"I'm sorry. I had to," I say looking him in the eyes with more confidence than I really feel.

"This isn't what I wanted," he replies. He looks sincere and I can tell that he is. He probably would have gone on forever the way we'd been going. In circles. Both wanting what we knew we could never have (partly because of my killer skin and partly because we weren't really in love) and both unwilling to make the decision that inevitably had to be made.

"I know." The words tumble honestly past my lips. "It's what I wanted." And it was. Is. But now that we're here, looking in each other's eyes, having what should be the most honest conversation we've ever had, I feel uncertainty and secrecy creeping in.

He looks sad. His eyes betray the real feelings behind his words and actions. He's trying to be supportive, but I can tell that everything is different between us now. Even though I've just made the decision that would actually allow us to be together in the way we've been dreaming of for the last year and a half, I know it never will be. I'm different to him now. Changed. I'm not the same 'Rogue' he fell for, or the one he really wants anymore. I think there was something dangerous about being with me before, something that made it exciting for him. The girl with the deadly skin. A thrill that was there, underlying. Danger that he could never be sure of.

He tentatively takes my hand, our fingers brushing against one another for the very first time. Skin to skin. It's a sensation that I cherish. I'm elated and saddened at the same time. How can that be? This is what I've been dreaming of since my mutation first kicked in nearly 3 years ago. Touch. Human touch. Skin to skin contact. The warmth of another body against mine. And even though this is simply fingers lightly skimming each other, it's nearly enough to bring me to tears.

He squeezes my hand and I inhale sharply at the sensation.

"Rogue, I…," Bobby hesitates and I know what he's going to say.

"It's ok." I have to force the words out. "I understand it's not the same."

"It's not that." He stares at our still entwined fingers, attempting to find the words to express himself. But he doesn't need to. I already know what he's going to say. "I'm not…," he begins again, but stops short.

As much as I want to believe that we're in love, that love can conquer all and all that, I know it's not true in our case. The cure came too late and I figure there's no point in fighting it now. I know he's moved on.

I'm not interested in prolonging this uncomfortable moment any longer than it needs to be. I'm a firm believer in ripping off the Band Aid as it were, just get it over with. So I finish his thought, "You're not in love with me."

His eyes dart up to meet mine, and for a split second I think he's going to argue with me, going to tell me that's not true, that he really does love me and that the fact that I got the cure, and got it without even consulting him first, doesn't matter. That things haven't changed and that we're going to live happily ever after now. But I know better and that thought is gone from my mind as quickly as it came.

"I'm sorry," is all he says.

I feel like I should be crying. My world is basically crumbling down around me. But for some reason I'm not and I'm silently kicking myself for that fact. But I'll have plenty of time to rehash it later, when I'm alone… alone forever… no longer deadly but still unwanted. Awesome.

I think he's waiting for me to say something, do something, so I force out, "It's alright. I knew you weren't before I left." It's a statement that's only partly true. Part of me really did think that he loved me and that he'd be ok with my choice, and even that we might actually live happily ever after once I got home. I should have known better than to entertain such girlish fantasies.

He sighs and he looks genuinely sad. I really don't think he wants to hurt me. Of course there's that girly part of me inside that feels differently. Feels betrayed by him. Why would he stand by me all this time, when I would never have held it against him for walking away? I would have totally understood abandoning the girl with the poison skin. I mean, who wouldn't? But now? When I'm totally touchable and he could have what he said he wanted. NOW, he chooses to leave? It seems typical of my life. Back at home, when I finally got a real boyfriend and a real kiss, my damn mutation kicks in, completely ruining that experience for me. I meet Logan and finally get a ride from a decent guy, and we get into a car accident and nearly get gutted by Sabretooth. I finally find a home at the mansion with real friends, a family, and what happens? Oh, right! I get kidnapped by a megalomaniac and nearly fried in some metal mutant making machine. So it seems only fitting that as soon as I get the cure and am touchable again, that my boyfriend would fall for someone else.

"Kitty, right?" The words pass my lips before I even realize I've said them. I hadn't meant to be so blunt about it, it just sort of happened.

Bobby's eyes meet mine and I know I'm right and again he looks sad. Or… not quite sad, but… ashamed maybe? Guilty? He doesn't say anything, but he doesn't need to. I've known for a while now.

Neither of us says anything. We just stand there, staring at our still entangled fingers. I can tell he wants to pull away but he's not sure how to without hurting me even more. This moment is getting far too intense for my liking and I'm feeling the need to bolt. Huh… Must be the Logan in my head doing that. Strange, I thought that those impulses, thoughts and feelings would have been wiped clean with the cure, but I guess not because the urge to run is becoming quite overwhelming right now. Taking a deep breath, I stamp down my inner Logan and keep my feet firmly planted on the hardwood floor.

Despite my resolve not to run from this, I also have no desire to extend this awful moment either, so I attempt to extricate myself from the situation.

"Well." Urging my voice to come out much stronger than it actually does, "I hope you guys will be happy together." It sounds fake. "I really do."

My added words don't do much to help with the sincerity. I think he can tell, but I'm sure he has no interest in prolonging this either, so he goes with it.

"Thanks." He looks up from his shoes and finally lets go of my hand, leaving it feeling rather cold and alone. "I hope we can still be friends."

It's not really a question and it feels sort of empty, like he's sure that it's the only way to end this quickly and painlessly.

That thought makes me want to laugh because everyone knows that never works out. But instead I say, "Sure."

We both smile, out of awkwardness, nothing more, and I brush past him as I walk out of his room and into the hall.

I don't look back. I don't even want to.

***

"Hey."

I'm standing in Logan's bedroom doorway, not quite sure how I even got here. I've been wandering around the mansion for what feels like hours, just walking, thinking, listening to all the goings on. People talking, watching TV, listening to music. Some of the younger kids being put to bed by the older ones. I walked past the Danger Room earlier and heard Piotr kicking the crap out of something and cursing in Russian. I was tempted to go in and let him take a few shots at me. Seemed like a better option than feeling the way I do right now. But I thought better of it, since I don't have my powers anymore. Anything he did to me would be rather permanent, I think.

"Kid?" Logan sounds annoyed.

"Hmm?" I'm brought back from my thoughts, wondering how many times he's said that to get my attention, and I look at the man sitting across the room in the leather chair watching the News.

"You gonna come in or what?" Still annoyed.

I grunt, another excellent trait I've picked up from Logan. One which I use often when I'm cranky or frustrated and no one seems to question it. I step into the room and lean against the door frame without a word. My inner Logan would be proud, I'm very broody right now.

Those piercing hazel eyes stare deep within me. As though he can see everything I'm hiding, everything I'm feeling. I feel like he knows. About Bobby. About the cure. About how I'm second guessing all my recent choices in life. About how I feel all alone in a house full of people, because there's no one who understands why I did it. I half expect him to say something like, 'Your thoughts betray you.' But I know he's not Darth Vader and he's not a telepath either, so I know my imagination is getting the better of me here. The best he can tell is that I smell a little off. His heightened senses are probably overloaded with my self-pity, frustration and loneliness right now.

"You ok?" He mutes the television and puts the remote down next to the bottle of beer on the small table beside to him.

"Fine."

"Uh huh."

I can tell he doesn't believe me, but then again, he never does when I'm lying. Damn it. He can fucking smell the disappointment on me. Ugh. I need to get some new friends. Some that won't be able to read my mind, or smell my god damn feelings all over me. It's annoying not to be able to keep anything to yourself in this house.

Maybe I'll move.

Logan's eyes move back to the TV and his hand absently reaches out for the remote. A click of the button and it comes back to life. The newscaster is blathering on about the events at Alcatraz, the rewards being offered for any information on the whereabouts of Magneto, the death toll of the previous week's events and on and on and on. I'm not really even paying attention, but the background noise is a god send. It keeps my thoughts at bay and gives me a moment's reprieve.

And, they're back again. My mind is in an uproar. A sad, pathetic whirlwind of feelings swirl around in my head. 'Why wasn't I good enough?' 'Why didn't he want me?' 'Now what do I do?' 'Can I still live here?' 'Will I still join the X-Men?' 'What if they don't want me anymore?' 'Who will want me now?' 'Could I go back to my parents?' 'Would I even want to?' 'Why am I so alone?' 'How come no one understands?' 'What will Logan say when I tell him?' 'Will he understand?' 'Will *he* want me?'

"You gonna sit down?" The rumble of Logan's voice interrupts my thoughts and I let my eyes slide up to look at his handsome features. Hmmm… somehow things don't seem as bad all of a sudden.

I'm amazed that, despite all that went on today, and all that I'm feeling, I'm still able to appreciate his beauty. I would have thought I'd be too depressed to think about anything but myself and my own melancholy, but I'm not. Must be all that new found maturity I've been working on.

My eyes trace over his cheekbones, the stubble around his chin, the fuzzy muttonchops framing his jawline and up over his unruly hair. He's obviously just had a shower because the usual Wolverine spikes are missing and his dark hair is just sort of messy, but in a sexy way. Funny how he can pull that off. He has this way of being sexy no matter what he does, even when he's been beaten to shit and his clothes are in rags, skin bruised and cut (before his healing factor kicks in of course), tired, bleeding, worn out, he's still the most handsome man I've ever laid eyes on. And now is no exception. White wife beater, it's clean, but I can tell it's already been worn a few times since the last wash. Jeans, also clean, no holes to speak of, but the bottom cuffs are worn and fraying. They're very fitted at the thigh and I'm easily able to appreciate the way they hug his muscles. Around the calf they're looser and long, covering most of his bare feet, but his long toes still manage to peek out from underneath.

"Marie?"

Logan's voice is louder this time and I can hear the annoyance is back when I suddenly realize that I've been staring at him for several long moments.

"Yeah?" I finally say, forcing myself out of the little drool session I've been having

"Are you going to sit down, or what?" His brows furrow and I can see that little wrinkle forming between his eyes as he looks at me.

"Right, sorry," I mumble, shoving myself off the door frame and over to the bed.

I sit down on the end of it and stare blankly at the television, not really taking any of it in, but it's something to focus on so I go with it.

Logan's still staring at me, probably waiting for me to say something; possibly tell him why on earth I came to his room this late at night. It's only about quarter to eleven, but it's past lights out for the younger kids and I'd usually be in bed myself about now. So I'm sure he finds my impromptu visit a little odd.

"I got the cure," I finally say, not able to look him in the eye.

"Hmm…" is all he says at first and I instantly feel very alone. But after a moment or two he speaks up again. "And? You ok?"

I nod, lifting my gaze from the floor to his chest. Working up to the eyes…

"It didn't hurt really," I try to elaborate in case he wants to know. I know he won't ask. "I got the shakes for the first while, sorta felt like my blood was vibrating and felt kind of sick to my stomach, but it passed fairly quickly."

His intense stare is still on me and I feel as though I'm under a microscope, but I think it has more to do with my own insecurities than with what Logan actually thinks of me.

It's quiet for a minute or two before he startles me with his next question. "Are you happy?"

That gets my full attention and I'm finally able to look him in the eye.

"Not sure yet," I reply honestly. "Bobby and I just broke up."

His forehead crinkles a little more and I hear a barely audible growl resonate in the back of his throat.

"It's alright," I continue before Logan gets too mad at Bobby for something that was only partly his doing. "I'm ok with it. I pretty much knew it was coming before I left anyways."

My growly friend stares into my eyes again, undoubtedly trying to read me, wondering if I'm being sincere about my feelings. I see his nose twitch. Bastard is checking my scent. But I don't say anything.

He stops growling and turns his attention back towards the TV. The News has ended and some ridiculous sit com is on now. Logan scowls at the television and flips the channel repeatedly until he finds the News again. I smile inwardly at my crabby buddy and push myself back further onto his bed until my back is against the headboard, my legs stretched out in front of me, ankles crossed and my arms folded neatly across my chest.

"So now what?" He asks, and again I'm a little surprised by his question. Part of the reason I wandered over here tonight was because I figured the chit chat would be minimal. Apparently I was wrong.

"Dunno," I mumble, the majority of my attention on the TV. "Guess I'll talk to Storm tomorrow and see if I'm allowed to stay or if I have to leave now." The statement comes out a little more forlorn than I'd intended, so I add quickly, "Whatever." There, that made me sound much more nonchalant than before.

Several minutes go by in silence and I think that maybe this conversation is over. Good.

But I'm wrong.

"Don't worry," Logan startles me again.

Glancing at him, I don't say anything.

"I won't let them kick you out," he says with a sincerity and firmness I've heard before. It reminds me of the time he came to find me after that awful night when we nearly killed each other. "Don't worry… I'll take care of you," he had said. And he had. Logan was a man of his word, so I believed him when he guaranteed me I'd have a place to live tomorrow.

I allow the corners of my mouth to curl up just a little and I can feel my eyes light up at his words. It's a reaction I don't expect. I thought I was over that school girl crush of mine. I ponder that briefly and then toss the idea aside, returning my attention to the TV.

"Logan?" My words amaze even me, because I hadn't meant to actually say them out loud.

He looks back at me, the crinkle above his nose now gone, his face soft and relaxed again.

"How are *you* doing? Are you alright?"

The crinkle is suddenly back and I can tell that it's asking me what the hell I'm talking about.

"Jean," is all I say.

Without a word, he turns his attention back to the television.

I don't think he's going to respond at all after I wait nearly three whole minutes in silence. But then he does and I'm surprised by the answer I get.

"No."

I'm not sure how to respond to that at all. I mean… I hadn't expected him to even answer me, and if he did answer me, I'd expected him to say that he was fine. But this? He was openly admitting to me, ME, that he is, in fact, not fine. I have no clue how to respond to this revelation. But I know I'd better come up with something quick or this conversation will be over and I'll never get this chance again.

I toss around a zillion things I can say.

'I know she meant a lot to you Logan' ICK! NO!

'I know you loved her Logan' BLEH! Definitely not.

'But you still have me sugah!' Oh dear god! What is wrong with me?

'I'm here if you want to talk.' Seriously? No.

Finally, I say out loud, "I'm sorry."

It's simple and doesn't even begin to express all the things I really want to say to him, but it's all I can think of that doesn't sound stupid.

Those beautiful hazel eyes flick back to me for just a moment. "Thanks."

And then he's back watching the News again.

***

An hour or so passes and Logan and I just sit there quietly. It's comfortable and I like it. I think it's one of the reasons I enjoy spending my time with him. Well… that, and the fact that he's easy on the eyes and I get a little thrill from being allowed to hang out with him when there's not a hope in hell he'd let any of these other X-geeks do that. Well, except for Jean I guess.

I start to wonder what his attraction to her was. I mean, of course she was beautiful; silky red hair, tall and slim, bright smile, sparkling eyes. She had the whole package, I suppose. But she was married. Or engaged rather. But that's almost as good as married. Was that the attraction? Was it because she was unobtainable? Is that why he wanted her so much?

I want to ask and I let my eyes wander over towards Logan, who's still sitting in the leather chair, legs outstretched, arms folded across his chest and a beer on the table next to him. But I don't say anything. I know he won't tell me anyway so there's not much point in opening that Pandora's Box.

I turn my attention down to my shirt and begin absently picking at the little pilly balls of wool that have started to form. I wonder if he ever thought about *me* as being unobtainable like Jean was? I mean, I had deadly skin. Nearly killed him twice because of it. And I had a boyfriend too. I'm not tall and leggy like Jean but I'm slim and I suppose I'm somewhat pretty, I'm not hideous or anything. I don't think… I quickly cut off that train of thought. No need to go there either. The fact that after all this time he STILL calls me 'kid' is a telltale sign that he has never, and will never, think of me that way.

It makes me sad and I sigh audibly.

Logan looks up, probably smelling the questions all over me. He doesn't say anything, but I can tell he wants to know what's up.

"Nothing," I say casually and go back to the little balls of wool on my shirt.

I'm trying to ignore him, but I can tell that he's still staring at me. At least two minutes have passed since I said 'nothing' but his eyes haven't left me. I want to look up, but I'm suddenly very aware that he's a man and I'm a woman and I'm sitting on his bed and I'm totally and completely touchable now. *His* bed. Touchable.

I feel my heart rate speed up, but I forcefully tell it to quiet the hell down before he picks up on it.

And he's still staring at me.

Finally I can't take it anymore. "What?" I look up and realize my words came out a lot harsher than I had intended.

He turns his attention back to the TV and I think he's going to ignore my rather rude question, until he says, "Why me?"

I'm puzzled and I'm pretty sure it's written all over my face, but he's not looking at me now so he doesn't notice.

"Why you, what?" I ask.

He's quiet again.

"Why did you choose to follow me?" His eyes scan me again before he says, "In Laughlin City. Why me?"

Oh wow… I'm totally not sure where this came from at all. I consider his question and then say, "Because I could tell that underneath that surly exterior you weren't bad."

He snorts derisively at that.

"What?" I ask. "I could."

To my surprise, again, (he's doing that a lot tonight) he pulls his legs in towards him, leans forward, grabs the remote off the table, and clicks off the television.

I stare at the now black screen and the turn my attention back to the man in front of me. Why did he do that?

He's hunched forward now, elbows resting on his knees, hands in his hair and the remote long forgotten back on the table. His chin tilts up so that he's looking directly at me when he states simply, "You watched me nearly kill two men right in front of you, and that told you that I was a *swell* guy and that you'd be safe following me around uninvited?" There's a slight mocking in his tone but it's combined with so much disbelief that it's hard to tell what he's thinking.

"Well…," I feel the need to explain myself a little better here, because he's right. The way he puts it, it sounds completely and utterly insane. "But you *didn't* kill those men."

The little crinkle is forming between his eyebrows again, but he remains quiet.

"You could have. You easily could have, but you didn't." I keep rambling on while he watches me carefully, "I watched more than just you fight that night. There were others that went after you and there were men who didn't leave that place alive. But you were satisfied with just the win."

He thinks I'm out of my mind. I can tell by the way he's looking at me now. One eyebrow cocked up, just staring at me like it's the first time he's seen me or something.

"I dunno," I mumble. "I know it sounds crazy and I'm sure it was at the time, but there was just something about you that told me you were ok. That I could trust you." I sigh. "I don't have a better explanation than that. I was desperate, I suppose."

That gets his attention.

"Desperate?"

I can feel something new radiating off of him now. Is it… is it hurt? Did I hurt his feelings by implying that the only reason I went with him, stayed with him and am with him now, is out of desperation? I quickly remedy my slip of the lip.

"Well, only at first. I was hungry and alone. I needed help and thought you'd give it to me. But after that things were different. We became friends." I'm unsure of my last words, even though he's confirmed in the past that we are actually friends and that he's not just my 'guardian' or something. "Right?"

He nods, only partly looking at me and I feel like an ass for saying that to him. I know it wasn't on purpose, but I can tell that I've somehow made him feel like the only reason people want him around is for protection and safety or something. And that is SO not the case with us. Granted, yeah, I feel safe with him, I mean, who wouldn't? But it's not the reason I stay, not the reason I'm here now.

Great, now I'm seriously feeling that need to run again. The one I felt earlier with Bobby. That damn inner Logan is strong and he hates any of this uncomfortable stuff. Which actually makes me surprised that the real Logan is still sitting here in front of me. If the him in my head is anything to go by, he should have been long gone by now. But he's not. For some reason he's still here with me and I can't quite figure out why. So again I stamp down the inner Logan, putting him in his place, because there is not a hope in hell that I'm going to leave my friend here alone when he's feeling crappy, just so that I can avoid an uncomfortable situation. But even though I'm not prepared to leave, I'm also not prepared to keep this rather solemn moment going.

I resolve to fix what I just broke, and slide forward to the edge of the bed so I'm closer to him. I reach out one ungloved, very exposed, very strange feeling hand and rest it on top of his much larger ones.

"Desperation brought me to you Logan, but friendship and love made me stay." It's an honest revelation. Much more honest than I'd ever intended to be. He's not one for the mushy stuff; I know that better than anyone. But I feel that if there was ever a moment for complete honesty, where I could openly tell him that he is loved by someone, this is it. "Getting into your trailer was the best decision I've ever made."

His hazel eyes slowly meet mine; I smile and tilt my head to look at him a little sideways.

He just stares at me, probably trying to figure me out. To understand what exactly I'm saying to him. I think he knows that I'm not professing my undying love to him. Simply telling my dearest friend that I care for and love him in a way he can't remember having before.

When I hear a puff of air pass his lips, he relaxes noticeably and I know we're ok again.

I'm going to take this opportunity to lighten the mood a little bit.

I lean forward giving him a light punch in the shoulder and smile my goofiest smile at him. "Come on, bub!" I use his own word on him and that seems to get a positive reaction. The corners of his mouth curl up just a little bit. Not really a smile, but close to it, and I can see the little wrinkles forming at the corners of his eyes, which is always a dead giveaway with him when he's happy. "Let's find something stupid to watch, huh?"

I scoot back onto the bed making sure there's enough room for Logan, and pat the spot next to me a few times. Not sure why I'm suddenly feeling so comfortable, but it's better than the moment that just passed, so I'll take it.

He looks at me with a little uncertainty at first, maybe some disbelief that I'm actually still here with him even after everything that's happened. Not sure if he'll ever get over that. But then he reaches over, grabs his beer off the table and hands it to me. "Here, hold this."

I quirk a smile and cock an eyebrow; a trait I *know* I picked up from him and snatch the beer out of his hand. I quickly gulp back some of it before he can protest. His mouth opens to say something but he thinks better of it and just shakes his head at me.

A few moments later, TV remote in hand, he plops down on the bed next to me and I can feel it sink under his considerable weight. I'm distracted by how lop sided the bed suddenly feels so I don't notice him reach out and grab the beer from me.

"You're still underage," is all he says before tipping it back and gulping down the last of the bottle. I know he doesn't really care if the state believes I'm too young to drink. Hell, if he had a kid of his own it'd probably be suckling beer from the bottle. This is just his attempt to return things to the status quo, he's the adult, I'm the kid, all is right with the world once again.

I smile at my friend because he seems to be back to his normal self again.

But then… wait a minute… He drank from the bottle. I drank from the bottle. It, of course, didn't bother me because the idea of my mouth touching Logan's is a total high for me, no matter how grown up I like to believe I am. But the idea of *him* being ok with it on his end? He didn't even take a second to wipe it off, just casually pressed it to his lips without giving it a second thought. It's like we're kissing… I consider that thought for a brief moment. I'm so mature.

He discards the empty beer bottle on the night stand and leans back against the headboard. I eye him thoughtfully, contemplating what just happened. His long legs stretch out in front of us and cross at the ankle, bare toes still peeking out from under his boot cut jeans, one arm folded back behind his head, the other lays casually over his thigh clicking the remote.

I know I could obsess over this one small action for the rest of the night, but instead decide to let it go and just be happy with the knowledge that I don't completely disgust him. He might even like me a little bit… Or a lot… Or even a ton! … I force myself to stop the girlish fantasizing and smile at him, laughing to myself, partly at my silly thoughts and partly about his indecision on what to watch. It amazes me sometimes that as different as he is from all the other men and boys that I know, one thing is definitely the same and that's channel surfing. Click click click! But I ignore it because despite everything that went on today, I'm happier in this moment than I've been in a long time.

I think Logan senses my contentment, because I hear just the slightest of sighs escape his lips as his fingers click away.

I think he feels it too.

The arm that was once folded up behind his head has now moved down around my shoulders, and he casually tugs me closer. Feeling completely satiated, I comply easily and slide in. My back rests to one side of his chest, head resting on his shoulder. He's warm and the fact that my bare neck is touching him doesn't seem to faze either of us.

"Best decision I ever made," I mumble, letting my eyes close and not really caring at all what channel he'll finally land on.

I can feel him look over at the sound of my words. He doesn't say anything, but I can feel the tension leave his body and I know I'm the only person he lets see him like this. We're just content to be quiet together.