Rogue cranked up the A/C and fiddled with the tuner until she found a country station. She peeled off her gloves and tossed them in the empty passenger seat, letting bare palms settle back onto the Jeep’s steering wheel and looking out over the open stretch of highway. Traffic had been light all afternoon; nothing but brilliant autumn woods on both sides and that long, smooth stripe of asphalt as far as she could see.

Vacation. A week in Vermont. Charles had been right; this was just what she needed. She’d been forced to absorb too many foreign thoughts, feelings, and mutations these past few months. She needed a little time alone, or what passed for alone in her ever-crowded mind. It was time to get back in touch with Marie.

Speaking of which . . .

She focused for a moment, keeping moderate attention on the road as she retreated to her inner world.

Charles and Jean had helped her construct this refuge over their years of sessions, and it ended up looking much like the mansion in Westchester, mainly since they all knew that place from the blueprints up. Rogue pushed open the heavy oak doors, vividly envisioning the foyer, immersing herself right down to the sound of her heels clicking across the tiles, up a familiar stairway, and through the corridor to her own room.

Rogue knocked politely. “Marie?”

The door swung open of its own accord. Rogue stepped in, scanning the room, and paused when she saw herself sitting on the bed in meditation.

Well, not herself, exactly. Marie’s features were softer—younger, in a way. There were no white streaks in her hair, no scars on her ankles and wrists from the time those FOH jerks kidnapped her. Her eyes were still warm brown rather than Carol’s piercing green. Rogue thought of all the scars her body bore, every attack, mental and physical, that she had endured to keep her deepest self, Marie, from enduring them. Rogue protected Marie from the cruelty of the world, and Marie protected Rogue from becoming hardened by that cruelty. They balanced each other, as best they could.

Marie looked up from her meditation. “I been strengthenin’ the barriers around Sabertooth,” she said in an accent still untouched by ten years in New York. “I sure wish you woulda never absorbed that creep. Every time he gets loose, I swear—smashin’ walls, clawin’ up furniture, makin’ a mess like you wouldn’t believe, Rogue. Even worse than Carol used to be.”

Rogue just quirked her lips in a smile. “Believe me, sugar, I didn’t wanna touch that overgrown furball either. But he’s fadin’ already, I can tell.”

Marie nodded. “We didn’t absorb too much of him. Should be gone in a couple weeks.”

“Good,” Rogue said. “Sounds like ya got things under control. And now that we’re on vacation, I want you to start comin’ out more, hear me? You can’t hide in this room forever, sugar.”

“I know,” Marie conceded. “I’m just tired, is all. It’s a handful, keepin’ all the chaos under control in this head of ours.”

“Don’t I know it,” Rogue sighed. “Well, better get my attention back to the road. Vacation won’t do us much good if I can’t get us there in one piece.”

“Bye, Rogue.” Marie smiled and gave a small wave before settling back into her meditative pose.

Rogue blinked a few times. The room swirled and faded as her focus returned to the outer world. She sighed once more, settling back in her seat, turning up the radio, and letting Collin Raye’s growly voice convince her, “You’re my kind of girl.”

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

“Xavier, you said?” The girl at the front desk perked up, her baby-soft face dimpled with an overeager smile.

“Um. Yeah?” Rogue replied, wondering how she had suddenly become charming enough to warrant adoration from strangers. The unusual hair, leather jacket, and gloves that never came off tended to scare most folks.

The girl practically gushed with enthusiasm. “You must be Ms. D’Ancanto. It’s so nice to meet you! Well, after speaking with Charlie—” Rogue’s jaw dropped, “we decided to book you the cabin near the edge of the lake. It’s private, secluded, and very relaxing . . .”

Rogue was still hung on ‘Charlie,’ trying and failing to reconcile that name with her image of the stately gentleman who ran a school for mutants, held sway over some of the most powerful political figures in the world, and, with the help of his X-men, conquered evil on a pretty much daily basis.

The girl had picked up a clipboard and a set of keys, coming around the desk to place a hand on Rogue’s arm. Rogue flinched away, and the girl let her hand drop. “Uhh…,” she said a bit awkwardly, “anyway, I’m Tiffani with an ‘i,’ and you can feel free to ask for me if you need anything. Have you already taken advantage of our excellent valet and bellhop services?”

Rogue simply nodded. Charlie? Really?

“Great!” The dimply smile reappeared. “Follow me then. I’ll show you to your lodgings.”

Rogue followed the girl out along a well-tended trail. A blonde ponytail bobbed as she talked incessantly, firing off a well-practiced spiel, and Rogue let herself drift away from the conversation.

“. . . Several nature trails, for everyone from the casual hiker to the experienced trail runner . . .”

The woods really were nice. They had obviously been thinned, but it seemed the resort had tried to keep a natural feel with the mulch-covered footpaths winding unobtrusively through autumn foliage.

“ . . . Where you’ll find the exercise facilities, restaurant, and of course the indoor pool . . .”

They rounded a bend in the path, and Rogue’s breath caught in her throat. The sun, low in the sky, seemed to set the trees aflame in every shade of red and gold. A calm blue lake stood out in sharp contrast, and at the near edge of the lake sat a small cabin with smoke billowing from the chimney to disappear in the evening air. It looked like a picture from a calendar, not like anything Rogue had seen in real life.

“I knew you’d like it!” The girl’s smile widened further, if that was at all possible, and Rogue felt her own lips curl upward in response.

“It’s—it’s gorgeous,” she whispered.

“It’s yours,” Tiffani with an ‘i’ replied, holding out the keys. “Enjoy your stay, Ms. D’Ancanto!”

Rogue made her way toward the cabin, eyes wide, still soaking in the view. “I will. I definitely will.”

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

The bath was full and steamy, candles flickering all around. Gentleman Jack sat on the tub’s generous ledge, and Rogue poured herself another glass, enjoying the smooth sweetness on her tongue followed by the burn in her throat. Yes, the Gentleman’s attentions were much appreciated tonight. She could already feel her muscles unwinding, a pleasant fog softening the edges of her mind. She started to wonder what her teammates were up to, but immediately pushed the thought away, settling deeper into the water. The X-men were more than capable of holding things down without her.

Well, they could handle outside threats, anyway. If Rogue had anything to worry about, it was her newest teammate, Wolverine. He and Cyclops had been at each other’s throats for two weeks, ever since Charles recruited the guy and gave him a spot on the senior team—much to the anger of the junior members who’d been competing for that promotion for months.

Rogue didn’t understand Charles’ reasons, but she trusted his judgment implicitly. If he thought Wolverine was the best man for the job, then she thought so too.

It didn’t hurt that he’d saved her ass during their last mission. If not for the Wolverine’s fighting skills, she would have been forced to absorb even more of Sabertooth, and that was not an appealing option. Rogue shuddered, downing the rest of her whiskey in one gulp.

It also didn’t hurt that Wolverine—Logan, that was his other name—Logan looked really, really good in the uniform. Rogue smiled, knowing Marie had brought that thought to the surface. Rogue didn’t usually entertain those kinds of thoughts—what was the point, after all, with her being the way she was? But Marie still liked to think that someday, she’d have the kind of relationships she saw others having. Relationships built around touch, around physical affection. Rogue decided to let her inner self entertain the fantasy, and poured herself another glass.

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

Sunrise over the lake was just as gorgeous as sunset had been, and Rogue took her coffee out on the deck to enjoy it. The morning air made the backs of her hands tingle with cold, while the coffee mug made her palms tingle with warmth. The dual sensation was almost overwhelming to her long-deprived senses, but she resisted the urge to get her gloves. She wanted to feel, to touch everything and store up every sensation she could during this week of freedom, before she went back to the mansion. Back to the constant, looming fear that one careless brush of skin could harm one of her teammates, or worse, one of the children.

She had a sudden urge to know how ice-cold lake water would feel running between her fingers. She set her coffee down and walked barefoot, savoring the crunch of fallen leaves and brittle grass. Her toes dug into the damp earth at the lake’s shore, and her fingers dipped down to pierce its opaque blue-black surface.

Cold, cold, cold. The sensation shot up nerve endings that were long-accustomed to experiencing the world through a shield of leather.

Rogue—or perhaps Marie?—laughed in pure delight. It felt so . . . so . . . not good, not bad, just vivid. She imagined this was how Scott would feel if he could take off the red-tinted glasses and suddenly see the world in all its myriad colors. She let her fingers drift through the water for a long moment, then rose and went back to the deck to finish her coffee.

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

“Just wanted to call and let you know I got settled in alright. Thanks again, Charles. This place is just—just amazing.”

“I’m glad,” the Professor responded, and Rogue could hear the smile in his voice. “You, my dear, have more than earned it. I look forward to seeing you soon.”

“Yeah, soon. Bye.” Rogue set the phone back in its cradle and sat down on the bed to pull on her boots. She tugged her well-worn jacket over her tanktop and tucked a pair of gloves into the back pocket of her jeans, just in case.

Rogue made her way down the trail to the front office. Tiffani with an ‘i’ was not on duty, but another generically young, blond, and cheery girl sat in her place. She smiled at Rogue and answered her questions about the nature trails, offering up a map.

Rogue looked from the map to her own bare hands several times before summoning the courage to reach out and take it. She hoped the tremor in her hand wasn’t too obvious as her fingertips closed over the glossy paper. She jerked her hand back and stuffed the map into her pocket, swallowing thickly. “Thanks,” she whispered.

The girl seemed unfazed by the odd exchange. “Sure. Oh, and Ms. D’Ancanto?”

“Hm?”

“If you choose to take the two-mile trail up north, there’s a spot about halfway through where the trail forks. The map tells you to go left, but if you head right, it only adds about a half mile to your trip. It goes past these cliffs, and well, the view is just to die for. Not many people know about it.”

“Thanks, uh—”

“Stephany,” the girl supplied, “with a ‘y.’”

“Thanks, Stephany.” Rogue attempted a smile and turned, heading out of the office.

“Enjoy your hike!” the girl called out as the door shut.

Safely outside, Rogue pulled the map from her pocket and muttered to herself, “Good grief, folks sure are friendly around here.”

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

Half a mile, huh? Rogue was pretty sure she’d been hiking longer than that since the fork in the trail, and there were no cliffs in sight. Maybe she’d misunderstood the girl. Oh well. She was in no hurry. She’d go a bit further before turning back.

Rogue looked up into the trees, absently running her fingers over rough bark as she watched the sunlight filter down through the leaves. Her feet meandered on the path, which had grown a bit rougher. The carefully tended mulch had given way to beaten dirt, and the woods grew thicker around her. It was nice. She felt more certainly alone with every step, more able to let go of the worry that always nagged her to cover up her toxic skin. She peeled off her jacket and let the crisp air bite into her.

A few more steps, and the trail turned left and steeply upward. Rogue pressed her fingers into the ground, half walking, half climbing, until she finally came upon the promised cliffs.

“Oh, wow,” she breathed, looking out over an immense wooded valley.

“Like I said, isn’t it just to die for?” a familiar voice murmured close behind her.

Rogue nearly jumped out of her skin, hovering uncontrollably for a moment as she whirled around. “What the—how did you—oomph!” The last sound was every ounce of air exiting her lungs in a rush, as her question was cut off by a massive tree trunk slamming into her torso.

Rogue toppled backward, trying to draw a breath and failing with a miserable wheeze, and then she was falling, tumbling end over end, slamming into the sheer face of the cliff wherever rocks occasionally jutted out. Jolts of pain shot through her, one after another—shoulder, thigh, skull—as her invulnerable skin met sharp stones that would have torn a normal body to shreds.

Fly, fly, fly, Carol’s voice in her brain screamed, and it dimly registered before it was drowned out by Pain, fear, and I can’t breathe! Gasp. Wheeze. Her mind cried out instinctively, Help! Charles, help me! She couldn’t get her lungs to fill properly, and she closed her eyes against the ground racing up at her and begged—to God or nature or whoever would listen—begged not to die.

Rogue felt something jerk her body up, and opened her eyes to find that she was hovering an inch above the ground. She tried to draw in a breath of relief, managed a slightly louder wheeze, and fell.

Fuck. Shit. Fucking shit. IT HURTS! were the only thoughts she managed before something massive and heavy landed near her, shaking the ground. A sharp kick connected with her tender ribs, knocking her over on her back.

“Fuck!” this time she gasped the word aloud and focused on the hateful face glaring down at her. She wheezed again, and the smell of his breath was unbearable, even at this distance. “Saber . . . Sabe . . .” she tried to push the name out through gritted teeth.

“I’m here to repay a debt.” Another vicious blow to the ribs drew streams of tears from her eyes. “You gave me one hell of an ass-kicking, for such a little girl. But don’t worry. I’ll pay you back, with interest.” He growled savagely, and this time the kick connected with her temple, plunging the world into darkness for a few moments.

Rogue fought her way back up, forcing her eyes to focus, willing her lungs to inflate so she could think, could make her damn brain send a message to her muscles. Move . . . absorb . . . grab him . . . grab . . . It was no use. The world swam before her, blue sky and golden leaves . . . No, blue skin and golden eyes . . . Stephany . . . Mystique. Damn it. Damn . . . the darkness swept up again, and with another kick her eyes fell shut.

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

Charles looked up from the expense report he’d been scanning. Something was coming. A burst of telepathic energy surged towards him from far away. It was powerful and raw, not the skilled transmission of another telepath, but a crude plea for help from a mind to which he was deeply attuned.

Charles barely had time to brace himself before the ripple of emotion reached him, entering his mind with all the subtlety of an oncoming train. Fear. And pain, terrible pain. Help! Charles, help me!

And then . . . nothing.

“Rogue!” he said in alarm, immediately sending up a call to arms to every X-man in the mansion. Trouble. Gear up. Meet me at Cerebro.

Charles left his office and went straight to the elevator, entering the code that would lower him to the mansion’s deepest subbasement.

Cyclops and Beast were already suited up and waiting for him when the door slid open. “We were in the danger room when we heard your call,” Scott said by way of explanation. “What is it, Professor?”

Charles felt another presence and glanced down the hall to see the other elevator descending. “One moment, Scott. I’ll explain.”

The elevator opened to reveal Wolverine, still tugging on his gloves, flexing his hands to adjust the fit. He crossed the hall in a few long strides, stopping at Xavier’s side. He nodded to Hank and cast only a perfunctory glare at Cyclops. Their mutual hostility seemed to be waning—slightly—with time.

“Where are the others?” Cyclops directed the question to Wolverine.

He sneered. “I look like a babysitter to you, bub?”

Hank spoke up. “Pardon me, but I believe Kurt and Remy are doing a security consultation with the French ambassador. Jean and Ororo should be en route now from the press conference in Washington.”

Xavier cut in, “We cannot afford to wait for them. I sensed a cry of distress from Rogue. She was in pain, and now,” he shook his head, “now I am unable to sense her at all.”

Logan’s eyes narrowed. “That mean she’s—”

“Unconscious,” Scott interjected. “She could be unconscious.”

The Professor’s mouth was set in a grim line. “Yes. I am hoping that is the case. This is a rescue mission, until we know otherwise.”

“Will you be joining us, Charles?” Hank asked in his cultured voice, as though he were inviting the man to tea.

Charles felt Wolverine tense in anger. The new recruit didn’t know Hank well enough yet to understand that his seeming nonchalance was anything but. The Beast only used that tone when he was trying desperately to rein himself in. Charles sent a wave of calm to his friend’s mind, helping him maintain control over his inner monster. “No, I think not. I’ll be of most use here, in Cerebro. I shall inform you immediately if I gain any useful information. Until then—”

He projected a series of images into their minds.

Scott nodded, taking in the information. “But Professor, that resort backs up to a federal wildlife reserve. You’re saying she could be anywhere in miles of wilderness. Can’t you be more specific?”

“I’m afraid not,” Xavier said. “It will be impossible to pinpoint Rogue’s location unless she wakes up. But perhaps . . .” he looked up at Wolverine.

Wolverine nodded once, before the question was even asked. “I’ll need something she’s worn.”

“Hm, yes,” Charles replied, thinking for a moment. “Cyclops will show you to her room. Hank, if you would prepare the jet?”

“Right away. Meet me in the hangar, gentlemen.” Then Hank headed down the hallway in one direction, Cyclops and Wolverine in the other.

Charles put a hand to his temple and sent out a message he had little hope would be received. Hold on, Rogue. Help is on the way.

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

Logan followed One-Eye to the area of the mansion he recognized as the teachers’ wing. He was staying in a guest room on the opposite end, until Chuck could make more permanent arrangements. Arrangements that included a private apartment on the edge of the grounds. It was one of his many conditions for signing on—Logan didn’t go for this communal living crap.

Scott stopped at the last door on the right and pulled a key from his pocket, fitting it neatly into the lock.

Logan raised an eyebrow. “You always walk around with keys to the ladies’ rooms, Cyke?”

His goad worked, as the younger man turned red. “I have a master key for emergencies. What are you implying, Furface?”

“I ain’t implying nothin’. I’m sayin’ if you feel the need to shop around, I might have to take that redhead off your hands, show her what it’s like to be with a real man—”

Scott pushed the door open, and Logan didn’t have to see his eyes to know that he was rolling them. “Would you give it a rest, already? I know my wife is beautiful, even without a jealous bastard like you reminding me all the time.”

Logan just smirked. He had to give the guy credit. That was a pretty good comeback—for a pansy.

“So, uh . . .” Cyclops faltered as he walked into the suite, glancing around. “I don’t really know what you’re looking for . . .”

Logan stepped in and gave Rogue’s living space a quick appraisal. He was a bit surprised, though he’d never speculated what her room might look like.

What she might look like under that bodysuit, sure, but he hadn’t gotten far enough to be seriously pondering her bedroom furnishings. Yet.

A mahogany four-poster dominated one wall, the crisp white bedding a bit rumpled where she must have laid out her suitcase to pack. The bedside table held a small stack of books, an empty glass, and half a bottle of barrel proof whiskey. His lips twitched up in approval.

Aha, there. Between the mahogany dresser and what he assumed was the door to her bathroom. A hamper. He strode over and raised the lid, letting her scent wash over him. He was suddenly very aware of Scott’s eyes on his back as he lifted articles of clothing from the hamper.

“What are you looking for?” Scott asked, obviously uncomfortable invading the room of someone as private as Rogue. “How hard can it be to find something that—uh, smells like her?”

Logan continued sifting through clothing as he spoke, “Like her? Pretty damn difficult, actually. Which you’d understand if ya paid more attention.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Logan shrugged. “There’s a whole world goin’ on right under your nose, Cyke, and you’re too thick to even sense it.” He lifted a sweater, inhaling experimentally before tossing it to him. “What do you get off that?”

Scott made a face. “You want me to sniff her shirt?”

“Hey, you asked me, remember?”

Scott curled his lip, but held the shirt up and took an experimental whiff. “Uh, I dunno. It smells like flowers to me.”

“Yeah, jasmine. That’s her perfume. And under that there’s fabric softener, lotion, deodorant. Hand soap near the cuffs. And I’m pretty damn sure none of that’s what she’s gonna smell like if she’s scared and hurt out in the middle of a forest. I gotta find what she smells like underneath all that stuff.”

He turned back to the hamper and considered picking up the scrap of lace that held her scent most strongly. But he didn’t exactly want One-Eye gawking at him while he stuck his nose in Rogue’s panties. Damn. He settled for a scarf, which must have rubbed against the place behind her ear where her scent was also strong. He breathed it in, too faint to really imprint on his senses, but it would have to do.

It was a good scent. He breathed it in more deeply, feeling a rush of animal attraction that made him want to find her and truly imprint her in his mind.

He turned and stuffed the scarf in his pocket, pushing the animal urge away. He’d settle just for finding her alive.

Rogue blinked her way to consciousness, then immediately wished to be knocked out again. Her head pounded unbearably, and she didn’t dare move for fear it would send new waves of pain coursing through her. Her mouth was dry, but at least she could breathe, shallowly, without too much pain.

She had been moved, probably deeper into the valley. She now lay in a clearing densely surrounded by forest. But it was still early afternoon, judging by the sun. She couldn’t have been out long. Why would Sabertooth drag her out here and leave her in the woods? Hell, why would Sabertooth leave her alive?

Rogue caught some movement in the corner of her eye and turned her head to it. The massive mutant was skulking towards her, lips twisted and teeth bared in an expression too depraved to be called a smile. “Good, you’re awake,” he purred. “I wanted you to be awake for it.”

Rogue’s stomach turned at his words, and she pushed Marie down, deep into the recesses of her mind. She didn’t want Marie to experience this, needed some pure piece of herself to cling to, in case she somehow managed to survive. Pain be damned, she felt adrenaline surge through her body and knew her only hope was to move, fast, go—

But she couldn’t. She looked down over herself, finding her ankles and wrists shackled. Her heart sank. Not again. At least this time the cuffs wouldn’t be able to cut into her skin and leave scars. She strained against the thick metal, but her already throbbing shoulder lit up in agony. She was too weak to even break the chains, much less fly. Perhaps, if she could just get back to full strength . . .

But he was over her now. Always panting, the stale smell of his breath filling the air and making her gag. She squirmed helplessly, then realized with a pang of disgust that was probably what he wanted. Sure enough, his breath quickened at the sight of her writhing body, and he almost reached out to grab her bare arm before he remembered and jerked his hand away.

Rogue managed a weak laugh. “Just try it, fleabag,” she ground out. “Kiss me, I dare ya.”

“GRRR!!” He snarled angrily and kicked her again, and though the pain drew fresh tears, she laughed at his back as he retreated.

“Tsk, tsk, Sabertooth,” Mystique’s liquid tone slinked into the air from somewhere close by. “Don’t break her yet. You’ll ruin my plans.”

Rogue did not like the sound of that. Plans? The last time she got involved in the Brotherhood’s plans, she wound up with white-streaked hair and a head full of holocaust atrocities. Lucky for her, Cyclops had blasted their damn machine to bits before they could sacrifice her in it. Even so, she was not keen on repeating the experience.

Sabertooth growled. “Bitch gets her strength back and those chains ain’t gonna hold her no more. I say we kill her now.”

Mystique came to stand over her, and Rogue looked up into those eerie yellow eyes, refusing to show fear. Mystique smirked. Her voice was silken, “I don’t want to kill her. I want to destroy her.” She glared down at Rogue for a moment more, then turned to Sabertooth. “Fetch them.”

He nodded, and ran off into the woods.

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

The Blackbird couldn’t touch down soon enough for Logan’s tastes. Proud he didn’t toss his cookies during One-Eye’s rough landing, he hurried down the ramp and onto solid ground. He took a moment to get his bearings, looking out over the lake, the little cabin, the trees all lit up with the fiery afternoon sun. Damn, it was beautiful. Hard to imagine Rogue could be out here somewhere, unconscious or worse.

The wind blew a scent in his direction, and he recognized it, remembering why he was here. Cyclops and Beast followed him to Rogue’s cabin.

Logan climbed onto the porch, taking in the empty coffee mug, imagining the pretty southern woman who must have been out here this morning, enjoying what was supposed to be a relaxing vacation. He looked out towards the lake. His eye caught on her bare footprints at the water’s edge. He could almost see her, standing out there, and was stunned to feel his throat tighten at the thought. He shook his head. He’d find her. He didn’t know why, but he had to find her.

“The doors are locked.” McCoy’s voice pulled him from his thoughts.

“Not for long.” He turned and popped a claw, cutting out the deadbolt and door handle in one smooth swipe.

The three X-men surveyed the cabin quickly, finding little of interest. Nothing to give a clue of Rogue’s whereabouts. Logan took a swig of the Gentleman Jack she considerately left on the bathtub ledge and popped his neck a few times. Looked like it was up to him. He pulled the scarf from his pocket to bring her scent back to the forefront of his mind, and concentrated on tracking it.

Letting instinct take over, he walked out of the front door and started down the footpath, then glanced back to find Cyclops and Beast looking at him expectantly. Idiots. “Well? You comin’ or what?”

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

Mystique sighed delicately, letting the hunting knife drop from her gloved hands. “If it weren’t for that invulnerable skin of yours . . . . Oh well. I’ll just have to be creative.”

Rogue tested the metal cuffs again. They still wouldn’t budge. Trying to crawl away would only piss off her captors. And massive hulking body and sharp claws notwithstanding, she knew Mystique was more dangerous than Sabertooth any day. Better to just keep still and hope for her strength to return.

Mystique was digging through a large bag. Rogue looked away, not sure she even wanted to know what was inside it. Then Mystique returned with . . . a gasoline jug? What, was she going to burn the forest down? Surely she knew that Rogue’s skin was as impervious to fire as it was to knives. Though she supposed that wouldn’t stop her insides from boiling. Oh God.

“Sabertooth should be returning any moment now.” Mystique opened the jug and began to pour.

Rogue felt warm, thick, sticky liquid splash over her bare arms, down her chest, drenching her ripped jeans. She looked down at her body and cringed. Was that—was that blood?

Then the smell hit her, thick and metallic, and the feel of it, stringy as it began to congeal on her skin. Definitely blood. She didn’t want to think about where it came from or why this was happening. She just hurt everywhere, and she was so tired, and those damned shackles still refused to budge.

Then she heard it. Footsteps, several of them tearing through the woods, rapidly approaching. The X-men? she allowed herself to hope. Maybe she was saved, maybe they had come to—no. No.

It wasn’t her teammates approaching through those woods. And there were way more than several of them. Sabertooth stopped at the edge of the clearning, and Rogue looked out into the dizzying number of golden eyes behind him, all trained on her. The wolves whimpered and slobbered and whined, waiting for him to give the signal, it seemed.

Rogue froze, heart pounding. As if the adrenaline level in her body could get any higher. She began to squirm again, uselessly trying to get upright, and looked up just in time to see Mystique overturn the jug, dumping the last of its contents on her head. She closed her eyes, spitting and gagging and gulping in breaths of air that sent bolts of pain through her ribs.

Rogue didn’t want to give them the satisfaction, but she couldn’t help it as the gulps of air became jerkier, and started coming out as sobs. “Oh God oh God oh God. Why?” she asked, unable to open her eyes for fear that the blood would get in them.

“Why?” Mystique echoed. “You want to know why?”

Rogue heard the wolves growling and snapping, growing impatient. “Mystique, please. Don’t do this. Please, Mama—”

“You betrayed me,” her voice was low, but it trembled with anger. “I’m not your mama.”

“Don’t say that! I may have left the Brotherhood, but—”

“After all I did for you,” her voice trembled again, “you threw me to the wolves, Rogue. Payback’s a bitch.”

As Rogue heard their footsteps retreat, she summoned every last ounce of strength to get to her knees. She half-crawled, half-dragged her body across the clearing, but it was hopeless. She felt the first bite close around her leg, and then the entire pack was upon her.

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

Logan had followed the scent down to the front lodge, then north up a mulch-covered footpath. Rogue’s trail was pretty fresh, which made it much easier to follow even without a complete imprint of her scent. He hurried along the footpath, barely aware of the two men following him. When a dirt trail forked off from the main path, he took it.

The woods had just begun to grow thicker, the trail rougher, when a gust of wind assaulted his senses and froze him in his tracks.

Beast and Cyclops stopped behind him. “What?” the latter asked, sounding out of breath. “What is it, Logan?”

The question registered belatedly, and he managed to respond, “Blood. A lot of it.” Then Logan tore down the path, trees a blur of colors as they flew past his vision. The path swerved left and he swerved with it, claws dragging the ground for leverage as he climbed. He hadn’t even realized they had come out.

He slid to a stop at the edge of a cliff, looking down over a massive valley. Blood and fear. So thick it overwhelmed his senses. She had to be down there somewhere.

“I have to get down there,” he growled to no one in particular.

“This way,” Beast said from somewhere behind him. “We can circle around—”

Screw that. He wasn’t about to waste another second. Rogue might not have one to spare. He jumped, extending an arm behind him to let his claws scrape the face of the cliff, slowing his descent. He landed seconds later on his feet, thankful for the metal skeleton that kept his legs from fracturing on impact. A few gashes from the rough stones, but they healed as he ran.

He shot past the treeline, perfectly in his element as he dodged exposed roots and low-hanging branches without slowing for a moment. The metallic tang of blood grew so strong he could almost taste it, and as he approached its source he began to hear noises. Growls, snarls, vicious bestial sounds. Then there were yelps of pain. Then whimpers, growing softer and softer. Then more snarls that faded to whimpers. What the hell?

He smelled something else now, almost as strong as the blood. There had to be at least twenty of them, dogs, or perhaps wolves? He remembered Cyclops saying this was some kind of wildlife reserve.

He couldn’t even smell Rogue anymore under all the other information flooding his senses. He wondered if he’d made a mistake, if he was going the wrong way. Then he heard a horrible cry. He’d know that sound anywhere.

It was the same cry he’d heard when she touched Sabertooth.

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

Rogue’s entire world was reduced to pain: the feel of teeth digging into flesh, jaws shaking and snapping in rage as they failed to puncture her unbreakable skin. Then, after a few seconds, the pull, the feel of the beasts clinging greedily to her even as she drained their life from them.

And thoughts rushing into her mind like a tidal wave. Thoughts that had no words, no logic, thoughts that weren’t attached to any sense of self.

Instincts. The pack. Our pack. They were dying all around her, and there was nothing she could do to stop it. She cried out, howled in pure terror.

And then the world outside disappeared completely. Rogue landed with a thud on the floor of the mansion. Her hands and feet were no longer bound, she noticed dimly as she scrambled up the steps and down the hall, where Marie was already waiting outside her door, following Rogue’s approach like a deer in the headlights.

“What the hell are you doin’?” Rogue said breathlessly. “Get in there and shut the damn door!”

“But—” Marie started.

“No buts,” Rogue cut her off, shoving her into the room. “They’re coming.” Barks and growls grew louder, the sound of claws scraping for purchase on the tile floor. Rogue stepped back into the hallway and pulled the door shut.

Marie pounded on it from the other side, trying the handle, but Rogue held it tight. “Rogue!” she cried. “Rogue, no! Let me help you.”

“Don’t you dare come out, Marie,” Rogue’s voice trembled as she heard the claws tearing up the stairwell. “Don’t you dare. There’s too many of’em. I need to keep you safe.”

Rogue felt a hand come down on her shoulder and whirled. “Carol. Dangit, this really ain’t the time!”

Carol looked back with piercing green eyes that matched her own. “I’ll take care of Marie. If she goes, we all go, and I don’t want that any more than you do. You just try and hold them off.”

Rogue nodded, and Carol slipped into the room, shutting the door behind her.

That left Rogue alone in the hallway. She steeled herself, focusing all her mental reserves on strengthening that door, locking Marie away as tightly as she could.

Rogue kept focusing as the foreign thoughts slammed into her, ripping her apart, altering her mind irreparably. She just held fast to that door until the endless stream of animal thoughts finally swept her away.

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

Logan came upon the edge of the clearing and nearly tripped over himself in shock at the scene before him.

Fresh wolf carcasses littered the ground, a dozen or more, and not a scratch on them. They looked—asleep. Logan felt his stomach turn at the eerie sight.

A few remained, nuzzling their dead packmates and whimpering pitifully. Logan’s eyes followed the carnage to its epicenter, just in time to see another wolf snarl and dig its teeth into—no!

He leapt forward with a snarl of his own and ripped through the animal’s neck with his claws, then threw it aside with no care for where it landed. His focus was elsewhere. “Rogue?” The claws snicked back in as he fell to his knees. He ran a gloved hand over her blood-smeared cheek. “Oh, Rogue.”

Her left shoulder was dislocated, her right leg definitely bent at an odd angle. Her hands and feet were bound, and he roared at the sight. Who the fuck could tie up a woman like that and leave her to a pack of wolves?

But—he ripped off the remains of her shredded shirt without any care for modesty. There wasn’t a scratch or a bite mark on her. Just drying blood caked all over her clothes and skin and hair. He had no idea where it could have come from.

He scooped her up carefully, still shaking with rage. Her pulse was faint and growing fainter by the second. He forced words around the growing lump in his throat, “I didn’t come all the way out here just so you could die on me, darlin’. Wake up. You gotta hang on ‘til Dr. McCoy gets here.”

Even as he said the words, he feared she wouldn’t last that long. He laid her out gently on the leaves, kneeling over her. “Shit. This is gonna hurt, ain’t it?” he said as he pulled off his leather glove and pressed his palm to her forehead.

The first thing to enter Logan’s awareness was the sound of the machine beeping nearby. Next was the pungent smell of bleach in his nostrils, followed shortly by the feel of the papery sheet scratching his skin.

A heart-sinking feeling of panic, flashbacks to his horrific experience as a guinea pig, and the general desire to rip out the heart of the first living thing that dared cross his path were all par for the course.

He let his eyelids crack open slowly, adjusting to the too-bright, sterile environment.

“You’re up. Oh, thank God. You had us all worried, Logan.” Jean. He did want to rip out her heart for a fleeting moment. But then he caught her eyes and she was so damn pretty that he settled for ripping the IV out of his arm with a menacing growl. He sat up and managed to dislodge the rest of the cords and sensors attached to his body in the process.

“Rogue?” he asked gruffly. A quick glance confirmed the rest of the cots in the infirmary were empty. Good. She must be up and around already.

The doctor sighed, turning off the myriad electronics she’d hooked him up to for one reason or another. “Still no sign of her. After Hank brought you in, he and the others went straight back to Vermont. They’re combing the woods with Scott right now.”

Logan leapt to his feet, ignoring the head rush. “The hell’s that s’posed to mean?” he demanded.

Jean stumbled back, and he realized he had been towering over her. “I—do you not remember? Logan, you were attacked. It seems you fought off an entire pack of wolves before Scott and Hank found you in a clearing, unconscious.”

Logan let out a growl of frustration, claws slipping a few inches before he was able to jerk them back in. Snikt.

Jean flinched. “Just—just relax. It’s over, Logan. It’s okay.”

He shook his head. “No it’s not. How long was I out?”

“T-twenty hours. Almost a day.”

“Yeah, I know twenty hours is almost a goddamn day,” he snapped. Jean flinched again, and he tried to soften his expression. No reason to be an asshole. It wasn’t her fault that everything had gone terribly, terribly wrong. His voice was rough, “I’m sorry, Jeanie. Real sorry. But ya got it all wrong. I ain’t the one that killed those wolves.”

“Then who—?”

He explained what had happened in the clearing. How he had come upon Rogue, unconscious and covered in blood. The animals that had fallen dead around her, without a mark on them. Her heartbeats spreading farther and farther apart as he held her. And finally he told Jean how, in a moment of desperation, he touched Rogue’s skin, hoping his mutation might save her.

He concluded, “Best I can figure is somebody got to her while I was out cold, before Cyclops and Beast made it to the clearing.” The very thought that Rogue was back in the hands of the sonofabitch who tied her up . . . it was enough to make him pop the claws again.

Jean shifted her weight and lowered her delicate brows in thought. “Maybe. But perhaps not. It’s possible that—it’s hard to explain—well, here.” She brought a hand to his temple, transferring her mind’s contents in an instant.

Speculation: Rogue, with Logan’s borrowed recovery time, waking up in the clearing as her broken body knit itself together again . . .

Jean’s voice: Afraid. . . traumatic experience. . . mind already unstable. . . she would break the restraints easily and run . . .

A memory: Rogue when she first came to the mansion, pulling her hair and crying, half-mad from the voices in her head . . .

Xavier’s voice: I agree . . . May not be lucid . . . A danger to herself and others . . . Although I’d prefer we finish this conversation the traditional way, if you don’t mind . . .

Logan was back in the med lab, looking up at Jean as her hand left his temple. She looked—embarrassed?

“Pr-Professor,” Jean stammered. “I was just showing Logan—“

Logan heard the familiar whirr of the wheelchair approaching them.

“Yes,” Xavier said with a hint of warning, “I know. Just as you were relaying to me what Logan told you, and sending a wealth of information to your husband in Vermont. And, if I’m not mistaken, rattling windows all over North Salem with the telekinetic backlash, my dear.”

Logan marveled at the elegant, ever-professional woman he thought he knew, now looking for all the world like a thoroughly chastised five-year-old. “Oops,” she muttered.

“Oops, indeed,” Xavier said. “Let us not forget that even in times of emergency, a phone call is preferable, hm?”

Jean nodded. “Of course. I’m sorry.”

Logan cut in, "Can you people worry about broken windows later? If Rogue did wake up and run away, how long can she survive out there, with her mutation?”

Xavier steepled his hands. “Rogue is one of the most powerful mutants I’ve encountered. But, like most advanced mutations, hers can become very volatile if used without restraint,” he shot a glance at Jean, who still looked sheepish. “She has not yet achieved full control over the powers she absorbed from Carol Danvers. As you have seen, her invulnerability doesn’t extend past the surface of her skin, and her strength comes and goes unpredictably. It is perhaps a blessing, in this instance, that her ability to fly is also rather limited.”

“We had no idea she could absorb animals,” Jean said. “There’s no telling what that may have done to her psyche.”

“It may explain why I am unable to sense her using Cerebro. Whatever has happened, I hope we find her sooner rather than later. Her absorption of Carol pales in comparison to a trauma like this.”

Logan set his jaw. “So, that’s it. If Rogue wasn’t kidnapped, and by some miracle didn’t freeze to death last night, then she’s out of her mind wandering through the wilderness. You got some kind of standard operating procedure for this situation, Chuck?”

Xavier’s gaze moved to Logan. “We lack the manpower to do a full sweep of such a large area. It was a very brave thing you did. I do believe you saved Rogue’s life. We can hardly ask for more than that. The choice is yours.”

Logan felt the weight of that statement settle over him, and for a moment it seemed too much for even his adamantium skeleton to bear. Who the hell was he, to be playing superhero with the rest of these freaks? He balked at the very word: hero. Yeah, right.

It wasn’t virtue or selflessness or bravery that brought his skin against Rogue’s out in that forest. He’d just done it because he wanted to. Because she was in pain, and he had the ability to make it go away. Anyone would have done the same. It didn’t make him less of a monster. Didn’t erase any of the terrible things he’d done.

Xavier’s eyes bored into his, and Logan was taken back to the day he signed his contract, the day he agreed to become an X-man.

”You got the wrong guy, Chuck. But I know a couple of mercenaries who do long-term gigs. Can set up some meetings if you want.”

“I’m not looking for a hired gun, Logan. I’ve been watching you for some time now. I want you to join my team, to fight for a cause that I know you believe in.”

“I don’t believe in nothin’. I am what they made me: a weapon. That’s it.”

“No. You are what you do. You can be exactly what they want, or you can defy them every day with the choices you make, and become so much more. I see great potential, Logan. You know my power. I wouldn’t be here if you were a lost cause.”

It was so much easier, believing he had no choice. Living his life like nothing mattered. A part of him cried out to just leave. He didn’t owe these people anything.

But then he thought back to that clearing, to the way his blood boiled when he saw Rogue tied up and helpless. Something dark and powerful slithered through his mind: Revenge.

He may not be strong enough to stay, but he was damn sure angry enough. In an instant, his mind was made up. He would find Rogue. And then he would track down the motherfucker that hurt her and rip'em limb from limb. Hero? Him? Yeah, right.

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

She smashed her knuckles into the side of her head. Stop stop stop! The man in her head was the same one from the forest. The one that wouldn’t wake up no matter how much she shook him or kicked him or bit him. The man in her head was trying to make her go back to him, back to the place with the dead things.

The thought of them drew a whine from her throat. The dead things. They were inside her head too, always howling.

They had tried to bite her at first, until the man hit them and made them go away. Then he held her and rocked her and pressed his mouth against the place over her cheek. He made a sound like leaves rustling: “Shh, shh, hush, shh.”

The sound made her feel safer, but she didn’t stop running, didn’t turn around like he wanted her to. The smell of blood and the dead things was all over her, even after she rolled in the leaves and rubbed against the trees to get rid of it.

She whined again, and the man finally stopped trying to make her turn around. Instead he made her stop, and listen. She heard water. Stream, said the man inside her head. She ran to the sound and lay down in the shallow water, staining it red as it flowed around her.

“C-cah. Co-uld. Cold,” she whispered, and the sound made her smile even though she couldn’t remember what it meant. She stayed in the water until the smell was all gone.

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

It was dark, the moon only a sliver, when she darted out from the safety of the trees and ran straight to her den. She was angry with the man, who had tried to make her go towards the sound of footsteps and voices calling, “Rogue! Rogue!”

But now the man was sorry. He wanted her to stay here. Good, he said. This place is good.

She traced his lips with her finger, wondering at the sounds he made. Good, she repeated. Th-this . . . good.

He nodded and spoke against her finger, Yeah. This good.

She curled up to sleep, and she was not afraid. She knew the man would keep the dead things away.

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

Scott was at a loss. The phrase ‘needle in a haystack’ didn’t begin to describe this situation. He and the others had spent all night and most of the day combing the valley. After Jean clued him in, he organized the search to fan out 360 degrees from the clearing, but as yet there was no sign of his missing teammate.

Xavier had received Rogue’s distress call the previous morning. That meant they were fast approaching the 30-hour mark. Scott was tempted to call in bloodhounds.

But then, the X-men already had a resident bloodhound, and he was on his way right now on Scott’s bike. His beautiful bike. Being manhandled by a hairy Neanderthal with a metal skeleton that probably weighed enough to wreak havoc on the suspension. Scott couldn’t let himself dwell on that painful piece of information. “Take one for the team,” he muttered miserably.

The handle-less door swung open easily as Scott entered the cabin. Lockpicking, Wolverine style. Not very subtle, but he supposed it was effective. He figured he would go through the cabin just one more time, if not to get a clue of Rogue’s whereabouts, then perhaps the identity of whoever orchestrated this whole sick thing. Rogue wasn’t short on enemies, but he couldn’t even imagine what kind of person—

“Wha—Rogue!” There she was. Right there. Curled up on the bed, sleeping peacefully. Scott could barely believe his eyes.

At the sound of his voice, she jumped up, scrambling off the bed to land in a graceless heap on the rough wood floor. She got to her feet, and Scott noticed with shock that she was half-naked, wearing only a pair of ripped jeans. Her hair tangled wildly down her shoulders and back. It fell forward to obscure her face as she ran into the bathroom and sank to the floor. She pressed her back to the corner and curled into a ball, rocking back and forth.

Scott was suddenly hit with the reality of what she must have gone through. He felt bile rise in his throat. “Rogue?” he said gently, moving towards her.

She eyed him warily as he approached, pushing herself further into the corner and—growling? Was Rogue growling at him?

“Grrrr . . .”

Scott slowed, unsure how to proceed. “Rogue? Can you understand me?”

She narrowed her eyes, but showed no other sign of acknowledgement. And she was still growling, a low sort of rumble he wouldn’t have thought a human could make. The sound should have been comical, coming from her, but it actually seemed rather threatening.

He tried again. “It’s okay. It’s me, Scott. Remember? You’re safe. I’m here now, and everything’s going to be okay.” He took a step forward, extending his hand, a bit wary of her skin even though he wore gloves.

“GRRRR . . .”

He took one more tentative step.

She lunged and bit him.

“Ow!” Scott yelped, jerking his hand away. “What the—”

Rogue’s head darted from side to side, and he could see the terror in her eyes when she realized there was nowhere to run. It broke his heart to see her like that. This strong, beautiful woman, his teammate and friend, who drank whiskey neat and cursed like a sailor, but still gushed over pretty jewelry and shopped for hours on end with Jean and Ororo. She taught self-defense to students who grumbled through every lesson but still regarded her as one of their favorite teachers.

And now she sat in the corner of a cabin, half-naked and growling at him. Broken. That was how she looked. Just broken, like she’d never be right again.

He reached out once more, ready to pull back if she tried to bite him again. “Come on, Rogue. I know you’re scared, but you have to trust me—”

“Stop! Just back off. You’re confusin’ her.” Scott turned to see Logan approaching, wearing jeans, a biker jacket, and gloves, rather than the uniform.

The stickler in him was annoyed by that fact, but he told the stickler to shut the heck up. There were more important concerns right now. “I’m trying to help her,” he said dismissively, turning back to Rogue’s huddled form.

Wolverine growled, and Scott jumped to hear that sound again. People weren’t supposed to make that sound, were they? “I’m serious, bub. Back off.”

Scott looked from Rogue to Wolverine a few times, then reluctantly moved back a few paces. “How am I confusing her?”

“Mixed messages,” he grunted. “Actin’ like you’re the alpha, smellin’ like you’re scared shitless of her. She don’t know what to think.”

Scott sputtered, “Wha—I don’t—I don’t smell scared.”

“Humans,” Wolverine muttered derisively, as though he weren’t one. Then he turned his back to Scott and approached Rogue.

She sniffed the air, sizing him up with a sweep of her eyes. Her growl rose in volume as he came closer, but he ignored it, keeping a steady gait. Confident.

Then he stopped. After a moment, Rogue stood and circled him a couple of times.

Scott thought maybe it was working, maybe she was calming down. But then Wolverine put a hand on her arm to still her, and she bared her teeth at him—

“RARGH!” he snarled viciously, and in a flash he grabbed her upper arms, slamming her into the wall with a force that made Scott wince. Rogue just looked surprised.

Scott made to step forward and break them up, but then something inside him said to wait. If Logan really wanted to, he could have slammed Rogue straight through that wall. Heck, between the two of them, they could probably have this whole cabin in shambles by now.

Rogue, for her part, was now having a staring contest with Wolverine. He stepped into her, bowing his head until their foreheads almost touched, eyes locked with Rogue’s defiant ones.

Scott didn’t fully understand the exchange, but he felt the intensity of it, palpable in the air. This seemed—private, somehow, and he almost wanted to turn away. Only his concern for Rogue’s safety kept him rooted, one hand at his visor.

Rogue’s eyes narrowed. She shifted experimentally in Logan’s grip.

His growl rose sharply in warning, and he pushed her harder into the wall.

Something changed. Logan sniffed the air and tensed. Then he let out another deep growl, and Rogue abruptly lowered her gaze.

His growl was still a low, constant hum as he nuzzled into her hair, gradually loosening that iron grip on her arms. He worked his way through her hair, pausing for a long time at her ear before continuing down to bury himself in the crook of her neck. The bunched muscles in his back and shoulders rose as he inhaled deeply.

Then Rogue whimpered, and his breaths began to come faster. He widened his stance, closing the small gap between their bodies and pinning her fully to the wall—

“Logan!” Scott said sharply. God, was that—were they doing what he thought they were doing?

Logan tensed for a second, then—Oh, sick, he just ground his hips into her and she made that whimpering noise again. Scott had never felt so violated in his life. He almost wished he was blind.

“Logan!” he said again, hoping he wouldn’t have to blast them apart.

Logan whirled, muscles bulging, pupils dilated, breath coming in shallow pants. It was a wild look, one he had only displayed during their most intense missions and training sessions. He cracked his neck and blinked a few times, then reached for the bottle of whiskey still on the bathtub ledge. He threw his head back and took a long draw.

Rogue snatched the bottle from him and took a drink, herself.

“Well?” Logan said shamelessly, “Shouldn’t you go tell the others I found her?”

“Thank you, Tiffani. I’m afraid these paths, while pleasant to look at, are rather unsuited for my chair.” Xavier’s admission brought up a pain far too raw for the many years he had carried it. He braced himself against the rush of feelings hitting his well-trained palate: inadequacy, weakness, a subtle undertone of humiliation, made all the worse by the tinge of pity he felt emanating from the girl behind him.

She steered him carefully over the rough spots in the mulch. “Oh, it’s no problem. I’m happy to help.” She was; he could feel the genuine emotion in her words, and the pain lessened somewhat. “Can I ask you a question, Charlie?”

“Certainly.” This said with an indulgent smile that bespoke nothing of his inner thoughts. Deliberately shifting focus, he took in the complex network of branches above them, made no less stunning by the thinning foliage. The season’s first snow coated the top of each branch, glistening in the morning sun.

“Well, it’s just . . . is Ms. D’Ancanto your daughter?”

“No,” he said gently, “but I have often thought of her that way. I care for her very, very much.”

“That’s so sweet. How did you meet her?”

He considered his possible responses and settled on, “She works for me.”

“Oh.” Tiffani pondered that for a moment. “You mean at your school? Is she a teacher?”

“Yes,” Charles said without guilt. It wasn’t a lie; it simply wasn’t the entire truth. The resort knew very little of the truth. He had led them to believe Rogue suffered brain damage from a fall while she was hiking. They were so relieved he wasn’t suing that they gladly agreed to let him rent the cabin indefinitely. It was a good thing, too. Rogue flatly refused to leave. Even his considerable powers of persuasion could scarcely calm her tantrum when he and Scott had tried to urge her through the door.

“What does she teach?” Tiffani asked as they rounded the bend in the path and the cabin came into view. A line of smoke curled up from the chimney. So inviting. This must have been what Rogue saw, that first day. He recalled her voice on the phone: "Just--just amazing. Thank you, Charles." He sent her here. Good intentions or no, he sent her here. Guilt was a useless emotion, but it still overcame him at times.

Tiffani’s curiosity prompted Charles to briefly skim her mind. He was sorry for the invasion, but he had to be vigilant; he still had yet to discover who was responsible for the attack, and it didn’t pay to have anyone asking too many questions.

It was immediately obvious that Tiffani was no threat. The girl believed that the hiking accident was all a cover, that Ms. D’Ancanto was under witness protection, and that Logan was her bodyguard. She believed Charles was some sort of government official. She was proud of her deductive skills, and took measures to ensure that the rest of the resort staff didn’t interfere with her prized patrons. Charles smiled; mistaken though the girl was, it didn’t hurt to have another ally in keeping Rogue’s presence discreet.

“Ms. D’Ancanto . . . gave a variety of seminars for our advanced students.” Topics included How to Defend Against Telepathic Attacks, Building Fluency in Mixed Martial Arts, and Combat Applications of Defensive Mutations. But he didn’t think it prudent to share that with Tiffani.

“Oh. That’s nice. Well, here you are, Charlie. Just ring the front desk when you’re ready to come back, okay?”

“I will. Thank you again.” He rolled himself up the porch ramp and knocked on the door.

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

She followed the alpha with her eyes as he walked toward the noise and opened the door. The sitting man came in, but she pretended not to notice. She turned her back to them both and continued twisting her bare fingers through her silky hair, entranced by the feel of it.

She was aware of many things. The moon had been a sliver the night she returned to her den. It grew larger every night since. Last night it was perfectly full and round. She sat out on the porch for a long time, mesmerized by its pure light on the new blanket of snow. Finally she began to shiver, and the alpha picked her up and carried her back inside.

This was her world: change, slow and steady. The moon grew. The leaves fell from the trees. The logs in the fireplace crackled their way to white powder. The food depleted, and the white-haired woman brought more. The sitting man came and went. The man inside her head began to fade, and she missed him sorely. He was Logan, just like the alpha, only . . . different. He touched her bare skin. When he talked to her, she talked back.

Most of her memories were impossible to understand. They had too much sight, not enough smell. Too much logic, not enough instinct. She tried to call them up whenever something seemed familiar, but they usually slipped away like half-remembered dreams.

But the sounds—words—those were coming back, day by day. The man inside her head made her remember many words. Good words. Safe. Protect. Trust.

She had begun to realize that she wasn’t like the dead things. She wasn’t a wolf, not really. Well, perhaps really, but not only.

The real Logan and the sitting man wanted her to talk. They coaxed and cajoled and sometimes pleaded with her to respond. She could, if she wanted to. But something not-wolf in her warned her to keep silent. If she talked, they would ask her about the day in the clearing. About the blood and the dead things. The dead things . . . she began to rock. “Shhh, hush, shhh,” she murmured.

“She does that sometimes,” Logan said to the sitting man.

Part of her said Logan was the alpha, and that was that. But another part of her couldn’t decide whether she liked him or not. He took care of her and made her feel safe. But he also made her angry, because he was so mean. Every time she rubbed against him, or nuzzled into his shirt, or pulled his arms around her waist, he would hold her and kiss the top of her head. Then he would run his hands up and down her body until both of their scents changed. She would feel him hard against her belly, and always whimpered for more.

Then he would whisper in her ear, “Tell me not to stop, Rogue.”

And no matter how much she whimpered and tried to cling to him, he would push her away.

She was so frustrated that she had taken to tempting him every chance she got. She touched him constantly—his hair, his chest, his back, his gloved hands. He gasped every time she brushed his knuckles.

She refused to get dressed unless he dressed her. She crawled into his bed after her baths and rubbed his scent on her.

She even tried to crawl in bed with him last night, after she thought he was asleep. But he growled and grabbed her by the hair and dragged her back to her own bed. She was still pretty angry about that one.

And now the sitting man was here, asking Logan about her, and Logan was saying that everything was fine. Everything was not fine, that liar. She would have to wait until the sitting man left, but then she would have her revenge.

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

“Everything’s fine, Chuck. We’re makin’ progress, bit by bit. She just needs more time.” Logan wished he had a better answer than that, but he really didn’t know what to say. Xavier had already stuck his neck out, had gone against the wishes of the entire team and allowed him to stay with Rogue these past two weeks. He recalled their conversation perfectly, had repeated it to himself a dozen times or more; it was the first time in his memory that he had vowed to help, rather than hurt.

”You, perhaps better than anyone, understand what she is going through right now. What do you suggest?”

“Let her stay here. It’s the only place she feels safe. I—I could look after her, Chuck.” Could he?

“Scott is quite adamant that you be kept away from her. He fears you will . . . take advantage of the situation.”

“Yeah? And what do you think?”

“I think Scott has reason to mistrust you. I also think he’s wrong, in this instance. You deserve a chance, Logan, to be there for her. She is at a crossroads now, as are you. Perhaps you can help each other find the right path.”

“Why, Chuck? Why are you doin’ all this? What could you possibly see in someone like me?” I don’t even trust myself, he wanted to say. I don’t even know why I’m here.

“Sometimes, you can only believe in yourself after someone else believes in you. As I have said, what I see is great potential. Promise you’ll do what you can for her.”

The words came more easily than he thought they would. “Alright. I promise.”

It had been two weeks since he pinned Rogue in that bathroom and imprinted her scent. Two weeks since he made his promise to Xavier. Two weeks that felt like a lifetime. She was coming out of her shell a little more each day: going a few steps further from the cabin, turning on the radio and listening with a look of intense concentration, helping him prepare meals and clean the dishes afterwards.

And, of course, there were the many other things she did. Those things. The ones that made him groan in frustration. The ones that made him sneak into the bathroom to take showers in the middle of the night. The ones that made him realize, without a doubt, that Rogue was far more lucid than she tried to let on.

Sneaky little rogue.

He knew what she wanted, could smell it all over her. And without question he wanted it too. All the time. Pretty much every waking second of the day, every sleeping second of the night, and every half-waking, half-sleeping moment in between. But he wouldn’t—couldn’t—go any farther with her until he was sure. Until she told him, in her own voice.

He imagined what she might say when she finally answered his whispered plea. Imagined it a million different ways. Would she beg for it, or demand what she wanted? Would she call him sugar, or Logan, or hell, Wolverine? Anything would be fine with him, as long as she told him not to stop. Because goddamnit, he didn’t know how much longer he could keep making himself stop.

He let out a heavy breath, wondering just how much Chuck knew. It was impossible to tell anything from the calm, impassive eyes that watched Rogue twirl her hair, patiently waiting for her to turn around and acknowledge his presence. The man was probably the most powerful telepath who ever lived, but he also had a code of ethics that would put Gandhi to shame.

Still, he had to know that Logan felt some serious baser urges when it came to Rogue. Any idiot could see that. And by any idiot, he meant Scott Summers. Although that particular idiot had been stunningly slow to catch on, even as he watched Wolverine hump her into the wall.

But did Xavier sense the thoughts that Logan himself was barely beginning to admit? The almost-pride he felt when Rogue submitted to him. Trusted him. Followed him. She made him feel like the kind of man somebody could believe in. The kind of man he had long given up hoping he could be.

He felt urges that had nothing to do with sex. He wanted to protect her, to help her, to share her happiness when she looked in a book and pointed to the words she recognized. To hold her whenever she woke up whimpering in the middle of the night. To make her feel good, in any way that he could. This feral woman was becoming his salvation and his best friend and his wet dream all rolled up into one, and the newness of it all was as terrifying for him as her new senses and instincts must be for her.

It didn’t help at all that she had such a way of drawing out his own feral side. Since the moment he pulled that scarf from the hamper and scented her, the Wolverine had found a mate. He didn’t understand what Logan was waiting for, especially when Rogue came to his bed last night, smelling like—like perfect. Like it was her time, and she was ready to get busy making some little Wolverines.

Maybe he had been too rough with her, grabbing her hair like that. But Jesus, he was about at the end of his rope. Taking her as his mate felt like the most natural thing in the world. Refusing her felt as stupid and pointless as refusing to breathe.

And there was no way he could put any of that into words, so he just settled for ‘Everything’s fine, Chuck,’ and hoped the telepath could read between the lines.

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

The sitting man seemed to stay longer than usual, and she stared at him boredly. It wasn’t that she didn’t like him. Even through her jumbled memories, she knew that he was very important. Very special. And he . . . he had taken care of her once before, sort of like the alpha did now.

Something flitted across her mind. A flash of yellow hair, her own green eyes staring out from another woman’s face. It made her dizzy. She held her head and let out a low whine.

Logan was at her side in an instant. “What’s happenin’, Chuck?”

The sitting man lowered his hands from his temples and folded them in his lap. “I think that will be enough for today. I agree with you, Logan; she needs more time.” He heaved a loud breath, “I’ll let the others know.”

Her head still felt strange when they went outside the cabin to speak, but she managed to scuttle across the floor and held her breath, one ear pressed to the door, to hear their hushed voices as they grew farther and farther away:

“ . . . will let you know if we come across any leads. Although I urge you to let the other X-men handle this. Rogue needs you.”

“Yeah, she needs me to rip apart the sonofabitch that did this to her.”

“Really? Who will feel better once that is done—her, or you?”

Then Logan growled, and she flinched at the sound of his fist slamming into a tree.

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

Logan helped Chuck to the front office, but his focus never left the cabin. If a floorboard creaked, he would hear it. He took his role as protector seriously, especially since the spineless fucker that attacked his ‘protectee’ was still out there somewhere. And probably knew exactly where Rogue was right now.

And that just didn’t sit well with him. Not at all. He rubbed his knuckles, and couldn’t get back to the cabin soon enough.

Logan opened the door and went to his room to find Rogue sitting on his bed, playing with the weather radio he had just put fresh batteries in. He didn’t understand her fascination with it; she seemed as content to hear the static between stations as anything. Unless she happened upon a country song. Then she would pause and listen for a while before growing bored and changing the station again.

She didn’t bother to look up at him when he entered, though he did see her sniff the air before settling back against the pillows and continuing her perusal of the airwaves. She paused on a song, and he saw familiarity cross her features at the sound of the twangy voice.

“Well if it’s lovin’ you want, then I got it,
If it’s money you want, well I’ll get it,
I’ll buy you tall, tall trees and all the waters in the seas,
‘Cause I’m a fool, fool, fool for you.”

Sounds about right, Logan thought. He opened the cigar box on the bedside table and retrieved a parejo. “Be on the deck if ya need me.”

Rogue studiously ignored him, as she had done all morning. He strode out of the cabin, closing the door somewhat harder than necessary.

He bit off the cap, spitting it over the edge of the deck somewhere, and dropped into what he had come to think of as his chair. The sturdy wood strained against his weight, and he felt heavy. His body, his mind, his heart, everything. Just heavy. Looking out over the lake helped lighten him, though. He fired up and swirled the peppery smoke around his mouth, letting it burn away the mixed smells of desire and hurt that filled the little cabin.

Rogue had three favorite pastimes: driving him up the wall, listening to the radio, and taking long baths. So his spirits lightened some more when he heard the water running inside. Maybe she would emerge in a better mood, and he would get up the gumption to apologize for being so rough with her, and they would spend an enjoyable afternoon by the lake. Maybe.

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

Logan shrugged out of his jacket and hung it on the back of the door. He left his gloves on and resisted the urge to roll up the sleeves of his well-worn flannel. The fireplace kept the cabin plenty warm, but Rogue didn’t seem to like covering up, and one of them had to. There was no telling what could happen if they had an accident and he wound up unconscious for another twenty-hour stretch.

He went straight to his bedroom and began making the now vacated bed. He shook out the sheets in a practiced move, ignoring the scent that filled the air, and tucked them under with precise hospital corners.

But it wasn’t enough that she climbed all over his bed, burrowed into the sheets and rubbed her cheek against the pillowcase. She just had to use his bath too, even though there was an identical one attached to her own room next door. Pastime numero uno: drive him completely insane.

He refused to give her the satisfaction of letting frustration seep into his tone. He purred, sugary sweet, “You been in there a while, darlin’. Everything okay?” She had left the bathroom door wide open, as usual, but he didn’t exactly want to walk in and check on her.

“Mmm,” she hummed the affirmative. Well, at least she wasn’t ignoring him anymore.

Logan looked around for something to do. He wasn’t used to being cooped up like this. He needed to burn off some energy. His two favorite forms of workout, sparring and sex, were definitely out of the question. He settled for pushups.

He was twenty-two in when he heard Rogue’s whine. It was obviously a call for him. Tough luck, he wasn’t in the mood to answer. Let her see how it felt to be ignored. Twenty-three, twenty-four, twenty-five . . .

Two little whimpers, then a long, drawn-out whine. He could hear the message as clearly as if she’d spoken it: “Please, please, pleee-eease?”

He grumbled wordlessly and pushed himself up from the floor. Damnit. What new form of torture had she cooked up now? He began shadowboxing—dart, jab, jab. He was the damn alpha, and it was about time she started respecting that. He wasn’t at her beck and call, no sir.

“Hmmm, hunh, hmmHMMMMMM . . . .” Aw, why’d she have to beg like that? That sound hit his ears, then made a detour straight down his spine to land between his legs—and she knew it.

He’d just check on her. Poke his head in the door, see what she needed. And by God, if she was just fuckin’ with him, he’d teach her a thing or two about who was boss. He cracked his neck, set his shoulders, and sauntered over to the bathroom. His bathroom. Yeah.

Oh. He tried to swallow, but his mouth was dry. The bathroom was dark, hot and steamy, an uneven glow flickering over everything from the candles she always lit. At least they weren’t scented.

Rogue looked up at him from the bath, an expression of naked want crossing her features. She almost looked to be in pain, and he felt his own expression twist in sympathy. Then she whimpered again, and he couldn’t help himself—he took a step into the bathroom.

The second his boot touched the tile, her expression changed. She bit her lip and gave him a slow, lascivious smile, pinning him to the spot with those knowing green eyes.

All the blood in his body seemed to go south as he watched her fingertips trace over her collarbone, down, down, down between her breasts before disappearing under the water.

He did not whine. That was not a whine that came from his throat. It was a—a growl. A high-pitched, but still very manly growl.

She gasped and gripped the ledge of the tub with one hand, and he had a very good idea what the other hand was doing under that steamy water.

Her eyes were still locked with his when she started to pant. He knew he was whining now, whimpering like a fuckin’ puppy, but he couldn’t help it. If her smell hadn’t been dampened underwater, he probably would have lost his mind already. He ran a palm roughly over the bulge in his jeans, desperate to relieve the pressure.

Her gaze fell, and her heavy-lidded eyes settled on said bulge. “Mmmmm,” she moaned, fingers tensing and releasing rhythmically on the ledge. “Ah, ah, mmmm.” Logan jerked his hand away from his groin and clenched both fists at his sides.

He had to get out of there. Had to just turn and go. The tightness in his jeans was unbearable, and grew more painful with every little whimper and moan that passed her lips. But her gaze kept him rooted to the spot.

She licked her lips.

“Aaaghh, fuck,” he groaned, dragging his knuckles over his crotch. The denim rubbed him none too gently, but at least it helped alleviate the pressure a little.

Rogue tossed her head back, and it was all he could do not to reach out and touch the spill of her silky hair over the side of the tub.

The sweet pink flush of her cheeks darkened, and all the smugness faded from her features as her whimpers became more frantic. Those hungry little sounds spilled carelessly from her throat, and he wondered what it would feel like to press his mouth over hers and swallow them as they escaped.

He couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment when everything changed. But before he really knew what was happening, the rough press of his knuckles gave way to the measured rub of the flat of his hand. Up. Down. Up. Down.

She was so close, he could tell. Encouragements left him in rough whispers. “Ah, baby, that’s so hot. Come for me. Yeah, just like that.”

She did, mouth open in a silent cry, head thrown back, baring her neck to him in a primitive gesture of submission that sent him over the edge, too.

As she slowly came back down, he stopped bucking into his palm and let out a shaky breath. His own release was short-lived; in seconds he was hard with want again. Stupid fucking healing factor.

She stood, water sloshing over the edges of the tub and running in rivulets down her toned body, and smiled that knowing smile again.

“Goddamnit, baby. You’re gonna be the death of me,” he grumbled pitifully, then turned on his heel and walked out, pulling the door shut behind him.

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

She wrapped the fluffy towel around herself, enjoying the little jolts of pleasure that still ran through her body every with every step.

Revenge was sweet.

Logan had been plagued with nightmares for as long as he could remember, but tonight his sleep was troubled for a different reason. He couldn’t get his mind off the woman in the other bedroom. Between his own conflicted feelings for her, the Wolverine’s all-too-clear desire, and the sweet, agonizing memory of what happened in the bathroom only a few short hours ago . . . well, he just wasn’t in a state of mind to close his eyes and relax.

He blew out his cheeks, tossed the covers off, and padded into the kitchen. The Gentleman Jack had disappeared—Scott’s doing, he suspected. But the key to the mini-bar sat on the counter, and he was beyond caring what Xavier would think when he saw some overpriced whiskey on the bill. He snagged all three tiny bottles of Jack, along with some bourbon he’d never heard of, and hoped it would be enough to give him a light buzz.

Stupid fucking healing factor.

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

It’s time. Marie’s eyes opened, and she took a moment to steady her concentration before uncrossing her legs and standing. Rogue was asleep now, which meant the barriers were at their weakest. Marie padded across her room and tested the doorknob.

It gave way, just a little, under her touch. She took a deep, calming breath and gathered her resolve to try again.

“I could open it for us,” Carol said sweetly.

“Ya mean ya could open it for you,” Marie corrected, glancing over at the crudely built cage in the corner.

The blonde gazing out innocently from between the bars was no less gorgeous for the dark circles under her eyes. Her short-lived escape from Marie’s room must have taken a lot out of her. This was the first time Marie had ever been able to fully confine her most powerful absorbed inhabitant.

“Me an’ Rogue fought hard for this mind. If ya think you’re just gonna sweep in and take it now that she’s . . . different . . . well, you got another thing comin’.”

Carol’s voice was still absurdly sweet, “Those are tough words for a girl who doesn’t have the big, bad Rogue protecting her anymore. Really, now, how long do you suppose you’ll last against me? Let’s do this the easy way. I’ll even give you every other weekend.”

Marie rolled her eyes. “Downright generous of ya, Carol. Lemme think about it—no. Rogue’s never let me down before, and she’s gonna pull through this, you’ll see.”

Because I'm gonna help her.

And with that thought to strengthen her, Marie twisted the doorknob and pulled.

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

Logan overturned the fifth bottle, watching its meager contents splash into the glass with a twinge of disappointment. He was still stone-cold sober and as restless as ever.

Rogue stirred in her room. He hoped it wasn’t another nightmare. He swished the amber liquid through his teeth and gulped it down.

Then he heard the flutter of sheets, the soft pressure of her bare feet on the floor. His every sense followed those little footsteps as they pattered down the hall to—his room.

“That’s it,” he growled, downing the rest of the whiskey and slamming his glass on the counter. It was time to draw the line. Rogue’s little game of torturing him was going to end right now. He had a feeling she knew exactly what she was doing to him, and that thought pissed him off so much he could barely see straight.

He left the kitchen and was down the hall in seconds. He caught up to her at his doorway. That she had the nerve to try and sneak into bed with him again, after he literally dragged her out last night—it was too much. The rumble building in his chest came up as an angry snarl.

Rogue jumped at the sound, and he grabbed her by the arm and roughly jerked her around to face him.

Her eyes rounded in fear as she took in his expression. Her mouth opened and closed soundlessly.

He walked her backwards into the room, feeding on the smell of fear that came off her in waves. He felt a sick pleasure when she stumbled over her own feet, and he let her fall, hitting the rug with an “Oomph!”

He crouched over her, every predatory instinct roaring its approval as she scrambled back and pressed herself into the wall.

Snikt. She flinched. He dragged the side of one claw down her cheek. The sound of her heart pounding was music to his ears.

“This what you want? To make me lose control?”

He moved even closer, invading every inch of personal space, until she turned her head to the side, eyes screwed shut. Her breaths became fluttery, fleeting things. He growled, low and deep, and drove his fist through the wall right next her.

“This isn’t some fuckin’ game. You still think it’s cute to tempt me?”

She shook her head, trembling with fear.

“Look at me!” he roared.

She opened her eyes, still shaking all over. But she kept her gaze down. “Pl-please don’t hurt me,” she whispered. She began to cry.

The bottom dropped out of his world.

The anger left him in one big rush, claws winnowing through the muscles of his forearms as they slid in. He had imagined what her first words to him would be, imagined it so many different ways. But never this. Not from the person he had promised to help, not hurt. Never hurt.

In one moment of weakness, he had ruined something that was supposed to be beautiful. What was he thinking? She wasn’t an animal, a feral monster like him. She was a traumatized woman. He began to wonder if he had taken advantage, just like Scott said. If he had misread her all along. He felt an ache in the back of his eyes, a sensation he could never remember feeling before.

His throat began to constrict. Then the first tear came. He opened his mouth in shock. So this was how it felt to cry.

She breathed jerkily, tears sliding down her cheeks. He swiped the tears from his own eyes and smoothed a hand over her hair, sickened with himself when she cringed away from his touch and began to cry harder.

His throat felt tight when he spoke, “I’m so sorry, baby. I would never . . . I just wanted to make you understand . . .”

He drew her to her feet and enveloped her in a hug, nuzzling gently into her hair until she stopped shaking. She didn’t pull away, though he could feel the tension—the fear—in her body. He released her and stepped back. His voice was still scratchy with emotion. “Please believe me. I would never hurt you, Rogue. Never.”

She looked up through a curtain of hair, scared brown eyes finally meeting his. “I’m not Rogue.”

Marie lifted her arm, looking down with faint surprise at the bruise darkening on her bicep. She supposed confining Carol had some downsides. But she’d take sanity over invulnerable skin any day.

Logan followed her gaze, eyes widening at the perfect imprints his calfskin-covered fingers left on her arm. He brought a hand to his mouth, whirled, and ran to the bathroom.

Her newly heightened senses made the sound of his retching even more awful. And the smell. To top it off, Rogue was wide awake now and trying to take back control. Marie tightened her hold on herself. She felt Rogue’s reluctance, but finally her protector agreed to relinquish the reins for a while.

As the adrenaline worked its way out, Marie’s hysteria dissipated, leaving a strange calm in its wake. She couldn’t help feeling that the man heaving in the bathroom was not entirely to blame for his actions. Well no, he was to blame, but he was not unprovoked. Rogue had a way of pushing boundaries.

Most of all, that bath time show was not lost on Marie. Neither was the role Carol played in cooking it up. A suggestion here, an insinuation there, and Rogue’s weakened mind had been in no state to even realize she was being manipulated.

Revenge? That just wasn’t Rogue—not at all. She knew too well what a destructive force revenge was, had experienced firsthand what it could do to people. Marie still didn’t know exactly what happened out in that clearing, but sometimes when Rogue was dreaming, the sound of voices slipped through the barriers and echoed eerily in her bedroom.

A rough growl: I’m here to repay a debt. And her mama’s voice: You threw me to the wolves, Rogue. Payback’s a bitch.

This was the first time in years Marie had come out and taken full control of the body she had long ceased thinking was ‘hers’. It was ‘ours,’ from the moment Rogue rose up from her subconscious. She still wasn’t entirely sure who or what Rogue was—a mix, she supposed, of herself and the many personalities she had absorbed along the way.

She was pulled from her thoughts when Logan emerged from the bathroom, eyeing her with a blend of curiosity and shame. Mostly shame. He kept his distance, leaning against the wall on the opposite side of the room. Marie didn’t think a man like him could ever look completely nonthreatening, but he was certainly trying hard.

“Listen.” Her voice came out strong and clear, and she knew Rogue was bolstering her. She rubbed her cheeks to eradicate every trace of her tears. “I dunno how much time I’ve got, so lemme explain some things. My name’s Marie D’Ancanto. Me an’ Rogue are—well, we’ve lived in this body our whole lives. We’re . . . the real us.”

He folded his arms, brows knit in confusion.

She searched for the words. “Me an’ Rogue are real. We weren’t absorbed. Ya know my mutation . . . my skin . . . I sort of absorb people. Their memories, their mutations, their personalities. Some of’em just last a few days, like you, after you touched us. But some of’em stick around a lot longer. Maybe forever, if we absorb enough . . . I mean if we . . .”

“Kill them?” he finished bluntly.

Marie nodded.

“So . . . you’re Marie. And Rogue is you. But Marie and Rogue aren’t the same person?” His tone was skeptical.

She quirked a brow at him. “Are Logan and Wolverine the same person?”

He looked down. “I—I used to think so. I ain’t so sure anymore.”

Marie felt her heart soften a little. He looked so torn, so lost. It must have taken a lot for him to admit that. “I know what it’s like, havin’ somethin’ inside of ya, somethin’ hard to control. Rogue wants me to let her out right now. She woulda slugged ya already if I wasn’t holdin’ her back.”

He grimaced. “I deserve it.”

“Maybe so. But ya don’t always get what ya deserve, Logan.”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “Come on. Let’s uh, getcha some ice for that.”

She followed his gaze to her arm. “Doesn’t hurt.”

He merely grunted and walked off to the kitchen. Marie fell into step beside him. “Look, I know what Rogue’s been doin’. I know ya lost your temper. Maybe I overreacted too. The point is, it’s—it’s okay.”

He retrieved the bucket from the freezer, spilling some ice chips out onto a cloth and folding it into a compress. She let him wrap it around her arm. He searched her eyes with an intensity that nearly burned. “Don’t say it’s okay. I don’t wantcha to think this is okay.”

She gave him a tight smile. “We can’t dwell on this. Like I said, I dunno how much time I’ve got. I need to get back before Carol gets loose—”

“Carol Danvers?”

“Yeah. She’s, um—kinda off her rocker. Everybody thinks I’m the one that went crazy after I absorbed her. Truth is, she just couldn’t handle it, bein’ trapped in here.” Marie tapped the side of her head. “She used to torment me somethin’ awful. Rogue was the only one who could keep her in line. And now that Rogue’s, ya know, different, Carol thinks she can take over our mind for good.”

Logan frowned. “We have to call Chuck.”

“If ya want. But Rogue thinks you’re the only one who can help her, the only one who understands. Ya helped her a lot, when ya were inside our head. She won’t let me see what happened out in that clearing, but whatever it was . . . it changed her. She won’t come into the mansion—I mean, the place inside my head where everybody lives. She stays outside in the woods. Sometimes I hear monsters howlin’ out there. And sometimes I’m not sure if the howlin’s comin’ from the monsters or from Rogue.”

“Chuck said she integrated the w—the, er, monsters. Made’em part of her.”

“Yeah. I think so. They were too strong to fight off.” Marie’s voice dropped. “She—she put everything she had into protectin’ me. I think she gave herself up to save me.”

Logan stood a little taller. “That ain’t your fault. She made a choice. If you—if she’ll still let me, I’m gonna do whatever I can to help her get right again. That’s a promise.”

Marie paused for a long moment. She sensed the sincerity in his words. But she also wondered what prompted his devotion to her. “I know Rogue has, um, led you on. She doesn’t really understand, ya know? That we can’t be touched.” Marie looked down at her flimsy nightgown, her bare hands. She shivered. “She oughta know better. She was the one always tellin’ me . . . I’ll see if I can make her wear gloves from now on.”

He folded her hands in his bigger ones. “She doesn’t like’em. I can cover up. She shouldn’t have to.”

Marie felt a shudder go through her as his warm leather-encased hands moved over her own. “She’s—ya can’t keep lettin’ her pretend. She can’t hide away forever.” Her voice was suddenly breathy. She cleared her throat. “That’s exactly what she’s been lettin’ me do for so long. I’ve come to see now that it wasn’t helpin’ either of us. I gotta learn to be strong. And so does she.”

“I won’t make her do anything she doesn’t like,” Logan said firmly. “I promised to help her—you—both of you.”

Marie pulled her hands from his. “Sometimes ya gotta hurt somebody to help’em. I dunno what happened to Rogue out in that forest, but ya gotta help her face it. Please, Logan. She’ll never come to terms with it if she keeps runnin’.”

The sound of straining metal echoed in Marie’s mind. “Dangit.” She pulled off the compress and watched as the bruise disappeared before her eyes. She looked up at Logan. “Carol’s breakin’ out. I gotta go.”

Logan ran his fingertips over her now flawless skin. “Like it never happened,” he muttered.

Marie gave him a pitying look. “Tell that to Rogue. She’s spittin’ mad, and Carol’s powers are comin’ back. Maybe we should, like, tie me up or somethin’, while I’m still in control.”

“No!” The ferocity in his voice made her jump, and he immediately calmed. “Sorry. Sorry, it’s just . . . when she was out in the woods . . . nevermind. You just go do what you need to. I’ll handle Rogue.”

“O-okay. I’ll come back when I can. And just so you know, I’m not a big fan of Wolverine, but um, Logan seems like a pretty good guy.” She felt a blush spread on her cheeks.

He just looked at her, speechless.

“Bye, Logan.” She turned her focus inward, back to her room, back to the crude prison Carol was busy dismantling.

The cabin faded, and his voice sounded far away: “Goodbye, Marie.”

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

Logan took in the transformation occurring before him. Deep coffee-colored eyes gradually lightened and sharpened to a piercing emerald shade. He realized just how beautiful her features were, the soft arches of her eyebrows, the straight nose and high cheekbones set in perfect contrast to pouty, undeniably feminine lips. And all of it framed by long, tousled auburn hair with streaks of pure white peeking out at the front.

He watched, captivated, as the softness in those features hardened into a fierce strength just as beautiful. She stood straighter, the set of her shoulders proud and sure. He didn’t let his eyes go any further down than that. It would lead to madness, without a doubt.

There he stood, so busy admiring the exquisite creature before him that he was caught off guard when her right hook connected brutally with his jaw. The clang of knuckles on metal rang out in the cabin. His head snapped back, and he reeled in utter bewilderment for a moment. Then the blinding pain gave way to a dull throb as his healing kicked in.

Her face was twisted with rage when he managed to focus on her. Tears swam in her eyes as she shook out her fist. That had to have hurt her as much as it did him. Where the hell did she learn to throw a punch like that?

“Feel better now?” he asked grimly.

She shook her head, growling.

“Want another go?” He turned his cheek to her.

She shook her head again.

“Rogue, I’m—” he started to say he was sorry, as he had to Marie, but the words wouldn’t come. In their place a low, mournful whine rose up.

She seemed to understand. She stepped into him and rubbed her cheek against his chest for a brief moment. Then she snagged the last little bottle of bourbon, downed it in three gulps, and marched off to her room. It wasn’t forgiveness. But it was a start.

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

She woke up angry. The alpha had scared Marie. Marie Marie Marie. The word summoned a dozen new memories every time she thought of it. Marie was . . . her, only not. Her, only even moreso.

She was supposed to keep Marie locked in the room, supposed to protect her, but last night Marie got out and got hurt. She remembered the smell of fear, saw a flash of a bruised arm.

But when she looked down at her arm, there was no bruise. How strange. Was it a dream?

No. The soreness in her right hand said otherwise. She licked her tender knuckles.

She tossed off the blanket and searched the cabin for the alpha, but he was nowhere. She tracked his scent to the door, and opened it a crack to peek outside.

The cold hit her skin, sharp and strong. Her eyes traced the footprints in the thin layer of snow to the lake’s shore. There the alpha stood with his back to her. He wore no shirt or shoes. The sun was just beginning to rise over the water, staining the sky with warm yellows and pinks.

She watched, enthralled by the muscles under his skin as he moved. Every sweep of his arms smooth as—silk. The word brought a ghost of sensation against her fingers. The Silk Brocade.

Ba duan jin. She mouthed the sounds silently a few times before they escaped as a whisper into the still air.

He froze at the sound, then slowly turned to face her. “What did you say?” he asked as though he knew the answer.

She just stepped out of the cabin and let her own bare feet touch down on each of his footprints in the snow. She came to stand by him at the shore. It felt so easy to turn her gaze to the sunrise and inhale, raising her arms above her head in a movement her body remembered, even if she didn’t.

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

Logan had attained a state of perfect balance, every bit of his attention focused on the movement of chi through his body, when that whisper sliced through his concentration like a knife: “Ba duan jin.”

He watched in fascination as she looked out over the lake and began the first piece of the brocade. He knew she taught self-defense at the school, even remembered Chuck saying something about an advanced martial arts seminar, but he never expected . . . this. Her calm, practiced movements as she focused her chi. Her deep breaths visible in the cold morning air as a look of concentration he hadn’t seen before came upon her features.

She cast him a glance that said, Well? What are you waiting for?.

Logan let out a breath of amusement, then settled his stance and began to move with her. Time seemed to slow down as they worked their way through all eight pieces of the brocade. Logan wasn’t sure when exactly his eyes had fallen shut, but when he opened them, she was gazing at him curiously.

“Rogue?” he asked. Those eyes were definitely green, but he figured it didn’t hurt to be sure.

She nodded.

“I heard you speak,” he said.

She shook her head.

He bit back a growl of frustration. “Where did you learn chi kung?” Come to think of it, where did he learn it? He had vague recollections of a Shaolin monastery, but nothing concrete.

She shrugged.

“Fine then. Keep your secrets. Now get inside before ya end up with frostbite.”

She pouted at him playfully, then traipsed back to the cabin.

Logan let his eyes roam across the morning sky. It was a new day. For the first time in a long time, he looked forward to all the possibilities that entailed.

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

She heard the kettle whistle, eggs cracking, the sizzle when they hit the skillet. She liked to help the alpha make food, but she didn’t want to go into the kitchen, because she knew he would talk to her. Which wouldn’t be so bad if he didn’t try to make her talk back.

She wasn’t ready to talk yet. So she stayed in the bathroom, brushing her hair in front of the mirror.

I’m Rogue, she thought as the woman in the mirror swept the brush through her hair in slow strokes.

It didn’t surprise her. She had known all along, on some level, since the alpha and the sitting man and even Marie called her that. This was just the first time it really clicked. The first time she looked at herself and took it in, this vital piece of her.

A name. It felt like . . . it made her real. She didn’t know whether she was happy or afraid. It was confusing to think she could be feeling both at once.

Rogue set the brush down on the counter, looking at her hand for a long moment. Something was missing. She strode into the bedroom and opened the suitcase at the foot of the bed, pulling out a pair of silk gloves.

The alpha never let their bare skin touch. The few times she tried to touch his face, he grabbed her wrist and growled a warning. But if she wore these, then maybe he would let her trace his lips. And he could dress like he did by the lake. She could watch the muscles under his skin whenever he moved. Rogue liked that idea.

The silk slid easily over her fingers. And for the first time, it felt comforting rather than restricting.

Logan heard Rogue’s familiar footsteps approaching, but he didn’t turn from the stove. He used a spatula to take his own eggs off the skillet and flip hers; she balked at sunny side up.

Logan really wasn’t sure how he should act after the events of last night and this morning. He didn’t know where he stood with her. And he didn’t want her to sense his uncertainty—it would make her feral side nervous. A nervous Rogue, who may or may not have superpowers at any given moment, was a dangerous creature.

She set the radio on the counter and turned it on. A staticky bluegrass song filled the cabin. He supposed it was better than having the TV blaring all the time.

Then Rogue came to stand behind him. He suppressed the urge to tense up when her palm pressed into his back. His instincts told him to turn around, but he was finding more and more that there was another part of him—a part that often disagreed with said instincts. He kept his back to her, eyes on his task.

The hand slid up his spine, pressure muffled by his flannel and the T-shirt underneath. Logan kept his breathing steady, flipped her eggs onto her plate, and set about browning the bacon.

Her fingertips reached the bottom of his collar, then moved sideways to explore the pane of his shoulderblade. Another hand began exploring the opposite shoulder. Then she stepped into him, pressing herself along his body affectionately and rubbing her cheek against him.

The sweet gesture sent warmth thrumming through him, deep down to the metal of his bones. He cut off the burner and slid the bacon off the skillet. He’d never liked it crispy, anyway.

“Rogue?” he grumbled. Why was she being so affectionate? “You still mad at me?”

She simply nuzzled against him in response. Her hands returned to his collar, then began inching up towards his neck—

A low rumble rose in his chest as he spun around, snagging her wrists. He stared fiercely down at her, hoping she would interpret the look as anger rather than the hurt it truly was. “Sneaky Rogue,” he growled. “Think you can get my guard down and hurt me?”

She just shook her head, gently tugging against his grip.

It was then that Logan noticed her gloved hands. Oh. He released her, feeling ten times the jerk, but still wary. She had to have something up her sleeve, surely.

But the pure curiosity in her features said otherwise as her hands slowly made their way to his face. She traced the backs of her fingers through the coarse whiskers at his jawline and smiled. Her touch continued slowly upward, over his cheekbones, past his temples, smoothing the tension in his brow before dipping back down the bridge of his nose.

He didn’t know how the gentle sweep of her fingers could hurt so much, but it did. It felt like she was breaking something inside of him, some wall he had worked long and hard to put up.

Logan’s voice came out harsher than he wanted: “What are you doin’ to me?”

Her hands stilled over the stern lines around his mouth. She looked at him softly.

He struggled against the kindness in those eyes. “How can you be so . . . so . . . after last night . . . . You gave up everything to protect her, and I hurt her, Rogue. How can you just forgive?” He wanted to detest her, to hate her for being so weak.

She made no attempt to answer. Her fingers ghosted over his lips, making him shake. The barely-there drag of silk seemed to heighten all of his senses. Little flashes of pleasure seared through him, growing stronger and stronger with every pass of her fingers—and suddenly it was too much. His hips bucked and he bit down on her.

Her scent changed then. He breathed her in deeply, feeling his eyes go out of focus for a moment as they dilated. She pulled her hand from between his teeth and continued her exploration, slipping down over the tendons of his neck, the dip of his collarbone, flattening her palms against his broad chest.

She looked up at him then, and there was strength and pride in her features, but none of the smugness he remembered from the bathroom yesterday. For the second time that morning, she sent his mind back to a long-forgotten monastery.

The master understands that the greatest strength is in gentleness. Nothing is as soft and yielding as water; yet who can withstand a flood?

As he wrapped his arms around her, he realized she was far from weak. He certainly didn’t have the strength to forgive as she did. He couldn’t let go of his anger and bitterness. It was that anger, always simmering inside, that had driven him too far last night. He buried his face in her hair, waging an inner struggle.

He wanted to let go of his anger, to never risk it coming out on her again. But he couldn’t. It wasn’t fair, what had been done to him—what had been done to her. He wanted revenge, wanted it so badly he could barely think of anything else. He tightened his hold on her waist, anchoring himself in their connection. Her heart beat harder when he traced his palms up and down her sides, thumbs just brushing her breasts, following the dips between each of her ribs, down the gentle slope of her waist to where it finally flared out. He gripped her hips and she whimpered. So sweet, so good. Whoever attacked her deserved—

”Ya don’t always get what ya deserve, Logan.”

“She needs me to rip apart the sonofabitch that did this to her.”

“Really? And who will feel better once that is done—her, or you?”

Too many voices rang out in his mind, too many conflicting thoughts. He breathed her in and centered himself in the feel of her once more. Strong and gentle, proud and submissive, Rogue and Marie, and a dozen other contradictions all wrapped up in a body that molded perfectly to his. He wondered how she handled all the conflicting voices in her head. Maybe he could learn a thing or two.

Rogue pressed her hands into his chest until he loosened his hold. She pulled back only to raise up on tiptoes and playfully nip his lower lip. His hips bucked again, this time into the warmth of her belly, and he rumbled in pleasure.

She pushed the flannel off his shoulders and down his arms. He let it fall to the floor before stilling her movements with a tight embrace. He brought his mouth to her ear, whispering the command he so hoped she was ready to answer: “Tell me not to stop, Rogue.”

She whimpered, digging her nails into his back, clinging to him as she always did.

He brought a hand down to the small of her back, pressing her into him, grinding his hips in a slow circle that drew a hiss from him and another whimper from her.

“Say it,” he commanded and begged, “say it, baby, please. I need to hear it.” He bit down on her earlobe, rubbed his palm at the small of her back, pushed his hips into her, anything he could think of to make her desperate enough to speak.

She just whimpered pitifully when he finally pushed her away.

He turned with a rough sigh, grabbing the breakfast things and taking them to the table. He took a seat just in time to see Rogue pick up his green flannel and bring it to her face, rubbing her cheek against it and breathing in his scent. She gave him a look that was some mixture of anger, sadness, and resignation, then set the shirt on the counter and joined him for breakfast.

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

Rogue wore her black leggings, a yellow thermal shirt, and the green flannel she had snatched from the counter on her way out of the kitchen. She sat on the edge of her bed and pushed her feet into her boots, pulled the laces tight, and stared down at them for a moment. A feeling, new and not at all pleasant, rose up in her.

Embarrassment. She was embarrassed, because she couldn’t remember how to tie them. She fumbled with the laces, glancing up every few seconds to make sure the alpha—Logan—didn’t see her. Finally, something clicked, and she managed to loop the little strings around each other in a way that her fingers remembered better than she did.

Logan appeared in the doorway. He looked up and down her body in a way that made her a different kind of embarrassed. “Ya look good.” He cleared his throat. “Ready?”

Rogue managed to nod, though she still wasn’t sure about this. Logan said they had to go away for a while so housekeeping could come and clean the cabin and change the bedding.

Rogue didn’t want the bedding to change. It smelled like her and him and it made her feel safe. And the cabin didn’t need cleaning. Everything was how she liked it.

She bit her lip to stifle a whine and forced herself to take a step towards him.

He stood up straight and tall. “C’mere.”

The hesitation vanished, and she came to his side easily. There was something different about him, when he was like this. She loved the way he stood, and the sound of his voice: rough and sure. Like the first day, when he made the red-eye man go away and showed her he was the alpha.

Something occurred to Rogue: he was in the clearing, when . . . when it happened. She wondered if he had dead things inside his head, too. If that was why he understood her. He was . . . like her, in a way the sitting man and the others weren't. She remembered a word: feral. She and the alpha were feral.

He walked to the door, and Rogue could tell he expected her to follow. But the memory of the clearing made her not want to go outside.

Follow! her instincts ordered. She struggled to make her legs move.

He opened the door of the cabin and looked back to quirk an eyebrow at her. Again she felt the overwhelming urge to follow, and the equally powerful urge to stay.

She whimpered in confusion. It was so hard sometimes, being at the mercy of these powerful instincts, not knowing how to cope when her human and feral minds contradicted each other.

“Rogue,” he growled. “C’mere.”

Her decision was made for her; it seemed unthinkable to defy that voice. She walked to him, weaving her fingers through his when he held his hand out for her. She followed him outside, down the steps, to the soft wood chip path.

“We’re not goin’ to the bad place,” he said. “Calm down.”

Rogue knew she was gripping his hand too hard, could feel the bones and the sheathed claws shifting under his skin. If they were normal bones, she would have crushed them. She tried to relax her hold.

He led her down the path. They went south past the front lodge. Rogue breathed in relief, finally able to loosen her grip on him.

A hint of anger colored his scent. "You didn't believe me?" he asked roughly. "I told you, we ain't goin' to the bad place. Don't doubt me." He narrowed his eyes at her.

Rogue lowered her gaze.

He huffed his approval at the gesture, and walked off without looking back. Rogue fell into step behind him.

The trail he chose was steep, and she came to enjoy the burn in her legs as they walked. It felt good to use her muscles again. The alpha was silent, and she was content to simply follow him. She liked the way he moved, even when he was covered up with clothes.

It seemed to Rogue that they walked for a very long time before the trail leveled off and the alpha slowed his pace. He put an arm over her shoulders, and she fitted herself against his side.

Rogue supposed leaving the cabin wasn’t terrible. But it was a lot to take in. The smell of pine needles and rotting leaves, wet and mildewy from the melted snow. The musk of small animals nearby, and a hundred different territorial marks left by animals long gone. The squeaks of mice and squirrels, little clawed feet padding over the ground and scraping up the trees.

A flock of birds flew over loudly, and it was a bit too much. She buried her face in the alpha’s shoulder and closed her eyes, focusing on his familiar smell and the sound of his heartbeat.

He tucked her under his chin. “Just a little longer. You can do it. You think this is hard, wait ‘til ya get back to the mansion.”

Rogue pulled away, eyes shut tightly, shaking her head. She would never go back to the mansion. Back to that hallway . . . the hallway and the door and she had to protect Marie. Suddenly, the dead things were sinking their teeth into her, ripping her apart again. She lashed out blindly, trying to shove and hit them away.

It was no use. They were so strong. They just kept coming back, growling and snarling. She bit and clawed, disgusted with herself as her teeth sank into their filthy, matted fur, but it hurt so much, she’d do anything to make it stop. She tried to scream, but something closed over her mouth. She bit down and tasted leather.

“Openyoureyes openyoureyes openyoureyes. Don’t scream. Rogue.” That voice. She couldn’t resist that voice. Her eyes came open.

She looked up into the alpha’s stern face. She must have fallen, because he knelt over her, cradling her head in his hands. His lip was split, and she watched in awe as the wound knitted itself up before her eyes.

“You okay?” he asked gruffly.

She nodded slowly.

“C’mon. That’s enough hiking for one day.” He took her hand and pulled her up, then popped his neck a few times. A wicked smile crossed his face. “Didn’t mind gettin’ my spine cracked against that tree, but next time you wanna work out my kinks, just ask.”

Rogue gave him a curious look.

He lifted his gloved hand, now marked with two neat little rows of teeth. “Oh, and the next time you bite me, baby,” he leaned to purr in her ear, “I’ll bite back.”

6’2” with a runner’s body, broad shoulders, and the cheekbones of a Calvin Klein model, Scott was an impressive figure in a custom-tailored charcoal suit, even with his eyes hidden behind ruby quartz shades.

And he knew it.

Scott knew how to lead, how to command respect when he walked into a room. More importantly, he knew how to earn that respect and keep it long after first impressions faded.

Perhaps that was what unsettled him so much when he thought of Rogue and Wolverine. Rogue was a member of his team. She entrusted her life to him every time they fired up that jet.

Yet now, when he felt she needed him most, she turned from him. He had done nothing to betray her trust, and Wolverine had done nothing to earn it. He manhandled her, growled at her for godsakes, and she bowed down to him like he was Jesus H. Christ incarnate.

That didn’t sit well with Scott. Not at all.

After talking things over with Jean, he came to his decision. He would do what he felt was right. With clear conscience, he informed the Professor that he respectfully refused to obey his orders. He needed to see Rogue, needed to go out to the cabin and see for himself how things stood.

Xavier had simply consented, neither approval nor disappointment apparent in his ever-stoic features.

So Scott found himself at the front office of the resort. “Excuse me, Miss,” he said to the receptionist. He was worried but tried to keep his tone even. “I’m here to visit Ms. D’Ancanto. I tried her cabin, but it appears to be empty. Have you seen her?”

The girl eyed him suspiciously. “I’m required to respect the privacy of our guests, Mr.—”

He smirked. “Summers. Scott Summers.” He extended a hand, expertly widening the smirk into a charming smile.

The girl practically melted as he folded her hand in his. “Oh, um, T-Tiffani. With an ‘i’.”

He widened the smile even further, knowing it was bordering on shit-eating at this point, but he needed information. “Listen, I’m a colleague of R—Ms. D’Ancanto’s. We both work for Professor Charles Xavier. Surely you’ve seen him. He’s visited many times before.”

Tiffani nodded. “Oh. Right. You’re both teachers, then,” she said with a wink.

Scott masked his confusion. Was that her idea of flirting? “Er, yes, that’s right. I teach mathematics.”

Tiffani giggled. She leaned in conspiratorially. “It’s okay. I know you’re not really a teacher, G-man. You sure don’t look like one. Anyway, don’t worry—I’ve been keeping an eye on everything. Ms. D’Ancanto’s doing just fine. She and the other agent went for a hike, but I’m sure they’ll be returning soon.”

G-man? Did she mean X-man? What exactly had Xavier told this girl? “Uhh . . . right. Can you just let me into the cabin, then? I’ll wait for them.”

The girl bit her lip. “Well,” she said reluctantly, “I’m really not supposed to . . .”

He had her. She was giving him that look. The look that always made Jean glare daggers and smooth his tie and ruffle his hair in a way that sent a clear message to every woman in the vicinity: Mine. Back off.

But Jean wasn’t here right now. So he let that look linger for a moment, then moved in for the kill. “Please, Tiffani, I’d really appreciate your help.”

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

Wolverine ignored the pain of his vertebrae realigning themselves as he led Rogue down the path. He spoke about what they might do for the rest of the day, pulling responses from her when he could. A nod, a smile, a questioning look. He varied the pressure of his hand on hers, varied the pace of their walk, kept her focused on the world outside so she wouldn’t retreat back into herself.

He recognized her violent outburst—a flashback. He’d had enough of them to know. And he couldn’t risk her having another one until he was fully healed; he might not be able to restrain her. Gritting his teeth, he kept the pain off his face. He didn’t want her to know she had hurt him.

He didn’t want her to know she could hurt him.

“Almost to the cabin. When we get in there, you can take a hot bath.” She made a little contented sound at that, so he continued, “Light up them candles, turn on the radio. We’ll order room service for lunch. And dinner.” He shrugged. “It’s Chuck’s money, so I don’t give a fuck, do you?”

She shook her head, grinning.

“That’s right, baby. ‘Cause he ain’t rich like a nice old man that’s made good investments. He’s rich like small countries are rich. You prob’ly don’t know the half of it.”

She tugged his sleeve, and he recognized her ‘tell-me-more’ look.

He slowed to a leisurely pace, letting her pull his arm around her waist. She leaned into him as they walked. He used his finger to draw little circles on her belly, and spoke in his lowest gravelly tone because he knew it would make her heart beat faster. “Man’s got a hand in every cookie jar you can think of. Checked up on’im a little before I joined—found out he’s got his own private vault at Credit Suisse. Keeps all his dealings above-board, too, ‘cept a few top-secret contracts. And the arms dealers, got a couple of those in his pocket. Dunno why he stays in that mansion, when he’s got a perfectly good castle in Scotland.”

That drew a laugh from her.

“Mmm,” he hummed, dropping a kiss on top of her head. He felt something strange and unsettling wash over him. It was the pure masculine pride of pleasing her, making her heart beat fast, making her laugh. The pride . . . and the overpowering desire to keep making her happy. To make her want him. He tried to shove the feeling away.

He was the goddamn Wolverine. He didn’t prattle on like some human and drop gentle kisses into his mate’s hair. He was an animal. All he really wanted to do was pin her up against that tree and rip off her clothes. If Logan weren’t holding him back—that was the only reason he hadn’t claimed her yet. He didn’t care how she felt about it. He shook his head and took his arm off her waist. “C’mon,” he groused, hurrying off towards the cabin. He was the alpha, she was his, and that was that.

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

Foul chemical odors assaulted Rogue’s senses before she even reached the porch. She coughed, dragging her teeth over her tongue in a vain effort to get rid of the ammonia taste.

The alpha turned at the door. “I know, it’s godawful. But ya gotta get used to it eventually. Come inside.”

She buried her nose in the crook of her elbow and stepped in. Her eyes began to water, and she couldn’t help the angry growl rising in her throat. This was her den, her home, and someone had come in and erased every trace of her, marked over her claim with these noxious cleaners.

She felt violated.

She stomped to her room, only to see the red-eyed man emerging from her doorway. Her eyes widened in shock, growl climbing in volume. Her room. Hers. How dare he go into—she pulled back to swing at him, but the alpha caught her arm.

Red-Eye put his hands up, palms facing her. “I’m not here to make trouble,” he said.

Rogue was mad and scared, and everything smelled wrong. She struggled in the alpha’s grip, hissing and snarling.

He tightened his hold, wrapping his arms around her. “You got a death wish? She’ll tear you apart, pretty boy. And I’ll let her if ya don’t start talkin’.”

Red-Eye stepped into the hallway, inching around them. “That’s why I came, Wolverine. I just wanted to talk. We can take this outside.”

“Anytime, bub. Anytime.”

He sighed. “I meant we can go talk outside.” He then addressed Rogue in a soft voice. “Okay? Logan and I will go outside, and I’ll just leave you alone. See? I’m not here to hurt you, Rogue.”

That soft tone combined with his dominant stance only confused her, and she snarled again, trying to lunge at him. She felt the alpha’s chest rumble against her back. “Hey!” he grunted. “Relax.”

She stopped writhing in his grip, but still kept her eyes trained on Red-Eye. She didn’t know why he had been in her bedroom, but she didn’t like it. Not one little bit.

“Get out, Cyke. Lemme get her settled, then we’ll talk.” The alpha walked her back into the room and kicked the door shut. He released her, and she stamped her foot on the ground, snarling in frustration.

“Hey now. You’re okay. Just let it out,” he said calmly. He put a hand on his back and groaned, straightening it with a series of pops.

Rogue pulled at her hair, looking around her room. The bed smelled like bleach, poorly covered up with something flowery and fake. She traced Red-Eye’s scent to the bathroom, finding that the sink was wet, the soap bar dripping in its tray. She cast distraught eyes at the alpha and pointed, jabbing her finger at the hand towel that smelled like that filthy intruder.

He just raised an eyebrow at her tantrum. “I see it. But you know he didn’t mean to invade your territory. Now stop fussing.”

Rogue just stamped her foot again. The nerve! It was almost enough to make her cuss and scream.

Almost. But not quite. She bit back her anger and took a few deep breaths.

“You got a hold of yourself yet?”

She ripped the towel off the rack and threw it in the trash. Then she looked up at him, nodding tightly.

He seemed to be fighting a smile. “Good. Light up your candles and take your bath, darlin’. He ain’t gonna ruin our plans. Back in a few.” He stepped out, pulling the door closed behind him. He spoke through the wood. “You leave this door shut. If he sees you naked, Jeanie’ll know about it, and then he won’t be One-Eye anymore. He’ll be No-Eye.”

Rogue couldn’t help smiling at that. She snagged the matchbox from its spot on the windowsill and set about reclaiming her territory.

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

Logan grabbed a cigar from his room before heading outside. He definitely needed to get the ammonia smell out of his sinuses. Disgusting. And the fact that he hadn’t sensed Cyclops underneath all those chemicals was a bad sign. His body wasn’t fully healed yet, and if it had been anyone else waiting for them inside the cabin . . . . He just needed to be more careful.

With every step he took towards the door—away from Rogue—Logan felt his feral side retreating and his human side coming out. It was bizarre. He was beginning to feel like Jekyll and Hyde. Maybe Logan and Wolverine really were two different people.

He clamped the cigar in his teeth and strode out on the porch as casually as he could. He’d listen to what Cyclops had to say before sending the idiot on his merry way. No need to make a fight out of it; not with Rogue already upset. Besides, for all the shit he gave Cyclops, he really didn’t hate the guy. Much.

Cyclops stood out by the lake. Logan lit up and sauntered out to join him. “How’d ya get into our cabin?”

Sunglasses flashed as the younger man turned. “Tiffani. From the front desk.”

Logan hmphed. “The hell was she thinkin’? Lettin’ somebody into our rooms, Jesus. Chuck said she had better sense than that.”

Cyclops shrugged. “She didn’t want to, but I kinda have a way with women.”

Logan couldn’t tell if that was sarcastic or not. “The woman in the cabin begs to differ with ya there, bub.”

He frowned. “I don’t understand it. I had hoped –well, I just thought she might be better after a couple of weeks. The Professor said she was improving. Sure doesn’t look like it to me.”

Logan growled. “She is doin’ better. But what the hell do you expect when ya barge in here unannounced like that? Maybe ya forgot the last time she saw you, you were tryin’ to drag her out of her home.”

“This isn’t her home.” His voice was calm, but held an edge. “She belongs at the mansion, with us. The Professor trusts you, Logan, and that means something to me. But I’ll be honest. I hate the idea of you being out here with her, alone. It’s completely inappropriate. Surely you see that.”

“I see it. I see a lot. I’m the one that found her out in those woods, tied up and bein’ mauled by fuckin’ wolves, Cyke. I see it in my nightmares. Just like she sees it in hers. So I don’t really care about what you think is appropriate. I care about Rogue.”

“Do you? You don’t even know her.”

That stung. He lashed back, “You don’t know her. You want her to be what she was. Well I got news for ya: she can’t. And if ya try and force her, you’ll just end up hurtin’ her more. She’s different now. Get used to it.”

“She was different after she absorbed Magneto. She was different after she absorbed Carol. This isn’t different, Wolverine. She’s—god, she’s practically feral,” he bit out the word like it was a curse.

Logan growled, flashing his claws. “You wanna watch who you’re talkin’ to, boy.”

Cyclops kicked a stone into the lake, taking a ragged breath. “Look, I told you, I didn’t come here for a fight. I just wanted to make sure Rogue was okay. I believe you can understand her, better than we can right now. Heck, I believe you may even truly want to help her. I just think—this isn’t natural for her. She wasn’t born this way, like, er, like you. And you’re just enabling her, making her be something she’s not. Do you get what I’m saying?”

Logan held up a fist, metal claws gleaming in the sun. His voice was incredulous. “You think I was born with these, you stupid fuck?”

Cyclops scratched his head. “I don’t—you mean they’re not part of your mutation?”

Logan rolled his eyes. “Yeah, Cyke. I heal, and I also happen to have metal claws, heightened senses, and animal instincts. What the hell kind of mutation is that?”

“I don’t know; I’m packing dynamite behind my eyelids. Rogue absorbs people through her skin. Forgive me for not finding metal claws strange.”

“Whatever. Point is, the X-gene only caused the healing. The rest didn’t come ‘til after I was experimented on.”

“You—you weren’t born feral?”

“Don’t remember. But Doc McCoy says no. He ran some tests, thinks they altered my DNA. Spliced me with God knows who or what. Wouldn’t surprise me. Every bone in my body’s got metal grafted on, and I kinda remember the day they flayed me open and stuck these claws in. Don’t even know what else they might have done.”

“W-What were they trying to turn you—I mean, what did they hope to achieve?”

“Weapon X. A killer, vicious and too stupid to do anything but rip apart whatever they set me loose on. That’s what they wanted.” That’s what I was.

Cyclops kicked another stone. “I never knew. You could have told me.”

Logan felt his lip curl in disgust. “I work with you ‘cause Chuck pays me to. We ain’t friends, One-Eye.”

“Whatever, Furface. I still don’t know what the Professor and her see in you.”

“I don’t know what she sees in me. But Xavier knows I’m a decent bodyguard, and the only one on the team who can take a beating from her if she gets violent. She doesn’t wanna go back to that mansion, and you’re crazy if you think she should be around the little brats while she’s like this. She woulda ripped you apart in there.”

“I know,” Cyclops muttered, and the pain in his voice was apparent. He changed the subject. “Did you ever wonder how she got those white streaks in her hair?”

Logan had wondered that, several times, but he wasn’t about to admit it. “Not really. Why, you gonna tell me?”

He turned, presumably staring out across the lake. His voice was low. “The first time I saw Rogue was in the Statue of Liberty. Magneto had her strapped into this machine that ran off his power. It was supposed to turn normals into mutants. Problem was, he couldn’t give the machine the juice it needed without killing himself. So he transferred his power to Rogue.”

“He touched her.”

Scott scowled. “Yeah. Held on until her hair started turning white. And the whole time, she was just screaming. This gut-wrenching, awful scream. I’ll never forget that sound. Did you know Erik Lensherr was a Holocaust survivor?”

Logan thought of his Rogue, wondered what kind of horrors she had rolling around in her head. He wondered if she had protected Marie from that attack, too. “So, you rescued her. That was how she came to join the X-men.”

Cyclops shook his head. “We rescued her, yes. The Professor managed to salvage her sanity. But as soon as she was able, she went right back to Lensherr.”

“What? Why?”

“How much do you know about the Brotherhood of Mutants?”

He shrugged. “I know Sabertooth’s a member. That’s all I need to know to hate’em.”

“The Brotherhood is a cult. They mostly prey on young, vulnerable mutants. Runaways, like Rogue. She was fifteen when she was taken in by them. I don’t think the Professor ever forgave himself for not getting to her first. Anyway, we’ve raided their compounds before, but only a small few are ever willing to leave. They indoctrinate these kids, cut off all ties to the outside world, brainwash them with Lensherr’s mutant superiority rhetoric. We didn’t know it at the time, but Rogue had been a willing participant in Lensherr’s plans. Fifteen years old, and she was ready to sacrifice her life in that machine, Logan.

‘Xavier and Jean both tried reaching out to her, tried for years. But she wouldn’t leave. Wouldn’t betray her ‘mother,’ she said. It wasn’t until they made her kill a woman, Carol Danvers, that she finally left. She showed up at our doorstep, nearly out of her mind. One second she begged for help, the next she just begged us to kill her.

‘But you saw her, Logan. You saw her when you first joined the X-men. You fought beside her, trained with her. She recovered from every horrible thing life threw at her. That’s why I know she can recover from this. And if you help her, I’ll be thankful. But you damn well better be in this for her. I came here today to tell you that, and to warn you: if I find out you’ve harmed a hair on her head, I swear to—”

“I’m in this for her,” Logan said, looking back at the cabin. “I’ll do everything I can to help her.” He’d made that promise many times now. He still wasn’t sure what it meant. He still didn’t know if he could keep it.

Cyclops gave a brief nod. “Alright then. I don’t want to go in there and upset her again. But I will be back soon. Count on that.” He turned and began walking away.

“Wait,” Logan said. Cyclops stopped, but didn’t turn around. “Any leads yet?”

“None yet. But I’d bet money the Brotherhood was behind this. They don’t take kindly to people trying to leave their ranks. We’re on it, Logan. You stay here and focus on what’s important.”

Logan barely heard a word after ‘Brotherhood.’ He closed his eyes in fury, listening to the sound of Cyke’s footsteps fading down the path.

“Sabertooth,” he whispered, claws straining against their synthetic tendons. If that mangy mutant turned out to be the one behind this, Logan wouldn’t just rip him to shreds. He’d do it a hundred times over. Make him beg for death, just like Rogue did after they made her absorb Carol Danvers. A sick craving roiled inside him, and for a moment he wanted nothing more than to abandon Rogue in that cabin and run off to find—

The claws snapped back in, the pain of it like a bucket of ice thrown over him, jerking him out of his thoughts. He had promised to help Rogue. More importantly, he gave his word to her that they would spend the afternoon together. If he disappeared, she’d . . . she’d be lost without him.

The thought was terrifying. It almost made him want to run even faster and farther. He’d never had someone who depended on him. Someone who believed in him. He had agreed to stay with Rogue simply because the Wolverine lusted after her, and Logan wanted vengeance on whoever hurt her. When had it become something more? When had he become something more?

”You are what you do.”

Was it really that simple? Logan stared at the cabin for a long time. He thought of who Rogue used to be, before her mind was taken from her. He wondered who he used to be, before his was taken from him.

Maybe that was what Chuck meant by all his confusing Jedi proverb bullshit. Crossroads and helping each other find paths. Logan felt something shift inside him, and then it finally collapsed, that wall that had been slowly crumbling for so long. The one that kept him spouting promises he didn’t really understand, the one that kept him believing he was a monster and could never be anything more.

No more promises. He was committed. He was devoted. It didn’t need to be said; it simply was. And he would help Rogue not because he had promised anyone, but because it was the right thing to do. He hadn’t believed in right and wrong for the longest time, but it seemed plain as day now.

Right was Rogue. Whoever she was, whoever she had inside of her—a dead woman and a pack of wolves, a cult leader and a timid girl named Marie—he would be there for her. No matter what. He didn’t care if she never spoke again, if she could barely leave the cabin and threw temper tantrums when she didn’t get her way. He didn’t care if she had piss-poor taste in music and liked her eggs overdone. He was in love with her. And that was that.

Logan took his time out by the lake. He let the cigar’s taste and aroma thoroughly permeate him. That, combined with the harsh ammonia smell, ought to help. The truth was, he had an ulterior motive for finally allowing the maids to come in and clean.

To put it somewhat clinically, Rogue was approaching the most fertile time in her monthly cycle.

To put it not so clinically, she was in heat, and the Wolverine wanted to fuck her into oblivion. Repeatedly. Until he either sated himself or collapsed from sheer exhaustion, which, given his mutation, could take an awfully long time either way.

It wasn’t about who she was or what she meant to him. It was the simple fact that they were locked together in close quarters. Musk. Pure instinct. Nose to hindbrain, without a detour to his higher faculties in between. Logan felt the lustful haze settle over him every time he breathed in her vicinity. It was getting stronger by the day, by the hour. It was unpleasant, like a thirst that couldn’t be quenched, but it was manageable.

Logan had no doubt that he could keep his feral side from forcing itself on her. That wasn’t even a concern. It was a flat-out no, a line drawn in the sand, and he was one stubborn son of a bitch when he put his foot down—even the Wolverine knew better than to push him.

No, the real problem was the dozen or so other instincts that came along with lust—ones that very much had to do with who she was and what she meant to him. Those instincts were all heightened at this time, too.

It was a lucky break that Rogue had tried to attack Cyclops, had made her rejection of him clear. Otherwise, Wolverine probably would have attacked him, and that would have been far more difficult to explain. He knew Rogue was only being territorial, but his feral side saw the attack as a display of loyalty to her mate. Hell, maybe it was. And wouldn’t that be charming, if they were both vicious animals.

As if he needed more evidence of said vicious animal, there was the desire to mark her, which was even stronger than the desire for actual sex, oddly enough. The Wolverine could handle not having her—as long as he was absolutely certain no one else was having her, either.

Much as it bothered Logan to admit it, a part of him hated that the mark he put on her arm had disappeared. There was revulsion that he’d caused her pain, yet pride and pleasure that everyone would know he had touched her—it was enough to make him nauseous again. He felt a need to leave his scent on her, but more than that, some visual sign that she was taken. To warn even his olfactory-challenged competitors: Mine. You touch her, you die.

Though he was pretty sure she had the touching and dying thing down all by herself.

Stupid animal. They were alone in a fucking cabin in Vermont. It wasn’t as though virile males were beating down the door to get at her. So why did he feel this way? Why did he so desperately need to show his claim and bind her to him? Logan wasn’t sure what to do about that need. Rogue seemed content to wear his shirt, and that helped a little.

The marking was about others. But the most bothersome instinct was focused on Rogue herself. It was his desire to dominate. Possess. Own. Control. He had to get a grip on it. It felt so ridiculously good to see her submit. Like a natural high. Every time she dropped her gaze at his growl, or obeyed a terse command, it was an admission: You’re stronger than me. You can make me do what you want. Logan felt himself harden at the thought. Yes. Damn right.

He shook himself. No. Damn wrong. He stubbed the cigar on his forearm until the pain made the hardness go away. He loved Rogue. He didn’t want to dominate her; he wanted her to love him back, freely. He didn’t care if every instinct screamed that he was the alpha and had the right to treat her however he wished. He was more than an animal now. If the Wolverine wanted to think of Rogue as his mate, fine. But he would treat her on Logan’s terms.

That meant absolutely no hitting, biting, grabbing, or hurting. No scaring her. No intimidation or coercion. And no pinning her up to the wall and dry-humping her, for fucksakes.

Those rules lined out, Logan felt confident he could get through the afternoon without making a complete ass of himself. He brushed the cigar ash off his already-healed arm, rolled down his sleeve, and headed inside.

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

Rogue went to the alpha’s bed after her bath, but it no longer smelled like him. She stripped away the covers, lifted the pillows, ran her fingers over the sheets, but all she could detect was noxious chlorine. Bleach. She sneezed.

“Bless you.” Rogue turned to see Logan leaning against the doorframe. Well, that would work. Even better, actually. She walked over to him and dropped her towel, pressing herself into his body and rubbing her damp skin against him.

He stilled her movements. His voice was very hoarse. Not growly, just scratchy. “Rogue, honey, I need you to do somethin’ for me.”

She missed the confident sound he had earlier, but nonetheless nodded to show she understood.

“I need you to stay dressed, okay?”

Rogue made a face. She didn’t like clothes. They were stupid. And scratchy. The alpha was dressed, so she didn’t need to be, right? She was perfectly warm. And she liked the way the alpha’s scent changed when she was naked.

He smiled a little. “I love seein’ you, but just for the next few days, we both gotta be . . . careful. It’s real important. Got it?”

Rogue heaved a massive sigh, wrinkling her nose in distaste. This was the weak Logan, not the alpha. She could disobey him if she wanted. She squeezed around him and traipsed off towards the kitchen, naked as a jay bird.

His growl froze her in her tracks. “You do as I say.”

There was that voice. The one that sent a shiver down her back and tied her stomach up in knots. She turned to look at him, but the way he stood was already changing. His chest and shoulders came down, and the ferocity in his features softened. “Don’t listen to him. I want you to do this for me, Rogue. I’m askin’. It’s not a command.”

Rogue came to stand before him, studying his face. He wasn’t fierce and proud like the alpha. But he was still good. Still strong, even if he didn’t use his strength. Logan. The gentle one, who held her and rocked her and made the sound like leaves rustling.

She could do this for him. Even though she didn’t like clothes, it felt good to think of pleasing him. It felt right to not just let him take what he wanted from her, but to give it by her own choice. It felt not-wolf, but that was okay. She nodded.

“Thanks,” he said, hugging her and pressing a kiss to her head. “Look at us. Two feral mutants taming each other. That’s funny, ain’t it?”

She smiled up at him. It was funny, in a way she didn’t really understand just yet. But she was beginning to, a little more each day.

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

Logan looked down at her stunning smile, finding it hard to believe that it was directed at him. It made him warm, in a completely wholesome way. But then he breathed a little too deeply, and his thoughts took an abrupt drop into the gutter. Those pouty lips curving up to reveal an impossibly wide row of perfect white teeth. God, even her teeth were sexy. Was that possible?

His gaze dipped to the curve of her neck, the damp tendrils of hair tickling her skin. He could almost feel it himself, that silky softness. Could feel what it would be like for her when he finally touched her, when he found places inside her that he hoped no one else had ever found. He would make it good, so good for them both. Her pulse beat visibly against her pale skin. He felt the urge to close his mouth over that spot, to mark her again. He had to stop thinking about it. It wasn’t worth the frustration. Even if he tried, it wouldn’t show on her skin, not with Carol’s invulnerability.

She put her hand over his chest, no doubt hearing the increase in his heart rate. Her hand brushed the dog tags underneath his shirt, and an idea struck him. Perfect.

He stepped back, noting with some pride her disappointment at that act. He grabbed the chain and pulled the tags over his head. He held them up for her to see. His voice was his own, but it held a rough edge he couldn’t quite smooth out—the Wolverine was close to the surface. He looked down at her, tilting her chin back up when she lowered her gaze. “Would you like to wear these, baby?”

She studied the metal chain, then brought her eyes back to his. She licked her lips, nodded slowly. Her hand came up to take the tags from him, but he moved them out of her reach, shaking his head.

“Nuh uh. First you need to understand. These aren’t a gift for you. You wear them for me. You understand that?”

The scent of her arousal grew thicker. Her eyes were dark on his as she nodded again.

Logan felt his adam’s apple bob when he swallowed. He settled the chain around her neck and gently moved her hair out of the way. He knew his heart was pounding like a jackhammer now, a tremble going through his muscles as he took in the sight of her, flushed for him, wearing nothing but his tags and the sexiest smile he’d ever seen. God, but her body was fine. A fuckin’ work of art.

He bent to whisper in her ear, words so raw he couldn’t let them out into the air, for fear that he’d think better of sharing them, “I don’t want you to take those off. Never, baby, never. Whenever you see’em in the mirror, think about me. About how I’m makin’ you feel right now.”

She whimpered, and he smelled another spike in her arousal. His whisper grew husky. “Yeah, like that. And whenever you feel that metal move against your skin, just imagine . . .” Before he could stop himself, one finger slipped under the chain and traced a path down from her neck to where the tags were nestled between her breasts. She stopped breathing, her heart nearly beating its way out of her chest, her skin flushed pink with heat, yet erupting in gooseflesh. A shiver ran through her whole body.

Yes. His claim was made. She was marked. So beautiful. All mine. A low growl rumbled out of him, the sound jolting him back to awareness. He pulled his hand away and stepped back. “Get dressed,” he murmured. “Please.”

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

Is it possible to be jealous of yourself? Marie wondered. It seemed ridiculous. But as Logan’s whispered words slid through her mind, and she felt, as if through a curtain, the arousal tingling up and down her body, she longed to be Rogue. To be the one feeling—unfiltered—that heady surge of lust and affection.

More importantly, she longed to be the one Logan was pinning with that intense stare, his eyes darkening from their usual hazel to a deep stormy color that brought out every little fleck of gold in his irises. The way he was looking at her . . . she felt so . . . wanted. For a moment, just one beautiful moment, she forgot that she was untouchable.

“Untouchable, undesirable, unlovable,” a voice recited boredly from the newly reinforced cage in the corner. “Don’t kid yourself, Marie. Rogue was standing in front of him buck naked like some cheap whore, and he put a dog collar around her neck. If it had been my body he was looking at, he’d be down on his knees begging to worship me.”

Marie felt her heart clench. “Shut up, Carol. You’re crazy. You’re just crazy and mean. Ya can’t hurt me.”

Carol laughed. “Oh, but I can, little Marie. Are those tears in your eyes?”

How could Carol take everything beautiful about what Logan did, and just twist it up into something that made her feel like dirt? It wasn’t fair.

Marie spared a fleeting glance for the beautiful blond, and her heart twisted even further. She felt so out of her league. Carol had a way of bringing up every painful memory, every moment in her life that made her feel stupid and inadequate.

Every time one of the kids from school looked pityingly at her secondhand clothes, the stringy hair she never had a mama to teach her how to fix.

Every time she made up excuses not to have friends over, not sure whether she was more ashamed to have them find out she lived in a trailer park, or to have them find out how mean her daddy got when he drank.

The boy who saw past all of that. Who looked at her like she was an angel. She told him all her big hopes and dreams. He told her she was special and, “Gosh, you’re so pretty, Marie. I wantcha to be my girl.” An afternoon by the river. Her first kiss . . . the first beautiful thing that ever happened to her, and she ruined it with her untouchable, undesirable, unlovable body.

And then, she left with her big dreams and her big plans and her big stupid map folded up in her tattered backpack. Didn’t even make it as far as Laughlin City before she was taken in by the first person to offer some food and a room. The compound, where only her awful skin and Mystique’s protection kept her from being married off. Stupid, gullible girl. Even Mystique couldn’t protect her when she offered herself up like a lamb for slaughter.

No. It wasn’t even herself that she offered. She hid inside her mind like the coward she was, and let Rogue take all the pain and fear and suffering.

“STOP IT!” Marie yelled, rattling the pictures on the walls. She swiped angrily at her tears and looked Carol directly in the eyes. “I know what you’re doin’, and it ain’t gonna work. You can’t break me. I’m stronger than you. I’m stronger, ya hear me? I’ll admit that I’m white trash, and yeah I was a dumb girl who made some bad choices, and I hid behind Rogue for too long. But there’s somethin’ ya don’t know about me, Miss Danvers.”

Carol cringed back in her cage a little. Disgust tinged with fear, she spat, “And what’s that, Marie?”

Her voice was flat, emotionless. “I killed you. It was wrong, but I did it. Not Rogue. She wanted to let go, but I made her hold on. I made her do what mama--what Mystique wanted.” The guilt that had been flickering at the edge of her awareness for so long finally consumed her. Yet it was almost freeing to admit what she had done, to accept the blame on her own shoulders. She wasn’t going to let Rogue fight her battles anymore.

Carol looked up through the bars, and her eyes held no anger, no hatred, none of the madness that had haunted them for so long. “I know, Marie. I’ve always known.”

Marie stumbled back. “You—what?”

The cage began to rust, to crumble and disintegrate before her very eyes. Carol stood to her full height, sweeping back the golden curtain of her hair. An air of peace settled over her features, and it brought a sob to Marie’s throat. Carol spoke, “You drove me to insanity, Marie. Your subconscious—you felt such repressed guilt that you tortured yourself through me, for years.” Carol’s voice held only sadness and resignation. “If only you had admitted it sooner, perhaps we could both have been spared these years of torment. I may never forgive you, but knowing you accept the guilt of what you did eases my mind.”

Marie felt that guilt settle over her, heavy and leaden. The self-pity in which she wallowed moments ago was swept away. She had been wronged, had been treated unfairly in life, but she had committed many wrongs as well. “So . . . what now?” she asked, and her voice felt very small.

Carol took a deep breath. “I only want to live out my days in peace. I want the northeast wing of the mansion to myself, including the library. Leave me alone, and keep Magneto away from me.”

“It’s done,” Marie replied. “And Carol, I just want you to know, I’m sor—“

She held up a hand. “Don’t. You were sixteen years old, Marie. We were both victims.” Carol walked to the door, pulling it open with ease. She paused. “Oh, and you have free control of my powers now. I won’t be needing them anymore.”

Then she stepped out and shut the door, leaving Marie alone in her head.

Ignoring all of the jeans and dresses hanging neatly in her closet, Rogue shimmied into one of the long-sleeved unitards that had been folded in the bottom of her suitcase. The dark green lycra encased her like a second skin. She settled the tags, feeling a flutter in her stomach when the metal chain rubbed her. She slipped on a pair of split-sole shoes and sheer gloves, covering herself from the neck down.

There. Logan should be happy. It wasn’t too uncomfortable, either. Her feet felt almost bare. She flexed her arms and legs experimentally, feeling only a slight resistance from the fabric. This seemed familiar. She wore these suits often. But why? When?

A memory surfaced of a sunny room with blue mats covering the floor. She stood in the center of the room, surrounded by a group of little ones. She was teaching them how to move . . . to dance? No, to fight. They whispered to each other, muffled words like “boring” and “pointless.”

She sighed, motioning for them to stand back. They formed a circle around her. “Master the basic forms, and I’ll teach you things like this,” she promised, showing them a tornado kick. The muscles in her legs twitched with the memory. Her body knew intimately the balanced stance, the careful shift of her weight before she sprung off her toes, the pivot of her hips leading perfectly into the snap of her foot against the reinforced heavy bag.

That snap rang out in the room, the force of the kick cracking the vinyl bag and breaking one of the heavy chains it was suspended from. The little ones gasped. The bag wobbled erratically, until a powerful axe kick broke the other two chains and sent it to the floor. They cheered.

Another memory flickered to the surface. A dark alley, a different sort of snap. She had once shattered a man’s jaw with a kick like that. A bad man; she couldn’t remember who. She shook the memory away.

She was more concerned with the little ones. Who were they? They couldn’t all be hers . . . but were any of them hers? Rogue brought a hand to her mouth. No. Surely she would remember. She could never forget her own young—could she?

A voice slipped through her thoughts, familiar and comforting: S’okay, Rogue. We never had a child. Even if you can’t remember, I can.

Marie. Uh oh; did she get out again? Rogue squeezed her eyes shut, focusing on her inner world. It seemed Marie was still safe in her room, but something—something was off.

The door was open.

Rogue was seized with panic. She tried to push the door shut, but Marie held it. Rogue scolded her, No! Stay in your room.

I am, Marie said, but I want us to be able to talk to each other. I can help.

Rogue shook her head. There’s bad things out here. Shut the door. Don’t come out.

Now the voice had a sharp edge. I’ll come out if I want. It’s my mind too, ya know.

I have to protect you, Rogue insisted, giving the door another shove. It seemed silly to state something so obvious. It was right to protect Marie. It was wrong to let her out of the room.

Marie pushed back against the door. Rogue, stop it. I don’t need protectin’ anymore. Besides, ya couldn’t even protect yourself! Rogue felt a new emotion—regret—slip through the door as soon as those words were out, along with a dozen other emotions she couldn’t begin to understand. Jealousy? Anger? Sadness? I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it.

But it was true. Rogue couldn’t protect herself. Not from the blood or the dead things—they began to howl. Phantom pain lit up all over her body. It was awful. She curled into a ball on the floor. “Shhh, shhhh, hush, shhhh . . .”

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

Logan smelled Rogue’s distress only a moment before he heard her consoling herself: “Shhh, shhh . . .” He bounded down the hall and flung open her door. She was curled in a ball on the floor, rocking.

“What happened?” he asked, not really expecting an answer. He started to cross the room, but her head jerked up suddenly, and she fixed him with a piercing stare.

Her eyes flashed brown. “Wait. She’s upset. Stay away.”

“Marie?”

The eyes swirled back to green. “Shhh, hush . . .” They flashed brown again, “We have Carol’s powers now—don’t get too close—ow! Ow, it hurts!”

Logan took a step forward, unable to heed Marie’s warning. He reached for her. “What happened? Where does it hurt?”

“Everywhere!” she yelped, eyes swirling brown and green, shifting too rapidly for Logan to keep up. She batted his hand away with a force that nearly ripped his arm from its socket. She had Carol’s powers alright.

Logan tried to sound calm and in control. “Rogue, I—tell me what’s wrong. I can’t fix it if I don’t know what’s wrong.” He reached for her again, but she flung her arm out, knocking him back a few feet.

She jerked her arm back, hugging herself. “I’m sorry! She won’t calm down. Rogue, stop it, now! You’re hurtin’ Logan!”

“You didn’t hurt me,” Logan growled before he could stop himself. Yeah, perfect time for fucking male pride. Thanks, Wolverine.

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

Marie could feel the strain on Rogue’s mind as the monsters began to howl, louder than ever before. There was an echo of pain, coursing up and down her body. It felt absurdly real to Rogue, even though Marie knew she was perfectly fine, sitting on the floor in the cabin. But Rogue couldn’t take it. She was being ripped apart all over again.

You were right, Marie muttered, pacing the floor of her room. You weren’t ready to face them yet. I’m so stupid. God, what am I s’posed to do now?

Rogue yelped in pain, the sound echoing through the entire mansion. Marie’s mind was made up. She had to get out there and help. She shoved her bedroom door open all the way and stepped into the hall.

She allowed herself to look for the first time since . . . since Rogue changed. The hallway was dark and decrepit, mirrors and pictures shattered, flowers wilted in their vases. A musky, wet animal smell had settled over everything. Claw marks gouged the floor. Muddy prints were smeared everywhere, and Marie was fairly certain some of the smears on the walls were dried blood.

It wasn’t at all how Marie remembered. No wonder Rogue wouldn’t come into the mansion anymore, if this was how she saw it.

Marie felt something furry brush the backs of her legs. She shrieked and jumped. Stop, she thought to herself. Just calm down. This is my own mind. Nothing can hurt me here unless I let it. She squeezed her eyes shut and thought hard, remembering every detail she could about the hallway, how it used to be. The polished floors, the pristine molding and freshly washed windows. The warm paneled walls, the antique doorknobs, the still life paintings and the actual suit of armor that seemed to stand guard over the stairwell—Rogue had asked Charles about its origin once, and he had given her an enigmatic smile.

Marie opened her eyes. The hallway was back to normal, clean and welcoming. She took a deep breath. Okay. I can do this. Now, focus. Where is Rogue?

Marie walked down the stairs and into the foyer, the decayed, forlorn look of everything vanishing almost instantly as she envisioned how it was supposed to be. The closer she got to the front doors, the more strongly she felt Rogue’s presence. Memories began to surface, pain and fear and sadness that Rogue had tried to keep hidden from her. Marie couldn’t deal with the memories right now. She knew it would only make things worse in the long run, but for now she shoved them away, deep into her subconscious. Right now, she had to get to Rogue.

She inched open one of the heavy oak double doors and slipped outside, closing it tightly behind her. It wouldn’t do to have any of the mansion’s inhabitants escaping to run free through her mind. Marie looked out over the grounds. It was dark outside, as if a perpetual twilight had descended over everything. A flock of blackbirds made its way silently across the endless gray sky. The grounds extended as far as she could see, woods rising up on all sides, stretching out all the way until conscious blended into murky subconscious. Marie gulped. Her mind was a seriously spooky place.

Logan’s voice came from some indeterminate location, louder now that it wasn’t muffled by the mansion’s thick walls. He was trying to touch her again. Please, baby, tell me what’s wrong.

Marie fought for control of her muscles and managed to hold herself still, ignoring the new wave of anger and fear she felt from Rogue. She let Logan put his arms around her, since he seemed intent to do so regardless of the fact that she could throw him across the room with a flick of her hand. She forced her jaw to move, manipulating her vocal cords as best she could. It was difficult without Rogue’s help. It’s me, Marie. I’m tryin’ to help Rogue. She’s scared, she heard herself say.

How can I help? came Logan’s slightly garbled reply.

You can shut up and let me concentrate, Marie thought. She felt her cheeks turn red. Oh gosh. Did I say that out loud?

He let out a bark of laughter, and she felt his arms tighten around her. I’ll shut up, but I’m not goin’ anywhere.

Fair enough. Marie let herself be comforted by his warmth and strength. She wished he was still inside her mind. He always seemed to know what Rogue needed, whereas Marie didn’t have a clue. She tried to draw on his knowledge, but it was no use. She didn’t absorb much of him. His presence had faded after a few days. Rogue may have saved some of his memories, but Marie had zilch.

She kept moving towards Rogue’s presence, shoving away the memories that rose up without really looking at them. After all, she figured, there was a reason Rogue kept these things hidden from her. She had a feeling none of them were experiences she wanted to relive.

Marie stepped past the treeline and immediately felt engulfed by the woods. Exposed roots twisted and tangled all over the forest floor, tripping her up with every step. The darkness was thick and oppressive, and the howling sounds seemed to be coming from everywhere and nowhere at once. It was disorienting.

It was damn frightening.

Marie tried to calm herself, but her heart was pounding, her palms felt clammy, and every breath she drew in was shakier than the last. Her legs felt weak, but she kept taking one step after another, despite the roiling in her stomach as she got closer to Rogue. Marie had never been so afraid in her life. Whatever was out there, she didn’t want to see, didn’t want to know.

This is my mind, she told herself again. Nothing can hurt me here unless I let it.

Finally, she peered around a thick tree trunk, and in the darkness she could just make out Rogue’s form. She was huddled on the ground, the monsters growling and closing in around her. Marie couldn’t really make out their shapes in the darkness, and she didn’t want to. They were enormous, though. The smell of them nearly made her gag. Putrid and musky, like dead animals. A memory surfaced—Sabertooth panting over her, the smell of his breath—she shoved it down.

Rogue was falling apart. Her thoughts were slipping freely into Marie’s mind now, the barriers crumbling. Marie couldn’t do anything in the onslaught except push the thoughts into her subconscious. Charles had warned her against repressing things like that, said it was dangerous, but if she tried to integrate that many thoughts at once, she would probably dissociate into another personality. And judging by how awful and unpleasant most of the thoughts were, Marie didn’t think she would like that new personality very much. She had gotten lucky with Rogue. She didn’t want to share her head with anyone else.

She dared to peer around the tree trunk one more time. Rogue! Can you hear me?

Marie barely heard the whimpered response. She swallowed around the lump in her throat. She had an idea. Of all the terrible, scummy things she had done to Rogue, all the times she had used her, this had to be the worst. But it was the only thing Marie could think of that might hold her protector together. Please, Rogue. Don’t fall apart. I need you. Ya can’t just abandon me now.

Marie felt Rogue’s shame, even stronger than her own. I’m sorry, Rogue whimpered. She yelped again as another monster leapt forward and sank its teeth into her. She flung it away weakly, her breaths becoming ragged with exhaustion. I’m sorry, Marie. I’m dying. Go back to your room. Go hide.

Stand up and fight, ya coward! Marie yelled, feeling disgusted with herself. Rogue struggled to her feet, swaying, but she managed to stay upright. One of the dark forms leapt at her again, knocking her to one knee, but she drove her elbow into its ribs with an audible crack. It limped away. She got to her feet once more, but immediately doubled over and began coughing blood.

Marie felt more of Rogue’s thoughts slipping into her, memories and feelings, and not all of them bad anymore.

She felt Rogue’s confidence, her boldness, her fierce protective streak, the way she fed on adrenaline, her taste for whiskey and even the secret smile she felt on her lips when she wore pretty lingerie, though she knew no one but her could enjoy it. There were swear words Marie had never heard before, martial arts forms and the not-unpleasant sting of a punching bag meeting her bare knuckles. Secrets and hopes and feelings, her own yet not her own.

Marie pushed against the onslaught of thoughts, pushed so hard that she felt her own thoughts slipping into Rogue’s mind. Memories of her childhood, fishing for crawdads and helping Gran sell plum jelly on the roadside, Daddy whipping her with a switch cane when she called him stupid because he couldn’t read, the sweet taste of honeysuckle and the sound of cicadas humming all around, lulling her to sleep on humid Mississippi nights.

Marie’s vision began to blur. One second, she was looking through her own eyes at Rogue, the next she was looking through Rogue’s eyes at the dark forms of the monsters. She felt dizzy. Or Rogue felt dizzy. She couldn’t tell which.

But she didn’t really care, as the woods began to lighten around her, a hint of sunshine filtering through the ceiling of leaves, chasing the monsters away. She felt exhausted but somehow knew she was safe now. This felt right, this integration. She became aware of the outside world. Someone was shaking her shoulder.

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

Logan scooped up Rogue’s light form and laid her out on her bed. He sat by quietly, counting each second that passed, wishing she would open her eyes or say something. He didn’t think anything was seriously wrong. She seemed okay now, but still, should he call Chuck? He pulled the phone from his back pocket, debating.

He flicked the phone open but couldn’t make himself press the call button. Why wasn’t his hand cooperating? He tried again.

A growl rose in his throat. No. Wolverine didn’t want anyone else in the cabin, not while Rogue was . . . just the thought of another male seeing her in heat made his hackles raise.

Stupid animal. Logan tossed the phone onto the nightstand, raking a hand through his hair in frustration. If he couldn’t make himself call Chuck, maybe he could at least hold himself back while Marie did it. He shook her shoulder, hoping it wouldn’t send her into another fit.

Her eyes lolled as she blinked them open, pushing herself up on her elbows. Her irises were still swirling eerily between colors. She groaned, and Logan saw her muscles twitch, little spasms darting through her arms and legs, clenching her torso.

He could see every inch of her way too clearly in those skin-tight clothes. It reminded him of the first time he saw her, wearing an outfit just like this, in the sparring room at the mansion. Chuck had been giving him the royal tour when Logan spied her through the half-open door, movements mesmerizing as she tossed out a series of punches and shadow kicks, half-fight, half-dance. He had abandoned Chuck in the hallway and sauntered over to her, introduced himself with the cocky grin that made most women’s hearts skip a beat. He remembered his disappointment when she cringed away from his handshake.

Of course, she didn’t shrink from his touch anymore. She was his for the taking whenever he put his hands on her, if her scent was any indication. He couldn’t help running one of those hands down her stomach, feeling every little jump and twitch of her muscles against his palm. She sighed. He flattened his hand on her lower belly, feeling the heat spread under his touch. He couldn’t wait to feel that heat, feel those muscles twitching from the inside.

Logan forced his wandering eyes back up to her face. Now was really not the time to be having dirty thoughts about the traumatized woman he rescued from the woods. So he needed to stop looking at her body. Fuckin’ pervert. But his eyes betrayed him, sneaking one more peek at the fabric stretched over her breasts, his tags looking nice and comfortable nestled there. He shook his head, dragging his gaze back up by raw force of will.

She managed to focus on him, still breathing a little heavily. He was drawn into the churning depths of her eyes—it was unsettling, the way they shifted like that. He felt like his own insides were shifting in response. Finally, the browns and greens resolved themselves, and her eyes settled on a deep mossy color. Interesting. Logan tilted his head at her. He managed to find his voice: “Huh . . . that you, Rogue? Or Marie?”

She looked as dazed as he felt. She thought about it for a minute, propping herself up further. “I guess . . . we’re . . . I’m . . . both?”

She wasn’t sure what to think. Her sense of identity felt all twisted up. The statements “I’m Rogue” and “I’m Marie” both felt true. Still, perhaps “I’m Marie” fit a little better. She didn’t have all of Rogue’s memories. Some of them were pushed deep into her subconscious, while others sort of swam at the edge of her awareness, along with many instincts and urges she didn’t want to examine too closely.

Marie shook her head, trying to get rid of the fuzzy, muddled feeling. She was too scatterbrained to go back to her inner world and sort it all out right now. So she just brushed past Logan and stood up, stretching, reacquainting herself with the body she had neglected for too long. She craved . . . movement. To burn off some energy, to push herself until she felt a rush of endorphins, a release. It was a yearning she had felt vicariously through Rogue many times, but it was now her own.

She remembered that the resort had an exercise facility, and nearly asked Logan to take her there before she snapped her mouth shut, realizing just how stupid she was being. There were definitely more important things to take care of right now. She spun to face him, only to find that he had stood up while her back was turned.

“Oh,” she whispered, gazing up at his handsome, angular face, that intense stare focused on her, and her scattered thoughts all seemed to condense to a fine point. She was suddenly very self-aware. A sense of dread trickled over her.

She had a new perspective on every memory of the past two weeks.

She had behaved like . . . an animal. This man had seen her naked. She had practically thrown herself at him. Repeatedly. He had dragged her out of his bed in the middle of the night, pushed her away when she latched onto him like a lamprey, politely told her to, ‘Get dressed, please.’

She had ignored Charles, attacked Scott, and thrown a fit when housekeeping changed her sheets. She had rubbed Logan’s scent on her, mussed up his sheets every time he tried to make his bed. And then there was that time . . . in the bathtub. Her stomach dropped. She had m-m-masterb—touched herself in front of him.

“Oh. My. Gawd.” Her voice felt squeaky. What the fuck was she thinking? Was she out of her mind?

Well, yeah. She was. So there you go.

Logan tilted his head at her again. He ran a finger over her cheek, a question in his eyes. He was no doubt wondering about the fierce blush she could feel flaming over her entire face.

She whimpered involuntarily, then clapped a hand over her mouth. What am I, a puppy? Oh god oh god oh god. Was it possible to die of embarrassment? “I—I am s-s-so sorry,” she stuttered over her words. Tears pricked her eyes. “I’ve never been so humiliated in my life.” She turned away, but he caught her arm.

“Hey,” he said, trying to make her face him, but she refused. “You got nothin’ to be sorry for. What’s goin’ on here? I think I understood you better when you couldn’t talk.”

Marie could still smell her own arousal from earlier. That meant he could smell it too, she realized, wishing once again for the earth to open up and swallow her. She dislodged herself from his grip, wondering for a moment if she ought to just fly away and never come back.

But of course she couldn’t do that. She had the kids to think about, and Charles and the team. They were her life. She had to get back to them, and that meant she had to face what had happened here with Logan. Someday, she’d look back on this and laugh.

Yeah. Right.

Marie turned around, forcing herself to meet his eyes. She swallowed thickly, blurting out, “I just realized . . . the way I’ve been actin’, especially towards you, these past couple weeks. I could die of shame just thinkin’ about it. I don’t know what come over me. I’m sorry. What else can I say? Just . . . just sorry.”

There. That was only the most embarrassing moment of her life. No big deal.

He looked inexplicably angry. His eyes flashed as golden as she’d ever seen them, and his claws even slipped out a few inches before he managed to pull them back in. His voice was rough. “You’re sayin’ . . . what, you don’t feel that way anymore? It was all a mistake?”

A mistake? Was that what she was saying? Her stomach flip-flopped, and she bit back the whimper that tried to rise up. She replied weakly, “I uh, I mean, yeah? A m-mistake. Don’t you think so?”

He growled, leaning into her, scenting the air conspicuously. “I wanna know what you think.”

She shrank under his gaze. She wanted to lie, but that would only make things worse. She settled for dodging the truth. “I don’t know what I think, okay? I’m . . . sorry I led you on. I dunno how you got saddled with takin’ care of me, but I’m sorry if I made you feel some kinda obligation to me. I never woulda acted all—all clingy like that if I’d been in my right mind.” She laughed, a little hysterically. “My right mind. Whatever that is. I’m such a mess. Sorry.”

“You say ‘sorry’ to me one more time, and I won’t be held responsible for my actions.” If there was any sarcasm in that statement, she sure as hell couldn’t hear it.

She wrung her hands, not sure whether to laugh or cry. “O-okay. Then how ‘bout I say thanks instead?” She couldn’t bring herself to meet his eyes anymore, but she forced the words out, addressing his boots. “I mean it, Logan. Thank you so much, for everything. You been so—so understandin’, an’ good to me even when I acted like . . . like a . . . Well, I don’t even wanna think about what I acted like.” The words ‘cheap whore’ came to her mind again. “Somehow, you just made it all seem okay.” Her voice felt small. “Almost like I didn’t do anythin’ wrong.”

“You didn’t,” he said forcefully. His hands found her shoulders, and he gripped them for a brief moment before letting go, holding his arms tight against his sides. “You were just doin’ what felt right to you, followin’ your instincts.” He paused for a long time, shifting his weight between his feet. “Listen, I never told anybody this, but I went through the same kind of thing, after . . .” he broke off. “Anyway, it’s not your fault. You just tell me who hurt you, Rogue, and I’m gonna—“

Her eyes flew up. “No! Don’t bring that up.” The repressed memories pushed against her awareness, and she cradled her head at the splitting headache that flared up. She gritted her teeth, holding the memories at bay. “Whew boy, feels like a marchin’ band poundin’ through my skull. We gotta get back to the school, sugar. Charles an’ Jean worked so hard to help me get this mind in order. They’re gonna fly off the handle when they find out what I done to it.”

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

Logan stood in the kitchen, gripping the counter with a force that left imprints on the formica. Chuck was definitely not getting his deposit back on this place.

After Marie filled him in on the details of what happened, Logan suggested she should call Xavier and bring him up to speed on their new situation. But now Wolverine was getting him back for that little suggestion.

He wanted nothing more than to storm into her bedroom, rip that phone from her hands, and show her in a very primal way that he was the only man she should be in contact with, speaking to, or even thinking about while she was in heat.

Possessive? Him? Nah.

He made the mistake of breathing, and her scent crashed down on him like a ton of bricks. It was all he could do to restrain himself. His fingers tightened on the edge of the counter until it gave way with a crunch. His instincts were kicking into overdrive, and he didn’t give a damn whether Rogue still shared those instincts, whether she still knew what that chain around her neck meant. She was his, feral or not. He wouldn’t, couldn’t, give up his claim on her. His chest rose and fell, his mind growing hazier with every breath.

He shook his head to clear his thoughts and adjusted himself in his jeans. Jesus Christ, he could not wait for this time of the month to be over.

“. . . why I think it’s best we get back soon as possible. Yep. Uh huh.” Every word that filtered through her door and into the kitchen left a bitter taste in his mouth. Logan now tried to ignore the voice he had longed to hear for the past two weeks. Fuckin’ irony, right there.

He finally busied himself making sandwiches. They had to eat, after all, and room service was now out of the question. If a guy happened to bring it, he might rip the poor fella’s throat out. And it would be just plain creepy to request that a woman deliver their food. He layered meat and cheese and vegetables onto the thick—homemade?—bread Storm had dropped off on her last visit. Homemade bread. Didn't get much better than that. Yeah. Fuck room service. Who the fuck liked room service, anyway?

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he muttered, hoping that if he said the word out loud, it might do something to relieve the tension in his body.

It didn’t.

How was he going to break this to Marie?

Sorry, darlin’, I know you’re eager to get back to the mansion and salvage your sanity and all, but this vicious animal inside me has sorta claimed you as his mate, and he’s drivin’ me a little bit crazy right now. So we’re gonna have to wait a day or two, unless you want me to eviscerate half the team.

Why would I spill Hank’s blue guts all over them nice hardwood floors, you ask?

For the crime of having a penis and standing too close to you.

Yeah, that'd go over real well. Maybe he should ask her to come live in a cave with him and howl at the moon while he was at it.

Finally, he heard the phone click shut, then the sound of her footsteps approaching. He set the food on the table and turned to look at her, bracing himself for another unpleasant rush of instincts. But surprisingly, the tension in his body lightened. He felt the Wolverine retreat, seemingly content now that he could keep an eye on her.

Okay, Logan thought, I can take a hint. Don’t let her out of our sight again. Got it. Ya coulda just told me that, ya stupid brute.

An awkward silence stretched as they stared at each other across the kitchen. Logan felt something twist in his heart. He realized what it was: he missed Rogue, the one he knew, the one who would’ve traipsed across that kitchen floor and made a cute little mock-innocent face at him before trying to feel him up.

Some part of him knew that this was Rogue, right here in front of him, the real Rogue. The woman she was supposed to be. He should be happy for her, right? Happy that she could speak. Happy that she could remember her real home, a mansion in New York with the X-men, not a little cabin in Vermont with him.

She ducked her head, but for once it wasn’t a gesture of submission. She was trying to hide from him. Those deep green eyes traveled across the kitchen under a curtain of lashes, finally settling on the table. She cleared her throat. “Th-that looks great. Thanks for makin’ me one, too.”

“I always make you lunch,” he answered dumbly.

Marie cleared her throat again. “Yeah. Yeah, I s’pose you do.”

Logan moved to her side of the table and pulled out her chair for her. It seemed a stupid, overly formal gesture, but he wanted her to sit down. It made him nervous, her standing in the doorway like some frightened doe about to bolt.

She nibbled at her lower lip for a moment, then seemed to set her resolve. She strode across the kitchen, and he was relieved to see that at least the careful grace he had come to associate with her was still the same. She always moved like someone who really knew their body, who had a heightened awareness and lightning-quick reflexes.

He reckoned growing up with deadly skin would do that to a person.

“Thanks,” she muttered as she sat down, and he pushed in her chair. He went around to the other side of the table, feeling once again the nearly tangible awkwardness as he took a seat across from her.

Their eyes met. The table suddenly seemed very long, the distance between them growing with each passing second. The silence was oppressive. She always used to turn on the radio while they ate.

Finally, Logan picked up his sandwich, taking a bite and chewing mechanically. She followed suit.

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

Marie had finished half of her sandwich and didn’t think she could stomach anymore. She hated the way Logan was sitting so stiffly, hated the tense silence between them, hated herself for whatever she had done to make things so awkward. She didn’t know how to fix it. She didn’t really think it could be fixed.

A thought struck her, and she felt slightly ill. What if—what if it had always been like this? What if he had been this uncomfortable around her for the entire two weeks, and she just hadn’t noticed before? It was entirely possible. She had been so caught up in her own little world, so oblivious to what was really going on . . .

She snuck another peek at him through her lashes. He looked miserable.

Carol’s words rose up in her thoughts, and whether the words had really come from Carol or her own subconscious was a moot point. They were true.

”Untouchable, undesirable, unloveable . . .”

“Standing in front of him buck naked like some cheap whore . . .”

She heard a pathetic whine ring out in the kitchen. Logan’s eyes darted over her curiously, and she realized with a start that the whine had come from her own throat. She hid her face in her hands. “Sorry,” she said in a muffled voice, peering through her fingers like a skittish child.

The remains of his sandwich dropped to his plate. “Quit fuckin’ apologizing. Christ, you didn’t do anything wrong, okay? Is being feral really so awful, that you think ya gotta be sorry for who you are? Think I should be sorry too? Huh?”

Marie flinched at his tone. He sounded on edge, a growl creeping into his voice. She floundered for words, twisting her fingers in her lap. “No, of course not. But you don’t go around whimpering, or attacking your friends, or throwing yourself at—I mean, you have control of it.”

His laugh was bitter and humorless. “Control. Yeah, I have a lot of that. You make me use every bit of it, darlin’.”

Marie felt confusion knit her brow. “What do you mean by that?”

His eyes narrowed in annoyance. “Don’t pretend like you don’t know what you do to me.” He tapped the side of his nose. “We can’t hide that from each other, like other people do.”

Was he saying that he wanted her? That he found her attractive? She felt a tiny flutter of hope, before she stamped it down as girlish stupidity. She had toxic skin. No one found that attractive in a woman. She knew Logan had been aroused by her—there was no hiding that from her heightened senses, but it was only because she offered herself up to him like some tramp.

And even then, he had never actually taken her up on those offers. She couldn’t even tempt the man by crawling into bed with him. Pathetic. She was about as far from attractive as a person could get. She buried her face in her hands again.

He just let out a rough sigh and stood, grabbing their plates and going over to the sink. Marie looked up, but he averted his eyes and turned his back to her. It felt like a dismissal.

She didn’t understand the hurt that welled up in her as she stared at Logan’s cold back. It was ridiculous. She hardly knew him, truth be told. Why should she crave his affection? She was the Rogue. She didn’t want or need anyone. She had always thrived on privacy, solitude. She went through life alone, and that was how she liked it.

She stood, figuring she should go to her room and get packed. The sooner they got back to the mansion, the better. She could go back to the life she knew, forget about this place, about this man.

She had just stepped out of the kitchen when his growl made her turn. His eyes had that golden glint again. “Where do ya think you’re goin’?” he demanded.

Marie was vaguely disturbed by the way her eyes fell, a gesture of submission so deeply ingrained she couldn’t consciously control it. “To my room,” she said softly.

“Not without me,” he growled, following her through the living room and down the hall.

She tried to protest when he stepped into her room after her, sprawled out on her bed as if he owned it, and looked up at her expectantly. But she couldn’t make her mouth form any words. What the hell was he playing at?

“Well?” he finally asked. “What’d we come in here for?”

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

Logan knew he was being an ass, but he couldn’t help it. He had enough pent up frustration to last a lifetime, and he wasn’t sure how long he could keep piling more on without some outlet. Marie was being obstinate and distant and infuriating, and he had always been one to give as good as he got.

He had tried being up front with her, had opened himself up and been as honest as he could be. And how did she repay his effort? By acting shy, playing games like some immature schoolgirl.

She wanted him. He wanted her. There was no point denying it. Why did she have to make things so complicated? Why did she have to go and ruin his fantasy? He had convinced himself that as soon as she could talk, she’d tell him she was crazy about him, give him one of those sweet smiles, and make haste to get between the sheets. Instead she went and said she was sorry. Said she was ashamed. What the fuck was that all about?

He made himself comfortable on her bed, feeling bittersweet satisfaction at how bothered she looked. She had no problem making herself at home in his bed, but she had always been very territorial about hers. Nice to see some things hadn’t changed. He stretched, letting his dirty boots drag over the comforter, daring her to say something.

She just clenched her jaw and shuffled over to her closet, pulling her clothes off the hangers and folding them neatly before dropping them into her suitcase.

She glanced over at him, and he tried once more to provoke her with a smug look, folding his hands behind his head with a lazy sigh. Come on, challenge me. He wanted an excuse to reassert his dominance, to vent his frustration at her.

But she didn’t give him one. She just spoke in a low, even tone, folding up her clothes with practiced movements. “Charles agrees that I should get back to the school. He’ll be able to help me deal with these repressed memories, before they turn into somethin’ dangerous.” She started to ramble. “Thanksgiving’s comin’ up, so most of the students are leavin’ tomorrow. It’ll be a good time to transition back. I figure we can head out today or tomorrow, maybe make it halfway and get a motel. We can be home by Tuesday. Get back to our lives.”

“Riiiight,” he drawled, shoving his anger down before he could leap across the room and throttle her. “We’ll just forget the last two weeks ever happened, huh? Go back to the X-men, teach some brats, go on missions together, pretend like there’s nothin’ between us. God fuckin’ damn, that’s really what you want?”

She froze, clenching a dress in her hands until he heard the seam rip a little. “Yes,” she said tightly. “That’s really what I want.”

Bullshit. That was the first time she’d flat-out lied to him. By the time he was aware of moving, he already had her boxed in against the wall. He pulled the dress from her grasp, ripping it a little more in the process, and tossed it aside. He planted one bulging arm on either side of her head and took a step forward, so close he could feel her heat, hear her pulse quicken. Her scent was already changing for him, and he hadn’t even touched her yet. So responsive. An appreciative rumble came up from his chest. She was so his, even if she refused to admit it.

She just looked off over his shoulder somewhere, a thousand yard stare that would make any drill sergeant proud. Looks were deceiving, but her smell couldn’t lie.

He buried his face in her hair and took a deep draw of her scent, remembering the first time he imprinted her. Maybe he could make her remember it, too. Ah, there it was, that sweet little whimper, a spike in her arousal. She’d gotten the message. He purred, “You wanna play games, baby? That’s just fine. But you better understand somethin’.” He ghosted his lips over her ear, making her shudder. “I play to win.”

Two palms slammed into his ribcage like sledgehammers, and he grunted. The force of the shove knocked him back so hard both his feet left the ground for a second. He stumbled, but managed to stay upright.

He just laughed, drinking in the sight of her, hot and bothered and angry as hell. Suddenly, going back to the mansion didn’t seem so bad. If Rogue wanted to run from him, he was more than ready to chase.

This was gonna be fun.

“Play games? Play games?” Marie didn’t know what the hell Logan was talking about; if anyone was playing games here, it was him. She seethed with anger, with hurt, with unfulfilled—unfulfillable—desire.

The sound of Logan’s laughter twisted like a knife in her gut. If there had been any hopeful part of her that still believed he truly desired her, it pretty much died with that sound. So, he thought it was funny, to tease the untouchable girl? Well, fuck’im, then. She’d put up with just such cruelty from the flirtatious Remy LeBeau for years. This was nothing new.

Marie wished she hadn’t repressed so much of Rogue’s mind. Her protector knew how to handle these kinds of things, how to rebuff Gambit, how to efficiently tell off the nameless men in the bar where she went only to have a few shots and hear the music. Rogue would have put Logan in his place, would have said something clever to hurt him just as much as he was hurting her—Oh, who was she kidding? Rogue was the one who got her into this mess in the first place.

Rogue had teased him, had led him on unfairly, and she reckoned the last two weeks were pretty frustrating for him, even if he wasn’t tempted enough to accept her advances.

But she hadn’t done it out of malice, like he was doing now. And as soon as she realized what she had done she apologized, apologized as sincerely as she could—and he threw it back in her face.

Marie pressed her lips together for a moment. There would be no more hiding behind her hands, no more shyness and feeling sorry for herself. She was embarrassed, sure, but she’d be damned if she couldn’t maintain some dignity through all of this. She summoned every ounce of Rogue’s fire and sass now ingrained within her: “Listen, asshole, I dunno where ya get off comin’ inta my room and talkin’ to me like that, but I’m tryin’ to do the right thing here.”

He opened his mouth to speak, but she cut him off—

“Maybe ya really are mean-hearted, or maybe you’re jus’ thinkin’ with your dick, but either way lemme set ya straight: I led ya on even though I’m not capable of—a normal relationship, and I know that was wrong, and I’m already fuckin’ hurt and humiliated enough, so don’t feel like ya gotta get me back any more for what I done to ya. I said I was sorry. Accept it, and move the hell on.” There. That was strong. Mature. She didn’t need Rogue. She could handle these things on her own now, didn’t miss her quiet room inside the mansion, didn’t miss the safety and comfort her protector had given her since adolescence. No! Fuck. Shit. Those are not tears. Those are not tears risin’ up in the corners of my eyes. Marie looked up and blinked a few times, and the tears disappeared. So there.

Logan was stunned.

Marie straightened and held her chin as high as she could, ignoring the strange part of her brain that told her to drop her head down and whimper and go to Logan and rub her cheek against him, begging for forgiveness.

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

Put her in her place, his instincts demanded. He felt the low growl rising up in his chest, saw her shrink a little at that sound. This was just the excuse he’d been looking for, to reassert his dominance. She couldn’t talk to him like that. Her words hardly registered—just that defiant tone, and she’d called him an asshole, and—wait, huh? Not capable? His growl broke off oddly with a grunt of surprise. “Whaddya mean, you’re not capable of a normal relationship? The hell's normal, anyway?”

Marie blushed, and that fire he’d seen in her eyes fizzled out. She suddenly looked very young. “I—oh—I didn’t mean a relationship. I just m-m-meant like, a physical, er . . .”

That was cute, that little stammer she had sometimes. Like she wasn’t quite used to speaking yet. Logan fought the urge to smile. “Physical . . . you mean sex.”

She blushed harder.

“Sex with me.” Aha, it all finally clicked. He felt somewhat guilty for goading her and laughing at her. She wasn’t sorry for the way she felt about him. She was sorry that she couldn’t act on her feelings. Right? Well, one way to find out: “You’re sorry for gettin’ me horny, ‘cause you don’t think you could follow through, is that it?”

Must be awfully warm in that skin of hers. She looked like she was baking. Her voice had become small, confused. “Uh, I can’t touch.”

Logan simply shrugged. Minor detail. He was confident he could figure a few ways around it. That bodysuit she was currently wearing, for one. “What’s your point, Rogue? Look, you want it. I want it. We could figure out other ways to do it ‘til ya learn to control your mutation.” He didn’t see any reason to deny himself what he—what they both obviously wanted.

Now it was her turn to look stunned. “I. You. Wha . . . and what if I never learn to control my mutation?”

Logan huffed. He didn’t want to consider that possibility, didn’t want her to consider it, either. He tried to brush it aside. “Let’s not worry about it. This whole time you been drivin' me outta my mind, woman, and it was all I could do not to take advantage. So now that you’re finally back to yourself, now that I can finally have you, I don’t give a fuck about your skin problem.” He winced. Maybe that was not exactly the best choice of words.

It was also not exactly true, given the Wolverine’s howl of rage at the thought of being unable to touch his mate’s skin, and worse, unable to get inside her without a layer of latex in between.

A little of that fire came back in her eyes. “You’re still thinkin’ with your dick.” Then she softened. “Really, Logan, I’m . . . flattered you would want me . . . in that way. That’s more than I ever expected from somebody who knew my mutation, an’ I . . . thanks for that. For givin’ me that.”

Logan kind of hurt for her, hearing those frank words. But it wasn’t enough to dampen his excitement. He took a couple of steps towards her. “Rogue . . . Marie . . . I’m sorry for bein’ a jerk earlier. I didn’t know your mutation was such a big deal to you.” He lowered his voice in that way that made her heart speed. “I’ll make this so good for you, baby. All you gotta do is tell me not to st—”

She held up a hand, her anger replaced with something that looked disconcertingly like pity. “No, hear me out, Logan. You’re bein’ awful sweet, an’ I dunno how I can get this through to you, but,” she spoke in slow tones as if to a child, “You. Are. Not. Thinkin'. Straight. I can’t even be kissed, can’t even touch without gloves on. If you . . . if we . . . it’d be frustratin’ and unsatisfyin’ for us both. An’ even if we made it work for a little while, how long would it last ‘til ya run off an’ find a woman you can really touch, one who can sleep in your bed without fear of killin’ ya? Or worse, if ya stick around, how long ‘til ya start resentin’ me for what I can’t give ya?” She shook her head. “No, hell no. I’m not puttin’ either one of us through that, sugar. Just let it go. Let’s go back to the school, back to our lives, an’ you can move on an’ . . . maybe find someone . . . better suited to ya.”

There it was again, that vacant stare. It must have worked well for her over the years. She had mastered it. If he couldn’t smell the hurt pouring off her, he would think she really didn’t care one way or the other. His eyes fell to the tags around her neck. He liked this better when she couldn’t talk, couldn’t point out all the flaws in his fantasy of her. His voice felt tight. “Find someone else, huh? And what about you?”

“I prefer to be alone.”

And that was the second time she’d flat-out lied to him.

Logan stayed planted in the center of Marie’s room, watching silently as she turned and continued packing up the rest of her clothes. She picked up the ripped dress from the floor, folded it neatly and placed it in the suitcase. Then she grabbed the last two items from the closet, a green turtleneck and black jeans, glanced at him a little tensely, and walked over to her bathroom.

He forced down his growl of anger when she closed the bathroom door. The second she left his sight, he was haunted with the fear that other males would smell her, find her, take her from him. It was stupid and irrational and almost impossible to suppress. An image flashed in his mind: Rogue writhing under another man, trying to get away—she was in heat, vulnerable right now, and it was his job to protect her, keep her, mark her as his. Mine. You touch her, you die. The image of the faceless male attacking her faded, but she was still writhing, now tied up, scraping her skin on the scratchy leaf litter in the clearing, dots of blood welling up from the scratches, oh God, she wasn’t invulnerable and the wolves were closing in on her and he couldn’t get there in time . . .

He wasn’t aware of moving across the room, but he must have, because his hand slid down the solid wood of the bathroom door, gripped the handle—he froze. Wolverine forced more images into his mind, graphic depictions of his fears, but Logan shoved them away, jerked his hand back from the door.

He had no right. No right to barge in on her like that. To treat her as his, when the very mention of her never gaining control of her skin was enough to give him second thoughts.

Truthfully, he didn’t know if he could handle it long-term, being with a woman he could never touch. He wanted to pretend he was a good man, the kind who would be understanding and never lose his patience over something she couldn’t control—but he wasn’t that man, and deep down, he knew it. It hurt to think about. His devotion to her went without question, and so did his lust for her, but he didn’t know if that could translate into a relationship. Didn’t know if he could be satisfied with look-but-don’t-touch. Even if he wanted to care for her and protect her, and she was fucking gorgeous and perfect for him in every way.

Especially if she was gorgeous and perfect for him in every way.

It would hurt them both even worse if they did get closer, if he came to love her even more and things didn’t work out. The animal in him was howling with rage now, threatening to tear free, claws straining under his skin. Mine. Mine. Keep her. Mine.

But the animal in him didn’t think rationally, any more than the animal in Marie did. Animals wanted what they wanted, with no regard for the consequences. They couldn’t even comprehend something as unnatural as being unable to bond with their mates, unable to move against and inside each other in the way their instincts demanded. Wolverine and Rogue didn’t understand. Logan and Marie did.

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

Marie felt a bit uncomfortable with Logan still in her room, but she was emotionally drained. She chose for now to avoid rather than confront the issue, taking her clothes to the bathroom to change. She peeled off her unitard—great for workouts, not so much for road trips. And she smiled, a little sadly, at Rogue’s reasoning for putting it on. Comfort, practicality. So simple, so unconcerned with modesty. So unlike Marie.

Or maybe not. Maybe she wasn’t overly modest. She used the showers at the gym and didn’t have too much reservation about shedding her clothes for doctor’s visits, but before Logan, the last time a man had seen her naked was . . . at the compound, she supposed. When her mama’s latest boytoy ‘accidentally’ walked in on her in the shower.

He had stared at her chest for a few seconds, shrugged, muttered, “Oops, my bad,” and walked out. Both Rogue and Marie found the memory rather embarrassing. And unflattering. It almost would have been better if he’d made some lewd comment.

And that was about the extent of her sex life: Remy’s constant painful teasing, occasional unwanted come-ons from men at her favorite bar, one nameless man who stared at her in the shower with little more than detached interest, and sweet Cody who she nearly killed with her first and only kiss.

Until now. Until Logan.

Marie let her eyes travel over her reflection, wondering what Logan saw when he looked at her. She was . . . average. Kind of pretty in the face, in a simple way, but not as pretty as Jean or Ororo. Lean and well-toned, nice legs, but average hips, average waist, average breasts. She had the sort of body that wasn’t really sensual or beautiful, just functional, strong, a well-maintained weapon. And not just her skin. She was a fighter, even without her mutation and Carol’s powers. Protegee of the great Raven Darkholme, Brotherhood assassin, expert in hand-to-hand combat. From the practical joint locks of Krav Maga to the traditional Shaolin kung fu forms, Mystique had taught her well.

Marie stamped down that line of thought before it could dredge up any other, more dangerous, memories. Her headache had calmed considerably, the ebb and flow of Rogue’s emotions, her posture, her speech patterns, all of it slowly becoming more naturally entwined with Marie. She was confident that Charles could help her integrate the two personalities fully, find the proper, seamless balance between the two. She would probably always think of herself as Marie, but with the old Rogue’s thoughts and memories.

As for the new Rogue, a jumbled mess of feral thoughts and instincts . . . Marie wasn’t sure what to do about that.

She spared one more glance at her reflection. Her eyes caught the tags glinting against her bare skin. Her knees went weak and she gripped the counter.

"Whenever you see’em in the mirror, think about me. About how I’m makin’ you feel right now.”

Instantly, her body flooded with arousal, remembering Logan’s words, the heat in his eyes, the way she felt in that moment . . . So good. So wanted. So his.

”And whenever you feel that metal move against your skin, just imagine . . .”

Marie felt the brush of his fingertip over her skin, felt a whimper rise up in her throat, but this time she managed to catch the sound and suppress it. She tore her gaze from the mirror, tugged on her clothes, then tried to take off Logan’s tags—

Her feral side rose up with a vengeance, her hand disobeying her and settling the chain over her turtleneck. Marie’s mouth fell open. She tried once more to remove the tags, but a feeling of intense anxiety washed over her. She let the warm metal drop from her fingers, vaguely embarrassed.

“I don’t want you to take those off. Never, baby, never.”

She remembered Carol’s words: a dog collar.

And there was a part of her mind that wanted nothing more than to wear it for him. Logan had trained his pet well.

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

Marie emerged from the bathroom, the tight jeans and stretchy shirt—no bra—clinging to her in all the right places, rich auburn hair a little bit curly and messy and begging to be touched. Logan folded his arms over his chest, held his breath, and narrowed his eyes in the hope that his appreciative stare wouldn’t be too obvious.

Then his gaze was drawn to the tags she had settled over her shirt. He couldn’t help the small spark of hope that flared in him at the sight.

It just felt . . . so right, her wearing those. It was better than the bruises and bites the animal wanted to leave on her, because she chose this, chose to accept his mark and display it. Even after their fight, even after she pretended not to want a relationship with him. Something inside her still believed the risk was worth it. She must feel it too: so right.

He drew a deep breath through his mouth, avoiding the hazy stupor that settled over him with every pull of her scent. Held it for a moment, then let it out in a rush.

Logan was conflicted.

Now that he finally believed in right and wrong, and had chosen to do right, he didn’t know how to go about it. He would never have thought that wanting to make the right choice was so easy; the hard part was knowing what the right choice was. All he knew was that he did not want to fuck this up, didn’t want to push for more with Marie only to lose her entirely. He had way too much of himself invested in this woman already, could never remember feeling anything so strongly before except rage and anger and hate. He recalled his plea to Xavier:

”She needs more time.”

She needed time. So did he. He needed to back the fuck off and stop trying to get in the pants of this recently traumatized, mentally scarred young woman. He knew she was strong, a veteran fighter even, but she looked so young sometimes, so small. Like she needed a friend, somebody to look out for her, protect her. She was right. He was thinking with his dick, and now a part of him was glad she had brought up the hard issues, had made things more difficult and complicated between them—hadn’t let him charge into something driven more by the current spike in her pheromones than his actual affection for her. His body’s protests to the contrary, he was relieved she hadn’t let him do something he would ultimately regret.

Under pain of torture Logan would never admit to it, but in some ways Scott had been right. Logan didn’t really know Rogue, this Rogue. He’d been on one mission with her, sat through a couple of meetings and trained with her in a few Danger Room sessions. He liked what he’d seen so far, definitely felt a connection, and it didn’t hurt that she had good taste in whiskey and looked fucking hot in that leather uniform. Even put Jean and Storm to shame, and they were two very fine female specimens, themselves.

”Go back to the X-men, teach some brats, go on missions together, pretend like there’s nothin’ between us . . .”

Maybe that really was what they needed. A fresh start. An opportunity to get to know each other not as ferals, but as regular people. Logan finally knew what the right choice was. He held out his hand.

Marie took it reluctantly, confusion apparent in her features.

Logan gave her his cocky grin, the one that made women’s hearts skip a beat. His voice came out a bit gruff and grunty, but the words were sincere: “Ya made some good points. I wanna start over. Clean slate.” He shook her hand twice, firm military grip. “Name’s Logan.”

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

“Marie.” She folded her other hand over his, the gesture turning from formal to warm. “Thank you, Logan. For understanding.”

He shrugged. “Ya know what they say, what happens in Vermont sta—“ he was interrupted by a knock on the door.

Marie pulled her hand from his. “Oh, that’ll be the bellman. I called an’ got the car outta valet after I talked to Charles. I’ll go let’im in while ya pack your—“

Logan’s eyes flashed gold. The scent of his anger flooded her senses. Marie couldn’t suppress her whimper this time at the low growl that rumbled out of his throat. “You. Did. What?”

He was drowning in the sudden rush of anger, unable to do much of anything except seethe and growl and watch Marie transform before his eyes into the Rogue he knew, whimpering and ducking her head in submission. He had the fleeting—and disturbingly satisfying—thought that if she’d had a tail, it would’ve been tucked between her legs.

A second knock, three brief raps of knuckles on wood, finally diverted his attention.

Logan managed to grab control of himself. Or more aptly, control of Wolverine, who had gotten completely out of hand the past couple of days, and Logan was damn sick of it. His usual willingness to share his mind was rapidly turning into downright hostility towards his other half. The feral in him blamed Marie for their current predicament, refused to believe that his precious Rogue would have anything to do with inviting another male into their home. He wished distant, cold, defiant Marie had never come out at all, wished he had his sweet, submissive, affectionate mate back.

And Logan couldn’t seem to convince him that the current ‘predicament’ was neither Rogue nor Marie’s fault, that in fact there would be no predicament at all if the stupid animal would just trust him and stop trying to force its instincts on him.

He hadn’t felt this far gone since the hazy, barely-remembered days when he’d wandered the Canadian wilderness as little more than a beast. In the decade since, he’d fought for every shred of humanity he possessed. Logan struggled against the Wolverine’s complaints and taunts and urges, moved through the angry haze, determined never to let it take full control of his mind again. There had been a knock at the door. He should answer it. That was what humans did. He put one foot in front of the other.

Then the Wolverine’s myriad complaints and urges all fell away, replaced by a single utterly baffled question: Why is Logan keeping our claws inside, as he shoves our mate behind him and welcomes an intruder to our den?

Logan looked down at the kid in the pressed khakis, polo, and jacket with the resort insignia. He appeared to be just out of his teens, clean-shaven and lanky. His aftershave was cheap and liberally applied, all but masking his natural scent. Nonthreatening. Good.

Logan gamely managed to hold back the urge to rip the poor kid apart and to stake his claim on Marie in a number of crude ways she probably wouldn’t appreciate very much. He had a feeling something was going to give, but he held onto his control as tightly as he could, because he figured that was really all he could do. Just try. His voice came out rough, barely human, the words absurdly mismatched to his tone: “Can I help ya, bub?”

The guy smiled—thankfully without baring his teeth—and stepped back to gesture at the golf cart he had parked in front of the porch. “Good afternoon, uh . . . Mr. D’Ancanto. Laryngitis, sir? I’m so sorry; that sounds awful. Can I take your bags for you?”

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

Marie felt a little woozy. The scent of the rival male—the bellman, she told herself distractedly—was faint but still recognizable under the chemicals he covered himself in. Something about it rubbed her the wrong way. Something about this whole situation felt wrong, but she couldn’t put her finger on what it was.

The alpha—no, Logan—was clearly angry at her, but he still shoved her behind him protectively as he opened the door. His big hand was tight on her hip, an inaudibly low growl vibrating his entire body.

She felt a strange nagging that she had betrayed him in some way. So when Logan tensed and tightened his hand on her even more as he stepped backwards to let the bellman in, she unthinkingly pressed her body into his back and rubbed her cheek on his shoulder, gripping his arm in a display of affection. Of loyalty.

He softened a little at the gesture, rubbed his palm up and down her hip a couple of times before loosening his grip on her.

The bellman smiled awkwardly, probably a little uncomfortable with the public display of affection. He cast a searching glance around the room, then jerked his thumb towards the hall. “Ahh . . . shall I um, get the bags from your bedroom?”

The alpha’s—Logan’s—voice was still very rough, “No. Stay here.” And with that, he grabbed Marie by the arm and tugged her down the hall to his room.

Marie was still a little fuzzy-headed when Logan flung the door shut and pinned her to it, his gloved hands suddenly rough and hot all over her body. Hips, stomach, breasts, neck—breasts once more. Oh. His breathing was shallow and quick, warm puffs of air ghosting over her skin, eyes wild and stormy as those hands finally came up to cradle her head . . . almost tenderly for a moment, and then his fingers dug into her flesh, holding her still for him.

She barely had time to register what had just happened before she was overtaken by absolute terror: He was leaning in as if to kiss her—but he turned his head to the side at the last second, nuzzled his cheek against hers instead, shielded from her skin by his coarse whiskers. The terror that had clenched her heart loosened its grip slightly.

His grip, however, was still almost painfully strong as he turned her head a little, buried her nose in his hair. She drew in his scent—

Whoa. Her legs gave out from under her. If his entire body hadn’t quickly leaned into hers, pressing her firmly into the door, she would have fallen.

And she wouldn’t have cared one bit, as long as he followed her down.

Marie reeled with the sensations as his hands pulled at her hair and he ground roughly into her lower belly a couple of times. Somehow, she was aware that the gesture had more to do with dominance, with territoriality than sexuality. He was . . . claiming her.

She heard whimpering. She seemed to be doing a lot of that lately.

Logan’s whisper was harsh: “Sorry, M’rie.” Then he snarled, bit down on her ear, and ground into her again.

The world spun. Somewhere inside, Marie knew she had the physical strength to push him away, but for some reason she couldn’t summon the willpower to even raise her arms. This felt . . . too right.

Which was ridiculous, she told herself, because this was all kinds of wrong.

Logan regained control before she could, tore himself away from her and turned his back as she slid down the door.

Just the memory of his hands on her was enough to keep her in that dazed stupor. Was this how it felt to be high? Euphoria flooded her brain, and a dozen exclamations rose up in her thoughts, from her and the old Rogue and the new Rogue and even some of her mind’s other occupants, a ridiculous chorus of approval: HmmHMMMM, Good Lordy, Fuck Yes, Wow, Shiiiiiiitbuoy.

She shook her head to clear it, rather ineffectually, and looked up to find Logan clamping an uncut parejo between his teeth, then shutting the cigar box and shoving it into his duffle on top of the rest of his already-neatly-packed possessions.

Whoa. How long had she been sitting there?

She pressed a hand to her forehead. “Oh my . . . th—that . . . glory be.” A sinking feeling settled over her, cutting through the fog. “Good grief, I can’t go back to the mansion like this. We’re . . . I’m . . . this is outta control.”

Logan seemed firmly in control, however, all business as he slung his duffle over his shoulder, crossed the room, and gripped her arm to pull her up from the floor. “I’m sorry for the uh,” he gestured casually over her form, not looking sorry at all, “for, you know, that.”

Marie managed to get her legs to support her. More or less. Her voice was a distracted mumble. “Maybe I can stay in the med lab, in one of the observation rooms or somethin’. I feel . . . maybe outta my mind. More crazy than usual.” She took a breath to calm herself, but it backfired, his scent sending another wave of that strange dreamy bliss through her, and she swayed on her feet again.

His grip tightened on her arm. “You’re not crazy. Feels good, doesn’t it? I mean, no, shouldn’t have done that to you. Sorry. But you’ll be fine. This is the worst it gets. You’ll see. It’s just during this time . . . of the month . . . know what I mean?”

Huh? “Um, no.”

“Sometimes certain, uh, instincts are stronger, kinda goes on a cycle. Should be better by tomorrow, maybe the day after. This’ll get a lot easier.” He nodded once, though whether to reassure her or himself she wasn’t sure.

A cycle? Really? How strange. Marie blinked. “Is it . . . but why? Does it have to do with the moon or somethin’?”

Logan let out a bark of laughter. “Yeah, darlin’. Somethin’ like that.”

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

Logan felt much calmer and more in control after their little . . . encounter. Like the pressure building up in him had finally been given some outlet. He even had the presence of mind to grab their coats from the back of the door before they forgot them.

Perhaps because the Wolverine was too busy reveling in his display of dominance and replaying it in his head to be pestering Logan.

Marie, on the other hand, still seemed to be reeling. Her scent was thicker with arousal than it had ever been. She could barely keep a clear enough head to make it down the porch steps without his steadying hand on her arm.

And that little fact pleased both Logan and Wolverine to no end, in spite of how the former tried to deny it.

Marked. Claimed.

Rogue. Marie.

Mine.

Mine.

Ours.

Logan sidestepped her progress, keeping his body casually between hers and the bellman’s. Even the little clean-cut pubescent prick heaving their luggage into the golf cart couldn’t ruin his good mood.

The bellman secured their bags and turned, smiling somewhat reluctantly. “Can I offer you a ride to the front office? Your vehicle should be waiting.”

Logan considered that for a moment. He was feeling a little less violently territorial . . . then the punk’s eyes focused somewhere behind Logan and travelled down, and they better fuckin’ not have been travelling down Rogue’s body—he had to shove his hand behind his back to hide the claws threatening to protrude. Nope, nope, better not push it. He pulled the still-uncut cigar from his mouth and stuck it in his coat pocket. “We’ll walk.”

The bellman seemed relieved. But rather than getting into the golf cart, he took a few steps towards Logan, who immediately made with the puffing out his chest and the shoving Marie behind him. He bore his teeth and growled, this time perfectly audible, low and threatening.

The guy paused, standing for a few very awkward, very silent seconds. “Oh. That’s . . . wow, that’s some cough you have there. I hope you two managed to enjoy your stay. Never fun to get sick on vacation . . . heh . . . heh . . .” he laughed uncomfortably, rubbing a hand behind his neck.

Back off, bub,’ less you got a death wish. “Maybe you didn’t hear me. I said we’ll walk.”

Suddenly, Logan felt Marie’s hand in his back pocket, copping a serious feel. He nearly jumped in shock, but just as quickly that hand was gone, and she was pressing something into his palm. She pushed her chest into his back—oh, nice, very nice—and stood on tiptoes to whisper in his ear . . .

“Tip him, you idiot.”

Oh. Right. Logan glanced down into his palm to see a few neatly folded bills. He took a step towards the guy. He couldn’t help putting every last ounce of masculinity and sheer intimidation into the movement. A purely feral grin curved his lips as the bellman took an involuntary step backwards.

Logan passed the bills to him with a crushing handshake, unable to summon any guilt over the small grunt of pain he elicited. A part of him said he was above such immature posturing. He was so obviously the dominant male, it was almost degrading to make a show of it.

But then again, the little fucker had—possibly—stared at Marie. That was enough to warrant some hand-crushing, right?

Right, the Wolverine heartily agreed.

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

Marie smiled as soon as she caught sight of her old army-green Jeep Wrangler. Charles always told her she was welcome to use any of the fleet sedans or even the sports cars . . . but this was hers. She had bought it herself with her first couple of paychecks from the Xavier Institute for Higher Learning.

And that meant something to her. She took pride in being self-sufficient, independent. It was important to her not to ask too much of others, not to owe any favors—not to need anyone. She got that from Rogue.

The old Rogue. Not the new one, who was currently playing lapdog and making her quite literally weak in the knees for the gruff, surly, domineering Wolverine. Being pinned to a door and possessively groped wasn’t exactly how she had hoped her first foray to second base would come about.

And yet some treacherous part of her mind said what she was trying not to admit: Felt amazin’, though, didn’t it?

Marie followed at his heels, the instinct so deeply rooted that no amount of effort could bring her to walk by his side without permission. None seemed forthcoming. Which was infuriating, and more than a little embarrassing.

But she could look on the bright side, lemonade from lemons and all that. So she dropped her eyes to his very fine denim-clad ass and at least enjoyed the view as they made their way across the leaf-littered ground towards the Jeep.

Logan tipped the valet, without any nudging this time, and unceremoniously shoved the keys to the cabin at him as well.

The young valet did his best to look unperturbed. “Ah, thank you, sir. I guess I’ll . . . get these turned in for you.”

Logan simply grunted. He gestured to Marie to get in the car—and she obeyed the silent command only because she had been about to get in the car anyway.

She settled into the driver’s seat, the smell of the worn, slightly cracked leather comforting and familiar. And of course much stronger than she remembered. Also, the slam of the door was much louder, making her jump. This feral thing was definitely going to take some getting used to.

She gripped the wheel through her thin black gloves, relishing the feeling of freedom, autonomy, independence that always came with being in her trusty old 4-wheel-drive. She glanced down to find her keys already in the ignition. Perfect.

Logan casually climbed in the passenger side, the weight of him making the vehicle dip sharply. This time, Marie braced herself and managed not to jump as he shut his door, though the sound still rang out a little painfully. She shook it off, pushed in the clutch, held down the brake, and reached down to shift into neutral . . .

And she couldn’t really remember how.

Marie stared blankly at the stick, willing her hand to shift it in the way it had done countless times before. She was drawing a blank. “Oh, you gotta be kiddin’ me . . .”

Logan quirked an eyebrow at her. “What?”

Marie felt the beginnings of a blush and stamped it down furiously. “Rogue was the one who always . . . I mean, I was there, but I didn’t really pay much attention . . .” Finally, she blurted, “I never learned how to drive a standard.”

Logan huffed in amusement. “You dunno how to drive your own car?”

“I had to repress a lot of memories," she said defensively. "I didn’t exactly have time to sift through them all first.” She bit her lip. The thought of sharing her prized possession was extremely unappealing, but what choice did she really have? She felt a growl start to come up in her throat, but managed to turn it into a cough: “Ahem. Uh . . . I don’t s’pose you know how to . . .”

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

Logan drove smoothly, one hand flung lazily over the wheel, the other reaching out on occasion to manipulate the gearshift. Marie thought about pulling a map from her glove box, but he seemed to know where he was going.

She glanced over at him, still feeling a bit resentful over the loss of her independence and, if she were being honest, over the fact that she was trapped in a car with a man whose smell did the most frustrating things to her insides every time she breathed it in. She didn’t even complain when he cracked his window and lit up a cigar, even though the heater was on and he was letting all the bought air out. She was just thankful for the peppery aroma, how it seemed to cut through and dull everything else.

That was probably why he smoked them. She’d take that thick spicy smell any day over the disgusting cleaners housekeeping had used on the cabin. Ammonia and bleach and synthetic flowery scents. She suspected the mansion would be just as bad, perhaps worse.

And that was just really unfair. Because she was pretty sure she wouldn’t look sexy with a cigar hanging out of her mouth all the time.

Not that he looked sexy. Because he didn’t. He looked like a rude, uncivilized, arrogant asshole who went by the ridiculously hyper-masculine handle ‘Wolverine.’

And who happened to have a reasonably nice, sometimes sweet guy named Logan hidden in there somewhere.

Not that she cared. About either of them. Because caring about someone meant hurting when you lost them, and that just wasn’t really worth it in her experience.

And even if she did care, the best way to care for him was by not saddling him with her royally screwed up, untouchable, crazy-as-often-as-not self. Even if he did foolishly seem to think he wanted her. Even if being near him felt pretty incredible even without skin-to-skin contact.

She realized she was folding her arms across her chest and pouting. She reached forward and flipped on the radio.

”She’s available, It’s a miracle,
How my heart stumbled into someone
So kissable, huggable, loveable . . .”

She flipped it off in disgust and once again made with the arm-crossing and pouting.

“I kinda missed that,” Logan muttered around his cigar.

Marie spared him a glance. She hadn’t really expected him to break the silence. “Missed what?”

He shrugged. “The music. Y’always put on the radio . . . before . . .”

She loosened her arms some. “Oh. Yeah. I like country.” She felt her lips tug up. Not a smile, but the pout was gone.

“Remind you of home?”

“Not really.” And just like that, the pout was back. She didn’t like to talk about home, and especially didn’t want to share any more of herself with a man who already had much more of her than he should.

He let the conversation drop. The only sound for miles was the hum of the engine and the zip of tires on asphalt.

“Whatcha gonna do with a cowboy
When that old rooster crows at dawn,
And he's lyin' there instead
Of gettin’ outta bed,
And puttin’ on his boots and gettin’ gone?
Whatcha gonna do when he says, ‘Honey,
I got a half a mind to stay’?
Whatcha gonna do with a cowboy,
When he don’t saddle up and ride away?”

Marie flipped off the radio. “Y’know, you really should wear your seatbelt.”

It was the first time either of them had spoken in nearly an hour. Logan’s eyebrow inched upward. “I do not need advice on auto safety.” That came out pretty rough, so he tried for a more conciliatory tone. “Er, by the way, I’ll fix that squeaky belt for ya when we get back to the mansion. Prob’ly could stand to be replaced.”

“Well, well, aren’t I lucky to have a big, strong man like you around, sugar?” He was pretty sure that was sarcastic. He glanced over and the scowl on her face confirmed it. “I can fix my own damn car.”

“You can’t even drive your own damn car,” he said nastily, then regretted it. “Shit. I didn’t mean—“

“Ugh. Me neither. Sorry. ”

Logan didn’t know what to say to that. “We uh, we should pull off soon and gas up.”

“Good. I need coffee.”

“No, we can’t go inside,” he hesitated, then added, “darlin’. I’ll pay at the pump.”

She didn’t seem to respond to the endearment, negatively or positively. He figured that was about the best he could hope for at this point. She had called him sugar. But then, she called everyone sugar. Why was he so worried about it, anyway? It was just a name. Darlin’. Baby. He always called her that. Some things hadn’t changed. He was still the alpha, he told himself, and he’d call her whatever he damn well pleased. And she’d better answer to it without any more of this bratty, childish attitude. Yeah.

She was saying something. “. . . just a cup of coffee. It’ll be fine. Look, I’m sorry I was hateful to ya. Nothin’ personal. It just gets awful tirin’, havin’ to be inside and outside my head at the same time.”

Logan really didn’t know what to say to that. He’d never admit it to her, but part of him did wonder if she was a little . . . off. Mentally. Everyone seemed to think she was, including herself, and he didn’t want to make it any worse. “Ah . . . okay. Okay, we’ll get some coffee.”

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

Logan whispered, “Hey, this was your idea. Calm down, I got ya.” He stepped behind Marie and pulled her against him. She resisted briefly, and he couldn’t help but growl a warning.

She ducked her head and settled into the embrace, still trembling with anger. “Why’s he starin’? Why’s he smell like that?” she hissed.

Logan rubbed his hands over her stomach in circles. He knew she used to like that. He hoped she still did. “Doesn’t matter, baby,” he mumbled into her hair, noting that his visceral response to her scent was waning. It was still a very good scent, though. He nuzzled into her a little more, wrapping his big frame around her in the hope that it would help her feel safe. And shield her from that asshole’s view. “Doesn’t matter, ‘cause I won’t let’im near ya. He wouldn’t even try it. Y’know I’d kill’im if he did.”

“That ain’t exactly reassurin’, sugar. And y’know I’d kill’im if he did . . . whether I wanted to or not.” The guy’s scent rose, and she growled, gripping Logan’s forearms through his jacket with a strength that seemed impossible from those little hands. “Why do I feel this way? It doesn’t bother me like this when you—why’s he smell—“

“Shhh.” He kept rubbing her stomach until the trembling stopped. He began fingering the chain at her neck, feeling secure in his claim when she responded with a whimper. “I need ya to stay calm, baby, ‘cause I need to stay calm. Got it?” The coffee machine had forty-five seconds left on its brewing cycle. He could stay calm for forty-five seconds. Anybody could keep from walking across a dingy gas station and ripping out some eyeballing bastard’s throat for forty-five seconds, right? He sure hoped so.

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

Neil allowed himself to stare as he waited by the restrooms, mainly because there was nothing better to do and it wasn’t like it was hurting anybody. That was the kind of body you seldom saw outside of magazines. Not too much or too little of anything, just perfect proportions from what he could tell. She was pretty in the face, too. But young. Way too pretty and young to have those trashy white streaks dyed into her hair, to be wearing that biker jacket and those skin-tight black jeans. And bad girl or not, she was definitely too pretty and young to be with the letch who was now groping her and whispering filthy things in her ear.

After spending half his military career as a CID agent, Neil had seen more than he ever cared to when it came to unhealthy relationships and domestic abuse. And he couldn’t imagine this being anything else. The man was old enough to be her father and then some; she looked barely out of her teens, if that. There was a time he would have walked over and asked if she was all right, but he reminded himself that he had little Becca with him and didn’t need to go starting any trouble. Besides, he could count on one hand the number of times in his career he’d actually convinced the victim to leave the relationship. Talking to her would probably just set off her boyfriend, and then she’d face the brunt of his anger later. Neil sure as hell didn’t need that on his conscience.

Still, nothing wrong with looking.

“All clean, Daddy. I used soap. Promise.”

Neil spun around with a practiced smile. His patience was wearing thin, but he tried to be good-natured about it. He didn’t get to see his daughter as often as he’d like. “Alright, Princess. Let’s hit the road. Again.” He took her by the hand.

“Daddy, Daddy, Daddy, pleeeeeaaaaase . . .”

He had a pretty good idea what she was going to ask, and after six stops in as many hours, he didn’t have it in him to argue. He walked over to the drink area, scanning the shelves for grape soda . . .

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

“Just stop. I can’t take any more whining today. You want a pop?”

Logan barely had time to react when Marie snarled and lunged. His arms tightened around her, and she unexpectedly dragged his massive bulk—which resulted in her coming up several feet short of the man and his daughter. Logan realized she was hovering about an inch off the ground and tried to yank her down. She growled threateningly, and the man spun, wide-eyed, two cans of grape soda clenched reflexively in his hands.

“What the—?” he dropped the cans and grabbed his daughter, shoving her behind him. She began to cry.

Marie flinched when the cans clattered to the floor. She ceased levitating and stumbled backwards against Logan, bringing a hand to her mouth. “Oh my God, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so—“

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

Neil watched in bewilderment, one hand instinctively reaching for the holster he no longer wore, as the young woman shrank away. Her eyes, which had seemed to flash gold like an animal’s, were deep green again and welling up with tears.

Her boyfriend had already pulled her out of the store and into their Jeep before Neil’s mind caught up to him. He tried to picture its plates . . . New York, maybe K8 something . . . he couldn’t remember. Damn. He turned to his daughter, scooping her up in his arms. “It’s okay, sweetie, it’s okay. They’re gone.” Shit. Those freaks. She was growling—can’t believe I almost felt sorry for—crazy bitch nearly attacked my— “Princess, are you alright?”

“Hey, what’s going on over there?” the station owner asked, reaching under the counter.

Neil carried the girl towards the exit, grape sodas long forgotten. He shot a mean look at the owner. “Why don’t you ask the mutie freaks that just tried to attack us? Thanks for your help, you stupid son of a—“

“Daddy, I wanna go,” Becca cried, tugging at his shirt. He sighed roughly, trying to breathe through the adrenaline rush, control the anger and not let it control him. MP training at work. He hurried across the lot, trying not to think about those freakish golden eyes. God almighty, can’t even take your kids out anymore without worrying about mutants. What’s society coming to?

Neil settled his daughter into her booster seat, wiping the tears from her cheeks. He couldn’t wait to get back to Delaware. And if the state ended up passing that mutant segregation law, more the better.

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

Logan tried not to deform the steering wheel with his adamantium-enforced grip. He was pissed as hell, hadn’t wanted to go inside in the first place, knew she wasn’t ready for this. Chuck’s position on his X-men exposing their mutations was pretty clear: Unless it’s a dire emergency, don’t. Cause for disciplinary action were his exact words. The people at the resort may have been safely under the telepath’s watch, but this was a whole different ballpark. A gas station, and who knew what that guy with the kid had seen, and what he would say. Might even file a complaint with the police. At least Logan had picked a grungy place. Bars on the doors and windows, but no security camera, as far as he could tell.

The hell was the asshole thinkin’ takin’ a kid into a place like that, anyway? And what was I thinkin’, trustin’ Marie’s judgment when even she thinks she’s got a couple screws loose up there? Hoverin’ off the ground in public. Shit.

Now Logan would have to explain this, and there would be damage control, and Chuck would want a full written report of the incident, and . . . and he had enough on his plate just keeping himself and his mate sane right now.

He really had a good thing going with the X-men, the best opportunity that had ever come along in his miserable cage-fighting, contract-killing existence, and he didn’t want to spoil this. Not the job, not his chance with Marie, none of it.

Now that he’d gotten a taste of it, Logan wanted this life, this existence Xavier had promised, where all he had to do was make good choices and he could have all the things other people, good people, had. Honor and dignity. A purpose in life besides getting revenge on the people who destroyed him.

And a woman. One who stole his heart without a single word—yet who was now growing farther from him with every second of silence. He couldn’t lose her. He had to fix this somehow. “You wanna tell me what that was about?” he asked as evenly as he could through clenched teeth.

“No.” She turned, looking out the window and putting her back to him.

Logan growled, unable to hold back. “He wasn’t gonna do nothin’. Told ya I had it under control. For chrissakes, he was there with his kid! And even if he did try to—I woulda—you shoulda let me handle it. I coulda done it without risking exposure, Rogue. Thought you had better sense than that.”

“Obviously not,” she bit out.

Logan felt the wheel bend slightly, and carefully loosened his fingers. “I hated what he was doin’, so I can only guess how much you hated it. But it didn’t mean . . . Men, they . . . they see somethin’, and they start thinkin’ things, and . . . just ‘cause they smell that way, it don’t mean they’re gonna act on it. Nothin’ was gonna happen. I wouldn’t let it. Shouldn’t have to tell ya that, you should know better, should know you’re my . . . I claimed . . .“ None of this was coming out how he wanted. It made her sound like a piece of property or something. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Marie turned to face him, eyes snapping. “I don’t need you. I can take care of myself, did it just fine for years before ya came along. I wasn’t afraid of that man. Just thought . . . damn Yankees. Where I come from, ‘You want a pop’ means ‘Shut up before I hit ya,’ and I th-th-thought he was gonna . . .“

“You were protectin’ the kid,” Logan realized. His anger disappeared as another feeling, warm and approving, washed over him. He didn’t care to examine it too closely.

She sighed heavily, and the fight seemed to go out of her as well. “Yeah, I was protectin’ her. R-reckon that’s why she was cryin’ and hidin’ behind her d-daddy like I was some kinda m-mmm-monster.”

He could smell her embarrassment, and figured it was as much over the stutter that crept into her voice as the scene at the gas station. He wondered if she’d always had that, or if it was some side effect of what she’d been through. It seemed to get worse when she was nervous or embarrassed. He decided he should just ignore it. Didn’t want to make her feel any worse. “It’s—it’s okay. All that matters is no one got hurt.“

“This time. But damn it, Logan, what if I—what if next time . . . if you wouldn’ta been there, what then? How could I live with myself, if I’d t-t-taken that l-lll-little girl’s d-daddy away from her?”

Logan didn’t like where this was going. “But I was there. And you didn’t. So quit with the what ifs.”

“I should be l-lllll-locked up. Chained up somewhere ‘fore I hurt somebody.”

He snarled at the very thought. “That ain’t gonna happen, ever, so put it outta your mind. Listen, I told ya, it ain’t always like this. Your instincts are in overdrive right now,” he hesitated, then admitted, “and so are mine. We just gotta be careful. You need to trust me. We’ll pick up some dinner and find a quiet motel. Take another night to clear your head before ya go back to that crowded school. You’ll feel better in the mornin’.” She didn’t look convinced. Logan tried a different tack. He softened his tone and reached over to rub her arm. “C’mon, I’ll take care of you.”

She tried to pull away from his touch. “Fine. About the m-motel. But I can take care of myself.”

They both knew that wasn’t true. He had the fleeting impulse to ask if she’d repressed the memory of growing up, if that’s why she was acting like a stubborn child. She squirmed again, and he let his hand fall away, wondering how the hell Chuck expected him to choose the ‘right path’ with this woman, when every path seemed to lead in circles.

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

“One room?” Marie asked with a sneer that could rival his best.

He bit back a growl. “Ya think I’m lettin’ ya outta my sight? No way in hell, darlin’.”

She huffed. “Well, if you’re thinkin’ you’re gonna get—“

He cut her off. “It’s a double. And I’m thinkin’ I’m gonna get a decent night’s sleep, so long as ya don’t go crawlin’ into bed with me again.” That ought to shut her up. He slid the keycard into the door and pushed it open, ushering her in.

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

Logan emerged from the shower in black sweatpants and a gray wifebeater, relieved that he could now dress comfortably around Marie without fear of her carelessly touching his skin. At least, he hoped he could.

She sat at the foot of the bed in modest green silk pajamas, thin black socks and gloves. She sat cross-legged, eyes closed, hands resting palm up in the lotus position. He suddenly had a dozen questions he wanted to ask. He realized how little he knew about her. Did she meditate often? How long had she studied martial arts? Did she feel Rogue in her mind the way he felt Wolverine in his? How long had she been an X-man? Moreover, how old was she?

Age wasn’t something he liked to think about, and the moment the thought rose in relation to her, he felt queasy. He pushed the questions away.

Marie’s eyes had opened at some point, he realized. He wondered how long she had been watching him. Her gaze traveled appreciatively up his body, and she cleared her throat when she met his eyes. “Y’alright?”

“Fine,” he said evenly. “You alright? With me wearin’ this, that is? I can cover up more if—“

“Nah,” she insisted with deliberate casualness. “Make yourself comfy, sugar. No reason for the both of us to dress like mummies—damn you, Erik, can it! I don’t wanna hear another—ugh, I’ll be back in a minute, Logan. Sorry.” She resumed her meditative posture and closed her eyes.

Logan blinked. “What the hell? Marie?”

Her eyes remained closed, and her mouth curved into a sarcastic smile that didn’t suit her at all. “She’s a little busy right now. Erik’s upset that I’ve commandeered the library. I’d share, if the goddamn pervert would stop staring at my—well, you know.”

“Carol?” Logan asked, hoping his unease didn’t come through in his tone. What the hell was going on? Marie said Carol wasn’t dangerous anymore, but . . . was this normal? Was she okay?

“That’s nice. I don’t think you ever called me anything other than Danvers. But hey, no need for formalities anymore, right? I’ve been waiting for an opportunity to say hello. Didn’t seem right to just take over the body, and Marie and I aren’t exactly on speaking terms at the moment . . . Anyway, it’s good to see you again, Logan. I’d say you’ve put on, oh, a hundred pounds or so since we last met. But you carry it well. The growling’s a bit odd.” She let out a bark of laughter. “Who am I to talk, eh? I became an alien hybrid, acquired superpowers, and am now imprisoned inside the mind of the girl who murdered me. Well, the girl who was used to murder me. I’m laying the blame square on the shoulders of that blue bitch. Turning a kid into a weapon, it’s sick, really. At least I’m pretty much sane again. I think.” She shrugged.

Logan felt his stomach drop. What did Carol Danvers know about him? Was this some trick? “Where’s Marie?”

“Relax. She’s putting Magneto in time out. She always locks him up when he misbehaves. He actually tried to grope me in the hallway once. I mean, can you imagine? Marie and Rogue both put a stop to that. Thank God.” Her tone turned sad suddenly. “Oh, Logan. You’ll probably laugh when I tell you this. The first time we saw you, there was a part of me that thought you were here to help me. That this was some kind of undercover op, that you could rescue me from this place just like you did from that KGB prison. Lubyanka, remember? But you weren’t sent by S.H.I.E.L.D. this time, were you? This amnesia thing, it’s for real. And those claws. God, what did they do to you?”

Logan’s hands were trembling. Don’t trust her. She’s messin’ with you. Don’t believe a word she says. “I—I wanna talk to Marie.”

“I can help you,” Marie's voice said in those strange tones, almost gentle. Imploring. “I know you weren’t always proud of the work we did, especially under SD Stryker, but I always thought you were a good man, Logan. I know how it feels to have someone mess with your mind, to not trust your own thoughts and feelings. Believe me, I know. I can give you back your past.”

“Bring. Marie. Back.” Stryker? He knew that name. How did he know that name? Why couldn’t he stop shaking?

“I won’t ask much in return. Just tell Marie to read some books, keep the library stocked for me. That’s all I’m asking. She’s got her share of problems, but I can think of a lot worse minds to be trapped in. And you know, maybe it’s wrong for me to say, but she really does love you. She’s just . . . scared. Scared of getting hurt, and of hurting you. Listen, you don’t have to decide now. Just think about it. Marie’s coming back now . . . Oh, and Logan?”

“Yeah?” he asked numbly.

“I’d prefer some quality literary journals. But anything’s better than those trashy beach reads she keeps on her nightstand. I’m an editor, for God’s sake. Burn them. Please.”

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

Marie opened her eyes to find Logan staring at her very oddly. She felt a blush come to her cheeks. "Sorry. Sometimes I have to . . . do that. Y'know, go away for a while, to sort out somethin' in my head." Was he shaking? "Logan? A-are you alright?"

He raked a hand through his hair. "Fine. I'm fine. You?"

She covered a yawn. "Yeah. Um, sorry if I scared ya." She yawned again and crawled up the bed. "Boy, am I beat. I guess superhuman endurance doesn't cover mental marathons." The attempt at humor fell flat, even to her own ears. To Marie's surprise, Logan came up beside her bed and helped her pull up the covers. "I've never been tucked in before," she said with an amused smile. She couldn't help but feel warmth at the gesture.

He looked down at her with an unreadable gaze. The warmth Marie had felt was replaced by an intensity she didn't quite know how to handle. She could barely hold still when he reached out to smooth a hand over her hair. "I won't hurt you, Marie," he said solemnly.

She swallowed. "O-okay. Uh, I believe you."

He shook his head. "No, I don't think you do. Not yet. But you will." Marie stiffened when he reached beneath her collar, but he just pulled the chain from under her shirt. His eyes never left hers as he brought the metal tags to his lips and kissed them before letting them drop. "Night, baby." He pulled away and the lamp went off with a click.

"G-goodnight." Marie closed her eyes in the darkness, wondering what had brought about this sudden shift in mood. One minute, Logan was literally growling at her, and the next he was being achingly sweet.

And the really bizarre thing was, she couldn't figure out which of those worried her more.

There was no definite line between sleeping and waking as Marie gradually ascended to awareness in the dark motel room, soothed by the sound of two heartbeats, two sets of breathing. The sounds were good, and the bedding smelled right, and everything was how she liked it.

Inhale, inhale, exhale, exhale.

Tha-thump, tha-thump. Tha-thump, tha-thump.

Safe.

The word rose up in her mind along with a warm feeling. Rogue was close to the surface, the feral’s presence somehow softer now, easier to accept. Marie didn’t feel as she had the day before, out of control, bombarded with half-understood urges and instincts.

This was . . . comfortable. She was reminded of how she used to share her mind with Rogue, the easy give and take. Marie still missed her protector, even though she knew the distinction between ‘Marie’ and ‘Rogue’ had, quite literally, only been in her mind. That distinction had crumbled. But in the warm, safe darkness, she was able to nurture the hope that everything was going to be okay. She could cope with this new Rogue, could adjust as she had after every other major absorption.

It was always a jarring transition—absorb, compartmentalize, integrate—until her mind managed to settle itself and accommodate the massive influx of thoughts, feelings, memories, inclinations. Not to mention the physical changes that sometimes came with it.

And this absorption had been more jarring than most. More foreign. Whatever Rogue had brought into her—no, whatever Rogue had been forced to bring into her—Marie knew that she wasn’t entirely human anymore. If she ever had been. But, all things considered, she was doing pretty well. She had been beyond reason, homicidal after absorbing Erik, and suicidal after absorbing Carol. This absorption felt more natural, in some ways. And she knew that Logan’s acceptance of her, his understanding, this strange kinship they now shared, played a big part in that. A smile curved her lips as she realized she did feel much better this morning. “Logan was right,” she muttered sleepily.

“Always,” he grumbled in her ear.

Marie squeaked and tried to sit up, but an arm clamped down on her waist, pulling her back flush against his front. She squirmed and was met with a growl, the low warning one with which she was becoming quite familiar. He seemed to have perfected it on her. She stilled.

“S’early. G’back t’sleep,” Logan whispered scratchily.

“Why’re you in m—“

He growled again, tangling one of his legs over hers. “Shhh. Y’had nigh’m’re.”

She hissed, “I had a nightm—and ya took that as an invitation to sleep with me?”

A trace of indignation crept into his mumble. “Grrmph. Yer in m’bed. Cr’wled in w’me.” He tightened his arm and leg around her, nuzzling into her hair and breathing deeply. She could feel his chest expand against her back. And at the cleft of her backside she could feel . . .

Oh.

Oh God.

She started to move again, but his growl was harsher this time as he settled her against him to his liking. He gave the back of her neck a nip for good measure, and she stayed put, feeling chastised. Her appreciation for Rogue’s presence took a significant drop when she found she lacked the will to disobey the al—Logan’s—unspoken command to stay.

That was just really unfair.

Logan seemed oblivious to her inner struggle. He rubbed against her backside a couple of times, groaned . . . and fell still. She didn’t think he was entirely awake. She cleared her throat. “Logan . . . my skin . . .”

She felt another nip at her neck. “Shut up. Sleep w’me.”

Well then.

Logan’s breathing slowed, his heartbeat following. Marie’s own heart slowed in response, and just as gradually as she had woken, she drifted back to sleep.

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

“D-d-daaa . . . n-nn-nnnnn . . . hurrrrrt . . .”

Logan woke for the third time to Marie’s squirming and mumbling. He hugged her and kissed the back of her head. “Shhh, shhhh, hush,” he muttered until she calmed. He assumed she was dreaming about the incident at the gas station. As far as nightmares went, it had nothing on getting flayed open without anesthesia and having liquid-hot metal poured over your bones.

Or being tied up and eaten alive by a pack of wolves, for that matter.

Still, she had seemed so shaken by it when she came to him for comfort, half-asleep and whimpering, earlier that night. He had pushed her away, told her to go back to bed, and she had let out the most pitiful little whine. She had to know what that sound did to him; he didn’t have the will to deny her anything when she begged like that. So of course he let her crawl in with him and stay, flimsy justifications rising easily to his mind.

She needed him, and that was that.

There was little risk of an accident, really.

He wasn’t worried about their skin touching with her dressed in socks and gloves.

And if vicious, hungry wolves couldn’t so much as leave a bite mark, his claws probably wouldn’t puncture her skin either. Not that he hoped to test that theory any time soon.

He wouldn’t let himself fall asleep, anyway.

But Logan hadn’t been prepared for just how much he would enjoy holding her. For all the things he had done in bed, he could never remember actually falling asleep with a woman. Couldn’t remember actually holding one without letting his hands wander, pushing for more, coming on hard and strong, and getting gone once he’d shown the lady a good time and got what he needed.

He was venturing into uncharted territory, but something about it felt natural, soothing to his feral side. The body he already knew so well by sight and smell, he now allowed himself to learn by touch. Marie was warm, soft in interesting places. And though he knew she was deceptively strong, she felt so achingly fragile as her delicate ribcage rose and fell with her breathing. His big frame practically engulfed her smaller one; it made him feel strong and protective, masculine in a way that even sex had never fulfilled in him.

And she smelled so good. Especially with traces of him rubbed onto her. He couldn’t help feeling that his scent belonged on her neck, and her inner wrists . . . and the soft skin of her breasts . . . and between her thighs . . .

Logan realized his hands were wandering and brought them resolutely back to her midsection. Holding, he reminded himself. Just holding. Don’t scare her. Don’t hurt her. It was hard to remember all the reasons why this was a bad idea with her so close. And there wasn’t a doubt in his mind that with a little persuasion, he could overcome her reservations, too. She would be willing and eager to please him—at least, part of her would be.

But part of her wasn’t enough. So as soon as her breathing had leveled off and he was sure she was deeply asleep once more, he removed himself from temptation.

Logan showered methodically. When his hands made their way between his legs, he considered his options. Sometimes bringing himself off satisfied him. Yet, with his healing factor, sometimes it just heightened his desire and made the tension even worse.

With the object of his desire fresh on his mind and sleeping in the next room, he had a feeling the latter outcome was much more likely. He sighed, turning the water cool and shivering under it until his morning hardness went away.

As soon as his arousal had receded enough to let him think coherently, Logan’s mind was drawn to Carol Danvers. He toweled off and went through the rest of his morning routine by muscle memory. He played over the woman’s words, wondering what the hell it would be like to be trapped inside another person’s mind, whether she was sane, whether she was lying, whether Marie knew anything about their conversation.

Logan wondered what would happen if he told Marie. What if she locked Carol away and never let her out again? What if she looked into Carol’s memories and discovered things about Logan that she didn’t like? Carol said she thought he was a good man . . . but Logan found that difficult to believe.

There were times when the yearning for his past filled him like a physical ache. And then there were times that he thought he would rather not know.

He’d be damned if he had a clue what to do. And when in doubt, he played his cards close to his chest. Logan wasn’t ready to make a move yet. He needed more information. The question was, where to get it?

Logan glanced over at Marie, sleeping peacefully now, hugging the pillow and rubbing her cheek against it in a way that made one side of his mouth quirk up in a smile.

He snagged the complimentary notepad and pen from beside the phone and sat down on Marie’s bed, writing easily in the darkness.

Carol Danvers
KGB, Lubyanka, undercover
S.H.I.E.L.D.
Blue bitch? Marie a weapon?
SD (Special Director?) Stryker
Editor, literary journals
Alien hybrid, superpowers, crazy?

The neat script he never remembered learning filled the page. He ripped it off, along with the next two sheets that carried impressions, folded them neatly and stuck them in his leather jacket’s inner pocket.

Logan had far more questions than answers. Still, it was a start.

Marie kept her eyes trained on the highway. The mid-morning sky was a sunless gray, the roads salted and lined with dirty, slushy snow. Heavy traffic on the week of Thanksgiving was no surprise. More surprising was how calmly Logan coped with it. He settled them in the far left lane and went with the flow, seemingly content to take his time and, as Easton Corbin urged from the radio speakers, “Roll with it.”

Logan chewed absently on a cigar, one hand on the wheel and the other continuing its precarious progress towards her thigh—five minutes had passed since she first noticed his fingers inching across the console, and they were still barely brushing her jeans. Finally, he fisted his hand for a moment, took a deep breath, and went all out, settling his heavy palm high on her leg. Marie gasped. He slid his hand down towards her knee and began rubbing gentle circles with his thumb.

Marie forced out the breath she had been holding. She wasn’t sure what to make of Logan’s behavior. She was even more baffled by her own responses to him. People didn’t just touch her. Not like that, not ever. But Logan . . . in the cabin, in the gas station, last night in bed, and now . . . it was all becoming a bit too intense, yet she couldn’t bring herself to pull away. She peered over to find Logan looking even more relaxed, eyes focused on the cars in front of them.

“So, ya sure ‘bout this, darlin’?” he asked casually. “We can wait another day.”

They were close. They’d be exiting 121 in several miles, and once they merged onto 116, there wouldn’t be any more motels on the way to the mansion. Marie was growing jittery and anxious, and she figured Logan could sense it. It didn’t help that neither of them had spoken a word about last night, though perhaps for different reasons. Logan seemed utterly unconcerned, whereas Marie couldn’t even look at him without feeling a blush creep over her cheeks. “I’m sure. I’m ready,” she asserted, voice as flat as she could make it.

Logan shot her a quizzical look. “You’re upset.”

She shrugged.

He gave her leg a squeeze. “This okay?”

Marie turned away from him. “It feels too . . . too much.”

He took his hand back, muttering a curse. “Sorry. Next time tell me, Marie. Don’t be scared to tell me.”

Marie had only wanted him to stop moving his thumb, not to pull away completely. But she couldn’t bring herself to explain that. She hated that she missed the warmth of his hand. Hated him for wanting to touch her, hated herself for wanting his touch, hated whatever higher power had the cruel sense of humor to give her such a curse of a mutation—she didn’t even know where to direct her anger. So it settled along the edges of her mind like mounds of dirty snow piled on the roadside, its searing purity sullied to a general grumpy discontent.

“Marie?”

“What?” she groused, pulling her legs up in the seat and hugging her knees as she kept her face turned towards the passenger window.

“You don’t hafta tell me. But I gotta ask somethin’.” He cleared his throat. “I been thinkin’, and . . . did somebody . . . touch you . . . in a way that—“

“No!” she said angrily. “Not that it would be any of your business. Why does everyone think that?”

He turned defensive. “Hey, I ain’t everyone. I didn’t even know they thought that. I just figured, what with how your power works, and ya can’t—or, or won’t—control it, and you’re real sensitive about certain stuff, like me touchin’ ya just now, and that guy at the station—“

“I told ya, that was about the girl, not me.”

Logan sighed in frustration. “Fine. Fine. But ya get why I mighta thought—”

She cut him off again. “That ain’t how my power manifested, that ain’t why I don’t like to be touched, that ain’t why I’m crazy . . . . Let’s see, are there any other reasons everyone seems to th-think I’m some pathetic a-abuse case? I ain’t a victim, so quit treatin’ me like one. And what the hell do ya mean ‘won’t’? Like I’m walkin’ around with deadly skin on purpose? I can’t turn it off, okay? I can’t. I just can’t.”

“But have you tried?”

Marie whipped around just in time to see him wince at his own words. “Fuck you, Logan. I knew it would be like this. I knew you could never accept—that’s why I said we couldn’t—that’s why—“

Logan shook his head, gripping the wheel with both hands now. “Shit. No, Marie, listen. I didn’t mean it like that. I was just wonderin’ if you’ve ever tried. That’s it. I’m not pressurin’ you or nothin’. I’m here, okay? I don’t care if you never learn how to touch, I’m here.”

Now she was genuinely confused. “Why?”

His expression softened. “Oh, baby. Why? Look, I know I maybe said the wrong things when you were talkin’ about how I’d leave you or resent you or whatever, but I just need ya to know that ain’t true. I won’t do those things. I shoulda told you that before. But you put those ideas in my head, and I started worryin’ maybe they were true—but after last night, I—I know they’re not. You gotta know that too. Don’cha feel it? How right this is, you and me? I told you I wouldn’t hurt you. So—so just trust that. Trust me.”

Marie felt her anger turn heavy and leaden, like a weight dragging her down, slumping her shoulders and dousing the fire in her voice. “I’ve tried,” she said softly, “to control it. Of course I’ve tried. But it’s impossible. I’m untouchable. I'm just not fit to be with other people. Not with anyone. I—I wish I could be what ya want, Logan. I wish I could be that for ya.” She felt herself tearing up and stamped down the impulse angrily.

He smoothed a hand over her hair and took a moment to gather his words. “You are. You are what I want. Just like this. I want as much of ya as I can get, and it’ll never be too little, just like it’ll never be enough. Touchin’, that ain’t—that ain’t all that matters to me. I’m a dick if I made ya feel unwanted. That’s on me, baby. That ain’t on you. We sure ain’t perfect, but you’re a damn sight closer to it than I’ll ever be, skin or no.”

He sounded so blunt, as if he were stating some obvious fact. Marie couldn’t help a small laugh at that.

“There. Ya know that’s true, don’cha? But hey, don’t run off lookin’ for some fella that’s more worthy of ya. We got a bond between us, Marie. Nothin’ can break it. Nothin’.”

Marie felt her nerves heighten even more. She’d never had a conversation like this before, never been in a relationship close enough to really warrant one. “Is this—this thing between us . . . is it just instinct, Logan?”

“I dunno,” he answered honestly. “I think it’s more. I think it could be more.” He cleared his throat again. “Why don’t we find out?”

Marie blushed. “If you get to know me too well, you won’t like me anymore.”

Logan let out a bark of laughter. “Darlin’, I’ve seen you throw a full-out temper tantrum ‘cause I gave you milk instead of orange juice. I’ve remade my bed five times in one day ‘cause you kept messin’ it up. I’ve listened to radio static for an hour straight ‘cause you wouldn’t let me change the station. You really think you’re gonna scare me off now?”

“Sorry,” Marie mumbled. “I was a real pain in the ass, wasn’t I?”

“Only that time ya broke my spine. And I know that was an accident.”

“Logan . . .”

“Don’t ‘Logan’ me.”

“You don’t even know what I was gonna say.”

“You were gonna say another reason why this is a bad idea. And I don’t wanna hear it. You’re mine. I know that. And I don’t want ya tryin’ to fill my head with doubts. So hush.”

Marie huffed. “That a command?”

He quirked an eyebrow at her. “You wouldn’t be talkin’ if it was.”

That was true, and she knew it. “That kinda . . . it kinda bothers me. How there’s this part of me that just . . . responds . . . to you.”

“That’s just the way it is, for me too. Maybe you should stop fightin’ that part of you. I won’t hurt you,” Logan repeated.

“Promise?” The word slipped out before she could rein it in.

His lips twitched up in a crooked smile. “If that's what you gotta hear to believe it, then yeah, baby. I promise.”

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

Logan punched in his gate code and watched impassively as the heavy bars slid aside to reveal the Xavier Institute. Aside from the neatly shoveled drive, a thin, perfect layer of snow coated every level surface on the campus. The golden light peeking from various windows managed to look warm despite the dreary sky. Even in a town as wealthy as North Salem, the mansion was impressive. Impressive and a bit intimidating—Logan heard Marie’s pulse quicken, her anxiety jacking up a few notches as they drove around to the side garage.

Her anxiety continued to rise as they approached, a dizzying array of sounds and smells filtering into their awareness, and Logan’s first instinct was to turn the Jeep around and go back the way they came. He certainly had no desire to share Marie with anyone else, and despite her protests to the contrary, she obviously had some reservations about her homecoming as well.

But then he thought about choices, and how much better he had been feeling since he started trying to make the ‘right’ ones. It wouldn’t be right to deny Marie’s wishes—even if it would be incredibly easy to make her submit to his instead. Logan also knew that she needed Chuck’s and Jeanie’s help. And there was no denying that he wanted Marie to find whatever was in those repressed memories. The sooner he knew what had happened in that clearing, the sooner he could have his revenge. His knuckles itched just thinking about it.

So he pulled into the thankfully empty garage and followed his second instinct: reassure her. Let her know that he was in control of the situation, that there was nothing to be afraid of. He killed the engine and left the keys in the ignition. Marie started to open her door, but he cut her off. “Wait.” Her hand stilled, so he continued, “I wanna talk to you first.”

“You talk too damn much, sugar,” she drawled obnoxiously.

Logan bit back a growl. It was high time he cleared up a few things with her. His voice was deadly calm. “Don’t push me, Marie. I been nothin’ but nice to you, but I don’t hafta let you speak to me like that.”

She ducked her head a little, but her voice came out defiant. “We're officially home, Logan. No more of this alpha male stuff. Clean slate, remember?”

He leaned in close. “I’m bein’ more than fair. But I can’t change who I am, and neither can you. You think I won’t make a scene in front of everyone if you keep challengin’ me like that? Just try me, baby.” He growled and bore his teeth to make sure his message was clear. “You know better.”

He could see from the look in her eyes that she did indeed know better. She was testing him, looking for some affirmation of her place in the hierarchy, some stability when everything around her was changing. It was a simple, primal need, one that he understood well. And he had no problem reassuring her, reminding her exactly where she belonged: right beneath him. No more ‘alpha male’ stuff? She might as well have asked a fish to stop swimming.

He got out, gave the garage an easy once-over, and came around to open her door. “This is prob’ly gonna overwhelm your senses a bit. Stick close to me.” He rested his hand at the small of her back.

“Logan . . . I don’t want anyone to think—”

He felt his anger flare. “Oh, it’s like that, huh? Embarrassed of me?”

To his surprise, she turned into him and placed her hand over his heart. She spoke into his chest. “No. No. I am embarrassed, but not of you. I just don’t want anyone to think I can’t be on my own anymore. If they don’t think I can hack it, they’ll kick me off the team, Logan. At best they’ll demote me, if they haven’t already. They think I’m damaged, I just know they do. The first impression I make, whatever Scott sees first thing when I walk through that door, it’s gonna be a big deal. It’s gonna mean a lot. I gotta stand on my own two feet. Okay?”

Logan understood her intense anxiety now. This wasn’t just about seeing everyone again. It was about proving herself to them. He tucked her under his chin and rubbed her back. “Hey. You got nothin’ to prove to these geeks. You’re more than you were before, not less. As for One-Eye, well, he’d have to be an idiot to think you’re ‘damaged.’ Not that he ain’t an idiot. But even if he is thinkin’ it, he’d have to be fuckin’ suicidal to say it out loud. ‘Specially in fronta me.”

He felt her shoulders shake with a silent laugh. “I know that shouldn’t make me feel better, but it does.”

He gave her one last squeeze and stepped away. He could do this. Give her some space. Let her be her own person. He hoped he could handle it. “C’mon, Lieutenant Rogue. I know how territorial you are. Time to go reclaim your rightful spot on the X-Team.”

“Just promise me you won’t growl at our Captain, Agent Wolverine.”

He shrugged. “I won’t if you don’t.”

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

Scott was alerted by the Professor as soon as Wolverine’s code was entered at the gate. He set aside the grading he had been trying to catch up, stood, and smoothed the wrinkles from his slacks and button-down. He left his office and made his way to towards the other side of the mansion, wanting to be the first to greet them.

Scott hadn’t been able to wheedle too many details from the Professor, but he knew Rogue was fragile right now. Most of the students were away for the holiday, and he had convinced Storm and Jean to cart the rest of them off to the mall for a few hours. After seeing Rogue’s state at the cabin, Scott didn’t want to overwhelm her or set her back in her recovery or anything. The truth was, he was a bit nervous to see her again. The Professor said she had finally “stabilized” after her absorption, but that it would “no doubt have lasting effects on her psyche.”

Scott reached the door to the garage just in time to hear Rogue and Logan arguing over who would carry her suitcase. The sound of her voice, so familiar, so normal, made him break into a grin. He opened the door just in time to see them both turn, ears perked up, wearing nearly identical expressions of surprise. He chuckled. “Hello. Am I interrupting something?”

Rogue blushed, but straightened to face him. She wore jeans and a fitted maroon sweater with matching gloves and a scarf draped loosely around her neck. Typical Rogue. His grin widened. She was already night-and-day different from how she had been at the cabin. “Hello, Scott.”

Logan took her distraction as an opportunity to shoulder his bag and grab her suitcase. It wasn’t lost on Scott that he went to a little extra trouble to keep his right arm free. He wondered briefly whether the Wolverine was preparing himself to restrain Rogue or to protect her. Perhaps both.

Ignoring his hesitancy, Scott approached them. He and Logan exchanged their typical I-really-don’t-like-you-but-am-willing-to-tolerate-you nod.

Rogue extended her usual palm-down hand, the only thing besides her accent that really belied her Southern upbringing, and he clasped it briefly, looking into her eyes.

To Scott’s surprise, she averted her gaze. Hm. That was new. He scolded himself that he was just overanalyzing things. “It’s good to have you back. Uh, both of you. I hope traffic wasn’t too bad.” That sounded pretty awkward even to his own ears. Darn. He just didn’t really know what to say to her now, and he had never known what to say to Wolverine.

Rogue raked a silk-gloved hand through her hair. “Uh, it was pretty heavy, yeah. But we made it alright."

It was then that Scott noticed something silver glinting out from under her scarf. Odd. She usually favored earrings, not necklaces. He shook his head. Now he was definitely overanalyzing things.

Rogue was speaking again. “. . . talk to Charles later this afternoon. I’d like to be cleared for fieldwork as soon as possible.”

Scott blinked. That was definitely the Rogue he knew. All business. “Rogue—that’s not . . . I . . . no. I’m sorry, but no. The Professor, Jean, and I have discussed it at length. We feel it would be best for you to take a leave of absence from the team, get settled in—“

An almost imperceptible tremor went through her, and for a moment he thought she was going to crumble. But then she got that look she sometimes had. Distant, was the only way he could describe it. She set her shoulders and squared her jaw. Scott braced himself for an argument. “This work is my life, Scott. I’ve been an asset to the team, and I deserve a chance to prove that I still am. Gimme a chance. Run me through some sims. I have control of Carol’s powers now. And even without’em, I’m still the best close-range fighter you got. You know that.”

Scott wasn't sure how to say this without hurting her feelings, so he just came out with it. “Actually, we were hoping Wolverine and Shadowcat could fill those shoes. For a while, I mean, just for a while. We’ve promoted Kitty from the junior team, and she’s really stepped up to the plate. Not that she could replace you. That’s not it at all. We do need you, Rogue. There’s a lot of important work that doesn’t involve direct combat. We need someone reliable to help with recruitment and escorts. There are a number of new students we’re hoping to bring in for the Spring semester, and—”

“That’s junior team stuff, Scott. That’s a waste of my abilities. Let me help. I want to help.” Her voice was growing strained, and Logan was giving her a very intense look, but making no move to touch her.

Scott couldn’t in good conscience send her out on a dangerous mission. He didn’t know if he ever could again. He’d rather have an inferior fighter on his team than be worried about Rogue’s mental health, about what the next absorption might do to her. But he couldn’t make it sound hopeless. It would break her heart. “This is just . . . probation, Rogue. You haven’t been stripped of your title. Nothing’s set in stone, okay? We’ll reassess things in a couple of months.”

“I don’t give a f—I don’t care about being Lieutenant, Scott. I care about the work. I care about makin’ a difference. How many hate crimes are gonna happen in a couple of months? How many riots are gonna get outta hand? How many mutants are gonna be abused and trafficked and exploited while I’m ‘takin’ time to get settled’?”

All Business Rogue had left the building, and Mutant Rights Activist Rogue had stepped in to fill her place. Scott was reminded of why it had taken the Professor six months to convince her to take a vacation. He had to admit, she was not easily dismissed when she got like this, eyes blazing, voice sharp, hands planted at her hips. Even Logan seemed impressed.

Scott felt like a jerk. He hated doing this to her, hated taking her away from the job she loved. But he hated even more what he had seen in that cabin, what she could be reduced to when her own power was used against her. He wanted to make sure she was fully recovered before he let her risk her own sanity to fight for the cause. “You’re on recruitment for the next two months. And I’m sure the students will be pleased to have you back as their teacher, if you’re up to it. I’m sorry, Rogue, but that’s final.”

“Grrrr . . .” She kicked her Jeep and sent it skidding a good two meters across the garage floor. Wolverine placed a restraining hand on her shoulder. She stilled under his touch.

He turned to Scott. “You better go.”

Scott left. If Rogue hated him for keeping her safe, so be it. She’d get over it eventually. He knew he had made the right decision.

The mansion was, thankfully, even more deserted than Logan expected.

“. . . biggity, high-minded, arrogant, know-it-all, patronizin’ bastard! The Professor, Jean, and I have discussed it at length,” Marie did a fair imitation of Scott’s adenoidal voice as she stomped down the hallway, the dramatic effect hindered by the way her feet never actually hit the tiles—not that she noticed.

Logan fought the impulse to reach behind him and tug her down. At least she was keeping her voice low. Sort of.

“More like he convinced Charles and Jean. Of all the fuckin’ . . . grrrrrrr. I’ll show’em. I will. Just you wait.”

His knuckles instinctively itched at the sound of her growl, but he didn’t bother urging her to calm down again. And he wasn’t going to snarl her into silence. Because that would be uncivilized.

This is gonna be fine, he told himself for the dozenth time. They could interact normally around others. A couple weeks of isolation hadn’t turned them completely feral. In fact, they were hardly feral at all. They were the very definition of tame.

Well, perhaps not. But Logan needed to keep up his I’m-not-a-vicious-animal mask if he were to have any hope of making it through the day without embarrassing himself and upsetting Marie.

So as much as he wanted to let loose and forcibly silence her, he had let her ranting go uninterrupted since they left the garage. She had hardly even noticed that Logan was carrying her suitcase and leading her to her room. He had no desire to bring either of those things to her attention. He was simply going to deposit his duffle in the corner of her room and crawl into bed with her later that night.

Perhaps he should say something about it, ask her permission. But he had no intention of taking "no" for an answer, so it seemed unnecessary. He couldn’t imagine sleeping on the other side of the mansion. He would respect his mate’s space, let her stand on her own and all that, but standing alone and sleeping alone were two very different things—

That thought was interrupted when Marie raised her hands in front of her, wringing the neck of some poor invisible spectre. “Ooooh, I could jus’ cuss’im inta next week! Probation. Didn’t even gimme a chance, Logan. An’ here I thought years of loyal service might earn a girl the damn benefit of the doubt. Silly me. Nevermind the fact that none of this woulda happened in the first place if I hadn’t let Charles convince me to take a vacation! Fuck this shit. I’d like to see a one of’em stop me from boardin’ that jet. Hell, who needs a jet? I’ll fly myself.”

Logan knew she must have been very committed to the team to make Lieutenant, but he’d never realized what a little spitfire she could be. As long as it wasn’t directed at him, it was . . . actually kind of sexy. He let himself fall back a couple of steps so she could walk at his side. Amusing as it was to see her following at his heels, he got sick of having to crane around to look at her.

“Two months. I’ll give it two months. But if I don’t hear the words ‘full reinstatement,’ he’s gonna hear a couple choice words from me. Startin’ with ‘independent consultant.’ I got plenty of contacts. I don’t hafta work under the Xavier Institute. Scott Summers is gonna figure out just what Rogue really means, sugar, I tell you what.”

She spared him a glance, so he offered up a noncommittal grunt. Independent consultant? He didn’t know exactly what she meant by that, but it sounded too much like “mercenary” for his tastes. Still, no point talking her out of it until she calmed down.

“One thing’s for sure though: Pryde ain’t ready for combat. Which I wrote in big, clear letters in her last performance review—but oh well, it ain’t like I’m the combat instructor or anythin’.” She pressed a thoughtful finger to her lips. “Oh, wait, yeah I am. Still, what the fuck do I know, huh?”

Logan chuckled. That was actually pretty funny. That dry, sarcastic sense of humor he’d seen a few glimpses of . . . well, he could definitely get used to it. He’d bet money it came out in full force after a few shots of whiskey.

“I mean, I only taught that kid from the time she was sixteen. Only helped her pick out a prom dress and test drive her first car and fill out her college applications. Not like I deserve any say in whether she’s ready to run off and risk her life on some dangerous mission. Shit. Scott shoulda pulled Warren in from recon, and he knows it. Can’t believe Charles signed off on this. Two weeks, and the whole place has gone to hell. If I’da been here . . . well, if I’da been here there wouldn’t even be an empty seat in that jet that needed fillin’.”

Logan’s mind caught on a single nagging question: Didn’t Shadowcat look older than Marie? Yet Marie had been her teacher. Not to mention a long-standing member of the X-Men. Lieutenant. She had to be way older than the twenty or so that she looked. There was definitely something strange going on in the Marie aging department. Logan tried not to feel excited about that fact. He didn’t want to get his hopes up, but maybe . . .

“. . . and I was glad as anybody when she decided to come back here after college. The girl’s a genius. But she ain’t cut out for fieldwork. Took her out to help me work this case once, a mutant lynchin’ down in Alabama. Local PD actually asked the Xavier Institute to consult. D’ya know what a big deal that is, Logan, for them to call us?”

Anti-mutant sentiment was strong in the South. That the local police had put any effort at all into the investigation was a big step for mutant rights. “Pretty big deal,” he agreed.

Marie nodded. “Damn right. Well, Pryde’s got it in her head to become an X-Man, and I figure this is a nice low-risk way to ease her into things. So I bring her out to help process the scene, take photographs, do some digital imaging for’em. And y’know what she does? Guess.”

“Dunno.”

“Guess, Logan.”

He growled softly. “I don’t wanna fuckin’ guess. Tell me.”

Marie continued unfazed. “She faints. Barely steps outta the detective’s truck, takes one look at the scene, and faints. Told me later it was the maggots that did it. Now really, who’s a bigger liability on a mission? Me, an experienced X-Man who happens to be workin’ through some . . . minor . . . mental issues . . . or some green little kid who faints at the sight of a dead body? Answer me that. Be honest, Logan.”

Logan wasn’t about to tell Marie that he really didn’t mind her being kept out of dangerous missions, especially when he wasn’t so sure that her mental issues were as ‘minor’ as she let on. Surprisingly, his feral side was more upset by the prospect. Wolverine viewed hunting with his mate as quality bonding time, and didn’t like the thought of leaving her behind unattended. He’d have to tread carefully here. “Oh, to be honest . . . I’d rather see you in the uniform than that Kitty girl, any day of the week.”

There. That was a truthful, if slightly misleading answer. He was pretty proud of himself for that one, actually. But Marie was already off on another tangent.

“ . . . knew I shouldn’ta let those girly pushups slide. If she fucks up, it’s partly on me.” The anger in her tone faded to worry. “An’ I can’t even be there to protect her. You better keep an eye on her, hear me? She’s still a kid, for God’s sake. Goin’ out to them clubs with Lee an’ the other girls, wearin’ more skin than clothes, and stumblin’ home all hours of the night fucked up as a football bat.” Marie slowed as they approached her door, scenting the air. The worry in her voice grew. “Hey, smell that?”

“Kinda hard not to.” He had been wondering when she would stop and take a breath long enough to notice. The sweet, floral bouquet was overpowering and only growing stronger, an amalgam of scents that were not unpleasant by themselves, but clashed horribly with each other.

“It’s . . . it’s comin’ from my room.” She gestured to the door at the end of the hall.

“Yep.”

Marie backpedaled a couple of steps, and Logan placed a steadying hand on her back. She sneezed several times. “Oh. That’s strong.” She tried to step back again, but he held her in place. “Logan . . .”

He felt his own nose itching, but he’d been managing his heightened senses much longer than she had. “Sensory adaptation. Just give it a minute. You’ll adjust.”

She sneezed again. “It don’t feel like my room anymore.” She turned into him, pushed aside his jacket, and rubbed her cheek against the front of his shirt. “It don’t smell right, ya know?” She mumbled into the red flannel, “Everythin’s so messed up. Part of me wishes we’d stayed at the cabin, Alpha. Oh, I mean—I mean Logan. Oh my God.” She hid in his chest and whimpered, embarrassment practically radiating off her.

“Alpha?” Logan felt all the blood in his body go straight to his groin. He caught a finger in her belt loop and mindlessly tugged her hips into his. “Grrrrghhh . . .”

“Oh!” Marie stiffened in surprise. “Sorry. I—I just always call you that for some reason. In my head. Um, you l-like it?”

Obviously. “Feel that?” He punctuated his question by purposefully pushing his hips into her.

She squeaked. “Logan! We’re in the middle of the . . .” But he was already ahead of her, digging her key out of her pocket and walking them towards her door.

Despite his best effort, he didn’t quite make it that far before he pulled back just enough to see Marie’s wide-eyed expression, leaned down, and licked her lips.

The swipe of his tongue was brief, much too brief. He felt a tingle, like a connection opening up between them, but no pain, as he quickly pulled away. “Oh God. You taste so fucking good.” His voice was hardly his own. He had to do that again. Had to. Logan dropped her suitcase and shrugged off his duffle, letting them thud to the floor without a second thought. His eyes and hands wasted no time wandering down her body. Relishing the way her scent changed, he leaned in to meet her lips again, but she resisted. “Marie,” he growled before he could help himself.

“Lo-ogan,” her voice broke. “What are you--? We can’t. E-especially not out here—”

“Yeah, yeah,” he grumbled more roughly than he meant to, shoving the key into the lock and her into the room with equal haste. He kicked the door shut behind them, leaving their bags in the hallway.

Don’t scare her, you idiot! he thought, noticing another change in her scent, this one far less pleasant. But he couldn’t quite think straight. He wanted her too badly, and in his mind there were no more barriers standing in their way.

Logan wove his hands into Marie’s hair and tilted her head up, an unspoken invitation to meet his eyes. It took a few painfully long moments, but finally she let her gaze drift up to his, slowly, carefully. He could hear her heart pounding, catching up with his as they ignored their instincts and gazed directly into each other.

Marie traced her own fingers over her mouth, following the path his tongue had made.

“Let me do that,” he said in what he hoped was a gentle, undemanding way. He had a feeling it came out more like a crude command.

But she nodded dazedly, eyes never leaving his.

Logan's breathing grew harsher. He grabbed her hand and brought it to his mouth, kissing each of her fingertips in turn. Then he dove in and took another fleeting taste of her lips, eliciting a gasp. His voice came out on a deep note, and he fought to keep his other hand from tightening in her hair. “How long can we touch before the pull starts?”

She rolled her shoulder in a little shrug and looked down.

“You don’t know?”

At that, she seemed to snap out of her daze. She blushed and tried to pull away.

“Still not a big talker, huh?” He’d fix that. He definitely needed to hear her call him “Alpha” again. He got harder just thinking about it.

Marie looked down, but her voice came out defiant. “I’m sorry. We can’t . . . I don’t touch people unless I want to steal their powers or knock’em out, okay? It ain’t worth the risk.”

“Oh, it’s worth the fuckin’ risk.” Before he could talk himself out of it, Logan braced himself and crashed his mouth over hers possessively. Her half-hearted whimpers of protest went ignored; she could stop him if she really wanted to. His tongue parted her lips easily, and he tilted her head back, nearly losing his mind in pleasure as she opened under him. So soft, hot, wet. No one’s ever kissed her like this. Mine, mine, mine, he thought greedily, ravaging her mouth until the pain finally overrode the pleasure and he reluctantly pulled away, gasping for air.

“Oh my God! Logan!” She hooked her arms around him, supporting part of his weight. “Ya big idiot! Course I ain’t ever been kissed like that—no one’s been stupid enough to try.”

So. She heard that. He wondered if she got any other thoughts from him. There were some pretty vivid ones running through his mind at the moment. “Worth it,” he wheezed, feeling as if the wind had been knocked out of him.

Her eyes began to tear up. “Logan, this ain’t fair. Ya deserve to be with somebody who—“

“Stop it. I want you. What do ya need to believe it, a signed affidavit?” Because at this point, he’d give her one if only she’d let him have her. All of her. “Oh, God, baby, I can’t help—” he crushed her against him and licked at her lips again, a show of lust that would have been embarrassingly feral if she hadn’t whimpered and tentatively licked him back.

He could see the warring emotions on her face as she got control of herself and pulled away . . . and then he noticed it. The room spread out behind her. The mahogany furnishings and crisp white bedding were just as he remembered, but now her bedroom was filled with “Get Well Soon” balloons, cards, and well over a dozen flower arrangements. Hence the overpowering smell.

At the foot of the bed lay a pair of focus mitts and a pair of hand wraps, each deep green and embroidered with the name Rogue. A large poster board had been propped next to the gifts with the words “Welcome Home, Ms. D’Ancanto” and the signatures of her students scrawled all over it in various shades of magic marker.

The sight of it all was enough to make Logan pause in his urgency. He needed a moment to recover from that kiss, anyway. “Marie.” Fighting a smile, he gripped her shoulders and urged her to turn around. “Baby, look.”

Turning reluctantly at his command, she took in the room. Her eyes began to water again, though Logan suspected it wasn’t out of sadness this time. Her gaze settled at last on the poster board, and she brought a hand to her mouth, muffling a sob.

Logan stepped into her from behind, managing to more-or-less gently wrap his arms around her waist and drop his chin over her head. His breathing was still a bit ragged, his voice thready. “Guess everyone’s as crazy ‘bout ya as I am. No surprise there.”

“Oh, Logan. This is—I can’t believe—“

“Hate to say it, but Summers was right about one thing: they do need ya here. Look at all this. Those kids must worship you.”

She laughed thickly, swiping at her eyes. “Yeah, right. They can’t stand me half the time. No one else makes’em do pushups and run laps at seven in the mornin’.”

Logan tickled his fingers over her ribs, feeling playful. And if he happened to brush the underside of her breast, it was completely innocent, and he certainly didn’t growl in satisfaction when she melted in his arms. “Seven? If it were me, I’d have’em up at five.”

“Ya tellin’ me how to do my job, sugar?” She turned in his arms, rubbing against him. “’Cause I don’t much ‘preciate—”

Logan groaned at her movements. “Aw, Marie. I know this ain’t the time, but I need—” His mouth found hers once more, and he was unable to decide whether the fleeting contact was erotic or frustrating. Judging by the growing strain in his jeans, he was leaning towards erotic. “Just let me,” he muttered incoherently between kisses, “let me, darlin’, please.”

She whimpered and gripped the front of his shirt, her scent flooding the air as her body caught on to what he wanted and readied itself for him.

Oh, he loved that. He buried himself in her hair and breathed her in deeply, drowning out everything else. What the fuck are you doin’? How’s this gonna work? a voice in the back of his mind shouted.

But it may as well have been the barest whisper for all he heard, as he tightened his arms around her and crushed her against him, then walked her backwards towards the bed. A trail of kisses up her jawline left his lips buzzing from the pull of her skin. He didn’t know how to continue, only knew that he couldn’t stop. So he kissed her again, groaning into her mouth and pulling away just before the buzz turned to pain. He was getting better at judging it.

Marie somehow had the presence of mind to sweep aside the poster and the gifts, barely managing to get them out of the way before Logan tossed her onto the mattress and got her pinned, forcing harsh breaths through gritted teeth as his body moved over hers.

“Fuck!” Logan gasped when her legs wrapped around him, and he could feel the heat between her thighs even through their clothes. He ground against her, eyes rolling back as a growl tore out of his throat. Who knew friction could feel that damn good?

Maybe they could just . . . the thought seemed juvenile, but . . . he ground into her again, watching her response this time. Judging by the whimper and the way she tightened her legs around him, she was enjoying herself too. This could be good. Even if he couldn’t be inside her, even if they kept their clothes on, this could—he ground into her again, and his mind went blank with pleasure.

Logan’s resistance was all but gone as he braced his weight on his forearms and stared down at Marie, sparing a moment to drink in the sweet pink flush of her cheeks, her glossy hair splayed out over the soft white bedding, her trusting gaze connecting with his. He had a feeling this image would be burned into his mind forever.

“So right,” he whispered. “You’re so right for me.” And he kissed her again, lingering for a few sweet, agonizing moments even after the painful pull began.

Logan was well past the point of no return. He didn’t even know where he ended and Wolverine began. Still, some part of his mind managed to scrape together his habitual plea. His hips had set up a rhythm entirely out of his conscious control. “Grrrrrghh . . . tell me not to stop.”

Marie whimpered, shoving his jacket down his shoulders and helping him get it off. Her hands roamed through his hair, down his back, over his arms. Logan touched her more and more boldly, and everything about her was responsive, receptive to his advances—her scent, her pliant body, the soft, sweet sounds she made.

And damn it, it wasn’t enough. He pressed his mouth to her ear. “Words, baby. Lemme hear you beg.”

She arched into him. “Please . . .”

Logan rose up to look at her.

The flush on her cheeks darkened, but she went on in a hushed voice, “Please don’t stop.”

“I won’t,” he promised, hooking a hand behind her knee. She caught on quickly, locking her legs higher around him, pulling him even closer. Logan summoned every ounce of restraint he had to keep his movements gentle. He had a feeling he failed, but she certainly didn’t complain as he ground into her through their clothes. Logan buried his face safely in her hair, still dizzy from that last kiss. He didn’t trust himself not to do anything stupid.

It wasn’t long before every movement drew a growl from him and a gasp or a little whimper from her. The sounds urged him on, and Logan wasn’t entirely sure what sorts of things he was growling in Marie’s ear, but whatever he was saying, it was driving her closer to the edge, and him right along with her.

Logan wanted a million different things. Wanted to bite into her skin until she yelped, to bring out that side of her, feral and uninhibited. He wanted to push his way inside her, feel her muscles clench around him. He really wanted to let go and let his instincts take over, just to see what would happen. He’d never been with another feral, never felt these urges so strongly before. But he forced them aside; he just kept moving, drowning in the sensation. Then he cried out, every muscle in his body seizing as he came against her and grew hard again. And still he kept moving, nowhere near sated yet.

He had no idea how much time passed with her wordless whimpers slowly growing in pitch and volume, but finally, the desire to look at her became great enough that he rose up a few inches—and to his shock, the change in angle made her come apart in his arms. Logan watched in awe as Marie arched into him, tossing her head back with a soft cry. There was nothing wild or urgent about her release, just the slow, easy building of pleasure. This was all so different from anything he’d experienced before. He kissed his way over her eyelids, across her cheekbones, and down to her red, swollen lips before pulling away to watch her again.

This is right, Logan thought absently, transfixed by the pale column of her neck, and finding it hard to believe that anything this good could be happening to him. But then her legs tightened around him and she shuddered more forcefully, and all thought ceased. He closed his mouth over hers, bucked his hips, and let himself go.

“Al—Logan,” Marie whimpered and squirmed when he pinned her arms over her head and started to move yet again. “Too much. Too much.”

He rubbed a soothing hand over the outside of her thigh, realizing her legs were no longer locked around him. “Okay, baby.” By force of will, he lifted his hips away from hers, fighting the urge to growl her into submission. That the urge even existed made him feel slightly sick, and he rose off her completely.

Marie glanced between them and blushed bright red. “Oh. D-didn’t you—?”

Logan couldn't help a laugh at the look on her face. “Oh yeah. Oh, God, yeah.”

She cleared her throat, ducking her head and looking like she wanted to sink through the bed. “But you’re still—”

Logan couldn’t help a frustrated growl. “Healing factor. It’s never quite . . . I never feel–” satisfied “—finished.”

“Oh.” Marie bit her lip. “Oh, well, if you wanted to—again—”

Shit, now he had made her feel bad. “No, no,” he rolled to his side and pulled her into him, nuzzling her hair. “No, that was perfect, darlin’. Perfect.”

She tried to shift out of his arms, but a soft growl in her ear stilled her instantly. “Good girl,” Logan teased, more to distract her than anything.

She smacked his shoulder. “That ain’t funny.”

He snickered, holding her against him, glad to hear the change in her tone. “Yeah, yeah it is. And sexy. Feels so good to me, Marie, when you submit like that.” Oops. That was more than he really meant to admit.

Her voice came out quiet, even to his sensitive ears. “I know. And um, before I forget . . . I’d appreciate it if ya kept that name to yourself. Everyone else just knows me as Ms. D’Ancanto or Rogue. I just—I’m a very private person, and—”

Logan’s jeans grew impossibly tighter. “No one else . . . knows your name?”

She shook her head.

He calmed forcibly, loosening his hold on her. “Yes,” he spoke as softly as she had. “Marie. That’s just for me. My Marie. Jesus, you make me so hot.” He found himself licking at her ear before he really knew what he was doing.

“Ah! Doesn’t that hurt?” she whispered.

“Mmm, not enough to make me stop.” He finished kissing his way over the shell of her ear and down her neck before pulling back, lips still tingling from the pull of her mutation. It wasn’t nearly as strong as he had feared, but he did feel very dizzy. He didn’t think any kind of prolonged contact would be possible without hurting him, and potentially her as well. But it felt so good, even through the pain.

He’d just have to savor the little things. Brief kisses. A brush of his fingertips. He could do that. She was more than worth it. And maybe, someday, things would be different . . .

No. He should be thankful for what he had, not wish for more. Logan knew it was irrational, but it still bothered him a little bit that Marie’s body didn’t accept his touch. That her mutation hurt him. She was his, didn’t she know that? And she had to let him have her, all of her. His animal side still seemed to think that Marie was somehow being disobedient. That she simply needed to be taught a lesson, and then she would obey his wishes, let him touch where and how he wanted.

He shook the thought. No way was he going to confirm everything she had feared about being with him, to push for more than she could give. She couldn’t control her skin. He needed to accept that. More than a dumb animal. More than a dumb animal. More than . . .

Wolverine, Rogue, welcome home. Please see me at your earliest convenience. I will be in my office until four.

“Fuck!” Marie jumped as though scalded, hovering several inches off the bed until Logan wrapped his arms around her and tugged her down. She didn’t seem to have the flying thing quite under control yet.

He didn’t really know whether to laugh or cry. The telepathic communiqué had been enough to turn his once pliant mate completely unresponsive. Stiff in his arms, she was once again blushing from hairline to neckline—and probably beyond. Logan tried his best to hide his disappointment as he eased back and adjusted himself in his jeans. It wasn’t all bad, though. He knew she wanted to be discreet for now, but the thought of others knowing she belonged to him pleased him more than he would admit. “You uh, y’think he knew what he was interrupting?”

“Fuck!” she repeated, a hint of a laugh creeping into her voice this time. “I dunno, sugar. I don’t even like to think about what the telepaths around here do or don’t know ‘bout me.” Her expression sobered. “Although Charles left me in a secluded cabin with you, so I guess he don’t really care. Uh, I mean, he don’t care if we . . . y’know.”

Logan didn’t like the tone of her voice. “Hey, he cares about you. A lot. I told him to let you stay in the cabin ‘cause you felt safe there.” Before he could lose his nerve, he added, “And . . . and it was my idea to stay with you. I wanted to be the one to take care of you.”

Her jaw dropped. “Y-you did? Really?” She looked like she had just been told that, yes, Santa Claus was in fact real.

Logan couldn’t help himself. He pulled her into his arms again. “Of course. Told ya it’s about more than just touchin’ to me. But . . . the touchin’ is nice. Really nice.”

“Logan,” she gently extricated herself from his embrace. “I—I was all messed up. I know that. Maybe still am a little. But I don’t need to be taken care of anymore. I’m a grown woman. The way things were at the cabin, that’s not—”

He cut her off with a finger to her lips before she could finish that thought. Her fears would be easy to allay. All he had to do was tell her the truth. “I wanted you before, too. Before . . . the attack. I was just takin’ my time decidin’ how to approach. I didn’t realize how strong—” his voice turned gruff despite his best efforts, “—how strong I felt about ya, ‘til I saw ya lyin’ there in that clearing, and all I could think was how I was gonna lose ya, gonna miss my chance with ya.”

Marie brought a hand to her forehead. “You were there,” she said vaguely. “You were the one who found me?” She groaned and shook her head. “I can’t think about it. But—but I want ya to know, I was, um, attracted to you too. Or, me an’ Rogue were. Before ‘we’ became ‘I’. But we thought nothin’ would ever come of it, what with us bein’ the way we were. Er, are.” She let out a small laugh. “I’m confusin’ myself.”

Logan figured a little teasing would take her mind off things. It worked before, anyway. “The way you are? Ya mean beautiful? ‘Cause I’m failin’ to see how that would lessen your chances with me.”

She rolled her eyes. “Stop it. Y’know what I’m talkin’ about. My mutation. I’m still not sure how this is gonna work, Logan.”

“It worked pretty damn good just now. And the rest . . . we’ll figure it out together.” It really was that simple. Yes, he was scared things might not work out, but the animal in him felt secure in its claim on her, especially after what they just did together. He didn’t think he could lose her entirely. She was bound to him, one way or another. Now, if he could just convince her to relax and enjoy being with him, he would be one very happy man. Animal. Mutant. Whatever.

Marie appeared deep in thought. Finally, she nodded. “Okay. Okay. I’m lotsa things, but a coward ain’t one of’em. If ya really want this, sugar . . . I’m willin’ to try.”

“Me too. That’s all we can do.” Logan fought the urge to smile like a fool. “Now, uh, I prob’ly better bring our bags in from the hall. Definitely need to change before we go see Chuck.”

Xavier sat behind his expansive cherry wood desk, holding a phone against his ear with his shoulder. A code word was issued, and Xavier responded with his own. Then a faint crackling was the only sound to be heard for twenty interminable seconds, as he and his agent secured the line. He wasn’t expecting an update so soon, and especially not in the form of a direct call. It must be important.

Formalities out of the way, the agent began delivering his report. Charles ignored the keyboard inches from his fingertips, preferring to jot notes the traditional way (albeit on a leather Rolex notepad with a Montblanc fountain pen) as he listened. Ever since Shadowcat had aided the team on a mission by infecting the target’s computer with a program that clandestinely recorded every keystroke, Xavier found himself deeply mistrustful of the machines when it came to his own sensitive information.

No matter how strong Shadowcat and Forge insisted the Institute’s firewalls were, there was really no substitute for paper, a physical thing that could be obliterated with the stroke of a match—and Xavier knew that the agent with whom he was currently speaking agreed wholeheartedly on that count. Charles was in no way technologically challenged, but he had been running intelligence operations since the Cold War—and to this day he’d send his operatives a dead drop spike over an encrypted e-mail whenever possible. Computer data were like thoughts; no matter how one tried to eliminate them, traces of their existence always lingered, just waiting for someone skilled enough to sift them out.

And traces simply weren’t acceptable in an operation as delicate as this. His agent had been in place for over three years, and in that time had provided invaluable information—information that, if traced back to him, would undoubtedly cost his life. Charles listened carefully as the agent relayed his findings in a succinct, clipped tone.

“And you’re certain that Mystique defected prior to the incident?” Xavier asked after the report was complete.

“That’s correct, sir,” the agent confirmed. “She’s in the wind going on three weeks. Magneto still suspects that Rogue was a mole all along, that she stole much of the information you’ve used against The Brotherhood. On the upside, that may draw suspicion away from me. On the downside, well . . . Sabertooth told me in graphic detail about the attack. I’ve been doing some digging. Seems that Mystique was perfectly willing to disable Rogue, to scramble her brains for the cause,” disdain crept into his otherwise monotonous voice. “But when she heard about the brutal way Magneto wanted to do it, to make an example of ‘Xavier’s spy’—well, I guess even the blue bitch has standards. She refused to have any part of it. Left without a trace.”

“This is an interesting development,” Charles said in his most detached tone, irrationally hurt by the fact that Eric would think he would use a teenage girl to spy on him. They had well and truly grown apart, for his one-time friend to think so little of his ethics. “I trust you’ve considered what this means.”

“It means Magneto’s about to implement a plan that he thinks Rogue might have intel on—which means a plan ten years or more in the making. And whatever it is, he’s keeping it on the down-low, because I’ve heard nothing.”

“Indeed. I fear this must be something massive in scale and complexity—something not worth abandoning, even at the expense of Rogue’s life.” Xavier’s brow came down. “Not that her life is of any value to him, as his past actions attest.”

“And you say she remembers nothing about the attack?” the agent asked, a hint of discomfort creeping into his voice.

To be honest, Xavier was uncomfortable with the situation too. “So it would appear. My X-Men have their suspicions, but none, save you and I, know for certain that The Brotherhood was behind what happened out in Vermont.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “At this point, I intend to keep it that way. I have a new recruit who I believe would react . . . rashly, should such information be revealed. Frankly, there are more pressing concerns. Rogue is safely back at the Institute now; that’s what matters. And I am confident that, if she knew the details, she more than anyone would agree that revenge is not worth jeopardizing your cover, much less an intelligence operation three years in the making. Especially when we suspect something catastrophic looming on the horizon.”

“Right,” he agreed. “We’ve all made sacrifices.”

“You more than most, Agent.”

There was a momentary pause. “. . . And what if Rogue’s memories resurface?”

Xavier pressed his lips into a thin line, considering the possibilities. He would need to assess Rogue’s relationship with Wolverine before deciding whether she could be trusted to keep the information secret from him. From what he had seen, and the little he knew of feral relationships, it would probably be best to keep the information from Rogue herself—to not put her in the awkward position of keeping a secret from someone to whom she seemed most loyal. But was it wrong to hide her own past from her, even if it did feel like the lesser of two evils? It was an ethical dilemma, to be certain. Charles wasn’t ready to choose a course of action just yet, but he didn’t want to spook his operative by appearing uncertain. “You manage your end; I’ll manage mine. Expect the next drop at the usual time and place.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Keep the objective in mind.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good luck, Agent.”

The line went dead.

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

Glory be. That seriously just happened, Marie thought dumbly, sitting up in bed and looking around her gift-strewn room. Logan, having retrieved their luggage from the hall, disappeared into the bathroom with his olive drab duffle. Marie stood a little shakily and crossed the room to her dresser. Her hands rifled through the drawers and piled a change of clothes on top of the dresser with little conscious help—her mind was definitely elsewhere.

Up until the moment he kissed her, Marie hadn’t been able to believe that Logan really, truly desired her. But there it was, plain as day, in his mind. A need, raw and primal, surprising in its intensity—but even more surprising was the affection that overlaid it. The way her smile made him feel warm inside. His determination to be more than an animal with her. The first hints of hope, that perhaps with her, he could have things he had long given up on having: love, companionship . . . a family.

Logan had lived by his instincts much longer than she had, and he seemed to know when to trust them. Marie felt “right” to him. She could sense that from his thoughts, very clearly. With the way her mutation worked, she tended to pick up the surface thoughts of the people she touched, even if she didn’t hold on long enough to get a full replica of the person in her head. She wondered if Logan understood that, understood how much of himself he was sharing when he touched her. Surely Charles had explained it to him.

It had always been an interesting venture to ‘borrow’ the powers of her teammates, the ones who knew how her mutation worked. They were usually trying so hard not to think of anything embarrassing, secret, or inappropriate when she touched them, that of course, the most embarrassing and inappropriate thoughts immediately rose to the forefront of their minds.

Particularly the men. But their occasional fantasies of her were just that—fantasies. They envisioned her with slightly larger breasts, a slightly smaller waist, and always, always touchable skin. Marie had never felt flattered by their thoughts of her; mainly, they left her feeling inadequate, like she could never quite measure up to what they actually wanted.

And people wondered why she avoided even the briefest touch.

Logan, though, had somehow made her forget all of the things she didn’t like about herself. He was so swept up in the moment that she couldn’t help but be swept away with him. But now that it was over . . . what now? She had the irrational desire to touch him again, the need to know what he was thinking and feeling.

But she would never do that, not at the expense of hurting him. It was one thing for him to touch her, to decide that the cost of a little pain was worth his pleasure. It was another thing for her to selfishly inflict her touch upon him. That wouldn’t be fair, no matter how much she wanted it, no matter how natural it felt to connect with him in that way.

And perhaps that was what bothered her most. Contact with others was something she instinctively craved, yet studiously avoided out of the shame and fear of hurting them. But Logan would be hurt either way—by his unfulfilled needs if she denied his touch, and by her mutation if she let him touch her. But which was worse? She wasn’t sure. All she knew was that she probably wasn’t strong enough to make herself deny him, even if that was the right thing to do.

Maybe she just wasn’t trying hard enough to control it. Maybe she was supposed to be more than a weapon, and her mutation was supposed to do more than just hurt everyone she came in contact with. Maybe the way her power manifested, or her less-than-stellar track record of human interactions had somehow messed her up. That was the real truth she feared, and with Logan so close, she couldn’t deny it anymore. She would have to stop skirting the issue, stop rebutting Charles and Jean whenever they offered to work with her on controlling her powers—or better yet, fix the problem herself. Yes. She would have to figure it out on her own. It was her problem to fix, and she wouldn't go asking others for help. She was the Rogue; that was how she did things. Discipline and hard work and independence.

Marie scolded herself to try harder, do better, be better. She needed to prove to Logan that she was worth his trouble, and to prove to Scott that she deserved a spot on the team, and to prove to everyone that she wasn’t some broken, damaged thing. That she deserved respect, not pity. Two weeks—how had her life gotten so off course in so little time?

The bathroom door opened, and Logan emerged in fresh clothes: faded jeans and a denim button-down. His brown calfskin gloves had been traded for a thinner pair of black driving gloves with open knuckles. He seemed to be growing more daring when it came to exposing his skin to her. Marie wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

Logan approached her, and despite her earlier resolve to command respect, she found her gaze nervously dropping to the floorboards.

Marie had always been as untouchable emotionally as she was physically; she went to lengths to avoid this sort of intimacy and the anxiety it brought. She had safe banter with her colleagues, and a mentor-protégée relationship with some of her students—but never anything too close, too deep. She had spent years building a comfortable, solitary existence at the Xavier Institute. Hardworking, quiet, never seeking the attention or company of others that, frankly, she didn’t feel she needed. Or deserved. Now here she stood, in a room that no longer felt like hers, with a man who was making her second-guess everything she thought she knew. Everything she thought she wanted.

Coming to stand directly in front of her, he smoothed his hands over her hair, over her shoulders and up and down her back. Marie started to bring her hands up, then forced them back to her sides.

Logan tilted her head up with a finger under her chin. “Don’cha wanna touch me?” he asked with a quirked brow, teasingly offended.

The words hit her like a physical blow. “That’s not funny,” she whispered, hugging him impulsively and burying her face in his chest. She breathed him in, listened to his heartbeat, and felt some of her anxiety melt away. She knew she was hiding in him, being a coward, being weak, but damned if she could summon the will to pull away.

Logan’s hands continued running over her hair, and she could feel his chest moving against her as he breathed. Finally, he muttered, “Why’re you sad?”

Marie tensed. “I—I’m not.”

His hands stilled on her. “Don’t lie to me,” he warned. “I know. I always know.”

Marie caught the disappointment in his tone. It felt awful, to have him disappointed in her. Just awful. Worse than being kicked off the team, even. “I’m sorry,” she whimpered. “And I’m . . . sorry that . . .”

“That?” he prompted, resuming his long, gentle caresses.

“Th-that I . . . l-lllllll-liked—” Oh, how she hated that! That stupid stutter, the one that somehow managed to creep into her voice whenever she was feeling insecure, and make her feel even more insecure. She wished she could blame it on someone she’d absorbed, but it was all her, all Marie. She’d had it since childhood. She trailed off in a whimper, refusing to talk anymore. She was torn between wanting to cling to Logan for comfort and wanting him to just leave, leave her alone. She knew how to handle alone.

But he didn’t leave. He pulled her arms around him and wrapped his around her and nuzzled into her hair. “Take your time, baby,” he said in a soft rumble, running one finger back and forth along the silver chain at the back of her neck. “You just take your time and say it.”

Marie squeezed her eyes shut. “I’m sorry—sad—sorry . . . that I liked touchin’ ya even though I knew it hurt ya,” she got out in a rush. “That’s wrong. I don’t wanna hurt ya, and I’m g-gonna t-t-try—” she lost it. She knew she wouldn’t be able to say anymore without mangling the words, so she broke off with a frustrated sigh. “N-nnn-nevermind.” She wished Rogue was here to do the talking for her. She wanted to retreat back into her mind, to let someone else take over. But she didn’t have Rogue, didn’t have anyone to hide behind anymore. Marie felt too exposed, far too open to Logan’s scrutiny, and some gate inside her mind slammed down. She stepped back, out of his embrace.

“Don’t you pull away from me,” he said with a growl that held more playfulness than anger. He tugged her close by the chain around her neck and pressed his lips to hers for a few fleeting kisses. “And don’t worry so much, okay? Honest, your skin doesn’t pack near as much of a punch as I thought, and if ya haven’t noticed, I’m the one touchin’ you, Marie, not the other way around. But you can touch me if you want. It doesn’t hurt, baby. It doesn’t hurt.” He kissed her again. “Feels good.” His kiss lingered a bit longer this time, his hands coming down to cup her backside and press her body into his. “So good. You . . . please me, y’know? I want ya to know that. Even when you’re not trying. Even when you’re being stubborn and disobedient and kinda a pain in the ass, you still manage to please me.”

“O-okay,” Marie said, because she wasn’t sure what else to say. His kisses were very distracting. He had reopened that connection between them, and once more Marie could feel his surface thoughts, a hint of frustration with her, but much more affection and desire. He just wanted her to stop worrying, wanted her to enjoy being with him.

“I do enjoy being with you,” she insisted, as though he had spoken his thoughts aloud.

He smiled against her neck and resumed his kissing there.

“I’m glad I please you,” she said then, knowing it was what he wanted to hear. It was also true. She was very, very glad. She continued shyly, “I—mmm—wanna . . . be . . . umm, y’know, g-good for you, sugar.” His lips brushed her skin again, and she got a flash of something: Logan wanted her to run her hands through his hair. She obliged, carefully feeling him out through the connection that fleetingly opened every time his lips touched her, judging his response, and changing her touch accordingly. This time she didn’t let herself get swept away. She stayed focused on him, learning what he liked.

She tried to will herself not to hurt him, but she could feel that it did hurt, a little bit, whenever he made contact with her for too long. But mostly he was feeling pleasure, and thinking of what he wanted to do to her, what he wanted her to do to him. Some of his thoughts were pretty explicit, but she was surprised at how many of them weren’t. Logan missed how affectionate she had been towards him when she wasn’t worried about her skin, the way she would hug him, stroke his arm, press her body into his and just hold him. He thought she was sweet. Maybe she was, maybe she could be if she would just let herself do what came naturally to her, stop pulling away and feeling like she always had to be strong and cold and distant.

Logan kept his kisses gentler, less demanding than earlier, and settled his grip safely on her hips. Feeling his hesitation, Marie guided one of his big hands up her stomach to cup her breast, letting him know it was okay.

“Hmm, Marie,” he muttered into her skin. “You know just what I want, don’t you?” he asked, pulling back a little bit to look at her as he began to knead her breast.

“Mmhm,” she responded softly, words failing her as she focused all her attention on touching him how he wanted.

"Perfect, baby," he encouraged. "Just like I showed you."

So, he did know that he was sharing his thoughts with her, it seemed. Good. She trailed her gloved hands over his chest and arms, firmly, more firmly than she would have thought, but it was what he wanted. It seemed to be good for him. She found herself wishing he would kiss her again, so she could know for sure that he liked it, that she was doing it right.

He did like it, very much, she realized when he brought his lips back to her neck, seemingly fixated with that spot, the softness and paleness of her skin, the sound of her pulse so close to the surface. He began to nip a little bit in between the kisses, pulling her high-necked sweater away to bare more of her skin, and she could feel the care he took with her, his desire to dominate but not scare her, how much he was reining himself in. He was so attuned to her responses, willing to deny, or at least delay, his own desires in favor of hers. He was so good at this. And he didn’t even have the advantage she did, of knowing just what she was thinking, just what she liked and wanted.

Or perhaps he did. Because right when she was beginning to feel that it was a little too much, right when he bit a little too hard and she had to suppress the urge to push him away, he gently disengaged himself, freeing her from his embrace with one last kiss to her lips. He was reluctant to stop, but he wasn’t angry or disappointed with her. He accepted that this was new for her, that it might be overwhelming. “You okay?” he checked.

Marie felt tears come to her eyes, a sensation that was becoming far too familiar of late. “Yeah,” she mumbled. “Yeah, thanks.” She reached for the pile of clothes she had laid on the dresser, but he caught her hand. Marie shot him a questioning look.

A mischievous smile crossed his face. “Don’t change,” he urged. “Wear that. You look good.”

Marie blushed.

His smile widened. “And you smell really good,” he added, pulling her hand towards him and rubbing her inner wrist over his jawline, his whiskers scratchy against her skin.

She knew he was rubbing his scent on her, and nearly laughed at the absurdity of it. He was already all over her. Still, something about it felt instinctively right, so she let him repeat the action with her other wrist.

“You ready to go see Chuck?” he asked lightly, smoothing her hair. She had the feeling he was trying to keep her from going in the bathroom to wash up. Sneaky man.

Two could play at that game. “Sure,” she said sweetly. “Just gimme one minute to clean up.” She tugged out of his quickly-tightening grip. Logan groaned, and she stuck her tongue out at him.

“Better put that away unless you’re gonna use it, darlin’,” he growled, pretending to make a grab for her.

Marie laughed, darting out of his reach and into the bathroom, locking the door behind her. She caught sight of herself in the mirror and did a double-take, barely recognizing herself.

She looked so different, when she smiled.

If there was one thing Xavier had learned over the course of his extensive experience, it was to meet people where they stood. So he adapted his speech to his listeners, adapted his arguments to suit their reasoning, and often got the results he wanted indirectly, by appealing to others’ priorities rather than his own.

Such tactics could have proven dangerous in the hands of, say, Erik Lensherr, but for Xavier, intelligence and empathy went hand in hand—empathy for all people, not just his chosen favorites. To be sure, he still faced ethical and philosophical dilemmas. He still struggled with his own vices, sometimes lost himself in the interminable labyrinth of his own thoughts. But for the most part, he held to his ideals and made the world a better place for it.

The trouble came when he reached that fuzzy gray area, where he was uncertain how far to interfere in others’ lives, unsure where the line between ‘a gentle nudge in the right direction’ and ‘full-out meddling’ was drawn. Thus was the case with Wolverine and Rogue.

The feral mind was something he had yet to fully understand. It was difficult enough to read animals, their thoughts frequently non-verbal, their sensory experience unsuited for the sight-dominant human brain. The mind of a feral mutant shared all of the complications of an animal’s brain—combined with the intelligence of a human.

Charles’ head had already begun to pound in anticipation of being in the same room with two of them. He could feel their approach before he heard the elevator’s familiar ‘ding’ as it opened on his floor.

Would it be wise to take a preemptive migraine pill? Probably. He retrieved two from the pill bottle in his desk drawer and downed them with a drink of water from the etched glass carafe on the edge of his desk.

A knock sounded.

“Do come in,” Xavier said, affecting his richest, most cultured voice. He may have difficulty reading ferals, but he knew one thing for certain: social hierarchies were of the utmost importance to them. They liked—no, needed—to know the chain of command. And Xavier needed to illustrate that he was at the top of that chain, at least within the confines of his Institute. A brief impression of their minds confirmed Xavier’s suspicions: concepts like loyalty and obedience were very important to them. Especially in their relationship to each other.

Xavier retreated from their minds, before he could learn more about that subject than he had any business knowing.

“Have a seat,” he intoned warmly yet authoritatively. “It’s good to have both of you back. I trust the drive home was uneventful?”

“It was fine,” Logan offered blandly as he and Rogue sat.

“Excellent,” Xavier replied, then caught the impression that there was something more Logan wanted to share. He steepled his fingers on his desk. “Was there something else, Logan?”

The man looked surprised for a moment, but recovered quickly. “Uh, yeah, Chuck. Just wanted to let ya know, that thing I called ya about last night, what happened at the gas station . . . I’ll have my incident report written up by tomorrow.”

Charles was surprised, but pleasantly so, that his new recruit seemed to understand the necessity of filing a report. Xavier ran the X-Men with the purpose of efficiency and security, but strove his best to avoid any sort of mindless bureaucracy or needless paperwork. He could sense that Wolverine respected the way he did things. And that the man was striving to make a good impression, to fit in at the Institute. He had a number of reasons for wanting the life Xavier had offered him—not the least of which being his newfound desire to enjoy that life with Rogue.

Rogue, however, was not happy with the current state of affairs at the Institute, and Charles fully expected to be on the receiving end of her temper. She was projecting hurt, resentment, and anger—some of it directed outward, most of it in on herself. As much as he disliked her tendency towards self-punishment, he was oddly comforted that it was still there, that she was still her, despite the turmoil in her mind. Xavier had learned that when she got like this, it was best to give her some outlet, lest she get overzealous in the Danger Room and destroy yet another thousand dollars’ worth of equipment.

He had a feeling Wolverine was going to be the same way. He made a mental note to request some of the DR supplies on back order, then began, “Rogue, I understand that you may be frustrated after your talk with Scott. Now would be an appropriate time to address your concerns.”

She took a deep breath and fisted her hands in her lap. Her face went calm, her eyes vacant—an all too familiar sight for Xavier’s tastes. It was how she braced herself in anticipation of pain, physical or emotional. “I belong on the team, Charles,” she said evenly.

“I agree,” he replied, eager to abate the tension in the room. Between Rogue’s emotional shut-down and Logan’s response to it, he could barely hear himself think. No argument would soothe Rogue’s hurt, but this one would at least appeal to Logan: “But you went through a traumatic experience, and you deserve time to recover. I know you won’t take time for yourself. So, as your superior, I have no qualms forcing you to take it.”

Rogue’s jaw had nearly hit the floor by the time he finished that statement. “You thinkin’ I needed time to recover’s what got me in this damn mess!” she snapped, then covered her mouth. The pain Xavier felt at her words must have shown on his face, because he watched her eyes grow round as saucers. “Oh, Charles, I didn’t mean that,” she said with a sigh that sounded interestingly like a whimper. “It wasn’t your fault. I know that.”

He shook his head. “The accusation is not without merit. I was quite insistent that you take a vacation. And someone was able to discover your location despite the care I took to be discreet. Rest assured, though, that I am taking measures to find out how that information was leaked, and to eliminate the threat. I’m . . . sorry, Rogue.”

Wolverine narrowed his eyes and cut in before she could respond. “Information leaked . . . You sayin’ you got a spy in this place?”

“I very much doubt that,” Xavier replied, bringing a finger to his temple meaningfully. If there were a spy in their midst, he or she would have to be incredibly skilled to evade detection.

“Don’t matter how the intel got leaked,” Logan said. “Important thing is it did. And it could happen again. If Rogue’s still a target, and your place has already been breached once, then who’s to say what might—”

“Ah, but my Institute was not breached,” Xavier interrupted calmly. “That is the critical piece of information, Logan. From it we can deduce that the . . . guilty party purposely waited until Rogue was away from the mansion, isolated, to attack. They lacked either the resources, the manpower, or both, to launch an attack on the Institute. Ergo, Rogue is safest here.” Especially if the Lensherr inside Rogue’s mind really did possess whatever crucial intelligence the real Erik Lensherr had been so eager to protect. It would be only a matter of time until Magneto learned of Rogue’s recovery—Xavier needed to act quickly or he would lose his advantage. Yet he still hadn’t decided how much he could trust these two with information that, in a perfect world, he would have no right to hide from them.

The buck stops here, Xavier thought, wearily pondering the potential consequences of whatever decision he made. Yes, the preemptive migraine pills were definitely warranted.

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

Marie emerged from Xavier’s office astounded, as usual, that the man was so easily able to deflect topics he didn’t want to talk about.

Namely, her suspension from the team and the memories she wanted his help assimilating. Over the course of an hour, he had updated her on the half-dozen ongoing projects she was a part of, briefed Wolverine on an upcoming assignment (while she seethed in envy), discussed the students’ return next week and whether she wanted to resume teaching right away (an emphatic “yes”), and carefully skirted her questions along the lines of what in the name of hell inspired him to promote Kitty Pryde to the senior team rather than calling Warren in from recon.

Needless to say, Marie found that while a lot of talking was done, she still had no answers to her most important concerns. Damn Charles and his uncanny ability to steer a conversation however he wanted it to go. If she didn’t trust him so much, she’d think he used his mutation to do it.

And speaking of their conversation . . . she turned to Logan, unable to work up the nerve to ask him why he was walking her back to her room. Didn’t he have other things to do? Instead she asked, “What’d Charles mean when he said your apartment’s gonna be ready next week?”

Logan glanced at her, his eyes travelling shamelessly down and back up. “God, you look good.”

Marie felt her cheeks warm. This man had a one-track mind. She really should have changed clothes after they . . . uh oh. A thought occurred to her. What if Logan was thinking dirty thoughts all during the meeting? What if he was picturing her naked or something? Charles would know, and he was like a father to her. That was—well, it was just wrong on many levels and she really didn’t want to think about it anymore. “Logan. Apartment.”

He smirked. “I heard ya, darlin’. I asked Chuck for a private apartment somewhere away from everybody else. One of my conditions for signin’ onto the team. He said he had a small guest house on the edge of his property that needed some fixin’ up. Guess it’s almost done.”

“Guess so,” Marie replied flatly, feeling strangely bereft at the idea of him being too far away. Oh, good grief. You’ll prob’ly see him every damn day. Don’t be clingy, she scolded herself.

“But,” he spoke in a low voice, resting a hand on her back and leaning in close—rather needlessly, as the hallway was deserted, “I still think we should get farther away than that when . . . y’know. It’ll just be for a few days every month. We’re not really safe to be around other people when you’re—er, when we’re like that.”

“Uh huh,” Marie said dumbly, a little out of sorts from his closeness. The prospect of isolating herself for the protection of others’ wasn’t particularly terrible—she did that on a regular basis already, because of her skin. But the prospect of being alone with Logan for that time was a bit intimidating. Which was ironic, because if she had to name the one feeling she most associated with Logan, it would be ‘safe.’ But she was worried for herself, that she would do something embarrassing. That she would behave the way she had at the cabin or something. Still, it was better than staying at the mansion, so she did her best to calm her reservations and said, “Alright. That sounds like a good plan, sugar.”

“Mmhmm,” he agreed, leaning into her a little more and blatantly sniffing at her hair. He circled his arm around her waist and pulled her against his side—

“Logan?”

He didn’t respond except to tighten his grip and resume sniffing at her.

“Logan.” She gave him a little shove.

He growled briefly, but moved out of her space.

Marie wasn’t sure whether to be flattered at his attention or annoyed that he expected her to be receptive to his advances all the time—including in the middle of the hallway, for the second time that day. But he seemed to be respecting her wishes, as he shoved his hands in his pockets and continued walking her to her room with a minimum of growling.

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

She smelled so good and looked so good, and he wanted her. Logan didn’t even know what exactly he wanted—sex and touching her and making her respond to him and looking at her and spending time with her and—just her. He’d wanted things before, but he’d never wanted a person, not like this. Now, he realized, he did. Food. Air. Marie. How could she expect him not to touch her at least a little bit, when she was right there? It was like putting a glass of water in front of a thirsty man and telling him not to drink.

Logan shoved his hands in his pockets and continued walking Marie to her room, realizing that he probably growled at her too much and he should probably feel guilty about that. She wasn’t his plaything, there solely to satisfy and entertain him. She was a person with a life of her own and wants of her own and that was supposed to matter. If she didn’t want him to touch her all the time, well, he could respect that even if he couldn’t for the life of him understand it.

“You’re real territorial for a female,” he mused.

Marie bristled a little. “What’s that s’posed to mean?” she asked, shooting him a sideways glance.

“Nothin’. You’re just . . . protective. Real protective of what’s yours.” It occurred to Logan that he had little room to talk.

She wrinkled her nose. “Huh? Not really.”

He chuckled heartily. “Your room, your car, your privacy, your body . . .”

She opened her mouth to argue, but couldn’t seem to form a rebuttal. She settled for, “Maybe I am. So what?”

“So nothin’, I guess.”

“Fine.”

“Why’d you say ‘fine’ like that?”

She sighed. “Ya don’t like it, that what you’re tryin’ to say? Ya want me to stop bein’ that way?”

“No,” Logan insisted. “That ain’t what I meant. I like it. I mean, you’ll make a good mother.” He looked away, barely able to believe the words that had just come out of his mouth. That was the thing that had been nagging him, he realized, the strange feeling that came over him whenever she got protective. The idea fascinated and terrified him in equal measure, and he just really wasn’t ready to examine it too closely. He definitely wasn’t ready to examine Marie’s response too closely. Her scent changed in a familiar way that he had learned signaled embarrassment. She seemed to get embarrassed a lot around him.

He tried not to think about things like how cute that was and how it made her cheeks turn pink, the same way they turned pink when she was underneath him in her bed making soft, sweet sounds.

Logan suppressed the urge to touch her, growling at himself this time rather than Marie. He wasn’t sure she would know the difference though, so he tried to stop growling altogether.

He mostly succeeded.

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

That makes sense, Marie thought as Logan entered her room with her. He left his bag here. I forgot about that.

But Logan didn’t pick up the bag and say goodbye. In fact, he didn’t say anything at all. He nuzzled into her, kissed her cheek briefly, and then went into the bathroom. She heard the shower start up.

“Make yourself at home,” she muttered.

“I heard that,” he called through the door.

“You were meant to!” she replied.

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

Thirty minutes post-shower, Marie had called to have her balloons and flowers donated to the local hospital, set her long-dead laptop to charge, shot a couple of longing glances at the bottle of barrel-proof Tennessee whiskey on her nightstand, and generally pretended that Logan wasn’t sitting on her bed in sweats and a tanktop, his eyes following her every movement.

Finally, she cracked. “Don’t you have . . . stuff to do, sugar?”

She was met with a shrug. “Yeah, I’m gettin’ ready to work on some things. Just wanted to watch you a bit.”

Marie didn’t know what to say to that. “Oh. Um. Okay?”

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

Forty-five minutes post-shower, Logan had finally pulled his eyes away from Marie and his X-emblazoned laptop from his duffle. He plugged it in next to Marie’s bed before opening it. Then he flattened a pillow against the headboard and stretched his long legs out in front of him, settling in to work.

Marie had been shooting him increasingly pointed glances, but if she wasn’t going to work up the nerve to ask him to leave, he sure as hell wasn’t going to volunteer.

Besides, her bed was very comfortable. Much better than the one in his guest room, as he recalled. He had no intention of sleeping in that bed again.

“I’m gonna go work out,” Marie announced, pulling some clingy black clothing from one of her dresser drawers.

“’Kay, darlin’,” he said with feigned inattention, lazily scrolling through his e-mails, deleting the ones that wouldn’t be worth responding to. He didn’t want to cut all ties with his former clients, but as long as this thing with Xavier was working out, he had no desire to take on any outside jobs. Maybe if all went well, he’d never have to again.

He used to be The Wolverine, mercenary and cage fighter, described by the women in his life as, ‘A big dick and a handsome face, but not much else.’

Now he was The Wolverine, professional superhero, rapidly falling in love with a sweet, shy, inexperienced woman. The Wolverine, following Marie D’Ancanto around like a puppy. The Wolverine, who had a steady job and a nice place to live, who was feeling loyalty for the first time in his miserable existence, towards a man who took him in and gave him a chance he neither asked for nor deserved.

He shook his head. How had his life changed so much in just a couple of weeks? Logan didn’t want to analyze it too closely; it was a change for the better, and that was all that mattered.

“Uh, well, I’m . . . goin’ now,” Marie said as she emerged from the bathroom in a black bodysuit. She had thrown a loose NYPD tee shirt over it in some vain attempt at modesty, but it did little to disguise the gorgeous body underneath. Her hands hovered over her head as she drew her hair into a ponytail and secured it with an elastic.

She was one of those women who pulled off the sporty, effortless look really well. Logan wondered if she knew that about herself.

He also wondered where she got that three-sizes-too-big tee shirt, but pushed the thought away abruptly. Thinking about her past relationships would only serve to piss him off. She really should know better than to wear another man’s shirt in front of him, though. That just felt . . . wrong. Even if his tags were worn over it.

Logan set his laptop off to the side, fighting back an all-too-animalistic urge to stake his claim on her. Wolverine had no business taking control of his mind now. “C’mere, baby,” he said, hoping her closeness would calm him a little.

But as soon as she got within arm’s reach, he grabbed her arm and tugged her onto him until she was straddling his lap quite nicely. He trailed his bare hands all over her clothed body, squeezing her hips and waist under the tee shirt. “Y’don’t hafta go to the gym, Marie,” he teased in a low growl. “I could work you out good and hard.”

Her mouth fell open. “Logan! Oh my gosh . . . that’s not—“

Logan wasted no time rolling her under him and grinding into her lower belly in the way that he knew would make her whimper and submit. Sure enough, she forced her body to relax under his and bared her neck to him, breathing shallowly, on edge as she waited for his next move. It was such a perfect sight, her laid out like that, responding instinctively to his dominant gesture.

“That’s not what, baby?” he asked, then continued before she could respond, “That’s not the kinda workout you had in mind, dressin' like that? Really?” He gripped her conveniently tied hair and kissed her deeply, reluctant to pull away even when he began thinking thoughts that might scare her a little. Finally, when the physical pain grew too intense, he broke the kiss.

“Alpha . . .” she whimpered softly.

He looked down at her, breathing as if he’d just run a marathon. “No fair,” he groaned. “Ya knew I wanted ya to say that.”

A little sly smile curved her lips. He kissed it away, then rolled onto his back, trying once more to catch his breath. “Go have your workout, baby, ‘fore ya gimme a heart attack.”

She pouted at him and traipsed to the door. He felt his heart skip a beat as he caught a glimpse of her in that action, Rogue, his sweet, playful, uninhibited mate. She was still there. She was still his.

She turned at the door. “It’s not from an ex-boyfriend,” she muttered, gesturing to the shirt.

Logan simply grunted, retrieving his laptop. “Good.”

“I wouldn’t do somethin’ like that, t-to upset you on purpose, or mmm-make you jealous . . .” she was looking down. “It . . . it made me sad . . . when you thought that about me.”

He ran a hand over his face, smelling a change in her scent that he didn’t like. “I didn’t think that, baby. Not really. Just for a fleeting second, and I wish you didn’t have to see that.”

Marie turned to face the door, playing with the handle but not opening it. “You wanted to . . . um . . . punish me,” she whispered.

“No,” he said, growing uncomfortable. “No.”

“I mean, I know ya wouldn’t let yourself do that. But—but a part of you . . . wanted to.”

“I won’t, Marie. I won’t hurt you. Never.” He knew that. He knew that was true. It had to be true.

She turned towards him again. “I know. I believe you. It’s just . . . I have a part of me that’s like that, too. That's sort of hard to control. That wants to . . . please you. And it hurts, when you’re disappointed in me or upset at me. It really hurts, a lot. I just want ya to know that. I’m not gonna disobey you or make you mad on purpose.” She nodded, as if affirming that she had said everything the way she wanted to say it.

“Don’t worry about upsettin' me, Marie. Don’t even worry for one second, got it? I’m glad you told me, darlin’. I’m glad you’re talkin’ to me about things.”

She bit her lip. “Yeah. Um, well okay, I’m gonna . . .”

Logan nodded. “Okay, baby. Have a good workout.”

“Thanks. The spare key’s on the dresser, if ya wouldn’t mind lockin’ up when—ah, if—ya leave.”

He nodded again, wishing she would hurry up and go before he gave into the urge to follow her. When was the last time they were apart from each other?

Never, he realized. Never for more than a few minutes, really, since the day he claimed her in the bathroom of that little cabin in Vermont. Logan forced his attention to his computer screen, refusing to let himself look up as she left him and closed the door behind her. He didn’t move a muscle as her footsteps retreated down the hall.

Love you, baby, he thought, wondering if he should have told her that before she left.

He pushed the thought from his mind, resolutely focusing on the report he needed to type up. The sooner he finished, the sooner he could walk downstairs to the business center and print it.

And really, the gym was on the way to the business center, if he took a sort of scenic route. Yes, he could definitely pass the gym and check in on her. That wouldn’t be too clingy or controlling, right?

Right, the Wolverine agreed.

Marie was literally shaking. Her palms felt sweaty, her chest tight, her nerves ratcheting up a few notches with every deep, soothing breath she tried and utterly failed to take.

She had just made herself vulnerable, told Logan that he had the power to hurt her and explained exactly how he could do it. She’d never given that kind of ammunition to anyone in her life. What the hell was she thinking?

Well, she was thinking that he was the alpha, and he had earned the right to have that kind of power over her. He had also proved time and again that he wouldn’t abuse his power. It was instinctual, her loyalty to him. But beyond the level of simple instinct, she was thinking that even though it was scary, it felt good to let her guard down around him and not have to be strong all the time. She was thinking how she could feel his pain, his overwhelming jealousy at the thought of her being with another man. That meant she had the power to hurt him, too.

Although it was absurd. His jealousy was totally unfounded. She’d never really had a ‘boyfriend’ in her life, though of course Logan didn’t know that. John was just a friend, an investigator down at NYPD who’d gotten her help on several mutant-related cases over the years. He gave her the tee shirt when she got blood all over her clothes at a scene. That was all.

If she’d had any idea the response it would elicit, she wouldn’t have worn it. Marie knew that it was hard for Logan to rein himself in. He was the sort of man who could easily be very possessive and controlling, if he didn’t work so hard against those urges. But it was the fact that he did work so hard against them that kept her from being scared of him.

There was a familiar phrase she heard him repeat in his thoughts: You are what you do. He was trying to do the right thing, to make some changes for the better in his life, and she related to that. Life had thrown them both a pretty shit deal, but they had each risen up and overcome that once they’d been given a chance. They had both taken advantage of the opportunity Charles had been kind enough to extend to them.

The more Marie thought about that, the more her nerves abated. She and Logan were alike in a lot of ways. She sure wasn’t going to hurt him on purpose, and she believed he wouldn’t hurt her on purpose, either. She wanted to make him happy, so much that she was willing to share her room, her space, with him. Now that was just . . . unprecedented. Maybe he was right; maybe she was ‘real territorial for a female,’ as he so crudely put it. But she was willing to let him into her territory.

“You got it bad, sugar,” Marie muttered to herself as she punched the elevator button. She needed to get to the gym and burn off some damn energy. Boy, did she ever.

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

She looks good, Piotr thought, pleasantly surprised when Ms. D’Ancanto entered the gym. The whole junior team, including its captain, had been left out of the loop as to why exactly she had been gone. The Professor just said that Rogue was injured while on vacation. Piotr, for one, figured there was no ‘vacation’ at all, and that Rogue had been sent undercover or something. But he knew better than to ask questions. And he sent her a ‘Get Well’ card, just in case.

“Hi, Pete. Good to see ya, sugar,” she said in her honey-sweet Southern accent. “How ya doin’?”

“Good, now that you return, Ms. D’Ancanto,” he said with a wide grin. She was, to put it bluntly, the hottest teacher in school. It helped that she looked barely older than him too, even though he knew that was impossible. It must have something to do with her mutation. She did suck the life force out of people with her bare skin, after all. What an odd mutation for such a nice woman to have. “Ve all have missed you.”

Rogue shook her head at his blatant flattery, but he could tell she liked it. At least, he hoped so. “Ya been keepin’ up with your trainin’?”

“Da,” he replied with a little salute. “I vas preparing to practice self defense. Of course, it is better to vork vith real person than training bag. Vould you like to partner?”

She smiled politely. “Sure. But I oughtta warn ya, I’ve gotten a bit stronger since we last sparred, Colossus.”

She called me by my code name! He cleared his throat, trying to play it cool. “Da, vell, I vill take my chances, ma’am.”

“Why am I not surprised?” She laughed, but then her expression turned serious. “Ya know, Pete, Charles woulda promoted ya if ya weren’t needed as junior captain. Bobby just ain’t ready to fill your shoes yet. But you’ll get your turn, babe, I’m sure of it.”

Piotr appreciated the praise. The Professor had told him much the same thing when he chose Kitty for promotion. Still, it was nice of her to say. “Thank you, ma’am.”

She grinned. “Lemme get warmed up and work out a bit, then we’ll spar, huh?”

He nodded casually. Play it cool, Piotr. Play it cool.

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

With his massive size and strength, Colossus frankly had little need for technique in most fights. He could barrel his way through his opponents, literally. That’s why Marie had always focused his training on situations where his size would be more hindrance than help, and ones where technique could easily overcome strength.

She checked to be sure that she was safe to fight, securing her unitard so that her wrists and ankles would stay covered. The top of the suit had a mock turtleneck, but it didn’t cover her skin completely. “Be careful of my neck,” she warned as she led him to the mats.

“Should you not remove those?” he asked, gesturing to the dog tags.

“No,” Marie said simply. She didn’t feel like explaining herself to him, even though in a real ground fight, it would be an incredibly stupid idea to wear a chain around her neck. “We’re gonna work on some new moves from several different martial arts. Ground fighting is really close-quarters, so you’ll have to rely on technique more than strength.”

Piotr nodded, the picture of an eager pupil. “Shall ve begin?”

“Sure, sugar.” The young man was the largest, most muscular person she’d ever seen, but there was an oddly boyish quality to him that she found endearing. It probably helped that he had always been one of her best students. “Okay. First, I’m just gonna take you to the ground. Try to defend.” She allowed herself a small smile. “And if you can’t defend, fall well.”

Piotr got into his fighting stance and brought up his guards, but his reflexes just weren’t a match for hers. Marie took him down several times with minimal effort. He did fall well, though, ready to thrust a kick at her as soon as his back hit the mat.

“Get low,” she encouraged. “Widen your stance and bring your center of gravity down. See what I’m doing?” She pushed a hand to his chest again and swept one of her legs up behind one of his, creating a tripping point at his knee, going through the maneuver slowly this time so he could see how she was throwing him off balance.

He managed to defend by plucking her wrist away and slipping to the side.

“Good, good,” she said. “Again.”

He evaded her a little more smoothly this time.

“Good. Again.”

After several more tries he seemed to be getting the hang of it, so Marie decided to surprise him. Rather than delivering a blow to his chest, she took hold of his arm, then his neck, climbed up his body, and flipped him to the mat in a move that was more flashy than practical. Still, he hadn’t been prepared to counter her, so she took him down easily and held him in an arm bar until he tapped out.

“Ow . . .” he groaned, rubbing his elbow as he sat up. “Not fair, Ms. D’Ancanto.”

She laughed. “Always be prepared to adapt. Ya can’t expect people to fight fair, Pete—oh, hey, Logan.” Marie turned at the sound of his footsteps, his familiar scent coming into her awareness. She tried not to smile like a lovesick idiot.

She was pretty sure she failed.

“Hey,” he replied as he sauntered up the hall, stopping to lean against the open doorway. “That was a flashy takedown.”

Marie raised an eyebrow at him. “Worked, didn’t it?”

He grunted.

“Ahh . . . hello. I am Piotr. And you—?”

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

“Logan,” he said, depositing his laptop by the door and striding forward to shake the young man’s hand. God damn, he thought as Piotr stood up. Boy must eat his Wheaties.

Marie stayed seated on the mat, plucking at her shirt to let the air flow through. Sweat-dampened tendrils had sneaked out of her ponytail, and her cheeks were flushed. It had to be hot, working out in gloves, shoes, and a bodysuit. Logan frowned.

Marie cocked her head at him curiously, giving him a small smile. “I don’t guess you two’ve met before. Pete’s the junior team captain, Logan. He’s one of my best students.”

Logan nodded, hoping Marie would appreciate his effort at being polite. “Nice to meetcha. I’m, uh, the new guy, if ya haven’t already guessed.”

“Da,” Piotr nodded, missing the hint of sarcasm. “I see you in dining hall before, but . . . not so much lately.”

It was a battle, but Logan kept all trace of smugness out of his voice: “Yeah, me and Rogue have been gone the past couple weeks.” He could see the gears turning in the kid’s mind.

“Oh,” Piotr said, looking between the two of them curiously. “I see. Vell, it is good that you both are returned. I vill see you in class Monday, Ms. D’Ancanto.”

Marie nodded. “Absolutely. Tell the others we’re gonna meet in the gym for the first half, then head to the Danger Room.”

“Very good. See you,” He nodded to them both and made his way off the mats.

Logan watched Pete’s retreating back as he left the gym and disappeared down the hall. Logan was a big guy himself, but that kid was massive. Actually, it had been pretty funny to watch Marie take him down like that. She may be little, but she was damn quick and knew how to use every inch of herself.

Before Logan could finish pondering that thought, something darted out and swept his feet from under him. He tucked his head in and slapped the mat as he went down, a move deeply ingrained in his muscle memory, breaking his fall and pulling his arms back into a guard position. He turned to see Marie giggling. “Nice form,” she said.

He quirked an eyebrow at her as he sat up. “And what the hell was that for?”

“For scarin' off my student!” She was still fighting back giggles.

Logan crawled over to her and pushed her down on the mat. “Hey, I was being nice,” he insisted as he swung a leg over, straddling her hips. She didn’t put up any resistance when he settled his weight on her. “I was tryin’. For you.”

Her expression softened. “You were. I know that’s . . . hard for you to do. I know you don’t like other men very much. I mean, around me.”

Logan traced his finger over the tags she wore. “I’m gonna try not to be jealous, darlin’. I trust you. I do. You’re so good, baby.” Her breath hitched as he continued tracing the silver chain up towards her neck. “So right.”

Marie started to bring her arms up and touch him, but he pinned them down. “Why—”

“’Cause I won’t be able to stop, if you touch me,” Logan muttered, hoping she would understand. He tried to focus on something other than how warm and soft she felt, how desperately he needed to erase that boy’s scent from her and replace it with his own.

“Oh,” she said. “Okay.” She stayed still and submissive under him, though they both knew she could throw him off pretty easily. But Logan thought maybe she didn’t mind letting him have control. Maybe it felt as right to her as it did to him.

If it came down to a fight for dominance, he had no illusions: he thought she could win. Even if they were closely matched in skill, her strength might overcome him. But he was pretty sure she would never challenge him; she seemed content with him in the alpha role. Marie was stubborn, to be sure, but she really didn’t have a dominant personality like he did.

Logan decided to test his theory. He pinned Marie’s arms higher over her head, bringing his face down to hers and kissing the tip of her nose. Then he looked into her eyes until she averted her gaze with a whimper. “S’okay, baby,” he soothed. “Why do you always look down? Don’cha ever wanna challenge me?” Wolverine was thrashing in his mind at the very thought of that.

Marie glanced at him warily, then back down. “No,” she said, confusion apparent in her voice.

Logan continued despite his animal side’s protests. “You never thought about that, what it would be like if you were alpha?” He could feel her growing more nervous, squirming under him a little, so he went on, “If you challenged me, you might win. You could make me submit. Don’t you want that? I’d obey you. I’d follow you.”

She wrinkled her nose. “Lo-gan,” she said in a tone that clearly conveyed the absurdity of that thought.

Some primal part of him was incredibly satisfied that she hadn’t even considered challenging his dominance, that the very idea of it seemed ridiculous to her. You know you’re mine, don’cha, baby? he thought. But he didn’t say that to her. “I’m serious. I would follow you if you challenged me and won.”

“What if I lost?” she asked in a small voice.

He growled playfully, pinning her arms a little higher. “I’d have my way with you. Obviously.”

Marie laughed softly, the taut muscles of her stomach moving under him. Logan hissed at the sensation. He nearly bent down to kiss her, but her expression grew serious all of a sudden. “What, darlin’?”

She thought for a few moments before speaking. “I—I don’t see you as the alpha because you could win a fight with me. You just . . . are. I just sorta feel that, um, i-instinctively or somethin’. Sometimes it bothers me, ‘cause there’s this part of me that just wants to follow you and do whatever you say.” Her tone grew a little indignant. “Did you do that on purpose, Logan? Did you train me to be like that when I was, y’know . . . feral?”

Logan’s jaw dropped. “Huh? No! I mean, maybe a little. But you didn’t listen to my commands then any better than you do now, you stubborn woman.”

“Yeah, right,” Marie said, gesturing to the tags around her neck. “I practically always follow your commands. I can’t take these off. Did you know that? I’ve tried, but . . . I dunno. I can’t. Ya told me never to take’em off, and . . .”

“Wow. That’s hot,” Logan said, staring at his mark around her neck.

Marie’s brow came down. “That wasn’t exactly the response I was hopin’ for. Maybe you could, like, gimme permission to take’em off or somethin’?”

“Hell no,” he practically growled.

Marie whimpered, but went on, “I ain’t your pet, Logan. Ya can’t just stick a collar on me and not let me take it off!”

He shrugged. “Apparently I can.”

She didn’t have a response for that.

“Challenge me,” Logan urged. “Ya wanna take those off?”

She still didn’t respond, but Logan could hear her heart rate increase at his words. Her smell changed, too, nervous but strangely appealing. Logan breathed her in, grinding his hips against her stomach possessively. He purred in her ear, “Ya gonna do it, baby? Or ya gonna keep wearin’ those for me, showin’ everybody you’re mine?" She still didn't answer. "Well? Challenge. Me.”

“Fine.” Marie started to pull her arms free from his grip, but then she began whimpering, and Logan could see the gold coming out in her eyes. He wondered if he had pushed her too far, but before he could decide whether to back off, she let out a whine and bared her throat to him, submitting.

Logan chuckled smugly and ground his hips into her again. “That’s what I thought. Pet,” he added teasingly.

She blinked several times and shook her head, her eyes slowly coming back to their normal mossy green. “Hmph,” she said with a pout.

“Don’t worry, baby. I’ll feed you and take you for walks.”

“Grrr . . .” Marie bucked her hips and threw him over her in a backwards somersault, landing on top and managing to get her hands free. She trapped one of his arms against her chest, but the other immediately came around and tickled her side. “Chee-eeap shot!” she squealed, twisting away from his hand. She lost her advantage and Logan managed to get on top again.

“Ya can’t expect people to fight fair, Marie,” he said, mocking her earlier lesson to Piotr.

“Grrrr, I’ll show you!” she said, and Logan couldn’t even have said how it happened, she moved so quick, but suddenly he was in a knee bar, and then they were rolling, grappling on the mat, neither willing to tap out or submit.

Their growls turned more playful as they tussled, and Logan was fairly sure she let him pin her a few times. He definitely didn’t miss an opportunity to rub his body over hers, to grab at her hips and butt a little more than strictly necessary. God, she was turning him on. He’d never been much for foreplay, but this he could definitely get used to.

Come to think of it, Logan wasn’t sure he liked the idea of her grappling with anyone else. He didn’t want anyone else gripping her body, hearing her little grunts of exertion. It was way too erotic.

He got her in a full mount and managed to pin her legs down under his too. He realized he was breathing pretty hard, sweat gleaming on his bare arms, and Rogue was flushed and sweaty, too. Her ponytail had fallen out at some point, and her hair spilled out over the mat. She looked like she’d just been well and thoroughly fucked. Logan let out a low growl before he could stop himself. “You don’t do this with anyone else, do you?”

Marie looked up at him tentatively. “Um . . . not like this, Logan.”

“How ‘bout not at all,” he suggested.

“Sugar, I’m the self defense instructor,” she replied, laughing a little nervously.

Logan knew he was being jealous and possessive, but damn it, “I don’t want anyone else . . . seein’ you like this. This is--that’s--it’s just for me. Just me.”

Marie rolled her eyes. “Logan. No one but you is thinkin’, y’know, those kinda thoughts when they grapple with me.”

He nearly laughed out loud at how naïve she was. “Baby, there ain’t a man alive who could climb on top of a gorgeous woman like you, and not be thinkin’ about all the ways he’d like to have you.”

“You’re wrong,” Marie said simply. “I’ve seen some of their thoughts, Logan. I dunno why the hell you’re crazy enough to want me, but nobody else does.”

“I’ve smelled it on’em,” Logan replied, feeling his lip curl up in a snarl. She really was that naïve. Jesus, he had good reason to be jealous and possessive. This woman was liable to get herself taken advantage of.

Marie shook her head. “No. That’s impossible. The other guys in the mansion, they . . . pity me, maybe, but they don’t think I’m attractive, Logan. They’re scared of my skin. Besides, there’s all these really pretty women like Ororo and Jean around . . . it’s just not . . . ya don’t have to worry about that, believe me.”

Logan stood and pulled her up with him. “You’ve got no idea, Marie. No idea how much all those geeks drool after you. Pisses me off,” he admitted. “I didn’t know how the hell to approach you when I first came here, ‘cause I figured you turned all them other guys down, so I didn’t stand a chance,” he said as he began walking her out of the gym. He grabbed his laptop but figured he’d have to hit the business center later. It was well past time for dinner.

Marie gave him a surprised look. “I find that kinda hard to believe.”

“Well, it’s true. But I gotcha now, baby,” he said with a hint of a growl, nuzzling her hair. “And I’m not lettin’ anybody steal you away.”

She pulled his arm around her and fitted herself into his side as they walked, much to Logan’s pleasure. Affection from Marie felt good, really good. He loved it when she was like this, when she wanted to be close.

She rubbed her cheek against him. “Nobody’s gonna steal me away, sugar. I’m tellin’ ya, they don’t want me anyhow.”

Logan was baffled by her certainty. Especially since he knew she was wrong. “How in the hell can ya think that, especially if you’ve seen their thoughts?”

Marie’s voice was strangely flat. “I’m always touchable. In their thoughts, I mean.”

Logan shrugged. “Okay. That don’t mean they wouldn’t want ya just like this, though. I mean, I imagine touchin’ your bare skin too, but I sure as hell ain’t gonna say no to what I got.”

Marie hid her face in his chest, careful to avoid the skin his wifebeater didn’t cover. Her voice went soft. “It ain’t just that. They always picture me . . . lll-like, kinda . . . prettier. Prettier than I r-really am.”

Logan honestly couldn’t imagine how that was possible, couldn’t imagine what anyone would change about her other than her mutation. How could you improve on perfection? “Maybe it ain’t them that sees you different,” he said, rubbing his palm over her hip soothingly. “Maybe you just don’t see how pretty you really are. ‘Cause baby, you’re like, a ten and a half. I ain’t just sayin’ that. You're desirable. Fuck, I will take you right now in this elevator if that’ll prove it to ya.”

She burst into laughter. “Thanks, sugar. Mighty generous of ya, lookin' out for my self esteem like that.”

“Yeah, well. You’re welcome,” Logan grunted. If only she knew how serious he was. God, he was horny. He’d have to keep that in mind: submission grappling with Marie, definite turn-on. He was going to have to brush up his jiu-jitsu.