Story Notes:
This is completely the fault of Hurtslikeyourmouth, just so you all know where to lay the blame. Thank you to my betas, RogueLotus and Nebelwefer24, for making me continue after it took a turn past simple PWP. The title is borrowed from the lyrics of Breaking Benjamin's song "So Cold". Warning: There is a character death or two, but this is Marvel and they don't stay dead. Happy ending as always.
Stop. Drop. Roll. It isn't exactly how I'd been taught and Logan would probably cringe if he knew. But it works for me every time, so he won't argue the point.

Almost there, just a couple more yards. Kitty is already in place waiting for me.

Stop. My vantage point is perfect. It takes only a couple of seconds to assemble my scoped rifle. Kitty spots out my target, I take a deep breath then let it out, and squeeze the trigger. I hold firm against the recoil as Kitty confirms the hit and the sentinel hemorrhages fluid.

Drop. I disappear behind the edge of the roof and police my brass. Logan would be disappointed if I didn't bring it back for reloading.

Roll. Literally, I roll a couple feet to my left and repeat the process.

The odds are now in our favor and it's time that Kitty and I make our exit. Quickly I disassemble my weapon and stow it in my pack. Kitty has already waved bye and sank through the roof. We always exit the engagement area separately to lessen the chance of us both being caught. The fastest way for me off this roof is a pile of rubble at the back; I skid and slide my way down the debris. At the bottom, I pick my way through the remains of two more buildings before I make it to street level.

Crouching behind a partial wall, I wait until the sounds of battle die down before entering the street. Pack slung over a shoulder, I keep my head down and scurry to the intersection. There are few people and even fewer vehicles, but that doesn't mean you can take your time or loiter out in the open. This part of town is decimated and the last thing you want is to get caught on the street without a reason.

One more block and I turn south toward our hideout. Hideout sounds too romantic. At one time I would have seen it as something exciting. Our current location is anything but romantic. The basement of the old mental health hospital is dark, dank, and musty. There is a group of about fifteen mutant and humans hiding there in addition to Logan and myself.

I know of a couple of the other safe houses around the city. I suspect Logan is the only one among us who knows all of them. Though it would be near impossible to keep track of them since the groups move every few days to a few weeks. Once when Logan was trying to obtain some important intel, I stayed at a farmhouse for almost a month. After today's operation, we'll be on the move, if most of those not involved haven't already dispersed. Storm's and the Professor's groups will be on the move as well.

At the corner, it will be three more blocks to the mental hospital. Out of habit and a few tricks picked up over the years, I cross the street before turning. I'm on the wrong side of the street to enter the building, but it gives me more time to assess the situation before approaching.

From the corner of my eye, I see the mobile command center for the Mutant Task Force. The large semi-truck, not one of the smaller units used for random sweeps, pulling up in front of the hideout.

Without changing direction, I continue on south. I'll need to make my way to the backup site, possibly stash my weapon for later retrieval, evade the MTF, and do it before sunset. At one time New York City was open for business twenty-four/seven. That's no longer true, not even criminals venture out after dark. The risk of being picked up by the MTF as a mutant or a mutant sympathizer are too great.

Two more blocks down, a dozen or so to go. Turning down an alley, I check my back trail while taking a quick break in an empty doorway. I can hear the heavy footsteps of an armored Force soldier coming down the sidewalk. His radio crackles with static.

"Sweep the alley, then repeat on the opposite side. Over."

I may not have been followed, but I will be found. I pull my hood up and place the tactical neck gaiter over the lower half of my face. Don't need a clear picture of myself of his body cam. Grabbing a piece of pipe up out of the alley, I tighten the straps on my pack and wait.

It doesn't take long for him enter the alley, I take hold of the barrel of his rifle and stepping into his space, smashing the pipe into his throat. He makes an odd choking noise and tries to pull away. Struggling for control of his rifle, I successfully keep it pointed away from me and hit him again.

The soldier goes down, his helmet goes flying out onto the sidewalk. It always pays to have your chin strap secured because I immediately show him the heel of my boot without worrying about dealing with his face shield.

There's blood trickling from his nose and he's not moving, I hope he isn't dead. I have yet to outright kill anyone and I want to keep it that way as long as possible. Retrieving his helmet, I drag him further into the alley. The best I can do is hide his body from easy view.

As I straighten up from the side of the building, my pant leg catches on a piece of jagged metal. There's a sharp pain just below my knee. Great, can't even dispose of a body without having problems.

I quickly check it for any real damage and decide it doesn't need attention right away. Peeking out into the street, I cautiously exit the alley and get on my way. My head is filled with Logan's voice and the hundred other ways he thinks I could have handled this better. Whatever, he wasn't there. He will give his own analysis later whether I want it or not.

By the time I reach the rendezvous point it's already dark and I'm limping. I hobble down the steps to the basement of the burned out brownstone. Just outside the hallway, I stop. There's someone here, but my eyes haven't adjusted to the dark hallway yet. If it were a soldier, I'd know it by now, but that doesn't mean the person is friendly.

"You're late." Logan's voice is gruff. "And you make enough noise to wake the dead."

"Nice to see you too," I retort. I'm tired and want to rest, I don't need a lecture on how sloppy I'm getting.

I shuffle in past him down the hall to a room emitting a light. In the dim light from the lantern, I can see the 'new' place is small. A mattress, a few supplies, and enough room left over for two people to quickly get on each other's nerves. Taking a step back, I look further down the hall and listen for sounds to indicate the others are here. I turn back to Logan questioningly.

"Told you, you were late. This is just the secondary rendezvous point." He frowns, eyes traveling down my leg. "You're bleeding."

"Yeah, scratched it." I set my pack down as I enter the room.

Logan follows, bolting the door behind us. Catching my hand, he pulls off the glove. "Let's get it fixed up real quick."

"Nah, I'll get it cleaned up in a minute." I flash him a tired smile and think about rummaging through the supplies to see if there is anything to eat. "A little rest and I'll be fine."

When I tug at my hand, he won't let go. He has his 'I gave you an order' face on. No one ever questions him; everybody knows the time for discussion is over.

"Too big of a chance." His voice is low and demanding.

"Logan, it's a scratch. I'll be fine." Something passes across his face.

It's an emotion I can never read properly. I see it now and again, only ever directed at me. I always want to call it patronizing, like an older brother might give his kid sister. But I know that's not it as he's never been condescending toward me. Not all those years ago at Xavier's when he taught me everything I needed to know about being a sniper. Not when he showed me all he knew about explosives and how to make them.

He certainly isn't condescending now. Logan worries about me always has, and that won't change anytime soon.

I know he doesn't like to send me off on an assignment like today. He's careful to plan my part of any mission, going over the details of it endlessly beforehand. Sometimes it feels like he's just fulfilling his promise to take care of me. Only late at night do I pretend his consideration is actually love.

He's closed the distance between us and there is more concern on his face. I saw this when he sent me to the farmhouse. I see it every time he makes a decision on what part I'll play in an operation. It's not something born of brotherly love.

My back is against the wall and he's gripping my face with both hands. It should be crushing, yet it's surprisingly gentle.

"Turn it on, Rogue." There's a different edge to his voice, one I've never heard.

He has a feral snarl on his lips and his eyes are overpowering. I want to look away, but he won't let me. Instead, I close my eyes.

I'm not scared, not of Logan. Everyone knows what can happen if an infection sets into a wound. It's not pretty and I understand him not wanting to take a chance. But it is never that simple with Logan.

"No," I say shakily. It's been so long since he's touched me. I'm almost constantly at his side, yet he never makes contact. Then again this is the first time we've been alone in years, just the two of us. "You need to stop protecting me from everything."

"I can't," he says softly, thumb caressing my cheek.

My heart skips a beat, his mouth hovers above mine and we share the same breath before he presses his lips to mine. His tongue sweeps along my parted lips and I grasp at him trying to pull him closer. Breaking the kiss, he rests his forehead on mine. I want to touch him, but his body armor is in the way and I let out a small huff of frustration.

"Why?" I'm not sure if I mean, why does he need to protect me or why is he kissing me after all these years? I decide I'll take whatever answer he wants to give as long as he keeps touching me.

"I need you." His voice breaks a little. "I need to know you're safe, so I can do what needs to be done." He kisses me again, slow and languid. His tongue pushing against mine, making me weak in the knees. I find the buckle for his chest armor and pop it, followed by the one on his other side. He backs away long enough for me to slide the plating off over his head and capturing my lips again as it falls to the floor.

My armor is more complicated, the most advanced system Logan could get his hands on. He sings its praises every time I struggle to put it on. So it comes as no surprise that he curses it when he fails to get the latch undone.

I put my head back against the wall and laugh at the entire situation. All the years of pining for him. Years of relishing the fact that he at least wanted me near. There was a time when I'd taken the cure and refused the advances of a boy, in hopes that this man would notice me. After the cure wore off and I learned control, I still waited for him. Longed for him.

He is kissing his way down my neck, pulling at my clothing to uncover as much skin as he can, all the while fumbling with the latching mechanism.

"Logan, why now? I've been with you all this time."

Straightening up, he looks me in the eye and I finally understand the emotions there. He loves me and has been fighting to maintain control of it. To keep himself in check.

"Once I started touching you, I knew I wouldn't be able to stop." He's eyes don't leave mine; he's not afraid of his need.

"Then don't stop," I plead.

He pushes my coat from my shoulders and wraps his hands around my waist pulling me as close as he can. I push my neck gaiter up, leaving it on my head to keep my hair out of the way. Logan's erection is pressing into my belly and I can feel how hard it is through all the layers between us. Layers used to be my security blanket, now they are an annoyance.

I tug at the zipper of his padded shirt and pull it out from under his belt as he loosens my pants. God, I don't know how many times I've stared at this chest, but finally, I can touch it. Stroking his chest hair with one hand, I bite on the fabric of my glove trying to free my other hand.

There is a low growl that rumbles up through his chest and into me. Suddenly, there are too many buckles, straps and pieces of armor left to deal with. I push him back toward the mattress and he tries to pull me down with him.

Resisting the urge, I instead work at getting my pants down. It would take too long to get my boots off, so my pants just past my knees with have to do. I straddle him as best I can and lean over him for a kiss as he finishes freeing himself. The position is awkward, but neither of us are complaining as I sink down onto his cock.

I stop as he enters me all the way. This is all new and I wish my armor was flexible enough to allow me to bend over and kiss a trail across his chest.

"Marie?" His hazel eyes are full of concern.

I bite my lip and move my hips a little. A moan escapes me. "You feel so good. Why'd you make me wait this long?"

He smiles, his hands on my hips pulling me down so he can grind into me. This so much better than anything my own hands have ever done. There is no comparison to the touches I pretended were his and the feel of him really being under me. I glance down at him and his jaw is set, teeth grit, but he's watching me ride him.

"You're so damn beautiful," he says huskily.

Leaning forward, I balance myself with my hands on his chest. He's starting to sweat and my hand easily slides to his shoulder. He's found an opening in my armor and has worked his hand up underneath it to brush my nipple with his fingertips. I gasp and dig my fingernails into him.

I can feel the trickle of sweat running down my back and on my inner thighs as they slide against him. My legs are trembling, my knees ready to give out, and I splay my legs out further. He goes deeper and this time, he groans.

I want desperately to kiss him, but I'm afraid of losing the friction that has built up. Panting and sweating above him, I'm sure I must be a wreck. I can feel everything in me tightening, slowing as if I'm going to fall apart.

He's not watching me anymore, not exactly. Logan's attention has shifted to where our bodies join. His hands are on my hips as he thrusts up into me. The veins and muscles of his neck and chest stand out with the strain. His breath coming in short bursts as he grunts through clenched teeth. I feel him pulse inside me, filling me with his warmth. I spasm and everything goes white hot.

I'm limp and wilty, only my body armor is preventing me from slumping over. Flexing my fingers away from where I'd dug into his chest, I watch the small crescents I'd made disappear.

The sound of my heart is pounding in my ears and his is beating just as wildly underneath my hands. He's sunk back into the mattress trying to calm his breathing while he absently runs his fingers in circles over my thighs.

"Huh," he exhales with the sound after a time. I raise my eyebrows in question and he knocks on my breastplate. "Shouldn't be so loose."

"That's all you have to complain about." I give him a fake glare and he smirks in return. "I've got a killer cramp in my leg."

He rolls us to our sides so I can straighten out my legs. The smile is still in place and I bat at his shoulder. "Don't laugh, it's bad."

His eyes travel down to where I'm trying to knead the cramp out. When he frowns, I glance past my knee at the cut I received earlier.

Sighing heavily, I examine it. It's not that bad. "What if I promise to take good care of it?"

Shaking his head, he answers, "No, but can I talk you into letting me kiss it better?"

I blink at him several times; my mind has skidded to a halt with the idea of being kissed all over. Frantically, I work to unfasten my boots. "Don't just sit there. Get this fuckin' armor off me. I got other places that need kissing."

Finally, his now steady hands manage to undo the clasps on my armor. I'm almost finished with my boots by the time he's gotten it and my shirt pulled off. Logan's busy placing kisses down my spine, stubble sending shivers back up it.

My boots are off and I shimmy out of my pants. He pulls me down next to him on the mattress. His hands skim over my breasts and further down my body. I want to touch him too, but he's still mostly clothed.

His tongue swirls around my nipple and his finger repeats the pattern on my clit. A long soft lick, a swirl, followed by a hard slipping motion. I try to replicate the feeling with my hands on his cock. It doesn't take long to have me panting and begging for more.

Coaxing him on top of me, I push his pants as far down as the padding allows. He pauses, "Maybe we should slow down. You'll be sore later."

"I thought you were going to kiss it all better," I mock him. He snorts and I wait impatiently.

Torture. I always knew he was capable of it, but never thought he would do it to me. Exceedingly slow torture as he enters me.

"Oh god, Logan," I moan. He hasn't set a rhythm, just a slow slide that is killing me. "Please."

He smirks, but I see the sweat breaking out on his forehead. It might have put a strain on him as well. He picks up the pace and I follow the lines of muscle down his back and across his buttocks. I keep my hands there liking the flex of muscle with each stroke.

And then he adds a twist of his hips. I gasp and dig my fingernails into his ass.

"You like that?" he asks smugly.

"Yes," I hiss out, but he doesn't repeat it. "Don't make me beg."

Smiling, he kisses me, twisting his hips as he did before. Breaking the kiss he continues to lean over me, head hanging so close our lips almost brush with every thrust. The tightening feeling is back and I'm desperate to fall apart underneath him.

I start bucking against him every time he thrusts into me. The shudder begins low and works its way up my torso, in response, he speeds up; faster, harder. There's a broken moaning sound and I'm not sure which one of us is making it. I have a vague sensation of trying to hold on as a second wave overtakes me.

Some time later, I'm sitting wrapped in a blanket as Logan picks through the supplies looking for MREs. Specifically, he's looking for my favorite one, beef taco. Normally, we don't pick, you grab and go, glad to have a meal. He's feeling generous at the moment.

Unable to find it, he gives me the runner-up, barbecue beef. He sets about heating them while I contemplate the 'desserts'. I know he doesn't care and will trade me. I nibble on a brownie while we wait and he shakes his head at me. He lifts the edge of the blanket to peek at my cut then glances at me suspiciously.

I shrug. "My control might've slipped a little."

"In more ways than one," he mumbles.

Kicking him teasingly with my foot, I reply, "I love you, too."

He gives me that sideways glance of his, secretly pleased with himself. I wiggle my toes, blushing. I should probably get dressed, even though we'll spend the night it's best to be ready to leave at a moments notice.

Reaching for my shirt, he stops me. "I was planning on having dessert after we eat."

My eyebrows must have shot up to my hairline. He chuckles and hands me my food. As hard as I try, I can't concentrate on my BBQ. At the halfway point, I give up and tackle him. He tackles me back and our meals wait for later.
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