"I been way down / Holding on to nothing / I been so high / I let all of it go"

---

There's a first time for everything. Rogue's first times were often memorable events.

Her first kiss put a boy into a coma for three weeks.

The first time she had sex, Logan ran off again.

She'd waited six months for him to come back when he'd left that first time, then three years for him to notice she was no longer a scrawny sixteen-year-old, and another year before she finally had the nerve to confront him and say, "If you're not going to fuck me, stop stringing me along."

She knew he found her attractive, wanted her even. It was in his eyes when he watched her progress across a room, and in the way he touched her, brushing up against her when he had plenty of room to get by without doing so.

But there were shadows over him, always. Over her, as well. Things that neither could control; things both had to overcome. And then there were the obstacles they each put in their way. Primarily, Logan's unabated lust for Jean -- his desire for what he couldn't have.

Rogue was tired of waiting. As far as she was concerned, she'd spent her whole life doing just that. Hence the confrontation after another in a long string of nights spent hanging around with him, going nowhere.

His response was quick and gratifying. After a few seconds to let her words sink in, he grabbed her and carried her back to his room. And they'd moaned and writhed together on the sheets for a good portion of the night.

Before she fell asleep, she murmured the fateful words. "I love you, Logan."

Another first in her growing list.

He was gone when she woke up, a note on the night table. "I can't give you what you need."

So she was left holding on to nothing but a hastily scrawled note, his dog tags, and the memories of one incredible night.

No one was quite sure why he'd gone -- he'd spared her that humiliation, at least. Not only was she untouchable, but the mere thought of being loved by her sent grown men fleeing into the night, she told herself wryly. Once she was able to think about him without screaming and crying, she tried to get over it, get on with her life.

She was even starting to come out of her shell again. She'd worked her way quickly through college, taking summer classes and inter-session classes, and graduated a year early. Everyone was proud. All her friends from Xavier's academy watched her accept her diploma in gown and mortarboard, all except the one who really mattered.

She'd put the dog tags away. No use pining for what couldn't be. She worked on letting go, using the meditation techniques Xavier had taught her when she'd first arrived on his doorstep, scared and hurt and confused as to what thoughts and memories in her head were hers, and what belonged to the men who had touched her.

When Remy asked her out, she said yes. He actually seemed interested in her, and she knew he wasn't in it for quick sex, because she'd told him up front that he wasn't getting into her pants. She was sure it was going to be a long while before anyone did. You just don't bounce back quickly from being abandoned after giving yourself to the man you love.

Soon they were a couple, thought of and spoken of in one breath by inhabitants of the mansion, much as Scott and Jean were. Logan faded into memory.

---

"I been so lost / That it soon became my home / I been right where I wanna be / And had no place to go"

---

He hadn't planned on running again. He'd come back to Xavier's and figured he was settled in for a while. He got room and board in exchange for fixing stuff around the place, and he could both look after Marie and lust after Jean, while saving the world on occasion. What more could a man ask for? As an extra added attraction, he got to torment One-Eye endlessly, which only made things sweeter.

He watched Marie grow up, but didn't really see her until she was nineteen. Then he noticed the curves of her body, and the strength of her will, and he found ways to touch her. He wasn't normally a wait-and-see kind of guy, but he didn't push her, just waited for her to come to him. And she had. Then she had come for him. Numerous times. And then she scared the shit out of him by saying the words he both longed for and feared.

He lay awake, listening to her breathing after their night together. He knew he couldn't stay. She'd just attached strings to his comfortable existence, and he couldn't bear it. Couldn't bear the idea of having to be responsible and reliable, of never having another woman beneath him, of never having Jean beneath him. Mostly, he couldn't bear the thought that he would never live up to what she thought he was. He would end up hurting her eventually, without meaning to. Better to do it now, before things went even further, before he foolishly started to believe he could change, could be the man she needed, and wasn't strong enough to leave her behind. Even though he knew he was a shit who deserved to have a hole blown through him by Cyclops, he lit out, leaving nothing but a note behind.

Life was less sweet back out on the road. He hadn't expected that. He'd been so used to wandering, staying only a few weeks or a month at most in various towns across the continent. Being at Xavier's had given his meaningless existence unexpected purpose. If he was honest with himself, which he tried to be, he admitted that Marie had given his meaningless existence purpose, and everything that came after was just gravy.

But he wouldn't think of Marie. He tried to imagine Jean instead, her red hair spilling over her shoulders as she wrapped her legs around his back... and it wasn't working. Dammit.

He'd begun to see Marie everywhere. Something would happen and he'd feel the need to talk to her. Big stuff, like sleeping beneath the aurora borealis. Stupid shit, like how he'd taught some kids in some small town a better way to throw a hip check.

He started writing her letters that never got sent. He felt like a pansy and a fool. He tried to lose himself in whiskey and women, but it didn't work anymore. Since he was honest with himself, he finally admitted that he wasn't just missing her -- he loved her and wanted to see if he could make it work.

That thought kept him up nights, far more than his nightmares ever had, and it kept him out on the road six months longer than was strictly necessary.

It was a phone call from Scott that brought him back, tearing across the continent as if all the devils in hell were after him. "Rogue needs you. She's falling apart. We've tried everything else, and for some reason, Professor Xavier thinks you can help."

He didn't ask any questions. Just growled at the thought of her needing him while he was off fucking around. "I'll be there as soon as I can."

---

"I saw an angel / Shooting junk in Reno / Blinded by the devil / Playing checkers in the park"

---

She couldn't put a finger on when her relationship with Remy had started going bad. She didn't think it was one single moment, but a series of them that led up to the day she discovered him in bed with another woman.

Or maybe it was just her taste in men. She seemed to fall for men who were unreliable, who couldn't be trusted. Thieves and gamblers, men who made their living stealing or brawling. No, don't think of him, she told herself sternly.

Another first for her illustrious list -- that day was the first she'd willfully threatened someone with her power, told that little slut she'd drain her dry if she didn't get the hell out of her bed. Some part of her felt triumphant as the girl gathered up her clothes and scrambled naked down the hallway to her own room.

Remy stood and tried to explain. "It's not you, chere. It's me. I love you but I can't be tied down to one woman. I hope you understand."

She chucked a book at him -- her collected works of Chaucer. It made a satisfying sound as it clunked him in the chest. He grunted in pain.

"Get the fuck out, Remy."

She spent the next few days huddled in her room, refusing to come out. She methodically reviewed the twenty-two years of her life and came up with a solution. She was through being a victim. She was through being sweet little Rogue that men used but never stayed with. From now on, she'd be doing the using and the leaving. When she left that room, she was a changed woman.

She continued to teach English to the younger students during the day, but at night she went out into Manhattan and lived up to the name she'd chosen for herself. She wore outfits that made Jubilee -- not known for her modesty -- blush. She drank and she partied, and she occasionally went home with strange men, teased them into thinking she would be around for more than one night, and then left them crying out her name.

Everyone worried about her. She had dark circles under her eyes from being out late every night. She no longer laughed and joked with the women who'd been her friends since she first arrived in Westchester. She no longer worked with the professor to try and control her mutation. She was curt and sometimes harsh with the students, who treaded softly around Ms. Rogue, because she had a hair-trigger temper, especially when hung over, which was often.

After six months of the "new and improved" Rogue, Jean asked the professor to use Cerebro to track Logan down. She thought he might be the only one who could get through to Rogue now, since Rogue seemed to be modeling her life after his.

Scott called him and he agreed to come immediately, which Scott found surprising, but Jean didn't. She knew he was in love with Rogue and had been for years. She hoped the shock of seeing her again would knock some sense into both of them.

---

"They're all out to get me / But I can't find no one today / Won't somebody help me / Just you don't get in my way"

---

His name was Jack. Or Jake. It had been loud in the bar, so she wasn't too sure. It didn't matter. She would never see him again after tonight. He was the only one she'd brought home with her. Usually she went to their apartments, or to hotel rooms, or the back seats of cars. But she was tired of having to drive all the way back to Westchester after her late night adventures, so she'd brought him with her.

Another first for the list.

She'd thought it would get easier, the teasing and the seduction and then the final blow - the "No, you can't touch me." But it never did. She still felt sick after she went down on some stranger and let him touch her through her panties. She still needed to think of Logan when she touched herself on those nights she was alone, pretending her hands were his. Those were the only times she ever found release.

She knew someday she'd get into more trouble than she could handle when she pulled back at the moment of truth and told some random guy he wouldn't be fucking her that night. But it hadn't happened yet and she tried not to think about it.

So Jack (or Jake) was rubbing himself against her on her bed in her room, and she was making little gasping noises, faking it, telling him how turned on she was. She was really wondering how long she'd have to put up with him, since his breath was awful. She was thinking that maybe her little adventure was getting old, maybe she'd turn over a new leaf and try to be a solid citizen again. She was so tired of all the bullshit. Her master plan hadn't made her life any better. In fact, she thought, it sucked even more than it had before.

"Baby, what's wrong?" he asked and she realized she'd stopped her show.

"It just feels so good," she lied, and then she let out a shriek as his hand moved between her legs. "Oh, yeah, baby. That's it." She was still amazed at how stupid these men were, how they never figured out that she was faking it, or, if they did, they didn't care.

And then the door was open and Jack (or was it Jake?) flew off her and slammed into a wall.

She blinked and saw Logan looming over her.

"Hey, sugar," she said, nonchalantly, trying to hide her fear and trembling. "Welcome home."

---

Logan dispatched the other man with ease, sending him running off into the night, practically pissing in his pants.

"What the hell is going on here, Marie?" he growled, anger barely restrained.

"My name is Rogue," she snapped, not moving from the bed. "Marie died the day you left, Logan. She's not coming back."

He closed his eyes. He deserved that. "I don't think so," he said. "She's still in there. I know it."

"What do you know, Logan? You've been away for two years. Lots of things have changed." She ran her hands over her lycra-clad body. "Do you know I'm the sweetest piece of ass in the Hudson Valley?"

"No."

"Oh, yeah. The boys are lining up around the block to get a taste of me, sugar."

"No," he repeated. Maybe if he kept saying it, it would be true, he thought.

She rose from the bed and walked toward him, swaying seductively. She stopped, put a hand on his chest and leaned in close. "And I have you to thank for it," she whispered, and continued out of the room, leaving him standing, stunned.

---

He went in search of Jean, the professor, someone who could tell him what had happened, what had turned Marie into the bitter, hollow shell of a woman he'd just seen.

He found Scott sitting up in the kitchen, poring over a book.

"Summers," he said.

"Logan. Welcome back."

"What happened to her?"

Scott hesitated. He thought about all the shit Logan had given him, about how he could get his revenge now. And then he realized how shaken the other man was. "I take it you've seen her." Logan nodded. Scott told him the story. "After she caught Remy in bed with Natalia, she changed. It's like she doesn't care anymore. We don't know what she does when she's out, and she won't tell us. She's alienated everyone, even Kitty and Jubilee. She stalks around here during the day, scowling at everyone, and goes out and does God knows what -- or who -- every night." He was suddenly struck by a thought. "Basically, she's turned into you."

Logan put his head in his hands. He'd screwed up a lot of shit in his life, but he thought of Marie as the one good thing he'd done -- the one thing he'd done right. And now he'd fucked up even that.

"If it helps any," Scott said as he rose, "Jean seems to think you'll be able to help her." He put a hand on the other man's shoulder briefly, then left the room.

---

"Don't you fucking touch me"

---

She spent the night in the shower, trying to wash off the filth she'd wallowed in since she and Remy had parted ways. She couldn't face him, face having him see the mess she'd made of the life he'd given her.

She avoided him for the next few days. He let her, trying to come up with an approach that wouldn't send her running off for good.

A week after his return, she felt stifled. She had to get out. She knew it was only a matter of time before he confronted her about her behavior the night he came home -- not to mention the six months before that -- and she wasn't ready. She wanted to throw herself at his chest and sob about the mess her life had become since he'd left. Then she remembered that it had been his leaving her that started her down the path she was now on. His rejection of her love. She couldn't handle getting close to him, only to be rejected again. Better to keep him -- keep everyone -- at a distance. If you never let anybody close, she thought, no one can ever hurt you. And all she really wanted was to stop being hurt.

So she dressed and left quietly, heading for one of the clubs that was hidden in the warehouses of the meatpacking district. She just wanted to be alone -- to dance and maybe work off some of her jitters.

She didn't expect him to follow. But there he was, leaning against the bar, his eyes stalking her on the dance floor. The music was loud, the strobe lights flashed and she flung her body in time with the beat. Her black latex pants were like a second skin outlining her long legs and firm bottom. Her white tank top allowed her breasts to bounce in time to the music, while black leather opera gloves and a gauzy black scarf completed the ensemble. It was meant to bring men to their knees, and it was successful. She brushed off the ones who approached her without a second glance.

Finally he'd had enough. She was damn near irresistible. He walked over purposefully and pulled her into his arms, his hands sliding down to mold her hips against his groin. She struggled against his iron grip. "Don't fight me, Marie. Just dance," he murmured, his lips pressing the hair over her ear, his breath sending shivers down her spine.

"Logan," she hissed back, "what're you doin'?"

"Callin' your bluff."

She relaxed and he kept her pressed to him for the rest of the song, whatever it was. Some techno-dance thing with a bass-heavy groove, perfect for dancing close with someone you loved. No, she reminded herself sharply, he doesn't love you. He only wants you. An insidious voice in her head asked what the difference was, and another reminded her that it didn't matter, she'd learned enough in the past few months that -- coupled with her intimate knowledge of what he liked -- she could use sex to tie him to her more completely than before.

The beat changed, sped up, and her movements kept pace.

"Save some of that energy, darlin'," he whispered. "You're gonna need it when we get home."

She could feel desire flutter in her stomach and radiate down to the place between her legs. His nostrils flared, and she knew he could smell her arousal. He marched her out of the club and onto the bike.

"My car --"

"You can come back for it in the morning," he growled, not wanting to put off the consummation of their new relationship.

They made record time, and he practically dragged her off to his room. Once there, he began kissing her frantically through the scarf, his gloved hands running over her chest and throat.

Not releasing her, he walked her back toward the bed and she fell onto it, pulling him with her. His mouth roamed over her breasts, licking and biting first at one nipple and then the other as she moaned in his arms, for real, not like the act she put on for those random, nameless men she'd been with recently.

She gave herself up to the sensations he was creating, turning off the confused welter of thoughts churning in her brain. His hand slid between her legs and he murmured, "Do you trust me?"

She nodded, wide-eyed. This was the one place where she did.

Snikt.

He extended one claw slightly, cutting through the soft leather of his gloves, and slit her pants from front to back. She wore no underwear. His hand brushed lightly over her, and then his thumb moved more purposefully over her clit. She gasped as her hips bucked into his hand. "Logan." He grinned as she said his name, sliding first one and then another finger into her tight, wet heat. "Harder," she panted, "please." He increased the rhythm and felt her muscles contract around his fingers as she came.

He continued to kiss her while she lay there, shuddering as the aftershocks passed through her, and then she said, "Your turn."

Her hands reached for the zipper of his jeans and he gasped as she freed him from the tight denim. He kicked the pants off. She stroked him firmly and he thought he'd never felt anything better than her leather gloves on his skin.

"Condom?" she asked breathlessly when he let her mouth free for a moment.

"My wallet," he muttered, reaching for his pants. He pulled the foil-wrapped packet out and ripped it open. She rolled it onto him and followed with her mouth, licking and sucking and biting until he thought he couldn't take it anymore. "Marie," he gasped, fighting to retain control. She looked up at him. "Together," he said, pulling her up and positioning her where he wanted her.

She lowered herself onto him and he rolled them over, stretching her hands above her head as he moved with her. He didn't last long, but that was fine, because they came almost as one and she bit his shoulder through his shirt as her legs wrapped around his back and he cried out her name.

Goddamn, he thought, when he was capable of thought again. "That was fucking spectacular," he muttered in her ear as he gathered her against him. She grinned and drifted off to sleep.

They'd never needed words to communicate, he thought, and he'd just shown her how he felt. Things should be okay, he figured. They could talk in the morning.

---

She woke up and for a few seconds believed she was where she belonged, in Logan's arms. And then she thought about the last time she'd slept in his arms, and decided that this time, she was going to be gone before he could leave her again. She tried to get out from under his arm. She couldn't stay there any longer.

"Let me up," she said.

"Mmmph."

"I need to shower." He didn't open his eyes, just lessened the pressure of his arm around her waist. She slid out from beneath it, kissed the top of his head regretfully, and went into the bathroom.

She didn't want to shower, to wash him off her, but she had to, had to remove the evidence that was really no evidence at all. He had sex the way other people changed their socks. It was as natural as breathing to him. For her, it had to be more than that. Even with her six months of sleeping around, she hadn't managed to shake the conviction that it could -- that it should -- mean more than that.

So she showered. She scrubbed until her untouchable skin was red and blotchy. She sighed as she realized she'd have to scurry down the hall wearing pants that were now crotchless. It was very early, though, so no one would see her.

She was pulling on a white button-down shirt that had been hanging in his closet when he said, "Hey."

She flipped her wet hair over her shoulder and finished buttoning the shirt. "Hey yourself." Her fingers trembled and she hoped he was too sleepy to notice. She did not want to talk to him. That would just lead to more confusion. Keep it simple, Rogue, she told herself. Get out clean.

"You runnin' again?" he asked, a teasing note in his voice.

Does he seriously think everything is okay because of one night of good -- okay, mind-blowingly awesome -- sex? she wondered incredulously.

"Fuck and run, Logan. Isn't that what you taught me?" she asked bitterly.

He had no response to that. It was only the truth. He tried again. "Let me prove I love you."

She inhaled sharply at his use of the "L" word. "How you gonna do that, sugar?" she asked, falling back on the role she'd perfected in the past few months. Her acting skills could net her an Oscar, she thought.

He reached out a hand.

"Don't you fucking touch me." Her voice was low and hard. She left before he could get off the bed, and he let her.

---

"Feel me / Feel me / Feel me, don't you / Feel me"

---

They circled each other warily for a few days, Rogue trying to figure out what game he was playing, Logan thinking of ways to prove it wasn't a game at all.

His patience ran out after three days. He found her in the gym. She was pummeling the heavy bag.

He thought about sweet talk, about making her feel wanted, special, and all that other crap women were always talking about. He went for the direct approach instead.

"Let me touch you."

Her head whipped around.

"What?"

"Let me touch you. For a second or two. Then you'll know how I feel."

It hung out there, between them. She was shocked. And angry. And awed. She went with anger. It was an emotion they both understood.

"You think you can run out on me with nothing but a fucking note and then waltz back in and have me again? Did you think I'd fall back into your arms after a good fuck?"

"Who the fuck are you? Where were you when I needed you? Where were you when Remy cheated on me? Huh? Or when I went out every night looking for a cheap thrill, for proof I didn't deserve any more than what you and Remy had given me? Huh?" She came toward him, swinging. "Where were you then, Logan? With your pretty words and your quick fixes?" He let her land the first blow, and then caught her other fist. She broke down, crying. "You don't know fuck-all about me anymore, Logan. Don't think that you do."

"I want to learn," he said quietly, gathering her into his arms and letting her cry against his chest. "Will you teach me?" His bare hand hovered over her cheek.

She raised her face to him. He wiped a tear away, his callused finger brushing lightly against her porcelain skin. She felt the connection open, felt the rushing begin, and felt all the love he had for her. She jerked her head back with a gasp. He staggered, sitting down on a weight-bench for support.

"Don't you feel me?" he asked hoarsely.

She knelt before him, and, using his shirt as a shield, kissed the hand that had just touched her. She tapped the side of her head. "Always." Then, "I love you, Logan," she whispered, still crying.

"I love you, too, Marie."

Another first for her list.

There were still shadows over him. And over her, as well. Things that neither could control; things to be overcome. But they were done putting obstacles in their own way. They were together, and that was all that mattered. She would learn to be confident in his love, and he not to fear being dependent on her. It would take time, but they knew that, whatever they encountered together, it would be far better than being alone.

~end~

---

"Feel Me Don't You" -- by Dada

I been way down
Holding on to nothing
I been so high
And let go of it all
I been so lost
That it soon became my home
I been right where I wanna be
And had no place to go
Feel me
Feel me
Feel me don't you
Feel me
Feel me
Don't you fucking touch me
I saw an angel
Shooting junk in Reno
Blinded by the devil
Playing checkers in the park
They're all out to get me
But I can't find no one today
Won't somebody help me
Just you don't get in my way
Feel me
Feel me don't you
Feel me
Don't you fucking touch me