Rogue was losing it. Not really, but she felt like she was. Her super-powered body had tried to cope the best that it could for almost a week without sleep since returning to the mansion, but as usual, it was her over-active emotions that couldn't handle the pressure. The slight hum of voices/memories were starting to lose its chaotic yet staple spinning in her head because of tiredness, but her ovaries represented what she could classify a bigger problem altogether.

Touching Logan hadn't been in the agenda since returning here.

Sure, she conspired with Raven for Operation Immortalize, but Rogue realized she hadn't planned ahead, specifically on what to do when she actually saw Logan in person. Why the fuck did she expect he wouldn't lay a finger on her, when all along, he had been the only one who had been unafraid to touch her? She ran away after their steamy embrace, but what now? She couldn't face him since then. Well, it's not like they had anything more to say to each other. Unless he wanted a repeat of that… But no, Rogue thought. She couldn't. They both knew she was the talkative one, and perhaps now he couldn't blame her for being so tongue-tied whenever he was around. It went both ways regardless.

All the adults were in their classes today –except for Scott, who was busy watching his precious Conchita. He was more than willing to get back to teaching again, with the condition that his mornings were free for TV time. Ororo had been more than willing to agree –anything to have him back on track. The Professor had announced that he would prefer to be addressed as –no, not New Charles, but another of Logan's nicknames for him (no not Wheels), Chuck. He said he couldn't get used to the awkward stares everyone gave him now and then, and said he would rather prefer everyone to acknowledge the fact that he was, indeed, a new person. Aside from teaching, he was also obsessed with physical training –most likely brought about by Logan's teasing about him being a weakling.

Coping had always been one of the mansion residents' strongest suits, and Scott, Chuck, and everyone else, easily fell in tune with the whole new dynamic. It was Rogue, however, that still didn't fit into the mix. She didn't want to, as she politely declined when Ororo mentioned her previous job.

Before leaving the mansion, Rogue had been cooped up with clerical work. Filing papers, proof-reading documents, making calls, etc. Secretarial work was the best way she avoided people in general. But now, she wasn't sure she could pigeonhole herself anymore –not only because she was secretly touchable, but because she would rather play the guitar for a living, even if the pay wasn't enough to make her rich.

The mansion made her forget music for convenience –not to mention all the drama that came along with it. When you almost died twice, had unrequited love, a sort-of-fake boyfriend, the voices in her head, school, and avoiding killing people accidentally –her guitar-playing had to take a backseat. It was only right that Marie the Musician had to remain in a ditch after getting her curse. The gloves were a constant ever since then, and playing the guitar didn't exactly make sense with those –especially if she was used to shredding. She never really gave it any serious thought, but ever since she played for Karl's, gaining control over her mutation, and the confidence she had absorbed from Carol, Victor, and being a truly independent, capable person on the road –she knew that she couldn't return to being a lame ass secretary. Give or take they would have dubbed her the crazy cat lady even if she didn't have a cat.

And as Rogue wandered aimlessly through the mansion, unable to concentrate on anything but the fire in her loins and the dreary sounds in her head, she heard a lively piece coming from the Music Room. The buzz in her head was once again put to rest as she paced towards where the notes were oozing in bouncy, spirited tingles in the air. Energized and nervous, she opened the door and found the pianist to be none other than Chuck. "Professor?"

Chuck regarded her with a smile and a nod, encouraging her to enter the room. She returned his smile with one of her own and shut the door behind her. She closed her eyes as he repeated the piece, once again marveling how real music managed to soothe her soul. When it was finished, she was breathing calmly, just like she would after having a heart-to-heart with the old Charles.

"It's Chopin's 'Butterfly Etude'," he said, his fingers resting on his lap. "Was it any good?"

"Yes, definitely," Rogue answered quickly. Her heart was pounding, brought to excitement by the melody he had played. She blushed then, feeling his intentional gaze pierce right through her. She looked away. "Did you read my mind?"

Chuck shook his head. "Far from it." He gave her another knowing grin. "But you were projecting rather loudly, something about missing music." He gave her a look that was a mix of amusement and curiosity. "Also something about 'rage'."

Technically, he probably misread missing 'Rage', her guitar. But it was partly true. Last week Rogue was on a roll and now, life at the mansion was boring. And awkward. "Thank you for playing. You really didn't have to."

"It was my pleasure. I've been planning to for so long, but never got around to it," he said. "But that specific piece though… I played it for you, I have to admit."

"You did?" They both knew there wasn't romantic about the music –unless you were determined to interpret it as such.

"You're a butterfly now, aren't you?" he asked. "Surely, you must know."

Always on the move. Fluttering about. Never still. Broken free from her cocoon. Wings spread. Flying. New colors. But instead of delving in however she perceived his words, she just stifled a giggle. "You know, Profess –I mean, Chuck." She cleared her throat. "You have to stop speaking Jesus."

"I just hope that you would tell us this time around, if ever you do wish to shift to another flowerbed…" he trailed off, and then gave her a wink. "Or perhaps, you would wish to just single out that one bud you wish to pollinate?"

Rogue glowered at him.

"All I'm saying is, Rogue, maybe it is time for you to be clear with your intentions with him–"

I've always been clear, she snapped telepathically. "I don't know what you're saying."

Chuck gave her a disbelieving look. Perhaps if you were still 17, I would have been against the two of you getting together. Then again, I am no longer bald…

He's confused –hell, I'm confused. Rogue sighed. Just drop it.

Whatever you wish, Rogue. Chuck ended the conversation. "My, you surely never fail to impress. Since when did you learn to start a telepathic link like that?"

Must be Emma, Rogue thought to herself, but secured her thoughts back in place. "I just need sleep," she said, knowing it didn't really make any sense, or connection to what he asked. She walked to the door and turned to him before leaving, "Chuck, thank you. But seriously, get off my case."

"But neighbors are supposed to care for each other, Rogue."

Rogue could only laugh as she left the telepath alone in the music room.

Time to get some shut-eye.

Logan groaned loudly when the shower burst, the hot water prickling his back like boiling rain. Even if physically, he was in tiptop shape, all his activities today made him feel burned out and tired. He had been extra meticulous with the trainees in the Danger Room, snuck in a few rounds of level 10 workouts for himself, and volunteered to be Chuck's spotter when he trained. He even jogged with the man after that, for fuck's sake.

When he felt hungry, he just grabbed food from the cafeteria and went on his way. Whenever someone needed help from him, he gave it wordlessly. If someone asked for instructions, he went about it like a professional. He even put the grunting to a minimum. And before he could notice how people saw how strange he was acting, he resorted to going out to the gardens during his breaks –which was saying much. When he found himself straying by the gravestones, he couldn't help but feel like he was in a museum. But it was as close to nature as he could get without bolting to the mountains.

Maybe he needed some serious 'self-recollection' ASAP. Marie kept on popping in his head even more so than necessary. Wasn't he supposed to be alright now, calm? She was finally here at the mansion –wasn't his mission to find her finally accomplished? No, his mind breached, more. More, more. Fine, maybe it was his fucking dick doing the thinking. But as much as she was here, she wasn't really here, was she?

She wasn't with him.

It had only been a couple of days in the mansion, and instead of falling back into her usual routine, Marie didn't jump into work. She spent her time reading, making casual talk with people, watching TV with Scott, or being the all-around assistant teacher of the place. He was proud of her in that sense, finally being so fearless despite her mutation. How long had he wanted to see her that way, so brave and confident in her skin? But even if she was slightly occupied, she appeared like someone simply playing a part. Like she really wasn't going to stay, and that made him feel all kinds of troubled. What the fuck was she planning? She wasn't planning on returning to Canada, was she?

The questions that devoured his head were not put to rest except for sleeping time. It was self-punishing, but he actually preferred, for once, to dream about his nightmares rather than obsess about Marie. Because Marie was such a dangerous place to be. Fuck, even that sounded sexual to him.

Delectably dangerous, Wolverine added. Damn, to be inside her–

Fuck, Logan snapped again. Wolverine wasn't helping either. His inner feral enjoyed everything that was happening to him. His torment, his avoidance of her –it only confirmed what Wolverine liked to call denial. The more he pushed the Marie-thoughts away, the more there was truth to the fact that there was something between them. But Logan was a stubborn man. If there was anything, maybe it was just that he felt like he had failed her, when he had promised her years ago to take care of her…

Wolverine laughed. And you wanted to take care of her sweet pussy when you embraced her the other day, right?

Logan literally slammed his head against the wall of his bathroom. The bloody concrete dented and chipped off. While his cut healed, he showered again to rid his hair of the dusty remains of the broken cement. No, he argued. Marie's my friend.

A fuckable one, at that.

"SHUT UP!" Logan yelled at himself, partly thankful that no one was in the same floor as he was because it was dinnertime. But he could still smell her everywhere, God, she was everywhere. He should just get some sleep. It was the only way to stop this. He –nor Wolverine, would be able to think of Marie when the nightmares started. Preferring despicable dreams over his Marie?

Oh Christ, I'm such a sick fuck.

Marie is NOT yours, not yours!

MINE, MINE, MINE!

Jaws clenched, the sting of his bruise starting to fade, Logan pulled his emergency stash of alcohol from under the bed and chugged it down in one go. The slight fizzle would be gone in a minute or two, so without putting his clothes on, he jumped on the bed and tried to sleep.

Too engaged in his mental debate and his resolve to sleep, Logan did not see the pair of eyes watching him from outside his window.

An explosion.

Logan was running.

Faster, faster! Wolverine screamed. MOVE FASTER!

Another loud, eardrum-shattering boom is heard from behind, that even his Adamantium-laced skeleton was flung across the white blanket of snow like a sack of potatoes.

MOVE, MOVE! Wolverine barked and his eyes flashed open, and once again, he was running forward. He could smell the blood pouring from several gashes on his body, but there was no time to rest, no time to think –just run!

Running from who, sugar?

Marie! Logan thought in panic. I left her! He pivoted his heel and readied to move again when a bright blaze stopped him. Hunching down the cold, he growled, and readied himself to attack. Thiswas keeping him from her. From Marie. His friend. His lover. His mate.

Stop running, Marie's voice echoed again.

Logan snarled again –where was she!? He bared his fangs, unsheathed his claws. He was about to charge towards the fire across him but something else pounced in front of him: Sabretooth!

He had Marie, he had Marie!

Engulfed in flames, Sabretooth's sharp metallic nails extended an inch down. Then he flew towards Logan and knocked him back on the snow. Logan hollered in anger and tried to push him away, but this Sabretooth was strong –stronger than he had ever been.

NO! Logan thought. Give her back to me!

We got her, the feral sneered on top of him.

NO! NEVER! I'm going to KILL YOU!

When Logan blinked, he saw him shapeshift into his Marie. His eyes widened, but he knew it was Mystique. Fucking bitch! He tried pushing her away, but she was so resilient. Mystique wasn't this overpowering as well. He could toss her aside with just a swipe of his arm. But he couldn't move.

It's me, sugar.

Marie. Marie. My Marie. He wanted to clear the long white hair from her face, see her eyes for himself. Oh you're so pretty, Marie. Fuckin' perfect –even if it's probably the blue bitch seducin' me right now. She ground her hips down against his crotch, but he remained where he was, even if his body was starting to respond to her actions. Three seconds, you fuckin' Smurf. You've no right to use her.

But it's me, she insisted, rubbing harder against him.

THREE!

Using all his strength, he broke out of her hold and buried those three claws in her belly just like last time. Take that, bitch–

"AHHH!" someone squealed too loudly, too real, and made Logan sit up in bed, his eyes widening at what he saw in the dim light. His retreating claws made a vision of three perfectly punctured holes on the sweat-drenched, bare flesh. The blood was flowing, and flowing. "M-Marie…?" he slurred.

Was this even real?

But it was. Her brown eyes gaped at him with panic, just like that first time he stabbed her, but this time around she does not touch his jaw to save herself. Instead she fell or rather, floated backwards, a dribble of blood spilling from her lips.

Maybe he was still dreaming, Marie didn't hover.

"Marie!" he found his voice, finally accepting he had indeed hurt her, that –and she stumbled out the window, leaving him with a bloody blanket and a full-fledged erection. His chest heaved as he run his fingers through his hair, tried to pull them out, tried to make sure he was fully awake. He leapt from the bed to see her crawling away from the mansion, cradling her belly.

Did she just jump all the way down there?

After stuffing his legs and his hard, needy, dangling manhood into his jeans, Logan lost all conscious thought and followed her lead. He couldn't wrap his head around what had just happened. Was it a dream? He wanted it to be, but the scent of her blood was too fresh in his nose. He started running faster, hoping to get to her in time. But as much as the images of her bare breasts were assaulting his brain, those rosy tips pinched and ready for fondling and suckling –there was something else that was racing through his head:

Did he just witness her wounds heal in front of his eyes?

Or did she touch him longer than necessary before he woke up? But he was too familiar with how it felt to have his mutation absorbed from him, and he felt none of it. And if she did try absorbing him, wouldn't she need at least more to heal herself?

Everything was foggy. But his feet kept moving.

Was it a dream?

No, no it wasn't.

The chase stopped when he reached the lake. Marie was kneeling in front of the water, and he could smell the scent of tears, blood and arousal. Her wounds were healed. He tried reaching out, but she flinched further away from him. "Marie, I'm... I'm sorry… Let me heal you. Please." Did he just beg? Maybe. He didn't care.

Marie looked like a nymph. Her waist-long hair covering her back, naked from the waist up. The only thing covering her crotch was this tight, black bikini underwear. Her honeyed scent filled his brain, blocking out everything else. She turned around then, and he tried hard not to move. He gazed down at her in awe of her beauty. Naked. Marie was naked in front of him. His cock was trying to escape his jeans, felt its traitorous head peak from the button of his fly.

"I don't need you anymore, Logan," she murmured. Marie took a step closer to him, and he was tempted to take another step back, but she caught his trembling hand and pressed it against the flawless patch of skin where he had pierced her only a few minutes ago. It was gone. Only smooth, moist skin greeted his palm. Then he felt it, the intense loss of energy, and perhaps what came with his sanity, as he fell on his knees, his face right in front of the part of her body where he almost killed her with his claws. He fell down just like that, just like the tears running down his face, but he was too disoriented to mind.

Without another thought, Logan pressed his face on her flesh, unafraid if her skin would suck him dry. But there was no pull, only stillness and heat. He let out a mangled cry when he wrapped his arms around her hips, crushing her to him, feeling how tangible she was. The scent of her core was reducing him to a ball of desire and helplessness –all he could do was nuzzle into her, mingle his tears with the sweat of her warm skin. "I thought I'd killed you… you ran away and… Marie, don't…" He looked up at her, saw her gazing at him between the valley of her breasts, regarding him with an expression he could not fathom. "Don't run away from me anymore, Marie. Don't."

Logan opened his mouth, but instead of pleading, he kissed her belly and gave her navel a lick. She moaned. Just a little more and he could finally taste it, the sweet ambrosia between her legs. "Marie… My Marie…" Her arousal spiked the air once again, so powerful he felt like he would die from it. If this was death, then he accepted; let him die by her hands. "Marie," he called her again, hoping she would move, because he was done fighting. Done. He can't. He refused to fight this. No. Enough.

When Marie moved, however, all she did was pry his arms away from her so easily –and to think he had her on a death grip. He was stunned into silence as she bent lower to meet his gaze, giving him a wonderful view of her hanging breasts. He wanted to be behind her, take her raw. Let her have everything. Taste her.

"Do you understand what this is, Logan?"

No. He didn't. Not when all he could think about was consuming her. Inside and out. His. All his. "I need…"

Marie tipped his jaw upwards as she said it again, "I don't need you anymore."

Reality dawned on him because of the glare in her eyes. He felt struck by lightning, unable to move as he watched her levitate herself upward, her feet leaving the green grass.

This was no nymph.

She was this –his goddess, and she was flying higher up into the sky, and left him staring at the heavens, alone in the filthy earth.

The clouds were shifting, the stars were hiding, and he could smell the ground.

It was going to rain.