Dear Keltie,

John gave me your letter when I woke up. I thought it was a joke at first, until I got to the part about you saving John's life and I realized you wouldn't make that up.

I can't believe you did that. You are so, so, so brave. I don't think I could have done what you did, and to for someone you barely even knew! You're a hero, Keltie Matthews. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise. I hope John thanked you profoundly.

I just asked him and he told me that in fact, he has not thanked you but he would very much like to. He also told me that the word is profusely, not profoundly. WHATEVER JOHN. YOU KNOW WHAT I MEANT. STOP READING OVER MY SHOULDER.

He also said something entirely inappropriate about HOW he would like to thank you, but I won't write it here because just hearing it made me blush and I can't imagine you would want to even know, let alone participate in, what he has in mind. Because you like that Jack guy, right?

Forgive me if you're thinking: "What? Jack? He's just my friend."

But come on, admit it, Keltie. You know he's not just your friend.

Feel free to thank me any time for bringing this obviousness to your attention.

John just said: "Who the hell names their kid Jack?"

I told him Jack is generally a derisiveness of John, and he scowled and told me the word is "derivative." WHATEVER. I'VE JUST BEEN THROUGH A NEAR-DEATH EXPERIENCE, JOHNNY. VOCABULARY IS NOT AT THE FOREMOST OF MY MIND.

(He just said: "It's fore-oh, never mind!")

I'm actually in a really good mood right now. Why, you ask? Well, because I'm alive. And so is John. And you know what? I got to meet you and you are just as wonderful as you are in your letters-in fact, even more so. And even though I don't believe what you wrote in your letter, about how Logan was looking at me all googly eyed or whatever, it still made me immensely happy that the guy still cares enough to save my life. Again.

I'm also feeling 100 times better than I did yesterday. It's probably just the exhilaration of hovering near the edge of death, but I don't care. My skin is off again-John let me touch him for a second just to check, and it's definitely off. There are no voices. I can't speak Japanese. Everything seems to be back to (relative) normal.

I have to go, because some doctors are here to check on me, but I wanted to write this letter and get it to you before you leave Boston. I wanted to tell you that you are amazing and brave and you know what I just realized? I don't need to write this letter. I can pick up the phone and call you. Which is exactly what I'm going to do after this check up.

Love and cherry lifesavers,

Rogue

Dear Rogue,

Based on your previous song choices, we recommend:

"Lust For Life" by Iggy Pop

"Life is Beautiful" by Vega 4

We think you'll agree this song is a useful addition to your iTunes library.

Sincerely,

Apple iTunes Genius Suggestions,

In association with

The We Heart Rainbows, Unicorns and Sparkles Club

Rogue,

Right now your bubble is floating high up the sky, bobbing merrily past the birds and the clouds and the airplanes and precipitation.

It's full of air, full of life, full of anticipation for the future. Your bubble has never looked brighter.

But you know what happens to bubbles, don't you Rogue? They float too high, they get in the way of a 747, or they get snarled in the tree branches.

To put in words you'll understand: They burst.

We give your bubble an estimated life span of 37.8 seconds.

THE COLD HARD TRUTH ASSOCIATION

Rogue,

We've been in contact with the Memory Trigger Society, and while their data from Saturday night is sketchy and inconsistent at best, they have managed to retrieve some information that we felt it was crucial to remind you of.

When you were passed out on the floor, your skin turned itself on, and Logan was able to save you, right? When you absorbed his healing power, you also absorbed some of his memories, right? While those memories are gone now, or at least locked away in some recess of your adorable striped head, for a few brief seconds-after you came back to life but before you threw up all over that cute EMT guy-you were fully aware of the thoughts you'd absorbed...right?

Do you remember that, Rogue? Do you remember how the Logan you had just absorbed was WAY different than the Logan you absorbed at Liberty Island? Do you remember a particular lack of a certain redhead in his thoughts, and the prevalence of a certain brunette? Do you remember seeing that certain brunette in a number of situations you're quite sure you never participated in?

Of course you do. It was what caused you to vomit over that EMT guy.

We can barely contain our excitement over these developments.

Gleefully yours,

The Young Romance Society

Rogue,

I'm a little worried, because even though your letter (which was delivered to me right before we left Boston, so I had something to read on the plane) said that you would call, I haven't talked to you since Saturday. Do you have the right phone number? 518-555-2329?

I'm back in boring old Westchester again, and today I went into rehearsal fully expecting Jack to be pissed about the fact that I had ditched on Friday. But he just greeted me with a smile and a hug and asked me how my grandmother was doing.

"Huh?" I said, eloquently, totally forgetting that when I left Ben on Thursday I told him I was going to visit my grandmother. At the time, it seemed like a better plan than "I'm going to go visit my mutant best friend, who is possibly dying as the result of a bioweapon that evil geniuses developed to wipe out the species."

I guess he told Jack. About my grandmother, I mean. Not the other stuff.

And I realized something. Not because of what you wrote in your letter, about me liking Jack as more than a friend (though you're right, I realized-I kind of do), but because of the smile on Jack's face when I sat down and propped my legs up beside him. The thing is, I think Jack likes me as more than a friend, too.

This is a lot more information than I was prepared to take in on Monday, and I don't quite know what to do with it.

Because the weird thing is, I also wouldn't mind knowing what, exactly, your friend John had in mind as a way of thanking me. I mean, the guy had really soft lips, for an evil minion.

So I guess what I realized is that maybe I'm not as hung up on Ben as I thought I was. He came up to me to give me a hug before class today, and I felt...very little. Sadness, I guess, just because I know that even though he's apologized, things aren't really going to be able to go back to the way they were before. How could they? I used to think we were like a family, and nothing could separate us. But obviously, that's not true, and now that I've had time to accept it, I've realized…maybe that's okay. I don't know. I'm still kind of confused about it, so I'll have to get back to you on that one.

And also I realized that I really liked being a hero. Seriously, the whole way home my Dad was telling Emma and I how proud he was of us (of course, this was in between bitching about the irresponsibility of the supposed educator in charge of our well being and a lot of gloating that he knew we'd be grateful for those CPR courses one day). I felt kind of glow-y and light all Sunday and even today, and it turns out that's a way better feeling than being mopey and sad. Who knew?

So I'm thinking maybe I should try and get that feeling to happen all the time, or at least more often, and go to school to become a paramedic, or something. Or, I don't know, maybe even a doctor. I'm sure that being a doctor isn't ALL about your grades or whether or not you can get the whole school to break out into a choreographed dance during the national anthem. I'm sure they also want people that have experience actually saving lives.

Anyway, it's just an idea.

Enough about me. How are you feeling? Have you seen Logan since I left? Did he profess his undying love for you? Any more news on this hypothetical antidote to the virus? (I forgot to tell you-my Dad has been contacting colleagues of his from all around the world to see if anyone a) has anymore information, or b) would be interested in developing an antidote. Clearly guilt can do good things for people.)

Write me back! Or call me.

Love and sequined throw pillows,

Keltie

Keltie,

Have you ever been outside in the cold for so long that you stop feeling it? And you can almost convince yourself that if you just stay out for a little longer, you'll stop feeling everything?

I don't know if I'll ever stop feeling as bad as I do right now. No matter how cold I get.

One day ago, everything was perfect. Or as close to perfect as I could reasonably imagine. Why couldn't it have stayed that way? Why does everything have to change right when I'm starting to figure it out?

Rogue

Rogue,

We're th-th-thinking warmth. We're thinking things that are HOT. We're th-th-thinking log f-fires, h-hot choc-cocolate, mittens, b-b-blankets, steam baths, h-h-hot tubs, cuddles, tropical islands-s, the equator, s-s-solar flares, chicken soup, volcanic magma, goose-down duvets, hot sp-springs, candelabras, a curry from that shop down the street, deep fryers, L-l-logan with his shirt off, and The Hospital.

Don't any of those warm things sound more preferable to freezing your ass on this park bench?

S-s-sincerely,

Sensible Suggestions at Your Service

In conjunction with

Synonyms Synonymous

Rogue,

I know you're upset, but if you leave this room again without my explicit permission, I will handcuff you to my side until we get back to Westchester.

Truly,

Ororo

P.s. A letter arrived while you were being examined for frostbite. It's from your pen-pal. I left it in the bedside table.

Rogue,

What the hell is going on? What's wrong? Are you okay? Did something happen to John? Why are you outside in the cold feeling bad?

I'm freaking out, Rogue, and you STILL haven't called me. Please let me know that everything is okay.

Love,

Keltie

Keltie,

I'm sorry if I made you worry. I really didn't mean to, but then I didn't mean for any of this to happen and I still manage to hurt everyone around me. It's like my mutation has evolved so that I now emanate pain and destruction to the people I love.

I'm sorry, I'm not even making sense right now. It's 3 o'clock in the morning and the hospital ward is completely silent. I can't sleep. I feel like there is a huge rock on my chest and I have to work extra hard just to breathe normally. Every time I'm about to fall asleep, I imagine the rock getting heavier and suffocating me in my sleep, and I wake myself up because I have to start gasping huge gulps of air.

Okay. I'll tell you what happened.

Two days ago, everything was perfect. Or as close to perfect as I could reasonably expect.

The doctors came in to talk to me. They'd run some tests while I was passed out, and they came to tell me the results. Ororo and Hank were there too, and they both looked grim. John grabbed my hand and squeezed it.

Then the doctors told me the most amazing thing. They told me that I no longer had the Legacy Virus.

I didn't understand at first. I thought maybe they meant I had moved on to a whole new stage of the virus, one in which I felt completely normal but could spiral out of control at any second. I wriggled my hand out of John's grasp, just to make sure.

But no, that wasn't it. It turned out I really was cured. Not only did I feel completely better, I was completely better. I started laughing hysterically.

"Did y'all just make a mistake or something?" I asked, when I could catch my breath.

"Rogue," Ororo said in her soft voice. "When Logan touched you, he passed on his healing power. His mutation eliminated the virus from your system."

"Well, that's great," I said. Then I stopped. "But if I don't have the virus anymore, why is my mutation not back on?"

For a second, I thought they were going to tell me that I was no longer a mutant. I thought that might be why they looked so grim. I didn't really mind. I mean, it's cool to think that I have special powers, but if it was between being healthy/touchable and not healthy/an X-Man, there wasn't really much of a competition.

Actually, the real reason was even better. Hank had spoken to the Professor, who sent me a letter explaining why he believed I suddenly had control. I'm including it here.

Dearest Rogue,

You are no doubt confused, if not elated, that your mutation appears to be dormant. I've spent some time thinking about it, and I believe the reason is this:

The first time you absorbed someone, you not only absorbed their life force, but their thoughts and memories as well. For someone as young as yourself, this onslaught of new information was an overload that your mind attempted to manage through containment. In other words, in order to maintain your sanity and sense of self, your mind created barriers between yourself and the personalities that you absorbed.

I believe it was this containment that prevented you from being able to turn your powers on and off, as many of our kind can.

Once, however, the Legacy Virus latched onto the gene that controlled your mutation and subdued it, the barrier, being no longer necessary, was removed. This allowed the rest of your brain access to the area that can control when and to what extent you absorb someone.

It is my belief that this control is permanent. However, I might suggest that you exercise some caution ( as I'm sure you already intend to) in the coming weeks, until we can examine the situation further.

Yours Truly,

Professor Xavier

Confused? Elated? The way I was feeling was so much more than that. It was like someone had told me I won the lottery, my dream home, and my own personal genie. It was only everything I'd prayed for since I was 16.

I wanted to find Logan and grab him and kiss him, and not listen if his goddamn conscience told him to push me away. I'd use restraints if I had too. There would be no other way to express how truly grateful I was that he'd saved my life.

But that was when I noticed that everyone was still silent and grim. And I realized I hadn't seen Logan since the night before.

No one spoke when I asked where he was. They just looked at each other awkwardly like "How awful. She doesn't understand."

"Where's Logan?" I asked again, a ribbon of hysteria creeping into my voice.

Finally Ororo told me why he wasn't with them.

It's because he was down the hall in his own hospital room.

Because he was dying.

When Logan touched me, he made me better. But it seems that just like I caught the virus when I used my power on John, Logan infected himself when he touched me.

And now the person I care about more than anyone in the world is lying in a bed at Boston University Hospital, probably dying from a disease I gave him.

I can finally touch because of Logan, and I don't even care-because the only person I care about touching is him.

God has a cruel sense of humour.

After the doctors left, John and I sat on the floor, our backs against my bed. I hugged my knees to my chest and stared at the floor. John sat close enough so that our shoulders were touching, but I barely registered his presence.

"Rogue," he said. I didn't look up, mesmerized by the way the grey flecks in the floor quivered through my watery gaze. "Rogue. I know you're upset, but you're healthy. You're alive. That's still a good thing."

I didn't speak at first. I couldn't. Because what I wanted to say, but couldn't, was that there was no point in being alive if Logan wasn't.

Because even in that state, I dimly recognized that I had more to live for than just Logan. I had friends and a home and I'm sure, somewhere down a foggy, feebly-lit road, a future.

And I had just remembered something else. I opened my mouth to speak, but it took a couple of tries before I was able to squeeze words past the lump in my throat.

"You're still sick."

He nodded. The hard glint in his eyes told me that he hadn't forgotten, even though I had.

"Other people are going to get sick." He didn't speak, didn't move, but his eyes acknowledged this fact. "Someone created this virus to hurt mutants. If they can create it, they can modify it. They can put it in the water supply, or make it airborne. Other mutants will die."

I wasn't saying anything he hadn't thought of already. I could tell by the way his bottom lip tightened.

"I could even get it again." His head flew back a little at that, and I could tell that the thought hadn't occurred to him. "There might be no stopping it."

I started crying then, and I pressed my face into my knees and let the tears roll down my legs. John sat there, awkwardly patting my head. As I started crying harder, though, he pulled me closer to him and put his arms around me.

"He's going to die, isn't he?" I wailed, and my shoulders shook. I was getting snot all over John's shirt and I didn't even care. I felt like my whole body was breaking apart.

"Shh," he said. "No one is going to die." That only made me cry harder, because there was no way he could know. And really, he should have been the one crying, not me. He was handling his imminent death way better than I ever had. Then again, his method was probably similar to mine: Denial.

Finally, I calmed down enough to grab a tissue, and clean up what I could of my face. John's shirt was pretty much done for, but I handed him a tissue anyway. He crumpled it in his fist. I slowly got to my feet.

"Where are you going?"

"I have to see him," I tried to run my hands through my hair. It was no use-I hadn't brushed it since the pool incident, so you can imagine the snarls I was dealing with. I tied it back the best I could.

"You look like shit," John told me, climbing back onto his bed.

For some reason this made me smile. "Thanks."

"Want me to come with you?"

I shook my head. I walked down the hall until I found Logan's room. I knocked quietly and then stuck my head in when there was no response, terrified by what I might see. I let out a noise-half gasp, half laugh-when I saw that the bed was empty.

"Lookin' for me, kid?"

I whirled around and came face to face with Logan's chest. It was still a magnificent chest, I must say. I was happy to see that he was wearing a black t-shirt and grey track pants-I don't know why, but I just felt like this was a sign that all hope was not lost.

Also, I honestly don't know how I could have kept a straight face with Logan in a hospital gown.

He motioned for me to enter the room, and I took a seat beside the bed. He stretched out on top of it, more like he had decided to lounge around, and this room was the most convenient place for it. I almost convinced myself that the doctors had made a mistake and everything was fine-until I saw the bandages on his hands.

He followed my gaze. "I guess they told you, eh?"

I picked up one of his hands in my own. It was heavy as always, the adamantium weighing down his bones. I knew it was twisted, but I secretly thanked Stryker, sick bastard that his was, for coating him in the stuff. Genetic viruses aside, Logan was still virtually indestructible.

I gently peeled one of the bandages back, revealing two bloody knuckles. Self-consciously, Logan drew his hand away. "Don't wanna hurt you," he said gruffly. "They've been comin' out with no warning." I felt my eyes fill with tears.

"Don't do that, kid." His eyes fell on my bare hands and arms. "I talked to Chuck. Heard you finally got some control. Good for you."

I snorted. "I had nothing to do with it, and it's costing you your life."

He raised his eyebrow. "It's not...Let's talk about somethin' else. You feelin' okay?"

I didn't know how to answer that, so I shrugged. Medically, I was fine. As for everything else...

"Think you'll still want to swim as much when you get home?"

This time I did let out a little laugh that didn't quite reach my cheekbones. "I don't know. Probably not."

"Everytime I see you, you're either swimmin', about to go swimmin' or comin' back from the pool'."

I shrugged. "I really like being in the water."

"How come?"

I didn't know how we could be talking about this when there were so many more important things to talk about. But I decided to humour him, mostly because I didn't know what else I could do. "I don't know. I guess...I guess I've always felt so capable in the water. So free to move. My Mama always said swimming is the closest thing humans will ever get to flying. So I guess I like that."

He quirked his lips. "Flyin', huh?"

"Yeah," I smiled, playfully nudging his arm. "I know how you feel about it."

"Well, swimmin' or flyin', you seem to have a knack for it." I blushed at the unexpected compliment.

"Storm thinks I should learn how to fly the jet," I told him. "Properly, I mean."

"You should."

"Why?"

"It's a good skill to have."

"I'd rather learn how to ride your bike."

I cursed myself as I realized the implication of what I'd said, and almost immediately there was a change in his demeanor, a shift in the air that indicated I'd gone too far. I bit my lip and looked down. The memory of the humiliation from the other night rushed back, and my cheeks started burning.

Suddenly there was sound of grinding metal on metal, and his claws ripped through the bandages on his knuckles. Logan grimaced, his face twisted in pain. It was strange-I've seen his claws come out a hundred times, but other than that first night I met him, I never considered the pain he must go through every time. This time, however, the claws didn't slice through the skin neatly and quickly. They broke through the skin slowly, ripping through wounds that had just started to scab. It was bizarre to see them in this context. No immediate danger; no training modules, just Logan and I, sitting in this nondescript hospital room.

"Sonuvabitch" he cursed, through gritted teeth. "Sorry, kid." My eyes must have been wide, and I could feel the blood draining from my face.

"Why is it happening so fast?" I asked. "It took months for my powers to start malfunctioning like that."

"Different rates for different mutants, I guess. Without the healin', I've got the immune system of someone at least twice my physical age."

I looked at his face in shock. With closer inspection, he looked as though he'd aged in the last day and a half. He looked almost...ashamed to be showing me this, his disintegration into someone vulnerable and capable of pain. I swallowed, trying to rearrange my features to hide my horror.

"How is this happening?" I whispered. "How could someone create something like this?"

"A lot of desperate people out there." He tried to keep his voice level as the claws slid slowly back into his skin. I kept my eyes on his face so I didn't have to watch.

Desperation was an emotion I was becoming very familiar with. I took a deep breath. "I'll see you later."

"Where are you goin'?" I didn't answer. I was tripping over my own feet in my hurry to leave the room.

"Rogue!" he called after me. It was the first time in a while he'd called me anything but 'kid'. "This isn't your fault."

I was already halfway down the hallway, looking for the exit. Because the problem is, I know Logan is wrong.

This is completely and totally, 100% my fault.

I don't really remember how long I sat in the Commons for. I know it was a stupid thing to do, and I could have ended up with pneumonia or frostbite or Lord knows what else. But at that moment, I didn't care. I just kept seeing it in my mind, the way the metal tore through his skin.

The memories aren't as clear as they were before I got control over them, but I knew that the one thing Logan hated more than anything was not having control over his own body. I just sat there and cried. I cried for him and I cried for John but mostly I cried for myself, because I'm pathetic and selfish like that.

More than a few people cast me strange looks, and a couple women even asked if I needed help. I just waved them away. Finally, a police officer came over and told me I couldn't keep sitting there. He asked me if he could take me somewhere and I asked him to give me a ride to the hospital. He was pretty close to bringing me to the mental hospital, I'm sure, but he decided to humour me, and the receiving nurse confirmed that I was indeed a patient.

I got seriously reamed out by Ororo once I got back. She made me feel really guilty, like I didn't already feel shitty enough. She also told me that she was taking me back to school tomorrow.

"Absolutely not." I told her.

"Rogue," she told me, as patiently as her exhaustion and worry would allow. "This is not a debate. Scott needs me back at school. You no longer need medical attention. Hank can worry about John and Logan, but you need to get back home."

Does she not understand that it won't be a home if Logan never comes back? That I wont be able to live with myself if he and John die and I'm not there? If I do nothing to stop it?

I don't know what to do, Keltie. Ororo is watching me like a hawk, but even if I could get away from her, where would I go? What would I do?

I'm so lost and confused.

-Rogue.