Standing there staring out the big picture window, with an almost warm beer hanging loosely from his hand, Wolverine caught her scent a good three seconds before she even entered the room.

But of course *she* knew that. Still she stood in the doorway for a moment, watching him as though he didn´t realize that she was there.

Sometimes he wondered if she remembered how long they had played this game of being normal, of not acknowledging the other´s powers. Had it been since they first met or when he came back? Did she start it or did he?

This silly little fantasy where she acted as though he didn´t have claws or animal instincts, and he touched her like her skin didn´t kill. When did it start to invade their reality? At what point had he really started to forget what lay under those gloves, even while his instincts never did?

And when had it become so fucking important? When had it become essential that they never shatter the pretense, that they never let the other half of themselves infiltrate into this? If she ever looked at him and saw Wolverine, or he looked at her and saw Rogue . . . one of them would be out that door like a bat out of hell, and he didn´t know which he´d put money on.

She couldn´t have paused at the entrance for more than a second, but it seemed to stretch into an eternity as her scent wrapped around him while he studiously pretended not to know she was there. No one smelled like Marie --- magnolias and summer breeze from her perfume and shampoo, leather from her pants and gloves, something slightly metallic that was probably from Magneto, but he liked to think was from him, and under it all a base of blood and death that was completely Rogue.

He never told her about the last part. It would frighten her too much. Hell, it frightened him a little and not much did that, but still he hoped she never lost it . . . because he needed scent to be constant in a way not much else was.

Logan didn´t know what he´d expected to find when he returned. After all he´d never returned to anyone, at least not that he could remember. Maybe he´d thought everyone would remain unchanged, the way he did trapped in an ageless body.

**But nature . . .** Stryker´s voice reminded him mockingly.

Yes nature. Nature and time, things that slid over his skin like water, leaving him unmarked, had touched those here . . . and in a wonderful twist of irony they seemed to have marked untouchable little Marie more than anyone.

All the things he remembered the most about her were still there, but somehow distilled, concentrated into a rather potent final product. Yet even as his eyes took in all the changes and latched desperately on to all the similarities, his nose told him all he needed to know --- she had still smelled like Marie.

Finally leaving her post at the doorway, the young southern girl moved beside him and, with a casualness that she couldn´t have managed with anyone else, twined her fingers in with his, gently extricating the bottle. Logan turned to protest, but she silenced him by blowing lightly on the glass, leaving no question as to what she´d been up to just moments ago. With a sparkle of self-satisfied mirth in her eyes, Marie handed the now cold beer back to him.

“So I guess that´s working out for you two, then.’ He observed, taking the proffered bottle with a raise of his eyebrow and a quirk of his lips. Surprisingly she flushed just a little, and Logan grimaced because he recognized that look on her. Only, it hadn´t really been her.

Ducking her head slightly, presumably so he wouldn´t see what he´d already seen, Marie tucked her hair behind her ears in a heart-wrenchingly young gesture. Even with her face tilted downwards, he could see the tiny upward curve of her lips.

“Yeah,’ The word elongated in her mouth like pulled taffy, just when you were sure it couldn´t stretch any farther . . . it did, and from the sound it tasted just as sweet. “We´re getting better at . . . timing.’

The last word sounded as sour and the first did sweet. Looking over at her incredulously, Logan tried out the word for himself, wrapping his tongue around it as though would help him to understand. “Timing.’

The repetition caused her to lift her head, with a quirk of her lips that the older man would have found disturbingly similar to his own . . . if he´d been looking at her lips at all. But he wasn´t, instead it was her eyes that drew his attention. She had the most impossible eyes.

Eyes that it was impossible not to be drawn to, with her hair like that, pure white strands tucked behind both ears, framing almost too-pale skin. Shit, you sought them out, meeting them, letting them study yours in a way that was far too wise. And you did it because the rest of her was so blinding that you needed the dark, needed to be sucked in by the deep molasses gaze that almost drained you as much as her moonlight skin.

And it was equally impossible to read them once they drew you in. So much old mixed with so much young, and you never really knew which part was Marie. Maybe by now it all was, at least it was all Rogue.

Anyone who ever told you that they knew her was full of shit, even if that person was Marie herself. No one knew her, anymore than they knew him, maybe Rogue, maybe Wolverine, but never Marie, never Logan. A person might know the past or they might know the present, but figuring out how the two mixed together inside was as impossible as her eyes.

Not that it stopped him from trying, the Wolverine didn´t back down from a challenge, and for that matter Logan probably didn´t either. So he stood there and let her study him while he tried to decipher her.

Anger comprised her first line of defense, like glass thrown against a wall, shards of it flew everywhere some towards Bobby, some towards her own hated skin, but most towards him. Because in his repetition of her word choice, she´d heard what he´d tried to hide --- disbelief, complete disbelief that it would ever be enough, that the carefully timed caress of lips would ever manage to substitute for losing yourself in another to the point where you forgot about everything else.

And under the cutting anger that really inflicted no more pain than the actual glass itself would have, lay sadness --- sadness so heavy that just witnessing it was a little like being smothered. Sadness that existed because deep inside Marie didn´t believe her self-told lie any more than he did.

Tearing his eyes away, Logan took a swig of his beer, focused back on the yard outside, and waited, because backing down was as close as he came to apologizing and she knew that.

Finally it came, that little exhale of resignation, and the relaxation of her muscles as she turned to take in the same view. It was always better this way anyways, talking without looking.

“So, are you leaving again?’ She asked the question in a way that said she already knew the answer, as though she could see the lightly packed bag that rested at the foot of his bed.

“Might be.’

His words were met with a soft snort of derision, and despite the earlier determination that talking without looking would be best; Logan cast a sidelong glance her way.

“What?’ He growled.

Shrugging casually, she just cocked her head and pretended to survey the grounds a little more thoroughly. “Just never pegged you for a coward, s´all’

“You didn´t have a problem the last time I left.’

“Last time you were looking, this time you´re running. Makes a difference.’

Crossing his arms, he turned to face her once again. “So you think I´m running?’

“Don´t think . . . know.’ Looking up at him, she tapped her temple with a small apologetic smile, indicating she understood just how horrible it was to have someone get inside your head when you never invited them in. “It´s the first thing I´d want to do if something ever happened to y-Bobby.’

There was the tiniest hitch before she murmured her boyfriend´s name, but he caught it, and out of sheer perversity repeated the name just to let her know. “Right . . . Bobby . . .’

If Marie was going to shove things in his face, well he would just shove right back. But she didn´t back down, she swallowed a little, shoved her hands in her back pockets, and kept right on facing him, letting him read on her expression that what she´d been about to say was ‘you´.

Apparently satisfied that he´d seen exactly what she intended him to, the young mutant who seemed to be growing a little older right before his eyes, shifted her gaze to the rich rug beneath their feet. “Everyone here thinks that I don´t know, but I do . ..’

Crossing his arms, Logan leaned back against the window frame, he didn´t like where this conversation was headed, and his instincts had a feeling that he might be grateful for a little support before the night was out. He never ignored his instincts. “What´s that, kid?’

The nickname was used partly out of habit, partly from design. As though saying it would somehow change her back, make her brighter, less stubborn, or at least not so damnably wise.

It did none of those things. Rather the young woman simply lifted her gaze to the ceiling, and smiled in a sad, slightly amused way that was too old for her age and looked far too right on her face.

“And apparently you´re everyone, too.’ The soft accented words didn´t sound surprised, simply . . . disappointed and tired. “No one thinks that I know .. . how much you loved Dr. Grey, but I do.’

Logan went rigid at her words. In everyone´s attempts at consoling him, always they spoke of how much he cared, or how important Jean was to him, but never had anyone called it for what it was --- as though saying he had loved her would somehow sully her memory or encroach on Summer´s right to mourn for his wife.

Now that someone had said it, perhaps more so because that someone had been Marie, he felt a new wave of sadness and pain and bitterness creep over him. He´d done his grieving as a friend, now finally he had permission to grieve as a man.

And still she continued on, unnoticing, uncaring or maybe noticing, caring, and realizing he needed to be alone in this. Who knew anymore with Marie? Standing there in the center of the room with her head titled upwards, the moon turning her round face angular with pale light and too deep shadows, she spoke with a wisdom that wasn´t her own.

“They all think . . . I don´t know, maybe they all think I need protecting or that it would just make it worse . . .’ She snorted softly at that. “But they forget, I´ve seen death before. Maybe not here,’ One gloved hand touched the bottom of her eye before moving to her temple. “But up here I´ve got it in living color, high-def surround sound. Thank you Erik.’

“Marie . . .’ He growled the name warningly. It was unfamiliar on his tongue, rough from disuse, but he couldn´t make ‘kid´ come out, not right now.

And in what was becoming a terribly disturbing trend of the night, she ignored him. “After Liberty Island, when I just wanted all the memories to disappear, Dr. Grey helped me. ‘Everything´s a gift, some just take longer to see.´ Do you have any idea how much I hated her when she said that?’

“I can imagine.’

“Yeah . . . thing is, she was right. I hate it when she does that, too.’

“So do I.’

Lowering her head to look straight at him, Marie smiled patronizingly, “You´re a horrible liar.’

Logan just scowled.

“So here it goes . . . my one shot as using this ‘gift´ Magneto left me, and if it doesn´t work, I´m never trusting anything Dr. Grey said again.’ Visibly shoring herself up, she captured his eyes with a frankness that startled him. “Death sucks. It´s hard as hell. It leaves you gaping and vulnerable. You want to erase all the memories as badly as I wanted to shut out Magneto´s. You know it´s the worst thing in the world, and given enough time it will eat you whole from the inside out.’

“Thanks, I feel better.’

Matching his scowl with one of her own, she continued on. “Point is eventually you´ve got to fill the gap, and you know what doesn´t fill it? Running. Know what does? People.’

“I know how to handle death.’

“No you don´t.’ She retorted with complete certainty. “You´ve seen blood and horrible things that I´ll never forgive you for putting in my head, but not death where it´s up close and personal like this. They . . . we can help, if you´re not too scared to let us.’

The words landed between them like a gauntlet, his choice to accept or reject. Holding his gaze just a fraction longer to make sure he knew it was there, Marie finally backed down. Shifting her eyes to the set of paintings behind him, she smiled self-consciously, cracking the façade of the commanding woman she inched closer towards everyday, and slipping quietly back into the uncertain girl she was no longer. “See . . . gifts.’

“Yeah.’

“Well, I should probably get to bed. Night, Logan.’

“G´night, kid.’

Pausing at the doorway, she turned once again, light from the hallway silhouetting her, so all you could make out were two white bolts. “You´re needed here. Everything´s a gift, including you.’

As he took the time to digest that information, she turned away throwing over her shoulder almost as an afterthought, “See ya tomorrow.’