Author:  Victoria P.
Summary: AU - Logan and Rogue meet over burgers
Rating: NC-17 - sex, language
Warning: In keeping with Terri's tradition, there is a bitca!Jean here.
Notes: Thanks to Dot, Meg, Jen, and Pete. Special thanks to Terri, for letting me play in her sandbox. See, I promised no one would get hurt. No thanks to White Castle, which, if I never eat there again will be too soon. And Adam Graves lives in Windsor, right across the border from Detroit. I'm so upset the Rangers traded him. :-(

~   ~ indicates telepathic conversation

He could smell them when he walked in. There were six -- three boys and three girls -- all mutants. They were drunk. Well, hell, who else would be at White Castle at four am on a Friday night but drunk teenagers looking for munchies?

He noticed the one girl, off to the side. The others were loud and obnoxious -- the one in yellow cracked her gum as she waited for her order -- but the girl in the green cloak was quiet. She hadn't ordered any food, and Logan couldn't blame her. White Castle was horrible stuff, but sometimes the craving hit, and you'd end up there at four in the morning. Especially after a night of heavy fighting and drinking, when the only available woman looked liked she'd been around since the Trojan War.

He picked up his ten-pack and, keeping an eye on the girl, sat at a nearby table. She smelled good. Really good. Like the first snowfall in the mountains or something. She was stealing quick glances at him around the edges of her hood, and he thought he might get lucky tonight after all. Then he looked closer. She was all of eighteen, he thought. Too young, too innocent -- she'd expect more than a good fuck and a kiss goodbye.

He shook his head as the kids flooded around him, noisily pushing two tables together so they'd all fit. The girl, even in the midst of her friends, seemed like an oasis of calm. They left space between themselves and her, and he wondered at it. It made him angry, that her so-called friends would seem to be keeping their distance (especially since she smelled so nice compared to the onions-and-grease stink of the joint), and that made him wonder some more. Why should he care? He didn't care about anything but himself, and even that was questionable sometimes. So, what made this girl different?

He shook his head. I guess I drank more than I thought.

He didn't have to strain to hear their conversation. Drunken boasting from the boys -- and now the tall, thin one moved to put an arm around the girl. She made a moue of distaste and shrugged him off, her hood falling back to reveal an exquisite face with porcelain skin, large, dark eyes, and luscious, kissable lips. Her face was framed by two shocking bolts of white, a stark contrast to the mahogany waves falling down her back.

Logan growled low in his chest when the girl said, "Cut it out, Remy," and the boy didn't stop.

"Petite, d'is t'ief show you a good time. All you have to do is let go."

"You know what happens when I let go, Remy," she said with peculiar urgency.

"Ah, chere, Remy not afraid of your skin. De coma be worth a taste of your lips."

The others at the table laughed, but the girl in green was serious, her dark eyes sad, as she said, "That isn't funny."

"It ain't supposed to be," Remy replied, leaning in and blowing in her ear.

The girl flinched away. "Remy, be careful! Life-sucking skin, remember?"

Logan had seen enough. He stood and towered over the auburn-haired boy. "Leave her alone."

"Whoa, hairy-man got a problem with de Gambit?" the boy said, unfolding himself gracefully from his chair.

"The lady asked you to stop."

"De lady is ma chere," the Cajun responded, which made the girl jump up.

"I'm not your chere, Remy. I'm not anybody's chere," she said. There was an edge of hysteria in her voice, and she rushed away from the table.

She was at the door when it was flung open and a huge blond man strolled in.

The kids gasped. Logan smelled their fear and hate, as well as something familiar from the beast in the doorway.

"Sabretooth," one of the boys muttered.

The one they called Sabretooth grabbed hold of the girl's arm. He leered horrifically at her. "I didn't think it would be this easy," he growled. "But I shoulda known you couldn't resist me." He ran a taloned hand through her hair, careful not to touch her skin.

Logan could hear her ragged breathing and racing heart. He stood still, his eyes the only part of his body in motion, assessing the situation and the layout of the restaurant.

After a few tense seconds, Rogue finally found her voice. "Let me go!" she said, vainly trying to pull away.

Sabretooth laughed. "Why would I do that? You're exactly what I ordered."

"Let her go, bub."

"What are you gonna do if I don't, runt?"

*Snikt*

Meanwhile, the kids had moved to flank him in a semicircle, with the auburn-haired boy who'd called himself Gambit on Logan's immediate right. He was shuffling a deck of cards and his body was coiled tensely, with none of the nonchalance he'd shown previously.

Sabretooth's hand tightened around the girl's neck, through the material of her cloak.

Gambit launched a card at him, which exploded on impact, singeing Sabretooth's fur and causing him to loosen his hold on the girl.

With his opponent distracted, Logan lunged, aiming for Sabretooth's right side, so he wouldn't hit the girl.

Unfortunately, Sabretooth anticipated him and brought the girl up to shield himself from the razor sharp claws protruding from Logan's hands.

They slid into her as easily as a hot knife through butter.

Time stopped as everyone froze in shock.

Then things began moving very quickly. Gambit and the kid in yellow started shooting sparks and cards at Sabretooth. One of the blond kids hit the shaggy mutant with a fireball. In his efforts to put out his flaming fur, Sabretooth dropped the girl.

She was upright only because she was impaled on Logan's claws. His world narrowed to himself and her as he stared in horror at what he'd done. He snapped the blades back into his arms, and cringed at the wet, sucking sound they made as they exited the girl's body.

She stumbled back, and blood trickled from her slightly-parted lips. He reached a hand out to wipe it away and she jerked her head. He heard one of the kids scream, "Don't touch her!"

He couldn't blame either of them. Look at what he'd done. Even when he tried to help, he fucked things up.

"My skin," she whispered, and he recalled her earlier exchange with the auburn-haired kid and wondered if he'd be able to help her after all.

Her hands were gloved, her body swathed in clothing, but her face was bare. He gently drew her close and pressed his lips to her forehead, murmuring, "I'm sorry, kid. I'm so sorry." She tried to pull away but he wouldn't let her; he kept a firm hold on her. The connection opened and he felt a jolt, felt himself flowing into her.

Then everything went black.

He woke suddenly, but kept his eyes closed, allowing his other senses to pick up as much information as possible about where he was.

Cold metal underneath him, the smell of antiseptic, lights bright enough to blind, even with his eyes shut. Shit. Not again. He was in a hospital or a lab of some sort. Maybe he was in the morgue and he wasn't really alive anymore. Maybe this was what death felt like.

But he knew it wasn't. He'd seen death as he'd looked into the girl's eyes when he'd touched her.

He wondered if he'd been able to fix what he'd so grievously broken.

He heard the sound of heels and smelled a light feminine scent mingled with a flowery perfume. He opened his eyes, squinting against the brightness of the lights. Definitely a lab. And hello, nurse, he thought as the woman came into view.

She was a tall, angular redhead with legs to her face.

"You're awake," she said softly.

No shit, Sherlock, he thought. "How's the girl?"

"She's a little shaken, but she's fine. That was a very brave thing you did."

He sat up and shrugged. "Can I see her?"

The redhead looked at him intently and then the door was flung open and the girl came bursting into the lab.

In the bright light, she was even more beautiful, if that were possible. Her hair had been pulled back and her skin shone with a fresh-scrubbed glow. He revised his estimate of her age downward, even as his eyes swept over her ripe figure. He changed his mind again. Maybe not that young after all.

"Logan," she said breathlessly, and it wasn't a question.

"How--"

"Rogue's mutation -- her skin -- drains people's energy and life force," the redhead explained. "With mutants, she also gains their powers for a short period of time, which is how you were able to heal her."

"But--" He was still confused. The doctor hadn't really answered his question.

"Along with your powers, I got your memories and shit," Rogue said. She sounded different than she had the night before. Brasher, more confident. "What there is of 'em, anyway."

The doctor got a faraway look in her eyes, then glanced from one to the other. "I'll be right back," she said.

"We'll be okay, Red," Rogue replied, smirking. And that's when it hit him. She sounded like him.

"What kinda name is Rogue?" he asked, to cover his surprise and confusion.

"What kinda name is Wolverine?" she shot back.

"You already know my name."

Her faced softened. "Marie," she said, and the Southern accent he'd heard the night before was back. "I think this belongs to you." She drew a chain over her head and handed it to him.

His dog tag -- the only thing he had left of his past. It was warm from resting in the valley between her breasts. He could smell her on it, and it was ten times more arousing than the doctor's scent had been. He didn't stop to wonder why. "You keep it, kid," he said gruffly, handing it back before he could have second thoughts. "Looks better on you, anyway."

That won him a blush and a radiant smile. "You -- I know what it means to you," she began, but he held up a hand.

"Someone's coming."

Jean reentered the lab, followed by a man in a wheelchair and another man, wearing red sunglasses.

"Ah, Logan, you're awake," the man in the wheelchair said genially. "I am Professor Charles Xavier. You are at my School for Gifted Youngsters. This is Scott Summers, also known as Cyclops. You don't remember, but he is the one who got you out of the restaurant before the explosion. He brought you here last night after the unfortunate incident with Sabretooth."

He didn't remember, but he wasn't sure he liked the guy. He seemed awful cocky for someone so young. And he smelled like the redhead. He didn't take the hand Summers extended to him.

"Yeah, what was that all about?" he asked, focusing on the Professor, who looked vaguely familiar.

"Sabretooth is an associate of an -- enemy of mine. A mutant named Magneto. He once tried to use Rogue to mutate the world leaders--"

"That thing at Liberty Island two years ago," Logan interrupted, remembering where he'd seen Xavier before. He'd spent a lot of nights watching CNN in dingy motel rooms when there was nothing else on at three in the morning.

Jean smiled and nodded. "Yes."

"Look, this is all interesting, but I got places to go and people to see," he said, jumping off the gurney, uncaring that he was naked.

"Logan!" Jean said, stunned at his boldness.

"What? You've seen it before, right, doc?" He leaned in closer to her, smelling her arousal. "Maybe you wanna get up close and personal, eh?"

Scott cleared his throat. "Rogue--"

"I've seen it, too," she responded cheerfully, though Logan had noticed her eyes widening and her scent changing. She tapped the side of her head. "Got it all up here, sugar."

"Yeah, so, my clothes?"

Jean lifted a hand and they came floating off a counter toward him. Another mutant.

~We are all mutants, here, Logan,~ said Xavier's voice, inside his head.

"What the hell is that?"

~You're not the only one with gifts.~

Logan eyes darted from the Professor to the doctor. "You're telepaths." Xavier inclined his head. "I've heard about shit like that, but never believed it."

"Believe it," the Professor said. "We'll leave you to get dressed, Logan. But please, stop by my office before you go. I'd like to discuss something with you."

Logan nodded, and they all left, though not before Rogue, blushing slightly, squeezed his arm with a gloved hand, very deliberately keeping her eyes on his face.

When he was dressed and about to walk out the door he'd seen the others use, Jean returned. "I'll take you to see the Professor now," she said.

As they walked to the elevator, he found himself studying the hallway -- they were underground, he thought, and that lab hadn't been built to take care of a bunch of kids, even if they were muties with life-sucking skin or the ability to throw fireballs.

"What kinda racket are you people really running?" he asked.

Jean smiled mysteriously as they reached the elevator and she punched in a code. Three two three one, Logan thought, hearing the beeps.

"I have no idea what you're talking about, Logan. This is a school for mutant children -- we help them control their powers and send them out into the world." They entered the elevator and Jean pushed one. He'd guessed correctly -- the lab was underground. There was also another level below them, he noticed, wondering what use the old man could possibly have for such an elaborate layout.

The elevator doors opened onto a hallway paneled in rich, dark wood. A very different world than the sub-basement they'd just left, Logan noted. He saw kids rushing from one place to another and realized that they really were running a school, regardless of what else was going on.

"And Rogue? Will she go out into the world when she's done with school?" he asked, trying for a casualness he didn't feel. Maybe the Chinese were right. Once you saved somebody's life, maybe you did become responsible for them. There was no other explanation for why he cared about the girl. Marie, he thought, and wondered if anyone else here knew that name. They all called her 'Rogue.'

"Rogue has stayed on to help with the younger students," Jean replied smoothly. "Her mutation is quite extreme, and it's highly doubtful she could function in the world as it is today, with all the fear and hatred towards mutants."

"'Stayed on' -- you mean she's done with school?" he asked incredulously. "How old is she?"

Jean smiled again. "She's twenty. She attends college at SUNY-Purchase, and teaches art to the younger students." They reached a doorway at the end of the hall and she said, "This is Charles's office." She knocked and opened the door.

The Professor sat behind a large desk. He straightened the papers he was looking at into a neat pile and smiled at his visitors.

"Ah, thank you, Jean." She inclined her head and left, closing the door behind her. "Have a seat, Logan."

"I'll stand, thanks."

Xavier nodded. "Of course." He looked at Logan for several long moments. "We owe you a debt of gratitude. What you did for Rogue -- not many people would have done it, even with your healing factor."

Logan shrugged uncomfortably. "If I hadn't screwed up in the first place, I wouldn't've needed to fix it."

"But you did." Xavier steepled his fingers and again, there was silence for a few seconds. Then, "You've been searching for your past for a long time, Logan. Perhaps we can help you with that."

Logan eyed him warily. "Why?"

The Professor shrugged eloquently. "It is what we do here. But if that makes you uncomfortable, think of it as a payment of our debt to you, for saving Rogue. She is very dear to us."

Logan knew the man wasn't lying -- and he was getting tired of his hand-to-mouth existence, never finding what he was looking for.

He sat in the chair facing Xavier.

"Tell me what you got."

Eighteen months later. . .

Logan heard the shower running before he entered the room. Whenever her roommates came home from college, Marie ended up in his bathroom. He wondered idly when he'd stopped caring about the bottles of fruity gel and sweet-smelling shampoo cluttering up the windowsill next to his shower.

"You better not shave your legs with my razor," he called, flopping onto the bed and trying not to think of miles of bare Marie-legs, just one room away.

He flipped through the channels, impatiently waiting for some sporting event to come on. With the end of the Stanley Cup finals last week (and damn if Detroit didn't win again. He wondered if Scotty Bowman was some sort of hockey mutant -- the kind that attracted the Stanley Cup), he was left with baseball or soccer. "Like watching paint dry," he muttered.

"What's that, sugar?" Rogue asked, opening the bathroom door in a haze of vanilla-scented steam.

"Nothing," he answered, breathing deeply. "That's a new one."

"Yeah. Tahitian Vanilla. You like it?" She was toweling her hair as she walked over to the bed.

"Yeah."

She sat in front of him, in nothing but a towel, and he pulled out the comb from his night table drawer. Another ritual he'd somehow gotten used to, actually missed when he was out on the road. Combing Marie's hair. Not that he'd ever let anyone know how much he liked doing it.

Lately, he'd been doing it without gloves, and she had stopped protesting. He knew she wanted that simulation of touch as much as he wanted to give it to her.

His time in Westchester had been interesting, to say the least. He taught the kids self-defense, did odd jobs around the grounds, and helped out saving the world every few weeks. In return, he got room and board, a chance to flirt with a couple of the most beautiful women he'd ever met, and the opportunity to spend time with Marie.

He knew that, without Marie, he'd be gone in a heartbeat. Somehow, over belly-burners and claws, they'd bonded, and he wasn't about to let that go. It was the closest thing he'd had to home in the past eighteen years.

She sighed in contentment as he ran the comb through her wet hair. He inhaled the scents of Marie and vanilla, mingling in the warm air of the room. He could tell she was aroused, which only made the scent sweeter, but he'd never done anything about it. He wasn't sure of her feelings toward him, and didn't want to screw things up by pushing her for something she wasn't prepared to give him.

"So, when do the Kat and the Brat leave?" he asked, after a long silence.

"Logan," she admonished him, but there was no heat in her voice. His nicknames for Kitty and Jubilee were apt. She didn't have to turn around to see his smirk. "That's just it," she continued, slumping slightly. "Since we've all graduated, we have to room together until Jean reassigns the rooms. With anti-mutant sentiment on the rise again, more students are coming back here to live, instead of going out on their own." Another sigh. "God only knows when Jean will get around to us. She thinks we're thrilled to be together again."

"Ain't ya?" He put the comb down and pulled on a pair of gloves. Slowly and gently, so as not to startle her, he began kneading her shoulders.

"Mmm," she purred, her eyes drifting closed, enjoying the sensations he was producing. She supposed she should be embarrassed or something, but since this was the closest she was probably ever going to get to sex with him, she didn't stop it. She lived for these impromptu massages and secretly hoped they meant something to him as well. "It's nice being with them sometimes, but I kinda got used to living alone, you know? I mean, even when they were here, you were gone a lot, so --" she broke off, realizing what that might sound like as his hands stilled on her shoulders. "Not that I don't love having you here, sugar. 'Cause I do."

He knew she was telling the truth. The words were out of his mouth before he could regret them. "Move in here, then."

She turned so fast she almost lost her towel, which would have been damned interesting, he thought.

"Are you sure?" Her voice was soft, breathy, and damn, he got harder than he already was, just listening to her.

He grinned, left eyebrow arched. "Would I ask if I wasn't sure, Marie?"

"I'm a lot of work," she warned. "And, well, there's things you'd have to give up."

"Like what?" he asked.

"Putting your cigars out on the furniture. Sleeping naked. Bringing home random women." She figured if she got it out fast, maybe he'd agree without really thinking. She held her breath, waiting to see if she'd misunderstood him in some way.

He shrugged. "I haven't slept naked since I started living here, Marie, and I haven't brought home a woman in months." She nodded. Seven months, three weeks and four days, to be exact, she thought. The time he'd come back from Canada and settled into the mansion for good. And aren't you pathetic for knowing that, Rogue? "You might have to deal with some burns on the desk, though. I always forget where you put the damn ashtray."

She exhaled in relief, and smiled at him.

He felt the world tilt on its axis, and a peculiar ache in his chest, somewhere in the region of his heart. If he didn't know it was impossible, he'd have thought he was having a heart attack.

"That's a yes, I take it?"

In answer, she flung her arms around him, forgetting for a moment her precarious state of undress. He was so happy to have an armful of nearly-naked Marie that all he could do at first was hold her close and breathe her in.

He pressed kisses to her hair, gently at first and then with more urgency as her nearness inflamed him further.

"My skin," she whispered, but he just flashed a cocky grin and pulled some sheer material from his night table.

"I've been hoping for this day for a long time, Marie," he answered. "Are you sure it's what you want?" He dropped his gaze to his hands. "I know I'm not much of a bargain, with the Swiss cheese memory and the metal skeleton--"

"Don't say that, Logan," she said. "I love you. I think I have since that night at Chateau Blanc."

"Chateau Blanc?" he snorted.

"That's what Remy calls it."

"That boy better stop sniffin' around my girl," he growled, rolling so he was on top of her.

"Am I your girl?" she asked.

"Yeah, darlin'. My one and only." He opened the towel then, and took his first look at her in all her naked glory. "You're so beautiful, Marie," he whispered, floating the sheer black square over her mouth so he could kiss her.

Their lips met and though it was the first time they'd kissed, there was no awkwardness, just a feeling that this was right.

There was so much of her he wanted to taste, he thought, as he moved his mouth along the curve of her jaw and then down her neck, paying close attention to the spots that made her moan or purr. He nipped at her clavicle and moved his hands down to cup her breasts, teasing her nipples until they pebbled against his palms.

When he brushed his lips over the curve of her left breast, warming and dampening the material before taking the firm bud of her nipple into his mouth, she slid her hands into his hair, gripping his skull tightly. Her body arched, offering him full access when he finally did suckle and lick at her nipple. He smelled her arousal deepening as he did the same to her right breast.

Then he moved lower, feathering kisses down her stomach, stopping to dip his tongue into her belly-button (which caused a gasp and an arch he wouldn't soon forget), and then brushing his lips over the tops of her thighs.

"Logan," she moaned, grabbing the headboard so she wouldn't be tempted to touch him with her bare hands.

"Yeah, baby, we're getting there," he said, pressing kisses through the nylon along the sensitive flesh inside her thighs before finally broaching her sex.

He stroked her warm, wet folds with a gloved hand before carefully slipping a finger inside her tight passage. Again she moaned his name as her hips came off the bed. "Please." It was little more than a hiss of air as she tried to process the pleasure he was giving her.

He laughed as his lips followed his fingers and the vibrations were almost enough to make her come. When he started circling her clit with his tongue, she lost it, knuckles white from gripping the headboard, head thrashing from side to side, she came, panting his name.

As she floated down to earth, he took possession of her mouth again, his hands busily unzipping his jeans and finding the condoms he'd stashed away in hope that this day would arrive. She parted her legs to grant him access and tucked the ends of the fabric underneath her. He cut a small hole in the nylon, so he would be able to enter her without coming into contact with her skin.

"This ain't exactly how I planned it," he murmured in her ear as he positioned himself at her entrance, "but I think it'll do, if you still want to."

She nodded, her eyes wide and full of love for him. He wanted to keep that moment forever. It had been her eyes, more than anything, that had pulled him in that first night they'd met, and he hoped he could make her look like that for the rest of their lives.

"Logan, please," she panted, bringing her hips up so her wet sex brushed against his hard cock.

He grunted in response, slipping slowly into her tight, wet passage. He reveled in the feel of her. This was his, and no one else would ever do to her what he was doing now. She bucked her hips, impatient with his tenderness, and he was suddenly sheathed in her to the hilt. She gasped as her body became accustomed to the size and feel of him, and from the faint smell of blood, he realized that not only was she his now, she had never been anyone else's before. He growled again, and fought every instinct that urged him to move.

"I'm okay," she said. They shifted and he felt some of the tension leave her, so he began moving in and out, slowly at first, but then faster and harder as she spurred him on. He slid a hand between them and rubbed at her clit as he drove into her. She gasped, "Oh, God, Logan!" and her muscles rippled and tightened around him, pulling him over the edge into the abyss with her. They fell together, bright whiteness burning along all their nerve endings, until they slowly drifted back to earth.

He rolled so she could lie on top of him, resting her head against his t-shirt-clad chest.

"Is it always like that?" she asked finally.

"No," he replied honestly. "Sometimes it's even better."

Needless to say, there were some at the mansion who were not too happy with Logan and Rogue's new living arrangements. Chief among those was Jean.

"He's just using you, Rogue," was the redhead's constant refrain. "As soon as he sees someone he likes better -- someone he can touch -- he'll drop you like an old shoe."

Finally, after a month of this, Rogue reached a breaking point.

"Logan, are you gonna leave me for the next sexy waitress that crosses your path?" she asked one night as they got ready for bed.

He looked at her like she'd grown a second head. "Why in hell would I do that, Marie?"

She shrugged and bit her lip. "I don't know. It's just, everyone seems to think--"

"You mean Jeannie keeps tellin' you that's what's gonna happen, right?" She nodded. "I'm taking care of this once and for all, Marie." He flung the door open and stalked down the hall to Jean and Scott's room.

"Logan," Rogue called, running to keep up with him, "don't do this."

He just kept walking.

He pounded on their bedroom door and said, "I know you're in there, so open up."

The door opened and Scott stood there in his green and blue plaid boxers, looking annoyed. "What?"

"Where's Jeannie? I wanna straighten something out with her."

Jean came to the doorway, pulling on a silk robe of seafoam green. "Yes?" she asked, just as Rogue said, "Logan, just forget it. It's not important."

"Nah, kid. I don't like this shit." He turned to Jean again. "You keep tellin' Marie I'm gonna ditch her for the next pretty face." He grabbed her hand and brought it to the side of his head. "Why don't you take a look and see for yourself how I feel?"

"Logan, that's not necessary," she began.

"I think it is. Obviously, Chuck knows I would never hurt Rogue, but you don't seem to get that. Well, here's your chance to see firsthand," Logan continued, ignoring all interruptions. "Come on, Red. What's the matter? Afraid you might see something you don't like? Something to prove you wrong?"

Jean took a deep breath as Scott and Rogue stood and watched. "I can tell that you're very worked up right now, Logan. And I can tell that you care very deeply for Rogue. But I have to wonder why. And for how long? You met under very stressful circumstances. It's been obvious since day one that Rogue's had a crush on you. I just don't want to see her hurt when you move on."

Logan nodded. "Thanks, Red. Thanks for finally being honest after all this time, and telling me what you really think of me." He turned and headed back toward the room he shared with Rogue. "I'll be outta your hair first thing tomorrow."

Rogue looked on helplessly as the man she loved strode away, radiating hurt and anger.

"Nice going, Jean," she said, then turned and ran after him.

He had his duffel bag out and was throwing his stuff into it when she walked in.

"Logan, please," she began.

He stopped and looked at her intently, pinning her in place with his relentless hazel stare. "You wanna come with?" he said finally.

"I--" She licked her lips. "Of course. I love you, Logan."

His eyes didn't waver. "I love you, too." The words, which he'd never before voiced, though she'd felt it in his every action since they'd moved in together, hung heavy between them.

Finally, she said, "You're gonna need a bigger bag." And she walked to her side of the closet and began laying her stuff on the bed.

Scott tried to talk Rogue into staying the next morning, as Logan packed the Cherokee.

"I love him, Scott, and he loves me," she said softly. "I don't think you realize how much it bothers him that all y'all think he's taking advantage of me. I'm almost twenty-two years old, and I'm a college graduate. I'm not a kid. I haven't been since the Statue of Liberty. But I need him, and he needs me."

"But--"

"What did people tell you when you started dating Jean?" she asked, cutting him off.

He blew out a gust of air, then nodded once. "Yeah, okay. I see."

"And how did you feel? How did she feel?" Rogue pressed.

"I said I get it, Rogue. Just, just be careful, okay." He pulled her into a tight hug and then released her. Logan stood waiting.

"I always am," the big Canadian replied. Scott offered his hand, and this time, Logan took it.

They'd driven for almost fifteen hours straight. Logan barely spoke. She knew he was hurt, even though he wouldn't discuss it.

It was dark when they entered Detroit.

"We can cross into Canada from here," he said, breaking the silence for the first time in what seemed like hours.

Rogue stretched and yawned. "Can we eat first?" she asked. "And maybe use a bathroom?"

He turned and smiled at her. "Whatever you want, Marie."

"So where we going, other than, you know, Canada?"

"I figured we could maybe see Alaska. Now's the time, while it's summer. Then," he looked over at her, and she could sense he was a little nervous, "I got a cabin up past Dawson's Creek--" she chuckled and he looked offended. "It's a real place, dammit! Not named after that stupid television show, either. Anyway, I was thinking, if you're not sick of me by then, maybe we could, you know, spend the winter there."

He shot her another nervous look, chewing on his cigar, and she smiled. "It sounds great, Logan."

"It ain't, it ain't like the mansion, Marie, but I'll take care of you."

"Promise?"

"I promise."

They shared a loving glance, and then something caught his eye.

"You wanted to eat, darlin'?" he asked, jerking his head to the left.

A White Castle stood gleaming in the darkness, a beacon to all those who were hungry for bad, fatty food, and for two people who had found love in those greasy environs.

"I'd love to, sugar."