Before her, Logan never measured time in days or weeks or months. Given his nomadic lifestyle, he measured his life in miles traveled -- or, if he was in Canada, kilometers traveled. He measured his progress in fights won, in poker games played, in goals accomplished.

After all, if Logan didn't make it back to The Distillery in Elephant Butte for two years, it would still be a crummy bar with an old jukebox when he walked through the door. It didn't matter to Logan if the Whiskey River in that tiny New York border town closed down before he could make it back; there would always be another dive with fights and a generous bartender.

Other people's whining about the passage of time had seemed to Logan like pointless obsession with something that couldn't be changed. He'd never understood just how quickly time could slip past until Marie climbed into his bed and made him want to savor every last second.

And he'd certainly never believed time could pass so unbearably slowly until he was away from Marie for a month.

"Fuck it," Logan muttered, grabbing his keys and jumping out of the camper. He climbed into the front of his truck and headed out. Texarkana was a good hour away on the interstate, but even that inglorious border town was preferable to another night with Billy and the boys. Logan wished like hell these racist fucks would give him the info he needed so he could get the hell out of east Texas once and for all. The country was beautiful, in a flat, grassy, cattle-pasture kind of way, but infiltrating a violently racist cult left a lot to be desired.

Damn Xavier anyway. Logan was no detective. Undercover work was *not* for him, not with his temper. If he had to smirk at one more goddamned "the only thing a mutie bitch is good for" pronouncement, or another "where's the bitch with the sucking mutation" joke, he wouldn't be held responsible for his actions.

"Fucking pricks," Logan grumbled, slamming the heel of his hand into the steering wheel. Sometimes he wished he'd never gotten involved with Xavier and the rest of the idealistic fools. Before Marie, he'd been perfectly happy to live his life and let the racist assholes of the world live theirs. But now his life was inextricably bound up with Marie's, and by extension, the X-Men. And here he was, in fucking *Texas* of all places, masquerading as exactly the kind of prick he wanted to avoid at all costs. Or kill on sight. In all honestly, he'd probably prefer the summary execution of all redneck racist motherfuckers.

Logan looked forward to taking these assholes apart piece by piece once he could blow his cover as a mutant-hating human.

And fuck Mystique, anyway, and the damage she'd done to Cerebro before Logan'd killed her. If Xavier was up at 100%, he could just take a peek into these motherfuckers' puny, twisted little minds and make all of this undercover shit redundant.

"Logan! Hey, Logan!" someone shouted.

Cursing the dilapidated truck and its lack of air conditioning, Logan slowed at the entrance to the campgrounds, his elbow out the open window. He couldn't even pretend the music was too loud to hear the greeting, because he didn't have the damn radio on. "Hey, Freddie," Logan said, hoping he didn't sound as irritated as he felt.

Freddie, a small, wiry prick who found his own bad jokes incredibly funny, loped over to the truck and fixed his eager gaze on Logan. "Where you off to?"

Shit. Logan knew what was coming, but there was nothing else to say. The only place to go in this shithole of a town was the local bar, where Freddie would be later. "Texarkana," Logan answered finally. "Thought I'd--"

"Find yourself a nice piece of ass?" Freddie interrupted, nodding his understanding. He clapped his hands together in excitement. "You up for some company on the trip?"

Marie's brand of Southern manners had never included inviting herself along -- save the time she'd climbed into his truck, and that was more about survival. Logan wondered what the hell was wrong with Freddie's upbringing. Unfortunately, there was nothing to say except: "Sure. Hop in."

Freddie patted his wallet in his back pocket. "You got it, Logan." He half-jogged around the front of the truck and wrenched the passenger door open. "Don't worry," he assured Logan with a conspiratorial smirk. "I got a cousin in town I can stay with if you find a girl and need some privacy." Freddie jerked his head toward the camper.

Logan bared his teeth in what Freddie would probably consider a smile. "Whatever."

Freddie reached for the radio and flipped it on, twisting the dial until he found some twangy, young country station. Logan preferred *real* country, but he'd also rather listen to Freddie's awful singing voice than Freddie's idiotic conversation, so he held his tongue.

"Hey," Freddie said, that insufferable grin still in full force. "You think we got room for Rob in here?"

Logan thought there was probably room for both Freddie and Rob at the bottom of a pond somewhere, but he forced a nod. Luckily, Rob's trailer was in the park a half-mile down the frontage road, and within ten minutes, they were pulling onto the highway heading east.

Rob, a taller, quieter, slightly less annoying version of Freddie, pulled a flask from his pocket and took a swig. "Whiskey," he explained, handing it off to Freddie.

When Freddie offered him the flask, the absolute last thing Logan wanted to do was take it. But the ignorant, mutant-hating, roaming loner he was playing would take a drink, so Logan accepted the metal flask and drank quickly. Thank God for his healing factor, he thought.

Freddie took another, longer gulp of liquor, then said, "So how do y'all think that mutie movie star kept it a secret for so long?"

"Dunno." The corner of Rob's mouth quirked upwards. "I'd like to fuck her, then kill her."

Fingers tight on the steering wheel, Logan grunted noncommittally and did his best to tune their conversation. He already regretted his impulsive trip; if he'd stayed in town, he could've made a brief appearance at the bar and then retreated to the solitude of his camper. Instead, he'd have to spend a good two hours with these idiots, listening to them trade tall tales and offensive jokes.

Ingratiating himself with this group of worthless assholes was taxing Logan's nerves. To make things worse, Logan was starting to worry that something had gone wrong with Xavier and the others -- someone was supposed to have made contact with Logan by now, since Cerebro was down for the count. Logan worried that someone may have decided to attack the Mansion while they were still recovering from Mystique's assault. The thought made him queasy, and he'd planned on calling in from a payphone in Texarkana, and to hell with Xavier's lectures on undercover work. Logan didn't figure he'd have the chance now that he had these clowns shadowing him.

Eighty miles per hour was pushing the limits of Logan's truck, especially with the camper dragging along behind them, but he gritted his teeth and kept on. The faster he drove, the less time he had to spend in a confined space with Freddie and Rob.

They made it to Texarkana in 53 minutes.

Logan ignored Rob and Freddie's skirmish over which bar they should go to, pulling instead into the first honky tonk he saw. The small, nearly windowless structure stood in the shadow of the "Texarkana -- Twice as Nice!" water tower. The bar's misspelled sign informed passersby that tonight's featured band was the Rusty Nails. Over the entrance, a neon sign incorporated the Texas flag and Bud Light; another advertised Coors.

It looked perfectly awful, and exactly the kind of place Logan's alter ego would frequent. Hell, if Rob and Freddie weren't along for the ride, Logan himself might actually kill a little time in a place like this. He jerked the truck into park and popped open the door, Rob and Freddie trailing after him like eager pups.

The inside of the bar was just what he'd expected -- tiny, dark, smoke-filled, and sparsely populated. Suspicious regulars gave Logan, Freddie, and Rob a cursory once-over as they moved toward the bar. Logan wondered exactly how much he could drink and still keep himself from skewering his sidekicks.

The first hour passed quickly. The music was too loud for conversation, and Logan enjoyed the reprieve, knocking back three shots of tequila before starting in on beer. To his surprise, the small bar began to fill as the evening wore on. Apparently, the Rusty Nails had something of a following in these parts.

When Logan first caught her scent, he thought his alcohol consumption had finally managed to outpace his healing factor. He didn't move, just let his eyes scan the crowd, slowly, slowly inhaling to savor the hints of--

Holy shit. Marie was here.

Just inside the door, slipping her leather jacket off, doing her own quick scan of the crowd. Marie met his gaze for a second, her expression giving nothing away. She moved with that familiar liquid grace, her eyes on the band as she drew closer to the stage.

Logan remembered to breathe, his relief at seeing her -- *finally* -- at odds with his anger with the professor for sending her. This shit was dangerous, and her control over her mutation was spotty at best. If she slipped or if someone saw her with gloves on in this heat, she'd be caught out as a mutant in a part of the country where being a mutant was a hanging offense. Charles should've sent someone else.

Not Cyclops, obviously. Or Storm. Or Jean, because he didn't think she could ever walk into a crummy bar like this one and not look totally out of place. Bobby would blow it with his wide-eyed shock. Kurt and Hank were *blue*, and Jubilee was too loud and excitable.

Logan grimaced. So maybe Marie was the only one who could pull it off. Still, they could've *warned* him.

Freddie jabbed a finger into his bicep. "Would you look at that piece of ass?" he chortled, and Logan knew without looking who the stupid prick was talking about.

Counting to ten did fuck all to calm his temper. "She's mine," Logan growled. In a way that these assholes would never be able to understand.

Freddie gave Rob an exaggerated elbow. "You hear that? That girl with the body is his, he says." Freddie gestured with his beer bottle, laughing uproariously. "Isn't she a little *young* for you, Logan?"

Logan stiffened, barely restraining the urge to punch that smug fucking smile off of Freddie's face. There was one obvious answer to Freddie's comment, but it grated against Logan's sense of right and wrong. He'd struggled with their difference in age, though Marie had pointed out that in remembered years, he was about 17 while she was over 100. If anyone was too young, she'd concluded with a smug smile, it was him.

Still. The age difference had bothered him for a long time, and he'd finally laid it to rest, and he wasn't about to let this stupid little motherfucker rattle him. Hating himself for using Marie's age to his advantage, Logan took a long swig of beer and said, "I like 'em young."

"Me, too," Rob commented. "When they're young, the--"

Logan pushed abruptly away from the bar, heading for the bathroom to get away from that conversation. He would kill them both if he had to stand there and listen to them discuss--that. Logan passed a few feet from Marie, allowing himself a brief glance. She was watching him, her leather jacket held loosely in one bare hand. When their eyes met, she gave him the slightest of smiles, then turned her attention back to the band.

In the bathroom, Logan let the water run for a little bit, then splashed some on his face, wincing a little at the shocking cold. He'd been living a little rough the past month, and he wished he'd known they'd send *her* so that he could've cleaned the trailer and washed up a little. With an annoyed groan, he turned the water off, ran a hand through his hair, and then headed back to the bar. They exchanged another look as he sauntered past.

When Logan reached his place at the bar, he leaned back on one elbow and considered his next move. He'd normally let her initiate the meet whatever way she wanted, but he needed to touch her, and he needed to do it right now. Patience had never been a virtue of his.

Across the dance floor, Marie leaned against a beam, crossing her arms beneath her breasts. She wasn't wearing anything special -- tight jeans, a deep red shirt with an even deeper v-neck, and large silver hoop earrings -- but she'd drawn the attention of most of the men in the place. Logan used to think she only affected him that way; then he'd seen her hypnotic effect on a roomful of half-drunk barflies up in Westchester and he'd had to fight the urge to hang a sign around her neck that said "PROPERTY OF LOGAN."

That urge was back in full force as he leaned against the bar, just another guy captivated by her.

Logan tensed as, beside him, Freddie gave a little groan and said, "Man, what I wouldn't pay for a little piece of that."

When Marie glanced toward the bar, she let her attention wander over the men there, frankly checking them out until she reached Logan. Her gaze lingered, traveling down his body and back up. When she met his gaze again, she looked quickly away, as if she were embarrassed to be caught looking.

Underneath his worry and anger, Logan was amused. Turned out she was a passable actress. Her talents, he was learning, were quite varied. Plus, the palpable heat in her gaze was going a long way toward getting Logan past his worry. 'Cause, damn, she was sight for sore eyes.

Rob took a swig from his beer and commented, "She seems more interested in Logan."

"Damn straight," Logan remarked. He half-turned, waving over the bartender. "Two beers." He tossed a ten onto the bar and picked up both bottles, giving his companions a smug grin as he headed across the room. Dispensing with the subtle approach, Logan swaggered right up to Marie and tried not to smile. "Beer?"

She looked up at him through a curtain of her hair. "That's your pickup line?"

Logan couldn't quite contain the grin this time. Her soft chocolate voice sounded ten times better than he remembered. He leaned closer. "I don't do pickup lines, darlin'. You want the beer or not?"

He could see the amusement in her eyes as she pretended to consider his offer. "My mama told me never to turn down a free drink." She reached for the bottle, letting her fingertips drag across his knuckles.

Even that simple contact left him a little bit crazy with need. He hoped the band was loud enough to drown out his groan. From her smug grin, he knew she'd heard.

Logan moved closer, slipping behind her to lean against the same rough-hewn beam. He lowered his voice and spoke directly into her ear, "Your mama's a smart woman."

She turned a little, bringing the back of her shoulder into contact with his chest, and turned her face up to his. Her deep brown eyes were dancing with laughter when she said, "My mama also told me to stay out of places like this, and not to trust guys like you."

He wanted to kiss her so badly, but he couldn't blow their cover. It was torture, being this close and not being able to touch her the way he wanted to. "Your mama was smart, but overly cautious," he amended.

She broke into delighted laughter, her body shaking as she leaned fully against him. Shielded from view from her body and his, Logan's free hand slipped down her spine, inching under her shirt to touch her soft skin.

Marie's laughter trailed off, and she was looking at him *that way* and Logan had to do something or they'd be giving the unwitting patrons of this bar a very explicit show. He withdrew his hand and backed off a couple inches, letting some overheated, smoky air fill the space between their bodies. "So where you from, darlin'?" He was enjoying their playacting probably more than he should.

She eyed him before answering, like she could tell what he was thinking. "Little town in Mississippi," she drawled, laying the accent on thicker than normal. "Where're you from, sugar?"

He shuddered, just a little. God, he'd missed her voice. "Up north."

Marie took her time sipping her drink, letting him watch the arch of her throat, the way her lips caressed the bottle. "So what brings a Yankee like you down to Texarkana?"

"Dunno," he answered, paying less and less attention to their conversation, concentrating on *her.* He breathed deeply, savoring her scent even drowned as it was in cigarette smoke and alcohol. "Seemed as good a place as any to stop for a while."

She nodded and turned her face away, pretending to watch the band. Moments later, he felt her fingers on his thigh, scraping softly against the denim of his jeans. Bringing the bottle to his lips, Logan downed about half of it in two long swallows. Didn't do a damn thing to cool him off. "Can we get out of here already?" Logan mumbled into her hair.

Marie glanced back at him. "You certainly are forward, mister," she said, eyes sparkling. "I don't even know your name."

He quirked an eyebrow at her. "You can call me any name you like, darlin'. I'm not picky."

She tilted her head to one side, letting that streak of white fall across her cheek. "I can call you Ernie?"

He exhaled, watching the silky strands of her hair shift. "Only if you want a little bit of punishment."

She snorted and turned back to the band. "Your chances with me are getting worse."

"Oh, I doubt that very much," he muttered so low that only she'd hear it. Her nails dug into his thigh for a second, then she let him go, pulling farther away from him. "Where are you going?" He was a little disturbed to hear the note of desperation in his voice. Is this really what a few weeks without her did to him?

"Little girls' room," she answered with a knowing smile. "Hold my beer?"

He glanced at the bottle she pressed into his hand. "You wouldn't rather leave the beers here and have some company in there?"

Marie held out a hand as if they were business associates. "I'm Anna," she said primly. "And you are?"

Fake names? He shrugged and went with it. "James."

He could tell she was fighting a smile when she shook his hand, letting her fingers slide over his palm when she pulled away. "Nice to meet you, James. Hold my beer for me, won't you, sugar?"

"'Course."

"Thanks."

"You can thank me later."

Her familiar laugh trailed after her as she walked away. Logan couldn't drag his eyes from her form until she ducked into the tiny bathroom. Damn, but he was breathing heavy just from standing next to her. The things she did to him.

"That's too bad, Logan," Freddie crowed, appearing at Logan's elbow. "She looked real interested for a minute." He was grinning broadly, not bothering to hide his satisfaction in Logan's apparent failure.

Logan glared down at the annoying man. "She's freshening up," he answered flatly.

"Or climbing out the window," Freddie answered, laughing loudly at his own joke.

Logan didn't bother to answer, staring stonily at the band until he felt Freddie tense beside him. He didn't have to look to know that Marie was on her way back over to them. He could smell her, and he could tell he wasn't the only one who was burning to get the hell out of here. Marie slid up beside him and reached for her beer. "Thanks, sugar," she purred. "Who's your friend?"

"Freddie," Logan said, wrapping a possessive arm around her waist and hauling her closer. "Anna," he added, completing the introduction.

"Good to meet you," Freddie said eagerly, lifting a hand to shake hers, but Logan cut that shit out with a fierce glare. Freddie dropped his hand quickly back to his side.

Marie smiled and cuddled a little closer into Logan's side, one hand slipping dangerously low, fingers inching under the waistband of his jeans. "Charmed, I'm sure." She took a long drink, finishing off her beer, pointedly keeping her attention on the band. She swayed a little against him, moving to the music, and Logan tried very, very hard not to let himself picture all the other ways she could move.

Logan couldn't quite tear his gaze from her as he asked Freddie, "You've got a place to stay tonight, right?"

"Yeah. Sure, Logan, no problem."

"Good." Logan's grip on Marie tightened just a little bit more. He glowered at Freddie. "Rob's waiting for you over there."

"Oh," Freddie yelped, nodding quickly. "Right. Nice to meet you, honey."

Logan could practically taste Marie's disgust when she said, "Same here." As Freddie walked away, she added a sarcastic, "honey."

"Be nice, darlin'. Freddie's my friend," Logan admonished with an utter lack of sincerity.

"You need better friends," she shot back with a hip-check.

"Ain't that the truth." Logan put his hands on her hips and half-turned her so they were chest to chest. He held her to him, his fingers pressing into warm denim. "You ready to get out of here yet?"

Marie shot him an exasperated look. "I'm not a whore, *James.* Try romancin' me a little before you whisk me off to your bed."

Logan's expression soured. "Romance?" Because he'd been gone nearly all of September -- seeing her was pretty much all the foreplay he needed.

She leaned close, closer, her warm breath caressing his neck when she spoke. "It's been a month, Logan, make an effort."

He plunked his bottle down on a nearby table and took her hand, pulling her along behind him.

"Hey!" she protested.

But they were at the edge of the dance floor, and Logan turned, letting her momentum carry her right into his arms. One hand flattened against the small of her back and pulled her closer while the other held her palm against his chest. "Dance with me."

Marie's eyebrows shot up. "You dance?"

"Not usually," he answered with half a grin. "I'm making an effort."

Thankfully, the ridiculously loud band had segued into a slow tune. Logan figured there were enough people out on the dance floor to let him retain some illusion that he wasn't being watched by those stupid pricks.

Marie relaxed against him, her free arm looping around his neck. "Good effort," she decided.

It was more an excuse to touch her than it was a dance. They swayed to the beat, moving inches at a time as other couples two-stepped around them. Logan didn't give a shit about anything besides the woman in his arms, closing his eyes and resting his cheek against her hair.

Marie turned her face into his neck and whispered, "I missed you so much, sugar."

"Me, too," he muttered. God, he'd missed her. He'd missed having someone to soothe him after his nightmares. He'd missed her bright laughter. He'd missed the feel of her body beneath his. He'd missed *her.*

By the second song, their bodies were pressed as tightly together as they could get, and Logan knew it was an unspoken competition to see who'd break first. When he felt her tongue flick against his neck, Logan reached desperately for her chin, tilting her face up until he could kiss her the way he needed to.

Any pretense that this was a dance faded as they kissed with desperate abandon. Logan edged them off the dance floor, finding a nice, empty stretch of wall to press her against. But Marie got her palms flat against his chest and pushed him away. They stared at each other, eyes wide, breathing in short gasps.

"It's a little public in here, sugar."

Logan's jaw clenched. He didn't even have to turn around to know Freddie and Rob were cheering him on. He just hoped Marie couldn't hear exactly what they were saying. He was going to kill them two or three different ways. And he was going to enjoy it.

"Can we *please* get the fuck out of here?" Logan demanded.

For reasons that escaped him, she beamed up at him in response. "I've got a room."

"Thank God," Logan muttered, grabbing her hand. They started through the crowd and Logan made himself glance over at Freddie and Rob. He gave them a curt nod and tried to ignore their smug expressions and thumbs up.

As soon as they were through the door and out into the hot night air, Marie turned and they were kissing again. This time, she slammed *him* against the wall. Logan seriously considered dragging her around the corner of the building to take the edge off, but he managed to push her away while he still had a shred of control left. "Wait. Wait. Where's the motel?"

Marie reached up and dragged her thumb across her lower lip, immediately focusing his attention on her mouth. She smiled. "Just up the street. I'll drive."

Even through the haze of lust, he recognized the sense of her plan. His truck was recognizable, and it'd be like a flashing neon sign parked in the parking lot of her hotel. "Lead the way."

She climbed into a blue Chevy that was at least a decade old. Logan gave the car a dubious look before folding his body into the cramped passenger seat. Marie tossed him a grin and twisted the key. "Bought it in Little Rock. Authenticity." When she hit the edge of the paved road, the glove compartment fell open onto Logan's knees, spilling a couple of maps into his lap, which he swept unceremoniously onto the floor. She reached over to slam the glove compartment shut, and Logan latched onto her arm, leaning over to kiss her soundly right there at the edge of the road.

Marie had the good sense to pull away and start driving, leaving Logan to watch her profile. "So what's your cover? Band groupie?"

She snorted. "That would mean I'd have to go home with one of the band guys. I'm that down-on-her-luck type, escapin' from a nasty ex-boyfriend up in Little Rock, looking for a friend I thought moved down these parts."

Reasonable cover story. "And then you saw me in the bar and you just couldn't resist my hot body?"

Her smile was wide and genuine when she answered. "Never have been able to, sugar."

Logan groaned, his fingers itching to drag her onto his lap. "How'd you find me?"

"Picked the biggest dump I could find and figured you'd show up eventually," she answered, so damn pleased with herself that Logan had to slide across the bench seat and press a few kisses to her jawline. "Logan," she whispered, tilting her head to the side to give him better access. "Wait!" She pushed him away, straightening the car on the road. "Two minutes."

"Dunno if I can wait that long, Marie," Logan answered truthfully. She glanced over at him, and he trailed his fingers up her arm. "Pull the car over."

Nodding vigorously, Marie turned her attention back to the road. Instead of pulling over, she grinned broadly and pointed through the windshield. "The motel!"

Logan saw the sign up ahead and forced himself to stop touching her. He could make it. He'd made it a damn month without her, he could wait another minute. "Drive faster," he ordered gruffly.

She floored it, chirping the tires as she pulled into the parking lot. They both had their doors open before she turned the car off, and Marie probably would've left the keys in the ignition if she hadn't remembered the room key was on the same ring. She reached the door a half-second before Logan, who molded himself to her back and started running his hands along every inch of her he could reach.

Logan pressed kisses to her neck, her shoulder, everywhere he could while she fumbled with the door. He noticed her hands were shaking and backed off, just a little. "Need help?"

"I can do it, Logan," she answered with a flash of irritation.

The lock gave and they stumbled through the door tripping over each other in their haste. Laughing, Marie landed on her ass on the threadbare carpet and reached up to pull Logan down on top of her.

He wedged a thigh between hers and lifted himself up on one elbow. "There's a bed, darlin'." He kicked the door shut.

"Don't care," she answered, working diligently to remove his clothes. She pushed his flannel shirt down his arms and started pulling his white t-shirt up. Logan moved with her, letting her strip him without protest until she reached for his belt buckle.


"Oh, no, you don't, Marie." He ignored her protests and slid down her body, inching her shirt up and licking the exposed skin. When she moved restlessly beneath him, he pushed the shirt up farther, tracing her ribs with his tongue. Then he paused. "How's your control?"

Breathing hard, Marie met his gaze. "Going fast."

He let one palm land on her denim-covered thigh and squeeze. "You bring a body suit?"

She grimaced. "No. Fucking professor and his fucking lectures about committing to your role."

Logan laughed outright at that. "You did good, baby. You did real good."

Marie reached up and ran her fingernails down his chest, leaving him gasping a little for breath. "Fat fucking lot of good it did me," she grumbled. "I want you naked."

Logan groaned his assent. "I want you naked, too, darlin'." She dropped her head to the floor, turning her face away from him, and he could smell the unexpected scent of her tears. "Marie?"

She shook her head, her fingers clenched into fists at her sides. Logan wasn't sure he could touch her safely and he didn't want to ask, so he ran a soothing hand from her knee to her hip and back again, his other arm sneaking beneath her back to drag her closer.

"Marie, look at me."

She didn't move. "I hate not being able to touch you," she whispered.

He hated not being able to touch her, too, but he knew that was exactly the wrong thing to admit. Instead, he brushed a finger lightly across the back of her hand to make sure it was safe, then took her hand and laid it against his chest, right over his heart. "You are touching me."

With a watery laugh, she glanced over at him. "You know what I mean, Logan."

The look on her face was almost more than he could bear. "So it's a little more complicated for us," he said. "Doesn't matter to me."

"Complicated," she repeated under her breath.

"Yes." Logan leaned down and kissed her lips almost chastely. "Complicated."

She blinked rapidly, tears still streaking down into her hair. "Don't you want something... simple?"

He didn't know how to answer. He was shitty at conversations like these. "I've never liked it easy." Even as the words left his mouth, he knew it was the wrong thing to say.

She nodded and swallowed hard.

"Marie," Logan said, his serious tone drawing her attention. "I don't want anything if it doesn't involve you," he answered finally.

Marie's fingers started to move against his chest, caressing him in slow, smooth strokes. "Maybe you'll get tired of... complications someday," she said softly.

"Never," Logan answered, his tone fierce. "Whatever I need to do to be with you, I'll do it."

She studied him, her brown eyes still watery. Then her hand slid down his chest, tracing little patterns on his bare abdomen until he groaned and pressed his erection against her thigh. Marie looped her free arm around his neck and yanked his face down to hers. "Take your pants off." She punctuated the order with a serious kiss.

Logan's fingers gripped her thigh, hitching it up higher on his hip as he kissed her back with all the emotion that he could never seem to put into words. When he broke the kiss, she was already moving, rolling him onto his back and reaching for his belt.

Pausing, Marie examined the pewter buckle with interest. "This new?" she asked, tracing the hideous design that included an American flag, a longhorn, and a cactus.

Logan grimaced, wishing her attention would shift a little to the south. "Committing to the role," he managed, tugging at the hemline of her v-neck.

Laughing, Marie slid his belt from his jeans and reached for the button to free his erection. Her delicate fingers reached inside his jeans and pulled him out, stroking him carefully. "You missed me, huh, Logan?"

"God, yeah," he agreed, oblivious to anything not involving his cock and her hand. "Marie." Then she released him and rolled to her knees beside him. Smiling, she tugged her shirt over her head and reached behind her for the clasp to her bra, which did really good things for her breasts. "You're beautiful, darlin'," he murmured, feasting on the sight of her.

She reached across his body and he couldn't resist the temptation to lean up and take one nipple into his mouth. "Logan!" she gasped, staying still for several long moments. Her hand landed low on his stomach right before she pulled away. She held up his abandoned flannel. "Do me a favor, sugar, and cut a slit in your shirt."

He grinned. He'd sacrifice any article of clothing he owned to be inside of her. Popping a single claw, he made the necessary alteration and moved to sit up.

"No, no, no," Marie told him with a smug smile. "You stay put, sugar." She rolled gracefully to her feet and reached for the button of her jeans. Slowly, slowly, she slid down the zipper and started inching her jeans down.

Logan stared up at her, mesmerized by her body, by *her.* "You're so beautiful."

Marie pushed her jeans down over her knees and then stepped out of them, dropping to her knees beside him. "Condom?" she asked, leaning back when he tried to reach for her.

"Wallet," he answered, lifting one hip so he could tug the thing out of his jeans pocket.

"Here you go, sugar," Marie said, pulling his pants all the way off. She sat back on her heels and stared at his naked body with appreciation. Then she held out her hand. "Gimme your shirt."

Logan blinked. "My shirt?"

"With the slit?" she prompted.

"Oh!" Logan handed it over with enthusiasm. "How're we doing this?"

"I don't want to hurt you," Marie told him seriously. She flicked the shirt out and let it settle onto his body, covering him from the bottom of his rib cage to halfway down his thighs. Carefully, she worked the opening over the head of his cock and down, until his erection stuck up out of the shirt.

Logan frowned. "I look like an asshole."

Marie arched an eyebrow and tore the condom wrapper, unrolling the latex onto his erection. And then Logan didn't much care what he looked like, 'cause she was shifting to straddle him and -- Oh, God. He was inside her heat.

Marie paused astride him, her head tilted back, her mouth slightly open. "You feel so good, sugar," she whispered.

He tried to answer her, but then she began to move. It was slow and steady at first, but it'd been a month since they'd touched. Soon she was rocking on top of him with abandon, and he was pressing up into her as far as he could, frustrated that he couldn't touch her.

"Marie," he moaned, his fingers clutching at the carpet to keep himself from reaching for her.

Marie's hands landed beside his ears, her body shifting as she worked toward release. Just before she went over the edge, she leaned down and pressed a wet kiss to his mouth. He returned it with enthusiasm until he felt the first tug of her mutation. And then she was coming, her body shuddering around his, and he wasn't far behind, just a couple more thrusts and he joined her with a shout.

Logan was still floating in a post-coital haze of satisfaction when, beside him, Marie started to giggle. He opened one eye and rolled his head to one side, letting his appreciative gaze slide down her body. She, like him, was lying on her back on the floor, breathing hard.

"What?" Logan asked.

Marie turned her head to meet his gaze, her eyes wide and untroubled. "This floor is disgusting!" she answered, her giggles kicking up a notch.

Logan inhaled, testing the air, then grimaced. Damn, she was right. "Shower?" he suggested. "How's your control?"

Marie's smile softened. "Coming back. You're a little overwhelming, sugar."

Logan decided that he had to touch her immediately. He reached down and pulled his abused flannel free, groaning as it slid along his over-sensitized flesh. Logan found and sleeve and shoved his arm through, rolling to his side and tossing his arm across her stomach.

She shifted closer. "Let's shower," she suggested, leaning closer to kiss him. And, yes, her control was back, Logan noted with satisfaction, kissing her soundly there on the disgusting rug in a dingy motel room in fucking Texarkana of all places. None of that mattered as long as she was there.

Logan rolled to his feet, slipping the condom off and tossing it as he led Marie to the bathroom. He turned the water on, testing the temperature, then pulled Marie closer to kiss her for a few more minutes, loving the way she pressed her naked curves against him.

When they got in the shower, they washed each other leisurely until Logan pressed her up against the tile wall and brought her off with his mouth. Her mutation slipped again as she went over the edge, and while Logan didn't quite pass out, he had to sit propped up against the wall for a few minutes to recover. So did she.

The water started to cool and she tugged him out of the shower, grabbing a towel to dry him off. Then she dropped to her knees and gave him one incredible blow job. With a self-satisfied smile, she led him, still a little weak-kneed from her oral skills, to the bed.

They made love again in the middle of the night, but what Logan remembered most the next morning was their conversations. They talked about sports, about every day irritations, about the state of the world. They caught each other up on the past month of their lives, and they told each other with and without words just how much they missed each other.

Far too soon, the sun peeked over the horizon. Logan rolled closer to Marie, who had finally dozed off an hour or so before. He couldn't stand the thought of going back with Freddie and Rob today. Couldn't stand the thought of not seeing her for another month.

But he knew she couldn't stay. It was too dangerous, and he'd chew off his own arm before he'd willingly put her in danger. Almost unwittingly, his embrace tightened and she mumbled something into his skin.

She woke slowly, stretching that body of hers against his with a long groan. "Morning, sugar," she murmured.

"You sore?" he asked, running a hand over her hip.

Marie's brown eyes opened and she gave him a mischievous look. "Why? You got something in mind?" She shifted against him, rubbing her thigh against his erection.

"Hell, yeah," Logan answered with a smile. They kissed and touched and savored each other until Logan cut a hole in the sheet and pulled it between them. He rolled between her spread thighs and pushed his way home. "God, darlin'," he muttered into her neck. "I don't want you to go."

She tightened herself around him. "I know, sugar." He gave her a slow, deep thrust and she gasped. "I don't want to go."

Logan bit the place where her neck met her shoulder. "You have to go."

"I know," Marie answered, arching up into him. "I'll miss you so much."

"I'll miss you, too," he admitted.

And then there were no more words, only sighs and moans as they moved against each other. He came before she did, and slithered down the bed to finish her off with his tongue. "Logan!" she yelped, pressing herself against his mouth.

They lay together for a while, then slowly, reluctantly got out of bed. She showered first, then Logan, who tossed his flannel in the trash and tugged on his tight white undershirt.

Quietly, they left the motel room and climbed into Marie's car. Logan ignored his seatbelt and slid closer to her, letting his hand rest on her thigh. The drive back to the shitty bar passed too quickly, and Marie slid into the space next to Logan's trailer.

He stared at the bar's crappy exterior for a long moment. "Tell the professor I don't have anything concrete yet. But as soon as I do..."

Marie nodded. "You'll come back."

"Damn straight," he pledged, finally turning to meet her sad gaze. "You be careful."

She smiled. "I should be the one telling you that." She reached one small hand up and cupped his cheek. "Don't be all brave and self-sacrificing," she warned, leaning closer to press a kiss to his lips. "Come back to me."

Logan cupped her soft cheek and echoed her gesture, kissing her softly. "Always," he pledged, and it was as close as he'd ever come to telling her he loved her.

Her eyes sparkled with tears that she refused to shed, and she leaned up to kiss him more thoroughly. Logan didn't want to get out of the car, but he knew he was just prolonging the inevitable. So he pulled back and then hauled her into a fierce hug. Marie buried her face in his neck and whispered, "I love you, too."

His arms tightened at the flood of warmth that her words unleashed. Then he let her go and reached for the door handle. He didn't say anything else, he wouldn't say goodbye to her. He didn't let himself look back until he was safely in the cab of his truck. He pressed his palm flat against the glass and held her gaze, then twisted the key in the ignition.

As he drove away from the beat-up Chevy parked in front of the tumbledown bar, Logan promised himself there was no fucking way he'd wait another thirty days to touch her.

THE END