1.

Rogue was one of the boys. That didn't bother her. Usually. After allaying their initial fears, brought on by The Incident (and you could hear the capital letters whenever Jean or Scott referred to it) in Logan's room her first night at the mansion, she was accepted with open arms by all the students and teachers at Xavier's school.

The Logan in her head scared Bobby off as a potential boyfriend, but that was okay, because she really wasn't interested. It had taken her a long time to trust him, after what Mystique had done. She knew it wasn't his fault, but she couldn't help it. And to make matters even weirder, every time Bobby -- or any of the other boys -- got too close, she heard a growl in the back of her mind, saying, "Mine." It tickled. She never stopped to ponder the ramifications of it.

The Logan in her head also gave her the ability to talk hockey and play football with the boys, and helped her sneak beer for unauthorized late-night slumber parties from Scott's secret stash without getting caught.

Being in with the boys as well as the girls gave her a unique perspective on the merry-go-round of relationships that make up any high school scene, and Mutant High was no different. Bobby and Betsy transmuted into Bobby and St. John. Jubilee and Sam became Sam and Rahne. And so on. Everyone cried on Rogue's shoulder and that was fine with her. No one had come close to touching her heart, which she had convinced herself did not belong to Logan, despite what everyone else thought.

When he came back, she handed over his dog tags with barely a qualm and invited him down to the gym for a round of sparring.

Logan was never so happy as he was on the day he realized that the boys might spend an awful lot of time with Marie, but they never saw her as an eligible girl. It allowed him to forget that fact himself.

Until Remy came along.

Remy flirted with anything in a skirt. But somehow, Rogue was convinced that there was more to him than that, and she tried hard to attract his attention.

Unfortunately, Remy wasn't impressed by her ability to rattle off the New York Rangers' scoring stats, one-punch most of her classmates, and shotgun a beer.

This, she told herself, was a problem.

Kitty and Jubilee tried to help. "Put your hair up." "Wear perfume." "Lipstick is key."

Feeling like a stinky clown, feet hurting from Kitty's heels, head aching from the French braid Jubilee had given her, she went in search of Remy.

And found him cuddled on the couch with the new girl, Patrice.

Patrice was the Enemy. She was everything Rogue was not -- small, voluptuous, soft-spoken, pink. She probably woke up with every hair in place and had no trouble walking around in high heels and short skirts. Rogue knew for a fact that she put out for anyone who bought her dinner.

Worst of all, though, was the undeniable fact that she could be touched, while Rogue never could be.

Instead of strolling in there confidently, the way Jubilee had told her to, she found herself frozen in the doorway. She wondered vaguely if Bobby was in the vicinity, playing a prank on her, as she watched Remy and Patrice make out.

She drew in a choked breath, telling herself it didn't matter, and she was glad she hadn't thrown herself at him, because he wasn't worth it. She was just going to walk away now, and go someplace private to cry.

Unfortunately, she was unused to the three-inch stiletto heels she was wearing, and as she turned to walk away, her ankle gave. Remy looked up as Rogue sprawled across the foyer, humiliated beyond even the worst of her imaginings.

To make matters worse -- and she didn't think that was possible, but oh, how wrong she was! -- Logan walked in the front door at that moment, returning from a three-month jaunt to Japan.

She put her face to the floor. "Just kill me now," she muttered.

"Need help, kid?" he asked, struggling to keep the grin off his face, as Remy and Patrice untangled themselves and ran to her side.

She looked up and rolled her eyes. "Can you make the earth open up and swallow me?"

He laughed. She'd actually made him laugh. At any other time, she'd have crowed about that for days, but at the moment, it just rubbed her already tense nerves the wrong way.

"I don't think so, kid."

"Petite, let Remy help you," the Cajun said, placing a gentle hand on her arm while Patrice fumed in the background.

"Who the fuck are you?" Logan growled at the auburn-haired man reaching out to his Marie.

"Remy LeBeau. You can call me Gambit."

"Look, bub, I don't know who you are or what you're doin' here, but keep your hands to yourself." He looked down at Rogue, who was getting up on her own, no thanks to the men hovering over her. "You okay, kid?"

She stood, teetering a little in the skinny heels. "I'm fine, Logan," she snapped. Then she turned and ran as well as she could in the shoes that had been her downfall.

---

Jubilee and Kitty took in Rogue's angry, tearstained face.

"I guess it didn't go well, huh?" Kitty said.

"What gave you that idea?" Rogue shot back. "Unless total humiliation in front of Remy, Patrice and Logan is your idea of success, then no, it didn't go well."

"Shit," Jubilee muttered. "On to Plan B."

"There's a Plan B?" Rogue asked warily, scrubbing at her face irritably with a washcloth.

"No, but if you give us a few minutes, I'm sure we can come up with one," Jubilee said, trying to sound cheerful.

Rogue sighed and, feeling her anger melt away, slumped bonelessly onto the bed. "Why even bother?" she asked dejectedly. "Remy's with Pat-Rice," she used the name derisively, "and there's no way I can compete with her." She pulled off Kitty's shoes and threw them at the wall. Her roommates ducked. "Stupid fucking shoes."

"Hey, those were very expensive," Kitty started, but Jubilee made a "cut it out" motion, and Kitty shut up.

"What you need is an expert on both men and women," Jubilee said wisely. "More specifically, what you need is an expert in what men want from women. Luckily, we happen to have just such a creature living in this very mansion."

Kitty looked puzzled but Rogue knew exactly what Jubilee meant. "No. No fucking way in hell," she growled, sounding remarkably like the person in question.

"Oh, come on. Wolvie would just jump at the chance to spend time with his little Marie," Jubilee teased. "And also, it would prove to him that you're all grown up and not nursing some stupid crush on him, like Jean thinks."

"First of all, I am not nursing a crush on him. If I was, why would I be trying to get Remy to notice me? And two, well, there is no number two, but I think number one just about covers everything."

"No, wait," Kitty said. "I think this could work. I mean, if Logan teaches you how to be all sexy and stuff, you'll be spending a lot of time with him, being, you know, sexy. Remy's bound to be intrigued. Or jealous. Or something. I mean, if you do man/woman things with Logan, not just Logan/Rogue things."

Jubilee snickered, "Man/woman things? How old are you again, Kitty?" But Rogue's interest was piqued by the word "jealous."

"You really think I could make Remy jealous if I asked Logan to pretend to be interested in me?" she said, hope coming back into her voice.

Jubilee and Kitty exchanged glances. Kitty raised her eyebrows and shrugged, so Jubilee said, "It's as good an idea as any. And I'm sure Logan can teach you all sorts of stuff about how to be sexy. The man's sex in blue jeans, for heaven's sake."

Rogue bit her lower lip and furrowed her brow, sure signs that her mind was working. "I think I'll do it. I mean, I'll ask Logan. I'm pretty sure he'll go for it. His voice in my head seems kinda happy with the idea, anyway."

She no longer had access to his memories -- that had faded, along with the healing factor -- but she was still subject to his nightmares, and the ghost of his mind lingered in hers. She'd also acquired sharper senses, which helped her in the field.

"So, let's get to work on Operation Reinventing Rogue," Kitty said, pulling out a notebook.

The three friends spent the next several hours discussing strategies for convincing Logan to help them, and coming up with items for him to teach Rogue.

---

Life had always been fairly simple for Logan. He fought, he fucked, he drove to the next town. It was straightforward -- no entanglements, nothing to tie him down, and no emotional attachments to get him into trouble.

Until Marie.

Within the space of hours, she'd turned his previously uncomplicated life into a series of misadventures that almost wound up getting him killed numerous times. He didn't regret it though, not one moment. Well, except impaling her. He regretted that immensely. Duh.

He'd gone off to find evidence of his past, but he'd left her the tags and had every intention of coming back for them. If he was honest with himself, which he was most of the time, it was really Marie he was coming back for. He would admit that, if pressed, but he never quite got around to figuring what he planned to do with her once he got back.

When he returned, six months later, and found her firmly ensconced as the resident tomboy of the mansion, he breathed an unconscious sigh of relief. She was only eighteen at the time, and he didn't have to worry about being anything more than her friend and protector. He had time to figure things out, allowing his true feelings for her to remain buried, surfacing only occasionally in his dreams.

Until he got back from Japan and saw her painted up and stinking of perfume like a cheap whore, all to impress the red-eyed guy with the fake French accent, who was obviously all wrapped up in the little blonde piece.

This, he told himself, was bad.

Marie had discovered boys again, and he had a feeling things were only going to get more difficult from here on out. He'd be beating them off with a stick, he knew, once she realized that perfume and lipstick were small caliber weapons in the feminine arsenal.

He just never expected to be the one teaching her about the heavy artillery.

But how could he resist? Jubilee and Kitty were constantly underfoot, telling him if he were any kind of friend to Rogue, he'd help them out.

He tried manfully to intimidate them, but they ignored his growls and glares. He wondered wildly when he'd lost his edge, and finally agreed to hear them out when they cornered him in his room, a week after his return from Japan.

"This is the plan, see," Jubilee started, and he decided to shred her DVD collection, because if she continued to talk like someone out of a bad private eye flick, he wasn't going to be responsible for his actions. "You teach Rogue how to be flirty and sexy, and that way, you get to spend lots of time with her, and she gets her man."

He raised an eyebrow. It was more effective than words. Usually.

"You're Rogue's best friend. You want what she wants, right?" Kitty said. "Therefore, you have to help her get what she wants."

"And what Rogue wants is Remy," Jubilee finished.

He was going to say no. In fact, he did say no, several times, interspersed with many colorful curse words neither girl had ever heard before.

Then they called Rogue in, and she gave him the puppy dog eyes. He was lost.

"Please, Logan?" she said softly. "I've never asked you for anything these past few years, and I really need your help now. I've been too scared to be interested in guys since David, but I just know Remy is the one for me. I can't compete with Patrice. She's perfect -- all soft and pink and pouty, while I'm all awkward legs and arms. But you -- you know what men think is sexy -- you could give me a makeover."

He knew his answer was yes before she'd even finished speaking, but he grumbled and growled a little more, just to save face. Finally, he said, "All right. Just leave me alone. Tomorrow morning, we'll start. I don't know what you want me to do, but we can discuss it in the morning. Right after your self-defense training."

They moaned. "But training is finished, Logan. Scott's giving us the month off before the semester starts in September," Jubilee pointed out.

"You want my help, you do this my way," he said. "Self-defense, with me, in the gym tomorrow morning. At seven."

They whined, and Marie pouted, but he steeled himself against it and threw them out of his room while he still had some shred of manhood left. His dignity was already gone.

---

The next morning, as he ran the girls (and even though they were over twenty now, he persisted in thinking of them as "girls" when they were all together, giggling) through their katas down in the gym, he paid special attention to Marie.

In and of itself, this was not unusual. He'd spent a lot of time watching over her in the three and a half years he'd lived at the mansion, but he realized he'd never really seen her.

She moved with a lethal, catlike grace that was partly his -- his memories and training shaping her movements into those of a sleek, efficient fighter.

But part of it was her own unique ability to appear boneless, fluid, as she moved -- lithe and graceful -- through the combinations he called out to them.

He'd never really thought about it before, but he realized that this confidence, this ease and surety in her own body, was something she lacked in day-to-day living.

I am an idiot, he thought as the revelation burst, fully-formed, into his conscious mind. It's her skin.

She wasn't clumsy by nature -- she wouldn't have taken to fighting as easily as she had if she were. She was cautious.

Overly so, in his opinion. She'd spent so much time and energy trying to make herself as small as possible -- trying to slip through the world without touching anyone -- that she'd made herself clumsy, stumbling out of the way of an unknowing, outstretched hand at the mall, or flinching from incidental contact in the hallway.

She was afraid of being touched, and he couldn't blame her. But he resolved to pull her out of it and make this little exercise in humiliation they'd set up for him reap unexpected benefits.

Regardless of whether or not he was successful in helping her snag the Cajun (and his instinctive reaction was to hope not, despite his intense dislike of failure), she would never again be routed by another woman in the pursuit of the man she wanted.

And a soft but steadily rising voice in the back of his mind told him he wanted to be that man.

When he was done with them, they rushed to their rooms to get ready for their revenge.

He was going to the mall with them.

Feeling the need to assert some masculine authority before they totally neutered him, he followed Marie to her room, tracking her by the curiously attractive scent of baby powder and feminine perspiration.

"You know," he said when she let him into the room, half-dressed and on her way into the shower, "you don't need me to teach you shit, kid. If that Romeo punk can't see why you're better than that little tramp he's running around with--"

"Shut up, Logan," she interrupted. "You think every guy wants me, but the truth is, none of them do. Not since Bobby. That was four years ago. And let's not forget the fact that he's gay." She smiled. "Not that there's anything wrong with that."

He had no response for that. She didn't know -- obviously, he hadn't mentioned it, and apparently no one else had, either -- that he had basically threatened every male within a five-mile radius of her when he'd come back from Alkali Lake that first time.

So, even if there were one or two who might have been interested despite the deadly skin, no one was willing to go through him to get to her.

Not yet, anyway.

She was still talking. "Just suck it up and come to the mall. Who knows? With Jubilee around, you might even get into a fight." Just before she hopped in the shower, she stuck her head out of the bathroom and said, "Think of it as a different kind of hunt."

He continued to reflect as she finished getting ready and they made their way to the mall. Silences between them were not unusual, and he'd insisted on taking her on the bike while Jubilee and Kitty drove. Not much opportunity for conversation while hurtling along at seventy miles an hour on a motorcycle.

On the one hand, he thought it was kind of sad that Marie didn't have at least one enthusiastic admirer who had to the balls to stand up for her. She was sweet and kind and wickedly funny, as well as having a prodigious appreciation for hockey and beer. If some guy made her light up the way Hank made Storm glow, he'd be all right with that. Or he would have been, until recently.

On the other hand, he was happy because her single state meant he could keep her all to himself and not worry about having to share her affection. He wasn't certain he was going to handle her feelings for the Cajun as well as she'd handled his unrequited longing for Jean and his various brief liaisons over the years.

Feeling her soft breasts pressed tightly against his back and her arms locked cross his chest, he was suddenly damn sure he wasn't going to be as complacent about it as she'd been.

And that voice in the back of his head continued to whisper to him about why that might be so.

---

He glared at the pair of high-heeled pumps Marie was parading around in. They didn't go with her jeans, but they made her legs look miles long.

"What do you think, Logan?"

"Huh? Oh. No. Not those. These." He stomped over to the display and pulled down a pair of black boots with a square toe and a blocky, two-inch heel.

"Those aren't sexy!" she whined.

"Who's the expert?" he snapped back. He was getting this over with as soon as possible and then he was going out and getting drunk and picking up a woman. He'd just called himself an expert on women's shoes. He needed to find his masculinity again before he started dressing like Scooter and lisping.

All three girls sighed at that. Jubilee went back to trying on the most heinously yellow pair of sandals he'd ever seen, and Kitty picked out three pairs of loafers that all looked exactly the same to him. He waved off her attempts to explain the subtle differences.

After he'd bought (somehow, not only had he been forced into coming to the mall, he'd wound up paying for everything. Chuck would be getting a seriously detailed expense report when he got home) Marie four pairs of boots -- two brown, two black -- in similar styles, it was time to buy clothes. He dragged them away from Express and Macy's, where he had no doubt Kitty would try to dress Marie in those flowy, flowery dresses she was so fond of, and Jubilee would purchase more egregiously yellow clothing. Instead, they made their way to a small store that catered to a more selective, mostly leather-clad clientele.

Logan stalked ahead, telling himself it was just another type of hunt.

Rogue recognized a few of the gloves on display -- she had similar pairs at home in her drawer, all gifts from Logan. She noticed that the woman behind the counter seemed very familiar with him. She wrinkled her nose, disliking the idea that this woman, with whom he'd obviously been intimate, had chosen her gifts. It seemed to cheapen them. Even though she knew it was the thought that counted, she was disappointed for some reason. Maybe because she'd hoped that he'd thought enough about her, and what she'd like, to actually pick out stuff himself.

"Alicia, this is Rogue," he said, pulling her forward to speak with the woman.

Alicia smiled brightly and said, "You're the one he buys all the gloves for, huh?

"It's a look," Rogue replied shortly.

"It certainly is. What can I do for you today, Logan? Rogue?"

If that smile gets any wider, I'm going to knock those teeth down her throat, Rogue thought. She must have made a noise because Jubilee elbowed her and Logan gave her a strange look.

"Um--"

"These, in her size," Logan barked out, picking up a pair of black leather pants that laced up the front. "And these," red leather jeans.

And so it went.

Rogue was reassured by this display that Logan had picked out her presents -- he didn't allow Alicia to speak, silencing her with a raised eyebrow and, on one occasion, a glare, when she tried to up-sell him or argue with his choices.

When they left, she had a new wardrobe consisting of various leather apparel and very small, very tight t-shirts to go with them.

Both Logan and Rogue were thoughtful on the ride home.

---

Logan hadn't let her try on any of the clothing in the store, taking one look at the men in the place and deciding none of them should have the privilege of seeing those endless legs encased in soft, tight leather.

When they unpacked her bags, the first thing she wanted to do was try everything on.

"We'll have a fashion show," Kitty squealed, and he almost bolted, but there was a part of him -- a very specific, very male part of him -- that wanted to see her poured into the leather he'd picked out for her.

Dressing her satisfied that strange possessive urge he found himself prey to recently. That led to thoughts of physically dressing her, and, more interestingly, undressing her.

He sat on the bed, uncomfortably aware of how out of place he was in her room all of a sudden.

He'd never felt out of place in there before, but now that he was thinking of her as a woman -- an available, sexual woman -- he felt suffocated by the sheer femininity of it all.

Because he wasn't there as a predator, or a man coming home to his woman. He was there as some sort of eunuch, allegedly teaching her things so she could bring some other man in here and -- do things. He tried not to think of those things. His jeans felt too tight, but he refused to sit with a pillow in his lap.

He scowled, and Kitty and Jubilee suddenly found an elsewhere to be, leaving him alone. With Marie. In her new leather pants. Jesus.

Rogue came out of the bathroom and he snapped to attention. In more ways than one.

"Damn, I'm good," he said, and she smiled, pirouetting gracefully in her bare feet and black leather pants. "Come here, darlin'," Whoa! Where did that come from? he thought. Marie was "kid." "Darlin'" was for women like Jeannie or Alicia from the leather goods store.

She stood between his knees, her breasts level with his lips, nipples jutting proudly through the tight cotton of her t-shirt. He swallowed hard.

His hands, gloved as always when he was with her, pulled on the hem of the shirt, exposing more cleavage than should really be legal, in Logan's opinion.

"You wanna show the girls off," he offered gruffly when she raised her eyebrows in question.

Her mouth curled in a half-grin, and he felt a surge of something deeper than lust sweep through him. She was too adorable to be real, he thought.

"Is that safe?"

He growled. "He's lookin', not touchin', Marie." A beat. "At least, if he knows what's good for him," he added in an undertone.

The half-grin became a full-on Marie-smile. There was nothing else like it in the world. That feeling in his chest, the one that made him think his heart was going to bust through his ribs, grew stronger.

"I heard that!"

"You were supposed to."

"What's next?" She flopped on the bed beside him, which did all sorts of interesting things to her "girls."

Dragging his attention to her face, he said, "Um, 'accidental' touching, I guess."

"You're not gonna pretend to yawn and put your arm around me, are you?"

He snorted. "Give me some credit, Marie. I'm not one of your punkass friends. I've been doing this a little longer than they have. That move was ancient when I was -- " he broke off, because really, who knew when he'd been young? Sometimes he didn't think he ever had been -- he'd been born old, or created like Frankenstein in that lab before they'd destroyed it.

She leaned over and put her head on his shoulder, breaking his reverie. "Accidental touching?" she said softly.

He grinned. "Pretend you're sitting watching TV with the Cajun. You wanna touch him, but you don't want him to think you're doing it on purpose, right? The remote is sitting on the coffee table. You lean forward and let your -- er -- girls press up against his arm."

"Like this?" she asked, following his instructions, giving him an even better view of her cleavage while rubbing her breasts against his arm.

"Er, yeah. Like that." Christ, she's gonna kill me, he thought, the feel of her soft, warm flesh pressing against him made his groin tighten further. It's just Marie, he chanted to himself, but that only made him harder.

He jumped up off the bed.

"That's all for today, Marie. Get back into your regular clothes. Don't wanna let Gumbo know you've got anything goin' on until you're ready to start." At the door -- far, far away from her and her lethal breasts -- he said, "See you at dinner, darlin'?"

She grinned. "Sure thing, sugar."

That stopped him in his tracks.

"What'd you just say?"

She shrugged, and once again it was a struggle to keep his eyes on her face, with her breasts bouncing so enticingly. "Sure thing."

"No, no. Did you just call me 'sugar'?"

She flushed and dropped her eyes. "Oh. Yeah. That. My momma always called everyone, 'sugar.' I guess I do it sometimes. It's in the genes."

"That's, that's perfect, kid. Call him 'sugar' in that drawl of yours and if he's not eatin' out of your hand within a week, he's too dumb to live."

"Are you sure?"

He took a deep breath. "Oh, yeah."

Then he walked to his room as fast as he could while still appearing nonchalant. He needed to take a long, cold shower if he was going to be able to sit next to her at dinner without doing or saying something completely inappropriate.

He wondered how he was going to survive the next few weeks, and prayed fervently to whatever deities might take pity on him that the Cajun was too wrapped up in the blonde to realize Marie was his for the taking.

There would be no taking of any kind, he thought grimly, unless he was the one doing it.

---

2.

Rogue grinned at her reflection in the mirror. Technically, it was too hot for leather pants and boots, but she had to stay all covered up anyway, so she might as well dress to kill.

The black leather pants clung to her like a second skin, riding low on her hips. The long-sleeved t-shirt she'd picked out stopped just shy of her waist, leaving an enticing strip of bare skin around her middle. The shirt was burgundy and she pulled it down like Logan had the day before, but she couldn't seem to get the same effect.

Sighing, she took it off, found her scissors, and snipped another inch or so off the neckline. Slipping it over her head, she smoothed it down over her generous curves and smiled again -- the smile of a woman who knows she's going to get what she wants.

Logan is right, she thought. Remy's never going to know what hit him.

She sauntered down to breakfast, later than usual, making an entrance. She stood in the doorway for just a moment longer than necessary, having already spotted Logan sitting at his usual table, by himself.

For a man who spent so much of the night carousing, he was always up with the sun. She figured it had something to do with his past in the army. He had worked them hard at the early morning fight training he was still insisting on holding, but he'd obviously showered, and he looked cool and fresh in a white t-shirt and blue jeans.

She picked up an apple at the buffet and, with a crunch and the sweep of her tongue over her upper lip, delicately licking off the extra juice, the battle was joined.

Remy, along with every other male in attendance at the meal, couldn't take his eyes off her as she strolled past him to the table where Logan sat and slid into a chair next to him.

"She's practically in his lap," Scott muttered. Jean elbowed him, trying to keep a straight face.

"Shut up, Scott," his loving wife said without moving her lips.

"I'm just saying--"

"Don't. Don't say anything. This is going to be the most fun we've had since Bobby went after John." Though she couldn't see it, she knew Scott was rolling his eyes. That had been one disaster after another, with Bobby trying to deal with his burgeoning feelings for St. John without actually coming out of the closet. It had cost three thousand dollars to fix the water damage to the dining room alone.

"But look at her cleavage!"

Another elbow to the ribs. "Scott!"

"I'm just saying," he muttered, rubbing the now-sore spot.

"Well, don't. I told you not to."

Ororo joined them, an impish smile on her face. "Are my eyes deceiving me, or has Rogue finally given up on Remy and set her sights on Logan?"

"Looks like it," Jean said with a matching smile.

"Ooh, this should be fun. Are we setting up a pool? I bet he doesn't last a week with her walking around in those pants."

Jean winked at her husband. "Or with that cleavage, huh, Scott?"

Scott's response was a blush and an unintelligible mumble, which led to more laughter from the women.

Logan looked up to see what Jean and 'Ro thought was so funny, and caught them staring before they could avert their eyes. They were laughing at Marie. That wouldn't do at all. He was going to have a talk with them, as soon as possible. The last thing she needed was older, more experienced women laughing at her attempts to be more feminine. It would set her back and he didn't want to see her return to her shell, not once he'd seen her in leather, anyway.

Though maybe it'd be better if no one else could see her like this, whispered the voice in the back of his mind. He shook it off. She wanted Remy, and he wasn't going to screw that up for her, even though the bastard wasn't good enough.

Hell, none of these losers were good enough for her. And Remy was the worst of the lot. You'd be doing her a favor, the voice whispered temptingly. Then she could be yours.

He tamped that thought down and turned his attention to Marie, who had finished her apple and was looking at him like he was the most interesting man in the room. He felt his chest inflate a little under her regard and said, "Sleep good, darlin'?"

"It was too damn hot, sugar," she purred, as Remy and Patrice sat down one table over. "I had to take off all my clothes just to get comfortable."

Remy looked like he was going to choke on his omelet, and Patrice scowled, marring the pretty lines of her face.

"Wish I coulda seen that," Logan answered truthfully.

"I don't know -- that's an awful lot of deadly skin," she replied.

Remy nonchalantly slid his sunglasses down the bridge of his nose and stopped eating altogether.

"Yeah, but what a way to go," Logan said with a fierce grin. Rogue blushed, Remy scowled, and Jean and Storm shared a mental high-five.

Rogue was desperately searching for something sassy to say, when the Professor entered the dining room and called for everyone's attention. She sighed in relief and Logan squeezed her knee reassuringly.

"I know you are all very excited about the annual Labor Day dance taking place in three weeks," Xavier began, "and I have some good news. I just got off the phone with Warren Worthington, who, I'm sure you know, is our most illustrious alumnus."

People were nodding. Logan frowned. Pretty, pansy-ass rich boy. He's worse than One-Eye.

"With his help, we're revamping the event slightly, and honoring him as the Alumnus of the Year. This will be one of the premier fundraising events of the season for the school, and I want to let you know that the affair will no longer be casual." The women began chattering excitedly as the men and boys groaned, knowing what was coming. "Per Warren's request, the party will be formal -- black tie optional. I've arranged with Milano Tuxedo for anyone who wishes to rent or purchase a tux to be able to charge it back to the school. If you have questions, feel free to stop by my office this afternoon after two. I'll be tied up until then with meetings."

He rolled to the teachers' table and everyone went back to their conversations. The now-formal dance was the topic everywhere.

"I ain't wearing no damn monkey suit," Logan grumbled.

"Oh, sugar, you'd look so good," Rogue replied. "I just have to figure out what I'm going to wear. Somehow I don't think my new clothes are going to be appropriate now." She sighed and his heart melted at the sad look on her face.

"Darlin', we'll figure something out. You'll be the belle of the ball."

"Beauty and the Beast, huh?" Her eyes took on a mischievous twinkle as she shot a glance at Remy. "You wanna be my date?" She leaned her elbows on the table, pushing her already-prominent cleavage to eye-popping proportions.

And his were not the only eyes popping. He glared at Remy, who was obviously staring, and when she nudged him, he jumped a little. "Oh, yeah, Marie. I'd love to go with you."

"It's a date, then."

"You got it, darlin'." He reminded himself several times that she didn't consider it a "real date," that she was only trying to make Remy jealous, but that didn't stop him from thinking of all the things he'd like to do with her afterwards, or, if they were really discreet, during the stupid dance.

Smiling, she stood, ready to make an exit in the same way she'd made her entrance -- with all eyes upon her. She leaned on Logan's shoulder, pressing those gorgeous breasts against his arm, and breathed, "See ya later, sugar."

He just growled. He noticed Remy had the full frontal view of Marie's cleavage and was taking in the scenery eagerly.

On her way out, Rogue took the banana off Remy's plate. "You don't mind, do you, Remy?" she asked breezily, already peeling the fruit and lifting it to her lips. Her heart pounded nervously. Patrice looked ready to kill, her eyes narrowed and practically radiating hostility at Rogue.

"Not at all, chere," he choked out, and she could tell he was staring at her mouth, even though the sunglasses hid his eyes.

She flipped her hair over her shoulder -- a move appropriated from Jean -- and sauntered out of the dining room.

Once she was out of sight, she let out a huge sigh of relief and collapsed on the stairs.

Jubilee and Kitty found her there a few minutes later, gazing hungrily at the banana peel.

"Rogue, baby, that was ab-fab," Jubilee said gleefully.

Rogue scanned the foyer. "Not so loud, Jubes!"

"Oh, yeah, sorry. But damn, that was a great idea I had --"

"You had?" Kitty broke in indignantly. "I believe getting Wolvie involved was my idea."

Seeing that her friends were about to begin squabbling like five-year-olds, Rogue interrupted with, "You better not let him hear you call him that."

Jubilee waved dismissively. "He loves it, and you know it."

"Not as much as he loves Rogue, though," Kitty said slyly. "I bet he wouldn't get mad if you called him that."

Jubilee giggled as Rogue shook her head in bafflement. "What the hell are you guys talking about?"

"Oh, come on, Rogue, it is so obvious that he digs you," Jubes said. "He was checking you out big-time, chica."

"No way. Never happen."

"Trust me, Rogue, Logan was so checking you out," Kitty affirmed. "He was staring at your boobs."

"Okay, let's get a couple of things straight here," Rogue snapped. "First, Logan doesn't even know I'm a girl, let alone that I have boobs. Did you see how he was in the store yesterday? And I was practically hanging all over him yesterday when I tried on my new clothes and I might as well have been wearing a chador or something, for all he paid attention.

"Second, even if he did notice, he wouldn't be interested, 'cause I'm like his little sister or something. And third, even if he did notice and was interested, he's in love with Jean! How many times do I have to tell you that? And so, in conclusion, Logan was not checking me out because I. Am. Not. Jean." Her voice rose as she finished, "Is that understood?"

Kitty and Jubilee didn't look convinced, but they nodded anyway. Rogue was stubborn, and there was no reasoning with her sometimes. But both girls knew what they'd seen on his face, both in the mall yesterday and just then in the dining room. Wolverine had it bad for Rogue.

It was going to be interesting watching him help her get Remy. Kitty silently prayed that they all survived the havoc Rogue's romantic choices would surely create.

All three women headed up the stairs, oblivious to Logan, who stood in the doorway.

Shit.

His mind raced. Okay, yeah, he could see why Marie would believe he saw her as a kid sister, and that he was in love with Jean. He hadn't been subtle about either of those points over the past few years. And he hadn't touched her since the night on the Statue of Liberty, so she had no way of knowing his feelings had changed.

But they had.

The Jean thing -- Christ, she was married! Not that that would have stopped him, but anyone could see how much she loved her husband. He was no exception. He had no desire to be with a woman who was thinking of some other man.

And Scooter wasn't half-bad once you got past the stick-up-his-butt thing. Not that he'd ever admit it, but the kid had grown on him over the past few years. Plus, he had excellent taste in motor vehicles. There was nothing that wasn't first-class and in tip-top shape in the mansion's garage, and Logan knew that was all Scott's doing. How could you not respect a guy who knew engines the way he did?

So, his feelings for Jean, while intense at first, had changed to friendly affection and male appreciation. Couldn't Marie see that?

He sighed. Apparently not.

As for the little sister thing -- he would cop to that, too. When he first met Marie, in that godforsaken bar in Laughlin City, he'd immediately felt a connection with her. "We're alike," she'd said, and though he'd denied it at first, he'd admitted to it on the train, right before old Buckethead had kidnapped her.

That connection had firmly established itself as a feeling of belonging -- of family, so he could see her confusion. Hell, it had taken him three and a half years to figure out that his feelings for her were more than brotherly, that he wanted her as a mate, not just a friend. She'd been too young when they'd met, and while he was many things that might leave him standing on the wrong side of the pearly gates when he finally shuffled off this mortal coil (if he believed in such a thing, which he didn't), he wasn't a pervert. He didn't have a thing for teenaged girls. Just Marie.

And she was no longer a teenager.

He was still standing there, lost in thought, when Jean and Ororo walked by.

"Hey," he said, his voice a little more gruff than usual. They stopped and turned, wearing identical smug smiles.

"Yes, Logan?" Jean asked.

"Don't laugh at Marie like that. It ain't right. She's finally coming out of her shell, and I don't want you two making her feel bad--"

Understanding dawned in Jean's eyes. She and Ororo shared a knowing glance, and she said, "We weren't laughing at Rogue. Oh, God, no! We were laughing at --" Jean searched for an explanation so she didn't have to say, "you."

Luckily, her husband joined them at that moment.

"Scott!" she finished triumphantly. She and Storm burst into another round of giggles. The two men looked puzzled, but Logan nodded. Making fun of Scott was one of his favorite pastimes; it was only natural that other people -- even his wife -- did it too.

Scott dropped a kiss on Jean's cheek, shot a wary glance at Logan, and walked away. He wanted to be as far away as possible when Logan finally figured out they'd been laughing at him.

---

The next afternoon, sitting on a blanket underneath the hazy late-summer sky, Rogue got her second lesson.

She had reluctantly shed her new clothing in favor of a bathing suit. Logan promised he would keep everyone away so she could get some sun, and in truth, he was the only one around whom she felt comfortable exposing so much lethal skin.

Logan was lounging beside her, reading a copy of the latest techno-thriller and muttering, "That's not the way it works," and "Jesus, have any of these people ever even used a gun?"

"Why do you even bother with those books?" she asked. "You hate them. You should write one yourself. Show 'em how it's done."

He put the book down and raised an eyebrow. "Me, writing a book? That's crazy, darlin'. What the hell do I know about writing?"

She nodded toward the book in his hands, entitled, "Showdown at Ground Zero," starring someone with the unlikely name of Chance Hardwick. "Tell some of the stories you remember. Make up what you don't. It'd have to be better than that, right?"

He looked thoughtful. "I wonder..."

She sat up, drawing her legs in so she could lean her elbows on her knees. "Come on, you know you want to."

He looked uncertain, something she didn't think she'd ever seen before. "I don't know. I'm not real good with computers. And English -- I'm not so good with the grammar, either, darlin'. You know that."

"I'd help you. Hank would, too. It'd be fun." She fluttered her eyelashes and pouted. "Please, Logan? For me?"

He reached over and squeezed her shoulder with a gloved hand. "Not the pout, Marie. Anything but the pout." She stuck her lower lip out even more, trying hard not to laugh. "I don't know why you need me for anything," he continued. "Just give Gumbo that pout and he's yours. Hell, I can never resist it."

She shifted again, moving her legs under her and kneeling into him, his hand still on her shoulder. "You can't?" she asked breathlessly.

He stilled. He knew somehow this was an important moment. Maybe, just maybe, she could be interested in him instead of Gambit. He searched frantically for the right words, had just opened his mouth to say, "No," when Kitty and Jubilee arrived.

"Hola, chica!" Jubilee said, flopping on the ground.

Kitty hung back, a little more decorous. "Are we interrupting something?"

"Yes," Logan growled.

Rogue overrode him. "No. I was just getting another lesson from Logan."

"Ooh," Kitty said, sitting cross-legged next to Jubilee, "what are you learning?"

"Pouting," Rogue replied, giggling.

Logan made low growling noises, but Rogue just put a hand on his knee and squeezed gently. He sighed. Stick a fork in me, I'm done, he thought, scrambling for another flirting tidbit she could use.

"Eye contact," he said firmly. "Hold eye contact just a little longer than you would normally. Maybe give sort of a half-smile."

"Like this?" Rogue asked, her eyes locking with his and one corner of her mouth curling up.

He forgot to breathe. He was lost in the chocolate velvet depths of her eyes, searching for something more than friendship. He thought he saw it -- trust, passion, love -- but he wasn't sure.

He reached over and brushed the curve of her cheek with the back of his hand.

"Just like that, darlin'. There's nothin' more appealing to a man than a woman who looks at him like he's the whole world."

Rogue blinked.

Kitty jumped up. "Wow. Well. That's great," Kitty said, her cheeks fire-engine red from the almost tangible electricity sparking between Rogue and Wolverine. "We've got to go now," she continued, glaring meaningfully at Jubilee, who didn't take the hint. "We've got that thing, Jubes, you remember -- the thing?"

Jubilee rose slowly. "I suppose. Catch ya later, Rogue. Wolvie."

He growled. "Don't call me that."

"Whatever," she tossed over her shoulder as she walked away.

They sat in silence for a few moments. Rogue stretched out on her stomach and untied the top of her bikini.

Once again, only the spots before his eyes reminded Logan that he hadn't breathed in a while.

"Can you do my back?"

"Sure, darlin'." He picked up the tube of Coppertone and squirted it on her bare back. He didn't care about the leather of his gloves. He was going to be touching naked Marie, and nothing was going to stop him. He moved his hands over her gently, trying to keep his touch impersonal, even as he fought the urge to kiss her all over.

"Mmm, feels good," she murmured sleepily. "You give the best massages, Logan."

He grinned, a glint of possessiveness in his eyes as he slid his hands down her long, long legs, coating them with lotion, as well.

"Wake me in twenty minutes if I fall asleep," she said.

"Yeah."

He watched over her intently, secretly thrilled she trusted him so much. He lay on his side, content to listen to her soft, even breathing as she slept.

About ten minutes later, the peace of the afternoon was broken.

~Logan, we need you,~ Xavier's voice sounded in his head.

"Shit. Marie, darlin', wake up."

She rolled over, in her just-woken state forgetting she'd undone her top earlier. He swallowed hard at the sight of her bare breasts.

"Logan?" She followed his line of sight and blushed. "Oh. Oh!" She scrambled for the top of her bathing suit.

He finally found the strength to avert his eyes (though not before memorizing the view for later enjoyment), fascinated at the blush that crept over her fair skin. Her face and chest were a gorgeous pink. He tapped the side of his head. "Gotta go."

She nodded, holding the tiny top against herself. "Can you, uh, tie me up?" He was unable to do more than make choking sounds. "Logan?" She sounded alarmed, but he managed to get himself under control and, with trembling fingers (which was really ridiculous, because he was the Wolverine for Christ's sake. He'd been with more women than he could count. He shouldn't be nervous because Marie flashed him) he tied the straps of her bikini.

~Logan.~ The professor's voice was more urgent this time.

"I'm comin', I'm comin," he muttered, his hand at the small of Marie's back, guiding her into the house.

Remy met them at the door. "In the Sit Room," he said tersely, his all-business demeanor telling them how serious the situation was.

Rogue reached out a hand to Logan, squeezing his arm gently. "Be careful."

"Always am, darlin'." Which wasn't strictly true. He took a lot of risks out in the field -- always had -- believing that his healing factor would save him, and if it didn't, well, he'd lived a long time and wasn't averse to dying.

Now, however, the thought of coming home to Marie and burying himself in the soft curves of her body and the sweet scent of her hair gave him an incentive to live as long as he possibly could.

Rogue stepped closer to Remy, who automatically backed away from all that bare, deadly skin. Logan saw the hurt flash in her eyes, and a low growl escaped before he could stop it. The son of a bitch doesn't even want to touch her, he thought angrily.

"You be careful, too, Remy," she said, her voice overly bright to hide the hurt at his rejection.

"Sure thing, chere." And he winked at her.

Logan almost ran him through right there, but Xavier's voice rang in his head again. ~Logan! Time is of the essence!~

With one last look back at Marie, who stood in her bikini, chewing thoughtfully on her lower lip, he headed for the Situation Room.

Remy smiled down at her. "Chere, when Remy get back, we need to talk, yes?"

She nodded, breathless. Maybe she didn't need anymore lessons with Logan. Maybe Remy was going to ask her out now.

He loped down the hallway after Logan, and Rogue was left alone with her thoughts.

She headed up to her room.

On the one hand, she loved spending time with Logan. Having him pay extra attention to her, pretending he was interested in her as a woman, had revived some of the feelings she'd long since buried.

His voice in the back of her head was curiously content when she was with him, unlike the adversereactions other men elicited. And he wasn't afraid to touch her bare skin; only he would have suggested the bikini she now wore.

Remy -- Remy had flinched away from her just now. He probably didn't even notice he'd done it, and she couldn't blame him. But it hurt.

She showered and dressed, deciding that she couldn't worry about that -- she was just going to do her best to be the kind of woman he wanted, and if that wasn't good enough --

She slumped on her bed. She remembered Logan telling her she didn't need to change a thing to attract a man, and maybe that was true. Maybe Logan wasn't faking when he looked at her with desire in his eyes. She could see it, feel it, hell, she could practically smell it wafting off him whenever they were together.

It was all too confusing.

She remembered that a week ago, life had been much simpler. She was just Rogue, one of the guys, and she accepted that Remy didn't want her. But why wouldn't he want her, the Logan in her head seemed to be saying. She looked at herself in the mirror -- "item, two lips, indifferent red; item, two brown eyes, with lids to them; item, one neck, one chin, and so forth. Were you sent hither to praise me?" she quoted, changing the words to suit her features.

She knew she couldn't compete, looks-wise, with the other women in the mansion, but Logan seemed to think there was something about her worth sticking around for. That heartened her, because she knew she could believe him when he told her she was something special. He'd never lied to her, and she didn't believe he'd start now.

Sighing, she headed downstairs for dinner.

It was a long evening, with the X-Men off on a mission. The girls played foosball and tried to stay lighthearted, but it was hard.

Finally, at around midnight, they headed to bed, knowing they wouldn't sleep until they heard the Blackbird landing.

---

Rogue stared at the clock. Three-fifty. She was going to be a zombie in the morning if she didn't get to sleep, but she'd heard the jet return fifteen minutes ago and she knew Logan would check in. He always did.

As if she'd conjured him with her thoughts, there he was in the doorway.

"You okay?" she asked, rising to meeting him.

"Fine." He was often brusque after missions. She knew it was just his way of dealing with the sometimes horrifying things he'd seen. She knew he was trying to protect her when he refused to talk about it, but she wasn't going to take it anymore.

"Tell me what happened," she said softly, pulling him to the bed.

He shook his head. "Nah, kid. You got enough nightmares --"

"I'm not a kid anymore, Logan. I'll be on the first team soon. I need to know. I want to help you." She rubbed his shoulders, which were slightly damp. His hair still dripped from his shower and the cotton of his shirt absorbed the water. He didn't seem to notice. "Please."

He swallowed hard. "They were just kids, Marie. Ten, twelve years old. And those bastards -- those fuckwads who call themselves humans -- were burning them at the stake. For being different."

She drew his head down to her t-shirt-covered chest. "But you saved them, right?"

"Yeah. This time. But who knows what'll happen next time? Or the time after that?"

"Don't go borrowin' trouble, Logan. That's what my momma always told me, and I'm tellin' you now." She thickened her accent, trying to tease him into a better mood.

He slipped his arms around her and inhaled deeply. "I better go," he said, but he made no move to leave. In fact, he pressed his face to her stomach and breathed deep again.

"You can -- you can stay here tonight, if it'd make you feel better," she offered.

He smiled tightly. "I don't think that's a good idea, kid." He disentangled himself from her and ruffled her hair as though she were five years old. "See ya in the morning."

She sighed. "Okay. But, you know, if you need anything, I'm here."

"I know, Marie. I know."

---

He lay awake the rest of the night, fighting the urge to go back down the hall and crawl into bed next to her.

He knew he wouldn't be able to keep his hands to himself, though, and he wasn't ready yet to let her know how he felt. Not while she was still so keen on snagging Gambit.

When he saw the sky lighten from black to gray, he rose, counting on his healing factor to compensate for the lack of sleep. He went down to the gym and worked out, trying to erase the faces of those scared kids from his mind, thanking God he'd found Marie when he had, and cursing that he hadn't been able to save her from being kidnapped and used by Magneto all those years ago.

---

3.

Rogue woke to the sound of a knock on her door.

"It's open," she called, wondering why they couldn't ever let her sleep. Is more than five hours sleep a night really too much to ask for? She knew Logan wouldn't be forcing them to work out on the morning after a mission. He'd be in too bad a mood even for her to handle, and he knew it.

Remy entered.

She sat up, noticed her bare arms, and slid back beneath the covers. Don't scare him off with the deadly skin.

She put on her most winning smile, praying she didn't have bed-head. "You all right? Last night was pretty rough, huh?"

He shrugged one elegant shoulder. "It's always rough when it's kids, chere. We got them all, though." He sounded grimly satisfied, reminding her that beneath his sometimes foppish appearance, he was as strong and determined as any of the other X-Men. Her heart beat a little faster when he settled on the end of the bed.

"Logan told me," she said, her voice slightly breathless.

He sighed dramatically. "That's what we need to talk about, chere. You spendin' an awful lot of time with Wolverine. Remy don't wanna see you get your heart broken."

She held her breath. Was he interested? Did he want her for himself? Or was he just being a good friend?

She shifted, kneeling so she could put a hand on his shoulder.

He flinched.

Not as much as he had yesterday, but still, to one accustomed to it -- expecting it, even -- it was noticeable. She swallowed hard, trying not to be upset.

"What makes you say that?" Her voice was low and hoarse, close to breaking.

"Everyone knows he's in love with Jean, petite. He loves you, yes. But not like that."

She slumped back onto the bed. "Will anyone ever love me like that?" she whispered before she could stop herself, all her suppressed grief and longing contained in that one wistful question.

He reached out a hand to stroke her cheek, then drew back. He wasn't wearing gloves. "Cértainemént, Rogue. But Remy think you need to face facts."

"So you're saying I can't compete with Jean?" Suddenly, she was angry with him for undermining her newfound confidence, and at herself for letting him. "Well, maybe you could teach me, sugar," she purred, eyes glinting dangerously.

He stood and backed away slowly. "Non, chere. Remy a lover, not a teacher." She pouted at him, not even recalling Logan's words from the day before until he sighed and said, "Don't give me that look, Rogue."

"Please?" she whispered in a little girl voice she'd heard Patrice use time and again, letting her lower lip tremble just a bit.

He groaned. "Ma belle, please don't do this."

"But, but, you're the only chance I have, Remy." She blinked quickly, trying to get her eyes to tear up.

"Merde," he muttered. "Fine. Meet me at the boathouse this afternoon at three. Patrice will be in town getting her hair done."

She threw her arms around him and pressed a kiss to his shoulder, ignoring the way he stiffened in her embrace. "You won't regret this, sugar, I swear. I'm gonna be the best damn student you ever had."

He heaved another sigh. "If Logan don't kill me first."

"See you later," she said, grinning saucily.

He nodded and left the room.

---

Logan was on his way back to his room when he caught sight of Remy knocking on Marie's door. Barely suppressing a jealous growl, he slipped into an alcove so the Cajun couldn't see him, and then, once Remy was in her room, made his way down the hall, telling himself that it wasn't wrong to listen, because it was helping Marie further her cause.

Then he decided he didn't care if it was wrong, because he was going to do worse. He was going to kill Remy for feeding her that bullshit about his feelings for Jean. The only thing that stopped him was the fact that Remy thought he was telling the truth. He wasn't trying to hurt Marie, and was, in fact, trying to be a good friend. Even if his friendship wasn't what she wanted.

He let the growl out when he heard her whispered question. I would, Marie. I do. For a moment, he wished he was a telepath, wished she could hear everything in his head that had to do with her.

He sniffed. All he had to do was touch her again and she'd know it. But he didn't want to put her through that. He wanted to court her and win her; he wanted to be her choice, not the consolation prize when her swamp rat didn't pan out.

Then he almost laughed out loud at the way she played the game. She'd conned the con man, and if she got her way, Remy would never even know it. It made him proud, even as it broke his heart.

He heard the telltale signs of Remy leaving, so he eased on down the hall. He entered his room, pulling off his shirt and flinging it at the hamper.

He missed.

He flopped on the bed, as well as a man with a hundred pounds of heavy metal soldered to his bones can flop.

He timed her. He heard Remy saunter down the hallway, and then, in less than three minutes, Marie was bursting into his room without knocking.

"Oh, my God, Logan!" she exclaimed breathlessly.

He closed his eyes and attempted not to think about what it would be like to hear her say that to him as she writhed beneath him in ecstasy. His eyes snapped open. Note to self: closing your eyes does not help in these situations.

She didn't notice his inattention.

"Remy agreed to help me snag you. Can you believe it? I pouted and he caved, just like you said." She bounced onto the bed next to him, which did all sorts of interesting things to her breasts. Since she'd moved into her own room upon graduating from college, she'd stopped covering herself from head to toe to sleep. In deference to the sticky August weather, she was now clad in a t-shirt, a pair of panties, and her ever-present opera gloves.

"That's, that's great, Marie."

She cuddled up against his side and ran one hand down his chest. He inhaled sharply. "I don't have to meet him until three, so we can spend the whole morning together. You can teach me some more stuff."

He growled. He fought his body's response to her and grabbed her hand. "Not now, kid. I got some things to do this morning."

"Oh." She pouted again, and he sighed.

"But meet me for lunch and we'll see what we can do, all right?"

That won him a hug, and the feeling of all that soft, sweet-smelling Marie-flesh pressed up against him almost made him lose it. He wanted nothing more than to roll her over and bury himself in her warmth. She must have noticed something -- she was practically on top of him -- because she jumped up, flushing, and she couldn't meet his eyes. Her scent changed, and that gave him hope.

"Um, okay then. See you at lunch."

He grinned. Maybe he still had a shot, if her reaction was anything to go by. He just had to get his head in the game.

---

Rogue stood in front of the mirror. She wasn't sure about what to wear for her meeting with Remy. Evidence of her uncertainty lay in the pile of clothes on the bed, tried on and then flung away.

She finally settled on olive green leather jeans and a sheer black blouse with a deep, scooped neck. She pulled it down even lower than the one she'd worn the day before.

She was holding a black scarf in her hand when the door swung open. "I'm starvin', darlin'. Did you forget--" Logan broke off at the sight of her. "What the hell are you doin', Marie?"

"Getting dressed."

"You're practically fallin' outta that thing."

"You're one to talk, Mr. I-Can't-Keep-a-Shirt-On. You told me to show the girls off." She blushed again.

"Yeah, but--" He gestured vaguely, and she had rarely seen him so disconcerted. "You wanna show 'em off, but you don't wanna look like a hooker."

She gasped. "Logan!" Then she turned back to the mirror. "Is it really that bad?" She pulled the blouse down even more and he made a choking sound. "Okay, fine! Be that way." And, as if he weren't even there, she pulled the shirt off and gestured toward the pile of shirts on the bed.

He turned and looked through the discarded clothes. Grabbing an olive drab camouflage t-shirt, he said, "Raise your arms." She did, and he slipped it over her head, his hands brushing her breasts just slightly. She stood still, stunned at his audacity. He looked her up and down and said, "That's better," pretending not to notice the way her nipples poked out and her skin flushed pink. He reached into his shirt and pulled off his dog tags.

"What--"

"They go with the outfit," he said, but his voice was low and husky, filled with meaning she couldn't quite figure out. He put them around her neck this time, and traced the chain with a finger, again brushing the creamy flesh of her breasts.

"Yeah," she replied, licking her lips and unconsciously swaying toward him.

His eyes honed in on her mouth, watching the play of her tongue. "That's it, darlin'," he whispered, his thumb rubbing her full lower lip. She licked at it playfully, then closed her lips around it, sucking gently. What felt like an electric current leapt from his hand to his groin.

He purred; she realized what she was doing, and stopped. He turned away, trying to hide how turned on he was again. "Do that lip-licking thing. Guys like that," he said hoarsely.

"Oh," she whispered, still a little stunned at her own boldness, and the mixed reaction it elicited from him.

"Let's go eat," he said, after the silence stretched a little longer than was comfortable.

"Yeah."

They were both quiet at lunch, still thinking about what had happened in her room, and what it meant to their relationship.

---

Rogue paced outside the boathouse, absently fingering the dog tags around her neck.

Their weight was familiar, comforting. Her mind shied away from any potential ramifications of Logan giving them to her again. There had been no promise this time, but the look in his eyes -- it had taken her breath away. The long-silent voice in her mind whispered, Mine. She shook her head; she was being fanciful.

Logan had long since faded, leaving her with nightmares, a craving for cigars and bourbon, and an advanced appreciation of the finer points of hockey. Anything more was her own imagination imputing thoughts that he couldn't possibly have had about her four years ago.

The scent of Remy's cologne -- which went straight to her sinuses -- preceded him, heralding his arrival long before he was in view.

She smirked and tackled him as he came around the boathouse.

"Mon dieu, petite! You tryin' to give ol' Remy a heart attack?"

She grinned wickedly, shifting so she straddled him. Leaning forward (and giving him a great view of "the girls," with Logan's tags nestling between them, in the process), she said, "How you're a successful thief, I'll never know. That cologne arrives an hour before you and probably stays two hours after you leave."

"Hey," he said, rattled. "That's quality cologne."

"Smells like a French cathouse to me."

"Merde, the things you say, Rogue." He reached up a hand -- gloved -- to trace the chain around her neck, much as Logan had done earlier. Her breathing quickened -- any contact was cause for anxiety -- but the strange excitement aroused by Logan's touch was missing now. She thought about that for a moment, then realized Remy was still talking. "Looks like Wolverine already marked his territory."

She frowned. "What makes you say that?"

"Man don't give his prized possession to any fille that catches his eye, chere. Maybe you got a shot after all."

Considering that six hours ago, she'd had a totally different goal in mind for this meeting, she was almost giddy at this turn of events.

"Really? You think so?"

He nodded. "Now, let me up. Remy don't wanna get skewered."

She rose fluidly to her feet, stepping aside to allow him to stand.

He pushed his sunglasses up onto his head and eyed her intently. That red-on-black gaze was unnerving; Rogue found herself shifting from foot to foot as the silence stretched between them. When he spoke, he was as serious as she'd ever seen him.

"You love him, don't you." It wasn't a question.

"I--" She blinked, wary of the surreal turn the conversation had taken.

"This," he gestured to the space between them, "this was supposed to be about you and me, non? You use your feminine wiles and make the Gambit your slave."

She licked suddenly-dry lips, trying to buy herself some time to answer. He continued to speak, to her relief. "You can't con a con man, chere. Remy know you were up to somethin', and Jubilee and Kit-Kat ain't exactly the quietest conspirators."

A growl escaped before she could stop it. He laughed and tapped her cheek lightly.

"I wanted you to like me," she finally admitted, eyes downcast.

"Rogue, you didn't have to change for this thief. Remy like you just fine. You're a beautiful woman."

"But, but -- you never acted like you noticed me. I tried everything. Everything! And then Patrice came and --" The finger was pressed to her lips now.

"Hush. I noticed you when I arrived, but everyone warned me away, told me all about how Wolverine threatened any man who came near you." She opened her mouth in shock and then closed it again slowly. "Normally, that'd just make me more intrigued, oui? You attracted to Remy, sure," he said this with the confidence of a man who never hears the word "no" from feminine lips, "but your feelings, your heart -- it belongs to someone else. I know. I--" It was his turn to drop his eyes. "You can't tell anyone, Rogue, but I'm an empath."

She stared at him in shock. "Why, why didn't you say anything? The Professor, Jean--"

He shook his head. "They don't trust Remy and Remy don't trust them. Only you, chere."

"Oh."

"Now we each know a secret, hien? We have a pact -- Remy don't tell Logan what we're really doin', and you don't tell nobody what Remy told you."

She nodded dumbly. He'd known all along. She was embarrassed until she processed the rest of what he'd said.

Logan had warned everyone off? That was why none of the guys had asked her out? She remembered the stream of young men who'd come and gone through the school over the past four years. She'd been indifferent until Remy, and had thought they'd all felt the same way toward her.

Logan had always told her they'd wanted her, but she'd never believed him. Now it seemed like it was true. If Remy wasn't lying.

"Shit. Just who does he think he is?" she began, ready to go off on a tirade.

"Rogue, please. Angry don't get you what you want. And you want him, non?"

She nodded slowly. She did. The dream she had long since given up on was suddenly staring her in the face, and she wanted it so bad she could taste it.

"Revenge, petite," Remy continued. "You wrap the big, bad Wolverine around your little finger, you both get what you want."

Rogue's lips curled in a slow, wicked smile as she thought about it, until -- "But you said he didn't love me like that! That he loved Jean."

Remy shrugged eloquently. "Mais oui, that's what Remy thought, 'til I saw the tags. Logan knew you were meetin' with the Gambit, right?" She nodded. "I told you, he marking his territory. He telling this thief, 'hands off.'"

She knew she should be appalled at this primitive gesture of ownership (if, indeed, Remy was correct), that it was everything she didn't want in a relationship. But part of her was secretly thrilled, as unreconstructed and chauvinistic as it was.

She decided to let it pass. Remy was right. She could exact revenge later. Her mind teemed with lurid fantasies and she knew she'd enjoy acting them out, once Logan was hers.

"Okay. All right. I'll buy into this crazy theory of yours, Remy. But you better be right." This last was uttered with a growl that would have made Logan proud.

He nodded confidently. She wished she knew him well enough to tell if he was bluffing. The rational part of her said she was insane for even thinking of agreeing -- that it was just Remy's way of weaseling out of a sticky situation, but the hopeful, girly, romantic part of herself that she'd suppressed for so long was rearing its head.

Logan had told her to always follow her instincts, and her gut was telling her that Remy was right. It was just a question of time, now. And a little revenge. If he really felt that way about her, this whole thing had to be killing him. She decided he deserved to squirm a little more for going behind her back and threatening her potential suitors, before she fell willingly into his arms.

"So, what do we do?"

He slid the glasses back onto the bridge of his nose and grinned. "Chere, he's already dressing you the way he likes. You gotta get him to teach you other things."

"Like how to kiss?" Okay, that was a little too eager, Rogue, she thought.

The Cajun burst into laughter. "Cértainemént! You tell him you worried about kissing the Gambit and he'll jump on that. Hmm..." He leaned negligently against the boathouse as he pondered other methods of flirtation. "You brush pretend lint off his arm, like so," he ran his fingers lightly over her shoulder, sending shivers down her spine. "Ooh, le petite is ticklish," he teased when she giggled. "Does Logan know that?" She nodded, recalling tickle fights on lazy Sunday mornings, before she'd ever thought he could be interested in her. "Good, good. Ticklish people make the best lovers, chere. 'Member that. Keep doin' what you been doin'. Flirt with Remy -- but not too much. Patrice already threatening to send her bees after me." He grinned self-deprecatingly.

Dating a woman who controlled bees and other stinging insects had to be a little unnerving, Rogue thought.

She grinned conspiratorially, kissed her fingers and pressed them to his cheek. "Thanks so much, Remy."

He shrugged. "Wait 'til you got what you want before you thank me, chere. Now Remy gotta go. Patrice will be back soon."

He sauntered away, and she slid down to sit on the ground. Stretching out, she picked a dandelion off the lawn, amazed that Ororo had let the weeds flourish, even so far from the main grounds, and, making a wish, she blew the white fuzz into the air.

Shaking her head at her own childishness, she rose, and, with new purpose, set off toward the house.

---

Unbeknownst to the new co-conspirators, Jean and Ororo stood off in the distance, watching them.

"I do not suppose you'd be willing to peek a little?" Storm asked. "Just so we know what they're really talking about."

Jean shook her head. "I'd love to, but -- Why don't you shift the wind so that we can hear them?" Storm shook her head and Jean nodded. "Exactly. We're going to do this the old-fashioned way. We're going to light a fire under Logan's ass, so he doesn't let Rogue slip away." She pursed her lips and the two women stood silent for a moment, thinking. "I am not losing money on this one, Storm. I'll never hear the end of it from Scott."

"Scott seriously thinks Remy has a shot at Rogue?"

"He's not all that bright when it comes to women, 'Ro. You know that. How long did it take him to ask me out, because he thought I was in love with Warren?"

Storm laughed. "That is true. So, he's bought into Rogue's 'pining for Remy' act?"

"Apparently. He's never been one to pay close attention to the younger team's romantic entanglements."

"Hank is sure that Logan will have Rogue in bed before the Labor Day gala."

"Hank's always been smarter than the average Beast."

Ororo nodded in satisfaction. "Yes."

"So, what are we going to do?"

"Appeal to the Wolverine inside the man. Play up Remy's dangerous side to him and make him feel he needs to protect Rogue from him as he's done from every other male in the vicinity."

"We have to be careful not to put the idea in Rogue's head, though. The more forbidden Remy seems, the more she'll want him. We so don't want them turning into star-crossed lovers."

"Patrice will take care of that for us," Ororo said darkly. "That girl is like a guard dog with him. No one gets close while she's around."

"So we have to keep her near him at all times, and keep Logan near Rogue." Jean nodded. "I can rearrange the laundry and the Danger Room schedules. And I'll make sure Scott assigns Rogue to Logan for mentoring when the fall training sessions start up."

"Excellent." Storm rubbed her hands together, and though neither woman noticed, she bore at that moment a startling resemblance to one Montgomery C. Burns.

---

Rogue wanted nothing more than to lie down on her bed and fantasize about Logan. She thought about lying on top of him in his bed that morning, and then his hands brushing her cleavage while she dressed earlier that afternoon.

Things had just progressed to an interesting point in her fantasy when the door to her bedroom swung open, revealing Kitty and Jubilee.

They settled themselves on the foot of her bed and waited, practically quivering with anticipation. She thought about what to tell them, and immediately discarded the truth. They couldn't keep a secret if their lives depended on it.

She sat up slowly, drawing the moment out, before she finally said, "I think it went pretty well." That generated much squealing. She wondered how she'd managed to live with them for three years without going deaf. She was amazed that they chose to continue to room together. She'd opted out as soon as Xavier had offered her a room of her own.

She opened her mouth to continue, trying to figure out how much of the truth to tell them without giving it all away, when Kitty sat up straight.

"You're wearing Logan's tags again!"

"Nothing gets by you, Kit-Kat."

"But, but," Jubilee sputtered, causing her friends to look quite concerned. Jubilee was never at a loss for words. "If you're wearing Wolvie's tags --"

"You know he hates when you call him that," Rogue interrupted.

Jubilee pressed on, ignoring her. "Remy's going to think you and Logan are an item or something."

Rogue took a deep breath, causing both Jubilee and Kitty to stare, mesmerized by her cleavage. She shifted uncomfortably, wondering not for the first time just how close the two actually were, and why they sometimes eyed her like they'd been starving for a month and she was the first meal they'd laid eyes on. Pushing that thought away, she feigned nonchalance as she said, "Oh, Remy knows how Logan goes around scaring all the guys who are interested in me. I told him that's all this," she played with the tags, and Jubilee bit her lip, "is."

"And he was okay with that?"

"I think it actually interested him. He was very touchy-feely, which you know he never is with me usually."

"Ooh, that's good, Roguey, very good," Kitty said.

Rogue nodded, wishing they'd go away so she could get back into her fantasy.

They seemed to pick up on her "I want to be alone" vibe, because they left a few minutes later, without her having to resort to any of the rude tricks she'd picked up from Logan over the years.

---

"You think she's telling the truth?" Jubilee asked later on, as they got ready for bed.

Kitty shrugged. "It's possible. We just have to get Patrice out the way. Distract her. Hmm." She tapped a finger against her lips. "Do you think we could get Sam to pretend he's interested in her? Get her out of the way so Rogue can have more alone time with Remy?"

"Sam couldn't get near Patrice if his life depended on it," Jubilee said scornfully, surprised that her usually astute lover had come up with such a lame plan. "Logan. We'll get Logan to do it. We'll drag her to those stupid self-defense classes, and she'll be half-naked, like she always is in the gym, and we'll let Wolvie's hormones take over, like they always do."

"It would take care of both problems neatly," Kitty mused, sliding beneath the covers. "You know, it's a shame we have to do all this ourselves. I bet Jean would help us out."

Jubilee joined her after mussing the other bed so it looked like it had been slept in. They'd never told anyone about their relationship. It wasn't like they were gay, or anything (not that there was anything wrong with that). They just enjoyed each other's company -- and bodies -- far more than anyone else's they'd met so far. Both had been in relationships with men, but they'd always come back to each other.

Kitty was still talking. "Unless -- you don't suppose she's after Logan again?"

"Jean? Jean was never after Logan to begin with. That was all Scott's paranoia," Jubilee snorted.

Kitty hit her with a pillow. "Not Jean, stupid. Rogue."

"Oh. Well, he was definitely giving her the eye yesterday morning, but she -- you don't think she's playing them off each other, do you?" Jubilee pondered that for a moment, then remembered they were dealing with Rogue, the mansion's foremost tomboy. "Nah."

"Well, let's drag Patrice with us tomorrow to the work-out session and see what Rogue does. If she's after Logan, she'll whale on Pat-Rice."

"If she's after Remy, she'll whale on Pat-Rice," Jubilee countered. Then she shrugged. "Either way, it's good for us, bad for the princess."

Kitty grinned. "I knew you didn't like her. But what if Rogue--"

"Hush, Kitty," Jubilee murmured, sliding her hands down her friend's body. "Stop talking about Rogue now, or I'll start thinking you want her more than you want me."

"You know, I wonder..." Kitty managed before Jubilee thrust her tongue in her mouth.

"Mmm," Jubilee said between kisses. "I bet Rogue would be a handful in bed, but she'd never go for it, so just forget it."

"But you've thought about it too?"

Jubilee nodded and then they stopped discussing other people and got down to the business of making love to each other.

---

Jean and Storm decided to speak with Logan a few days later, after it was clear that Rogue was spending a great deal of time with Remy -- time which would have, in the past, been spent with Logan.

They knocked on his door that evening, and he wore an exaggerated leer when he answered it.

"Red," he said, stepping aside to let them in. "Finally got tired of your pansy-ass husband and want to see what you've been missing?" He looked to Storm then, "And 'Ro, you too? This is every man's wet dream. I might have to write a letter to 'Penthouse.'"

Jean smacked him lightly on the chest before leaning against the dresser. Ororo settled in the chair next to the bed.

"We are here to discuss Rogue," she began.

He immediately sobered. "Rogue? What's wrong? Is she all right?"

The women exchanged knowing glances, trying not to giggle. Jean said, "We're concerned about how much time she's spending with Remy."

Logan growled softly. "You and me both."

Storm said, "We feel that, since he has a girlfriend, Rogue is just setting herself up for heartache."

"She's very dear to us," Jean continued smoothly, avoiding Ororo's gaze, "and we don't want to see her hurt."

Logan grunted in frustration, running a hand through his hair. "What the hell do you want me to do about it?" he snapped. "She wants him, and believe me, she's gonna get him, too."

"Not if you distract her," Storm suggested. "She has always been--"

"Taken with you," Jean finished. "Surely you can get her attention."

He raised an eyebrow and both women nodded. He looked from one to the other, sensing their suppressed amusement in addition to the more facile concern they displayed.

"Out," he commanded abruptly. They exchanged startled glances and rose as he continued, "This ain't fucking funny, okay? It's not a game. She really thinks she's in love with Gumbo--"

"She may think she's in love with him," Jean interrupted from the doorway, "but any fool with eyes in his head can see she's in love with you."

"The question is," Ororo said, as she pulled the door closed behind her, "what are you going to do about it?"

He leaned forward, slowly banging his head against the door, punctuating each hit with, "Fuck!"

Grabbing his jacket, he headed down to the garage, intent on going into town and getting shitfaced. Maybe he'd wrap the bike around a tree and have to spend a few hours in a coma, or Magneto would escape from jail and pretzelize him. Anything would be better than the sharp ache in his chest whenever he thought of Marie getting together with the Cajun.

The kids scurried out of his way as he stalked through the halls, but he wasn't as lucky in the garage.

Scott was there, polishing the Bentley.

"Logan," he said by way of greeting.

"Cyke." He grabbed the keys to the bike, silently grateful that Scott didn't seem to be in the mood for conversation.

Until the Fearless Leader said, "Did I ever tell you how Jean and I got together?"

Logan stopped and raised an eyebrow.

Scott didn't looked at him, just kept methodically polishing the hood of the car. "She was dating Warren. He was good-looking, sophisticated, rich. All the things I thought she wanted, things I thought were best for her. I only wanted her to be happy, you know? And I thought Warren was perfect for her. After all, I was just Scott, who had to wear stupid glasses so I didn't destroy everything I looked at.

"Then one day, Storm let it slip that Jean had hoped I'd ask her out to this party Warren and I were going to, but since I hadn't ever gotten up the nerve, she'd ended up going with him. I don't know if 'Ro knew I still had a thing for Jean, or if she thought I was over it and would laugh at my own stupidity.

"That night, I cornered Jean after dinner and told her everything -- every wish and dream I'd had about her, and how I thought we'd be really good together..." he trailed off into silence as Logan shuffled impatiently.

"Why are you tellin' me this?"

Scott shrugged and finally turned to face him. "No reason, I guess, if you need to ask."

Logan opened his mouth as if he were going to say something, but then snapped it shut. He got on the motorcycle and tore off without a word.

---

4.

The next few days passed uneventfully.

Rogue met with Logan in the mornings after the special self-defense classes he'd instituted, then with Remy for short stints in the afternoons. She could tell Logan was getting antsy about the amount of time she spent with the Cajun, and was hopeful that he'd soon come right out and tell her how he felt, so she could stop this charade, which was starting to wear on her nerves.

She'd always been a fairly straightforward person, and having to act like she was pining for Remy now that she'd realized she was in love with Logan was hard. Especially when Patrice kept shooting her nasty looks and Logan became moodier every day.

Then, one morning about three days before the gala, Patrice showed up at their early morning class with Logan. Kitty and Jubilee had made sure she knew how much time Rogue was spending with Remy, and Patrice finally felt the need to enact her own form of revenge by flirting outrageously with Logan.

She wore spandex, of course -- pink and purple, with her hair pulled back into a perky ponytail and her boobs popping out of her leotard. Rogue growled at the way she pranced around, smiling at Logan and asking him to help her out whenever she didn't understand something.

Kitty and Jubilee exchanged glances. Perhaps they'd miscalculated and Rogue wanted Logan after all.

---

Rogue, meanwhile, had one last card she intended to play before she folded and told Logan what was really going on.

She was sitting on his bed that night, drowsing in front of the Yankees' game when she decided to shake things loose.

"Hey, Logan?"

He grunted in response, wrapped up in yet another cheesy thriller.

"What if Remy wants to kiss me?" The question was asked with such artful innocence that Rogue was mentally awarding herself an Academy Award and almost missed Logan's reply.

"What?" he barked, dropping his book.

"You know, what if he wants to kiss me? I haven't kissed anybody since David," here she cast her eyes down and looked up at him through her lashes, "and I don't know how we could do it, what with my skin and all." She frowned then, suddenly serious, because she honestly hadn't really thought about it that much, and she wondered what to do.

Logan looked at her worried face and sighed. He'd been thinking about kissing her far too often for comfort, and twice-daily sessions with his hand in the shower weren't satisfying him when he knew she was right down the hall, ready and waiting... for the Cajun.

And she looked damned fine in her tight jeans and little white t-shirt, her black leather gloves accentuating the delicate strength of her arms.

"He'll probably just use your scarf," he said finally.

She plucked at the sheer blue material nervously. "Like this?" she asked, pulling it over her lips and puckering exaggeratedly.

"You know that ain't how people kiss, Marie," he said. "Stop being silly."

She stuck her lower lip out, arousing in him the very strong desire to demonstrate proper kissing technique with her.

When she said, "Show me," he groaned. Who was he to argue?

He leaned forward and pressed his lips lightly to hers. It was an extremely chaste kiss, and it still sent a shock of electricity through them both.

He pulled back, his breathing ragged. "That's how he should kiss you on the first date. Anything more than that and he's stepping over the line." Yeah, in 1923, maybe, but he didn't let that thought show on his face.

"Really?" She was skeptical. "Can you show me again?"

He bit back a groan, and leaned into her again. This time, the scarf was already damp from her breath, and he could feel the soft warmth of her lips molding and clinging to his. Her mouth opened slightly and he felt her tongue graze lightly over his lips, and he was lost.

Growling low in his throat, he threaded one hand through her hair as he slanted his mouth over hers, deepening the kiss, his tongue tangling with hers through the wispy fabric.

Her hands slid through his hair, then anchored onto his shoulders, drawing him closer until he was practically lying on top of her. Her knees parted naturally and he moved between them, his groin aching as he rocked into her, feeling her heat even through their clothing.

He dragged his lips over her jaw and up to the sensitive spot beneath her ear, nipping lightly with his teeth.

"Logan," she moaned, arching her body into him and breaking him out of the daze of desire that had rapidly taken over.

Still breathing heavily, he rolled off her and stood. Without looking at her, he said, "If he tries that, hit him."

She blinked, and it was on the tip of her tongue to ask what the hell he was talking about, when it all came flooding back -- Remy, the plan, everything.

Even after throwing herself at him, he still thought she wanted someone else. She whispered, "Yeah," and left his room, willing herself not to cry until she was safe in her own bed.

Kitty and Jubilee found her there a little while later, still sniffling into her pillow.

"Oh, chica, what's wrong?" Jubilee asked. "Tell Kitty and Jubi what's got you down."

And the whole story poured out, how she'd realized she was still in love with Logan, and Remy was helping her make him jealous.

"But, but he's not interested. He -- every time I think something is happening, he brushes it off like it means nothing, it's just a, a lesson," she sobbed.

Her friends looked at each other, and realized they might need some help on this one.

Soon, Jean, Storm and Remy were gathered in her bedroom and plotting to make Logan admit his feelings to Rogue.

Scott stopped in looking for his wife, listened to the intricate plans they were making, and said, "Why not just tell him how you feel?"

"Be quiet, Scott," Jean said. "If this doesn't work, Rogue. Nothing will. Logan's the jealous type, definitely."

"Do you really think starting off a relationship by plotting is a good thing?" Scott tried again.

"Scott," Jean warned.

"I'm just saying--"

"Don't," his wife replied.

He sighed. "Fine. But don't come crying to me when the plan backfires."

This time, they all said it. "Scott!"

He walked away, shaking his head.

---

The next morning, Rogue pulled at her gloves nervously. She smoothed her hair back, licked her lips, and knocked on Logan's door.

"It's open."

"Some workout this morning," she started, after settling herself on the bed. He grunted. He was reading again, this time, a dog-eared biography of Abe Lincoln that looked like it had been around since the Civil War.

She took a deep breath and said, "Remy asked me to go to the gala with him tomorrow night as his date. I know it's short notice, but now you can go with someone else if you want, because you won't be stuck going with me. I know you can find someone -- probably even have someone in mind, right? Anyway, that's what we were working for, right? I mean, it worked. I hope that's okay." She ran out of air and stopped, gasping.

He blinked and looked up at her. "Breathe, Marie."

"So, is it okay?" she pressed, crossing her fingers behind her back and hoping against hope that he'd say no, it wasn't okay, she was his date and he wasn't letting her go with Remy.

"Is that what you want?"

No! No! I want you, she thought. "I guess. I mean, yeah."

"I don't want to get in the way of what you want, kid." And he went back to his book, dismissing her completely.

She left, dragging herself down the hall in defeat. She collapsed in the library, a place she knew she could be alone without interruption.

She'd just curled up in one of the leather armchairs to have a good cry when she heard, "I told you it wouldn't work."

"Shut up, Scott," she said without turning around.

"You need to be honest, Rogue. Lying and plotting never got anybody anywhere but broken-hearted. Believe me."

She looked up at him, her eyes and nose red from crying. "It was supposed to be fun. And anyway, he obviously doesn't care about me that way. He didn't even look up from that stupid book he was reading when I told him."

"What did you tell him?" Scott asked gently.

"I-- I told him I wanted to go with Remy."

"Well, the thing about Logan is, for all his faults, he's a pretty noble guy, you know?" Scott sat in the chair next to her and took one of her hands. "If he thinks you're happy, he's not going to interfere."

That set off another round of sobs. "I r-really screwed everything up, didn't I?"

Scott bit his lip, then, "You can still fix it. You just have to convince him that you were lying before, but you're telling the truth now." He squeezed her hand reassuringly. "This isn't kid stuff, Rogue. You can't play with people's feelings. You want a relationship with an adult, you have to behave like an adult."

She smiled sadly. "It's so much easier to be a kid sometimes."

"Yeah."

He gave her hand one last squeeze and left her alone to figure out how to tell Logan that she loved him.

After crying until she was nauseous, she decided to spend her day more productively. She had things to do if she was going to convince Logan she was in love with him.

---

Logan flung the book against the wall as soon as Rogue's footsteps faded.

It was only through a supreme effort of will that he didn't unsheathe the claws and wreck his bedroom.

He could do this. He could. He was the Wolverine. He cared for no one and nothing. He would gut it out through this ridiculous gala, just to make sure Remy behaved, and then he was gone. He was shaking the dust of this freaky place from his boots and going back to Canada, where he didn't have to see the woman he loved draped over that Cajun bastard.

He tore off on the motorcycle and didn't come back until the next morning, and suddenly, Scott's stupid story about how he and Jean got together made sense.

Unfortunately, it wasn't going to work out for him. Rogue had flat-out told him she wanted Remy. He sighed, feeling the alcohol wear off as his healing factor dealt with it. Sometimes he hated being a mutant, because right then, he wanted nothing more than oblivion, but what he got was a dining room full of chattering kids, excited about the evening's event.

He stiffened as he caught Marie's scent, and almost ran when she slid into the seat next to him.

She ate her cereal silently, her arm occasionally brushing against his, making him hyperaware of her body, her scent, the way her lips wrapped around the spoon as she ate.

Get a grip, he told himself. Stop staring at her like a lovesick teenager and say something.

"So you did it, huh?"

Rogue's smile shone brightly. "Yup. With your help, of course." She laid a delicate gloved hand on his arm. "I couldn't have done it without you, Logan. I never would have thought of half the stuff you told me. Remy never knew what hit him."

He grunted and shoved his hands in his pockets, shrugging one shoulder uncomfortably. Marie was a beautiful girl. She shouldn't have had to change to get the Cajun interested. Hell, any man should be happy Marie gave him the time of day -- she shouldn't have had to be wearing leather and lip gloss in the bargain.

He realized he'd lost the thread of the conversation when she said, "You'll still help me, right, sugar?"

"Uh, yeah, sure, kid," he replied, uncertain of what he'd just agreed to, and cursing himself for the day he told her to use the endearment. Dammit, he thought, that's what she's supposed to call me, not every jackass who comes sniffing around.

"Okay, then. Come to my room at around six. It'll take me a while to get ready." She bounced excitedly in the chair, apparently unaware of the effect she was having on certain parts of his anatomy.

"Get ready?"

"For my big date."

"Oh. Yeah."

---

The door to her room was flung open before he even had a chance to knock.

"Come on in, Logan," she said. She was wrapped in a towel. Two towels, actually. One around her body, barely covering her, and one like a turban around her head. He was in hell. Sheer, bloody hell. "Sit on the bed, sugar. I'll be right out and then we can start." She headed back to the bathroom and he heard her brushing her teeth.

Somehow, he'd missed the part of the conversation where she told him she'd be prancing around naked while he watched her get ready to go out with another man.

This had really gotten out of hand. What had started as a friendly lesson in flirtation had turned serious, at least on his part, and now she was going to use everything he'd taught her to enthrall Gambit. It was almost more than he could bear.

She came out of the bathroom and reached into her dresser drawer. "Kitty, Jubes and I went shopping," she said cheerfully. "Which color do you like better?" She held up three pairs of -- good God, they couldn't be panties. Scraps of brightly colored silk. Red, green and black.

"Green," he choked out.

"Green it is!" She turned her back to him and dropped the towel. He made strangling noises as she stepped into the bikinis. "You okay, Logan?" she asked, turning to face him, bra in hand.

"Christ on a crutch, Marie!" he finally managed. "Put some damn clothes on!"

She blinked. "I'm sorry," she said after the silence had stretched a little too long. "I forgot -- I didn't think you were afraid-- I--"

Shit, shit, shit. "It ain't that, kid -- Marie." Shit. I gotta stop calling her kid. No wonder she thinks I'm not interested. And a year, two years ago, I wouldn't have been. But damn, she's grown up now, and no doubt about it. "I just, I don't think you should be naked around men. I mean, men who aren't me. I mean--" He was tangled up in the sentence, and even he wasn't sure what he meant at that point.

She raised an eyebrow. "I don't see anyone else in here, Logan."

And thank God for that, he thought. He could just imagine the ruckus ol' One-Eye would cause if his little pet was found naked with the big, bad Wolverine. Though maybe not, if that talk in the garage had been any indication. Not to mention the smirks he'd have to endure from Jean and 'Ro. Dammit. Why were those women always laughing at him? He couldn't figure it out and it was really starting to piss him off.

"You and Remy, you mean," she said.

"What?" He was still lost in his own thoughts.

"I shouldn't be naked in front of anyone but you and Remy. I mean, the whole point of all this is to get to the point where Remy wants to see me naked, right?" She put a finger to her lips, still holding the bra in the other hand. "Though I suppose once I get naked with Remy, he's not gonna want me doing it with you, too." She walked over to where he sat on the bed and leaned forward, her full breasts so tantalizingly close to his gloved hands. "So what's it gonna be, Logan? You, or Remy?"

He blinked. "What?"

"I know you heard me just fine, Wolvie," she tried out the nickname with a breathy voice, "but I'll repeat it one more time, just for the record. Do you want me to get naked with you or with Remy?"

He looked into the deep brown eyes; they were so full of love and trust, but he could smell her anxiety. She was afraid he'd reject her. I'm no genius, but I'm not stupid, he thought.

"Me," he answered. "Just me."

"Then you have to promise the same thing."

"So we'll only get naked with each other?" he asked. "Just to clarify."

"That's what I'm proposing," she said, nodding.

"I could definitely go for that. Definitely," he repeated, pulling a scarf from the bedpost and lassoing her to draw her toward him.

The kiss was everything she could have wished for, deep and tender, and rapidly growing passionate as his hands wandered over her mostly nude body.

She broke away to whisper, "I never wanted Remy. Right from that first day we went shopping, it was you. It was always you."

He rolled them over so he was on top, strategically placing the scarf over her body so he could nuzzle at her neck while his hands teased her nipples into hard little buds.

"You did a good job of hidin' it, darlin'."

"I know. I'm sorry."

He took her mouth in a searing kiss, then murmured, "Let's forget about that now, Marie. We got better things to do."

He inhaled her scent as his gloved hands pushed the green silk panties down her legs, and she used her feet to get them off the rest of the way.

"Is this safe?" she asked breathlessly, concern for him overwhelming desire for a moment as he lowered his mouth to one of her nipples.

"I'll be careful, Marie," he answered, raising his head from where he'd been suckling at her breast.

As her body arched to his mouth, his fingers slipped into her wet sex, stroking gently, circling her clit until she was moaning and panting his name.

"Come on, baby. Come for me," he rasped, as she cried out and white-hot pleasure swept through her body. He held her as she shuddered and then deftly undid his jeans and rolled on a condom. "This might hurt a little," he whispered in her ear as he slowly buried himself in her tight, hot passage. She stiffened a little, but then, after a few moments to get used to the feel of him inside her, she nodded. He began moving, slowly at first, not wanting to hurt her, his eyes locked with hers and never wavering.

He told her he loved her and had been dreaming of her for months; he told her she was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen, and he wanted to be with her forever. He told her that she was his and he was hers, and when she growled, "Mine," in his ear, he came with an explosive force that surprised even him.

---

Rogue and Logan were late to the Labor Day Gala. It was only through absorbing a bit of his healing touch that she made it at all; she wouldn't have been able to walk, otherwise.

When they entered, everyone stopped to look at the dark, handsome man in his olive green Armani suit, and the stunning woman on his arm.

Rogue wore an emerald green cheongsam, covered in white and gold embroidery. The skirt stopped a good three inches above the knee and her legs were covered in the sheerest pantyhose she'd been able to find. Her face was flushed and her lips swollen, and she had eyes for no one but Logan.

Scott sat at a table in the back, gleefully counting his winnings.

End