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Author's Chapter Notes:
I am new levels of rubbish at getting this posted on time, I'm really sorry :o( My free time seems to have conspired with my computer, and they're plotting against me. When I finally have one, the other's not working. Dammit.

Thank you so much to everyone who is still reading this though, despite my lazy update skills. And thank you for all your feedback and reviews so far - they really do make my day!

The damp air sticks to my tongue and catches in my throat as I drive. I wind up the windows, trying to shut it out, but it permeates everything and makes me shiver with cold.

I probably deserve it.

It seemed like a good idea to avoid the main driveway, so it's an uncomfortably slow and bumpy journey to the gates, along a muddy track that scrapes under the low hanging branches of the trees and sinks into uneven ruts that send bone jarring jolts through the suspension. It's far from the most pleasant drive I've ever experienced, and to top it off, half a mile down I realise I'm...

Oh.

I'm still clutching the Lake House keys in my fist.

My head swims in a moment of realisation, but then I almost surprise myself by how calm I feel about the whole thing. Distant almost. There's no slamming of feet on the breaks, no dramatic skidding to a halt or hairpin turns; instead I drift slowly to a stand still, disorientated, yes, and transfixed by the little indents in my skin where the keys have been caught between my palm and the steering wheel, but calm all the same.

I meant to leave them behind. I don't want to take them with me.

Why on earth...?

For a moment I consider driving on and simply mailing them back to the Professor, but... no, for some reason that makes me feel guilty. Like they might think I'm stealing them. Then there's the urge to hurl them out the window, but I don't give that one a second thought, I couldn't throw away all their hospitality like that. Christ, and I really don't want to turn around and take them back, but what else is there? Every other option I consider nags at me; the idea of keeping keys the worst of the lot. More than anything else, I need to make a clean break.

So...

Right. Fine.

Feeling strangely numb, I turn the truck around.

It's only been minutes, but the Lake House doesn't feel the same. I already feel like a stranger there and I don't like it. It makes me hurry to get the whole thing over with. I jog to the front door, turn the slippery handle with cold hands. My feet make wet footprints in the hall as I leave the keys on the table beneath the mirror, and I find myself hoping that no one will mind that I'm leaving it unlocked. Feeling guilty about that too.

Outside, the rain is getting heavier, becoming a relentless torrent that saturates everything and suffocates the sky in a moody darkness. I guess it's kind of fitting. It’s only a short distance back to the truck, but my clothes are instantly soaked as I make a run for it, the mud splattering and squelching up around the bottoms of my jeans, hands fumbling for the door as I-

I freeze where I am. All the breath rushing out of me like a fist has crunched into my stomach.

Glaring back at me in the side mirror's reflection, is Logan.

He's here. He actually...

My pulse begins to race; my thoughts finally starting to fray and un-weave around the edges. Joy. Fear. Cold panic. Oh God, he's here? Does he know what I'm doing? He must. It's obvious to anyone.

For the longest moment Logan does nothing at all. He just stands there. Watching. Oblivious to the rain.

When he eventually speaks, he chooses his words carefully. "So you gonna tell me what this is?"

My head spins and I actually feel dizzy.

Maybe in some parallel universe he's waiting for me to turn around and tell him it's not what it seems. Maybe there's a version of me out there that doesn't want to suddenly laugh until I cry so hard I choke on it. Maybe. But it's not me. I just stare at the mirror, eyes falling to the black paintwork on the truck when I can no longer meet his gaze, hands gripping the door until my knuckles turn bone-white with the effort.

I don't answer him. I can't.

I hear him walk up behind me until he's at my shoulder, cold water trickling in rivulets off my nose and chin as I try and blink it out of my eyes. I want to be cold like a stone, but a dull ache begins to spread outwards from my chest, rising to a lump that digs in to my throat.

"What's goin' on?"

I try and hold myself together.

"Marie?" He sounds tired. And irritated, like there's a part of him that thinks this is fixable, that it's nothing more than an annoyance.

I stay as I am. Still. Tense. Shoulders hunched.

"You just gonna stand there?"

Oh God I can't do this.

"Look at me."

I want to. I want to so bad it hurts. I want to wrap myself in the warm strength of his arms until everything else goes away.

"Look. At. Me." That one’s almost a growl.

Slowly, I turn, still gripping the truck behind me like it’s some sort of life line. My eyes fix rigidly to the floor, dragging upwards, over his rain soaked jeans and his worn red shirt, splattered dark and wet where it peeks through his open jacket.

My heart clenches at the stony expression on his face.

"Talk."

I don't think I can.

My mouth works, but no sound comes out. I could tell him the truth. Could tell him it’s not my choice, but then what? It’s still my fault. Would he let me go? Would he chase me again? Would he give up the home he's finally found for me?

I don’t want to be the person that makes him do that.

"Marie?"

Oh God, the lump in my throat wants to choke me. My shoulders ache as they try to hold back the tears that are finally forcing their way through, but it's not helping. Nothing is helping. Because he’s here. This time he came back in time to stop me.

Only this time I think I’m beyond stopping.

I take a deep breath.

When his hand reaches out to tilt my chin up towards him, I flinch away.

His expression freezes.

The rain thunders past my ears. It feels like the whole world stops. Like it slides away from my grip. I watch his reaction. The realisation that etches itself across his face. The shock that slips over his skin.

He looks at me in disbelief. "You're serious?"

I don't answer. I don't need to.

He lets out a sharp breath of air, and the emotion that flickers in his eyes is so unexpected that it rips through me like it's a tangible thing. Because of all things, it's hurt.

For the first time I realise how much he hides. How much really does want... how much he... Oh God...

He backs off, his face darkening. "I get back from a shit-hole of a mission, I’m fuckin’ exhausted, but Chuck corners me an’ tells me to get on out here to find you, and you’re what? You’re leaving?"

They know you’re here. Warrant. Arrest. Dangerous.

"I’m sorry." I force myself to speak. The words are stiff and misshapen on my tongue. "I just... I changed my mind. You were right, we should've never..."

He shakes his head. Stubborn. "That’s a lie."

"It’s not," I try, but I’m crying so hard that I can hardly see, and I can’t remember when I started, and I can’t find a way to stop, so the tears just keep on rolling down my cheeks until I can't tell them from the rain. "It’s what...I...I want. It’s...it’s..." I can’t do this. I can’t. Not with him so close. I needed him to stay away.

"You’re a bad liar," he hisses.

"I know." I choke on it, the heel of my hand roughly smudging over the tears that won’t stop. "I know, and I’m sorry."

"Not good enough."

"I know that too." I bite my lip to try and stop it from twisting into a broken sob.

"But you’re still going." It’s not a question. It’s a statement.

I nod.

His voice goes cold. "Fine." He steps back. "You want to go? Then go."

"Logan-"

"Don’t Logan me." His fingers clench reflexively. "You don’t get to do that any more."

"Please..."

"Please what? WHAT?"

Please don’t make this harder than it already is. Please let me go. Oh God, but fight it. Please stop me.

I try and reach out to him, but he pushes my hand angrily away.

"Logan..."

"No."

"I just-"

"NO!" He yells it, teeth bared, fists working as he fights not to release his claws. His eyes close, lips press thin, as he tries to get a handle on it. When he opens them again, he looks at me once, then walks away.

I can’t watch him, but I can’t... Not like this. It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

"Wait," I chase after him, slippery hands reaching out to grasp his arm, but he shrugs me off. Keeps on walking.

Fuck it, so I try again. And again. Until he snaps and spins around then drives me backwards, claws ripping out of his fists with the slick sound of metal, my feet slipping and sliding in the mud as he comes towards me, fury and rage and heat slamming into me.

"You wanna go, then FUCKING GO!"

Oh God. "Please, I-"

"Is this a GAME? Because I'm FUCKING tired of it! What was it? You finally get what you wanted, and you find it ain't what you wanted at all? HUH? Was it revenge? SEX?"

My shoulders hits something solid and I can’t back away any further. Fingers fumble along behind me, try to get my bearings. Wall. By the door. I can't seem to remember how to breathe.

"WAS THAT IT?" He snarls the words out, face tightening into a grimace, claws grinding into the thick stone either side of my head as he pins me there. His eyes burn down at me, body pressing me up against the rough mortar at my back and he’s so close that I can’t think. Can’t breathe. Can’t speak.

Then his mouth is on mine, and it’s furious. Lips bruising, teeth marking, and it’s so raw and hungry that it burns right through me. Not claiming or kissing, but marking. Ruining.

But then he slows, and with a muffled groan I feel him shift against me, the desire racing through him like he can’t stop it. His body goes from pinning me down, to warm and impatient. Hands fumbling as I realise his claws have gone. Frantic movement as he pushes me backwards; my shoulders scraping against the rough stone; feet stumbling until we’re out of the rain and through the doorway, up against the wall in the hall, hard and fast; his mouth holding mine, teeth and lips and tongue and wet heat, and God it feels good

I’m struggling to breathe but I don’t care. My hair is soggy and damp as his fingers snag through it, gripping it in a fist at the base of my neck, mouth trailing over my face, down my throat; hungry and out of control. A hand clamps my thigh, wrapping it around his hip, pulling me hard against him until I can feel... oh God...

A wave of heat rocks through me and he knows it. He lifts me up, pressing against me until the pressure on my jeans almost hurts, and it's all so fast but I want so much more.

Fingers, cold from the rain, shove my top upwards, his hands running over the skin beneath. White hot desire races through every part of me he touches. His body moving hard, grinding against me, the urgency building until I'm burning and out of control and I'm writhing against him, eyes slipping out of focus as... Christ... I think I'm gonna... I'm actually gonna....

Oh... fuck...

A headlong burning rush hits me, fast, delirious with sensation. My head is thrown back against the wall, hands gripping his jacket, eyes lost in the furious darkness of his, even as surprise registers there, every part of me arching towards him, pressing myself against him again and again, the sounds coming from my lips not sounds I thought I could make.

I ride it out until I'm beyond everything. Until all that’s left is dizzy breathing and liquid warmth.

The sound of the rain.

The wet smell of the woods.

...The slow seeping clarity of what just happened.

Um.

Oh. My God.

...Shit!

Logan doesn’t say anything. He no longer moves, even though he's so tense I can see the veins standing out on the side of his neck. He just breathes. I see his shoulders rise and fall. Just breathes and watches me.

My face flairs hot with colour.

I'm suddenly very aware of the awkwardness of our positions. I'm wrapped round him like a... like... oh Christ... and I'm painfully aware of the fact that I just came, loudly, without him even touching me... and even more painfully aware, that he hasn't. In fact I'm extremely focussed on that last point when the strain on my legs begins to ache and I slowly slide my feet back to the floor, hearing his breath catch as I move against the very obvious bulge in his jeans.

Oh...

His nostrils flair and he doesn't blink. For a moment he looks like he's struggling to reign himself in. I see it in the lines of his face, the set of his jaw. But when he reaches out a thumb and rubs it over my sore lips, it's gentle. "I hurt you."

My embarrassment fades and I frown slightly. He thinks that?

I shake my head. "No."

But it’s not enough. "You’ve got..." his hand falls down to my shoulder, where I’m pretty sure he can see the mark of his teeth.

"It’s okay."

"How the fuck is it o-"

I don’t let him finish. This time I reach up towards him, nearly standing on my tiptoes, my hands sliding through his thick hair, pulling his face downwards until my lips can taste his again, wishing more than anything else that our mutations were the other way around so I could pour into him every emotion I’m feeling.

When I finally pull away, he still doesn't move. Just stands there, so close that I can feel every breath brush across my hair.

"Don’t go." He says it so quietly, that it almost breaks my heart.

"The Government have my name." My fingers are still gripped around his jacket, nails digging into the worn leather. "They know where I am, they know what I did. I’m scared they’ll use the school to get me."

"That the truth?"

I lean forward and bury my face against him. "I wish it wasn't."

I hear him sigh, like he’s trying to control some emotion but not quite managing it. His arm comes up behind me, crushes me to him in a tight hug, his head resting on top of mine as he presses his lips to my hair. "You're trembling," he says eventually.

The wind from outside brushes over my damp clothes and I shiver. "I'm cold."

He reaches out and shuts the door.

I look at him as if to protest, but he shakes his head. "Tomorrow."

And he leads me upstairs instead.
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