Logan took one look at Marie's new hair color and felt like a complete bastard.

He was used to people thinking he was a bastard -- encouraged it, even, but Marie was different. He never wanted her to see him as he really was. He liked to think she saw him as the man he could become -- wanted to become, when he was with her.

The red hair was a symbol of the man he'd been -- the man who cared for no one and nothing but himself, living only for the moment and the pleasure it could bring.

Red.

He'd be the first to admit he was drawn to redheaded women -- the stereotype was often true, and he enjoyed the fire and passion red hair seemed to signify.

But he'd found himself dreaming more and more of a brown-haired woman -- one with dark eyes and platinum streaks framing her face. He fought the feelings -- he was no good, she was a kid. He'd played the arguments over in his mind ad infinitum. He was going to do the right thing and leave her alone. He was going to say to hell with it and hold tightly to the best thing that had ever happened to him.

He, who'd never second-guessed himself, but always took whatever he wanted, when he wanted it, wavered in his response to Marie.

So when he saw her at breakfast that morning, the morning after she'd dyed her hair red, he felt like she'd torn his guts out with a rusty spoon.

She knew him -- knew him better than anyone ever had -- and she thought that's what he wanted, another redhead for another one-night stand.

She smiled at him, and he, never one to mince words, was not polite. The shock and hurt he felt made him even more blunt that usual.

"What the hell did you do to your hair?"

The smile faltered. "I, I thought you'd like it. "

"I don't." The smile died at his brutal words.

He ignored the warning look Jean shot him and the disdainful sniff from Ororo. He knew he was behaving like a jackass, but he couldn't help it. He felt as if she'd seen inside him and found him wanting; she obviously thought he was too blind or too stupid -- or both -- to value her for what she was.

"It's red," she added, the hope in her voice giving him some, after all. "I thought you liked red."

"Not on you."

Her face fell. "I'm sorry," she whispered, before turning on her heel and rushing out of the dining room.

"Marie!"

He started after her, only to be stopped by a firm hand on his arm.

"You've done enough damage for today, don't you think?"

He whirled and faced Scott, the owner of the hand that restrained him. He glanced down at it. "Move it or lose it, One-Eye."

"I'm not kidding, Logan," Scott said.

You have to hand it to the boy, Logan thought. He's not scared of me. "Neither am I," he answered with a fierce grin.

"Do you really think anything you can say will make it better now?" Scott demanded. "You just crushed her. You can't waltz in now and expect everything to be all right if you say you're sorry."

He blinked. He knew Scott was right, as much as he didn't like to admit it.

"What if I tell her she don't need to dye her hair to make me love her?" he said, his voice so low only the man standing next to him heard it.

Scott looked him over appraisingly. After a tense moment, he nodded. "That might work. I'd suggest chocolate or jewelry, though, just to reinforce that you know how big an idiot you are." He removed his hand and Logan went after Marie.

He found her in her bedroom, which she'd wrecked in a fit of temper that would have made him proud under other circumstances.

"I swear to God, Logan," she said as he pushed his way into the mess she'd made, "if you came to tell me you're sorry, get the fuck out. Now that I know how you really feel, I'll stay out of your way."

"I'm not sorry," he said mildly. "I mean, I am sorry I hurt you, but I don't like the red hair." She opened her mouth to speak, but he ignored it and continued, "It ain't you, darlin'. And I love you, not some cheap hair dye or some fantasy woman. I've been trying to do the right thing by you, been trying to stay away, 'cause I know I'm no good for you. But--"

"You love me?"

"Yeah. I love you. And I don't wanna think of what my life would be like without you, Marie."

She sniffed, her tears this time from joy and disbelief instead of anger and pain. "That's so sweet." She threw herself into his arms and hugged him tightly, rubbing her face against his chest. "I just -- I know you like redheads and--"

"Yeah, I like redheads, but I love you, Marie -- and your hair color ain't got nothing to do with that."

Another sniffle, and she was burrowing her head into his chest, suddenly shy. "I love you, too," she said, but she didn't meet his eyes.

He felt a strange sensation in his chest, and wondered if that's how the Grinch felt on Christmas when his heart grew three sizes. He gently cupped her face, her newly-red hair protecting him from her skin, and gazed into her eyes, which glistened with tears. Everything in him seemed to expand. He realized that he held the whole world in his arms, and it was good.

They stayed that way for a timeless moment, and he was content.

End