Generosity and perfection are your everlasting goals.

Rogue snickered as she tucked the strip of paper back into the box. The fortune, a memento from her first "girl's night out" with Jubes and Kitty, described just about every southern woman she ever met. Including her mama, despite the instance of kicking her daughter out of her house. But there have always been exceptions to every rule.

Her fingers trailed over the items in the old oak box, fingering each item reverently, before landing on the lone survivor of a pair of hair combs. The ice blue rhinestones of the snowflake glittered, even in the dark. A gift from Bobby, its mate was abandoned in the hotel room where they spent the night celebrating their first anniversary together. She hadn't even owned them twenty-four full hours, and already she had lost one. Which pretty much defined her relationship with Bobby, whether the two of them wished to admit it or not. It took another year, and another misplacing of a far too extravagant gift for the both of them to realize they didn't set each other's "souls afire." Still, she held onto the remaining comb. She did care for Bobby, after all.

Underneath the comb lay a pair of ticket stubs; The New Jersey Devils at the New York Rangers. Her first hockey game ever, and she had the most hockey obsessed mutant right by her side to explain every move. And almost get them thrown out of the arena. She couldn't remember if it was Niedermayer or Brylin who scored the last-second goal for the Devils to win the game, but she remembered the bitter bite of the beer Logan bought for her, as well as the smell of onions and relish on Logan's breath as he drove them home in his truck.

Underneath those stubs was the sketch Piotr drew of her and Jubes and Kitty splashing around in the lake on the school's grounds; a moment of pure joy between three friends. Jubes had even managed to cajole Marie into wearing a bikini, seeing as how it would be just the three of them, so long as she and Kitty promised to be extra careful. Once they'd reached its banks, it took even more badgering from the pair of them before Marie found herself in the water, taking refuge from the hot sun.

What Marie hadn't known, though, was that Jubilee had arranged for Piotr to follow them at a safe distance, so the moment could be captured. A few months later, Marie received the picture, set in a matte silver frame, as a gift from Kitty and Jubes. She'd teared up at the memory, one of the few times she'd been one hundred percent happy, completely worry-free. Even if it only lasted a moment.

At the bottom of the box rested a playbill for Les Miserablés. Scott had managed to wrangle tickets to the last showing of it on Broadway and invited her to go when Jean reminded him that she was scheduled to be in Washington that weekend. It was just after her break-up with Bobby, and a night out on the arm of a handsome man was just what she needed. Jubes and Kitty had helped her to glam herself up for the occasion, taking her to just about every formal dress shop within a fifty mile radius of the school to get just the perfect dress and gloves set. When she finally appeared at the top of the stairs, every single male in the mansion seemed to be milling around the foyer to get a glimpse of her.

She'd had to admit that the hunter green material made her skin, or what showed of it, look absolutely flawless. And thanks to her inbred sewing skills, not to mention Jubes pestering her until mere minutes before the mall closed, Marie had whipped together a half-way decent wrap that allowed her to show more skin than she'd ever had before. Granted, she could switch it off for short periods of time, but a night in New York City was not the place to test her endurance. With the wrap, and her gloves, the only bits of skin that were truly vulnerable were her cleavage (which nobody should be near anyway) and her neck. And with Scott by her side, nobody was going to get close enough to see if that skin was as soft as a baby's bottom, anyway.

She smiled fondly at the collective intakes of breath that echoed in her mind. And not only because she was actually showing skin, either. Her and Jubes had somehow managed to make her look absolutely stunning, and even Scott had a hard time focusing long enough to tell her so. That night in New York had made her feel like a princess, if only for a few hours. And after Jean had returned, she let Scott take Rogue to as many "insipid Broadway musicals" as he wanted.

"So there's at least one thing I should thank her for," Marie murmured under her breath. The following shows never lived up to the first, but then they couldn't have, even though Marie cherished them every bit as much as Les Mis.

In the corner, half hidden by the playbill was the baby bracelet her auntie had given her on her first birthday. The bracelet barely fit around Marie's first three fingers and was tarnished to the point where she could only make out the points of the "M," but it was the last link to her past. Her past before Xavier and his damned school for the gifted. In fact, the only reason she was in possession of the bracelet in the first place was because her parents had died and her Aunt Jenny wanted her to have something since nobody bothered to contact Marie when her parents had died in a freak car accident. It wasn't until months after they were buried that Marie received the phone call and, without having to even ask him, left with Logan to take one final trip to Mississippi.

The cemetery was the first stop, and Marie shuddered at the thought that the final touch of her parents that she'd ever feel was the cold kiss of heartless granite. Her fingertips traced the etching of their names, brushing lightly over the engraved flowers around the edges, before she stood up from her knees, squared her shoulders, and settled herself behind Logan on the bike. After meeting with her mutant-tolerant Aunt Jenny and claiming the one memento Jenny'd been able to hide from the rest of vultures, a stop by the house (now for sale, just call Colleen Realty) finally broke through Marie's resolve and had her sobbing in Logan's arms.

Their return trip took them north, through Tennessee and Illinois, Wisconsin then Michigan. When they hit Ontario, they took their time heading east through Quebec before dipping back south again. The detour gave her a few extra weeks to mourn before having to face the mansion's residents, and when they returned, Rogue made it clear that the events of the trip were not open for discussion. That part of her life was over.

A stray tear landed on the dull metal and Marie was surprised that even after ten years, the premature death of parents, as well as the death of any hope she made have had of a reconciliation with them, could still affect her so. With a sigh, she returned the bracelet to the rest of her mementos and turned to the remaining item in the box: an unused, open-ended plane ticket to Alaska, a college graduation gift from the professor. Sort of an "I'm giving you the one thing you want the most (After Logan) so that you'll be tempted to join the team" gift.

She'd been touched to receive such a generous gift—the next nicest gift he'd given was a leather briefcase handcrafted in Milan for Kitty the techno-genius—but immediately explained to the professor that it would most likely never get used. He, of course, said that it didn't matter if she used it then or when she was eighty, but was curious to know why she would say such a thing without a second thought. Marie explained to him how half the reason she wanted to drive to Alaska was because of the adventure of the road trip. Cross-country, no less. Professor Xavier didn't even pretend to understand, but that didn't stop him from allowing her access to a vehicle of her choosing, as well as the plane ticket, "just in case."

In the midst of a flurry of thank yous, she managed to grab the keys to her favorite car, the cherry red trailblazer, and took the steps two at a time to get to her room and pack. She was so excited about the trip, not to mention wrapped up in saying good-bye to everybody in the mansion that she hadn't heard the motorcycle pull up to the garage, or felt his hazel eyes on her until she was about to run him over with the car.

After another hour of Logan sorting through and rejecting three-quarters of what she packed, and hitching up a trailer to tow the bike in (much to Scott's dismay), she was off, with Logan—after much arguing, and a brief flash of adamantium—in the passenger seat. Whoever said that Rogue had the Wolverine wrapped around her little finger had never taken into account that Logan never gives up control of a vehicle.

As she sat on the squeaky porch, her feet propped up on the railing, the sun finally dropping below the horizon to let the stars come out and play, Marie marveled at the past three years, and how insanely happy she was. Of course, the professor contacted her (telepathically, thanks to Cerebro) on a monthly basis, checking to see how things were, not-so-subtly working around the subject of her return to the mansion. And each month she was in a new location, but with the same answer. "Not just yet, Professor. If I get in trouble, I'll be sure to let you know, Professor. Thank you, Professor."

In between watching Logan fight and traveling the Canadian countryside, Marie often joined him during his endless meditation sessions in addition to working with him to learn the fine points of fighting, with Logan making sure that she could handle herself whether in a barroom brawl or one-on-one with the Brotherhood or FOH. Not that he had any intention of letting her go into battle without him. Even Marie knew that much.

As close as she and Logan had become since that smoky night in Laughlin City (as close as two people can be without becoming lovers), Marie had no idea of the kind of peace Logan found when he was on the road. She'd also had no clue, even after having touched him the two times, of just how much he owned that nobody at the mansion knew about. He had cabins strewn across Canada, from Vancouver to Halifax, and everywhere in between. And the money he was constantly digging from his wallet always left her speechless.

And he never acted high fallutin' (as her mama would say). In fact, Logan led the most unassuming life he could, which suited Marie just fine. Even as a child, she'd never imagined falling in love with some trust fund baby who would give her a new string of jewels every time she took a breath. In fact, she hadn't really dreamt of anything but being happy and loved. Of course, once her mutation manifested, her dreams died along with the last traces of her innocence.

As happy as Marie had been at the mansion, surrounded by people who more or less had to deal with the same prejudices that she did, she hadn't know what contentment could be until she was on the road with Logan. Sitting on his porch in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by nothing but the biggest trees she'd ever seen, her gloves scattered somewhere in the cabin, with a warming bottle of Molson's in her hand and Logan by her side, Marie knew all she'd ever want was at her fingertips. And she'd even managed to convince herself that falling head-over-heels in love and being loved as much in return was for movie heroines, not for untouchable mutants whose parents couldn't even love them. Of course, as is just her luck, Logan had other ideas.

She didn't pay attention when he took her bare hand in his gloved one. After all, he'd turned simple gestures into an art form just to make her feel comfortable. So when he tugged on her hand, pulling her into his chest, she still didn't notice anything amiss. It wasn't until the sheer scarf was over her face and his lips were on hers that she sat at attention.

It wasn't the kind of kiss she'd seen in the movies, with the orchestra swelling and fireworks exploding and knees collapsing. Okay, so there was knee collapsing, but it was more than that. The kiss was more chaste than she would've expected from Logan, but it was more than anything she'd ever gotten from Bobby. Who, being one who always had to prove something, refused to kiss her with a scarf. So that usually meant a series of quick, icy kisses along the curve of her lips.

Logan, on the other hand, was warm and soft and tasted of spicy Cuban cigars and clean Canadian snow and her shampoo. That last part made her giggle and Logan growled in return. He kissed her again, barely more than a caress of her lips through the sheer cranberry silk, but never pushed her for more than that. In fact, it was Marie who insisted on making sure their relationship progressed fluidly. And when they made love for the first time, it was in a clumsy tangle of half-dressed limbs and strategically placed sheets and multi-colored scarves. He made sure she knew that he wasn't participating because he felt sorry for her, and she made sure he knew that she would never ask for more than he could give.

When Marie finally learned the precise combination of mental blocks to keep her mutation under control, and had managed to keep them in place for twenty-four whole hours, she surprised Logan with a carefully prepared picnic by the pristine lake near his cabin just outside of Whitehorse. The August afternoon was unnaturally warm, which helped her surprise along.

Her first attempt at southern fried chicken turned out surprisingly delicious, which made her potato salad failure even more disappointing. But on their way out she'd grabbed a bag of Lays potato chips, and her homemade chocolate chip cookies were the best around, so everything managed to even out. And even though Logan claimed time and time again that cookies and Molson's just didn't mix, Marie knew the basket would be a few ounces lighter when they made their way home.

His eyes were half-closed when she shucked her clothes and left them in a pile at his feet. The warmth from the sun felt good on her skin, and as she made her way towards the lake, she made sure to put a wiggle in her step. She looked back to see him sprawled out on the blue checked blanket, drowsing under the mid-day sun. With a sigh, she slipped underneath the water and paddled around a bit, languishing in the contrast between the warm water on the surface, and the more frigid temperatures swirling at her feet. When she felt her limbs slowly growing accustomed to the water, she padded out, and stopped a foot shy of Logan's feet.

Mindful of their first nighttime encounter at the mansion, she quietly called his name, making sure he was aware that she was about to touch him before she actually did so. To her delight, he kept his eyes closed, even when she straddled his hips. It wasn't until he felt her breath on his lips and her fingers flitting over his mutton chops before he peeked out of one eye just in time to watch her lower her mouth to his. He didn't pull away, but he didn't exactly deepen the kiss either. It wasn't that he was afraid of all that bare skin, Marie knew he could never be. It was more a combination of all that bare Marie skin combined with the homey chocolate chip cookies and Molsons, with a dash of holyfuckinggodshecancontrolherskinandI'mtwosecondsawayfromdeathanyway.

That night in the cabin, Marie would tease him about setting a record for the fastest stripping of a clawed mutant, and he would grudgingly agree. But touching Marie's bare skin was not something Logan wanted to delay any longer than necessary. When his bare chest rubbed against her bare chest for the first time, he was so close to orgasm that he had to bare his claws and sheath them in the earth to put a clamp on himself.

Their first tangle had been over almost before it began, and Logan laughed as he plucked the leaves from her hair. And after pausing a few minutes to catch their breath, Marie let him spend as much time as he wanted learning every last inch of her skin. From the freckle behind her knee, to the perfectly circular scar in her back from Michael Lassiter stabbing her with a pencil in the second grade. And then the third time was her turn to examine every last bit of him. The fourth and fifth times, though… those were about pure, unadulterated lust.

Afterwards, Logan wrapped them up in the blanket, and lay under the stars with Marie tracing patterns on his chest while he asked her for every single detail about how she discovered the exact combination to her control. And then he made sure that she understood that even if she had never gained control, he still wouldn't feel any differently about her. Marie knew, she always did, but hearing it come out of his mouth touched something inside of her that she'd kept hidden from everybody, including herself. And when she noticed the full moon in the cloudless night sky, she couldn't resist making love to him once more before they headed back to the cabin where they slept in the nude together for the first (but so not the last) time.

And now here she was on the porch, her fingers tracing the same, if more precise, pattern on her box. A pattern they would be able to follow if they were dead—an intricately engraved butterfly that adorned the lid. The box rested in her lap, just waiting for the next memento. The label off Logan's bottle of beer. The one he'd finished just before he whispered "I love you" in her ear. The first time she'd ever heard those words come out of his mouth. In succession. The label was as close to a wedding ring as Marie would ever get, of that she was sure.

Not that it mattered.