He lights up when she walks in a room.

I don’t think she even notices it, but everyone else sure does. Even that pretty redheaded piece he’s going out with, and she doesn’t strike me as the type of woman to worry about something like that if there’s nothing really going on. But every time Rogue walks into a room Logan straightens up, tenses, lets his eyes go to her- It’s pure, unmistakeable, animal regard. Were this the field something would be said to them, I’m sure of it: I don’t know how anyone could run a squad with all this background noise and hope to get anything done. But when I try to bring it up with their CO Ororo gives me the brush-off-

“Logan and Rogue’s relationship is theirs, Captain Rogers,” she says softly, knowing the use of my rank reminds me I’m an outsider. “If you have any worries, I suggest you take them to the pair in question.”

Which is essentially her way of saying butt out and don’t ask me to get in the middle of this.

Doesn’t often happen, but there’s times when I miss the sheer structure of the US Army.

The only thing that keeps me from just locking the two in a broom closet and telling them to have it out is Rogue. The way she stares at me when she thinks he’s not looking, the way she seems to like me more than just about anyone else- Including the hairy Canadian. Which is clearly starting to grate on his nerves. I mean, don’t get me wrong, she’s a good-looking dame. In fact, she’s probably one of the best looking dames I’ve ever seen. And she’s smart, tough, tender, all the best things you can say about a woman. You should see her with the younger kids, the ones with the really dangerous and uncontrollable mutations: She’s fearless- fierce- like a momma bear. Peggy was like that. Smart. Tough, but compassionate. Knew enough about the school of hard knocks to be careful, wasn’t so afraid of going back to it that she wouldn’t try something new. But Peggy had never been through any of the crap Rogue’s seen. Peggy was never left at the side of the road by the people who should have cared about her the most. Everyone here in Xavier’s has a sad story, every kid’s been abused and abandoned in some cruel, messed-up way. But what happened to Rogue? Makes me sick to my stomach. Because what kind of, of monster chains a little girl up and tries to kill her because he hasn’t the nerve to die for his beliefs? What kind of man does that?

I remember the war, and if this Eric Lensherr does too then he should know how many good people died for the courage of their convictions.

He doesn’t get to use what happened to him in Poland as a get out of jail free card when he wants to play terrorist with the life of a child.

And it’s because I know Logan’s the one who saved her, nearly killing himself in the process, that I keep my mouth shut. Because as much as his possessiveness annoys me, I know there must be something underneath all that gruffness that really cares about Rogue. Like I said, I don’t think he realises it yet: When he’s around her all he does is flirt with Jean. But when she’s not around all he seems to do is talk about Rogue. How she did in her tests, how well she fights against the Danger Room sims. What she did to save his butt in Genosha, what she thinks of the Cardinals’ chances in this year’s league. He’s smitten, I can tell. The whole Mansion can. But he never says anything to anyone about it. He never tries to get Rogue on her own. He’s living with Doctor Grey now for heaven’s sake- the pair of them are so lovey-dovey it makes a guy go into sugar-shock just watching them- and I’m not sure how Jean puts up his other behaviour. I mean, she really must be crazy about the guy. But I see Grey smiling at me sometimes, with that self-possession that’s almost a superpower in its own right, and when she does that I can’t help but wonder how much she knows, and what she thinks I have to do with it-

But if she thinks I’ll seduce Rogue to clear the way for her, it’s not going to happen. It’s just not who I am.

“You okay Steve?” I hear Rogue pipe up then. She’s flopped down on the couch beside me, Jubilee at her side. The firecracker is grinning at me, and I think she must have guessed where my thoughts were because she gives me a saucy wink.

“Sure he’s okay Roguey,” she says. “He’s probably mentally preparing himself to face the Wolvster today in the Danger Room today. It’s in, like-” she makes a show of checking her watch- “fifteen minutes, and yet here he is, watching TV.” She shrugs. “That’s one Helluva brassy pair you got on you there, Cap.”

I fight the urge to roll my eyes and just glare at her now. The kids found a couple of the old movies I did as Captain America on You-Tube, and I’ve been hearing about them ever since. As ever though, Jubes is immune to my attempts at a glower.

“Not so, spark-plug,” I tell her instead. She hates that name. “That match isn’t until tomorrow-”

“Nuh-uh,” Jubes says. “It’s today. Re-scheduled. There was, like, a memo. The other Avengers are coming in to fight us mañana.” Rogue pats my knee comfortingly when I start at the news, and my skin obligingly heats up where she touches. I tell myself not to grin just at the skin-to-skin contact but I don’t think my face is cooperating.

Jubes’ smile widens.

“Well,” I say, trying to regain my mental balance as I go to stand, “If it’s today, it’s today.” Time and the super-soldier serum wait for no man. “We’d better get down there, ’Ro hates it when we’re late-”

Jubes is practically bouncing in her seat now. “What?” she demands. “She didn’t tell you?” She makes a show of playfully punching Rogue and the girl turns bright red before punching her back. That blow isn’t so much about play. “They’re talking about making Miss Thing here the new team leader,” Jubes says, undiscouraged. “Betsy’s heading back to the UK for some family shit and Roguey here’s in line to take over. Today’s the trials- and you’re on her team. Wolvie’s leading the opposition.” She smiles with mock sorrow at her friend. “I’ve been assigned to him, chica. No offence, but we’re gonna kick your ass.”

Rogue’s grin is almost feral. “You mean you’re gonna try.”

A spark of paff flies from Jubes’ fingers. “Bring it, redneck.”

Rogue pops her own paff, the result of a friendly tussle for the remote control the other day. “You’re on, firecracker.”

Something moves through Rogue’s eyes then, the same something I’ve seen in all the women here. It’s a similar light to the one that I used to see in Peggy, tough and ready for a fight. But whereas Peg would fight because she had to, the women in Xavier’s fight because they enjoy it. Because they’re good at it. Because it’s what they were born to do. I used to find it disconcerting as all get out, but on Rogue I suppose I kind of…like it. Or maybe appreciate it is a better term. I guess I just kind of think it’s swell, on her at least-

An image of Nick Fury’s grinning face pops into my head and I firmly push it away.

Fifteen minutes later though and I’m down in the Danger Room, suiting up; I can feel the weight of Logan’s glare on my back from across the room. Rogue’s team consists of me, Bobby, Pyotr, and Wolfsbane: She’s clearly been given a team meant to test her, see how well she can lead. Because me, she likes, so sending me into danger will be an issue. Bobby and her had a nasty break-up a couple of years back and it’s possible he’s still a sore spot in her heart, which will throw her off balance. Pyotr’s girl, Kitty, is on the other team so Rogue has to be aware that Colossus might be pulling his punches- And Rahne was her aviation instructor when she was getting her pilot’s licence. The Scottish woman always insisted on scrupulous deference in class, so ordering her around won’t be easy for Rogue- But then it’s not easy for anyone, when the woman in question turns into a giant wolf.

All in all though, Rogue looks like she’s not overly worried by her challenges. She wears authority easily, which surprises me: Around Wolverine she’s normally so deferent and quiet. We huddle in a corner as she goes over the mission: There’s a state secret, there’s a military compound. We’re to get in and out with as little loss of life as possible, because there’s also civilian personnel on the base. She divvies up assignments and it becomes clear that any supposed problems she should have had with her team are just that: Supposed. She sends me slap bang into the middle of danger with a dry request that I not screw up and get them blown to kingdom come. She tells Pyotr to take out Kitty, presumably on the grounds that if he’s put off by that assignment Shadowcat will be too. The Danger Room sim’ is taking place in a desolate, snowy area so she assigns Bobby the job of freezing one of the airlocks until it becomes fragile and she can use Jubes’ power to crack it. That way even if there’s a surveillance perimeter the door looking icy won’t set alarm bells ringing. Rahne’s to get in the back, stay away from the civilians, then get everyone to the jet. That she doesn’t feel comfortable being ordered around by her former pupil is obvious; That Wolfsbane makes a good effort at not showing it is likewise pretty clear. We fan out, each of us with our assignments: Rogue’s asked me to wear my Cap uniform, since I’m supposed to be a massive diversion anyway (and I quote) “Nothing says diversion like a guy with a white star on his forehead and a white, red and blue shield.” So at least I’m comfortable.

I also happen to have a massive target painted on my back, but like the lady says, that’s nothing new.

The mission proper starts then, each of us going for our assignments; The Danger Room safety protocols have been disengaged and none of us want to be seriously hurt. Of course with the exception of Logan I have the least chance of being killed, but I don’t want to put that to the test- So I make sure I get inside the base as quickly as possible and keep to the shadows while I’m there. Pyotr trailing behind me, everything about his body language showing me he’s uncomfortable and tense. I count Mississippis in my head (still easier than trying to use that complicated, piece-of-nonsense watch Nick gave me) until I know that Bobby will have broken the back door. Then at my nod Pyotr heads off to find Kitty (she’s guarding the file room) while I listen for the largest contingent of personnel in the base and head straight for them. They’re in what looks like a war room; I sneak in as near as I can get to them, taking note of the fact that everything in this sim’ is big, metallic and built to survive pummelling by a tank. So not exactly conducive to a quick getaway, but the kind of hardware I’m familiar with. Logan and Jubes are standing in a corner, muttering to themselves because nothing is showing up on the internal camera system; I don’t know Wolverine all that well, but I get the impression he’s proud of how well our girl’s team is doing, especially with him leading the opposition. I fall back into the shadows, making sure to stand as far away from the air vents as possible; I’m covered in dust, mud and axel grease- meant to mask my scent apparently- and the last thing I need is Logan getting wind of me at the last second. I cock my head, listening carefully, and then I hear Marie’s voice, very softly, give my signal to attack.

She whistles the opening bars of Praise the Lord and Pass the Ammunition- a song I was amazed she even knew- And then, as planned, I take a deep breath and pull my shield in front of me and prepare to play chicken with an entire base of military personnel.

I know the precise moment Logan hears Rogue’s signal because I see him cock his head, face frowning. See him swing around as he figures out what’s going on, the claws coming out with their familiar snikt while I high-tail it into the room. For a split second the sims and Wolverine’s team stare at me, taking in my costume, trying to assess whether I’m alone. Mutations powering up, their eyes going to the exits. All of them clearly assessing the best way to corral me and take me down. And then the adamantium gleams in the light as Logan thunders towards me, snarling at Jubes to go find Kitty. Ordering the rest of them to cover the base’s exits, leaving Rogue’s plan of a distraction in tatters as the Wolverine rounds on me. He slashes angrily at me, hissing under his breath; I dodge away, picking up the shield and smashing his face with it, and am rewarded with a painful-sounding Ga-Dunk! As vibranium impacts against adamantium and bone. He actually staggers back a little, dazed and surprised by the fact that the shield made a dent in that metallic head of his; I wonder whether he even read the report Fury sent over on me, or whether he just didn’t believe it until now-

Doesn’t matter right now though. With his attention distracted I go on the offensive, bouncing the shield across the room to smash into the back of his head even as I throw a sharp upper-cut to his jaw. I trained as a boxer when I first enlisted so the blow has some power behind it. Not that that makes it more effective: My fist might as well the made of feathers for all it slows him down. And the impact hurts my hand like Hell. It might sound cocky but it’s a long time since that’s really happened to me: I feel pain, it’s true, but not as easily as everyone else does. Of course, I normally don’t punch guys with metallic skeletons either. Logan’s fist moves so fast I barely even see it, and suddenly my jaw hurts and the room’s spinning as my head snaps backwards, the balance thrown with the weight of the blow. I manage to swing my torso upwards at the last minute, barrelling into Logan’s middle and forcing him back with a mix of weight and momentum. He clearly wasn’t expecting it because there’s a slight look of surprise on his face as we sail floor-wards, the impact of his body beneath mine knocking the wind out of us both.

Doesn’t do much for my chances however; quick as lightning he flips us so he has me pinned. Hands going around my throat, something that’s way more about feral rage than it is about battle glowing in his eyes now. That beast inside him, the one everyone talks about, clawing its way to the surface now it’s been given an excuse to play. He gets a hard grip, his fingers like a vice around my throat; I dig my own fingers into the bones of his wrists, sharp and precise, enough to break the grip of a normal man but not enough to have the slightest effect on him. He’s running on adrenaline and battle-rage now. I’ve seen it before, in Europe, the things that the fight-or-flight reflex will let a man do, the things he’s capable of when survival is all he can see. But there’s more to this, more than just getting the job done. He’s enjoying it, enjoying hurting me. Enjoying showing a rival, maybe, that he’s physically the better man. He digs his knee into me solar plexus; When I give a cough in pain at it he gives a low, wicked-sounding laugh. The lights are flashing as the sim’ base goes into lockdown, the fact that in a facility like this we might well be locked in for a century if the doors close not bothering him at all. Not when he’s fighting his rival and has an iron-clad excuse to kick his butt. With the last of my strength I manage to dig my feet into the ground and force myself upwards. That breaks his hold on my unexpectedly and suddenly I can breath. He’s heavier than me so it’s difficult, but my height gives me an advantage so long as I’m careful and I use it-

Turns out this Brooklyn boy’s fought bullies before, and there’s more than one trick he knows how to pull.

So I distribute my weight as I roll him, giving him no chance to seize control- Again. I’ve surprised him but this time I don’t hesitate: I drag myself to my feet and pick him up- it’s the only thing I can think to do- before physically throwing him towards one of the consuls, hoping it’ll slow him down long enough for me to get away. The impact’s messy and painful- I threw him harder than I meant to- but it barely even slows him down any and this time he’s coming at me with the blades, his grin more scary than the devil himself’s, every inch of his body vibrating with the desire to part my head from my shoulders. Right. The Hell. Now. His body language shifts as he comes towards me, becoming more animalistic. He’s grown silent and watchful and predatory, his eyes practically glowing as he pads across the room. There’s a door about fifteen feet to the right of me and if I get enough of a start I know I can make it; Pulling the damn thing shut and high-tailing it out of here seems like a really smart plan to me right now. I launch myself at it, vaulting over another consul to do it. I very nearly make it but Logan’s too quick for me; He leaps clear across the tops of three control-desks to reach me, his movements limber and lethally concise as a jungle cat. The claws smash into the door an inch from my nose and I slam myself backwards: I feel the impact of the heavy, stainless steel door-jam ratchet up my spine and if it wasn’t for the super-soldier serum tomorrow I’d be black and blue. He slams the metal door into me, knocking me backwards and disorientating me; I see the flash of the blades in the red-and-green light and then suddenly something smashes into me, something too warm and soft to be a suddenly-charitable Wolverine. I tumble-once, twice- along the floor, the weight of whoever saved me pressing into me. I come to a rest to see Rogue’s face above mine, her lip smeared with blood and grease, a black eye blooming against her milky, alabaster skin. There’s a yell from the corridor and Wolverine comes straight at us; The sight of Rogue straddling me, strangely enough, doesn’t seem to be helping his calm. I roll myself to take the impact of the blow, knowing he’ll hate himself later if he hurts her-

And then, suddenly, Wolverine stops coming.

Suddenly the man I know is looking out through his eyes again, and his expression looks- It looks like he’s just taken a peek into Hell.

I pull back, not sure what’s happening. Try to roll away so that Rogue can stand. And as I do I follow his line of sight, my eyes widening. The realisation of what image was shocking enough to stop him rattling through my brain. Because Rogue’s uniform is cut and slit right across her abdomen; There’s enough skin showing to give someone a really nasty dose of her power- The kind of dose that could kill. But right where that naked flesh is pressing into me my own uniform’s split open: My bare arm was against her the entire time we were rolling away- And I didn’t feel it. I didn’t feel her power’s draw at all. A second later she sees what’s happening and tries to pull away from me; I reach for her, not willing to let her get scared unless she needs to be, and put my bare hand right on her cheek. It’s so very, very soft that my thumb skims over it. I hear the Wolverine growl at the intimacy but I can’t make myself pull away. She freezes under my touch, the shock of it obvious. In all the months I’ve been here it never occurred to me to check whether her touch worked on me and now I curse myself for not thinking of this, for not trying to find out if whatever alchemy project Rebirth worked on me would allow me to give her even one touch. One embrace. One stolen, oh-so-worth-it kiss. We stay like that, frozen, as the sim’ powers down around us. Stay like that even as I hear ’Ro and Jubes speak very softly to Wolverine, their voices far away and trying to soothe. Rogue’s looking in my eyes, this half terrified, half delighted look on her face and I can’t help it, I lean forward and brush my lips against hers-

By the time we break apart and look away from each other, the Wolverine’s already gone.

He’s not in his room when Rogue drops by that night, and we don’t see him for another month- Just like we don’t see Jean.