{Rogue}

I always thought Logan and I would end up together. You know, the whole fairy-tale nine yards -- happily ever after and all.

I learned real life doesn't exactly work like that. Yes, there are occasionally knights in shining armor -- or in this case, skin-tight leather -- who swoop out of nowhere and lift you out of desperation and into a better life, but relationships are a whole lot more work. That's the part the Brothers Grimm always seem to leave out.

I was going home -- back to Westchester -- after being away for four years. Four years is a long time and a hell of a lot of things can change. I know I had. Though not, I guess, as much as I liked to think, because even though I was heading home, I was really running away. Away from Remy and a failed marriage. Away from the reminders that I was never going to have a life of domestic bliss with a white picket fence and two point two kids in the nursery.

Stop it. Don't think about kids. Don't think about Remy. Think about how glad Jubilee is going to be to see you. Think about how great Kitty's going to look in her wedding dress, and Bobby in his tux. Really, really don't think about seeing Logan and Jean together as a couple.

Strangely enough, it hadn't been Logan who broke up Mutant High's Prom King and Queen. From what Kitty and Jubes tell me, Jean and Scott grew apart slowly, maybe finally waking up to the fact that just because you'd always been with someone didn't mean that you should always be with that same someone. Or maybe Scott just realized that Ororo had been in love with him forever and he wanted a woman who could be as devoted to him as he was to her. I don't know.

What I know do is, Scott and Ororo got together a few months after Jean gave him back the engagement ring and called the wedding off. And a couple of months after that, Logan finally got what he came back to Westchester for in the first place -- full-time access to Jean Grey's person.

What, you bought into that whole romantic notion that he came back for me? That we were destined to be together and he was just waiting for me to become legal? Grow up already. I had -- have, really, though it's faded some -- the man in my head. I knew how he felt about me, about Jean, about the Pittsburgh Penguins' chances for a dynasty, and let me tell you, Jean came in second to hockey. I was a distant third. I just didn't want to believe it at the time.

Oh, don't get me wrong. Logan cared about me. I was his responsibility. And when he came back after being away for a year without so much as a word, we fell into an easy sort of camaraderie -- the kind that allows you to play pool in a dive bar at two am and drink beer while watching ESPN.

But I wanted more and I was determined to get it. My infatuation, as Jean liked to put it (condescending bitch -- but I digress), hadn't gone away. I mean, you'd think that a year without any word at all might have given me a hint that I wasn't on his mind quite as much as he was on mine. My only excuse is youth and youth's willful ignorance. I knew all this stuff, but I had to experience it first-hand before I actually got it.

So, on my nineteenth birthday, I set about seducing Logan. It was remarkably easy. I'm an attractive woman, and I've got a creative imagination, which someone with deadly skin needs if she ever wants to get laid. And Logan isn't one to let morality get in the way of good sex. And believe me, it was good sex. Far better than anything Remy and I...

I kicked myself. Don't think about Remy. Don't think about Logan. Which was kind of hard, since I was going to be seeing him in approximately fifteen minutes, for the first time since I'd left four years ago, in the front seat of Remy's Corvette.

Where was I? Oh, yeah, Logan and I began a relationship, if you want to call it that. It consisted of a lot of sex, broken up by his occasional trips north. Oddly enough, he was faithful to me on those trips. But then I started wanting more. I wanted a love for all time, like Scarlett and Rhett. Of course, when I think about it now, I realize they didn't have a happy ending, either.

After a year together, I started pressing Logan. "Do you love me? Why don't you ever say it? Why don't you ever look at me when we're having sex? Why won't you take me with you when you leave?" His response would be to walk away. Let's face it, the man has issues with commitment. Or he did, before he and Jean got all lovey-dovey.

Finally, I got sick being treated like his little lapdog, and started looking around to see what else was out there. And what I saw was Remy. Good-looking, sweet-talking Remy, with his French endearments and his romantic flourishes.

I didn't plan to do anything but flirt with him, get a little back for the nauseating displays Jean and Logan sometimes put on. Until the night Logan touched me. Accidentally, of course. Even a self-destructive adrenaline-junkie like Logan didn't go around touching me on purpose during sex. And that's when I felt it. He liked me. He did. He cared about me, even. But he still thought of Jean, wanted her with a desperation that made me sick. But I understood it, because it was the same sort of desperation with which I'd wanted him.

I don't even think he realized that I knew. He blacked out for a few seconds, and in that short period of time, I decided I could no longer be her substitute. I deserved more.

So, I slept with Remy. Flagrantly. Before I broke up with Logan. I needed to get his attention, and I surely did.

Let's gloss over the fights and the recriminations. The lack of anything resembling real pain on Logan's part. Nothing good to remember there. Remy and I left a week later, and I hadn't been back since.

Amazingly, Remy and I didn't end up hating each other; I did learn to love him, as much I was capable of loving anyone. We got married in Vegas and traveled around for a while before settling in his native New Orleans. It was day-to-day life with him that drove me nuts. He was a talker, I was a talker, which meant neither of us was ever quiet enough to listen to the other. At first, it was endearing. But what works while you're dating and having adventures is a whole different story from what works in a marriage. Neither of us was ready for that level of commitment, and it showed.

After two years, we barely had sex anymore. After three, I knew he was getting it somewhere else. And the sad part was, I understood, then, Logan's indifference to my cheating.

I mean, I was hurt, and Remy and I fought, but it wasn't the same as when I found out about Logan's feelings for Jean. That bone-numbing, heart-shattering intensity was missing. That's when I knew the difference between loving somebody and being in love with them. Neither Remy nor I was prepared to build a life together, to actually go through with that whole "two-become-one" crap that no one believes until it happens to them.

That third year, we got a divorce in the same half-assed way we got married. I moved out, no hard feelings. And it's true, there aren't. We still hang out and I'm in on his weekly poker game. I think he's gone back to thieving, which I wouldn't allow while we were together (if I ever caught him at it, which was rare).

And now here I am, Rogue, twenty-four years old, pulling up to 1407 Greymalkin Lane, alone again, naturally.

The gates opened smoothly and I could already hear the sounds of kids yelling and playing. School was almost over for the year, it was a beautiful May afternoon in New York, and I had just spent two days driving, carrying my own little cloud of gloom with me.

I eased into the garage, my beat-up old pickup looking way out of place among all of Scott's high-tech, high-gloss babies, and took a deep breath. I will not be depressed, I told myself. I will not bring down everyone around me. I'm here for my best friends' wedding, and I will be happy. I will.

That was my mantra, and it lasted a whole thirty seconds. Because Logan stood at the entrance to the garage. He was shirtless, as usual, and covered in dust and sweat. He must have been working on the big pavilion Kitty told me they were building for the reception.

There are a lot of things you can forget in four years. The way a person's hair sticks up at funny angles, or the play of their fingers against yours as you hold hands. I had forgotten Logan's intent way of staring at anything that crossed his path and held his interest.

I was obviously in that category now.

I exited the truck, lugging my suitcase with me.

"Lemme get that," he said, walking forward to grab it. His hand brushed mine, and even through my glove I felt the electric shock his touch always gave me.

I jerked away. "No, I got it," I said, smiling tightly. I will be friendly, I will. You left him, remember? He's the one who's supposed to be pissed.

He let go. "Fair enough. Nice truck."

I knew he actually meant that, so I laughed a little, involuntarily, and smiled genuinely. "Thanks." We stood awkwardly for a few seconds, staring at each other in the cool dimness of the garage before I said, "So, what's up?"

He started walking toward the yard. "Well, there's this wedding, see --"

I struggled to catch up with his longer strides, dragging the suitcase behind me. Thank God for wheeled luggage. I should have sucked it up and let him take it, because it was damn heavy. "I know that, silly. I mean, you know, how are you?" And I meant it sincerely. I loved this man in ways that even I cannot begin to fathom. Even if we hadn't worked out as a couple, I was sorry I'd hurt him (if I had -- I still wasn't sure), and I wanted to at least be friends again. Especially since I was planning to move back into the mansion.

He shrugged. "Fine."

"The wedding keepin' you busy?"

Another shrug. "Guess so. Kitty changes her mind every five minutes and the snowflake just goes along with it."

I will not ask about Jean. I will not ask about Jean. "How's Jean?" Dammit. I really didn't want to know.

"She's good."

And that was his "don't ask, 'cause I'm not talking" tone. I knew that tone well. Trouble in paradise? I had to get a grip. Stop it, Rogue. Just because you don't like Jean doesn't mean you wish trouble on her.

"Good."

He led me up the drive and to the front door. I don't know why we just didn't go through the garage, but whatever. He finally took the suitcase from me as we reached the front steps.

The door opened and suddenly I was surrounded by Kitty and Jubilee, squealing for all they were worth. And believe me, that's a lot of squealing. We hugged, carefully, as always, and there was a lot of, "Oh, my God, look at you!" And "Chica, what is up with that outfit?" -- that was Jubilee, of course, questioning my Levi's and flannel. Yeah, I can't seem to shake Logan's fashion sense either, though I draw the line at those big, redneck belt-buckles he likes so much.

"Just wait until you see the gown Kitty's picked out for us. Of course, it's not yellow, but damn, we're gonna look fine," Jubes continued. I watched Logan make his way up the stairs with my suitcase, and I realized that the reunion I'd been dreading was over. And the world hadn't ended.

By the time my girls let me get upstairs to my room -- yeah, they managed to get me my old room back, somehow -- Logan was long gone, just a faint hint of his scent lingering in the air. I'm not crazy. I got two very large doses of his powers, and while the healing factor didn't stay very long, my senses are far more acute than most people's, though nowhere near his level. The ability to sniff out trouble, combined with his memories of what trouble smells like, had saved Remy and me a few times, so I can't complain. Plus, it was a little bit of him I'd always get to hold onto, like the dog tags I never did give back. I wonder if I should pass them on to Jean, now, or would that be really tacky? I don't know. She's the one with the high-class background; my family's only one generation removed from trailer-trash.

So, I was unpacking and getting my head around being back at the only real home I'd known since I was sixteen when Scott knocked at the door.

I turned and had to catch my breath again. I never appreciated how good-looking he is while I was a schoolgirl, daydreaming about Logan all the time, but damn, Ororo is one lucky woman. I actually said that out loud, and he laughed.

"Come here, you," he said, pulling me into a tight hug. "I missed you, Rogue. Weekly emails are not good enough." He grabbed my hand and held it up. "Obviously, no fingers are broken, so why the hell didn't you call?"

"I called Kitty and Bobby," I said defensively. The real reason was that the last three times I had called, Jean had answered, and well -- let's just say that the first conversation went so badly that I just hung up the next two times and stopped calling.

The phone system at the mansion is strange. During the day, all calls are routed through the main switchboard, except calls directly to the offices. So, I suppose I could have called Scott directly, or I could have called at night, when the system is switched over to direct-inward-dial, but I was so spooked that I didn't. I tried once or twice, misdialed Logan's number by mistake, and since interrupting Jean and Logan during sex was the last thing I ever wanted to do, that was the end of that. (And how the hell could I remember the phone number of the room we lived in together four years ago, but still couldn't remember Remy's number in New Orleans, where I had lived during those four years? The mind is a funny thing. But again, I digress.)

He looked at me, and in some ways I was glad I couldn't see the pity in his eyes as he figured out everything I didn't say.

"Rehearsal dinner is tomorrow night, so if you want to hang out this evening with Ororo and me, let us know. We were planning on hitting a movie, but we can do dinner or drinks instead," he said, pulling me out of my thoughts.

"I think Kitty and Jubes have some 'girl-time' scheduled," I replied, with genuine regret. "Maybe Monday?" The wedding was Sunday. "Though," and I paused, nervous now that the moment of truth had arrived, "you'll probably be able to see me any old time. I'm moving back in." It all came out in a rush.

But Scott's cool. He just pulled me into another tight hug and said, "Finally, you're coming home. Thank God. I still wish you'd let me kick Remy's ass for you," he whispered in my ear.

I sniffed. He always did have a way of saying the right thing and making me teary in a good way. "Nah. What goes around comes around, Scott. I did it to Logan, and Remy did it to me." There, I mentioned the big taboo subject, and the world didn't end. Of course, Scott wasn't a main participant at that point, so it wasn't too painful for him.

"About Logan," he said, and I wasn't sure I wanted to hear what he had to say, though I'll bet it was pretty damned interesting. However, my timing has always been bad, so it was at that moment that my other best friend, otherwise known as Bobby Drake, the Iceman, launched himself into the room.

"Rogue, baby! You know I'm getting married in two days, right?" And another hug. Damn, but was everyone in the mansion gorgeous? I felt like a little black crow among the peacocks.

"Good lord," I responded after he let me go, "don't tell me they let you have caffeine, Bobby. I swear, it should be a federal offense for you to get within sniffing distance of coffee." He laughed, and Scott gave me the "We'll talk later" look as Bobby flopped onto the bed and made himself comfortable.

Jubilee, Kitty and St. John followed, and we had a grand old time catching up.

So far, things had gone great. There was only one major obstacle left -- well, two actually. Seeing Jean again, and then seeing Jean with Logan. But I could handle that, I told myself. Not a problem. I'd seen Logan, and aside from a flicker of attraction any straight woman who wasn't dead would have felt, it had been fine. I was over him. I didn't want him like that anymore.

And maybe if I kept telling myself that, eventually, I'd believe it.

---

I managed to avoid seeing Jean that night, and for a good portion of the next day, thanks to Kitty and Jubilee and the fittings they'd arranged for me at the bridal shop in town.

Jubilee was right, the gowns were gorgeous. Of royal blue satin, they had a square neckline, long columnar skirt, and no sleeves -- no straps either -- and a big, but not unflattering, bow just above the butt. I was taken aback by the sleevelessness, wondering if they'd forgotten in my time away that I was the mutant mutant, the one who never did learn to control her freaky "gift." But then the girl draped the gloves over the door to the fitting room and I understood. The gloves came practically to my shoulders, and we'd all be wearing them.

Even Jean.

Yeah, how much does that suck? I had to be in the freakin' wedding party with her.

I know it sounds like sour grapes -- that I just hate her for having what I couldn't keep -- but if you had seen the way she acted when Logan and I were together, you'd understand. Even before we got together, she was all over him. It's a wonder Scott never blew a hole through Logan's ass, the way his fiancée flirted around. And she never got tired of telling me about how she and Logan had done this, or how Logan had told her that -- things I'd thought he'd shared only with me. So yeah, I wasn't happy with her attitude then, and I wasn't looking forward to having her lord it over me now, rubbing my nose in the fact that she had Logan while all I had was a beat-up old pickup truck and divorce papers.

---

But I couldn't avoid her at the rehearsal. God, it was awkward. At least Logan wasn't there. He wasn't in the wedding party. Jubilee muttered that the lightning would probably strike the synagogue if he entered.

Yeah, they were having a mainly Jewish wedding, though a priest would be there to marry the couple in the Catholic Church as well, for Bobby's parents. I don't know why they just didn't go down to city hall -- they weren't very observant. None of us were. Being a mutant convinces you early on that either God hates you or he doesn't exist. Otherwise, why would he have screwed you over like that? I mean, what kind of God makes a person who can't ever fucking touch another human being? That's just wrong. So I don't believe anymore. I shucked the Baptist crap my Momma shoved down my throat every Sunday until I left home at sixteen, and I've never looked back.

Anyhow, we're at the synagogue and each of us walked down the aisle, and Kitty, oblivious to all the tension roiling between me and Jean -- we had yet to speak to each other -- said, "Rogue, you're behind Ororo. You're taller. Jean, you're next."

Which meant I was going to have to sit next to her during the ceremony. I didn't think I could take it. I cursed the flip of the coin that made Jubes the maid of honor instead of me. I walked outside as the rabbi droned on about the meaning of the little silk tent Kitty and Bobby would be standing under and lit a cigarette.

I smelled her before I heard her, and heard her before I saw her. The Logan in my head got just a little more awake -- excited that his redheaded goddess was near. I took a long drag to settle my nerves and to have an excuse not to talk first. I acted like I didn't know she was there.

"Those things will kill you," she said conversationally.

I took one last drag, then flicked the butt into the gutter. So I'm a litterbug. Sue me.

"Gotta die of something," I replied, proud that my voice was flat, almost friendly, as if she and I were passing acquaintances who'd happened to meet on the steps of the synagogue after services. Shul? I'm not sure what they call it. I'll eventually get around to asking Kitty, I'm sure.

"I suppose, but it's an ugly death." Thank you, Dr. Grey. As if I didn't know about your midnight smoking jaunts in the garden, when the rest of the mansion, aside from me -- Insomniac Queen of Mutant Manor -- and Logan, was asleep.

"Well, seeing as how I'm rejoining the X-Men," score one for me as I heard her gasp. She didn't know I was planning on staying. My, my, does no one talk to her anymore? Everyone else knew, except Logan, and I'm sure he'd found out. He has his ways. "I really don't think cancer will have time to kill me. Sabretooth will probably do it first."

"Do you think it's wise to make such life-changing decisions in your state of mind?" she asked, all cool solicitousness on the surface.

I laughed, and I hope it didn't sound as bitter as it felt. "Have I ever made those kinds of decisions when I wasn't in a fucked up state of mind?" I asked, and I wasn't being sarcastic, though it sounded like I was.

She didn't have a chance to answer as Kitty came out, hands fluttering nervously, looking for her bridesmaids.

The priest arrived, and we did the whole thing over again.

---

After the rehearsal, Bobby's parents took us all out to a nice restaurant in town -- one that was used to mutants, apparently, because the guy ushering Jean was blue, furry and tail-having, and no one gave him a second glance. He seemed very nice and kind of cute. He was really flirtatious, and I spent most of the evening flirting with him. It was fun.

---

Sunday, the wedding day, started off rainy. My momma always said a bride who gets rained on is a lucky bride, but Ororo cleared that right up. By noon, the sun was out. By one, we were dressed and ready, makeup on, hair curled, drowning in giddy chatter as the photographer posed us all like centerfolds before we headed for the synagogue.

I swore I wasn't going to let anything bother me that day -- it was Kitty's day -- and I didn't.

The ceremony itself was beautiful. Kitty was a gorgeous bride, glowing with love for the man waiting for her at the end of that long walk. Bobby looked so handsome and grown up. I'll admit, I sniffled my way through it. I couldn't help it. They were my best friends, and they were perfect for each other. It gave me hope that someday, some way, I'd find someone who could look at me the way they looked at each other.

After the official business was taken care of, it was time for the party. We all piled back into the limousines and headed home. Most people in New York would kill to have their reception in a place like Xavier's mansion -- and pay a fortune to do it. For us, it was just home.

The decorators and caterers had done a fabulous job. Lights were strung everywhere, just waiting for darkness to fall so that the lawn could be turned into a fairyland.

After dancing the first dance with St. John, who'd partnered me up the aisle since, as the maid of honor, Jubilee walked alone, I sat on the dais and watched.

Okay, I admit it, I watched Jean and Logan. He really did seem more content with her there. Like he'd gotten everything he'd ever wanted and was the king of all he surveyed. He even smiled, pulled Kitty into a big hug, and allowed her to lead him onto the dance floor at one point, for a slow dance, of course.

Towards the end of the night, Ororo came over and sat down next to me, winded from dancing so much.

"You next?" I asked her, smiling wistfully. "When's Scott going to make an honest woman of you?"

She smiled secretively and leaned in closer. "Would you believe me if I told you we are already married?"

I shook my head violently. "No!" I gasped. "And nobody knows?"

"We went down to city hall a few weeks ago and just did it. Charles knows, and Jean, of course. But we wanted to avoid all of this." She waved her hand at the dancing crowd. "Scott wanted to actually do it -- I think he was afraid of another long engagement."

"Can't blame him," I murmured, pulling her into a careful hug. "When will you announce it?"

"In a few days. Scott did not want to steal Kitty's thunder."

That's just like him, too, to be considerate of Kitty's feelings like that. It was her special day, and the sudden wedding of the leader of the X-Men would have overshadowed it.

And speak of the devil -- he came over, carrying three beers. Handing one to each of us, he said, "To the happy couple." We clinked bottles and drank. "And to the prodigal daughter," he continued, smiling at me, and we drank again.

"And to the other happy couple," I said, toasting their news. Scott grinned and pressed a kiss to 'Ro's cheek.

"I am a most lucky man," he said loudly. He'd had a couple of beers and was feeling no pain. It was a rare sight, seeing Scott all buzzed like that. He got a thoughtful look then, and said, "You haven't danced at all, Rogue. Come on." He pulled me up out of my seat and onto the floor.

It was a slow dance, so we had a chance to talk. After the usual, "It was a beautiful ceremony," chit-chat, Scott got down to business.

"You can't let them get to you, Rogue," he said.

I laughed bitterly. "Is it that obvious? It's just, I --" I stopped, trying to collect my thoughts. "It burns me to see that he's so happy with her. And he is, isn't he." I said it flatly -- I could tell he was. Scott swung me around and I could see them. Jean had her shoes off and her feet were in his lap, where he rubbed them gently. She was talking to him about something and he was nodding, a slight smirk on his face. "I couldn't make him happy like that." I sighed. "I couldn't make Remy happy. I just -- I don't even know if I know how to be happy anymore, Scott, you know?"

He rubbed my back gently and murmured soothing things about how I just had to learn to let go and that I would eventually find happiness. It couldn't come from someone else, he said, but from inside, from me. Since I'm still not sure how much of me is actually me, I just nodded and let him talk. I figured it'd be a long time before I was content.

---

{Logan}

All this wedding stuff is definitely a chick thing. No man would ever put together something so expensive and girly -- unless, of course, there was either a fast car or some nice tail waiting for him at the end of it. And I suppose the second goes for a wedding.

Jean made me shave and promise not to wear jeans. She picked out my clothes before she left to get dressed in Jubilee's room, with the other women. With Marie.

God, she looked exactly the same, and yet so different. I couldn't help but stare at her as she got out of that truck. No flashy German cars for my girl.

Whoa, Logan, where the hell did that come from? She hasn't been your girl in years and don't you forget it.

And even when she was my girl, she wasn't really. I knew I'd never be able to keep her, not with that damn Cajun sniffing around all the time. Why would she want me -- old enough to be her father and no memory, to boot -- when she could have someone young and pretty? She deserved something better. Especially since I was too stupid to realize how good I had it -- I spent a lot of free time lusting after Jeannie, then, and that ain't the best way to be in a relationship.

I'm trying to do better now -- be happy with what I got. I love Jean. I think, anyway. How do you know? I know it's more than just sex -- I feel like I can relax with her and I enjoy being with her. She never asks me if I'm interested in other women and she never bugs me when I take off for a few weeks.

Sometimes I wondered if I'd like it better if she did. Not bug me, but maybe ask if she could come along? I don't know. I ain't offering, because that's not my style, but just once would it kill her to do something I like?

Shit, I've been watching too much Oprah with Jubilee.

I watched as everyone danced, even let Kitty pull me out onto the floor for a go-round, but mainly I watched Marie.

She looked sad. I hated seeing her look sad. It made my chest hurt, made it hard for me to breathe. And then Scooter pulled her out onto the floor, and she was laughing and she looked so young, so beautiful.

Jean was chattering away as I massaged her feet, asking me if I thought I'd like to have a wedding like this and -- "Hold on a minute, there, Red. What did you just say?"

She grinned. "I thought that'd get your attention, Logan. You've been staring off into space for the past half hour."

"Well, you've got my attention now, Jean."

"I can see that," she purred, rubbing her foot in my lap. "Kitty and Bobby are leaving in a few minutes. What do you say we follow suit when they're gone?"

I stopped myself from doing more than giving her a half-grin, but I really liked that idea. "Sounds good to me. I can take off these freakin' ridiculous clothes you bought me." She dressed me up like the man in black. It was cool, actually, but I couldn't tell her that. I've got a rep to maintain.

Unfortunately, before the newlyweds left, there were a couple of stupid traditions that had to be trotted out, in order to humiliate the guests.

Kitty stood at the front of the room, tossing the bouquet from hand to hand, as the deejay called all the single women onto the floor. I watched them jockey for position; Jubilee and -- fuck -- Jean were jostling each other up near the front of the crowd. Maybe she was serious about that wedding crap. Marie stood in the back, talking animatedly with Storm, who'd dragged her out there. Neither seemed interested in the proceedings. Technically, 'Ro was married (and I suppose I'll have to actually congratulate Scooter on that one), and Marie was divorced, so I guess that makes sense.

Kitty tossed that sucker for all it was worth, and it went sailing over everyone's heads, banging Marie right in her deadly cleavage. She grabbed at it in surprise, and everyone whooped. The deejay called her over and announced, "We have our lovely bride-to-be here. What's your name?"

"Rogue," she muttered, blushing. I always liked the way she blushed. You know, it goes all the way down to her toes if she's really embarrassed. Jean came back to the seat next to mine and smiled, but I could tell it was false. She was angry. I shook my head slightly. I really don't get women sometimes.

The deejay was still talking, walking Iceman through the farce of pulling off Kitty's garter as everyone whooped and cheered.

Then the schmuck turned back to us. "Now who's going to be the lucky fella who gets to walk her down the aisle?" the guy said, and all the guys in the place flooded the dance floor. She really did look hot in that gown, and she carried the gloves better than anyone, being so used to them, I guess.

Jean gave me that same tight smile. "Aren't you going to go out there?" she asked before taking a long sip of wine. I just shook my head. No fucking way in hell. She pressed up against me. "I think you should," she said.

See? Women make no sense. No matter what I did at this point, I was fucked. I growled as I realized that. I made my way out onto the floor and stood off to the side, next to this guy named Doug, who wasn't looking too thrilled, either.

Bobby tossed the garter, and the idiots batted it around until it landed on the floor in front of Chuck. I picked it up and handed it to him. "It's all yours, Wheels."

He laughed. "I think you'd be better suited to this task, Logan," he said.

I shrugged and walked over to where the deejay was standing. Marie was sitting in a chair and he was telling her to lift her dress up. I growled and he moved out of the way quick.

"Make it snappy," she whispered, and I could tell she was as embarrassed as I was. It was sheer hell, running my hand up that leg -- I used to get to do whatever I wanted with those legs, and let me tell you, they are mighty fine legs, some of the best I've ever seen, and I've seen a lot.

The crowd started chanting "Higher" in tune with that dumbass song they were playing, and I slid the garter gently over Marie's ankle and began pushing it up her leg. She might have looked annoyed, but she was feeling that connection between us, whatever it is, too. I could smell it on her, hear it in the way her heart sped up and her breath caught. I wasn't exactly immune to the attraction myself. I was kneeling there, my hand on her thigh, her hand on my shoulder, and I just wanted to lay her out flat and take her right there, wedding guests be damned. The asswipe deejay had to call my name three times before I snapped out of it, and I saw Jean's face with an expression I don't generally get to see. She was pissed as all hell, and I hoped it didn't mean I wasn't getting laid tonight, because I really needed to, right then.

Marie and I just looked at each other for one final moment and then we both moved at the same time, away from each other. She practically knocked the chair over in her hurry to get away from me, and I was glad. Because I wasn't going to mess up what I had now, trying to fix what I'd fucked up before.

I walked over to Jean and rubbed her shoulders, placing a kiss on her neck, and another on her mouth. She softened then, and I knew I was forgiven. Hell, it's not my fault nobody wanted to catch the damn garter.

Kitty and Bobby made their last rounds. Jean and I said goodbye to the happy couple, who teased us about being next in line. "What the hell was that about?" I snapped.

She shrugged. "We've been together a while now, Logan. People start to talk." She was annoyed again, but I knew it wouldn't last long.

We got up to our room and almost before the door was shut, I was stripping that gown off her gorgeous body and pushing her down on the bed. She wasn't wearing a bra and I paid very special attention to her breasts. Her arms were around me, one hand in my hair, and the cool satin of her gloves was making me crazy. She went to pull them off, and then I made mistake number three for the evening.

"Leave 'em on," I muttered, going back to sucking at her nipple.

Most women would be okay with that, right? I mean, satin gloves ain't exactly on the top of the kinky list, you know? But most women don't have lovers whose exes wore gloves all the time.

Jean shoved me so hard I went sprawling on my ass. She used her telekinesis, because no way she could move me like that without it.

"What the fuck--"

"Get out, Logan. If you want someone wearing gloves, you know where to go."

I stood. If that's how she wanted to play it, fine. I walked out without a word.

---

{Rogue}

I was sitting outside on the verandah, decompressing after the wedding. Even after all these years, it's still hard for me to be around crowds. Especially wearing a dress that left a lot of skin exposed. I was more comfortable now, in a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, with long cotton gloves covering my arms. It was hot, so I drew the line at shoes and socks. Anyone who wanted to come near me was just going to have to beware my bare feet. I'd taken a long shower after the reception, and was combing the tangles out of my hair. The fireflies were out -- they were early this year, I thought -- and I had a can of beer and a cigarette. All was well with the world.

And then I heard him. He wasn't taking pains to hide, so I heard him from a mile away. I realized that the whole bouquet-and-garter thing had probably landed him in the doghouse. I wasn't too upset about it, though. It wasn't my fault no one wanted to play knight-errant to the woman with deadly skin.

I didn't move. I was there first. If he wanted to sulk, he'd have to find somewhere else to do it.

He came out, leaned against the railing, cigar in hand. He raised an eyebrow at me and I tossed him my lighter. Even after four years, we still had that silent communication thing going on. It was a little weird.

"Beer?" I asked, determined to be friendly.

He nodded, and I tossed him one. "Coors Light in a can, Marie?" he teased.

"Well, you know us white trash types," I drawled. "Ain't got a taste for that fancy foreign swill."

He was off the railing in a flash, and looming over me. "Fuck, Marie, don't say shit like that," he growled. I'd forgotten how he hated hearing me put myself down.

I shrugged. "It's true, Logan. Okay, maybe not the trailer trash part, but that's how people," read: Jean, "see me."

"That ain't true and you know it, kid." He started pacing in front of me, occasionally taking a puff of his cigar.

"Would you sit down already? You're makin' me antsy," I said, and it was amazing how easily we'd fallen back into our old roles. I could almost imagine him giving me the look -- the one that said, let's get naked and screw -- until I remembered that he wasn't mine anymore, and he wouldn't be giving anyone but Jean that look any time soon.

Instead, he actually sat down. I guess four years with Miss Manners has finally beaten some into his metal skull. I don't really like that idea. He shouldn't be completely civilized, settled down like a normal man. He's Wolverine, for Christ's sake.

We sat in comfortable silence for a while, and I realized I missed this. Just being. You don't have to talk or act or front with Logan. He is, and you are, and it's enough. With Remy, it was always about appearances -- how things looked, what other people thought -- never just about who we were; and that was tiring. This was relaxing.

"You and Jean," I said finally, wanting to get it out before it choked me, "you guys seem happy. You complement each other, you know? I hate to say it, but you're perfect together."

He snorted, and I knew my timing was bad, because obviously, if they were perfect, he wouldn't be out here having a smoke and a drink with me -- he'd be upstairs, having sex with her. But it's the thought that counts, right?

"We're good," was all he said. "How are you?"

And I knew he wouldn't ask if he didn't really want to know, so I told him. "I'm hangin' in. You know, getting used to bein' back, havin' people around all the time. I'm not big on crowds. That's one thing I miss about New Orleans. Having my own place. I spoke with the Professor about it -- about maybe me living in town and driving out to teach --"

"You're gonna be teachin'?"

"I gotta make a livin', Logan. I can't just hang on Chuck's coattails." I only ever called him Chuck when I was with Logan, of course.

"And what will you be teachin'?"

"Just 'cause I didn't finish college doesn't mean I can't teach," I said defensively. "I went to school in New Orleans. Worked as a mechanic. I could take the Blackbird apart and put her back together with my eyes closed. And that damned motorcycle you're so fond of? I've been talkin' to Scott about makin' some adjustments. I'm going to take over his mechanics for beginners class."

"Hey, no need to get defensive," he said softly, his face serious. "I was just wonderin'. You're a smart kid. You should finish college." He paused, then, and reaching out a hand, he said, "If you can't afford it, I got some money saved--"

I jumped up. It hurt too much. Even after having been his girlfriend for a year, he still thought I was a kid who needed his protection. "I'm not a child, Logan. I'm twenty-four years old. You don't have to protect me, and you can't buy my forgiveness." Shit. Where did that come from? The hand he'd be reaching out to me stopped, and his head dropped. For the first time in all the years I'd known him, he looked defeated. He didn't even mention that there was nothing for me to forgive, that I was the one at fault, first with my unreasonable expectations, and then with my cheating.

"Logan, I -- Fuck." I grabbed his hand and knelt in front of him. "I didn't mean that. I'm so sorry. I'm the one who needs to beg your forgiveness. You've done nothing but take care of me since the day we met, and I've repaid you with nothing but pain." I rested my head on his knee, tears burning behind my eyes. Why couldn't I ever say the right thing? Why did I always have to try to hurt him?

He slid his other hand into my hair, using it as a barrier so he could cup my chin safely. "Get up, Marie. We've both made mistakes. Please, don't look at me like that. I can't take it when you look at me like that, kid. You're killin' me."

I sniffled, trying to hold back the tears, but it didn't work. He hauled me up onto his lap and cradled me as I cried. "I'm so sorry," I got out between sobs. "For what I did to you. I --" I couldn't say I hadn't wanted to hurt him, because at the time, I had. "You're too good to me, Logan. And I don't understand why."

He rested his chin on my head, cigar and beer long-forgotten. "I don't know, kid. We're just in this together, ya know? You and me, we've got a thing -- I don't have words for it, I just know it's there."

"I know," I whispered, cried out and mellowing. Even her scent all over him didn't bother me at that point. He was right. What we had was something that couldn't be explained, and even if it wasn't the type of relationship I craved, it was still necessary for me to live, like air or water.

"Why'd you come back?" he asked finally.

I shrugged. "Nothin' left for me in New Orleans. Figured savin' the world on a regular basis has gotta be better than fixin' cars and playin' poker."

"That bastard's not gonna show his face is he?"

I laughed. "Nah. He's got himself a new girl, local. He's occupied full-time with that and whatever capers he's workin' on. He's still dreamin' about the perfect heist, the big score." I shook my head. Yet another difference between us; after the argument about kids, the fight about his stealing was the one that we had most often.

"Good. 'Cause I'll gut him if he ever does." I sniffed again, and fumbled for my cigarettes. "Those things'll kill ya," he rumbled.

"Yeah, yeah. Everything I like is gonna kill me, what can I say? I like to live on the edge." It was an old joke.

We sat in companionable silence again for a while. I fell asleep, because I don't remember going to my room, yet I woke up in my own bed, wearing only the t-shirt and my underwear. I sighed. Living here without having Logan was going to be harder than I thought.

---

{Logan}

I watched Marie carefully the next few weeks. She readjusted fine to the routine at Geek Heaven. I knew she would. She's tough. Smart, too. I wish she'd let me send her to college. She deserves more than being a grease monkey, teaching a bunch of mutie kids how to take their cars apart.

The night of the wedding, she fell asleep in my lap, and I thought about her and me and, well, us. There's always going to be an "us" with me and Marie, nothing's going to change that. We're pack-mates, the animal inside me insisted. That's the only way I can describe the bond between us. It's not hearts and flowers and romance -- it's way deeper than that. She's flesh of my flesh and bone of my bone in a way that no one else will ever understand. I don't think even she does. I know I didn't, for a long time. But it had struck me one night, while I was looking for the bastards who put the metal on my skeleton. Even though I'd been with Jean for almost three years at that point, I realized I needed to see Marie again.

It's kind of funny how it happened, actually. I was in the cage, letting this skinhead get his licks in before I leveled him. I mean, I have to make it look good so that people won't catch on and stop letting me fight. So I was letting this guy take his shot, and all of a sudden I smelled vanilla. Marie used vanilla oil for perfume. Said it was comforting. I thought it was sexy as hell. Always made me want to nibble on her neck.

Anyway, I got distracted, thinking of how long it had been since I'd seen her, and how much I wanted to see her, even after everything that had happened. The skinhead kicked me, then, he kicked me good, and I hadn't been expecting it, since I'd been thinking of Marie, so I went down. I shook it off, got up slowly, so they'd think I was hurting, and knocked him out. Broke his jaw. He's lucky I didn't do more than that.

I sat at the bar afterwards and the vanilla-scented woman came over. I guess I'd been checking her out. I wasn't interested -- I am capable of being faithful, despite what Scooter says about me -- but damn, she smelled good. She made me think of Marie. And that's when it hit me. I needed to see her, reassure myself that she was okay. Her scent was imprinted on my brain and she smelled like she was mine.

She smelled like she was mine. That sounds ridiculous, but it's the truth. Yeah, the vanilla-woman smelled good, and the scent of Jeannie's strawberry shampoo makes me hard as a rock, but Marie, even grimy and two weeks from her last shower like she was the first time we met, smells like she belongs with me. It's not even about sex, though that was great when we were together. It's about being in the right place, being where you fit in. Chuck gives all of us a place to call home, but me and Marie only needed each other for that before things went bad, and everything else was just gravy.

I'd promised to protect her, and I'd fucked that up royally, but that didn't mean I was off the hook. That night, I hopped on the bike and headed south like a bat outta hell. She never knew. She'd have been madder than a wet hen if she found me spying on her, and I don't even want to know what Jeannie would think, but I had to see her.

I got to New Orleans a couple of days later, and it was pretty easy to find her. Despite what everyone thinks, I kept tabs. I always knew when a letter from her came; I always managed to get hold of it and read it. Scott was pretty particular about his stuff, but the girls left their mail lying around. Since she never wrote to me, or called me, I had to take whatever I could get. So I knew where she was living.

I caught her the day she moved out. I watched her load her car with boxes. I don't know why she let the Cajun have the house, but she did. When she finally pulled out, and drove to her little apartment on the outskirts of the Garden District, I followed. I watched as she struggled, carrying all the stuff upstairs, until Gambit showed and helped her out. They didn't act like a divorced couple. They laughed and joked, but I could smell the tension between them.

It's hard being around the person you thought was the one. And I never doubted that Marie left me because she thought he was the one for her. She thought he could give her what I didn't, his undivided attention. Apparently, he couldn't, from what I'd read of her letters to Kitty, and that made me want to spring out at him and kill him. But I hadn't given her that, either. I had stupidly let her get away so I could chase Jean.

Jean and I have a great thing, but I wonder sometimes, about that day in New Orleans; what would have happened if I'd rung her doorbell after Gumbo left?

I didn't, though. Just turned around and went home to my redheaded woman. She was surprised I'd gotten back so quickly, and I spent the rest of that night proving to her, and to myself, just how right we were together.

That memory came back to me at dinner as I listened to Jean chatter on about our plans for the next few months. We were taking a vacation -- a real, live, get-away-from-the-X-Geeks vacation -- in a month, and she was telling Kitty about the bed-and-breakfast she'd found up in Vermont. I'd heard it all before, so I focused on Marie. She was smiling and laughing like everyone else, and then she wasn't.

"Wedding?" Jubilee said, and I knew I'd missed something important. "You guys are getting married?"

"We've been talking about it," Jean said, taking my hand and smiling at me. I grunted. What could I say? Yeah, we'd talked about it, in the most general way. And there was no reason not to, really. Though the look on Marie's face made me change my mind. There was a big reason not to.

"That's, that's great," she said, forcing a smile. She's a trooper, I'll give her that. She tried.

The conversation turned to other things, but her eyes caught and held mine before she got up from the table. She was hurt, and I felt guilty. I probably should have warned her, except I had no idea Jeannie was going to bring it up. It wasn't like we had decided to do it. As far as I was concerned, we were still at the talking stage, and I figured it might be another three or four years before we got beyond that. I mean, shit, I'm the Wolverine. I'm not the kind of man who settles down and gets married, for Christ's sake.

Jean said something to me, then, so I couldn't follow Marie out and explain that it was just talk. I didn't see her, but I heard her truck pull out of the garage. As soon as I could get away, I went after her. I figured I owed her that much.

---

{Rogue}

She just sat there and said, plain as day, that they were getting married. I felt my stomach turn over. He was marrying another woman. And not just any other woman, but her. I managed to smile and congratulate them, but inside I was dying. I hated the fact that he was getting married. Hated the fact that it was to her. But most of all, I hated that I'd had to find out like that, that he hadn't pulled me aside and warned me. I mean, we haven't been like we used to be, but after the night of the wedding, I thought things were okay with us, that we were friends again. I guess not.

As soon as I could, I got up and walked away. I went out to the garden for a while, trying to figure out a way to stay there and watch him be married to someone else. I knew how big a step it was for him, and that made me even more sure that he'd never loved me. The part of him still in my head didn't have anything to say.

The meditating in the garden thing wasn't working, so I went to Plan B -- driving. Driving at night is just so calming. I don't know if that comes from him, or if it's a mix of him and me, but I love being out on the road after dark, with the moon overhead, the white lines slipping by and the radio playing.

I drove for a while, until I saw a neon sign on the horizon, rubbing elbows with the moon. It was the kind of place where people like me, people who can't sleep or can't think, end up. A place where the deep fryer is always on and the radio counts down the top twenty country songs.

I sat at the bar and nursed a beer, since I wanted to be able to drive home. I knew when he walked in. I didn't want to see him, not after what had happened at dinner, but I had no choice. There really wasn't anywhere to hide.

He sat down next to me and said, "Hey, kid. Can I sit here?"

I shrugged. "It's a free country."

He sat on the stool next to me and called the bartender over. "I'll have a Molson."

The bartender put the cold, wet bottle down and popped the top off. Then she looked at me. "You ready for another?"

"Not yet, thanks," I replied.

I rubbed my hand along the bottle I was cradling, feeling how warm it had gotten. I knew I wasn't finishing it. I got up to walk out, but his hand on my arm stopped me.

"I ain't gettin' married," he said flatly.

"You sure about that, sugar? 'Cause Jean certainly seems to think so." I couldn't keep the bitterness out of my voice.

"We talked about it, is all," he said. And I realized that maybe she wasn't as confident in him as she appeared. That maybe, just maybe she was nervous because I was around, and I was available again. He never had been known for being commitment-friendly. She of all people should know that. I mean, when he was with me, he yearned for her. Wouldn't it be ironic if the shoe were on the other foot now?

I looked at him. "You don't owe me an explanation, Logan."

"Yeah, I know. But I just wanted to tell you, Jean and I ain't gettin' married. We're goin' on vacation, is all." He took a long swig of beer and I sat back down. "That beer looks mighty tired," he said. "I think you need a new one."

I nodded and he called the bartender back over. She was flirting with him and giving me strange looks. I took the bottle she put in front of me and drank. There were so many things I wanted to say, but I couldn't think of any of them. "Pool?" I asked finally, jerking my head toward the back room, where there was a table.

He gave me that half-grin that always makes me melt into a little puddle. "Yeah, okay."

We got up and headed for the pool table. It was surprisingly unoccupied, and he put the money in while I chose a cue stick. I'm not as good at pool as I'd like to be. It's all that geometry. Every guy I know, and Ororo -- you know she can whip everyone's ass, except Scott's -- has tried to teach me, but I just reached a certain level and stopped. I'm much better at poker.

Anyway, he racked the balls and I broke, and we enjoyed a quiet game of pool for about half an hour, the only sounds the tap of the cue and crack of the balls. Then he said, "You wanna talk? I know you got something you wanna say."

What did I want to say? Oh God, the things that ran through my mind. 'Leave her and take me back.' 'I love you, why don't you love me?' 'Let's hit the road and never go home.' I wanted to say, 'Fuck you. I can't have you. Stop making me think I can.' But I just said, "Nah. Just, you know, you guys deserve to be happy. But marriage isn't easy. It's work." And I took a long drink from my beer before I said anything else.

He gave a brief bark of laughter. "Yeah. I guess. I never thought about it. It was the wedding. Jean's --"

"She's jealous that 'Ro got Scott to the altar in less time than it's taking her to get you there," I blurted. He blinked. I clapped a hand over my mouth, but it was too late to take it back.

"Marie--"

"I'm sorry," I whispered, dropping the cue stick and rushing toward the door.

He's pretty fast for a guy with a metal skeleton, though, and he grabbed me again. "Marie, baby, please," he said, and I hadn't heard that tone in a long time. He was sorry, too. He'd never say it, but he was. I just couldn't tell what he was sorry about. It was strange, not being able to read him.

I shook my head. "Logan." I took a deep breath and held up a hand. "I don't know that this is a good idea, Logan," I began, waving my hand toward the pool table. "I mean, yeah, we're friends, but I don't think we can really be friends anymore. We can't go back."

"We can be family," he said, surprising me. "You're my family, Marie. Since the day we met."

I laughed a little at that. A nervous laugh. Because what he said felt true. We were family, joined closer than almost anyone else could ever be. "I guess."

"I'm sorry I wasn't what you needed," he said then, so low I could barely hear him, even with the nifty enhanced hearing he left me with.

"Oh," I whispered. What could I say to that? He was everything I needed. And on some level, he needed me back. I just wasn't what he wanted. A lot of people confuse need and want, just like they confuse love and lust. And like the song says, "You can't always get what you want. But if you try sometimes, you'll find, you get what you need." And that's what he was giving me now. A chance to get him back in my life, to move beyond what we'd had to something different, and maybe better. I don't know. I don't know anything except that I needed him and he was offering to fill that need in the only way he could.

"Yeah," he said, pulling me out of my thoughts. He drew me towards him and I didn't resist. I let him press my head to his chest and hold me for a few minutes.

Then we resumed our game like nothing had happened, but somehow, everything had changed.

---

Logan and I spent more time together than we had before, just watching sports and talking about cars. It was familiar, and the sharp pain I felt whenever I remembered he wasn't mine anymore receded to a dull ache. I learned to live with the whole Logan-Jean dynamic, and to ignore it when she tried to rub it in my face. I just thought about all the different ways I could kill her, slowly and painfully. I'd like to say I didn't project and kept my homicidal thoughts to myself, but I didn't.

The Professor called me into his office one day to chat about it. He said I had to take control of my thoughts, learn to build up my shields, because not only was I harassing Jean, several of the younger students were picking up on my thoughts and getting scared.

I felt like freakin' Winston Smith. Thought-crimes. I was being punished for thought-crimes.

"You're not being punished, Rogue," Xavier said calmly. "I'm asking you to act like an adult. If that's beyond you--"

I felt myself flush. "You're right, Professor. I'm sorry. I'm being childish." Four years with Remy hadn't matured me as much as I'd thought. He'd been just as immature, and neither of us had called each other on it until it was too late. I looked down at my gloves, too ashamed to meet his eyes.

"Yes. But I know you can do better, Rogue." He hesitated, which was odd, because he's always so self-assured. Then he said, "Fear is a powerful motivator. It makes people do things they would not normally do. And people who act out of fear often make mistakes." I nodded. I hadn't expected a strategy lesson, but okay. "Fear can also be an indication of insecurity. Aggressive behavior is often linked to low self-esteem. The need to strike out before one is struck--"

My head snapped up, then. He wasn't talking about X-Men stuff. He wasn't saying it in so many words, but he was telling me that Jean was scared. She wasn't as sure about Logan as she pretended to be.

"You're right," I said, bouncing up out of the chair. "I'm sorry. It won't happen again."

I don't think he expected my reaction. As a matter of fact, I can pretty much say he intended me to take away the exact opposite lesson from his little talk. He wanted me to empathize with Jean, but he'd just given me a powerful weapon to use against her.

"Don't disrupt the team, Rogue," he said sharply as I walked to the door. "Things are fine as they are now."

"I thought you wanted me to settle things with Jean," I said disingenuously. Lying to a telepath is stupid, but I did it anyway.

He raised an eyebrow. "You know I prefer not to get involved in people's personal lives, Rogue. Don't make this a team matter."

I turned back and put my hands on his desk. "Is your precious team more important than my happiness?"

"No. But the happiness of two other people is also involved, my dear. You are not the only one with feelings, Rogue." His voice softened. "Would hurting Jean really make you feel better?" I sighed gustily. Yeah, yeah it would, or so I thought. I know he heard me, because he said, "Especially if you hurt Logan in the process?"

I bit my lip. There was that to consider. "I have a lot to think about," I said as I left.

~I know you'll come to the right decision.~ His thought followed after me. Damn telepaths. You never get the last word. I heard his laughter in my head as I went back to my room.

I turned his words over in my mind that night as I lay in bed, and I decided to be grown up for once. Logan's happiness was more important than my own. If Jean gave that to him, I wasn't going to mess it up.

I cried a little as I thought about letting him, and my dreams of a life with him, go. But it was the right decision, because I fell into a deep, dreamless sleep and woke up feeling better than I had in months.

---

{Logan}

I lay in bed and watched Jean get dressed. She was going for a run. She did it every morning, a leftover from her days with Scooter. They used to run together. I'm not a morning person. Well, I like a good wake-up fuck as much as the next guy, but usually I'm waking up when other people are having lunch. So I never went with her.

"After breakfast, I have golf with Warren," she said.

"Golf?" I muttered. When the hell had she taken up golf? What was I missing? And why the hell was Warren "I'm too rich for my own good" Worthington doing it with her?

"You complained that I don't like sports, Logan. So I decided to learn to golf. Then we can watch it together on Sunday afternoons."

"Golf ain't a sport, Red," I said. It was a gut reaction, and man, was it the wrong one.

"Logan, just because it doesn't involve toothless Canadians bashing each other with sticks --" she began, her voice mostly teasing, but I could tell she was irritated. And she had a right to be. She was trying to do something I'd like. It wasn't her fault she picked a dumb thing like golf.

"Hey, now, don't mock the hockey, okay?" I growled, because hey, even if it was okay for her to be irritated, you do not diss hockey while I'm around. It's up there with fucking and fighting as one of my favorite things to do. Not that I play anymore. A long time ago, Slim and I talked about getting a team together, but only him, me and the Popsicle were interested, so it never happened.

Chuck had a season ticket package for the Rangers, and Marie and I used to go to games all the time. I took Jean once, but she didn't get into it, so I left the tickets for One-Eye. He rotated the kids he took, or he brought Ororo, who was cool with it, as long as he went with her to the occasional soccer match.

Jean leaned over and kissed me, and said, "Then don't mock the golf."

I smirked. "I don't know, darlin'. It's kinda hard, what with those wacky pants and silly hats those guys wear. And what's with the whispering?"

She tried not to smile, but she couldn't help it. Am I a charmer or what?

"I'll see you later, Logan. Try not to scare the new students, okay?" I grunted and she left.

Scaring the new students is another favorite pastime. Had to make sure they knew I was a badass and wasn't going to be taken in by any sad puppy dog looks or sob stories. And I certainly never took them into town for ice cream or movies. No sir, not the Wolverine.

Unfortunately, it always managed to get around to the new kids that I would take them into town for ice cream or movies, especially if it annoyed Scooter. He and I get along okay now that he's with 'Ro and I'm with Jean, but I know he still thinks I fucked Marie over somehow. So I still take every opportunity to rag on him or get under his skin. It's just too damn much fun to stop.

That's how I ended up at the local ice cream parlor with Marie and a bunch of teen-age girls.

Later that morning, after Jeannie left for her golf lessons, I went out to the garage. Marie and I had actually been working on refurbishing this old bike I picked up on my last trip. It's a beauty -- a Triumph Classic.

Marie was there, but there were all these teenyboppers with her. Now, it was a Saturday morning in June. There were no classes, but there they were and -- Jesus, God in heaven -- they were all dressed in bathing suits. I started to back away, but Marie had already sniffed me out.

"Logan!" she called cheerfully. She turned to the girls. "Logan would be perfect to help us, don't y'all think?"

They nodded with varying degrees of nervousness. Most of them were still pretty new.

"What are you up to, Rogue?" I tried to remember to call her that in front of the students. Otherwise, they got confused.

She gave me a grin that lived up to her name. "We're gonna wash all these cars. The girls want to go to Mexico for a week, but they don't have the money. Scott said he'd pay anything not to have to wash all the cars," there were about fifteen of them -- the boy's obsessed with cars, "so we're gonna do it for him. And then maybe put up a sign in town, see if we can't drum up some business."

A car wash. Mutant babes in bikinis. It had potential. I didn't see why I was needed though, and I said so.

She shrugged. "We just thought a big strong man like yourself would be useful setting up the hoses and carrying the buckets," she said, her accent appearing out of nowhere. She knows what that drawl does -- did -- okay, still does to me.

I folded. Oh, I protested a little more, but I was a goner as soon as I realized that I'd have control of the hose, and Marie was wearing the least amount of clothing I'd seen her in for a while. She was the only one not in a bathing suit, for obvious reasons, but she had on these pants made of material so thin you could almost see through it, and a little white t-shirt that left her belly button exposed.

So I got the hose and filled the buckets and generally had more fun than I'd ever admit to. I may have even cracked a smile once or twice, especially when I hit Marie with the hose. And then I wasn't smiling. I could see the outline of her breasts under the t-shirt and I remembered what she tasted like, what she felt like under my hands and my tongue.

I looked closer and I could see three black marks on her chest through the wet, almost transparent shirt. A tattoo of some sort. That was new. I didn't see it the night I put her to bed, but I was looking now. Oh, God, three claw marks. She'd had scars tattooed on her chest where I'd impaled her. I swallowed hard. I don't know why that was such a turn-on, but it was.

I dropped the hose and turned away. She caught the change in my mood.

Her hand was on my arm as I tried to get myself under control. Goddammit, I thought that getting what I'd always wanted would mean I wouldn't want anything else. I didn't realize that some things are beyond want. I needed Marie, needed to feel her and taste her, and that just couldn't happen.

I was breathing deep when I turned to look at her and her eyes reflected the thoughts I was having. She bit her lip, and I thought, I want to do that. I need to do that. I dropped my head towards her, not caring that there were about ten teen-age girls watching, or that I had a girlfriend, or that kissing her would land me in a coma on top of a whole heap of trouble.

She stepped back, though. She knew. There was confusion on her face, and I felt like a bastard. Both for almost cheating on Jean, and for not being able to let Marie go. I knew she had moved on, but I just couldn't seem to remember that.

She cleared her throat. "Hey," she said, her tone too bright, "when we're done, we're going to go into town for ice cream. Isn't that right, Logan?" She smiled, but her eyes were shadowed.

"Yeah, kid. Ice cream," I replied, feeling the need to punish myself, and what could be worse than ten teen-age girls and one unattainable woman eating ice cream?

Well, I learned what was worse. Coming home from watching Marie eat ice cream -- and is there anything more erotic? Goddamn, the woman had every man in the place looking at her, and some of the women too -- and having your girlfriend give you the cold shoulder all day because you were out with your ex.

It didn't seem to matter to Jean that Marie and I were friends and nothing more. Of course, if she'd been able to read my thoughts while I watched Marie eat ice cream, I'd understand why she was so angry.

Finally, when we were getting ready for bed, I'd had enough of her ignoring me. "Lemme get this straight, Red. Me and Marie takin' the kids out for banana splits is a federal offense, but you goin' off with Worthington all day is supposed to be peachy fucking keen?"

"That's different. Warren and I are old friends."

"Yeah, and? Marie and I are, too," I said, annoyed.

"Warren and I were never lovers."

"Jesus Christ, Jean. Marie lives here now. She's a teacher. She needed help with the kids and I helped her!" I was moving past exasperated and into angry. "What the fuck is your problem? You keep tellin' me I need to get more involved with the kids outside of training. I do and you go nuts."

She crawled along the bed, the expression on her face changing from anger to something else. She looked -- crafty. Yeah, that's the word. Like she was planning something that I probably wasn't going to like.

"Let's get married, Logan. Just like Scott and 'Ro did. We can have Charles and Hank witness for us. We can do it on Tuesday."

"Goddammit, Jean!" I was not ready for marriage. Really, really not ready. "I don't have a past. How can I plan for a future without my past? I --" God, she and I had never really discussed it. She'd never told me what she'd seen in my head the day we met, and I never asked. I didn't want her roaming around up there. A man's got to have some privacy, and I've done a lot of shit I'd prefer nobody know about.

Except Marie, of course. She knows it all. But that's not her fault. One of the things I love about her is that she didn't run in the other direction whenever she saw me coming. Somehow, I didn't think Jean would be that supportive.

Jean grabbed my hand and kissed it, and I sat down on the bed next to her. "I'm sorry, Jeannie, but I ain't ready to make that kind of commitment." She knelt behind me and rubbed my shoulders. "And anyway, I don't think we should get married just 'cause everyone else is doin' it. I mean, if Scott and Ororo jumped off a bridge--"

She laughed and pressed her head against my neck. "Okay, Logan. I understand. But I just, I think we have to take the next step, and do it soon, you know? We've been together a few years now, and if this isn't going anywhere, I'd rather know now, before another five years goes by. I'm coming up on forty soon, and I'd like to have children." She sighed and I pulled her into my lap. Kids. Jesus. I really wasn't ready for that. Though part of me really liked the idea. Kids with big brown eyes and soft brown hair and -- Whoa, Logan, you're not thinking of Marie right now. You have to stop that.

I kissed her gently. "Okay, darlin'. Give me a few months to figure stuff out. Maybe make another trip up north, if Chuck can dig something up out of my head." I hadn't allowed him to do that yet, though it was probably the best way to get leads as to who had experimented on me. But maybe it was time. Jean was right. I might not be getting any older, but everyone else was.

She curled up against me and sighed again. "Okay."

And for the moment, I was safe. I'd bought myself some time to figure out if I really wanted to be married to Jean, or if I still had feelings for Marie. Let me rephrase that -- if Marie still had feelings for me. I knew I'd never stopped loving her. What Jean and I had was good, but I still wasn't sure it was love. I mean, I didn't get that tight feeling in my chest when Jean was sad, or that sort of dizzy feeling when she was happy, and I never felt like she and I had that connection Marie and I shared -- the one that made me feel at home.

Admittedly, that connection hadn't been enough the first time around with Marie, but she'd been a nineteen-year-old virgin and I was her first real boyfriend. In some ways, I'd taken advantage of the fact that I was the only one not afraid to touch her. It was bound to fail. Neither of us had ever had a serious relationship before. What were the odds that we'd be successful with each other? Especially since I spent so much time lusting after Jean.

And I'd moved on pretty quickly when Jean became available. But living day-to-day with Jean wasn't the same as the fantasies I'd had about her. She was a person, with feelings and thoughts and needs and wants, not just a doll I could fuck when the urge struck me. It had taken me a long time to get used to that, and I learned that reality is a hell of a lot different than fantasy, especially when that fantasy has the flu and you have to clean up after her when she misses the toilet.

If it came down to a choice, and I had a feeling Jean wasn't far from forcing me to make one, could I choose her over Marie? And should I have to? I wasn't sure, and I wasn't looking forward to finding out. Because I know the answer to the first question is no. I did that once, and it was the worst decision I ever made. If I had only paid more attention to Marie, maybe she wouldn't have cheated on me with the Cajun. She wouldn't have had to look somewhere else for what I should have been giving her. She wouldn't have had to run away from home. And I wouldn't have had to feel like a piece of me was missing for four long years.

I lay there that night, amazed at how much had changed in just a single day. I looked at Jean, breathing evenly in the dim moonlight that flowed into the room, and I wondered how I was going to tell her it was over.

I didn't fall asleep until the sun was almost up, and I managed to avoid her for most of the next day. She left for DC with Xavier that night, and I figured it was time to quit fooling around and make some decisions.

---

{Rogue}

I'm the first to admit I'm not a morning person. I tend to sleep like the dead and I don't take kindly to being woken. I could feel the weight of the bed shift, and a hand was on my shoulder and -- shit! What was Logan doing in my bedroom at -- I cracked an eye open -- six thirty am on a Monday? And not a school day?

"What the hell do you want?"

"Get up, kid. It's a beautiful day." He opened the blinds; sunlight flowed in like butterscotch and made rainbows on the wall. It was beautiful, but I'd really rather sleep and appreciate it later.

"Yeah, yeah," I grumbled as he sat back down on the bed. "It's a bright, sunshiney day. What's your point?"

"Well, shit, if you're gonna be like that, forget it," he said, getting up and making to leave.

"Logan." Okay, that was more of a whine than I intended, but damn, he knows how I am in the morning. He's usually the same way. Or he was. Had being with Jean changed him that much?

"I was thinkin' we could take a road trip, like in the old days. Up to the Adirondacks. On the bikes."

Back when we were still an item -- before that, even -- we used to just take off every once in a while, go up to the mountains and chill. Logan used to laugh and insult the Adirondacks. Hills, he'd call them, not real mountains like his beloved Rockies. But it was the closest he was going to get in New York State, and it was only a couple hours ride on the bike. We'd climb on, and I'd wrap my arms around him and we'd go.

He's a history buff, so he'd tell me all about Fort McHenry, and I'd tease him about probably having been alive during the French and Indian War, and it would be good.

The thought of returning to that, even for a day, was so tempting that not even sleep could compete. I didn't let the fact that he said, "bikes," plural, bother me.

"I can be ready in half an hour," I said, throwing the covers off.

"Fifteen minutes," he replied, "or I'm leavin' without ya." Another old habit.

"You're on." I went to the dresser, pulled out some underwear and went into the bathroom.

He stretched out on the bed, where it was still warm from my body, and put his hands behind his head, waiting. That flustered me a little. I mean, he wasn't my boyfriend anymore. He shouldn't have been sitting there on the bed, watching me get washed and dressed. It was too intimate; he was Jean's now, and he wasn't doing his part to help me remember that. After a few seconds, I said, "D'ya mind?"

"Not at all," he replied. "You go right ahead."

"Hmph." He could be so infuriating sometimes. I slammed the door to the bathroom, stripped off my pajamas, and hopped into the shower. I tried not to think about the latex suits we'd made, when we were together, so we could have sex in the shower without me killing him. Remy hadn't wanted to do that.

Dammit, stop that, I told myself, rinsing my hair and giving my legs a quick shave. Which was pointless, really. He wasn't going to be touching my legs. No one was. I finished up before I could get really maudlin.

I slipped my panties on, secretly happy they were the little purple bikinis, and put one foot on the toilet lid to lotion up my legs, when the door swung open.

"The clock's tickin', Marie," he said, pointing to the nonexistent watch on his wrist.

"Jesus, Mary and Joseph, Logan. Didn't you ever hear of knockin'?" I crossed my arms over my chest. It was strange, being naked in front of him again. He never worried about being around so much deadly skin. He probably got off on the danger. The version of him in my head dropped in to tell me that I was being unfair; he'd only ever seen me as 'Marie' -- never as some dangerous mutant he had to be careful around. That was very sweet, but it didn't help me out in this situation.

He scrunched his nose up, making that cute, thinking-Logan face, and said, "Maybe once. A long time ago. I don't remember."

"Very funny. Get out. I have to finish up." I could feel my heart racing, though I managed to keep my voice level. I kept telling myself, 'He's with Jean, he's with Jean.' It didn't help.

His eyes were locked on my chest, though. He always was a breast-man. You wouldn't think so, but he was. Oh, shit. The tattoo. I'd forgotten all about that. I'd gotten it the night I found out Remy was cheating on me -- to remind me that some relationships run deeper than sex.

"Why, Marie?" He reached out a finger -- a gloved finger, because Logan is always prepared -- and traced the three slash marks I'd had inked above my right breast.

"I just -- there was no scar," I stumbled, "and I thought, I wanted -- I didn't want to ever forget--"

"Goddamn, how could you forget that night? I almost killed you," he whispered. "I still freakin' have nightmares about it."

I grabbed my bra from the towel bar and turned away from him to put it on. "I know." I'd had his nightmares fairly often right after he left, and that one was always strange -- seeing myself like some sort of innocent angel, impaled on the ends of claws that in the dream felt like my own.

When I dreamt about it from my perspective, it was a whole different kettle of fish. In my version of the dream, I was an angel, all right -- an angel of death. And when I brought death to him, he realized that he didn't want it, even though he'd been seeking it for years. But he was willing to give up his newfound desire to live, if it would save me. He couldn't live with the fact that he'd killed me. The fear in him at that moment was all for me; any hatred he had was directed at himself. And in that moment, the bond I'd felt with him from the second I laid eyes on him solidified. It was only made stronger by his subsequent actions, and not even loving Jean had managed to break it.

"You healed me. You saved me. This is just a visible reminder that someone cares about me enough to sacrifice himself. Not many people get that certainty in life, but I have it, and I never want to forget it." I sniffed and blinked back sudden tears before I turned to look at him again.

He had the most intense expression on his face, as though he was trying to see through me, no -- he was trying to see into me. He reached out a hand and cupped my cheek. "Marie," he murmured, his voice hoarse, and I knew he was affected by my words.

The moment was broken when we heard the sound of a motorcycle tear down the driveway. He went to the window and I finished putting on my lotion.

"Scooter took one of the bikes," he called out. "But we can still go."

That meant we'd be riding together. I wasn't sure I could take being pressed up against him, my arms around his waist, cradling his hips with my own. Shit.

I dressed quickly, in jeans and a white t-shirt, pulling on a pair of fine cotton gloves and slinging a sheer green scarf around my neck. The scarves and gloves have become my fashion statement, like Jubilee's yellow or Jean's red. I don't know why she still wears so much red. I'd always thought she did it for Scott, but I guess she just likes it.

After pulling on socks and boots, I jumped up. "Ready!"

"Twenty-three minutes, Marie," Logan said. "You're gettin' slow."

"Outta practice, I guess."

He looked thoughtful but said nothing as we headed down to the garage. He'd already packed a bag and attached it to the back of the bike. I told myself repeatedly to calm down, and then gave it up and luxuriated in the pleasure of the day. I was going to have fun; I was going to pretend this was six years ago, before everything had changed, and Logan and I were still best buds out for a picnic.

With that resolution in mind, I climbed on the bike behind Logan and we headed out.

---

There really is nothing quite like speeding along on a motorcycle, especially on curving, mountainous roads. The trip only took two hours. It was early on a weekday morning in June, and not many people were heading our way. We drove through Lake George Village, stopped at The Lone Bull to pick up breakfast, and then headed up to a more secluded spot overlooking the lake.

Sometimes, when we'd done this in the past, we'd go fishing, or on one of the tour boats, but mostly we just sort of laid around on the blanket and talked. I'd sketch, which I've gotten pretty good at over the years, and he'd go into the woods and hunt. Mainly, we'd just hang out.

And that's pretty much what we did.

---

I must have fallen asleep, because I woke up and there was Logan, lying next to me, his head propped up on his hand.

"Hey," he said softly.

"Hey, yourself."

He lazily ran his finger down my nose, and then his thumb traced my lips. I watched his eyes darken, mesmerized by his touch. He leaned his head down, much as he'd done on Saturday, and brushed his lips over mine. I closed my eyes and swallowed hard, trying to remember that he wasn't mine. The feel of him against my skin was like a drug. Just a little would never be enough. I pressed closer, forgetting the danger, thinking -- no, not thinking -- wanting, only wanting him forever.

The connection opened up and I tried to pull away, but his hand held the back of my head, and I couldn't stop his thoughts and feelings from flowing into me, new and yet startlingly familiar.

He fell back, weakened, and I tried to assimilate the rush of his feelings and thoughts. Lust, regret at how our relationship had ended, and love. Mostly love. Love for me. He thought I'd loved Remy instead of him. He'd tried to make it work with Jean, but he wished that I still loved him.

I blinked back tears, wondering what the hell was going on.

"Logan," I whispered."Oh, God, Logan."

His eyes fluttered open and he said, "Do you understand?"

I shook my head. "No. You love Jean. You've always loved Jean. The reason I went to Remy in the first place -- you love Jean, not me."

"Marie," and it was like a prayer on his lips, "listen to me. I was wrong. I wanted Jean. I care about her. But I don't love her like I love you."

"But, but --" I was unable to process it, even though I had his thoughts in my head now, to tell me it was true. "The last time you touched me -- you were thinkin' of her. You were wishin' you were with her instead of me. I saw it in your mind -- I felt it. Logan, I know what I felt."

He was staring at me in shock. "When I touched you? When --" he broke off, thinking back. "And you and Remy -- you didn't think he was 'the one' for you? Then why did you --" He couldn't seem to form a complete sentence. I could tell he was putting all the pieces together, what had happened. He twined a hand through my hair, turning my face to his. "Marie, baby, why didn't you say anything? Why didn't you confront me, ask me about it?"

I sniffed, still trying to hold back tears. I hated being a crybaby, especially in front of Logan. It seemed like I was admitting weakness when I should have been strong. He wanted someone else, and I -- "I had to let you go. You wanted her. I couldn't take being second best anymore. I deserved better." My voice was barely a whisper.

"You do, Marie. You really do. I just -- It was nothin'. A fantasy -- it didn't mean anything, Marie." His hand was still in my hair. I shook it off and jumped up.

"It's not nothing when you're thinkin' of another woman while you're fucking me!" I snapped. Anger, yeah, get angry and that'll give you strength, I thought.

He sat up, but made no other move. "I was thinking of another woman, yeah," he agreed, "and I was wrong. But I wasn't fucking her. I was with you, and I wasn't lookin' to be with anyone else. You're the one who did that." But the words lacked anger, lacked accusation; he sounded sad, which only made me feel guiltier.

"I, I can't do this, Logan. Who am I? I'm an untouchable woman -- and I'm vying for your touch with the woman of your dreams. I --"

He looked up at me, squinting in the bright afternoon sunlight. "You're the woman of my dreams, Marie. Without you, I wouldn't be the man I am today. I was a shell, half a man, before I met you. You changed me." I shook my head again. "You're right. I changed, but I did it for you. Because of you. Even when you were gone."

"She, she doesn't exist, Logan. You're always looking for the next thing, the one you can't have. You finally got Jean, and now you want me, because you can't have me."

"No, kid. No." And he reached out for my hand. "I want you because I love you. I'll always love you. I always have. Remember what I said the night of the wedding? You and me -- there's always gonna be something between us. And now we can make it the right something."

I closed my eyes and let him pull me gently into his lap. He murmured into my ear, just nonsense, really, my name, how much he loved me. The newest version of him in my head echoed those thoughts.

"I'm sorry, Logan, but -- why? Why do you want me? I cheated on you. I screwed up and ran away, and you didn't even seem to be hurt. I don't get it." I snuffled a little, burying my head against his chest, unable to look into his eyes.

"I thought you were getting what you wanted. I thought I wasn't it. I knew... I knew I wasn't the best boyfriend -- I spent so much time flirtin' with Jeannie that I didn't realize that you were what I needed. Until you were gone. It seemed like the Cajun was gonna make you happy, and that's all I wanted -- for you to be happy."

"Oh, God, I'm so sorry," I moaned. "I messed everything up. I never wanted him. I only ever wanted you, Logan. Only you."

"And I only ever needed you, darlin'. I'm sorry I didn't realize that. Both of us had some growin' up to do, Marie. I think I'd like it if we could try again, now that we've done it," he said gruffly, and I knew he was feeling the pain, same as I was, of all the wasted years.

"What about, what about Jean?" I asked, then, a little scared to hear the answer.

"I'll tell her the truth -- let her take a look up here if she don't believe me," he replied, tapping the side of his head. "She, she deserves better, too, Marie. Everyone does."

"I guess," I said doubtfully. I was still reeling from the revelations. It was too much.

That must have shown on my face, because he just sighed and said, "Okay, kid, let's head home. We can talk about it later, when we're less -- emotional."

---

The ride back was uneventful, and I had a lot of thinking to do. Plus, I had to sift through and file away all the new Logan-thoughts I had in my head.

I went right to my room, leaving Logan standing in the garage, looking perplexed. After splashing some water on my face, I laid down on the bed, trying to meditate. It really helps with the voices in my head. And I needed to be clear-headed when I made this decision, because it wasn't just me involved. Jean and Logan had been together for a long time. I knew for a fact that his year with me had been his relationship record before her, and they'd been a couple for over three years now.

I clutched my pillow and tried to calm the thoughts swirling round my mind, when I head the footsteps. A little closer to the door and I smelled the perfume. Red Door. For the woman in red.

She knocked and I knew I couldn't hide. "Come in," I said wearily.

She opened the door and said, "Can we talk?" I nodded and she sat down on the end of the bed. "I know you still love him. And he still loves you," she began. She looked like she'd been crying as well. "There was a time, not too long ago, really, when I wouldn't have believed it." She shook her head. "But, seeing him with you -- the way he looks at you --" she stopped, took a deep breath, and I interrupted.

"Don't, Jean. Please. I've caused him a lot of pain. I don't want to do it again. Not to him and -- despite what you might think -- not to you." She looked up at that, smiling slightly. "I wish there was some way to resolve this--"

"There is, Rogue. I'm going to tell him it's over." She got up.

"Jean --"

"Don't say anything, Rogue. I don't really want to hear it. I know when to give up on a lost cause. I should have known from the first moment I saw you together. I just -- I didn't want to see." She was by the door now.

I tried again, "Jean --"

She pursed her lips, shook her head and left.

I sat there, wondering why I felt so bad about finally triumphing over my rival. Then I realized that she was never any competition at all, until I let her in the race. I was so worried, when Logan and I were together, about what he was thinking about her or doing with her, that I didn't spend enough time just being with him myself. I let my jealousy cloud my judgment. Sure, he'd been attracted to her -- I'd been attracted to Remy -- but it wouldn't have gone any further if I'd just been open about it. But I was too young, too scared, too inexperienced. I thought that someday, he'd act on his thoughts, and I'd be left high and dry. So I acted first, and now, four years later, Jean was the one who made the last, decisive move.

The sun was sinking behind the trees, but I didn't bother to put the light on. I needed the dark to hide.

---

{Logan}

I couldn't believe it. I couldn't believe that Marie and I had had our wires crossed like that. I guess all that talking shit out that Jean always mentions is actually a pretty good idea. I mean, if Marie and I had done that, maybe she wouldn't have left me for Gumbo, and she and I'd be together today.

On the other hand, our being apart allowed her to grow up. Hell, it allowed both of us to grow up. I worked the fantasy of Jean out of my head, and she learned that running away don't always solve your problems. I think she had the urge to run before she ever met me -- after all, she was running when I met her -- but I'm sure having me in her head just made it stronger.

I wasn't sure how she was going to react when I kissed her, and I wasn't really prepared for how confused she was. I guess because I'd seen it so clear in my head, felt it in my gut and through the metal to my bones that I didn't expect her not to get it, once she had me in her head again. I should have known she'd have built up such strong walls to avoid getting hurt again, and that even feeling what I felt and knowing what I thought might not be strong enough to knock them down right away. But I was willing to wait. And I was going to break it off with Jeannie, as soon as I saw her.

I could hear her coming down the hall. I took a deep breath, and tried to center myself. She opened the door and she had this sad smile on her face. I could tell she'd been crying. Of course, she had to know something was up. She'd gotten home from Washington and found out that me and Marie were off on the bike somewhere.

"Jeannie," I said, and she held up a hand.

"I know, Logan. I just saw Rogue." She sounded tired. "I --" she sat down next to me on the bed. "You love her." It wasn't a question. "And she loves you. So, I think this is goodbye. Do you mind giving me a few days to move out? I'll sleep in one of the empty rooms and..."

Whoa. I didn't expect that, either. Jean's mature and all, but this was a surprise. And it made me feel like shit. "I shoulda told you sooner, Jean, but I, I didn't know myself, really. I mean, I knew, but not--"

That sad smile again. "Not at any conscious level. I understand." She sniffled and I leaned over and kissed her forehead.

"This is it, huh."

She said, "I guess so." We hugged, and then I walked out, to go see Marie.

---

{Rogue}

He was on his way to my room. I was trying to figure out what I thought, what I felt, and what I knew to be true.

He opened the door and I stood up slowly in the darkened room. He opened his arms and I flew into them, and we just held each other for the longest time, nothing more than that. First, we just stood there, and then we laid down on the bed and pressed our bodies together, secure that it was forever this time.

And I knew.

Logan loves me.

That's true.

I love Logan.

True again.

We can make it right this time, together.

I, with my untouchable face, and he, with his adamantium bones, are going to make it work, the second time around. Not many people get a second chance at a once-in-a-lifetime kind of love, but we have, and we aren't going to screw it up again. I'm getting another shot at my fairy tale ending, and really, you can't ask for more than that.

I know that to be true.

Everything else is a toss-up, and that's okay, too.

End