"Flying" - Original Timeline, 2002 (Between X2 and X3)

Rogue was stuck. Stuck in every way possible. It was as if time had slowed down to a crawl, and now she could do nothing but slither forward like a slug. Everything felt stuck in a perpetual loop. Stuck in the same argument with Bobby. The same resentment, the same caddy responses. Stuck behind at the X-Mansion, having graduated but having no plans to go to college, like most of her friends were planning to, all of them leaving in the next few weeks. And to make matters worse, even after daily grueling sessions with Charles, she had come nowhere closer in learning to control her powers. Stuck, stuck, stuck.

Even her skin, as hot and sweaty as she felt, was stuck to the sheets. They were in the thralls of late summer, and the mansion, even with its expensive central air, was struggling to keep the sprawling building cool. Bobby and some of his friends had taken off for the weekend to go camping after Rogue and he had had a particularly frustrating fight. That night, after he had left, she had taken a bottle of wine Jubilee had kept hidden in her private “stash” and gulped generously from the bottle, only to pass out half-drunk, the stain of purple still on her lips. A couple days had passed, but nothing was better. She was restless in all the wrong ways. She exhaled exasperatedly as she peeled the sheets off her, struggling to sit up in bed. Every muscle still ached from the training sessions earlier in the day today, and once more she tried not to think about how hard he was pushing her.

Since he’d come back this last time, and certainly since Jean, he’d been different. He was tougher on all of them, seemingly intent on torturing everyone that was about to leave for college. Rogue was part of this group, even if she had no plans to leave, and long hard workouts on the sparring mat and even more challenging danger room training sessions had left them all spent. But this wasn’t what bothered her. What gnawed at her most was that what she had cherished about her relationship with Logan seemed to have changed. He hadn’t offered her any of his extra time lately, didn’t really even acknowledge her outside of training. When he even bothered to stick around Xavier’s he kept mostly to himself, spending large amounts of time in his room, which was in the faculty wing on the opposite side of the mansion. There were no smiles reserved just for her anymore. No extra winks or words of encouragement. The lunches they once had shared on the veranda at Xavier’s had dwindled. It was as if their friendship had shifted just slightly, like the dial off one hair to the right, and the signals were no longer coming in clear between them.

Giving up on sleep, Rogue winced as she stood, careful to tiptoe around Jubilee’s snoring form in the opposite bed of the dorm. As Rogue’s feet made contact with the cool wooden floorboards in the hallway, she quietly slipped out of the room. Even though the hallway was mostly dark, it didn’t matter, as she knew the path by heart. She was grateful to find that no one was in the common room downstairs as she made her way down to sit on the couch. A movie, maybe. But even as Donnie Darko played in the background, she couldn’t get comfortable. The restless feeling hadn’t subsided. Just as she was considering sniffing around the kitchen for something to eat, a noise. Heavy footsteps on the stairs. Rogue whipped her head around, worrying she had been playing the movie too loud, when a dark-eyed Logan was suddenly leaning in the doorway, watching her, arms crossed. Instinctively, she bolted upright and stood, merely blinking at him for a moment, unable to help the peculiar feeling of being caught, even though she was perfectly allowed to be down here. She could have sworn a smirk had graced his lips, and then she was blushing a deep red, realizing she was still only in a nightgown. It was modest, but still. No gloves, no sleeves. Barefoot. He was then offering her a more civil nod of this head, but Rogue only helplessly clutched one arm with her gloveless hand, feeling more naked than she actually was.

“Hey kid,” he muttered. He was adorned in a black shirt stretching over his muscular frame, jeans and boots. She realized he was recently showered and dressed, like he was going out. But it was… what...midnight? Maybe later?

“Logan...what are you...do you need something from me?” she asked, her grip on her arm tightening. This was the first time they had spoken alone together in weeks, and, suddenly, she was nervous. Only hours earlier he’d been bullying her in the danger room,, shouting orders at her. Get the hell up, kid. Quit being so goddamn sloppy. She half expected him to snap at her now, just because that’s all he seemed to do lately. But, no. He was quiet and relaxed, and after his eyes had darted to the movie and then back again to her, he was seemingly intent to stand there. Finally though, the quiet shrug of his shoulders, the tilt of his head toward the garage.

“Nah. ‘Bout to get outta here is all. Get a drink,” he finally answered.

“That right?” she asked, before glancing down at the floor, her bare feet and purple nail polish on her toes feeling oddly childish now.

“You, um, coming back after?” she barely added. It wasn’t too wild of a notion that he might not be. Logan didn’t appear to be any more of an X-Man than she felt she was, as frequent as he left, as uninvested as he was regarding everything outside of the danger room. His loyalty--always up in the air, always divided. Those long gaps of time when he would leave she used to miss him. Now, she wasn’t entirely sure she minded him being gone. What difference did it make, anyway, other than the fact that when he wasn’t around she left the sparring mat not as sore? She only heard what he said next, not wanting to look up at him quite yet.

“Yeah, kid. Just out for the night. Charles asked me to stay,” he said.

“Oh?” she mumbled. Was that the only reason he was still here then? Because Charles asked?

“Come on,” he said suddenly. She glanced up to him, a quizzical look settling on her features.

“What?” she asked blankly.

“Yer coming with me,” he said, finally stepping a couple paces into the room.

“To... the bar?” she asked.

“Yup.”

“I’m not old enough. It’s late,” she muttered

“Yer already awake. And are you gonna let some law tell ya how to live your life? I know the guys there. They won’t ask questions,” he said. Rogue could only blink at him. Hours ago, Logan had nothing but frustration and apparent contempt for her. And now, kindness, the odd sort that reminded her of a time not long ago, before Jean died.

“But why?” she suddenly asked, unable to help herself. Logan only snorted, shaking his head slightly.

“We ain’t in the danger room right now, kid. And if there's one thing I can’t stand, it’s your ass moping.”

“I’m not…moping…” she muttered.

“Well whatever it is yer doing, it’s throwing you off. Go get yourself a jacket, leather if you have it.”

She looked around the room, helpless. There was no saying no to this man; she knew that. But she was sure her mind was playing tricks on her, like she was greedily conjuring up a mirage or a hallucination.

“Ok,” she finally murmured, moving around the couch. It was an awkward moment as she walked past him through the doorway, as he didn’t move to let her past and she had to squeak by him. His gaze followed her, too, and just as her bare foot reached the first step in the foyer, he added, “And Rogue?”

“Yeah?” she asked, turning back to him.

“Probably some real clothes too,” he said, through one last smirk.





The machine was loud under them, and her arms wrapped around his chest where he had told her to place them. They had peeled out into the dark humid night, and even with the helmet on, she could hear the roar of the world flying past them as much as she swore she could feel the thud of his heartbeat as she clung close.

Before she had wanted it to end, however, the bike had slowed, pulling up to what looked like a dive bar on some back road in upstate New York. He killed the engine, put up the kickstand, and she mimicked his movements as she got off the bike, removing her helmet and handing it to him. One firm nod of his head, the message of follow me clear, and then she was trailing him around the building, suddenly too warm in the black leather of her jacket now that they were off the bike, as thick and as humid as the summer night was.

A balding, hulking man, also in a leather jacket, stood at a back door, and one nod from Logan and a “hey, Mike” was all it took, and then they were inside, no questions asked.

“How…?” Rogue began as she followed him through a dimly lit hallway.

“Sometimes I take fights here,” he muttered, and then the room opened up to a very seedy looking and crowded bar. He led her through a swath of rough, hardened people who looked as though they were carved from wood more than anything else, cutting through clouds of thick cigarette smoke as they did so.

“You still do that? Fight?” was all she managed to ask. He was already shaking his head though, even as two people who had been occupying seats at the bar instinctively moved for them.

“It ain’t often, with as much as the professor’s got me subbing for Scott,” he said, settling down beside her.

Rogue bit her lip, even as another large, middle aged man who seemed to be the bartender shuffled over to them. Everything was loud and crowded. It seemed like a place she envisioned Logan going, but still, places like this made her nervous. So many people she could kill. Rogue inadvertently tugged at the zipper of her jacket, making sure it was all the way up, as she watched the bartender grunt a question at Logan.

“What’ll it be?”

“Double whiskey. Neat.” The order rolled off his tongue easily, like he had done it a hundred times before. He probably had. The bartender looked to Rogue, and her answer, god help her, was far less intuitive.

“A…beer?” she stuttered. Logan was already shaking his head though, glancing up to the bartender once more.

“She’ll have what I’m havin’,” he interjected, and only with a slight nod of his head the bartender stalked away, intent on the Maker’s Mark.

“I can’t drink that,” she said, staring down at the glass of amber liquid the bartender put in front of her a few moments later. “I’ll be on the floor.” Logan only scowled at her, however, nudging the glass closer toward her gloved hand.

“Quit yer worrying. Just nurse it, kid. And for christ sakes, calm down. Yer shakin’ like a leaf,” he muttered, before placing a warm, heavy hand on Rogue’s gloved one. She couldn’t help but look up to him sharply. She always responded that way when he touched her, and it had been months since he had. He cocked a grin at her response, but didn’t remove his hand. In the past, Logan had always had a different way of physically responding to her, so comfortable in his own skin and not seemingly threatened in the slightest at hers, but that sort of connection had shriveled up as of late, and the feeling, now, was more than a bit unsettling.

She frowned slightly as she finally slipped her hand away, and, grabbing the drink that had just been set near her, ignored his advice and gulped heavily. Instantly her throat was on fire, and she coughed through the sharp burn of the liquid as she set the drink down and he was clapping her on the back. After she managed to catch her breath, he grinned widely, as he also ignored his own advice, downing the whole drink at once. Rogue watched in awe as he didn’t even flinch.

“How do you do that?” she asked.

“Decades worth of experience,” he muttered. He was already ordering another round, and Rogue carefully took another swallow, this time trying to at least parse out the flavor. It was sharp, tangy, acrid. Nothing like the wine she had had on numerous occasions before this one.

“So is this…one of your usual spots?” she asked, trying to sound a bit more casual, as if she did this sort of thing all the time, as if being here wasn’t some odd, strange, confusing thing.

“Used ta be,” he muttered. Rogue bit her lip thoughtfully, before taking another deep gulp of whiskey. He watched her do so, draining the glass, and his lips turned upward into a smirk once more. He pushed the second one that he had already ordered over to her, but she was shaking her head. She could already feel the warmth traveling from her mouth to her head, and then downward. Suddenly, things were feeling unsteady, unreal. Another would do her in.

“I better not,” she murmured.

“I’m driving. Healing factor will catch up. And, in the meantime, I have a feeling yer gonna hafta talk about your feelings tonight, and we both need to be drunk for that,” he said, picking up his own glass and tilting it slightly in her direction before downing it once more.

“I’m not here to….” she stopped, looking defiantly at him. He only offered her the cock of an eyebrow though as he set his glass down, and she mumbled “I’ll spare you the details of my feelings.” Again, the shake of his head.

“Uh uh. Yer gonna spill. Because you ain’t gonna shape up in that fucking danger room until you do,” he said simply. Rogue threw him a look, the whiskey alighting a certain sass that had gone dormant in her as of late.

“So what? Suddenly you’re my therapist? That’s what this is about?” she asked him.

“Pretty much,” he muttered, waving his hand for another round. Rogue was quickly realizing that, of course, he was right. She had been moping. She had been stuck after all. And this, she knew, was Logan’s attempt to do something about it.

“It’s just… hand-to-hand combat gets tricky. I can’t touch anyone,” she murmured to her empty glass.

“Sure you can,” he interrupted. She frowned deeply at him for a moment, unable to find the words to get him to understand.

“Easy for you to say,” she finally settled on, staring down at the dark green gloves on her hands. Logan grumbled a little as he held the glass in front of him.

“This about that ice prick?” he finally asked. At that, Rogue felt her cheeks grow warmer. No use in lying to him. Logan could always smell a lie on her.

“Kinda,” she finally said.

“If he’s giving you a hard time…” Logan muttered, hand tightening around the glass. Rogue bit her lip. Bobby was, in fact, giving her a hard time, but she wasn’t about to admit that to anyone, let alone someone like Logan.

“He’s not being unreasonable…that’s just…it,” she stumbled over her words. Logan was intently quiet for a moment, waiting for her to continue.

“Sometimes I just wish… I was someone else...,” she finally muttered.

“And why’s that?” Logan asked, his words careful and even. She looked up to him honestly, trying to see into the eyes of the man she had admired and pined for longer than she cared to admit. For some reason, under his gaze tonight she felt like that little girl again, the girl who stumbled into his life, into another bar a handful of years ago, once again desperately trying to see what he wanted from her. What he needed.

“I shoulda gone to college,” she finally muttered. He tilted his head slightly, before drinking from a fresh glass once more.

“You coulda gone if you wanted,” he said, setting the glass back on the table.

“I know. I just, felt like I couldn't... yet. But everyone else...”

Logan shrugged his shoulders apathetically. “You always in the habit of comparing yourself to other people, kid?”

“ No….” she muttered. For a moment, no one spoke, and the bustling sounds of the bar enveloped them. Logan sighed, polishing off the rest of his whiskey, and Rogue mimicked him yet again. Now, her head was swimming, and she understood the fact that she was legitimately intoxicated. Hell. How had she let herself get into this situation? With this man? And what did it all mean?

“The way I see it…you got this demon on yer back,” Logan finally muttered, staring down at the oak bar between them.

“Do I, now?” she asked slowly.

“Yeah. Yer skin. It’s lordin’ over ya, controlling how you react, what you’ll do. Thing is…you don’t know yer in control of it,” he murmured, looking up to her once more.

“I’ve been working with Charles, and I’m not…” she began, before he cut her off.

“I don’t mean like that, kid. Not turning it off….” he said, brows furrowed, eyes focused as he stared at her. “I mean… it takes yer mind hostage, right? You think about that first. In the end….s’about fear.”

“Fear?” Rogue simply blinked at him. His eyes, meanwhile, hadn’t left her.

“Yeah, fear. Yer afraid. Yer a scared little thing, and it’s inhibiting you, especially in the danger room,” he muttered, before waving for another round.

“I’m not...a scared little thing,” she protested, setting down her empty glass.

“Yeah you are,” Logan said simply.

“No, I’m not. And what do you think I’m scared of anyway?” she protested. For a moment, no one spoke, before she noticed the slight quirk of his lips. She blushed again, but he said nothing, shoving the fourth drink to her after another round was set down in front of them.

“Drink up, babe,” he said, and Rogue’s mind was too far gone to understand or recognize the difference between the pet names babe versus kid.

Meanwhile, the volume of the crowd had intensified and she realized a little too late, that the rowdiness was centered around an empty cage off to the far right that she hadn’t chosen to notice before this moment.

“They’re getting ready,” Logan murmured into his glass.

“For what?” she asked, perking up a bit as she looked around.

“You know what,” he said quietly. Then, it all seemed to click, even through the alcohol. The cage. The late hour. The bloodlust. Tonight, there was to be fighting. And a lot of it.

“Oh shit,” she muttered, yanking her gaze up to Logan once more.

“Yer wonderin’ if I’m gonna do it,” he said softly.

“No…” she lied.

“I won’t if you don’t want me to,” he said, before downing the last of his drink. Rogue’s brows furrowed as she considered this. What did he mean by that?

“Do...what you want…. “ she finally said. He smirked at her, throwing a glance at the two drunks that had just entered the ring, before turning back her way.

“Well I ain’t doing nothin yet,” he said through another grin.

“Why….?” she asked. His smile only widened.

“Not worth the money. You gotta wait until later...when the crowd gets a little anxious…”

“Can you read...that off them?” she said, arching an eyebrow. He only smirked back, grip once more tightening on the empty glass.

“Hell yeah. Whiff of anxiety...always fucking strong. Almost as strong as-” he stopped abruptly, as if he realized what he was saying, and his eyes darkened.

“What?” Rogue asked, curiosity getting the better of her.

“Nothing, kid,” he finally muttered, gesturing for one more round. One more… how many had she even had? Four? Eight? As if on cue, the world seemed to wobble, and suddenly her stomach flopped as everything began to dislodge itself from its original place and began to move in front of her.

“Logan… the room’s spinning,” she managed, swaying. a bit in her chair as she did so.

“Hold on to me, kid,” he rumbled, and she grasped his forearm with her gloved hand before she knew what she was doing. Slowly, she drew her gaze up to him, and their eyes locked. His eyes were still dark, predatory, his lips drawn tight.

“Why...why did you bring me here?” she finally asked, hand still clasped tightly to his leather coat.

“To let you loosen up a little,” he muttered.

“Loosen up?”

“Yeah... kid,” he said. She simply stared at him, the room melting away bit by bit, his breath coming in heavy. His look was intense, all-encompassing, before he finally broke away.

“Look, maybe it was a mistake..” he muttered. She only frowned, but couldn’t summon up the words for a response.

“You wanna get out of here?” he murmured.

“No,” she finally mustered up the energy to say. “First… I wanna see you fight.” He stared at her for a moment, before shaking his head, taking his arm away to take another drink.

“Slow down. How about we watch some of it first? Size up some of our competition?” She only grinned savagely in response, murmuring an “ok,” as he finished the drink and ushered her closer to the cage, his hand at the small of her back. She noticed, more than once, even with her zipper up to her chin a couple of men’s eyes pass over her in the swell of a hot summer night. She swore she could have heard a growl escape from his lips as he moved closer, sheltering her from their stares. It felt... what? Possessive? Fatherthly? Was there a difference?

You know there is.

Meanwhile, the sweat poured. The beat from the music throbbed. She watched men get pounded bloody and with each heavy thwack and thump of flesh against flesh. Sometimes, she would gasp, and his grip would tighten around her shoulder. An hour must have passed this way, before she saw Logan motion to someone, and then suddenly, a woman with a mohawk and sprawling tattoos up and down her arms appeared out of nowhere, suddenly mere inches from Rogue.

“Well hello,” the woman said through a smirk.

“Uhh hi?” Rogue asked, before sliding a glance up to Logan. He threw her a quick grin, gesturing to the woman beside them.

“This is Roxanne. She’s gonna take care of you while I’m in there,” he said, and then she realized what he was really saying. He was going to fight. And soon.

“Take...care of me?” she muttered.

“Yeah, baby,” the woman smirked, moving a little too close to her, the green of her eyes sliding up Rogue’s body, as if she could see through her jacket, and Rogue found herself blushing in spite of herself.

“Don’t you dare think about it woman,” Logan growled.

“Hey hands off. I got it. Happy to play bodyguard for you, Logan. Especially for someone as... aesthetically pleasing as this,” the woman winked, moving in just a little too close once more to run a hand down a lock of Rogue’s white hair. Rogue looked to Logan helplessly, but he only offered her one last wink as he shed his jacket, then his shirt and wifebeater, much to the cheer of the crowd. Rogue swallowed deeply and shoved old feelings down at the sight of a half-naked Logan, and watched as he animalistically and stealthily entered the ring, as if it was that first time again, years ago.

“He’s amazing, isn’t he?” Roxanne whispered into her ear.

Rogue only found herself silently nodding her head, as she watched Logan throw an uppercut into the sloppy drunk who wasn’t putting up much of a fight. Some time passed like this, Logan leveling opponent after opponent, her eyes transfixed on the sheen of sweat apparent on his every muscle. Sometimes, he’d throw her a cocky grin before breaking the nose of whatever sorry bastard was trying to one-up him, and every time Rogue found herself blushing. Minutes or maybe hours passed this way, before she felt Roxanne once more move closer to her.

“Here,” the woman said, thrusting something into Rogue’s hand.

“What?”

“He said to give you this…” Roxanne muttered, and Rogue opened up her hands to a wad of greasy hundred dollar bills, and then a fresh glass of whiskey. “It’s the money he’s making. Also he wants you to drink,” she said, through a smirk. Rogue had no more protests left and simply brought the glass to her lips, swallowing heavily. Time had slowed down, had sped up, had stopped completely as her eyes watched Logan dance back and forth in the cage, pretending to take hits to stay just believable enough, just to come back with enough animalistic, brute force to garner more shouts of approval from the drunken crowd. They were eating this shit up. At one point, she caught him looking at her again between fights, and even as he spit blood, he stared at her for a deliberate moment, long and hard, and it was all she could do but to stare back, a small smile involuntarily gracing her lips.

After another fight or two, she glanced down at her glass to see that it had already been drained, and, frowning, looked upward to see that he was no longer in the ring. She whipped her head this way and that, unbelieving that she had lost him in the fray, and tried to peel her eyes through the crowd. It was loud, there was music, but no Logan.

She also noticed Roxanne was nowhere in sight. Rogue found her temple sweating, even though she had shed her jacket a while ago, and now she quickly and with careful precision, even though she was well beyond drunk, moved through the crowd, desperate to leave it, desperate to find him. She finally navigated her way down the narrow hallway once more. Just as she was about to push open the door to the outside, however, a skinny blonde woman opened it, walking through the doorway and greeting her.

“Oh, sorry hun!!” she giggled, as she stopped suddenly, mere moments from walking into Rogue.

“It’s alright,” Rogue said defensively. The woman who was a little too old to be doing so was smacking on gum, adjusting her bra, looking Rogue up and down.

“He’s out back,” she said, through a dramatic wink.

Rogue frowned, but said nothing.

“Have a good night, hun,” the woman added, before sauntering off down the hallway. Rogue frowned, taking a deep breath and pushing the door open into the hot night, already knowing what she would find. Logan was leaning against the building, smoking a cigar. His wife beater was now on, but his belt buckle was still undone, hair mussed, his jacket strewn on a couple of empty pallets off to the side. He looked at her simply, before taking another long drag of the cigar.

“You alright kid?” he asked, bringing the cigar once more to his lips. Rogue’s face felt hot, and suddenly it was if she had lost her voice.

“Yeah...I just…” she stammered.

“Just what…?” he asked, the question practically violent as he looked to her severely, the friendliness all but gone once more from his features. He seemed raw, impatient. Like he looked sometimes in the danger room. Certainly how he looked more often than not recently.

“Wondered where you were..” she finally muttered. He snorted, before taking another long pull of the cigar.

“Had to come out here...expend some...energy,” he murmured.

“After all that fighting?” she asked skeptically, unable to help herself.

“Yeah,” he said curtly, before snubbing out the cigar against the wall and tossing the bud aside. Then he was grabbing his jacket and running his hand through his hair.

“Come on, kid. Let’s take ya home,” he muttered, and Rogue found herself hating the word kid more than she ever had before.

“Home?” she asked.

“Yeah.”

Rogue only frowned, but then, remembering the money, crammed her hand into her jeans pocket and thrusted the hundred dollar bills in his direction.

“Here,” she said, holding out the money between them.

“Hmph. Thanks,” he muttered, taking the money from her through a smirk. She could only manage to scowl at him though, crossing her arms then and holding them tightly.

“What?” he asked.

“What was this tonight?” she demanded of him, before she realized what she was saying.

“What do ya mean?” he said, shoving the money into his jeans pocket. She bit her lip hesitantly.

“Come on, spit it out,” Logan said impatienly.

“Was this about me or about you?” she finally asked, the words hot and warm in the sticky summer air. She couldn't read his face as he stared back at her though,his eyes practically pitch black, as he finally exhaled, moving then to glance back at the entrance to the bar, then back to Rogue.

“Look, I’m not sure what you think you....well. It’s gotta be how it is…” he muttered, about to turn away from her.

“How what is?” she asked before she could take it back. A quick breath out from him, a quick shake of his head, and then a longer sigh.

“Nothing, kid,” he muttered, putting on his leather jacket once more. “Come on, let’s get you home.”

Rogue frowned, but said nothing more as she trailed behind him to the bike. As he was about to straddle it, however, she helplessly cursed under her breath, realizing her mistake.

“Fuck. I forgot my jacket. Must be back in the bar,” she murmured.

“No problem,” he muttered, already sloughing his jacket off once more and handing it to her.

“But what about-” she began.

“If I get thrown from the fucking bike, I’ll survive,” he said, arm with the jacket strewn across it still extended.

“Put it on, Rogue,” he said seriously, holding her gaze. She sighed a little, and, hesitantly, finally took it from him. Slowly she wrapped herself in it, trying not to think about how it was still warm from his body or oh god how it smelled like him. She instantly hated how much she loved how the scent enveloped her, and she cursed inwardly, even as she straddled the bike once more. Without hesitation this time, she gripped his chest tightly.

“Get us out of here,” she managed to whisper. There wasn’t a moment of hesitation as the bike roared to life and peeled out of the parking lot, and as the dark night enveloped them, her heart raced, yearning for more.

“Faster,” she murmured into his ear. She could feel his smirk as his head turned toward her, the question on the night wind.

“That right?” She heard him gruffily ask.

“I wanna fly,” she whispered to him. She could hear the growl issue low in his chest, and his boot was already pushing on the throttle as they surged forward. The night was wild, open, and the stars stretched their arms out, shining down on them both as the bike hugged the turns, tearing into the inky black of night, like it was, like it should be.
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