Four days after the attack in the Oval Office, one day after Magneto's ploy to kill all the humans, President McKenna hesitated on live TV. Shaken, he sucked in a breath and went off script. He began to speak of opportunities, of unique moments in history, of chances that should not be squandered. Even without prefabricated rhetoric from his speechwriters, the president managed to convey a sense of righteous determination.

True to his word, Logan was watching.

Unfortunately, so were 435 shocked and angry members of the United States Congress.

Still, Xavier's plan worked, so far as it went. As he spoke, McKenna kept one hand on the blue folder lying on his desk. Xavier and the others -- they'd managed to convince the most powerful man on earth to do the right thing. They forgot about the rest of the world -- cable news push polls and spittle-spewing pundits and angry citizens calling Capitol Hill gave Congress the backing it needed to pass the Mutant Registration Act in a patriotic flurry.

But McKenna refused to sign it, let it die on his desk as the Congressional term expired. Instead of disappearing for their summer breaks, Congress went into special session, and this time, it wasn't the MRA. This time, McKenna used the tattered remnants of his political clout to veto the Humans United against Mutant Aggression and Neo-Ascendancy Act outright (and seal his fate as a one-term president), but it wasn't nearly enough. Congress retaliated with a landslide override vote.

The HUMAN Act was far, far worse than the MRA, and the next time the government came after Xavier's kids, it wasn't a full frontal assault.

---

Logan yanked the cigar from his mouth and blew out an irritable stream of smoke. "Excuse me?"

"I can't allow you into the United States," the border guard repeated. He wasn't terribly young or terribly bright or terribly memorable, just an average guy in a uniform who thought he could keep Logan from crossing the border.

Damn fool Americans. Logan managed to keep that to himself. "Why not?"

"You've been in and out of the country quite a bit," the guard answered.

Logan narrowed his eyes and considered his options. Clearly, this guard was lying. Numerous entrances and exits to the States weren't a problem; Logan's suspected mutancy was. Fed up and running on too little sleep, Logan gave a mental "fuck it" and fixed a menacing grin on the guard. "I'm a traveling salesman."

True enough, even if the guard did give Logan's beat up truck a skeptical once over. "I'm afraid you'll have to hawk your goods somewhere else, buddy."

"Got a date to keep with an old friend," Logan retorted, mentally reviewing his options. He wasn't a cable-news kind of guy, but he read the Toronto Globe and Mail and occasionally even the New York Times. He'd known things in the States were growing worse even before Scott called. He'd been thinking about taking Marie back to Canada, because he'd be damned if he'd let her be harmed during the States' anti-mutant hysteria.

"There's a pay phone over there," the guard said. "Maybe you should call and cancel."

Although he momentarily considered pounding the guard's face into a bloody pulp, Logan instead threw the truck into reverse and floored the gas before letting up on the brake, leaving the guard with the stench of burnt rubber. Logan swung the wheel, shifted into first, and took off, cursing impressively.

He drove northeast, out of Darlingside, attempted to get into the States again at Narrows, a smaller crossing. Same result. He tried the next town over, still no go, and each guard gave him a different reason. Apparently Logan's passport was flagged for no-entry.

Logan roared into a gas station parking lot and screeched to a halt. He called the mansion from a grimy pay phone, requesting transportation of some kind on the other side.

"What's wrong with your truck?" Ororo asked.

"I'm gonna pay someone with a boat to bring me across. Closed the borders to suspected mutants, looks like."

Ororo gave a thoughtful hum, then asked, "Would you prefer to hold on, or call back? I just need a couple minutes."

Logan hung up and retreated to his truck. He grabbed some essentials from the back and repacked his duffel bag, storing the rest of his few possessions behind the bench seat. When he called the mansion a second time, a familiar voice answered. "Logan?"

"Marie?" Despite the situation, Logan found himself smiling at the sound of her voice.

"It's gonna take me a few hours to reach you. I'm sure Goose Bay has a bar."

Logan blinked. "You're coming?"

"Yup," Marie confirmed, and he could tell she was smiling. "You're stranded in the great white north and you need a lift. I like the irony."

He shook his head a little, but he was smiling. "This is hardly the great white north, Marie."

"Close enough," she shot back. It disturbed Logan that he could perfectly picture the little smile and the half shrug she'd give him. "There's a place called the Whiskey River on Lawrence Road. No cages, Logan. Sorry."

She sounded far too amused. He growled, "Go get in the car, Marie. Drive carefully."

"I always do."

---

Rogue made good time as she traveled north. Probably because Scott wasn't there to tell her to slow down, the speed limit is 55 all over the state, and, no, just because the car *can* go that fast doesn't mean it *should.* It was just her and her music, windows down, gloves tucked into the bag sitting on the passenger seat, warm air whipping her hair around. Heaven, Rogue thought.

Relatively, anyway. The tension at the school was inescapable, and it was too damn quiet for Rogue's tastes. The constant chaos had bothered her when she first arrived, paranoid as she was that someone would accidentally touch her. But now that the ranks of the school were dwindling, the big mansion felt... wrong.

She pulled into the parking lot of the Whiskey River five and a half hours after Logan called and groaned. The place was a dive, just like she'd expected from the name. She wondered idly if they played the Willie Nelson song a lot, and then groaned as the damn thing lodged itself in her head.

With a sigh, she climbed out of the car and stretched, squinting up at the sun. "Now you're all I got to take care of me," she absently sung under her breath. Good time, she told herself, wasn't even late afternoon. They wouldn't get back to the mansion until after dinner. No doubt Logan would make some comment about speeding. Course, he'd probably do it with a grin, and he was hardly one to talk.

As she walked towards the entrance, she frowned down at her bare arms. It had to be in the mid-80s and humid, plus it wasn't a particularly good political climate to go around announcing oneself as a mutant. On the other hand, she didn't want a drunken bar patron to jostle her and end up dead. And another unwanted resident in her mind.

With a little shrug, Rogue crossed her bare arms tightly to her chest, inching her fingers up under the material of her sleeves. When she edged into the bar, she blinked a few times in the sudden lack of light, looking around for Logan. She needn't have bothered; he was already up and moving towards her, a bag slung over one shoulder.

"Where are your gloves?"

Rogue gave him a smile. "Nice to see you, too, sugar."

If he'd been anyone else, he'd have had the good grace to look embarrassed. Because he was Logan, he merely grinned down at her and pulled her into a brief, one-armed hug. She'd forgotten how solid he felt, how comforting. Logan tilted his head in the direction of the door. "Let's get out of here, kid."

She trailed after him, appreciating the way his jeans hugged his body. She used to wonder idly if she'd ever see him in anything other than jeans or the leather uniform. Now she didn't much care, because Logan in jeans was a delicious sight. Plus she had kind of a thing for that giant belt buckle of his, and he probably wouldn't wear it with a pair of khakis. Not that she could actually *see* him in khakis in the first place, and why was he--

She stopped ten feet away from the car and crossed her arms. "No way."

Logan turned to look at her, one hand already on the driver's side door. "What?" he asked, honestly puzzled.

"I'm driving, Logan."

"Marie--"

"I've got the keys," she pointed out reasonably.

His eyebrow went up, and she could tell he was trying not to smirk at her. "I could rectify that situation pretty quick, Marie."

She rolled her eyes at him, and shifted her weight, cocking one hip out to the side. Let him just try. "It's my car."

Logan studied her for a moment, then shrugged. "Fine."

When he circled around and slid into the passenger seat, Rogue considered it a small victory and a rather large display of trust from him. She hopped in, twisted the key in the ignition, popped the clutch, and pulled out, silently pleased that he buckled his seatbelt without any heckling from her.

"Speedin', Marie?" he asked.

She glanced over, and sure enough, he was grinning at her. "Speed limit's just a suggestion, really." He gave an almost-chuckle and turned to stare out the window. She reached over and poked him in the shoulder. "Any good fights lately?"

Logan cut her a glance. "You're cheerful."

Rogue heard the question underlying his words and sobered a bit. "Not -- not really. It's just--" She shrugged. "It's nice to be away from the mansion for a little while."

"Been bad," Logan surmised, looking out the window again.

"Yeah," Rogue confirmed, matching his low tone. She flipped on her blinker and turned, accelerating up the entrance ramp. "So they closed the borders?"

"Tightened 'em up, more like," Logan answered. "Should've had the professor get me a new passport."

Startled, Rogue glanced at the man beside her. She'd met him in a bar after he kicked the shit out of all takers. He'd been shirtless and sweaty and a sexual magnet. Didn't seem like the Wolverine should have to deal with something as trivial as a passport.

Logan caught her surprised _expression and chuckled, pulling out a slim blue passport and handing it to her. Rogue held it against the steering wheel, stealing glances as she drove. She'd never actually seen a picture of him before, and those muttonchops on the tiny, unsmiling Loganface pasted into a passport -- it was just... too weird.

"James Melvin Lawrence?" she read, laughing. "*Melvin*?"

He shrugged one shoulder. "Guy who made it for me has a sick sense of humor."

Still chuckling at the thought of what Logan would do if someone actually addressed him as Melvin, she glanced at the rest of the information and did the math. "Age 35?"

"Memorize that," Logan ordered quietly. "And come up with your own. I'll get you a passport."

Rogue glanced over at him. "What are you--?"

"It's getting bad, Marie," he answered. "If we have to disappear, we'll need different identities."

Rogue wondered who, exactly, was included in Logan's "we," but didn't have the courage to ask. Her short-lived buoyancy fled, leaving her disconcerted. "We won't need to disappear," she said with forced cheer. "There's a lawsuit challenging the HUMAN Act. The Fourteenth Amendment--"

"Marie," Logan interrupted, resting his fingertips on her knee. "Tell me why Scott called. Tell me how bad it is."

She pressed her lips firmly together, and focused on the white lines zipping past. "Mutants are going missing," she answered finally. "We think the government kills some of 'em, but some--" Rogue glanced over at him and away. God, she didn't want to be the one to tell him this. "There are experiments."

---

Logan woke from a light doze as the car slowed. He opened his eyes and took in the familiar sight of Salem Center.

He could feel Marie's warm gaze. "Nice nap?"

"Been moving pretty quickly," he said by way of answering.

She nodded, but didn't say much else. Logan's attention drifted back to the town outside. Looked the same, except maybe a little less lively. Not many tourists wandering the streets, darting in and out of those annoying little shops. Logan drew in a sharp breath when he saw a handwritten sign in the window of a café that said, "Humans only."

As they approached Xavier's, Logan frowned. No longer the sun-drenched utopia of his first visit, but the mansion was still impressive. But it was so... quiet.

"A lot of the younger kids went home to their parents," Marie explained, seemingly reading his thoughts. She was pretty good at that. He glanced over at her, and she gestured vaguely towards the mansion. "After."

Made a lot of sense, Logan admitted. What decent parent *wouldn't* take little Jesse home after his boarding school was attacked by a hundred black ops troops? "What about the kids whose parents--?"

"Don't want them?" Marie interrupted, gloved hands tight on the steering wheel. "This is our home." She parked and flashed him a brittle smile. "Let's go. The professor's waiting."

Logan wanted to say a choice word or two about Marie's parents. He wanted to point out that her home was with him. Instead, he slung his bag over one shoulder and followed her inside, looking around a little warily. Place was too damn quiet.

Rogue led him to Xavier's study, where Scott, Ororo, and the professor were waiting.

"Welcome back, Logan," Xavier greeted.

Ororo gave Logan a quick hug, and Scott nodded.

"Nice to be back," Logan answered, belatedly wondering when the hell he'd started mouthing platitudes. Sure that Marie would be giving him a knowing smirk, he glanced over and was surprised to find her hovering uncertainly just inside the doorway. She was looking at the professor, not Logan, and twisting the fingertip of one glove. Logan thought he understood the source of her unease -- she was no longer a student, but not yet a regular visitor to the inner sanctum.

Logan opened his mouth to tell her to sit down, but the professor beat him to it.

"Rogue," Xavier said, "please stay."

"Sure," she acquiesced, flushing slightly.

Logan dropped his bag on the floor and moved to the couch, amused and a little bit pleased that Marie chose to sit beside him. Logan stared impassively at Scott, whose lips were pressed into a tight line, until the younger man took a seat.

"It seems," Scott began, "that mutants are disappearing."

Logan nodded once. "To government labs. And you want to bust them out."

Ororo smiled. "We'll probably try to use more finesse than force, but... yes, essentially."

"You want my help."

"Yes," Xavier acknowledged with a dip of his chin. "In the rescue missions, but also to find the labs."

Puzzled, Logan asked, "Why can't you use Cerebro?"

"They're drugged," Scott explained. "Their mental..."

"Signatures," Xavier supplied.

"Right. They're undetectable when their signatures are suppressed by the drugs."

Logan chewed on that for a moment. "So you want me to -- what? Wander until I sniff out large groups of mutants?"

Xavier exchanged a look with Ororo, and Logan knew he wasn't going to like whatever came next. "No," Xavier said. "We want you to track someone who is captured. Someone who lets herself be captured"

Logan could feel the anger rising. "Who?"

"I have volunteered," Ororo answered softly, her _expression serene. "But my mutation is not immediately obvious."

It took a moment for the implication to register.

Motherfucker.

"No," Logan bit out, his gaze shifting to Marie, who'd frozen beside him at Ororo's words.

"Oh," Marie said, eyes wide, her gloved hands locked tightly together. "I -- I guess I could--"

"No," Logan interrupted fiercely. "No you fucking well couldn't." He wheeled on Scott. "Why don't *you* volunteer, Cyclops?"

"I did," Scott answered shortly.

"It's too dangerous for Scott," Xavier said. "His--"

"It's too fucking dangerous for *Rogue.*" Logan was shouting at this point, his hands clenched into fists, knuckles itching.

"No," Marie said softly, her understanding gaze on Scott. "If they took his visor, he'd be blind."

"Or a killing machine," Logan countered coldly, turning to the younger man. "More than capable of blasting his way out."

"Without the visor," Scott said, and if Logan hadn't been so focused on his own anger, he'd have noticed the bitterness in Scott's voice, "I have no control. None. Innocent people would die. The mutants we're trying to save would die."

"So let loose a blast and I'll come *get* you out," Logan retorted, exasperated. What the fuck were they thinking, suggesting Marie -- eighteen-year-old, untrained Marie -- should get herself captured by the people who poured molten adamantium into his body?

"Logan," Xavier said patiently, "be rational--"

"Fuck rational. Rogue is--"

"An adult, Logan," said Marie herself. Her voice was steely, a tone he'd never heard from her before, and she had that damnable look of determination on her face. "The professor's right. We've been hearing about holding cells. Cells specific to the mutations of their occupants. They'd surround Ororo with metal. They'd blind Scott. I'm --"

"No." Logan didn't hear the others, didn't care that they had opinions, didn't really give a shit about the good of mutantkind. "No way, Marie. I'll let 'em take me and then fight my way out."

"Logan--"

"It's decided, Marie." He was using his hard voice, the one that sent more than one cage-fighter scampering away like a scared little squirrel. He should've known it wouldn't faze Marie.

She pushed at his shoulder with one hand, clearly frustrated. "They'll drug *you*, Logan, and none of us can track you."

He shrugged stubbornly. "So I'll get out when I come around."

"First of all, who says they'll ever *let* you come around?" Marie answered, her tone scathing, her cheeks flushed with anger. "And secondly, you're missing the point,"

"I don't fucking care."

Her eyes narrowed. "My mutation can't be controlled. Not like Scott's or Ororo's."

"I'm going," Logan said with a small, careless shrug, considering the argument over.

"No, you're not." Damn it all, but she sounded as determined as he did.

"They'll wrap you in a fucking straightjacket, Marie. They'll strap you to a metal fucking table and they'll run their tests until you lose your goddamned mind." Logan realized he was standing, now, towering over her and shouting. Dimly he heard Scott's ineffectual pleas to calm down and kept right on ignoring them.

Marie didn't look worried or upset. Anyone who didn't know her well wouldn't be able to read her anxiety in the tilt of her head, in the tightness of her shoulders. Still, she stared up at him with those trusting eyes and said, "You'll find me."

Logan couldn't handle it, didn't deserve such blind trust from her. There was no way in hell he would agree to this. No way he could watch her walk away from him and towards danger. No way he could merely follow behind, trailing her scent, while they fucking tortured her. "No," he answered shortly. "I won't." Logan tossed a glare at Xavier. "Send in a fucking telepath, Chuck."

He had one hand on the doorknob when Ororo's soft voice froze him in place.

"They're killing the telepaths outright, Logan."

---

Logan avoided her for the rest of the evening, disappearing on his motorcycle, and Rogue knew better than to follow. He was still reeling from the idea of her playing the role of bait, still fighting the never-ending battle between his instincts and his common sense. Rogue would be the first to admit that they were extremely short on attractive options, but she also know that Logan was the kind of man who made decisions from the gut. His instincts kept him alive -- kept her alive sometimes -- and right now, they were screaming at him to stop the madness. Probably he was battling the urge to toss her on Scott's bike and flee to Canada.

As much as Rogue knew she'd have to have another discussion with Logan about the plan, she needed time herself. She was having some trouble drowning out her shrieking sense of self-preservation with the cold logic of necessity. To soothe her mind, she headed for Ororo's sanctuary. Rogue's gardening skills quite frankly sucked, but Ororo's green thumb had provided the mansion with some impressive gardens. They were beautiful on sunny days, a riot of color and scent, but Rogue preferred them at night, preferred the cool silence of sleeping flowers glowing softly in the moonlight.

"Trouble sleeping?"

Rogue turned and gave Ororo a smile. "Haven't tried yet."

Ororo nodded, turning her attention back to night sky. "You should rest. It will help ease your mind."

Rogue grinned and joined Ororo on the stone bench. She wasn't surprised to see 'Ro there; it wasn't the first time they'd run into each other at night in the gardens. Ororo wasn't one for overt displays of emotion, but Rogue knew her well enough to know that this situation was troubling 'Ro. And she, too, considered the gardens a refuge.

"You know," Rogue said, "I really admire the faith you nightmare-less people have in the power of sleep. Some nights I'd rather be locked up in a room with Sabretooth."

Ororo's placid _expression never wavered, but she glanced over at Rogue with a gaze that was somehow deeper, more focused. More concerned. "Rogue--"

"I'm sorry. Bad joke."

Ororo dipped her chin slightly, still watching Rogue. "Please don't apologize. I was going to tell you that he's in his room. I thought you might be waiting for his safe return."

"Been there a couple of times already," Rogue answered with a grin. "He usually comes back in one piece."

"Physically," Ororo said, and Rogue had to look away. She couldn't bear the thought of Logan's emotional turmoil, not yet. She hadn't completely worked through her own. Ororo's voice was soft and soothing. "Logan has several good points. This is a very dangerous plan."

"I know," Rogue admitted. "I understand that, but it's not like we can sneak into some government office and print out a list of where the mutants are being held." Rogue had a fleeting thought of Mystique -- that particular mutation would be damn helpful right about now.

"It will have to be one of us," 'Ro agreed. "The men have neither the patience nor the ability to cower convincingly in the face of danger."

Rogue attempted to conjure an image of the Wolverine cowering at the feet of his captors and stifled a laugh.

Ororo gave her an answering smile, then said, "Before you decide on irrevocable course of action, keep in mind that I am willing to go myself." Ororo rose, resting her hand briefly on Rogue's shoulder, then departed with a soft, "Good night."

"G'night, 'Ro." Rogue considered Ororo's point, but dismissed it. It had to be Rogue -- she was the logical choice, and she felt a responsibility. She needed to do it. She couldn't bear doing *nothing,* even if the plan had some serious drawbacks.

Like the possibility that she'd be experimented on. With needles.

Rogue shuddered, rubbing her hands briskly over her arms as she rose to move inside. She made her way up the stairs, and found herself, predictably, outside Logan's door. The nightmares will plague him tonight, she thought, and sure enough, when she pressed her ear to the thick wood, she could hear the incoherent muttering.

With a sigh, Rogue ignored the sense of déjà vu and pushed his door open. To be safe, she stopped a few feet from the bed and said his name. She really didn't need a fresh dose of his nightmares, and he really didn't need another helping of guilt for hurting her.

No response from Logan, just more groaning.

"Logan." He twitched, his arms moving beneath the sheets. She wanted to get closer, wanted to wrap him in a soothing embrace and wake him with a gentle touch. For once, it wasn't her skin that was the problem. Or at least not the whole problem. "Logan, please wake up."

His entire body tensed, the claws released, and he was sitting up on the edge of the bed, eyes wide. She'd sprung awake countless times in a similar posture, momentarily shocked to look down and see bare knuckles instead of inches of metal.

"Logan," Rogue said firmly. "Logan wake--"

"Jesus," Logan managed, breathing heavily. He retracted the claws and moved, reaching for her hand. "You shouldn't come in here when I'm having nightmares."

Rogue allowed him to pull her closer, stumbling to a stop between his knees. She froze in surprise when he wrapped his bare arms around her midsection, pressing his face against her rib cage. He was still shaking a little, and it was the most natural thing in the world for Rogue to cradle his head against her with one hand, and rub soothing patterns on his back with the other. "It's okay, Logan."

"No, it's not," he told her stomach, his voice still rough around the edges from sleep and something else she couldn't quite name. "I've had just about all I can take of self-sacrificing women."

Rogue blinked, caught somewhere between pleasure that he'd expressed the sentiment and petty resentment that it was still all about Jean. Rogue hated herself for envying a dead woman, a woman she'd cared for and admired, no less. But Jean still owned a piece of Logan that Rogue would never have.

Rogue tugged gently on his hair until he looked up at her, resting his chin on her sternum. Momentarily, Rogue lost her train of thought at his nearness and the solid feel of him in her arms and those beautiful, bottomless hazel eyes. "I'm pretty attached to being alive, Logan." His arms tightened around her, and she tripped a little over her words. "I really don't *want* to die."

He closed his eyes, his mouth twisted in anguish. "You can't die."

She smiled. "Well, I *can* die, I'd just really prefer not to."

Logan pinned her with his gaze. "I can't take care of you if you go running into danger."

"I owe it to the professor," Rogue said. "He's done so much--"

"You owe it to *me* to stay alive." Logan pulled back, his arms sliding away, hands landing on her hips to hold her in place. "When you save someone's life, you're responsible for it forever. I'm responsible for you, Marie. That doesn't stop because you turn eighteen and decide you want to be bait in a poorly constructed trap."

Unable to summon any sort of response, Rogue merely nodded.

"Then don't--"

"I have to," Rogue interrupted, cursing the tears blurring her vision. "I remember the camps, Logan. Kids squashed into boxcars with their parents and hundreds of strangers, dead bodies decaying right next to them. No water, no food, no toilets." Her mouth twisted into a grimace. "I can smell the furnaces. I can taste the ashes."

Logan stared at her, eyes wide. "Marie--"

"I remember what they did to you," she told him, one gloved hand pressed against his cheek. "I know what could happen to me. But I also remember that last time around it happened to six million people." She shrugged and gave a watery chuckle. "I don't want to die, Logan, but I can't close my eyes and pretend this will go away if I ignore it."

Logan let go of her hips so abruptly she took a step backwards to recover her balance, and then his hands were on her upper arms, jerking her closer, pulling her down to his level. Without thinking, she shifted, straddling his legs so she could meet his intense gaze full on.

"What if I fail?" he asked in an odd, choked voice.

"Then you keep looking until you find me," she answered simply. "I trust you, Logan."

Their gaze held, and the air around them shifted. From anguish to something akin to desperation, and Rogue was suddenly keenly aware of their relative positions. Very aware of Logan's fierce gaze. Especially when it dropped to her lips.

She inhaled sharply, her hands coming up his biceps to steady herself.

"Marie," he said, a warning and a plea and a supplication.

He sat there, unmoving, waiting for her to decide. She'd always wanted him, always wanted this, and maybe she could handle it if he only wanted her for the night. Maybe it didn't matter.

"I can't--" She swallowed, tried again, willing him to understand. "I can't stop it yet, only slow it down."

Logan met her gaze, held it for a long, burning moment before capturing her lips with his. He moved quickly, brushing his lips against hers again and again until she was shaking with the effort of controlling her skin. Controlling herself.

And then his lips locked onto hers, his tongue thrust into her mouth, and she felt the tingle of his thoughts, heard his small noise of protest.

Rogue jerked back, assimilating the taste of his aggression, his fear, his longing for her. Logan recovered almost immediately, burying his face in the crook of her neck, using her scarf as a barrier to press kisses to her throat.

She was still shaking, her fingers clutching his strong arms, and it definitely wasn't her attempt to control her mutation that was making her tremble. It was Logan. Always had been. She didn't even care that he was in love with a dead woman, didn't care that this was probably some twisted sense of duty for him. For tonight, it was enough that he wanted to touch her. If she could just have one night, she could handle whatever came afterwards.

Rogue didn't even realize she was crying until Logan pulled back and looked at her. "What's wrong?"

"I'm sorry," she managed, swiping angrily at her cheek, brushing away the tears. "I just -- I wanted -- Just once, I wanted this." She gestured to the air between their bodies. "One time before--"

"No."

Rogue bounced once on the mattress before she realized that he'd moved away, tossing her aside and bolting from the bed. Hardly a new occurrence, she thought bitterly, though she'd somehow expected more from Logan.

He paced the floor angrily, clad only in a pair of pajama bottoms. "We can't do this."

Rogue nodded, not quite able to look him in the eye. "I know," she answered, wishing that her voice wasn't bleeding with hurt and shame. She understood why he was rejecting her, she really did. She was an inexperienced girl with deadly skin, and he was in love with a dead woman. She was disappointed that he'd stopped, but not surprised. What puzzled her was his anger.

"No, you don't," he shot back, stopping in front of her and waiting until she met his gaze. "I won't let you tell me goodbye."

Rogue blinked, stunned. "Logan--"

"No," he said again, then turned and walked out the door.

---

A muffled curse woke him, and Logan opened one eye to find Scott framed in the doorway looking guilty.

"Sorry," Scott said, one hand still on the doorknob. "Didn't know you were in here."

Logan pushed himself upright with a groan. Xavier's leather couch was quite comfortable for reading the paper while conveniently avoiding the teenagers swarming around the mansion. It was not, however, nearly firm enough to sleep on comfortably. "S'okay," Logan managed, twisting and shifting to get his back into proper alignment once more.

Scott hesitated, clearly deciding whether to brave the company of just-woken-up Logan or forego whatever it was he'd wanted. "Out of curiosity," Scott began as he pushed the door the rest of the way open and ventured inside, "Why *did* you sleep in here?"

Logan briefly considered telling the truth -- that he'd fled his room because he couldn't keep his hands off Marie much longer, and if he'd gone back to a room steeped in her scent, he'd have gone stark raving mad. Might be worth it just to see Scott's head explode.

"Long story," he said instead.

Scott moved towards the bookshelves. "Just please tell me it doesn't involved sharp metal and antique wooden furniture."

Logan glowered at the other man's back, wishing now that he'd gone with his first instinct. "It doesn't."

Scott paused in his search and glanced over his shoulder. "You okay?"

"Rogue's planning to run headlong into the warm embrace of your hysterical anti-mutant government. The same government that just passed the damn HUMAN Act. The same government that poured hot metal onto my skeleton and gave me fucking claws. I'm great."

Scott turned back to the shelf, and Logan thought for a moment that he would be on the receiving end of a lecture about the uselessness of sarcasm. Instead, Scott observed, "I never knew her name."

It took Logan a moment to catch up. Marie would always be Marie to him, though he made a concerted effort around the others to call her Rogue. She'd never volunteered her name to the others, as far as Logan knew, and he liked having that small part of her to himself. Must've slipped up last night, though. "Yeah," he answered belatedly.

"Pretty name," Scott commented, running his fingers along the spines of Xavier's books. Logan opened his mouth to unleash a sarcastic remark, but Scott kept speaking, his tone still conversational. "It's hell being the one left behind. Sheer hell. It's much easier to be the one charging into danger."

Logan sat frozen, mouth open slightly, as Scott selected a title and pulled the thin volume from the shelf. "But it's her decision, and if she's going to do it, she has to be confident. She has to know we're all behind her." Scott stood there, facing away from Logan, book clutched tightly in his hands. "This is a situation where it's possible to save her. You have the opportunity to let her--" Scott paused, swallowed hard. "Let her sacrifice some, let her do what she needs to do. But then you can bring her back. Safe. That's a rare opportunity," Scott continued, stronger now. "Don't fuck it up."

Still not quite sure how to respond, Logan gave a curt nod when Scott turned.

He held up the book. "Fitzgerald. Pulls you right in, even when you're too stressed to read much of anything."

Scott was at the door when Logan found his voice. "What if I fail?"

Without turning, Scott answered, "Then we'll look for her until we find her."

"What if we can't find her?" Logan choked out.

Scott drew an unsteady breath. "Then I'll have a bottle of whiskey waiting for you," he answered. It was the only time he'd ever referenced the night of Jean's funeral, the night Logan had waited in the small conference room with a bottle of gin, knowing Scott would show up. They'd shared nothing but alcohol and silent tears that night, no words.

That was probably the night that Logan started giving a damn about Cyke.

Scott opened the door to leave and Logan managed a gruff, "Thanks."

As the door closed, Logan wondered if he'd just received Scott's blessing. He'd likened Logan's relationship with Rogue to his own with Jeannie, which would seem to indicate that he'd accepted the possibility. It surprised Logan to realize that he cared what Scott thought.

It also irked him to admit that Cyclops had a decent point. Marie was nothing if not stubborn. Short of locking her up in his truck and driving until they reached Argentina, Logan didn't think he'd be able to stop her from -- He still couldn't really think about it. She already had to suffer through images from his nightmares; he couldn't bear it if she experienced such horrors in real life, couldn't bear to see her skin marred by scars he could've prevented. He wouldn't let her be tortured, not if he could help it.

Which was precisely the problem, because he *couldn't* stop her if she wouldn't let him.

Logan growled and vaulted off the couch, prowling Xavier's study. Didn't help. He should know by now that it was impossible to outpace the horror show in his mind. With a grunt, he shoved the door open and headed for the kitchen. Marie and Ororo looked up, startled from quiet conversation by his abrupt arrival.

Ororo recovered first. "Good morning, Logan. There's coffee."

He nodded his thanks and glanced at Marie, who was staring at her half-eaten toast. Frustrated with his inability to put his bone-crushing fear into words, to make her understand why he was so dead-set against her little plan, Logan busied himself with the coffee. Didn't take long, since he drank it black, but when he turned back, Ororo was frowning and Marie was gone.

"Damn it." Logan dropped his mug on the counter and headed for the still-swinging door.

"Logan."

He jerked to a halt. "What?"

"She's determined to do this with or without your support," Ororo said. "But she will be terrified if--"

"I'll be there," Logan interrupted, his voice low. "I can't stop her, so I'll be there."

Ororo nodded. "I am calling in reinforcements. None of us could bear to see her hurt, Logan."

"Good." He knew that, he really did, but he also knew that the intensity of his protective streak was much more formidable than, say, Chuck's. Xavier would protect Marie as much as possible, but if she died for the greater good, he would mourn her and move on. Logan would tell mutantkind to go screw themselves, pour as much of his healing energy into her as she needed, and disappear with Marie.

He followed Marie through the hallways, not bothering to track her, because he knew where she'd go. The small room in the east wing that housed the baby grand piano.

Sure enough, she was sitting on the elegant wooden bench, gloves forgotten beside her, playing scales. Logan stopped in the doorway to watch. She was so beautiful, biting her lip a little in concentration, her bare fingers dancing over the keys.

"I heard you in the hall, Logan," Marie said after a few moments, never breaking her rhythm. "C'mon in and say your piece."

"I can come back."

She struck a loud, discordant combination of keys and then swiveled on the bench to face him. "I've already made my decision."

"That's not what I'm here for."

Marie blinked. "It's not?"

"No." Logan took a couple of steps closer, hands on his hips. "I'm here to apologize."

Her mouth opened, but no sound emerged.

"I'm sorry about last night," Logan said, watching her closely.

Marie gave him a wary look. "What about last night?"

"I was..." he shrugged. "Abrupt."

She seemed to accept that, her _expression nearly blank. "You were upset."

"You're not understanding me, Marie," Logan said, holding her gaze, willing her to understand. "When you and me go to bed together, it'll be because we want it and we need it. Not because you have one last item to take care of before you die."

"But--" Marie stopped, shook her head. "It wasn't--"

"It was. It would've been." Logan closed the distance between them and sat beside her. He couldn't hold her bare hand, so he placed his palm on her thigh. "You're not going into this thing with your affairs settled." He nudged her leg with his, managed a grin. "You want me, you come back and get me."

She was still staring at him with wide, wide eyes, and her baffled look was damn near irresistible. Logan leaned in and pressed a fleeting kiss to her lips. "Got it?"

A slow, sweet smile. "Not yet." Marie leaned into him, kissing him a little longer, then pulled back and studied his face. "I'm catching on."

Logan reminded himself that hauling her off to his bedroom would be counterproductive, and that once he touched her, there's no way in hell he would let her walk into a trap. With an audible groan, Logan squeezed her thigh and stood. "I know this was Chuck's bright idea, but I'm taking over the planning."

Marie gave him a tentative smile. "You mean you're--"

"I still think it's dangerous, Marie. There are about a hundred things that could go wrong. But I'll be two steps behind you the whole time."

"You promise?"

"I promise."

---

Five days of hell.

Three days of planning, as Scott and the professor tapped every source they had, while Logan disappeared into the seedy underside of the city to gather information from people who wouldn't say a word to the likes of Scott or Xavier. Every evening, they'd meet and exchange information -- the stories of those whose loved ones had simply disappeared, court papers filed pleading with the government for information and the government's denials, even rumors that a friend of a friend saw mutants getting snatched from the streets. They hashed it out, tried to understand the complete picture with only a few fragments, and eventually came up with a plan.

For five hellish days, Rogue dangled herself fetchingly from the hook, wearing several layers despite the heat and tugging nervously at her gloves whenever she felt a curious gaze or noticed a surveillance camera. She could feel Logan watching her while she was in town, she even caught him a few times, but she suspected he'd let himself be seen so she'd know she was safe.

But she wasn't safe. Not really. None of them were anymore. Almost every store in Salem Center displayed shiny new posters urging customers -- *human* customers, anyway -- to turn in mutants.

"Don't keep it to yourself!"

"If you see something, say something!"

One Orwellian slogan after another, all accompanied by pictures of happy, healthy, laughing human families with an ominous, shadowed, humanoid shape lurking in the background. A dark shape with yellow eyes, which always made Rogue wonder if they knew about Mystique.

Mostly, though, the signs infuriated Rogue, reminding her of older signs in other languages. They scared her, too, because she remembered in searing detail how it turned out last the last time around. Which made her ever more determined to get herself captured.

Rogue played on anti-mutant sentiment, running endless errands into stores, buying suspicious combinations of goods, hoping someone would report her to the government. She took great delight in asking a pale, trembling librarian to set up an inter-library exchange so she could take out *Darwin's Children,* *The Gift of Evolution,* and *Mutant Power: The End of the Human Era.* The HUMAN Act, after all, deputized librarians into the fight against mutants, urging them to report suspected mutants to the government's newest branch, the Department of Human Security.

On the fourth day, Rogue lifted her chin and sailed into the hardware store with the "humans only" sign out front. The proprietor refused to sell her a hammer, peppering his refusal with slurs and telling Rogue in detail where mutants should go and what they should do with themselves when they arrived. She left, head high, and for the entire drive home, she wasn't sure if she needed to beat someone to a bloody pulp or cry.

She did a hard half hour in the Danger Room, then sobbed in the shower. When she emerged from the locker room, Logan was waiting in the hallway. He didn't speak, just walked with her up to her room, and then folded her into a quick hug at her door.

The worst was the waiting -- the unbearable tension, her increased startle response, the measuring looks from the others. Scott was over-attentive and always underfoot, Ororo kept trying to feed her, and Xavier merely watched her with the slightest bit of worry in his expression.

Logan was distant for the most part, cold eyes on her every time she looked his way, and Rogue wondered if she'd dreamed up his frank admission days earlier. She told herself it was just the stress, just the waiting, and she kept going into town every day and dreaming in Technicolor horror every night.

Other mutants arrived to join the vigil. Some, like Bobby and Jubilee, were former students; others, like Hank McCoy and Remy LeBeau, were friends or acquaintances of Scott's or Ororo's or the professor's. All the new arrivals were treated to a soft greeting by Rogue, and the silent treatment by Logan, who spent more and more time in the Danger Room working off his impatience.

The waiting got so frustrating that Rogue considered driving into Manhattan and waltzing into the FBI building. She'd plead with them to just arrest her already if it would end this damn waiting.

Rogue spoiled the few kids left at the school, turning some of her nervous energy to baking. Chocolate chip cookies. Key lime pies. Angel food cake. She took a can of Pledge and a handful of dust rags and attacked the large banister in the foyer. She spent an hour each morning in the Danger Room, and another at night. She painted her toenails blood red and her fingernails maroon. Mostly she waited for the damn trap to be sprung.

Even though she wanted to be captured more than anything, five days into it, she still yelped when the tranquilizer hit.

Rogue thought she'd be terrified once the waiting was finally over, but mostly she was indignant that they'd dared to attack her *here,* on the grounds of Xavier's school. She was in Ororo's garden clipping fresh flowers for the table, and then she felt the sharp, sudden pinprick and the dizzying burn.

*Professor,* Rogue projected. *It's time.*

A moment of fluid silence. Watching in wonder as the flowers fell from her grasp and floated, floated, floated down. Turning in a slow circle, looking for the people who shot her.

*Logan is on his way, Rogue.* The professor. In her head. *Be safe.*

Laughing inappropriately. Safe? With these guys?

The world tilted, shifted, glittered as she fell to the ground. Fatigues and face paint and she remembered them and why wasn't she inside?

Later she would remember motion and maybe a truck, the sound of men talking and the smell of sweat. But as rough hands pulled at her, she was too dazed to pay attention to detail. Her only thought was, *Where's Logan?*

His voice, his safe, chocolate, gruff voice in her head. *I'm right here, Marie.*

---

*Logan.*

He paused midswing, nearly getting clobbered for his efforts, and hollered the stop command. The simulation ceased immediately, leaving Logan breathing hard and a little disoriented. "What?"

Xavier somehow opened up a link between Marie and Logan, and suddenly Logan could hear her voice in his head, could see the drug-glazed nightmare faces looming above him. Above her. It was very confusing to see two things at once. She was scared and relieved and indignant, and he was suddenly shaking with adrenaline overload.

Logan was already running for the door, stumbling a bit with the onslaught, with the odd, foreign sensation of Marie being dragged to her feet. She was fading, though, being pulled under by drugs. Tranq dart, probably. He recognized Ororo's garden and took the stairs two at a time.

Why the hell had he left her alone? Why the hell had she gone wandering around the damn grounds without someone watching her?

He jerked to a halt when the Marievoice in his head said, *Where's Logan?*

God. His own vision blurred and he tried to project as much confidence and reassurance as possible, "I'm right here, Marie."

She... blinked out, fell into unconsciousness, and Logan understood, suddenly, what Xavier'd meant when he said he couldn't track mutants when they were drugged. One moment, Marie was there in his head, and the next, she was gone, leaving him oddly bereft.

He kept on, nearly colliding with Ororo at the top of the stairs. She held out a towel and Logan grabbed it, swiping it over his chest and tossing it away.

"She was in the gardens," 'Ro told him.

Logan jerked his head into a nod, accepted his shirt, keys, and a comm device, never once slowing down.

"We're ready whenever you call," Ororo said, stopping at the garage door.

This next part was his alone.

"Thanks," he said belatedly, sliding into the driver's side of the nondescript grey Nissan the professor had purchased for this purpose.

Logan drove right over the manicured lawn toward the garden. He thought he would have panicked when they came for Rogue. He thought he would've lost it, torn her captors to pieces before they dragged her two feet away from him. Instead, he was fiercely, quietly, coldly enraged. Fear so deep it was inside his bones, but no white hot anger to blind him, to make him screw up.

He'd never done anything quite so important in his life, and he could not lose her trail. Still, it wasn't easy tracking her like this. He'd hoped they'd snatch her off the streets of Salem Center so he'd have a visual lock. Hell, he'd quietly hoped they didn't snatch her at *all,* mutantkind be damned. But they had, and they'd gone and done it when he was nowhere around, so he had to sniff the air in the garden, follow her scent to the street where they'd parked. He could smell her fear and her irritation, and he could smell the walking dead men who'd grabbed her.

Logan paused at each intersection, each turnoff, to make sure he didn't lose her scent. Once he reached the highway on ramp, he allowed himself to speed up. The tire tracks were from a heavy vehicle, probably a truck or an SUV, and he methodically drew close to each one on the highway until he found it. Black, nondescript Explorer with government plates. Tinted windows.

He got as close as he dared, not wanting to lock onto the wrong vehicle and lose her. When he put the Nissan directly behind the Explorer, he could smell her *and* those fucks who had her.

Rage tingled along the edges of his consciousness, but he pushed it back. Not yet.

He drifted back, letting the SUV gain a sizeable lead. Impossible to tail effectively in one car. Way too obvious. But he'd be damned if he'd lose sight of Marie's captors.

Another hour and the Explorer veered suddenly down an exit ramp.

Logan cursed and slowed down. Either they were nearing the containment facility or he'd been spotted. He eased down the ramp and rolled to the stop sign, looking both ways. There. Half mile to the left and traveling slowly.

Fuck. He couldn't very well sit at the stop sign all damn day, so he flipped on his blinker and pulled out.

The Explorer accelerated rapidly, picking up a little too much speed for the winding, two-lane road. Logan followed, cursing colorfully. He grabbed the comm device off the seat beside him and clicked it open.

"Logan?" Scott sounding worried. "Where are you?"

"They spotted me," Logan answered grimly, gaze locked onto the Explorer's bumper. "I'm flat out chasing 'em at this point. You're gonna want -- God! Jesus! No!"

A black-shrouded, human-shaped form was unceremoniously tossed out of the fast-moving SUV, tumbling down the slight incline beside the road. Logan floored it, needing to get to her right now. Could be a trap or a decoy, but somehow he just *knew* that was Marie lying there. Unmoving.

"Logan? Logan!" Scott was yelling.

"Fuck," Logan muttered. "Fuck, fuck, fuck."

The Nissan shuddered to a halt and Logan was out and running for her, the scent of Marie and blood nearly overwhelming him.

"Get here," Logan barked into the comm device as he ran. God, she'd tumbled too damn far. The SUV'd been moving too goddamned fast. "Bring the doctor. They tossed her out of the car."

Logan dropped to his knees beside her, heart pounding erratically in his chest. Motherfucker. Those sick fucks put her in a body bag. He figured it was to protect them from her skin, but what if she'd woken up? What if she was --

He realized he wasn't breathing and let out a shaky breath.

"Marie," he said over and over. "I'm right here."

Shaking hands tugging at the zipper, sliding over thick black plastic. He opened the bag, exposing her pale face, her neck, her chest. She was breathing. Thank God. She was alive. He wanted her out of that fucking body bag. Logan popped one claw and went to work, slashing the black plastic and tearing it away from her in strips.

She lay there in a crumpled heap, one arm twisted underneath her torso. Logan retracted the claw to run his hands carefully down her body, sliding along her sleeves, her pants, checking for broken bones before he moved her. He winced when he felt the blood on her leg, sucked in a breath when he saw the jagged shin bone jutting out of her skin. Compound fracture. Fuck.

Would she heal correctly if the bone wasn't set when he touched her?

Fuck. He never really had to worry about that with the damn metal soldered to his his bones.

Logan fumbled with his gloves, pulling them on and touching her again, more slowly this time. Her arms didn't seem broken, just twisted oddly underneath her. He knew enough about traumatic injuries to keep her still, despite how much he wanted to straighten her out, move her from that uncomfortable position.

"C'mon, c'mon," he muttered, listening intently for the whine of the Blackbird. "You're gonna be fine, Marie. I'm right here." He needed her to wake up and smile at him, but he didn't want her awake for the pain.

There. The Blackbird. He recognized the engines.

He didn't look up from her form, knew they'd be able to locate him. Scott and Ororo could put that thing down in the field across the street, and fuck all the gawking townspeople. Logan didn't particularly care if the story of a black jet and leatherclad mutants made the six o'clock news.

"Logan," Scott shouted. "What happened?"

Logan glanced over, relieved to see the furry blue doctor at Scott's side. Both men had bright red first aid bags slung over their shoulders, and Scott had a large, unwieldy backboard tucked under his arm.

"Fuckers tossed her out of a moving car. Dunno how fast they were going, but she--" He stopped, clenched his jaw, gestured towards the road. "She tumbled a good distance."

Hank nodded and dropped to his knees beside Marie. "Compound fracture of the tibia." He examined her quickly and efficiently. "Any other obvious injuries?"

"Didn't feel any other broken bones," Logan answered shortly. "Didn't want to move her."

"Good choice. Contusions, possible sprains, probable concussion." Hank glanced up at Scott. "Neck brace, please. And the backboard. We'll need to stabilize her leg before we move her."

"Can you set her leg here?" Logan asked.

Scott handed Hank the plastic neck brace and gave Logan a frown. "No, Logan. We'll need your help--"

"I would've done it already," Logan interrupted, "but I didn't know if it would work on her leg."

"Oh," Hank said with a nod. "Your mutation and hers work together in harmony, allowing you to transfer your healing abilities to her. I've heard the story, but I'd like to discuss it with you at a later date."

Logan just nodded, eyes on Marie's pale, pale face. There was a patch of reddened skin on her cheek, and he knew it would blossom into an impressive bruise by morning. Unless he healed her first.

"Logan--" Scott started.

"Save it," Logan retorted.

"I'm afraid," Hank said as he cut Marie's pants away from her injury, "that this discussion is all academic at this point. Fascinating, don't get me wrong, but her bones will have to be realigned. I'm afraid I can't do that by the side of the road. Did she pass out, or is she drugged?"

"Drugged."

"Has she come to at all?"

Logan shook his head. "No."

"Hmmm," Hank said, and Logan didn't like the sound of it one bit. "Well," Hank continued, "nothing for it but to put her in the plane and get her back to the medlab. Scott?"

Scott reached down to grab one end of the stretcher, pausing as Logan involuntarily growled. Scott looked at him for a moment, then moved aside. "Anything you need from the car?"

"Screw the car," Logan answered, lifting the stretcher with Hank and carrying Marie's inert form toward the jet.

---

A slow climb towards consciousness.

Dull, throbbing in her head. Sharp pain in her leg. Aching wrist. Beep of a heart monitor. Acrid smell of antiseptic.

Rogue remembered fatigues and rough hands and, God, why did she agree to become a lab rat? She supposed it was too late to back out now, even though she really wished Logan would get here and bust her out.

And then she recognized his hand tangled in hers, recognized the feel of the leather and the intensity of his touch. Logan. Logan was here. Logan's gloved hand was holding hers tightly, and she couldn't possibly be in a government lab.

"Marie."

She dragged her eyes open, sluggish with drugs, her mouth dry.

He moved into her line of vision, those hazel eyes staring down at her. "Marie?"

Rogue grimaced, trying to swallow. "Logan."

The relief on his face staggered her, and his hand tightened on hers. She wanted to say more, wanted to ask what had happened, but then the blue doctor -- what was his name? -- appeared above her.

"Ice chips?" he inquired pleasantly.

Rogue started to nod, groaning when it amplified the throbbing in her skull.

"You have a concussion, Rogue," Hank said, one gentle hand holding her head still. "A broken leg, a sprained wrist, and various bumps and bruises. I know that you're in pain, but it is imperative that you be awakened periodically throughout the first twenty-four hours. We'll need to monitor--"

"Marie," Logan interrupted, taking the small cup of ice chips from Hank. He had to let go of her hand to feed her a chip, and she wished he'd let Hank do it. "Don't worry about it. I'm gonna touch you."

Alarmed, she swallowed the ice chip hastily, choking a little as it lodged in her throat. God, coughing with a concussion? Not fun. Every spasm moved her leg and sent pain shooting through her body.

"Marie! Shit. Sorry, baby. Try to breathe slowly."

She gave him her best annoyed look, wondering if it had any effect at all when she was flat on her back and crying from the pain. "No touching," she managed, cursing the tears flooding her vision.

Hank hovered, frowning worriedly down at her. "Try another ice chip, Rogue. Let it sit on your tongue this time. It should soothe your throat."

"You're in pain," Logan said, ignoring the doctor entirely. "You don't have to be, Marie. I'm perfectly willing to--"

"I'm not." Dry throat. Dry, dry, dry. She turned pleading eyes Hank's way, and he reached over to pluck the cup of ice chips from Logan's hand. Movements professional but somehow gentle, Hank selected a small chip and placed it against Rogue's lips. She let it slide into her mouth, closed her eyes as it began to melt. Her eyes snapped back open at Logan's growl. He was glowering at Hank, and Rogue reached for his hand. "Stop."

Logan met her gaze again, and the anguish there left her speechless. "Marie. You're hurt."

"Shit happens." She smiled when he rolled his eyes. Didn't think she could handle full sentences with nouns and verbs and objects and subjects, but she knew he'd understand. "Don't want you to hurt."

He leaned closer. "Exactly."

"Logan. I'll heal." Wow, a whole sentence. She was pretty impressed with herself, considering that she still felt kind of like she was underwater. What the hell was in the tranquilizer dart, anyway?

"This way you'll heal faster," Logan countered.

"Don't need to." Her eyes were sliding closed again. She really just wanted the pain in her head to stop. Stop, stop, stop.

"Marie. Please."

She opened her eyes and their gazes locked. He looked like hell, guilt radiating from him. One gloved hand smoothed her hair, almost petting her. It felt surprisingly good. She considered. It'd be nice not to feel like a punching bag, but not if it meant *Logan* would feel like, well, like the life had been sucked out of him. "Logan..."

His expression shifted, and she knew that *he* knew she was wavering. "Please, Marie. Let me do this."

Twice. He'd asked twice. Pleaded, really. She studied his face, read the determination in the lines of his body, and decided she'd really like for the headache to stop. "A little, Logan. Just a second."

He smiled down at her. Beamed at her. The sight kicked her heart rate up a notch, and she forgot the rest of the warning she'd been meaning to give him. Something about he should sit down first. Something about the easiest way to do this so he didn't get hurt.

But he was leaning closer, _expression serious now. "Close your eyes."

"Logan." Rogue narrowed her eyes, wondering if he was really stupid enough to -- Shit!

He kissed her. Kissed her with serious intent for a few moments, his tongue sweeping into her mouth to tangle with hers, and she responded, deadly skin be damned. And then her mutation kicked in, and he froze, and she tried to push him away, but she had a sprained wrist and he was too damn heavy and, God, it hurt almost as much to heal as it did to just deal with injuries.

And then Rogue heard the improbable exclamation "Stars and garters!" and Hank was there, pulling Logan away, supporting his limp form before he hit the ground.

Rogue sat up, breathing hard, flexing her wrist. Sprain was gone. Head didn't hurt anymore. Leg still felt funny, probably the bone hadn't knit all the way together yet. Fuck. Felt Logan's swirling fear and rage and pain and... love?

Rogue blinked, trying to make sense of Logan's chaotic thoughts and memories and feelings. This was always the part she hated, just afterwards. She had to function on two levels -- dealing with the aftermath of the touching, and dealing with the aftertaste of whoever touched her.

Hank manhandled Logan onto an exam table and glanced over at Rogue. "Any particular side effects of which I should be aware?"

She rolled off the table, not putting weight on her injured leg, and hopped to his side. Logan was unconscious, breathing evenly. She sighed with relief. "No. He should be fine in a few hours. The idiot."

Hank nodded and reached for a nearby heart monitor. He unbuttoned Logan's shirt and attached the leads. "He wanted to do this by the side of the road."

Rogue frowned. "The side of the road?" That didn't sound promising. In fact, she thought she vaguely remembered the feel of a car moving quickly. Had there been an accident?

Hank paused, glancing at her. "May I examine your leg? You may still need a cast."

Rogue nodded and allowed him to help her back up onto the table. "My wrist feels fine. So does my head. I don't feel any soreness or tenderness, so I assume the bruises are gone."

"Yes, yes. It seems that way."

"The side of the road?" Rogue prompted, worried now. What if they'd failed? What if they went through all that trouble, what if she'd all but painted a big "MUTANT" on her forehead, and they'd managed only to injure themselves?

"Your captors," Hank said, snapping on a fresh pair of latex gloves and reaching for her leg, "spotted Logan following them."

Fuck. Rogue groaned, "Before they got wherever they were going, right?"

Hank nodded sadly. "So they..." He paused, seemingly searching for the right euphemism. With a shrug, he said, "They tossed you out of a moving car."

Rogue's eyebrows jumped up. They'd thrown her out of a *car*? Ouch. Thank God she was drugged for *that.* "And Logan was--?"

"Following them closely at that point, yes. He called us immediately and waited with you by the side of the road. Your injuries were serious, Rogue."

Rogue's gaze shifted to the unconscious man. She couldn't imagine how she'd react if the tables had been turned, shuddered at the very thought, even though she knew from experience that Logan would hit the ground, lie there a minute, and stand back up fully healed. But she wouldn't, and he knew it, and his idiotic gesture made a lot more sense, suddenly. "God."

"Quite." Hank glanced over at Logan. "He exercised quite a bit of patience waiting until you woke up."

She nodded glumly. "Now I have to be patient until he wakes up." Hank looked at her curiously. She shrugged. "So I can kill him."

---

Logan woke up in the medlab, heard tuneless humming nearby and groaned. He still felt like someone had taken a two-by-four to every inch of his body, but his mind was catching up. Fuckers tossed Rogue out of a car, and he'd healed her. Got it.

"Oh, good." Hank appeared beside the exam table. "You're awake. How do you feel?"

Logan ignored the question. "How's Rogue?"

"Quite well. She just left to shower. Takes a bit longer with the cast."

"Cast?" Logan forced himself upright, cursing under his breath as his body reacted sluggishly to his commands.

"It was a serious break, Logan, but it's nearly healed. I thought we should take the precautionary measure of fitting her with a lightweight cast for a week or so to keep her from reinjuring herself."

"But she's okay." Logan let out a relieved sigh when Hank nodded. He slid off the table and stood, working out the kinks in his muscles. He briefly considered looking for a shirt, then gave a mental shrug. "I need to talk to her."

"By all means," Hank answered. "Though I would like to speak with you at some later date about the interaction between your mutation and Rogue's. Fascinating interplay."

"Sure," Logan agreed absently, striding out the door and down the hallway, the stiffness in his body fading the more he moved. He stepped into the elevator and used the time to stretch, touching his toes, twisting at the waist, rolling his neck. When he emerged in the upstairs hallway, he headed directly for Marie's room.

"Logan."

He turned to face Ororo. "You seen Rogue?"

Ororo smiled. "She's in her room. It's good to see you up and around. The professor would like to speak with you both."

Logan nodded. "Later."

Ororo's smile took on a knowing tilt. "Take your time."

Logan thought he should probably say something in response, but didn't have the patience to come up with an appropriate answer. "Whatever."

The sound of her soft laughter followed him down the hallway. He reached Marie's door and paused, hearing muttered curses. Knocking softly, he called out, "Marie?"

"Oh, hell," she said, sounding irritated. "Hang on."

Logan's eyebrows lifted, but he resisted the temptation to open her door and see what the hell she was doing in there. He couldn't figure it out from the disjointed sounds -- plastic wrinkling, soft curses under her breath, and if he didn't know better, he'd think she was hopping around on one foot. Surely they'd given her a damn crutch.

The hopping sounds drew closer. Marie wrenched open the door and hell if she wasn't standing there on one foot with a thoroughly disgruntled _expression aimed his way. She was wearing a dark green robe. Just a robe.

Logan swallowed and concentrated on her face.

"Hi," she said, waving him in.

Logan blinked. "You're okay?" he asked, moving to her.

"Yeah. My leg is still a little gimpy -- and don't you even *think* about touching me," she snapped, eyes narrowing as he reached for her. She probably would've swatted his hands away, but she didn't have her gloves on. Didn't, in point of fact, have anything but that robe on.

Logan grinned. "I was going to help you sit."

"Oh." She studied his face for a moment. "Okay."

Logan slid one arm around her waist, enjoying the sensual slide of the fabric against her skin, and lifted her entirely off of her feet. She snorted, but didn't comment, allowing him to settle her on the edge of her bed. He crouched down in front of her, inhaling her scent. "You're really okay?"

"Yes, Logan. I'm fine." She brushed her fingers along one muttonchop and gave him a small smile. "I assume the professor's waiting for us?"

Logan let his gaze drop to the neckline of her robe. "You planning on wearing that?" Her pale skin flushed in response, and Logan was caught between a chuckle and a groan. When he dragged his gaze back up to her face, she was frowning. "What?"

"I wanted to take a shower."

"And?"

Marie scowled at the cast on her leg. "Can't get that damn thing wet. It's too awkward."

Logan glanced over at the plastic bag in the middle of the floor. Answered that question. "You know--"

"You are *not* touching me again," Marie interrupted fiercely.

He let her words hang in the air for a moment, then said, "I was going to say a bath might be easier. With the cast."

She stared at him, her eyes wide. "Oh." She dropped her gaze to her hands for a moment. "I'm sorry. Just--" Her gaze pinned him in place. "You scare the hell out of me sometimes, Logan."

"*I* scare *you*?" he sputtered. His hands circled her upper arms, holding her still. "Somebody threw you out of a *car* today, Marie. I--" He stopped, shaking his head a little, unable to find the words.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, her fingers running up his biceps, across his shoulders. "C'mere." She pulled him closer, and he dropped to his knees to slide his arms around her waist, pressing his face against the soft material of her robe. "When you touch me -- to -- to heal me," she explained quietly, "I'm terrified you're going to hold on too long. I could *kill* you, Logan."

His arms tightened around her. "I don't want you to be scared when I touch you."

Her hands, which had been making lovely designs on his back, stilled. "I'm not scared of you, Logan."

He pulled back slowly, savoring the thrill of anticipation, and met her warm, dark eyes. "Good," he murmured, leaning closer, closer--

"Hey, Rogue -- Oh."

Logan froze when he heard the door open, but it didn't matter. Their position was damning enough -- he was kneeling between Marie's thighs with his arms wrapped around her. And she was wearing a robe. *Just* a robe. Logan suppressed a groan, gave Marie an apologetic look, and glanced over his shoulder at the door as he eased out of her arms. "Bobby."

Kid looked like someone had punched him in the gut. "Um." He blinked a few times. "I was just -- Scott asked me to tell you they're waiting in the conference room."

Marie was sitting there, hands folded on her lap, an incredibly guilty _expression on her face, so Logan stepped in. "Look, kid, she's still injured and she needs to change. We'll be down in a few minutes."

"Right." Bobby nodded, and Logan could tell the moment he decided to pretend that it didn't hurt to see his ex-girlfriend in a compromising position with someone else. "Jubilee and I are skipping the meeting. We're giving Remy the tour, so..."

Logan nodded his understanding, and Marie said softly, "I'll see you later, then, Bobby."

The door closed with a soft click, and Logan watched Marie carefully. "You need help changing?"

"No," she answered, not quite meeting his gaze. "Just -- could you give me a minute, Logan?"

"Sure," he agreed, curbing the urge to reach for her. "I'll be in the hall."

---

Ororo and Scott had the TV on when Logan helped Rogue into the conference room. Her leg didn't really hurt, it just felt weak, so she was using Logan like a crutch. A big, growly crutch.

Scott rose immediately and joined them, helping place an exasperated Rogue into a soft leather chair. "Thanks, guys, really, but I'm fine."

With a skeptical look, Scott retreated to the other side of the conference table. "You have a cast on."

"Precautionary," Rogue answered with a smile. She reached across the polished wood and touched Scott's arm briefly with one gloved hand. "Thank you, Scott." It still took some effort to call him by his first name instead of the honorific "Mr. Summers." He'd drawn her and Jubilee and Bobby aside after graduation and told them to please stop wasting syllables and just call him Scott.

Across the table, Scott tilted his head slightly. "Logan did most of the work."

Rogue looked back and forth between the two men, wondering why they seemed almost... friendly. She figured either the apocalypse was kicking into high gear, or they'd managed to find some common ground. God knows they had enough of it, which was probably the reason they rubbed each other the wrong way in the first place. Rogue glanced at Logan and quirked a questioning eyebrow. He stared back, impassive.

"Okay," Rogue said, mostly to herself. She caught Ororo's eye, and the other woman gave her an almost imperceptible smile.

The droning voice on television drew Rogue's attention, and she half-turned in her seat to watch the Secretary of Human Security give a briefing. He was talking in circles, refusing to answer the most direct of questions about where "suspected mutants" were being "temporarily detained."

"Asshole," Logan muttered.

The professor wheeled into the room, Hank's big blue form following close behind. "Rogue," said Xavier, taking his place at the head of the table, "I'm so pleased to see you relatively unscathed."

Logan bristled beside her, and Rogue laid a calming hand on his knee. "Thank you."

"Now I presume you've been brought up to speed on the events of the last several hours," the professor continued.

She nodded. "We failed."

The professor gave her a kind look. "We did not locate the lab, but you are back here with us, so it can't have been a failure."

Logan shifted impatiently. "What now?"

Ororo asked, "What do you mean?"

Logan gave her an incredulous look. "The government knows about Rogue's mutation, or at least suspects, and they also know that her capture was a setup."

Scott nodded and picked up where Logan left off. "Either they'll want to bring us all in to find out what we know about them -- and possibly put us into 'temporary detention' -- or they'll want Rogue back."

Ignoring the cold dread in her stomach, Rogue shrugged. "Too bad. They can't have me."

Logan cut her an amused look, while Ororo smiled and said, "Agreed."

"I'll take her to Canada."

Rogue blinked, turning to the impossible man beside her. "Excuse me?" she spluttered. "Were you gonna ask *her* if she has any desire to go to Canada?"

Logan met her gaze, his _expression unreadable. "No."

"Logan!"

"You could've been killed today," he snapped, his tone low and dangerous. "That car was going at least fifty. You could just as easily have broken your neck, Rogue."

Rogue increased the pressure on his knee, willing him to listen to her. "I realize that, but I didn't break my neck. I'm fine, Logan. And I'm not going to Canada."

"Marie--"

"I won't run from this," she interrupted softly. "And you can't ask me to. I would never ask you--" She stopped, narrowing her eyes. "Wait -- you were going to dump me in some isolated cabin with a bunch of canned goods and come back here to fight, weren't you?"

Logan didn't respond, but the set of his jaw was answer enough.

She whacked his shoulder. "I'm not going anywhere." Rogue turned back to the professor. "What do we do now? How do we find the labs?"

Xavier looked unbearably sad. "I don't know, Rogue."

Momentarily silenced, Rogue glanced at the others -- Ororo's deceptively serene _expression, the tension in Scott's shoulders, Hank's worried frown, and Logan's coiled energy. "But we're not giving up."

"No," the professor answered with a sad smile. "We're not giving up."

Rogue lifted her chin. "I'd like to help. I know I'm not really on the team, but--"

"You are," Scott interrupted, frowning a little.

"I am?" she asked, surprised. Sure, she'd worn the uniform that one time to the White House, but she'd just sort of assumed that was owing to special circumstances. She never stopped her training, but she hadn't been on any more missions.

"Yes," Scott answered, nodding. "You're on the team."

"I -- but--"

Scott grinned outright. "You think we let just anyone play the bait, Rogue?"

"Oh." Rogue nodded. "Okay." She glanced over at Logan, who was watching her with that damn unreadable look. She turned back to the professor. "Well, since I *am* a team member, can I suggest something?"

Logan growled softly beside her, and Rogue knew he'd guessed what was coming.

Apparently the professor did, too. "No, Rogue. We can't allow you to try again." He held up a hand to silence her protests. "Not yet." This time it was Logan's grumblings that interrupted Xavier. "I hope we will be able to come up with a better, safer method of acquiring the necessary information."

"Might I interject?"

Rogue was startled to hear Hank's pleasant voice -- she wouldn't have thought it was possible for an incredibly large, incredibly blue, incredibly furry man to blend into the walls, but she'd forgotten his presence.

The professor turned his chair a little and nodded. "By all means."

Hank sighed. "By all indications, this particular situation will get worse before it gets better. I propose that we -- and I include myself in a strictly non-combative capacity -- gather together as many scraps of information as possible and attempt to ready ourselves for whatever comes next."

Rogue sat very still in the ensuing silence, trying to ignore the foreboding of his words. She didn't doubt the determination of anyone in the room, but how could six people prevent what was coming?

Xavier gazed at each of them in turn. "I suspect," he began, sounding older and more exhausted than Rogue could ever remember him sounding, "that Hank is correct. I continue to hope for a peaceful solution." He paused, his eyes drifting shut for a moment. "But we must be prepared to fight."

Rogue shivered, and Logan's hand landed on hers, tangling their fingers together on his thigh. Logan's voice was low and intense when he spoke. "They're going to come for us."

The professor nodded tiredly. "Yes, I fear you're right." He seemed to shake off the melancholy. "But enough for today." Xavier gave them all a smile, then turned ahis chair towards the door. Slowly, Scott stood to follow, ushering Ororo before him.

Hank rose to his feet and glanced at Rogue. "You should rest tonight." He nodded at Logan and took his leave.

Logan squeezed her hand and stood. "Need a lift?"

Rogue managed a grin. "You're going to carry me to my room?"

"To your bed," he corrected, sliding one arm around her back, the other under her knees.

Rogue flushed at the vivid imagery his words roused. She leaned out away from the solid warmth of his body. Obviously, his proximity was interfering with her comprehension skills. "Excuse me?"

"So I can draw you a bath."

Rogue blinked. "A bath."

"Yes."

Logan. Wanted to draw her a bath. *Logan.*

He stepped into the elevator and glanced down at her. "I suppose you have that bubblebath crap."

A *bubblebath.* Logan. Bubblebath. Rogue tried very, very hard not to let her imagination run away with her. She noticed his expectant look. Oh. An answer. Logan wanted to know if she had bubblebath. For him to use while drawing her bath. "Yeah," Rogue answered belatedly, her voice sounding slightly strangled.

Logan stepped out of the elevator, carrying her easily down the hall and into her room. He opened the door, took four steps, and calmly deposited her on the bed. Rogue thought she might've actually squealed.

She watched, open-mouthed, as he sauntered into her bathroom, only to reappear with a plastic bottle in each hand. "Which one? Citrus delight or--" He frowned. "Johnson & Johnson Bedtime Bath, for fussy babies? The hell?"

"It's soothing," she answered defensively.

Logan gave a quick nod and disappeared again. Rogue listened to the incredibly normal sound of the knobs squeaking in protest as they turned, the familiar sound of water rushing into her bathtub, and tried to make sense of the completely surreal situation. Logan. Was running her a bath.

"Don't move," Logan ordered, marching out the door and down the hall. Rogue stared at the door until he reappeared, two flannel shirts in tow, and disappeared once more into the bathroom.

"Um, Logan?"

He gave her a curious look, holding a soft green glove in one hand. "The hell is this?"

"Spa glove," she answered automatically, mimicking washing motions. "For body wash. You take--" She shook her head, exasperated. "What the hell are you doing?"

The annoyed look on his face might've been intimidating if he wasn't holding a pastel green spa glove in one hand. "What the hell does it look like I'm doing?"

"Not quite sure, sugar," Rogue tossed back, a little less thrown now that he was acting all annoyed. She was quite familiar with Irritable Logan. It was Let Me Run You a Bubblebath Logan who was starting to freak her out.

"You couldn't shower," Logan answered impatiently, "so I'm drawing you a bath."

"Okay," she nodded. Made sense in a Loganish kind of way. "I'm not incapacitated."

"So?"

"So?" Rogue threw up her hands, frustrated. "So you're holding my spa glove!"

"Hang on," Logan said, disappearing into the bathroom once more to shut off the water. "Take your clothes off," he ordered, walking towards her.

This time Rogue knew she made a desperate squeaking noise as she fought the insane urge to scoot backwards on the bed, away from that intense gaze. *Of course,* she thought crazily, *maybe he'll climb onto the bed after me, and who the hell needs a bath anyway?*

No, no, no, she told herself, giving Logan a glare and a "No!" for good measure.

Logan raised that agile eyebrow and crossed his arms. "You want to bathe with your clothes on?"

Rogue rolled her eyes and stood, using her injured leg for balance only. "Shoo," she told him. "I'll be fine."

"How do you plan to get into the tub?"

"I'll--" She broke off, frowning. "Damn." Logan took advantage of her distraction to scoop her up again. "Logan!"

He ignored her protests, settling her gently on the bathroom counter. "Take off your clothes."

"No!"

"Marie, I'm going to put you in the tub," he explained, his voice softer now. "Then when you're done, I'm going to fish you back out." He indicated the two dry shirts he'd brought.

She gave him a suspicious look. "What's the third shirt for?"

The grin he gave her sent a wave of heat through her entire body. "In case you need any help bathing."

"Help?" she squeaked.

Logan nodded slowly, and she followed his gaze to the spa glove lying on the counter by her hip.

Of all the places and circumstances Rogue had imagined for this particular situation, in the bathroom with a spa glove was one she wouldn't have come up with in her wildest dreams. She gave him a wary look, still unsure of his motives. She'd started to make some sense of the latest influx of Loganmemories, and she knew he'd been blazingly terrified to see her crumpled by the side of the road. She *thought* maybe there was some love mixed in there, too, but she wanted to know the ground rules before she let Logan... use the spa glove.

She felt the flush on her cheeks and cursed her pale skin. "Logan," she began nervously. "What is this, exactly?"

He frowned at her, looking perplexed. "Whaddya mean?"

"You were scared before," she said with a shrug. "I understand. I know you want to take care of me, but you don't have to--"

"Marie," he interrupted, cupping her face in his gloved hands. "You came back. It's time."

She stared at him, uncomprehending. "Oh," she said, recalling their conversation. She flushed again, this time in anticipation. "Oh."

He grinned at her. "Yeah."

Rogue tried to keep her voice calm and suspected that she'd failed miserably. "So we're..." She gestured vaguely at the tub.

"Yeah."

"Oh."

Logan studied her face for a moment, then backed off a bit. "Marie, we don't have to--"

"No." She grabbed his arms, not letting him pull away. She held his gaze, still a little embarrassed, but determined now. "You're right. I came back."

He nodded slowly and tugged on her sleeve. "You need to be wearing less, Marie."

"It's dangerous," she warned.

"I'll be careful." He tucked her hair behind her ear, caressing her cheek. "I don't want you to be scared of my touch. I won't hurt you."

She nodded, swallowing hard against the lump in her throat. "I know."

Logan held her gaze, his eyes burning with intensity and what she thought might possibly be love. "Trust me, Marie."

"I do," she assured him with a smile. Then she reached for the hem of her shirt and pulled it over her head.

THE END