She stepped inside the dingy bar, it was night already but she didn’t really have a clue of the exact time, though she could swear that it was late just judging by the deserted streets of the small town; if this small gathering of warehouses in the unforgiving Canadian coldness could be called that. She heard voices coming from the far back of the darkened room, cheering and insulting and against all better judgment, she suddenly felt the urge to get closer, to see what was going on there. The strong smell of sweat, vomit and cheap booze made her stomach twist but she kept walking closer to what appeared to be a cage. Men and women were standing on improvised benches screaming almost unrecognizable words. That’s when she looked up.


The unmistakable sound of a fist hitting flesh made her cringe, but she didn’t allow herself to step back completely, though she could feel panic rising at the pit of her stomach. The man that took the blow stood back up, visibly dizzy, but strangely enough, his assailant seemed as dizzy as him, trying to stay up on his legs. The taller man was now looking up at the one in front of him from his knelt position on the dusty floor, fighting for a breath, and standing up he started hitting him, punching him with all he had. She held her breath, unable to take her eyes off the scene before her, realizing the extreme violence of it. Her eyes watered and tears actually rolled down her burning face as images of what she was running from assailed her. Metal sticks hitting her body, skin cut deep with each impact…



***********



Ever so slightly, almost barely visibly in the dim light, the man that was receiving the punches started to turn a strange shed of grey, his skin clammy and pale as if he was losing his very life force with each blow. Both men were shirtless; the one now at advantage was very tall and muscular with wild hair and muttonchops, the other was a little shorter and bald and was now crawling on the floor. She could swear she saw tiny blue veins popping out of their skin each time they came into contact; something was very wrong there. She couldn’t stop her feet from stepping closer to the metal fence of the cage; maybe, just maybe there was a chance that tall man with his shoulders hunched over was like her; if only he was like her.


It hit her as she was just a few feet away from the fighting area as the taller man stepped back from the now limp body of his opponent; there were tears in his eyes. It was so out of place! He didn’t look like the type to shed tears after a fight; the man was barely restrained violence! The bell rang and he was declared ‘King of the cage’, but instead of a triumphant face, his head was hunched low, pale and his eyes red from the tears he tried to contain. The MC didn’t touch him as he was doing what appeared to be his routine speech. Wasn’t he supposed to lift the winner’s hand in sign of victory? That’s what she was taught, that’s what the men in white lab coats told her and did to her when they forced her to fight the very same way just to entertain them, just after she killed her opponent; they always lifted her hand, she always won, she always killed, even though she did it out of desperation, did it to make the pain they inflicted her stop; never because she liked it.

The tall man stepped out of the cage, catching a bottle of whisky on a close by empty table and gulped it down like it was water. That’s when she allowed herself to let go of the breath she was holding, breathing him in, trying to read him, and all she could smell was the salt of his hidden tears as he walked away, people parting like the Red Sea as passed.



What should she do now? She was starving and almost dying from the cold. She had no money, nothing to offer in exchange of some food. She could kill just to have something warm to eat; oh yes and she would, just given half a chance to, if only she had the strength.

She knew she was far away enough from that God forsaken place and she could look for a shelter for the night, just a place safe enough for her to close her eyes, because it wouldn’t be long before her legs just flat out refused to cooperate and hold her weight. It had been a whole week, spent walking in the snow. One week half lost in the cold woods, fighting off frostbite and hunger, half mad with the paranoia of hiding her trail well enough to lose the ones tracking her. She approached the bar and sat on one of the stools. Most of the spectators were gone now, the only ones left being the bartender, the MC and a tall blonde woman counting the night’s winnings. She smelled him even before she could catch sight of him, a strong and alluring smell of wood, citrus and a deep note of earth, he smelled good, she could tell. She looked at him without turning her head, from the corner of her eye. He was dressed now, layers of flannel and cotton covering his body, leather jacket and gloves completing the portrait, the only skin showing being that of his face. The bar although not exactly warm, wasn’t cold enough to necessitate gloves, the young girl noticed as her eyes lingered on the tall man’s approaching form. His expression wasn’t the same, he looked simply tired now, somewhat exasperated.


The MC approached him but kept a few feet distance from him, and then he almost threw his share of the money at him, a disgusted grimace twisting his wrinkled face. The blonde woman stayed behind the small man, almost hiding, the smell of her fear hanging thick in the air. The tall man sat at the far end of the bar where a beer he didn’t ask for sat like it was waiting for him to just drink. The bartender didn’t even look up at him when he sat another opened bottle next to the first, keeping a good distance too; the hand depositing the new bottle encased in a dirty leather glove. Not a word exchanged, not even a nod.




**********




He pocketed the money from the MC and sat down on his stool gulping down his beer, lifting his gaze from time to time to watch the news going on the old TV set. Then his eyes dropped to the small form of the girl sat at the bar, the way she was there sitting in silence, observing, a glass of water staying untouched in front of her. She was young, he could tell, bone thin and not warmly enough covered for such a cold place. He saw her, the way she wore that black shirt with two pockets on the front, a pair of oversized dirty jeans and boots obviously not her size. Her hair was hanging thick and dirty behind her ears, two white streaks framing her small face making her eyes look even bigger than they were. She was out of place. What was such a young girl doing in a fight bar in the middle of the night and in the middle of nowhere? Someone must be looking for her, it can’t be otherwise.



*******




She felt his eyes on her, the faint smell of concern mixed with curiosity coming from him and reaching her almost like a caress. She had rarely felt such a warm feeling coming from someone. The last time she felt it, she had to kill the person who showed her that little amount of compassion; they made her, telling her that she wasn’t worth any compassion, least of all from a human. And she did as ordered; she sliced through the woman’s chest a clean cut between the third and forth rib, straight to the heart, not willing her to suffer too much.
But man kept looking her way, his concern growing thicker by the moment. The faint sound of the news anchor’s voice suddenly caught his attention as the words ‘mutant problem’ echoed in the otherwise silent air. He looked up, eyes dead serious and jaw set at the TV set, his second beer completely forgotten as he almost pierced the screen with his gaze. She noticed the change in his demeanor and smell and then she was sure: he was a mutant.




*************




He looked at the girl, taking in her appearance as he let the anchor’s words sink in; the way she was slightly trembling at the words, expectation written all over her. He was an expert in reading non-verbal language. It was what you rely on to judge situations and people when you have the kind of curse he had. It seemed that he wasn’t the only one who noticed the girl’s aloof behavior because even before she could clearly make it out, two men were standing beside her, obviously aware of how misplaced she looked. One of them tall with long hair grabbed her shoulder strongly, a wicked smile twisting his thin lips. The other one, just as tall wearing a thick black beard and grey, wavy hair just stood there his arms crossed over his broad chest, smiling down at her. Her breath hitched but she didn’t turn around.





**********





The smell of their arousal made her stomach flip and her mouth go dry from utter disgust. What now? She didn’t want to have to kill but if they forced her, she wouldn’t have a choice but to defend herself the best she could; and it meant one thing: eliminate the very source of the threat, just as they taught her. She remained silent as they addressed her with easy voices, thick with lust. The hand on her shoulder slid down dangerously low, inch after inch almost resting on her breast. She could take it no more. When would they understand? And with a twist, a back flip, she found herself pinning her assailant on the floor with three metal claws piercing his shoulder. The bearded man stepped back at the rapidity of her actions, frightened by the blades had just that popped out from her tiny hand. The bartender reached for his shotgun, aiming at her head.



“Get out of my bar freak.”




***********




He saw her and the almost animalistic way she moved her body. He saw the blades and then he had no doubts about what she was and why she was there. He stood and took advantage of the confusion to step behind the bartender and grab his bare lower arm with his bare hand. The touch instantly put the bartender to his knees his very life essence flowing into the tall man’s body through thick bluish veins. When he felt that the man was down enough not to run after them, he grabbed the girls arm with his gloved hand and made it to the door. The claws slid back in her hand at the touch and just at that moment, looking up at her rescuer, she felt that it was okay to let go, that she could trust him with her life, because she knew him after all…and her legs gave up on her then and there; she was safe now.

He carried her limp body to his camper. How could someone so small and frail looking be so heavy? He had to be quick, they would give the alert anytime now and he’d find himself in one of those ‘cells’ he’d heard about even faster than he could spell out the word ‘mutant’. He knew now what she was, she was like him. Worse, she certainly was one of those the government kept in labs and made experiences on. How else could she have metal claws popping out of her hands? This kind of ‘mutation’ didn’t scream “natural!” to him. And the weird clothing, her dirty overall attire, and the simple fact that she was there in the middle of Bumfuck Nowhere… It all added up to something, he was sure, but whatever it was, it couldn’t be good. He started the engine and drove like a mad man until he was sure none of those loons back at the bar could track him. He couldn’t take the risk of stopping for fuel and he just prayed that he could make it to the upper land with the little he still had in the tank. He spent most of the short day driving through the maze of back roads, caught between the low, snowy sky and the unsteady asphalt spread ahead of him.



The girl didn’t stir or move the whole time he drove. He figured he could use a little break and threw a quick look at the girl curled up in the passenger seat. She looked pretty out of it, and seemed to be cold as judging by the purple-blue aspect of her lips and fingertips as well as the unusual paleness of her skin. Shit! He’d been so caught up in his “let’s get the hell outta here” act that he hadn’t taken a close enough look at his passenger. He had to stop, at least if he wanted her to live through their escape. ‘Hold on, please hold on…’ he kept muttering more to himself than to her. He didn’t know why he was feeling this way, what triggered the worry in the first place; worry and concern for a stranger, a girl lost on the road; alone. But he felt it deep down in his bones, he had to do something for her, even if it was a little thing.




He parked the old camper near a snow covered clearing. He reached for the back grabbing as many covers as his arms could take and carefully wrapped one around the girl’s body. Leather clad hands took hold of her as tightly as they could through the voluminous material and drew her off the passenger seat to his lap. He wrapped another cover around her and secured her in his arms, ever mindful of the exposed skin of his face and throat. He knew there was a cabin not far from there a little deeper in the woods; one he used on his numerous trips along with the fight circuit. He could make it before nightfall if he walked fast enough. With his back pack hanging on his shoulders, and the girl in his arms, he felt like he was carrying the weight of the whole damn world. Each step he took brought him knee deep in the snow, making it almost impossible to progress at the pace he wanted. He had to leave something behind, and it sure as hell wouldn’t be the girl.He couldn't afford to leave the bag either. His eyes automatically dropped to the girl’s face half buried in his jacket. Shit… He had to be careful not to let her skin touch his; it could kill her.



It was the middle of the night when they finally made it to the cabin. It was further in the woods than what he had first thought, but it was for the better. The heavy, dark clouds in the low sky were a sign of a near snow storm. He still had some time to get some wood and make a good fire to warm up the place before it hit. The cabin was old but solid. The windows still had their glass panes, and the door remained closed when you secured it with its lock, they would be okay here. So he deposited the girl’s body on the wooden floor as gently as he could and ran out the door in search of a few dry branches. Fortunately enough, there was wood in the small storage at the back. He didn’t remember how long it had been there but it would have to do. He took an armful of it and ran back to the main room. A fire was warming up the place in no time. His life alone on the road was now showing quite useful; sometimes, being able to make a fire with almost nothing could save your life, he knew that from experience.

He got the girl closer to the fire. He had been there a few times when the money was hard to make and he couldn’t afford a motel room-not that there were many of those in the last towns the fight season- so he had left a few things for whenever he had to come back. He reached for a chest that rested in a far corner of the main room and took a few blankets from it. A trapdoor on the floor revealed a cave that held some canned food and other supplies. There was a small flight of stairs leading up to a kind of loft furnished with an old bed frame and mattress. He took them and settled them, not without some difficulty in the living area displaying the covers he took from the chest on it to make a bed for the girl. Once he did, he laid her down on it and stayed by her side, waiting for her to wake up.

:: She was still there in one of the examination rooms, one of the antechambers of hell. Surgeons looking down at her, their faces covered with masks and glasses. Latex covered hands poking at her skin, scalpels cutting deep into her flesh and her blood gushing out in dark red rivers. She was aware of everything that was happening, they wanted her to be. It hurt so much and she screamed for someone to help her, to make it all go away but nobody ever came to her aid. Then the cuts knit themselves back together and left unmarked skin in their wake, like nothing ever happened, but in her mind and in her heart each cut kept bleeding and it hurt so much that she wanted to die, she hoped a million times that she wouldn’t survive but death never granted her its rest and shelter. They were approaching again, she couldn’t move, she was cuffed to another cold metal table. They plunged her into a tank of sullied water surrounded by dozens of small power drills. Her heart was twisting with fear but she couldn’t scream, the tube they put down her throat and mouth blocking the way of the full blown sound building in her chest. And then it started and she could feel the hot metal setting her every bone on fire, her brain almost immediately overtaken by the unbearable pain. She wouldn’t survive, not this time, and she didn’t want to but yet, she couldn’t let them continue. ::





The girl started thrashing in her sleep, sweat pearling on her forehead, tears streaming down her drawn face. Her back suddenly arched at an unnatural angle, her hands searching the air for support. She was having a nightmare. The man looked on in a panic induced haze as the girl fought the demons of her sleep, strangled moans and half formed pleas filling the air around him. The shock of seeing the girl’s fragile form twisting in the covers, arms and hands stretched out toward empty space, brought forth feelings of dread in him. Never had he witnessed such agony in his life; he could literally taste the young girl’s pain and anguish. He had to do something to help her, he had to make it stop!



The thin face was a mask where dueled the darkest agony, bottomless pain and powerless rage, the small body bending over backwards under the strain of invisible tortures, bones creaking in an ominous and disturbing metallic sound. She was the epitome hopeless misery. The man wanted to help, he wished with all his might but he felt completely overwhelmed by the strength of the scene he was witnessing, hands hovering, fingers flexing, wanting to hold and soothe but not wanting to hurt.

There…one word escaped the ghostly white, straining throat, an exhale of breath: “Help…”

The man hesitated no more.



“Wake up! It’s just a dream! Wake up!” He shouted.


The young girl, in her delirium didn’t seem to hear him, prisoner of her devastating dreams. So he carefully grabbed her by her shoulder, his gloved hand securely setting on the cotton covered area, and shook her none too gently several times.


“Please, wake up, come back!”, His voice now pleading, praying almost for her to rise back up from the demoniac haze that seemed to have overtaken her body. The man shook her one last time, dragging her up to him by her arm.


Two brown eyes, wide in panic shot open, pupils overtaking almost all the iris. The girl took hold of his gloved hand on her shoulder screaming her head off, claws extending from both hands. She didn’t see him, no, she was not in the cabin with him, she was still in her dream, still in hell, and now she was setting herself free from it all, her body turned inside out by the pain coursing through her.


He felt it. The shock first, then the pain concentrated where the claws on her right hand had hit and then spreading throughout his body. She aimed the heart and didn’t miss her target. She could hear it slowing down dangerously; feel the thick blood cover her hand where it was buried knuckles deep in the surgeon’s chest and flowing down her arm in a warm liquid caress. But the smell was different.

Yes, she could smell fear and shock, but there was something wrong. She blinked once, then twice and saw the face inches away from hers. She saw green-golden eyes digging into hers, confused but not hateful, she smelt citrus, earth and wood and concern but not the disinfectants and nauseating hatred that usually stuck to the surgeons in the lab.



Realization hit her hard, her eyes even wider in shock as she took in the scene. He could feel his heart slowing even more with every passing second, her warm hand against his chest, her body so close to his, their stomach touching, her legs straddling his left thigh; so close to him.

No one in the past fifteen years ever came this close to him without wanting to bolt, or without dying or being hurt for that matter. She was touching him, reaching deep inside of him and taking his life away with her naked hand; and those claws. She could touch him deeper than anyone else, and something inside him recognized this as something good, desirable. The man didn’t want her to feel bad about this, he was not angry, no he could even thank her for giving him that before he left this world. Still it was a shame that he had to go now without knowing who she was, without hearing the sound of her voice. He would have loved that. She was all he could see now and slowly he felt his body giving into the darkness. It was the end. His head leaned into hers, forehead against forehead, lips against lips.




The pull started almost imperceptibly, sluggishly, but then tore at her life with so much force it made her scream; every emotion, every drop of her own life essence speeding their way into the man’s lifeless body. She was going to die, her life siphoned out of her. Every bone screaming anew as the girl felt her flesh literally burn under the man’s cooling skin. She pressed her eyes shut tight against it all. What was going on? Was it revenge for her newest killing? But by God it wasn’t her fault…or was it? Would he hate her now? ‘Please let him not hate me, please’, she prayed to no one in particular as she felt darkness swallow her.


Strong hands pushed the small body away violently, and it rolled off the bed, twisted by seizures. The man dropped his gaze to his chest where he could feel the cuts left by the girl’s metal claws knitting themselves back together, life running wild through his body and the strong echo of her mind inside his. She was so strong, so much stronger than anyone he’d ever touched before, and she didn’t die, she was still breathing. She was unconscious, yes, but even after such a prolonged touch she was still alive and shaking on the floor.

His senses were assaulted by everything in the small room; the brightness of the fire, the feel of the leather of his gloves on his fingertips and smell of his own blood mixed with her scent, the heady and alluring spice of it making him feel too warm in his own skin. Foreign feelings and a deep primal need to taste her on him left him rooted to the spot. Then he realized that it wasn’t him but her who wanted that, needed that so much that it almost drove her insane; make sure he was alright, that he didn’t hate her; still hers...



The thoughts too much for him to handle, the man crawled to her trying hard not to make things worse. She had stopped shaking and her eyes were fluttering open, the brown orbs rolling in their sockets as the girl tried to regain consciousness. When she saw him so close to her, she cringed hard, backing away from the hazy form kneeling next to her, pressing herself in a shadowy corner on the other side of the room. Her breathing was erratic and shallow, the previous events rushing back to her in a painful sequence.



“I’m sorry, I didn’t want to…I’m so sorry…I killed you…I…” She was shaking hard, sobbing and choking on her own tears, looking at everything but at the man who was now very still; shocked.


“I’m…It’s okay…Oh God, are you alright? Please tell me you’re alright.” he begged, arms uselessly hanging on his sides, afraid to cause more arm.


The question stunned the girl but she answered nonetheless, trying hard to make sense of the words and emotions tumbling and crashing against each other in her fragmented mind. She had killed him, she *knew* she had, but then he touched her… Something happened when he touched her!


“I’m so…Yes, I’m fine…I’m…What did you do to me? What happened?”


The man’s heart instantly sank through the floor at hearing this simple question, the girl’s voice a shaky whisper over the sound of his harsh panting.


“I’m sorry… I touched you…I didn’t want to, I was…I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you…Oh God.”


“No, you…you were dead, I know I hurt you bad…you were…What the fuck happened!!?”


Now the girl was well and good agitated, eyes frantically seeking the empty space around her for something to focus on, her mind losing its grip on reality a little bit more every passing second. He should be dead! Maybe she was still in the nightmare…


“…I touched you…I’m…sorry. It’s you…you healed me. I never meant to hurt you, please…It’s okay, it’s over.” The man said, voice pleading, overcome by grief and silent rage at his cursed skin. She would hate him now. He knew she would. He had hurt her and scared her. It would have been okay if he had died tonight, but the last thing he wanted was to cause her more pain, be the source or her pain. She had already been through so much.

“What?” Her hoarse whisper came to him in conveyed puzzlement.

“I touched you and… You healed me.”

He was hard pressed to find something else to say. Seeing her still somewhat shocked by the fact he was still alive, he felt compelled to explain a little more. “It’s my mutation, it’s what I do. I absorbed you when my skin touched yours. You can heal…and it seems that I took it from you…I know I hurt you too, I promise I won’t touch you….I can kill with one touch...”

But she was apparently unharmed by it, she hadn’t died… but the man decided not to dwell too long on the fact and its implications for the moment. As far as he was concerned, he had hurt her and she was now scared of him, of what he was.





Against all expectations, the young girl moved closer to him on all fours, trying to wrap her mind around what the man was saying. She saw it in the cage and later with the bartender, but she didn’t know he could kill, yet she felt it; if he had held a second longer, she would have been dead. He could end her life, he could end her pain and she could give him life. She had almost killed him, she knew she had. His heartbeats were almost silent, he was exhaling his last breath, and then he touched her, he kissed her.


“You kissed me…” she said, bringing a shaky hand to her lips.

The incongruous whispered statement made the man look up at her then drop his gaze. Yes, he had kissed her. He could still feel the softness of her lips beneath his and he was disgusted with himself for having found it pleasurable. Just what kind of life sucking monster was he?


“I’m sorry…” He said again.


With that same hand, she reached for his face, but he grabbed it before she had a chance to make contact. Although he craved it, he wouldn’t hurt her again… Never touch her again; that decision not sitting right with something buried deep within him.


“Who are you?” she whispered.


“My name’s Logan.”


“I’m Rogue…” The girl said with a timid smile. Logan…she decided that she liked that name very much. It was a good name, and it suited him.


“Rogue?” Logan retorted, puzzled. Just what kind of a name was ‘Rogue’?


The young girl smiled gain at his arched eyebrow, raised at her as if in question. “That’s the name they gave me, I don’t know any other name, that’s what they always called me.”



“The men in the labs…”



“How do you know?” Rogue had a movement as if to step back away from the man in front of her, for the first time feeling suspicious of him. But the look in his eyes as his amber colored gaze swept over to her, burned the last of her resistance away.


“Yes” The girl said, whispered, “and I escaped because I know I haven’t always been there…” she added weakly, her voice breaking with the last word.


She squeezed his hand as it still held hers and lowered herself to the floor where she started to sob uncontrollably. Then in one swift movement she plunged to his chest and burrowed her small face in his chest where it was safely covered by fabric. He cringed, afraid to hurt her again; she was so close to him again, to his skin.


“I won’t hurt you Logan…I promise…Please…I won’t ever hurt you again, hold me, please...” She said between sobs.


“I’m afraid to hurt *you*.” The man said, amazed to hear that she was worried about hurting him and not the other way around, just like all the people he’d met since he’s mutation popped out fifteen years ago.

He’d barely had any physical contact since that day. He had rarely held anyone this close in the lonely years that followed, and there she was clinging on to him, sobbing in his chest like it was the safest place in the world. She was in his arms and she wasn’t afraid. So hesitantly, ever so slowly, he let one of his gloved hand tangle in her messy hair as his chin gently dropped to the top of her head. It wasn’t a direct contact but it was the closest as it could get for him, and for the first time in his mutant life, he felt that he wasn’t alone anymore.

Rogue stayed there for what seemed like an eternity, lulled by the song of Logan’s heartbeats. She had been about to kill him and he was worried about her safety around him instead of being afraid of the freak she was. White streaked hair, and metal claws and bones, trained to kill; oh yes, she was a very dangerous mutant, she was a weapon. But there in his arms, she felt safe, almost normal. He wasn’t hating her, it was all the other way around, she was sure of it. He didn’t hate her. If anything, he smelt relieved and the previous tension in his shoulders just a memory now.



“Maybe we should eat a little, you must be starving.” He said, carefully caressing her greasy hair.



“…I don’t mean to bother you.”



“You don’t.” He said, then hesitated as he saw her frown slightly. He could practically hear her think and he knew how much she longed to clean the lab and her hard journey off her skin now. He would need a bath too. God, they were a mess. Still he didn’t know how to break it to her. He didn’t know how she would react if he mentioned this. He felt so silly and out of his depth right now; he just wasn’t used to talking to people. Not used to communicate, not used to intimacy.

Looking at her once again, he decided to be blunt about it, blurt it out and hope for the best. After what they just went through, he guessed they were past these petty considerations.



“There’s a bathtub in the basement, but we’ll need some water from the river.”



“Oh…” Was all the girl said. ‘That went well’, Logan thought.



“Is it alright?” The girl looked up to him. She sounded surprised but not outraged by his statement, so yes, it was a good sign…probably.



“Yes. Thank you, for everything. I won’t stay long…I’ll just…clean up a bit, and then I’ll go. If the river isn’t too far, I could get the water myself…” She offered, but Logan just shook his head, saying that he’d do it, she didn’t know the way, that it was okay, really.



Rogue tried not to move, tried to keep some of the feeling of safety her position in Logan’s embrace provided. She *really* wanted this bath but she was strangely reluctant to have to leave the comfort of his warmth…and his scent. Something about it made her want to purr. She thought about what she’d said. There was no way she could stay here with this man. For all extensive purpose, they were strangers, no matter how good she felt in his arms right now, and he didn’t correct her or offered her to stay longer when she said that she’d go. She had to leave and soon if she didn’t want to bring trouble to this man’s doorstep.



“Where will you go?” He then asked softly, not wanting to break the spell he too had fallen under without really noticing.



“I…I’m going South.” She retorted, lowering her gaze to the floor involuntarily.



“South? The States? Anyone you know there?” Logan asked, taking in her appearance once again, noticing the obviously burrowed clothes and the dried mud and blood on them. The girl had virtually nothing, no car, not even decent clothes. How did she want to get wherever it was she wanted to go; and it was the middle of winter for crying out loud! Winter in the North West Territories in Canada, was a force to be reckoned with, Logan could testify of that; and he *was* Canadian.



“I don’t know, but I feel I have to go there.” She had to, that was the only place she could almost remember; a sunbathed house by a lake, hidden among green leafy trees…And the South, wherever that may be; just somewhere real sunny and warm. She would recognize it when she’d get to it, she was sure!



“You could stay here.” Logan said forcing a casual tone. “For a while…Roads will probably be unusable by the time you’ll be ready to leave; winter is setting in well and good now.” He wanted her here with him, he needed her, needed to protect her.


Now where had *that* come from? Was it how *he* truly felt? The man still had a hard time getting a hold of the primal emotions battling in his mind. It was usually easier for him to sort out the personalities in his crowded head!



“No, I can’t. I’d only end up hurting you again. There are people after me, and I’m not the safest person to be around either.”



“Who’s after you?” Logan asked hastily, the desire to help and protect the young girl in his arms almost overwhelming. “And you don’t seem that dangerous to me. I’d rather be scared of *me* if I were you.” He added more softly this time, as if to himself.



“It’s better if you don’t know who those people are. And I’m not afraid of you.” She paused. “Are you afraid of me?” Rogue asked on the tone of confidence.



“No, I’m not.”


Silence stretched on between them as they still lay on the floor curled up around each other, refusing to let go.



“Everybody’s afraid of me” Rogue finally said, breaking the spell somewhat. “And they’re right.”



“I could claim the same…Killer skin doesn’t add up to ‘safe’. I can kill even when I’m asleep, almost without a thought.”



“I rarely sleep…”



“I know.”



She looked at Logan somewhat stunned by his answer. Feeling the smaller version of her he had in his head stir, he quickly prompted:

“That’s a part of my mutation. I don’t only take people’s life force, I also take their feelings and memories, everything they are rushes into me, and I can feel them in my head even long after they’ve touched me. They become a part of me.”



“Oh.” The girl said, averting her gaze, suddenly feeling ashamed. If he had a part of her stuck in his head it couldn’t be good. She was something else than human, that much she knew, but even as a mutant, she realized she was different.



He was still holding her in his arms, letting her body warm up to his. She was warmer by the moment, her life force pulsing all around her; so powerful. And she was in his head, but not only her, Logan noticed. Something darker than her but still a part of what she was, something more primal, deeper, almost animal lurking in the dark corners of her mind. He had never felt anything like this before. He knew he should be scared, but he couldn’t help himself, he caught a glimpse of who she was, of what she could do, but still he couldn’t make himself run from her. Now, she lived inside of him, she was a part of him.



“It’s not safe to stay near me either…” he added, lowering his lips to the top of her head.



“You’d never hurt me.” Rogue said, adamant.



“How can you tell? How can you be so sure? With my skin…How can you even stand being so close?”



“That’s what my instincts tell me, and I always trust my instincts, and they tell me that you’d never hurt me. I know I can trust you. What are your instincts telling you?”



Logan thought long and hard, trying to find the answer to that question. He tried to find the part that was only him, among the personalities crowding up his mind. Closing his eyes, he tried to center himself, and strangely enough, it had never been as easier than now. Something made him feel at peace.


“That I can trust you too.” He finally declared, once more brushing his lips to the crown of Rogue’s head. The tender gesture making her eyes roll close in pleasure. If he sensed it, the man holding her didn’t show. He just rose slowly, reluctantly to his feet, looking down at the young girl still lying on the floor.



“ I’ll get us some water before the snow starts to fall.”



“Us…?” Rogue asked, perplexed.



“Well, that is if you don’t mind. Id’ like to clean up a bit too.” Logan said pointing at his ruined clothing and the smeared blood on the skin visible through the tears of the many layers he wore. A flash of guilt and shame crossed Rogue’s face like a dark cloud at seeing the evidence of their violent encounter. If Logan noticed, he didn’t show.



With that he halfheartedly turned around, grabbed his jacket and two old wooden buckets that stood by the door and stepped out into the night. Rogue crawled after him but remained next to the bed, just where his blood was still staining the floor and she looked down at it fighting the urge to bend down and lick the floor clean from the thick, red splotches. What was wrong with her? No, she wouldn’t let the beast out, not now, not ever, she had to hold the leash harder and tighter than usual at least as long as he was around. So she just sat there, her eyes closed, monitoring his heartbeats as he stepped further and further away from the cabin. She’d clean up the floor later, when her mind would be hers again; the urge to soak up Logan’s precious blood off the floor and into herself was just too disturbingly strong, and she could only wonder at the strength of her reactions to him.



Rogue thought about the man’s offer to stay with him. God, it was tempting! There was nothing she’d want more than that… Have someone to be with her; stay with her and not hurt her or be afraid. Someone to *be* with. Then she thought about this monster lurking inside of her. She thought about what had just happened between Logan and her, about how easily she almost ended his life…And how she could heal him, maybe even touch him. God! Her mind was a mess, she couldn’t concentrate! It was stronger than her. His sweet and alluring scent was everywhere around her, in the air, on her skin, clouding her judgment. She wanted him, oh yes she wanted him; more than anything. She had to make sure he was alright, make sure he had everything he needed, because well, he was hers and that was all there was to it, he belonged to her even though he didn’t know it yet. As the minutes ticked by on an unseen clock, Rogue felt her grip on the beast inside her slip more and more, until she felt its presence buzz just beneath her skin.


“Mine.” She whispered to herself as her gaze shifted to the dancing flames in the fireplace. It was the first time she felt something so strong for someone, overwhelming. The beast in her screaming that he was hers and that she knew it, he was, she would die for him, and she would protect him.

The thought startled her so hard she felt it like a physical blow to her gut. No, she wasn’t safe to be around… But yet, how could she let him go? Rogue kept listening to the muffled sound of the man’s boots in the snow, his steady breathing as clearly as if he was still there in the room with her. She heard him come back and ran out to help him with the buckets, trying her best to push her primal need for him back to the darkest confines of her mind where it belonged.



Logan poured the water in a giant tank that stood in the basement next to the bathtub and he went out again and again until it was filled up completely. He lit a fire in a small stove-like case under the tank and stayed there watching the flickering flames. Logan knew the girl was there watching the whole scene without a word, he was attuned to her every move. She was tense. It had been such a long time since he felt someone else’s presence that close to him. He had been with women, a few ones bold or crazy enough to get that close to him, thrilled by the idea of high danger sex. But never had he felt the softness of a woman’s flesh under his bare hands, not even a kiss, not until tonight. And then trying to remember the feel of Rogue’s lips on his Logan unconsciously traced his lower lip with a leather clad fingertip. Yes, it felt warm, intimate and painful at the very same time. He had hurt her that way, with something as simple as a kiss he’d almost killed her. One night it happened too but his partner didn’t survive. He’d felt her in his head for weeks, still felt her every now and then when his guard was down, hearing her hateful screams and insults every single minute, he really thought he’d go mad at the time. He had been moving inside and out of her as fast as he could, as protected as he could but then something went wrong. Was it the two condoms that gave up under his desperate assaults on the woman’s body, or was it her frayed leggings, he didn’t know. All he could remember was that he felt a prickling sensation at the base of his member buried deep inside the nameless redhead and the next minute she was dying in his arms. Realizing that there was nothing he could do for her anymore, Logan ran away from the cheap motel room and drove like a mad man, until he crossed the border to Canada. But since that night he promised himself not to ever touch another woman again, no matter what. It was over five years ago.
And there was Rogue, who hadn’t died when he touched her and that thought set his every nerve on fire. But he wouldn’t do that, he couldn’t do that!


The smell of his arousal hit her like a punch to the gut. He wanted her. The beast in her mind roared and then purred his name in her head like a mantra.


“Mine.”



The word escaped her mouth even before she could react. She had made her choice and self control be damned. The man that had saved her hide tonight had taken her in and held her without fearing her or hating her; he would be her mate. He did what no one else had ever done for her. He didn’t reek of fear or sheer disgust when she was close, no, he smelt of nature, of outdoors, and he smelt like hers! The thought was maddening, she knew how desperate it all sounded, but how could she resist the call? Hunger and fatigue clouded her judgment too much for Rogue to focus on anything else than her primal needs; and it included ‘mating’, now.

Rogue stepped closer to Logan’s standing silhouette, inch after inch, silently. The claws in her forearms itching to break free, the tension in her so high it made her tremble. He turned around suddenly aware of her moves, warned by the new entity in his mind. He was feeling her every thought, her every need and her hunger. It wasn’t just about lust and sexual gratification, no, it was about trust, abandon and acceptation, and pure need, and he would be damned if he wasn’t craving those very same things. He stayed there, grounded by the overwhelming presence of her desire. How could someone so small and fragile looking display so much power and contained dominance. She was small and young looking, pure somehow. So he inched toward her, almost unconsciously, trying to understand the meaning of her.


Here he was, at last, close to her. He was so tall that she had to lift up her head full height to meet his eyes. He was also handsome, she could easily tell. She had seen many men in her remembered life; men from the labs, men thrown at her as rewards, men to play with. But she had never touched any of them, they reeked too much of fear, vomit if not other bodily fluids and of death. She never wanted to mate with any of them, they weren’t hers, not like the man standing now in front of her, and they didn’t care for her like he did. It had been her choice, she never backed down, and even though she knew the lab men would introduce her to a world of hurt for not doing as expected, even when those ‘men’ were supposed to be hers to do as she wished.


She lifted a hand to Logan’s flannel covered chest, sensing his heart rate speed up in anticipation. Hazel eyes looked down at her in awe as she started to tug at the buttons of the first shirt. She opened them one by one, taking her time, enjoying the man’s reactions under her ministrations.

His breathing was already erratic, Logan knew it was about to happen right here, right now. The first shirt gone, Rogue continued her explorations getting rid of the second and third layer of flannel and cotton, still attuned to the man’s physical response. But he didn’t move though, didn’t try to discard her from her clothes, he just stood there looking down at her undressing him.


Now the under shirt, a thin piece of white cotton cloth, almost transparent. And it’s her turn to stare in awe at the sculptured chest before her, enhanced vision allowing her to clearly see each detail, each freckle, and each silky hair. Rogue almost lost her composure at the sight of his erected nipples under the fabric and a shiver ran down her spine as the urge to lick them flashed bright and hot in her mind. Logan felt it too, his own self control harshly pressed, but he managed to keep his need down, still afraid of what could happen if he lost it.
He could never hurt her; he realized that, she was right. But now what? She knew she couldn’t touch him skin to skin, knew she might die if she did. Her hand trailed random patterns on his chest where it was protected by a thin layer of fabric, drawing small circles around his nipples, sending electricity throughout his body every time. He was about to spasm already and she knew it. He felt her hand slide down toward his straining groin and press his aching body slightly, just enough to make him clench his teeth and roll his eyes close in pleasure. At the very same time, he felt her warm lips close down on one of his nipples, and then her wet and overheated tongue lavishing upon each in turn, suckling and teasing it with her teeth.


“No, please stop…I can’t…we can’t…please...” Logan tried to articulate between panting and moaning, hands hovering by the girl’s arms, wanting to get her to stop, but yet unwilling to ever see the end of what she’d just started. What was she playing at? He was almost at a breaking point!


“Why?” she murmured, her face still buried in his chest, trailing open mouthed kisses up and down the well defined expanse, her hands never resting still; one low across his denim clad buttocks and caressing, the other clasped on the growing bulge at the front of his jeans.


“I can’t do that…I could kill you.” he said throat tight at the thought, but his body already taking up a rhythm, hips undulating, pushing towards Rogue’s hands.


“You won’t kill me, you won’t ever hurt me. You want it, don’t you?”


“Yes…Oh, yes I do, but…You don’t understand. I just can’t do it.” Still unmoving his arms, acutely aware of their nakedness, of their danger.


Rogue’s hands suddenly stopped and he immediately missed their warmth. She looked at him with an unreadable look to her face. Was she mad he’d refuse her? Was she testing him? The idea was somewhat ludicrous.


“I’ll fill up the tub.” He said after a long pause. “Take your time.”


And with those words Logan was out of the basement leaving Rogue alone with her unfulfilled hunger. What was his problem? She was there, he wanted her and she wanted him, things should have gone differently. Why? That’s when the strong, bitter smell of his pain, anger and frustration reached her. He wanted to take her, but he wouldn’t allow himself because of what he was, his own desire and hunger notwithstanding, he would never take her no matter what.



As realization slowly sank in, Rogue looked at the tub filled with steaming hot water and the beast in her mind murmured that she would have him, she just had to find the right way; there had to be a way. But more than that, beside the desire, there was the beginning of something else. She cared for him, he was hers, and her duty was to help him, let him feel that there was nothing wrong with him and that he could trust her.


His skin, there had to be a way around it, to allow him to touch and be in contact with those around him; with her. Of all people, Rogue knew exactly what touching someone meant. It meant memories, it meant safety, sometimes pain, but it was the best way of knowing who or what you were dealing with. Touching meant death for her too somehow, but she knew there was something else to it, she felt it when that woman in the lab touched her. It was so long ago and it felt so good that she actually cried; it talked about affection and safety and that’s what she wanted to offer Logan as much as she could, even if she didn’t know a lot about that, about showing all that.


She entered the tub after letting go of her dirty clothes and immersed herself completely in the water, still a little confused by the turn the events were taking. Yes, she could help him, she was sure of that, but would he let her?