Author:  Victoria P.
Rating: NC-17
Summary: AU: "Once an X-Man, always an X-Man"
Notes: Thanks to Dot, Meg, Jen, and Pete.
Special thanks to the Splendiferous Terri for allowing me to once again play with her toys. See? I didn't break them. ;-)

~ ~ indicates telepathic conversation
// // indicates dreams

Rogue couldn't sit still. She fidgeted in the copilot's seat, checking and rechecking her gloves, her jacket, the instrumentation. Anything to keep her anxiety at bay. This was her first mission as a member of the main team, and she badly wanted to prove useful.

"It's not a real mission," Jubilee had said scornfully. "It's just a pick-up. We've all done those."

And when she'd first been told she was going, that's all Scott had said. "It's a pick-up."

Normally, Scott went, and he took either Jean or Storm with him. The women made a formidable case for the school to young mutants who'd been on the run for a while, with no friends to turn to and no place to call home. She wasn't able to compete with their poise, confidence and beauty, even though she was a living testimonial to the school -- a runaway who'd found a home there.

But this, she learned as she read the mission brief, was different.

They were going to Laughlin City, up in Alberta, to pick up the mutant known as Wolverine.

As the Professor had explained the mission, Scott's jaw tightened, and Ororo laid her hand on his arm in a soothing gesture.

They'd been a couple since Rogue had arrived at the mansion two years ago -- a scared seventeen-year-old being chased by powerful men -- mutants and humans alike. The humans wanted to experiment on her, learn the secrets of her skin. The mutants wanted to use her power in some machine that supposedly mutated people.

She'd escaped the first with the help of the X-Men, and the second she'd survived only because of Storm's bravery, Scott's pinpoint accuracy with his optic blasts, and Jean's medical expertise.

Absently smoothing back her hair -- the two white locks framing her face the only physical reminders of that awful experience -- she turned to Storm.

"Why is Scott so uptight about this guy?" she asked as they flew swiftly through the night sky, following the twilight west.

Storm looked at Rogue's open, curious face and said, "Before Scott and I got together, he and Jean were engaged."

Rogue's eyes widened. It was hard to imagine the Fearless Leader of the X-Men with anyone other than Storm. Especially the poised, aloof Dr. Grey.

Ororo nodded at her colleague's unspoken question. "Yes, it's true. They were planning to get married. Then Wolverine arrived. He made no secret of his attraction to Jean, and Jean -- " Storm paused, obviously choosing her words carefully. "It had been clear for some time that their relationship was troubled. I do not like to admit it, but I played a role in that, I think. Scott and I -- we fit together in ways he and Jean never did, never could. She was his lover, but I was his best friend.

"When it became clear that their relationship was ending, Logan spared no effort to get Jean into his bed."

Rogue sat on the edge of her seat, no longer staring out at the starlit sky, intent on the story Ororo was telling.

"Jean soon learned she was pregnant. But the timing -- no one could be sure who the baby's father was. She and Scott had still been -- intimate, up until she returned the ring and went to Logan. Even afterward, she and Scott tried to reconcile..." Storm sighed.

"Naturally, the two men did not get along; each paraded around like the alpha male of a wolf pack. When you meet Logan, you will understand what I mean. Their sniping and fighting made things difficult for Jean. She did not have an easy pregnancy -- from her fifth month on, she was restricted to bed rest.

"She was under a great deal of stress, as were we all. To make an already-too-long story short, the baby was premature, and born with spina bifida. William -- she named him William -- developed hydrocephalus, and the operation to insert a shunt was not, was not successful."

Rogue could tell that Storm was having a hard time discussing the subject, even though it hadn't been her baby. She was still Jean's close friend. It must have been difficult for everyone, she thought.

"He died about three months after he was born. Scott and I drew closer together in the face of the tragedy, but Logan and Jean -- they were driven apart." Storm rubbed her forehead. "I do not know if they loved each other, but they did not part on friendly terms. Logan was devastated by the child's death, even though it was never proved which man was the father. In his own grief, he was unable to support Jean, who, in turn, could not be there for him."

Rogue reached out a gloved hand and Ororo took it, gripping it tightly. "I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't mean to open up old wounds."

Storm gave a wistful smile. "Child, it is not you who will be opening these wounds. I do not know what Charles is thinking, bringing Logan back to Westchester, but I have a feeling he may regret reopening this chapter of the past."

Rogue was startled by her candor. Scott never openly questioned Professor Xavier, and Rogue took his lead. She respected Scott greatly -- all the members of the younger team did, even if they rarely said anything out loud. He had led them time and again on missions from which they'd come home safely. There was no greater mark of a leader than that, they thought.

The two women were silent for a while, then Rogue said, "So, were you friends with him?"

Ororo smiled. "As much as anyone was friends with the Wolverine. He's not an easy man to get to know. Do not be alarmed or insulted if he's unfriendly. It is his way."

They fell silent again, with Rogue turning over in her mind everything Storm had told her.

They landed in an open field about half an hour later, and took snowmobiles to their destination.

"I thought we were going to Laughlin City," Rogue said when they arrived, taking in the collection of ramshackle huts that looked like a strong wind would blow them over.

Storm jerked her chin at the sign on the main strip. "This is Laughlin City."

"Talk about delusions of grandeur," Rogue muttered. Storm chuckled.

They reached the doorway of the Lion's Den, and Rogue raised an eyebrow. "How is it that I'm thousands of miles from Mississippi, but I still can't get away from rednecks and truckers?"

Again, Storm's lilting laughter rang out, drawing all eyes to the two women as they entered the dark and dingy bar.

They would have stood out regardless. The place was a shithole, full of heavy, sweaty, beer-and-bourbon soaked bodies looking for warmth and protection from the arctic night.

The crowd quickly refocused its energy on the two bare-chested men grappling in the cage.

Rogue took a good look and whispered, "Oh, my."

"Indeed."

Logan heard the light laughter over the crowd noise, and two new scents wafted over the rank odor of the place, distracting him slightly as he tried to place them.

Finally getting tired of toying with his current opponent, and intrigued by the aroma of innocence tickling his nostrils, he knocked him out with a left to the solar plexus and a right to the jaw.

The guy fell like a ton of bricks and the emcee announced that, once again, the Wolverine was the undefeated king of the cage.

Taking the glass of bourbon some woman handed him through the cage, he closed his eyes and focused. He knew the one scent -- wind and rain and unthinkable power, tightly leashed. He called up the face instantly, even though it had been five years.

Ororo Munroe.

He let his eyes play over the crowd, easily picking out her snowy hair. She was dressed in leather, but not her X-Men uniform. Undercover, then, he thought, turning his attention to the woman with her.

And catching his breath as she turned, her eyes meeting and holding his for an endless second. He felt like he was drowning in those fathomless, dark coffee eyes.

Her lips parted in a silent gasp, and he licked his own, wondering if she'd taste as good as she smelled, clean, lemony -- his. Startled at that last thought, he decided to talk with Storm rather than avoid her when he was done fighting.

The crowd roared and broke the spell. She turned away and took a dainty sip out of the beer bottle in front of her, her face flushing under his stare.

The weather goddess turned and caught his eye, nodding almost imperceptibly.

He grinned and went back to face his next opponent.

"Jesus," Rogue whispered. "What was that?"

"That, my child, is the Wolverine." Ororo frowned at his unexpected interest in her companion. Not that Rogue wasn't a beautiful woman -- she was. But she was so far from Logan's type that Storm was immediately suspicious.

Rogue was too young to play his games, she thought, and he wasn't the type to be intentionally cruel, leading her on and breaking her heart-- And your imagination is running away with you, Ororo. It was just a look. Once he realizes how young and inexperienced she is, he will lose interest. Telling herself that, the weather goddess sipped her scotch and waited.

Rogue, meanwhile, was stunned at the intensity of that stare. It was one thing to admire -- and be admired by -- such a prime specimen of the male animal. But his eyes -- it was as if they'd bored straight into her soul, locking onto something in her and drawing her to him.

She wondered if he felt it, too.

Then she chided herself for being fanciful.

She had never been successful at dating. The young men at Xavier's were too interested in lusting after bold Jubilee, cutie-pie Kitty or sex-kitten Betsy, who ran through them at an alarming rate, to pay much attention to the girl who couldn't be touched.

Which was fine with her -- it was all a little too incestuous for Rogue, who didn't want to date someone who felt like her brother, even if he was interested.

She nursed her small infatuation with Scott, knowing he was oblivious to the way her heart fluttered and her breathing quickened when he was close. A hopeless crush for an untouchable girl. It seemed fitting and -- in a strange, self-effacing way -- enough.

Or it had, until the moment she locked gazes with the Wolverine.

She saw many other women in the bar, all of whom wanted the same thing she did, and all of whom no doubt had more experience getting it, but she'd had two beers and hadn't eaten in hours. She was definitely feeling no pain. When the bartender plunked down a shot of something golden and said, "On the Wolverine," she knocked it back without a second thought, enjoying the burn and ignoring Ororo's pursed lips and raised eyebrow. Rogue's self-confidence, never very strong, skyrocketed.

"It's a little warm in here, don't you think?" she whispered, removing her jacket to reveal the tight black knit top she wore with her leather jeans and boots. It was the non-uniform uniform, since they were "undercover" on this mission.

Ororo shook her head and wondered how she was going to explain a hungover Rogue to Scott when they got back to New York. He was already tense about Logan returning; this would just be the icing on the cake.

Soon, there were no more people drunk -- or stupid -- enough to step into the cage with Wolverine, and people started leaving the bar for the cold trek to their homes.

Logan came walking out of the backroom, fully-clothed, Rogue noted with disappointment.

"Beer," he said to the bartender, settling on the stool next to Rogue and pulling a wad of cash out of his jacket pocket, along with the stub of a cigar, which he stuck in his mouth. The bartender uncapped a bottle of Molson and set it down on the bar. Logan removed the stogie and took a sip. "Storm," he said.

Storm recognized his wish for anonymity. "Hello, Wolverine."

"Aren't you going to introduce me to your friend?" he asked, glancing at the woman next to him. The urge to stare was strong, but he didn't want to be too obvious in his intent.

Up close, her scent nearly overwhelmed him -- the need to take possession of what was his almost overtaking his control. Of course, when he took a good look at her, and saw that, haunted eyes aside, she was still a teenager, he clamped down tightly on the desire surging through him. He was a lot of things, but he'd never been one to despoil innocence, a commodity that was far too rare in his experience to be ruined with casual sex. And he had a strange feeling that nothing with her would be casual -- especially not sex.

"I'm Rogue," she answered for herself, in a honeyed drawl that warmed the blood in his veins.

"What kind of name is Rogue?" he asked, annoyed at the effect she was having on him. He could have any woman in the place, and he was wasting his time talking with Storm so he could be close to the one he shouldn't have? Sheer stupidity. He sighed internally at that conclusion. Brains had never been his strong point.

"What kind of name is Wolverine?" she shot back, unfazed, her eyes challenging him.

Once again, he found himself drowning in their depths. They were the color of fine chocolate, or fresh coffee, and he knew if he could drink from her, he'd always be full.

He thought of all the women he'd seen and known, and knew none of them, not even Jeannie, with whom he'd been in love, had affected him like this. He had a sense of meeting his own Helen of Troy -- here was a woman men would be willing to kill for, die for, and she was his. Of that he was certain.

He just had to make sure she knew it, too.

"Professor Xavier would like you to return with us to New York," Storm said, interrupting their rapport.

He removed the cigar from his mouth, and, without breaking Rogue's gaze, said, "Not gonna happen."

"He has some information he thinks you'll be very interested in--"

"But he won't give it to me unless I come back into the fold?" He snorted, finally looking at her. "What happened to compassion and understanding, 'Ro? Or has he finally gone around the bend?"

"No. He would like you to listen to his proposal, but he will give you the information regardless of your decision."

"Then he can roll into his big, round room and give me a call up here," he replied, tapping the side of his head. "I left and I'm not going back."

Storm sighed and stood. "Fine." She motioned to the other woman. "Come, Rogue. We have a long trip ahead of us."

Rogue slid off her stool and pulled her jacket on. She wordlessly followed Ororo to the door, but her eyes never left the Wolverine.

With a grace and quickness surprising in a man of his size, he managed to meet them there. Pressing a large hand to the door, he blocked their exit.

Quirking an eyebrow, he looked down at Rogue. "Don't go, darlin'. You and me were just gettin' to know each other."

Rogue felt the blush burn her cheeks and looked down in confusion.

Ororo pursed her lips again.

"She's not for you, Wolverine." The weather witch emphasized the name. "You--"

Her words were lost as the ground began to shake and the door was flung open, sending all three mutants sprawling.

Logan caught the familiar, fetid scent of--

"Sabretooth," he growled, extending his claws and rising to a fighting crouch in one smooth motion as the huge blond mutant entered the bar.

The catlike man bared his teeth. "Been a while, runt."

"Not long enough, bub," Logan ground out, already closing in for the fight.

Avalanche, the skinny young man who was the cause of the tremors, rushed into the bar, only to be met by an angry goddess, eyes glowing white as thunder crashed and lightning crackled in a very localized storm.

"Shit."

Rogue grinned as she launched a well-placed kick, felling him. He landed on his back and she jumped on his chest, her hands immediately going to his neck to cut off his air supply and render him unconscious.

Storm moved outside, aiming lightning strikes at the jeep in which Mystique was sitting. When that burst into flames, Storm chased the fleeing shapeshifter, but she was too slow. Mystique morphed into a bird and flew away, dancing through the lightning bolts Ororo called down from the sky to stop her.

Cursing, Storm re-entered the bar. Wolverine and Sabretooth were fairly evenly matched, and neither paid much attention to the two X-Women or the crowd of civilians who loudly cheered on their champion.

Storm was just about to tell Rogue to stay out of it -- Wolverine and Sabretooth had a long history -- when Rogue jumped between the two men, one lethal hand bared and reaching for Sabretooth.

Logan pulled his punch at her intrusion. He stared, stunned, as Sabretooth rammed his fist into Rogue's jaw and, while she reeled from that blow, sank his other hand into her stomach, ripping her flesh as if it were paper.

She dropped to the floor, too breathless to scream, and Sabretooth licked her blood off his claws. "Mmm, tasty," he taunted.

The bikers and truckers who'd stuck around to watch the fight scattered at this display.

Storm rushed to her fallen comrade's side, sending her thoughts screaming out to Xavier or Jean for help.

Roaring, the Wolverine lunged at his enemy, enraged at the damage done to this woman, who he was already thinking of as his mate. He slashed, scoring Sabretooth's chest with three long gashes, and then slipped nine inches of razor-sharp adamantium into the big mutant's throat. With his left hand, he drove the other set of claws through Creed's trunk, then jerked upward, opening him from navel to clavicle.

Storm looked up from Rogue's wounds as Logan retracted the blades with a wet snap and Sabretooth crashed to the ground like a felled sequoia.

Logan rolled his neck to work the kinks out, then dropped down on Rogue's left side.

"What the hell were you trying to do, kid?" he asked, his voice rough with anger, fear and other emotions he was not yet ready to name.

"Helping," she gasped.

He and Ororo exchanged glances at the burbling sound of her breathing.

"I think the lung is punctured," Ororo said, "One of her ribs--" Her eyes went faraway, a sign Logan recognized from his days on the team. She was communicating with Xavier or Jean. Please let it be Jean, he thought, willing the girl to stay alive until the redheaded doctor could tell them what to do.

"You hang on, kid. We're gonna take care of you," he said tenderly, grabbing her still-gloved hand and bringing it to his lips, hating the feeling of helplessness that flooded him.

"Marie," she whispered.

"What?"

"My name is Marie." Her eyes fluttered closed, her limited energy obviously spent in the effort to speak.

"Kid-- Marie, just hold on," he said frantically. "You gotta be strong now, Marie. Jeannie'll fix it. You'll see. You'll be as good as new soon."

She smiled sadly, her eyes remaining closed. "I don't think so." It was so soft, even he had to strain to hear it.

"Dammit, 'Ro," he growled. "Do something."

"I--" Storm was at a loss. She could set bones and bandage wounds, but this -- Rogue's organs had been mangled, her flesh torn to shreds. She tried to apply pressure, to stop the bleeding, but knew she was only causing her friend more pain.

"'Roro, please," he begged, reaching out and brushing Marie's hair off her face.

"Be careful! Her skin is deadly."

He ignored her admonition and continued to stroke Marie's hair, oddly comforted by the silky feel of those mahogany and white locks in his fingers.

"Logan, please. She could suck the life right out of you if you are not careful, and then I would lose two friends tonight."

Logan's head snapped up. "What do you mean? Would it help her?"

Storm had only seen him this distraught once -- after William's death -- and then he'd withdrawn into stoicism after an initial burst of violence when Hank gave him the news.

"I, I don't know," she answered, her mind racing through all she knew of Rogue's mutation. An idea -- "She absorbs the powers of mutants who touch her--"

That was enough for Logan.

Cradling her gently in his lap, he pressed a hand to her clammy cheek, ignoring the way her blood stained his clothes and slicked the floor.

Storm watched, holding her breath and praying that -- somehow -- it would work.

"Come on," Logan whispered. "Come on, Marie." He closed his eyes against the sting of tears and pressed his lips to her forehead, her temple, and finally, her lips, willing his strength into her.

And then he felt it -- a strange prickle along his nerves at first, then his whole body screaming in pain as his healing power drained into her.

Storm watched in horrified fascination as Rogue's wounds closed up and the color came back into her face.

Her eyes flew open and she gasped, her breathing free of that terrifying gurgle. She struggled against the life-giving embrace.

Logan dropped to the floor, unconscious, as Rogue stared wild-eyed at the destruction around them.

"What -- How -- Why?" she managed, leaning over his prone form, her ear to his chest, confirming that his heart still beat, as her gloved hand reached up and stroked his cheek gently. "I-- he--"

"Take a deep breath, Rogue."

Yes, she was Rogue. Marie, said the new voice in her head. Mine.

"Focus, Rogue," Storm said, trying to guide her back to herself. "We need to get him to the jet."

"He has a truck," Rogue said, stumbling only slightly over her pronouns as she reached into his pocket for the keys. "Help me."

It was difficult (the hundred pounds of adamantium lining his skeleton made him much heavier than he appeared), but they got him into the pickup and took off at high speed for the place they'd left the Blackbird.

It was all a blur to Rogue. She was trying to sort out the new personality in her head. She'd learned to cull what she needed from these rare acquisitions and lock away the rest until she was centered enough to deal with it, but this was more than she'd ever absorbed before, from anyone, even Magneto. Logan was tenacious. He wanted to stay in the front of her mind, making sure she was okay and they all got to the jet safely.

She'd been dead, she was sure, and he'd brought her back, so she didn't fight too hard when he took over and began barking orders through her at Storm.

She tried to figure out why he'd done it, and through the myriad confusing thoughts and feelings, she came back to one thing, over and over again.

Mine.

She pondered that on the long journey home.

When they arrived at the mansion, Rogue followed Jean and Hank into the med lab, and had to be forced out while they examined the comatose Logan.

Ororo walked her to the showers, where Rogue stripped off her torn and bloody clothes. She stepped into the hot spray and felt her body relax.

As she washed, she became fascinated with the skin on her belly.

No scars.

She had seen her insides ripped out, had felt her lung deflate when a rib punctured it, and two hours later, she stood in the shower, fully healed.

It brought home to her, once again, how fragile life is. All those organs and systems silently working away underneath her deadly skin -- it was so easy to damage them, and so hard to put them back together again. Didn't people realize that? she wondered, thinking of the myriad ways she'd seen people abuse their own bodies.

She'd been amazingly stupid -- and the Logan in her head growled his agreement with that -- and then amazingly lucky that he'd been willing to give so much of himself to save her. For the first time since her mutation manifested, she was grateful for it. It had saved her life.

Now she just had to make sure it hadn't taken his.

Hopping out of the shower, quickly toweling off and pulling on clean sweats, she made her way back into the med lab.

Logan was stretched out on an exam table-cum-bed, covered from neck to toes with a sheet. Jean was adjusting one of the numerous machines hooked up to him, while Hank sat at the computer.

"How, how is he?" she asked fearfully. She could see his chest rising and falling, and while that had been enough to soothe her back at the Lion's Den, she needed more concrete reassurances now.

"He'll be fine," Jean said. "How are you?"

"Fine. Good." She lifted her shirt, exposing her fully-healed stomach. "Not even a mark to show for it."

Jean nodded her chin at an exam table and pulled on a pair of latex gloves. "Hop up and let me take a look."

"I'm fine, Jeannie," she growled, her eyes widening as she realized that it hadn't been she who'd responded.

Jean bit her lower lip thoughtfully, then removed her gloves. "Yes. Well. Hank -- Hank will give you a quick once-over, okay?" And, tossing the gloves into the garbage, she quickly walked out.

"I'm sorry," Rogue whispered, "I just --"

"She knows, my dear," the furry blue doctor replied. "Logan's presence brings back unpleasant memories for all of us."

"Storm told me. And, and, it's here now." She tapped the side of her head. "Some of it, anyway. He was so sad -- so angry he couldn't do anything to fix it." She felt tears welling up in her eyes at his old sorrow. "I think that's why he had to fix me. I -- it's confusing," she finished, dropping her head and letting her wet hair fall and hide her face.

"I'm sure it is, Rogue. But Charles and Jean will help you assimilate Logan's remembrances much as they have done with Magneto. No need to worry," Hank said, and his matter-of-fact tone was very comforting.

He listened to her heart and lungs, felt her abdomen for signs that anything was wrong, and when he found nothing, pronounced her in good health.

"Can I--" she nodded toward the bed where Logan lay.

"Of course. I'll be in my office if you need me."

She pulled a chair over to Logan's side and sat down, amazed that she could hear his heart beating. She concentrated, and in a few minutes, regulated her own heartbeat to match his. It was even more comforting than Hank's kind words.

Slipping the sheet down to his waist, she ran gloved fingers over the perfection of his chest and stomach, taking advantage of the opportunity she knew she'd probably never get if he were awake.

She was aware of his inexplicable feelings toward her, and his conflict over them, but she wasn't quite sure what it all meant. She wasn't sure how much was simply wishful thinking on her part and how much was really him.

She pondered her shower-thoughts. Life was precious, fragile. Even the mighty Wolverine can be brought low, she thought, looking at her hands, encased in blue cotton, against his olive skin. And I'm the thing that can do it.

She pulled the sheet back up over him to protect him, then laid her head down on his chest and cried.

Jean found her asleep in that position later that morning.

"Rogue. Rogue, wake up," she said.

"What? Huh? Oh, Jeannie. I mean, Dr. Grey. I mean--"

"It's okay, Rogue. Go get some rest. We'll let you know when he's awake," Jean said gently. She understood the younger woman's need for contact with the man who had touched her. Having someone else in your head was difficult, and Jean promised herself that she wouldn't let her own feelings for Logan -- whatever they might be (and even she wasn't sure at the moment) -- get in the way of helping Rogue.

It was late afternoon. He woke slowly, to the familiar scent of antiseptic and Jean Grey.

He was surprised. He thought he'd never come back to Salem Center, and certainly that he'd never see Jean again, but when he opened his eyes, there she was.

She looked good; older, certainly, but more serene than when he'd seen her last. He wondered if he was dreaming, but then it all came flooding back when Jean said, "That was a very brave thing you did."

Marie. "Did it work? Is she okay?"

A smile. One that he thought he'd never see again. "She's fine. She's picked up a few of your more -- charming characteristics, but other than that, she's as good as new."

He grunted in satisfaction. "Told her she would be."

"How are you feeling?" A question rife with meaning.

He went with the literal. "Fantastic."

"Logan--"

"Seriously. Best sleep I've had in ages." He didn't say it but she knew what he meant -- no nightmares. He sat up, pulling the sensors off his chest, before she could stop him.

"I need to examine you," she said in what he always thought of as her "doctor" voice.

"Is that what they're calling it these days?" he answered without thinking. It was so easy to fall back into old habits.

"Logan--"

And that was the "I'm annoyed so don't think your charm is going to win me over" voice. He was almost home free.

"Fine, Jeannie. You wanna play doctor, let's go." She opened her mouth to say something and then snapped it shut. He remembered that things were different now, and suddenly felt uncomfortable. God, what a stupid thing to say. "I-- I'm just gonna get dressed and check on Marie, okay?"

"Marie?"

"The kid. Rogue. Whatever she's calling herself. Marie."

"Marie," Jean repeated, this time in a whisper. How was it that, in less than an hour's time, Logan had gotten Rogue's real name from her, when they'd known her for more than two years and she'd never revealed it? She could feel the headache beginning behind her eyes. She couldn't deal with the romantic wreckage Logan would most certainly leave in his wake. She would have to have a talk with Rogue, and soon.

"Yeah." The silence stretched again and he slipped off the table. "My clothes?"

A pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt came floating at him. "The blood wouldn't come out," she said, forestalling his question. He nodded, anger rising again at the thought of Creed spilling Marie's blood so callously.

Jean turned her back to him and he dressed quickly. The awkwardness was palpable now; he could feel it against his skin, almost taste it on the roof of his mouth. A million things raced through his mind. He wanted to apologize for everything, wanted to start over, get at least some indication that she didn't hate him.

"Jeannie--"

She spoke at the same time, still facing away from him. "Logan, Rogue is very young. I know she seems quite mature, but she's only nineteen. She's very shy and somewhat lacking in self-confidence. I don't think you--"

"Would be good for her," he interrupted grimly, all hope of salvaging some vestige of their former friendship gone. "Of course not. I'm not good enough for anyone, am I, Jean?"

She was taken aback by his vehemence. She turned. "I didn't mean that, Logan. I just -- you need to be careful with her. I don't know if Ororo explained how her mutation works--"

"She absorbs mutations."

"She absorbs much more than that," Jean said sharply. "She has a mind full of your thoughts and memories. She manifests some of your personality traits, as well. You're in her head now, Logan."

He stood, stunned at the revelation. Storm hadn't told him that. "I'm, I'm sorry. I didn't know," he choked out. "I need to see her."

He walked out, leaving the doctor staring after him, rubbing her forehead.

God, he thought. Now I remember why I didn't want to come back here. His guilt at the way his relationship with Jean had ended surfaced, and he could tell she wasn't reacting well to his feelings for Marie. Not that he'd even mentioned them, but that lecture hadn't been for nothing.

He thought then, about what she'd said regarding Marie's mutation, and had to work to stifle a grin. That meant she knew how he felt.

Which would have been more comforting if he'd been able to figure it out himself. He'd never been one for examining his feelings, though, and he was willing to go with his gut on this one.

He wanted Marie and she wanted him. There was something between them that needed to be explored.

Everything else was secondary.

The mansion was much as he remembered it. He found a pair of black leather gloves that looked like they'd fit in the locker room, and then he set off to find Marie.

Using his nose, he tracked her to a room on the second floor, where the older students, the ones who didn't go off to college, lived.

He knocked and she called, "Come in."

Her eyes widened when she saw him in the doorway, and before he knew what hit him, she'd flung herself into his arms and hugged him tightly.

"You're okay. Thank God, you're okay. I was so worried that I'd killed you."

He stroked her hair gently. "Takes a lot more than that to kill me, Marie," he rumbled, enjoying the feel of her body pressed to his. Then he pulled back. "How are you?"

She smiled brightly and, without the slightest hint of self-consciousness, took off her shirt.

She wasn't wearing a bra.

He stared at her full, high breasts and felt his mouth water and his groin tighten.

"Good as new, just like you said," she answered. "See?" And she unzipped her jeans to show him her abdomen.

She wasn't wearing any underwear either. He wondered if that was one of the traits she'd picked up from him or if she always went without. It was highly arousing to think that there had been nothing between them last night but two layers of denim and leather.

He reached out and put his hand on her belly. His fingers splayed out, covering the soft flesh that looked as if it had never been touched, let alone ripped open less than twenty-four hours earlier. He felt her breathe in sharply as he slowly caressed her, mesmerized by the contrast of black leather on pale skin.

His other hand snaked around her, cupping her bottom and pulling her closer as his fingers continued to trace lazy circles on her abdomen.

Her breathing was ragged now, and he could smell her desire as he dipped lower into her jeans, tangling his fingers in the dark curls of her sex.

Her eyes and her head dropped as the sensation of being touched overwhelmed her; she leaned back into his hand for support, her hands pushing her jeans down over her hips to give him better access.

"Logan," she hissed, licking her lips. "Please..."

He walked her back to the bed and gently eased her down upon it, his eyes feasting on the flush spreading down her breasts. She raised her hips, urging him to do more than simply rest his hand on her groin.

"Marie," he whispered, sinking down on the bed beside her, pushing her hair off her forehead. He stared down into her eyes, glazed with desire, and saw her complete and utter trust in him.

He jerked his hand away as if he'd been stung.

She was young, innocent, and he was about to take advantage of her newfound hero-worship for him.

He really was the despicable jackass everyone thought he was.

"Logan?" She reached for his hand and he pulled away. She flinched at that, and he realized that he'd just hurt her again. She rolled off the bed and quickly donned her shirt and a pair of gloves.

He hadn't even noticed her hands were bare.

"It's okay," she said dully. "I understand."

He jumped up and cupped her chin, so she had to look at him. "I don't think you do, kid. I don't want--"

"Me. It's okay. I get it. You don't have to spell it out."

His hands went to her shoulders. He wanted to shake her. "I thought you had me in your head," he said. She nodded. "And what am I saying?"

She snorted. "Mostly just, 'Mine.' You're not real clear up there, Logan. It's not like you're a whole other person. It's more like I know how you feel about things and I can see some of your memories. You're not talking to me, or anything. That'd just be weird."

"Marie, this whole thing is weird." He sighed. "I do want you. Really. I wouldn't have -- I wouldn't have touched you if I didn't. But you're young and--"

"And I have deadly skin and could hurt you." She sounded tired, a one hundred and eighty degree turnaround from when he'd walked into her room. "I understand. I've heard it before." He just stood and looked at her. "I think you should leave now."

He wanted to say something, do something to make her feel better. "Marie--"

"Out. Now."

He sighed and left the room. She closed the door and he settled on the floor outside, the sound of her sobs tearing him up inside.

Rogue dropped onto the bed and sobbed hysterically. Stupid, stupid, stupid, she told herself over and over. She'd flung herself at him and he'd rejected her. Whatever this "Mine" shit he kept feeding her in her head was, it obviously wasn't what he was really thinking or feeling. Or maybe he thought of her as a daughter or something. "Oh, God, no," she groaned, covering her face with a pillow, wondering if she'd just recreated a scene out of a Greek tragedy.

She tried to sort him out in her head, but her own emotions were clouding everything, and she knew she wouldn't be able to meditate as the Professor had taught her.

He probably still loves Jean, she thought darkly, just before drifting off into sleep, where she dreamt that her room was invaded by mice and she wasn't able to run away from them.

He was still sitting outside her door when Xavier found him.

"Come with me, please, Logan," the Professor said, evincing no surprise that the Canadian had camped outside Rogue's door.

Logan unfolded himself from the floor and said, "Storm said you have a proposition for me?"

Xavier nodded. As they moved down the hallway to the elevator, he said, "Yes. Regardless of whether you agree, though, I want you to know this. I've found what I think is a solid lead on the people who experimented on you. I have the file in my office."

Logan felt the excitement jolt through him. He'd given up the search five years ago, when he'd first joined the X-Men. He tried to hide his eagerness, knowing that trying to hide things from the telepath was usually futile. "And?" he asked nonchalantly.

"And, while you are searching, I'd like you to make contact with some of my people, possibly forge new connections out in the field."

Logan raised an eyebrow. That wasn't too much to ask, he admitted to himself. I could do that.

~Yes, I rather thought you could,~ came Xavier's amused response in his head.

"You know how I feel about that," Logan growled.

Xavier simply smiled. "You are willing to help us?"

"I suppose."

"Once an X-Man, always an X-Man, Logan," Xavier said.

"Like the Mafia, huh?" Logan thought of Michael Corleone and quirked an eyebrow.

"Or the Catholic Church," Xavier replied with a chuckle. Then he became serious again. "That was a very brave thing you did, with Rogue."

They reached his office and Xavier rolled behind the desk, while Logan paced in front of it.

"Why does everyone sound so surprised at that?"

"Not surprised. Just -- concerned. Rogue is a very special young woman--"

"Who's too young and too good for the likes of me. Yeah, Chuck, Jeannie already gave me the lecture. I'm waiting for Scooter to pipe up, and then this day will be complete."

"I'm not going to judge your romantic choices, Logan, nor Rogue's. However, just be aware that her mutation is severe, and its effects on her can be traumatic."

"You mean having me in her head."

"You, Magneto, other people she's touched. Jean and I have been training her, over the years she's been here, to deal with their presences. But as she's working through the memories and personalities -- learning to store them away -- she grows very attached to the person she's absorbed."

"So you're saying that this thing between us isn't real? It's just her mutation? What about--"

"I am saying nothing of the sort, Logan. If you would permit me to finish?" Logan nodded. "I am asking you to be careful of her. We care for her deeply. We were unable to protect her when she first came here -- Magneto got hold of her, and she almost died."

Logan nodded. He'd heard about the incident at the Statue of Liberty that resulted in Magneto's capture. He figured the X-Men had been involved.

"It took a long time for her to recover, and she is rather special to all of us. She was on the run when we found her -- Scott and Ororo saved her from Sabretooth. She has become a younger sister to them, and to Jean as well. They're very protective of her, as am I."

"And not real fond of me," Logan interrupted, his voice dry. "I don't know, Chuck." He sat down, pulling a cigar from his pocket and sticking it in his mouth for a moment, taking the time to think through what he wanted to say. Removing the cigar, he said, "Do you believe -- This is going to sound nuts, but, do you think people ever just connect? I mean, before that prick Creed showed up, Marie and I -- there was this thing, Chuck. I never felt anything like it before. I mean --"

"Bells rang and angels sang?"

Logan growled. "You're not funny." He stood and resumed pacing. "I'm serious. I'm outta my depth here."

Xavier took pity on him. While Logan had left under a cloud, their friendship had never suffered because of it. "I can't tell you what you're feeling, Logan, but I believe you once told me that your gut is rarely wrong. Having seen that proven in action, I can only give your advice back to you. Follow your gut -- or your heart, my friend. Just, please, be wary of hurting Rogue."

"Yeah."

Rogue woke around midnight, her eyes heavy and swollen.

Craving a cigar and a beer, she headed down to the kitchen. She knew Scott kept some fancy import in the fridge, though something -- Logan? -- told her she'd be happy enough with a Labatt's Blue.

She made it to the darkened kitchen without meeting anyone, and had just settled down with a bottle of Heineken and a cigarette stolen from Johnny's secret stash when Jean arrived.

"Couldn't sleep either, huh?" Jean asked sympathetically.

"Slept too much."

"Those things will kill you," Jean ventured, after Rogue let the silence stretch out between them. "If 'Ro doesn't get you first for smoking in the house.

Rogue shrugged. "I'm feeling lucky." And she was, overall.

"Cheating death is a heady experience," Jean said.

Rogue raised an eyebrow, a gesture that was painfully familiar to Jean, though the girl had never done it before. "That's rude, don't you think? Looking into my head like that?"

"I didn't have to look, Rogue. You're projecting quite strongly."

"Oh, so now it's my fault?"

Jean rubbed her forehead. She had a feeling her headache wouldn't be going away any time soon.

"Look, Marie--"

"Don't call me that!" Rogue jumped up, knocking the beer over and catching it just before it spilled.

"Fine, Rogue. What you're feeling now -- it isn't real. It's, it's part of your mutation. Remember how you felt about Magneto after the Statue of Liberty?"

Rogue had walked around claiming she was going to join the Brotherhood, because Charles's dream was foolish. She'd also flirted coyly with the Professor, creeping out the younger students.

"This is different," Rogue insisted.

"No, it's not. You identify with whomever you absorb," Jean said, slipping into doctor mode to keep calm. "It's just manifesting differently this time. The mechanism is the same."

Rogue's eyes grew crafty. "Then wouldn't I be hitting on you, instead of him? "

"Excuse me?"

"With Erik, I relived his attachment," she made air quotes at the word, "to the Professor. So, wouldn't it follow that, if my feelings for Logan were the result of absorbing him, I should really be crushing on you, not him? Hmm?" In her eagerness to make her point, Rogue felt no shame in admitting her feelings for Logan.

Jean flushed. "Are you saying Logan is still in love with me?" Her voice was a mixture of disbelief and sadness, tinged with regret.

"Look, I'm sorry about what happened with you guys. I really am. But that was five years ago. Logan is sorry too, though he'll probably never say it. This thing with him and me -- it's got nothing to do with you or my mutation."

"I know you believe that, Rogue, but when he leaves, you'll see that I'm right." She laid a sympathetic hand on Rogue's arm. "Please think about what I'm saying. You're only going to get hurt. Logan is older and much more experienced. A girl like you--"

Rogue shook the hand off her arm. "I don't know where you get off telling me this shit, Jeannie. You've got a lot of nerve. You don't know what you're talking about, so I'd really appreciate it if you stayed the hell out of my business." She stomped to the door. "And out of my head," she said, firing a parting shot over her shoulder.

Jean slumped over the table, her headache worse than before.

The next morning found Logan once again closeted with the Professor, and Rogue catching up with her friends, some of whom had known Logan during his first stay at the school.

"Christ, his combat training class was worse than most of the fights we've been in," St. John noted.

"But damn, he looked hot," Jubes said. "He'd get all sweaty and take off his shirt..." She trailed off, lapsing into memory as Kitty and Dani nodded in agreement.

"He'd take his shirt off at the drop of a hat," Dani said. "It was almost magical, the way his shirts just disappeared."

Jean overheard them talking in the rec room and walked away, looking for someone who wasn't interested in discussing the Wolverine.

She found Ororo out in the gardens, overseeing the staff, who were preparing for the spring planting.

"You look troubled," the weather goddess observed.

Jean grinned ruefully. "Nothing gets by you, 'Ro."

Ororo smiled in return. "It perpetuates my image as an all-knowing goddess." That won a laugh. "So, do you want to talk about it?" Ororo sat down on a bench and patted the seat next to her.

Jean sighed. "It's nothing... It's everything."

"It's Logan."

Jean shook her head. "No. It's Rogue." She ran a hand through her perfectly coiffed hair, ruining the look it had taken her thirty minutes with the blow dryer to achieve. "She was sitting in the kitchen last night, with a cigarette and a beer. We argued -- It could have been him."

"It will pass."

"Yes, but until it does... I know he'll be leaving soon, and it will break her heart. She thinks there's some sort of bond between them, 'Ro, some mystical love connection. She's going to get hurt -- badly -- and she won't listen to me."

"Would you have listened, at her age?"

A brief, mirthless chuckle. "I guess not."

Ororo bit her lip, obviously choosing her words carefully. "There was definitely a spark between them, before Creed interrupted," she said at last.

"Et tu, Ororo?" Jean was irritated. "She's nineteen years old, for God's sake. Granted, she's very pretty, but there's no way she'd be able to hold him, if he even is interested, which I highly doubt."

"Are you still in love with him?"

"What? Of course not! I --" Jean leaned forward, resting her head on her knees, for a moment reminding Ororo of the teenager she'd been -- they'd both been -- when they first met. Then she sat up and, once again, was the poised, confident Dr. Jean Grey. "No, Ororo. I realize I sound childish, but it's not because I want him. He and I -- we couldn't give each other what we needed. We had an attraction, nothing more, and that burned itself out." She swallowed. "I just don't want to see Rogue broken when he leaves."

"Maybe she is stronger than you think."

Jean shrugged. "Maybe, but I doubt it. He's -- he's all-consuming when he wants you, and then, when he's not interested anymore, it's as if you don't exist. It's, it's very hard."

"He isn't one to play games, Jean. He won't lead her on."

"He won't have to," Jean replied darkly. "He shows his appreciation for a woman by flirting. You said yourself he was chatting her up at that bar. But it doesn't mean anything." She stood and flung her arms wide. "You or I would understand, but Rogue -- she took it seriously.

"Despite what he thinks, I know he'd never take advantage of her. But she'll see that as a rejection. That's what I'm afraid of. There's no good way for this to end for Rogue."

"You don't need to worry, Jeannie. I already fucked it up."

She whirled to see Logan standing on the grass. "'Ro?" she said in a dangerous tone.

Storm held up her hands. "I didn't see him until just before he spoke, Jean." She stood, as well. "I imagine you two have much to discuss. Jean, don't worry so much. Logan, follow your heart, but know that all of us love Rogue dearly, and do not wish to see her hurt." And she strode off toward the house, regal as a lioness.

"The goddess has spoken," Logan muttered.

Jean looked at him, then at the bench, feeling awkward. They had made love there once, she recalled, blushing, back when the air between them crackled with lust and they could barely keep their hands off each other. It had been a short affair that burned hot and fast; it had cooled quickly in the face of reality, leaving her hollow, alone, and grieving for her baby. Ashes were the only thing left of that all-consuming passion.

"He'd have been five this summer," Logan said, his voice subdued.

She'd forgotten how perceptive he was. He hid it beneath the badass persona, but he knew people as well as anyone she'd ever met. He was a hunter, and had thoroughly studied his prey.

"Yes." It was little more than a sigh.

"I'm -- dammit, Jeannie, I'm sorry about the whole thing. I was an asshole. It was-- I never thought of myself as a father before, you know? It made me wonder if I had kids out there that I never knew, and that just made me angry. And I'm, I'm sorry I took it out on you. You didn't deserve it. You needed me, and I fucked up.

"Just like I did with Marie."

"I don't think I want to hear this, Logan," Jean said, resignation evident on her face. "But you should probably tell me what you did."

He dropped his eyes. "You're right. She's too good, too trusting for someone like me."

"So you are interested in her?"

He gave a sharp bark of what might have been laughter. "Interested? Jesus, what a freakin' understatement. I think I've found the woman I wanna spend the rest of my life with, and you ask if I'm interested?"

"Okay, first off, stop it with the melodramatic crap. I can't take it, especially not from you." She ran a hand through her hair again. "And secondly, are you insane?"

"Certifiable, Red." He shrugged. "Look and see if you don't believe me." He grabbed her hand and brought it to the side of his head.

She inhaled sharply. The fact that he was willing to let her read him was statement enough, but she closed her eyes and opened her mind to him.

She jerked her hand -- and her mind -- away, overwhelmed by the tumult of his emotions. Love, lust, a strong desire to protect Rogue and make amends to her, shaded with regret at his behavior the night before and five years prior.

Mostly, though, there was a strong sense of connection, completion -- possession.

The animal in him had chosen a mate.

Jean collapsed onto the bench, her legs trembling.

"God," she breathed, and it was both an exclamation and a prayer.

He nodded. "I'm in over my head."

She could see the tension in his overly casual stance. "No shit, Sherlock."

That wrung another chuckle out of him, this one less harsh than the first. He shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot, shoving his hands into his pockets and hunching his shoulders. "So--"

"Just give her time, Logan. If it's not her mutation, her feelings for you will still be there when you come back. Just explain why you have to go and see how she reacts."

"I wasn't planning on coming back."

"If you want to find out the truth about this -- thing between you, I'd say you have to."

"Yeah, I suppose," he replied, but he didn't sound convinced. He stood silently for a moment, staring off into the distance. "Thanks, Jean," he said finally. "I mean it."

She rose and smiled, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek. "I know. Good luck."

She returned to the house, still confused by the feelings flowing between Logan and Rogue, but some of the tension had left her body and her headache had eased.

With a firm nod, she decided to be decadent, and spend the rest of the day in bed, with a book. She deserved a break.

Logan left Rogue alone, hoping he'd figure out the right words to say to her.

When he finally did try to speak with her, a couple of hours after dinner, she stomped out of the rec room and slammed the door to her bedroom in his face. Then she refused to come out.

He settled down on the floor once again, resigning himself to spending the night there, on the off-chance she'd change her mind. He fidgeted a little with the gloves he wore, then decided keeping them on was safer than having to fumble for them if he needed them later.

He contented himself with listening to her as she puttered around the room. As it grew later, he fought off the images of her nude body laid out before him, his hands caressing that pale, deadly flesh until she writhed in pleasure, moaning his name.

He shifted uncomfortably, his jeans a little tighter than they'd been a few minutes before, as he heard the shower running. The Wolverine inside wanted to bust down the door and join her, but he had control of himself. Nevertheless, he relaxed a little when the shower stopped.

When the light under the door went off, he allowed himself to fall into a light doze, confident that he would wake immediately if she needed him.

Rogue knew she was being childish, proving everything Jean had said about her, but God, how could she help it? He'd rejected her so completely after she'd thrown herself at him.

She knew it wasn't a game; she even knew he had no desire to hurt her, but still, her heart -- and, if she was honest with herself, her pride - had suffered a major blow.

She sat at the desk -- the bed held too-vivid memories of last night's humiliation -- and read for a while, trying to get a jump on studying for finals.

Sometimes she had to laugh at the absurdity of her life -- studying art by day and making the world safe for mutantkind at night. Add in life-sucking skin, a taciturn man with razor-sharp, nine-inch metal claws, and an unrequited crush, and even she couldn't take it seriously.

She tried to lose herself in her history notes, but reading about immigrant life in America in the early part of the twentieth century inevitably led to discussion of Ellis Island, which just brought back memories of her near-death experience at the Statue of Liberty.

Yet another absurdity, that the beacon of hope and freedom symbolized nothing but hatred and death to her. She couldn't hate Magneto, because she knew what he'd been through, but she couldn't forgive him for taking her innocence and trust in the human race with a single touch.

It had taken her months to recover. Jean hadn't been sure she'd ever regain her full strength, and they'd called Hank back from Berkeley to consult. With careful nursing, over an eight-month convalescence, she'd done it. Gotten better. Gotten stronger. She'd survived Magneto trying to kill her body, and she would survive Logan crushing her heart.

She wished she could go back in time -- she would have declined the mission. It was unusual, but not unheard of, and, with her position as Scott's pet, she'd have gotten away with it. Then she never would have shared those heated looks with Logan, never have jumped in to defend him (another thing that made her laugh mirthlessly -- as if he'd needed her help), and never been shown so clearly how undesirable she was.

She felt unreasoning panic sweep through her at the memory of Sabretooth ripping her guts out, and realized that she would never be free of Logan. His thoughts and feelings colored her memories of the incident; he was part of her now and no amount of wishing would change that.

Sighing, she looked at the clock. Too early for bed. She decided on a relaxing shower, inhaling the lemon-scented shower gel eagerly.

She was aware of Logan sitting outside her door. That knowledge sent warmth flooding into her chest, and other parts of her anatomy, but she knew it was simply his desire to protect her. He'd somehow conflated her with Jean's baby, and refused to be helpless again in the face of death. That urge had been what moved him to touch her, heal her, even though he had no idea what it could have cost him.

She slipped into a light cotton nightie that covered her from neck to toe, slid in between the sheets, and turned off the light.

Breathing deeply, as Xavier had taught her, she brought her unruly thoughts under control and eventually fell asleep.

// She was strapped down, helpless, her body submerged in cold liquid.

She heard the laser before she saw it -- a low, buzzing sound that would forever instill fear in her whenever she heard the hum of an appliance in the middle of the night.

And then they were cutting her, laying bare the bones that formed her skeleton. They poured the red hot metal into the incisions. It hissed as it hit the cold water. Steam rose, wreathing the doctors in fine mist. It set fire to every nerve and sinew; there was no escape from the pain.

She couldn't breathe enough to scream, couldn't close her eyes. All she could do was burn in her own private hell.

She heard them laughing, proud of the abomination they were witnessing -- the twisting of a human body into a machine built to kill. The scent of her own blood filled her nose, and she vowed that one day, it would be theirs. She'd bathe in it, revel in it, drink it in her cup of revenge. //

Logan moved from sleep to waking instantly, aware of every sound along the dark corridor.

He heard Marie grunting wordlessly in her sleep.

I hope she's dreaming of me.

He'd barely formed the thought when her cries became words.

"No, no, no!"

With a vicious kick, he opened the door and grabbed her by the shoulders, stilling her thrashing body.

"Marie. Marie, baby, wake up," he commanded, his voice thick with fear. "It's just a nightmare."

Another gentle shake and she let out a roar, her eyes snapping open and darting wildly around the room. She struggled in his embrace as he pulled her gently to his chest, stroking her hair.

"Hush, baby. I'm here now," he murmured.

"Logan?" She was still panting and shaking in fear; the stink of it almost overwhelmed the warm, sleepy scent of her.

"Yeah, it's me," he reassured her. He closed the door and slipped into the bed beside her. "It was just a nightmare."

She snuggled into him, crying, seeking comfort. He could smell the salt of her tears, feel their dampness seeping into his shirt.

"It was so real... What they did to you..." she sobbed. "How can people be such monsters?"

That plaintive cry struck at his heart. She'd had one of his nightmares -- even in trying to heal her he'd fucked up.

"They're just evil, Marie. They've got nothing to do with you, though. They're not gonna get you. It was just a nightmare. Let it go."

She raised her eyes, glimmering with tears, to his. "I could feel the pain -- God, Logan, how did you live through that?"

"That's what we do, darlin'. We survive. We endure." His voice was firm, calm. He brushed the tears from her face with his leather-clad thumbs, wishing he could kiss them away.

One touch led to another, and he couldn't stop. He was addicted to the feel of her beneath the leather of his gloves. It wasn't everything he wished for, but it was close enough.

The touches quickly changed from comforting to sensual. His breathing became ragged, his control tenuous, as his hands stroked her shoulders and hips, skating lightly over the sides of her breasts as he hoped she wouldn't stop him.

Her hands -- bare, delicate, yet strong -- roamed over his body, learning the feel of him through his flannel and jeans. He thought he might come just from touching her.

He rained kisses on her hair, then pulled the cotton of her nightgown up over her lips to finally taste her as he'd dreamt of since the first moment he'd laid eyes on her.

It was a little odd at first, the feel of her lips through the thin cotton lawn, but the mingling of their breath soon dampened the cloth, allowing him to almost forget they weren't skin to skin.

He closed his eyes, willing himself to keep control. He nipped lightly at her full lower lip, and when she gasped, slid his tongue into her mouth.

She tasted of sleep and something sweeter than the finest honey.

At first, she was tentative, but she grew bolder as the kiss deepened, their tongues tangling almost desperately, each trying to drink their fill of the other.

She ran her hands through his hair, memorizing the shape of his skull as he slid his hands down her back, cupping her ass and bringing her body flush against his. She gasped at the feel of his erection pressing against her thigh. Her hands came up between them and pushed him away.

It took him a moment to regain enough breath to speak.

"What -- What's wrong, Marie?"

"Did you love Jean?" she asked, her voice soft, still carrying a hint of Mississippi, which drove him wild with desire.

"Love? I don't know. I thought I did. I know lust -- passion. I wanted her, and she wanted me."

Rogue wouldn't meet his eyes. "I don't know anything about those things." Her voice was a whisper and she creased and uncreased the sheet, her hands giving away her anxiety, even if her scent and her voice hadn't.

"Look, darlin', you don't have any reason to be nervous. I'm not -- I'm not looking to take advantage of you," he said, and he knew it was a lie. If he wasn't going to take advantage of her innocence, he'd have gotten up and left before things had gone this far.

But need -- something with which he was as familiar as lust and passion -- moved him, and he couldn't leave this girl alone. It was instinctual, primal -- the beast in him insisted Marie was his, and he no longer had the strength to fight it.

"I know that," she said, her voice still barely audible. "But, but -- what if Jean's right? What if this thing between us is nothing more than some trick of my mutation? What if I've somehow done something to you, and your feelings aren't real, either?"

He blinked. This was over his head. Like everything since he'd met this girl. He tightened his arms around her.

"Darlin', since I laid eyes on you in that bar, I've wanted to do this. It has nothing to do with your mutation on my end. If you think your feelings aren't real --" he broke off and swallowed hard at that thought, which sent a chill of real fear down his spine. "If you want to wait, I'm all right with that. I understand. This, this is some heavy shit between us, and--"

She placed a finger over his lips, lightning-fast, stilling the flow of words.

"Just hold me for now."

He sighed in relief. It wasn't enough -- not by a long shot, but it was a hell of a lot better than nothing.

"Whatever you want, Marie."

He pressed her head to his chest and rested his chin on it, stroking her back gently.

Rogue woke to the sound of a heart beating under her ear. From the even rise and fall of Logan's chest, she figured he was still asleep. She thought she would feel awkward -- maybe embarrassed, maybe dirty -- by what had happened between them last night, but it just felt right. She was comfortable, and she could tell he was, though if the bulge pressing insistently against her thigh was anything to go by, he wouldn't be when he woke up.

But maybe she could do something about that.

Reaching down, she began stroking him through the denim of his jeans.

That woke him pretty quickly.

He growled sleepily, like a bear waking from a long winter's hibernation, and raised an eyebrow at her look of concentration.

"Marie."

"Morning, sugar."

"You don't have to -- last night, I meant what I said. I don't want you doin' anything you're not comfortable with."

She rubbed harder, earning a groan. God, he was going to come in his pants if she didn't stop it.

"I know, Logan. But I've been thinking about it, and I want to do this for you -- with you. I want to touch you and I want you to touch me, if you still want to."

He sucked in a deep breath at her words. "You sure, baby?" She nodded, her eyes wide. He could smell her arousal, tinged with a slight hint of apprehension. "Put your gloves on."

She took a pair of velvet gloves off the night table and turned toward him, her hand already reaching down to unzip his pants.

"Whoa, darlin', we don't have to go so fast. I want you to be comfortable."

She blushed. "I thought -- the memories I have from you--"

He winced. He hadn't always been the most considerate lover, generally being a fan of the quick and dirty fuck. "I don't want it to be like that for you, Marie. I want it to be the best thing you've ever felt."

She leaned her elbows on his chest and ran one fingertip down his nose. "It already is, Logan."

He growled again, the Wolverine fully awakened to the fact that his mate was ready and willing and in his arms. He rolled them over so he was on top, and began pressing gentle kisses to her neck through her hair.

He reveled in the feel of her lithe body beneath him, his hands cupping her breasts, thumbs circling over her nipples. She gasped at the bolt of electricity that shot to her core. Her own hands had never produced quite that sensation.

His lips slid along her collarbone; occasionally he nipped her lightly through the cotton and then laved the sting away with his tongue. She continued her exploration of him, her small hands eagerly touching him, gliding under his shirt to stroke his chest and stomach.

He sat back on his haunches for a moment, trapping her beneath him as he pulled his shirt off, heedless of the buttons that went flying everywhere.

She licked her lips at the sculpted perfection of him and he grinned ferally. He took her hand and placed it over his heart -- she could feel its wild beating against her palm.

"You do this to me, Marie."

She grinned back, awed and humbled by her power over him. "I can't believe this is real," she whispered.

He ran a finger over her full lips, closing his eyes and letting desire wash over him as she flicked the leather with her tongue, then drew it into her mouth. "Me, neither," he said. "I keep thinking I'm going to wake up and this will all be a beautiful dream." She pinched him playfully and he jumped. "Ow."

"I guess you're awake," she giggled.

"I've got a better way of proving it," he said.

"Ooh, is that a threat?"

"A promise, darlin'. I need to kiss you now." She pulled the cotton nightgown over her lips and he moistened it with his tongue. A vague memory of chocolate-covered cotton flashed through his brain, only to be drowned amidst the sensation of his tongue being sucked into her mouth. His hips jerked against her and she let her legs fall over so he could move between them.

Her hands stroked through his hair, down his back, stopping to squeeze his ass. "You have the cutest butt."

He snorted, and she kissed him again. Her hands on his ass reminded him -- he had a condom in his wallet, and he was sure they'd need it soon. Without breaking their kiss, he maneuvered the wallet out of his pocket and managed to get the foil-wrapped packet into his hand. The wallet fell to the floor, unnoticed. He put the condom on the nightstand.

Rogue thrust her tongue into his mouth, learning the taste of him. She moved her hands around to the front of his jeans, eagerly tracing the treasure trail of dark hair that disappeared into his waistband.

She was fascinated by the way his muscles jumped and tensed when she touched him, and highly gratified by his gasp of pleasure when she undid his jeans and ran one gloved hand over his hard cock, the tip already glistening with a pearl of pre-come.

"Marie--"

"Tell me what to do, sugar. I've never done this before."

"Stroke me," he replied hoarsely, gritting his teeth to keep his hips from bucking as she did what he told her.

He was too close. His hand gripped hers, moved it off his penis. "Did I do it wrong?" she said, and he cursed himself as an unfeeling bastard at the quaver in her voice.

"No, baby, you were doing it perfect -- exactly right. I just -- I wanna make it last. I want to be inside you when I come."

Her eyes widened and her lips formed an 'O'. He ran the back of his hand down her cheekbone and she took it and stroked the spaces between his knuckles. With his other hand, he caressed her hip, squeezing lightly, his lips falling to engulf one of her taut nipples.

"Oh! Logan," she gasped, instinctively arching into him. He licked and sucked at her through the cotton before moving to the other breast. Meanwhile, the hand on her hip slid between her legs, pushing the material of the nightgown out of the way.

"Do you trust me, Marie?" His voice was strangely intent.

She answered without hesitation, "Always." And then heard the sound of a claw being extended so he could cut a slit in her underwear.

He didn't think it was possible to be any more aroused, but the scent of her washing over him made his cock ache even more.

He stroked her gently, marveling at how wet she was for him. She made small noises in the back of her throat as he circled her clit with his thumb and gently delved first one finger and then two into her tight, hot passage.

Knowing that he was the first man to do this to her gave him a heady feeling. A rush of possessiveness flooded him, and he buried his face between her legs, flicking his tongue -- lightning-quick, so her skin couldn't react -- over her mound.

"Oh, oh, oh! Logan!" she cried, and he felt her muscles ripple, pulling his fingers deeper into her.

As she was coming down from her climax, he found the condom and rolled it on, positioning himself at her entrance.

"Just relax, Marie," he said, pushing her damp hair off her forehead and whispering in her ear. He pushed her feet up the bed so her knees were bent and she was spread open for him. "We're gonna do this slow."

He kept his eyes locked on hers as he eased himself into her, ignoring the animal instinct that made him want to thrust hard and fast, marking her as his forever. But she was already tensing, nervous even after her orgasm and he didn't want to cause her any pain if he could avoid it. He pushed through her hymen and she gasped and bit her lip.

"Marie?"

His body was slicked with sweat and she could see the tension in his arms as he held himself so very still, not resting his weight on her, trying to make her comfortable.

"I'm fine," she said with a smile that seemed only a little forced. "I just -- it was a pinch. I wasn't really expecting--" she shifted her hips and he groaned. "I'm okay now, Logan. I want you to do it. Please." She raised her hands to stroke his face gently, then slid them down his back to grab his ass again. "Please," she said again, and this time, there was no pain, just wonder in her voice and her eyes, as she got used to the feel of him inside her.

He began moving slowly, just rocking back and forth at first. "God, you're so beautiful, Marie. So tight and hot," he muttered in her ear. "I want you so much."

She hadn't expected him to be talkative during sex. Even he was surprised at how differently he was going about this whole experience. He couldn't remember ever being somebody's first, and it seemed very important that he do it right, make it good for her, and not just because he loved her, but because everyone deserves that, at least.

She was soon moving in time with him, her legs wrapped around his jeans-clad thighs, her hands trying to push him in deeper.

She arched her body, clamping her inner muscles around him, and Logan lost control. Everything he'd kept bottled up inside -- all the feelings he couldn't believe he was having toward this delicate, untouchable girl -- just poured out of him as he pounded his body into hers. He couldn't tell where she ended and he began as he roared and spasmed, feeling the orgasm begin at the base of his spine and radiate throughout his body.

When he came down, he buried his face in her hair, inhaling their combined scent. He nipped lightly at her neck, leaving a mark -- she was his now, and he wanted everybody to know it.

"I love you, Logan," she whispered, stroking his hair and cradling his body with her own.

He realized that he hadn't heard or felt her come and he flushed with embarrassment. He'd behaved like an inexperienced teenager, or a selfish bastard.

"I love you, too, Marie, and I promise, it's gonna be better next time. I just -- I got a little carried away." He was already hard again, just at the thought, and he realized he needed to remove the condom before it broke or leaked.

He cleaned himself up a little, grateful for the garbage pail beside her bed, into which he dropped the used rubber, and realized that it was his only one.

"Shit."

"Logan, what's wrong?" She knelt up behind him, her hand on his shoulder. He turned to see her dark eyes were wide and somewhat apprehensive. "Is it -- is it me? Did I not do okay?"

He pulled her into his lap. "Fuck, no, Marie! It's me. I'm a jackass. I wanted -- I wanted it to be good for you, and well, it wasn't, was it? I mean, you didn't--" This wasn't a conversation he had ever had -- had ever needed to have, really. Usually, his partners were very happy when they were done fucking. And if they weren't he didn't really care. But she wasn't, and he did.

"I didn't -- come, you mean?" she asked, her voice shy but her eyes twinkling. He nodded. "That's okay, Logan. I did before. I never felt anything like that -- it was amazing. So if you're happy, I'm happy."

He laid her back down on the bed. "Well, let's see if we can do it again, darlin'." He was going to focus himself completely on her, making her scream in ecstasy, or his name wasn't Wolverine.

Several hours, and three orgasms later (he was very good with his hands and tongue, Rogue learned. The lack of condoms, while bothersome, was an obstacle he was able to work around.), he finally let her out of the room.

They'd showered, which had taken quite a bit longer than expected when he discovered her stash of rubber gloves in the cabinet under the sink, and were just in time for lunch.

Logan told Rogue he'd meet her out in the garden, where they could eat alone. They had a lot to talk about, and he didn't want anyone interrupting them. Then he went off to pack a bag for his trip north.

She sat down gingerly on a bench with her turkey sandwich and tried to process everything that had happened that morning.

She -- the untouchable girl, the girl with toxic skin -- had had sex. She'd thought it would never happen. And to top it all off, she'd had sex with the hottest man she'd ever met -- who somehow thought he was in love with her.

Life was pretty good, considering that three days ago, she'd been resigned to a life without sex and without love.

She had just taken a bite when Scott sat down next to her.

"Mind some company?" he said.

She shrugged and pointed apologetically to her full mouth.

"Keep chewing. I just wanted to talk to you about Logan."

She swallowed and tensed. "Scott--"

"No, Rogue, listen to me first. Please." She bit her lip, but said nothing. "Ororo told you what happened five years ago. I don't -- I don't hold it against him. Jean and I -- we were falling apart anyway, we just wouldn't admit it. I was already half in love with 'Ro, so I'm not in any position to cast stones at Jean for turning to someone else.

"But Logan -- he's not, he's not stable, Rogue. He's carrying a lot of baggage, and he'll run at the first sign of trouble. You deserve better than that. I don't know what kind of line he's feeding you--"

"Scott! It's not a line."

"Let me finish, please. Maybe it's not. Maybe he really believes he's in love with you -- though how he could think that when he's only spent what -- not even twenty-four hours with you? -- I don't know. But it's not real, Rogue. It's just --"

She leapt to her feet, knocking her bottled water to the ground. Neither noticed. "What? Lust? Or some sort of weird game? Is it just a big mindfuck? Let's see how we can screw over Rogue even more?"

He grabbed her hand. "No, Rogue." He no longer spoke in the calm measured tones of the Fearless Leader. "Jesus, no. I don't much like Logan, but I don't think he's cruel." He looked up at her and sunlight glinted off his red lenses. She wished she could see his eyes, see what he was really thinking. "He's self-destructive, Rogue," Scott finally said. "He craves danger and courts death the way other men breathe. Now that he's done it, he's leaving, Rogue. He'll be out of here by the end of the week. It's the way he is."

"So I'm just one more challenge in the Wolverine's waltz with the reaper? Is that what you're saying, Scott? Fuck the girl with untouchable skin and survive. Ooh! It's scary enough to send shivers down your spine, isn't it," she said bitterly, her voice rising as she choked back tears.

"Marie!" Logan appeared at her side. She looked at him and couldn't stop the tears from overflowing. She ran back into the house, crying.

Logan whirled on Scott. "What the hell are you doing, Summers?" he snarled.

Scott rose, his bearing loose, hands clasped behind his back. Only someone who knew him well would be able to detect his nervousness in the way his knuckles were white from the tight grip he had on himself.

"Telling her the truth about you, Logan."

Logan grabbed at the younger man's shirt, hauling him so close that they were nose to nose. "What truth would that be, One-Eye?"

"That you're an adrenaline junkie and you'll be gone within a week. That you might think you're in love with Rogue, but you'll always love yourself more, and always need to be on the move, looking for the next new thing. And you won't be coming back for her. The way you never came back for Jean." He smacked at Logan's hands. "And let go of me." He was too used to this treatment from Logan to get angry about it anymore.

Logan ignored him. "I didn't love Jean. I just thought I did."

"And you don't love Rogue. You just think you do. Even if you do come back for her after you head up to Alkali Lake, at the first sign of trouble in the relationship, you're gone. You think I don't know you, Logan, but I do. And that's exactly what you'll do." His voice was even, not accusatory.

Logan let him go and rubbed his forehead. "Christ, you're a cruel fucker, you know that?" Everything he'd said was true. Logan had run from every serious relationship -- both sexual and friendly -- he'd had in the fifteen years he could remember.

"It's not cruel to tell the truth, especially if it saves Rogue from any more pain."

"I'm not going to hurt her, Scott." There was a fierce conviction in his tone.

Scott was surprised, both at the intensity of Logan's tone -- it was a promise he'd never expected to hear the other man make -- and by its lack of mockery. He sighed in resignation. "You do and I'll kick your ass, healing factor or not, Logan."

"If I hurt her, I'll let you."

And Logan stalked off to find Marie, a plan already forming in his head on how to prove Scott wrong.

Rogue rushed back to her room, but it still smelled of sex and Logan and herself, all mingled together. She needed someplace she could think clearly, and try to sort out her thoughts, and Logan's feelings on what Scott had told her.

She made her way up to the roof and spent some time meditating. While immersed deep within herself, she realized that she'd made the choice to trust Logan, and she wasn't going to go back on that. Her decision made, she felt much calmer as she slipped back into the house to find Logan and tell him she did love him, regardless of what other people thought or said.

She found him in a bedroom down the hall from hers. He was packing a bag.

"You running again?" she asked. She tried to sound teasing and failed miserably. Her stomach churned in fear that Scott had been right and she was going to get her heart broken.

He turned and stared at her, his eyes locking onto hers with laser intensity. "Only if you'll come with me."

She gasped, and she must have moved, run into his arms, but she didn't remember that. She just knew she was suddenly pressed against him so tightly she thought he was going to crack a rib.

"Anywhere, Logan. To the ends of the earth."

"Oh, darlin' -- all that stuff Scooter said --"

"It doesn't matter, Logan."

"It's all true, Marie. You're gettin' a raw deal, you know."

"I don't care. I just want to be with you as long as you want me."

"Forever. I want forever."

"Me, too."

They were lying in bed after proving their words with kisses and caresses. "You know, I hope you really meant 'the ends of the earth,' 'cause I got this cabin up in the Yukon -- we should be able to get there soon. The spring thaws are starting. It's a little primitive -- just a cabin and some land -- but it's all mine. Ours, if you like."

"I do," she whispered, cuddling against him. "When can we leave?"

"Tomorrow, if you want. We can check out the lead on my past Chuck found, and then head on up to Dawson City."

"Works for me."

Three months later...

"God, Logan, it's so beautiful." Marie stood in the doorway of the cabin, staring out at the sunlight pouring over the land, even though it was already nine pm.

He stared at her, his heated gaze caressing the line of her jaw. "Yeah, it is." They were quiet for a few moments, then, "I guess we should unpack."

"Yeah."

They went about their work quietly; they'd settled into a rhythm in their time together, and they instinctively seemed to know what the other needed, and when.

Logan had brought all the bags into the cabin -- which was really more of a shack than he remembered it being, full of dust and dirt and evidence that many small animals had lived there over the past few months -- and was locking up the Jeep when he heard Marie's silvery laughter.

"What is it, darlin'?"

She held up a sheer black bodystocking that had been shoved deep down into one of the bags Xavier had provided upon their departure. It had a silver X embroidered over the heart.

"It's inescapable," she managed, and he smiled to see her so happy.

"Yeah." He ran a hand through her hair. "Do you want to go back?"

She leaned into him. "Someday. They're my family, Logan. Yours, too, if you want." He snorted. She put her hands on her hips. "What?"

"Oh, something Chuck told me. 'Once an X-Man, always an X-Man.'"

"Some things are just meant to be," she responded. "Like us."

"Yeah, darlin'. Just like us."