Smokin' and thinkin'
Of things to do since you're gone
Sittin', lonely
Can't even get stoned
Takin' a breath of a feeling that
Once lived in this house

---

Logan moved out of the house in Ames the day after Rogue left him.

He threw two dirty plates into the garbage, dumped a damp, black towel on top, and put the bag out at the curb. When he grabbed his few toiletries from the bathroom, he paused, staring for entirely too long at a bottle of conditioner.

When he climbed into his truck to leave, the house was empty, save a small bottle of conditioner on the lip of the bathtub.

Logan spent a year and a half wandering, amusing himself with fight bars and nameless women and the occasional foray with the X-Geeks -- but only if they'd agree to pick him up on the way.

He refused to go back to the Mansion. He couldn't see her. He told himself he was trying to make things easier for her, trying to avoid hurting her with his presence. It was a lie he couldn't even bring *himself* to believe. No matter the real reasons, he stayed studiously away from New York, and he didn't see Rogue for 19 months.

His avoidance plan collapsed when the Blackbird set down in Manitoba and Logan climbed aboard to find Cyclops, Storm, Jubilee, Bobby -- and Rogue.

Cyclops grudgingly thanked Logan for coming, and Storm and Jubilee managed strained smiles. Bobby glared openly at Logan, not bothering with a greeting, and Rogue turned her blank expression away from him, staring out the small window.

Logan nodded his greetings and sat stiffly across the aisle from the girl who'd once been his friend. He didn't let himself think about her as a woman, didn't let him notice the way the leather uniform clung to her curves. He couldn't stop himself from stealing glances at her porcelain profile, soaking up the sight of her pale, flawless skin, her lush lips, her beautiful brown eyes.

She didn't look at him, not even after they landed. Her calm gaze remained on Scott as he briefly reiterated the plan of attack, and then she squeezed Bobby's hand and followed Jubilee down the gangplank. Logan bit back a snarl and pushed past the women, taking his customary place beside Cyclops when they reached the laboratory.

In the middle of a fight with a mutant sporting intimidating spikes that flew out of his wrists to skewer his opponents, Logan heard Rogue's pained yelp. He swiftly killed the spiky mutant -- screw Xavier's dainty moral code -- and was at her side almost immediately.

The glare she gave him -- he didn't think he'd ever forget the scathing contempt in her eyes as she pushed him away. "I'm fine, Logan," she grumbled, pressing a hand against the ugly gash in her thigh. "It's a scratch."

But she was hurt and he could smell her blood and it was too fucking much.

"Storm," Logan yelled. "Rogue's hurt."

Scott didn't spare a glance, but he ordered them all to wrap up and pull back. They retreated, Ororo supporting two liberated mutant teenagers, Jubilee another. Logan carried a fourth in his arms, but his attention was fixated on Rogue, who was limping ahead of them, using Bobby's arm as a crutch.

While they climbed back on the jet, Logan shifted the girl in his arms and caught Scott's attention at the bottom of the gangplank. "No more," he said. "I can't do it."

"Logan--"

"I'm out," Logan declared, leaving no room for negotiation.

Scott's jaw tightened, and then he jerked a nod. "Fine," he said, in a tone that implied he'd always known Logan would punk out on them eventually. It irked Logan, but he'd rather have Scott think he was a pussy than watch Rogue die.

Unceremoniously, Scott plucked the injured girl from Logan's arms and climbed aboard. Logan stalked up the gangplank, crossed his arms, and stared moodily out the window until he saw his truck at the edge of a snow-covered field. His chest felt oddly tight, the way it had in his kitchen in Iowa.

When he rose to leave, he tried not to look at her. He failed. And she must've read the finality in his gaze, because she inhaled sharply and reached for the buckle of her seatbelt.

"Don't," he told her, ignoring the stares of the others, the angry glare from Bobby. "Just --" Logan shook his head and stepped closer, reaching forward, running one bare hand down the white streak in her hair, inhaling her scent. Her wide eyes stared up at him, and he knew she remembered the first time he did this, the first time he left. His voice pitched so low only she could hear him, he murmured. "I'm sorry, Marie."

Her expressive eyes watched him as he tore himself away. "Logan," she said, her voice hushed but oddly loud in the strained silence.

He jerked to a halt at the top of the gangplank, but he couldn't speak. He never considered himself particularly brave. Foolhardy, sure. Reckless, definitely. But brave? Standing there, too scared to turn and face a girl in her twenties, Logan knew for sure that he was a coward.

"Logan," she said again, stronger this time. He thought he could hear a little bit of anger in her voice, but he still couldn't make himself face her.

She exhaled. "Should I send you an invitation to the wedding?" she asked, the words cutting through him.

Logan managed a brutal chuckle. "Not really my kind of social occasion," he said. And then he stumbled down the ramp and into the snowy field. As he crossed to his truck, he didn't let himself turn, didn't let himself watch her go.

A month later, the invitation caught up to him in Alaska. Thick, expensive cardstock in a creamy eggshell color. A dainty scrolled font. Just to torture himself, he opened it and read it. No mention of their parents, just an invitation for their dear friends to witness their wedding.

Rogue's wedding.

Logan crumpled it and gave it a brutal toss, swearing mightily when he missed the trashcan. Didn't matter, because the date was burned into his brain. It was less than a week away.

And when Logan checked out of the motel, he didn't acknowledge to himself where he was going. When he got on the highway and turned his beat-up truck east, he refused to think about his final destination. He certainly didn't let himself think about the wadded-up invitation in his pants pocket.

It wasn't until Logan climbed out of the truck at the gates of Xavier's mansion that he really let himself understand what he was doing. He was going to break up Rogue's wedding. And because he'd been about as far away from New York as he could get and still be on the continent, he was going to do it on her wedding day.

He couldn't decide if that made him an asshole or a really fucked up version of a leading man in some chick flick.

As luck would have it, Scott answered the intercom, his voice growing clipped and angry when Logan identified himself. "What are you doing here?"

Logan tugged the crumpled paper from his pocket. "Attending a wedding. I have an invitation and everything."

He could perfectly picture the sour expression on Scott's face when he said, "Logan--"

"Scott, open the fucking gate."

For a long moment, Logan wasn't sure he would. It would hurt like hell, but his claws could cut through the iron bars of the gate, he decided, eyeing the thick metal. Then the gates began to slide open, and Logan climbed back into the truck, ignoring the strange way his heart was beating, ignoring the odd shortness of breath.

Logan ditched his truck near the top of the driveway and walked towards the door, encountering Scott, arms crossed, blocking his way.

"Wanna move it, one-eye?"

"Not particularly," Scott said. "I don't know why she invited you--"

"Spite," Logan answered with a feral grin. He knew it was true. She didn't really want him here, but she wanted him to know she would be married. She wanted him to know she was done with him. He'd hurt her in Iowa, and she'd wanted to hurt him back. They knew each other too damn well.

Scott frowned. "And so you decided to attend for the same reason?"

Logan shrugged. "Something like that. You gonna let me in?"

"Leave her alone, Logan," Scott told him seriously. For once, his tone held little of his contempt for Logan. Instead, he sounded... concerned. "She's happy. She loves him. Let her get married in peace."

Logan snorted and brushed past Scott, purposefully bumping the other man's shoulder. Hard. He felt Scott's gaze on him all the way up the staircase, as he tracked Rogue to a room near the end of the hall. He didn't even have to use his enhanced senses; the women were giggling and sniffling and generally being loud enough for anyone to hear them from a quarter mile away.

He heard her voice among the others, bright and happy, and he cursed himself for a fool. Stopping midway down the hall, Logan leaned back against the wall. What the fuck did he think he was doing? She didn't want him. Not anymore. She was getting *married,* and he was an arrogant fool to think he could change her mind.

Logan told himself to leave, to get the fuck out of Dodge before he was forced to *watch* her pledge herself to another man. And then the door opened, and Jubilee and Kitty spilled out into the hallway in a rustle of glossy fabric, their excited voices cutting off abruptly when they spotted him.

"Um," Jubilee said, eyes wide. "Hi?"

Fuck. Logan opened his mouth, fumbling for something to say.

"What's wrong?" Rogue asked, her voice growing louder as she moved to the door. "What are you guys--?"

God, she was fucking gorgeous.

Rogue's eyes widened in shock. "Logan?"

He let his gaze drift down, taking her in. He'd never taken her for the traditional, upside-down-ice-cream-cone-wedding-dress kind of girl, and he was right. She wore a simple white dress made of some shiny fabric that shimmered even in the dim light of the paneled hallway. Thin straps, low neck, a delicious slit in the skirt. The color did great things for her hair, for her skin, and she was just... luminous.

Because she was happy.

Fuck.

"Logan," she repeated, sounding confused now. "What are you doing here?"

Jubilee and Kitty moved closer to Rogue, flanking her, aligning themselves with her against the Big Bad Wolverine. In another situation, Logan would've found it touching that she had such staunch supporters. Today, it just pissed him off.

"You want us to stay?" Jubilee asked, her gloved hand resting on Rogue's bare shoulder.

It took Rogue a moment to tear her gaze from Logan, but she glanced at her friends, gave them each a reassuring smile. "No. No, I'm fine. I'll be down in a minute."

Kitty frowned at Logan. "Are you sure, Rogue?"

Rogue nodded, her back straight and proud. "Yes. I'm sure. I need to do this."

Do what? Logan wondered, feeling sick. Whatever faint hope Logan'd had that she'd run into his arms when she saw him crumpled in on itself. He swallowed hard, searching for something to say as Kitty and Jubilee swished past him in their bridesmaid gowns.

"Marie," he said finally.

Her expression hardened. "Don't," she ordered, and her voice was so familiar and so... different all at the same time. So cold and angry. "You don't get to do this to me, Logan."

He nodded. "I know." Definitely not a leading man. Definitely an asshole.

"I'm serious," she insisted, and instead of anger, there was something like regret in her tone now. "It's been years. You had years to come to your sense and you didn't."

"I know," he repeated, his voice sounding strangled. He should leave. He should leave right now and stop bothering her. He couldn't make himself move. "I'm an idiot."

That brought a smile to her lips. "I know." She shrugged. "I'm getting married."

The simple words conveyed her happiness, and that was what finally ended it. She wasn't going to take his hand and jump in his truck and run away with him. She was happy. Honestly happy. And what the fuck kind of person was he to try to break that up?

Logan couldn't speak anymore. Couldn't really breathe past the odd tightness in his throat.

Rogue stepped closer, resting a hand on his rigid forearm. "I loved you, Logan. I did. But I moved on." She leaned up and pressed a fleeting kiss to his cheek. Logan let his eyes drift shut, because he couldn't bear to see her face when she delivered the killing blow. "I love Bobby," she said simply, and he shuddered. "You can't burst in here and expect that to change just because you're finally ready. This isn't a movie, Logan," she said, her voice gentle. "There's no fade to black after the big, romantic gesture. It's real life. It's every day and it's making a promise because you *want* to keep it."

He nodded, the movement jerky. She was right. God, she was so right. He'd fucked up, because she'd wanted him two years ago, and he was finally ready to make her the promise she no longer needed. Still, he couldn't look at her.

She sighed softly, her fingers tightening on his arm for a moment. "I have to go."

"Yeah," he muttered. "Go." He couldn't say the rest, couldn't tell her to be happy, even though he desperately wanted her to be. The words would be hollow, if he said them, and that would hurt her more than his silence.

Logan remained there, leaning against the cool wood paneling as her steps faded away. He breathed in, out, in, out, and tried to convince himself to leave. He shouldn't stay for this. Didn't think he *could* stay for this.

Still, he drifted towards the window at the end of the hallway. His instincts were right -- below him in the beautiful side yard was a large white tent. The youngest kids sat in a circle around the small raised dais, but from this angle, Logan couldn't see Bobby in his Sunday best. Thank God.

Logan ignored the tightening in his gut when he heard the string quartet begin to play. Marie stepped out, radiant in her simple white dress, a clutch of daisies in her hand. She was smiling, drenched in sunshine. She was gorgeous. And she was happy.

Logan stood, motionless, as Marie walked toward the dais. Toward Bobby. Toward marriage.

When she disappeared under the white tent, Logan closed his eyes. He was too far away to hear the vows, but he stood in that familiar hallway and waited until the crowd cheered.

She was married.

It was over.

One hand pressed to the glass, Logan could finally say the words. "Be happy, Marie."

And then Logan walked down the stairs, out the door, and climbed into his truck.

It was over.

THE END