Logan lit a cigar, letting the smoke form a cloud around his head, leaning back to blow a stream of smoke toward the partially open doors that led to the verandah. His need for nicotine satisfied, he moved on to the beer, letting the cold, bitter brew blend with the taste of the cigar.

Shifting in the chair, settling against the blanket that separated his bare skin from the leather, Logan put the beer back on the table, ignoring the coaster. He took his book from the table, leaving the cigar burning in the ashtray one of the kids had made for him a year ago. He had never quite thought of himself as the kind of guy to get a homemade ashtray from a child, let alone a child who was one of his students. What amused him most wasn't the color - the ugliest combination of yellow and purple (Jubilee had been teaching art class that day, and the resulting glazed clay items reflected it) he had ever seen, but that the damned thing was in the shape of an 'X'. Taking another puff, he replaced the cigar, one of Charles' prized Cubans, back on the downstroke of the X, letting it smolder as he returned to his book.

He finished the chapter he had started before the X-Men had been called away on a mission, looking up when he heard the shower finally start. He was never quite certain what women did in the bathroom; all he knew was the bottles and jars seemed to multiply on their own every so often. They had come to an agreement; Logan kept his things on the second shelf of the medicine cabinet, the rest of the bathroom space was hers. He was sure he had gotten the short end of that particular stick, but he didn't consider it important enough to fight over.

Laying the book in his lap, he picked up the beer and took another sip. Taking up the book again, his mind wandered, the words detailing the new interpretation of D-Day blurring as Logan thought about his own, more recent past.

---

Back Five Years


You running again?

The words ran through his mind as he drove his new used truck, Cyke's motorcycle in a trailer behind it, over the highways of Alberta. He was heading back north, far north. To Alkali Lake. The high purse fights he had found during a month in Montreal had earned him enough to make money the least of his problems during the coming winter. He could take a motel room for a few months, and leave to go farther north with the camper for a few days if needed. He had stopped in a library before leaving New York, finding a few motels listed in the online phone book for the area surrounding Alkali Lake; he was sure one of them wouldn't mind a long term resident in the middle of the off season.

Her voice sounded again in his head and he frowned, lighting a cheap cigar, cracking open a window before the foul yellow smoke filled the cab of the truck. He wondered if he should call New York when he got to the motel, just to make sure that the geeks were taking care of her. He sighed. Of course they were. She was living in a mansion full of people who cared, who wanted to help.

They'd look out for her there - Scott, and Xavier… and Jean. He winced at the thought of the beautiful doctor. They had come to an agreement, he thought to himself. He would try to lead her astray, and she would turn him down. It was a pretty shitty deal in his opinion. Couldn't blame a guy for trying, unless you were the girl's guy, of course. He grinned at the memory of his first call back to Westchester, over a month ago. Scott had quickly threatened him for the theft of his motorcycle, then Logan could hear Jean's voice in the background. A few minutes later, with obvious reluctance, Scott grudgingly told him not to wreck the bike too badly.

Marie had been happy to hear from him, he could hear it in her voice. The chink-chink-chink sound as she ran the tag up and down the metal balled chain was in the background as they chatted. He had asked her a question and she had laughed, and he heard the tags fall against her skin. The resulting mental image of Marie, his tags lying between her breasts and nothing else on had been uncomfortable, especially as he tried to convince himself he didn't feel that way about her.

His dream that night had been a revelation. The image of her nude, aside from the tags had been arousing; the dream that had featured her clothed and wrapped around him as he surged into her tight, wet, warmth had been downright painful. That morning he thought of sable brown and platinum hair framing a face with unfathomable brown eyes as he stroked himself to completion in the shower.

He hadn't thought about a red headed doctor in that way since.

Maybe he wouldn't call Marie when he got to the motel.

Not yet.

---

Northern Canada was damn cold come March. An unplanned week stuck out in the middle of nowhere, thanks to a dead on road truck, had tested even Logan's endurance. The first day the engine had refused to turn over, he had cursed. The second day, he had run the claws through a few parts of the complex that had been intact. The third day, when the weather had turned slightly warmer and the engine finally turned over, he had been too tired and cold to feel anything but a dull sense of relief.

Pulling into the parking lot of his motel, Logan sighed. He was looking forward, after a week up the remains of the complex, to the hot shower that awaited him in his room. Deciding he would check for messages after he cleaned up, he parked the truck and let himself into his room, his home for the last five months.

The water was just as hot as he remembered it, thank god. A good long shower later, feeling clean and warm, Logan wiped the remnants of the shaving foam off his face. Beard tamed, a scratchy motel towel wrapped around his hips, he left the bathroom. Entering the tiny kitchenette, he opened the box of food he had left there a week ago, finding a bag of potato chips. Grabbing a bottle of beer from the fridge, he threw himself down on the bed, opening the bottle with the opener he had left on the bedside table. He flipped the television on with the remote and tore open the chips. He surfed through the surprising number of channels that were available as he snacked.

An hour later, the Flames having lost to the Leafs, he decided it was time to get something more substantial to eat. Logan dressed in his usual layers of clothes, never considering that plaid and paisley didn't match, thinking only of the practical warmth the clothes provided. He threw the two changes of clothes he had been forced to wear for a week into a bag, and grabbing his keys, left the room.

He threw his clothes into the washing machine off the motel office and picked up his messages from Jack, the clerk on duty. There were two messages, two more than he had expected. The messages were the same, word for word. Marie was wondering if he was okay, and would he call home?

Home. Home?

Thanking Jack, Logan gave him a tip to put the clothes in the dryer when the wash cycle was done and left the office. Driving the ten miles to Mickey's Diner, he tried not to think about Marie and the mansion he didn't quite think of as home. Reaching Mickey's, he grabbed the notebook and folder he had bought to record any notes of interest about the facility at Alkali Lake, and went in to eat.

Over a huge plate of fried chicken, Logan went through his notebook, planning what to do when he left Alkali Lake. Much to Logan's disappointment, the facility had provided a few more clues, but nothing definitive. Looking over his finances, Logan realized while the motel hadn't been too expensive, if he wanted to avoid touching his savings, he would have to make some money. Thinking over his options, he decided he could work down the fight circuit. Maybe fight his way down to Calgary. He would be able to clean up come July and the Stampede, when the number of people willing to pay to watch fighting went up exponentially.

Paying for his meal, Logan put his change back in his pocket, his fingers brushing against the bright pink paper meant to remind him to call Marie. The thought of her concern made him smile faintly.

He'd call her when he got back to the motel.

---

The Calgary Stampede, that week when the city turned back time, trying to find the old west again, was a highly profitable time for someone interested in making some serious money on the fight circuit. Logan had finished trashing the last of his ten opponents that night, and was sitting at the bar at the Rowdytime Saloon when she walked up to him. He raised an eyebrow as she stood close to him and ran her hand over his shoulder.

"You're very impressive in the ring," she said in an unmistakable Boston accent, her mouth wide, her lips a dark red.

He looked up into blue eyes framed by long blonde hair. He blew cigar smoke over her shoulder, not feeling hostile enough to blow it into her face. She grinned at him, and he remembered just how long it had been.

"What do you want?" Logan asked, turning back to his whiskey, downing it in one swallow.

The blonde moved closer to him, rubbing her breasts against his shoulder. Leaning down to his ear she whispered, "What do you think?"

The feeling of warm breath against his ear and soft breasts against his body made the decision for him. Throwing a wad of cash on the bar, he took her elbow as she led him out the door. Getting into the passenger seat of her covertible, he smiled as she drove them back to her hotel.

---

"… oh fuck, " Logan panted as he exploded inside her, her muscles pulling him tight, her legs around him, almost squeezing the breath out of him. Her mouth found his and she fastened onto him there too, her tongue forcing its way into his mouth. A stray thought flew through his head that she was taking him better than he was giving, an unusual situation for him. She moaned around his tongue as she came. They had been at it for quite awhile, and he had lost track of what number this was for both of them.

Falling onto her, finally exhausted, Logan wasn't surprised when she rolled him over, moving his three hundred plus pounds effortlessly. He had pegged her for a mutant right off, but her strength had surprised him. It made sex interesting; he had never been the one against the shower wall before.

"That was good…" she breathed.

"Wolverine."

"That was good, Wolverine."

"Yeah, it was…"

"Carol."

"It was good, Carol." He could make out her smile in the darkness of the room. The blue of the television's test pattern reflected in her blonde hair.

She climbed off the bed and pulled the condom off him, throwing it in the can they had moved next to the bed for easy reach. She grabbed the bottle of whiskey they had ordered from room service, taking his cigar off the table where he had left it the first time she had jumped him. Lighting it, she frowned, then blew a smoke circle in his direction, the meager light tinting the smoke blue. Getting back into the bed, she handed him the bottle, then the cigar.

"So, who were you imagining I was?"

He choked as he sucked the smoke back into his lungs instead of blowing it out. "What?"

"Come on, Wolverine," she grinned at the name. "You almost said her name, thought you might choke for a minute there." She took the bottle back and downed another swig. "What is she? Brunette? Blonde?"

"Both." It came out before he could stop it.

"Hmmm."

"What does it matter to you?" he snarled.

"I'm just interested in human nature like that, Wolverine."

"Fine thing for a mutant to take an interest in."

Carol glared at him as she left the bed, striding over to the desk where the ice was melting in the bucket. Grabbing a few cubes she put them into a glass before filling it with the whiskey. "I'm interested in a lot of the ways we all treat each other, Wolverine. Sometimes there has to be something beyond ourselves, you know."

He raised an eyebrow. "Is that why you chose a nameless guy in a bar to fuck?"

She took a sip of her drink. "No. That was about needing release and seeing a fine looking man in a bar. Sometimes sex is just sex, I'm sure you know that."

He grunted, wondering if it was time to leave. Wondering if she would give him a ride back to his truck, parked back in the lot at the Rowdytime. She put her drink back down on the desk and returned to the bed, crawling in next to him, pulling the sheet over them. Logan took the unsaid invitation to spend the night for what it was worth - a convenience, and closed his eyes.

He'd head back to Westchester when the Stampede ended on Sunday.

It was time. He wasn't going to run - but he was going home.

---

There were moments along the way when he thought about turning around. Fifteen plus years of avoiding people and commitments would be over, because he knew that if he did return, he was going to be there for awhile. Deep in his stomach that started a feeling that wasn't as much unease as it was out and out fear. He was a loner, damn it. He was. Joining up with the geeks was just stupid.

He kept repeating that to himself as he drove up Greymalkin Lane, finally reaching the voice box at the gate. He pressed the button and waited.

"Hello?"

Oh, great. Cyke. It was going to be one of those days.

"It's me."

"Oh. Logan."

And that was all the one-eyed wonder said. As Logan began to growl, the gate opened. Logan shifted the truck back into gear and started up the drive.

Jean and Scott were at the garage to meet him when he pulled in. Well, Scott was probably there to be reunited with his motorcycle, while Jean was most likely under orders to bring him back into the fold.

Xavier was a wily bastard.

Jean smiled at him, turning on that charm and he was back a year, on the platform of the MRI that Xavier conveniently kept in the basement. Well, at least the lack of needles was an improvement. He grabbed his duffel bag and slung it over one shoulder, curling an arm around Jean's waist. Scott snorted, but was busy checking on his bike. Jean rolled her eyes and started up to the house, twisting slightly to remove Logan's arm as they walked.

Reaching the house, Jean led him to Xavier's study and excused herself, leaving him to molder in one of the comfortable chairs in front of the desk.

He was thinking about raiding the humidor, after all, it had been a year since he'd had a good Cuban, when he heard the door open. The footsteps were light, so he thought it was Jean - until he breathed in her scent. Turning around, he just stared.

Dear God.

He had known she was pretty when he left, but a year of good nutrition and an environment more conducive to health and happiness than hitching across a continent had done wonders. Her face had matured, she looked older, but in a good way, not the drawn way she had before. The breasts he had almost felt guilty about staring at when he left looked even better, the V neck of her t shirt showing just a hint of the chain. He knew just where the tag itself was sitting.

He wondered if Xavier's study was a good place to ask to see it, just to check up on it.

He returned his eyes to her face and saw her lips twist in a smile, her eyes laughing at his expression. He schooled his features into a frown.

"Hey, kid."

"Hey yourself, sugar."

'Sugar'? What the hell was that about?

She came over and hugged him; both of them protected by her gloves and his long sleeved jersey. He hugged her back, trying hard not to think too much about her scent, or the feel of her body against his. Logan twisted out of her embrace when the door opened and Xavier rolled in, Jean behind him. He berated himself for that twinge of guilt. Jesus Christ, she was old enough, and he just crossed a continent to get back.

Jean gave him a smirk from where she stood behind Xavier.

Women.

Marie gave him one last squeeze, then turned and started back to the door. "I have to get back to class," she said. "I'll see you later, Logan."

And with that, she was gone.

Logan turned to Xavier, who had taken his place behind his desk. "Class?"

"Yes, Rogue teaches the younger children three times a week. I believe today is music. Tomorrow is art." He looked at Jean who was seated in the chair next to Logan's. "Jean, you might want to make sure we have plenty of paper towels in the art room. Last week was rather… unfortunate."

Jean nodded.

Xavier turned back to Logan. "Cigar?" He asked as the humidor lid opened. Logan leaned forward and took a cigar, biting the end off, and pulling his lighter out, lit up.

Blowing the expensive, and illegal, smoke out in small circles, Logan looked back at Charles. "What now?"

The bald man raised an eyebrow, but seemed willing to get to the point. "Tomorrow we will get you fitted for a uniform. I believe Rogue is being fitted for hers, so you can go with her." He nodded, confirming their plans to himself. "Do you have anything in particular you would like to teach? I believe we have openings in history and gym."

Logan was not a stupid man. He knew which of those two choices he was supposed to take.

So he took neither.

"I suppose I could do both, while you find someone to fill one or the other."

Xavier shot him an amused look, knowing Logan had just called his bluff. "Very well. Jean will give you a copy of the history text. Gym tends to be rather self explanatory."

"Welcome to the team, Logan." Xavier wheeled himself around the desk and extended a hand to Logan.

Logan shook the well-manicured hand, knowing that in the space of five minutes, he had just made a huge commitment.

It was only the second one in sixteen years and five months he could remember.

---

After a quick tour of the classrooms and gymnasium, Jean led him back to the room he had used a year ago. Everything was the same, down to the ugly furniture. She smiled at him as he put his bag on the bed. He looked down at her hand, where a gold band had replaced the diamond solitaire in the year he had been away.

Giving the ring a pointed glance, he looked back up at her. "So, does that mean you don't want to read my mind anymore, Red?"

Jean gave him an amused look. "Who said I wanted to read it in the first place? But I think that would about sum it up."

The urging of male pride made him step closer. "Come on, Red…" A giggle from the doorway made him step back. Marie stood there, an eyebrow raised in a manner he was definitely familiar with.

Jean patted him on the arm as she walked by. "Behave yourself," she whispered. "He's all yours, Rogue," Jean told the younger woman, leaving the room. A few seconds later, Logan could hear Scott's voice down the hall. The words, 'hit on you again, didn't he' made him cringe as Marie sat down on his bed, looking for all the world like she belonged there.

"You can change rooms if you want, sugar. There's a room down the hall next to mine that's empty."

"Eh, this should be fine," he replied, not wanting temptation to be too close, too soon. He might not remember any formal education, but he knew well enough that being in close proximity to the star of his early morning shower fantasies could prove problematic if this didn't work out.

He stared at her. When had she started wearing mini-skirts?

"Suit yourself." She tilted her head to one side, her hair falling back, showing off the soft skin of her neck. Logan could have sworn he heard bells. "Come on, Logan. Time for dinner."

Dinner bell, good. Food was good. Logan followed her down the hall, keeping a close eye on her hips as they swayed.

He hadn't counted on mini-skirts.

---

At two am, Logan was cursing his heightened sense of hearing. If he had to give up any part of his… gift, Logan was willing to part with the hearing right now.

He and Scooter would never see eye to eye (pardon the pun), about most things, that was a given. He could accept that without any pain whatsoever. But as he lay in his bed, a pillow over his head to block out the sounds from the room next door, Logan knew that he was being targeted.

This was definitely payback, he thought to himself, as Jean moaned Scott's name again, her voice hitching. Logan knew that sound… He pulled the pillow tighter over his head. Why the hell had they changed rooms? Last year they lived down the hall, far enough away a pillow was a good enough barrier to sex sounds. He grunted to himself, the sound muffled by the pillow over his head. This was definitely 'you stole my motorcycle, now I'm torturing you by having loud sex with my wife' payback sex.

"Scott!"

Logan waited. They had to be done now. He lifted the pillow off his head, and thank god, all he could hear were indistinguishable murmurs. Feeling assured of a peaceful rest of the night, Logan settled himself in, sleep slowly taking over.

"Oh, yes! Jean, oh god… ride me hard, cowgirl!"

Logan opened one eye. That was just gross. He should have known Scooter had a bit of the drama queen in him. Getting out of bed, he pulled on the sweat bottoms he had discarded before climbing between the sheets. Shooting one last annoyed glare at the wall, he stomped down the hall, stopping in front of Marie's door.

He knocked, softly at first, then a little harder. He could hear her inside, and he waited impatiently for her to open the door, turning back down toward his room and the door to the Wild West Club just beyond it.

He turned when she opened the door, his jaw hitting the floor.

Holy ...

The nightgown she wore was definitely more grown up than the last one he had seen. It was a deep green, and looked silky. Thin straps led down from her shoulders to the fabric that - barely - covered her breasts. Logan clenched a fist, willing himself not to touch the fabric. He was disappointed not see his chain or dog tags, but the view he was getting made up for it.

More than made up for it.

"Logan?"

The sound of her voice made him stop his inspection of her breasts, and he could have sworn there was a mischievous gleam in her sleepy eyes as she watched him try to remember why he was there.

"Logan, did you want something?" she prompted, leaning sleepily against the doorframe. He mentally slapped himself again. She shouldn't be allowed to ask that kind of question, not dressed like that.

"Which room?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Which room is empty?"

"Oh." Was that disappointment in her voice? She brushed past him, the touch of skin to skin too fleeting for the pull to start. He willed the shudder of excitement at the touch away. "That's Jubilee's room," she said, nodding at the door to the right of her room. She led him to the room on the left, pulling the door open and flicking on the light. "This one's empty. What's wrong with your room?"

"Noise," he said, not moving from his spot just inside the door of his new room, still captivated by the lights shimmering off the green silk.

"Oh." Marie said again. "Well, goodnight, Logan."

"Night," he said, closing the door behind her, forcing himself to return her smile as she stopped in the hall to look at him. He smiled until she had re-entered her room and closed the door. Closing his new door, he braced himself against it, leaning back and letting out a shuddering sigh.

Little silk nightgowns.

He hadn't counted on that.

Damn.

---

The next morning Logan sat quietly in the car as Marie drove them into the city. Stopping in an out of the way neighborhood in Manhattan, she got out of the car, leading him into a well-maintained brownstone.

Ann Sierra's couture house, where all good super-heroic X-Men got fitted out for leather goods, was an exclusive place. Ann met them at the door to her office, leading them inside. Logan let the two women chit-chat as he inspected the curios in the office, drinking the upscale coffee from a mug that Ann's assistant refilled as soon as it looked empty.

"Logan?"

At the sound of Marie's voice, he turned, looking at the two women, who were gazing at him expectantly.

"Logan, Raoul is ready for your fitting," Ann said, nodding in the direction of the door, where a slight man with a number of earrings reflecting in the overhead lights, was standing. He sighed, knowing that this was part of the deal, and to Marie and Ann's obvious amusement, stood and followed Raoul down the hall, ignoring the other man as he chattered at him.

An hour later, the excitement that was getting his inseam measured finished, Logan was looking for Marie. He had had an interesting argument with his new good friend, Raoul. Apparently not only was he being measured for the leather, but they had orders to make him some formal wear, a tuxedo.

For some reason, that annoyed him more than the idea of the leather superheroing outfit. The Wolverine in leather - fine; but the Wolverine in a tux? Growling a variety of curses, he headed down the hall, following Marie's scent. Opening a tastefully decorated door, he found himself face to face with Marie, standing on a raised platform in front of a mirror, dressed in nothing but a black strapless bra and panties. He gaped at all that bare skin, dumbfounded.

She stared back, a rosy blush starting at the roots of her hair and working its way down.

"Logan!" He spun at the sound of his name, looking at an obviously annoyed Ann. She moved between them, quickly helping Marie to pull on a dress. Logan noticed she was wearing a pair of gloves, but other than that precaution, didn't look overly concerned about being around Marie's bare skin. Ann pointed to a chair against the wall, out of the way. "Sit." He was so bemused he didn't object, following the order to perch on the chair.

Once the zipper in the back had been pulled up, Marie twirled on the platform, looking at the dress from all angles. The dress was beautiful, but couldn't hold a candle to the woman wearing it. Logan felt a peculiar twinge, noticing the excitement on her face as she touched the fabric. The dress was almost decadent, a deep midnight blue silk, the hem falling to mid-calf. It had short sleeves, and the V of the neck went deep, showing off much too much cleavage for Logan's peace of mind. Taking a pair of modest heels, obviously dyed to match the dress, Ann put them in front of Marie, holding out a gloved hand to keep the younger woman steady as she stepped into the shoes.

Logan's heart hit his stomach at the sound of her delighted giggle.

"It's perfect, Ann."

"Of course it is, dear. The gloves will be the same color, just above the elbow, with the lace accents." Ann turned to Logan, her eyes smiling at the ill-disguised desire in his eyes. "Isn't she lovely, Logan?"

He ignored Ann, focusing only on Marie. "You look gorgeous, darlin'."

Her blush grew deeper, but her smile was wide.

"Come, Logan, we'll let Hannah help Marie get dressed, and you can yell at me."

Remembering his annoyance over being fooled into formal wear, Logan took one last look at Marie, then belligerently followed Ann out of the fitting room and back down the hall to her office.

Seated back in Ann's office, Logan gave her all the reasons why he didn't want a penguin suit.

She ignored him.

He wasn't used to women ignoring him.

"You'll look like sex on a cracker," Ann said, not bothering to hide her amusement. "Besides, Rogue needs someone who can be her escort on formal occasions. After all, you can't trust these trust fund types, you know. "

Logan frowned at her.

"If you aren't there to growl at them, they might try to touch things they shouldn't."

"You're mocking me, aren't you?"

"Yes, but it's true nonetheless."

Logan gave in with a sigh.

Ann reached into her desk drawer, then came around to sit on the expensive slab of mahogany. She reached over and grabbed his empty coffee mug. After pouring a good measure of Gibson's Finest into it, she handed it back to Logan. He smiled tightly downed the smooth whiskey, relaxing slightly.

"Sorry, it was a long night."

"So, would you like to see some gloves?"

Logan choked on a sip of whiskey. "What?"

"Some gloves. For recreational purposes."

"What… No, I do not need any gloves."

"Really?"

"Yes. What is it with women?"

"What do you mean?"

"First Jean has sex with Scooter last night to make me move closer to Marie," he paused as Ann choked on her coffee. "Now you want me to buy gloves. What is it with you women?"

"Jean had sex with Scott… to make you move closer to Marie?"

"Yeah. I mean why else?"

Ann just blinked at him, putting the coffee down on the desk. "Yes, I can understand that. Why else indeed."

Logan nodded, happy to finally have someone who understood. "Yeah, that's what I figured."

"So, no gloves?"

Logan growled and glared, but turned his attention to the door as Marie's scent filled his consciousness, distracting him from Ann and her annoying question.

Ann watched as Logan looked at Marie and Marie stared back at Logan, and smiled. Taking a pad from her desk, Ann began writing out an order for gloves. It would be best to be prepared.

---

Logan suppressed a smile as Jubilee and Marie entered the gym with their students, rubber soled sneakers squeaking on the rubberized floor. There were ten ankle biters in this group. Seeing them invariably made Logan angry. But not at the children, at the parents who had thrown them away.

These were the kids who had no homes to go back to during the summers, before the fall term started. They stayed at the mansion and became part of the odd little mutant family Xavier was creating. Scott had told Logan all about his students, telling him about the horrors some of the children had gone through to get to the mansion. Many of these kids were most likely children of mutant parents who could pass for normal. Parents who weren't willing to sacrifice their normal lives for the sake of their children. Children like Jennifer, who was an adorable child of seven, but her yellow eyes and pointed ears clearly identified her as a mutant. Jean and Ororo had rescued the child from her parent's basement a year ago. Or Jonah, who had been bought from his parents two years ago, at age six.

Looking over his charges, Logan called for them to get into their teams and grab the gear for dodge ball. As the kids scampered off to do his bidding, Logan watched as Marie wove in and out, helping the kids to organize. Jubilee worked with one team as Marie took the other. After gym they would all go to the art room, where Logan would sit in back and draw Marie as she moved around the room, leaning over the little desks, helping the rug rats with whatever horrors they were creating.

An hour later, everyone having at least one rotation of being dodged and balled, Logan was running across the game field as the ankle biters, led by Marie and Jubilee, ran after him. Stopping, he stared at the little snots, daring them to do it.

They did.

He heard Marie giggle as the ball came at him. Knowing what was expected of him, he extended a claw, and moving quickly, impaled the ball on the adamantium spike.

Children, by nature tended to be bloodthirsty little fiends, Logan had discovered in the month he had been teaching here. The kids surrounded him, staring at the claw, until he growled, and they ran, laughing, back into the gym. Shaking his head, Logan followed, Marie moving to walk by his side, catching the deflated rubber ball as he retracted the claw.

---

The first week in September marked not only the beginning of the session at Mutant High, but also at Smithson College, where Marie was a student. The school was fifty miles away, so Marie stayed there during the week, coming home on weekends to train with the team, to help with the weekend madness that accompanied a school of sixty five students of all ages. To keep himself amused while she was gone, Logan trained, came up with new and exciting ways to harass Scooter (he had found not screwing the top back on the jar of mayonnaise worked wonders), and went on missions. He read the books needed to teach his history classes, and despite his intentions, found the history interesting.

Unless it was raining, and then only because Scott and Xavier double-teamed him on it until he gave in, Logan taught his classes outdoors. He got along remarkably well with his students, mainly because he had one rule, and it was simple: 'Don't give me shit'.

Ororo, who was teaching Arabic and English this year, had confided to Xavier that he was tough but fair, unfazed by the odder things that could happen to a teacher in a school full of students with mutant powers. While elsewhere, excuses such as 'my homework was struck by lightening', or 'my homework phased to a different dimension', might be unbelievable, at mutant high, they happened at least once a month.

Logan's middle grade classes were in the midst of studying World War Two when it happened.

Kurt was reading from the text, an examination of the D-Day Invasion, when Logan's mind began to race with images of a beach, bodies of the dead and dying everywhere. Fires raged while bullets and other explosives flew everywhere, the surf red with blood. He could smell and taste the coppery tang of blood, the salt of the sea, the stench of burning of flesh and hair. His ears rang with the sounds of bullets and mortar fire, the lapping of the sea weeping softly as the images exploded and he lost consciousness.

When he came to, the kids were gone, and Jean and Scott were sitting by his side.

"How do you feel?" Jean asked, in her element, full on doctor mode.

"Like someone just ran over me with a tank." He looked around. "What happened?"

"You just… 'zoned out', according to Kurt, so he came and got me." Jean looked at him with concern, and Logan could have sworn Scooter was looking concerned too. "What do you remember?"

"Explosions. Blood. Water. Death."

Jean was looking at him pensively. "It could be a break in whatever was done to your memory… maybe the conditioning is reversing itself…"

Logan only grunted, having lived too long with only futile hopes, to get his hopes up.

"You should go see the Professor," Scott added.

Logan spent hours on Xavier's couch over the next week, the psychic digging deep into his mind, trying to connect dots well hidden years ago. In the end, they gave up, frustrated at their lack of progress.

Logan's only hint that the memory had really existed was yet another indistinct nightmare, haunting him in the middle of the night.

---

It was the first night he had worn the tux and Marie the blue dress. The evening had been a dead bore to him, a fund-raiser for Presidential Candidate Marjorie Austin. According to Xavier, Austin was sincerely pro-mutant rights, a scientist by training, she had told Xavier that eventually humans would evolve, that was the law of nature, so why fight it?

So when she held a fund-raiser, the entire faculty of Mutant High turned out. They had gotten some strange looks, not all of Austin's supporters supported her on this issue, but things had gone well.

Going well, in X-Men speak, Logan had found out, meant no one tried to blow the building up. Marie was swaying as he escorted her back up to her room, the champagne and music still making her hum with a pleasant buzz. He opened Marie's door and pushed her inside, and following her in, closed the door. She spun around, her arms going around his neck, her body molding itself to his as she started to dance. It didn't work out completely, as Logan stood there, looking down at her, a wry smile on his lips. He almost shuddered as she continued to sway against him, her clothing-covered body pressing suggestively against his.

One glove-covered hand stole up around his neck, pulling him down to her, where her lips kissed his sideburns. Logan shuddered, this was new, touching, kissing.

"My bureau," Marie said, and Logan gave her a questioning look, but his large hands clasped around her hips, and he moved forwards as she danced backwards. Reaching her bureau, she grabbed a square of fine silk, then they danced to the bed. Marie pushed him down to sit on the mattress, turning to give him access to the zipper on her dress.

"Marie…" he started, wondering if this was going too far.

"Shhh, sugar, shhh," she whispered.

He gave in to the moment and slid the zipper down, the dark silk dress falling to the floor. She picked it up, throwing it over a chair next to the bed.

Dressed only in gartered hose, panties, bra, and gloves, she made his mouth go dry. Standing in front of him once again, she pushed him backwards, climbing onto the bed. Sitting astride his hips, she looked down at him, her eyes bright as she placed the silk over his face. Marie watched for a moment as his breath fanned the delicate fabric.

She leant down, and for the first time, Logan felt her lips on his. The wisp of silk in between wasn't important, they just focused on that one touch, of breath becoming one. A sound from deep in Logan's throat surprised her, and she started to move back.

"Baby… no," he said, and she moved back down again, resting her hands on either side of his face.

Logan couldn't see her clearly, not through the silk, but he felt the whisper of her breath as her lips descended on his again. She felt him stirring beneath the tailored pants, and that thrill of power made her bold.

Her tongue traced his lips, then ever so slowly, slid between his eager lips. His bare hands, paying no heed to the danger, threaded into her hair, keeping her as close to him as he could. As mouths opened, Logan took the initiative, his tongue slipping between her lips, wrenching a moan from them both as they trembled with passion.

Logan savored her taste, but the tang of champagne reminded him of his determination to be honorable at all costs. When she drew back to take a breath, he lifted the silk from his face, seeing her clearly, the kiss-bruised lips, the sleep warring with desire in her eyes.

Touching her skin for just a second, just long enough to feel the pull begin to echo through his cells, Logan rolled her to her back, pulling off her heels as his hands ran down her legs. Looking up, he saw brown eyes following his every movement.

"Not just yet," he whispered in her ear.

"Are we going to do this again?" Marie asked, her eyes not meeting his.

Leaning up, he placed a quick kiss on her lips. "We're going to do this a lot," he said, pulling away and reluctantly leaving her room. Getting through the door of his room, he looked at his empty bed and cursed. Heading over to the phone on the stand next to the bed, Logan dialed a number he had started to call more than once since his return to the mansion.

He finished dialing this time and waited impatiently to the answering machine's message. At the beep, he spoke. "Ann, Logan. I need the gloves now. Don't smirk. I'll be in tomorrow afternoon."

He hung up the phone, and started to strip, throwing the elegant and expensive attire onto the clothes butler.

He fell onto his bed and tried to sleep, finally finding dreams hours later.

---

Logan had never thought much about birthdays. He had never had anyone to celebrate with, so other than as an abstract concept, he didn't ponder much about the day of his birth. Once again, living in the X-Mansion played havoc with his long-standing traditions. Marie had told him to choose a date, and he had, choosing November 5th, only two days before Marie's birthday.

So here he was, a month later, watching his girlfriend and her girlfriends make plans for a double birthday bash. His seventeenth, and her nineteenth. He grimaced as Bobby gave him yet another mischievous grin, and Logan knew he was about to be the recipient of yet another, 'Rogue's robbing the cradle' joke. The popsicle didn't stop, even after Logan had sent him flying across the danger room yesterday.

Deciding it was time for a beer, Logan got out of his chair and headed toward the kitchen. He passed by the table where Marie, Jean, and Ororo were working on the party preparations. As much as he was thrown by the idea of the party, he was impressed by Marie - college student, party planner, super hero, great kisser. Logan especially liked the kissing part. He winked at her when she looked up. He stopped short at the sight of Scott entering the room, followed by a huge array of balloons, tied to the paw of a large brown teddy bear.

"Oh, Logan, good."

"Hey, Scooter."

"Logan, I felt bad, so I thought I needed to get you something."

"What?" Logan looked at him blankly.

Scooter shoved the bear and balloons at him. "We missed your sweet sixteen. I felt bad. Here you go."

Logan blinked, surprised enough to take the bear and it's collection of balloons. He noticed that it was wearing a bright yellow t-shirt with 'Sweet Sixteen' written on it, and that many of the balloons had the same message. His stupor was finally broken by some giggles from the crowd of kids gathered around the foosball table. He growled in their direction. Knowing that he couldn't gut Scooter like a fish in front of his wife and students, Logan turned and stomped out of the room, heading to the danger room, where things he could destroy lived.

Logan was so focused on plotting his revenge, he never realized he was still clutching the bear to his chest. As he walked down the hall, the pink and yellow balloons bobbed in the air above his head.

---

A few weeks after their birthday party, three days before what Logan would always think of as 'American Thanksgiving', he was still learning that both teaching and super-heroing were demanding jobs.

The flu hit the school that week, spreading through the student population like wildfire. Seemingly immune, Logan worked long hours with Jean and Hank to care for the students, changing bedding, clothes, emptying baskets full of vomit and bedpans full of diarrhea.

The students at college had been warned to stay there until the disease had run it's course, and luckily, Xavier and Ororo had been away when the first case had staggered into the infirmary. Both Jean and Hank refused to let them back into the house, worried about Xavier's immune system.

The final cases were just about over the worst when Logan left ten year old Jack to Hank's care, heading down to the kitchens for something to eat. He had made it to the hall that connected the adults' wing with the students' when he heard them. Moving quietly down the hall, he found Scott and Jean, weakly supporting one another, trying to make it back to their bedroom. Leaving Scott leaning against the wall, Logan carried Jean to their room, her body dangerously feverish. He placed her on the bed and went to retrieve Scott, noticing that the younger man had the same high temperature.

In the continuing tradition of irony that ran his life, the first and only time Logan was ever to see Jean Grey-Summers naked was when he was putting her into her bathtub, full to the brim with cool water, in a desperate attempt to stop her rampaging fever. Her husband was propped against the sink, his cheek resting against the cool porcelain stand. Logan finished getting Jean into the tub, then turned to Scooter, stripping him and adding him to the tub. On Hank's orders, he forced juice and Tylenol down their throats until their fevers broke. In the early hours of the morning, and with Hank's help, the Summers were dressed in their little x-jammies and put to bed.

The next night, Ororo had returned to the mansion, and she and Logan left to prevent Toad and Sabretooth from assassinating a United States Senator. They succeeded, but the cops had underestimated their prisoners, and paid for it with their lives, leaving the gruesome twosome back on the lam.

It was an odd life, Logan reflected later that night as he sat on the terrace, nursing a bottle of beer.

---

The winter holidays were a big thing at the Xavier Institute.

Christmas and Hanukkah shared equal billing, a sort of odd mix of all sorts of traditions, with gift giving central. As Xavier said, some of these kids had gotten little out of life, let them have a good holiday.

Both the children and the adults drew names from a hat, just so everyone was sure to give and receive present to and from a peer. The kids were supposed to spend no more than twenty dollars for a present, while the adults were limited to fifty.

Marie had drawn Ororo's name, and had chosen a set of lovely silk scarves she had found on sale, each depicting a different season. Remy had drawn Marie's name and had given her a bottle of perfume she knew she would be giving to Jubilee for New Years. She just didn't think Logan would take it well if she wore the heavily sweet scent. Ororo had drawn Logan's name, and had given him a pair of books on the history of Swordsmanship. The books were remarkable quality, a clear indication of the best estate sales Westchester had to offer. Logan had drawn Scott's name, and had steadfastly refused to allow Marie to see what he had purchased.

Sitting beside Logan on the sofa, sipping eggnog which had been liberally spiked with twenty-year old brandy, Marie was anticipating finally seeing what Logan had bought Scott for Christmas. Bobby was cracking the usual jokes, about how it wasn't Christmas, it was 'X-Mas', Jubilee and Remy were trying out, in turn, the mistletoe sprigs that hung over the three doorways of the room. St. John was trying to light a fire in the large marble fireplace, while Bobby kept the kids, who had not yet been sent to bed, amused by making ice sculptures out on the terrace. Kitty and Hank were busy organizing the hanging of the stockings on the mantle, making sure to keep them out of range of St. John's now roaring fire.

Two hours later, the kids were sent to bed. Ten minutes after that, when lights out was called, Kitty and Bobby stood guard at the staircase, while the rest of the adults carried up boxes of presents from the lower levels, arranging them around the twenty-foot tree. The stockings were filled to just short of bursting, and the room was cleaned up so as not to interfere with the present opening orgy that would take place when the children woke the next morning.

The adults began to head to bed; Scott, Jean, Logan, and Marie stayed behind to finish up. They made sure the fire was extinguished and locked the terrace doors. Jean and Marie watched as Logan headed over to the sofa, picking up the garishly wrapped present he had been hiding in the corner all night.

"Scoo... Scott, here, Merry Christmas." Logan thrust the package at Scott.

Scott looked at the package suspiciously. Carefully, as if handling a live snake, he took it, removing the tri-colored metallic ribbon. With an almost surgical precision, he used a fingernail to slice the tape that held the truly repellent Christmas angels and fuzzy kittens wrapping paper together. Tossing the paper into the bin, Scott opened the plain white box, then closed it immediately, glaring at Logan in outrage.

"What the hell are you trying to prove?"

"Nothing at all, Scott. I just thought, you know, after what I saw last month when you were sick, that you'd enjoy it." Logan smirked at the younger man, and draping his arm around Marie's shoulders, started out of the room.

"Logan, what did you get him?" Marie asked as they started up the stairs, her curiosity getting the better of her.

"Something he'll enjoy a lot, once he thinks about it," Logan replied, ignoring her look of annoyance.

Stopping on the main landing, Marie climbed the first stair, then swung around to look him in the eyes. "So… are you ready for your big present?"

Logan smiled at her, but chose to play the innocent. "What present would that be, Marie?"

Gloved hands curled up around his neck, pulling him to her, and he felt his pulse begin to throb as she kissed his sideburns. "Me," she whispered, and a tremor of desire went through them both.

"I love presents, darlin'," Logan told her as he swung her into his arms, carrying her the rest of the way to her room, putting her down gently once inside, closing and locking the door as she turned on the small light next to her bed.

He stared at her for a moment, watching her as she went to her dresser, taking out a piece of sheer silk and two pairs of gloves. Ann had been as good as her word, providing them both with gloves so sheer they were the closest thing to bare skin possible. They had been learning each other for the past month or so, learning touches that made hearts pound and breath catch. Moving to her side, Logan took the larger of the pairs of gloves and pulled them on, throwing the smaller pair and the piece of silk onto the bed. He ran his hand over her face, stroking her eyebrows, nose, finally her lips.

Slowly, he began to strip her, starting with her sweater, pulling it over her head, then running his fingers through her hair to tame the sable and white strands. That done, he knelt at her feet and pulled her boots off, throwing them across the room, out of the way.

Keeping his eyes locked with hers, he found the zipper of her skirt and pulled it down, letting the green skirt pool at her feet. He groaned at the sight of her in green lace panties, which matched the bra, and garter belt and stockings. Logan ran his hands up her legs, then gently moved a hand between her thighs to cup her, his smile feral as she moaned and leaned against him. He let a finger stroke up and down the silk and lace creation, while his other hand held her close.

Standing abruptly, he ran his hands behind her, quickly working the clasp of her bra, removing it. Logan picked her up and carried her the few steps to the bed. He pulled the comforter back, then laid her down gently, his hands returning to touch her, focusing on her nipples. Breathing heavily, he took a step back, and making sure she was watching, began to remove his own clothes, first kicking off his boots, sending them flying in the same general direction as her boots had gone.

Gloved fingers were not the easiest things to unbutton buttons with, and he struggled for a minute until her voice intruded on his concentration.

"Let me," she said, her voice low and husky.

He walked back to the bed, smiling as she got to her knees, and with bare fingers, began to undo the buttons of his shirts. He could smell her desire, swore he could hear her pulse pound as he looked down as her nimble fingers worked quickly to remove his clothes. When she had finished with his two button-down shirts, he pulled them off, leaving only a black t-shirt that clung tightly to his muscular chest and shoulders.

She leaned up and kissed his chest, then moved to his nipples, her warm mouth and sharp teeth causing the skin to contract almost painfully as she nibbled. Her hands were around his waist, pulling him closer as she whispered to him, loving and wanting words. Leaning over her, Logan grabbed the piece of silk, and draping it over her face, kissed her lips, letting the flavors of need and want, brandy and nutmeg, pass between them. His hands moved to her breasts again, and hers started to fight with the button and zipper of his jeans. She tugged, and finally the jeans opened. She grinned impishly at him as she pushed the denim down, leaving him pressed firmly against the plaid boxers.

Slim fingers stroked up and down the length of him, stopping to lift his balls, her thumb running over the sensitive, fabric coated flesh. Marie reached over, and finding her gloves, pulled them on. Logan shuddered as silk covered fingers pushed his boxers down, while her teeth worried a nipple through the black cotton of his t-shirt.

Large hands went around her shoulders, and he pushed her back, smiling when her hose covered legs quickly went around his waist. Reaching back, he pulled her legs free, then stepped clear, fighting his way free of the denims and boxers around his knees. Logan returned to her, pulling her panties and garter belt off, looking up when she giggled self-consciously.

He leaned forward, and making sure the silk was between them, kissed her deeply, his tongue playing with hers, then retreating to outline her lips before returning to play again. He groaned into her mouth as her fingers stroked his penis, moving from the head to root and back again, returning to caress the underside of his balls. He thrust against her fingers as his own skimmed down her flushed skin to that warm and fragrant place between her legs. They played with each other as desire continued to work its magic over their minds.

"Please, Logan…" Marie moaned, her hips surging up, following his talented hands.

Breaking the kiss, Logan leaned his forehead against hers through the silk, his chest heaving. Silk clad fingers traced the line of her chin, her cheeks, feeling her quiver at his touch, her hands sliding up his back to knead his shoulders. "Marie?" he asked, knowing she would understand the question.

Her voice was rough when she responded, only able to call his name. "Logan…" she moaned, then pulled him closer, her lips meeting his in a fiery kiss.

When they parted, Marie scooted back on the bed, twisting to lay her head on the pillow, her eyes opening wide as Logan pulled his t-shirt off, revealing firm muscles to her gaze. He moved closer, letting her run her hands over him, from shoulder to low on his belly.

"It's going to be perfect, darlin'," he whispered in her ear, before retreating a step. She whimpered, moaning as his silk covered hands pulled her hose off her legs, leaving her wearing only the gloves. Marie watched as Logan took the sheet that she had left on the bed earlier. He unfolded it, placing it over her, covering her from neck to toes. She watched his manhood sway as he extended a single claw through the glove, pulling the sheet up and slicing a hole in it. Logan flexed his hand, retracting the blade, and positioned the slit over the juncture of her thighs.

Once the sheet was in place, he grabbed a condom from the bedside table and climbed onto the bed, breathing heavily as he moved into position above her, his eyes never leaving hers. He drew the sheer silk over her lips, kissing her deeply as her hands stole out from beneath the sheet to touch him, fumbling for the condom he held. He let her take it, and he could hear her tear the foil open, then he lost track of everything as her tongue slipped past his lips, the taste of Marie distracting him from everything else.

It was a few minutes before he noticed her hands were still, before he noticed she had gone completely motionless beneath him. He broke free of her mouth, panting as he reared up.

"Baby?"

"Sugar, I um…" she broke off, her face flushing a red that had nothing to do with passion.

"Marie?" Logan asked, worried.

She refused to meet his gaze, looking over his shoulder. "I lost the condom," she confessed shyly.

Logan looked down their bodies, seeing her gloved fingers still holding the empty foil. He was unable to prevent a chuckle, leaning forward to kiss her cheek. Spying the condom, he picked up, showing it to her, then rolled it on, returning to kiss her relived expression away, determined to replace any lingering embarrassment with pure want and need.

"Logan," Marie cried as her body surged against his. Her arms, protected by glove and sheet, stole around him, pulling him closer. He braced himself on one strong arm, and using the other hand to position himself, with a quick thrust, entered her.

The entry was a shock, and her body shuddered as she stretched to accommodate him. She felt no real pain, only an unfamiliar sensation of being stretched. When he started to move, she quickly began to try to force him deeper, needing more sensation, more pressure.

More Logan.

"Oh, god, Marie," Logan said brokenly as he began to move, starting a rhythm that left them both moving desperately toward one another, the dance they had been choreographing for the past few months finally coming down to this moment, these feelings, this all consuming need.

Marie closed her eyes as he thrust, absorbing the feel of him as he touched off fireworks, pressing against her clit as he moved within her. Trying to force him closer, deeper, her hands went around his hips. She tightened her inner muscles, feeling a heady power when he growled and groaned, his body shaking atop hers.

"Please, sugar. I need you…"

Logan's lips returned to hers as his rhythm began to accelerate, as they moved wildly against each other, all coherent thought beyond need abandoned. His desperation was finally answered when Marie began to convulse around his shaft, pulling him deeper, her hands sliding up his sweat soaked body to his head, her fingers moving into his hair, bringing his lips back to hers.

He kissed her, his body striving desperately, finally finding release moments later, moaning her name around her tongue as he tried to move inside her body, trying to get under that deadly skin.

The aftershocks were still running through them, random firings of nerves that caused Marie to giggle and Logan to chuckle manfully, the scents of sex heavy in the air around them. A few seconds before exhaustion claimed them, Logan reversed their positions, keeping the sheet around her, but rolling them so that she was on top of him, his hands around her hips, keeping the intimate connection as sleep claimed them.

"Love you, sugar," she whispered, before kissing his shoulder and resting her head on over his heart.

"God, yes," he whispered, leaning up to kiss her hair, before falling back down on the mattress, pulling the comforter over them, needing and wanting only to keep her safe and warm - and as close as possible.

Marie closed her eyes, her cheek resting against cotton-covered muscles. Her mouth turned up in a grin as she felt vibrations under her cheek, the deep purring sound of a well-satisfied Wolverine. She fell asleep knowing they had given each other the most precious gift of all - a future.

---

Down the hall, Jean Grey-Summers felt the echoes of happiness and bone-deep satisfaction, projected unavoidably strong and loud from Rogue's room. She smiled to herself as she rolled out of bed to grab a glass of water from the bathroom.

She continued to listen with half a mind and half an ear to the house, just to make sure that there weren't any young feet creeping down toward the presents they all knew were resting under the tree.

Returning to bed, Jean stopped at the bureau, picking up the box that Scott had thrown there in disgust when they returned from downstairs.

"Hmmm…"

The red glow of Scott's sleep visor shone brightly from the bed as she looked at the contents of the box.

"What?" Scott asked.

"Oh, nothing."

"What?" Scott asked again, his chin setting in that 'determined to get an answer because I am Fearless Leader' position.

She sighed. "Logan has remarkable taste," she said, pulling the red negligee out of the box. She looked at the tag. "And a very good eye for sizes," she added, raising an eyebrow.

"I'm not wearing it, Jean."

Jean giggled. "It's not your size, honey." She paused for a beat. "It's mine."

Scott was off the bed in a second, staring at the fluff of lace and silk.

Jean laughed as he growled, throwing the gift to the floor, and picking her up, headed back to their bed.

---

It was early Christmas morning when Logan felt eyes upon him.

Opening his own, he looked at Marie, tousled, but happy looking. "Good Morning," he growled, his voice scratchy.

She stretched, rubbing herself against him, which caused the expected, and desired, reaction. "Merry Christmas, sugar."

"Merry Christmas."

He watched the sunlight as it moved across her face, and he felt desire surging again to the surface. He pulled the silk over his lips, inviting her to lean down to kiss him, which she did happily.

Marie lifted her head, staring into his eyes, seeing something utterly primal there, making her shiver with love and lust and need. She kissed him again, resting her cheek against his when they broke for breath.

"Now what, sugar?"

"Now we unwrap our presents again."

She giggled, pressing her body against his, and they started the dance again.

---

Two years later

Logan hated the missions where the team wasn't together. But he and Jean had been asked to check out the rumors of a possible mutant in trouble situation at Gene-Corp headquarters in Illinois, so they went. It was a humid summer night; the air was thick and felt almost solid. It was a bad night to be dressed in close fitting, thick leather.

They had scouted up to the building when the explosion came, sending debris everywhere. Logan pushed Jean, following her down, holding his body up slightly, so as not to crush her. He grimaced as a piece of metal sliced into his skin, cutting easily through the thick leather of his uniform.

When the smoke cleared, he got up, giving her a hand. They looked at the rubble in shock.

Logan turned to Jean when she went rigid. Looking at her face, at her eyes, he knew she was in telepathic contact with someone. She closed her eyes as the mental link closed.

"Logan, we need to get back, now."

The tone of her voice chilled him. The bleak look in her eyes terrified him. He grabbed her hand, pulling her along as he ran for the jet as if all of hell's angels were after them.

---

By the time they returned to Westchester, Marie had been gone from the mansion for five hours. Five hours in which no one knew where she was. Logan was in full-fledged panic, but outwardly calm, ever so calm. Those who didn't know him would think this was just another crisis, but this was different. This is what haunted him. Marie was gone, missing. It was only by sheer force of will that Logan stopped himself from choking on the bitter tastes of panic and failure.

They trailed her to an abandoned farmhouse, just fifty miles north of the mansion. Logan slammed in the door, Scott beside him. The kid's instincts and aim were dead-on, catching Sabretooth full in the chest with a red beam of light. Once Sabretooth was out of the way, the full horror of the situation became clear.

Mystique was holding Rogue's hand against the face of another person. Logan was caught short, staring in shock as Marie convulsed, falling backward. Mystique glared at him, never letting her grip on Marie's hand falter. It was hard to believe that those yellow eyes belonged to something - someone - with a soul.

From Logan's side another red beam of light hit Mystique, sending her careening into the wall behind her. Logan ran to where Marie lay, shocked when he recognized the woman lying next to her as Carol from Calgary. The blonde wasn't moving, she wasn't breathing, and her blood was still. He focused on Marie, picking her up, gently, in gloved hands, holding her close; his gloved fingers stroking her sweat soaked hair.

"Marie? Marie?"

She opened her eyes, and Logan smiled encouragingly.

And she began to scream.

---

They had been waiting down in the medlab for an hour now. Jean had sedated Rogue only a few minutes after she had returned to consciousness, but Logan's could still hear the echo of her screams. Logan had been pacing, Scott had been fuming, as once again the two men faced the reality of not protecting one they cared for. Jean and Hank were in the examination room with Rogue, trying to figure out why her life signs kept jumping erratically. She had gone into convulsions twice, and Scott and Ororo had to bodily keep Logan from pushing his way in to the room.

All three X-Men looked up when the elevator door opened and Xavier rolled into the waiting room. He smiled encouragingly, and no one mentioned the drawn lines around his eyes. He rolled into the examining room, and Logan watched from the door as Xavier and Jean communicated telepathically. He knew it had to be bad. They would speak aloud otherwise.

When Xavier moved to the head of the bed, putting his hands on either side of Marie's head, Logan entered the room. Jean gave him a worried glance, but didn't tell him to leave.

With a gasp, Xavier pulled back from the bed, a sad look of resignation on his sharp features. "Logan…" he started, looking over at where Logan stood, Scott and Ororo behind him.

Xavier was interrupted when Marie sat up, blinking in confusion. She looked around the room, from face to face. She looked at Logan the longest, recognition finally flaring in her eyes.

"Hey there, Wolverine. Long time, no see," she said, but the molasses of Mississippi was absent, replaced by the twang of Boston.

---

The guesthouse at the Xavier estate had a light and airy feel to it, high ceilings, buffed hardwood floors that glowed with a mellow patina, and turn of the century leaded glass windows. As Logan sat in the living room brooding, staring out one of those windows, he decided that a prison, no matter how luxurious, was still a prison.

Logan returned his attention to the scene in front of him. She was pacing. She always seemed to be pacing during the day. He always thought of her as 'she' - the pronoun when she was like this. To think of her as anything else would make him lose it.

They had been here a month, Logan, Xavier or Jean, and her.

Xavier was here now, sitting in his wheelchair across from where Logan sat, sprawled out in a huge leather easy chair. Both men watched her carefully, exchanging a quick look when she finally stopped pacing.

"I'm getting tired," she said.

Xavier and Logan exchanged a more significant glance, knowing it was Carol who spoke, the Boston twang clear in her voice. Carol was generally active during the day, arguing with them.

"You can't fight her forever," Logan replied, his voice calm, despite the hope that began to burn again at her admission.

Her laugh was bitter. "Two months ago, I could have."

"You need to let go. You need to let Marie," Xavier stressed the name, "go." He kept his voice soothing, and his gaze was non-judgmental, mild.

But it annoyed her anyway.

She spun around quickly, staring angrily at him. "She killed me! Why should I let her live?" She became even angrier, frustration coloring her words. "Why shouldn't I take her to hell with me?"

Logan jumped out of his chair, furious that after a month, she still refused to see it. "Marie," he said, stressing the name, just as Charles had a moment before, "didn't do jackshit to you. Mystique did this to you," he stopped, breathing deeply, trying to calm himself. "Marie was the weapon, not your killer. You're in there. Do you really think she wants you there?"

She stared at him, then picked up the small table, throwing it crashing into the dining area, screaming in wordless fury. Logan closed his eyes. He hated it the most when she screamed. In her screams he heard Marie, heard his own failure. Xavier's calm façade broke, and he too cringed.

Anger, rage, and total despair poured out of her, leaving her shaking. Logan opened his eyes when he heard her sobs, the dry, heaving cries a terrible sound. She had no more tears left.

She stared at him. "I just need a little strength, Logan. Just a little."

And there was the irony.

When Carol was in control, he could touch her. Carol had been furious when she realized that she couldn't use Marie's mutation. She couldn't take any energy from anyone else, only use the limited energy of the one small body she and Marie were fighting to possess to fuel her own mutation. When Marie was in control, when Carol was dormant, getting ready to fight again, the body they shared once again became untouchable to bare skin.

The Carol inside had provided Marie the control over her skin and mutation that she had desperately wanted, but the only way she had to defeat Carol was to prevent her from using the absorption to boost her energy. Logan had offered, but Marie refused to take any of his strength.

The fight to control Carol, to keep herself together, was ripping Marie apart, mentally and physically.

She moved over to where he stood, taking his hand in hers, an entreating look on her face. "Logan," his name sounded odd in that harsh Northern accent. "Help me. We can be done with this… we can go away," an echo of desperation was in her voice. "It can be just like Calgary," she tempted. "You and me. We can make love all day and night. You won't regret it."

Logan stared at her, pity warring with a sense of revulsion. He pulled his hand from her grasp. "That wasn't love. It was sex. And it wasn't with you," he stepped back a pace. "This wasn't you. The woman I met in Calgary would never do this, not to an innocent."

"I don't want to die." She stared at him, brown eyes that were at once familiar and yet completely alien, trying to pierce his soul. "You think I should sacrifice myself for her."

Logan didn't blink. "You're already dead, Carol. You need to let Marie go."

She backed away from him. Turning, she stalked back toward her bedroom, slamming the door loudly behind her.

Logan looked out the huge bay window. "How much longer can Marie survive like this?" he asked Charles.

"Not long. The body only has so much energy. This has been going on too long already."

Logan sat back in the chair, rubbing his hands over his face. "God," he whispered. He heard the soft hum of the wheelchair's motor, felt a hand on his shoulder.

"Get some rest, Logan. We will try again later." Logan only nodded as he leaned back in the chair, closing his eyes, listening to the front door close.

When he woke a few hours later, it was dark and she was sitting across from him, the light from the hallway reflecting in the platinum streaks in her hair.

"You're right," she said, "to kill her would be to kill an innocent."

He could only nod as hope began to grow stronger.

"I never thought anything could hurt me, you know." She laughed, a harsh, bitter sound Logan would have never believed could have come from Marie. But then again, this wasn't Marie. "They had nothing they could use against me." She snorted. "But they found something -someone. Perhaps it's the best revenge they could take - they've turned me into this."

Logan needed to hear it, needed to hear the words in order to let hope grow. "You're going to let her go?"

She laughed bitterly. "Yeah. It's not going to be easy though. We're not exactly… talking to one another."

He blinked at her, raising an eyebrow. "You're not?"

"Not since we had a talk about Calgary."

"Oh." Logan couldn't think of anything else to say.

"She's strong, you know."

"Yes, she is."

"For all of Xavier's help, she's been the one fighting me off," she looked thoughtful, the brown eyes seeming to turn inward. "I'm going to sleep now."

Logan relaxed slightly.

Her body went limp, a moment later she sat up, blinking.

"Logan?"

Logan sighed in relief at the sound of his name spoken in that southern accent. He pulled on a pair of gloves as he got up and wandered over to the sofa, sitting beside her, pulling her into his arms.

"Hey, darlin'."

She snuggled into his embrace, but he could still hear the word 'sugar' as she curled into him. They remained like that for awhile, silent, touching through clothing, gloves.

"I'm so tired."

"I know, Marie." He caressed her back as he thought what to say. "I think she might be willing to let you go."

"Yeah. She wants to talk. But the last time was …" she fell silent. "The last time we talked wasn't that nice."

"Calgary."

"Yeah." Her fingers ran up and down the buttons of his top shirt. "You met her in a bar too."

"Yes."

"You slept with her that first night."

He only nodded, knowing she could feel it.

"I wouldn't have stopped you… if you wanted to sleep with me … then."

"Yes, you would have. You were too young."

"Not that young," her fingers played with the placket. "I was never that young… I don't think."

"No, you weren't that young. It still wouldn't have been right, not then."

"Did you ever think of me as a daughter? Carol said that."

He snorted. "What do I know about daughters?" he asked, kissing the top of her head, careful not to get a mouthful of hair.

"Oh. But why didn't you want me?"

"I wanted you."

"But not in the same way you wanted her."

"I wanted something from her. She wanted something from me. It worked out."

"What's the difference?"

"She wanted one thing. We could both walk away when it was over. I knew you would want everything, need everything. I couldn't give you that then."

"And now?" Her fingers were still on his chest, resting against his clothing-covered skin, but he could feel the heat.

"I need you. I want you. I want everything." Logan picked her up, carrying her into the bedroom they shared, albeit chastely, when Marie was in control. He quickly stripped her down to her underwear and put her to bed. After wrapping a sheet around her, Logan took his own clothes off, curling up behind her. He slept with his nose buried in her hair, letting her scent surround him, his gloved hand holding her bare one.

---

It had been another two weeks. Logan hadn't talked to Carol since that last night, she seemed to be talking only inside, only to Marie. Jean and Xavier had both checked, to make sure it wasn't Carol playing a game, but they had both come to the conclusion it was Marie in control.

She was in a state of mediation for most of the day, focused inward, sometimes speaking, but generally silent. At night, Marie told them why Carol had been at the farmhouse that day, about how she had been sent to infiltrate the remaining members of the Brotherhood three years ago, on her way to meet them when she spent the night with Wolverine. Carol had been behind the capture of Toad, which Carol felt was also the point at which Mystique had become suspicious. So instead of meeting Sabretooth and Mystique to plan a raid to free Magneto, they had ambushed her, drugging her. They kidnapped Marie from the Mansion solely for the purpose of using her as a murder weapon.

On Wednesday night, Marie put her glove-covered hand on Logan's cheek, stroking the rough-silk hairs. "She wants control tomorrow. She says she needs to talk to you, Jean, and Xavier about something."

Logan closed his eyes, growling in frustration as silk-covered lips touched his. He nodded, holding Marie tight.

Carol didn't come out until after breakfast, perhaps knowing that Logan needed to ease into the idea after having Marie in control for such a prolonged period of time. Sitting in the living room with Xavier, Jean, and Logan, she got straight to the point.

"I don't want her to have my memories."

At her audience's blank expression, she elaborated.

"I've been raped just as much as she has. The powers, if she keeps them, can help her. But the memories… are mine. What made me… me. I don't want to lose them when I go."

Xavier looked concerned. "How can we help you with this?"

"Her first instinct, when I … die, will be to pull inward, to try to save all she can. You need to guide her through it, keep her focus on her own psyche, to let mine go. If she concentrates on Marie, on Rogue, I should be able to … fade away." Her voice grew soft, and she fell silent.

She looked over at Jean. "We're almost done. Erik and David are gone… we burned them out pretty easily, they weren't very strong anymore."

When do you want to do it?" Jean asked.

"Tomorrow."

She looked over at Logan. "She hoards you. You're an indistinct voice, but she holds that tight." Brown eyes closed. "Don't screw it up, Wolverine."

When she opened her eyes again, she was Marie. "Tomorrow?"

Logan nodded, falling onto the sofa next to her, his arm going around her shoulders.

"Tomorrow."

---

Everyone had agreed that the guesthouse would be the best place to do it, but Jean insisted on having all the comforts of her infirmary, just in case. The living room furniture was piled against the walls, and the dining room table had been moved into the middle of the cleared floor space. Jean and Hank had hauled down a crash cart, complete with defibrillator, three different monitors, and the biggest first aid kit Logan had ever seen. Hank stood to one side, checking all the readout's as Jean attached sensor pads to Marie.

When she was done, Jean stood back and nodded to Xavier, who wheeled around into position by the head of the table. Jean moved to the side, out of the way in case Hank needed to work, but close enough she could help Charles and Marie telepathically. Scott stood behind her, doing his best supportive Fearless Leader routine. Logan felt himself oddly relieved at the sight. He sat on Marie's other side, holding her hand in his larger, gloved hand. He gave her a smile, more confident than he felt, looking up when Xavier spoke.

"Marie, Carol, are you ready?"

"Yes, we're ready," she responded, her voice a blending of Meridian and Boston.

Xavier closed his eyes, and Jean and Marie followed suit. Hank stood by, watching the monitors. Marie's breathing went shallow and her body went rigid, a few seconds later she convulsed, her body lifting off the table, then crashing back down, and Logan tightened his grasp on her hand. Hank looked at their hands and started to say something, but looking up into Logan's face, fell silent. Jean and Xavier were concentrating deeply, perspiration beading on their faces.

Marie started to thrash, moaning, and Logan held onto her hand, trying to be as gentle as he could without letting her pull free. He looked up at Hank, who was worrying a blue lip between sharp teeth in concern as the lines on the monitors jumped and skipped, annoying beeping sounds ripping painfully into Logan's ears.

She squeezed Logan's hand tightly, and he could hear her heart racing as she convulsed again, crying out. Logan started as she fell bonelessly back onto the, her body limp. Xavier took in a shuddering breath, his blue eyes opening as the monitor began emitting a high pitched scream as she flatlined.

"Hank." Logan looked from the monitors to the furry blue doctor, holding Marie's lax hand tightly. Hank was prepping the paddles when Jean stood, unsteady, but determined. Scott moving quickly to support her, but letting her stand on her own feet when all she extended was a hand.

"Hank, no," Jean said, shaking her head. Logan and Hank looked at her, starting to protest, but then the monitor started to make a regular thrumming sound, as Marie's heart began to beat again. Xavier took a deep breath, patting his forehead with a designer handkerchief.

Logan stared down at Marie, then looked at the two psychics, both looking pale, their eyes haunted. "Marie?" he asked softly. And felt his heart lighten when she opened her eyes. She looked dazed, but gave him a smile, and squeezed his hand gently. Then she closed her eyes again, falling into sleep, her breathing steady and even. He ran a gloved hand through her hair, relief making him weak-kneed, and he collapsed heavily into the chair Scott shoved behind him.

Marie was still sleeping a few hours later when he finally left her side, slipping out to the balcony where the others sat with Ororo. He accepted a cold beer from Jean, raising an eyebrow at the number of empties on the table already.

"So what happened in there? Inside her mind?" Logan asked.

Jean looked over at Xavier, then took a swallow of her beer. "Carol hanged herself."

"She what?" Logan stared at her in shock, Hank and Scott doing the same.

"She hanged herself. Mentally, that's what she did. We were there, and she … jumped." Jean said, taking the cigar Scott was smoking from his fingers and inhaling deeply. "Charles was watching Marie, guiding her focus on her own memories, and I … I tried to help Carol gather what she needed to take with her, the memories that made her, her."

Logan grimaced. He had known that Carol would die, but without an actual body, he hadn't thought of it in such real terms. "So she's gone, completely?" He asked Xavier.

"Yes, though her physical abilities may remain, her psyche is gone. She's at peace now, I pray," Xavier said, giving 'Ro a smile when she took his hand, giving it a squeeze.

Logan heard a noise from the house, going still as he cocked an ear. A few seconds later he heard another whimper coming from the bedroom. He drained the beer, adding the bottle to the cluster on the table. Without another word, he headed back into the house, leaving the others to contemplate the setting sun.

---

Three months later, things were as back to normal as Mutant High could manage. The fall term had just finished, and Logan considered himself lucky that only one of his students had managed to set the classroom on fire. X-Men training continued, and missions increased in frequency as humans and mutants, and mutants and mutants, and even sometimes humans and humans, came into conflict.

It was a mutant - mutant conflict that had kept the X-Men up late this night. Logan didn't know where this group of mutants had come from, but he decided he didn't like them any better than Magneto's crew. Not to mention he could have done without the blue goo spitting mutant. A late night mission followed by two hours in the shower trying to get rid of the goo had not improved his usual sunny humor.

Dead tired, Logan threw himself onto the bed, kicking the stray pillows onto the floor. He wasn't too far gone to notice when Marie came out of the bathroom, however. He raised his head from the pillow, staring at her, blinking, and looking again.

"Darlin'?"

"Hmmmm?" Marie responded sleepily, as she stopped at the dresser to pull on a pair of gloves.

"Your feet aren't touching the ground."

She stared at him blankly, then looked down to see her feet, hovering a foot above the carpet.

"Logan, I think I can fly."

Logan nodded sleepily, pulling back the comforter on her side of the bed. "Yeah, I guess you can, darlin'."

She climbed into bed, pulling the sheet between them, curling into his arms. They both sighed happily as they cuddled. "Flying. Weird."

Logan grunted in reaction, the steady beat of her heart lulling him to sleep almost immediately.

---

"I told you."

"Shut up, Wolverine."

"No. I told you."

Scott Summers sighed heavily, and twisted around with a creak of leather to look at the Wolverine, the only person still left in the locker room with him.

"All right. You were right. Sabretooth got away from them."

"I told you."

"Are you ready to go on this mission, or not?" Scott asked him as they headed toward the Blackbird.

"Yup." Logan said as they climbed the ramp, Scott sliding into the pilot's seat as Logan strapped himself into the seat next to Storm, keeping an eye on Jean and Rogue as they studied maps across the aisle.

It was only a short hop, twenty minutes, until Scott set the jet down in a field three miles from the Boyer County Maximum Security Penitentiary.

Under cover of dusk, while Storm rolled in a thick, Logan tracked Sabretooth, confirming Jean's assessment that the escaped mutant wasn't alone. Wolverine and Storm crept up to where Sabretooth and his associates were hiding out; ready to break down the door when it flew off its hinges, sailing across the yard. Victor Creed stood there, growling and cursing.

Wolverine headed for him at a run, claws extended and gleaming in the fading light. A smaller man stood in the doorway, watching as Sabretooth charged Wolverine, only to be thrown, flying across the yard, Wolverine following after, adamantium claws reflecting in the fading light. The man, dressed in a green uniform, stared at Storm and Cyclops, then raised his arms. They stared at him, shocked when the roots of the huge Weeping Willow exploded from the ground beneath them, wrapping around their feet.

At a worried mental communiqué from Jean, Rogue flew to the scene. Seeing the danger facing Storm and Cyclops, she flew low, hovering as she ripped the roots from around their legs. Even Rogue was surprised when as she yanked on the roots, the tree tottered. Storm and Cyclops moved out of the way as it started to fall, and Rogue moved quickly, picking up the huge tree, flying straight into the man who seemed to be controlling the branches that whipped relentlessly at her face. The man flew into the side of the building with a satisfying 'thump', and Rogue dropped the tree.

Turning, Rogue saw that Wolverine and Sabretooth were still locked in combat. Knowing enough not to interfere, she sat on the thick trunk of the tree, watching. When Sabretooth went flying and didn't get up, Rogue started to get up off the tree, but something made her turn around. The yellow eyes that looked back at her were unmistakable.

She flew straight into the air, then down, headed straight at Mystique. Grabbing the other woman in gloved hands, she flew, not saying a word, just staring into those yellow eyes, not losing her grip even as Mystique changed form from human to bear to snake. She finally gave up and morphed back into human form, her blue scales trying, and failing, to slice into Rogue's skin.

Hovering in the air, platinum streaked hair glowing in the klieg lights from the FBI helicopters, Rogue spoke. "This is what you did to me."

"I made you better." Mystique replied.

"You made nothing. You only destroy." Rogue turned to look out at the lights of the Penitentiary in the distance. Looking down, she saw Wolverine staring up at her. The shriek of sirens grew louder as she tried to come to a decision.

Both women knew that Rogue could kill Mystique with little effort. Throw her back to the earth at such a speed she would never have time to morph, or fly higher, suffocating her. Even barehanded disembowelment wasn't out of the realm of possibility. Not now, not with the powers Mystique had forced upon her.

Rogue looked down again, seeing Wolverine still staring up at them, one leather boot clad foot resting on Sabretooth's chest. She knew, no matter what, he would stand by her. She could return to him with hands caked with blood, and he would approve of her actions, his only criticism that he had wanted to join in.

Brown eyes locked with hazel, an entire conversation silently taking place as Mystique squirmed. Rogue turned her attention to Wolverine's left when Cyclops approached him and started to speak. She knew what Cyke would want her to do - turn Mystique over to the authorities. Have her judged by a jury of her peers, though where those would be found, was anyone's guess. Wolverine listened to the team leader, then spread his arms in a gesture of 'what do you expect me to do about it'.

Flying down, Rogue hovered just a foot above the ground in front of them, holding Mystique by the scruff of her neck.

"You think I should give her to the authorities."

Cyclops nodded, the red light of his visor shining bright in the shadows. "Yes."

Wolverine remained quiet, rubbing his knuckles, staring at Mystique. Meeting his eyes, Rogue searched them, knowing that his instinct would be to finish the shape shifter off. But that he wasn't arguing with Cyke said volumes.

Storm set down beside Rogue, giving her a quick look, then reported to Cyclops. "The FBI has set up a staging post just beyond the trees. They have a reinforced van, and have the plant-controller already in custody."

Rogue looked at her teammates, then down at the woman still struggling against her grip. Her eyes lit on her black gloves, the little 'x' sewn into the leather. Making her decision, she gave Mystique a shake, getting her attention. Leaning down quickly, she grabbed Sabretooth by the collar as Wolverine moved out of the way, and flew up, heading in the direction of the staging post.

It was mere seconds until she was throwing her two burdens into specially prepared cells on wheels. She didn't look at Mystique as she spoke.

"You've failed. Twice. In the end, we both beat you. We didn't give in." She rose up into the night sky again, returning to her team, her friends, her lover.

---

She jumped onto the bed, making it bounce. He refused to notice. Marie smiled, wondering if he knew how ... normal, and adorable, he looked when he was having a sulk.

"What's wrong, sugar?"

"I feel redundant."

"What?" She leaned back and stared at him as she pulled on her gloves.

"You don't need me."

"Don't be an ass, Logan. Of course I need you."

"No, you don't. You could've taken them all out tonight."

"Don't be silly, Logan. That would have been selfish." A silk covered hand reached out and cupped his chin, still adorably set in sulk mode. "I always need you, you know that. Now don't let me hear you say that again, or I'll have to beat you up."

He snorted. "I'd like to see you try, little girl."

"Oh yeah?" Marie shifted, coming to rest over his hips, her nose just centimeters from his, as amused brown eyes gazed into hazel ones that were quickly seeing the humor in the situation.

"Yeah," he said, leaning up...

And his face came into contact with hers.

And nothing happened. Not a twinge, nor a tingle.

Just the sensation of bewhiskered skin touching softer skin.

They both pulled back in shock.

His eyes never leaving Marie's, Logan pulled off his gloves, then took her hand and pulled off one of hers. They were breathing heavily as he twined his fingers with hers.

And nothing happened.

Well, technically speaking, something happened. Hearts began to race, hope began to grow, incredulity yielded to joy as skin touched skin, warm and soft, warm and hairy. Pulling off her other glove, Logan brought her hand to his mouth, placing kisses on the palm. Marie gasped and quivered as his tongue traced her life-line and her love-line, her eyes closing as she absorbed… touch.

Logan sat up fully, scooting back to brace his back against the headboard. He pulled her to him, and Marie followed. Taking her hands, he put one around his neck, then hugged her to him, holding her other hand in his, he brought his lips down to hers, and ever so slowly, kissed her.

Marie was shaking, and it continued as Logan's lips touched hers, as his tongue traced around her mouth, setting her heart beating faster. She closed her eyes as she tilted her head slightly, opening her lips as her fingers threaded through his hair. Logan's tongue slid inside, and she moaned. Keeping her lips on his, her eyes still closed, Marie pulled her other hand from his, tracing his arm, rucking the fabric of his flannel shirt up as far is it would go as she went. She ran her hands over his cloth-covered chest, then started up his throat, tracing lines of hair, petting them.

Pulling her mouth away from his, Marie started to kiss his face, his forehead, his cheeks, her bare fingers moving to stroke his sideburns.

Logan just watched her as she learned his skin, kissing every inch she could find.

A shudder of longing, desire, lust, need went through them both as Marie used her tongue to trace his eyebrows, then kissed them, moving down to kiss his eyes mere seconds after Logan closed them. Logan didn't open his eyes as she moved down, kissing his chin from ear to ear, then investigating the ears themselves. Her tongue traced around the ridges, and Logan couldn't help the thrust of his hips.

Marie followed a path from his ear, across one furry cheek, to his lips, and this time she traced his lips until they opened. Her tongue slid inside, playing with a serious determination, gathering information on taste and texture. Her arms looped around him, pressing close, her hips moving down upon him as he thrust up again, a growl deep in his throat tearing a responding whimper from her.

Her mind raced as she leant back, her fingers immediately seeking the buttons on his shirt, fumbling with them. Her voice hitched with a sob, and she rested her forehead against his, trying to catch her breath.

Logan was running his hands over her back, trying to calm her, trying to keep calm himself when she laughed softly, her breath stirring his hair.

"I'll buy you a new shirt or two, sugar," she said, and pulled the shirts until they ripped.

Logan laughed, a deep, hearty laugh that shook his whole body. Marie put her bare hands on his chest as it shook, her fingers stroking his flat nipples, which took the hint and hardened immediately at her touch. She started kissing down his throat, licking the skin, playing with it.

They began to shift, Logan sliding his hips down until he was flat on his back, managing all the while to keep Marie's position, pressing against his increasingly uncomfortable erection. She quickly pulled off the remains of his shirts, throwing the fabric over her shoulder, not caring where it landed.

Staring at the broad shoulders, the muscles that rippled, the tiny rivulets of sweat that were flowing along the skin. Leaning forward, she licked the sweat off, tracing the course, the taste of skin, salt, cigar smoke combining into a heady mix that would forever be the taste of Logan in her mind.

Rearing back, Marie pulled her t-shirt off, delighting in the way Logan's eyes widened as he realized he could touch her skin. His hands immediately surrounded her, tracing up from her waist to her breasts, where he cupped the firm weight in his palms, smiling as she moaned, her hips grinding down on him.

Marie moaned, and placed her hands over his, touching him touching her. Logan's fingers worried her nipples, and she cried out, the touch never this good when the silk was between them. She had never wanted to admit that, but it was true.

Logan groaned as she pulled away, left him lying on the bed. He smiled as her fingers curled around his jeans, but grimaced as she pulled down.

"Baby? You might want to undo the fly first... or this isn't going to be as much fun."

She blushed red. "Sorry, sugar."

Logan blinked, then smiled, showing teeth, as she ripped a hole in his jeans from one side to the other, creating a U shape around his erection. Bemused, he lifted his hips at her demand, letting her pull the ruined jeans and boxer shorts off, leaving him finally, gloriously, naked.

She just stared at him, not responding when he called her name.

Pushing her sweat pants down her legs, she stepped out of them, continuing to stare at him.

"Marie?"

She looked into his eyes, then started toward the bed, too slowly for Logan's taste. Marie climbed onto the bed, starting at his feet, touching them, drawing her thumb across the soles, then up over the ankle.

The hair on his legs was like the hair on his face, rough and silky, and she ran her hands from ankle to knee, touching, him, finally touching his skin.

Logan writhed as her hands moved up, sliding over his legs, finally reaching the tops of his thighs, reaching the most sensitive skin on a body full of hypersensitive nerve endings. She began touching his erection, slowly, softly, the touch of a warm hand on his cock, wrenching a frustrated growl.

Marie held him gently, tentatively, in a hand, and slowly, her tongue began to trace the head. Logan the growl, which shook him even there, turned into a whine, as she stroked the sensitive skin with her other hand, her tongue tracing a line over flesh engorged almost to the point of pain.

She started to kiss her way from the head, up the long shaft, then over his abdomen, her nose tickled by the hair, her tongue tasting him, wanting to catalog every bit of him. She continued upwards, touching, her hands sliding over his sweat soaked skin, her breasts rubbing against him, her legs tangling with his as she stretched out.

Logan's hands ran down her back, cupping her rear, pulling her closer. They didn't know who was trying to get inside whose skin, nor did it matter. All that mattered was they were close, there was nothing in between. One large hand returned to her hair, pulling her lips back to his, the sensation of her bare breasts crushed against his chest a wish he had thought never to be granted.

When her hips bucked, Logan slid a finger inside her, finding her ready. Brushing his wet finger between the folds, he stroked her clit, smiling when she writhed, calling his name, entreating him to touch again.

When she stopped trembling, Marie moved down slightly, and with tender hands, moved him into position. Looking back up into his face, her eyes never left his as she moved down, taking him in, slowly, deeply, until he was within her completely.

And stopped. They didn't move, didn't breath.

Then Marie lowered herself until she was spread out on top of him, arms on arms, legs on legs, breasts on chest, belly to belly. She lowered her head to his, resting her cheek on his, and remained still. Letting skin touch skin, smiling to herself as springy hairs tickled her sensitized breasts.

The urge to move was strong, but Logan repressed it, knowing she needed this, but relieved when she turned her head, her lips capturing his. His hips lunged up at the touch of her tongue, and they started to move, started the dance.

Logan's arms slid around her and he rolled, sliding even deeper within her as she landed on her back. He began to thrust in earnest, encouraged when her legs curled around him, trying to force him deeper, her hands running over his back, sliding in to his hair when his lips left hers to drag along her neck to her breasts.

He was talking to her, saying words he couldn't remember against her skin, knowing he was telling her how beautiful she was, tight, how it felt to be inside her, how much he needed her. She was calling his name in a litany he never grew tired of, and he pushed deeper, kissed harder as his skin slid along hers.

Marie was all around him, and when he felt her tense, when he heard her scream his name in his ear, he lost the rhythm completely, following her down. They were breathing too heavily to even attempt to kiss, so he nuzzled just below her ear, licking the sweat, tasting her, the sweet and the salt.

When he could breathe again, Logan attempted to roll off her, but her legs just tightened, pulling him closer. He returned to kissing her, letting his tongue stroke over her skin, letting his fingers touch what was once untouchable.

"What does it taste like?" Marie asked softly.

"Salty. Sweet. Smooth. Like Marie," he responded, moving to have better access to a breast, the nipple beckoning him, peaked already, growing tighter as his lips fastened around it.

"Logan…" Marie's voice dissolved into a murmur as Logan continued to suckle at her breasts. He lengthened inside of her and Marie flexed her pelvis up, moaning when he nipped her accidentally. He soothed her, then moved to the other breast as he started to move, slowly rolling his hips.

The aftershocks didn't fade; they grew stronger and deeper as Logan began to thrust, pulling her along, the inner touch becoming their mutual focus. Already half way to orgasm, Marie fell quickly, Logan never far behind her, as they whispered words of love and forever to each other.

Wrapping her arms around him, Marie rolled, and Logan thought for a split second about the woman who made this possible. Thankful she hadn't taken everything away from him, but who had chosen the honorable path, the deadly path, instead.

Then all he thought about was the woman in his arms, her lips on his, her heart beating against his, her fingers twined with his. They played and explored - the differences between clothed and bare sex intriguing them. Logan lapped at the sweat that pooled between and under her breasts as Marie's bare hands traced patterns on his shoulders. As the their bodies cooled, the sensations of goose bumps against each other began to fascinate them, had to be tasted and touched. It was hours until they were too tired to continue, curling around one another as sleep came, only to be chased away hours later by more touching, tasting… feeling.

---

Spring in Westchester, Rogue decided a few months later, wasn't half bad, for the north. She was learning to appreciate snow and ice, for they made Logan all nice and growlly-happy, his Inner Canadian coming out. He and Scott would organize the kids into hockey games, and they would play for hours, the kids finally retreating to the sidelines to watch the two men play.

It wasn't a deep friendship by any stretch of the imagination, but it was something that both she and Jean were willing to accept the minor inconveniences of, like injury by hockey stick. Rogue figured she and Logan had come out ahead of Jean and Scott, after one game, Logan had lost three teeth to Scott's two. It had taken a month for the teeth to grow back, and Marie would always have fond thoughts of Logan with baby teeth, as well as the amusement of making Logan put said baby teeth under his pillow. Logan hadn't gotten any money for the teeth, but apparently was satisfied with having a long, passionate interlude with his own personal tooth fairy. So while Logan healed, Jean discovered how truly awful a dental patient Scott was. The three trips for implants had frayed at even Jean's understanding and patience. Rogue had watched in shock as Jean slammed down a pint of ice cream in front of her beloved and told him exactly where he could put it. Her sympathy for him had quickly evaporated when Scott grinned at her and told her he had never expected Jean her to last a full week.

The next day he and Logan were back out playing hockey.

On this particular May morning, Marie was already out on the terrace with her glass of orange juice when Jean emerged from the house. She pulled up a chair and curled up in it, quirking an eyebrow at Marie.

"Did I miss it?"

"No," Marie replied, her annoyance at being up early at war with her fascination of the morning ritual.

Jean smirked, closing her eyes. She opened her mind, looking for one in particular. Getting a response, she broke the connection. "They'll be here in a minute."

"Isn't that breaking some psychic etiquette, or something?"

Jean took a sip of coffee, then grinned at the younger woman. "Probably. But it's for such a good cause."

"I'll say," Rogue said, looking over the balcony as Logan and Scott came jogging into view.

Like clockwork, the two men seemed to slow down and race faster at the same time. It had been this way every day of temperate weather, Marie and Jean coming down to the terrace to watch them as they returned from their morning run. They hadn't planned to run together, it had just happened, and they continued, in a combination of competitiveness and an attempt at pseudo-friendship meant to appease Jean and Marie.

Their apparel had steadily shrunk and disappeared as the weeks went by, now each man was dressed simply in a pair of indecently tight nylon running shorts and tennis shoes.

"Peacocks," Jean's voice sounded in Marie's mind, making her giggle.

"Definitely," Marie responded aloud, watching as each man put on a final burst of speed, climbing the stairs to where Marie and Jean waited.

---

That evening, sitting in his chair with his cigar and beer, Logan was still caught up in his thoughts.

"Remind me not to stand too close to Jubilee when she's sparking plasma, would you, sugar?"

Logan looked up just in time to move the history tome out of the way as Marie sat down in his lap, curling up, her arm going around him.

"What?"

She sighed. "I'm singed, again. Jubes set my hair on fire while you were busy slashing up the security checkpoints. You'd think the damned invulnerability thing would cover hair."

"Oh."

"Where are you, Logan?"

"Just thinking, darlin'."

"Don't hurt yourself, sugar."

He growled at her, starting to tickle her, glad that the invulnerability didn't cover tickling either as she squirmed in his lap. Logan smiled lasciviously as her towel fell away. She stopped giggling and writhing, and he could hear her breathing become unsteady, her heart beating faster.

A quick shift of position and the towel was easily removed and thrown across the room. Marie's fingers were combing through his hair as she lowered her lips to his, capturing him in a deep kiss.

And there was nothing in between.