Title: Poison (1 of ?)
Date: May 8, 2007
Author: Wolf CrescentWalker
Email: wolf755 at hotmail dot com
Rating: NC-17 (overall)
Summary: Rogue’s life spins out of control after taking the cure, but it affects others in even more dramatic ways, especially Logan. Sex, violence, claws, vulgar language, religious issues, medical stuff.
Characters: Rogue, Logan, Bobby, Storm, Toad, Magneto, Hank, Mystique, Jubilee, Kitty, Piotr; any others in minor roles; three original characters: Mike, Niji and Ciji.
Category: Drama/Angst, with an occasional foray into smut.
Disclaimer: I do not own the characters, their universe, or the whole mutant concept. I just make my stories for fun, not for profit.
Archive: wrbeta. Others, please ask.
Spoilers/Continuity: X3 to post-X3
Genre: 90% Movieverse
Author's Notes: I usually don’t beta, but I did get help with this one in it’s early stages. Jaq of Spades gave me criticism that helped a lot. Lovey from the Bronze Alternative posting board (BuffytVS) gave me a smoother chunk of dialogue that I was struggling over. My beloved cousin Nero gave me a killer mangled cliche-of-a-quote that is ‘so’ Logan. See if you can find it. Virtually beta-less, thus any mistakes found are authentic.

* * * * *

Chapter One: “Storms and Strategies”

Summary: Rogue has a rude awakening, while Magneto hatches a plan.

* * * * *

“I didn’t want this.” Bobby half-heartedly placed his fingertips inside Rogue’s open hand. Her skin felt like everyone else’s - warm, smooth, a little damp in the center of the palm.

“But I did.” She grasped the cool fingers, sensing a tremor. Was it desire that made him tremble? Nerves? Anger?

Fear?

“It’s just... you know what Storm said about...” Bobby hedged his words, running his other hand through his cropped hair, as if the gesture alone would pull his thoughts into order. Rogue felt his skin starting to chill, as he always did under stress.

“Storm doesn’t kill people with a handshake. I understand all the political stances and the ‘opinions’ people have been tossing around, but everything changes when you want a normal life as badly as I do. I would’ve thought you, of all people, would understand that.” She hesitated two seconds. “You, and Logan.”

Rogue saw Bobby’s jaw tighten at the mention of Logan’s name, then he continued rapidly and in a flat voice, “It’s just that Storm says it’s a sell-out, supporting the concept that mutants are diseased somehow, when we’re not. We both know that, but you...” He faltered.

“I what, Bobby? I made a choice? I fell off the mutant pedestal that Storm built underneath us? Eric is still lecturing inside my head, saying we’re somehow superior. Storm says we’re normal. Society treats us like freaks. But we’re not any of those things. We’re more... and less... and different, somehow. I’ve worked my ass off for months trying to grab control of my mutation with not one moment of success, but now...”

Bobby cut her off with a raised hand. “How could you just do it? How could you trust them not to try eliminating all of us with some kind of toxic injection instead of a real cure? You should have waited. You should have talked to me about it.”

“Talked to you? You mean I should have asked your permission to make decisions about my own body? Asked your opinion about trying to give myself a normal life? What should I have talked to you about, Bobby? I wanted to talk to you about lots of things before I left, but you were busy.” Rogue realized she had unwittingly withdrawn her hand from his, and stuffed her hands in her pockets.

“Busy? When?”

“Oh, just for instance... the night you killed all the water lilies in the fountain by freezing them. That’s one good example.”

“That was for Kitty. She was homesick. We wanted to skate.’

Footsteps in the hallway broke the tension momentarily, until Storm appeared in the open door.

“Sorry if I’m interrupting, but I heard you were back, Rogue. Everything all right?” Storm gave them both a soft smile.

“No, it’s not all right,” Bobby interjected quickly. “She took the cure.” He spat the last word as if it were a curse, and Rogue saw Storm’s expression fall instantly.

“Oh no....” Storm barely breathed the words. “Oh, Rogue....”

“Shut up, Bobby - you don’t know anything!” Rogue screeched at him, her patience gone. Storm stepped into the room and reached a comforting hand toward Rogue who instinctively back-stepped in defense. There hadn’t been enough time to change her reflexes when it came to a touch.

“Leave me alone, both of you! You don’t live in my body, you don’t live my life, and neither one of you were invited in here, so just leave me alone!” She shouted the last words in a rage. Bobby and Storm were hardly back in the hallway before Rogue slammed and locked the door in their faces.

Toad hesitantly regarded the slim vial of vaccine lying at the center of the table, positioned midway between himself, Pyro, and Magneto who lightly, lovingly stroked the fingers of his left hand against the smooth metal surface of the table. Toad felt almost hypnotized by the movement, but with a shake of his head drew his attention back to the vial.

“That’s it? That’s the almighty mutant cure? Hmph.”

“That, my friend, is indeed the ‘cure’, as they would have us call it. Poison, I call it - a tiny, potent weapon intended to exterminate us all.” Eric’s fingertips continued to glide in small, intricate spirals, paying little heed to the other mutants beside him as his mind reeled back to the moment when the vaccine injector vials had pierced his clothing, rendering him useless, neutered, powerless.

Homo sapiens.

The term left a bad taste in it’s wake. And it had been Beast and Wolverine who had delivered the death knell to his powers through their tactics of distraction, and needles into his chest.

But he still had weapons: his mind, his leadership skills, his devoted Brotherhood so badly diminished now in numbers, yet fiercely bonded. Nothing drew a band of rogues and rebels together more tightly than surviving a war. After the battle over the Brotherhood’s attempt to destroy Worthington Lab along with Leech, the soldiers, and the X-Men who stood in their way, stragglers from the Brotherhood had started coming in from hiding. Magneto’s army was once again growing. Toad had been laying low since Liberty Island, recuperating and nursing a half-hearted grudge. The three continued staring in silence at the vial, as if it were somehow holy, or a ticking bomb with no counter, about to explode.

Pyro broke the silence. “What do we do with this stuff? It’s just one dose.” He turned to Magneto. “You’re an alpha, right? A Class Three or higher? And it took how many doses to take your mutation down? Three? Four?”

“To the best of my knowledge, the number of doses is medically irrelevant. I believe it was four doses that struck me, and I am a Class Five,” Eric commented dryly, clearing his throat before correcting himself. “I was a Class Five.”

“Ha! You were never a Class Five. A Three, definitely; likely a Four on your good days.” Toad laughed at his former superior’s arrogance, then quailed when he saw the cold expression on Magneto’s face, and noted the slight movement of the elder man’s right hand beneath the table and into a pocket of his jacket.

“Don’t argue petty points, Toad. It’s unbecoming, and it irritates me to the point of contemplating your sudden death.” Toad heard the muffled but audible ‘click’ of a safety being released beneath the table. “I’m not as ‘disabled’ as you might think.”

Pyro broke the tension between the two men. “So, what are we gonna do with this vial? What good is a single dose? We can only take out one person, tops.”

Relaxing again, he studied the faces of his two soldiers. Toad was experienced and useful, if irreverent. Pyro, while still green, was devoted, talented, and willing to learn. He was also respectful, protective, and quite star-struck. Eric smiled benevolently upon his two soldiers and asked, “What do you do in a battle, gentlemen, when you are surrounded by several opponents, and you can neither surrender, nor negotiate?”

After several seconds of silence from the two, and with only the slightest hint of sarcasm, he continued, “Anyone?”

“Create a diversion.” Pyro tossed the idea out to break the uncomfortable silence he hated.

“Hardly.”

Toad grinned. “Attack.”

“Exactly.” Eric graced Toad with an approving smile. “And who do you attack first?” His eyes went expectantly to Pyro.

“Their leader.” Pyro recalled a martial arts flick he and Drake had watched one night, memorizing the strategies embraced by a skilled fighter. He continued, “Take down their leader, or their strongest, if you can. Gives you a better chance against the others by eliminating the greatest threat first, and by doing that, demoralizing the rest.”

“Exactly.” Eric half-smiled to himself, hoping that some day this boy Pyro would turn into a worthy lieutenant. It would take time to rebuild their strengths, train their newer soldiers, develop the mutant skills in the younger ones, but it would be done. With Toad having returned to the fold, and young John showing such potential and devotion, they would make the Brotherhood once again a fierce machine for mutant superiority.

Pyro sat in deep thought for several moments, then braved a radical question to no one in particular. “Why do we need a tool against other mutants now, though? What’s the point? I mean, Xavier’s team is pretty decimated. He’s gone; Jean, Cyclops, both gone; and the older students are not worthy to wear the uniform, last time I was there. They’re no threat to us right now, so who are you planning to target?” Pyro masked his own speculation about Eric’s reliability and trustworthiness. John had worn a tough, unfeeling facade when Mystique had been neutralized by the vaccine, not daring to show that he was appalled at Magneto’s casual dismissal of his most loyal devotee. That precise moment on the truck convoy had been a time to be a stone-hearted professional. Mystique had been abandoned, so in turn she had been doing as much damage to them as possible. Yet they survived it all and were regrouping, while she was possibly still in police custody. Eric’s voice broke John’s train of thought.

“Xavier’s team of X-Men stood against us. They protected the very laboratory that created this vile formula,” his eyes returned to the vaccine lying in the center of the table, “and thus have allowed the formula to continue existing, putting us all in danger, my brothers.” He waved his hand in dismissal. “And if my information is correct, they are housing the source of the vaccine: the mutant called Leech. As long as this Leech survives, more of this vile potion can be manufactured, and even if they won’t permit that, there are surely more vials just like this one in existence. Thousands were likely manufactured, perhaps more. Eventually, they will synthesize the formula, eliminate the need for Leech, and simply produce the vaccine as easily as aspirin. Then they will neuter every mutant child after the prerequisite blood test to determine that the mutant gene is present in their biochemistry.” Eric’s voice went soft, almost grieving in it’s tone. “It will be wholesale extermination at a genetic level. Charles’ X-Men didn’t stop the cure from existing. They secured it’s continuation.” Eric rose to his feet, both hands planted firmly on the table, his voice smoothing to a sly tease. “We must eliminate the cure, gentlemen, and to do that, we must eliminate the X-Men. At this moment, we have the advantage of superior strategy and battlefield experience. And yet, they do outnumber us by body count alone. We are, as we discussed earlier, effectively surrounded by an enemy unwilling to negotiate. Thus, we must attack. And whom do we target?”

“Their strongest.” Toad picked up quickly on John’s suggestion. Eric nodded his agreement, then turned to John.

“And who is their strongest, you who know them all so well?”

Pyro sat in silence for a few moments, pondering the strengths and weaknesses of the few remaining experienced X-Men. “Storm’s mutation is awesome, powerful, and it gives her a fantastic advantage under certain circumstances, but not all circumstances. If you erase her mutant powers, she’s pretty much a whipped puppy. She’s no physical threat if she gets the cure.”

“So true.” Eric waited patiently for John to work through his strategy.

“If you eliminate Logan’s mutations, he’s still a killing machine, a force to be dealt with physically. The heightened senses give him an edge, but it’s a small edge. The healing factor makes him fierce in a fight, pretty much unbeatable. But even taking that away, he could kill a lot of people before we could take him down in any theoretical future battle, barring the use of a sniper at a distance.” Pyro nodded to himself as if agreeing with his own thought processes. “He’s a double-barrel threat, though; so eliminating half of that threat would be a big advantage against him, the most bang for our vaccine buck. A lot of the time I think he’s running on adrenalin and self-confidence. Losing his regenerating mutation would make him....”

“... vulnerable on more than one level.” Eric finished the thought. “And vulnerable warriors often make mistakes. They become demoralized. They become a vortex of negative potential, weakening those around them.” Eric looked at Toad, then at Pyro, both smiling and smug. Toad put the question to words.

“So, who do we give the cure to, boss man?”

“Gentlemen, we take down the Wolverine.”

Poison (2 of ?)

* * * * *

Shelly Hanson, former graduate of Xavier’s School for Gifted Youth and currently a freshly-recruited covert operative for the Brotherhood, snapped one hair from her long blonde braid and tied it deftly around the leg of the huge wooden desk. Her audio-cellular mutation allowed her to hear anything within a few feet of her own body’s cells, and the single hair she cunningly hid would serve as a remote listening device, requiring her only to concentrate on it at any time and at a considerable distance. She stepped quickly away from the desk’s edge, adjusted her skirt and sat back comfortably in the smaller chair, waiting for Storm to return to the office. It was only a few moments until Shelly heard the door open.

“Sorry, Shelly - that was a personal call and I shouldn’t have let it interfere with our interview, but it was important. Things have been crazy around here lately. My apologies.”

“Oh, think nothing of it. I know the Professor’s death has caused a tremendous upheaval in the school. That’s why I want to come back and help.” Shelly watched as Storm re-seated herself behind the huge desk, then flashed her best Texas beauty queen smile and continued in her trained sincere voice, “ I know I can help. My degrees and certification in math and early education should come in handy since the students seem to be getting younger all the time.”

Storm leaned back in her chair and nodded her agreement. “It does seem that way. When I first came here, there was no one under fourteen, though now we have children as young as eight who are manifesting. Early education is becoming a definite need here, and it will be a mercifully small class at this point. Let me go over the student roles and see exactly how many kids we’ve got in that age group, and I’ll make the decision whether we need you teaching regular classes at that level, or if we’ll be further ahead by developing a mentoring program. You can move in tomorrow on the teacher’s third floor. Thanks again for coming to help, Shelly, and it’s so good to see you again.”

Ororo stood and hugged the younger woman gratefully before walking her out, then returned to the daily work of running the school.

News of Charles Xavier’s death had spread like wildfire through the alumni of the school. Within a week, Ororo had received numerous offers of assistance with the job of finding full-time teachers, handling classes and determining curriculum, finding substitute teachers, all from mutant kids who had been rescued to the school. Graduates from the past five years came out of the woodwork with offers of assistance to keep the school open and working. Ororo smiled at the stacks of letters, faxes, e-mail printouts, and applications that lay on the desk before her. She couldn’t adjust to calling it ‘her’ desk yet. It was still Charles’ desk, and would be for a long time. She would simply use it to help her adjust to running the school, sitting behind it’s highly polished mahogany expanse to remind herself that her responsibilities were different now, more demanding, more people’s lives and well-being at risk, and yet she felt at peace with the change. The school would continue. It had to; she had to make it work.

A knock on the open door frame brought Storm’s head up. Logan leaned against the door frame with arms crossed over his broad chest, a crooked half-smile trying to form on his lips.

“You look like a kid at the grown-up’s table,” he grinned impishly and raised both hands in mock surrender before she could form a response. “Don’t take that as an insult, ‘cause it wasn’t meant as one. It’s just a damned big desk.”

“It’s a damned big job,” Ororo smiled at Logan and waved her hand at a chair in front of the desk. “Have a seat. How can I help you today?”

“You can fire my ass and throw me the hell out of here, for starters. Then I’ll have to leave and I won’t feel so bad about it.”

Ororo sat stiffly for a moment, a look of stark concern on her face. “Please tell me you aren’t leaving now. Logan, I need you here. This school needs you, the kids need you, the team...”

He cut her off. “Relax - I’m just jerkin’ your chain. I’m not going anywhere. I’m just havin’ a fit of wanderlust, that’s all. I’m still not used to stayin’ put this long.” He slouched back in the chair and stretched his legs out casually. “I’m in for the long run, you know that. Just don’t pull the reins too tight, or I’ll balk. You picked out any new teachers yet?” His eyes grazed the top of the desk.

Ororo handed a few applications to Logan. “You just missed meeting one. Shelly Hanson, a graduate and former student of mine is moving in tomorrow. There are several other possibilities, mostly graduated students who either have experienced problems finding teaching positions because of being mutants, or they just happen to be between positions and are willing to come back here and help out.”

“You know any more of ‘em personally?” Logan shuffled through the papers distractedly.

“Three. They were all my students when I started teaching here, and I trust them. I’ve already set up interviews with them, and with two or three others. Charles left this place in a very secure and financially lucrative position. Everything’s put into trusts with a string of beneficiaries, since our survival rate among the X-Men is pretty sketchy at best.” Logan looked her in the eyes as her voice cracked on the last words. She sat in silence.

“You mean to say, he made sure our asses were covered, that the school’s on a solid foundation, the money’s not gonna go away, and we’re basically fine unless we have to kill all the lawyers?”

That pithy observation brought a small laugh from Storm. “That is succinct and accurate. We’re okay. The school’s okay. The money won’t run out, and we can hire more teachers. There’s even a string of financial supports to keep the X-Men operating. It’s a surprisingly intricate financial network the Professor had constructed for us, meaning both the school and the underground. The actual lack of X-Men, however, may prove to be our biggest problem if we continue helping mutants, especially kids. And personally, I cannot see us stopping that, can you?”

Logan pondered in silence for a while before responding. “Rogue and Ice Man are training hard. The Drake kid is getting better every day. He may be the walking definition of ‘nerd,’ but he’s got focus. He’s not that formidable in a knock-down drag-out ‘cause he’s small, wiry, yeah... but his use of his mutation is getting more creative all the time. He’s more than ready to take on the job, wear the uniform full time if he wants. Rogue is another matter entirely.”

“You mean, since she took the cure?” Ororo fought to keep her voice neutral, even though she knew Logan would smell her tension from across the room.

“Yeah.... it changed a lot of things.” He drawled the words distractedly, then continued in a matter-of-fact tone. “As a fighter, she’s acceptable. Not great, just acceptable. Not being able to drain someone on a touch makes her more vulnerable, but I gotta admit she’s working hard to get tougher and faster. It seems like the effort she was putting into trying to control her mutation with the Professor’s help, she’s now focusing on fighting skills. The times I’ve teamed her and Drake against each other in sparring matches, she’s apt to take his head off. I thought once she made the choice and took the cure, she’d lighten up. If anything, she’s more of a hard-ass than before. He holds back with her, but she’s unloading all chambers on him. It don’t figure.... I know something’s goin’ on with her, but she’s not talkin’ to me much right now. I’m gonna have to find out what’s wrong with her.”

“If she’ll open up to anyone, it’ll be you, Logan. See what you can learn, since Rogue’s been distant with me lately, too. She needs someone to talk to about everything that’s going on with her. What about Kitty? How’s she doing in training?”

“She’s like trying to stuff a snake up a garden hose - turn your head once and she’s gone. I don’t trust her instincts yet as far as teamwork goes, but when it comes to using her mutation, she’s wicked. She’s a loner. She thinks fast, she’s unpredictable, and that’s all good. But when it comes to the basics of teamwork, she’s not proving herself as reliable yet, even though she does take orders well. Still, she’s proven herself enough to start her on some more missions, teamwork practice, but keep it low key. Piotr, however, is ready to rock and roll. We have to work on some of the techno-crap, like handling the equipment in the ‘Bird, navigational gadgetry... but when it comes to hard-core action, the Tin Man’s got his shit together.”

Storm crinkled her eyes and smiled at Logan’s colorful descriptions of the young X-Men. He might never lose his hard-edged attitude or his rough language, but he would make a team out of the green students who’d seen too much, too young. She would handle the school and Logan would handle the X-Men’s underground facility. Somewhere in the middle, they would all make it work.

In the parking lot, Shelly Hanson mentally ticked off everything she had just overheard, made a few cryptic scribbles on a notepad, stuffed it into the console of her car, checked her make-up and drove away.

“Hey, kid.”

Logan stepped quickly up beside Rogue as she hurried between classes, from taking one class to substitute-teaching another.

“Hey, geezer.”

“Point taken,” he slid one arm around her shoulders as they walked the crowded hallway, the throng of kids parting around the two as Rogue eyed them uncomfortably.

“Have you noticed how they still avoid touching me, or even getting in my ‘personal space?’ It’s kind of amazing in a not nice way. I guess old habits do die hard.” Logan marked the tone of sadness in her voice. He playfully tugged a lock of her long hair.

“Maybe it’s not you they’re avoiding.”

“Sugar, you may be the resident bad-ass with a Ph.D. in intimidation, but I can smell a line of bullshit from a mile off.” Rogue saw the mischievous grin cross Logan’s lips before they rounded the corner to her classroom where her students were already filing into their seats.

“You got plans for tonight?”

“No,” Rogue nodded her head toward the waiting students. “I have to go in now and make like a teacher.” She waggled her instructor’s manuals at him.

“Have dinner with me tonight. Oh, and I owe you an apology.”

Rogue looked surprised. “Uh, okay to dinner, but why do you owe me an apology?”

Logan was already walking backwards down the hall, still grinning at her. “I didn’t carry your books for you.” He tossed her a rakish wink, then turned to walk away. Rogue thrust her head beyond the doorframe to block some of the conversation from the kids within the classroom, knowing he would hear her either way.

“Well, at least you didn’t dip my white hair in the ink well, you bodacious flirt!”

“I love your skunk locks, darlin’!”

“Same to ya, bristle head!”

Rogue heard one bark of laughter from Logan before he rounded another corner out of sight, and the surge of students’ laughter from the classroom brought her attention back to the job at hand.

After several hours of missed conversations, cell phone tag, and unavoidable interruptions, Logan and Marie settled into a booth in a noisy roadhouse twenty minutes from the mansion. Ordering food and drinks, they tried to engage in ‘shop’ talk, but the racket in the place kept them repeating themselves just to be heard. Logan slid out of his side of the booth and slid in next to Rogue.

“This place is crazy tonight - let’s finish our food, then go back to my room and hang out where we don’t have to shout, okay?”

“Sounds like a plan to me,” Rogue reached across the table and drew Logan’s plate to him, indicating that he should stay right where he was at her side. They ate in their own world of silence, Marie giggling once at Logan’s grimace when a truly bad singer took the microphone for a round of karaoke. The brittle-voiced barfly enthusiastically worked a screeching rendition of “Stand By Your Man.” Leaning in to Marie’s ear, Logan said, “Sounds like someone trying to kill a guitar with a cat.” The snort of laughter that burst forth from Marie made part of the french fry she’d been chewing land on the table.

“Gah! Don’t make me embarrass myself like that!” She slammed a paper napkin over the mess and stuffed it under the rim of her plate. Again slipping an arm around her shoulders, Logan chuckled against her until she felt the vibration in her own body. She realized that her left hand had come to rest comfortably on his thigh beneath the table. Slowly she withdrew her hand as unobtrusively as possible, but he had noticed - she could tell. He turned his face directly to her and looked straight into her eyes, showing no emotion other than an openness that he rarely displayed to anyone.

Waiting for a reaction, she sat in silence until the moment had passed. With a wince at the screeching end of the song, Logan turned back to his food. Rogue gave him a friendly nudge in the ribs with her elbow, and they finished their meal. Throwing a few bills on the table, Logan tossed the helmet to her, and within moments they were back on the motorcycle and gliding through the night air, going home.

“Up for a movie, Logan?” Rogue grabbed the remote from the coffee table in Logan’s room, quickly scanning a few channels for something they could zone out on as they sat in comfort and enjoyed each other’s company. TCM offered up “Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid” - perfect. “You ever gonna get some technology in here? Maybe a DVD player or a stereo or something? You could watch porn flicks in comfort and privacy.”

“If you wanna watch some porn, there’s a DV-thing downstairs, and I know where the good smut stash is kept.” Logan cracked the top off a Molsons from the little fridge, and handed her a soda before settling on the sofa at her left side and crossing his ankles on the coffee table.

“Gimme a sip of that stuff, mister.”

“You’re not old enough yet, are you? Or did I miss something?”

“Pah! I’m at least a hundred tonight.”

“How d’ya figure that?”

“With you, and Eric, and me, and life all running around in my head, I’m probably older than you by a long shot. And with you in here...” she tapped one finger against the side of her head, “I’ve got a taste for Molsons, but I draw the line at the cigars.” She made an ‘ick’ face and gave a theatrical shudder.

Logan quirked his eyebrows into a sign of acceptance, and handed her the long neck. Taking one lady-like sip, Rogue smacked her lips, made the required ‘ahhhh’ and handed the bottle back to him. Settling back onto the sofa, she watched the movie for all of seven seconds before Logan spoke.

“Why haven’t you touched me yet?” There was no tone of disapproval or disappointment in his question, just curiosity; but it still caught Rogue completely off guard. Logan clarified his question, “Ya know, skin to skin. You’ve touched my clothes, brushed by me a couple of times, but no direct contact. Why?”

She bought time to think by drinking a long chug of soda before answering him. “Well, a lot of people are still treating me weird. Truthfully, I’ve only touched two people so far: Bobby, of course, and Hank while he was running some medical tests on me.”

“I figured you’d touched your boyfriend - you probably been waitin’ a long time for that. Was it good?” He swigged on the beer, purposely avoiding her eyes and concentrating on the screen with a neutral facial expression.

“No, it wasn’t.”

Now it was Logan’s turn to be caught off guard. Marie saw him frown and blink several times before he turned his head toward her.

“He didn’t hurt you, did he?” All his focus was on her now, the movie momentarily forgotten by both of them.

“Not physically, if that’s what you mean. He’s just... disapproving of the choice I made. He and Storm are pretty much in the same camp about taking the cure. And I doubt there are any students left who don’t know I took the cure, based on the way gossip flies around here like bats in a cave. But they still keep a distance from me, so I’m wondering... maybe they think the cure is ‘catching’ and they’ll get their powers negated if they get close to me. I went from being untouchable to being a pariah.” Logan noted the tremor in her voice, the tears building up in her eyes, threatening to overflow her lashes. Marie dashed her fingers over her eyes, wiping it away.

“You didn’t answer my question. Why not me?” Logan reached for her bare hand where it rested on the sofa between them. Marie didn’t pull away, but simply allowed him to put his hand over hers, then he grasped and lifted her hand, lacing his left fingers through hers.

“I really don’t know, Logan. I thought everything was gonna be so different... so much better. And in some ways, it is: I can go without gloves, without long sleeves, I can relax. Well, I can relax if I ever learn ‘how’ to relax.” She was deep in thought for a moment before continuing, “I had expectations about how people would react, and I was wrong on every count. I knew Storm disapproved of the cure in general, but I thought she would see how it could help me personally, in my unique situation. I was wrong. I thought Bobby would be thrilled, but I was wrong. I didn’t know how you’d react, so I was just laying low with you, I guess.... waiting to see how you felt about it.”

“I told you how I felt about it when we talked before - it’s your life, your decision.”

“Did you think then that I would go ahead and do it?” She wriggled her fingers tighter into his grasp, enjoying the firm strength, the warm skin, the tender grip of his hand on hers.

“Yeah. I’m no mind reader, but I figured you would. Of all the mutants I’ve met, you have the most to gain from taking the cure. Sure, people like Hank and Kurt - well, it costs them a lot because their mutation is so damned obvious. But the ‘not being able to touch someone’ thing... that’s deeper than skin. At least, that’s the way it seems to me.”

“It feels that way to me. I’ve had to give up too much: my family, my home, anything resembling a normal life; marriage, sex, children... and not necessarily in that order, mind you.” She drifted off for a moment before continuing, “Now, at least I’ve got a shot at those things if I decide I want them later. Right now, I’m not so sure about anything.”

“Why have you been hammerin’ on Drake so hard during training? Are you ‘that’ pissed at him?”

“Yeah, I guess.” Marie looked down in something like shame, but refocused again and continued, “Things with Bobby aren’t going well - in fact, I don’t know if I want to keep seeing him or not. It’s getting complicated, and I really can’t handle complicated right now.”

“Have you jumped him yet?” Marie heard the teasing tone in Logan’s voice, but she didn’t rise to the bait.

“No, I haven’t.” He grew silent at her matter-of-fact statement, so Rogue continued, “I thought when I came back from taking the cure, I’d meet him in my room, which did happen by the way. He’d sweep me into his arms, touch my bare skin with awe and reverence, and we’d fall onto the bed and make mad, passionate love for the first time.” She sighed deeply, then, “It didn’t quite work out that way. In fact, things have been going sour for a while now, even before ‘the cure.’ Maybe that’s just bringing it all to a head.”

“What was it like, taking the cure? Did you go to that clinic that was on the news?” In the rare times when he was talkative, Logan could change topics at the speed of lightning, but he was all seriousness now. He’d wanted her to open up and talk, and she was obliging. He would keep her talking, give her space, let her ramble if she needed to work things out.

“Yeah. It was clinical, and impersonal, and a lot like getting in a line for a flu shot in some ways, but it hurt,” she felt the long fingers of his free hand lace through her hair, stroking and comforting her as he always had, without touching her skin, yet his left hand stayed entwined with hers.

“How bad was it?”

“It kind of burned at first, the serum spreading through my veins... and it made me shake for a while like an adrenalin overload. I felt kind of nauseated for a long time, but that slowly wore off. Probably in five or six hours I felt back to normal. They had little cubicles set up like an emergency room, with cots and curtains to block them off for privacy. It was a production line: move ‘em in, move ‘em out. Some mutants had a rougher time with it than others. The ones who got really sick got the cots until they recovered. Lots of the kids were crying when their parents took them to get the injection - that pretty much unnerved me. I almost walked out when one little girl was screaming as they injected her. I guess her parents had her tested and they found the X-gene, so they had her ‘fixed’ before she manifested. It was pretty horrifying. The thought keeps wandering around in my mind, wondering what her mutation would have been, you know? If she would have been some kind of super intelligent brain that could discover a cure for cancer or something like that, and they chose to have her fixed before she even had a chance to manifest anything.”

Marie felt Logan’s hand move from her hair, encircle her shoulders and pull her against him. His thumb had started stroking the velvet of her cheek as she talked and occasionally drew a little shuddering breath from the stress of her memories.

“You should have asked me to go with you, because I would have in a heartbeat. You know that, right?”

“Yeah, I know, but it didn’t seem right, like I had to do this on my own. Sort of a rite of passage.” She grew silent for a moment. “Have you ever thought about taking the cure?”

Logan frowned at the unexpected question, but answered her honestly. “I think every mutant probably rolled the idea around, whether we approve of the whole concept or not. Yeah, I thought about it, for about ten seconds. That’s how long it took me to weigh the good with the bad. Hell, when it comes to mutations, and discounting the whole Stryker experience, I’ve got it pretty good. I’m healthy, strong, I don’t age, I rarely even get tired. I don’t get drunk for more than a few minutes, and granted, sometimes ‘that’ sucks...” He trailed off with a grin as Marie giggled at the comment, then Logan continued, “The regeneration factor really kicks up the sex drive, too, and helps with performance. So, no complaints there, either.”

Laughing, Marie looked at him with blushing cheeks as he grinned at her before growing serious again. “But none of that stuff is costing me a shot at a normal life, like you mentioned. If I wanted any of that, I could have it: the whole ‘white picket fence’ routine, kids, wife, etc. Not ageing would make it go bad eventually. I mean, if I had a wife and kids, chances are I’d outlive them all. I don’t even want to think about that. And the prospect of getting sick, getting old and feeble, being vulnerable to injury or even death from the simplest thing... well, there’s nothing there to make me want to take the cure. I suppose if the cure proves to be legitimate, and I’m not saying it isn’t, but sometime down the road if I wanted it, then I could go for it. But I’ll be truthful with you, Marie: there were a lot of times in the past when I tried to off myself in a variety of gruesome ways, when I didn’t want to live. Things change. Now I do want to live. I’ve gotten enough time and distance between me and the bad parts of my past that I can remember, and I’ve got a purpose for myself. So, as far as I’m concerned, taking the cure would be a form of slow suicide for me. At this point in my life, I don’t want that. It would cost me too much.”

Turning her back toward the television and folding her legs underneath her, Marie snuggled closer to Logan, half laying in his lap as he held her in his arms, and she let her fingers touch both sides of his face, stroking his brow, his cheeks; he’d shaved around the muttonchops today. He was smooth there. She let one finger lightly tap at his lower lip.

“When did you become so wise, sugar?”

“I wasn’t aware that I was,” his voice grew soft and low, the tone that always melted her because she rarely heard it except when they were alone together and comfortable. Marie stroked his brow again before she slipped one hand against the thick muscles of his chest. Looking him straight in the eye, she posed a question.

“Do you realize how much we’ve both changed in such a short time? It’s pretty amazing.”

“Well, let’s see...” he teased her with a smile. “I almost killed you, you almost killed me twice, we both fell in lust with people here, and it went badly...” Marie noted the sense of amusement fading from his voice, but he pursued the list. “I stopped trying to see if I could kill myself. You stopped trying ‘not’ to kill people, by taking the cure. I sorta settled down, and you definitely...” He stopped short, not finishing the sentence.

“I definitely what?”

“Grew up.”

Marie studied his hazel eyes intently, looking for some clue as to why he suddenly grew tense at the mention of her maturing.

“Is that a bad thing?” Her eyes never left his as she tried to drill her awareness into his through their eyes, trying to read him, trying to understand what he was saying, but he was a hard man to read sometimes.

“No, it’s definitely not a bad thing,” Logan’s hand moved around her waist now, and he pulled her closer against him, half embracing her, but he felt tense, awkward, unsure how to handle her closeness. Wanting to break the tension, Marie pursued the conversation.

“I’ll make you a deal, sugar. We’ve both changed in tremendous ways. Let’s really make a fresh start. I hereby release you from your pledge to take care of me. I’m a whole new person, you know? I’m older, stronger, more capable of taking care of myself and a lot of that... oh hell, most of that is thanks to you, for teaching me to fight and defend myself. And yeah, maybe it’s a lot of what I absorbed from you; your attitude, your confidence. But I’ll make you a new deal. Let’s take care of each other: help each other out, learn from each other, really start out on a fresh path. What do you think about that proposal?”

Logan chuckled softly before meeting her eyes again. “It sounds great, but I don’t need to be ‘released’ from any promises I ever made you. They stand. But your new deal sounds good, too, so let’s just add that onto the deal we’ve already got.”

“But you’re coming out on the short end of the stick, and I’m trying to balance things here. Make it fair for both of us. Just say, ‘yes, Marie - that’s an excellent idea.’ I can wait.” She twiddled one stray lock of his dark hair around her fingers and waited.

He said nothing.

She hummed a few bars of the theme from “Jeopardy.”

He said nothing. The man had a perfect poker face.

“I will wear you down until you agree.”

Nothing.

“I will torment you until you agree.”

The left eyebrow crawled up exactly one-quarter inch.

“I know where you’re ticklish. You will agree.”

The lips smirked, which she knew was just his way of ‘not’ smiling when something amused him, but still remained silent.

Quietly, gently, she leaned into his right side, lips by his ear, and whispered, ‘You’re dead meat, mister.”

Instantly her fingers shot to his ribs and she began tickling him mercilessly as he exploded in laughter, grabbing her and sliding with her to the floor as they both thrashed legs and arms, accidentally shoving over the table and upsetting his empty bottle. It only took moments before Logan had grabbed her wrists and pinned her arms to the floor to stop the tickling, as they both playfully struggled against the other. But she had made him laugh heartily, which wasn’t easy.

Marie realized that his legs were straddle of hers, his body above hers, his hands pinning her arms above her head, and their breath mingling in the small space between them. She’d always known that he was a big guy, but having his entire body stretched out over hers made her realize just how big he was, all hard-muscled, long-limbed, broad-shouldered and always incredibly gentle with her.

The look in Logan’s eyes was still unreadable, but the hardening bulge in the front of his jeans was unmistakable as it pressed against her low belly. To her surprise, he spoke to her in a low, breathy whisper.

“Has he kissed you since you took the cure?”

“Has he kissed you since you took the cure?”

Marie blinked in amazement at Logan’s personal question.

“No,” she felt a tongue of shame start to burn in her cheeks. Why hadn’t Bobby tried to kiss her? There really was no excuse for it.

Logan’s hand released her one wrist and he lightly stroked her cheek again with the back of his fingers. “Has anyone kissed you since?”

“No,” Marie admitted, and realized her own voice had lowered to a whisper.

“Do you want to be kissed?” The feral edge was coming to his voice now, but it wasn’t the dangerous edge; it was the sexual one.

“God, yes,” the words tumbled out before Marie realized her mouth was open. She didn’t have time to close it before Logan pressed his lips softly over hers.

Her mind raced with questions: am I doing this right? Should I throw my arms around him? My legs? If I do, will he bolt, or start pulling my clothes off? What if I’m a terrible kisser?!? Maybe I should just go for it and let Nature take her course.... Oh my god, Logan’s kissing me!

Logan’s lips worked slowly over hers, silky skin on silky skin; soft, hungry kisses that she responded to gently, bit by bit, and before Marie could really get a grasp of what was happening, he eased up from her, allowing her to catch her breath.

“Wow.....” Marie breathed the word.

“Yeah....” Logan grinned at her from above, and ducked his head again to kiss her deeply. His hands moved to the carpet by her sides, keeping his full weight off her, but he worked her bottom lip into a suckling kiss, nipping at her playfully, while her arms finally snaked around his shoulders. He had just decided to nibble at her throat when a firm knock sounded on the door.

“Logan? I can’t find Rogue - have you seen her?” Drake’s voice broke the intimate moment between them like the shattering of glass on concrete.

“Fuck,” Logan angrily breathed the word onto Rogue’s neck.

“Afraid not, sugar,” Marie whispered back at him before they both pulled themselves to their feet. Logan started toward the door and Marie quickly checked to see that all her clothing was to rights.

Stopping halfway between the door and the sofa, Logan turned back to Marie, and asked her quietly, “Do you want me to answer him?”

With a grimace, she nodded her approval. “Go ahead - I’ve got to deal with this some time.”

Opening the door with a studied nonchalance, Logan nodded his head toward where Marie stood by the sofa. “She’s all yours, Drake.”

Startled at the words he chose, Marie cast an intense look at Logan who returned it with unmistakable shards of jealousy in his eyes, then exited his own door and shut it behind him. Marie and Bobby stood awkwardly and alone in Logan’s room.

“Figured I’d find you in here,” he began, his eyes inspecting her face closely, his hands jammed tightly into his pockets as usual when he was uncomfortable.

“We were watching a movie.” It wasn’t a lie, just not the whole truth. “What did you want?” Marie folded her arms across her chest, unaware of her own defensive body language.

“I just wanted to....” Bobby stopped in mid-sentence, and stepped closer to Rogue, studying her face intently. She saw his expression go hard, eyes flinty, lips pressed tight together. Three heartbeats later, he stepped back from her. “Forget it. I can see you’ve got other things on your mind.”

Stunned, she struggled for something to say. “What are you talking about?”

He exploded at her. “You were kissing him! All I have to do is look at this room, at your face, your hair!” Drawing one deep breath, he continued in a cold furor, “Your lips are red and swollen, your hair’s messed up, the furniture is shoved around - were you fucking him on the floor, Rogue?!” Bobby’s hands had come out of his pockets and he was gesturing wildly, pointing accusingly at her.

Rogue felt everything falling apart around her. “Bobby, stop this!”

His tone was pure rage, clamped down tight. “Deny it! Deny it if it isn’t true. Were you kissing him? Fucking him on the floor, or on the couch? What were you doing? Why is everything with us changing now? It’s like I don’t know you any more.”

Rogue felt her own rage bubbling to the surface, and her Inner Logan pushed her to let it free. “You don’t know me any more, Bobby Drake. You’ve done everything wrong since I came here! You pushed and pushed to get close to me when you couldn’t, when I was untouchable. And now when you ‘can’ get close to me, you’re avoiding me like I’ve got some kind of disease! This is sick! It’s not healthy for either one of us.” Rogue’s hands were shaking, but she pushed onward with the emotions that were feeding her words. “It’s like you only wanted me when you couldn’t have me, and now since I’m cured, you don’t give a good damn any more, except to make me feel bad for trying to do something good for myself, and for you.”

She stopped cold at the last words, realizing how it sounded, like she’d taken the cure for him. She hadn’t. Had she? Had she loved him enough then to make the decision to risk taking the cure, and in the interim, had all that changed?

“You’re still not denying it,” Bobby was shaking too, but from what, Rogue couldn’t tell: rage, jealousy, heat of the moment? She was unsure. Pushing past him, she twisted the doorknob and flung the door wide open, then stepped aside.

“I’m not talking to you any more tonight. Just leave, and we’ll talk tomorrow, maybe. No arguments. Just go.”

Without another word, Bobby stomped out the door and disappeared down the darkened hallway. Marie eased the door shut and turned back to the shambled room. Turning the table upright again, she discarded the empty bottle and soda can, turned off the TV, and quietly left the room, closing the door behind her.

From an empty room across the hall, Logan listened in concealed silence to the whole shouting match, undetected by either Rogue or Drake. He stood for a long time after they had both left before leaving his cover and returning to his room.

Her scent was still strong in the space, but it was tinged with rage now, instead of arousal. Things were changing.

They needed to change a lot more.

Sighing deeply, he left the room again and headed for the woods behind the school. He needed to clear his head, and the forest always did that for him. In five minutes, he was deep into the old growth trees, the night and the moon starting to heal his turmoil.

Earlier, just down the hall from Logan’s room on the teacher’s floor, Shelly Hanson punched in the numbers and listened while the cell phone connected to Toad’s.

“Hi, honey!” she chirped into the phone, choosing her words cautiously. “Everything’s going well here. I’m all settled in.” She was careful not to mention anything specific, especially names, in case their calls were overheard. Technology was convenient, but there was no such thing as a secure cell phone call. “I’ve got my ‘stuff’...” she accented the word for accuracy, “scattered all over the place, but it’s all good. I’m learning the routine, and getting familiar with the people here.”

“Great work, love. Anything that might tickle your fancy yet, or mine?” Toad liked this girl, and she had liked his accent, which he used to full advantage when they spoke. “Anything I need to pencil into my social schedule yet?”

“Not yet, but I’ve heard some things. I should have more tomorrow. I think things are coming together but I’ve got to confirm. I’ll call you again tomorrow.”

“I’ll handle everything here, and you take care of yourself, right?”

“Right. See ya,” Shelly clicked off the call and tucked the cell phone away in her purse. Sitting before her dressing table in her new room on the teacher’s floor, she picked up her hairbrush and stroked it through her silken blonde mane. Patting every hair into place, she gave a gleaming smile at the framed picture of herself in a swimsuit with the pageant banner draped across her bared shoulders. She had been born for stages and runways, catwalks and cameras. Who could have guessed that pageant committees would start avoiding mutants as contestants? She had hidden her manifesting abilities for years, until one small competition board had required blood and urine tests for drugs, but had also unadmittedly tested for the x-gene. Her beauty pageant career was over from that point on; gossip ran rampant through the pageant community, and she’d been among the first eliminated in every competition she entered after that point.

Sounds from the hallway distracted her from the hurtful memories. Angry voices and opening and closing doors had been sounding for several minutes from down the hall, and she had peeked out just in time to see the retreating figure of Bobby Drake stomping past her doorframe. Minutes later she heard the door shut again, and Rogue quietly left Logan’s room. Her curiosity piqued, she remained staring into the darkened hallway for some time, eventually seeing Logan appear from across the hall, enter his own room, and quickly leave again. This teacher’s floor of apartments was better than a good murder mystery!

Tuning her mutant senses into the path he’d taken, she listened through her body’s cells strung about the mansion, anticipating his path. Hallway, moving south. Stairs, through the foyer, going toward the back door. Patio, footsteps then fading away. He had left the mansion, everything silent in his wake.

Easing the door fully open, Shelly grabbed her hairbrush and moved quickly down the hall, entered Logan’s room, and stuffed a loose hair from her brush under the sofa and another under his bed near the side stand where the phone rested.

With any luck, upon his return the open window and gentle evening breeze would have removed her scent from his room. If he sensed her having been there, she could always cover with a story that she’d had a question about class schedules, but he’d been gone when she’d knocked on his unlocked door. A little flirting always helped with men, too - distracted them from their original intentions.

Checking the hallway once again through her audio-cellular senses, she closed the door and returned to her own room. One more check told her the mansion was quiet, so she turned off the light and crawled into bed. With a yawn and a stretch, she settled in to sleep. Her new classes started early the next morning.

Friday mornings: Rogue hated them, and this one promised to be a killer. All the students would be antsy, frantic for the weekend to begin, and most of the teachers would have reached burn-out stage by this point. She got it from both sides: flake-out and burn-out, and padded with anticipation for the weekend’s freedom. And then there was Bobby knocking on her door very early. Rogue rolled out of bed, grumpy and disheveled since she’s slept fitfully.

“We need to work stuff out. Let’s have some breakfast on the terrace, or better yet, down by the woods where we can be alone and talk freely. Your classes don’t start for an hour and a half yet, right?” He still seemed tense and ill at ease, but less hostile.

She pushed the hair out of her face before regarding him with sleepy, frowning eyes. “Okay, give me a half hour - I’ll meet you in the kitchen and we’ll raid something.” She didn’t feel like eating, so she would take a token piece of fruit.

They settled on the grass at the edge of the lawn under a graceful maple tree, and of course a soccer game broke out in the area, forcing them to retreat to the deep woods. Walking along a hiking path, Rogue half-heartedly bit into the apple she’d brought. Bobby broke the silence first.

“Can we fix this?” He leaned against a tree trunk and watched Rogue step nervously back and forth, left foot to right foot, as she stood in front of him, keeping her hands busy with the apple. “I want us to have a chance, and it seems like everything’s gone wrong lately.”

“Yeah.... I dunno,” she mumbled in vague, partial agreement, still not meeting his eyes. “Everything’s weird now, and I don’t understand any of it, really.”

“You were right, I mean about some of the stuff you said last night. I know it ‘looks’ like I sort of lost interest in you after you took the cure, but that wasn’t at all what I intended. It just threw me for such a loop, that I didn’t know what to say, or do, or how to handle it.”

“You’re not the only one, trust me,” she bit the apple again to keep from having to say more.

“Did you kiss Logan last night?” Bobby asked bluntly, and expected an answer; it was written on his face.

“Yes,” Marie met his eyes, head held high, but offered no more.

“Did you... do... more?” Bobby’s confidence was getting shakier by the moment.

“No. My turn now: did you kiss Kitty that night when you froze the fountain?”

“No.”

“But I’ve seen you twice with your arms around her: the skating on the fountain, and the huddle in the Danger Room. It all piles up, especially since you’ve been backing away from me in a lot of ways.” Rogue realized that she’d been too specific, asking about him kissing Kitty at a specific time. “Have you ever kissed her, or done more?”

Bobby froze, and she knew the answer before he spoke it. “Once. I kissed her once, but nothing more, I swear.”

“So,” Rogue stated quietly, “we’re even.”

“Looks that way, I guess. Are we gonna do anything about it?”

“Like what?”

“Like, stop kissing other people, or stop dating each other, or start kissing each other? Unless you’ve got other suggestions, which I’d like to hear.”

“Bobby, you have to admit: we haven’t really been ‘dating’ since I took the cure. And apparently we’re both interested in other people. I don’t have any other suggestions, so if you want to try kissing me for a change, I suggest you do it now and we’ll see whether we have a chance at saving this relationship, or just becoming friends only.”

He instantly started toward her, pushing off the tree trunk and stepping closer. Rogue made one warning before he reached her.

“One thing, though: we’re never going to have another scene like last night. It was just too awful. I won’t do that again, the yelling and the accusations. There’s no room in my life for that now. Okay?”

“Okay,” Bobby’s arms went tentatively around her waist and she dropped the apple onto the forest floor before embracing him. Slowly their lips met, and Rogue found herself copying Logan’s style of kissing, the movement coming naturally to her since he was already in her head, and that coupled with the first-hand experience from the night before. They indulged in a few moments’ intimacy before breaking the kiss and looking each other in the eyes, soft smiles and entwined arms slowly separating.

“That was nice,” he smiled sweetly at her.

“Yeah.” Rogue thought to herself, ‘Dammit, Logan - get out of my head. I’m even repeating your words now.’ She realized how much of a carbon-copy the Bobby kiss had been to the night before with Logan.

“Got time to walk a while before the rest of your day starts?”

“Yeah, for a while, but I’ve got to be back before my ten o’clock class, and then I’m going to have a lunch conference with Storm and the new teacher Shelly-something, to talk about lesson plans for the classes we’re teaching.”

“No problem - we’ll just walk a while, and then go back.” He reached boldly for her bare hand, and she successfully fought the immediate instinct to draw away. The path would lead them in a circuit back to the side lawn of the mansion, and the day was warming nicely as they strolled.

As soon as they were out of sight and ear shot, Logan stepped into the pathway from where he’d been concealed behind trees. He shook a few leaves from his shirt, then shoved his fingers through his scrambled hair as he listened to their footsteps growing more distant. He’d spent the night in the forest, napping beneath a grove at times, wandering at other times. Their voices had drawn him on silent feet to where the couple had just departed. He’d heard every word they’d spoken, including Marie’s admission that she’d kissed Logan in his room last night. At least she’d had the brass to tell Drake the truth, and hadn’t offered an apology for it, either. His Marie had class.

His Marie. The thought shook him up. Things were, indeed, changing.

Picking up her discarded apple, he pondered the whole Garden of Eden/original sin concept as a symbol before dismissing it with a derisive curl of the upper lip, and hurled the apple into the brush with a snarl.

So, who was the snake in the whole mess? Him, or Drake? Or Rogue?

The day whirled by in lecturing, being lectured to, and preparing lectures for future classes. It all made Rogue’s head hurt. That, coupled with the lack of sleep and her over-all stress level, made her surly as a bear by dinner. Bobby jogged through the foyer to meet her on the way into the dining hall. “Sit with me?” He practically beamed at her.

“Sure, but don’t expect sparkling conversation. I’m in full-bore bitch mode tonight.”

“I’m duly warned, then,” he reached for her hand just as they passed through the double doorway and practically crashed into Logan on his way out. Marie actually did bounce off his muscled, adamantium-laden frame with an ‘oof’ sound, losing her balance for a moment before Logan scooped one arm around her waist to steady her before Bobby even realized what happened. They stood there momentarily in an awkward triangle, Logan’s arm around Rogue's waist and her hand in Bobby’s. Logan spoke first.

“You okay, ki... ummm,” he stopped before he could finish the word, grinning at her, then finishing his sentence, “Marie?” She felt Bobby’s hand go possessively against her shoulder.

“Yep, just fine, thanks. You out of here so early? The menu must be really bad tonight.” She wrinkled her nose at the scents wafting from the kitchen. They were surprisingly good, as usual.

“Yeah, stuff to do.” He eyed Drake with no expression of any kind showing on his face. “You two enjoy yourselves.” Logan slipped his arm from her waist and moved on through the door, turning at the last moment to speak directly to Marie, “Don’t forget we’re making that run with Pete into the city tomorrow for supplies. Be in the garage and ready to go at one, sharp.”

Rogue groaned, “I’d forgotten, but yeah, I’ll be there. Don’t know why you need me to go to the hardware store, but it’s a date.”

“It’s more than a hardware store run. See ya,” he nodded perfunctorily at Drake, then walked off.

Grabbing food and seats, they tried chit-chatting over their plates but it was awkward and non-productive. Bobby’s bouncy joy had been squashed by their encounter with his rival and he now concentrated on chewing, silent and nonintrusive, which suited Rogue just fine. Taking their plates to the kitchen, Bobby returned to her side.

“Want to go out somewhere? Maybe a movie, or a club for some music?” His mood had lightened somewhat.

“Any other time I’d say yes, but I’m whipped from this week. It’s been long and rough. I’d just as soon stay in...” Before she could finish her statement that she wanted some rest and quiet, Bobby jumped in with his own suggestion.

“We can go to your room since you’re on the teacher’s floor now. It’s quieter and you don’t have roommates to bug us. We can just hang out, you know? Music, tube, talk, whatever.”

Not wanting to ditch him the very night they’d just made up, she agreed and soon they were flopped on her bed watching “Casablanca.” When the credits rolled, Bobby slid closer and slipped his arms around her waist where she laid on the bed beside him, and drew her closer.

“Still seems weird, doesn’t it, not having to worry about getting zapped by my mutation?” She gave him an innocent smile.

“Yeah, but like all things, we’ll adjust somehow,” Bobby grinned at her, then nuzzling closer, he started kissing her again as she eased into his embrace, letting him take the lead. In moments they were wrapped around each other and kissing fully. Marie felt Bobby’s hand start roaming over her clothed body. She didn’t mean to, but she tensed, and he felt it.

“Are you okay?” He broke away from the kiss and looked straight into her eyes, “Did I do something wrong?”

“Yeah... no! No, it’s okay, I’m just... I dunno.” The sigh she gave made him go tight inside. She was struggling, and it was obvious. “It’s just.... well, twenty-four hours ago we were screaming at each other, making accusations, taking score of our wandering intentions, and now we’re here, making out on my bed. It’s... it’s... unsettling, somehow.”

“Are you still upset about me and Kitty?” His eyes were guarded, nothing revealed in their blue depths.

“Sorta, I guess.... it’s just that everything’s so weird now, and I do mean everything. It’s like all that I’d finally accepted as part of my life has suddenly changed, and while I thought it would be for the better, some of it isn’t.” Rogue looked him straight in the eyes, “Are you still angry that I kissed Logan?”

“It’s not something that thrills me. In a way I understand it, but I don’t like it, and it makes me feel....” his voice trailed off as his gaze dropped. “Look, we ought to be able to be honest with each other by now. You know, I see the way you look at him; actually, the way most of the women here look at him, and I know that I can’t compete on that level.”

Rogue stopped him short, “Bobby, no one ever said either of us had to compete with anyone. Do you think I don’t see how ‘perfect’ you look with Kitty, like you were voted ‘cutest couple’ at a school dance?”

“So, what do you want us to do? See other people? Start over with dating each other?” He paused for a few seconds, “Have sex, and see how we are together?”

“No.” She spoke the word hard and flat, not to be argued with, harsher than she’d intended. But it was done. With a sigh, she elaborated, “We’re not even comfortable going past kissing yet, so I think we need to breathe, and think, and try starting over again, maybe. How about you?”

“I can live with that. We’ll start fresh, then?”

Marie nodded, giving him a little smile. Bobby play-acted tipping his hat to her, “Miss Rogue, would you do me the great honor of accompanying me to dinner some evening?”

Rogue worked her Mississippi accent for all it was worth, “Why, sir, I’d be flattered. You can call on me one evening perhaps next week.” She fluttered her hand beneath her chin like a fan. “‘Cause right now, sugar, I’m whipped. Let’s call it a night, okay?”

“Okay.”

“You going on that run into town tomorrow?”

“Uh, I wasn’t invited; and I’m on Blackbird maintenance duty tomorrow with Storm, all day.”

“Okay. I’ll talk to you later tomorrow, then. ‘Night, Bobby.”

“‘Night, Rogue.” He leaned in and kissed her gently before slipping off the bed and leaving.

Clicking the latch shut behind him, Rogue leaned her forehead against the door, her head whirling in frustration and indecision. She was sure as hell ‘not’ going to lose her virginity as a test of her compatibility with Bobby. It was true; she was ready to make the plunge into a sexual relationship, but not on a whim, and not....

The thought that crossed her mind shook her to the core.

Not with Bobby.

Shelly Hanson sat in an internet café, sipping an almond steamer and watching the laptop for the IM that would be her cue. She nibbled half-heartedly on the muffin she’d ordered, not even tasting it.

A half-hour later, the laptop beeped and the IM window opened. She downed her cooled steamer, slammed shut the laptop, and left the muffin’s remains sit on the table. Once inside her car, she drove exactly eleven blocks away in an erratic pattern to be sure she wasn’t being followed. Parking along the curb by a city park directly across the street from a hardware store, she dragged her cellphone out of her purse, punched in the numbers, and waited while the call connected.

“My dear,” Magneto’s voice oozed over the connection, “are you somewhere safe, that we can talk?”

“Yes, sir. I’m sitting outside the store in question. I’ve been monitoring conversations all day at every opportunity, and I have the details, the time frame, and I’m checking out the location right now. It should be easy. I’ve even lapped the block and located the tavern which the target mentioned. If you can get ‘him’ out here as soon as possible, we can do a walk-through and be ready for tomorrow.”

“‘He’ will be there in approximately forty minutes. I suggest you park in a well-lighted area for your own safety, and you know what car to watch for, do you not?”

“I do, sir, and this area is fairly well-lit. I’ll drive around for about a half-hour, then return here and wait for ‘him’ to do the walk-through.”

Thirty minutes later, Shelly was again parked in front of the hardware store as a black Mercedes pulled up behind her and Toad got out, coming to her driver’s window. Chattiness could wait - they were on the job now.

“Where’s that pub you told us about, love?”

“Walk me around the block, and I’ll show you. Then we can cut directly through the park to get back to the cars. If everything goes as I overheard, you’ll be able to take him in the park tomorrow afternoon.”

Pulling her car door open, Toad offered the blonde girl his arm, and gallantly escorted her down the darkened, deserted street.

Parking the jeep at the curb, Logan slid out and tossed the keys to Piotr. Thumbing through several lists of needed items for the school, Logan handed one list to big Russian for the hardware store, ranging from duct tape, solder, and rechargeable batteries, to some odd-sized screws and cotter pins. To Rogue he handed two lists: one for the computer store next door listing an assortment of chips, discs, a half dozen optical mice (they’d had a lengthy and pun-riddled discussion in the jeep whether it should be optical mouses or optical meese), and a case of laser paper. A second list with only a hand-written address in Logan’s distinctive scrawl, and a ticket stub stapled to it was stuffed into Rogue’s hand. Eyeing the ticket stub, Rogue cast a suspicious eye at her friend.

“What’s this for?”

“Just go there - it’s on the corner,” he hooked a thumb toward the far end of the street. “Give the stub to the manager, and he’ll take it from there.”

“If this is a bookie or some kind of Cuban contraband shop, I’m so telling Storm. And where will you be?” Rogue’s suspicion-bells were going off in a big way.

“I’ll be over...” Logan turned and scanned the park, “...there.” He pointed straight into the park.

“You’re going into the park while we run errands? How not fair is that!?!” Rogue poked him hard in the ribs, making him sidle away from her with a grin, but she knew it was pointless.

Piotr just smiled knowingly and leaned toward Rogue to whisper in a conspiratorial manner, “There’s a bar called O’Houley’s, straight across the park on the next block. That’s where he always ditches me for, when we make these runs.”

“Lush,” snarked Rogue.

“Ah, now, be nice! I’ve got the plastic,” Logan waved the credit cards in front of her nose. “Okay, this one’s for both the hardware and the computer store. Go together to get the computer stuff first - they’re slow and it’ll be a lot to carry. Dump it in the jeep, then Piotr, you hit the hardware while Marie runs down the other address. I’ll meet you back here in an hour, on the nose.”

Rogue craned her neck trying to see down the street to the unknown address with the mysterious ticket stub. “But what is this?”

Logan handed her a different credit card for that errand. “Just do it.”

Rogue and Logan stared each other down, neither one blinking, until Marie got bored enough to surrender.

“Okay. Computer, hardware, mystery ticket. Probably a freakin’ pawn shop,” she muttered as they entered the computer store, and Logan jaywalked through traffic with his trademark swagger, intent on cold beer.

With one errand down and the bags locked in the back of the jeep, Piotr entered the hardware as Rogue headed down the street for the mystery errand. Reaching the corner, she double-checked the address and confirmed: it was a tiny jeweler’s shop, little more than a hole in the wall operation. The door tinkled a little wall-mounted bell as she entered and asked for a manager, handing over the ticket.

“Ah, yes!” A swarthy man in an elaborate turban ushered her behind a curtained wall and seated her before a worktable cluttered with an assortment of small crafting tools, chains on reels, and a lighted magnifying mirror on a swing arm. Producing a small box from a drawer, he opened it to display a cloisonne necklace: a delicate lavender, pink and white magnolia blossom edged in gold. Real gold. It just sat there and glowed at her. It was the most elegant thing she’d ever seen. Pulling a few selections of gold chain from a display, the jeweler draped them over his hand and offered them to her.

“Which style would you like, and what length best suits your tastes, madam?”

“This is for me?!?” Rogue goggled at the necklace and chains, too amazed to make a snap decision.

“Yes, madam, for you. The gentleman who placed the order said it was significant to your place of birth. I would recommend one of these...” he indicated two chains, both smooth, understated, delicately made but in proportion to the glowing magnolia blossom. Rogue shook herself to clear her head and selected a simple chain that wouldn’t snag on any sweaters, and had it measured to lay just below the collarbone. The man worked swiftly, and in only minutes she was looking in the mirror as the magnolia blossom gleamed against her creamy skin.

Piotr loaded the last of the sacks and locked the jeep, leaning against the fender as he checked his watch. One hour exactly. He noted Rogue coming down the sidewalk, almost dancing with energy. Her radiating joy made him smile as she approached.

Rogue stifled herself, not knowing for sure whether Logan would want people realizing that he’d bought her jewelry, so she didn’t comment or try to draw Piotr’s attention to the necklace.

“He’s not back yet?”

“No - and it’s time,” Piotr indicated his watch with a tapping finger.

“Give me the tire iron,” Rogue groaned with a dramatic sigh, “and I swear I’ll go pry him out of that bar.” Piotr was still chuckling as she stepped off the curb toward the park.

“No, Rogue - I’ll go. I know the place.”

She waved him off, “No, I want to talk to him about something. I’ll be right back.”

Rogue jogged through traffic and was well into the park in moments. Finding a footpath directly through a central grove of trees, she followed it at a brisk pace.

Downing the dregs of his beer, Logan threw a few bills on the bar, nodded to the bartender, and left O’Houley’s. Checking his watch, he took the shortcut across the park’s grove toward where the jeep was waiting. By now Marie would be wearing the necklace he’d ordered for her, and with any luck at all, it would help pick her spirits up. He hated to see her so unhappy and overwhelmed with everything that had happened in her life lately. Jewelry always made women happy, right? When in doubt, stick with the classics. And it would put enough pressure on her to take him seriously in comparison to Drake’s fickleness. If he was going to pursue a woman’s attentions, he would absolutely not play fair.

The breezy afternoon was clearing and warm, and Logan felt in abnormally high spirits. Hearing a rustling in the trees above him, he instinctively sniffed the breeze, but he was upwind. Nothing but people and trees, some birds, metallic traffic stink; nothing abnormal. Maybe something from a pond nearby, a mustiness? Moss? Dampness.

The creak of a branch and the displacement of air brought Logan’s attention up too late. With his tongue wrapped around a branch overhead, Toad swung down at speed and planted both feet squarely against Logan’s back, slamming the big feral to the ground. Grasped tightly in Toad’s hand, the vaccine injector smashed down into the thick muscles of Logan’s back, between shoulder blade and spine, and with a tremendous leap Toad was yards away, then out of sight.

Instinctively, the claws ripped out of Logan’s hands, still unaware of the hypodermic needle buried deep in his muscle or the vial projecting from his back. Accustomed to the momentary, flaming pain of the claws popping, Logan snarled in rage and pushed himself up a few inches from the ground before he realized that something was very, very wrong. There was pain over his entire body and it was only getting worse instead of going away, concentrated in his shoulder and both hands. His arms instantly grew weak. He fell back onto the ground and tremors washed over him. Gasping for breath against the pain, he looked at his hands.

His skin wasn’t healing tightly against the claw edges. It wasn’t healing at all; the cleanly sliced holes were pouring blood over his knuckles, between his fingers, dripping on the ground. His mind instantly flashed back to the moment when the claws had first come out in his escape from Stryker’s lab. He remembered the horror of the metal shooting from his hands, the raging pain, the blood that wasn’t even his pouring down his naked arms, down his ribs; other people’s blood, people that he’d cut apart on instinct.

With a groan that ended as a roar, he rolled onto his right side and pulled the claws back in, but the pain only worsened, and the shaking inside him intensified.

“Marie!”

The cry cost him his last hold on awareness, and his body convulsed as he slipped into darkness.
Landing squarely on the path, Toad caught sight of Rogue closing in his direction, and tried to leap away before he was spotted. The movement caught Rogue’s attention. A man, obviously a mutant, leaping in great bounds, with a flash of greenish skin. Toad? Had he survived Liberty Island?

Her stomach churned momentarily, and she suddenly felt cold all over.

What would Toad, if it was him, be doing here, now?

From only a few yards distance, Rogue heard Logan’s hoarse cry for her, and she broke into a hard run. Part of her brain said to be wary and not run headlong into a trap; her combat training was kicking in. But the other part of her brain was saturated with instant terror. Logan had never, ever yelled for her in that tone of voice.

Something was terribly, terribly wrong.

Scanning both sides of the path before her, Rogue cautiously trotted the last few steps to find Logan on the ground at one side of the grove, hands and shirt soaked in blood, muscles convulsing, and seemingly unconscious or nearly so. Scanning their surroundings to make sure no one else was near, she stepped closer, calling his name softly, trying to rouse a coherent response of any kind from him. The tremors were softening, and he lay on his right side, half rolled into fetal position, hands still pumping blood and clutched against his chest.

“Oh my god, Logan, what happened?” Rogue approached the semi-conscious man cautiously, half afraid that the claws would come out at her, and half afraid by his appearance that they’d somehow been ripped out of him, leaving the gory holes in his hands.

Stepping carefully around behind him to afford herself as much protection from his hands as possible, she knelt close against him and saw the vial protruding from his back. With a trembling hand, she reached for it just as he gave a deep groan and rolled toward her. Rogue scrambled into a quick reverse and saw the vial snap off as his back touched the ground, bringing another cry of pain from him. She saw the gleaming metal claws shoot halfway out from his shaking hands, then return to their fully retracted position as more blood pumped afresh from the six slashes. She almost breathed a sigh of relief that his claws were still intact. She didn’t even want to think what kind of person, mutant or otherwise, could have ripped out the Wolverine’s claws.

Magneto. Impossible! The metal-manipulator had been neutralized in the Alcatraz battle.

Rogue shook off the crazy notion and tried again to get Logan to respond to her voice. His eyes struggled open, scanning erratically around him before locking onto her face. He was gasping for breath, still crazy from pain and something more.

It had to be some kind of poison, something his mutation couldn’t fight off. Rogue kept her eyes locked on him and kept talking to him softly, making him concentrate on her.

“Logan, it’s me, sugar. I’m here with you. I’ll take care of it. Can you talk to me?” She knelt by him and reached a hand down, softly stroking his forehead as he began quieting. The tremors were almost gone now.

“Yeah....” She could barely hear his words. “Yeah. What happened?”

“I don’t know. I heard you call for me and then I found you here on the ground. I can get Pete and we can call 911, get some help here.”

“No!” He snarled at her uncharacteristically. “No doctors, no hospital, not ‘theirs’.” She knew that meant a regular hospital with non-mutant doctors. “Hank...” He was gasping for breath again, “Get me back... get Hank.”

“Lay still, and I’ll get Pete here in a few seconds,” Rogue whipped off the light vest she’d put on that day and wrapped it tightly around his bleeding hands. “Stay quiet. I’ll be right back.” She feathered a kiss on his forehead, appalled at the clamminess of his skin, and ran for help.

Shouting across the traffic for Piotr to bring the first aid box from the jeep, she ran back to the grove where Logan still lay with his hands wrapped in her blood-soaked vest. Only moments later, Piotr skidded to a halt at Logan’s other side and together they wrapped fresh packing and gauze around his hands, and helped him sit up against a tree. When Piotr asked what had happened, Rogue just shook her head in bewilderment.

With Piotr’s strong arms around Logan, the two men managed to rise and walk toward the jeep. Rogue grabbed the vial from the ground where it had snapped off, and checked the end. The needle was gone, probably still embedded in Logan’s back. She studied the vial briefly, wondering where she’d seen one like that before. Then it struck her: the security camera videotapes from Worthington Labs on Alcatraz! She had reviewed the tapes from the island with the other X-Men after the battle against the Brotherhood, and she had watched with leering satisfaction as she’d seen Hank slam a handful of such vials into Magneto’s chest, the older man then dropping to the ground.

It had to be the cure vaccine! It was a different form of delivery than she’d gotten at the clinic, but it would explain Logan’s sudden loss of the ability to heal himself rapidly. A shrill scream from the park brought her attention as she ran to catch up with the two men. A woman had been walking her little dog through the park and screamed at the sight of the two men, one covered in blood, walking out of the park. Ignoring the woman, Rogue jammed the broken vial into her pocket and ran to unlock the jeep.

Jerking open one back door, Piotr half-lifted Logan onto the seat as Rogue jumped in the other side, catching Logan and easing him down to lie half on her lap while Piotr fired the jeep to life and nosed them quickly into the flow of traffic, heading home as fast as possible.

“Baby... oh god, baby... it’s okay,” she kept whispering to Logan who seemed to be experiencing intermittent waves of tremors. He lay quietly with his head in her lap, stoically silent, eyes closed as if concentrating on maintaining himself. Keeping her finger lightly on the pulse point behind his ear, she monitored his rapid heart rate, and with trembling fingers stroked his hair to help calm him. By the time they reached the mansion, he sat up on his own and tried to step out of the jeep unassisted, but Piotr had called ahead on the cell phone and Hank was waiting with a gurney.

“I don’t need that thing,” Logan groused, five seconds passing before his knees buckled. The three of them together caught Logan and lowered him onto the gurney, then made a fast bee line for the Med Lab.

Gathered in Hank’s office an hour later, he reviewed his findings for Rogue, Storm, and Bobby.

“I’m very glad that I was already here working with the pre-med students at this time. I’ve never consider myself a diagnostician, but thanks to Rogue’s quick thinking in retrieving that vial, it has been determined that it was indeed the ‘mutant cure’ vaccine that was delivered to Logan in this afternoon’s attack. There was enough liquid left in the vial to test with Worthington Lab’s assistance, so that diagnosis is confirmed. The needle broke off in his back near the inner edge of the shoulder blade, and if not for his generally muscular physique, it might have punctured the right lung. The needle shattered into several pieces, possibly when it struck an adamantium-clad bone, but all pieces have been removed under local anesthetic, and should cause no further problems once the wound heals, at a natural human rate, of course,” Hank scanned the eyes of the three, then continued, pushing his glasses up his nose.

“Local anesthetic has also been applied to Logan’s hands and the holes from the claws have been closed with a total of sixty-six stitches. These will remain in place for about ten days to two weeks, depending on how quickly he heals, and how well he takes care of the wounds.” Hank hooked the glasses back down his nose again with one clawed finger and peered over them, “Knowing Logan, it will be two weeks. He’s not famous for his restraint or caution.” The glasses went back up, and flipping one page in the chart, he continued.

“I’ve started him on a routine of antibiotics for the wounds, noting that even the simple pin prick of a blood test did not heal immediately. From that observation alone, I can confidently say that the ‘cure’ has taken total effect, and his mutations have been completely shut down: the regeneration, and apparently the heightened senses as well. He required a transfusion to compensate for the blood loss he suffered as a result of the attack and the unsheathing of his claws, which then would not heal as normal for him. Logan is a rare blood type, O negative; but fortunately, and thanks again to Rogue here who shares that same type and donated a while ago, he received the transfusion he needed.”

Looking up from the chart, Hank expanded on his current thoughts, “We need to establish a donor program here for the student body as a precaution, and that’s something my pre-med students will begin organizing first thing tomorrow. No one else in the mansion has O negative blood but the two of you,” he looked directly at Rogue again, “so for both your safety, we should try to keep a unit or two on hand for emergencies such as this.”

Rogue sat silently between Bobby and Storm, her fingers grimly laced together so tightly they almost hurt. Bobby had gently placed an arm across the back of her chair as a comforting gesture; he’d freaked out when she appeared in the hallway soaked in blood and frantically holding on to Logan’s shoulder as they’d wheeled him into Med Lab. Bobby had breathed a deep sigh of relief as soon as he learned the blood soaking his girlfriend’s clothing was not her own, and now focused on being her support system.

Storm interjected questions, “How is he now? Can we see him? Does he know what happened?”

“I’ve explained to Logan that he was injected with the ‘mutant cure’ vaccine. To say that he did not take this news well would be a gross understatement,” Hank gave them a smile tinged with an ironic sadness. “The man has an astonishing vocabulary at times, none of which I’ll repeat here. He is weak, he needs bed rest, and I chose to administer a strong sedative so he will be asleep the rest of the night. If he seems stable tomorrow, I’ll release him from Med Lab then, and keep a close eye on him the first few days. Other than the amount of stitches needed to close the lacerations from his claws, and the attendant blood loss, he’s in fairly good shape. He’s a strong, healthy man. Even with his mutations eliminated, he should heal up, in time.”

Hank seemed hesitant, then continued, “A great deal of Logan’s personal ‘style’, his individualism, is invested in his mutations; his skills as a fighter; his almost constant use of his heightened senses; and now all that has changed. Whether or not this affects his feral nature, I have no way of deducing. He will have a lot of adjusting to do, and it will take time. But first, he has to get his strength back and heal,” Hank gently folded the chart closed. “This will not be easy for him.”

“Doctor McCoy, can I go sit with him after I get cleaned up?” Rogue spoke for the first time. She had refused to leave the Med Lab waiting area while Hank and his assistants had stitched Logan and worked over him, running tests, bandaging his hands. Bobby had repeatedly asked her to go with him and clean up. The smell of her bloody clothing was making him slightly ill, but she’d flatly refused. She’d only agreed to come to this office now because she wanted to know everything.

“Of course you may, but as I said, he’ll sleep the rest of the night.”

“I don’t care,” Rogue rose to leave the room, Bobby following closely on her heels. They walked in total silence until reaching Rogue’s door, when she turned to Bobby.

“Thanks for the company, but I need to handle this on my own. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.” With a peck on his cheek, she started into her room.

“Rogue,” Bobby moved toward her, but she said one word to him before shutting the door.

“Tomorrow.”

Freshly scrubbed and with her hair still damp, Rogue threw on clean jeans and a t-shirt, fastened on the magnolia blossom necklace and dropped it beneath her shirt, then made herself walk instead of running back to the Med Lab where the activity around Logan’s bed had now ceased. Monitors beeped quietly in the student’s station, but near his bed all was quiet. Hank nodded to her as she slipped in and went to Logan’s side. She stood close to the bed and looked down at him.

She’d never seen him pale before, except for those moments in the past when she’d used her former mutation to suck energy from him. His hazel eyes were closed in sleep, the relaxed state deepened by the sedation. She allowed herself to examine him by her own standards: monitor cables snaking across the sheet and into the panel above the bed; an IV drip on the other side into a needle in his left arm, and she knew how he hated invasive medical stuff. Two bags of liquid fed their droplets into the tube that ran to his arm, but she couldn’t tell what they were, and she didn’t care - she trusted Hank to do what was best.

Rogue moved her eyes down to Logan’s hands, swathed in white bandages and resting on a folded blanket placed over his abdomen to keep his hands elevated above heart level. She stroked her fingers lightly over his where they showed beyond the bandages, amazed at the smoothness of his skin. He would have scars now; scars from the cuts, scars from the tiny stitches that held in place the fine webbing of skin between his fingers, and eventually gray hairs snaking through the dark ones on his head, crow’s feet would start to gather at the corners of his eyes when he smiled, rare though his smiles were...

‘Oh god,’ Rogue thought to herself, ‘I’ve been waiting to grow up for him, to be old enough that he doesn’t feel guilty about being with me. Now he’ll age, too, and I’ll always be too young for him to feel right about us being together.’ Those abrupt thoughts finally brought her to a full and profound understanding of the depth of her feelings for him. She loved him, more than a friend, more than the ‘big brother’ role that some people tried to impose on him, more than her protector when she needed one. She loved him, deeply. She loved him as a man.

The cure was the final stroke that severed their future together. She’d taken it voluntarily for her own good., while he’d been forced into it, and the cure would end everything she’d wanted for them both. His words from their earlier conversation on the subject echoed in her mind. He had said the cure would be a form of slow suicide for him.

It was too much. Gasping for breath, she broke down, collapsing on the floor beside his bed, wracked with shuddering sobs, tears pouring down her cheeks.

A short time later, Hank quietly entered the room and gently scooped the sobbing Rogue easily into his arms, carrying her out of the room and placing her in his office again. Reaching for a box of tissues, he handed them to her and sat beside her, patting her shoulders affectionately with his big blue furry hands while she tried to pull herself together.

“Rogue, his life is not in any danger,” he assured her in his calm, cultured voice, trying to comfort her.

“I know, but there are so many.... complications now,” she hedged her words, knowing if she even tried to explain the realizations and emotions which were tearing her apart, that she would collapse into grieving hysteria again.

“Time, Rogue; you’ll both need time to adjust. It heals many things, you know,” he gave her a knowing glance, making her smile a little at his attempted witticism. “And who knows what the future may bring? A vaccine has been developed that shuts down mutations. Perhaps a counter-vaccine may be developed to reverse the ‘cure.’ Things change, and there is no end to the medical possibilities,” he paused to give her time to assimilate what he was saying, “or hope.”

Rogue sniffed, blew her nose again, and thought over what he’d said, things that hadn’t even occurred to her. A cure for the cure? It wasn’t impossible, she realized, knowing that Hank wouldn’t have made up the story just to ease her crying. Her stomach rumbled audibly, and she slapped a hand over her belly to quiet the embarrassing sound.

“Come,” Hank stood and reached a furry hand to her, “we’re both going to the dining hall. I need some supper, too, and when was the last time you ate, young lady?”

“Uh, yesterday? I didn’t have time today, before we went into the city where I thought maybe we’d grab a late lunch, but then it happened...” she waved an arm toward the room where Logan lay under sedation. “But I want to come back here and be with Logan when we’re through, okay?” She mopped her reddened eyes one last time.

Hank gave her a slight, gentlemanly bow. “Agreed. Since you are a rare-type blood donor, I will simply have to give you some special allowances,” he grinned down at her, then pushed her gently toward the door.

Logan became aware of being warm and comfortable, drifting as if he were coming out of a twilight sleep. There were beeping sounds around him that were strange, but he didn’t seem to be able to work his way up to caring. A grunt of contentment vibrated in his chest, and he drifted away again.

Tucked beside him on the bed, Rogue stirred at the sound. She had wiggled herself close to him in the night, cautious to avoid any monitor leads or IV tubes, and held on to him until she fell asleep against his shoulder. Rousing now from her sleep-induced stupor, she slithered up on the bed and looked at his face: eyes still closed, skin less pale, breathing normal. She ignored the beeping monitors and lightly touched her finger to the pulse point at his throat. He seemed somehow to be better, although exactly how, she could not determine.

Pushing a few stray locks of hair from his forehead, she looked around to see one of the pre-meds coming in with a breakfast tray, so it had to be morning.

“Still not awake, huh?” The girl placed the tray to the side and checked Logan over quickly, taking pulse, checking breathing, peeping under an eyelid, checking bandages, all very quickly. Rogue noted that the IV was gone, probably removed sometime in the night when they were both sound asleep. Only a piece of tape and cotton padding remained where the IV needle had pierced his forearm. “I’ll just leave this stuff here. He should wake up soon. Try to get him to eat.”

“Thanks,” mumbled Rogue, still coming to herself. The girl left.

Snuggling back down against his shoulder, she let her fingers stray across his bare chest above the sheet, tracing trails through the soft dark hairs that covered his skin there. Her fingers then slipped across to stroke his other shoulder, reveling in the amazingly firm, thick layer of muscle there. She had spent so much time and effort ‘not’ touching anyone skin to skin, that she wanted to take advantage of every opportunity now, especially with Logan. Maybe her touch alone would....

“Hey,” her eyes snapped up to his at his whisper.

“Hey, you... wondered when you were gonna wake up,” Rogue couldn’t bring herself to ask the inevitable questions. How are you? Are you in pain? Do you know what’s happened? Do you remember getting sixty-plus stitches in your hands? Do you remember the claws ripping out and slicing your skin to shreds? Do you really comprehend that you can’t heal fast now? She looked closely at his eyes: the pupils were very dilated. He was still loopy from the drugs.

“You sleepin’ here with me?” His voice was a little slurred and confused.

“Yeah, just wanted to stay close until you woke up. I wanted to thank you for this necklace.” His eyes slowly wandered down her front to where she pulled the magnolia blossom from beneath her shirt, then they drifted back to her face with a groggy smile.

“Logan, it’s the most beautiful, elegant thing I’ve ever had, and it just makes me go all syrupy inside.” She stroked his cheek before continuing, “Thank you.” Leaning forward, she kissed him lightly on the side of the mouth. Turning more toward her, their lips met again in a soft, lingering kiss before he seemed to grow restless. She eased back again to look at him. He was frowning now and looking around the room, and she noticed that the dilation of his pupils was less marked than before - he was becoming coherent again.

“Marie, where the hell am I?”

It was a long, difficult, tense explanation, and Rogue took it slowly, step by step, the way she remembered everything happening. Logan watched her eyes through the entire story, not saying a word or showing any emotion; he had everything locked down. When she finally ran out of words, he asked her one question.

“What day is it?”

Rubbing her hand over her face, she thought for a moment before answering him. Her days and nights had gotten scrambled sleeping in the Med Lab. “Sunday. I think it’s Sunday now.”

Logan tried to rise to a sitting position, but the bandaged hands made it awkward, and halfway up he seemed to go groggy again and melted back onto the pillow. Trying to comfort him, she bunched the pillow under his head and looked again at his eyes.

“The stuff they gave you is messing you up - you’re still kind of high from the sedation.” He lay in stony silence, not responding to her. At that moment Hank swept in and shooed Rogue off the bed.

Staring at her over his glasses, he laid out the rules, “You, young lady, are going to breakfast, and then to your room for some decent rest. Visiting hours are officially over until further notice. No arguments.”

Rogue gave them both a look of reluctant resignation, then placed a light kiss on Logan’s forehead, and left.

“She’s been here all night with you. Did she explain what happened?”

“Yeah.” No emotion came with the minimal response, so Hank continued.

“Now, after a brief examination, I’ll instruct you in caring for the stitches in your hands; and once you’re feeling steady on your feet, I’ll release you from Observation. However, I will ask you to stay close for a few days, preferably on the mansion grounds, so I can be sure you’re recovering satisfactorily.”

“Yeah.”

Hank was less than reassured by Logan’s lack of communication. Last night he had been extremely agitated, cursing a blue streak, hostile to the point that the pre-meds had later told Hank they had been afraid of being faced with the claws if Logan lost control of his fiery temper. That had encouraged Hank to use the sedation, but now his patient was too quiet.

Hank unwrapped the bandages. The cuts were red and the hands and fingers swollen, the stitches pulling cross-tracks in the skin, but there was no sign of infection. Hank swabbed the stitches with disinfectant. Normally, Logan would have been grousing, revolted by the smell; but he said nothing, just winced a little as the liquid burned the raw flesh. Pushing the tray of equipment aside, Hank regarded Logan.

“I’ll leave your hands unwrapped for a while so you can eat more comfortably,” he slid the breakfast tray into place. “I’ve got some work to do elsewhere. I’ll come back in half an hour and apply fresh bandages. By then you should be clear-headed and ready to be released.”

Logan just sat in silence, looking at his wounded hands lying in his lap. Hank silently left the area, but made sure the security monitor was active over Logan’s bed, just in case. Motioning one of the pre-med assistants over to the main desk, he indicated the monitor.

“If he tries to rise from the bed, seems to be in great pain, or does anything suspicious, call me immediately. I’ll be in my office for a short while only, then back here.”

Hank noticed the questioning look on the student’s face. She asked, “What do you mean by ‘suspicious,’ Doctor McCoy?”

Hank leaned in closer and spoke in a low tone, “I realize we haven’t covered this in any pre-med classes yet, but you are getting a crash course in something called ‘suicide watch.’ The first thing you need to know is this: you do ‘not’ tell anyone what you are doing here, ever. This falls in the realm of ethics and confidentiality. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir,” the girl was wide-eyed and astounded.

“Good. I’ll be in my office with the door open, in case you need me.”

Shelly Hanson drove into the countryside early Sunday morning for some privacy. Parking beneath a tree by a roadside market, she dialed Toad’s number.

“Yeah?” his sleepy voice grumbled.

“Sorry to wake you so early on a weekend, but it was my only chance.”

“Eh, don’t worry it, love. How are things there?”

“Things are very quiet, tense, some people being noticeably absent, or upset, and based on what I’ve been able to pick up, our effort was a total success. I’ve only gotten bits and pieces of conversations, but it all indicates that the ‘medicine’ you delivered did the job.”

“That will be the best news he’s heard in weeks. I’ll report it in a little while. How are you? Everything holding together?”

“I’m fine, and settled in, and everything’s peachy. I won’t keep you; I just wanted to take the opportunity to talk in private, away from there. I’ll talk to you again in a few days, unless something major happens.”

“Good job, love. Take care of yourself,” the connection clicked off. Shelly stashed her cell phone away, smoothed her hair, smiled brightly at her reflection in the rearview mirror, and drove on toward the nearest town, intent on a celebratory shopping expedition after the stores opened for the day.

Hank returned to Logan’s room to find him sitting upright, cross-legged, and not having touched a bite of food from the tray.

“Eat.” Hank looked him squarely in the eyes.

“Ain’t hungry. I think this is what a hangover feels like, or so I’m told,” Logan was turning his bared hands back and forth, inspecting both front and back, from all angles. “So, doc, is this my life now? I’m a little fuzzy on everything that was said yesterday, but Marie updated me on the actual attack, and I do remember most of it now.”

Hank put the chart down on the table and removed his glasses. He knew Logan would appreciate a no-nonsense approach. “Yes, this is your life now. Your hands will take a few weeks to heal. You are probably feeling a ‘hangover’ sensation because of the drug cocktail you’ve been given, meaning the mutant cure vaccine, plus the drugs I ordered here for pain and infection. That feeling, and I assume you mean nausea, will pass in time. You do need to eat, but it can wait a few hours while you adjust.”

“You mean, every time I pop the claws now, it’ll be more stitches, and more weeks to heal them?” Logan was hard-voiced, being very business-like, and it worried Hank.

“That is exactly what I mean. With enough repetitions, eventually you’ll develop so much scar tissue that the fingers and surrounding skin may start to deform. Blood loss and the risk of infection are both very serious issues. My best advice to you is never to extend the claws again unless it’s a matter of life or death. The damage they do to you now is simply too severe.”

“What do I have to do to get them healed up quicker?”

“Come here twice a day for the first few days, to get the bandages changed and the area cleaned. Keep your hands dry at first. Limit motion. If you do something that hurts, or feels like the stitches are pulling, stop doing it. If the stitches start to itch, do not scratch them. I’ll give you a course of antibiotics and pain pills, and during that time you should drink no alcohol - it interferes with the effectiveness of the medications. You are weak from blood loss, and even though you’ve had a transfusion, it will still take a day or two to get back on your feet properly. You should eat well to get strength back. And stay out of the Danger Room until I clear you for it. Do you know you are a rare blood type?”

“No. Never needed to know. Can’t be too rare if you got a donor for me on short notice,” Logan’s eyes went back to the stitches and the swollen fingers beyond.

“You are blood type O negative, what we call the universal donor. Anyone can receive your blood, but you can only receive more O negative blood. Fortunately, your match happens to have donated blood a few days ago and we had it here immediately at hand. Once you’ve recovered from this injury, if you’re willing, I’d like you to donate as often as possible so we can stockpile blood for the both of you here. She might need it some day, as well.”

“She? Who?” Logan was curious enough now to look at Hank.

“It’s Rogue. She’s your rare donor.”

One eyebrow quirked momentarily before Logan changed the subject, “Where are my clothes?”

Toad finished the report to Eric, and watched the older man’s smile of approval as he spoke, “I believe our young Miss Hanson will turn out to be a most valuable asset.”

“She’s a sweetie pie, for sure. Shame she has to stay there with ‘them,’ instead of here with us. We could use a woman’s touch to brighten this place up again.”

Both men regarded the other in silence, knowing the absence of Mystique from their core group left a void as yet unfilled.

Toad broke the silence, “Do you worry that Shel will turn on us? I mean, she’s a natural as an agent with her mutation, but it could work both ways, right? She could be droppin’ stuff here to listen to us.”

“Always the suspicious one, Toad. I doubt that our Miss Hanson is a double-agent. She has aided us in doing the most damage we could do to the X-Men with our one tiny weapon. She is now monitoring the after-effects of that strike. Granted, I would prefer to have a telepath look into her motives, but since none are available to us currently, we’ll simply have to rely on instinct, logic, and attention to detail. And it has been my experience that working both sides of a war to one’s personal advantage requires a level of intelligence that I don’t believe our Miss Hanson has achieved in her young life.” Eyeing Toad knowingly, Eric asked, “Have you seen or heard anything to make you ask that question?”

Toad gave a snort of laughter, “No, I’m just always looking for the angles. It pays to be a step ahead if you can.”

“And it would behoove us to keep Miss Hanson on a short leash, and with little information useable against us, don’t you think?”

“Ahhh, you don’t trust her, then, even though you don’t think she’s smart enough to be a threat,” Toad caught the intense gleam in Eric’s eyes.

“I trust no one, Toad, including you. I’ve seen the way you look at the girl; heard the tone of your voice when you speak with her. I warn you: do not give her too much. Allow her to work for us, but do not encourage her beyond that. Woo her later if you wish; enjoy her, but do not give her any power, any knowledge, any weapons against the Brotherhood. She is young and malleable. If she proves herself trustworthy after a length of time, then I’ll start trusting her with a little more responsibility, in incremental steps. Currently, she’s performing a service which she is uniquely qualified for, and she should do nothing beyond that: just monitor and communicate, and prove her worth. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

“Yeah. Not a problem, boss.”

Rogue inwardly winced at Bobby’s voice calling her name as she left her room, but turned a smiling face to him as he approached.

“Hey, you busy? Wanna go into town for a while?”

“Thanks, but I need some down time right now. I want to stick close until Logan’s better.” Rogue noted that Bobby hadn’t inquired about her night spent in the Med Lab.

“How bad is it? I heard the scuttlebutt around here, that it was the cure vaccine someone hit him with, right?”

Rogue bent one knee and bumped her toes against the floor before she answered the question, “Yeah. Another mutant, probably Toad, injected Logan with the cure. Now he’s injured and everything is kind of touchy. So let’s not dwell on that, okay?”

“Okay,” Bobby agreed softly. “What about you? Are you okay? I know he’s your friend,” Rogue noted Bobby’s voice tightening on those last words.

“I’m fine, and I’m also going to be the support system for Logan. I’m the only person here who’s taken the cure, so I’m the only one to share a common experience, for what it’s worth and when he wants it.”

“But the deed is done, and you’ve got a life of your own. Don’t...” Rogue cut him off with a cutting motion of her hand.

“Don’t try to talk me out of doing anything right now. If you’re that hard up for company, go ask Kitty to drive into town with you.” Rogue stomped off, leaving Bobby to call her name once, then angrily shrug her off.

Halfway down the corridor toward Med Lab, Rogue encountered Logan walking toward her, hands bandaged and wearing only the regulation X-team sweats. She silently berated herself for not thinking to bring him fresh clothing since what he’d worn into the city had been blood-soaked upon their return.

“Hey, look at you!” Rogue smiled the words at Logan, then fell into step beside him. He barely registered her presence with a nod, never breaking stride down the corridor. Stepping into the elevator, he stared at the panel for a moment before gingerly pushing the button to the third floor of teacher’s rooms, then gently folded both hands to his chest. He spoke softly to her, barely above the hum of the elevator’s mechanisms.

“Hank told me you donated blood, that we’re a rare match,” he turned his head toward her, their eyes meeting momentarily. “Thanks. Never thought we’d be in this situation, but thanks.” His dark head lowered again, studying the floor.

His awkwardness broke Rogue’s heart, but she didn’t show it. Stepping closer to him, she lightly placed her fingers on his forearms and pushed his arms apart to shoulder width, then stepped in and wrapped her own arms around his waist, holding him close, her head resting against his shoulder. She felt him gently encircle her shoulders, and they stood in warmth and quiet for the few moments before the door slid open. His voice broke their silence first.

“I’m gonna go crash in my room, alone. Alone. I need to think.”

“Okay,” she slid back a little and looked him over once more. “I’ll promise to leave you alone all day, on one condition: you eat what I bring you.”

“No conditions.” The hard edge in the voice was back.

“I’ll bring you some lunch.”

“No. Make it supper, about sundown, and not before. And just you. I don’t wanna talk to anyone yet.” He slid away from her embrace and stepped out of the elevator toward his door, before speaking over his shoulder to her, “I’m not kidding around, Marie. Nobody but you. I’m not in the mood for anyone to fuck around with me, got it?”

“Got it.”

He closed the door in her face. After a moment’s fumbling, she heard the lock click into place.

Rogue spent Sunday afternoon helping Storm organize class schedules, working out in the gym, and fretting. Evening found her heading toward the library for reference books, but as she pushed open the door, she saw Bobby leaning over Kitty where she sat reading. They were laughing quietly, and his hand was on her shoulder, then stroking her hair. Kitty leaned into his body and almost purred her contentment before she saw Rogue at the door, and quickly leaned away from Bobby. They reeked of guilt. Curious to know where everyone stood, Rogue did the one thing they wouldn’t expect her to do. She strode into the room, pulled out the chair beside Kitty, and plunked down. Bobby stood halfway between the two women, touching neither, saying nothing.

“Anything exciting going on?” Rogue almost felt ashamed of herself for baiting them.

“Ugh, not unless you consider homework exciting. I’m trying to get ahead of the game before midterms. Jubilee questions my sanity, and I don’t blame her,” Kitty scrambled papers in front of her, flipped books open, and worked hard at being busy.

Rogue focused on Bobby, “Thought you were going into town for some distraction.”

Bobby twiddled a pencil in one hand before answering, “Nah, decided against it. Nothing much to do on a Sunday evening, anyway. You up for another movie tonight?”

“Maybe later. I’ve got a few more things to do before I settle down for the night,” Rogue noted the window and the glowing colors of sunset, recalling her promise to check on Logan.

“How’s Logan doing?” Kitty interjected.

“So far, so good, I guess. He’s sleeping off the whole experience, I think. I need to go check on him soon, so if you’ll excuse me....” She slipped off the chair and left without another word. Once outside the library doors, she waited for a few moments before discretely peeking back through the door. Bobby had taken Rogue’s seat and was wiggling closer to Kitty who ignored her books again.

‘It’s time,’ Rogue thought to herself, ‘time to break it off. There’s just nothing left but a habit, and it’s a habit I want to break.’ She headed for the bustling kitchen.

Snatching up a covered plate, she chose meatloaf, mashed potatoes with gravy, and collard greens; nothing that would required cutting with a knife. It would be too awkward yet for Logan to handle cutlery, and she wouldn’t embarrass him by serving him something he’d have to ask for help with before eating. Contemplating the bacon-seasoned collard greens, she made a duplicate plate for herself. Apparently her many appeals to the cooks for some southern dishes had paid off. Adding two sodas, she snapped the covers on the plates, placed everything on a serving tray, and headed for the elevator.

Outside his door, she called to him three times before he answered, “Leave me alone, kid. I ain’t hungry.” He didn’t sound sleepy, so she must not have woke him.

“Logan, let me in. This tray is heavy, and I’ve got special stuff for both of us. Get the grub while it’s still hotter than the waitress.”

“I don’t like repeatin’ myself, Marie.” Rogue detected a snarly tone, but it wasn’t totally convincing.

“Goddammit, Logan! Let me in, or I’ll get Kitty to open this door for me, from the inside.”

She heard a muttered ‘shit’ from within, then the bed springs creaked. Muffled footsteps. Locks clicking. Door knob turning. Logan shirtless. Oh my heavens, yes.

Her eyes crawled up from his bare chest to his scowling face. His hair was scrambled and he wasn’t pale any more; in fact, he looked fairly normal other than the bandages. Rogue gave him a slightly embarrassed grin.

“Dinner is served, sir.”

She shouldered her way past him and into the room. With cajoling and southern charm, flirts, threats and jokes, she got the surly out of him and the meatloaf into him, plus half the potatoes and two bites of collards before he protested.

“That’s rabbit food, darlin’. Count me out.”

They had settled on the sofa in front of the TV which babbled away in the background, rehashing the NASCAR race from that afternoon. Rogue munched her collards and his as they watched the points standings scroll past.

With no warning, Logan commented, “It didn’t get past me, by the way. Thanks.”

Mopping juice off her lips, she turned questioningly toward him, “Huh?”

“The food. Fork only. No knives. Thanks.”

“No problem. You know me, Sundance: always thinkin’,” she paraphrased badly from the last movie they’d watched together.

“You’re the Sundance Kid, baby, ‘cause there ain’t no way in hell anyone would ever call you Butch.”

Rogue nearly dropped her fork when he made that observation. Apparently his mutations were toast, but not his snarky sense of humor.

“If you make me spit my collards out like I did that french fry the other night, there will be hell to pay.”

One corner of his mouth started to curl; damn, but it was almost a smile! She continued, “You know, I’d like to watch that movie through from the beginning some time, when we could actually concentrate on it. I think it would be good for the Pop Culture class I’m gonna substitute-teach for Storm. I guess I didn’t tell you about that; even though I’m not certified or anything, she’s gonna make me a TA, a teacher’s assistant, to help out with the overload until more certified teachers are hired. Bobby’s handling Math for the younger kids, and I’m taking over Pop Culture, so Storm can drift between classes; have a presence in both classes at the same time, yet allow the TAs to handle the bulk of the work.”

Logan turned toward her on the sofa with an expression of pride, “You’re gonna teach more? That’s great, Marie. I’m proud of you.”

“Well, I’m not quite legit yet. It’s kind of like having a learner’s permit to drive a car, but still needing a licensed driver with you. I have to have a certified teacher overseeing the class or it doesn’t count for the student’s credits. But it’ll allow Storm to technically be in two classes at the same time, with less effort from her. I get paid for TA’ing, too. And I get extra credit for helping with establishing curriculum and the actual teaching. Win-win.”

“Good deal,” Logan started to drape his right arm around her shoulders out of habit, but winced when he was halfway there. She saw the slash of pain cross his face as he put his arm back down to rest on his leg.

“That hurts?”

“Yeah. The needle that was buried in my shoulder broke into pieces. Hank had to cut me open to get it all out, I guess. There are some stitches back there, too.”

“Ouch.”

“Yeah.”

“How many?”

“Dunno.”

“Can I look?”

He leaned forward and allowed her to examine his bare shoulder. “You’ve got three here, tiny ones. They’re kind of red and puffy - have you been keeping them clean?”

“I’m supposed to go down there twice a day to get them cleaned and get the hands re-wrapped, but I ain’t gonna.”

Giving him the evil-eyebrow look, she asked, “Why?”

I don’t wanna be wrapped up like a mummy. Hell, I can’t even take a shower. As a matter of fact, if I can ask a favor, it’ll help me out a lot.”

“Okay, now I am suspicious.”

“Go to Hank, get what we need to swab off the stitches, and then bring it back here.”

“You don’t have any intention of going back for your follow-ups with him, do you?”

“Nope, not for a while.”

“Logan, I swear.....” Exasperated, she put down her empty plate and twisted on the sofa to face him directly. “I know this is not what you want to hear right now, but it’s the honest truth, and I’ve never known you to run from the truth. Your body isn’t healing itself fast now. You need to take care of these wounds for them to heal properly. And to compound the issue, you KNOW that.”

“And you know I hate labs and medical stuff. I don’t want to be down there all the time. I stirs up too much shit for me,” his emotions were starting to work out to his expression: the lips were a grim, thin line, the eyes hard and unyielding. He worked through the explanation after a deep sigh, “If I spend much more time down in Med Lab getting worked on, I’m thinkin’ it’ll stir up the nightmares from the other lab. You know better than anyone when I have those dreams, the really bad ones, my claws come out before I even wake up.” He looked down at the bandages, “You understand? I can’t do that now.”

“Okay, I understand - I hadn’t thought it through that far.” She settled in deeper against the sofa, and nestled against his side, “I’ll help you out, especially because.”

His face softened a little, realizing that he’d convinced her, “‘Cause why, babe?”

“‘Cause you’re Butch, and I’m the Kid, and we’re an outlaw team,” she gave him a playful grin. “Plus, I find it highly significant that you’ve got the ‘magic number’ of stitches in your hide right now,” she noted his head cocked in curiosity, but he waited for her explanation.

“Hank said there were sixty-six stitches in your hands, and I’ve just seen the three in your shoulder. You do the math,” she gave him her impression of a leer before bounding off the sofa toward the door. Another chuckle issued from behind her as he caught her joke.

“Someday, you’re gonna make some poor sucker wonder what the hell he was thinkin’ when he laid you.”

“I love you, too, sugar. Don’t lock the door behind me, or I’ll have to threaten you with Kitty again. Oh, and I’ll be breaking up with Bobby ASAP. I’ll be right back,” the door immediately clicked closed behind her.

Rogue's parting words hung in the air like smoke before her blunt declaration, and what it could mean to Logan, finally hit him.

Rogue raced to the Med Lab, knowing full well she would have to explain every bit of Logan’s situation to Hank before he’d surrender the needed supplies. Every step to arrive there was one more second of preparation for the speech she would deliver. Arriving at Hank’s office just as he was about to rip into a pack of Twinkies, she walked straight in, flopped down in the guest chair, and took a deep breath before speaking.

“Logan doesn’t want to come down here to get treatment because it might stir up his Stryker lab nightmares, which sometimes make him pop the claws in his sleep, and he shouldn’t do that now. I’m gonna take care of cleaning the stitches because he doesn’t want anyone else bugging him in his room, so I need supplies and basic instructions, plus what to look for in the way of infection and such.”

Hank blinked a few times, absorbing everything she’d just rushed out, and said, “Okay.”

Rogue breathed a silent whoosh of relief. The doctor moved efficiently through the Med Lab’s main hospital room and started opening cabinets, putting things in a plastic tub. ‘Wow,’ Marie thought, ‘I ought to be a lawyer. That was too easy.’

Returning to his office, Hank handed her the tub and pointed to each item as he described the procedure, “Use the hydrogen peroxide to swab the stitches thoroughly. Be generous. It will foam up, but that’s normal.”

He talked her through the whole procedure, plus sterility practices, plus bandaging, plus watching for signs of infection. “If anything like that happens, see me immediately. If he starts running a fever or having increased pain, see me immediately. If he pulls a stitch out somehow, see me immediately. If a red streak appears running up the arm, see me immediately,” he was ticking off the list on his fingers. Rogue noted Hank’s dark blue eyes scanning back and forth in thought, as if he were searching the inside of his brain for any missed details, “I believe that’s it.”

“Cool. Can the bandages come off now? They’re bothering him a lot.”

“As long as he keeps his hands clean, avoids a lot of public contact surfaces like door knobs, sink faucets and the like, then yes. Although, another day wrapped wouldn’t hurt....” He dropped the hint gently, “And I’ll pay a ‘house call’ tomorrow, just to make sure.”

“I’ll see what I can talk him into. Thanks, doc,” Rogue was out of the office and on her way back to the room before the first Twinkie disappeared.

Back in the room, Rogue unwrapped the bandages and audibly gasped at the sight of the stitches holding Logan’s skin together between every knuckle. Nothing looked suspicious as Hank had described, so she set to work lightly swabbing the area. Logan sat in noticeable silence while she worked over him, so she broke the tension by talking about her decision.

“I’ve made another big step in my life, sugar,” she drew a deep breath and continued without looking at him directly. “I’m ending it with Bobby. It’s time.”

“I wondered when you were gonna get back to that little bomb you dropped as you were leaving.”

She kept working without rising to the bait, “Like I told you before, things have been going sour between us for a while now, even before I took the cure, and it’s just getting worse.” Rogue didn’t want to clutter up Logan’s life with her petty relationship problems, but maybe it would distract him from his problems, so she nattered on, “I’ve been seeing him with Kitty a lot lately, and even I have to admit they look right together, somehow.”

“You sayin’ he’s ran around on you?”

She looked up to see his dark head cocked in that ‘I’ll kill you where you stand’ expression that Logan usually saved for the cage and missions, and for provoking Scott in the past. Apparently Bobby could bring it out in him, too. Alpha male, to the hilt.

Rogue hedged her words, “Bobby hasn’t done anything that I haven’t done, so we’re even, I guess. Still, it’s time to end it officially. I’ll tell him tomorrow, and things will be better for everyone, especially me.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m not,” she gave him a gentle smile, then picked up the fresh wrappings for his hands.

“No, babe. Not tonight.”

“I’ll make you a deal. You keep the hands wrapped one more night, and I’ll help you get cleaned up. I didn’t tell you this before, but you’ve still got some dried blood on you here and there - Hank didn’t get it all mopped off downstairs. You could use a shower. Seriously. And your hair’s a wreck, dude.”

Ignoring her final comment, he continued, “If you leave the gauze off, I ca....” Rogue cut him off with wave of her hand.

“No. Even if you’re unwrapped, you can’t lather up and scrub yet. That’s where I come in. And what the hell’s the matter with you, turning down a long, hot shower with a female helper?”

She’d finally done it: he was speechless. “I’ll go run the warm water while you ditch those sweats. You want a shower, or a bath? I’m betting you’re a shower guy.” Before he could answer, she was gone into the bathroom and the water was running. Logan heard some rummaging around from the bathroom, then Rogue returned wearing nothing but a bath towel wrapped around her torso, covering her from armpits to barely below the hips. “Come on, Logan. Shuck those britches. I know you’re not shy about nudity, and I can’t kill you with a touch any more, so there’s nothin’ to be afraid of.”

He stood and walked closer to her, almost pinning her to the bathroom door frame, “Yeah, there is, darlin’ - it’s called jail. You’re called bait.”

“Not any more, I’m not.”

“Did they cure you of that, too?” There was a taint of sarcasm, but she ignored it.

“No, Logan. The day I took the cure was my eighteenth birthday. I’m legal now.”

He seemed stunned for a few moments, “Damn it. I’m sorry, Marie. I totally forgot about your birthday. I was thinking that next year was the big eighteen for you.”

“Nope - I’ve been legal for a few weeks now, but I didn’t expect anyone here to remember, because it was the day y’all were on Alcatraz. But that’s not the issue at hand. I’m talking shower here, not a trip to Vegas for a quickie wedding and a whirlwind honeymoon on a waterbed.” She put a hand to his bare chest and pushed him back toward where they’d been sitting, “Logan, I’ve done everything you’ve asked of me: kept people out, gone to Hank to learn how to take care of you, plus I’ve brought you food, and I’m gonna keep doing all that until you’re ready to handle things your own way. But you gotta cooperate a little; let me take care of you. Don’t fight me all the time on every single thing. I’m doing a good job so far, but I’ll do a better job if you’ll just work with me here.”

To her surprise, he leaned against her and nuzzled into her hair above her left ear, “I’m sorry, darlin’. I don’t mean to be an asshole, but this whole thing has got me shaken down to the bones, and I’m not saying that to anyone but you, understand?”

She spoke softly to him, her breath drifting over his bare shoulder, “Yeah, I do understand. I know it’s rough. I remember what we talked about before, about our attitudes toward taking the cure. I also know that if anyone can snap back from a hard blow, it’s you. You just have to take the time to figure out the adjustments to make. Give yourself time to learn how to live a new way. I know it’s not easy, because I’m doing the same thing, just for a different reason and from a different angle.” She felt a trembling sensation go through him, and thought that he was on an emotional edge like she’d never seen before, so she wrapped her arms around him and held on gently, “We’ll get each other through this, one way or another. Trust me on that, Logan. Trust me.”

In a few moments, he whispered to her, “Just how much do you trust me?”

“Why do you ask?”

“Are you really gonna get in the shower with me, naked, and expect me to behave myself?”

“I am wearing this towel for a reason. But I can toss it aside if you’d be more comfortable that way.”

“Marie, you’re evil.”

That brought a throaty laugh from her before she explained herself, “Nope, just a woman wanting her friend to be clean. It’s an interesting change of roles, don’t you think? A few weeks ago, I couldn’t touch you, even though I wanted to, badly.” She saw him pull back from her with a curious expression. She continued, “Yep - I had lust in my heart, mister. You’re gorgeous, in case you never looked in a mirror before. But now, your hands are temporarily out of order, so I get to ‘do’ all that touching. Oh, it’s in the name of medicine and nursing, of course! It’s all perfectly innocent,” she waved her hands blithely to dismiss any doubts.

“Bullshit.”

“Are you gonna take off those pants, or do you need help?”

In less than a minute, they were both under the warm shower spray, Logan with his injured hands braced high against the wall, and Rogue standing behind him, soaping up a washcloth. Lathering over his broad shoulders, she gently and methodically washed his torso, cleaning away the remains of the dried blood. She worked carefully around the three stitches near his shoulder, then down to his sides.

“I feel like I ought to be wearing a badge and frisking you for weapons.”

“Now you’re just trying to provoke me.”

Tossing the washcloth over the shower rod, she drizzled shampoo over her hands and snaked them through his thick hair, then scrubbed in all directions. “I thought all men had a fantasy thing for women in uniform, patting them down.”

“I always tried to avoid cops, so I didn’t have that fantasy until I saw you in the black X-leathers,” Logan leaned his head into the spray and Marie slithered her fingers through to rinse away the shampoo. Every inch of him felt so amazingly male. She thought she just might become a touching addict. She picked up the washcloth again and worked more soap into it, then started working over his arms and down the outside of his thighs.

“Are you serious? You noticed that? I always thought I looked silly in the uniform, like I was playing dress-up or something.”

“Yep - I’m deadly serious.” He spat out some water before continuing, “You’re hotter than hell in black. Or in leather, or that towel,” he suddenly turned toward her, still keeping both hands braced high - one against the shower rod and the other against the opposite wall. Planting one foot on the rim of the tub, he challenged her, “Just how clean are we gonna get me?”

She stood there momentarily stunned, the soapy washcloth in one hand, the other hand holding up the front of the now-sodden towel which had grown increasingly heavy, threatening to slip off her at any moment. There was no escape: she simply had to do it.

She looked down.

He was erect; and gloriously so, based on the pictures of naked men she’d seen in Jubilee’s Playgirl magazines. Everything men had was right there in front of her: one penis, two testicles; all those decidedly male parts just hanging there and sticking out at her, and it was real, warm, living flesh, and attached to Logan.

Oh my god.

He was looking straight down into her eyes, “If you can’t handle this, step out and I’ll finish up myself.”

“You’re supposed to keep your hands dry, aren’t you?”

“Not the point, Marie. This is a lot of skin and a lot of touching and it’s all new stuff for you. I don’t want you getting in over your head, that’s all. You gotta be comfortable with it, with me.”

“I’m not sure this will make sense to you, but I think I already know everything from you being in my head. Like, this....” she slid the soapy washcloth around his hip and circled back to the front, stroking it down his erect shaft. Logan let out a deep groan and his head rocked back as his eyes closed. Marie spoke softly to him, “Turn back around, like you were before.”

Logan did as she asked, and with a little jolt of surprise, he heard the washrag and then her waterlogged towel hit the floor of the shower with a heavy splat. He knew she was now standing nude behind him and he fought every screaming instinct to turn around and see everything that was Marie naked; hair, skin, breasts, cleft, hips, everything. But again her soapy hands started exploring him, her body slipping closer against him and half embracing him from beneath his right arm where she’d inserted herself at his side. She eased down the water pressure, then wrapped herself tight against his ribs again, letting her soapy hand grip him gently at first and stroking the wet skin slowly until she grew accustomed to the sensation. Her other hand circled around his waist as she attached herself to him. Logan dared a look downward to see her right breast pressed up against his ribs. He knew she was exploring a man for the first time, and he wouldn’t interrupt her for anything. He stood silently, thankful for the gratification.

Her soap-slicked hand slid down the length of him, then wrapped firmly over the glans, a move he knew she’d pulled out of his head because it was a carbon copy of his own habitual strokes. She was pressed tight to him, eyes half-closed, and he knew she was still accessing his own memories in her head to do everything right, the way he liked it.

“Tell me if I do anything wrong, okay, sugar?” Logan only grunted his assent and rested is head against the top of hers, soaking himself in the moment. Her hands wandered farther, one cupping a hip, the other cupping his balls, then back to stroking again. He felt the unmistakable beginning of orgasm start to creep through his tightening pelvis. His hips began rocking slightly in rhythm to her hand on his flesh.

“Oooooh god, baby, yeah,” he groaned the words softly, barely aware that he’d even spoken. When she ran a few fingernails lightly up the back of his thighs, she heard him suck in a sharp breath and she increased the grip and speed until suddenly she felt his whole body tense. The tightening increased, then the sensation of muscles going into spasm hit where she gripped him and he was gasping aloud. Hot fluid pumped from him and was swirled away in the water as she gentled her stroking and eventually stilled her hands on him while he caught his breath and came down from the experience. Reaching for the cloth once again, she finished washing his legs down while he gathered his wits. With the water back at full force again, they twisted and turned in the spray, rinsing and openly looking at each other’s nakedness. Marie was amazed that Logan managed to keep his hands off of her, but he was being the gentleman she never thought he could be. He allowed her to take the lead in everything, and she appreciated his trust as well as his efforts.

With the water shut off, Logan grinned at her as his eyes rose from the floor of the shower where her discarded towel still lay in the water. “Grab more towels from the cabinet. We’re not done yet, unless you tell me we are.”

Giving him a curious look, Marie brazenly stepped naked from the shower and pulled out more towels, first wrapping her dripping hair into a quick turban, then toweling him off lightly. She let her fingers stray through the hair on his chest and belly, amazed at the texture of it.

“Come on,” Logan reached gingerly for her hand and she dodged that contact, but rested her hand on his forearm instead. He led her naked to the bed and settled her on the edge, then knelt before her. “Lay back, if you want to.”

Trusting him, she laid back on the bed and immediately felt him gently push her knees apart and move in closer to her. His lips started working lightly up the inside of her right thigh. His hands started to reach for her breasts, but then he instead placed them carefully on the bed beside her.

“I’d love to put my hands all over you, baby, but these stitches would scratch your soft skin. I guess we’ll have to wait for those to come out before we get into the groping, huh?” She felt his tongue slither higher up her leg, toward her groin, nibbling here and there as she half-rose on the bed just in time to see his head descend over her pubic mound.

“Logan, you don’t have to retu... ooooohhh,” the moan slid out of her mouth as his tongue parted her cleft to wiggle over her clitoris. Delicious fire seemed to shoot through her entire body, rooted between her legs where he stroked her lightly, lapping at her and then pressing firmly, then the wiggling again, then making her think she could either go insane, or explode, or both.

“You want me to stop?” She barely realized that he’d spoken to her as her hips were starting to tighten and grind against the bed.

“Ohhhh... no, no, no need for stopping,” she babbled, trying hard to be calm, even though she felt like every nerve in her body was twitching into overload. He snaked his tongue on her a few more times before asking her again.

“You sure? I don’t want you feelin’ like you’re under any pressure here at all.”

“Noooo pressure here. Nope, none at all...” her voice faded away in a gasp as he started a rhythmic stroking with the tip of his tongue. Rogue felt something rise in her, the likes of which she’d never caused herself to feel. It was as if her body lost control and surrendered to the feral male who worked his way knowingly between her legs. The heat of his mouth on her sent the fire snaking through her pelvis again, and the muscles responded: her hips half rose, then pushed back down against the bed as he moved harder on her and she felt herself explode.

Waves of aching pleasure throbbed through her body and she felt like something was pounding in circles between her legs, inside, her flesh twitching and pulsing as he gently worked her through the orgasm. She seemed to hear her own voice as if from a distance: she was groaning, making guttural sounds, incoherent with the wild pleasure he was causing her. When at last she lay quietly, he worked kisses back down the inside of her left thigh, then rose to his feet, allowing her to look at him as he stood over her. He was half erect again, but paid no attention to it as he drank in her languid smile and long limbs strewn across his bed.

“Move over, baby.” Rogue threw aside the towel around her head and wiggled herself straight onto the bed as Logan laid down beside her. Tucking her against his chest, they both snuggled down to rest. She lay boneless against him, cupped within his arm, her head resting on his shoulder.

“Tell me the truth, Logan. Do people always make each other feel like that?”

“Not always. Sometimes it’s better, or not so strong, sometimes it’s just awkward. Everyone’s different. You hit peaks and valleys, and some people just aren’t compatible.”

“Do you trust me to do things to you?”

“Like what?” He frowned playfully at her, one eyebrow raised.

“Like, do that to you? Go down on you, suck on you, since I’ve never done that before. Aren’t you afraid I’ll bite you or something? I might suck at sucking, ya know,” she gave him a sheepish grin that made him chuckle.

“Okay, one: I’m not afraid you’ll bite me. Two: you’ve already taken care of my ‘needs’ for tonight, trust me. Three: everybody’s gotta learn sometime, and you can practice on me any time you like, but not tonight.”

“Tuckered out, huh?”

“Yeah. You did a number on me in that shower, but in a very good way. And...” he held up one hand to regard the multiple stitches spanning his knuckles, “these are hurtin’ pretty bad. Guess I’m not on the mend yet.” She noted his expression: obviously the realization of his mutations being gone was hitting him again after their distraction in the shower and then again on the bed. She felt him draw a deep breath and let it out in a near-silent sigh.

“Did Hank give you pain pills?”

“Yeah, but they make me feel weird. I’m not used to medicine making me feel much of anything at all. I took some this afternoon and slept for a while. I’m thinking I’m gonna pop a couple more of them and get some serious sleep.”

Half rising from her comfortable position, Rogue commented, “I have class in the morning, so I suppose I ought to be getting off to my bed, too.” Logan pulled her back against him.

“You don’t have to leave, especially since you already ‘got off’ here. You can sleep here with me, if you’re comfortable with it.”

“If I was any more comfortable, I’d be unconscious. But I’m afraid I’ll thrash around in my sleep and hurt you.”

“That’d be a switch for us. No, you won’t hurt me. You turn down the bed, and I’ll meet you back here.”

“Deal!”

Logan rose from the bed and went to the bathroom where Rogue saw him pull a bottle of pills out of the medicine chest. Fumbling with the snap-cap for a while, he turned to ask her help but she was already reaching for the bottle. Taking two, he swallowed them down with some water. When he returned to the bed, she was already tucked in the sheets and once again toweling her hair nearly dry. “Oh!” She threw back the sheets and strode across the room, giving him an audacious back view of herself, “We made a deal.”

She returned with the bandages. “One more night. You promised.”

Acquiescing with minimal profanity, Logan allowed her to lightly wrap his hands again before they settled into the bed, once again tucking themselves closely together as naturally as if they’d slept together for a long time.

Rogue knew Logan was tired - she’d seen it in his posture and heard it in his words, but now the pills were kicking in and his deep voice was dreamy and soft as he spoke to her in the darkness.

“I realize how drastically things are changing for both of us. And I know you’ve been wrestling with the decision about dumping Drake. Remember this, though: everything we did here tonight, both of us, didn’t seriously change anything. You’re still a virgin, or at least I think you are....”

“I am,” she confirmed softly with a light kiss against his throat. Logan realized he hadn’t kissed her through the whole experience, and he attended to that immediately with a slow, deep kiss that left them both warm and smiling.

“That said, you are your own woman. You do what you want, make your own decisions, sleep with who you want, answer to no one.”

“That’s pretty much the way I see it,” she was beginning to wonder if he was working his way around to a gentle brush-off, but she let him talk it through as the pain medication lowered his awareness.

“Don’t know when or even ‘if’ you’ll be ready to take the next step, but if I’m conscious and able, and you want me, I’ll be good to you; ya know, careful, gentle with you. I know how to make it easier the first time, for a woman.”

“I’ll bet you do,” she cuddled against him, starting to feel the lassitude of sleep overcome her as well.

He yawned deeply, stretching himself against her nude body, “Minimal fumbling, I promise. Don’ know any better way to... show ya how much...” He drifted off before finishing the sentence, his body totally relaxing within seconds. Rogue yawned halfway through her response.

“Love you too, sugar.”

The sound of footsteps and voices in the hall roused Rogue from her deep slumber. Pushing her hair from her sleepy eyes, she sat up and realized she was not in her own room. Turning to the spot beside her, she smiled at a sleeping Logan sprawled across most of the bed. Thoughts of the night’s activities brought a bigger grin to her face which was instantly erased by thoughts of Bobby. She had to break up with him immediately. It was the only fair thing for them all.

The bedside clock flashed 8:37 am, and she nearly leaped out of the bed. Her classes started at nine! Not wanting to jar Logan too sharply awake, she slithered against him and wrapped an arm around his waist, nudging him gently and kissing his shoulder.

“Logan, I’m late for class. I’ll check back here before lunch hour. Just go back to sleep, okay?”

“Muh-huh.”

“See ya later, sugar.”

He was asleep again before she left the bed. She grabbed clothes from the floor, chair, bathroom towel bar, and was just tugging on her second shoe as she hopped into the hallway. Everyone was already downstairs. Racing to her room, she swapped clothes at the speed of a quick-change artist, grabbed an armload of books, and fled the room at a dead run.

Jubilee was waiting beside Rogue’s seat, and she slid into place moments before the morning bell rang.

“Good morning, Miss Bed Head,” Jubes sang at her in a mocking voice. “I was wondering if you’d show, since you did NOT spend the night in your room. I knocked, like five times?” Jubilee threw her a conspiratorial wink. Rogue blushed furiously, then shoved her fingers through her scrambled hair. Jubilee whispered toward her, “Dude, you are such a mess! Was it a good night?”

“Sssh! Class! Education in progress.”

Storm spoke to her directly, “Rogue? See me after class, please.”

After a rousing chorus of ‘uh-ohs’ and ‘woahs’, they got down to the business of history.

“It’s a mission, if you think you’re ready for it,” Storm explained later. “Low risk, just a meet-and-greet situation. You and Bobby will be traveling into New York City to meet with a potential new student, and give him the introduction to what this school can offer him. Do you think you’re ready?”

“Sounds easy enough. Does Logan know about this mission?” Rogue knew he would be crazy with worry if he knew she was going back out on missions without her mutation, and without him and his protective nature and healing ability. Sometimes ignorance was bliss, but it was also easier.

“No. Logan is on a medical leave of absence, even though he doesn’t know it yet.” Storm grinned knowingly at Rogue, “I’m no fool. I’ll ease him into that subject after he’s had some time to recuperate. Briefing at sixteen thirty, my office.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Rogue slipped into Logan’s room with a tray of food just before noon. She woke him, removed the bandages, cleaned the stitches, informed him of her busy school day, avoided any mention of the upcoming mission, told him to eat, gave him a peck on his stubbly cheek, and was out again in a three-minute whirlwind, leaving him no time to do anything but blink, nod, yawn, and say ‘okay’ a few times from where he sat still naked, his lower body wrapped in the bed sheet.

In Storm’s office later, she and Bobby sat in silence while Storm laid out the mission’s details.

“The boy’s name is Michael Seamus MacKenzie. He’s sixteen, a recent high-school drop-out, and is living in a tenement with his older sister who is his legal guardian. Father missing, mother deceased two years ago from a drug overdose, and Michael manifested three years ago. He is apparently a feral mutant of a rodent species. His ‘former’ fellow students called him Mac the Rat, so I’m guessing his mutation is pretty obvious, and probably the cause of his dropping out of school. Meet Michael and his sister, get acquainted, and tell them about the Xavier Institute. I also want you to give me your impressions of the both of them, their lifestyle, and anything else you observe.” Storm handed Bobby a folder of information, maps, address, contact numbers, and added, “I hate that we have to be more careful now in recruiting students, but until we get back on our feet with teaching staff as well as the X-team, we’ve got to play it smart. Street clothes on this one, obviously. Any questions?”

In thirty minutes, they were cruising along the freeway toward the city. Rogue sat in silence, trying to shape the words that would leave her mouth and end their relationship as boyfriend/girlfriend. Nothing she came up with made sense, seemed gentle enough, or decisive enough. Struggling with the words in her mind, she finally surrendered with a sigh, convinced that a mission was the absolute wrong time to dump Bobby.

“You’re too quiet,” Bobby’s eyes never left the road.

“Too much going on inside my head. It’s getting all tangled up, and giving me a headache.”

“Are the other people still in there, even after taking the cure?” He’d misunderstood her meaning, which was fine with her.

“Yeah. I don’t think they’re going away, ever. But enough time has passed that I have them pretty much filed away in their appropriate compartments. Good guys, bad guys, innocent victims, and technical consultants, with many cross-referenced in multiple categories. If any more had gotten in there, I’d have to resort to the Dewey Decimal System.”

“I’ve got something for you,” his hand went into his jacket pocket and produced a small black velvet box. Rogue felt cold fingers of dread run through her body. It looked like a ring box.

“What is that?” She had to wrestle the words out of her mouth.

“Call it a belated birthday present, and no, it’s not what it looks like. Open it,” he placed the box in her lap, where she continued to stare at it without touching it.

“Go on, open it. I apologize for forgetting your birthday, so I’m giving your gift belatedly. It was the Alcatraz thing....” Rogue cut him off gently with a nod.

“I know. It was a crazy time but it’s ancient history now. You were going toe to toe with John and I was in the clinic getting shot up, so forget about it.” She lifted the lid hesitantly. It was a ring, but an odd ring with carved symbols around a sterling band. “What is this? I don’t recognize the symbols.”

“It’s some kind of ancient language that the Celts used. I had it made a while ago and hid it until your birthday. Then in all the mess, I forgot about it. Someone said something about your birthday yesterday, and it jarred my memory. So, happy belated eighteenth birthday, Rogue,” Bobby reached over and gave her knee a gentle squeeze.

“What does it say?” She slid the ring out of the box and turned it around, looking at all sides.

“It says ‘Rogue’ in runes or something. It had a weird name, but I’ve forgotten it now. It sounded like ‘oom’ or ‘ohm’ or something like that.”

“Ogham,” she whispered, amazed that their course in Celtic ancient history had actually stuck in her head along with everyone and everything else that crowded around in there. She decided to blame Eric. “Who said something about my birthday?”

“Wow - you were paying attention in history that day. It was Miss Hanson, the new teacher. I think she’s getting acquainted with people, because she’s sure chatting everyone up.”

“How would she know anything about my birthday?” Rogue frowned at the ring, then slipped it back into the box quietly, tucking it in her sweater pocket. “Thank you, Bobby. It’s beautiful.”

“Not gonna try it on?” He seemed a little disappointed.

“Nope - we’re on a mission, and I’m in business-only mode. But thank you - it’s a very thoughtful gift, and I appreciate it.” A smile and a pat on his knee, then her eyes were back on the road ahead as the city appeared in the distance. End of discussion: her body language and terse words clearly stated as much.

The MacKenzie siblings’ apartment was on a second floor walk-up in a bad neighborhood. Bobby and Rogue chatted amiably with Michael and his older sister Jenny.

Rogue studied Michael while he listened intently to Bobby’s description of the school and what it had to offer a mutant. The boy was tall for his age, sturdily built but lean, and had a shock of wiry gray hair; not a pre-mature gray, but stark, battleship gray. It stood in a bristling shock above a face that was thin-boned and angular with disconcerting black eyes: no pupil/iris distinction showed, just solid black on the white eyeball. She realized that without the pupil, it was hard to tell exactly where he was looking. She’d been surprised when he smiled once, showing small, pointed teeth that looked wicked. She doubted that he smiled very often. He was still sporting a bruised jaw from his latest encounter with mutant-hating bullies in the neighborhood. After listening to everything they had to say about Xavier’s Institute, he finally spoke.

“Ya know, everything you say about this place sounds too good to be true. But, I’m not interested in leaving my sister here alone to fend for herself. I bring in some money now and then, and we’re getting by okay, so don’t waste your time trying to recruit me for some fancy school.”

“We’re not trying to recruit you, Michael,” Bobby started, but Michael interrupted.

“Just call me Mike.”

“Okay, Mike. We just want you both to know about the school, and that it’s entire purpose is to provide a safe haven for mutants who are having trouble getting an education, fitting in, finding their way in life. There’s even a job placement program for graduates.”

Rogue’s mind flashed back to Stryker’s raid, but she knew that news had been hushed up by the government. It wasn’t likely to ever happen again. The school was still the safest place she knew.

“Mike,” the sister said, “give this some thought. You’ve got skills, but finishing your school years will only help. If you decide you want to go there, I could sub-let a place for a while, and you’d be free to take care of yourself.”

Rogue was curious, “What are your skills?”

“I can kit-bash electronics, and solder, wire, build stuff out of junk, that sort of thing. Wanna see my stereo system?”

“Sure!”

He led Rogue to a tiny room where the walls were lined with what could have been a techno-junkie’s nightmare or fantasy. Everywhere there was wiring, cables, speakers, components, and everything from 8-tracks to digital tape to CDs to a turntable and a reel-to-reel tape recorder. Mike flipped one main switch and the system came humming to life: strange colored lights flickered and danced around the room, with eerie, throbbing music seeping from seemingly every direction. Chase lights and some tiny strobes finished the effect perfectly. She recognized the opening strains of a goth-rock cover of “Cinnamon Girl.”

“You did all this with junk parts?” Rogue was amazed at the sound and lights show going on around her.

“Yeah, mostly what I scrapped out of dumpsters, swapped a few things, sold, pawned, whatever. Hey, is that guy you’re with your boyfriend or something?”

“Yeah, something. Why?”

“I was gonna hit on you, but I figured he’d kick my ass. You’re too pretty.”

Rogue caught herself giggling at his comment, “Well, thank you for the compliment, Mike, but yeah - he’s my boyfriend, so let’s keep our relationship professional, okay?”

Mike just rolled his black eyes and turned off the music. In the living room, Jenny again suggested they think about the opportunity, and Bobby left them a business card with contact information. “If you’d like to come up to the school and see the grounds sometime, just call us and we’ll arrange it. Thanks for your time, ma’am. See ya, Mike.”

Back in the car, Rogue described the room’s electronic jungle to Bobby, “It was awesome what he did with scrapped parts. That boy’s got some fantastic talent for a drop-out. I hope he does come to the school.”

*

Toad lazed in a chair before Magneto’s desk, “She’ll check in with me tonight, boss. You want me to call her back in from the field, or tell her to hang tight?” .

“Let’s see just how useful this young woman is, and leave her there for now. She’s served her purpose well thus far, so to remove her from the premises might be a waste. Tell her,” Eric tapped one finger against his lips in thought, then, “tell her to remain and continue gathering information as long as she is convinced her cover is secure. We might learn a great deal through her placement at Charles’ school. But if she has the slightest suspicion they are growing wary of her, she should create a story for suddenly leaving. Perhaps a dying relative, or something similar.”

“Will do.”

*

Rogue knocked softly on Logan’s door around ten that night, but there was no answer. Pushing the door open, she saw the empty room, the unmade bed, the untouched lunch tray, and instantly started worrying. The bathroom was empty. Checking beside the bed she found his boots, so he couldn’t have gone far. While pondering where he could be, she heard footsteps in the hall. Eagerly exiting the door, she found Shelly Hanson walking toward her own room.

“Hi, Miss Hanson. Have you seen Logan lately?”

“Hmm, Logan,” Shelly crossed her arms over her chest and tapped a lacquered nail on her front teeth, “ is he the big guy, surly, wild dark hair? I still don’t know everyone’s name.”

“That would be him, yes.”

“I did see him heading toward the end of the hallway earlier, but it was almost an hour ago. Sorry, Rogue honey, but I guess that doesn’t help you very much.”

Rogue hadn’t talked to the new teacher personally until now, but she took an instant dislike to the former beauty queen. Her voice was too sweetly feminine, her Texas accent too soft, her gloss too highly polished. She was a walking cosmetic facade for a modeling agency, but she was supposed to be good with the little kids, and Storm needed that desperately. Smothering her own southern accent, she mumbled a quick ‘thanks’ and moved on.

Hearing Hanson’s door close behind her, Rogue walked to the end of the hallway and contemplated the doors around her: store room, linen closet, empty teacher’s rooms, stairwell, Scott and Jean’s old apartment of rooms - that made her chest ache at the thought. They were gone, both of them. Charles Xavier was gone. Storm was overwhelmed on so many levels. And Logan was laid low without his mutation, while she’d freely given hers away.

Fighting back tears with a gasped breath, Rogue rolled hard questions through her mind. Would she have still taken the cure if she could have foreseen the state of the X-Men in the aftermath of Alcatraz? Could she have absorbed some of the devastating power of the Phoenix taking over Jean and still kept her own sanity? Would it have given Jean a fighting chance? Would she have given up her one and only mutant power if she had known the outcome of the fight against the Brotherhood? Did she have anything left to give the team? Was she even worthy to wear the uniform now? Had she chosen herself over all of them?

Her head whirled with the thoughts. She desperately needed to find Logan, for her own relief; for her own peace of mind. Talking to him always seemed to sort things out in her head. And he needed a project right now to take his mind off of his own challenges, even if just for a little while.

They needed each other.

Suddenly it struck Rogue: the stairwell went to the roof. Sometimes he went there for needed quiet. He could be up there now for the sheer breathing space. Or the sheer multi-storey drop to the ground?

Fighting back the latter thought, she grabbed the doorknob and ran the stairs two steps at a time.

Logan sat on the roof, his long legs sprawled, his back against a chimney when a breathless Rogue found him with an open bottle of whiskey planted between his knees. The night was clear and starry, but she didn’t notice. Plopping down beside him without saying a word, they sat in comfortably familiar silence for a while.

Rogue noted that his hands were less swollen. He was wearing jeans and socks, an unbuttoned shirt, and he hadn’t taken a drink from the bottle while she’d been there. Laying her head against his shoulder, she finally asked, “How much did you drink?”

“Prob’ly the equivalent of two doubles, maybe three,” his voice was slow and a little slurred.

“How does it feel?”

“Well, normally that amount wouldn’t affect me at all - nothin’. Things seem to be a little different now, since I ‘was’ standing up the last time I looked.” Rogue mannerly squelched a giggle with her palm pressed to her mouth, then elbowed him gently.

“You know, the pain medication you’ve been taking could have a lot to do with that. Pills and booze don’t mix, so give me the bottle, okay, Butch?” She set the bottle aside, out of his reach.

With mocking and inebriate seriousness, Logan said, “You’re too young to drink the liquor, but not to lick the drinker.”

With an audible snort, Rogue lost all sense of decorum and they both laughed themselves silly in the darkness, taking turns rocking against each others’ shoulder.

“Why is it when you’re the one doing the drinking, I’m the one feeling giddy?” Rogue grew silent as Logan’s hand eased onto her thigh and he teasingly squeezed her leg.

“You don’t ‘feel’ giddy to me; you feel warm. And soft... female,” his head turned toward her in the darkness, and he leaned into her again, nuzzling his face into her hair. “I know I’m drunk, and messed up, and all that shit, but don’t you dare think that’s the only reason I’m doin’ this.”

With a rush of heat, Rogue felt his tongue caress the shell edge of her ear, then his lips worked over her, teeth nipping softly at her earlobe. He had turned a little toward her and was easing his arms around her, drawing her onto him, and she allowed it, snuggling into the circle of his arms as she slowly crawled over him and knelt astride his hips. She felt his whiskey-warm breath drift across her skin as his tongue ran down her cleavage, nuzzling her shirt further open. His hands rested lightly on the swell of her hips, and she felt him harden beneath her, the heat and pressure against her body becoming obvious.

“Sugar, you’re not ready for this,” Rogue whispered into Logan’s ear, then gasped aloud as his lips wandered over one fabric-covered nipple, his teeth raking lightly over the protruding flesh. Rogue instinctively ground her pelvis against his, making him groan.

“I was ready the first time I saw you. I just had to wait until things were right with you, and now they are,” his hand came to her belly and he tried to grasp the edge of her shirt, pulling it up to reveal her to him, but his swollen fingers and aching hands wouldn’t cooperate. Plucking at the shirt’s edge again, he finally released it and let his head rock back against the brick chimney. “Fuck, and I promised you minimal fumbling last night.”

Leaning her forehead against his, she laughed softly, “You actually remember saying that? I thought you were mostly asleep and under the influence of the pain meds.”

“I remember sayin’ it. I meant it, too. I guess you’re right - drunk and doped up on the roof ain’t the way to lose your virginity. Sorry, babe,” he glanced down between them with a slight wobble to his head. “Hello, blue balls.”

Rogue tucked one hand beneath his chin and lifted his face to hers, “I could take you to the shower again. You seemed to like that last night.”

“Mmmm... you tempt me, darlin’.”

Rogue unfolded herself from above him and stood up on shaking legs, then reached to ruffle his dark hair through her fingers, “If you can stand up, I’ll take care of you.”

Logan was on his feet in moments but wavering slightly, so Rogue pushed him against the chimney and allowed her hands to wander over his bared chest beneath the open shirt. She’d never touched a man like this, all warm skin and thick muscle. She had always wondered if she could feel the metal on his bones in places other than the backs of his hands. Maybe in other parts of his body where the muscle layer wasn’t so massive she would, but here he was just hard and warm and strong and hairy. Her fingers laced through the dark hair on his chest and belly, enjoying the silken tickle of it. Closing in to him, she nuzzled him, brushing her cheek against the soft hair, then her lips went to his throat and he rolled his head back again, exposing his throat to her. Rogue wondered if that was a feral trait of submission in him, to expose a vulnerable part of himself to someone he trusted. He was giving her the power over him, laying himself open to her in complete trust and surrender.

Shyly sliding the tip of her tongue over his bared throat, she tasted him, caressed him, kissed him, stroked him, nuzzled him until he was groaning again and thrusting his groin against her belly. Her fingers edged around his ribs inside the shirt, making his skin tingle and tighten. The pads of her fingers brushed lightly over both his nipples at once, making him gasp and flatten himself to the chimney for support. Rogue saw his head snap down, eyes gleaming in the sullen glow from the distant security lights around the mansion. Panting with desire, he kissed her hard, fingers clumsily lacing through her hair, then pulling her shirt upward from the back and stroking his hands over her skin. She could feel the scrape of his stitches against her bare skin, but said nothing. Knowing at some gut level that she had accidentally set the Wolverine loose when she’d only intended to give Logan some physical pleasure, she now had both of them to deal with here on the roof.

And both of them were drunk and horny.

“Logan,” she breathed against his shoulder, “let’s go down to that shower I promised you. It’ll be more private than here.”

“Don’t care,” he muttered as his mouth sought her throat, “want you here, on the floor, up against the chimney, on your knees, don’t care....” He bit her lightly, then harder and held on to her skin as his hands circled around to her breasts, thumbs rubbing firmly over her nipples, again making her feel streams of fire shooting through her body, mainlined into her crotch. She had to keep her head.

“Logan, listen to me. I don’t want to do it here. I do want my first time to be with you, just like we talked about last night, but not on the roof, and not drunk, okay?” That seemed to snap him out of the lust, and he looked down into her dark eyes with an unreadable expression on his face.

There was a heart-wrenching tone of regret in his voice as he leaned into her and held her close to him, his hands staying at her waist, “I’m sorry, Marie. You deserve better. I’m drunk and fucked up in the head, and you deserve better.”

“Come downstairs with me now,” she asked him, trying to gently ease them both out of the rush of sexual arousal. “I want to go to your room together, and we’ll take it from there. You comin’ with me, or do I have to bait you?” She gave him an innocent smile.

“I’m all yours, Sundance,” he regarded the abandoned whiskey bottle, “but my friend comes along with us.”

“Promise me you won’t drink any more tonight, and I’ll agree.”

Logan crossed his heart with two quick strokes of his finger, then watched as Rogue retrieved the bottle from the rooftop. “Are you too drunk to maneuver the steps, sugar?”

“Nope.”

“Come on.”

In the shower, she noticed that he got both hands wet immediately as he pushed her into the shower’s spray, letting the warm water run over her bare skin as he slipped slowly to his knees before her. His tongue snaked between the folds of her cleft and he began the stroking that had made her explode in orgasm the night before. The warm water cascading over her body eased away every hesitation and regret that she’d been harboring as she allowed the fire of his mouth on her to melt her inside and out. Finally she collapsed against him on the shower floor when she’d stopped shaking inside, the orgasm making her legs turn to butter. Easing herself into position, she slithered forward to brush her lips over the silky skin of his jutting cock. Logan gasped at the touch and pulled her head up from him to regard her.

“Baby, you don’t have to do that.”

“I know, but I want to learn how. Teach me. Just tell me if I do something wrong,” she parted her lips and slithered her tongue over the smooth head as he twitched at the intimate touch, but allowed her to explore him with her mouth and hands. Warm water rained softly down on them both as his hard flesh slid between her lips. He groaned and writhed at the heat and silkiness of her tongue on him, guiding her gently one way, then another, and finally separating himself from her with both hands.

“I’m gonna come, and you’re not ready for me to come in your mouth. Trust me on that, baby. This is all too new for you,” without a word her hands went for the soap and then to his demanding erection. Growing bolder with the experience, she grasped him firmly and stroked him quickly to climax, making him shout her name as he pumped into her hands, the creamy drops sliding away in the flow of the water. They crawled together and laid in the soft fall of liquid warmth, arms wrapped around each other and still trembling with the experience. Washing each other quickly and gently, they each rinsed and dried before collapsing in his bed. Thirty minutes later, Logan slept soundly as Rogue tip-toed into the bathroom and checked his prescription bottles. He’d missed an antibiotic and one pain pill, but he was still sleeping and apparently comfortably. Putting the antibiotic bottle on the bedside table, she turned out the lights, and snuggled against him to drift off to sleep.

Down the hall, Shelly thought over the snatches of conversation she’d heard: the groans, the soft words of encouragement, the way the man had growled the woman’s name and then gasped. A man only made noises like that for one reason, and Shelly knew it. Little Miss Rogue and the teacher called Logan had been in the shower together, and having sex. Just how important that information would be was of less interest to her than what she could do with it. Teaching small children was boring, and she’d yet to make any new friends in the mansion since she’d come back as a staff member, so there was precious little to do but listen and think and imagine.

Shelly decided to figure out the puzzle of who was dating who, who was screwing who, and who cared about who, just to amuse herself after school hours. Rogue was supposed to be Bobby Drake’s girlfriend, but she was secretly screwing Logan. Bobby was sniffing around that little Kitty person, but still keeping tabs on Rogue. Kitty seemed to be all-eyes-on-Bobby, hardly noticing anyone else, even when the big guy Peter-something had asked her out and she’d begged off with an overload of homework. It was all just too much like a soap opera, and she adored her afternoon stories. The teaching job had cut short watching her soaps, but the real-life story here was much more intriguing. The floor was quiet now, only the sounds of relaxed breathing coming from the surly guy’s room. Everything else was quiet except Storm’s office where the sound of papers being shuffled was predominant.

With one last check, Shelly settled down in bed and grabbed a pen and her new journal. Dating the opening page, she wrote:

“Monday: the story begins. Shower sex, overworked headmistress, and love-struck teenagers. The names have been changed to protect the guilty.”

She started writing snippets of what she was overhearing, and assigning anonymous names to the characters. Maybe some day, when her assignment here was done, she’d write a best-selling novel!

Down the hall, Bobby knocked on Rogue’s door, but was met with silence for the second night in a row. With only a momentary hint of invasive guilt, he tried the knob and found it unlocked. Pushing the door open, he scanned the room, then called her name once into the emptiness, then switched on the light.

The sweater she’d worn on the mission was tossed onto the bed. She’d been here after their return from the city. He pressed on the sweater pocket and felt the lump that was the ring box, the ring he’d given her as a birthday gift. She still hadn’t tried it on.

Bobby had a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach that he knew where she was, but he didn’t want to deal with that inevitable confrontation again. Turning out the light and closing the door behind him, he headed for the kitchen. It would be a long night.

Shelly added one last phrase to the journal before she turned off her light.

‘Young, handsome cuckold; such a gullible fool.’

Slapping her hand down on the bottle of antibiotics, Rogue ordered, “Take this. Get back on the dosing schedule, ‘cause it’s nothing to mess around with, and you know it. I’m late for class AGAIN!” She planted a quick kiss on a sleepy Logan’s forehead and gave him a sexy wink before she scrambled for the door, “I’ll be back before lunch. Behave yourself!”

Logan looked at his hands, shoved his fingers through his unruly hair, and studied the bottle intently. It was time to start his new life.

Today.

He rolled out of bed and hit the ground with hard-focused determination in his hazel eyes, trying to ignore the slight hang-over. What was it they said helped? Aspirin? Water? Hair of the dog sounded better, but this was a new life, right? Yeah.

At ten-thirty Rogue walked toward the room where Piotr was subbing Logan’s self-defense class for the younger students. She expected to hear the Russian giant’s deep, serene voice, but caught a glimpse of Logan going through the door. Unable to resist, she stepped to the side of the door and listened, knowing his senses were no longer heightened enough to know she was eavesdropping. She listened intently as his gravel-edged voice boomed above the buzz of the students.

“Okay, Tin Man - thanks for handling this bunch of rowdies for me, but I’m taking over this class again, starting now.” Piotr graciously stepped back with a grin, but remained near the door, watching as Logan addressed the class.

“Most of you probably know by now that something happened to me a few days ago. I was injected with the mutant cure vaccine in an attack. My mutation is gone.” He held up both hands to display the stitches, “You’ve seen my claws come out before, and now you see what happened because of it. My skin didn’t heal. I had to get stitched up by the doc. I don’t heal fast now; I heal just like everyone else. I needed to take a few days off to get better, but now I’m back, and this class goes on as usual. I’m gonna be talkin’ you through a lot of your routines and exercises because you gotta keep your distance from me for a few more days until this heals up better. No direct hand-to-hand sparring with me for a while.”

The eyebrow rose in challenge as he continued, “ That doesn’t mean I’m gonna be soft on any of you. Neither does it eliminate the reality of an ass-kicking, if it’s needed, ‘cause the feet still work.” Several students grinned and chuckled while a few looked decidedly intimidated.

Rogue couldn’t resist, and leaned forward to peer through the half-opened door. Logan was standing in the middle of the self-defense class wearing fresh sweats, his chin neatly shaven and with his hair combed into something resembling order, scanning every face that looked up to him, “Everyone understand me? Good - pair up and let’s get to work.” Students scrambled for their mats and their favorite sparring partners as Logan instructed them in their routines, giving encouragement or helpful criticism where needed.

Rogue stepped back away from the door and leaned against the wall, smiling, eyes closed in relief and thankfulness. The Logan they all knew and loved was back!

At lunch time Rogue sat with him as the students chattered noisily in the dining hall. “I heard you took your class back this morning. Don’t you think it’s a little soon?”

“Nope.” He forked a chunk of ham loaf and chewed intently.

“I’m just worried about you,” she spoke softly, and noted Bobby watching her intently from another table. She smiled and nodded at him, but he turned away. Rogue knew trouble was brewing, but she’d deal with trouble one man at a time. “There’s no reason you can’t take the rest of the week off. Give yourself some time to....”

“No point.” Logan turned to her and drilled his eyes into hers, “I’ve given this a lot of thought, Marie. I’ve had nothing else much to do for two days but think about it. I don’t like what’s happened, but I can’t change it. That’s the reality. My mutation is gone, and I can’t make it come back. I’ve got to learn a lot of stuff all over again: how to live, how to fight effectively, how to work without the punched-up senses, how to treat my body since I don’t heal fast now. There’s a hell of a lot to do, and there’s no point in layin’ around, waiting for life to happen. I don’t let things happen, darlin’ - I make things happen. I don’t ever remember a time that I wasn’t a mutant. I don’t remember ever ‘not’ having the regeneration, the heightened senses, everything,” he gently picked up the coffee cup with one hand and took a sip. “My life as a human starts today. I gotta meet that challenge head-on.”

“Damn straight, sugar,” Rogue beamed a proud smile at Logan and patted his leg under the table. Turning back to her plate, she saw Bobby standing right in front of her.

“We need to talk, Rogue.” Bobby glared at her and Logan in turn before continuing, “Where have you been the last two nights? I haven’t been able to find you anywhere.”

Before Rogue could form an answer, Storm interrupted the confrontation. “Bobby, I need you right away. It’s business,”she cast a knowing glance at him, indicating X-Men business.

“What’s goin’ on, Storm?” Logan was tensed to rise, but Storm shook her head at him.

“Logan, you’re on leave, and this is not a hostile situation for any of us. I’ll update you later. Bobby, in my office now, please?” The curt, gentle force of Storm in leader-mode was not to be argued with, and Bobby cast one more angry glance at the two as he turned to leave.

Logan turned to Rogue who still sat in silence, “You haven’t broken up with him yet, have you?”

“No. There just hasn’t been the proper time or place yet. It’s not something I can do over lunch, or on a mission, or in front of other people.”

“Are you sure you want to?” Rogue’s head snapped around in shock to regard the man she’d slept with the past two nights, the man she’d chosen to become her eventual lover.

“How can you even ask me that, after the last two nights, and what we’ve done to each other? What we’ve done ‘with’ each other?”

Logan laid his fork down and looked her straight in the eyes. “I told you this,” he lowered his voice for her ears only, “you’re still a virgin. That hasn’t changed. And you’re a woman with a mind of your own. I’d whack off a finger for the first shot at you, babe - that’s a given. But that’s also me being selfish and possessive. Call it a guy-thing. But, I love you enough to want you to be sure, absolutely sure, that you’re doing what you want, getting what and who you want.”

“You love me?” Rogue could hardly find enough air for making the words.

“Yeah,” his voice went soft, “yeah, I do.” They leaned together and Logan kissed her quickly, gently on the lips. “I always have.”

The noisy background chatter in the room suddenly dwindled down to a noticeable lull. Turning to see what had happened, Rogue saw almost every face in the room aimed toward them. She groaned inwardly at the variety of expressions, from surprise to leering grins to Kitty with her mouth hanging open in shock.

Oh shit.

Snapping a look at Logan, Rogue noted his calm expression. When the silence stretched uncomfortably, he snarled to the room, “So, what’s the problem?” Immediately all heads returned to their former activities of eating and talking, only now in whispers. The babble of hushed voices swept the room like a storm front.

At her corner table, Shelly Hanson jotted a few notes on her napkin and tucked it in her class folder, then smiled into her coffee cup. Nothing perked up a cup of decaf like a little lunch-hour drama.

*

Bobby entered the MacKenzie apartment to find Mike laid out on the sofa, a kitchen towel stuffed with ice laid over his left eye. Bruises blossomed over his jaw and both forearms.

“Okay, buddy - fill me in. What happened?”

“Same old shit,” Mike started to say.

Immediately his sister shushed him, with a stern, “Michael! Language!”

Jenny gave him the evil eye, which Mike ignored, continuing, “Three guys on the street, cornered me, started talking shit about me escaping through the sewer like the other rats, and then they beat the shit out of me. Same shit, different day.”

“Michael, stop saying that word!”

“Would you prefer ‘fuck,’ Jen?”

Bobby interrupted the sibling’s grousing, “Do you need a doctor? I can arrange it; we have a doctor on staff who is a mutant, so there’s no risk, no expense, and no hassle. Will you agree to it?” Bobby didn’t like the look of the bruises, although Mike seemed calm about it all.

“Nah. I’m not that messed up. I’ve had worse beatings and lived to tell the tale. Where’s that girl who came with you before? I liked her. Oops,” he commented with a grin. “I forgot - she’s your girlfriend. Sorry, dude. I’m not poaching, just thought she was pretty cool.”

“Yeah, she is pretty cool. She was busy back at the school,” Bobby stood up and looked at Jenny. “I’m glad you called. I want you both to remember that the school offers many options for Mike.” Bobby looked directly at Mike, “If you want, I’ll drive you there tonight. If you want more time to think on it, just make sure you keep in touch. On my word, man, it’s the safest place I know, and the healthiest place for a mutant, especially a young one. Remember that.”

“I’m not ready to give up yet. And I’m not ready to let ‘them’ win,” Mike nodded his head toward the streets below their apartment window.

“Please stay for a while. I’ve got coffee brewing, and there’s iced tea, too,” Jenny smiled at Bobby and hooked her thumb toward the small kitchen. “We can talk more. I’ve still got questions.”

“Sure - thanks,” Bobby turned to ask Mike if he needed more ice just as a shattering sound jarred the room. Shards of glass splattered over the furniture, over Mike, and pieces bounced off Bobby’s jacket. A chunk of brick thudded against the floor, inches from where Mike laid, and he came off the sofa in one leap. Jenny screamed as another object hurtled through the broken window, and Bobby shoved her into the kitchen, out of harm’s way.

More shattering glass splattered the room, and a burst of flame followed it. Someone on the street had pitched a molotov cocktail in a beer bottle into the room. The stench of gasoline saturated the air in the small apartment and flames were racing over the carpet and walls. Grabbing Mike’s arm and pulling him into the kitchen with his sister, Bobby stood in the doorway and laid frost over the flames, lowering the fire, then erasing it, but the eye-watering, breath-stealing stink of petrochemicals remained.

Jenny was shaking and crying, and Mike was white-faced. Bobby went quickly to the wall, edged along toward the broken window, and cautiously snapping a look down to street level, but there was no one suspicious in the area. Whoever had pitched the fire bomb had undoubtedly left immediately.

Staring down at the car he’d borrowed from the garage for the trip into the city, he saw the words ‘mutie lover’ spray-painted over the windshield and hood.

Returning to the kitchen where Mike was opening windows to air the place out, Bobby asked, “Is there any reason we shouldn’t call the police? Like, a rap sheet, outstanding fines, anything?”

The siblings, one mutant, one human, looked at each other for only a moment before Jenny answered for them both, “No, we’re clean.”

“Good. Call 911, and I’ll report in to the school by cell.”

Storm, Rogue and Logan were waiting in the garage when the three returned two hours later, the vandals’ paint still sprayed over the car. After completing the police questioning, they’d packed as many personal belongings in the car as possible and left the apartment locked. They could go back for the rest of the stuff later, when it was safer.

Bobby glared momentarily at Logan’s right hand resting on Rogue’s shoulder, but maintained his professional demeanor, making introductions all around.

“Welcome to Mutant High, kid,” Logan kept his hand on Rogue to prevent offering a handshake, but Rogue stepped up and welcomed them both with hugs, leaving Logan to examine the vandalized car.

Rogue stepped to Bobby’s side as Storm led the siblings to accommodations for the night. Noting Drake’s torn jacket, which still reeked of gasoline, Rogue asked, “Bobby, are you okay?”

“Yeah, fine. Glad you didn’t go, though. It was rough,” he smiled at her for the first time in days, and Rogue instinctively hugged him out of relief. Feeling momentarily guilty, she glanced surreptitiously at Logan where he still remained studying the damage to the car, his head turned away. Easing back from Bobby, she spoke softly, “You’d better get cleaned up. My eyes are watering from the smell of gasoline on you. And the next time Storm says it’s a non-hostile mission, think twice.”

Logan stood staring at the car, the driver’s side window mirroring everything that went on behind him. He saw Rogue step forward to embrace Drake, saw them whisper to each other, smile, be tender. He automatically tried to focus on their words above the hum of the fluorescent lights over their heads, but nothing came. The damned enhanced hearing was truly gone.

But he’d seen enough to start a tendril of doubt growing in his mind.

Rogue sat in the kitchen at midnight, an untouched bowl of ice cream slowly melting under her spoon. Deep in thought, she barely heard the footfalls as Bobby rounded the corner. Smiling at him, she shoved the bowl toward him, “This ought to put the chill back in your bones after tonight’s fireworks.”

“Thanks,” he grinned and took the bowl, slurping up the melted cream from the edge of the bowl, then reached for her spoon and scooped a good mouthful.

“I’m so glad...” Bobby mumbled at the exact same moment Rogue said, “I don’t think...” They both waited for the other to speak, then each shrugged and Bobby started again.

“I’m so glad you weren’t there tonight. I couldn’t handle it if you had been hurt on my watch, and especially since you can’t...” he hesitated for a breath before finishing his thought, “since you can’t tap into Logan’s healing power any more. Now, what were you going to say?”

Rogue stared hard at the counter top, wishing there were hidden lines of the speech she should give now, waiting there to prompt her. Tracing her fingertip over the woodgrain, she breathed deeply and steeled herself for the moment she’d been dreading.

“I don’t think we should keep dating. It’s getting uncomfortable for both of us, and it seems to me like we’re in a rut, like our dating is just a habit, and neither one of us is getting any real satisfaction or joy out of it,” she jerked her eyes toward his face when she heard the spoon hit the counter. His face was tense but his eyes were blank. She rallied her courage and went on.

“I know you’re interested in Kitty. I see the way you look at her, touch her, talk to her. You don’t need to hide it or feel guilty about it, because you know that I’m more than friends with Logan, too. We both need to face facts, accept them, and move on to find what we both want, because it’s not each other.” She waited for him to respond, but he said nothing.

“I know the ring you gave me isn’t any kind of a ‘relationship’ ring, and it’s personalized, and all that, but if you’d rather I didn’t have it, I’ll get it right now and give it back to you.”

His voice came out in tight, hard, brittle words, “Why would I want anything with your name on it? Keep it, I don’t care what you do with it.” He rose abruptly from the table and stalked toward the door, turning once to speak over his shoulder before disappearing into the darkened hallway, “Your timing sucks, by the way.”

“I know it does, because I waited too long to speak my mind,” she said to the empty room.

*

Shelly grabbed her journal and started scribbling notes under the day’s date. ‘Romeo gets dumped, but where will Juliet sleep tonight?’ Tapping the pen against her perfect teeth, she jotted another line. ‘How can we use Romeo’s broken heart? Is there anything to be gained from him? Probably not. He’s dull; pretty to look at, but dull.’ Snapping the book shut, she laid across the bed and focused on the strands of her blonde hair that encircled the foot of Logan’s bed.

The television was on, some sporting event from the tinny sounds of occasional cheering, and the occasional burst of live, crisp swearing from the surly, dark-haired mutant. ‘Former mutant,’ she corrected herself mentally with a smug smile. She heard a clink, something small and metallic hitting something hard. A bottle cap? Refocusing on the hallway, she heard light footsteps coming from the kitchen, up the stairs, second flight, and into the teacher’s hallway. ‘Ah, Little Miss Rogue, right on schedule,’ thought Shelly. Half-tuning into Logan’s room again, she got the particular enjoyment of hearing the tap on his door in stereo, part from the room, and part from the hall. Practicing the cellular hearing was paying off in near surround-sound!

*

Logan rose from the bed and opened the door to Rogue’s slightly-shaken expression. Stepping back silently, he allowed her entrance to the room, closing and locking the door for privacy.

Not knowing what to expect, Logan waited for Rogue to speak first. With one palm pressed tight to her chest, it took her a few breaths before she finally smiled, held herself straighter, and said, “I did it. I’m a free woman. I just ended it with Bobby.”

Maintaining a poker face, Logan inquired, “How did he take it?” and swigged another drink of his beer.

“Not well,” Rogue muttered as she watched the bottle raise and lower, knowing he wasn’t supposed to drink on the prescription medication, but she resisted mentioning it. “He’s angry, and hurt, and I think jealous, too. I told him I knew about him and Kitty, that it was no big secret, and we just weren’t fulfilling each others’ needs, so there was no point in continuing since neither one of us was happy. I was as truthful and tactful as I could be, but he still stomped out of the room.”

“Yeah, well... it’s not easy hearing stuff like that, I suppose, especially at his age. He’ll get over it. How are ‘you’ handling it?”

“I’m all over the place,” Rogue commented, noting a slight distance in Logan’s eyes and stance, like he was observing from a neutral point, with no emotional attachment of any kind. It was strange, but maybe it was his own unique way of handling highly-charged emotions. She continued, “I’m sad that I apparently hurt him, and elated that I found the guts to end it, and so incredibly relieved that it’s over, like a weight’s been lifted from me. I know I probably shouldn’t feel like this, but I want to celebrate somehow. I want to dance on the roof, or ride topless on your bike, or do something wild! I’m near to bustin’, sugar!”

That brought a grin to Logan’s face, “You topless on the back of my bike is likely to get us both either killed, or in jail. Let’s go for the dance on the roof,” he reached for her hand and started toward the door.

“Are you serious? You don’t dance!”

Grabbing a portable radio off a side table, he grinned at her, “I’m serious, darlin’. Let’s go.”

With an oldies station tuned in, Rogue breathed in the starlight and started a hair-tossing bump-n-grind to “My Sharona” that made Logan chuckle and step aside with a heated appreciation in his eyes, standing quietly while Rogue worked off some energy. Laughing and swinging her hair in a fan around her head, she made a few elegant spins and reached for his hand to dance with her.

“Sorry, darlin’ - that’s not music for dancing in the dark. Let’s try another station.”

Tuning the radio to an even older oldies station, Rogue heard the haunting, smoky strains of a slow 50's do-wop tune float on the night air. Logan stepped to her side, sliding an arm around her waist as she turned into his embrace. She rarely danced close to anyone, and never a slow dance with a grown man, so her confidence dropped immediately and she let him lead her into the simple, intimate circling steps. Logan wasn’t an elegant dancer, but he was graceful and strong, and held her close as they drifted around the roof, arms wrapped around each other.

“What’s the name of this song?” Rogue asked, then nuzzled against Logan’s shoulder, nearly humming with happiness.

“You’re askin’ me? I don’t remember as many years as you’ve lived,” he commented with a little sarcasm, “but by chance I do know this one, ‘I Only Have Eyes for You.’ It’s old. I don’t know how I know that, but I know it.”

“You think the memory is a flashback of some kind? From your past? Or maybe just a bit of music trivia you picked up along the way?”

“Dunno, I just like it.” Logan gently took her hand and guided her through a slow, sensuous twirl, then scooped her back against him again, “I’ve been wanting to ask a favor.”

“Ask. Ask anything. I’m really, really pliant right now,” Rogue sighed against his throat.

“I could take that several different ways,” Logan said and dipped her backwards. Rogue laughed and leaned trustingly against the strong forearm that cupped her low back, until her hair brushed the floor, then rolled back up his body to press against his chest as they continued the slow dance. The song ended and changed to another, slightly faster beat, so they walked to the roof’s edge and looked off over the grounds. “I want to take one of your classes.”

“What?! Wh... Mine?” She babbled, “What can I possibly teach you?”

“You’re teaching Pop Culture, subbing for Storm, right?”

“Wuh, yeah...” she mumbled, still flabbergasted by his request.

“I need Pop Culture. Teach me.”

“But....but, why? What good would that do you?”

Logan turned and leaned his hip against the roof’s wall, crossing his arms and studying her face. “Things changed after Alcatraz. Xavier had tried sorting some things out of my head. He wanted me to do it myself, but even with a little telepathic ‘encouragement’ from him, we didn’t get anything more than what was already coming back through the drea... uh, nightmares.” He tightened his expression over that thought, but continued.

“Jean tried, too. Again, nothing that we didn’t already know. Now, with them both gone, we have no telepaths, no one to sort around in my head. I gotta try something else, some way of maybe triggering memories. I thought your Pop Culture class might do that, ya know; anything back past fifteen years or so. I’d like to sit in one a few of the classes. You okay with that?”

Rogue pondered a moment, mostly to tease him into relaxing, “Well, it sounds like a legitimate reason to me, but will you promise to behave yourself in class?”

“Not one paper wad, not one passed note. I’ll even clean up my language. A little, at least; maybe,” and he winked at her.

“Okay, you’ve convinced me. You are now enrolled in Rogue’s School of Popular Culture. Maybe you’ll become a Rogue Scholar,” she kissed him softly on the throat.

“Thanks, baby. Oh, and we’re not having sex tonight.”

Rogue nearly fell stunned to the floor at his off-handed comment, “I beg your pardon? What did you just say?”

“We are not having sex tonight.”

“Okay, I’m not hallucinating. Mind telling me why?”

“You’re on overload. It’s too soon. And as much as it kills me to say this, I want to wait until my stitches come out. I...” he sighed deeply and regarded his stitched hands, then refocused. “I want to put my hands all over you, and it’s gonna be scratchy until they come out. And you’re still too cranked up about dumping Drake, so it’s not a good night for sex, at least not the first time.”

“I did NOT dump Bobby,” she stated indignantly, but inside Rogue knew she had indeed dumped him, and rather abruptly.

“What else would you call it?” Logan was calm and neutral, but the Logan inside Rogue’s head was chuckling to himself, so she knew he was goading her.

“There’s a difference between dumping and breaking up. Look, Logan, I know you’re just trying to push my buttons here, but I did NOT dump...” Her voice trailed off into a low moan as his hands brushed lightly over her breasts, his thumbs teasing her nipples before pulling her close again.

“That’s how I push buttons, baby,” he breathed the warm words onto her skin. “You dumped him for me: admit it.”

“Yes, you’re right. I confess. Do that again, please.”

“Sorry - you’re now officially on sexual hold until further notice. No more mutual showers, either. The next one may kill me if we don’t end up in bed, naked, and fucking like weasels.”

Rogue gave him a saucy grin, looked up through her lashes, and commented, “Well, considering my sexual inexperience, I really don’t know ‘how’ weasels fuck, so is this something I should look forward to?”

“Yes, definitely,” he nibbled her ear lobe, then backed off, leaning against the wall again at her side.

“You’re starting to scare me. You know that, right?”

“Why?”

Rogue shifted from one foot to another to buy time to form the words, then just launched into it. “When Bobby couldn’t touch me, he wanted me something fierce. When he ‘could’ touch me, he pulled away and started hanging with Kitty. That made me feel all kinds of awful. And all this time, while I was ‘technically’ still with Bobby, you’ve been all over me; which I love, mind you. But tonight, I dump Bobby, and you put me out of your bed. I see a pattern here, and I don’t like it, not one little bit. Tell me this is coincidence, and you’re not gonna wander off to someone else.”

He was back with his arms around her again in an instant, “I am not wandering off to someone else. You just need to decompress and breathe a little. When the time comes, I’m gonna be on you like it’s rutting season. But just how much of this overload of stress, and experimental sex, and tension, and emotional grind do you think you can handle, and still function? Still enjoy yourself?” He laced fingers through her hair and laid a soft kiss on her lips, “I’m just saying ‘no’ for tonight. Understand?”

“Yeah, I understand, and yeah, you’re probably right,” Rogue lost herself in his hazel eyes for a long while, then added, “It’s just that I’ve waited so long for you.”

“I know. It’s mutual. Waiting can make it better. Granted, there’s a lot to be said for instant gratification and I’m a walking testimonial to that, but everything has it’s opposite in nature. We’ll get there, Marie. I promise.”

“And until then, you need something to remember me by,” she teased him with the words, then remembering their previous night on the roof, she gently but firmly cupped his crotch and gave him a good rubbing squeeze before stepping away. “I think it was concerning blue balls, or something like that. ‘Night, Logan,” and she was gone down the stairs.

Logan stood there agape, his groin throbbing deliciously with the stimulation, and he resisted beating his head against the wall at this newly-found sense of chivalrous patience. One gentle southern belle, virtually inexperienced, just fitting nicely beneath his arm, and she was able to work him like a puppet. One evil, young, beautiful, virginal, terrifying, wicked woman, and he had to bed her, and soon.

Grabbing the radio and giving in to the temptation, Logan bounced his forehead off the doorframe a few times before heading back downstairs to his empty room and empty bed.

Toad slid into the dark sedan parked beside the coffee shop, and informed Eric of Shelly’s progress, “She checked in again last night, but it’s nothing we can use, just teen trauma and romantic angst. There was one new student brought in, a MacSomething kid, apparently another feral who got the stuffing beat out of him on the street somewhere. That was about all worth mentioning. Guess it’s been a boring few days for her.”

“Did she have anything to say about her cover there, her own security?” Eric smoothed his fingers over the metal door handle of the car, then stroked the band of his wristwatch. He’d never been able to wear one before without it malfunctioning immediately, but he was starting to adjust to the feeling of it snugly wrapped around his wrist.

“She says she’s right fitting into the routine there, no questions, no suspicious people watching her, nothing. She’s starting to make acquaintances with a few of the staff and students, but not ‘too’ friendly. We can thank our lucky stars that all their telepaths are gone, or she’d be exposed.”

“And that, my brother, is exactly why I chose her - she has the gift we need, the talent to use it, and she is, unfortunately, expendable.”

Toad regarded Magneto with hooded eyes, “You think they’d off her if they knew?”

“Whether they would kill her or not, I cannot say. When Charles was leading the X-Men, my answer would have been ‘absolutely not’. His morals were too high for such a rash act. He would turn her over to the authorities if there were grounds, or he would ‘disappear’ her into the background somewhere, mercifully of course. But now that Charles is gone, along with that young man who hung on his every word, the Summers boy, the moral constitution of the rest of them is questionable. Wolverine would kill her immediately. Not only would it be the simplest and most permanent elimination of an enemy agent, it would also be an act of revenge for him, since she was the one who gave us the information on his location that fateful day,” Eric purred with satisfaction. “Storm and Rogue are unknown factors. The Drake boy likely would allow her to live, but penalized somehow; whatever form of punishment they would dream up though is hard to say.”

Eric turned his head and smiled warmly at Toad who failed to return the warmth, “No, I don’t think our Shelly would be at all safe if she were found out. The few remaining X-Men are too chaotic by nature to predict. What did she have to say about Wolverine, specifically?”

“Not a lot. He’s been healing up, took a few days off, but now he’s back teaching classes.” Eric smirked at the idea of Wolverine teaching anything to a room full of children.

“Did she say if he had returned to the Danger Room yet? If he’s physically back to fighting condition?”

“She didn’t say. There’s a lot there for one person to monitor, but she’s working on it.”

“Good enough, then. Tomorrow we start planning the invasion of the school. I’ll want daily reports from Miss Hanson starting tomorrow. We’ll need every detail to be current if we’re to eliminate as much threat as possible to our own troops. A small strike force should be able to eliminate the mutant Leech, and a second smaller group should be able to delete the vaccine formula from their computers. Never again will that vile potion be used to poison another mutant.”

*

Two days later, Rogue walked Mike MacKenzie through the school, getting him familiar with the rambling mansion’s classrooms and facilities. With one eye swollen shut and multiple bruises showing over most of his exposed skin, she watched him carefully for signs of tiring or pain, but he seemed content to amble through the halls with her beside him.

“Is your sister staying here for a while? There’s plenty of room.”

“Nah, she wants to go back to the city and share an apartment with her friend. They’ll be fine. It’s in a whole different neighborhood where no one’ll know she’s related to a mutant.” Rogue looked discretely at Mike’s steel-gray hair and young, angular face. At a distance, he could almost pass as human until he smiled, revealing the rows of tiny, pointed teeth, or one noticed his totally black eyes.

“Did your mutation manifest all at once?” Rogue hoped he didn’t mind the personal question.

“Not quite - it took a few days to develop. Weird. I got the teeth first. They just started growing out from beneath the other set, hurt like hell, too. The human teeth dropped out within a few moments while these shoved through. The hair took a while longer. It started growing at the same rate, just gray. It looked like I was an old man from behind, like I hadn’t ‘touched up my roots’ for a while. Tried dying it, but this shit won’t take dye for some reason. Dye won’t last more than a few days, and it’s ‘hello Rat Boy’ again.” He stopped and ran a few fingers through his bristling gray hair, shoving it this way and that, pulling a lock down over his forehead. He turned to Rogue and gave her a teasing smile. “You still hangin’ with Ice Man? Or have I got a shot? I’m hearing rumors....”

Rogue laughed at his determination, then answered, “The answer is no, and no. I’m not seeing Bobby, but I am seeing someone else. Sorry, Mike.”

“Damn,” he shook his head. “I’ve only been here two days, and already missed my shot.”

“Come on, I’ll show you the self-defense classroom.”

Logan had just dismissed class as Rogue and Mike entered. Introductions were made, and Logan begged off for a meeting with Storm, but gave Mike an invitation to self-defense classes when he was healed up from the beating. Logan planted a less than subtle hug and light kiss on Rogue on his way out, leaving Mike to regard the other feral’s back as he left.

“So that’s the guy, huh? Lady, I just don’t stand a chance with you.”

“What makes you say that? Other than the fact that I’m head over heels for Logan?”

“NO WAY could I compete with HIM!”

Rogue patted Mike on the shoulder as they walked out, “I’m also not the only girl in this school. Bide your time. With your charm, you’ll make friends fast. I’ll personally introduce you to the twins, Ciji and Niji. They’re a hoot.”

“Twins? Twins, as in sisters? As in two whole, separate but identical girls? I think I’m supposed to fantasize about that, right?”

“Down, boy.”

“How’s my hair? You got a comb?”

*

Storm leaned back in the leather chair in Xavier’s former office, waiting for the last of her administrative assistants to close the door so she could talk privately with Logan who lazed in the chair opposite her.

“How are you feeling?”

“Just dandy. Moving right along.... what ya got?”

“Liar. I’ve been pondering the attack on you. I’ve talked to Rogue and Piotr, and took down a list of everyone who they talked to, or who might have overheard the planning to make that run into town. I’m trying to pin down how the trap could have been set for you, but so far I don’t have any answers. It was obviously a premeditated attack, so someone must have leaked the information, intentionally or accidentally. Now the challenge remains: figure out where the leak is, and who the information goes to.”

“Rogue thinks it was Toad bounding off through the trees, or at least a green-skinned mutant. There seem to be plenty of blueskins around, but not that many greenskins. I was upwind so I heard him coming, but the scent was tricky. It could have been Toad, or any other greenskin that smelled like a swamp and could jump over trees, but no, I didn’t actually ‘see’ him. Not that it would stop me from killing him, just for shits and giggles. So that makes the source Magneto.”

“Are you confident of that?”

“Yep. I’m the one who distracted him while Hank nailed him with the cure injections. Leave it to Buckethead to turn the trick back on me. And Toad would be the perfect delivery boy.”

“I can’t argue with those deductions, even if we don’t have a confident eye witness.”

“You got a confident target, Storm - me. How much more do you need to feel ‘good’ about yourself and the possibility of taking down Magneto and Toad?”

“Far less than my predecessor behind this desk,” Logan raised his eyebrows in surprise at her confession. Storm continued, “I know you questioned both Charles’ and Scott’s devotion to seeking the truth, acting on rational thought, and treating every mutant fairly with hopes of some future degree of peace among all of us, human and mutant.” Storm rose from her chair and walked to Logan’s side, resting her hand on his shoulder for a moment, then she leaned against the desk and faced him, “I did support those views at first. I did have hopes for a peaceful future. I’ve also seen what I pray is the worst of mutant-versus-mutant prejudice. I’ve learned my lesson: there are some people whom we can never trust.”

“Are you saying we’re going after the Brotherhood? ‘Cause I’ll line up for that - I’m ready yesterday,” Logan’s enthusiasm showed in his eyes until he looked at his hands, and his expression fell.

“Not quite yet, you’re not. But I will say this: when the time comes, when we have the right opportunity, the right intelligence, the right people, I won’t stop it. But things have changed. We have to be ready this time, take as few chances as possible, especially with the younger ones.”

*

Rogue met up with Logan that night in the TV room. “I’ve been needing to talk to you.”

“Plant yourself here and have at it, darlin’,” he patted a spot beside him on the sofa. Rogue settled against him and enjoyed the privacy of the otherwise unoccupied room.

“I’m going out on a mission with Piotr tomorrow,” and she braced herself for the expected outburst.

Logan didn’t fail to deliver, “The hell you are! You’re not ready for 2-man missions, especially without your fuckin’ mutation! You know this is the wrong....” Rogue gently leaned in and kissed him to shut him up. Pulling back, she spoke softly to lower the tension level between them.

“This is not a confrontational mission. This is a meet-n-greet in Canada, at some safe-houses. After Stryker’s raid, the professor started establishing a network of connections where we could run if needed. Pete and I are going up there, meet some of the Canadian team and the safe-house staffers, get acquainted in person, and compare notes on how we can help each other.” She patted Logan’s arm which circled her waist, “They’re lacking training and organization, and we’re lacking facilities outside this country. That’s all. It’s just a business trip.”

“I don’t like it. I’m going with you.”

“You are no diplomat, and you are on leave, remember?”

“Fuck that. I’m going.”

“No.”

“No?”

“Exactly. I’ve got the administrative details and I know what questions to ask, who to talk to, all the boring administrative stuff. I’ve been working on all that behind the scenes for a few months. Pete is my bodyguard on this trip, and you’re needed here.”

“Thought I was on leave?” Rogue noted the flinty gleam in Logan’s eyes, but he was taking it better than she had expected. She began wondering just how much of his fireball temper and anger issues were contained within the Wolverine, and how much of that had been tamped down by the cure vaccine.

“Piotr and I are just two tourists going into Canada. No weapons, no identifiable visible mutations, just hiding in plain sight. If you went along, too, that would leave Storm and Bobby to defend this place. Just how effectively secure does that seem to you?”

“Damn you and your logic, kid.”

“Besides, it’ll give us a little breathing time before I come home to find you without your stitches, and I can jump you the minute I get out of the car. Or better yet, you can be waiting naked in my bed. Pick one.”

“How long are you gonna be gone? This is sounding like days, maybe a week?”

“About a week. Promise me you won’t axe-murder Bobby while I’m in Canada.”

“Hey, if him being a dickweed ends up putting you in my bed, he’ll be on my Christmas list this year.”

“You don’t have a Christmas list.”

“I’ll start one,” Logan’s fingers threaded along her neck and brought forth the magnolia blossom necklace from beneath her blouse. “Why you coverin’ this up? Ashamed of me?” he teased her.

“No, sugar. It just slipped under. You wanna keep fishing around in there? Never can tell what else you might find.”

Logan’s hand slid down and cupped her breast in his warmth as their lips met. Lost in each other’s heat, they were caught off guard by footsteps and giggles entering the room. Mike and the twins Ciji and Niji, intent on watching television, put forth a burst of embarrassed babbling and apologies as they witnessed the two lovers tangled together on the sofa.

Standing quickly, Logan and Rogue excused themselves and went into the gardens for a better shot at privacy. Strolling along a graveled path, Rogue slid one hand around the small of his back as his arm draped around her shoulders.

“Promise me something, Logan. Promise me you’ll take care of yourself while I’m gone, ya know? Finish the antibiotics, go to Hank if anything is wrong, lay off the hard liquor a little. I want to come home and find you healthy, ready, and willing. Is that selfish?” She turned to him at the end of the path and looked him squarely in the eyes, waiting.

“It’s not selfish. It’s sensible. I have trouble with ‘sensible’ sometimes. But yeah, I’ll behave myself, because if anything goes wrong up north, I’ll come up there and kick some ass, and kick yours while I’m at it.” He stepped closer to her, towering over her and looking down into her eyes, “I still don’t like this mission thing, without me.”

“We’re both making adjustments, remember? This is one of those adjustments.” She did one of the things that she always ached to do, and found herself still thrilling at the simple gesture: she laid her hands on either side of his jaw, touching his bare skin above the muttonchops, and pulled him down to kiss her.

“You gonna wait for me to come home? Keep your hands off other women while I’m gone?”

“Yep. You gonna wait for me, or are you plannin’ some hot action with a tin-plated Russian?”

“He’s not my type: too big, stoic, and manly.”

“Now, that hurt.”

“You are so easy,” her fingers slid beneath his t-shirt to lace through the silky hair on his flat belly. “I like everything you’ve got, and I’m not gonna ‘shop around’. I want you,” she kissed Logan deeply again, and eased herself back from him before it became too heated. “I have to get up very early tomorrow, so I’m going to bed now. My bed. Alone. I’ll call you every chance I get, okay?”

“Okay. Remember the ass-kicking promise.”

“I remember every promise you’ve ever made me, sugar.”

“And you remember your promise about the Pop Culture class. I’m serious about that, Marie.”

“You’re enrolled. Goodnight, Logan.”

“Night, babe.”

She left him standing in the moonlight, the night-born sounds from the forest echoing beyond the chirruping of the garden’s crickets.

“Did he take them all out?” Rogue grinned as Logan’s voice came over the cell phone connection.

“Yep - all sixty-nine stitches. And by the way, you’ve got a dirty mind for a virgin. Gonna have to fix that when you get home.”

“I’m sure you got the perfect tool for that job, handsome,” she purred as she heard Logan’s throaty chuckle.

“Like I said, about the dirty mind. When ya comin’ home? There’s something wrong when you’re up in Canada and I’m down here in the lower forty-eight.”

“About three days, four at the latest. There’s a lot to do; people to coordinate, houses to inspect, everything from blueprints to attics to basements. It’s a big job.”

“You can handle it, babe.”

“Thanks, sugar! I gotta go - I’ll call again when we’re on the road, heading home,” she waited through several moments of silence, wondering if their connection had been dropped, before she heard his husky male voice.

“Love you.”

The connection closed before she could respond.

*

“Aside from the string of safe houses in Canada, there’s not much to report,” Shelly ran her tongue over her lip gloss as she listened to Toad’s thick, sexy accent, and wished that she could spend the next two years just talking to him without having to look at him. His moist, greenish skin made her a little queasy.

“What’s going on with the wild thing - any changes?” Toad loved the Texas twang in the beauty queen’s voice.

“Nothing. Teaching, moping around while our Little Miss is in Canada. I don’t know what he was like before you got to him, but he’s a mess now, based on people’s stories of what he was like before. It seems that he’s lost his edge.”

*

Mike marveled over the twin sisters who had adopted him as their pet project while he got acquainted with the school and life within it’s grounds. The two sisters had waist-length blue-black hair, dusky copper-toned skin with a blue-ish tinge around eyes and mouths, pale sea-green eyes, and gills on the sides of their throats. He thought they were perhaps the most beautiful creatures he’d ever seen, but their tendency to switch languages mid-sentence in conversation with each other was befuddling. Though they were one year younger than him, he felt ashamed of his own intellect when he was in their company.

“How many languages do you two speak, anyway?” He fiddled with the wiring on Ciji’s stereo while Niji sorted CDs in a crate. All Mike’s stereo equipment had been delivered to his dorm room and he had been reassembling the system and tweaking it when Ciji had asked his help with wiring their dorm room.

“How many languages are there, really?” Ciji mused, and caught a CD her sister tossed at her.

“We have spoken Cherokee and Greek and Latin and Mandarin and Arabic and....” Niji started rattling off the list.

“... and some Pawnee, and Italian but with a funky accent, and French and...” Ciji continued without a pause between sisters.

Mike interrupted the linguistic laundry list, “How in the world can anyone know that many languages?”

“Oh, we don’t know them by heart, of course.” “Not all of them, anyway.” They started the trading-off conversation again, “We can converse in anything we hear, but I can’t write in anything but English.” “And Italian and Greek, of course.” “I don’t know enough Italian to order pizza by snail mail, sis.” “You don’t like pizza, deary.” “That’s not the point, idjit.” “My point is the one on top of your head, mouth-breather.” “Bite me, fishmonger.” “Get stuffed, baitgirl.”

“Wait, wait... you mean you can speak any language, but only write English, Italian and Greek?”

“‘Zactly.” “You got it.” “It’s our mutation.” “It’s kind of like having perfect pitch in music.” “But with us, it’s perfect pitch in words.” “Multi-lingual instant comprehension, but short term in most cases.” “And the gills, of course.”

Niji hung her single lock of silver hair behind her right ear and subtly rippled the lips of her gills just to show them off. Mike noticed the small scar that threaded back into the hairline where the silver streak was rooted, and discretely noted the blue-edged gills at the side of her throat. Even their gills were identical, but the silver streak was the only way to tell the twins apart. The two sisters again got a rolling babble going about Ciji’s need to update her music collection, and Mike felt his head start to ache. Perhaps trying to date either one of them would be painful. A girlfriend required maintenance and attention. School chums could be avoided without paying dearly for the comfortable distance.

“Wiring’s done - I gotta go.” Both twins waved and said synchronized ‘thank yous’ as he zipped out the door.

*

Rogue stepped out of the car, stiff and drowsy from the long ride. As she raised her hands over her head in a glorious, joint-popping stretch, she felt two arms encircle her waist from behind. Logan nuzzled into her hair and nipped her neck lightly, uncaring that Piotr was standing there grinning at them. “Welcome home, baby. And you, too, Tin Man.”

“What? No manly hug for me?” Piotr held out both burly arms in greeting.

“You’re on your own, bub.”

Piotr waved them off laughingly and left the garage.

“Miss me?” Logan ran his lips over her cheek as she turned in his arms.

“More than you know, sugar,” she met his embrace with a full-on kiss. When they finally parted, she saw a mischievous grin on his face.

“Wanna go upstairs now?” The left eyebrow and the sly smile spoke clearly of his intentions.

Rogue chuckled merrily at his impatience, “I think I’d like a shower, some food, and then we can pass the evening as we see fit. May I see your hands, please?”

“Two, matched pair, just like in the catalogs,” Logan extended both hands for her to see. The stitches were gone and the wounds were healing. Only angry red lines remained where the claws had cut through the skin when he went down in the park. Rogue stiffened her back and looked Logan squarely in the eyes.

“I have to ask one question, and forgive me for it, but it’s necessary. Have you been with anyone but me since you were attacked?”

“No,” his trademark poker-face went into action.

“And I’ve had no sexual contact with anyone but you, so we’re safe together, especially since I’m on the pill now. Sounds like we’ve got a free pass to no-condom-land, right?”

“Right,” he pulled her against his body again and kissed her deeply before the sounds of footsteps running toward the garage’s open door reached them. Pulling back from each other, Rogue saw Jubilee bound through the door and virtually leap into her arms with a shriek.

“Dude! How was Canada? How was the trip? How are you? Oh, hi Wolvie...” she grinned guiltily at Logan.

“Don’t call me that, pip-squeak.”

“Fine, good, and fine,” Rogue answered, “and now if you two will forgive me, I’m starving.” Turning to the door, Rogue saw Jubilee fall in step behind her, but Logan remained in the garage.

“I’m gonna be here checkin’ over the wheels for a while - you logged a lot of miles. I’ll catch up with you later, Ma ... Rogue.” He gave her a wink and a grin and popped the hood on the sedan.

Over supper in the cafeteria, Jubilee regaled Rogue with tales of events since she’d left ten days ago. Sipping at her coffee, Rogue noted their distance from anyone else, and leaned in to speak confidentially to Jubilee.

“I’m gonna disappear later tonight, after I’ve met with Storm. Please cover for me if anyone, ANYONE comes looking for me. Tell them I’ve left the grounds, got a migraine, took a plane to the coast, whatever; but make sure no one knows that I’m hidden away in either my room, or...” she drew a quick breath, “or Logan’s room.”

“Big plans for the evening?”

“Very big.”

“Anything you wanna share before it’s too late?”

“Let’s just say Logan and I are gonna need privacy tonight.”

“You are NOT! Seriously, chica? Damn.”

“Very seriously, Jubes. Just cover for me, okay?”

“Absotively. Now, I think it’s time you had the traditional birds-n-bees talk, and I guess that makes me the one to give it to you.”

“I’m planning on Logan ‘giving it to me’ later, so save your breath.”

Jubilee fluttered her hands and wiped a mock tear from her right eye, “Oh, our little girl is growing up,” she play-sobbed, “and about to jump the hottest thing walking. I’m so jealous, you wretch.” Jubilee elbowed Rogue’s ribs as Logan walked into the room and settled beside her at the table.

“‘Evening, Wolvie.”

“Shut it, cupcake.”

“I’ll leave you two lovebirds alone,” Jubilee rose gracefully from the table, but stopped to lean across and into Logan’s face. “If you hurt her, I’ll make you pay in very large quantities of blood.”

Only the quirk of an eyebrow broke the poker face Logan still wore. Watching Jubilee’s back as she left, he commented flatly, “You told her.”

“I asked her to cover for me, and she figured out the rest. It’s not like she hasn’t been cheering for us all alo.... eep.” Rogue snapped her mouth shut, appalled that she’d dropped that particular hint.

“‘Cheering for us?’ For how long?”

“Long time,” Rogue busied herself with blowing over her coffee cup and sipping daintily, even though the brew was nearly cold.

“You been plannin’ this?”

“Not planning, just fantasizing, dreaming... “she cast a sidelong glance at him, “hoping.”

“Guess I better be good tonight, then, so I get a favorable review tomorrow. I do have a reputation to maintain,” Logan started to rise from the table, but Rogue’s hand shyly slid across and grasped his, pulling him back to her side momentarily.

“If this bothers you, I won’t say another word to her about us, and what we do with each other. Yes, she’s my best girlfriend, but you mean more to me, and I want your respect as much as I want your body. You tell me how private we need to be.”

“If word gets out that we’re sleepin’ together, we’ll be the core of gossip around here for weeks, maybe months.”

“And that bothers you.”

“No, it doesn’t, but it’ll bother you eventually.”

“So, you’re not bashful about being with me?”

“Not in the least.”

Rogue breathed a sigh of relief, “Good. Okay, Jubes is my cover, but no one else will know, and she’ll keep her mouth shut if I ask her.”

“That’s smart, babe,” Logan again rose from the table, but leaned down to whisper to her before leaving. “Just make sure that I come out sounding good when you report to her tomorrow.”

“Ah-ha, that’s the infamous male ego talking, right?”

“You got it. You been debriefed from the mission yet?”

“No. I have to go report to Storm now. Meet me later?”

“Naked? Midnight? Your room or mine?” The ripple of a leer passed over his face, leaving a impish smile in the wake.

Rogue thought for a moment before replying, “Yours - we’re less likely to get interrupted in your room. And let’s make it ten-thirty.”

“I’ll be waiting.”

He walked away, and Rogue allowed herself to blatantly ogle him from behind. She sipped at her cold coffee again, and noted the trembling in her own hands.

The last classes of the day were letting out, the halls full of kids buzzing from floor to floor, room to room, down to eat, out to play. Logan strutted through the mass of activity with his jacket thrown over one shoulder. As he headed toward the front door, Storm crossed his path with a smile.

“Logan, you look good. Going out?”

“Yeah - got a hot date cookin’. Don’t know when I’ll be back, but the cell’s charged if you need me. Call that number.”

“You’re still on leave, remember? But how are you feeling? How are the hands?” Storm’s chocolate eyes danced over him, showing a friend’s concern as well as a professionally detached assessment.

“Better every day, and slowly healing, thanks. Gotta go.” With a knowing wink as he passed her, he whispered, “Don’t wait up for me.” Storm laughed and waved him off as Logan made a very public exit of the building.

Circling toward the garage entrance, he took careful note of all activity in the area, stepped behind some bushes, bypassed a few stragglers heading toward the basketball courts, and dashed quickly up the fire escape steps. Across the roof, duck the hidden security camera’s field of view, pick the lock at the top of the stairs, down past Shelly Whatshername’s room. Shit! She was coming out and nearly saw him.

Slamming himself flat to the wall behind the corner, Logan waited and listened as her door closed and her heels clicked away down the hall. Slipping his back down the wall to peer around the corner at well below waist level, he noted the hall was clear now, and he sprinted unseen for his own door, cursing the loss of the heightened senses. Before the cure, he could have smelled and heard her before he even entered the hallway, but life now was much like living underwater: everything seemed muted, blanketed, dull and monotone. He realized how much clamor he had always relegated to the background, though, and in a way, that was less irritating.

But it was still a bite in the ass. He would have to relearn all his stalking skills, hone some new ones, and accept the fact that he would never be the same keen-edge hunter he had been before the cure. He would start on that re-worked re-training program tomorrow in the Danger Room, but tonight belonged to Marie, and he would make it the best night he could give her. You play the hand you’re dealt, and he’d never ran from that before.

Locking the door behind him, Logan surveyed the room: only slightly disastrous. He started stuffing odd pieces of clothes and one boot under the bed, changing to clean sheets, flipping from radio station to radio station, trying to find some kind of music that seemed sort of romantic without being gratuitous or smarmy, relaxing without being mush, sexy without being trashy, and ended up flipping the radio off in frustration. She could pick the music, if they even got as far as the radio before they crashed into the bed together.

Rummaging through a drawer, he pulled out the single taper candle he kept for blackouts and set it on the bedside table, putting his lighter beside it. Women liked candlelight, right? It set an atmosphere, right? Definitely better than a bare bulb overhead or a dark alley, both of which he was used to, but this night was something special. Marie deserved everything to be special.

*

In her own room, Rogue climbed out of the shower and studied herself in the mirror. With a shudder and a shake of the head, she grabbed her blow-dryer and made quick, simple work of her hair. Clean and natural would work for Logan and their plans for the night. Instinctively reaching for her make-up, she regarded one eyeshadow compact for a moment, then threw everything back in it’s bin. Pinching her cheeks and rubbing her lips to bring up the color, she studied herself in the mirror and pronounced it good enough to get laid. Legs freshly shaven: check. Calm demeanor: check (fake, but check). No perfume: check. Wait a minute.... his heightened senses were gone, so something subtle was good. She rattled through the cabinet and found a tiny bottle of musk oil she’d bought at a festival, and discretely dabbed a spot behind each knee, and then laced her fingers through her hair to distribute the scent. Perfume, deodorant, clean teeth: check. Clothes: oh god. She ran for the closet.

*

Stepping out of his shower, Logan scrubbed off dry and went through the routine: deodorant, teeth, scrape the chin bristles off: check. Hair: forget it. He shook his head like a dog and called it good enough. Clothes: check - one clean pair of tight jeans. He’d seen Marie staring at his legs once when he was wearing that pair of jeans, so she must have approved.

Fuck. He was nervous as a teenager. Bracing both hands against the sink edge, Logan closed his eyes and leaned forward, rested his forehead against the bathroom mirror, and breathed deeply to calm himself.

Drawing back a few inches, he met his own gaze in the mirror and was held, fascinated at the weird color of his own eyes. Not brown, not gold, not green, but all three that fluctuated with his moods. The voice he hadn’t heard inside his head since the cure suddenly whispered from that dark corner in the backside of his brain, and it rattled Logan to the core.

‘Once you take her, don’t give her back, ever.’

Staring deeply into the mirror, Logan rested a hand against the cool silvered surface and regarded the green eyes glittering back at him, “I thought you were dead from the cure.”

‘Not fuckin’ likely, bub. I was born with you, and I’m stayin’ to the bloody end. I was just waitin’ for you to get your shit together about standin’ up and claimin’ her, and now that’s lookin’ favorable.’

“You don’t own Marie, I don’t own Marie, nobody owns Marie!” He slapped his other hand to the mirror to punctuate that point.

‘That’s the point, nimrod. She chose you. She knows, I know, but apparently you don’t. She’s the one. Now listen - I understand that high n’ mighty sense of honor you been struttin’ around here has kept you off’a her while she was still jailbait, but those days are over. She chose you. She’s got both of us inside her head. She understands what we are, who we are, ‘how’ we are, and she still chose you!’

“Crawl back into your goddamned cave and leave me the fuck alone.”

‘You need me.’

Logan felt more than saw the Wolverine laugh to himself, low and seductive, cold as a straight razor, dangerous enough to raise the hairs on Logan’s nape, before the presence made itself gone. Shaking off the experience with a whole-body shudder, Logan grabbed a towel and mopped a thin bead of cold sweat off his face, then checked the clock. It was nearly ten-thirty.

Shit.

He lit the bedside candle, killed the lights, and began mindlessly pacing a path back and forth from his bed to the bathroom door.

*

Rogue studied herself naked in the mirror. Dressing up seemed silly. Dressing sexy seemed silly. Dressing casual seemed like the night wasn’t that important, when it was hugely important. Logan didn’t care about fancy, but he deserved some effort on her part, so she pulled out her best red lace bra. Perfect. Panties? Why bother? She pulled on clean jeans. If the rumors were true, they’d both be going commando. Black heels - yep: sexy but understated. Snug, low-cut black t-shirt for a healthy hint of man-riveting cleavage: a perfect ‘jump Logan’ choice. Rogue studied herself in the mirror again.

Clean, smelling nice, appropriately dressed, safe sex and birth control dealt with, good hot man lined up and waiting: it was time to lose the virginity beast. Rogue closed her eyes and tuned in to her body. She was feeling oddly cold, hands shaking, stomach a little fragile, crotch warmed and humming at the thought of what lay ahead, and it was almost ten-thirty.

He was waiting.

With one last look in the mirror, she bent over, threaded her fingers through her hair and gave it a good shaking out to give it that windblown look, and then checked the mirror again. Tugging the shirt down a little tighter to show more cleavage, she admitted to herself: she looked good, practically edible. Lights off, check the hall. No one around. Lock the door, around the corner, and here we go.

Stepping confidently to the door, Rogue raised her hand to knock, hesitated, freaked out, started back the hall, turned smartly and rapped on Logan’s door. Within five seconds, the door opened and he was standing there wearing jeans and a smile. Thank you, God.

“Hey.”

“Come in. God, darlin’, you look hot.”

“You, too, sugar. You’re giving me the vapors, whatever the hell that is.”

The door clicked closed behind her and Logan threw the lock.

Rogue scanned Logan’s darkened bedroom, the candle burning on the side table, no clothes scattered about, no messy bed - he’d gone to some trouble to make it nice for her. She felt a twist of emotion wring through her chest and turned to him with damp eyes, “You... did things... for me?”

“Hell yeah,” he breathed softly to her and kissed her gently. “You deserve more, but it’s short notice. Give me more warning next time. We’ll get out of here and get a nice private hotel room somewhere.”

“I think the surrendering of virginity is a one-shot deal. Next time will be different circumstances, and maybe I’ll host that night in my room, and be good to you.”

“I’m thinking you’re gonna be good to me tonight,” he pulled her closer and nibbled lazily over one ear, delighting in the delicate shiver that ran through her body. His fingers slid lightly beneath her shirttail and he slowly tugged at the fabric, pulling it higher and higher until she raised her arms and allowed him to slide it off over her head.

Logan nearly gasped in delight as the tumble of streaked chestnut hair drifted back down over her bare shoulders, revealing deep, pale cleavage framed within red lace cups. He fought down his baser instincts, to pick her up bodily and throw her onto his bed and climb directly on top of her. It was not the night to scare the girl. It was not the night to be body-slamming the female against the wall to get what he wanted. It was a night for keeping a slow pace; seducing instead of possessing; gentling instead of grabbing.

Logan felt the weight of responsibility descend on him. He had one night, only one precious night to give Marie an experience she would remember with a smile for a lifetime, one night to make or break their chances of having ‘something’ together. He wasn’t used to women who needed to be handled gently, who were virgins, for fuck’s sake; who would probably bleed and wince, and goddammit, maybe even cry in pain when he penetrated them; and he was not ready for this responsibility at all.

All those thoughts fled his mind when she slipped her soft arms around his ribs, then slid her soft hands down his low back. She wiggled her soft fingers into the waistband of his jeans as she wiggled herself into his embrace. Christ, but she was curvy and warm. The formerly untouchable girl was wrapping herself around him, and he wanted every inch of her.

“Teach me more about this, Logan. I want to know everything,” she whispered into his shoulder before she ran her tongue lightly over his collar bone. “Everything.”

His lips traced a curve around the front of her throat before he whispered into her ear, “Shoes.”

“What?”

“Shoes. Kick off your shoes.”

The black heels went flying toward the bathroom door.

Rogue confessed, “I’m so self-conscious that I’m shaking here. Forgive me. I don’t want to disappoint you, ‘cause I’m so...” Her trembling hands went to the button at the front of his jeans as he shushed her with a deep, lingering kiss. Before she could unbutton his jeans, he grasped her hands and pulled her arms back around his waist, deepening the kiss and holding her tightly. When she came up for air, he looked her straight in the eyes.

“Slow down, babe. Do you want to change your mind?”

“God, no, Logan.”

“Then don’t spend any time thinkin’ that you’re gonna disappoint me. That’s my job.”

“You think you’re gonna disappoint me? Why?!?” The idea amazed her.

“I’m not... exactly...” he hedged as he pressed his forehead against hers. Logan couldn’t bring himself to say the words, so he made up a story. The cure had changed everything, and he no longer trusted his own body not to betray him at some crucial point.

“Not exactly what?” she pursued.

“Good enough for you,” he dodged. It wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t what he actually feared. His hazel eyes finally met hers, and she saw just how unsure of himself he really was. It was not an emotion she’d ever seen in him before, and it surprised her. Logan: bad-ass, swaggering, self-confident, sarcastic Logan, was peeling back layers of himself for her appraisal. That simple realization gave her the shot of confidence she needed, affirming to her that this night for him was not simply a chance for convenient sex. He was opening up to her. He really wanted her, not just the use of her body or the bragging rights of taking her innocence. He wanted Marie. Her self-consciousness faded on the spot.

“I don’t want to hear words like that coming out of your mouth tonight. Logan, you are the finest man I’ve ever known, and I’m not feeding you a line. I’m the one feeling inadequate here because I don’t know what the hell I’m doing. A little help, please? Tell me what to do, what you want.” The button finally popped opened beneath her questing fingers.

“So far, you’re doin’ fine. Trust your instincts.” Pressing himself tight against her, thighs to thighs, he started walking her backwards toward the bed. They fell in a tangle of denim and dark hair and bare skin and hunger.

They fell in a tangle of denim and dark hair and bare skin and hunger. Pulling her into his arms, Logan rolled them both to the center of the bed, facing each other, legs tangled, hands wandering curiously over each other’s skin.

“What are your instincts telling you to do right now?” His slight, smug smile put all of Marie’s nervousness to rest. To his surprise, her hand started rubbing the front of his jeans, warming his stiffening cock and making him draw an unexpectedly deep breath, “You don’t dance around the edges, do you?”

“Nope. Mama always said the way to a man’s heart was through his stomach, but the way to get his attention was to go for the jewels. I’m taking the shortcut.”

“You want me to take the shortcut, too?”

“Huh-uh, you gotta take the full tour.”

“Can I start here?” His lips descended on her throat, nipping lightly at the skin as her head sank back into the pillow, baring herself to him. His fingertips strayed lightly over the full swell of her breasts above the lacy bra, stroking the soft skin, then tracing the outline of an erect nipple through the fabric. He felt her sigh and arch against him, opening herself to whatever he wanted to do to her. He brought a little gasp from her as he lightly pinched the protruding flesh, then circled his thumb over the tip. Feeling her hand slipping around his hip to draw him even closer, Logan relaxed, knowing instinctively that everything would be okay with them.

Both of their lives had been chaos. Both had been outcasts. Both had known little chance at a decent life. Both now stirred an abundance of lust and want and devotion in the other, eliminating the incessant thoughts of their age difference and mutations and every other complication standing between them. It would all be okay. He trusted that it would be okay. She was a grown woman now, and in his bed, and in his arms. He would be the man she needed.

His hands wandered over her body at will, bringing soft sighs and gasps from her, exploring every curve, every swell, as they kissed and whispered and touched each other in the flickering shadows. He guided her hands over his own skin, over muscles on his chest and shoulders, stroking over his belly, slipping her fingers through the silky hair on his torso, teasing at the nipples. He felt near to bursting from the tight denim when she finally eased down the zipper. He watched her face register awe as his swollen erection sprang into her open palm, and she began to explore every inch of his cock, from firm root to silken tip. Slithering out of the jeans at last and laying back on the bed, Logan let her look and touch all she wanted.

Taking the hint, Rogue reached behind her and popped the clasp on her bra, then let Logan pull it from her shoulders and toss it aside. Standing naked in front of him in the shower hadn’t seemed as intimate nor as intimidating as it did now, laying with him on his bed. She curled her legs under her and sat quietly beside him, allowing him to look at her as long as he wanted. She could feel the heat rise in her skin as his eyes studied her breasts, shoulders, the tumble of hair that nearly veiled her until he brushed it’s length behind her shoulders.

Suddenly his arms were around her and he was pressing her down on the bed, one thigh over hers, kissing her deeply and rubbing himself against her. In a few breathless moments his hands were on her breasts, on her hips, pulling at the waist of her jeans. His lips went to her throat, to her nipples, suckling and nipping and making her tremble and moan beneath him. She felt her zipper grating open and the pressing warmth of his hand enter and cup her vulva, rubbing her and bringing wetness up over her clitoris.

Rogue thought she would die from the erotic sensations that flowed through her body, pooling between her legs where he stroked her. Pressing up against him, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and rode with the desire he stirred in her, her hips instinctively grinding in circles. Her breath suddenly seemed to leave her lungs as every muscle in her body tensed at once and she was thrown into climax, gasping and pressing her lips to his shoulder to keep from yelling at the top of her lungs.

“That’s my girl...” his whisper brought her back to sanity after a few moments. “You okay, baby?”

“Uh-huh....” No other sound would come out as she panted and tried to organize her thoughts, then, “Gawd.”

Grinning evilly, Logan slid his hand up to her belly and snuggled her against his chest, letting her come down a little from the orgasm. His velvet voice reached her as they lay wrapped together.

“You’ve got a choice to make right now. You can let me peel you outta those jeans, or you can run for your life. It’s up to you.”

“Sugar, you couldn’t get me out of this bed right now with dynamite. Peel away.”

In an instant, Logan was on his knees and tugging her jeans down, his hard cock bobbing between them and hypnotizing her like a cobra. She raised her hips to make it easier. With a last wiggle and two good tugs, her jeans were tossed onto the floor and then he was crawling over her, wedging one knee and then two between hers, nudging her thighs open, sliding his hands beneath her knees, pulling her legs up and apart for his hips to lock into hers.

“You sure about this, Marie?” He asked in a tight voice as she felt the head of his cock press against her cleft, “If you’re not absolutely sure, you gotta tell me right now while I can still think.”

She was panting, feeling desperate again for his touch on her heated flesh. “I’m ready for this, right now, right here, with you, do it.”

“You know it’ll probably hurt,” his lips were near her ear, nibbling softly, his body arched over hers as her legs seemed to somehow know exactly how to wrap around his hips.

“Don’t care... want you now,” she groaned as he lowered himself against her. She felt his cock pressing harder against her and starting to slip between the wet folds of her flesh. Nothing she had ever done to herself felt like what Logan was doing to her now.

“Slow, or quick? You tell me what you can handle.”

“Don’t know. Just.... just... push it in,” she was a little incoherent and Logan smiled to himself in smug satisfaction. Slow and gentle was less shocking, so he eased his hips forward again, and felt the warm, wet silk of her start to blossom open and encase him before he met the resisting barrier within.

“Relax, baby. We can go slow. Take a breath, then count to three,” he whispered into her ear as he felt her body starting to tense. She was unconsciously resisting his entry.

Marie took a deep breath, and said, “Okay. One...”

With a smooth, firm thrust, he seated himself deeply inside her before she was expecting it. Logan felt her muscles go tight over her whole body, her fingers clutching at his biceps, digging in harder. She stopped breathing for a moment and he felt her start to tremble. He had to hurt her; that was the way of nature, and there was no way around it.

Easing himself down on her, he rested most of his weight on his knees and forearms, nuzzling against her shoulder and waiting; waiting for her to regain her composure, waiting for his own control to return, for the hot, tight, wet embrace of her body was almost more than he could handle without coming. The trembling continued long enough to worry him, but she remained silent beneath him. He started nuzzling her ear, licking at the lobe, nipping the skin of her throat beneath. One hand sought out her breast and he lightly pinched the nipple erect, hoping to distract her from the pain between her legs. In a few moments he felt her draw a deep breath and moan as his fingertips slipped over the nipple teasingly.

“You okay, Marie?” He raised his head and looked into her eyes.

“Yeah - just a little overwhelmed right now,” she whispered and gave him a nervous, shaky smile.

Shit, she was covering. She was hurting bad. Logan hated himself right now, and still he wanted to do it all over again, but differently. There was no going back. The deed was done, and from here it was going to be better.

“You wanna change positions?”

“No. I like this,” she smiled sincerely at him this time as all her limbs writhed around him, and Logan felt his tension begin to melt. “This feels natural, like I should do this...” Marie raised one leg higher around him and pulled his body tighter into her, stroking her hands over his chest and shoulders. “Is that right?”

“Yeah, that’s right. I told you to follow your instincts,” Logan gave her a satisfied grin and rocked his hips a little, nudging at her without actually stroking. “Does that hurt?”

“No, I like it. Do it some more.”

Nudging turned slowly into thrusting and groaning and grabbing and grinding until Logan felt Marie starting to tighten and shake inside, but she seemed held helpless on the brink of orgasm.

Slipping one hand between their bellies, he pressed a thumb gently over her clitoris to start rubbing little circles, and she exploded around him, her inner muscles clenching at his cock, pulling him deeper into her, driving him over the edge. His hips snapped forward until with three hard thrusts he was coming in her, pumping into her heat and groaning feverishy as she held onto him, riding it out.

Grabbing her leg and rolling her onto their sides, he pulled her tight against him and soaked in the sensations as their breathing slowed. Laying wrapped together, he felt her nestle her cheek to his shoulder and fully relax in his arms. Several minutes later her head raised and she look directly into his face with a dreamy smile.

“Can we do that again? Sometime soon?”

He chuckled at her eagerness, “I figured you’d wanna swat me with something. I know it hurt.”

“Well, yeah, but not for long. Did I bleed?”

“Dunno - haven’t looked. You wanna look?”

“I suppose I ought to. Will you be disappointed if I didn’t?”

“Hardly. I didn’t want to hurt you at all, so why would I be disappointed if you didn’t bleed?”

“I thought maybe it was some kind of virgin trophy-thing for a guy, you know, to draw first blood,” she poked him in the ribs playfully.

“Well, since you put it that way....” he chuckled and edged away. She’d found his ticklish spot.

Logan gently pulled himself from her until they separated. Rogue gave a little gasp as the burn started between her legs.

“Ow.”

“Thought so.”

“It was worth it, trust me.”

Logan flipped on the bedside lamp and confidently leaned over her to tug her knees apart, his eyes searching between her spread thighs. Rogue felt a moment of wide-eyed, bashful hesitation, but forced herself to relax against the tension and allowed him to examine her. “What’s the verdict?”

“You ‘were’ a virgin, for sure. See?” He lifted his penis against his belly so she could see the thin smear of her blood on his skin. “Lay still - I’ll take care of it.”

He slipped from the bed and disappeared into the bathroom. She could hear running water, and he returned with a warm washcloth, going straight between her legs to clean her off. Again she felt the flush of self-consciousness burn through her, but knowing how in touch Logan was with sex and life in general, she submitted to him. He was gone back to the bathroom again, and when he returned they pulled the sheet down and climbed into bed together, wrapping their arms and legs around each other and nestling into the pillows.

“Regrets?”

“None,” she kissed his shoulder. “Well, only one - that we didn’t do this sooner.”

“I wasn’t ready.”

“I know.”

“You wanna sleep a while?”

“Dunno, Right now I just want to indulge myself in touching you,” her hand strayed through the hair on his chest, stroking over the thick layer of male muscle. “I never thought I’d be able to kiss a guy without killing him. And now, look at me! Laying naked in bed with you, just got righteously screwed, and nobody’s dead. Sugar, I’m a happy camper.”

“Me, too,” he grinned, and nuzzled into her hair, kissing her forehead lightly.

“You hungry?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, it’s my turn to take care of you now. I’ll be back. Keep the bed warm,” Rogue bounded out of bed, shimmied into her jeans and t-shirt, and slipped out the door. Logan drowsed lazily, soaking in the warm languid afterglow of sex, but missing the heightened sense of smell. The scent of Marie on his sheets and his skin would have put him right back in the saddle with her, but those days were gone. He had to learn to pace himself now. He would never tell her that he’d hidden the washcloth with her blood on it. Some day, maybe some lucky day, they’d find a way to reverse the cure and her scent might still be there, for him alone.

He drifted half into sleep as the voice in the back of his head purred approval.

Marie’s light knock on his door roused Logan. Naked, he padded to the door to let her in, asking, “Anybody see you?”

“Yeah, Bobby was in the kitchen scarfing ice cream as usual, but he pretty much ignored me after I blew him off. He was starting with the whole ‘sorry about Kitty’ thing and I told him it was the best thing he ever did for me. That shut him up.”

“You two really didn’t come out of it as friends then, eh?”

“Nah. No loss. I can work with him if I have to, y’know, with team stuff, but that’s it. I don’t want to talk about Bobby now. He’s history, and I’m hungry. I want to feed my lover,” she dangled a slice of ham in her fingers and he snatched it from her, wolfing it down.

“Mmmm, what else ya got? Wanna take your clothes off again?”

“Chips and more cold cuts and cheese and grapes and...” she grinned and reached into the bottom of the bag she’d confiscated, “one cold beer. I know where your beer stash is hidden in the walk-in cooler, and isn’t that handy?”

“You’re fantastic, baby.”

Both naked again, they ate in silence for a while, until Rogue caught Logan’s eyes and asked,
“You got any?” Suddenly serious, she raised her eyebrows at him, awaiting a reply.

“Any what?”

“Regrets. Tell me the truth.”

“None.”

“So, we’re good, even after taking the sex plunge?”

“We’re good. I’m happy, you’re happy and fucking hot, and I’m in love with you.”

Logan’s sudden confession over a mouthful of ham brought her up in shock, her eyes widening. “What did you just say? You’re really serious about that?”

He swallowed the ham down with a swig of beer, then, “You didn’t know that? I told you once; I’m in love with you.”

*

In her office, Ororo looked at the clock again and rubbed the back of her neck. She was tired, and tomorrow was another day - another busy day. Closing the file she’d stared glassy-eyed at for the past ten minutes, she stacked it tidily with the others and turned off her desk lamp. As she walked the corridors of the first floor, routinely checking things out of habit, she heard a distant knocking sound. Following the noise, it led her to the formal front doors of the mansion. Nearly midnight, and someone was knocking on the front door?

Scanning the windows as she approached the door, she noted nothing out of the ordinary, but made use of the peephole before reaching to disarm the electronic lock. In the yellow glow of the security light, slightly distorted through the fish-eye lens, she saw a dark-haired woman standing, waiting, smiling, and alone.

Throwing the lock, Ororo opened the door to the night and the woman, first noting that she was too old to be a potential student, and not an obvious mutant, but she was stunning: dark-haired but fair-skinned, pale icy eyes, tall, elegant as a cat, and somehow familiar.

“May I help you?”

The woman gave a subtle smirk, then in a smug, confident voice asked, “I know it’s very late, Storm, and we may live in the wrong century for me to ask this, but can you give me sanctuary?”

Taken aback at the woman knowing her mutant name, Ororo studied the stranger’s face for a few heartbeats, then gasped. That face, her face... she had seen the black-haired woman on the news footage when Eric’s Brotherhood had amassed an army. Holy Mother Goddess, the woman standing before her was Mystique in human form! Storm was momentarily speechless.

Mystique took the opportunity and continued, “I’ve been injected with the cure vaccine, involuntarily. It happened during a fight. It was purely an accident, and yet Eric abandoned me on the spot. For that reason alone, I no longer feel any hint of loyalty to him. In fact, I have a strong desire for revenge, but those things come when they come.” Her unreadable eyes drifted down for a moment, before meeting Ororo’s eyes once again, “I have no place to go, Storm; no family, no team, no job, no home, nothing. Turning evidence against Eric made me a pariah to the Brotherhood as a whole, and being ‘cured’ made me a misfit in mutant society in general. I’m not fully human, so I don’t fit there either. I am a woman ‘without a country,’ so to speak. However, I have something to offer you and your team. I know everything, ‘everything’ about the Brotherhood’s hierarchy: Eric’s generals, his ‘brothers’, his key players, his plans up to the point where I was taken into custody. You know that I’m skilled as well, if you were paying attention back at Alkali Lake. If you take me in, give me a chance, give me some way to prove myself, give me a purpose: I’ll tell you everything I know about them.”

Storm hesitated for a while, her brain humming with the heady combination of suspicion and possibilities, strategy and distrust, and then from the threshold of the school’s front door, she stepped aside, offering, “Come in. I’ll make us a pot of tea. We have a lot to talk over.”

*

Rogue raised her head from the pillow, shoved her disheveled hair from her eyes and surveyed the bed. The candle on the side table was guttering out. Between alternating rounds of food and sex, they’d wrecked the bed. Beside her, Logan lay asleep on his back, purring softly, hair scrambled in nine directions, a bunch of grapes laying in his open hand. She gently slipped the fruit out of his relaxed grasp so he didn’t squeeze them in his sleep and add grape juice to what had already soaked the sheets.

Turning her back to him, she wiggled her hips against his thigh, snuggled under the covers, and quickly brushed potato chip crumbs out from under her pillow before falling asleep against his warmth. She roused once again in the night to find his arm thrown over her waist, tucking her up against himself, but again she drifted away in delicious, exhausted sleep.

*

“If Magneto has excluded you, how can you get current information on his activities? That would be of far greater importance,” Storm eyed the graying skies of pre-dawn beyond her window. She had talked to Mystique all through the night, and both women were worn out.

Mystique drained the last dregs of her cold tea, “I cannot promise anything relating to the current events within the Brotherhood at this time, but I think I might still have a friend or two inside. I’ll need time to make a few contacts and see if anyone’s still willing to talk to me on the sly.” Her eyes met Ororo’s, “I know how to be discreet. It’s a trait I had to develop once I lost my mutation.”

Storm leveled her gaze at the woman, and stated, “I’ll give you this warning and this opportunity, Mystique: you can stay here for a few days and we’ll see how things work out. I won’t trust you with anything here, so you should be prepared to feel ‘left out’ of everything. Don’t expect the others here to accept you or even treat you decently at first. We all have too much history together to expect anything else; and if memory serves, you have some bad history with Logan, especially,” Ororo noted the woman’s hand graze lightly across her belly.

“I’m no fool, Storm. I know things will be rough here for me; that I anticipated. But, can you keep your chrome-plated pit bull from trying to kill me in my sleep?”

Storm contemplated the potentially-explosive Logan/Mystique dynamic if both were living in the mansion, but decided there was too much potential to waste. She would have to use a combination of logic and manipulation to keep Logan from coming apart at the seams when he learned Mystique was in residence. “I can handle my team. Come with me and I’ll show you to a room, and I’d suggest you lock the door and stay quiet until I come with an update for you. Have you eaten lately?”

“Not for an entire day.”

They made a pass through the kitchen before ascending to the third floor to an empty room as far from Logan’s as possible. Once inside the room, Mystique turned to Storm and asked, “How many people here know this face as Mystique?” She regarded herself in a mirror over Storm’s shoulder.

“The team, definitely, and maybe a handful of students who saw you on the news a few months ago. Why?”

“I’m wondering just how safe my identity would be here, and what chances I’d have of infiltrating the Brotherhood if people here know who I am? It would be better if everyone here kept my presence and identity a secret. That would give me much greater security to act as your double-agent. People do talk, you see....” her voice trailed off knowingly, and Storm knew there was good reason to keep Mystique’s identity a closely-guarded secret.

“Pick a name for yourself, and I’ll brief the team and staff on our reasons for this subterfuge.”

“Hmm... call me Rebecca Lee, or Becca, and I’m one of your new teachers, perhaps a substitute in training. Does that sound reasonable?”

“Very reasonable. Sleep well, and I’ll brief you again in a few hours, when we’ve both had some rest.” Reaching for the doorknob, Storm added one comment before closing the door behind her, “I suggest you lock this door, and do not roam the halls until I come for you around noon. Between now and then, I’ll handle things with the team.”

*

The bedside phone rang, jarring Logan out of a deep sleep. Focusing for a few seconds, he noted Rogue stirring beside him, then threw one arm over to grab the receiver.

“What?” he groused, voice husky and gritted with sleep.

“Good morning to you, too, Logan,” Storm’s voice was calm and neutral. “We have a full team briefing in my office in fifteen minutes. I need you there.”

“We goin’ out on a mission?” He was snapping awake at the thought of it. Rogue sat up in bed, clutching the sheets to her breasts, waiting for the worst.

“No mission - but this is vitally important. I can’t find Rogue. She’s not answering her phone. Do you know where she is?”

Casting a smug glance at the sleepy female beside him, he gave Rogue a sly grin, “Yeah, I can find her. We’ll be there.” He clicked the phone off and immediately rolled on top of Rogue, nuzzling her neck and letting his wandering hands grope every part of her he could reach under the sheets. “Morning, darlin’. Up and at ‘em, we got a meeting in fifteen minutes.”

“Where are we going?”

“Just to Storm’s office - everybody. She wants us all there,” he bit her playfully on the side of the neck before bounding out of the bed and disappearing into the shower.

“Ungh, morning people...” she grunted, fumbling for her scattered clothes. “Thought you were the nocturnal one on the team.” Doubtless he was intrigued by the prospect of some physical action, since he’d been going stir crazy waiting to heal up from the injuries. Something in the pit of her stomach knotted, knowing he wasn’t ready to return to full duty as an X-Man, and neither was she.

Storm locked her office door and settled behind the big desk, “Good morning. I haven’t slept yet, so forgive me if I’m a bit scrambled, but things have been happening through the night.” She tapped a folder on the desk, “I’ve been thinking about the attack on Logan, and some pieces of the puzzle that don’t fit together.”

The entire team exchanged glances as Storm spoke, Bobby noting Rogue and Logan in very close proximity to each other. Their body language screamed intimacy. He instinctively edged closer to Kitty who sat in silence, focusing on the discussion. Storm’s professional demeanor and knowing voice brought Bobby’s attention back to the subject at hand.

“How many people knew about the trip into town for supplies? Myself, you three,” she nodded toward Piotr, Rogue, and Logan, “and you, Jubilee, since you inventoried the supplies and made out the lists. Who else?”

“I knew, sort of at the last minute,” Bobby interjected. “Rogue asked the night before if I was going along, but I was on Blackbird duty that day with you,” his gaze met Storm’s eyes.

“Do you remember mentioning it to anyone else, even in casual conversation?” She searched the faces of both Bobby and Jubilee, but both shook their heads.

Jubilee posed a question, “Is it possible there’s an undetected telepath in the mansion? Someone who could ferret out and sell that kind of intel to the Brotherhood? Not having a telepath available to us makes it a lot easier for someone else to run in a ringer.”

“I’ve considered that possibility, but it’s unlikely,” Storm countered. “All the students here now are fairly well established, and we know their mutations reasonably well. The only new student is Angel, and as far as we can tell, his mutation is patently obvious.”

“But that doesn’t mean he’s not a telepath, we just don’t know if he is or not,” Logan muttered loud enough for all to hear. “What about the rat kid, Mike? He’s new.”

“Ah, that’s right! I told you I wasn’t very sharp-witted this morning. Who knows him well?”

Another round of glances were exchanged before Rogue quietly spoke, “I guess no one really knows him well, but I’ve spent a little time talking to him. He seems sincere, and mannerly; kind of at a loss sometimes, but he’s had a rough life. I guess we can all sympathize with that feeling.”

Bobby added, “Rogue and I met his family, saw their home, and if he’s a ringer for the Brotherhood, then I’m having my hat for lunch. Angel, I don’t know much about, but how rare is it for an obvious mutant to have a secondary mutation that’s not obvious, like telepathy?”

“I’ve got two mutations,” Logan commented flatly, “the healing and the enhanced senses.” He hesitated briefly before adding, ‘Okay, I ‘had’ two mutations.”

Bobby added, “But they weren’t physically obvious. What are the chances that Angel’s got wings ‘and’ telepathy?”

“Slim, granted,” Storm commented and hid a yawn behind her hand. “I want everyone to meet back here again during the lunch break, and in the meanwhile run over every possibility of how the information could have leaked out: conversations, casual comments that were possibly overheard, anything you can think of. And if no one comes up with anything, we’ve got to consider the possibility that the mansion is bugged. We’ll need to come up with a sweeping device of some kind, a detector. Do we have such a device?”

Logan spoke up, “We had one, but it got busted to hell in the raid. One of Stryker’s goons stomped on it in a closet while they were searching the place.” Logan seemed to grow more tense as the conversation proceeded, “I never got around to trying to fix it. I’d say it’s toast.”

“I know someone who has a chance of fixing it, if you’re willing to trust him,” Rogue offered, noting the expectant faces around her. “Mike. I suspect that boy can wire, solder, or electronically rig damned near anything.”

“Do we trust him?” Storm searched the faces of her team. No objections were raised. “Okay, we try it. Logan, you gather the remaining parts of the bug-sweeper and set up a workspace in the school’s electronics lab, just in case. We don’t want Mike knowing about the team’s underground area until we are more trusting of him. Rogue, you talk to him and ask if he can repair security equipment; recruit him on a ‘need to know’ basis to do this work for us. Kitty, see if you can find any schematics in our computer banks or online as a back-up. Jubilee, go back over the school’s inventorying process and see if you can figure out whether anyone could have gotten the knowledge about the supplies run beforehand.’

Logan cut her off, “It was more than just the supplies run, Storm. Whoever set me up knew my routine, where I went, what route I took through the park, all of it. They’ve been watching for a while to know that amount of detail, so it didn’t just happen off the cuff. It was planned.”

“I thought as much, and I’ve got one more bit of news that may put us in a position of advantage against the Brotherhood. We have a new guest in residence,” Storm spread her fingers on the desktop and took a deep breath, dreading the reaction to her news. “Last night one of the Brotherhood came here, offering to give up information on Eric Lensherr and his entire operation, in exchange for a few days of sanctuary. Revenge seems to be the determining factor; revenge against Magneto and his actions. We can use this to our advantage if we play the situation carefully to our advantage.” Storm noted Logan’s long fingers gripping the arm of the chair he occupied, the knuckles turning white with tension.

“Who is it?” His voice had gone steely.

“It is Mystique,” Storm stated calmly, “She has been given the cure vaccine, much in the same manner as you, Logan, against her will. Her mutation is gone. She is human, but she is alone now, with no support behind her. Magneto abandoned her after she gave everything to his cause. She turned evidence against him to the police, and now she wants to aid us in bringing down the Brotherhood, specifically Magneto, as an act of revenge. In essence, she wants to work with us.”

“The hell you say!” Logan exploded out of his chair, “No fucking way can she be trusted with anything! You think we’ve got a spy in our midst now? You might as well hand over the keys if you let her set one fucking foot inside this operation!” He brought one fist slamming down on the desk, and Rogue saw the wince of pain as he turned and hid it from the others. She knew for sure his hands weren’t completely healed.

Storm’s voice raised in agitation, “She has no power now, Logan. She’s human, she’s been cast out from the Brotherhood, she has nothing to offer anyone but information and her skills as an operative. You know what those skills are as well as I, and only you know how she feels now. You’ve lost your mutations, and so has she. Neither one of you chose to have that happen.”

Rogue swallowed hard, but focused again on Storm’s reasoned appeal to Logan, “She needs us, and we need all the help we can muster. We ‘need’ the help, Logan. We need trained bodies. We need advantages. We need intelligence. The X-Men are outnumbered, outgunned, and hanging on by a thread!”

Storm’s agitation was matched by Logan’s hostility as the shouting match continued, “And we’re talking about the fucking blue bitch, Storm! What the hell are you thinking, letting her in here?”

“It’s simple: the enemy of my enemy is my friend. They have a ringer somewhere, watching us. We need a ringer who knows them! She walked through the front door last night.” Storm rose and faced Logan squarely, “You trusted me to handle this school while I trusted you to handle the X-Men team. I still trust you. Can you give me that same consideration?”

Rogue watched in wide-eyed fascination as Logan stood speechless for several moments. Finally he growled, “Don’t make me regret it. I’ll be in the electronics lab,” and stormed out the door, slamming it behind him hard enough to make every bit of glass in the room rattle.

An hour later, Rogue slipped into the electronics lab with a plate of sandwiches. Logan had gathered the remains of the bug-sweeper and shut himself into the lab, talking to no one but Mike MacKenzie, who was bent over the scattered pieces of the device, comparing it’s internal components with the schematics Kitty had downloaded from an underground site. Slowly the machine was coming together, and Mike occasionally scratched a few words for missing or damaged components on a list of parts to buy. Leaning over Logan where he sat on a stool, Rogue set the plate in front of him and rested a hand on his shoulder.

“You gotta be hungry. We didn’t exactly have breakfast this morning.”

Logan’s hand went around her waist and pulled her against him, “Thanks, babe, but I’m not hungry. You and Mike need to eat, though.”

“And you don’t?”

“Don’t feel like it - stomach’s feelin’ weird, I think...” he hedged softly, “I’m not really sure how my stomach feels. This is all still new to me.” He absentmindedly rubbed one hand over his flat belly.

Leaning tighter against him, Rogue whispered into Logan’s ear, “Maybe we overdid it last night. The food orgy or the sex orgy either one was fine, but maybe both was too much.”

“Never gonna be a problem, darlin’. I think I’m just allergic to the blue bitch that Storm’s got stashed away somewhere. Got a big dilemma goin’ on inside my head: follow orders, support Storm, and behave myself; or, kill Mystique quick, enjoy it, and get back to the business of the day. Guess which one tempts me the most?”

Mike grabbed a sandwich and cast a flirty wink at Rogue while Logan’s eyes scanned the schematics again. The boy was a born flirt, Rogue thought to herself, and gave him a pleasant grin before taking a sandwich for herself.

*

Shelly Hanson tucked the cell phone under her chin and fluffed her hair in the mirror as she regarded Toad sitting in his car across the parking lot from hers. “This was pretty smart thinking, honey. Innocent but still in touch; no one could spot us as being together.”

“Yeah, that late night call you gave me last night was killer. I never thought phone-sex could be that much fun. Can’t wait for the real thing, though... I’ve got a trick or two to show you.” Shelly saw the distinct length of his tongue waggle out the open car window, and she instantly shuddered in reaction.

“Now, now, I’m a good girl.”

“Yeah, right. The stuff you said to me last night shows just how good you are. I’m still all tingly.” Toad gave her a theatrical sigh before continuing, “How’s tricks in the big house? Has ‘he’ started back on the job yet?”

“Not that I’ve been able to find out. There was some conversation from ‘his’ room this morning about a meeting in the boss lady’s office - it sounded official, but no one’s left. I tried to get focused on the convo in the office, but some kids whined around about needing help with assignments and by the time I got them out of my hair, so to speak, it was over. I know there was a lot of yelling, but I couldn’t understand what they were saying. It takes a certain amount of concentration.”

“Too bad, love, but at least you’re safe. Can you find out if ‘he’ is using their high-tech training room yet, or anything along those lines?”

“He’s been in there most nights lately, and some days. I shed a few hairs on him occasionally - they don’t stay long, but it gives me a little grasp on what he does. They don’t allow access to that room unless you’re on the team, or training for the team, which I’m not. But I do know that he spends a lot of time in there, occasionally mutters to himself, swears like a sailor sometimes, and I hear a lot of keyboard tapping and some paper shuffling occasionally. I’ll bet he’s writing software or something like that.”

“Probably trying to tone their programs down to sub-beginner’s level to compensate for the hit he took. And that, love, is exactly what we needed to know.”

“So, do you want me to stay there and keep at it?”

“That’s what the boss wants. You still feel safe there?”

“Yes.”

“Get out of your car and put the hood up, then walk around it and wait.”

“Why?”

“Just do it.”

As soon as the hood was up, Shelly paced one lap around the car and noted Toad striding across the lot toward her. She took note of his muscled thighs and smiled, then noted his damp, greenish skin, and shuddered again. The man truly was physically repulsive.

“Problems, miss?” His sluggish yellow-green eyes blinked twice before leaning over the fender.

“Are you nuts? We’re in public!”

“And you’re a damsel in distress, and I’m your chivalrous knight with a degree of mechanical aptitude. Chill out. After last night’s escapade on the phone, I wanted to see you in person again. It’s been days, love - weeks, I guess. Last night got me thinkin’ about you and me...” His hand reached toward hers where it rested on the fender, and before she could draw away, he was touching her. “When this mission’s over, I’m gonna be so good to you, baby.”

Shelly reacted by pulling away from Toad’s cool, slimy touch, and couldn’t stop the shudder again running through her. This time, he saw it. She saw his eyes narrow and his lips tighten, before he traced a few wires under the hood and stood up again, “It ought to start now. Try it. Good luck.”

Toad gently clicked the hood shut and turned without another word, walking away. He drove out of sight without as much as another glance toward her. Shelly sighed and drove away in the opposite direction.

Rogue stacked the folders on her desk as she prepared that last details for the Pop Culture class she was co-teaching, and traced her fingertips over the desk with a deep sense of satisfaction. She’s studied the ‘60's in depth and particularly enjoyed the late-decade revolution in politics, lifestyle, music and arts. She recalled Logan’s request to join her class in case something would spark his memory. Checking the clock, she noted there was still a half-hour before students would start gathering, so she headed to the electronics lab again.

Mike and Logan were still working over the bug-sweeper, both holding wires and other unidentifiable components in place as Mike soldered and simultaneously learned some new swear words from his now-apparent mentor. The two feral males were getting along famously. Rogue regarded the two heads of wild, spiky hair: Mike’s stony-gray and Logan’s near-black, as they huddled over their project.

“You two coming up for air any time soon?”

One of them said something that sounded like ‘nuh-huh.’

“Logan, that class you wanted starts in about twenty minutes.”

That brought one head up, “Class?”

“Pop Culture? You requested to audit that one.”

“Oh, shit. Yeah. Gonna have to take a pass on the first one - this takes priority.”

“I figured as much, but I just wanted to remind you.”

He grinned at her, “Thanks, babe. I’ll see ya after class, sometime later tonight. Gotta make a parts run.” One hand tapped the sheet of paper they’d been scribbling on before they both refocused on the innards of the sweeping device. Rogue just grinned and slipped out the door.

“How old are you, kid?” Logan cast a sidelong glance at Mike.

“Sixteen,” Mike answered as he unplugged the soldering gun.

“That’s old enough. Let’s hit it.”

Within five minutes they were in Logan’s truck and rolling toward town. Ten minutes after leaving the electronics store, they were walking in the front door of O’Houley’s.

“Uh, Logan? Don’t I have to be twenty-one to be in here?” Mike goggled at the little dark neighborhood bar.

“Nah. You just gotta be twenty-one to drink alcohol in here. You like root beer?”

“Shit, yeah.”

The bartender slid two bottles in front of them, one root beer and one Molson. Both ferals drank deeply and sighed with satisfaction.

“So why aren’t the people in here freaking out at me?”

Logan looked Mike directly in his black-orb eyes, “This place is mutant-friendly, kid. Nobody makes a scene in here, or they get tossed out on their ear. If they got ears, that is.”

Mike sniggered, “I’ve never seen a mutant without ears. Have you?”

“Nah, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t any. You ever been in a bar before?”

“Nope. Hey, look! They’ve got a dart board.”

“Go for it.”

Logan was on his second beer when Mike called his name.

“Look here,” Mike was pointing toward some pictures from a party held there months ago. “Is that you?”

Logan peered at some snapshots thumb-tacked along a cork board. His distinctive hair showed in silhouette against the glow of a neon sign where he’d sat at the bar one night. A group of people held a party at the tables behind him. “Yeah. I remember that night. It was too noisy for me, and I split after a while. Bunch of amateur drunks trying too hard to have fun.”

“Isn’t that Miss Hanson?” Mike noted Logan’s eyebrows quirk up as he peered closer at one of the snapshots. A blonde-haired young woman was serving drinks from a tray.

“Sure looks like her. Huh...” Returning to the bar, Logan talked briefly with the bartender while Mike shot pool.

“Her name was Cheryl or Shelly or Sherry or something like that,” the bartender searched his memory. “Nothin’ much about her that stuck in my mind except that she was a pretty young thing, but didn’t hit it off much with the customers. Long on looks, short on personality, a little too snooty. She worked here a few weeks, maybe two months at most, then quit.”

“Does the name Shelly Hanson ring a bell?”

“Yep, that’s it. No, wait - I think it was Hanley. Lemme check,” pulling a ledger from a drawer in the back bar, he thumbed across a few pages. “Yep, Shelly Hanley. You know her?”

“Looks familiar, but the name’s different. Thanks, bub,” Logan threw some money on the bar and motioned for Mike.

They were halfway to the truck when Mike asked, “Was it her?”

“Yeah. She was working here under a different name, but it’s her. Weird.”

“Sure is weird. Will you teach me to drive?”

“Sure, kid.”

*

Two hours later, the bug-sweeper was working and both Mike and Logan were taking turns checking every room of the mansion. Later, Logan planned to take the sweeper to the Underground levels where Mike wasn’t allowed to go. So far, everything was clear.

“Thanks, kid - you’ve done a hell of a good job.”

“Cool, and you’re welcome. I gotta get to my last class now or Miss Munroe will skin me alive.”

“Nah, she knows you were on the job with me. Later, kid.”

“Later, Logan.”

As soon as Mike was out of sight, Logan grabbed the sweeper and covered the entire Underground with nothing out of place. He found Storm in her office.

“The whole place is clean. Mike and I covered it shingles to sump pump, and there are no listening devices here.”

“That complicates things. So, we still don’t know where the leak is,” Storm tapped a pen against the desk top in thought.

“I may have found the leak, but you won’t like it.”

“Where?”

“That new teacher you hired, Shelly. She was working in my watering hole a few months ago under an assumed name. I didn’t know her then. She could have been watching me for a while.”

“But that would mean one of our graduates had joined the Brotherhood.”

“And one of the Brotherhood wants to join the X-Men. So what else is new?” Logan snapped at Storm as she noted him rubbing his fingers over his scarred knuckles.

“Does it still hurt?”

“Yeah. I got stuff to do,” he lurched from the chair and stomped out.

Storm sighed and caressed her fingers over her forehead. She would have to do some snooping into Shelly’s whereabouts between graduation and her return to the mansion as a teacher. Recalling Shelly’s mutation, she became even more suspicious. The audio-cellular hearing made her a perfect in-house spy, but they needed more proof.

Grabbing her phone, she called Jubilee’s cell. They needed to talk, and off of the mansion’s grounds. When Jubilee answered, Storm brightened her voice.

“Let’s go grab a cup of coffee up the road. I am in sore need of some caffeine.”

“Uh, sure - meet you in the garage in five?”

“Make it fifteen, and it’s a date.”

Storm ran upstairs and chatted with Mystique for a few moments, making sure the woman was still secured in the quiet, remote room, and doing well. With promises to assure her more freedom by nightfall, she whisked away to meet Jubilee and get the background search rolling. If anyone could garner information on another person, it was Jubilation Lee. She could talk the legs off an auctioneer and finagle Kitty into doing a profile on the recent activities of Shelly Hanson. The anonymity of a coffee shop would give them the privacy that they might be lacking at the mansion.

*

Evening closed in and Logan sat in the cafeteria, a cup of coffee and a plate of untouched food in front of him. Nothing smelled or tasted good, and he blamed the loss of his mutations. Shoving the food aside, he downed the coffee with a grimace and left the table. Rogue approached with a big smile on her face, breaking his concentration away from his moody funk. But before she could speak to him, Bobby and Storm raced past toward the entrance to the Underground, and Rogue and Logan fell in step behind them.

“What’s going on?” Logan pinned Storm with his gaze as they descended to the level of the ‘Bird’s hangar.

“There was a call. One of the professor’s contacts has located a lab holding mutants. They’re in the process of relocating several of them to a new building, so it’s a perfect time to interfere with their plans.”

“I’ll suit up.”

“No, you won’t. You’re still on leave.”

“You need me to take down a lab!”

“No! Don’t argue with me, Logan. You’ll go back on the team when you’ve been released and re-trained, and not until then.”

Storm and Bobby were jerking on their leathers as Jubilee, Kitty and Piotr ran into the room and followed suit. Rogue stood in confusion for a few moments, then asked, “Should I suit up?”

“NO!” Storm and Logan both yelled the word at her in perfect unison, before whirling to glare at each other again. Storm continued hurriedly, “This is a rough mission, and we don’t have room for learning to compensate for the changes in the team right now. We’ll work it out, but not on this run.” She ripped the zipper closed and jammed her hands into her gloves before jerking her head toward the ‘Bird as the remaining team members ran for the hatch.

Logan turned and stormed toward the entrance, swearing a blue streak and slamming every object in his path against the nearest wall. Rogue stood rooted, never as torn in her life as she was at that moment; to serve the team in any way possible, or to go after Logan, or to make herself disappear until she was needed or wanted. Bobby approached her and grabbed her in a strong hug before mounting the hatch to the ‘Bird.

“Don’t worry - we’ll be back in one piece.”

“Better not make yourself out to be a liar,” she whispered at him with a shaky smile and let him kiss her on the cheek. She didn’t see Logan turn right then and note from an oblique angle the kiss before Bobby turned and boarded the jet. When she did turn and run from the hangar as the jet roared to life, lifting through the opening to the aboveground, Logan was gone.

After the rumbling of the ‘Bird’s lift-off had faded away, Rogue searched for Logan. Checking the upper floors, she noted his bedroom was empty. Checking the school level, he was nowhere to be found. She went to the garage. His truck was gone. He’d ran. Typical. He’d get over it eventually. There was no telling where he had gone to lick his ego’s wounds and deal with being rejected from the mission.

With a bone-deep sigh, Rogue returned to her class work to prepare for another day.

*

“How is our girl doing?” Eric leaned back in his chair and regarded Toad’s face. The mutant leader had apparently changed his mind about Shelly Hanson’s worth to the Brotherhood.

“She’s supplying us with bits and pieces; clues, hints, but nothing decisive. She ‘thinks’ Wolverine has been writing new software in their fancy training room, probably downgrading programs to re-train himself, but she’s not sure. I’ll admit she’s not as dumb as she seems. She’s been dropping hairs on his clothing surreptitiously so she can keep track of him, but it doesn’t always work.”

“My main concerns are her safety among them, and as a result, our own security, since I’m quite sure she’ll fold like a house of cards if they confront her with any suspicions. She’ll give them everything if they intimidate or frighten her. I guess you would call that a ‘vote of no confidence’ in her abilities to cope under pressure.”

“Yeah, you may be right. She’s fickle, but who knows? She might be tougher than you think. It might depends on how badly she wants to support the mutant cause.”

“You’ve been her advocate from the beginning, and now you’re starting to criticize her occasionally. What has changed, my brother?”

“Nothing, just getting better acquainted with her and starting to see little details, like that she’s shallow, and likes to use her looks to her advantage; likes to manipulate. Nothing wrong with that, I guess; it just makes me suspicious. But it makes her a better covert, too. It’s all a trade-off.”

“You realize she’s probably given us as much information as she’s good for, so it might be time to either remove her from Charles’ mansion, or cut her loose, so to speak.”

“I’m not sure. She might yet stumble across another little tidbit, like hearing Logan working on the computer late at night, something like that... but it’s a pot shot, regardless.”

Eric leaned forward, fixing his intense gaze on Toad, and said softly, “Now is the time to strike. With the information she’s given us, we can be reasonably certain that the Wolverine is laid low and not in his usual fighting trim at this point in time. We also know the size and strengths of the X-Men team with young John’s input. We have enough intelligence on their status, and they are weak enough at the moment, to be able to strike them and hurt them, if not devastate them beyond recovery. This is our chance to take down the X-Men permanently.” Magneto drummed his fingers on the desktop briefly while pondering the timing, then continued, “Arrange a meeting with Miss Hanson and myself. I’ll give you the details tonight, and you relay them to her at her next contact.”

Toad sat in silence and watched the tall elder stroll nonchalantly from the room. Even with his powerful mutation taken from him, Magneto was an impressive, charismatic leader; a man born to inspire people to follow him. Things just weren’t the same as the old days, when it was just him, Magneto, Sabertooth, and Mystique. Toad smiled to himself as Mystique’s memory walked like a cat through his mind, her lithe blue limbs, her confident air and cunning mind, her devotion to the man who ultimately abandoned her. That abandonment didn’t set well with Toad, and he’d seen the look in John’s eyes when Toad occasionally mentioned Mystique and their former closeness, their sense of loyalty to each other. John wanted to trust Eric, but couldn’t totally give himself into that trust. Toad knew better. When the old man had a plan, a team, maybe even an army, he was nearly unbeatable. But Eric knew what pawns were for, and he didn’t hesitate in sending them to their deaths, or leaving them to die if they were compromised.

That realization made Toad a very suspicious man.

*

Mystique stretched her legs and rolled to her side, luxuriating in the softness of the bed and the warmth of the room. She’d spent too many days and nights on the streets since being put out of police custody. Apparently turning evidence against Magneto bought you a pardon, but not protection, and she’s been homeless for weeks. Xavier’s mansion offered everything she’d missed, everything she’d been denied for so long.

With Storm’s assurance that she could move freely about the school levels on the following day, Mystique indulged in a bubble bath and then collapsed naked on the bed. Wiggling her toes against the soft duvet, she practiced again, riffling her human skin until it turned blue in patches, then riffling it back, working the shapeshift up her leg, over one hip, and almost to her ribs. Each day it got easier and easier. The cure was slowly wearing off. She giggled quietly and then focused, bringing the blue skin up to her throat with barely more effort than the day before. Taking a deep, steadying breath, she sent the blue skin riffling back to it’s human ivory tones; then suddenly slammed her entire skin to her blue scales. The shock of returning to her normal mutation nearly induced an orgasm, and she stretched again, rolling with sensual grace onto her stomach and laughing delightedly into the pillow. She estimated that within another day, maybe two at most, she would have her metamorphing skills back to normal. It would take work that she was willing to put into it, but each day, each hour it seemed, made it easier. Let Eric turn her out! She would work against him and make him pay for abandoning her!

Shaking out the shock of red hair, she vowed to herself to keep her returning powers a secret. Every girl needed an ace in the hole, right? Every girl needed to cover her own blue ass.

*

“She still fuckin’ loves that punk,” Logan muttered drunkenly into his third beer and fourth shot as he slammed back the glass of bourbon. The Wolverine muttered ‘asshole’ from the back of his mind, but Logan fought the persona down, still unsure exactly who the asshole was, but not caring. At least he’d had sense enough to park his truck in the rear slots off the alley so he didn’t need to plug a meter or worry about it getting towed. He couldn’t face going back to the school tonight, so he’d just crash in the truck until he sobered up and went back to check on how many bodies there were to bury. At least Marie wouldn’t be one of them.

“Ya got no business fuckin’ with a sweet little thing like her, messin’ her life up with your own crap. Just leave it alone, fer chrissakes’...” He looked around to see if anyone was close enough to hear him muttering to himself like a lunatic, then motioned to the bartender for another shot, but the waitress intervened before the guy could cut him off for the night. Logan knew he was drunk, but he didn’t care. It wouldn’t wear off in a few minutes this time, so he might as well indulge in a real first-time bender. “Hehehe, I’m a virgin drunk,” he snorted to himself as closing time ticked nearer.

“You gotta be kiddin’ me, right?” The waitress leaned herself across the bar straight in front of him, showing a healthy amount of round, soft cleavage. “You’re a virgin? Did I hear that right?”

“Yeah, I’m fresh meat, darlin’, never been touched by human hands. You wanna alleviate my predicament?” He gave her the sly smile that usually worked with women.

“Well, I admit it’s tempting. You’re a looker,” she moved his shot glass and bottle away and leaned in closer. “I got a room upstairs. You wanna come up and see it? Maybe spend some time? We’re past last call, so I can cut out of here right now. Joey’ll close up. You game?”

“I’m game. You got rubbers?”

“Thought you were innocent and all that?”

“About as innocent as they come,” he chuckled and leaned in, kissing her quickly. She didn’t back away. All signs were go!

“Yeah, I got what we need. Come on,” she waved at Joey and tossed her apron under the bar, then led Logan out the back door and up a staircase to a tiny second floor apartment.

Rogue lapped her plotted course once more: bedrooms, Danger Room, Underground, garage, and still no sign of Logan. The team had returned an hour ago with minimal damage and many rescued mutants, so that stress was off, at least. Bobby had broken one pinkie finger and Kitty had a sprained ankle, but otherwise they were intact. Rogue had spent the last two hours settling five scared mutant kids into dorm rooms and getting them calmed, fed, oriented, and organized. She was exhausted. The last two days had taken their toll on everyone. With a sigh of resignation, she returned to her own room shortly after midnight and collapsed into bed, almost instantly asleep.

*

“How’d you get those scars, honey?” The waitress with the forgotten name mumbled as Logan’s hands grazed over her breasts. She’d pulled his t-shirt off and unbuckled his belt, but so far he’d only gotten her shirt and bra off. They tumbled onto her sofa, too occupied to bother getting as far as the bedroom.

“Unh... huh? Those? Oh. Knife. Long story,” he mumbled as his hand slid up her thigh beneath her skirt. She kicked off her heels and wrapped one leg around his hips.

He was glorious! Best looking guy she’d bagged in years, all muscle and hair and sexy male voice and long legs and shoulders out to goddamned ‘there’. Nice bulge in the front of those skin-tight jeans, too. He had to be well hung. She’d snap a few pics of him after he went to sleep, to show him off to her girlfriends. His hands grabbed the waistband of her pantyhose and he tugged them down and off her legs, two bodies fumbling in the darkness for less clothing and more touching.

“Where’s the uh....” he started looking around, before she pointed to a little ceramic dish on the end table and he quickly produced a foil packet. “Handy. Were you a Girl Scout?”

“Yeah, I’m always prepared,” her hands went to his fly and she tugged the zipper down, reached in, and filled her searching hand with his hardened flesh. Casting her eyes back up at him, she grinned evilly, “I knew it. You’re hung, and honey, I’m a happy camper.”

The words rattled something inside Logan’s head. He’d heard Marie’s voice saying those exact same words the night before when he’d lain with her. The woman was rolling the condom on his erection and pulling him down on top of her, wrapping her legs around him, ready to go. Hell, he hadn’t even touched her down there yet. Suddenly, he didn’t want to touch her. The room swam slightly, and he felt dizzy. Too much booze, wrong woman, strange place, bad things.... his erection softened as she pulled him tightly against her heat.

Struggling to pull back from her spread legs, Logan muttered, “No, can’t,” and withdrew from her awkwardly. His cock was flaccid and the look on her face spoke volumes.

“What’s wrong, honey? Did I hurt you?”

“Uh, no, just.... don’t. I can’t stay here,” ignoring the rubber, he shoved himself back in and zipped up. “Sorry, I just... I can’t be here right now. Gotta go. Sorry,” and he stumbled for the door. He heard her yell something as he descended the stairs, still tugging on his t-shirt as she cussed him soundly. Logan missed the last step and stumbled drunkenly into the parking lot, face burning with shame and stomach feeling like he was going to vomit, and he did. When the retching subsided, he spat to clean his mouth, and looked around for his truck.

Grabbing a bottle of stale water from the floor of the truck, Logan rinsed his mouth and leaned his forehead against the door of the cab, trying to catch his breath and get his brain straightened out. Something was wrong with him, physically wrong. The rubber was bothering him, so he unzipped and threw it on the ground, then zipped up again.

“Yeah, dipshit, you’re human now. That’s what’s wrong, ya fuckin’ genius,” he muttered as he drank some water, lost it, then rinsed again. His whole body seemed in pain, joints aching, stomach protesting, head thumping. “If this is what a hangover feels like, I feel sorry for the rest of you shithead drunks,” he spoke to the city block of old brick buildings and the surrounding night. “What do you do when you hit bottom in one day? I can’t fight, I can’t go on rescue missions, I can’t be faithful, but I can’t fuck, and I can’t live like this, so what do I do now?”

Logan turned and leaned against the fender of the truck, his gaze momentarily distracted by the flicker of a neon sign in the next block, outlined by the space between two buildings. Locking the truck and walking the hangover off was the smart thing to do - he knew he was in no shape to drive. The bar was closed, so what was open at this hour that would have a neon sign throbbing in the darkness?

Steadying himself, he started walking toward the bright blue and green sign, hypnotized by it’s lure and his own innate curiosity. Rounding the corner, he gazed up at the sign hanging from the corner of the building. Twenty-four hour tattoo parlor: perfect. Maybe there were gods living beneath the city asphalt to guide people toward what they needed. Pain, and more pain would clear away a lot of cobwebs. Pain he could handle, could understand, and deal with in his own way. He pushed open the door and started surveying the scratch covering the walls. It was all good; their ink pushers had real talent.

The regenerating mutation had never allowed him to be tattooed, his skin instantly rejecting the ink when it was injected. No one had been able to mark him, let alone do anything creative. He’d given up years ago. Things were different now.

One of the tie-dye-clad guys walked up, “See something you like, bud?”

“Yeah, that,” Logan pointed to one piece of scratch, “but I want some changes made, a couple of things, and some lettering, can you do that?”

“That’s what we do, man; lots of custom work. How big, where on the body, how much you wanna spend on it? We do discounts for cash on the barrel head, or there’s an ATM and a debit card reader, too.”

“‘Bout that size, a little more detail; I got cash. Dunno where, though...”

“You want it to show in public?”

“Nah, it’s kinda personal.”

“You got a lot of body hair?”

“Yeah. Hell, put it right here,” Logan patted his low belly, over the right hip bone, just above the edge of the groin/thigh intersection. “I got bare skin right there.”

“That’s right on the pelvic bone, man, and you’re lean and mean. Gonna hurt like a son of a bitch, but it’ll be aesthetically balanced if we curve the lines just right.”

“Well, we are supposed to suffer for our art, right? Hurt me.”

“Dude! I’m your man! Come on back.”

With a sketch pad and pencil, Logan laid out the changes he wanted in the tattoo, paid up front, dropped his jeans and laid back in the chair, saying, “Make that ‘r’ a capital, like a name.”

Over an hour later he’d finally stopped sweating and squeezing the arm of the chair, the endorphin rush soaking in and making him about half high, or else the booze wasn’t wearing off; he wasn’t sure which. The pesky, incessant buzzing finally ended and he breathed a sigh of relief as a slather of cool ointment and then a bandage was applied over the tender, freshly inked skin.

Crawling across the bench seat of the truck, Logan pulled the door shut and collapsed into a blessedly numb sleep.

*

As Storm rolled out of bed the next morning, she heard a light tap at her door. Mystique slipped in at her invitation, and laid out an idea.

“I know how to contact Toad. He and I have always been tighter than the rest of Eric’s original team. If anyone would talk to me, it would be him. I know Toad, and I know how to work him. I think that’s where I should start.”

“Then do it. I’ll get you a car and a cell phone. You are not to bring anyone back here, and tell no one where you are staying. If any of these rules are broken, I’ll make sure you pay for it, either at my hands or at Logan’s. Do you understand what I’m saying?” Storm’s eyes held a level of menace that Mystique rarely saw in the Weather Witch.

“I understand perfectly, and believe me when I say this: I’m not interested in running afoul of the Wolverine. I’m still wearing his scars,” she raised her shirttail and displayed the three parallel lines of scar tissue across her belly, the product of her fight with him on Liberty Island. “I learn my lesson the first time.”

“Smart girl. Let’s go downstairs and I’ll introduce you as our new substitute teacher. The staff and students who might recognize you have been briefed, so as far as my people are concerned, you’re Becca Lee.”

*

Logan grunted in his sleep and turned his head away from the shard of sunlight that splintered through the windshield onto his face.

‘Wake up, nimrod,’ the voice grunted in the back of his brain. Tossing one arm over his face, Logan tried to sleep off the wild voice.

“Shu’p, muh’fucker,” tossing again, he bumped the tattooed spot against the gearshift and the stab of pain jarred Logan half awake. Drowsing against the heat of the morning sun warming the interior of the truck’s cab, he slid back into blissful sleep. Another jab of different pain from somewhere else brought him back to half-consciousness again.

‘Get your shit together and get home to our woman,’ the snarling voice sniped at him. Logan yawned and made a snarking sound before opening one eye. He was alone in the cab: good, so the voice was definitely inside his own head again, thus nothing to worry about. But he couldn’t resist the bait.

“Whadya mean, ‘OUR’ woman? When did you figger into the mix?”

‘When you started bein’ thick between the ears, ya dick. She knows, and I know, but you just ain’t figured it out yet. It must be tough, bein’ as slow as you.’

“Figured out what?”

‘She’s your mate, bub: your alpha, your other half; or in your case, your better half because you’re about as fucked as anybody needs to be right now. You claimed her two nights ago, so what the hell are you doin’ sleepin’ it off in an alley after tryin’ to tumble some barfly in a shit-hole dive? Ya know, I learned a lot while you’ve been takin’ time off to heal up: people think you’re the upstanding, noble, modern-primitive guy, and I’m the feral, vicious, hair-raisin’ bad-ass. They’re wrong. I’m the one that’s actually got his shit together. And you? Logan? Yer just a fucked up mess. Guess which one of us can effectively DO somethin’ about that situation. I’ll save you the time thinkin’ it through, bub: it ain’t me.’

“Shit.” Logan threw his arms across his forehead, trying to wake up and clear the fog from his brain. Suddenly the cab of the truck felt too hot and too small and he sat up shaking his head and slamming the door open to draw a breath of fresh air. Once his head stopped wobbling and his eyes focused, he jammed the key in the switch and headed for the nearest truck stop, flop house or street shelter. He could buy a shower and get cleaned up before going back to the mansion.

Toad noted the raven-haired woman strolling toward him, and would have know that near-feline stride anywhere. Smiling, she sat at his table and ordered chai.

“God, I’ve missed you, lady,” he smiled at her, speaking softly beneath the background chatter in the cafe.

“It’s good to catch up, Mortie. After the Island, and we all got scattered, I really thought you were dead. It tore a hole in me; well, one more hole, since I already had three from Wolverine.”

“Is that okay, all healed?”

“Yeah. You?”

“Dandy. I’m finer than frog hair.”

“That’s pretty damned fine, brother,” they laughed in unison at their old patter and chatted happily through a round of mugs, catching up. Finally, she broached the unmentioned topic, “Does he ever talk about me?”

“There’s the occasional reminiscence, that’s about it.”

“Nothing about mistakes or regrets, then?”

“No, love, sorry. You know the old man: damn the torpedoes.”

“Damn him,” she quipped into her mug, then placed it back on the table with a trembling hand. “I gave him everything I had and more. Damn him to hell,” she hissed. Mystique rolled her currently-pale blue eyes up to meet Toad’s. “Mortie, don’t let him fuck you over, use you the way he did me. Don’t allow him to have that much power over you. Promise me, because I ‘never’ want you to be hurt like that. You know,” her hand rested lightly over his on the tabletop as her fingers gracefully stroked his, “the pawns have to stick together sometimes, to keep from getting slaughtered.” She stifled a smile of victory as he turned his hand palm-up to her touch - she had him. She discreetly slid a scrap of paper toward him with the cell phone number on it. “If you ever need me, just call. Fuck Eric. I’ll always be there for you, regardless.”

“Same here, Raven. We’ve both got lives outside the Brotherhood. You need me, you call me. I kept the same number. The one ‘he’ doesn’t know about.”

“Never forgot it. It’s chiseled inside my brain,” she tapped one temple and grinned at him. “You suppose he has any rules about you ‘fraternizing’? It’s been a long time...” the lifting of her sleekly arched brows spoke what her lips didn’t.

Toad smiled broadly at her, and was hopelessly lost. “Fuck Eric and his rules. There’s a nice, quiet little motel about two blocks over. Want to talk a stroll with me?” He tossed a few bills on the table and stood, offering his hand toward her.

Accepting his hand graciously, she rose with a slither and slid within the curve of his arm, tight against his side. “Lead the way. Hope you aren’t too offended by this human meat sack I’m stuck with now,” she spoke hesitantly. “I’m not the girls I used to be.”

“Baby, you’ve always been gorgeous, and you still are. I’ll show you just how gorgeous you are, if we can make it to that motel before I jump you. We’d better hurry,” he tugged her out the door and they ran down the street, hand in hand, laughing.

*

“We got this, Storm; Kitty dug up a ton of stuff on the Net,” Jubilee flipped the file folder open on Storm’s desk and Kitty settled onto the edge, dangling her sprained ankle. The three women huddled over the file’s contents as Jubilee flipped pages and pointed out highlighted paragraphs from web sites, newspaper articles, reports, photos and odd documents.

“Shelly Hanson of Lubbock, Texas, entered a string of beauty pageants across the South starting from junior high school through about two years ago. She became a pro at the whole game: the grooming, diplomacy, schmoozing, the practiced responses to generic questions, and was working toward a big-bucks career as a spokesmodel.” Another page was flipped, and a sensational headline was highlighted, “About 15 months ago, during a routine drug test, the pageant authorities also ran DNA tests for mutations, figuring that some contestants might use physically-manifesting mutations or telepathic abilities to sway the judges’ findings in their favor and win more money and prizes, making their advantage legally unfair. Shelly was outed as a mutant, and from that point every application she made into pageants, contests, and modeling agencies was either ignored, lost, or denied. She even made the local news in Lubbock when protestors started gathering, both in her favor and opposed.” Jubilee flipped another page, commenting, “She eventually stopped giving interviews to the newscasters because they were dragging her through the mud, asking if she had used her mutation in any unlawful way to win favor with judges or employers. It became a media circus.”

Kitty interjected, “In a way, I can understand her being distraught over all that. I mean, it’s one thing to have everyone know you’re a mutant even if you don’t ‘look’ like a mutant. But to have it thrust into the media’s attention and then have protestors on your lawn and at your job and cameras in your face? That’s gotta hurt.”

“Absolutely,” Storm agreed. “It’s awful, and it ruined what was probably going to be a very lucrative career for her. But it doesn’t give us the proof we need. Is there a solid connection between her and Magneto?” Storm frowned over the pages.

Jubilee folded her arms and sighed, “We haven’t found conclusive proof yet. We’re still rooting for obscure background info, but it’s getting tougher. The next big step is reviewing video footage of the Brotherhood from every encounter we’ve had, to see if we can spot her anywhere in crowds, in their immediate company, whatever. That’s going to take days, weeks, maybe even months to cover everything. We’ve got a few more vague threads to follow before we dive into the vids, so we’re still on the job; but we thought this was enough to give you an update. Duty calls, Kit-Kat. Let’s dig more and deeper.”

“I am your slave, master. Hand me my crutch.”

“Come on, peg leg.”

The two young women left Storm to ponder the contents of the file. Hints weren’t enough to condemn someone. There had to be proof, or enough circumstantial evidence to approach her, pressure her, threaten her into a confession that she had been instrumental in setting up the attack on Logan. The last thing Storm wanted was to condemn an innocent person.

“But I’ll be damned if I let someone mess with my team!” She slammed the folder into a desk drawer and locked it.

*

The school was humming with activity. Fridays were always a bee’s nest with the weekend dangling tantalizingly within reach. Logan took advantage of arriving during routine morning classes and went directly to his room, stowed his dirty clothes, changed to fresh, and sat momentarily on the bed as a wave of nausea and weakness washed over him.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten anything, and didn’t feel like it now, but it was necessary. He had a finely-tuned machine to maintain in his athletic body and it required fuel. Work, sleep, food, training, focus, sex, Marie...

He dropped his head into his hands as the memories of the previous night pooled at the front of his mind. He’d come so damned close to ruining everything. He had to get straight with Marie first. The rest would come later. He could judiciously tell her ‘almost’ everything, show her the tattoo when they were in bed, and... what?

Logan felt the shame of last night’s bout of impotence. Every man was supposed to have that happen at some point in his life, or so it was alleged. Didn’t mean he was finished, washed up in the sack; it was just a temporary glitch, a way his body warned him off from taking a woman he shouldn’t have been with in the first place. It had to be just that simple: a self-established moral boundary. It wouldn’t happen again, and if it did, well, Marie would understand because she’d taken the cure, too, and she’d know how...

Logan lunged from the bed, grabbed the nearest thing within reach which happened to be the phone, and hurled it through the window, sending shards of glass tinkling into the shrubbery below. It wasn’t enough, there was more rage waiting to erupt and burn off. The bedside table went into the center of the floor, the lamp cord and phone cord ripped from the wall, the lamp sailing through the open bathroom door to crash into the tub, and before long there was little left within reach. Breathing heavily, he turned toward the next wall to continue the path of destruction when his bedroom door opened suddenly and Marie stood in shock, wide-eyed and slack-mouthed.

“Logan, what’s wrong?!?” She edged slowly into the room, eyes scanning the chaos as if expecting to see an enemy lurking within.

“Not now, Marie,” Logan panted, “not now.” He shoved his hands through his hair and turned his back to her, pacing to the shattered window. No one was below. No harm done. He’d clean up the glass later.

When he turned back, Marie was on her knees beside his bed, trying to re-assemble the junk from the drawer he’d dumped. It was scattered everywhere, even under the bed. She was pulling out paper clips and a pocket comb, pens and a smattering of small tools, then she was trying to pull something from her fingers. Holding her hand up to the light from the broken window, she stared intently at her fingers and then at him.

“Who was she, and how long ago?” she asked with a knowing smile.

Rage now apparently spent, he frowned and walked closer. There were a few long blonde hairs tangled around her fingertips. “I don’t bring women back here, inside the school. Never have, never will, it’s too risky,” he muttered as he gazed at the hairs. “I don’t know how those got there. I’m not much for vacuuming.”

“Yeah, right; Mister Libido doesn’t know where the blondie hairs came from,” Rogue quipped. “I know you haven’t been a monk, Logan, so don’t try to cover. My streaks are white, and these are yellow.”

“I’m not covering. You’re the only woman who’s been in this bed.”

“Okay, I believe you. I’ll clean this up and let’s have breakfast together, try to catch up on the news. This place has been crazed for the last two days and it doesn’t look like it’s going to ease up any time soon.”

“Leave that shit on the floor, I’ll get to it later. My mess, I’ll clean it up, and I’m not hungry,” he was standing at the window again, his back to her. “Look, Marie - there’s some stuff I gotta get straight with you.”

Rogue felt her body turn cold inside and she dropped everything she’d been holding onto the carpet. He was going to dump her! His voice dragged her awareness back, “I know the whole thing sucks; the cure, the situation here, being off the team; it’s all shitty. I’ve made some huge mistakes lately. I gotta fix them before it’s too late.”

His fingers flexed nervously, then he continued, “I just need you to understand that...” the soft swish of clothing and a choked sob brought him around as Marie fled from his door, disappearing down the hallway.

“Marie!” Logan followed her at a near run.

Her bedroom door slammed shut and locked when he was ten feet away. He heard her throw the deadbolt. “Marie!”

“NO! Leave me alone.” Pressed to the door, he could hear her sobbing. What the hell had happened while he was gone?

“Marie, open the goddamn door.” No response, no sounds from within. “Marie!” Logan pounded one fist on the door in frustration. People were starting to gather in the hallway, their shouts and the uproar drawing attention from the lower levels. He ignored them.

“Marie, let me in, or you come out, please,” he tried to lower his voice a little, but she was still shutting him out. “Marie!” he bellowed again, losing temper by the second. “Open the fucking door NOW!” His fists went hard against the door again, rattling it against the frame.

“Go away!” Her voice cracked and he knew she was still crying, only now she was scared, too. He continued pounding on her door with the butts of his fists, then tried cranking the knob to gain access to her room.

Storm’s commanding voice came from behind him, “Logan! Stop!”

Whirling on her, he snarled down into her face, “Back off, bitch!”

Storm was taken aback, shocked into momentary silence by the seething man who stood towering over her. He seemed ready to snap, or snap her. There were times to deal with Logan and times to deal with the Wolverine in him. At that moment, Storm had no clue which was in control. A wave of gasps and whispers sounded from the group of students gathered a few feet away as Bobby pushed through and wedged himself between Logan and Storm.

Logan merely grinned down at Bobby, sending a chill through Storm. She’d never seen that kind of cold , calculating hate in the eyes of the feral when they weren’t on a mission. Bobby had no idea what he was putting himself in the middle of, and it was her job to stop it from escalating.

“Bobby, there’s no need for your concern, thank you,” her voice was calm and low. She placed both hands on the younger man’s shoulders and tried to press him to one side, away from the confrontation, “Take the students back to their classrooms now.”

Bobby pointed one finger at Logan, and bravely said, “You’re out of line, mister.”

Before Storm could intervene, Logan had audibly snapped Bobby’s finger with a deft twist of the hand, making Bobby let out a yelp of pain, grab at Logan’s shirt with his other hand and was promptly hauled off his feet and slammed against the wall.

“Do not fuck with me, boy,” Logan growled at the younger man, “or I’ll keep breakin’ fingers since you can’t keep ‘em to yourself.” Logan wanted Bobby to know he was aware Bobby had put his hands on Kitty while still with Marie, but that might disgrace Marie since it was private business. He’d leave it just that vague. Bobby’s feet finally touched the ground and again Storm told him to remove the students from the area.

“Logan, stop,” the soft voice broke the tension as Marie eased her door open, eyes red and cheeks damp from crying. “Just stop, please, for me. Come inside,” her hand reached for his, and he let her pull him inside, away from the others.

“Rogue, don’t!” Bobby yelled as Rogue closed and locked her door against the others.

“Talk to me while we’re alone. I can handle it now,” she eased down to sit on the edge of the bed. “I think I can handle it. I’m sorry I ran out in the middle of what you were saying before, but I needed time to accept that you want out, so go ahead. I’m listening.”

“Out of what?” Logan sank down on his knees in front of her, lost in confusion, thoughts still scrambled from the outburst in the hallway.

“Out of us,” her whisper barely registered. She was trembling all over, but her hands remained clasped in her lap to stop the obvious shaking.

Logan sighed deeply and raised his eyes to hers, lowering his voice as well, “Baby, I don’t want out. That’s not what I was trying to say. What made you think it was?”

“You said you made a lot of mistakes lately. I thought I was one of those mistakes.”

Logan took her hands in his and pulled her down on his lap as they wiggled around to lean against the side of her bed. “Being with you is probably the only thing I’ve done lately that wasn’t a mistake. I was trying to apologize for staying away all night and being an ass lately, in a lot of ways. Starting over ain’t easy, and I’m fucking it up royally. How do you put up with me?” He softly kissed her and rocked her against him.

The blushing smile told him she was calming down. “I haven’t really had a chance to ‘put up with you’ since we’ve hardly seen each other these past few days, other than the one night we slept together.”

“Wanna fix that?”

“How?” She flipped one last tear off her eyelashes and stroked her fingers through his hair.

“Move in with me. Today. Right now.” Logan hesitated a moment, then, “Well, after I clean up the place. My room’s bigger than this one, so we’ll fit, together.”

She sniffled and eyed him with a hint of her own hesitation, “You sure you want me moving in with you? Jubes says I snore, and I probably kick around in my sleep, and I’m a slob, and I leave drying undies all over the bathroom.”

“I yell in my sleep, stuff my junk under the bed, leave hair in the sink and bathtub, and I’m barely housebroken. Can you live with that?”

“Yep.”

“We’re good to go, then. And if you’re still willin’ to be seen with me in public after what just happened in the hall, I’ll take you up on that offer of breakfast.”

“Finally got hungry, huh?”

“Been hungry all along, but I didn’t feel like eating. I suppose I oughtta go to Med Lab after that and apologize to Drake. I think I broke his finger right before you opened the door,” he muttered sheepishly.

“You did not!” Rogue was agape.

“Yep, heard it snap. Noticed he’s got another one bandaged, probably from the mission. Did that go okay?”

“Yeah, everything’s fine. Let’s go. I’ll come back later and get some clothes and stuff for the move.” She stood up and embraced him.

*

Storm’s cell rang in the middle of her last morning class. Mystique’s voice said, “I have some tidbits you might be interested in. Where and when?”

“My office. Can you be here in thirty?”

“I’ll see you then.” The connection clicked closed.

Storm called Rogue, Jubilee and Kitty to her office as Mystique settled into a chair. Bobby had finally gotten the students back in order and gone to the Med Lab, getting his second broken finger splinted. Storm thought it was best to keep Logan in the dark, especially considering his current agitation and his feelings about Mystique’s presence.

“My connection to the Brotherhood tells me that Eric does have a new hireling. I didn’t get a name, but in the course of,” Mystique cleared her throat briefly, “personal conversations, I did gather a few details. The new op is female, a beauty queen sort, and to quote my source, is ‘sportin’ a Texas accent.’ Does that help at all?”

Kitty watched as Jubilee and Rogue both leaped to their feet and grabbed each other, whooping and whirling around in a joyous dance. “I take it this information doesn’t exactly disappoint either of them,” Mystique commented.

Kitty piped in with a smile, “Not at all. They dislike Miss Hanson intensely. It’s exactly what we needed.”

Storm smiled warmly at Mystique, “You’ve earned my respect, if not my trust. Shall we see where it takes us? Are you willing to continue working for us?”

“It’s the best deal I’ve had in months. I’m willing.”

Once Mystique had left the room, the remaining female X-men huddled around the desk. Kitty fidgeted with her crutch and elevated her sprained ankle to the chair arm as Storm stroked her foot comfortingly. “What are we gonna do with her, Storm?”

“The Professor had contacts within the community, people who were willing to handle traitors; sort of a penal system within mutant society. Since Eric’s actions are well-known to the authorities, we could turn her over to the police, but that would require filing a report on Logan’s attack and dragging him into it as well.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea right now,” Rogue added quickly. “Logan’s having a rough enough time without a bunch of cops insinuating into his life, making him feel like more of a victim than he already is, and Logan values his privacy.”

“I know. That’s why I’ve decided to turn Shelly over to the underground system. It’s the best, most humane, most reasonable course of action I can think of, unless anyone else has a better idea?”

“We could give her to Logan for Danger Room practice,” Jubilee giggled.

“She said ‘humane’, Jubes,” Kitty prodded Jubilee with one crutch.

“I think Logan might kill her if he’s involved in any of this, so let’s keep it quiet,” Rogue’s eyes suddenly opened wide with realization. “Oh my gawd, it was her!”

“Rogue, what was her?” Storm came instantly alert.

“The hair! I found long blonde hairs under Logan’s bed today. I made a joke, asking him if he had slept with a blonde, but he said I was the only woman he’d had in that bed, ever,” Rogue realized all the faces around here were staring in surprise. “Yes, Logan and I are sleeping together, and I’m moving into his room today. We’re officially a couple now.”

After a round of giggles and congratulations, with a few jealous comments from Jubilee on her good luck in choosing gorgeous men, Rogue asked for details about Shelly. Storm explained the audio-cellular mutation, and the loose hairs had to be the listening device.

“I’ve been suspicious of Shelly for a few days now, because of the very nature of her mutation. I’ve been keeping an eye on her, and Kurt’s been helping. He’s very good at watching from the shadows,” Storm glowed a little at her mention of Kurt’s name.

“She could have been shedding all over this place since she came here,” Jubilee said, “her hair, nails, skin cells, even dandruff if she has any. She could know everything, even what we’re saying right now!” She dropped to her knees and started searching the floor as the others joined her. Within moments, the women had found a long blonde hair tied around a desk leg.

Rogue dangled the hair from her fingertips, “We are so screwed. Where is she right this minute?”

“Everyone shut up right now,” Storm took the hair, laid it on the desk blotter, put a paperweight over it, then motioned for the women to follow her. Exiting the building, they went to the middle of the back lawn.

“I don’t know how great her hearing range is, but at least out here we’re fairly safe to talk. Shelly said she had a lunch meeting with an old friend, and left the school. I don’t know who the friend is, but Kurt’s following her for us, so we’ll just have to bide our time until he reports in, or she returns, and then confront her.”

“‘If’ she returns,” Jubilee added. “She may already know we’re on to her.”

“I don’t think so - she’s either been busy or away from the building since early today. We can only hope she’s out of range. If she never returns, we’ll know she heard us. If she does return later today, we’ll have a much easier time taking her into holding until the system can collect her.”

“We’d better lock her up somewhere Logan doesn’t know about, or he’ll kill her,” Rogue watched the other women’s eyes meet hers. “Uh, that’s not a toss-off comment. I really do think he’d kill her, since she set him up to lose his mutations.”

Storm wondered which would be the more challenging danger: to contain Shelly until she was taken into the system, or to keep Logan away until Shelly was safely in custody.

Logan rocked back to sit on his heels, cold and shaking. His breakfast was gone, down the toilet. No food would stay down and he ached from head to toe. Something was wrong, definitely wrong. He had to go to Hank. Washing his face and rinsing his mouth again, he steadied himself before heading below to the Med Lab.

*

Shelly waited at the chessboard in the park, amidst the old men and pigeons; a half-caff in a paper cup her only lunch. When Eric Lensherr said to meet him, one didn’t wait around for a hotdog cart to magically appear. She barely recognized the infamous Magneto when the tall, elderly man in the snap-down cap and plaid jacket sat down across from her, until his soulful, piercing eyes riveted her to the spot.

“Has anything changed since your last report, Miss Hanson?” His hands rested lightly on the table’s edge, then began to deftly arrange the chessmen for a new game while she spoke.

“Not much, sir. There was one mission last night, but Logan didn’t go on it. He was kept behind along with Rogue, but he left the mansion and didn’t come back until earlier today. He was entering when I came downstairs this morning, and in my opinion, I think he’d been out on a real bender. He looked bad; tired, pale, not the man I’ve heard him described as, a fierce warrior. He looked beaten to me.”

“Is he using their practice area for anything other than programming?”

“Not that I know of, and even that he’s ignored the last two days. The place has been hectic on most levels, but he looks like he’s walking through deep water while everyone around him is running full tilt. If I had to guess, I’d say he’d be an easy target right now.”

“Guesswork is without value, Miss Hanson,” Eric stated with flat dismissal in his voice. “I want facts, details, and physical observations from you. I will make my own conclusions. Do you see any reason why you should stay there longer?”

“If you think you have all the information you need from inside that mansion, then I’m willing to be relocated; but sir, I do want to continue working for you. I want to be one of the Brotherhood, to serve against humanity. I can help you, and I’m willing to do that on a daily basis. I want to make us strong. I want to make them pay,” she whispered, sweeping her eyes to the apparent-humans populating the park.

“Thank you, Miss Hanson. I will take all those things into consideration. For now, I want you to return to the mansion and appear to go about your usual routine. Later today, you will receive a telegram with devastating news about the death of a close family member. You will be expected to travel to another state immediately to attend a funeral. You will pack your belongings and leave the Xavier estate as expediently as possible, grieving and in shock, but accepting no assistance or companions on your journey. Tell them you’ll contact the school later with your plans for the future. Then take your suitcase, Miss Hanson, and leave. I’ll have Toad call you after you’re well clear of the mansion, and tell you where to meet him for your pay and a place to contact you again. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir,” she smiled gratefully at the elder man.

“Do you play chess, Miss Hanson?”

“No, sir - I never learned. It seemed too complicated for little ol’ me. I play checkers, though,” she beamed a bright, Vaseline-coated smile at him.

“I thought as much. Good day, Miss Hanson.”

A young-ish man wearing a voluminous hooded sweatshirt and baggy pants dropped from a tree across the green from where Shelly entered her car and drove away. Pulling a phone from his pocket, Kurt dialed Storm, “She was in the park with Magneto, talking for several minutes.” He listened intently, side-stepping and turning away as bicyclists pedaled by close enough to spot his blue face, “Ja, just now.” The call ended with a click and a disgusted look on the blue mutant’s face. Kurt abhorred traitors. He slipped into the bushes and headed for his car on the next block.

*

Bobby Drake met Logan in the hall outside Med Lab. Logan stopped in his tracks, met Drake eye to eye, and said, “Sorry I broke your finger, bub,” with no hint of emotion in his eyes or voice.

“Fuck off, Logan,” Bobby snapped and kept walking. Logan just smiled a half-smile and went on to Hank’s office.

“Somethin’s wrong, doc. Check me out.”

Hank peered over his glasses momentarily, then started an examination.

*

As his last challenger departed, thoroughly defeated in a mere five moves, Eric pondered the scattering of chess pieces and reminisced his games with Charles. No one in the park thought anything unusual in the sight of an old man feebly talking to himself over a chessboard. They would just laugh it off as senility. Eric leveled a finger at one of the pieces, and saw it begin to shake.

The dawn of a smile broke over his craggy face as he concentrated on the sterling silver-banded chessman, slowly sliding it to the adjoining square without touching it. The thin metal band surrounding the base felt like a dry martini in the late afternoon: elegant, cool, sophisticated and yet feminine in it’s energy and flavor. The metal sang against his blood, into his cells, through his mind, and he nearly laughed aloud.

The hated mutant cure vaccine wore off! The vile potion could not stop Magneto!

Everything changed at that moment. Pulling a cell phone from his pocket, Eric summoned Toad for a meeting. Within minutes the black sedan pulled up to the curb and Eric slid into the back seat. “Take us somewhere quiet, Toad. Things are afoot.” Toad checked his mirrors and eased the sedan into traffic, as always half-suspicious of Magneto, and half in awe of him.

At the first stoplight, Toad rested his foot on the brake pedal and waited. Eric concentrated on the gearshift of the car and maneuvered it into ‘park’ with his mutant power. Noticing the movement of the gearshift, Toad yelled, “What the fuck?” as his eyes scanned the dash and the surrounding cars, then to the rearview mirror. He saw Magneto smiling at him.

“I have been accused of being a backseat driver,” Eric stated dryly, and the gearshift slapped into ‘drive’ again just as the light changed.

They glided through traffic, going nowhere in particular, as Eric spoke from the backseat, “Obviously their ‘cure’ is a sham, my brother. Everything changed just moments ago. All our plans are changing as well, as this revelation about the temporary effects of that vile potion came to light. We must pull back and re-organize, refine a new strategy. Timing is everything. My powers have returned, thus we must calculate the days elapsed between my injection and Wolverine’s. That will give us a time frame to hit them at their weakest, before his mutations return as well. Patience, my dear Toad; patience and timing.”

Toad savored Eric’s smug, sinister laughter from the rear of the sedan as they accelerated along the highway, heading out of the city.

*

Shelly entered the school, striding quickly toward her first afternoon class when Storm intercepted her with a broad smile, “Shelly, I need you in my office for a very short meeting, right away. I promise it won’t take long.”

“Sure, Storm,” Shelly tossed her blonde locks behind her shoulder and followed the older woman to her office where Storm held the door open graciously, ushering Shelly inside. Shelly saw Rogue, Jubilee and Kitty waiting, arms crossed, faces stern, lips silent. Her palms started to sweat and she rubbed them on her skirt.

As soon as Storm seated herself behind the desk, Shelly noted Jubilee move to lock the door behind her, and Rogue stepped right up to her face, dangling a cluster of loose blonde hairs before Shelly’s eyes. “I found these under Logan’s bed.”

Kitty dangled a hair, “We found this knotted around the leg of Storm’s desk.”

Rogue added, “I went through Logan’s closet just now, and found these stuck to his shirts,” and raised another hand holding long blonde hairs.

“Little Miss Rogue surely can’t blame a girl for jumping the best-looking guy in the state; that’s just life,” Shelly lied. “Turns out the wild man has a taste for blondes!” Shelly giggled to cover her nervousness.

“Nice try, bitch, but you’re a gawd-awful liar,” Rogue snapped. “You’ve been spying on us, spying on Logan, listening, and reporting back to Magneto.”

“We know everything,” Kitty added. “Logan and one of the students saw your picture on the wall at O’Houley’s, where you worked as a waitress a short while ago, watching Logan, learning his routine, his hang-outs.”

“And,” Jubilee added with a cold grin, “we know about your pageant traumas and dramas, and about your motivation for going over to the Brotherhood, not that we give a damn now, since you backstabbed us.”

Storm pressed her palms flat to the desk, “We also know about your string of ‘identities’ and your connection to Toad, to Eric Lensherr, and your reason for being here. You’re not a teacher, Shelly; you’re a traitor.” Storm’s face registered her disappointment, “Shelly, I took you in, taught you, helped you get your life back together, and you turned on me, on us!”

Shelly instinctively stepped back as Storm rose to her feet, her eyes glowing white as her temper sizzled. Even Kitty held her breath for a few moments while Storm calmed herself, then stated, “And you helped the Brotherhood hurt one of us.”

“You’re wrong... I don’t know what you think I did, but...”

“Oh, save it,” Rogue growled, “you’re busted. We even had a tail on you today, in a very literal sense. He followed you just now and saw you meeting with Magneto. No one can tail a mutant like another mutant, especially a teleporter.” Storm grinned to herself at her idea to have Kurt trail along after Shelly to her ‘lunch meeting,’ keeping himself out of her sight.

“So, where do we go from here?”

“Surprisingly, you have two options, which is more than they gave Logan,” Storm explained.

Hank gave Logan a thorough examination, drew blood, asked endless questions, and ran the basic tests on the spot: no common infections, no influenza, nothing remarkable. Shoving his glasses down, Hank leaned back in his office chair and regarded Logan, “It will take a day or so to get the more complicated blood panels back, but other than a little fever, you seem healthy enough. We may be looking at a virus, or possibly a bacterial infection, but without further information, I can’t give you answers yet.”

“What about hepatitis?” Logan asked.

“What leads you to think you might have hepatitis?” Hank was patently curious as he laid down the initial test results.

“I got tattooed last night, but it wouldn’t show up that fast, would it?”

“No, but it might cause problems later if they weren’t hygienic. How thorough was their sterile procedure?”

“Hell, I don’t know. I was roarin’ drunk. They seemed to know what they were doing,” Logan confessed.

“Let me see the tattoo; you might be on to something.”

Logan stood, unbuckled and opened his fly, peeling back the jeans and showing Hank the bandage.

“Come back into the examination room.”

With Logan lying on the table, Hank peeled off the bandage and was surprised at the artwork Logan had chosen to have permanently inked into his skin. A single tribal-style black rosebud swept from his hip up toward his low belly, with three elegantly-long thorns that appeared to pierce into his skin. The thorns strongly resembled his own adamantium claws in their curvature, and where each thorn tip seemed to pierce the skin, red-ink droplets of blood oozed out, trailing down into a red ribbon curling back around the stem. Inside the ribbon was lettering. Hank adjusted his bifocals and read, “A Rogue by any other name...” His eyes met Logan’s, “That is marvelous artwork. I had no idea, but I’m not surprised by the sentiment at all,” Hank’s face held a knowing smile.

“So I’m that transparent, eh?” Logan grinned.

“No, but some thing are just...” Hank waved his hand in dismissal of himself, “none of my business. Back to the medical business: the tattoo looks clean, healthy. Make sure you keep it that way. Did they give you antibiotic ointment to treat it?”

“They gave me something in a tube. Guess it’s time to change the bandage.”

“I’ll take care of it. I’d recommend you give yourself a day of rest. As soon as the test results are back, I’ll let you know.”

*

Shelly sat nervously in a chair as Storm laid out the options, “I could turn you over to the authorities. If you were human, you’d probably get a short jail term, probation, maybe some community service. But you are a mutant, and I’d make sure they knew that; plus you’re in the employ of a known mutant terrorist: the FBI and the state police know Magneto, as you are well aware. That puts you in a far riskier position,” Storm noted Shelly’s pallor - she was scared, and that was more power in Storm’s hands.

“I could also turn you over to the underground mutant’s system, make you go away somewhere we won’t have to worry about you EVER bothering us again.” Shelly swallowed hard, but remained silent. “That isn’t as bad as it sounds, Shelly. They won’t make you disappear in the colloquial sense; meaning, they won’t kill you. The system is far more humane than that,” Storm leaned against her desk and stared down at Shelly. “It has also been suggested that we give you to Logan to work out some of his issues. And as much as a part of me likes that idea, I know what would happen, and you don’t want that, trust me.”

Shelly found some courage and spoke confidently, “I know you’re not going to let anyone kill me, Storm; it’s not your style.”

“Don’t mean I won’t,” Rogue snarled as she suddenly lunged forward and grabbed Shelly’s throat. Slamming the blonde hard into her chair and holding her down, Rogue snarled, “That’s my man you helped take down, and I don’t play fair!”

Shelly’s terrified eyes scanned wildly around to the other women in the room, seeking help, but they sat quietly, waiting, watching.

Rogue hissed into Shelly’s face, “Little Miss Rogue is pissed! Payback’s a bitch, ain’t it, bitch?” Rogue hauled back one fist, and plowed it solidly into Shelly’s face. Blood poured down from Shelly’s broken nose as she gasped and squealed with the pain.

“What do you want from me?” Shelly sobbed between bloody, nasal gasps, “I was only following orders.”

Storm’s voice broke the tension, “If you’ll answer my questions, tell me what I want to know, I’ll put you ‘safely’ into the system and you’ll live to realize the mistakes you’ve made, maybe even have a chance at putting a new life together, somewhere far away.”

“And if I don’t?” Storm was surprised that Shelly still had that much fight in her.

Jubilee seemed to grab onto an idea, and pulled Storm’s desk drawer open, pulling out a pair of scissors. “If you don’t tell us what we want, I’ll start by cutting off your hair, then I’ll work down from there. That way we’ll know you won’t be shedding all over the place again.”

Dissolving into sobbing again, Shelly finally burst out, “Yes, yes, I’ll tell you what you want to know! Just please; please, don’t mess up my face any worse!”

Kitty noted Rogue’s disappointment as she backed off from Shelly, allowing Storm to conduct the questioning.

*

Rogue found Logan in his now-orderly bedroom that afternoon, and slid onto the bed to lie beside him, snuggling against his warmth.

“How’s it hangin’, Butch?”

Logan swallowed against the innocent innuendo, and hugged her tight against him. “It’s hangin’, kid, and that’s about it.”

“You feel warm - you okay?” She laid a soft hand against his cheek.

“Hank says I’m runnin’ a low-grade fever. This ‘being human’ shit is for the birds. I feel like crap.”

“Fever will do that; you got the croup, the creepin’ crud, or the epizootic?”

Logan chuckled at her southern-fried expressions, “Dunno - so far I check out fine with him, but he’s waiting for more blood tests to come back tomorrow. How you doin’?” He pressed a kiss to her forehead.

“I’m just fantastic, and I’ve got news that might surprise you, but you gotta promise not to blow a gasket when I tell you, ‘cause it’s already been dealt with; are you ready?”

Logan eyed her suspiciously, “I don’t like the sound of this already. Go ahead.”

“We, meaning Storm, Jubes and Kit-Kat and me; we found our spy, and we know everything that happened, who set you up, all of it,” Rogue felt Logan go tense against her, and his hands clenched to fists. “Chill - you promised.”

“Just spill it, now,” he groused, forcing his hands to relax and go back around her waist.

“It was Shelly Hanson, that new teacher. She worked for Magneto; he’s the one who set you up. Toad was the one who attacked you, and Shelly was the girl in the bar who’d been watching you. Between the info we had, and what we managed to get out of her, we know everything.”

“Where is she now?” Rogue noted the ice in Logan’s voice, and knew exactly what he was planning to do.

“She’s being transported out of the country and into the hands of the mutant system. It was the least risky way of turning her over to someone.”

“And you knew I’d kill her,” Logan started to rise from their embrace, but she pulled him back easily, which worried her. He really was ailing.

“I wouldn’t care if you took her head off, ‘cause I gave it a good try, but there were very few realistic options. I did get in a few licks, probably be sporting a few bruises on my knuckles tomorrow.”

“You really did lay into her? That’s my girl, wish I’d been there to see it,” he planted another long kiss on her lips, rolling her onto her back. The weight of his metal-laden frame nearly pressed the breath from her lungs before he rose on his forearms to give her some space. After only a moment, he rolled back and laid prone beside her. “Baby, I’m feeling kind of weird. Never thought I’d say this, but sorry: I’ve got a genuine headache.”

“Take a nap, and I’ll check on you later,” she pecked him on the cheek and slid from the bed. “I’ll wait and move my stuff in tomorrow, if you like, since you’re feeling bad,” she hoped he would insist she move in anyway, but he nodded his agreement.

“Close the curtains, will ya? Light’s buggin’ me.”

“Okay, sleep well,” Rogue slipped quietly from the darkened room.

Storm sealed the manila envelope and handed it to Jubilee, “You know what to do.”

“I’m on the job, boss lady,” Jubilee whisked out the door with the envelope and her cell phone, punching in the number to the nearest messenger service.

Minutes later, a messenger strode briskly up the front walk of a modest house in a quiet neighborhood, and rang the bell. Toad answered, noting the surprised look on the guy’s face as the messenger saw his moist, greenish skin.

“Uh... I uh... I... have a registered letter for an Eric Lensherr. It must be signed for,” the guy held a clipboard forward.

With a grimace, Toad signed a false name to the clipboard and took the envelope, failed to tip the guy, and shut the door in his face. He watched from a side window as the guy left on a bicycle. Racing upstairs to Eric’s converted study/office, he laid the envelope on his employer’s desk, “This was just delivered to Eric Lensherr, registered. I had to sign for it; seems I’m Orson Welles today. Were you expecting a delivery?”

“No,” Magneto’s voice was suspiciously calm as he eased the letter from the envelope. Holding it under the lamp, he read:

To: Mr. Eric Lensherr, aka Magneto:

We have your current home address (as you are now aware by the delivery of this missive), as well as your black 2006 Mercedes-Benz sedan’s license plate number, and the identities of your employees including Miss Shelly Hanson, formerly of Lubbock, Texas, who is now en route to a more legitimate occupation in another country. She has received all necessary medical treatment for her unfortunate injuries incurred during the composition of this letter.

To cut to the (literal) chase, we know everything; and we have turned your contact information in it’s entirety over to the federal authorities, who were thrilled to learn of your whereabouts. You may expect them to be in contact with you at any moment. If you listen closely, you may already hear sirens in the distance.

In essence, sir, do not fuck with my people again.

Sincerely,

Ororo Munroe

With a deep sigh, Eric laid the letter down on the desk and cast his hooded eyes to Toad, “It seems our plans have once again changed. Evacuate this building immediately, as planned. John will take the Mercedes to a salvage yard crusher in New Jersey, and we’ll take the other car to the Pennsylvania safe house. Notify John once we’re enroute.”

Toad was out of the room at a run within the span of one breath. Eric drummed his fingertips momentarily on the desktop before glancing once more at the letter and the signature.

“Check, but not mate, my dear. Well played, Storm; you surprise me.”

Emptying the contents of the desk drawers into a valise, Eric snatched the letter as well and hastened to the waiting car.

Three minutes later, federal marshals surrounded an empty house as a nondescript Honda Civic with fictitious plates took a leisurely route to the nearest freeway ramp. Three hours later, a thorough search of the house had given the FBI no clues to pursue Magneto, other than a few fingerprints which were already on file.

*

Logan woke around sundown and groggily checked the digital clock, noting the early darkness. Dragging himself from the bed and pushing aside the curtains, he fought off a wave of dizziness before he noticed the heavily-clouded sky and the barbed flash of distant lightning. A storm roiled miles away, sending his thoughts back to stormy nights he had spent in the forest, reveling in the raw power of the elements: the scent of ozone, the smell of rain, the rumble of distant thunder echoing to his sensitive ears.

Leaning his feverish head against the window frame, Logan mentally searched for what his body needed: coolness; freedom from the confines of the school; to touch the earth, smell the rain, lay beneath a tree; anything to get outside, get away, escape. Shoving on his boots, he shambled from the room.

At the edge of the forest, Logan stopped to lean against a tree, catch his breath, and get focused again. He looked at his hands, fingers outstretched in the dusky light, and thought he was shaking. The fierce dance of lightning across the sky made the shadows shake, too, so he doubted what his eyes were telling him and took the main path into the deep woods. The rumbling thunderheads filled the sky above him and the air was rich with the forest and the storm, redolent of moisture, moss, life. Even without his mutant senses, it still filled his soul as he breathed deeply, sucking in the peace and power of the elements. Wind tore through his hair and shook green leaves down around him like darting luna moths against the gathering night.

*

Ororo leaned against the kitchen counter by a window, watching the lightning dance. The powerful storm thrilled her to the bone in it’s primal essence. Noting a lone figure moving towards the dusky woods, her instincts instantly came alert. Who would be going out there in the gathering darkness, into a powerful storm? Not an intruder, since the person was going away from the school. She studied the form in the twilight and with a gasp recognized Logan’s long-legged, powerfully-built silhouette.

He was walking unsteadily. Was the man drunk, to go out in such a storm? He’d certainly not behaved like himself that afternoon when he’d sworn at her with a snarl. Storm headed for the rear door in pursuit.

The wind ripped branch tips and clattered them onto the forest floor as Logan lurched toward a favorite tree. He knew there would be a decent place to settle into the roots of the ancient oak and rest through the cooling storm. Dancing balls of twinkling light moved through the treetops on both sides of the path as he searched in the darkness. The ghostly orbs seemed to bob and sway among the trees, sometimes following him, sometimes leading him as will-o-the-wisp. In his fevered state they seemed harmless enough. He let them lead him further, the oak tree forgotten.

“Logan,” a phantom voice spoke, causing him to turn toward the west, the sound, into the sunset. There in the rippling winds stood Jean, her hair once again short, a simple white cloth wrapped around her long, pale limbs in the driving wind. Her voice seemed to sing through his senses like the storm-born wind itself, “Go back now.”

Stunned at the sight, Logan felt his knees buckle and the soft floor of the forest come up to hit his legs. He gaped at the figure before him. “No,” he breathed the words, “this isn’t real. This can’t be real....”

“It’s not your time. Go back now...” then her voice faded into the darkness at the exact moment a spear of lightning struck a nearby tree, leaving a shock of blinding white light and ear-splitting noise in it’s wake.

The phantom was gone. Heavy drops of rain began slowly falling, striking Logan’s bared forearms where he’d rolled up his sleeves to the elbow. The slow trickles of water over his skin felt like slithering flesh. The droplets were little snakes, slowly sliding over his skin, wreathing his arms, turning into dripping liquid silver. They were cold.

A man squatted down in front of Logan where he knelt, bringing his eyes up to stare straight into the face of William Stryker. “You didn’t really think you’d ever be free of it, surely? It’s indestructible, boy,” Stryker’s soft, slow, arrogant drawl explained. “You left me to drown, weighed down with that log chain; but I’m still here, and my handiwork’s still inside you, and you’re still my personal Frankenstein’s monster. I made you, Wolverine, and I’m keepin’ you.”

With a roar of rage, the claws shrieked out through both hands. Ignoring the familiar, welcomed pain, Logan buried both sets of claws to the hilt in Stryker’s chest. With a burst of mocking laughter, Stryker’s flesh collapsed into more of the little silver snakes. They slithered over Logan’s hands, hung suspended from his claws like Spanish moss, writhed on the ground around him.

The little silver snakes began biting into his arms as Logan stared in horror, the serpents pushing into the flesh of his arms and burrowing deeper. His blood ran cold and with a gasp he started trying to shake them off, but his arms grew heavier. Panting with fear, he tried using the claws to scrape them off, but he cut his arms and wrists, more blood pouring out. The snakes were layering his bones with more adamantium, weighing him down until he couldn’t move.

Collapsing prone on the ground, he lay helpless while the weight of the metal pressed him deeper into the forest floor, vines wreathing up to cover his legs and hands, pinning him down, rooting him in, pulling him under, absorbing him into the cycle of growth, blossoms, rot, compost, life, death...

Storm’s voice shouting his name broke the hallucination’s spell as Logan snapped back to reality. Above his head he saw a golden spark dance briefly just as Storm ran to him with her eyes glowing white, her arms outstretched toward the barb of lightning that would have spelled his instant death if it had struck him. Storm deflected the bolt of energy back into the sky, her wild white hair floating in a nimbus around her. She stood straddle of his legs as the shatter of crackling energy left her hands, then she stared down at him.

“Can you stand up? Can you walk?”

Moving his arms and legs to test his mobility, Logan nodded and struggled to his feet, swaying beside her.

“Pull your claws in, Logan, please.”

He looked down and saw the claws still bared and bloody, the red rivulets running down both his injured arms, sped along by the pattering rain. One wrist was slashed nearly to the bone and pumping blood. The claws slid back into his torn hands as Storm risked coming closer to him, grasping his slashed wrist in her bare hand to staunch the flow of blood.

“Come with me, quickly,” Storm took his arm in hers and they walked unsteadily back toward the mansion, wrapping the tail of his shirt around the cuts to absorb the blood. Pacing carefully, side by side, they headed for the kitchen door.

“I called you a bitch, ‘Ro... I’m sorry. There’s no excuse,” Logan’s voice held an unusual tone of raw regret that touched Storm. He seemed somewhat stunned by his injuries.

“Apology accepted. I know things are bad for you right now. That’s a good enough excuse for me,” she hugged him against her, one arm going around his waist as they reached the patio. “Can you make it to the Med Lab?” He nodded as they slipped through the door, out of the growing storm.

Ororo took one look backward at the skies, knowing that the storm would be fierce, maybe devastating before long. It was natural, but it was ominous in it’s intensity. There would be storm warnings out for many counties by now, and Ororo could taste the rotation in the clouds. Tornados were a distinct and threatening presence, waiting to be birthed downward from the heavy clouds. She’d barely shut the door before more lightning shattered the skies and rain began beating down in sheets.

Logan’s whispered voice brought her attention back, “Did you see anyone out there with me? Anyone at all?”

“No - why do you ask?”

“For a while I thought there were people around me. Guess not, if you didn’t see ‘em, or the snakes,” Logan was weaving and stumbling, seemingly unable to walk a straight line.

“Snakes? Forgive me for asking this, but have you been drinking?” Storm asked softly, nothing the shocked looks on faces around them as they worked their way toward the elevator.

“No. Nothing.”

“Oh my gawd!” Rogue gasped as she came out of the elevator, then lunged back in, holding the open-door button while the two entered, “What happened?!”

Storm waited for Logan to answer her as Rogue gently pressed her hands to his back and chest, trying to see what damage had been done, but he seemed to be focused inward, silent. “I’m not sure; he was in the woods when I found him,” Storm commented as she pushed the button for Med Lab level.

“Sugar, what did you do? Was it the claws?” Rogue smoothed back his damp, stray hair, noting the pallor and feverish skin.

“Yeah... I thought I was....” Logan stopped short, groaned in pain, and clutched his folded and wrapped arms against his chest. “It hurts inside...”

His body seemed to slowly lean sideways as if his equilibrium were off, and he collapsed to the floor of the elevator, both women unable to support his weight. Frantic with worry, Rogue quickly knelt beside Logan, cradling his head in her trembling hands as Storm locked the doors open and ran for Hank.

*

Piotr and Bobby shook off their sodden coats as they stomped in from the garage. Both roads into town were submerged beneath rising flood waters and fallen trees. Multiple tornado warnings dominated the radio and television, and several funnel clouds had been spotted just a few miles away. “Glad we’ve got everyone here for a change,” Bobby commented as he hung up the dripping coat beside the fireplace in the common room.

“I’m glad we’ve got such a huge underground shelter, even if this place is built like a fortress,” Piotr added. “If we have to go below for cover, at least there’s plenty of room for everyone.” He tossed both shoes onto the hearth where they began to drain a puddle across the stones, little trails of steam disappearing up the chimney’s draw.

Grabbing the mansion’s emergency plans, they started making lists of everything they’d need as they organized the student body to take cover below ground. Assigning coordinators to each age group, they tackled their chores with efficiency. Kitty and Jubilee each took a group of kids to their rooms for any personal needs like asthma inhalers and extra clothing before marching them below ground level until the funnel clouds had cleared the area.

“I thought Rogue was a group leader - where is she?” Kitty asked as she eased her sprained ankle up onto a spare chair in a room below ground. The kids around her were organizing pillows and blankets into friendly cliques, some digging into the stash of snacks. A few sat wide-eyed in fear of the storm.

“Dunno, chica,” Jubilee commented, then spoke a little more softly to Kitty, “Maybe watching ‘The Wizard of Oz’ last night wasn’t such a good thing.”

Kitty grinned and snuggled an eight-year-old against her side, “I’ll try to have her paged.”

*

The page echoed distantly in Med Lab where Hank and a few assistants worked over Logan, while Storm tried to soothe a nervous, pacing Rogue in the next room.

“What the hell happened to him?” Rogue’s hand rested against the glass, watching every movement around the table where Logan lay, numbed with local anesthetic and sedated, once again having his hands and now his wrist and both forearms stitched. Hank had said it would take time - the cuts and holes were numerous and it was delicate work.

“I truly don’t know, baby,” Storm rested one hand on the girl’s shoulder, knowing how emotionally invested she was in Logan. “When I got within sight, he was on his knees, bleeding, claws out. He completely collapsed then, and I could feel lightning coming. I deflected it, and helped him back into the mansion. He asked me if I had seen anyone around him, and said something about snakes. Rogue, I think he was hallucinating. He denied being drunk.”

“You saved his life. Thank you,” Rogue turned tearful eyes to Storm and hugged her tightly. They heard the repeated page calling Rogue to her group leader’s assignment.

“Don’t worry - I’ll handle it for you so you can stay here, if you want?” Storm offered, Rogue nodding her agreement. She noted how quickly Rogue reverted to old habits, pulling her sleeves down over her bare hands, fingers clutching the cuffs for dear life out of an unconscious and very nervous habit. With a quick squeeze of moral support, Storm left.

Twenty minutes later, the lights suddenly flickered and went out, leaving Med Lab plunged into darkness. Rogue felt momentarily disoriented as she again pressed her hands to the glass partition, listening as the normally placid Hank swore like a sailor. Within a few seconds, the school’s emergency generators hummed to life. There would be enough power to maintain the essentials, but nothing else. Med Lab had first priority, then the security system, then everything else like the kitchen and hallway lights. Several halls away, frightened children squealed with alarm as they were plunged momentarily into darkness. Older voices calmed and soothed them as flashlights, candles, and battery-powered lanterns softened the gloom. An hour later, Rogue still stood riveted at the window, watching Hank and his pre-med students work diligently over Logan. He lay still as a stone, the sedation seeming to have taken him over completely. Once again IV tubes snaked across the table, but this time there were more bags hanging than the first time he’d popped the claws after the cure. Aching to know the details, Rogue forced herself to stand silent, giving Hank every moment to help her lover.

She lost track of time, but noted one assistant hurry out, then return a few minutes later to report to Hank, who just shook his head in frustration. Snapping on the intercom, Hank summoned her into the treatment room.

“Tell me how I can help.”

“Rogue, we have an unfortunate situation on our hands. Logan needs a unit of blood, but due to the storm, the roads are impassable and air delivery is also out of the question.”

“Take mine,” she volunteered instantly, “you said we’re both the same rare type, and he got my blood before. You already know we’re compatible,” Rogue was rolling up her sleeve as she spoke.

“The problem is, my dear, a sufficient amount of time has not passed for you to donate again. It’s close, but it’s your choice. Donating again this soon will leave you feeling very weak, but under the circumstances, and knowing you are a healthy young woman, I’m leaving the choice to your discretion.”

“Tap me.” The sleeve was up and one assistant guided her onto a table near Logan. Rogue relaxed back on the table as the needle slid in, and rocked her head to one side to watch Logan while her blood flowed into the bag below the table.

Hank seated Rogue in his office while she munched cookies and drank apple juice to fight off the dizziness, then instructed her, “I want you to go to the kitchens, find anything that you can under the circumstances that’s fit to eat, fill your stomach, and get some sleep. You need to rebuild your blood: red meat, green leafy vegetables, supplements, molasses cookies, anything rich in iron. You need rest.”

“I’m too nervous to eat, so I’m stayin’ here,” Hank noted the edge of her accent sharpening as she fidgeted with her sleeves.

“Doctor’s orders.”

“I love you to pieces, Hank, but I’m stickin’.”

With a sudden whir of power, the electric came back on, lights brightening and motors on non-essential equipment humming to life.

“I’ll make a deal with you, Rogue: you go eat a good meal, put on some warm, comfortable clothes, and I’ll let you come back to be with Logan for a while. Agreed?”

Rogue gritted her teeth momentarily, and asked, “Just tell me he’s gonna be okay first?”

Hank smoothed his hands on the desk and said, “All the wounds are clean and closed, he’s sleeping peacefully, his blood volume is up where it should be thanks to you, and he’s on antibiotics. What more do you need to know?”

“Okay. Burger time it is,” she said tiredly, “I’ll be back in about an hour.” She shuffled slowly out the door, taking a few moments to lean over the table where Logan still lay, once again swathed in bandages, sleeping soundly. From his doorway, Hank watched Rogue soothe her fingers softly over Logan’s face, then lightly kiss his lips and whisper a few words before exiting the Med Lab.

Lowering his eyes to his own desktop, Hank opened the file he’d been accumulating the past few hours. Thankfully, Rogue had accepted his diagnosis of Logan’s obvious wounds, without pressing for more details or promises on his chances for recovery, so Hank hadn’t needed to lie to the girl. The symptoms were unmistakable. The situation causing the symptoms was the next hurdle to be conquered.

Hank scrubbed his fingertips over his face briskly. How did one conquer the unconquerable? How to save a life that couldn’t be saved?

Rogue encountered Mike sitting in the kitchen. He greeted her with enthusiasm before noting her lagging energy and desolate expression, “What gives, Rogue? You look like you’ve had a rough night. I heard they took Logan into the doc’s - what’s going on?”

“He got hurt, and I donated a lot of blood. I need to eat. Hank said red meat, so it’s a cheeseburger for me, if I can find the energy to fix it.”

Mike leaped to his feet and chivalrously pulled out a chair for her, “I’m the Burger Meister of my old neighborhood! Allow me, ma’am,” and he rummaged through the refrigerator, sniffing everything, throwing condiments and cheddar and ground beef on the counter top, slapping a skillet on a burner, and making quick work of the favor, even grilling the buns to a golden brown while he made patties for both of them. Rogue nearly chuckled at his sniffing the food. He might have heightened feral senses, just like Logan. Like Logan ‘had,’ she corrected herself. How alike Mike and Logan were: both charming misfits, both feral, and both persistent flirts!

Mike chewed his burger and chattered over daily trivia while Rogue ate, keeping her distracted from brooding. As everyone kept filing up from the shelter they’d taken during the now-waning storm, the twin sisters Ciji and Niji gathered at the table with Rogue and Mike, everyone relieved that the funnel clouds had safely passed out of the county. Peering out the windows, Ciji noted the clutter of broken branches, trash cans and patio chairs strewn over the lawn, illuminated by the glow of the exterior lights. Niji waited until Rogue had finished her food before asking, “We heard Logan was sick - what’s going on?”

“I don’t really know. Hank says he’s stable, but he’s gotta stay in Med Lab for a while. I’m gonna grab some fresh clothes, then go back down there for the night, to stay close to him.”

“Are you two officially a couple, then?” Mike asked bashfully.

“Yeah, we’re official.”

“We like Logan,” both twins said in perfect unison, making Rogue grin as they started their trademark alternating conversation. “He’s cool.” “He’s so laid back.” “He helped me out a lot in self-defense class when I was making a fool of myself.” “You excel at making a fool of yourself.” “But, he is a gorgeous hunk of man.” “He sure is.” “He’s got legs clear up to his arm pits!” “Don’t make tacky, lewd comments in front of his girlfriend.” “I’m sure she’s already noticed his physical assets, so chill out, fishwife.” “Act like you weren’t raised in a cave, bait-breath.” “Make me, carp girl.” Both sisters stuck their tongues out at each other and rippled their blue, spiny gills in irritation. Mike just shook his head as he rose from the table.

“Rogue, can I walk you back to your room, then down to Med Lab? I’ve got nothing else to do right now.”

“We’ll come along, too.” “We want to say hey to Logan.” Both twins leaped up as Rogue dragged herself to her feet.

“He’s probably still asleep, but okay; I guess company won’t hurt, in case I fall asleep in the hallway before I get to my door.” The foursome wandered out of the kitchen and up the stairs, Rogue taking the steps slowly.

After Rogue showered, the twins shoved Mike in the bathroom and shut the door while Rogue changed into her flannel pajama pants and an old t-shirt, threw a hoodie over it, and pulled on dorm socks. She had to smile as the twins set about putting her room in order: straightening her sheets, pairing up discarded shoes under the bed, laying her discarded clothing neatly on a chair, and shouting instructions to Mike not to mess up the bathroom too much, since men couldn’t be trusted in a woman’s bathroom.

Fastening the magnolia necklace on, Rogue pronounced herself finished. Niji immediately retrieved Mike from the bathroom, made one sweeping inspection in his wake, and patted the boy’s spiky gray-haired head for good behavior. “You did good, dude.”

“I’m glad my healthy male ego can handle your feminine condescension,” he sniped as they all filed out the door. Entering the outer room of the Med Lab, the group stopped as they overheard Hank speaking to Storm in his office. Rogue heard Logan’s name spoken, but strained to hear anything else. Turning to Mike, she asked, “Do you have super-sharp hearing, like Logan?”

“Not ‘that’ sharp, from what I’ve heard about him. But I can hear them, if that’s what you’re asking.”

All the girls hushed as Mike listened, then repeated back to them chunks of what he heard, “They’re talking about Logan being poisoned... heavy metal something... Adam and Auntie Em? Hank thinks if he had a sample of metal it might give him something to work with.... but it might not do any good.” Mike listened intently again as Rogue felt herself grow cold inside. Heavy metal poisoning was life-threateningly serious!

Mike continued, “They’re talking about where to find Adam and Auntie Em.”

“Adamantium,” Rogue whispered. “It’s the metal inside of Logan, what his claws are made from. It’s all over his bones. I’m going in there,” Rogue strode forward with the twins and Mike close at her heels, and pushed Hank’s door open. “Tell me what’s going on.”

Rogue gripped her chair arms with both hands as Hank explained the situation: the metal inside Logan was steadily poisoning him, and they couldn’t get it out without killing him in the process.

“Who could get it out?” Rogue’s voice was barely audible, before she cleared her throat and sat up straighter. “Stryker’s dead. Magneto was the one who set Logan up for the attack, so he’s probably not going to help, right?”

“That’s correct,” Hank confirmed, adding, “ and to further complicate the issue, even if he were willing or could be forcibly coerced, Logan and I together administered the cure to Magneto as well. He is powerless.”

“Who else?” Rogue persisted.

“No one else, to our knowledge,” Storm added. “If there’s another mutant or human capable of manipulating adamantium, we have no knowledge of it, and no telepath powerful enough to operate Cerebro to hunt for one.”

“And no access to the military records,” Hank inserted, “ assuming Stryker didn’t destroy them at some point. For all intents and purposes, the secret of working adamantium is lost.”

“Find it again,” snapped Rogue. “We have to do something. We can’t just let him die!” Her voice was starting to break and tears rolled down both cheeks. The twins and Mike exchanged painful glances and listened quietly.

Hank looked straight into her eyes as he spoke, “Rogue, if there were some way to help Logan, I would. If there were samples of adamantium available, I could begin testing a few different things while we treat him for the heavy metal poisoning, but it would be the search for the needle in the haystack. The possibilities for learning to work adamantium could take months, perhaps years, if ever. Even with chelation therapy to combat the poisoning, there simply isn’t enough time without some kind of miracle happening.”

“Make a miracle happen, then! What do we need? Stryker’s research? His assistants? Metal scraps to test? What??!?” Storm noted Rogue’s transition from shock to grief to near-hysteria to cold, calm focus. It was frightening.

Hank continued, “Any of it, all of it, but we can’t get it. Stryker is dead; we don’t know who his assistants were; we have no adamantium except what’s inside Logan. If the metal truly is indestructible once it’s solidified, we couldn’t remove it from his bones, or break his claws for a sample to test.”

“There’s a lab full of it at Alkali Lake. Logan told me about it after we came back. It’s where Stryker put it on his bones, and there was more metal there, boiling in a crucible. He told me he saw it there, used it to kill Deathstryke. It’ll still be there, under the lake. We’ll go there and bring some of it back from the lab.”

“Rogue,” Storm broke in, “it’s underwater, and below ground, remember?”

“Water’s not a problem,” Ciji spoke up as Niji chimed in, “We can find anything you want underwater.” “We breathe water.” “Got a map?” “Let’s do this!” “Get a waterproof flashlight.” “We’ll need an intercom or walkies.” “Come on!” Both sisters were bouncing with enthusiasm, and Mike nodded his approval.

“I’m in, too, in any way I can help. I’m good at finding things. Well, maybe not underwater, but I can read a map with the best of ‘em, and I can handle small electronics, communications gear, whatever you need. I got good senses for stuff underground and all that; it’s a rat thing, I guess.”

“Just stop this, all of you,” Storm spoke decisively. “You’re talking about a mission here, with untrained teenagers. There’s too much risk.”

“Fuck the risk when there’s a life on the line,” snapped Rogue. “There’s no denying Logan’s gonna die if we don’t do this, right?” Her eyes gleamed with an emotion too intense for Hank to deny.

“Right,” he affirmed. “It’s our only immediate hope. We need a sample of adamantium; or even better, any records remaining on the processing of it. Stryker’s laboratory is our best, fastest hope. The more we have to work with, the less time it will take,” Hank took a shallow breath before completing his thoughts, “to determine if we have a chance at saving Logan’s life.”

Storm still resisted, “I understand that everyone in this room has an emotional investment in Logan’s well-being, including me; but this ‘mission’ idea is getting out of hand. None of you are prepared for a recovery mission, let alone something that’s going to take us into underwater search and salvage, possibly demolition, heavy equipment...”

Rogue cut into Storm’s list of reasons not to go, “The only thing that you can do to stop us is to refuse to fly us there; and if you do refuse, we’ll drive there and it’ll just take that much more time, when time is precious. You decide, Storm: help us, or get out of our way?”

Taken aback, Storm looked at the group of teenagers gathered around Rogue: hands linked, palms on her arms, presenting a unified front. The twins had their lips tightened and their spiny gills fanned wide and bristling in determination, and Mike’s black-orb eyes seemed to focus everywhere in the room at once, but his arm around Rogue’s shoulders spoke volumes.

Hank folded his glasses and added, “If it helps your decision-making process, Ororo, I would be the first one aboard the Blackbird if I didn’t need to remain here and monitor Logan’s condition. Chelation therapy isn’t something I’d trust to just anyone, under these extreme circumstances.”

“We’re going, and we’re not waiting around for you to ponder and waste time,“ Rogue demanded of Storm. “Are you in or out?” She stood and reached for the doorknob to make her point.

“I’m in, but we’re not going off half-cocked,” Storm affirmed as she rose to her feet. “Give me one hour to put together what we have on the Alkali Lake compound, what we found there, the schematics, everything. We’ll need everyone on board with this, so there’s less risk for the untrained people.”

Rogue suddenly felt her head swim and her knees start to buckle as Mike caught her before she could crumple to the floor in a faint. Hank deftly scooped the young woman into his arms and put her in a chair. Quickly checking her vitals and gazing into her eyes, he asked her a few questions about how she felt physically, then made his diagnosis.

“You are suffering from the effects of donating so much blood. You will remain here while the team goes to Alkali Lake, since you’re too weak to be of any help.”

“Hank, you know I can’t si...” Rogue began, before he interrupted her.

“If you persist, I’ll have to restrain you for your own good,” Hank noted her jaw dropping open with surprise. “I am deadly serious, Rogue. You and I are staying here with Logan. You’re on ‘moral support’ detail while you recuperate.”

In the briefing room, Storm laid out every bit of information they had on Stryker’s facility, above ground and below, while the remaining X-Men team listened. Included in the strategizing, Mike and the twins gawked around them, amazed at what lay below the school-level of the Xavier mansion. The tabletop before them shifted and changed it’s topographical texture as Storm discussed the mission.

“The laboratory where the adamantium should be is here,” one elegant finger pointed to the table, “and the pathway leading there has been marked. It’s the shortest route for the swimmers.” The twins studied the route carefully, chattering to each other in a mix of Greek and Cherokee, switching when one language didn’t have enough of the proper words.

Storm continued, “Piotr is installing a long cable and powered winch on the jet as we speak. We’ll use it to pull the metal out if it’s too heavy for the swimmers to transport. Mike, you’ll maintain radio contact with everyone from the jet, and help Piotr monitor all the electrical and hydraulic systems. Kitty and Jubilee have assembled all the reports and maps, but Kitty is still on medical leave until her ankle heals, so she will be maintaining radio contact with us from here, in case we need more from the main computers. Jubilee will be standing by with scuba gear in case of any unforeseen problems, and taking up the slack for anyone who needs help. I’ll fly us there, and stay in visual contact with the swimmers, using scuba gear for as long as the air tank allows me, helping them stay oriented since none of us have been in the lab area except Logan. I’ll also have the winch’s cable attached to my belt if we have to be pulled back to the surface. Any questions?”

Several pairs of eyes swept the room, noting each other’s eager expressions, but no one said a word.

“Okay, be in the Blackbird and strapped in your seats in twenty minutes. We’ll be in the air in twenty-three.” They all fled the room to finish preparation.

Rogue headed directly for Logan’s side, where he’d been settled in a different room than before, only now there was more medical equipment beeping and humming, more tubes snaking across the sheets, and he was pale and unconscious. Moments later, Hank entered the room.

“I know I’m likely wasting my breath,” he gave her an affectionate smile, “but I’d warn against staying too close if he seems to be nearing consciousness. Before Logan was brought in here, Storm told me she thought he was hallucinating, and that caused him to injure himself to such an extent.” Hank laid his charts down on the bedside table and pinned Rogue with his gaze, “I know that Logan would never knowingly harm you, but if he regains consciousness and seems agitated or incoherent, I want you to get away from him instantly, for your own safety. Do you understand how important this is?”

“Yeah, I understand. I’ll be careful,” Rogue yawned and shook her head to jar herself awake. As soon as Hank left, she slithered onto the bed and curled against Logan’s side as she listened for the rumble of the jet’s departure. As soon as the sound faded, she was asleep within moments.

*

“Left at the next corridor, chicks of the sea!” Mike chattered brightly into the intercom.

Niji’s voice crackled over the headset, “If you ever call me that again, I’ll pee in your shoes.” Ciji laughed so hard she hiccuped, sending streams of bubbles floating away into the darkness. They’d drifted sinuously through the underwater corridors of the Alkali Lake complex, following Mike’s directions, their black hair floating around them like strands of seaweed. Only in the last few yards had they nearly lost Storm by visual contact. By the thin beam of the headlamps strapped to their foreheads, they spotted the staircase descending into the lab itself. “We’re here. Which direction?”

“Descend to the main floor and go straight to the center. There should be a platform and a box on it, like a big glass-sided coffin, right in the middle of the room, probably twenty feet from the stairs. Storm, you’ve got about eighteen minutes of air left - you okay?”

“I’m fine, Mike. Colossus, how much cable is left?” Storm fought down nerves that frayed at the idea of being underground, underwater, and leading a team of teens into what could quickly become hell on earth. Death seemed all around her: Jean, Stryker, Deathstryke, and nearly Logan on two occasions. The place seemed to resonate with evil, cruelty...

“Approximately thirty yards left. How close are you?”

“It’s going to be close,” Storm replied. “How’s it going down there, mermaids?”

“It’s darker than pitch, but I found the platform, and the box, and... holy shit! What’s that?” Ciji’s voice crackled over the system. Storm felt herself break a cold sweat inside the rubber wetsuit.

“Report immediately - girls, what’s wrong?” She quickly laid the cable down and started swimming toward them.

“Nothing’s wrong - she’s just freaking out... again,” Niji’s exasperated voice calmed Storm’s near-panic. “We’ve found the crucible, but it’s huge and bolted down and hopelessly heavy, and there’s absolutely nothing to hook the cable to; but Ceej found what looks like a metal skeleton with blobs of metal chunked around inside of it, and a thing that looks like a gun sticking out of it. It’s inside the big box. Would it be safe to assume THAT is adamantium?”

Ciji cut in, “You know what happens when you assume, guppy; you make an ass out of you and...”

“Stuff it, finface.” “You’re ass enough for both of us, neckbreather.” “Make me.” “Bite me.”

“GIRLS! Get focused,” Storm would have cradled her head in her hands if not for the scuba gear keeping her alive in the stygian depths.

“Sorry!” “Sorry!”

“Is the metal skeleton inside the box with the glass walls, and with a metal mesh grating on top?”

“Yes, ma’am,” both voices said in unison.

Storm continued, “And are there long, claw-like needle appendages where the fingertips are?”

“Yes, ma’am,” they responded again.

Storm did close her eyes momentarily and whispered to herself, “Oh Goddess, they’ve found Deathstryke.” In her ear, Mike’s voice interrupted her thoughts.

“Storm, what’s your status? You doin’ alright down there? I couldn’t hear everything you said just then.”

“I’m fine, Mike. Girls, can you lift the grating off the box?”

“Yes, ma’am. It’s already done. We’re.... ooof, whoever he is, he’s heavy,” Ciji grunted.

“‘She’ is heavy, see the pelvic bone?” Niji corrected her sister, “It’s a female skeleton.”

“I wish you’d quit watching the History Channel all the time. All that archaeology is rotting your brain.”

“Well, excuse me for wanting to be educated, you soap opera bimbo. OW!”

“WHAT??!?” Storm shouted in fear.

“She pinched me!” “You pinched yourself in the bones.” “DID NOT!” “DID, TOO!”

“STOP IT!” Storm yelled and winced as she heard Mike’s gasp of pain from her own headset.

“Everybody stop yelling right now! Shit, that hurt.”

“Sorry, Mike. Girls, what are you doing, exactly?”

“We’ve got Miss Bones half hung over the edge of the box, but she’s heavy and we’re kinda stuck. Can you drag the cable down into here?”

“I’m coming,” Storm drew a deep breath, steeled her nerves, and descended the stairs, towing the retrieved cable behind her.

*

Rogue stirred awake when a medical technician entered the room.

“Sorry to wake you, but it’s bandage-changing time.”

“S’okay, I’ll back off,” she mumbled and slipped off the bed. She watched Logan’s sleeping face as the tech deftly removed the old bandages, and was startled at the amount of fresh stitches in his hands and arms. Within a few minutes the new bandages were in place, but the tech pulled down the sheets and removed a large white bandage from Logan’s pelvis.

“What happened down... there?” Rogue muttered awkwardly. “Is he cut there?”

“No, it’s a tattoo that’s fresh. Doctor McCoy told me to check it and change this bandage, too.” The tech swabbed the area and applied a fresh coat of ointment, then asked, “You didn’t know about this?”

Leaning closer, Rogue gasped at the black rose tattoo, seeing her name scripted within the blood-red ribbon curling around the stem, and the claw-like thorns seeming to pierce his skin. “Oh mah gawd...” she breathed, unaware of the distinct southern drawl she’d put into the words.

“Looks like you made quite an impression on someone,” the tech commented quietly, smiled, and replaced the bandage. “You need anything?”

“Nah, just a little more sleep, thanks.” The tech left.

Climbing on the bed and sidling against Logan again, she stroked his hair and shoulders, and nuzzled herself against his cheek, whispering, “Why didn’t you tell me about that? I can’t believe you marked yourself with my name,” she sniffled a little from the wash of emotion. “You really do love me, don’t you?” She giggled softly and kissed his jaw, lips, and the base of his throat.

At her intimate contact, a soft breath escaped Logan’s lips and he turned his head slightly toward her, then settled quietly again.

“I love you, too.” Rogue snuggled against his side again and fell asleep with her head resting against his shoulder.

“Wrap the cable around the spine just above the pelvis, thread it through a few ribs to keep it from slipping, and hook it back onto itself. Good. Let’s go. You stay to either side of it to direct it, and I’ll follow you out,” Storm was nearly giddy with relief that they would start for the surface now.

The ominous presence of their location weighed as heavily on her as the pressure of the waters flooding the facility. Apparently the dam repair hadn’t gone well and the underground lab was either undiscovered, or written off as a total loss. The occasional large fish swam by, further unnerving Storm by the sudden movements.

“Is there anything else of use down there, Storm?” Mike’s voice spoke over her headset.

“I’m looking now,” she scolded herself for her impatience. They were supposed to bring out anything that could be of use. “Girls, help me give this area the once-over. We’re looking for anything that’s salvageable: pictures, files, papers that aren’t destroyed, computers or discs, brief cases, file cabinets, anything that might have information on the processing of adamantium. How much air have I got left, guys?”

“Twelve minutes, maybe a little more. It’ll take you ten to get back out. Better start now,” Piotr warned in response.

“Damn. Okay,” Storm groused, then turned to the twins, their blueish skin and pale green eyes glowing in the beam of her headlamp, hair drifting like snakes in the murk. “Ladies, can I go ahead with the skeleton, and you can scan the room quickly?”

“Sure!” they both responded.

“Do not take any chances, work quickly, and come straight back out the way we came in, no diversions. Got it?”

“Got it!” they echoed, and gracefully drifted away into the darkness, at home in their element.

“Okay, good...” she breathed to calm herself. Storm was starting to wonder if she was developing claustrophobia. “I’m starting out now, Piotr. Wind the cable up slowly, while I keep it from tangling.”

Storm pushed against the platform with her hands, and felt an abnormality in the concrete’s surface. Swiveling her headlamp to flood the murky spot with light, she gasped at the three claw marks gouged deeply into the concrete. Suddenly the reality of what had happened on this very spot hit her, and nearly made her ill: this was where Stryker and his team had brutally cut Logan open, coated his seared bones with the molten metal, embedded the claws into his forearms, toasted themselves with champagne at their success, and made Logan’s life a living, nightly horror when the memories surfaced in his dreams. She’d heard him scream himself awake enough times. It had all happened right here.

Storm slid her fingers lightly over the three claw marks. He’d cut his way out of here when he’d healed enough to defend himself. He’d probably killed many, if not most or all of them: gutted, slashed, punctured, maybe dismembered some, or decapitated them. Logan’s bloody, berserking rages were infamous, and this would likely have been the worst. Fighting for a cause was one thing: fighting for your own life and sanity was quite another.

Suddenly the weight and the coldness of the water seemed to leech through her wetsuit, and the presence of death seemed to steal away her polished calm. Logan had fought to the death here twice, and survived it. Stryker’s soldiers had died. Deathstryke had died, and her metal bones laid at Storm’s feet. She’d been as much a victim of Stryker’s as Logan. Stryker had controlled her with the serum, just as he’d controlled Magneto and Scott, and Stryker’s own mutant son.

Suddenly the metal-laden skeleton before her started to crawl over her left foot, and Storm’s nerves shattered. She screamed, then checked herself as she realized the cable was towing the bones away.

Mike’s frantic voice came over the headset, “What’s wrong? Storm? Girls? What’s going on?”

“Nothing - sorry, Mike, my fault. I thought I saw something, but it was only a trick of the light.” Storm fought down a wave of nausea. She had to get out of here. “Girls, anything yet?”

“Nope.” “Sorry, no.” “Wait...” Ciji spoke last, and Storm turned her headlamp to where they were looking against a wall. “There are pictures hung here, a few, anyway. They look like x-rays.” “Yeah, see the claws? That’s Logan’s hand, I’ll bet anything.” “There’s the lady’s hand with the big needles.” “That’s a skull.” “Ick.” “Wuss.” “Grab ‘em all.” “There’s nothing else here, Storm.” “Not a damned thing.”

“Okay, we’re all getting out of here, now!”

*

Rogue snuggled her head closer to Logan’s on the pillow, and drifted into a deeper sleep as she sat down on the back porch steps of her childhood home in Meridian. Cherry blossoms drifted over the backyard, making a carpet of pale pink petals strewn over the thick green grass. The wooden steps of the old house creaked as someone sat down on the step behind her, and long legs in faded jeans straddled her waist. Warm, strong arms surrounded her shoulders and pulled her back against his hard chest.

“Let’s go sit under that tree,” Logan’s voice whispered into her ear, and she rose to walk hand in hand beside him as the blossoms drifted slowly down. Beneath the tree, he pulled her down onto his lap, facing him, knelt astride his hips. He leaned back against the tree trunk and tightened his embrace, as she looked directly into his eyes. They were green. She was face to face with the feral Wolverine, but he was calm and speaking softly to her.

“Don’t give up. Promise me.”

“I won’t, I promise,” she whispered, knowing he was the only one who would hear her anyway. “This is a dream, isn’t it? A lucid dream? ‘Cause you’ve never been in my backyard, and I think I’m dreaming.”

“It’s more than a dream, woman. It’s the only way I can talk to you right now. You’re so close and so warm, but the body just ain’t workin’, and I have to get through to you any way I can.”

“Do you really love me?”

“I’m the one that made him realize how much love there is between us. He’s not the sharpest pencil in the box, darlin’, and sometimes I gotta give him a kick in the ass to get things movin’.”

“Is Logan really gonna die?” Rogue knew instantly that it was a dream, because she would never have the courage to ask that question in waking reality. She picked up a cherry blossom petal and let it drift from her hand in the warm breeze.

“Not if you’ll protect him, us... don’t let the geeks give up, because they’ll want to give up. He made a few mistakes since the cure, and right now he can’t undo ‘em, so you gotta stand strong for a while longer. You understand, Marie? You gotta protect me, keep us all alive, you included. You gotta be mean and cunning. You learned that from me. Use it.”

“I will. I’ll do whatever it takes.”

“You promise?”

“I promise.” Rogue felt what seemed like a tremor in the earth at that point; a vibration, a buzzing, that seemed inside herself at the same time. It felt like she used to feel when her mutation would fire up, the sizzle. She laid her bare palm to the Wolverine’s jaw, then slithered her fingers down his throat, and inside his shirt to caress his bare shoulder, “You feel that? Anything?”

“Yeah, but it don’t hurt. We’re okay together now, so don’t sweat it. You can’t hurt me unless you want to. Touch me all you want. Want me to tell you where?” The eyebrow cocked up and the white teeth shone in a lecherous grin.

“I don’t think this is the proper time, nor the proper place,” she admonished him playfully, working her Mississippi accent for all it was worth. “We have to go back now. My arm itches, and it’s making me wake up.”

“Keep your promise, Marie. Protect me. Use every trick in the book, and make up some.”

“I will, whatever it takes.”

Wolverine pulled her against him and fisted his hands through her hair, pulling her head back and nipping her lightly on the throat. A bee buzzed around her head and she swatted it away, brushing a branch of the tree as the motion sent another shower of cherry blossom petals sifting down.

Rogue nuzzled into the pillow, her hand tangled in the sheet that covered Logan. She roused and realized where she was, then wept softly into the pillow as the monitors beeped around them. Pulling her hand free of the sheet, she smoothed it over his chest, checked the tubes that ran to the IV needle in his other arm, and scanned his face again with tear-blurred eyes. There didn’t seem to be any change in his condition. The words in her dream seemed to echo in her head.

Piotr hauled the grisly metal-clad skeleton onto the deck of the ‘Bird, and reached for Storm’s hand when she’d unhooked the cable. The big Russian hauled her easily aboard as well, her wetsuit still dripping. “Everything okay down there?” he asked.

“Yes, though we didn’t find nearly as much as I would have hoped for...” Storm accepted the dripping handful of x-rays from the twins and helped them aboard the jet. Mike was winching in the last few feet of cable and the bones, untangling debris and grasses as the cable went into the reel. Unseen by the others, he pulled loose a chain and some metal bits from the rib cage, pocketed them quickly, and finished securing the cable to the winch. Within moments, the jet streaked into the sky.

*

The insistent beeping sounds from the monitors jarred Rogue awake. She gasped at the erratic heart rate and yelled for Hank, who ran into the room. Going straight to the monitors, he said, “He’s experiencing arrhythmia. I can treat that,” and he was gone again toward the drugs cabinet, returning to inject another drug and hang another bag on the IV rod.

“Do you have the right equipment here for life support, while you research the adamantium?”

Hank averted his eyes momentarily to scan the monitors, then spoke softly, “Everything we need is here. But Rogue, you and I need to discuss something; in my office, please.”

“But I want to stay close.”

“I know, but it won’t take long, then you can come back here if you want. In my office, now, please,” Hank’s voice was taking on the stern, professional tone, what she thought of as his doctor-voice. She followed him without question.

Settling Rogue in his own office chair, Hank stood beside her and opened a folder on his desk top, turning it to show her the papers inside. Staring at the open file, her eyes swept over some legal papers, “I don’t understand. What is all this?”

“This is called a DNR, a legal order signed and filed by a patient, instructing the attending doctor not to use any ‘heroic’ measures to prolong life in the case of a terminal illness or injury. DNR stands for ‘do not resuscitate.’ That’s Logan’s signature at the bottom.”

Rogue was speechless for a moment, then, “This is wrong. It’s just... it’s wrong...”

“I’m sorry, Rogue, but it’s very specific, and it’s recent, and it is legally binding. Logan requested in writing never to be put on life support. All I’m legally permitted to do is make him comfortable and treat any non-life-threatening incidents, like the arrhythmia just now.”

Rogue once again looked at the paper, the signature, and the dates. “I don’t care. This is wrong.”

“Logan signed this while you were in Canada on a mission. I’m not surprised that he didn’t tell you, because things like this are very personal, and very painful. It’s not a decision most people make lightly.”

Rogue drew a deep, shaky breath before protesting, “He told me that he didn’t want to die now, that he’d gotten past that dark point in his life. He told me this directly, so that invalidates this piece of paper, doesn’t it? He signed this while he was still recovering emotionally from getting the cure by a Brotherhood attack.” She gingerly closed the file folder and laid both hands palm down on the desktop, before continuing, “He was in an intensely emotional state and maybe a depression when he signed this, and that makes it... makes it...” she searched for the words.

Hank spoke gently, “If you’re implying that Logan was legally incompetent when he signed these papers, that would be incorrect.” He knelt beside Rogue, knowing she was at the breaking point, and put one arm around the girl’s shoulders. “You and I both know that Logan may be many things, but incompetent is not one of them. This was his choice, and I have to abide by it, as much as I dislike it. And you, my dear, must work on accepting his choice. It is, after all, his life and his decision.”

Rogue stayed silent and rigid beneath his comforting arm. Noting a shiver running through her, Hank grasped at some form of support for the girl.

“Rogue, you’ve been here all night, and I know you don’t want to go to your own room to sleep. Why don’t you take a walk, perhaps visit the chapel for some introspective quiet, and then come back here when you feel like it? I’ll be alternating between monitoring Logan, searching for some answers, and perhaps grabbing a much-needed nap while we await the team’s return.”

Still silent, Rogue stood and walked out of the office like a robot, going down the hallway toward the elevator. Hank hoped she was taking his advice and heading for the chapel to absorb everything he’d just told her. Checking the monitors once more, Hank returned to his desk and napped briefly.

Rogue stopped in the hallway outside the chapel and fought off a wave of nausea as she shook all over. The muscles in her legs felt like ice water and her hands shook uncontrollably. Bracing her whole body against the wall, she tried to cry, but rage burnt away the tears before they could fall. Gasping for breath, she stumbled again toward the chapel door and entered, leaving the door ajar behind her.

The peace of the mansion’s all-faith chapel seemed more like a mausoleum to her; cold, empty, pointless to her overwrought emotions. A few candles burned on one side of the room, carefully placed in glass and on a rack. Artwork of different faiths tastefully decorated the walls, and the center of the room was lined with wooden benches, much finer than the basic wooden pews she’d seen when her grandmother had taken her to the little neighborhood Southern Baptist church as a child. There was no one else in sight; she was alone with God, or a reasonable facsimile.

Choking back the ragged breaths, she paced the perimeter of the room, her eyes scanning images of Buddha, Odin, the stag-horned Cernunnos, Jehovah, Green Tara, the savage Kali, the svelte Nile River Goddess alongside the rotund Venus of Willendorf; Storm had drawn those for one of the art classes. Rogue dragged her fingertips along the wall to keep them from shaking or tearing at her own hair. Finally the gasping sobs broke forth and she collapsed to her knees below a crucifix of elegantly carved mahogany, her mind’s control breaking as her body succumbed to her grief. In time, she mopped the tears from her eyes and tried feebly to climb to her feet, grasping a nearby table and upsetting a little ceramic statuette of Jesus Christ, which rolled and tumbled and fell at her feet.

Retrieving the statue she cradled it in both hands briefly while searching for it’s proper place on the table. Turning the smooth, cool statuette in her hands, she peered down into the peace-radiating visage of Christ, his feet surrounded by stony little ceramic doves, his hands folded placidly within the sleeves of his humble robe.

Snuffling deeply, she raised her eyes to the wall and saw a painting of Christ raising Lazarus from the dead.

Something inside Rogue broke free. The statuette smashed into a thousand pieces as she hurled it against the altar, her voice shrieking in the stillness of the chapel, “Fraud! It’s all a fraud, a fable, a kid’s bedtime story. YOU are a fraud!” She raged on, into the stillness, “You and your preachers and priests and followers and stories and the whole ‘brotherly love” and “caring father” shit, it’s all just a big joke!”

Her hands went to the edge of the table and it upturned easily, scattering the items across the carpeting. “You don’t give a SHIT about anything! People, humans, mutants, we’re all just one big joke, right? Or else you don’t even exist, and we’re all here on our own. Wouldn’t that just be the biggest joke of all?!!?”

A reading chair lifted easily in her hands and crashed into the center of the room. “What else can you take away from me? My family, my life, and the only man I ever wanted? I get one night? One glorious night, and then he’s dying? The man who couldn’t die is refusing life support just when both our lives are becoming something that we both need, both want? Tell me how that is just, and right, and loving, and a part of your Big Plan? Huh?”

She sobbed again and shoved her disheveled hair away from her eyes, “The minister told us you were a loving father, a compassionate, forgiving....” her voice quavered for a breath, then the grief boiled out again in rage. “Fuck this whole lie! Fuck this excuse...” and she grabbed the upturned altar table with unrealized strength, raised it above her head and forcefully slammed it against the candle rack, sending molten wax and shards of glass scattering about the room. One unbroken candle cup spilled forth it’s molten wax and the carpet beneath it ignited. The flames spread as Rogue stood sobbing incoherently, barely aware of her surroundings.

Soon the flicker of flames lit her face in the darkened room, and she realized the fire was spreading. Screams poured forth from her tortured throat and she cast about the room for a fire extinguisher or a blanket, water, anything! Suddenly the overhead sprinklers came on and began raining down in the area. At the same time, Kurt ran into the room, clad only in drawstring pants. Comprehending the scene before him, he bampfed away and was back within seconds with a sopping wet blanket draped across his thick-fingered hands. In moments he slapped the blanket down on the flames and stomped on it, putting the fire completely out.

Surveying the wrecked chapel and the white-faced, shaking woman, he asked, “Rogue, what happened?” He turned the sprinklers off at a wall device.

Panting from the spent rage, tears streaming freely down her face, she whispered, “Logan is dying.”

Kurt’s face showed his astonishment, and his emotion. “Oh, Rogue, liebling... I am so sorry,” and he strode slowly toward her, bare arms outstretched to embrace her.

Leaning into his embrace, Rogue let the teleporter hold her while she tried to put her mind in order, but the tingling started before she could even comprehend what was happening. Kurt had gone stiff in her arms, and as she pulled back to look at his face, she saw in horror that the veins beneath his scarred blue skin were thrumming and straining. The angelic symbols seemed to throb with her life-stealing energy as she began draining his power into her. The unexpected rush shocked her momentarily. Her mutation was active again!

Jerking away from Kurt, she saw him drop to the floor, stunned and nearly unconscious. “Rogue...” he gasped out and trembled as she staggered back from him.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry, I didn’t know... I’m so sorry,” she gasped over and over, then ran for the hall. Kitty was close by and limping toward her with Jubilee running hard to catch up from the end of the hallway. Rogue slammed herself back against the wall to avoid colliding with her team mates. “Help Kurt, please,” she implored, and edged away as the young women entered the chapel. Kurt was already sitting up and shaking his head, trying to get oriented.

Easing up the hallway, Rogue fought off a sudden urge to scream herself into hysterical numbness. A memory tickled her brain, and she walked slowly, stiffly, back the hallway toward the Med Lab. The dream.... what had the Wolverine said in her dream? Be mean. Be cunning. Use every trick in the book, and make up some.

Rogue felt herself go hard inside, as cold as steel, a horrible plan jelling in her head. She raced toward Hank’s office.

Tiptoeing the last few yards, she saw Hank slumped in his office chair, chin on his chest, sleeping soundly, snoring a little. Glancing around the Med Lab to assure there was no one else present, she stepped lightly behind Hank’s chair and whispered, “Life support. What is required? What tools? How is it done? Tell me about life support, Doctor McCoy.”

Her hands eased toward his face.

*

NOTE: the chapter title “Burn Down the Mission” is a song title by Elton John and Bernie Taupin, circa 1970, and one of my favorites. It seemed appropriate to the chapter.

Hank made a sound, half woke, and mumbled something about intubation and saline, and Rogue kept up the soft, sibilant, steady stream of questions, bringing the technical knowledge to the front of Hank’s defenseless, sleepy mind, then gently reached around him and rested her fingertips against the bare skin of his cheeks. Her voice rose as she demanded information on life support, and Hank suddenly went stiff in the chair, his trembling hands showing the protruding veins throbbing beneath the blue fur.

While he was still conscious enough to gasp for breath, Rogue whispered, “I’m so sorry, Hank, but you gave me no choice,” and pulled her fingers away from his skin as he slumped over his desk. Grabbing a tissue and checking his pulse, assuring herself that he still lived, Rogue let the medical knowledge she’d leeched from him flow through her mind.

Racing through the Med Lab, she pulled out a utility cart and loaded it with everything she would need: packs of sterile-sealed equipment, monitor pads, saline bags, intubation equipment, drugs, everything she could think of, and shoved the cart quickly into Logan’s room. Checking briefly over him and the monitors attached to him, she determined that he was stable for now, and turned to put the equipment to order, when she felt a hand grab her wrist.

Turning in shock, she looked down at Logan’s fingers grasping her bare wrist, and she tried desperately to pull away, but his grip on her was firm. Pulling at his long fingers, she pleaded, “Logan, let go of me! It’s back... the mutation, it’s come back. I’ll hurt you! Let go! Let go, please!” His grip remained tight on her, and she watched in horror as...

Nothing happened.

“Marie...” his voice was thin and weak, but he didn’t seem to be under the effects of her mutation. “Keep your promise,” he whispered, eyes glazed and fluttering shut again, but his grip held tight. Her hand was starting to tingle from the pressure, but still he seemed immune to her touch.

Risking an experimental touch, she stepped closer to the bed and touched his forehead with her other hand. She felt nothing draining from him. His skin was damp and still too warm, but no veins throbbed beneath the surface.

“Why can I touch you now?” she asked, knowing he wasn’t coherent enough to answer her. His grip suddenly relaxed and the monitors started beeping frantically as she raced to set up the equipment at his bedside, sliding the breathing tube into place with a whispered, frantic apology at the hated intrusion to his body, hanging the saline bag beside the nearly empty one, and putting the respirator to action. Not understanding half of what her hands seemed to know how to do, she just allowed Hank’s absorbed knowledge to guide her along as she quickly put Logan on life support.

Checking the monitors for the last time, Rogue grabbed a notebook from Hank’s office, checked his pulse and respiration again, and stole a pen from a desk drawer. Doubling back at the doorframe, she also stole his stash of Twinkies, some bottled fruit juice, and anything else there was to eat in the office, and returned to Logan’s room, barricading the door as best she could with the utility cart and a chair. Sitting on the floor, Rogue started scribbling down everything she could in the book, in case the life support knowledge left her before the unavoidable siege would be over.

Within moments, she heard Jubilee’s voice as she helped Kurt into the Med Lab. With Jubes shaking a groggy Hank half alert, Rogue kept her head down and wrote as fast as she could, stopping only long enough to brace herself against the door as well, locking her legs straight with feet planted against the bed’s leg, in case Hank was conscious enough to ask someone to break down her barricade. Flipping a page, she kept writing.

Time passed and she heard a babble of different voices from beyond her barricade. Hank’s voice was a sophisticated and unmistakable baritone above the babble, and she momentarily gave thanks that she hadn’t accidentally killed either Kurt or Hank.

Storm’s voice reached her, “Rogue, you cannot do this, child. Open the door.”

“Nope!”

“Rogue, you’re going against the law, and against Logan’s wishes,” Hank’s voice called to her.

“No, I’m sorry for what I did to you, Hank, and to Kurt, too; but I was just following orders.”

“Who’s orders? Certainly not Logan’s,” Hank added, frustration growling in his tone.

“No, maybe not Logan’s, or maybe so - I dunno. But I’m doing what Wolverine wants, and that’s enough for me, so y’all just back off and leave us alone, and do what you need to do with the adamantium. I heard the ‘Bird land a long while ago, so just get to work. We’ll be fine in here.”

Suddenly it dawned on her that if her mutation returned, Logan’s would eventually, too! The cure was not permanent! The shock of the realization overrode her own grief at losing the gift of touch, and she wanted to jump for joy, but kept her defensive position. All she had to do was keep the others away, and keep Logan alive long enough for his cure to wear off as well! She would need help, but that would all come in time. She finished writing her notations and closed the notebook, sliding it beneath the bed from where she sat, back braced against the door.

Muttering from beyond the door reached her ears, but she ignored it. Soon Bobby’s voice rose above the background sounds, “Rogue, they’re right. You’ve got to come out now, before this turns into a hostage situation, or some kind of stand-off. No one’s going to hurt you, or make you pay for what you’ve done tonight, but you’ve got to be reasonable, honey. Come on, open the door now, please.”

“Bobby?” Rogue’s plaintive voice reached his ears. He’d never called her ‘honey’ before, so maybe that had gotten through to her.

“Yeah, Rogue?”

“Fuck off.”

Bobby threw up his hands and walked away. Jubilee stepped up to the window and pressed her nose against the glass as she peered down at Rogue on the floor, shouting, “Power to the people, Roguey. Hang tough!”

“Jubilation Lee!” Hank shouted at the Asian girl who just grinned and walked away.

Storm returned to the door and spoke through the glass, “Rogue, we understand that you’re terribly upset. But locking yourself in there with Logan isn’t going to solve anything.”

“It solves a hell of a lot, if you think about it,” she yelled back, “but if y’all will just leave us alone, maybe send in a little food or saline or whatever I ask for, and only when I ask for it, then everything’ll be just fine, trust me.

She heard a distinct and heavy clanking sound from the other room, and wondered if they were about to ram the door open. Jumping to her feet, she gazed out the window, past Storm’s face as she peered through the glass, and saw Piotr and Mike hoisting a gleaming metal-clad skeleton onto a Med Lab table. Her eyes wide in amazement, Rogue asked, “Who’s that?!”

“It’s Deathstryke. We found her remains at the bottom of the Alkali Lake complex. It’s the only adamantium we could recover, but it’s plenty. We’ll begin testing immediately. Please come out now.”

Rogue made an ironic snort and waved Storm off, saying, “I’m not stupid, Storm. If I set one foot out of this room, Hank’ll take Logan off life support and he’ll die while y’all play with the bones. I’m stayin’ put.”

Hank’s temper erupted as he stepped forward to the window. He snapped the words at her as his finger jabbed against the glass, “Rogue, you are holding my patient hostage in my facility, and it will not stand. This stops NOW! Release that door and come out. If not, I’ll have you bodily removed.”

“You send one person in here that I don’t ask for, and I’ll be dropping them at the threshold. And you and Kurt both know I can do that again. See, Hank?” She twisted both bared hands before his line of sight, “The cure wears off! All we gotta do is wait it out, and Logan will heal up on his own. So that’s why I’m stayin’ right here. You can argue ‘til you’re blue in the face, no pun intended; but I’m here, and I’m stayin’. Y’all just go on about your business. If you want something to do, go figure out why Logan just touched me and nothing happened, no drain. But I just dropped you and Kurt as easy as pie. Tell me why.”

Hank seemed stunned for a few moments, then turned away from the door without speaking. She saw him converse with Storm for a moment, then Storm left in a hurry. Hank ignored Rogue and turned to the skeletal remains on the table. Everyone seemed willing to back off for now, but with a sigh of relief she noted Mike walking toward the door where she waited.

“Hey, gorgeous,” he flirted. “You serious about holing up in there?”

“Yeah. You wanna help me out?”

“Sure! Whatcha need from me?”

“Food. I’m starving and all I’ve got in here is juice and Twinkies. Can you bring me some real food from the kitchen?”

She noted Mike’s head swivel and his black-orb eyes must have scanned the room to see if anyone was within hearing distance before he stepped even closer to the door. Whispering through the crack in the door jamb, he said, “I’ll help you any way I can. The twins and I can all take turns being your gophers, so just gimme a list any time you want stuff. We’ll switch off, or hell, I’ll come in there and we can hole up together for company. Probably will be the only time I can get cozy with you before Logan wakes up and kicks my sorry ass.”

Rogue giggled at the suggestion, then asked, “You can’t get cozy with me for any reason, Mike - my mutation came back. One good touch from me could finish you. For now, I just need food. There’s a bathroom here, so that’s not a problem. Feed me, and I’m your friend for life.”

“Done. I’ll be back ASAP. Just promise not to drop me at the threshold like you threatened them.”

Mike turned and was quickly gone. Peering through the glass again, she saw Hank lean momentarily against the table and shake his head to clear it. Rogue knew she’d done a job on him. He was lucky to be on his feet. The Beast was strong, and she hoped in time their friendship would heal, but right now she had other priorities.

Stepping to Logan’s bedside, she checked all the monitors, the respirator, and switched to the new saline bag. Knowing everything was in order, she gazed down at him as the respirator forced air into his lungs, making his thick chest rise and fall in jerky, unnatural movements. Leaning down to him, she whispered, “I hope you really were talking to me, and it wasn’t just a dream. It’s a risk that I’m willing to take to save your life,” she leaned closer and pressed a kiss to his damp forehead, lingering long enough to be assured there was no pull from her mutation. He was truly immune now!

She almost laughed with joy, and began changing the bandages, but realized she hadn’t stocked in fresh gauze pads. A tap at the door brought her head up, and Mike and the twins gazed in the glass. Mike waggled a brown paper bag at her.

Before the group gathered around the skeleton realized what was happening, Rogue had instinctively teleported out, grabbed each twin and Mike one by one, and teleported them back into Logan’s room with her. As the smell of sulphur drifted across the room, Hank suddenly came running to the door again, and Piotr was right behind him. All four were barricaded inside Logan’s room now, and Hank frowned through the glass.

“Rogue, you can’t seriously intend to hold a siege in that room! Come out immediately.”

“No.”

“I’m coming in. Stand away, for your own safety,” Hank raised both fists, intending to smash the door down and shove the furniture away. He had the strength to do it, and with Piotr behind him, Rogue knew the flimsy barricade wouldn’t hold for even a few seconds against the two mutant powerhouses.

“Stay behind me,” she told the twins and Mike, who obliged, huddling against the back wall. Rogue yanked off her shirt, baring as much skin as quickly as possible, braced herself in a crouched fighting stance, both arms out at her sides, ready for whoever came through the door first. Shouting at Hank, she told him, “You bring it on, Hank. I swear, I’ll take down the first person through that door! You know I can do it.”

“You cannot absorb Piotr through his metal skin, young lady!”

“The hell I can’t! Just ask him about the Danger Room practices. Go ahead and gimme a little of that full metal jacket, sugar, I dare ya! I’ll put it to real good use.”

Hank turned to Piotr, who nodded his affirmation, “It’s true. She absorbed a little of me and it turned her bulletproof.” The big Russian stood silent for a moment, and then added, “I’m not going in there. I won’t try to stand against her. She’s one of us.”

Hank looked thoughtful for a moment, before commenting, “A Rogue by any other name, indeed.”

Hank turned away, and with a sigh of relief Rogue pulled her shirt back on. Mike goggled slightly, then opened the paper bag and handed out Chinese take-out cartons. Distributing the chopsticks, he started scarfing down Mongolian Chicken. The twins turned their noses up at the Shrimp in Lobster Sauce, and Mike grimaced, then traded boxes with them. Rogue found fried dumplings and a tub of Egg Fu Yung in the bag.

“Wait,” Rogue murmured, then added, “You were only gone a few minutes, and there are no Chinese places near here. How’d you get this so fast?”

“Found it in the kitchen,” Mike mumbled around a shrimp.

“Found it?” Niji asked, but bit into her next chunk of chicken anyway.

“Yep. Found it. It was sitting on the counter, no one had a hand on it, or was paying any attention, no names written on it, so as far as I’m concerned, and under these circumstances, it’s martial law. Finders, keepers. We’re in a siege here, and I needed the chopsticks to chew on; rodent teeth and all. I gotta keep ‘em worn down or I’ll look like that toothy creep in the horror movies.”

“‘Predator?’” Ciji asked, and Niji shook her head, “I think it’s ‘Alien’ with all the needle-teeth.” “That’s Hell-Raiser.” “No, it’s Pinhead.” “It is not!” “Perhaps not, since I don’t waste my time watching horror movies.” “That’s not horror, that’s science fiction!” “Do not provoke me, barnacle butt!” “Watch it, you...!”

“Uh, can we just eat now, and argue later?” Rogue requested, and the food started disappearing quickly. As soon as the last bite was down, Mike snatched their chopsticks and started gnawing them to splinters, while the twins looked on in discreet fascination.

*

Storm raced upstairs and followed the upper hallway to Mystique’s door. The sun was beginning to rise, but there was silence within. Hurriedly knocking on the door, she heard bedsprings creak, then the dark-haired woman opened the door, yawning, and asked, “What’s up, Storm?” Mystique smiled like a sleepy, lazy cat.

“I need to ask you some vitally important questions, and I need the truth. It’s life or death.”

“Come in, then. Life or death isn’t done in a hallway.”

Entering the bedroom, Storm turned to their new substitute teacher cum spy, and asked, “You were the first of the Brotherhood to be given the cure, yes?”

“Yes.”

“Has your cure worn off? Do you have your mutation back?”

“Why do you ask that?” Mystique grew wary, but kept her calm facade in place.

“We have a situation below, and possibly with Magneto as well. One of our team who was given the cure has just experienced it wearing off. We need to know the time frame; how long it lasts. It might save a life if we can figure out the duration of the cure.” Storm drew a deep breath, and added, “If we can pinpoint the length of time that the cure lasts, we can estimate when Magneto’s cure wears off. That will give us an advantage over him if he reappears soon.”

“Well, in that case,” Mystique purred, then seemingly shook herself all over as little scales rippled over her skin, replacing the ivory tones with rich blue. Her dark locks snapped into red ones, and the soft robe she had worn seemed to absorb directly into her skin, as she stood naked and proud, and very blue, before Storm. “It came back a few days ago. I was the first, and the cure is completely worn off. For me, it was about... thirty-seven days.”

“Thank you!” Storm breathed the words at her, and turned for the door. Mystique’s voice stopped her momentarily.

“Does that change anything between us? Am I still welcome here?”

“You are welcome here. We’ll talk more later,” Storm ran for the Med Lab.

Mystique strode to the window and basked herself in the colors of the rising sun. “Perhaps this place isn’t as bad as I thought,”she yawned, pulled the blinds, and slithered back into bed.

*

The smell of smoking hot metal and the whine of a power tool jarred Rogue awake from where she’d lain sleeping lightly beside Logan. Drowsily she checked over the monitors, then cast a glance at the three students fast asleep on the floor across the room. Smiling at their dedication to her ‘cause’, she silently gave thanks for the friendship.

In the main room of Med Lab, Piotr, Kurt, and a bleary-eyed Hank all hunkered around the gleaming skeleton on the gurney. Crawling from the hospital bed, Rogue shook herself awake, shoved back her hair, and walked silently to the door to more closely observe the men talking quietly among themselves. Tuning in her focus, she heard Kurt’s gutteral voice, “They’re still human remains. When all is done, she deserves burial.”

Hank nodded agreement and returned the grinder to a table to allow it to cool. Not a scratch showed on the adamantium-plated rib cage he’d been powering the grinder on.

Rogue closed her eyes, focused herself and imagined standing beside the table with them. The strange feeling of disorientation and movement while standing still flowed through her, and as she opened her eyes, she saw her own feet manifest out of curling ribbons of black smoke. She was standing directly behind Hank. Kurt eyes met hers and he gave her a sheepish grin.

“Did I just teleport again? Or, am I asleep and dreamed that I did?”

“Ja. You teleported.”

“Wow... Kurt, I’m sorry for the way this happened. I didn’t know.”

“I understand, liebling; but perhaps there is someone else who needs to hear those words.”

Hank turned and stared down into Rogue’s eyes while she organized her thoughts.

“Hank, I’m sorry I had to hurt you, but you were making me choose between your decisions and what I know Logan wants. I can’t make you understand ‘how’ I know, but I know. I love ya dearly, but if you make me choose between you and Logan, well, you know what the outcome will be.”

He stood in silence, so she continued, “My head is telling me that you need to run more tests on Logan. Is that right?”

“Yes. He’s overdue for a panel to see just how fast the heavy metals are saturating his tissue, and to check kidney function. Kidney failure is a classic trait of heavy metal poisoning. Are you going to perform that procedure yourself, or allow me to draw the blood?”

“Can I trust you not to pull the plug on him?”

Hank sighed deeply and ran his hands over his face before regarding her again, “Since we are now certain that the cure vaccine is temporary, and with enough time Logan’s body ‘should’ right itself, I can legally and ethically treat him as a non-terminal patient. While you were sleeping, Storm brought news that Mystique’s cure has also worn off. We have a time frame. It is neither a promising nor an exact time frame, but Logan is possessed of a potent and unique healing factor, thus I cannot predict when his cure will wear off and his mutation will reactivate, repairing his body. It’s a crap shoot, but a reasonable one.”

“So, long story short: no plug-pulling, and the siege is over?”

“No plug-pulling, no siege, but you must hand over my box of Twinkies as a gesture of good faith. I’m rather hungry,” he gave her a smile and a wink.

“Deal,” Rogue held her hand out to him to shake on it, then remembered she was bare-handed and jerked her hand back, “Sorry. I’d gotten out of the habit.” The emotion in her eyes told Hank everything he needed to know.

“And I am sorry for what you’ve lost.”

“Will we get past this some day? I want us to be friends again.”

“Indeed.”

“Can you tell me why I can touch Logan, even as weak as he is, and nothing happens, but I can put you and Kurt on the floor?”

“I’ve been pondering that through the night. You’ve donated blood twice in recent weeks, once just yesterday, or the day before.... I may have lost track of the days. And I assume you were in direct contact with Logan, skin to skin, when your mutation returned. My guess, and it’s an educated one, is that you and Logan have swapped enough DNA that your mutation no longer perceives him as a separate entity, an intruder.” He rubbed his glasses on his coat tail, “I assume there has been other DNA-swapping, as well.”

“Uhhh.... yeah?” She grinned and blushed furiously.

“I suspected as much, thus the rose tattoo.”

The sudden beeping of monitors brought them all sharply alert. Rogue gasped and ran to the door, remembered the blockade, and teleported into Logan’s room, throwing aside the barriers as Hank and Piotr pushed the door wide. Mike and the twins started awake, scrambling for the corners of the room, their eyes searching out Rogue. She nodded her approval toward them and focused on the activity around Logan’s bed.

Stress-filled minutes passed as Hank hovered over Logan’s bed, adjusting medications, listening to his heart, frowning, even tugging back Logan’s lips to see thin black lines edging his gums: more symptoms of advancing heavy metal poisoning. Rogue wondered how she knew that, then remembered the mutations she’d borrowed from Hank were still with her, too. Checking through her head, she realized she knew how to initiate and maintain life support, but didn’t know how to do a simple blood draw. She hadn’t gone after that information when she tapped into Hank’s superior intellect and medical training.

Mike was on his feet, the twins flanking him, and they all approached Rogue. Mike asked, “Is Logan safe now? Or do you need us to stay here?”

“‘Cause we’ll stay,” Ciji chimed in. “We’re in for the long haul,” Niji added, sliding an arm around Rogue’s shoulder where she was protected by her shirt. Rogue self-consciously pulled her sleeves down over her hands as a safety precaution.

“I can bring in more food any time, ‘cause I like the chopsticks,” Mike finished the chorus.

“No, there’s no need. Everything’s okay now, so you can all get some real sleep. Thank you so much for everything you’ve done. I owe you all, big time.”

As the twins slipped out, Mike came closer and held out one hand to drop something into Rogue’s. She cautiously cupped her palm, reminding him that her mutation had returned and she was once again untouchable.

“I think you’re supposed to have this. I pulled it out of the lake while they were fishin’ out Miss Bones over there,” he nodded his gray head toward Deathstryke’s skeleton.

Rogue felt the cool weight of metal in her palm, and Mike scurried out the door. There in her open palm lay Logan’s dog tags, the word ‘Wolverine’ and a few digits of the serial number visible through the crust of mud and debris. She swallowed hard, then raced to the bathroom before the others could see.

Scrubbing the tags clean in the sink, she allowed her tears to flow down the drain with the cold, muddy water. It seemed like William Stryker still held both their lives in his grasp, even from beyond a watery grave. Rogue understood that Logan had thrown the tags away to break free from his past and Stryker’s hold over him. And yet, Rogue treasured the tags as her visible link to Logan when he’d been away, on the road. The tags meant something completely different to her.

Drying the tags and her face quickly on toweling, she pulled the tags over her head and buried them beneath her shirt, where they lay alongside the magnolia blossom. She laid her hand over the metal talismans, one feminine flower charm still warm from her body, one masculine metal tag still cold from the water, and prepared herself to hear Hank’s report.

Hank settled Rogue in his office again, while med students monitored Logan’s condition. “The chelation therapy stops further poisoning in most cases, but it does not reverse any neural damage done beforehand.”

“Does that mean he could suffer brain damage?”

“If not for his mutation, then yes, absolutely; he likely already has, as evidenced by the hallucinations earlier. But the mutation’s eventual return changes everything. The fact that Logan’s body contains a massive amount of adamantium also changes the balance. The problem right now is sustaining him while the cure wears off. His kidneys are failing, so we’ll begin dialysis very soon. His heart is also weakening, and the list of other smaller problems is too much for my tired brain. I’ve had a rather challenging night.”

“Yeah, thanks to me,” Rogue’s eyes stayed on the carpeting.

“And you’d do it again in a heartbeat, to save him.”

She met his gaze steadily, and admitted, “Yeah, I would.”

Standing up from his desk, Hank stretched and yawned. “I know you’ll go back to Logan’s room and stay until he recovers, so I’ll save my breath suggesting you go sleep in your own bed for a change.”

“I’m here for the duration.”

“As I thought. It will be a few hours before the dialysis equipment arrives, so I will get some sleep while I can. Call out if you need me.

Before Rogue could reach Logan’s door, Hank was snoring on his office sofa, which groaned beneath his bulk. The med techs finished changing the bandages and checking all the tubing, leads, medications, and the respirator, then smiled softly at Rogue as they left the room.

Sliding carefully onto the bed, Rogue hesitantly touched a bare finger to Logan’s cheek, half expecting to feel the sizzle begin, but still nothing happened. He was no longer clammy-skinned from being in shock, but remained terribly pale. Smiling to herself, she wiggled against his side, avoiding tender places and leads, and rested her head beside his on the pillow.

The jerky, mechanical breathing from the respirator nearly broke her heart, but she swallowed down the emotion and spoke softly to him, “I know something... or someone... inside you can hear me. I broke all the rules for you, and I’m in this for the long haul, mister, until you decide to come out of this. The cure is temporary, Logan, you hear me? It wears off. Soon, you’re gonna start getting better and stronger, and I’m watchin’ you like a hawk until you wake up and smile at me. The sooner you make the decision to survive, the sooner we get back to our allegedly normal lives. So commit now, and save us both a lot of grief.”

Dodging the respirator’s mask and tubing, she planted a soft kiss on the side of his face, and went to sleep.

With the first dialysis treatment in progress, Rogue agreed to go to the cafeteria for real food, take a shower, change clothes, and return. Plus, there wasn’t enough room for all the techs, machinery, Hank, and her in the small room. Logan’s condition was unchanged, which seemed promising to Hank’s estimation, so she took the leisure hour with a fairly guilt-free mind.

When she returned, there was a flurry of activity around the bed and the monitors were going crazy. The techs were running back and forth at Hank’s shouted commands. More equipment was in use around Logan’s body; things she couldn’t identify - the knowledge Rogue had borrowed from Hank was slowly fading away.

Rogue stood aghast at the frenzied scene before her. Not wanting to get in the way, she peered through the door while fear dragged it’s icy fingers through her body. Hank was trying to compress Logan’s chest, but it was pointless - the unyielding adamantium on his ribs was preventing it. Logan’s face was ashen gray, the skin around his eyes dark and sunken. Rogue knew she was looking at a dead man who still drew mechanical breath.

Hank checked leads and pads stuck all over Logan’s torso, then stood stiffly and silently beside the bed for a few moments before adjusting more settings on the life support equipment. When he turned to walk away, Hank saw Rogue’s wide eyes and shocked face. Pulling her into his office, he spoke softly, “His condition is worsening. The life support is the only thing keeping him alive. We have a decision to make.”

“But I thought he was stable when I went...” Rogue bit down the words and started shaking again.

“Logan’s body is so saturated with toxins that without the mutation, he has no hope. All we can do is keep his body alive until, and if, his mutation returns. There’s no discernable brain activity.”

“What do you mean, ‘if’ his mutation returns?”

Hank folded his glasses and looked directly at her, “Rogue, this is an area of medicine that has virtually no legitimate research or studies. We barely know when and how the mutations begin within the body. But in these specific circumstances, we have no documented evidence of when a regenerating mutation may return after the cure, since the mutant cure is new, an unexplored field of medicine. We’re working blind. Logan’s mutation might return at thirty-seven days, or sooner because his body could have fought off some of it at the time of the attack. Or, due to his extreme illness, the return may be delayed, or it might not come back at all; because he is, for all intents and purposes, dead.”

Hearing the word ‘dead’ come from Hank’s mouth made something inside Rogue shut down. She’d wrangled constantly with herself over the last day, questioning her dream of Wolverine telling her to protect Logan, examining her own selfish wants, considering Hank’s signed DNR papers, the ethics of life support, and death with dignity. It all rolled around and around inside her head until there was no deciding. Every side had arguments, points, exceptions, unknowns.

Raising her eyes to meet Hank’s, Rogue choked down her emotions and stated flatly, “We will wait the thirty-seven days, and then a day or two more for safety, then consider where he stands, medically.”

Before Rogue could form another defense as Logan’s only next-of-kin contact, Hank said, “Agreed.”

She rose quietly and walked into Logan’s room, shutting the door behind her. Hank watched through the panes of glass separating them as she habitually checked over Logan’s equipment, then slipped onto the bed, hugging him as close as she could without disturbing the machines that kept him alive. Hank turned away quickly before anyone could see the tears forming in the corners of his own blue eyes.

Fatigue and depression blended into exhaustion as Rogue seemed to slip in and out of deep sleep, not grasping the passing of time, lost to whether it was daylight or dark as she held vigil on Logan’s bed. There was food, and the bathroom, and the quiet movements of the techs. Hank brought her juice and vitamins, and spoke soft words of comfort, then left while she again slept with her arm laid gently around Logan’s waist.

Waking once in the quiet depth of night as Hank slept and no techs were present, Rogue eased off the bed and tiptoed to the nearby sink to splash cool water on her face. Peering into the mirror, she ignored her own ghosted eyes, shoved her hair back into a sloppy ponytail, and checked the inside of her head for the presence of Hank’s fading memories. It was bandage-changing time: she’d taken the night shift so Hank and the techs could get some decent sleep. She tried to teleport to the bed, but still stood with feet firmly planted. Kurt’s download into her brain had faded. Hank’s would be next, likely in a matter of a few minutes.

Hurrying to the bed, Rogue started checking over the leads, analyzing the monitors’ readings, examining Logan’s skin and eyes and listening to his heart through a stethoscope Hank had lent her. The arrhythmia seemed to have abated, but he was still weak and thready. Looking at his closed eyes, she thought perhaps he wasn’t as ashen as he had been, but the lights were lowered for comfort, so she didn’t trust that assessment. Likely the dialysis was making some kind of improvements.

Turning the sheets down, she started on the bandage over her beloved tattoo, peeling away the gauze and pad, swabbing down the inked skin. Before she could apply antibiotic ointment, she frowned and leaned closer. Something was different.

Flipping on the overhead light, she bent closer and peered intently at the tattoo. The sight of it made her go warm and gooey inside every time she looked at it. But the skin in the area seemed less red, less swollen, almost like it had healed a bit.

Rogue shook her head and blew a deep, sighing breath. Surely if he was healing, the mutation would reject the ink. It had to be a trick of her own weariness and stress. Unwrapping the bandages from Logan’s left hand, she started peeling back the gauze and padding, and gasped when several stitches fell out of the bandages. She thought for a moment that she’d somehow pulled them out by accident.

Picking up one of the stitches, she held it to the light and examined it. The tiny stitch was whole, a perfect knotted circle. Every loose stitch was perfect, none torn or even strained out of shape. She felt a flush of hope run through her, and quickly pulled away all the wrappings from his hands and arms. Logan’s skin lay bared before her, and there were loose little stitches scattered all over his smooth, perfect knuckles, over the bed sheet by his arms, and some tumbled to the floor at her feet. Even the initial scar tissue from the attack in the park was gone. Looking intently at his face under the brighter light, she noted his normal color was returning. His mutation was kicking in!

Rogue gave a whoop of joy that shook Hank awake in his office and he came running in, half-dressed and groggy with sleep. He fumbled for the belt of his dressing robe, realizing he’d thrown on his lab coat instead.

“What’s wrong? What happened?!?”

“He’s healing! He’s healing, Hank! He’s gonna live! Look!” She held out a handful of little stitches, “Look at the hands, the arms, at the tattoo, at his skin.... everything. It’s all.... better!”

Wedging his spectacles onto his nose, Hank leaned down and peered intently at everything she’d indicated, then at the monitors, then he deftly snatched the stethoscope from around her neck without touching her skin, and listened intently to Logan’s heart and lungs.

“He’s definitely improving,” Hank confirmed. “I want to draw blood. Stay with him and I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

Stepping away from the bed, Hank turned quickly and bodily swept Rogue up in his powerful arms, swinging her around the room for a brief moment of mutual joy as they both cackled with laughter! Putting her back on her feet, he went into the Med Lab’s supply area to gather the blood draw equipment.

Rogue bent over Logan and whispered, “I told you! I knew you could do...” Her words were cut short when he started coughing and choking, gagging on the breathing tube. He was waking up still on the respirator.

“Hank!” she yelled, but he was out of earshot. Logan was starting to flail both arms around, still choking and fighting the tube. “Oh no... no... Hank!”

Before she realized what she was doing, Rogue had crawled onto the bed, straddled Logan’s straining body, and started removing the tube with knowing, confident hands. As soon as the respirator mask was pulled away and the trach tube was out, he quieted down. Rogue listened, her nerves near the breaking point, until his body started drawing deep, natural breaths on his own. The cacophony of the still-attached monitors drew Hank back.

“I see he’s improving rather rapidly,” Hank chuckled, then checked over the equipment once more. With a confident grin, Hank started turning off the life support systems, untangling the various leads and returning them to the carts.

“Did I do right?” Rogue crawled off the bed, suddenly self-conscious.

“Yes. Am I still present in your head, telling you what to do next?”

Rogue stood quietly for several moments, then admitted, “No. I have no clue what to do. I think you just faded away.”

“It hasn’t been thirty-seven days for Logan. Either each person reacts differently to the cure, or else his regenerating mutation fought off a lot of it before being overwhelmed and shutting down. Either way, we now have three confirmed cases of the temporary effect of the cure: you, Logan, and Mystique. Unfortunately, that means eventually Magneto will likely return.”

“Right now, I don’t care. We’ve whupped his ass before, we can do it again if we have to.”

“Now that you know Logan is going to pull out of this, I insist you go to your own room and get some decent rest, young lady.”

“Nope.”

“Rogue...” Hank growled the warning.

“Sorry, doc, but I promised Logan I’d stay right here until he woke up and smiled at me. It won’t be long.”

“In that case, I’m going back to sleep. Wake me if you need me.”

“Okay,” Rogue agreed as Hank turned toward the door. “Uh, Hank, didn’t you forget something?”

Checking for his glasses, he patted all pockets and looked thoughtful. Then he looked confused.

“Blood draw?”

“Oh!”

The next time Rogue woke, Logan’s skin was warm and back to it’s natural olive color. The dark hollowness around his eyes was gone. He was breathing normally. Pressing her ear against his chest, she smiled brightly at the tickle of silky hair against her cheek, then listened to his heartbeat: smooth and strong and steady. Pulling away the bandage from his pelvis, she was startled to see the tattoo had not faded. His mutation had accepted it as part of his body.

Stroking her fingers over the inked rose with her name emblazoned on the red ribbon, she nearly jumped when Logan’s gravelly voice rasped, “You coppin’ a feel, darlin’?”

Meeting his eyes, she melted inside, smiling widely as Logan smiled weakly back at her.

“How you doin’, sugar?”

“Well,” his voice was still hoarse from the respirator, “you know me: what doesn’t kill me, pisses me off.”

*

It took a full week for Logan to get back to normal, and he and Rogue spent their leisure time talking and walking together.

On his first walk out of the hospital bed, they went into the main room of Med Lab and without thinking of it beforehand, Rogue realized that Deathstryke’s skeleton was still lying draped on the gurney. Logan caught sight of the unmistakable shape of a human under the white lab sheet, and walked straight over to it.

Turning to her, he asked, “Who’s that?” No one had mentioned any deaths while he’d been out of action, and there was no discernibly-fresh death smell in the room. His enhanced sense of smell had been quick to return, and he reveled in using it again.

“That’s the sample of adamantium they brought out of the lake to test. You told me about her, and I remembered.”

“It’s Deathstryke?” His fingers reached for the edge of the sheet, pulling it smoothly onto the floor. Rogue carefully watched Logan’s eyes as he regarded the metal-laden skeleton laid out before him. Darkness and contempt and victory and disgust and understanding sympathy all seemed to flow through the hazel eyes before Rogue broke the hypnotic tension.

“I don’t understand what the big lumps are inside the ribs. Did they do that bad of a job on her? I’ve seen your x-rays and your bones are perfect.”

“Stryker didn’t make those lumps. I did,” he stated flatly, pointing at the misshapen torso. “That’s her heart, lungs, stomach; her intestines probably burst there. That’s where I pumped her full of molten adamantium, because I couldn’t beat her in a throw-down fight. She was wicked; fast, strong, vicious... she damned near took me down permanently.”

“Are you ready for something weird?”

“Are you kidding me? How much weirder does it get?” The raspiness had healed out of his voice.

“Okay,” Rogue breathed, “when they pulled her out of the water, after dragging her across the lake bottom to the Blackbird, there was debris that got picked up along the way. Mike untangled some stuff, then gave it to me. Promise me you won’t freak out.”

“I don’t freak out.”

Pulling the chain from inside her shirt, Rogue slipped it over her head and laid the dog tags out in her open palm. “You told me you threw them away in the lake. They came back tangled up with her. Do you want them back?”

“No.” There was no hesitation in his voice, but no anger or distress, either. “Do you want ‘em? You always seemed to like wearin’ ‘em.”

“If it won’t cause you any pain, then yeah - I wanna wear them. I might draw the line at gettin’ ‘Property of Wolverine’ tattooed across my ass, but I’d be proud to wear your tags.” As soon as she made the tattoo remark, she blushed and grinned.

“Wear the tags. We’ll talk about a ‘property of’ tatt later,” Logan smiled down at her, giving her one of his rare, unmasked expressions, totally open and accepting. Taking the chain from her hand, he gently draped it around her neck again and kissed her softly on the lips, “You’re my girl, so you wear my tags.”

“And if you’ve got my name tattooed above your male part, that means you’re my guy, right?”

“Right. Like it?”

“The tattoo, or the male part?”

“Wench. Help me get her sheeted again. She’s freakin’ me out.”

“The Wolverine does not freak out. And yes, I like both. And yes, you’re my guy.”

*

Sitting in the garden on the evening of Logan’s first day back at teaching, he tossed one arm casually around Rogue’s shoulders as they watched the sunset together. He’d touched her every day, but hadn’t made any sexual advances other than a frequent kiss here and there throughout the day. Logan wasn’t sure why he could touch Rogue when no one else could, but if Hank’s theory was right about them swapping enough DNA and touching a lot, he would make damned sure it didn’t fade away.

As the sunset turned brilliant pink and gold, Logan softly spoke to her,“Hank told me everything you did, about trying to protect me while I was down for the count, even to the point of trashing and setting fire to the chapel, draining him and Kurt, and holding me hostage in the hospital. He said you even had a posse of students bringin’ you food and supplies. Is that right?”

“Yeah. I didn’t trash the chapel on purpose; or maybe I did, it just sorta... happened, wasn’t something I planned to do. Draining Kurt was an absolute accident. Draining Hank was carefully planned, however,” she sat in uneasy silence for a few heartbeats as the fiery sun sank behind the trees, leaving them wrapped in blue dusk.

The darkness let her risk voicing the dreaded question that had been hanging for days, “Did I do the right thing, Logan? Hank showed me legal papers that you’d signed.... but the dream... and I remembered you saying you had lost your death wish... I just...” she trailed off, uncertainty robbing her of coherent thoughts. Rogue fretted internally as Logan sat in silence for several moments, never moving his arm away from hugging her against him.

Finally he broached the quiet interlude, “Things change. That’s the way of nature. When I said I wanted to live, it was right. Then things changed, and I didn’t want to live, and that was right, so I signed the papers. Then things changed again, and I had to fight to live, but I couldn’t. You fought for me. Everything changes. We gotta decide what to do based on where we are, and what’s starin’ us in the face.”

“So...” Rogue started again, but stopped.

Logan seemed to know what she needed. Urging her onto his lap and face to face with him, he held her against his chest and nuzzled his face into her hair, nipping softly at her earlobe. Pulling back, he gazed directly into her dark eyes in the last vestiges of light, and spoke firmly but softly.

“You did exactly right. You did more than I ever would’ve thought you would do, or could do, to protect me. You risked a lot, taking Hank and Kurt down, staging a siege in that room, treating me with what you drained from Hank. You, woman, are fucking amazing.” In a breath, his lips were on hers and he kissed her for all she was worth.

*

The next night found them back on the same bench, watching the glory of another flaming sunset. Logan pulled something out of his pocket, and held it over her hand. She accepted it, and was surprised to see a roll of quarters appear in her open palm.

Rogue pondered a few moments, then surrendered to her curiosity, “Okay... what’s that for?”

“Parking meters. We’re going on vacation, and takin’ one of the sedans, so we’ll need change for parking meters.”

“Where are we going?”

“New Orleans. No way in hell am I going to Bolivia.”

“Bolivia?!?” Rogue asked in surprise, “Why Bolivia?”

“You started the whole ‘Butch and Sundance’ thing. When we watched that movie again in your Pop Culture class, I remember how it ended. They went to Bolivia, and got killed there, so I thought New Orleans might be a little more fun.”

“But you hate heat.”

“That’s why we’re going in January, unless you wanna wait until February and go for Mardi Gras.”

“I can’t argue with that logic. Mardi Gras it is - I’ve always wanted to do that.”

“Count the change - make sure they didn’t stiff me at the bank,” Logan frowned as a beam of sunlight edged into his eyes. He slid even closer to her on the bench, bodies pressed tightly together, as Rogue snuggled under his right arm.

“Rolled change is weighed on digital scales now, saves time. It’s right.”

“Count it any way - indulge me.”

Sighing in resignation, Rogue broke open the paper wrapper and dumped the quarters out into the front of her t-shirt, making a little pouch to hold them. In the center of the shower of coins was a bundle of tissue nestled perfectly inside the stacked quarters.

“What’s this?” She fingered the bundle, noting something hard inside. Picking open the tissue, a ring fell out. Rogue stifled her urge to make a ‘guh’ sound. It was a wedding ring; nothing extravagant or sophisticated, just a plain gold band.

“Think it’ll fit? If you don’t like it, we’ll trade up.”

Rogue saw her hands start shaking. She fumbled the ring and dropped it on the ground!

“I knew you’d make me do this....” Logan muttered, grinned, and slid off the bench onto his knees. He fished the ring out of the grass, turned and reached for her hand. “Marry me?”

“Oh, hell yeah!” Rogue shouted with glee, and leaped onto him, wrapping her legs around his hips and kissing him as he tumbled her gently to the ground. Quarters flew everywhere. The two rolled and tangled and kissed until darkness fell all around them and crickets began ringing in the forest.

Coming to rest on her back with Logan’s warm, hard bulk above her, Rogue asked, “Why do you want to marry me? You’re not the marryin’ kind, sugar.”

“It takes a special kind of woman to set fire to a chapel, drop two powerful mutants with a touch, and lay siege to a hospital; but you did, and in my book, that’s grounds for marryin’.”

“I love you.”

“Love you, too, baby.”

“Sleep in my room tonight?”

“No.”

Rogue looked shocked as she struggled up to her elbows from where they still lay, tangled together. “You still healin’ up? I thought we were ready to get busy again? I know I’m ready.”

“I’m more than ready, but a hell of a lot has happened since that one night, that first night...” Logan’s eyes drifted down a moment, then back to Rogue’s, and he licked his lips before beginning, “I want you. I’ve always wanted you. I always knew someday I’d have you when the time was right. But gettin’ hitched is something special, and we’re not having sex again until the wedding night.”

Rogue pushed him off of her, climbed to her feet, grabbed Logan’s hand and started pulling him toward the mansion, “Get a calendar, ‘cause we’re picking a date right now. I don’t like waiting. Time is too precious, and life is too unpredictable. The honeymoon vacation can wait until Mardi Gras, but the wedding is gonna be tomorrow if I can pull it off. I want sex. I want sex, with you, now, tonight. Logan, I don’t want to wait to have you again.”

Her unabashed and enthusiastic declaration made Logan laugh heartily, and Marie treasured the rare sound. With a wicked grin, Logan offered, “I can go ya one better, darlin’.”

Rogue stopped in her tracks and stared up into Logan’s eyes, “Speak now of this plan, sir.”

“Kurt got a minister’s license a few weeks ago. He can legally marry people now. I filed for a marriage license just in case you said yes, and we’re ready to go. You just gotta decide what you want in the way of a wedding ceremony, a dress, all that...” he gestured distractedly, “... girlie stuff.”

Logan had rarely seen Rogue at a loss for words. She stood gaping, silent, and he could see the stream of ideas and thoughts passing through her eyes before she startled him with her request.

“I want us married tonight, naked, in the woods, with no one but us and Kurt, and one candle burning on a stump somewhere. Nothing religious, just straight from the heart. Pure and primal; can you handle that?”

“Naked? And I think we need at least one witness....”

“Yep. I wanna see that tattoo you got. Besides, I’ve seen you naked. You are edible. We’ll get Storm for a witness.”

“Thanks, baby, you’re a real head-turner, too. But are you sure you don’t want a wedding dress? I thought all women wanted the dress.”

“I don’t. If we get married naked, then I can wake up in my wedding outfit every day with you. So, are we gonna do this? I don’t wanna tell anyone until it’s done, or they’ll all make a fuss. We’ll break the news tomorrow.”

“I’ll go get Kurt. He’ll keep quiet if we ask him. You get Storm, and you’re breaking the news about the naked part to them both.”

At midnight, naked in a forest clearing, Logan married Marie by the flickering light of a single candle. After they kissed, a shyly-naked Kurt and a proudly-naked Storm handed them blankets and left quickly.

Marie didn’t need to wait very long.


* * * * *


AUTHOR'S NOTE: Although this officially ends the story, there will be an epilogue posted later. I think the wedding scene needs to be detailed as a stand-alone chapter, so that’ll get a little closer inspection in the epilogue. Thanks for taking this ride with me.

Blessings,

Wolf

“If you blush, what color will your skin turn?” A naked Storm teased Kurt, stroking one languid finger over his mystically-scarred cheek. He grinned, but remained steadfastly, determinedly blue. Clutching a minister’s stole and a leather-bound folder against his nude lower half, Kurt drew a deep breath and tried to focus himself on the welcomed responsibility of marrying Rogue and Logan.

“You ready for this, baby?” Logan asked with a sly grin, knowing the answer. Rogue was lighting a white candle she’d placed on a stump earlier, in the center of the cozy grove they’d selected to tie the knot. Logan let his eyes graze openly over her curvy, pale form, illuminated by the flickering light of the single candle.

“I should be asking you that, since I’m still half-expecting you to bolt at any minute,” Rogue drawled. “I thought about hiding your boots to keep you from running, but decided to risk it.” Turning to embrace him, she reveled in the warm hardness of his naked body against hers. Logan knew no shame at nudity, and with a brawny, masculine physique like his, she didn’t blame him. She tickled him lightly over the rose tattoo, causing him to stifle a chuckle, before they turned to stand side by side before Kurt.

Storm was adjusting the stole around Kurt’s shoulders as he searched through the papers within the folder, pulling out one sheet after another, stacking them in order. He muttered to himself, “Vows, script, license, everything in order, jah....”, then regarded the smirking pair before him as Storm stepped to Kurt’s side, fulfilling her role as witness. “We are ready, jah?”

“We are ready,” Rogue confirmed.

“Yep,” Logan added. “Do it,” and he pinched Rogue lightly on the ass, making her yelp before she fanned his hand away and stifled the subsequent giggles. They all arranged themselves in a tight circle around the flickering candle.

“Dearly beloved....” Kurt intoned.

“That would be us,” Storm whispered in a moment of light-heartedness as Rogue finally did burst into giggles. Even Logan made a throaty snarking sound - the mutual nervousness was manifesting in giddy laughter.

Kurt grinned and continued, “we are gathered here...”

“In the middle of the woods at midnight, nekkid as jaybirds,” Rogue added, before she whacked Logan on the ass, making a distinct slap in the stillness.

“Hands off the merchandise, darlin’ - we ain’t married yet. Go on, Nightcrawler - let’s get to the good part, the consummatin’.”

“Ah, now I know what you really want,” Rogue commented.

Kurt carried on, trying to be the essence of professionalism in facilitating his very first wedding ceremony. “In the presence of...” he faltered, knowing religion was a touchy issue with both mutants. “Of?” He hinted for help.

Logan looked around, and confidently added, “Nature.”

Rogue added, “Good friends. And candlelight.”

“And the moon, and I can smell a buck somewhere nearby.”

“And Bruce over there - that’s good enough for me,” Rogue added.

“Bruce?” Logan’s eyebrows arched.

“Yeah, that spruce tree over there,” she pointed to the edge of the pool of light. “His name is Bruce. I was a little tipsy the night I named him, so just trust me. He’s Bruce the Spruce, and he’s our other witness.”

“I think you’re drunk now, darlin’.”

“Am not! Shush, minister marrying us now, remember, sugar? Focus.” Rogue nodded to Kurt politely, “Go ahead, Kurt.”

“Shall we go straight to the vows?” he asked, hoping to simplify the ceremony, since even Storm was starting to giggle behind her hand occasionally.

“Rogue, do you....”

“Uh, my name is Marie, so we should use that to be legal, right?”

“Ah, I see, jah... Marie, do you take Logan to be your lawfully-wedded husband, to have and to hold, to love, honor, and obey, in si...”

“Hold it right there!” Rogue held out one hand, palm forward, as Logan turned slightly to regard her through hooded eyes. “I’m not obeying anybody. Take that part out,” she looked expectantly at Logan, who amiably nodded his approval.

“I ain’t obeyin’, either. Agreed.”

“No surprise there, so agreed. Go on, Kurt.”

“...in sickness and in health...”

“No, dump that part, too,” Logan interrupted now. “I got the healing mutation, and that ain’t fair to her.”

“Jah, okay... for better or worse, for richer, for poorer.. Oh, I think I got that part backwards....”

Rogue interrupted again, “Wait - can’t I just say what I feel, and leave it at that?”

“Works for me,” Logan added.

With a breath of relief, Kurt crumpled the sheet of paper with the standard wedding ceremony and tossed it aside. “Go ahead, Marie?”

Turning to Logan, she took both his hands in hers and looked up into his eyes which gleamed in the candlelight. She knew heightened emotions brought out the gold in his hazel eyes, and the shifting color assured her.

“I love you.” Marie hesitated a moment, then continued, “ Logan, I have loved you from the first moment I... no, scratch that. You scared me shitless that first moment, and pissed me off the next, but then you let me back in your truck, and fed me, and tried to keep me warm, and I loved you from that point. There’s no way our lives can be normal, but I think we can make something together that resembles normal. I’m willing to risk that to be with you, any time, anywhere, no holds barred. Tonight, when you proposed to me, you said I was ‘fuckin’ amazing,’ and I’ll try hard to make sure that opinion of me never changes.” Marie nodded her head, indicating she had said her piece.

Logan hesitated for a long time, and Marie started feeling nervous, knowing he wasn’t much for words. His lips parted twice before he actually started to speak.

“What you said about trying to make a normal life together - that’s what I want, too. You had a normal life once, then lost it. I want you to have that back, in as much as we can manage it. I don’t remember a normal life, so I want to have it, too.” Logan’s head dropped and he studied the ground for a few moments before continuing, “We’ve got the deck stacked against us, but I don’t care. We’ll catch.. err, I’ll catch hell for being so much older than you, but in time, that’ll change. You’ll mature, and I’ll probably still be the way I am now, but that doesn’t matter to me. I’m willing to risk everything for you, for us, to be where we both want to be. And...” he smiled at her and his words softened, “ yeah, I love you, too.” Logan leaned forward and kissed her bare shoulder, working his lips slowly up the side of her neck.

Storm cleared her throat delicately, and looked away with a smile. Before the couple got too distracted, Kurt continued, “By the powers invested in me by the state of New York, I now pronounce you man and wife... uh, or her husband, and... uh.... married! You’re married! Mr. and Mrs. Logan.... who?”

“D’Ancanto,” Logan stated decisively. “Logan and Marie D’Ancanto.” He glanced at his new wife for approval, which he got in an immediate and brilliant smile from her.

“Logan and Marie D’Ancanto,” Kurt repeated, “you are now married!” The excitement had gotten to the minister now, and he ignored the book before him. “Kiss her, quickly!”

“Don’t have to tell me twice,” Logan grinned and swooped Rogue back in his arms, kissing her for all she was worth. While the newlyweds embraced, Storm eased to Kurt’s side and spoke softly to him, “You did a good job. Look how happy they are.”

Kurt shrugged and added, “They made the happy, but you are most kind, and a terrible liar. I made many mistakes.”

“It doesn’t matter. They’re happy, and they had a wedding that they’ll remember for the rest of their lives. I’m proud of you,” she slowly eased closer and pressed her lips to his before stepping away again. Walking to the side of the illuminated clearing, Storm pulled a large bundle from the bushes and walked toward Marie and Logan, who were just coming up for air.

Storm decidedly ignored the beginnings of arousal obviously presenting from Logan, and handed him the bundle, saying, “A wedding present from Kurt and I - and your clothes are hung over that bush, for when you decide to return to the mansion.”

Logan accepted the bundle, and held it while Marie untied the satin ribbon holding the whole thing together. Once the white tissue paper was pulled aside, two blankets were revealed: a snug and functional fleece blanket of hunter green, and a hand-stitched patchwork quilt. Shaking out the quilt, Marie gasped at the colors and patterns: the traditional wedding band design. “Oh, Storm! This is amazing. Thank you!” Using the wedding ring quilt to cover her bare skin, Rogue hugged her former teacher with gratitude.

“Aah! Ring!” Kurt shouted suddenly. “We forgot the ring!” He teleported without even realizing what he’d done, and carefully picked the ring up from where it lay beside the candle, then handed it to Logan. With a self-conscious grin, he admitted to the taller man, “I make many mistakes tonight. I apologize.”

“Forget it, bub; we were flyin’ a little blind here, too.”

“Aah, license! We must sign the license!” Kurt turned again to the stump and grabbed the pen he’d laid aside, and all participants signed the legal document. Stashing the signed license inside the folder, Kurt reviewed his checklist to make sure they’d finally gotten everything legally covered before leaving the grove.

Storm shook the fleece blanket out and spread it on the ground in a smooth spot, and reached for the quilt from Rogue’s hands. “Come here, you too,” she invited as Rogue took Logan’s hand and stepped onto the fleece blanket. Storm wrapped the quilt around the two naked lovers, then grabbed her own clothes and Kurt’s, and started toward the mansion. Reaching for Kurt’s hand, she smiled back over her shoulder as they walked out of the candlelit grove together, “I believe you said something about consummating, Logan?”

Logan’s dark head turned briefly toward the retreating couple, “Thanks, Storm, Kurt... we’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Thank you, both,” Marie added, then unashamedly slithered her hands around Logan’s waist and grabbed his ass, grinding her pelvis against him. “We’re married now, so you’re free game, right?”

“Not yet - you ain’t wearin’ the ring yet,” he released his hold on the blanket which started slipping down around their bodies, and pulled her left hand into his. Placing the ring on her finger, his eyes met hers, and he spoke, “This means I’m yours.”

“And I’m yours, so... are you up for that consummating you talked about earlier?” Her hands went to his hair, threading through the dark locks before stroking his neck and shoulders.

“What do you think?” Logan ground his growing erection against Marie’s belly, before pulling her down into the nest of blankets as they wiggled and embraced and kissed in the flickering light of the candle.

Within moments they were locked together, arms and legs entwined, lips seeking any soft place to kiss. Night birds called in the darkness and the wind laid gently as Rogue pulled Logan higher on her body from where he’d been nuzzling her breasts. “Don’t make me wait any longer,” she whispered in his ear, and he slid into her, making her gasp softly.

“Does it hurt?” he hesitated while she adjusted to him.

“No,” she assured him, “I’m still just... just... you’re so...uhhh,” Rogue hedged, at a loss for words.

“Big?” Logan offered with a smug grin.

“Arrogant?” Rogue countered, grinned, then added, “yeah, big. And hard.”

“Is it okay?” Logan asked after a moment, aching to start moving inside her.

“Yeah - it’s okay now. Show me, ‘cause I think I’ve forgotten how to do this part,” she teased. Then Logan started moving inside her and she remembered.

An hour later, they had dozed lightly, snug beneath the quilt. Rogue turned to see the bits of star-studded sky above their grove, twinkling points of light filtering through the leafy canopy. Nudging her head against Logan’s shoulder, she pulled one hand from beneath the blanket and pointed toward the sky overhead. “Do you think Butch and Sundance ever laid out and looked at the stars overhead, like this?”

“Probably everybody did back then. But I’d wager a bundle that Butch never did this to Sundance,” Logan quickly slid beneath the blanket and worked his way over Marie’s body. She felt his lips descending over her breasts and belly, then go lower, and then his hot tongue snaked into her cleft.

Marie’s head rolled back and her eyes closed as she gasped with pleasure. A stray breeze blew out the candle, and the grove descended into darkness.