The attack came when they were at the bridal shop, getting fitted.

Four men in ski masks, brandishing Uzis, burst into the shop barking orders in heavily-accented English.

Rogue was in the back room, watching as three women tucked and pinned the white gown Mariko had chosen for her wedding dress.

She hadn't wanted to come. Had gritted her teeth and smiled when the woman asked. But then Logan chimed in, told her he'd drop them off and pick them up and they could all go for burgers afterward.

Since the night of the engagement party, Rogue had withdrawn further into herself. She knew everyone was worried about her. The only one who had an inkling of the truth was Ororo. Funny how that worked. She lived in a house with two telepaths, an empath and various other powerful psychics, but Ororo, who had no psi gifts whatsoever, was the only one who understood.

The weather goddess had found her that night in the rooftop garden, red-eyed and solemn, cried out from returning the dog tags. No words were exchanged, but from then on, Storm was the only one with whom Rogue felt comfortable enough to let her guard down. Storm was the only one who knew how miserable she really was.

What made it even worse was seeing Logan so happy. Sure, she occasionally caught him staring off into the distance, a haunted look on his face, but that wasn't so odd. He was Wolverine -- loner, badass, man without a past -- and he was getting married. He still hadn't found anything out about his life before the lab, but Mariko had insisted it didn't matter, so he was trying to put it behind him.

Rogue knew him well enough to know that those longing glances were just a manifestation of his fear of being caged. She didn't know that they were most often evident when his eyes rested on her, and no one mentioned it. He was marrying Mariko, and if one or two of their friends wondered what had gone wrong between Logan and Rogue, they never asked.

She'd gotten bored and had pulled a glove off to finger the delicate material of the gowns hanging around the room. She wondered if, someday, she would get to wear white silk and walk down the aisle toward a man who loved her and wanted to spend his life with her.

One of the saleswomen had noted her interest and offered to let her try on the gown she'd spent a good ten minutes staring at. They headed into a dressing room and Rogue had just removed her shirt when they heard the rough, foreign voices.

A woman shouted and was silenced roughly with a single word, "Damare! (Shut up!)" and a thump.

"Onna wa doko ni ikimasuka? (Where is she?)," another voice said.

They were speaking Japanese. Rogue was able to catch a word here and there -- Logan's memories had given her that, and time spent with his fiancée had refreshed her knowledge.

Mariko! Shit! she thought as she heard the sound of gunfire and women screaming.

~Professor! We've got a situation here!~ she shouted mentally, then burst out of the dressing room in time to see one of the masked men turn and aim at Mariko, in her wedding gown.

Rogue launched herself through the air, praying that she would be in time. She couldn't let anything happen to Mariko -- it would kill Logan.

She hit the bride-to-be, knocking her over as the gunman let loose a torrent of bullets. Rogue felt them rip through her. She looked down to see that bullets had torn through her abdomen, and suddenly, pain screamed along her nerves. But she was confident that Mariko hadn't been hit; she had been able to protect Logan's lover.

She turned to the woman in the wedding gown, now spattered with her blood, and tried to say, "Go! Run!" but she could barely speak. Her mind was shrieking for the Professor, Jean, anyone to help them.

Mariko's face was serene as she faced her attackers. "Sassato ni shimatte (Do it quickly)," she said, calmly awaiting her death. She was a warrior, born of warriors. She would not disgrace herself even at the end.

Another of the gunmen stepped over her and, pulling out a .357 magnum, emptied the bullets into Mariko's head. "You betrayed your family, Mariko. Tooboo wa arienai. (Escape is impossible.)" She slumped over, the spray of gray matter and blood staining the white silk of the gown she'd never get to wear for her lover, because she'd never get to marry him.

Rogue whimpered. She was going to die, and she hadn't even been able to save Mariko. She closed her eyes and felt herself floating off into a red haze.

---

Logan heard the sound of gunfire and screaming coming from LaModa Bridals and took off at a dead run. Claws extended, growling at all who stood in his path, he barreled through the doorway of the shop.

With a slashing motion, he disemboweled the first gunman, retracting his claws quickly as the man crumpled to the floor. Without even looking, he ripped out the throat of the other gunman who'd been left on guard in the front room. He also fell to the floor, his neck reduced to a gaping red maw that resembled a grotesque parody of a mouth.

They were not going to get in Logan's way.

He could smell blood -- Rogue's blood. The berserker rage took him.

He burst through the curtains leading to the back room and killed the man standing guard. Time seemed to slow down as he saw Rogue splayed out, gut-shot, while a fourth man executed his fiancée. Then everything sped up again. He could never recount those few seconds accurately, nor did he ever want to, though he saw them over and over in his nightmares for years.

"No!" he screamed. "M'iko!"

He rushed the fourth gunman, using his claws to impale the assassin, whose intestines spilled forth like so much overcooked spaghetti. Then he dropped to his knees beside his dead bride-to-be, keening with grief.

"M'iko, you can't be dead. You can't. Baby, say something. Please." He pulled her lifeless body into his lap and bent over her, kissing her neck and chest. It was the first time he could ever remember breaking down and sobbing like a child.

"I tried."

He heard the hoarse whisper and realized Rogue was still alive. He shifted, sliding Mariko off his lap so he could cradle Rogue. "Marie, darlin'--" he said, his voice breaking.

"I tried," she said again. "I'm so sorry . . . I . . . couldn't save her."

He was crying, and with wonder she felt the drops splash her face. "It's not your fault, Marie. Not your fault."

"I wanted . . . save her," she murmured, and he brushed her hair out of her eyes, watching as she bled out in front of him, too shell-shocked from Mariko's death to even think of healing her. "Love . . . you."

He choked on a sob as her words penetrated. "Love you, too," he whispered.

"No. You. . . love. . . her."

"I --" he began, and then Jean was there, and Hank and the rest of the team.

---

Jean and Hank immediately moved to work on their fallen comrades, gently trying to get Logan to move out of the way. When he refused, Hank forcibly took Rogue from him.

"Let me touch her," Logan demanded.

The doctors ignored him, working rapidly to staunch Rogue's bleeding and get her ready to transport.

His animal instincts coming to the fore, Logan turned his attention to Rogue -- he could save her. He'd worry about avenging Mariko later.

He reached out to stroke Marie's face and Jean smacked him. "Logan, don't do anything. We've got to get her back to the lab and take care of her."

"I can heal her," he countered.

"I don't think you're in any shape to do that," Jean replied coolly. She was secretly grateful for her residency in the ER; it allowed her to appear calm when inside she was a roiling mass of nerves and anger. She knew Logan was Rogue's best shot at survival, but the doctor in her still recoiled at harming one person to heal another, even though she knew Logan would most likely recover quickly from the drain.

And then there were the psychological issues Rogue would have to deal with. Jean wasn't sure she could handle that again, let alone put the younger woman through it. So, though it tore at her heart to deny Logan's grief-ravaged entreaties, she maintained the façade of competence and control she'd worked so long and hard to perfect.

"Let me touch her," Logan repeated. "Please." It was the closest any of them had ever heard him come to actually begging.

Hank laid a gentle hand on his arm. "Not now, my friend. We need you conscious. Storm and Scott will clean up here with some help from Charles. The police are already on their way and it would be best if you were not here when they arrive."

Beaten for the moment, and exhausted with sorrow, he allowed Beast to lead him away as Jean continued to work on Rogue, placing an oxygen mask over her mouth and nose and doing a quick assessment of her wounds.

---

The ride back to the mansion passed in a blur for all of them. Logan sat in the front seat while Remy drove. Jean and Hank worked furiously over their injured teammate.

He couldn't believe Mariko was dead. He'd failed. He'd promised he would look out for her, protect her from her father, her half-brother and their evil plans, and he'd failed.

Not only that, but Marie was going to die, too. He rested his head in his hands for a moment, then abruptly turned at the sound of Jean's voice.

"We're losing her. Remy! Drive faster."

"That's it!" Logan snarled, and he pushed his way into the back of the van. Ignoring the heap that was Mariko, he forced Jean and Hank away from Marie and gently took her face in his hands. "You're gonna make it, darlin'. You have to make it," he said, waiting for her mutation to kick in.

The pull started a few seconds later, and he slumped over her half-clad body, pressing his lips to her forehead. Jean and Hank watched in amazement as her body began healing itself, the damage to her liver, kidneys and spleen disappearing as though it had never been there.

When the skin began closing up, Hank dragged the nearly unconscious Logan away. "That's enough," he said, pressing a hand to Logan's carotid artery, making sure his pulse was still strong.

"Is she--"

"She's going to be fine," Jean said, pushing her hair out of her eyes with the back of her gloved hand. "Rest, Logan."

And he passed out.

---

Rogue woke in darkness. She was in the lab. She hated the lab. It was where bad things happened. The sterile, metallic smell nauseated her, and the beeps and flashing lights on the monitors scraped her ears, eyes and nerves the wrong way.

At first, she couldn't remember why she was down there, but then the memories returned with a flash. The bullets ripping into her, Mariko's brains spattering on the wedding gown -- and Logan.

She should have been dead. She hadn't been able to protect Mariko, and Logan had lost the love of his life, yet he'd still touched her, healed her.

She closed her eyes and swallowed hard, trying to sort herself out from him in her head. Guilt. There was so much guilt. Hers, for not stopping the attack, for not being fast enough, for the small selfish part of herself that was glad Logan wouldn't be getting married. Not that she'd wished ill on his fiancée -- never that. But still -- maybe she hadn't been quick enough because, unconsciously, she'd wanted her dead.

She shook her head, only vaguely aware of the tears streaming down her face.

And Logan -- his guilt was all tangled up with hers. His inability to protect her -- her. She was uppermost in his thoughts at the time of crisis. It had been the scent of her blood that brought on the rage, not Mariko's. And he felt guilty about that, about loving her.

That brought her up short. Logan loved her. It was in his thoughts and feelings -- she felt his pain the night she'd returned his dog tags, his confusion at her apparent disinterest in him.

She began laughing hysterically, which brought Jean running into the lab.

"Rogue! Rogue, are you all right?"

Rogue continued to laugh as the tears streamed down her face, she laughed until she could barely breathe.

"He loves me," she said between hiccupping breaths. "Logan loves me. I never knew it. All that's left now is the guilt and the grief. Soon, it'll be hatred, and I'll deserve it. I'll deserve it."

Jean considered her options. Pulling on a pair of latex gloves, she grabbed Rogue's bare shoulders and shook her lightly. "Rogue, he doesn't hate you. He could never hate you."

"Oh, but you're wrong, Jeannie. You're so wrong, and you don't even know it." Though she seemed slightly calmer, Jean knew Rogue was hysterical, and still in shock.

~Charles, I need your help.~

Xavier's soothing mental presence calmed Rogue enough for Jean to sedate her. Though her body had been healed, her mind and spirit were obviously in need of rest, and time.

---

"Is Marie all right?"

Hank looked up from his reading. He had elected to sit with Logan until he awoke from his coma.

"She's fine, Logan. Jean has her down in the lab, making sure everything is in working order." He paused, then, "Yours is an astonishing gift, my friend. When I think of all the good you could do in this world -- providing antibodies for diseases, healing the sick--" Hank shook his head. "You are truly a wonder."

Logan grunted, used to Hank's musings on the healing factor. The two men had argued many times about Logan's unwillingness to exploit his mutation for "the greater good."

"If I can heal Marie, that's enough," he said. "I need to see her." He sat up quickly, and had to rest his head in his hands when dizziness overcame him. "Shit. How long was I out for?"

"Four hours. You were thrashing about wildly, so I sedated you." Hank put his book down and rested one large hand on Logan's shoulder. "I am so sorry there was nothing we could do for Mariko."

"Mariko," Logan said, as if he'd forgotten her in his worry about Rogue. Hank knew grief could often manifest in strange ways, so he didn't press. "Where is she?"

"Downstairs. We have a -- a--" Logan was startled to see the usually verbose Hank McCoy at a loss for words. "A cold locker in the lab. We weren't sure what you would wish us to do."

Logan closed his eyes against the reality that was setting in. Unfortunately, closing his eyes made the scene in the bridal store visible. Marie, gut-shot and dying. Mariko dead. His complete inability to protect the women he loved.

The guilt was an almost physical force, making his stomach rise into his throat. He had thought first of Marie. Mariko hadn't even entered his mind. When he'd smelled Marie's blood, that had been it.

He'd promised Mariko's mother that he'd keep her safe. The old woman hadn't wanted her involved in the clan-war her husband was fighting with his son, Kenuichio, Mariko's half-brother. Logan had no doubt the Silver Samurai was behind this attack, and he vowed not to rest until the man was dead by his hand.

"We have to take her to her mother for the, the funeral," he said finally. "But first, I need to see Marie."

Hank nodded and the two men headed down to the lab.

---

Rogue was still sleeping, but Logan could tell she was healthy. She was alive. Any other time, it would have been enough.

But not this time.

He steeled himself and nodded at Hank, who led him through a pair of double doors into a part of the lab he'd never seen before. The dim lighting and lingering scent of formaldehyde immediately identified it as a morgue.

Hank opened one of the drawers and withdrew quietly. Logan didn't even notice he'd gone.

He stared at the lifeless body of the woman he'd planned to marry.

It hadn't been a perfect relationship, but she had been good, kind and sweet. She had a beautiful smile, and he'd taken great delight in teasing her until her formal reserve broke and she'd graced him with it. He felt almost physical pain when he realized he'd never see that smile again.

He felt the tears rise and spill over, and did nothing to stop them. He wept for the loss of the life they might have made together, for the cruel and calculated murder of a woman who'd never intentionally hurt a living soul.

He silently vowed to avenge her death -- he had accepted responsibility for her life when he'd agreed to bring her to Xavier's at her mother's request.

Not only had he failed at keeping her safe, he'd almost lost Marie as well.

He'd killed the man who'd pulled the trigger, but he knew that her half-brother was ultimately responsible for her death and Marie's injuries. He promised himself that it wouldn't be long before Kenuichio Yashida's blood ran over his claws.

He pressed one last kiss to Mariko's lips, the lips that would never smile at him again. Then he dried his tears and composed himself.

Exiting the morgue, he said, "I'll call her mother. Get the Blackbird ready, Hank. We're going to Japan."

---

There was no conversation, no lighthearted banter as the X-Men flew to Japan to return Mariko's body to her mother, the only member of her family with whom she'd remained close.

In a break with their usual routine, Rogue slipped into the copilot's seat before takeoff. She had insisted on coming, and disputed everyone's objections that she wasn't strong enough. Finally, Jean, realizing how much to heart she'd taken the other woman's death (and unsure of how much Logan's personality was influencing her), overrode Hank and Scott, and agreed to allow her to come. Logan had been strangely silent. Jean knew Rogue would interpret his absence of support for her as evidence of his supposed hatred, and resigned herself to dealing with yet more of Rogue's wounds -- this time, the psychological ones.

Ororo sat next to Jean, and Hank eased himself in beside the Professor. Kitty and Jubilee, who had grown close with Mariko during her time in Westchester, rounded out the group.

Logan sat, stone-faced, alone. He tried not to think about the plain black coffin strapped down in the back of the plane.

They landed after almost four hours later, at a private airstrip. Mariko's mother, Chiaki, was waiting on the tarmac, her black ensemble lightened only by the string of pearls adorning her neck.

Logan, Scott and Hank bore the coffin off the plane. Three men joined them, and the sad cortege processed solemnly into Chiaki Yashida's fortress-like home. They were bringing Mariko home to the house where she had been born, and where she would now be laid to rest.

Rogue avoided Logan. Her shame, coupled with the overwhelming guilt and grief she'd absorbed from him, made conversation between them impossible. She had woken up in the lab somehow knowing Mariko's death was her fault. In the way of small children who still believe that wishing makes things so, she had convinced herself that her jealousy had somehow prevented her from saving Mariko's life.

Guilt, shame and almost palpable self-loathing rolled off her in waves, causing Jean and Xavier to exchange concerned glances as a subdued Logan introduced them all to his never-to-be mother-in-law.

Rogue wondered desperately if she could escape, run back to the Blackbird and go somewhere, anywhere but here. Anywhere other than here, where she'd have to face the mother of the woman she'd allowed to die.

And then it was her turn.

"This is Rogue," Logan was saying. "She tried real hard to save M'iko's life -- took three bullets in the gut for her. If I had only been quicker..." he trailed off, and Chiaki laid a comforting hand on his arm before bowing deeply to Rogue.

"I am very grateful for your help, Rogue-san. It is well there are not two funerals tomorrow, I think.

"How is it that you are up and about so quickly? Has modern medicine come so far in America?"

Rogue's eyes darted back and forth, seeking escape. "Logan saved me," she whispered. "I'm the one who should have died. I deserved it." Her voice rose and broke. "It was my fault. All my fault."

She fled the room, sobbing, leaving behind a perplexed Chiaki Yashida, a concerned group of X-Men, and one very stunned Logan.

Shit!

They stood frozen for a moment, then Logan's growled exclamation got them moving again.

"Marie!"

He rushed after her, realizing that she must be feeling his own grief and guilt. He cursed himself for hurting her even as he'd healed her.

But Rogue was good at staying hidden when she didn't want to be found, a trait she'd no doubt learned from him.

He decided not to push it -- he was here as Mariko's fiancé, and he would have to wait until they got home to straighten things out with Marie.

Chiaki found him at the koi pond. "Your friend is mourning for more than my daughter, Logan. Will you tell me what happened to make her so upset?"

He was silent for a few moments, wondering what to tell her. Finally, he said, "Ma-- Rogue blames herself for Mariko's death. Her mutation is her skin -- she absorbs the thoughts and memories of people who touch her. I healed her when she was shot. I touched her." He swallowed hard. "She feels my guilt and sorrow along with her own, Chiaki-san. She believes we can no longer be -- friends because of her inability to save M'iko."

"Grief is a burden one often bears alone, Logan, even when surrounded by loved ones. That you share this grief with her --" the woman shook her head as if to clear it, "you can support each other through the dark times. Do not let the unreasonable guilt she feels drive a wedge between you. You need all your friends, my son. Perhaps after the funeral you can speak with her."

"You are wise, mother," he responded, bowing respectfully.

She laid a hand on his cheek. "I love you as a son, Logan, even though you never shall be my son by law. You made M'iko very happy, and you kept her safe for a while. I never doubted that you would. Shingen's arm is long, and Kenuichio is his instrument. It was only a matter of time before they struck at me through her. Her last days were happy ones, and I take some comfort from that fact. I pray you do, too."

And she left him alone with his thoughts.

---

The day of the funeral was hot, humid and overcast. Ororo made sure the rain held off as they traveled to the crematorium for the ceremony.

Logan stood watch as Chiaki and her sister Toshimi washed her daughter's body, moistened her lips, and dressed her.

"We fold the right side over the left to symbolize that death is the mirror image of life," she explained to him. She kissed her daughter one last time and then allowed the funeral parlor employees to take Mariko away.

The X-Men joined Chiaki and her sister at the meal as Mariko's body was cremated. Then Shingen Yashida, Mariko's father, and her half-brother, Kenuichio, arrived.

Chiaki welcomed her estranged spouse with a nod of her head and a tight-lipped smile that didn't reach her eyes. She ignored Kenuichio, and laid a gentle but firm hand on Logan's arm when he would have run the man through, there and then. "Later," she whispered through unmoving lips.

When the service was done and the koden handed over to Chiaki, the X-Men escorted Mariko -- her ashes in an ornate urn -- back to the altar her mother had arranged for her.

As Kenuichio prayed piously to his ancestors to watch over his beloved sister, Logan approached him.

"It's only out of respect for Mariko and Chiaki that I don't kill you right here," he growled.

"Logan," the Silver Samurai sneered, "my sister is better off dead than married to a gaijin beast like you. You have no past and no honor."

*Snikt*

Kenuichio found himself pinned to the wall, two razor-sharp adamantium claws at either side of his throat, with the third resting lightly against his Adam's apple.

"I will kill you, bub, make no mistake. I'll avenge M'iko's death and Marie's wounds, and your blood will run red over my claws. Look behind you, Yashida. I'll be there," Logan vowed. Then he turned to Shingen Yashida, who had promised his daughter to his son in exchange for the younger man's loyalty and service in the family business. "And you won't escape either. You and your son are the last of your line. Your ancestors will wither away because there will be no one left to worship them."

And he stalked off into the garden before either man could reply.

He found Rogue kneeling before the koi pond.

"Hey," he said, trying to rein in his anger. He knew she would misinterpret it in her fragile emotional state.

"Hey, yourself." She sat back on her heels, and the unrelieved black of her funeral attire highlighted the paleness of her skin and the dark purple smudges under her eyes.

Logan wondered if he'd done her more harm than good by healing her wounds. "You look awful," he said.

"You don't look so good yourself," she responded. They were silent for several moments, and then both began to speak at once.

"I don't blame you," he blurted.

"I'm so sorry I failed you," she whispered. She broke into tears again, and he gathered her into his arms.

"Listen, Marie, no matter what happens, you'll always have me. Nothing you could do would ever make me hate you. I'm just sorry, I'm sorry you have to deal with all my shit again." He closed his eyes, feeling his own tears beginning to rise, and squeezed her tightly, trying to convey without words how much she meant to him. "I can't take losing you on top of everything else." I love you, Marie. Please don't leave me.

She leaned her head against his shoulder and looked him in the eye for the first time since he'd healed her. "I'll try, Logan. I really will. I-- I'm just so sorry." She didn't tell him how much she loved him, and how it was her belief that it had been her jealousy that prevented her from acting quickly enough. "It's not you -- I'm used to you in my head," she said with a watery chuckle. "I don't want you to feel bad about what you did for me. You never should. It's, I have my own stuff to deal with, Logan. I never want you to think you hurt me when you touch me, because you don't. I just don't ever want to hurt you. You understand what I'm saying?"

"I do," he whispered, and dropped a kiss on the top of her head, inhaling the fresh scent of her hair as Ororo finally let the rain have its way.

After what seemed like an eternity, Rogue nodded her head toward the house and said, "I'm going to --"

"Yeah, you should get going." He gave her another tight hug, and she clung to him with all her strength, trying to give back some of what he'd given her for all these years. "I'll see you in a couple of months."

"Take care," she whispered, thinking, I love you. Come home to me.

"I always do." I love you, Marie. Please forgive me.

She rejoined the X-Men inside the house, where they were paying their last respects to Mariko's ashes and saying goodbye to her mother before leaving for Westchester. Logan would remain in Japan for the next seven weeks, in accordance with their burial customs.

They all hoped the next two months would bring healing to the man who'd just lost his fiancée, and the young woman who loved him.

End