He was never sure when things changed. She was always just "the kid" -- his sweet, innocent Marie. He knew she had a crush on him. She'd tried to hide it, but even if he hadn't been able to smell it on her, there'd been Jean's heads up about it before he'd left that first time.

He'd given her his dog tags -- even then he'd felt the need to make sure she always held a piece of him, as if filling her mind with his personality and memories hadn't been enough.

He'd come back after a few months, cold, lonely and frustrated in his search for his past.

"I thought you'd be gone longer," Marie had said in greeting.

"What am I, an asshole?" he'd responded, stung. "I promised to look out for ya, kid, and I always keep my promises."

And so he had. Oh, he still took off for a few months every year, but he always came back. And Marie would be waiting, her sweet smile and soft laughter were mainly reserved for him.

It wasn't that she didn't sometimes act like a normal teenaged girl -- as normal as one with skin that could kill with the lightest touch could, anyway. But she'd always been a little separate from the other kids at Xavier's School, always been marked not only by the two white stripes in her hair -- a legacy from Magneto -- but also by his, Logan's, presence in her mind and in her life.

Everyone thought the relationship was cute. Big bad Logan and sweet little Marie -- big brother and little sister. She used to hang around his room doing homework every night, and no one ever thought anything of it. After all, he was in love (or lust, at least) with Jean, and Marie was a gawky kid who could never be touched.

So it went for a few years. She went off to college but still lived in the mansion. He never changed, and in his gruff, uncomplicated way, he never noticed that she had.

Until the new guy came along. Romeo or Remus or something. He was an annoying prick who had an exaggerated N'awlins accent and spoke of himself in the third person. At least, that was Logan's opinion. The women at the school, Marie included, seemed to find him charming.

Which was fine, as far as it went. Marie was still a kid and, moreover, one who couldn't be touched. What harm was there in meaningless flirtation? That's what he would have said if anyone had ever asked, before the day he saw them in the orchard.

He'd just come back from one of the X-Men's rescue missions, picking up a kid in Calcutta who couldn't control her ability to start fires with her mind.

"Where's Marie?" he asked Jean, who had stayed behind.

She shrugged. "In the orchard somewhere, I think."

So out he went, wanting to reassure her that he was okay, as he did after every mission. And stopped dead in his tracks. She was out there all right, under an apple tree with that red-eyed jerk. He was making her giggle. Remus was making his Marie giggle.

He was far enough away not to be seen -- Not that they'd notice, he snorted mentally -- but with his enhanced senses he could hear every word of their conversation and it rooted him to the ground.

Remy picked a leaf off the tree and began tracing the curves of Rogue's face. She stared up into his eyes and wondered if, finally, she was going to have some romance in her life. A girl can only pine for so long, and she was no longer a girl, but a woman of twenty. She laughed as the leaf tickled her skin, so sensitive to any touch at all after years of lacking it.

"I'd like to drown in your eyes, chere," he said, pressing her against the tree trunk with his body, his voice husky. "You feel it too, non?" The leaf trailed down her neck to rest in the hollow between her breasts.

She gasped, lips parted invitingly. Remy leaned in, his other hand pulling the ever-present scarf around her neck up to cover her lips. Yes, she thought exultantly, he's going to kiss me.

When suddenly, Remy was knocked to the ground, replaced by Logan's snarling bulk, claws extended.

"Wha--" the Cajun began. Logan glared at him.

"Keep your hands to yourself, bub," he growled, retracting the claws. "Come on, Marie." He grabbed her hand and yanked her away from the tree, his blood boiling. Who the hell does this guy think he is, anyway? No one is gonna be kissing my Marie.

The Marie who was currently trying to wriggle out of his grasp.

"Logan, what the hell are ya doin'?" she cried, leaning her weight against the tree.

"Protectin' you," he snapped back, pulling at her hand.

She was afraid he was going to pull her glove off, and her hand along with it. "You're hurtin' me."

He immediately let go. "Come on, kid," he said again, holding his hand out.

"Logan, I'm not a little girl anymore. I'm twenty years old, and what I do with Remy is none of your business."

He froze and stared at her. He couldn't seem to process what she was saying. But he looked her up and down, suddenly achingly aware of the way the short, black skirt clung to her shapely hips and revealed long, lithe legs. Where the hell has she been hiding those? he wondered, stunned, as his gaze traveled up her body to the generous curves of her breasts, which were currently heaving in anger, not passion.

His hand moved, seemingly of its own volition, to trace the chain of the dog tags that still hung around her neck, the tags themselves nestled between the creamy mounds of flesh no man -- certainly not Remy or whatever his name was -- was ever going to touch.

There was a hitch in her breathing and he knew from the sudden change in her scent that whatever she might feel for that dumbass Cajun on the ground, she still wanted him more.

She licked her lips and he felt his groin tighten. What the hell is happening? he thought. This is Marie, for Christ's sake.

He dropped his hand and walked away, not even bothering to look at the other man spluttering on the ground. He fought to get his emotions under control. He was lusting after Marie. He fled to his room, trying to figure it out.

Okay, so she had grown up. And he'd been oblivious to it. How could he never have noticed, all those nights she'd spent in his room, doing homework, or curled up on the bed reading? He'd been so busy trying to get a rise out of Scott by flirting outrageously with Jean that he never noticed his little Marie had become a woman. A beautiful woman with curves his hands itched to trace.

Sleep, he needed sleep. He'd been up for over 24 hours straight. And a shower. A cold shower.

He was toweling off when he heard the knock. Wrapping the towel around his waist, he opened the door to see Marie standing there. Her eyes widened as she took in his damp, nearly naked state.

"I can come back," she croaked, unable to get her voice to work properly. He opened the door wider and gestured for her to come in.

She paced nervously around the room. It was the same room she'd been in hundreds of times. She never noticed how prominent the bed was before. She'd been on that bed hundreds of times, too. But he'd always been dressed -- at least in jeans, she amended, remembering his habit of going shirtless for most of the summer.

He, too, felt the change. Instead of being embarrassed at his nakedness -- evidence of the bestial nature he'd usually try to hide from her -- he felt like strutting and preening for his mate. My mate? Where the hell did that come from?

She stopped and faced him. "I just, I wanted," Marie began nervously, her mouth dry, "here." She pulled the chain over her head and held the dog tags out to him, keeping her distance.

"No," he said. "No, Marie. Don't do that." He closed his eyes. I've ruined everything.

"Yes," she said, offering them to him again. "You can't have me anymore, Logan. I don't belong to you. It's not like you even want me. It's not fair."

He grabbed her hand then, and pulled her close. "It's not fair?" he asked harshly. "What's not?"

"Any of it," she whispered, not looking him in the eye. "Me loving you, you loving Jean, no one being able to touch me--" her voice cracked. "It ends here, Logan." She pushed the tags into his hand and tried to pull away.

"No!" he growled. "It doesn't end, Marie. It never ends. I gave you a piece of my heart, darlin', and you can't just give that back."

"I need more than a piece, Logan. Don't you see that?" she cried, tears shimmering in her eyes as she finally raised them to meet his. "I need it all -- or nothing at all. Either I walk out of here now and it's the end of us -- whatever us there is -- or -- " she stopped, hardly believing she was offering him such an ultimatum, knowing she'd never be able to cut him out of her life.

"Or what, Marie?" he asked hoarsely, sliding his hand up her gloved arm to her shoulder, tags falling forgotten to the floor.

She licked her lips. He was sure she didn't mean to do it, didn't mean what she was doing to him. Or maybe she did. She wasn't a kid anymore, even if he was the last idiot in the place to see it.

"I love you, Logan. Have since the first day I set eyes on you in that dive in Laughlin City. And I know you, know you better than you know your own damn self sometimes, I think. But I'm not a kid anymore, and a trip to the ice cream parlor and a pat on the head isn't what I'm lookin' for."

He hauled her into his arms, heedless of his bare skin, trusting her to be careful where he was not.

"Logan, watch out," she gasped.

He pulled her hips against his. "I ain't lookin' to pat you on the head, Marie," he ground out. He duplicated the Cajun's actions, lifting the silk scarf around her neck to cover her lips, and pressing his own against them, his hands cupping her face gently through the silk. She returned the kiss with an ardor that surprised him, but shouldn't have. She'd lived without touch for the past five years, but that didn't mean she'd lived without desire. Her gloved hands roamed up his chest and shoulders and then into his still-damp hair, free of the gel that usually slicked it back into his ridiculous hairstyle. He felt the towel slide off his hips and pulled back. Her hands clutched at his shoulders.

She opened her eyes, looked down and grinned. "At least I know you're happy to see me," she cracked breathlessly, blushing.

"You're supposed to be overcome by my sheer damn manliness, Marie."

"Oh, I am, sugar," she replied, her hands tightening on his shoulders. "I don't think I could stand right now if I wasn't holding on to ya."

He grinned ferally and deposited her on the bed, sliding beneath the sheets so he could cradle her head against his now-protected chest. He ran his hand through her hair. She purred like a cat, arousing him even more.

"I swear, Marie, I never meant to hurt you. I just never thought, I never noticed," he stumbled.

"I know," she said. "I was just a kid."

"And I loved you even then," he continued, "but I couldn't let myself think of you like that. Not until I saw you with that damn Romeo."

"Remy," she corrected absently.

"Whatever," he growled. "I don't expect to see him ever lay his filthy, thievin' hands on you again, Marie." He hugged her fiercely. "I love you and I ain't lettin' you go. You've got my whole heart and I want all of yours. You hear me?"

"Loud and clear, sugar," she said, and this time she covered his lips with the scarf and kissed him deeply. "Oh, and I'm keeping the tags," she murmured before they got lost in each other and forgot everything else.

The End