’, but just listen for once, alright? Have another drink.”

“I don’t fuckin’ believe you.” Logan said, sitting down, warily.

“Yeah. I figured you wouldn’t. Not about Little Mrs. Perfect. That’s what gets me. I mean, hey, I’m no fool. I been on this planet long enough to know women gotta have it as bad as men do. Some more than others. It’s the fuckin’ hypocrisy that gets me. The way she acts like she’s soooooo fuckin’ tragic. Tragic, my ass. Ya know what’s tragic? Everybody thinks One-Eye, he’s got a problem. Yeah, he’s got a problem, alright. He’s the kind of guy who’s okay with gettin’ laid twice a week, maybe three times, and he married a broad who’s gotta have a cock in her before she can get to sleep at night. She’s his problem. And yours. She has you convinced you’re the only real man in her life, an’ what would she do without you? Like she’s Queen Guinevere and you’re Sir Lancelot, and Scooter’s King Arthur, and the love between you and her is a sin against your valiant king, but a sin heaven will excuse because of the divine purity of blah, blah, blah. Jimmy, you been had. She’s still bangin’ Tony Stark. Lemme rephrase that. She never quit bangin’ Tony Stark. I hear masks on both sides of the cape laughin’ about that all the time. What a coupla saps they are, Wolverine and Cyclops. Good old Marvel Girl has them both in her pocket, and she keeps Iron Man on standby, just in case. She’ll always be the Great and Powerful Dr. Jean Grey to you and Scooter. You love her. You fear her. You worship her. And she’s out there bangin’ Tony Stark. Six ways from Sunday. Jesus wept.”

He poured himself a shot and drank it.

Meanwhile, his brother had this look on his face like he’d been poleaxed from behind.

“I see you ain’t takin’ this too well. I figured you wouldn’t.”

“How do you know that’s true?” Logan croaked.

“Well, as it turns out, me an’ Shellhead are both bangin’ Emma Frost. Both of us have been for the last ten years, off and on. Now Emma, she’s a crazy jealous bitch. It’s okay for her to spread it all over town, but she wants to know exactly who you’re fucking. I hadda just about kill her to pry her off me when I got involved with Stripe. Since she’s been gone, though, shit, did Emma come running back in a fuckin’ hurry. I mean, I’m just a man, little brother. I gotta do somethin’ with my cock. Anyway, I told her about how I sent Stripe off to be with you, until it was safe for someday you and me and her to maybe be a big happy family. And Emma laughs and says you deserve a good woman, because not only did it not take Jean Grey a month after you left to slide Shellhead into her Wednesday schedule, she never stopped fuckin’ him no matter what she told you. Or Scooter, presumably. Not only that, she tells me that Stark is under the impression that Dr. Grey had an open marriage and that you and One-Eye know about him, and One-Eye knows about both of you. Well, I got kinda curious, and I figured I’d better find out for myself. I started watchin’ Stark’s place. Watched his comings and goings off and on, for a damn long time. I saw it Jimmy. With my own eyes, I saw the woman goin’ in and out. Once or twice just about every week. Days. Nights. Like clockwork. An’ just in case they was just talkin’ medical research, a coupla times I Iooked in his fuckin’ window. Jimmy, I seen him givin’ it to her. Six ways from Sunday. I swear on Pa, life, and on my Ma’s grave, its’ the God’s own fucking truth. So, I wouldn’t worry about keepin’ her honest. If she wants you, and you still want her, give it to her. Save yourself the pain and suffering. I mean if ya love her, ya love her. So what she’s a little loose? Cyke obviously doesn’t care. Because if he didn’t know, at least about one of you, he’d be a fuckin’ moron. And Scott Summers may be a lot of things, but a fuckin’ moron ain’t one of ‘em.”

Poor Jimmy.

He put his face in his hands.

“How could she do this to me? How the fuck…? I love her, goddamnit! I’ve loved her since she was 17 years old!”

Logan’s words strangled in his throat, and he threw his head back, popped his claws, and roared.

Some of the patrons looked up, but none of them moved.

Victor had them trained.

He poured Jimmy another drink, which he downed in seconds.

Victor moved from his chair, and sat down beside Logan.

He didn’t remember, but Victor had been through this with him before.

“Take it easy, Jimmy. Don’t forget, when you got on the train when she was 17 years old, she was with Cyke and screwin’ Stark onna side, even then. Nothin’s changed, right? You always tell me I hold onto a broad too hard. Now you’re doin’ it, too. It ain’t like when we were young, Jimmy. Broads don’t do it for love alone. They ain’t like our Stripe. They do it because it’s Friday. Or because the sun’s shining, Just because the good doctor’s doin’ the job on Shellhead, that don’t mean she likes you any less. Hell, maybe she loves you too, it’s just Stark’s got somethin’ she likes. So what? What the fuck do you care, anyway? Don’t be so fuckin’ melodramatic.”

Logan heaved a great sigh.

“You don’t understand, Vic. I love her. I wanted to marry her.”

“I understand too well, Jimmy. You always go for broads with ants in their hot pants. You like ‘em cos they’re a little dirty, and a little bad, and then you get all bent outa shape when they act like it. Some broads ain’t the marryin’ kind. But, she’s already married, and nobody can tell anybody who they love. But, I’ll tell you what you can do.”

“What’s that, Vic? Or do I have to wait for you to publish your self-help book about healthy relationships?” Logan snorted.

“Well, if you’re still innarested in the broad, now that you know you can get rid of the pedestal you had her up on, you can still show her who the real man in her life is. Spelled M-A-N. When Wednesday comes, you be wherever it is you two used to meet up, and you really fuckin’ give it to her. Knock one right out of the park. You get down and do some serious screwing. Fuck that broad like she ain’t had it in five years, since you took a walk. You get in there and fuck her so that every time either Scooter or Shellhead touch her for the next fuckin’ month, all she can think of is you. You let her know that she can marry who she wants and fuck who she likes, but she belongs to Jimmy Logan, the Wolverine. And that you aren’t gonna let her forget it. Either that or you can cut her off at the pass and tell her, look, sister, I got your number, now. And you’re not gonna have me to make a sap out of, anymore. Either way, though, you gotta let her know that you ain’t lettin’ her get away with it. Not anymore. Because, you know better.”

For the first time in three decades, Logan actually smiled at his brother.

“You know what, Vic? That’s the first piece of good advice you’ve given me since 1974.”

“That’s only because you quit listenin’ to the words comin’ out of my mouth in 1974."

Jimmy's smiled faded fast, and he started to looking like a man who had just had the ground ripped away from under his feet.

"Somebody had to tell you, Jimmy. And you hate my fuckin' guts, already. Have another drink. You look like you need it.”

Chapter 6: Deserted Cities of the Heart

X-Institute. A few Wednesdays later

I: Logan


Logan was in the main kitchen, eating a grilled cheese sandwich he had just made.

He was a little hungry, but it was after dinner, and he didn't want to bother Marie to make him a snack, because he knew that she and Jubilee and Kitty were studying for mid-terms.

Jean came in, opened the fridge, and got herself a Diet Coke.

She had her hair in a ponytail, and a pencil in her mouth, a tee shirt, baggy scrubs, and a lab coat on.

She sat down at the table across from Logan, opened the Coke and the folder under her arm and looked down at it.

Logan took a sip of beer.

He didn't look like a man who had been going through untold agonies that rivaled the tortures of the damned in the 9th circle of Hell, a man who felt as though the ground beneath him had shifted and fallen away, and the sky above him had been sheared off, leaving him alone, naked and exposed to the brutal whims of the cold stars.

Since Sabretooth's revelations, Logan had fallen apart.

He couldn't eat, he didn't sleep.

Every moment that he was awake and sober was filled with such torment that he'd been hitting the bottle so hard he was making himself sick.

Grilled cheese sandwiches and chicken soup were about all he could ingest without his stomach rebelling against him; Logan was sin a bad way, make no mistake about it.

But, to Jean, he just looked like he was casually enjoying a snack.

It was a great testament to the force of Logan's will and his rigorous self-discipline that he could put on such a charade.

"What day is it, Jeannie?" he asked.

Airily.

Jean gave him a very dirty look, and glanced at her watch, then looked back at the folder.

"What day is it? It's Fuck You, Logan, That Ship Sailed Day." She replied, tersely.

"Did it? I didn't know. Because, I happen to be the Captain of that ship, and if it had, I would have noticed." Logan chuckled.

Jean had fabulous reflexes.

She had always been one of his best students.

Quicker than a flash of lightening, she grabbed his balls under the table, and not in a friendly fashion.

It hurt.

She looked right at him, with red and orange flames dancing in her catlike green eyes.

"Now you listen to me, you little son of a bitch! You have been gone for five years. Five goddamn fucking years! You didn't call. You didn't write. I thought you were dead, and I died a thousand times every fucking day! For Christ's sake, you ugly, hairy little runt, I fucked you on my wedding night instead of my husband! Because it was Wednesday! All those years I put up with your beer-swilling, and your cigars, and your sad lack of personal fucking hygiene, and your rotten brain and your psychotic fucking nightmares! I moved heaven and earth to find you! And what did you do? You came back with a fawning, dewy-eyed teenager dangling from the end of your big, dumb dick! I have waited, and I have been patient, and I have not mentioned this for four fucking months. Four fucking months! That's twelve consecutive fucking insults! And now, for some reason, you suddenly remember how it has been Wednesday, every third fucking day of the fucking week since nineteen eighty motherfucking five, and I am supposed to leap for fucking joy? God damn you! Double dog goddamn you to the 9th circle of unholy Hell, James John Logan Howlett! I'd get on my knees in broken glass and suck the Devil's dick center field at Yankee Stadium before I ever let you touch me again! I ought to pop one of your balls right out of your sack!" she hissed.

Very calmly, Logan grabbed her wrist and applied steady pressure until Jean let go of him, swallowing a yelp of pain.

"Those are some pretty big words, coming from you, little girl. You think you're all grown up, darlin', but you're still a little girl to me. Tell me, just where do you keep that eraser the size of the Empire State Building you use to rub out the past? You forget, my memory of the last two decades is crystal-fuckin'-clear. I remember the very first Wednesday, just like it was only last week. There I was, asleep in my bed when you came to me. And you were neither Dr. Jean Grey, or Marvel Girl, the Eighth Wonder of the Wolf, as you used to style yourself in those days. You were just a dirty little whiskey-swilling, cock-chugging coke whore of a party girl, who came to my bed with come and cheap booze on her breath and her hair smellin' like some other man's ball sweat. Another man would have fucked you in the ass and then slapped it into your mouth without takin' a breath in-between, then come in your eye. And you were so drunk and coked up you never woulda cared. But I never treated you like the dirty little whore you were, did I? Not even that night. I saved you. Not Cyke, who oughta be sainted by the Pope in Rome on Easter Sunday for puttin' up with your naggin' like a shrew and your whorish ways. And not Tony Stark, hell, he was the one with a coke spoon in one hand and a drink in the other, dancin' around with his dick hangin' out and leadin' you down the path to rack and ruin. God only knows, the poor bastard, you're probably the reason he's still drinkin' like a fish after three or four stints at rehab. Because you do somethin' to a man, Jeannie, somethin' that just makes you stick in his heart like a thorn made of adamantium and wormwood. I could tell that the minute I laid eyes on you. But I didn't care. I saved you. Because I loved you. With the intensity of a million dying suns burning bright in supernova, all at the same time."

Logan paused to take another sip of his beer.

Jean had an expression on her face as if he had punched her square in the mouth.

It would have hurt her less, if he had.

But Victor's words kept echoing on his mind.

He saw her.

With his own eyes.

He swore on their father's life and Victoria O'Hara Creed's grave that it was true.

In his mind's eye, Logan could see it, too.

In fact, all week, it had been hard for him to think of anything else.

"I loved you so much I even asked you to marry me. I meant it, too. You said you needed time. So I waited for you. For eleven years. And you married the boy that Charlie gave the job that was rightfully mine to! And you know what, darlin'? I feel heartily sorry for him. Scott's a good man. And he's a smart man. He lets on he doesn't know about your wicked ways, but I'll bet he does. And he loves you anyway. But that's not the way you see it. Because you really think you are the Eighth Wonder of the World. Certainly Scott should love you, no matter how much of an ass you make of him, or who you cuckold him with. And certainly I should come home with my tail between my legs and my hat in my hand, beggin' you on my knees with my nose in your cooze to take me back into your bed. And how dare I bring a woman with me? I should spend the other six days of the week jackin' off and thinking about Wednesday, shouldn't I? Well, it's like you told me, Jeannie, darlin'. Wake the fuck up and smell the coffee. You are what they used to call a floozy when I was a young man, and you got as much right to look down on a good woman like Marie as a dance hall girl does to look down on a duchess. And at the age of 35, you're gettin' a little long in the tooth to be a dirty little girl. What you are is lucky, darlin'. And you ought to be grateful to the men in your life. You're lucky Tony's a sentimental man, who can take time out of his busy schedule of screwin' sweet young things and bein' Iron Man an' Tony Stark and set aside a few nights here and there for his old girlfriend. You're lucky that Cyke understands you, and that he loves and respects you just the way you are. And you are goddamn lucky, not only that the Wolverine was ever interested in you, but that I'm still interested in you, at all."

Logan finished his beer and crushed the can in one hand.

Somewhere in his mind, something was screaming at him to shut his mouth, but Logan was on a roll.

He couldn't have shut up even if he wanted to.

On one hand, he did want to.

On the other, he wanted to let it all out, not just to get it of his chest, but to wound Jean Grey the way she had wounded him, not once now, but twice.

Let her carry a thorn in her heart, and bleed and bleed and bleed, forever, the way he did.

That is, if anything could pierce her heart at all.

"I got no illusions left about you, at all, Jeannie, darlin'. For the first time I can see you in the clear, cold light of day. I see that you're a beautiful woman, a brilliant woman, a hell of a doctor and a teacher, not to mention a hell of a mask. I never seen a woman fight like you, you've got brass balls bigger than the ones on the lions outside the Public Library. But I also see that you're a selfish, arrogant, self- important shrew, with the same high moral fiber as a two dollar whore. And, may good and gentle Jesus, help a dumb, sawed-off little Mick like me, I still love you, anyway. With the intensity of a million dying suns burning bright in supernova, all at the same time. And I will die loving you. But I ain't gonna play your little game, anymore. You broke my heart twice. If I let you break it a third time, I believe it'll kill me, adamantium, healin' ability, an' all."

Logan picked up his plate and swept the bread crusts from it into the garbage can, and threw his beer can in the recycling bin that Cyclops had placed prominently in the kitchen.

He went back to the table, and pushed in his chair.

As he passed Jean, who hadn't moved an inch, he leaned over, and very briefly, kissed her on her cheek, which was stained with tears.

"The truth hurt me too, darlin'. More than you can know. But we're both of us too long in the tooth to live on bullshit and lies."

He opened the dishwasher, put his plate in, and walked past Jean, again.

She grabbed his arm.

"What about tonight? And next week?"

"Well, Jeannie, darlin', I been goin' out with Eddie and Cap, Wednesdays, lately. Its' good to spend some time with old friends, and talk about about the good old days. And, as for next week, well, we shouldn't be so formal, anymore. If a spark flies between you and me, sometime, my office is never far away. If it doesn't, well, maybe it's better, that way."

Logan spoke gently.

More gently than he had spoken before.

"I'll see you, tomorrow, Jeannie. This ain't goodbye, you know." He said.

Then, he squared his shoulders, and walked out of the room.

***

Logan kept walking, with his head held back , clear-eyed and resolute, until he was out the front door, and then he couldn't stop the tears from coming.

The dream he had held in his heart for almost twenty years was dead, and Logan was not sure if he was going to die with it, after all.

He made his way to the wood, sat on the ground, raised his head to heaven, and howled.

***

"Kitty, did you hear that?"

Rogue ran to the window.

"No. Hear what?"

"Ah heard it again! It sounds like some kind of animal. Howling in pain."

Jubilee got up, went to the window, and opened it.

"I don't hear anything, chica. I think the lack of sleep is getting to you. C'mon. We've got to get back to work."

Rogue heard the howling, again.

"Okay, this time I heard it too." Kitty added.

The three of them stood by the window, and waited for another howl, but they didn't hear the terrible sound again.

"It's probably some poor old dog. At least he's out of his misery, now." Jubilee commented.

"Poor old dog." Kitty agreed.

Rogue wasn't sure it was just some poor old dog, and she had the feeling that Kitty and Jubilee weren't either, but they all got back to work, not wanting to think of what else it could have been.


II: Jean

Bullshitting yourself is like playing the shell game when you know there's no little red bouncy ball under any of the cups.

You just keep moving the cups faster and faster, until you can convince everyone the ball is there.

The only problem is, eventually, you convince yourself, too.

Until somebody comes along who's faster than you, and shows you otherwise.

What do you do, then?

Well, you can either start shuffling as fast as you can all over again, or you can pack up your game and go home.

Jean went back to her office, which was adjacent to the medical facilities, and made a phone call.

"…no, goddamnit, when I say put it down I don't mean put it in your other hand, Tony, I mean put it down! If you spill that all over the carpet, I am not cleaning it up. I am not your maid? Hello?"

"This is Dr. Grey. Is Mr. Stark free?"

That's good, Jean.

Act like an arrogant, self-important shrew.

"Of course, Jean. Mr. Stark is always free. Phone for you, Tony. It's the only other woman you know who is sane, over the age of 25, and cares if you live or die."

"Thank you, Pepper. Here, take this. Don't spill it. It's over two hundred years old and there's only one other bottle in the world. Well? This is a private call."

Jean heard Pepper Potts curse, and Tony laughing.

"Potts, you're not really mad at me, are you?"

Now Jean heard her slamming the door.

"A lot. You got any blow, Tony?"

He laughed.

"Nope. You know I tooted my last line of coke about ten years ago. It was ruining my social life. Is there anything else you want me to put on my dick for you? You know. Within reason."

Jean laughed.

"Tony, you're such a perv. I can't believe you're making me laugh, the way I feel right now."

"You never call me during the day. Something must be wrong. What happened?"

"Are you just humoring me?"

"Now? Why?"

"No. I mean, generally."

"I'm not going to answer that question."

"Why?"

"Because it's a dangerous question. No matter how I answer it, the answer will piss you off so much that you will never speak to me again. And that would be horrible, because you're the only woman I know that I still see on a regular basis who has any class, intelligence, or common sense. Also, it would take a lot of empty-headed chiclets to full up this gigantic Jean Grey sized hole that would open up right in the middle of my sex life."

Jean smiled, and sniffled.

"That was a good answer."

"Are you crying?"

"A little. I had some words with Logan. He…he said some unpleasant things to me that were all the more unpleasant, because they were true."

"What? He stripped you of your protective coating of carefully crafted lies and bullshit? That's unforgivable."

"I'm serious, Tony."

"So am I! Hell, being a superhero is about 50 percent grandiose lies and incredible bullshit. I couldn't make it through the day without mine. How could I maintain anything resembling moderation if I had to wake up every morning and face the fact the fact that I am a drunk and a degenerate approaching 40 from the business end, and that the only friends I have are my fellow masks, who, as a man, humor and pity me, and that despite the fact that I have balled thousands of women, the only two who give a damn about me are my secretary, who I have never touched, and you? Not to mention that half the reason you stick around is because you feel sorry for the mess than I have made of my personal life, which all the shining Iron Man armor can't hide? No thank you. If I had to think like that, my God, I'd drink myself to death by Monday."

Jean was surprised.

She didn't think that Tony knew himself quite that well.

"It's not that bad, Tony."

"Of course it is. What did he say to you?"

"He said some very nice things. But he also told me I'm arrogant, and self important, and a selfish shrew, and that I have the morals of a two dollar whore."

"Certainly he did! The man was born in 1890. Jean, don't be mad at Logan. He's in a mess. A big mess. He's lost his poet's heart to that little Southern belle, who doubtless reminds him of his poor, tragic, dead mother, and everything he was told a woman should be that no woman ever was, not even in 1890. When she gets control of her powers and leaves him and Sabretooth for, I don't know, Iceman or Gambit when she's about 25, they'll be ripping each other's faces off to try to get their heads into the oven, first."

Jean couldn't help it.

She laughed.

"The point is, he still loves you, and he still needs you, even though something has happened to make him realize that you're a woman of the 1970's and 80's, not the 1870's and 80's. They were his illusions, and had nothing to do with you. You were never anything but honest with him."

"But am I really all of those things?"

"All intelligent people can be arrogant and self-important, sometimes. It goes with the territory. And there isn't a woman alive who doesn't have her shrewish moments. Especially not when dealing with a couple of drunken Micks like me and Logan. And as for you having the morals of a two dollar whore, well, he's talking out of both sides of his mouth. I will readily and cheerfully admit to be a drunken slut who will pretty much fuck any woman who smiles at me and lifts her skirt, as long as she's reasonably attractive and has no visible sores on her face. The same goes for Logan, except he's not too picky about what a woman looks like and unlike the rest of us, if he gets herpes it will go away by the morning."

By this time, Jean was laughing so hard that she almost dropped the phone.

"I see you're not crying, anymore."

"You're the greatest, Tony."

"I know. It's in the genes. And, I take it that, considering this latest development, we're still on for Wednesdays?"

"Yes. But not tonight."

"I can understand that. Call me, anytime, Jean."

"Thanks."


III: Scott

One thing Scott Summers didn't gave a shit about was people's personal opinions about him.

The only thing that was anyone else's business was how well he did his job, as Cyclops, battle leader of the X-Men, and if they wanted to speculate about anything else, let them.

Most of the speculation had to do with his wife.

Scott heard lots of rumors.

The general idea was that he was either frigid or impotent and that under her cool exterior, Dr. Jean Grey was a rabid nymphomaniac who cuckolded him with everything in a mask and tights.

With Wolverine being the most commonly mentioned culprit.

He never addressed them.

What was he going to do?

Set up a webcam, record himself making love to his wife and stream it live to the X-Men's website?

Scott didn't care what people said, he let them talk.

And he didn't.

Scott Summers was the strong, silent type, and he refused to address ridiculous rumors that he was something less than a man.

Or that he was an idiot who had no idea that the woman he had been with since she was 14 had another man in her life.

He had first figured it out when he was just a teenager, 17 or 18, and at the time, it almost killed him.

Scott put himself through the tortures of the damned, picking himself apart.

Am I doing something wrong?

Am I too tall?

Too short?

Not big enough?

Too big?

Too square?

He had thought about breaking up with Jean, or at least, confronting her, but them, just like he always did, he got himself calmed down and took a reasonable second look at the situation.

It was all a matter of biology.

Scott had what he considered to be the normal sex-drive of any red-blooded American man.

He and Jean usually made love three nights a week.

Sometimes more, and if he was swamped with work, sometimes less.

But Jean, she had the sex drive of a rabbit in springtime.

She couldn't help it, that was just the way she was.

It wasn't as if she was promiscuous; she'd had the same other lover since she was 17.

Wolverine.

The way Scott saw it, Jean was his, all the time, for most of his life, except for eight hours on a Wednesday.

For Logan, whose life was a tragedy, sometimes that time with Jean seemed like it was the only happiness he had.

As for Jean, she didn't know that he knew, and that was how she justified it to herself, funny, considering he was supposed to be the prude.

If he ever told her that he knew, she'd probably give up which would be bad for her, and worse for Logan.

But.

But, when Logan left, and stayed away for five years, Scott raised that he was doing it because Logan pretty much had the same old-fashioned sense of morals and values that Scott did.

Not touching another man's wife, especially another man that you worked with, was pretty high up on that list.

So, Scott wasn't really surprised when Logan came knocking on the door of his office on a Wednesday night, as he was grading his papers.

Scott was prepared to tell him not to worry about it.

He was not prepared for what Logan had to say.

"You got a minute, Cyke? You and me, we hafta talk."

Scott put his red pen down.

He noticed that Logan looked horrible.

He'd been looking horrible, lately, worse every day, and Scott had been trying to think of a reason to talk to him about it.

"Sure. Anything to get away from these papers for a minute. Sit down, Logan. What's on your mind?"

"Well, for starters, I'm gonna go ahead and assume you know…about Wednesdays."

"I do."

Logan waited for him to say something else, but Scott didn't.

"At least I didn't have to break that to you, too. I don't really know how to tell you this, Cyke. It broke my heart. But I don't feel right, not telling you."

Scott began to feel a little sick.

She did something to him.

No, to both of us.

Oh shit, here we go again.

"About what, Logan?"

"Jeanie's been two-timin' us. With Tony Stark. Pretty much all along, I would expect, but I only know for sure about the last ten years or so. And she's been telling him that we both know, and we're alright with it."

Scott put his head down on his desk, for a moment.

No wonder Logan looked so bad.

"I can't say I never heard the rumour before. But how do you know it's true?"

He had not picked his head up, yet.

"Creed told me. Emma Frost told him. Seems him an' Shellhead are both on her dance card. And before you say I can't trust him, Victor swore on his dead mother and our father that it was true. He didn't believe Emma. So he went to find out for himself. He saw them, Cyke. With his own eyes."

Oh, great.

Even better.

Now even the bad guys know that my wife is the whore of humanity.

I think I need a drink.

Scott allowed himself to pound on his desk a few times.

He felt tears rolling down his face from under his glasses, and wiped them away before he sat up.

"I think I know her. I think she can't pull the rug out from under me ever again. But she always manages to do it. Sometimes I think Jean lives to torture me."

"I know what ya mean, Cyke. But she loves you. Prob'ly a lot more'n she loves me, if she ever did. And she's a good doctor, a good teacher, and a fine mask. She's just, well, arrogant. And self-important. An, yunno, kinda…well…loose. Hell, everybody's got faults. I drink too much, and I get moody, sometimes, an' I got me a hell of a temper. An' you, well sometimes you can be just like a little Hitler. And Jean, well, she's…a little bit loose. That's all."

"You forgot to mention the nagging."

"Well, I figure you of all people know all about that."

Scott laughed a little.

"I should have known she was trouble when she seduced me in Stryker's jail. We were just kids. But I loved her, even then."

"I know, Cyke. I love her too. And it ain't so much I can't forgive her. It's just, I see her for the way she really is. An' I got Marie, now, and a chance at somethin' you and Jeannie have had for years that I only ever got eight hours a week of. So, I figure I'm pretty much takin' my hat outa the ring. Maybe I shoulda kept my mouth shut, I dunno. But, I figured tellin' you was the only decent thing to do."

"It was, Logan."

Scott was calm, again.

He stacked his papers, and cleaned off the front of his glasses with a tissue.

"Ya know, Cyke, you'te takin' this a lot better than I did. Since I found out, a few weeks ago, I been goin' down the tubes. I can't eat. I don't sleep. I drink so much just to keep from goin' outa my mind, I'm sick all the time. After I talked to Jeannie, today. I felt like I wanted to die. I was out there all goddamn day, in the woods, rollin' around on the ground like a poisoned dog. I went out with Cap an' Eddie, t'night, and drank myself stupid, and it's only now, I'm startin' to sober up an' feel like maybe I can go on with my life without stickin' my claws through my head, jumpin' in front of the A-train, leaping off the top of this place, or tearin' my own eyes out. What's your secret?"

"Me secret? I've been through that, Logan. Jean told me about you and her almost immediately. And her and Tony Stark. Although I was under the impression that, as of now, there hadn't been anything between her and Tony for years. I was 19, then, and she was 17. She said it like it was no big deal. Announced to me that we were having an open relationship, and that was it. I stood in front of my mirror for hours, thinking about the exact right angle to blast it so the beam would refract perfectly and kill me."

Scott searched for words, nice words, kind words, to say what he wanted to say, but there weren't any.

"Look, Logan, you can't go to pieces every time Jean pulls a dirty trick on you. She's the all-time queen of dirty tricks like this. You have to stop beating yourself up over it. I know Jean a lot better than you do. I met her in Stryker's' jail when she was 12 and I was 14. I was locked up with her for a cellmate for six months. More maybe. We all lost track of time, in that place. She turned 13, and I turned 15, and she traded six packs of cigarettes to a guard for a box of Trojans and seduced me. You were there during our escape, maybe you don't remember, but the minute whatever Stryker had set up to retard our powers was lifted, she calmly killed every guard on the block. By making their heads pop like the pumpkins a kid drops off a porch on Halloween. Jean can be a real two tone son of a bitch, Logan. She really can. And she's harder than the adamantium coating on your bones. I haven't had her up on a pedestal since 1983. Do you know what I mean?"

"I do now."

"That's good. You see, I love Jean, but I'm not her fool. I haven't been her fool, or had any illusions about her since I was 19. Maybe that means she had to go find a new fool, and that luck devil was you. But you can't be her fool, either. Nobody can. It'll kill you. Because you're not as hard as she is. As cold. Jeans' a real, well, an Ice Queen, sometimes. I know her for who she really is. It's a truth that hurts, but when the pain fades, you'll know if it was Jean you loved, or the illusion you had of her. You know. The illusion she gave you. Put it right in your mind, without you knowing. Maybe without knowing, herself. But that's how I've been able to go on loving her. That's how I'll be able to go on loving her, now. If you still feel the same way about her, after you've got past this, I have no objections to Wednesday. This Tony Stark thing, I'm not sure how I feel about that. But Jean' s going to be upset about you confronting her. She needs me. I'd better go find her. "

Logan gave him a fishy-eyed look, and gently eased Scott back into his chair.

"Wait a minute, Cyke. There you go, just like me, wating to be Jeannie' s fool, again. That was some good advice you gave me. Why don't you take it? Me. I sure as fuck ain't gonna have any illusions about Jeannie from now on. Hell, I'm not sure of is if the illusion was all I had. Time will tell, I guess. But, whether or not you been through this before, it's gotta hurt you."

Logan was right.

It still felt like a knife in the guts, even after all these years, and so many dirty, dirty tricks.

"It does, Logan. It's really twisting my guts. I thought that since Jean and I were married, and with you gone….and with you being so decent and honorable when you came back. But, I should have known. I'll…find a way to get past it."

"What? No you won't, Scott. That's your wife. It's one thing to fuck around when you're a teenager, or a kid in your twenties, but it's a whole other thing to be a married woman and a doctor, over the age of thirty acting like a dirty little girl. I ain't having a regular date with the wife of a man who used to be my student, who is my boss, and who is also my friend. That's not right. She made you a fuckin' promise when she said "I do. I'm gonna do my best to hold her to it. So should you. At least let her know how bad she hurt you. I did. It made me feel better. And Jeannie feel worse. When somebody betrays you, that's how its' supposed to be. Look at you. You're ready to go and hold her hand while she cries, and meanwhile, you feel like cryin', yourself. You been betrayed. By your wife. You gave her an inch, she took a fuckin' mile. You gave her too much rope and she hung you with it, not herself. You got a right to be angry, an' a right to be hurt, an' you got a right to put your foot down and demand she grow the fuck up and start actin' like a married woman who's a doctor and a professor and an X-Man, instead of a dirty little girl. You're a good man. A real saint. Jeannie's lucky to have you. It's about time she realizes that."

Logan got up.

"Now, I gotta go and talk to Marie. Try to explain myself, the way I've been actin'. I hope she understands. Because I finally got me a good, decent woman. I'm gonna hang onto her with everything I got."

"No room for Wednesdays in that?"

"Like I said, Cyke, after you and Jean said "I do", Wednesdays became "I don't." Jeannie's your wife. Not mine."

"Never say, never, Logan."

"I can try, can't I?"

"I guess you have to. Well, I'm going to go have a talk with her." Scott decided.

***

After Logan left, Scott sat at his desk, for awhile, thinking.

Who told Logan the bad news he didn't want to hear?

His brother.

His older brother.

Sabretooth and Wolverine either overtly hated each other, or at least had half a century of bad blood between them so that you would think that tie would be obliterated.

But, it wasn't.

Victor called Logan to help him when he was dying, and Logan helped him, and while Logan was off doing Christ knows what for five years, Victor had one eye on him and one eye on things at the X-Mansion, and he told his brother some bad news that no one else could have, or wanted to.

That made Scott think about his baby brother, Alex.

Havok.

Stryker did something Scott couldn't do for six years in the Alaska foster care system.

He found Alex.

Scott hadn't seen his little brother in four years, that was as many years as there was, between them.

He had always looked after his brother, whether they were in another lousy foster home, or in a state home, or even on the occasions where they were briefly on the street.

He thought nothing of going without food, or adequate clothes, or taking a beating for Alex's sake; he was the big brother; that was his job.

Alex was always the one who got them kicked out of a nice foster home, and after they all came to the X-Institute, well, if Scott was hanging around the sweaters and National Honor Society crowd, then Alex was wearing a black leather jacket in detention.

He was no less smart than his brother, he was just a little wild.

As a man, Havok was closer to Wolverine and Nightcrawler and Colossus, than he was to Squeaky-Clean Scott, and they had the occasional big fight, but they were still brothers.

Then, after Logan left, his relationship with his brother went right down the drain.

Alex left the X-Men, he left the country, taking Polaris with him, and they went to complete their graduate studies with Dr. Moira MacTaggart on Muir Island, off the coast of Scotland.

Scott had never really asked him why.

He knew that Lorna wanted to come back to New York, but the thing Scott couldn't figure out was why Alex didn't.

He wasn't the kind of man who liked quiet, or solitude.

He had always thought that things could never get as bad between him and Alex as they had between Logan and Victor.

But hadn't Logan told him that his first major estrangement from his brother began because Victor and his wife wanted to live in Tokyo and Logan and his wife preferred their little hamlet in the countryside, and they quit speaking to each other for two years over it?

Two years in which their wives were murdered and they blamed each other.

That was the beginning of the end.

Scott picked up his telephone.

"Hello?"

"Hello, Alex. It's me."

"Scott? It's what, two in the morning in New York? And you sound like you've been crying. What did she do now?"

"Alex, we haven't spoken in six months, I don't want to talk about Jean. I just wanted to call you and tell you that Logan's home. He's been home for about four months."

"Logan's back? Is he alright?"

"He's better than alright. He met a very nice girl, and he's falling in love with her. She's only 18, and his brother's in love with her, too, and vice versa, but Logan tells me that he and his brother share everything they have, for good or ill. But, Rogue loves Logan, too. She's very devoted to him, and she's a sober and intelligent young woman."

"So he's much better off. What about you? I'll say it again. What did Jean to do you, this time?"

Scott sighed, heavily.

"Why me, Alex? Why me? I love her. I've given her everything but my blood, every day of my life, since I was 14. And I know she loves me. Why does she do these things to me? Not to mention poor Logan. She's almost killed him. And nothing can kill him. Maybe Eddie Blake is right. Maybe it is all a big fucking joke."

"What? You agreeing with Eddie Blake? That's it. I'm coming home."

"But Alex, you're on the other side of the world!"

"I know. But we do have certain amenities here, on Muir Island. Like the Blackbird's twin brother."

"You shouldn't go to all this trouble for me, Alex. It's late. I'm tired. I've got papers to grade. I'll be over it in the morning, I should have known about Tony. It only makes sense."

"Tony? You mean Tony Stark?"

"It's not his fault. She's told him that she has an open marriage. I wish she would have told me. But I'm alright. Really."

"You are not alright, Scott. And it's not okay. You know one of the reasons I left the X-Men? Because I couldn't stand to see what Jean did to you. And after she drove Logan away from the only home he had, after everything that's happened to him? That was the last straw. I couldn't take it."

Alex sort of just blurted that out, and Scott immediately got up on his high horse.

He couldn't help it.

It was his job; he was the big brother.

"You left because of that? That's pretty damn stupid! You should have talked to me. We could have worked something out! Jesus, you mean the team's been without Havok and Polaris and I've been without my brother for five years because of Jean being the same Jean she's been since we met her in Bill Stryker's jail? What were you thinking?" Scott demanded.

"When you say it like that, it does sound stupid."

"You bet your butt it is! Look, if you've got something you need to say to me, little brother, say it. If blood can't wipe away the ties between Logan and Victor, then words can't make us stop being brothers, either."

Scott heard Alex take a deep breath.

"All right, Scott I'll say it. You made the biggest mistake of your life marrying Jean. She may be a good doctor and a good teacher and a good fighter, but as a woman, she's a train wreck. I don't have anything against Jean, personally. We grew up together. I still consider her my friend. But she's bad news to any man she's involved with. I'm glad to hear Logan met another girl and he's done with Jean, and I'd be glad to hear if you were, too. She's poison, Scott. She almost drove Logan to death or derangement. She'll turn you into a quivering milquetoast of a man who's dick is a little thing the size of a stack of dimes good only to piss with! Hell, I'll bet she's half the reason Tony's been to rehab six times. This is your chance. Don't walk away, Scott. Run. Screaming."

Scott figured that Alex was surprised he just laughed.

"I know that, too, Alex. I've been with Jean since she was 13. I know she's poison. And you probably are right about Tony and Logan. But every time she bites me, I get a little more immunity to her venom. Maybe it's the same with them, too. Nobody's marriage is perfect. And considering that I'm married to two women, and the one we thankfully don't see much of could destroy the universe in the blink of an eye, I think we do alright."

"Are you just going to let her get away with this?"

"Not unless I want to end up becoming her cringing, impotent, whining slave. But that's my business, little brother. Not yours. Take your time. Pack. Talk to Moira, tell her you're taking a sabbatical. Give Lorna some time to get herself together. Take a commercial flight. Nobody here is going anywhere. Besides, I want to talk to Jean, tonight, and Logan's going to talk to Rogue. Trust me, you won't want to be anywhere near this place for about a week. The whole shithouse is going to go up in flames, as Logan would say. But, thanks for wanting to drop everything and coming to see me."

"You don't have to thank me, Scott. You're the guy who used to go hungry when we were kids living in shithole foster homes so I could eat, remember? You're my brother. This is the least I can do for you."

Scott and Alex said goodbye, and then he went upstairs.

Jean wasn't in their bedroom.

So, he headed to her office, instead.


IV: Logan

When Logan finally ended up in his rooms, feeling, drunk, sick, tired and every bit of his 110 years, he was hoping that Rogue would be asleep.

She wasn't.

She was in her PJ's, but she was sitting up with a book, waiting for him.

He tried to get pats her, and just go to bed.

"Logan?"

"I'm alright, darlin'. Just drunk. I overdid it, tonight. I'll be alright in the morning."

Rogue grabbed his arm as he walked by.

He wasn't getting off the hook, this time.

"Alright, mah ass! Kitty an' Jubes and Ah heard some poor creature out there in the woods, howlin' in pain like it was just fixin' to die! We had work to do, so we managed to convince ourselves it was just some poor old dog? Was it?"

"It sure was, darlin'. Just a poor old dog, hurtin' so bad he sure was fixin' to die." Logan admitted.

"Ah thought so. Logan, we have been living here for three months. Nearly four. And nearly every Wednesday, you tear off on your bike at dusk, and come back at two in the morning, blind, stinking drunk. Last week, Mr. Summers brought you in here. He found you unconscious on the landing. When you're not giving yourself alcohol poisoning, you're all the sudden Hertz Rent-A –Mask. You've been out on the job with the Avengers four times, and four other times you were just out with Tony Stark getting hammered. I have always wanted to meet Captain America, but I was hoping it would be under different circumstances than him dragging your insensate carcass in the front door, explaining he was the designated driver and he had to deposit Mr. Stark's remains with Pepper Potts, next. Why is it that every Wednesday night you have to be as far away from here as it's humanly possible until just before dawn even if you have to go fight other teams battles for them?"

"I been asked to join the Avengers. They need some new blood."

"What about the rest of the Wednesdays?"

Logan finally pulled his hand away.

"Goddammit, woman, it doesn't fuckin' matter!"

Rogue stood up and shoved him so he fell onto the couch.

He wasn't sure if she was getting stronger as she settled into being a feral, if she was stronger because she was getting red hot mad at him, or if he was really that fucking wasted.

"The hell it doesn't! You're not yourself, Logan. Ever since Victor was here, in the infirmary, you're a changed man. You won't eat, you don't sleep, you're drunk all the time. And you haven't touched me. Hell, you haven't been in this room enough to touch me. You're down there in your office every night, drinking yourself into a stupor, until, if you're lucky, you pass out on that dirty old Murphy bed."

"How do you know that?' Logan asked.

"Because Ah set mah alarm to wake up around three, and Ah go and check on you. If you're on your back, Ah turn you over on your side so you don't pass out and throw up and choke to what could be a permanent death. And somebody has to clean you up if you've pissed yourself. You have. Twice. But you never woke up at all. Last Wednesday night Ah was so sure you were dead, ah woke Hank up to come and check on you. Now, how about you just up and tell me what it is you been tryin' to tell me since we were in Howlett, before it eats you up, alive! Ah got all night. And so do you." Rogue insisted.

She sat down beside him.

"I made one of the worst mistakes of my life on a Wednesday. Then, just to show was a smart man I really am, I made it on every Wednesday after that for a damn long time. I got no wish to start fuckin' makin' that some mistake, again. So on Wednesday nights, I just get clear of this place. Okay?"

"Fine. But, for your own sake, why don't you just go to the Avengers Tower on Wednesday and do whatever you're going to do, whether it's saving the world or hanging out with Captain America and Iron Man, without giving yourself alcohol poisoning? It has to be bad, even for you."

"That's prob'ly good advice, Marie. I think, starting next week, I'll try and take it."

He went to get up and she pulled him back down, again.

Shunk!

Fangs, too.

"Logan, sugah, we are going to do this the easy way, or the hard way. This is all indoor-outdoor carpeting and Ah had all the furniture treated with Scotch Guard, and made sure Ah bought stain resistant upholstery. Blood will come out of everything quite nicely. Ah heal as well as you do, and you are just about drunk enough for me to get the best of you. You haven't told me anything I hadn't already heard throughthe grapevine. And you haven't told me what you've been such a wreck since you and Victor went to meet with Colonel Blake. Ah never imagined any creature could make a sound like that if it wasn't dying. So, you can tell me the truth while you are in once piece, or you can tell me while you're in pieces."

Logan took a good look at her, and realized she was 100 per cent serious.

He sat back down.

"Back when she was your age, and I was her combat teacher, me and Jeannie had an affair. Well, I had an affair. She was just really impressed with me, an' havin' a good time. She was pretty wild in those days. I did it partly because she seduced me, partly because I thought if she was busy with me, she wouldn't be out gettin' drunk an' high an' in trouble. But, mostly, because I really did love her. I still do. I don't think that's gonna change."

Rogue knew that.

Everybody knew that, or at least had head rumors.

But she had the feeling the other shoe had not yet dropped.

"Go on, Logan. Ah am still listening."

"Well, when she graduated from here, in 1985, I asked her to marry me. I knew she was with Cyke. I didn't care. At least she had given up Tony Stark for me, right? Yeah. Right. Well, long story short, she told me that she was too young to know what she wanted. And I would have to wait. So, I waited. Eleven years. In that time, me and Jeannie became the best of friends. I found out, she was lying. She loved me right from the start. Just like I loved her. At least, I think she did. Now? I'm not sure. But she loved Scooter just as much. When it came time for her to pick who she wanted to be with, well, she picked him. And the reason I get the hell out of here on Wednesdays is, every Wednesday, during those eleven years, between eleven at night and 7 in the morning, she was mine. I thought that meant somethin'. I know it meant somethin' to me. There was a time when it meant everything to me. But, the day we went to see Eddie, Vic took his dumb-ass baby brother out for a beer, and he told me that not only didn't it take Jeannie less than a month to slide Tony Stark into my time slot, but she had been screwin' him six ways from Sunday, all along. The whole time. She told Tony she had an open relationship, and then an open marriage, but she forgot to tell me. And Scott. Now I do love you darlin'. I hope you believe me. But, when I heard that, it broke my heart. I went all to pieces. I'm just a man, Marie. And I can't help what's in my heart. Jeannie was there for a long time. She still is. But things won't ever be the same. I've been lied to, darlin'. I've been betrayed. For years. I left my home, and my responsibilities and I almost died a shanty Irish drunk out on the trail. A disgrace to my family, my uniform, the X-Men and both the countries I call home. And for nothin'? That's hard to shrug off."

Rogue remembered how Logan had reacted with grace and understanding when she told him that she still loved his brother.

She opened her arms to Logan, and he put his head on her shoulder.

"Oh Logan, sugah, that's horrible! You didn't have to keep all that from me! Even if you were going to continue to see Dr. Grey, if things were right between you! What do Ah have to say about things that happened in your life with women when Ah was just a little girl or before Ah was even born? And considering me and Victor, what right would ah have to say anything to you about Dr. Grey? Although, knowin' what Ah do now, Ah'd say you'd have to be a damn fool and a glutton for punishment to go crawling back to the likes of her!"

Rogue thought about him, stumbling out into the wood, blinded by tears, holding his aching guts in as surely as if he had been eviscerated, to lie on the ground and howl at heaven like a wounded animal, begging the God that made him to kill him, and end his suffering.

She thought about how he had suffered the past few weeks, about how he had suffered for years before she met him.

She growled, and her claws shot out.

"Now take it easy, darlin'. I sure don't plan on makin' a habit of it. You'd better quit thinkin' on what you're thinkin' an put those claws away."

Rogue forced her anger down, and her weapons away.

"Ah hope you're not! That was downright cruel of her, keeping you on the string all those years! Making you think that you had a chance when she just didn't want to give up a good time with her good friend! And it's not a very nice thing to do to Mr. Stark, either. The man's a drunk. He probably depends on her. I imagine he'd feel awful if he knew that you and Mr. Summers had no idea about the two of them. And you did the right thing, stopping all that hanky panky after Dr. Grey married. Does the woman think she has a mortgage on your body and a lien on your soul?"

"She did. Now she doesn't."

"Well, count yourself fortunate that you're no longer involved! Or, no longer as involved. When she said "I Do" to Mr. Summers, that was the end of the two of you being anything more than good friends. Nobody gets to eat their cake, and have it, too. Poor Logan. I hope this is the last time that woman breaks your heart! What in hell is the matter with her? And don't give me that two-people-in-one bullshit. I'm a feral now. All ferals are two people in one. Man and beast. And most of us don't go around acting like animals. Not even Victor. Not all the time. If we can control ourselves, the world's most powerful telepath should be able to control herself, too!" Rogue exclaimed.

"Rogue, when Jeannie was 12 years old, Victor kidnapped her from her home, and sold her to Bill Stryker for 28 hundred bucks. That was the bounty he got, per mutant. Stryker kept her in his jail for almost a year, doin' experiments on her. And most of the rest of the present-day X-Men. He didn't starve the kids he captured, or torture them. There was no beating or rape from the guards. The experiments weren't painful, there were three meals a day, the cells were clean and they all lived an orderly life. Three meals and two showers a day, one hour of exercise outside every day after lunch and after dinner. They got paid sixteen dollars a week, and there was a commissary in their cafeteria, where they could buy magazines and comic books and gum and candy bars and smokes and Life Savers. It was kind of like being in the Army, that's the way Jean talks about it. But, the fact remains that when she was a little girl she was kidnapped and jailed and treated like a lab rat by a man who was a mutant-hating lunatic, living with the constant fear that she would be terminated as casually as a lab rat at any time. Jeannie learned some unpleasant lessons in that place. Stryker's jail taught her that everything else she'd ever been told was lies and bullshit. There's only two kinds of people in the world. The hammer and the nail. You had better not be the nail, if you can help it. She also learned that the world belongs to ruthless, driven people who have the balls to take it, and everybody else gets ground under the iron heel. Jeanie figures Scott was in the same jail she was, he shouldn't be such a romantic fool. And she figures I've had it harder than her, I should be able to take it, too. And if we can't, well, fuck us, that's life. Harden up, fellas, you're muties, grow some balls. Of course she's got a heart to break, too, but she keeps it to herself, and when she is hurt, it's only for a little while. It doesn't take her long to harden her heart and roll right along. And if she continues hurtin' someplace deep inside, well nobody's ever gonna know about it."

Logan could tell from the look on Rogue's face that he had hit a nerve, and not just because of what he had said about Jean.

Jeannie and Marie weren't too far apart on the way they looked at life, and for pretty much the same reasons.

"I feel sorry for Jeannie. I can't imagine what kind of hell that is. To be walled up alive inside yourself so that no matter how loud you yell to get out nobody, not even you, can ever really hear you scream."

Rogue bit her lip.

"Logan, is there something wrong with us? Why can't we live a normal life?"

"There ain't no normal life, darlin'. There's just life. And everybody does the best they can with the one they've got."


Postscript: Veni, Vedi, Victor

New York City: A few weeks later

I: Victor

Victor was in his apartment, laying out his clothes for the next day and getting ready to hit the sack when the little digital box Erik had given him began to beep.

Sabretooth looked at his watch.

It was two in the morning.

"Stripe, what the fuck are you doing out in the city by yourself at two in the morning?" he asked, as he began to get dressed, again.

When Magneto discovered that Rogue was driving Logan's truck to and from Westchester when she wanted to go to the city, he became appalled that his little girl was relying on such dodgy transportation, and bought her a new car, a Subaru Forrester, taking into account the road conditions in the winter around the X-Mansion.

It was loaded with many different features, one of which was something Magneto had specially added.

A tracking device.

He wanted to give his daughter some freedom, so it was only designed to activate the remote which he entrusted to Victor Creed when she was in the city, by herself.

Sabretooth had convinced Magneto that he was a double agent, and he passed on enough complex but ultimately unimportant information pre-approved by the Sarge that Erik believed him, or at least appeared to, for his own purposes.

At any rate, whatever he had up his sleeve, the wily old man charged Victor with watching over Stripe when she was in the city.

The devil you know is better than the devil you don't.

Victor called Erik's number.

"Hello? Do you know how late it is?"

"I know, Raven. I just wanted to tell you that your little girl's out, alone, in the goddamn Bowery right now."

"What? Don't they have rules at that school?"

"They do. But it looks like Stripe's breakin' them. I'm gonna go get her."

"Call me when you find her, Victor. What the hell is she doing out there? Where's Logan?"

"Wednesday nights he goes out. Maybe she's following him. I'm gonna go find out."

Victor tracked Rogue's Subaru down to a parking garage, and from there he tracked her by scent, and found her in a crowded, smoky jazz club, taking in a Chick Corea performance.

The show was ending as he found her.

If she was surprised to see him, she didn't act like it.

"Hello, Victor."

"It's a little late for you to be out and about by yourself in the Bowery, ain't it?"

"They call this the East Village, now, Victor."

"Uh-huh. It's still the Bowery. And it's still dangerous. So you're coming with me."

"What about my car?"

"I paid for it to be there for the rest of the night. I'm driving you back. You're already in a shitload of trouble with your Mama and Papa. And I imagine you're gonna be in a shitload of trouble with Chuck X."

"What about you, Victor? Are you mad at me?"

"Yeah. This was a real stupid stunt to pull. Not like you at all, Stripe"

"Maybe Ah had a reason?"

A little smile crawled across Stripe's face, a sly little smile, full of animal guile and low cunning.

Things she'd had, in spades, even before she became feral.

Victor grinned back.

"What kind of reason would that be?

"Maybe Ah knew there was a homing device in my car. Maybe Ah knew Papa had you on the other end of it. Maybe Ah figured this would give me a legitimate excuse to see you. Because Ah have been thinking about something, for the last two weeks. And Ah know that what I'm thinking is what Charles would call bad. And Logan, too. But, it's probably what Papa would call justice. And you too, Victor. I'm sure Papa and you can't always be wrong, and Charles and Logan always be right. Life is not that absolute."

Victor just looked at Rogue like he had never seen her before.

She smiled at him.

"Ah think we need to go and discuss this in private."


II: Rogue

Rogue was unusually quiet on the way to Victor's apartment; there was a weird, disturbing serenity about her manner that Sabretooth didn't like.

Once they were inside, with the door locked, she sat quietly at the table in his kitchen.

Rogue looked around; nothing seemed different.

And Victor didn't seem overtly changed, either.

He went into his bedroom to hang up the Armani jacket he was wearing over his black tee shirt and black Levis; when he came back into the kitchen he was also barefoot.

Victor didn't like walking around in his boots and tracking dirt all over the place.

He got a beer and a Coke from the fridge and put the coke in front of her.

Then he sat down opposite her.

"I can tell by the look on your face, baby, whatever you got on your mind is wicked."

"It's not wicked. Victor. It's just. Were you aware that within herself, Jean Grey harbors a force strong enough, if not to destroy the universe, then, at the very least, to make it sufficiently rough for every living creature on this planet?"

"That's what I hear, but I never put much stock in it. Sounds like some bullshit story Chuck X told her so she'd keep her light under a bushel."

"Well, I believe it."

Victor leaned across the table, grinning atavistically.

"No you don't. You've got yourself convinced you do, because you want to dress up the fact you've decided to kill the bitch in a fancy suit of shining armor. Don't bullshit yourself, baby. You want her dead because she hurt Jimmy, bad, and she, not me, might just be the one thing on God's Green Earth that could kill him."

"Is that a good enough reason, Victor?"

"For me? Hell yes! But listen. We'd have to do this right. No cowboy shit. We'd need to get official permission to grease Dr. Grey."

"From who?"

"The Sarge, probably. Nobody else would have the balls to give an order like that. Or the power. If I could sell him on her being a credible threat because of her powers, not to mention the possibility of her being able to take out one of his best agents and oldest friends, he'd put the finger on her. Now you listen to me, Stripe. I don't want you to so much as get into a shouting match with the bitch. Once I get the go-ahead, we'll plan it out. Make it look like something else got to her. Some supervillian. Because nobody can ever know it was you and me behind it. Especially Jimmy."

"I can see Ahm not the only one who's thought of this."

"He's my brother. It's my job."

"But do you think it's right, Victor? Do you think it's just?"

"You're askin' me? Sabretooth?"

"No. I'm asking you, Major Victor Creed. I'm asking you, Logan's brother."

"I think Chuck X is dreaming. Him and Erik should have put two in back of that girl's head when she was 12. If she has a quarter of the power they say she has, they were drinkin' Drano, thinkin' either one of them could use it for their own ends. It's not theirs. It's hers. And when she wants to use it, against them, against all of us, she will. Besides, I remember all of Jimmy's life that's he's forgotten. Most of it has been a fuckin' tragedy. I seen him beaten, I seen him broken, but I never seen anything cut him to the bone like the bitch Jean Grey can. She's got him where she wants him, and she won't let him go until she brings him to heel, the way she's done to Scooter. But you can't tame Jimmy. You can kill him, but not tame him. She doesn't realize that. She'll be sorry when he's dead, but that won't change the fact he's gone. I promised Pa, years ago, when I thought he was dying, with my brother's claws in him, that I would take care of Jimmy, no matter what, that I would protect him with my life. So, you bet your ass I think it's just."

Rogue let out a long sigh.

"What if you can't get clearance?"

"Then we wait for an opportunity. Bein' an X-Man is dangerous work. Anything can happen to you." Victor said, meaningfully.

It took a little while for what he meant to sink in.

Sabotage.

"And Ah would be in a better position to see that opportunity that you would, right, Victor?"

"That's right. I'll let you know if it comes to that."

Rogue nodded, grimly.

She stood up, grabbing her purse in both her hands.

"Well, I suppose you had better take me back to the mansion, now, Victor."

Victor laughed his low, rumbling chuckle, and the hairs on the back of Rogue's neck stood up.

"You're not going anywhere, baby."

He stood up, slowly and deliberately, and with great menace, drawing himself gradually up to his full height.

Rogue could see the muscles in his massive chest rippling underneath the black cotton of his t- shirt.

Her legs felt weak, and her heart began to hammer in her chest.

For days after she visited him in the infirmary, Rogue lay awake, pretending to sleep, while Logan lay awake beside her, doing the same.

She understood the torment that he was suffering through.

She was suffering through it, too.

The sound of Victor's voice, his smile, his laugh, the way he smelled, the twinkle in his amber eyes when he called her "Stripe"; they tortured her and haunted her the same way that the same things about Dr. Grey haunted Logan.

Talking to him on the phone could fill the deep Victor-sized hole in her heart just a little, but it wasn't enough to make the hurt, the deep pain of losing him, go away.

Rogue had tried to imagine how it would feel if Victor betrayed her, if he made her feel like all her love was in vain, and just thinking about how much that would hurt was what made her decide that, with or without help, she would kill Dr. Jean Grey.

Logan was her great love, the brother of her great love; she would not suffer to see him hurt.

But, Victor was also her great love, the brother of her great love.

"Don't, Victor. Please, don't. You tried to kill yourself because you couldn't live without me. Well, Ah haven't been doing so well mahself, without you. Ah could barely keep mah composure when all Ah did was see you. Ah want you, sugar. Ah want you so bad, Ah'm startin' to feel an ache inside me. But Ah can't. It would kill me to walk out of here and know it was going to be years before we were together, again."

Victor laughed, again.

"Years, Stripe? Who said anything about years? You set up this little sting to get to see me, once. You can do it again. Oh sure, maybe not every Wednesday, while Jimmy's out painting the town red. But you sure won't hafta wait for years. Think. We got a perfect setup here. And even if Erik figures it out, or Jimmy does, neither one of them are going to say shit to you over it. And Chuck X will never figure it out. His mind doesn't work like that. Besides it doesn't always have to be here."

Victor stepped closer to her; he pulled her into his arms.

Rogue moved towards him like a sleeper in a dream.

"That would get predictable. We could always do it in the car. You always liked that. Or maybe in, that dorm room of yours. Huh?"

He whispered those last few suggestions close to her ear, kissing her neck and nipping her earlobe.

Rogue moaned his name.

Her head fell back, and her fangs descended.

"An' I thought you were beautiful before. Did you miss me, baby? Tell me?"

He took off his shirt.

Rogue willed her claws to stay in her hands, and ran his fingers through the thick mat of honey colored hair on Victor's chest.

"Ah missed you, Victor. Terribly."

This time she could feel his laugh.

He extended one talon, and cut through her shirt, her bra, and the waistband of her long skirt and her panties.

First on one side, then on the other.

The remains of Rogue's clothes fell around her feet, and she was naked.

"Victor!"

"Missed me terribly, huh? Did you miss my cock? Because I missed every luscious inch of you, baby. Oh I'll take you home. But only after I'm all done with you. I'm gonna kiss you all over. I'm gonna lick your hot little pussy until you scream and beg for mercy. But I'm not gonna show you mercy. Then, I'm gonna fuck you good and hard within an inch of your pretty little life. I'm gonna get balls deep in your sweet little pussy I know's so fuckin' hungry for my cock, and I'm gonna come in you two or three times. Then I'm gonna have a smoke and do it to you all over again. Doggy style."

He drew her as close as he could, and kissed her, his powerful hands moving all over her body.

"Ah did miss it, Victor. Do you want me to show you how much?"

Rogue panted those words, shamelessly, as she unbuckled Victor's belt, and started unbuttoning and unzipping his jeans.

"Show me, baby. Show me." Victor moaned.

Rogue dropped to her knees on the linoleum.

He had thought about it; he had even dreamed about it, but there was nothing like it in the whole fucked- up, bullshit world.

Nothing like the look of misty-eyed pleasure on her face while she was sucking his cock, looking at him with an expression of gratitude and lust shining in her big green eyes.

"Ohhh, Stripe, damn me to Hell, you're the best little cocksucker on God's Green fuckin' Earth!" he gasped.

The cork popped out of the world when he busted his nut, but Victor's dominoes did not go down.

He stepped out of his pants and his shorts in a bunch on the floor, picked Rogue up and carried her into his bedroom.

"I love you, Stripe. Until the undead end of time."

He wanted to drink in every whimper, every twitch, ever moan that Stripe made, beautiful and naked and squirming in his arms, kissing him and trying to put her frantic little hands all over him at once.

Victor kissed her eyes, he kissed her lips, he kissed her round titties and her round belly and sucked her plump pink nipples until she was holding his head against her chest, moaning and gasping.

He threw her legs over his shoulders and breathed in her clean, sweet, musky scent before he made good on his promise to lick her until she screamed for mercy

She didn't scream for mercy, but she came as hard as the A-train he had caught right between the eyes.

Victor sat back on his heels and looked down at his Stripe, all naked and flushed and tumbled across the bed, swooning in deep satisfaction.

He made good on his other threat, to fuck his girl, his girl, hard, to get balls deep in her.

Her little pussy was hungry for him, hungry for his cock, all of it, and fuck Jimmy, he was every bit as big as that runt, had an inch or so on him and Jimmy had been mad at that for the last 80 years.

Stripe had her arms locked around him, and her legs, and she was pistoning her hips up as he drove into her; she was laughing and sobbing and cursing a blue streak all at once.

"Oooo, baby, I love your dirty little mouth. Come for Daddy now, you sweet, dirty little whore!"

"Oh, Victor! Victor, you evil son of a bitch! Don't stop, don't stop, or ah will rip your fucking lungs out!"

The tightness in his balls shot all the way up into his chest, and at the same time that Victor moved his hands away from Stripe's body, threw his head back and roared as he shot into her, once, maybe twice, all his claws curling out of his fingers, she threw her arms out and turned her hands towards the bed, roaring like a tiny lion, six long, thin, bony-white talons erupting from both her hands.

When she roared, he saw she had fangs, just like his, but after, when they were lying amongst the pillow together and Victor was having a smoke he saw that they were gone.

"I think what you got there, is a little bit of me, and a little bit of Jimmy, and a little bit that's you. Like my Ma used to tell me, ferals are like falling snow. Each of us is different."

"Are you telling me I'm like a snowflake. Victor?" Rogue asked, lazily.

"That's right, baby. Snow and sugar both melt."

That struck Victor as funny, and he laughed, harder than he had in a long time.

***

In all the excitement, which was considerable , Victor forgot to call Raven back, and when his phone at his apartment began to ring, around four in the morning, he was dozing.

"Hello?"

"Did you find her?"

Victor looked down at Stripe, asleep in his arms.

"I found her. She just went to see a jazz show. It wrapped up pretty late, and then she was telling me she was hungry, so we went to an all night deli. The poor kid's tired as hell. She's too tired to drive, so I let her sleep here. She's out like a light."

"I see."

"In the morning, I'll drive her back home."

"Well, you had better call the X-Mansion. I've got five calls from Logan in the last hour."

***

Victor got up and went into the living room to talk to Jimmy.

Jimmy sounded drunk and worried, and whether he believed that Victor took the couch and let Rogue have the bed, he was relieved to hear she was alright.

"I guess she figures if I'm gonna have a night out, so should she."

"Probably. I mean, you can't blame her. Why would she want to stay home, starin' at the walls while you go out an' paint the town red? Especially with Shellhead or the Sarge. She knows that means broads, broads, broads. So, she figured what's good for the gander is good for the goose. But she shouldn't have gone out alone. Stripe thinks just because of her skin and her bein' feral there's nothing in the city that can hurt her."

"That's bullshit."

"I know. Look, if she decides to go out on Wednesdays, I'll keep an eye on her. Make sure she stays out of trouble."

Jimmy paused, for awhile.

"That might be a good idea. I gotta get some sleep. I'm annihilated."

"Hey, Jimmy? I hear you were in a bad way, for awahile. Over that Grey broad. You doin' better, now?"

"A little. Better'n I was."

"That's good, Jimmy. I'll bring her back to ya, safe an sound, inna morning. I promise."

"You better. Because I'll come get her."

"Yeah. I know."

***

After talking to his brother, Victor went back to bed.

"Am I in trouble?"

"Nope. I smoothed everything over for ya. Just go back to sleep, baby. When's your first class, tomorrow?"

"Ten."

"You'll be there."

"Victor?"

"Yeah?"

"Are we doing the right thing? the just thing? Are you sure?"

"I'm sure, Stripe. But if you're not, you let me know, and I'll leave you out of it."

"I'm already in it. No matter what happens now, mah hands will not be clean."

"Nobody's hands are clean, baby. That's just the way it is."