Keep On Driving

Title: Alter-Eighteen: Keep on Driving Author: Terri Email: xgrrl26@yahoo.com Rating: NC-17, sex, violence, swearing Summary: Alternative version of events in the movie and the Eighteen Series. What if Logan and Rogue just kept on driving on that road in Canada? Disclaimer: Not mine, but I wish they were..... Feedback: Please! With a cherry on top? Author's Notes: One of my friends who has graciously beta read all of the "eighteen" stories said, "They would've never ended up in the sex cabin (in Eighteen Weeks of Winter) if Sabretooth hadn't attacked them in the movie in the first place." I began wondering whether they might wind up in the sex cabin in a world without Sabretooth anyway......See why you should never say things like that around a writer? Logan turned out a little darker than my usual in this one, but it seemed to make sense, at least to me. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- He smelled her in the cage, but didn't look. A lot of people come through stinking with that much fear, that wasn't unusual. Lots more come through smelling desperate and needy. Not too many smell pure, though, and, if he'd have stopped to think, that was the element of the scent that nagged at him. Not enough to take a look around, though. When he sat at the bar, he looked. She had to be young, jail bait, not that it mattered in a place like this. Big eyes, needed a bath, fidgety. She looked like she'd rather be anywhere else in the world, looking up at that TV. He knew she was clocking him, stealing glances. Frankly, women did that a lot. Liked to watch him fight, watch him kick ass a little, then have a nice hard go at it. He didn't think he'd ever been with a woman who didn't want his protection, his roughness, or his abuse. He guessed that's what happens when you beat the shit out of people for a living. He was thinking all these thoughts instead of paying attention to his surroundings, even as he was talking to his last victim, and he heard her yell before he registered movement behind him. That just pissed him off. He should've heard the big guy move, or anticipated it at least. That's probably why the claws came out. He could've taken the guy without them, no question, that girlie little knife notwithstanding. The bartender he felt coming, already knew it was slice and dice time when he felt the cold metal pressed against his head. He almost let him shoot, just to find out if he'd heal from that too. But he didn't, and he knew he'd better leave before he gave in to the urge to run the claws through more than just metal. He didn't look at her when he went out the door, didn't smell her when she followed, and didn't notice until miles down the road what had happened. And the fact that he didn't notice because he was busy thinking about pure scents and women and fighting, and the fact that someone would have the audacity to have so little sense or instinct for self-preservation as to hitch with a claw-spouting mutant ass-kicker by trade, pissed him off again. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" "I'm sorry. I needed a ride. Thought you might help me." She didn't smell scared now, and he couldn't think of a single reason why that should be. She didn't look stupid, she didn't look like she was on the make for something, and she looked altogether too guileless to have survived on the road for long. "Get out." He couldn't fathom why she thought he might help her. He kicked the shit out of people, or fucked them, or both, if that's what they wanted, and he made his disposition pretty fucking obvious. He was about as far from being a good samaritan as you could get. "Where am I supposed to go?" "Don't know." He caught a trace of the pure scent, and fear now, though she wasn't scared of him. Just scared. And cold. And hungry. "You don't know or don't care?" "Pick one." He was thinking entirely too much again, about her smell and her big eyes, and how he was sure he didn't know where she was supposed to go, but stopped to think a second about whether he cared at all. He turned back to the truck, and her voice hit him again as he opened the door. "I saved your life." "No you didn't." Started the truck, drove away. That was just plain ridiculous. He couldn't be hurt or killed, and needed no one to watch his back. Whatever happened to him, he was never in danger of losing his life. Why the hell would she give a good goddamn anyway? It wasn't like anyone ever directed concern at the Wolverine, and she didn't know him from Adam. She'd learn soon enough, he thought, she'd learn not to extend a care, a worry, or a helping hand to anyone because they will take that opening to screw you over with it. She's young, and, pure scent or no, big eyes or no, she'll learn and soon if she stays out here. He didn't like that thought for some reason, and it made him shake his head and throw the truck into park, then cut the engine. She came running up, carrying her bag. She opened the passenger door and got in, no hesitation at all. "Thank you." He just grunted and grabbed her bag, threw it in the back of the camper. He was pissed at himself for stopping. He was about to start the engine again, telling himself that he wanted to get that scent fixed in his head, that's all. So he could avoid it if he ever smelled it again. He really didn't need this shit, and a little of the latent anger bubbled up. He took his hands off the keys, then looked at her confrontationally. "What do you want?" "I needed a ride. I'm tryin' to get to Anchorage." "What's in Anchorage?" "I don't know, just thought I'd go there." He eyed her a little more then shrugged, and turned the engine over but left it in park. He hadn't really gotten the information he wanted. Hell, he'd never been much of a conversationalist, but he should be able to get a simple answer to a simple fucking question. Maybe he hadn't asked the right question. "Why me?" She looked down and looked nervous, and for a second, he thought she didn't have an answer, that she really had just been stupid, or thoughtless when she climbed in his trailer. Or that maybe she was trying to find a lie that would please him. But when she did speak, she explained, and it was the truth. "I saw you fightin' in there, and I just.....you looked like a real person, you know? I saw you. And I just wanted to.....I don't know, not see you get hurt." "I'm not a nice guy, kid." And not the kind of guy that arouses sympathy or protective interests in others. "You're not a bad guy." She said it like she was sure, like she knew. He didn't say anything else, just pulled out onto the road. He didn't want to argue the point, maybe because he kind of liked how she seemed so sure. They drove in silence for a few minutes. He was thinking again, mostly about pure scents and did people who smelled like that see everyone else as better than they were? She interrupted him with, "You wouldn't have anything to eat, would you?" He raised an eyebrow at her, but reached behind him for an old, stale bag of pretzels that served as his on the road snack food. Extending the bag to her, he caught sight of those big brown eyes again, this time looking grateful. "Here." "Thanks." She took her gloves off and wolfed down three big handfuls. She rubbed her hands together a little, trying to get warm, and he remembered that he hadn't turned on the heater since Laughlin City. He flicked the controls and reached for her hands to guide them to the vent. She flinched back, hard, and he felt like it gave lie to everything she'd just said. That pissed him off, and oddly comforted him too. It meant that he was a bad guy, and that matched his self-perception. But she wasn't looking or smelling scared. Just sad. "Sorry. It's just....it's my skin. Bad things happen when people touch it. They get hurt, almost killed. It's nothing personal." She moved bare hands to the heater vent. "Fair enough." If she was a mutie too, that went a long way toward explaining why she wasn't so freaked by him. He put both hands high on the wheel, and put his eyes back on the road. "Does it hurt? When they come out?" No one ever asked that. Once, a hooker in Edmonton who'd seen him clear out a back alley brawl with the claws asked if popping the claws made him hard, but that was the extent of inquiry on the subject. He gave her an honest answer. "Every time." She sat in silence a while, and he could feel her watching him. "My name's Rogue." "What kind of a name is Rogue?" "What kind of a name is Wolverine?" She was almost teasing, in a nice way. Not in the usual, let's get it on kind of way. "My name's Logan." He usually kept that close to the vest. Shouldn't have told her. "Marie." Sounded like she kept her real name close to the vest too. "You run away?" "Yeah." "How long ago?" Some part of her was glad he didn't ask why. "Four months." "Shit, I'm surprised you've survived that long." She didn't say anything, and he thought it was maybe because she was surprised too. "I'm not going to Anchorage." "Where are you going?" "Dawson City. It's near the arctic circle. It's a long drive, a week or so, from here." "Why are you goin' there?" "Fight, make some money. I have a place a little further north. I stay up there in the winter." It wasn't really an offer, he told himself, more like information he wanted her to know, to be straight with her since she was being straight with him. "Next town is Halia Falls. Be about a day's drive." "Are you gonna fight there?" "Yeah." "Have you ever lost?" "No." She took in a shaky breath. "Would you take me all the way to Dawson City?" "Yeah, but there's nothin' there but eskimos, kid. Eskimos and rednecks. No trucker traffic. Especially this time of year. Tough to get a ride." He didn't tell her she might find one in Halia Falls. Didn't know why he didn't play that straight, and didn't want think about it now. Watched her hands move over one another and wondered what kind of bad things happened when she was touched. "I don't know where else to go." There was no self-pity there, just genuine confusion. "OK." Maybe he knew then that he wanted her with him, maybe not. At the least, he didn't mind her, and that was unusual. In any case, the thought of her and him in his cabin over the winter began to stick at the back of his mind, and he didn't kick it out. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- They pulled into Halia Falls about 12 hours later. She'd slept some, and they finished off the pretzels between them. He pulled to the side of the main (and only) road. "General store in there. You need anything?" She looked at him, shook her head. "I don't have any money." She said it matter-of-fact, not like a request. He reached into his pocket and handed her a twenty. "See if they have windshield washer fluid, and something to eat. They probably have a bathroom too, if you need one." She nodded and jumped out of the truck a minute later, gently shutting the door behind her. She had a change of clothes in her hands. "Where are you headed?" "See if there's a fight on at the bar later." He gestured to the small, dilapidated structure across the street. "I'll meet you in the store." "I'll be in the bathroom for a while. I want to wash up." "Fine." She felt grubby and smelly, and was desperate to feel clean again. She smiled politely at the old lady behind the cash register - took those Southern manners with her everywhere, even Canada - and asked for the rest room. There was only one, so she asked if it was OK if she monopolized it for a little while to wash up. The lady smiled sweetly and a little sadly at her and told her to go right ahead. She spent almost 20 minutes in there, washing her hair with soap and scrubbing all over. Drying up with paper towels and getting dressed, careful to remember her gloves, she exited to see Logan not so subtly watching for her and holding onto a gallon of washer fluid. Did he think she'd bolt with his twenty? "Hey. You found the windshield washer stuff. Here." She fished the twenty out and presented it to him. "Nah," he shook off the money. "Get some food and stuff. Whatever you need. The bar was all burnt out - had a fire last week - so we'll be on the road a while." "Thanks." She wasn't sure if she should consult him on his food preferences, or if he would get his own. She settled on a truly huge bag of skittles, a box of crackers and a jar of peanut butter, a big bottle of juice and one of soda, pretzels to replace the ones she'd eaten, and assorted beef jerky products. Basket full, she returned to him, still standing in the same spot. He gave her the washer fluid, and told her the twenty should cover it. He headed for the bathroom and she surmised he'd meet her at the truck. When the old lady rang up her purchases, she said, a little timidly, "Honey, are you all right?" "I'm fine, thanks, ma'am." "You sure? Looks like you're keeping some rough company there....." "He's fine, but thanks." "You known him long?" "Not really, no." "He was watchin' for you the whole time." "He, uh, likes to know where I am." "You sure you don't need any help?" "I'm sure." "All right then, dear. That'll be 14.50." Rogue handed over the money and took her change. "You have a nice day." Rogue exited and carried the bag to the truck. He'd left it unlocked, so she took it upon herself to pop the hood and add the windshield washer fluid. She was just closing the hood when he came out, with wet hair. Looks like he washed up too. He was carrying some clothes in his hand, but seemed to keep the jeans and flannel shirt he'd had on. "You know how to do that?" He asked somewhat suspiciously. "Yeah, and I know how to change a tire too." She gave a little smile, and opened the door to get in. He interrupted with a hand staying the door. "Hold on a sec. Gotta change." "Oh, OK." She waited as he got dressed in the camper. She looked around the town. Not much here - the burnt out bar, the store, a few homes, that's it. The very definition of a small town. And this was the biggest town between here and Dawson City? Well, she wanted to see the great outdoors..... "Get in." He'd opened her door for her, and was already starting the car. She did as he asked. He turned over the engine and pulled out without comment. After a few minutes in silence, Rogue jumped in her seat a little and let out an "Oh!" "Hmm?" "I forgot your change." She dug it out of her jeans pocket. "Here. It was 14.50 for the food." "Keep it, kid." "No, it's your money. Here." "Do you have any money at all on ya?" "No, but - " "Keep it." "Thank you." She put it in her bag, twisting around and brushing up against him. "Are we gonna stop for the night somewhere?" She knew he hadn't slept in almost 24 hours. "I just pull over and sleep in the camper. There's a sleeping bag." He hadn't quite thought this far ahead. He had one sleeping bag, and it would fit two, but the girl was bound to feel uncomfortable about that. "Oh." A glance at her showed that her eyes were real wide. "Don't worry, kid, I ain't gonna - " "No, no, I'm not worried about that, I just......I might hurt you. I can't cover my face while I sleep. You could touch my skin." He looked over at her, and was pretty sure that his surprise showed. She was worried about him in this situation? No one would believe that one. "Don't worry. Look, we'll stop in a couple hours and see how this is gonna work." "I could sleep up here, in my coat." "I have to turn the truck off, you'll freeze without heat or an insulated sleeping bag. It's going down to about ten below tonight." "OK." She still sounded a little unsure, but she launched back in to small talk, telling him all about Mississippi and her hometown and Sunday picnics with her cousins. He occasionally grunted. When they finally did stop, she didn't seem too nervous, but tugged at her gloves a little. Logan lay the sleeping bag out on the floor. He took off his boots, but left the rest of his clothing on, as much to reassure her as for the warmth. She wordlessly followed his example, removing her boots, and looking at him openly, letting him see her uncertainty. "Go ahead, kid." She snuggled into it, pressing herself up to the side, facing away from the open spot for him. He eased in beside her, and it was a tight fit. "You OK?" "Yeah, just....just be careful, OK?" He didn't answer, and he could hear her jacked up heart beat and breathing. "What happens when someone touches you?" "I get this feeling, like...like the other person is pouring into me. I can't stop it. It's....it's awful. I can feel everything about them and it lodges in my head. And they get hurt." She was quiet for a minute. "The first boy I ever kissed was in a coma for three weeks. I don't think I'll ever be able to touch someone without hurting them." "That sucks." She laughed dryly at that, and he found himself absurdly glad that at least she was relaxing a little. He wanted her to be comfortable, and, although that was an alien kind of feeling, her warmth and softness wasn't, and he knew he was getting into something here, something that maybe he shouldn't have. She broke the silence by asking, "When did you get the claws?" "I don't know. Woke up in the woods about 15 years ago, didn't remember a damn thing except my name. Had those, and found out almost any kind of wound - gunshot, knife, whatever - healed up instantly. I can't get hurt." "I'm sorry." "Yeah." "Your story sucks more." That elicited one low laugh. "Get some sleep, kid." -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- He was in the lab again, underwater and surrounded by laughing men. He took a breath in, the water flooding his lungs, but he wouldn't lose consciousness or die. He strangled out a scream, and thrashed, but couldn't get up. Those laughing bastards. What the hell were they doing to him? "Logan." Now they were calling his name, mocking him? Fuck. "Logan." Had to get out, had to breathe, had to stab at least one of those laughing fuckers. "Logan." "Ahhh!" He broke free, claws out, stabbing at them and finding flesh and bone. Only it wasn't one of those laughing bastards, and he wasn't in a lab. It was his truck, and his claws were already slick with Marie's blood. She looked at him in pain and surprise. He'd stabbed her right through the chest. Shit. Shit, shit, shit. He smelled the blood and heard her choke on it a little. Fuck, oh God.....that was right through her lung. He retracted the claws, and could tell from her face that it hurt. She was no more than an inch away from him, and they were both zipped into the sleeping bag tight. He started to squirm, to get out, to get help. She choked again, some blood coming up her throat and onto her lips. "God, no......" He was frozen by the look on her face. No anger, no panic, just this strange kind of concentration and tenderness. She choked and spasmed. Have to help her. Have to help her. Please, God. Then she moved, deliberately bringing her face within a millimeter of his. The life in her eyes was fading, but they held a question for him. He understood immediately and didn't hesitate. He moved forward, touching his forehead to hers. He felt an exquisitely painful burning all throughout his body. Every cell screamed in pain, and it felt like he was being turned inside out. He could see her veins bulging and she was shaking. He just kept thinking - let it work, let it work, let it work......That thought stayed with him until he blacked out. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- The first thing he was aware of was that he was cold. Cold and sore all over. Damn. "Logan?" "Yeah." "Are you all right?" He knew that voice but something was wrong about hearing it. "Shit." "Logan," the voice pleaded. Marie's voice. He opened his eyes. She was above him, dark hair spilling toward him. She was out of the sleeping bag, and she'd been crying. She was still trembling. "Marie?" "Yeah, it's me. Logan, are you all right? Please, answer me." "I stabbed you." He sat up a little, looking at her intently. "Yeah. And you healed me." Those big brown eyes filled with tears. "I'm so sorry. Please tell me you're all right." "I'm fine, baby." Where had that come from? He still felt woozy. "Oh, thank God." She started crying in earnest, and backed away from him. He struggled to sit up a little more. "Did it work? Are you - " She nodded frantically. "Come here." She scooted over a little. He put a hand on her side, leaning in for a closer look at where the claws had gone in. She was still covered in blood, but the skin beneath was whole. Oh, God. Thank God. Her whole body was shaking, more and more violently, and he realized that she might not want to be in close quarters with a man who just stabbed her almost to death. He took his hands off her and backed away a little. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry, kid." "Me too." She wasn't looking at him, was looking at where his hands had been on her body. She was shocked that he touched her. After what she just did to him. She almost killed him, and he put his hands on her like it was nothing. She could feel him in her head, strong, and felt his terror at hurting her, and a flood of relief that she was OK. It was too much, too much, and she had no idea how to deal with it. "Please, can I....can we just go back to sleep?" He looked at her quizzically, and somehow registered it enough for him to move over, and arrange the sleeping bag so that she could get in. It was covered in her blood, but she didn't seem to notice. She was still shaking, but she didn't smell afraid, and that let him relax a little. She lay down next to him but not touching him, and he closed the bag around her. They were facing each other, and he wondered at how surreal this moment was. He wanted to say something, do something, to make everything that had happened OK. "Tell me......tell me what to do." She just looked at him, brows knit in confusion or annoyance, he couldn't tell. "I don't know what to do." Her expression shifted and he recognized it as concern. But for him, not because of him. She still hadn't said anything, though, so he tried again. "I didn't mean to hurt you. I-I don't know.......I could have killed you." She just looked at him, eyes shining with naked gratitude. "You didn't. You saved me." Then she seemed to decide something. She wriggled down a little, then cuddled to him, her face safely buried against his well-covered chest. A tiny, gloved hand pressed against his stomach, and her delicate arm wound around his waist. Her body still trembled. "Be careful. The tears in my shirt, be careful." "I will." He stroked her hair, and tried to breathe evenly. It took hours, but, as he caressed her and held her, she did finally calm. Shortly after, she slept, exhausted. He followed her, praying to whatever gods might watch over them that he had no more dreams. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- He's flat on his back, tired and spent. She hovers over him, dark hair spilling down onto his face and surrounding him. Only now, not with panic for his well-being, just tenderness. "You stabbed me right through the chest." She says it affectionately, like she was thanking him for a present. "I can heal you." He pops out the claws again, not hurting her this time, but letting her see. "You don't have to be afraid." She draws a gloved finger across one of the metal claws, and it feels good, erotic. "I want this." She continues tracing across the claw. "Touch." "I know, baby." He reaches for her hair with his other hand, caresses the back of her head. She moans a little and he retracts the claws. All of a sudden, she's breathing fast and shallow, and he can feel the warmth of her breath and her body like fire. He shifts a hand to the small of her back, bringing her hips down on him. She moves instinctively, rolling her hips, rocking back and forth. He watches her face while she moves, and applies more pressure to hold her to him. Her eyes drift open and closed. His hand moves to her breast, careful of the exposed skin beneath the torn shirt, and he caresses gently, very gently. She leans into his touch, rides him harder and faster. "I want this." "I know, baby. Take it. It's yours." Her gloved hand twists in his shirt and she loses all pretense of control. He can feel the heat rising, feels her taking him with her. He closes his eyes, and keeps his hands on her. "Yes," he encourages, "like that." She cries out, soft little noises that begin driving him to release. She thrashes, moving frantically. Suddenly, her eyes snap open and meet his. He doesn't look away. For the first time, he moves, pressing up against her insistently, and feels himself letting go. She follows, and he can smell her all over him. She collapses down onto him, and he feels surrounded by her, overwhelmed. She lays her head on his chest, and presses one hand to his stomach, and curls another around his back. He is calming. "So good," she mumbles, "Never wanted that before, but now...." "You don't have to be afraid." -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Logan woke from the dream still holding her. For a moment, he thought that he'd been the cause of the cold wetness in the sleeping bag, but then the smell of her blood assaulted him again. She was still asleep. Her breathing and warmth and her hands on him made him want the dream. And he knew he shouldn't want that, not from a teenage kid. But that dream was the first in any of the life he could remember that was soft, and good. Other sexual dreams, well, they involved back alleys and barroom walls, not gentle words and whispered promises. He liked thinking that he could want that too. And if it was her that made him want it, was it still wrong? Her breathing changed a little, and he knew she was coming to consciousness. He lay there and waited. She surfaced slowly, making little sounds and movements. Finally, he felt her lift her head from his chest, and she looked up at him through half-open eyes. He felt a sudden stab of worry at what her reaction upon waking might be. Before he could conjure any of the more disturbing possibilities, she mumbled, "Morning." "More like afternoon." "Hmm," she agreed, her face taking on a thoughtful look, "How do you feel?" "Fine. You?" "Good." The way she said it held the faintest echo of the way she purred for him in the dream, and his body reacted. She ignored it, or didn't notice, as she carefully unwound herself from him. "I have to go, um.....call of nature?" "Sure." He helped her free from the sleeping bag, and folded it as she put on her boots. "Here." He offered her a roll of paper towels. "Thanks." She exited, letting in the cold and wind. Logan moved to the steering wheel, turned the engine over after a few tries, and let the car run. He changed blood soaked clothes for fresh ones, and took a swig of the juice. She swept back into the truck, shivering a little. "Brr! I think I'll just hold it next time." He grunted in agreement. "My turn. You're gonna wanna change," he suggested, nodding at her torn and bloody shirt. "Right." He reached for the door to exit, when her voice stopped him. "Thanks, you know? For last night." He looked back at her with a mixture of wariness and surprise. "You shouldn't be thanking me, kid. I damn near killed you." "You didn't mean to, and you didn't have to.....do what you did. You saved my life. I just want you to know I.....I appreciate it." He felt damn uncomfortable. Her words weren't little girl gratitude, or some kind of shield against him, out of fear that he'd do it again. They were simple, honest, straight. He was wholly unfamiliar with being the object of that kind of thanks. "I didn't mind." He lingered for a moment, then went out into the cold. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- They drove the rest of the day in comfortable silence. He said they'd make a detour, go on down to Radcliffe, see about a motel for the night and a new sleeping bag. She nodded agreement, and dug out some food for the drive. It started to snow, hard, but they made it into Radcliffe before the worst of it hit. They pulled up to a motel that could only be called seedy on a good day, and he told her to wait in the car. She did, and he came back after a few minutes with a key. The room was sparse, but a hell of a lot better than the camper. She brought in her clothes and his, and he brought the food. If she was bothered by the fact that there was only one bed, she didn't say anything. He told her to keep the door locked and went back out, presumably in search of a new sleeping bag or a fight, or both. She sat on the bed, replaying the events since she met him in her head. She mulled over how it felt when he stabbed her, and how much of him was still with her. He was strong in there, and rumbling, even now. She'd been touched by how frantic he'd been, how much he wanted her to live. This morning, she'd woken up with the word "pure" ringing in her head over and over. The smells were stronger, lights brighter, sounds sharper. She guessed that was a gift from him. She was glad she hadn't gotten the claws, although her knuckles itched off and on all day. She felt his wanting too, and didn't know what to make of that. She didn't hide the fact that he touched her and she liked it from herself. She just couldn't fathom why he liked it too. He came back sooner than she thought. "Hey." "Hey." "No fight?" "Not tonight." He told himself he wasn't in the mood, that's all. He was entitled to not feel like it once every few decades. "Got a sleeping bag. It's bigger." "Good." "Thought you were gonna take a shower." He sat on the bed with her, and looked her up and down without realizing it. "I was. I sat down and started thinking, and I guess I forgot about it. You mind if I do?" "Nah." He scooted back on the bed, and watched her as she searched for clothes. "You know," she ventured, "I could really use a laundromat, if you wouldn't mind. I-I could do your clothes too." She glanced at him sideways. It was the first time she'd suggested something. "Sure. There's one here. We'll hit it tomorrow before we move out." "Thanks." She was still digging through the bag. "Hmph. I thought I still had one clean set of thermal underwear in here.....guess not." "I got some, out in the camper. They're clean." He tossed the keys to her, and, for some reason, the Logan in her head growled approval at that. Smell, she realized, my smell and his smell, on the clothes. He likes the idea of that. "Thanks." He watched her go, listened to her footsteps on the pavement. This was what he wanted - for her to shower, to lie here and smell her in there, then to have her sleep next to him, wet and warm. To feel her through her clothing - no, his clothing, even better - to have the good dream, to wake and fall back asleep during the night, feeling warm. This is what he wanted. ".....really...." Her voice, coming through the door, afraid and nervous. Shit. Logan was off the bed, fast, and at the door. He paused, though, waiting to see how it played out. No use drawing attention to them if it could be avoided. "Really, I'd rather just head in to my room." Marie, trying for an even tone. Failing. "I could join you, baby. I think you'd like it." A male voice, older and rough. Sure. "In fact, I know you would." Her heartbeat, jacking up. "I'm sure," she appeased, and the tone made Logan sick. "But I have company at the moment." "Try another one, little girl, you ain't got no one in there." Enough. He opened the door, and saw the relief wash over her face. The man was big, probably six-five or so, and muscular. He'd backed her up into the doorframe, was pressing his body against hers. She was clutching his thermals behind her, and pushing ineffectively back at the man with one small gloved hand. Logan felt the claws itching to pop, held it in. "Hey, bub, you got a problem?" "This little piece yours, buddy?" He growled a little, and the other guy seemed to be non-impressed. "Well?" "Yeah. And I don't like to share." "Maybe you should rethink that, buddy. I'll make it worth your while." Marie looked to Logan frantically, not breathing, not moving. "She's a sweet little thing. I like 'em young. I bet she's never had it up the ass." Logan reached out for Marie, grabbing her arm and putting her inside the room and behind him in one swift motion. "Take a walk, bub. She ain't for sale." "Maybe I'll just take her, then." The big guy rolled up a sleeve. "I got a hankerin' for a little action." Oh yeah, Logan thought. "Just walk away. It's not worth getting into over it. Just hit the road." Logan knew he'd do no such thing. It was like a formality, like the national anthem before a baseball game or something. The ritual warning, to absolve him of any guilt should this jackass accidentally lose some internal organs. The big guy smiled and swung at him, and Marie gasped behind him. Logan absorbed the blow to his gut, wincing a little through a vicious smile. He swung back, connecting with the guy's jaw, breaking it. Before he fell, Logan got in another to his head, hearing the skull crunch. That'd make for a good concussion. And a hell of a headache, if he ever woke up from it. He turned back to Marie, who was still standing there wide-eyed with shock. "Stay here." She nodded, and he was out the door dragging the man behind him by his foot. Good thing that this was the kind of place that no one looked out of the window or asked any questions. He searched for the vehicle with the man's putrid smell and deposited him in it. He was out for the count. Maybe permanently. Logan didn't particularly care, but he was pissed that they'd have to move out. Couldn't stay here now. Marie must have thought the same thing, because she was changed into his thermals and packing their stuff up when he got back. She stopped what she was doing, and crossed to him. "You OK?" "Yeah." "Is he....." "Don't know. Don't care." She winced a little at that, and he remembered that she wasn't as cavalier about things like that as he was. He also remembered that it was what she'd asked him on the road back in Laughlin. "He was an asshole, Marie." He immediately kicked himself for justifying his behavior. The Wolverine didn't make explanations. "He was worse than that." She didn't want to even think about how she might've been hurt, how she might've had him in her head. "I'm sorry. I didn't see him coming. He snuck up on me while I was in the camper, and he was just there when I came out. I'm so sorry." "Not your fault. We gotta go." "Yeah." -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- They drove another hour, then had to pull off because of the snow. Logan found a spot, and methodically cut the engine, removed his boots, and headed back to spread out the new sleeping bag. He hadn't spoken during the drive, and neither had she. He was still pissed at the guy, still pissed that he didn't want her to think he was some vicious asshole, and still pissed that his evening hadn't gone as planned. "Logan?" "Yeah?" "I can, I can sleep in the old sleeping bag if you like." He hadn't gotten rid of it, just shoved it in a corner. He gave her a look. "You scared of me, Marie?" It came out more threatening than he'd intended. "N-no, but you seem mad. I didn't know if you wanted....." He let out a long breath, working to calm himself. "I'm still pissed about that jerk. That's all." "I shouldn't have let him - " "I'm not pissed at you. You didn't do anything wrong." He cracked his neck and took another breath. "Look, you just have to be careful, huh? Men see you and they, they want you. It's not safe for you by yourself. You have to be aware of that, always." "I-I know. I mean, I just got....I guess I got used to not being by myself. I felt like I was safe, and I wasn't paying attention." "Shit." He thought for a few seconds, obviously trying to formulate a response. Finally, in what was an even tone for him, "Look, kid, I just don't want you to get hurt. Guys like that are a dime a dozen, and they don't just want what they want. They like hurting people. They get off on it. I fucked him up good because he deserved it. Now, you didn't do anything wrong, what he wanted to do to you wasn't your fault, and in a perfect world, you should be able to walk to the damn truck and back without getting cornered. But this ain't no perfect world. It's about as far from it as you can get. If you're gonna stick with me to Dawson City, you're gonna have to be careful, and accept how I decide to deal with shit when it goes down. That's the deal." "I don't have a problem with what you did." She'd listened carefully when he talked, checking with the Logan in her head, trying to find the right way to explain. "He...he shouldn't be allowed to just go around doing that. I'm grateful that you were there and that you protected me. I'll be more careful, I promise. I just....it's been a long time since I felt safe and I let myself get taken off my guard because you were there. It won't happen again." "OK." He went back to arranging the sleeping bag, then interrupted himself. He was kneeling, looking up at her. She was frowning, and he thought he saw tears forming in her eyes. "I'm not mad at you," he repeated. "You are safe when I'm around. Just, you have to be careful if I have to leave you alone. That's all I meant by it." She nodded a little and seemed to be better. After a few long moments, she knelt beside him, waiting as he finished with the bag. He finished, then glanced at her. "Where you sleeping?" Give her the choice, he thought. Her decision, not his. But it came out almost as a plea, softer than anything he'd ever said. "With you." The simple answer unaccountably made emotion well up in him. "OK?" "Yeah." -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- She was beneath him, grasping his biceps as he drove into her. She was clothed, and he was encased in a condom, but, somehow, he'd driven inside her. Nylons. She was wearing nylons, and he'd used his claw to cut a small slit in them. Her head rolled back as he thrusted, finding his rhythm. "Logan," she moaned. He liked the sound of it. She was wild beneath him, writhing and bucking her hips to his. "Please...." "Tell me, baby, tell me what you want." He shifted her legs apart a little wider, drove deeper. Her hands clutched at his hair and her heartbeat was loud in his ears. "Please....make me.....make me...." God, she was begging him, and it was good. "Come on baby, I'm here, just - " He sucked in a sharp breath; he'd almost lost it. Have to hang on. Have to make it good for her. "Marie...." She started thrashing, really shaking, and she seized his head by the hair, forcing him to look at her as she came. She gave one final cry - "Logan!" - and convulsed around him. He lost it then, hard, harder than he could ever remember. He poured into the condom, wishing he could pour into her. He was grunting, sweating, groaning, twisting as he came, and was only dimly aware that he was also saying something. When he breathed it out automatically, one last time, he realized what it was - "Mine." Looking back at him, peaceful, sated, and wild, she answered, "Yes." -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- He woke from the dream in the middle of the night. She had her back to him, and he'd managed to wrap himself around her, even burying his face in her hair. She was holding his bare hand, the one circling her waist, in her gloved one. He smelled her and him and it was right. He wasn't the guy back at the motel in Radcliffe. It was so right in the dream, so good, he couldn't be. She shifted, and he thought about Dawson City and after. She was coming with him, no question. They could stay at the cabin for the winter, then decide what to do. He couldn't remember ever trying to think ahead before, and through the winter seemed enough. It didn't seem odd to him. "Logan? You awake?" "Yeah, baby." He said it without thinking, carried out of the dream. "Nightmare?" "No, a good dream." He held her a little tighter. "I was dreaming, too." "Good dreams?" She didn't answer, just burrowed back into him a little. "I'm glad you picked me up. I'm glad you're taking me to Dawson City with you." "And after?" He nuzzled her neck through the curtain of her hair, and felt the full-body shiver it drew from her. "After?" She was a little breathless, caught up in sensation. "After we get there. Are you coming to the cabin? For the winter?" "Yes." He thought so, and smiled at being right. A real, genuine smile. "Good." "Can I ask you for something?" Her voice shook. "Sure." She gently shifted around so that she was facing him. She looked more attractive than he'd ever seen her in that moment, and he genuinely wanted to hear what she would say. The thought that he'd give whatever she asked didn't even scare him. "You're in my head," she said softly. "You, that you, wants to touch me. Do you? Would you?" "I'm touching you now." "I like it." He pressed his hips to hers, and heard her breathing change. "I can give that to you." Her eyes fluttered down, then back up to meet his. "What can I give to you?" His hand moved to her breast in reply, gently, very gently squeezing and caressing. "You can let me. You can let me touch you." He slowed his touch, then stilled. "We have time." He let his instincts guide him, and for once, they weren't all on the animal side. This needed to be right, slow, and soft. For her, and for him. "We have time," she repeated, feeling sleep come for her again. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- They detoured again, this time to Haverford, and finally got the motel and laundromat. The motel was a little better, not much. It was still a two day drive to Dawson City, and the weather wasn't going to be making the trip any easier. It had snowed a good foot in the past four days they'd been on the road. Winter hadn't even really set in yet, and it was looking to be a harsh one. This time, Logan did fight, leaving Marie locked in the room. She showered, grateful that they'd done laundry first this time, and put on cotton pajamas. They'd gotten more food, too, and she was looking forward to a dinner of beef jerky (which she'd really acquired a taste for) and skittles. In a nod to healthy eating, she'd also splurged on some apples. Logan returned, sweaty and dirty, and earlier than she'd thought. "Hey," she greeted him, "You OK?" He found himself liking that she asked that, even though she knew he couldn't be otherwise. "Yeah. Not a lot of takers. People hunkering down for the winter already." "Did you eat?" "Yeah, and, here." He presented her with a doggy bag from the bar. "Thought you might want hot food." "Thanks." She sounded a little surprised. The bag held a hot roast beef sandwich. "Want some?" "Nah. Gonna shower." He was already stripping off his shirt. "I left you a towel." She removed her gloves and tucked into the sandwich. "Mmm....this is really good." When she looked back up at him, he was taking off his jeans, stepping out of them. She found herself staring a little, but he didn't seem to notice, just went about his business, losing all the clothing. When he finally caught her eye, he only raised one eyebrow and said, "Look all you like." She flushed all over, hot and red. "Sorry." He was still just standing there, very, very naked. "Don't be," he commented as he finally turned and entered the bathroom. His voice traveled out to her over the sound of running water. "If we're gonna spend the winter together, might as well stop being shy." She hadn't thought much about what they were going to do together, truth be told. She wondered what he expected. He seemed more than willing to go at a slow pace so far, but, once they were alone together nonstop, hours and days, months...... What were they going to do together? Skin on skin contact was out, but there were lots of possibilities that didn't involve that kind of touch. The Logan in her head started growling a little, and showed her just what kind of creative thoughts he had on the subject. She let the images play out in her mind, and they scared her a little, and wanting them so much scared her a little more. But she trusted the man in her head and the man in her bathroom, and she resolved to let him take the lead. That had worked out well for both of them so far. The shower shut off, and he came back out, towel wrapped around his waist. He pulled boxers on, then paused. "Marie?" "Yeah?" "Should I, uh, wear more clothes to bed?" "Um," she was oddly touched by that. He was trying to make her comfortable. "Up to you. If you don't want to put a shirt on, I can sleep with my back to you, but be really careful." He mulled it over for a second, then pulled a t-shirt over his muscled chest. She smiled at that, and scooted over, making space for him in the bed. "You wanna watch TV or anything? I think the third period of the Flames-Rangers game is on." She was sure her sudden interest in ice hockey was from him. "Sure." She turned the game on, and they both lay back in bed, comfortably close but not really touching. God, it felt good to sleep in a bed again. She wondered if his cabin had a bed. As the game finished up, and the three stars were being announced, he cleared his throat a little. "I was thinking." She turned to face him. "We could head up north from here, skip Dawson City. The weather's getting bad, could be hard enough to get up there now. Might be best not to take another day or two, and we have everything we need." There was just a hint of uncertainty in his voice, not because he thought she'd have any objections, but because it was really the first time he'd ever felt like he had to consult someone else on his plans. It was a weird feeling. "Sounds good to me. Do you think it'll be hard to get to? Your cabin, I mean." "Don't know. Could be a little sporty, but we'll figure something out. We can always leave the truck at the bottom of the pass if we need to and walk the rest." She looked at him with playful eyes, and, not for the first time since he met her, he felt warm emotions he thought long gone from him. "I have to warn you, I'm not really an experienced mountain climber." "Don't worry, I can carry you." That brought a smile. "Of course, there's a fee for that." It had been a long time since he - or had he ever? - teased someone like this. She laughed a little outright. "Some nice man gave me 5.50 in change. Will that do?" She unconsciously rested a gloved hand on his chest and leaned into him a little. He smiled in return, and reached out to stroke her long wavy hair. "I was thinking of another form of payment." He thought he might have crossed a line, just as he thought showing off for her earlier might have, but her eyes became soft and warm at that, and serious. She wordlessly began touching him, gently caressing his face and chest, seemingly fascinated. She kept eye contact with him, letting her hands roam on their own. His breathing picked up a little, and he made himself keep her gaze. He'd never been touched like this, and he wanted to be here in this moment, to make himself feel it. Even lovers, even some of the ones he remembered more fondly, weren't gentle with him. Not with the Wolverine, the animal. Not like this. Not like this at all. She was focused so intently on him, taking the feel of him in. Giving gentle, lingering, loving caresses, touching him as though he were the only person she ever cared to. Letting him watch her, holding his eyes, letting him see right into her, see how much she wanted this. He felt clean and good, and like the most valued person on the face of the earth at that moment.She shifted, laying him back, and setting herself on top of him. Letting the sensation wash over her, letting her instincts guide her, she kept stroking him that way, lingering on his lips, then his collarbone, then brushing soft fingers over his nipples. The Logan in her was still, very still, and she could tell he approved. The man beneath her seemed to too, looking at her so intently that it took her breath away. At length, she brought both hands to his face again, smoothing his hair back from his temples. "You're so beautiful," he whispered."I dreamt about you and me." It came out almost involuntarily. She tilted her head, still caressing his temples. "It was good, like this." Her eyes widened a little at that, and he couldn't tell if it was because she was surprised or touched, or both. "I dreamed about us too," she matched his breathy tone. "You told me that you wanted me with you." "I do." He touched her then, running strong hands up her back. She parted her legs in response, straddling him. She had to have felt his hardness against her. She was still looking down at him with those impossibly big eyes, and the smell of her was everywhere. The pure scent was stronger than ever, and he drank it in deeply. "I want....." Her hands stopped moving on his face. She rocked her hips on his, very gently, but it sent a tremor through them both. His hands wandered to her hips, where they flexed convulsively, then settled into a firm grip. She rocked again, and he guided her with his hands, encouraging her. "Yes, go..." She let out a little moan, half frustration, half pleasure, and she increased the pace and pressure. Before long, her gaze drifted away from his occasionally, and she began to arch her back. Tiny gloved hands pushed down on his chest as she sought better leverage, more pressure. He began to grunt a little, and his hands traveled around her backside and back to her hip joint over and over. Before he realized it, one hand squeezed her backside firmly. She let out a real moan then, and seemed to catch herself right after. Her movement slowed, but didn't stop as she looked down at him. "I....I don't know how...." "Just like this," he encouraged, easing his grip on her, caressing, stroking. "Are you - " "Yes." That was all the permission she needed, and she resumed her former pace. Moans and sighs fell from her lips, and he could tell that she'd given up any embarrassment or uncertainty to pursue her release. She began moving jerkily, frantically, and he fought to hold on, to go with her. He was afraid if he came first, she'd stop without finding release, and he wanted to see her, wanted to watch it happen. After a few long moments, she breathed in sharply, and her eyes locked with his as her mouth twisted in what would look like anguish under any other circumstances. She spasmed and jerked, and he felt her wetness drenching him. Finally letting go, he bucked his hips in time with her final, slowing throes, and clutched at her backside to force her as close as possible to him. He wanted to mark her, to let their mixed bodies, mixed scents, brand them both. She collapsed onto his chest, spent. "Oh my God," she breathed. "That felt....." "Right," he finished for her. She raised up to look at him. "Yeah." He took her in, touseled hair, still damp from the shower, body flushed and hot from the sex, and eyes soft for him. She was touching him in that gentle way again, soft little gloved hands running all over him. "Marie?" She paused, looked at him, still catching her breath a little. "When we go up north, there's no going back." She just looked at him a little quizically, but still trusting. "Once the weather sets in, we can't come back out until spring. I just want you to be sure." "Are you sure?" He just blinked at that, and she resumed stroking him. "Do you want me with you? I know it's not......I can't touch you like a normal woman could." Her eyes were sad, but he could tell she wanted to give him the chance. Just like he wanted to. "No one ever touched me like you just did." It didn't come out gentle or romantic, just matter-of-fact. "I liked it and I want you with me." She smiled at him then, a truly brilliant smile. "You know, you may not be able to get me out of the cabin come spring." He found himself smiling back at her in response. She winked at him, then more seriously, "I'm sure. Absolutely." He drew her to him in a tight embrace, both of them caressing and stroking each other to a satisfied sleep. That night, there were no dreams.