She tried everything she could think of to drown out the memory of his voice.

Loud music, so loud the entire car shimmied with the bassline. Windows rolled down, despite the chill in the air, radio cranked up higher so she could hear it over the wind. She screamed along, concentrating on the lyrics.

His voice was louder.

Marie--

Books on tape. Thrillers, mysteries, hell, she tried theoretical physics, but each time her attention wandered and she heard *his* voice instead.

Marie, I don't know what this is--

Desperate, she even tried to rouse the long-quiet voices of the people she'd touched. David's fearful adolescent questions, Johnny's seething anger, Logan's anguished rage -- even Erik's unique blend of a damaged little boy and a coldly pragmatic man would've been better than --

Marie, I don't know what this is, but it's not love.

"No, no, no," Marie protested aloud, telling herself she was not going to think about him. Not now. Not today. She would drive and she would listen to music and she would not think about Logan.

"Marie, I don't know what this is, but it's not love."

The words slammed into her with alarming force, stealing the air from her lungs. She'd been fumbling in one of the drawers of her bureau, searching for the perfect scarf, and for a moment all she could do was stare down at the translucent maroon fabric against her fingers. He'd given it to her a while back, brought the delicate scarf back from Madripoor for her.

Before she could draw breath to protest, he said, "You don't love me."

Wow, Rogue thought as she watched his tense form pace tightly in front of her, I always thought 'heartbreak' was just an expression. But hearing his words, feeling the impact of his words -- each breath stung and she was sure she'd pass out from the pain.

A protective hand landed over her chest, pressing hard against her breastbone. "What?" she whispered, clutching the scarf tightly.

"You don't love me," he repeated, and damn him, he actually looked upset, though she couldn't imagine why. Those beautiful eyes of his stared at her, then he looked away, as if he couldn't bear her reaction. Which made some sense -- he never could stand seeing her hurt.

"I don't love you," Rogue echoed dully, the words oddly flavorless on her tongue. "I don't -- How do you -- What are you talking about, Logan?"

She thought she saw him wince, but he turned away too quickly to be sure. Hands on his hips, he stared out the window. "You -- Marie, you know I care about you."

Oh, God. He was serious. He was ending the charade of their relationship, of his feelings. He was ending it, and he didn't even have the decency to do it fast and brutal. Like ripping off a band-aid. And he'd seen her injured enough to know she preferred it quick.

Two words. All he'd ever have to say to her was "It's over," and her heart would break and she'd move on. Or that's what she told herself -- that she'd move on. Just two words, but instead of being kind and ending her misery quickly, he was fumbling around in clichés, telling her that he cared about her, the cruelest of all the things he could possibly say.

"You bastard," she whispered. Her voice wasn't working, not really. It was uneven and weak and thready, the voice of a scared child.

But he heard her, because he snapped back around to face her. "What?"

"You care about me?" She threw his words back at him, her tone vicious now. The months of tension, the weird undertones of their conversations, the desperation in the way he touched her -- it all made sense now. It all fit. God, she wished it didn't, because this new version of reality was the one thing she'd always feared. "Gee, that's nice. Good to see you've grown up enough to start fucking people you care about instead of disposable strangers."

He flinched, and if she hadn't been so blinded by her own hurt anger, she might have noticed the way his hands clenched into fists. She might have noticed the anguish in his eyes.

But she couldn't see past her own pain. "Tell me, was it better than your nameless whores?" she demanded, arms crossed tightly over her chest, the maroon scarf dangling from one clenched fist. "Did I at least live up to your expectations?"

"Marie," he warned, low and angry. He stood in front of the window, arms akimbo, his body backlit just to torture her with what she couldn't have.

"I mean, you did stick around for almost a year, so either it was better, or you felt really awful about fucking the girl you were supposed to protect and then dumping her like one of your cheap one-night stands."

"Don't," he ordered, his tone rough. His face was shadowed, his frame practically vibrating with coiled energy. "That's not--" He stopped, shook his head.

"Then what was it?" she demanded, anguish and anger making her voice loud. He looked almost… shocked. She couldn't figure out why -- did he think she would take this well?

He shook his head, wordless, arms crossed over his chest.

And that was too much. How dare he choose to do this the long way and then clam the fuck up? How dare he break her heart? "You don't even have the decency to tell me the truth, Logan? Not even now?"

He turned away from her, his mouth set in a hard, angry line. "Don't do this."

"C'mon, Logan, tell me what this was to you," she insisted, barely recognizing her own voice. "I'd really like to know. Why'd you kiss me that day if it wasn't what you wanted?"

"That's not--" he started, but she was on a roll and she kept right on talking.

"How'd you do it, Logan?" she asked with a bitter laugh. "How'd you fake it for so long, huh?"

Logan was right in front of her in an instant, those achingly familiar hands clasping her upper arms with anger instead of passion. "I don't fake anything, Marie, and you damn well know it. Quit acting like a child."

He couldn't have chosen his words more cruelly. Whatever his intentions, Logan was confirming every single one of her insecurities about him.

He cared about her; he thought she was a kid.

He didn't love her.

Rogue wished she'd never worked up the courage to start this thing between them. Unrequited love sucked, but it was so much better than learning after almost a year that you've been a pity fuck for the man you love. Pity girlfriend, even. The pain was a hot ache in her chest, making it hard for her to breathe.

She didn't need this, didn't need him. She wrenched herself out of his grasp. "Don't touch me."

"Marie--"

"Rogue," she snapped. "You don't get to call me that anymore."

His eyes narrowed and he tilted his head, just a bit, looking at her as if she were a curiosity behind glass. "What's this about, Marie?" he asked, emphasizing her name.

"It's been nearly a year, you fucking coward," she shouted. "Couldn't you have grown a pair the night I came to you?"

He slammed her against the wall before she registered movement, but she'd long since learned how to take a blow. She lifted her chin in defiance. Breathing harshly, he glared down at her, his anger simmering right at the surface.

"Do it," she whispered, almost desperately. "Tear me up."

He shoved away from her, nearly stumbling as he put distance between them. In the center of the room they'd shared, he stared wordlessly at her. She wanted to move, wanted to shout, wanted to launch herself into his arms. Instead, she sagged against the wood paneling and stared right back at him until he turned silently and walked out.

Stunned, Rogue gazed absently at the door, wondering if he'd come back. He didn't.

She cried that night, cried until her head ached, until her pile of used tissues was distressingly high.

On the second day, her heartache hardened into anger.

On the fourth day, she began to pack, but she left that damn maroon scarf in the middle of the bed they'd shared.

On the sixth day, Logan came back, but Rogue heard about it secondhand. She talked to Jubilee for ten minutes from a payphone in Buffalo. She told Jubes to give her love to everyone, then Rogue climbed back into her car and pointed it toward the border.

Ontario was quite pretty. Rogue particularly enjoyed the stranger-in-a-strange-land feeling she got every time she passed an exit sign that said, "Sortie."

She did a lot of math to keep her mind occupied with something other than the man she'd left behind in the States.

Kilometers to miles.

Gallons to liters.

U.S. dollars to Canadian dollars.

After she caught sight of a bank sign flashing 11C, she spent a good half hour trying to remember the conversion factor from Celsius to Fahrenheit.

It was pleasantly disorienting, being somewhere foreign and familiar at the same time. The dissonance made it feel like a dream, and maybe that's what she needed, because reality was just too damn painful. Reality was bitter fights and broken hearts and a fierce homesickness, even though she'd been gone less than a week.

So instead of remembering why she'd left -- who she'd left behind -- she decided to put all her energy into her experience. She'd been in Canada once before, of course, but thinking about that led to thinking about him, so she did her best to forget. She felt an odd combination of nerves and excitement and a longing to turn around and go home; she wondered if this was what normal kids felt like when they left for college.

When Rogue pulled into a small, rundown diner for lunch, she stared at the prices on the menu, her stomach tightening in panic as she calculated just how many more meals and hotel rooms she could afford with the cash she had. The money in her account was for settling in … wherever.

She hadn't figured out exactly where she was going yet, but her dwindling cash supply might make the decision for her.

"What can I get you, darlin'?"

Rogue winced at the endearment, yet another reminder of him. The waitress gave her a look of harried kindness, and Rogue mustered a smile. "Just coffee, please."

The waitress -- her nametag said "Giselle" -- made a disapproving noise, but nodded. "You should eat something," she admonished, moving toward the coffee pot.

Rogue ignored her stomach's protests, vowing to hit a grocery store on her way out of town. She was hungry, but she needed the caffeine more -- driving for hours at a time was surprisingly tiresome, and her back ached from the crappy seat in her car. But she had nothing better to do than keep driving, at least until she figured some things out. She needed to stop running away from him and figure out what she was running to. She needed a destination.

Rogue pictured the exasperated look Scott would give her if she told him she'd taken off, supposedly for good, without so much as a map. All things considered, it was a pretty stupid thing to do. She hadn't exactly been at her best when she'd made that particular decision.

When Giselle came back with a pot of coffee and the check, Rogue tried to smile. "Do you have any maps for sale?"

The kindly woman smiled and patted Rogue's shoulder briefly. "Sure do. Where are you headed?"

Rogue's smile cracked. "I don't know," she admitted, her voice tentative and almost too soft to be heard over the small late afternoon crowd. "West, I suppose."

Giselle eyed her for a moment, then nodded. "You're just about to cross over into Alberta. I'll bring you a map, darlin'. The Rockies are real pretty this time of year."

"Thanks," Rogue said, trying to forget Logan's stories about the Canadian Rockies. She had to be able to build a life of her own, without Logan encroaching on everything. That had to be possible.

Even though she still couldn't make it ten minutes without thinking about him.

She'd get over him. She would.

Rogue walked into the common room, hesitating when she saw Logan playing pool by himself, silently clearing the table with sharp, controlled jabs of the cue. She hadn't seem him since last night; it seemed the only times things between them worked these days were when they were in bed together. He glanced over when she walked in and held her gaze for a moment, nodding in lieu of an actual greeting.

Rogue had the nauseating feeling that he was waiting for her to… well, for something. But Rogue had no idea what she was supposed to be doing differently or better. She got that feeling a lot, lately, and it made her increasingly nervous. Logan kept watching her like he was expecting her to do something or say something, but she was clearly too stupid to figure out what. And Logan wasn't a particularly patient man.

After a long, uncomfortable silence, he turned his attention back to his game. Rogue settled uneasily on the couch, already regretting her decision to read in the common room. She briefly considered leaving him to his damn pool table, but figured that would be far too obvious. They weren't communicating particularly well these days, but they hadn't yet reached open hostility.

They wouldn't if Rogue had anything to say about it. She was doing everything she could think of to be a good girlfriend, but it didn't seem to be working. She had tried to ask him what was wrong, what she was doing wrong, but he'd dismissed her with a laugh. She was just being silly, he said.

That just made things worse, because girls were silly, and she wanted desperately for him to see her as a woman. She wasn't a needy girl with a crush. She wasn't. She made fewer and fewer demands on him in her attempt to prove it, but things just kept getting more awkward between them.

Your book, she told herself. Read your stupid book.

"What're you reading?"

Startled, Rogue let the book close, losing her page. She swore softly, then held it up so he could see the cover. "It's about the wicked witch of the west," she explained.

He looked at her rather blankly.

"You know -- from The Wizard of Oz?" she prompted.

"Ah," Logan said. "Don't recall ever seeing it."

Two months ago, Rogue would've teased him about his ignorance of pop culture. She would've laughed at him and sent him out to the video store. They would've watched it together, Logan putting on his best resigned air, Rogue tossing popcorn at him until he smiled. Or tackled her. And then they'd have to watch the rest of the movie later, but neither one of them would have minded.

Now, though, Rogue felt none of the easy confidence she used to when it came to Logan. All that crap about ruining a friendship by trying for more? Maybe there was something to it after all. Because now Rogue was never quite sure what would set him off, send him away to brood in stubborn silence.

Now, she tried to smile and said, "You should see it."

Logan watched her, and if she didn't know better, she'd think he looked mournful. For a moment, she wondered if he was thinking how great it had been two months ago, too. Then he nodded once and turned away, that unreadable expression of his safely in place. He circled the table, collecting the balls from the pockets, his movements full of restrained tension.

Great, she'd fucked up again. God. She hated this unease so much. "Logan, do you want to play 8-ball?"

He froze for a second, but didn't look at her when he said, "No, read your book. I don't want to bother you. I need to run some errands anyway."

Stung, Rogue watched him finish putting away the balls. So now spending time with her ranked below running errands. Fabulous. He looked a little blurry, but she pointedly ignored the prickling feeling behind her eyes. She simply was not going to cry.

When Logan carefully set his cue stick back in its rack, he glanced over at her and that damnably blank expression cracked. He was her Logan again, his concern for her etched into his face as he took several long strides and reached for her.

She took his hand without thinking, and he pulled her up out of her seat and into his arms, holding her tight. Rogue closed her eyes and inhaled, savoring this lovely, uncomplicated moment. Savoring the familiar strength of his body pressed against hers. If only they could just stay like this.

But Logan pulled back too damn soon, his hands holding her upper arms as he studied her face. "What's wrong?" he asked, an undercurrent in his voice that she couldn't quite place.

It was exactly the wrong thing to do, so of course she couldn't help the strangled laugh that escaped her. His expression shifted, his grip on her loosening. Rogue reached up and wrapped desperate fingers around his forearms.

"No, wait," she ordered. "I'm sorry. I just--" She shrugged. "I was going to ask you the same thing."

Now he was frowning at her. "Nothing's wrong with me."

Rogue's gaze slid away from his, seeking out safer places. "Oh," she answered quietly. If nothing was wrong with him, obviously something was wrong with her, and she still had no idea what it was.

A frustrated growl. "You looked upset."

With an ill-timed sniffle, Rogue forced her back straight and met his gaze. "I'm fine."

He didn't believe her. "You're sure?"

"Yeah."

His fingers flexed, squeezing her gently, and his voice had that familiar teasing tone when he asked, "You want to make me watch that stupid movie, don't you?"

She really did, but not while they were so awkward with each other. Not when she couldn't point and laugh when popcorn got stuck in that ridiculous hair of his. Not when she was so unsure of him.

Rogue shook her head and tried to smile. "No, it's okay. Go do your errands." She tilted her head toward the couch. "I've got my book."

Logan released her, letting one hand trail down her arm to tangle with her fingers. He gave her that look and she took a moment to center herself. At her quick nod, Logan leaned in and kissed her, slowly and thoroughly.

She wished she could tell whether the longing and regret was all on her side, or if they were finally on the same page about something.

The morning sun woke Rogue, and she rolled away from it, groaning into the pillow, grumbling something about inconsiderate men leaving the curtains open. Her hand slid across the mattress, expecting to run into warm, t-shirt clad flesh but finding only cool, scratchy sheets. She froze, coming fully awake as she remembered. She was in a motel somewhere in Canada.

Alone.

The realization was surprisingly disorienting. She felt unmoored, spinning free in the frozen tundra of Canada, waiting to crash land somewhere new. Somewhere she could settle in and eventually call home.

With a heartfelt sigh, Rogue rolled out of bed and headed for the shower. She dressed and packed quickly, a habit acquired during her not infrequent trips with Logan. He wasn't a particularly patient man, even if she used to be able to tease that glower right off of his face in many pleasurable ways.

Remembering the good times didn't help, and Rogue stomped out to her car in a foul mood, determined to drive at least 600 miles today.

Just after lunch, she passed a sign for Meridian, Alberta, and she started thinking about her family. About her mother. Painful as it was to remember her childhood home and her teenaged departure, it was still better than thinking about him. After a half hour, Rogue pulled into a rest area and parked beside the pay phone. The professor had given her a calling card when she left, probably thinking she'd use it to call New York for help, eventually.

Instead, Rogue dialed her childhood phone number with shaking fingers. Three rings later, her mother's familiar voice answered, and Rogue went numb, clutching the phone to her ear. She hadn't heard her mother's voice in nearly four years.

"Hello?" her mother repeated, sounding puzzled. "Hello? Is anyone there?"

"Mama?" Rogue managed, her eyes drifting shut as a thousand memories assaulted her -- her fifth birthday party when her parents rented a sad little pony for the kids to ride; her grandmother's funeral, the first time she'd seen her mother cry; the scent of pecan cookies baking in the kitchen on a warm summer's evening.

On the other end, her mother exhaled sharply. "Marie?" she whispered.

"Yeah, Mama," Rogue answered, her voice shaking. She held onto the phone booth with a death grip. "It's Marie."

"You -- Are you okay?" Her question sounded a little bit like a prayer.

Rogue lifted a hand to her face, wiping traitorous tears from her cheeks. "Yes, Mama, I'm okay. How're things there?"

"Fine. Everything's fine," her mother answered, her words tripping over each other as she spoke hurriedly, as if she were expecting her daughter to hang up at any time. "Marie, where are you?"

Glancing around, Rogue decided discretion was the better part of valor. "Canada." Her mother didn't need to know about the school full of mutants, or the part-time super-hero business. She certainly didn't need to hear about Rogue's spectacularly failed relationship with a cage-fighting older man with metallic claws in his hands and a penchant for growling. "Somewhere in Alberta."

Her mother was crying now. "You're taking your trip?"

Rogue wilted a bit -- she wasn't the girl her mother remembered, the girl her mother had probably waited to hear from for the past four years. She wasn't taking a fanciful trip to Alaska to see the glaciers; she was stumbling around in the cold, trying to figure out what to do next. "No, Mama." Rogue leaned her head against the phone booth. "I'm --" She didn't know how to explain, and it struck her suddenly as funny. "I don't know what I'm doing," she admitted, half-laughing, half-crying.

"Come home," her mother offered immediately. "Marie, please. Come home."

Hope took hold and began to grow. "Really?" She hated that she sounded so young and needy. Hated it.

"Yes," her mother answered. "Come home."

Rogue started to smile, started to think about buying a map of the U.S., started to imagine how tightly her mother would hold her when she arrived. "Okay," she said.

"I'm sure I can convince your father," her mother said, more to herself than to Rogue. "I'm sure I can." But she sounded like she was having trouble convincing herself.

And just like that, Rogue remembered why she'd left. She remembered why she'd needed to leave. "Mama?" she questioned, crestfallen.

"You know your father, Marie," her mother explained quickly. "He just has certain ideas, a certain way of thinking. I'm sure I can convince him to let you visit."

Visit. Her mother wanted her to come home to visit. Rogue leaned back against the phone booth and slid down to the ground. The pavement was rough and cold beneath her free hand, and the phone cord was just long enough. "Don't," she said.

Her mother sounded confused and a little panicked. "Don't what?"

"Don't try to convince him," Rogue explained, bitter. All of the comments, all of the suspicious looks, all of the cutting remarks she'd endured from her father -- it all came roaring back. That was why she hadn't ever called home. And her mother's attempts to claim the middle ground for her own, without ever standing up for her daughter -- that was, in the end, why Rogue had left.

"Marie--"

"No," Rogue interrupted, because home wasn't supposed to be where they had to be persuaded to tolerate you. Home was supposed to be where they always, always, always welcomed you back. And Rogue could think of only one place that had felt like home in the past four years, and it wasn't in Mississippi. "No," she repeated. "I can't come to Mississippi, Mama. Not if Daddy still thinks I'm --" Her throat closed up and she choked on the hateful words, the slurs he'd thrown at her years earlier. "I can't."

"Marie, please."

"Mama," Rogue explained, her tone flat and emotionless. "I won't come home if he still thinks of me like that. I can't."

"But I haven't seen you in years," her mother's panic was sliding toward anger. "Do you have any idea how much I've worried about you?"

"I should've called before now," Rogue admitted. "And I promise I'll call again in a couple weeks." Once she found a place to live. Once she found an apartment or a boarding house or some sort of shelter.

"Marie, no--"

"I have to go, Mama," Rogue interrupted. "Bye." She leaned up and managed to hang the phone up. Then she brought her hands to her face and cried, as the cold from the ground seeped through her clothes and all the way down to the bone.

The drive from Sugarbush to Salem Center was long and, given the subject of conversation, quite annoying to Rogue. All weekend, Jubilee had attempted to lure Rogue into a discussion about the status her relationship with Logan, a subject that Rogue was taking care not to examine too closely herself because of the panicky feeling it gave her.

Luckily, the skiing -- and Kitty's various pratfalls -- had been enough of a distraction for Rogue to deflect the conversation each time. It didn't work in the car. Jubilee half-turned in the passenger seat and pinned Rogue with a concerned look.

"I just don't understand," Jubilee explained. "He's so into you and he monopolizes all of your time--"

"He does not," Rogue interjected with a small smile.

"--and," Jubilee continued, ignoring the interruption, "he's got this perfect opportunity to take you to Belize -- Belize! Even the name is romantic -- and... he doesn't?" She tossed her hands up in mock surrender. "Boyfriend needs some lessons in how to not be a jackass."

Kitty, who was concentrating on driving, simply nodded her agreement.

Jubilee turned and reached for the radio to skip past a few tracks on the CD. "I just don't get it. Why didn't he take you? Why does he want to vacation alone? Who does that?"

It was the question Rogue had been avoiding the entire weekend, and now that it was hanging out there, it was all she could do to fight back tears.

When Jubilee glanced back at her and noticed, her eyes grew wide and she babbled apologies. "I'm really sorry, Rogue. I thought he was just being Logan. I didn't know you were having trouble."

"We're not," Rogue protested. And it was true, to a point. They weren't having trouble, really. They were just... different. Off-kilter. And Rogue didn't know why, except that she suspected it had to do with her. Specifically, her reaction to his trip to Madripoor, and the horrible fight that had followed. Logan had told her they were fine, but ever since then, things were... not fine.

But with Jubilee looking like she was about to cry herself, Rogue attempted a smile. "I'm fine," she lied. "Really."

Rogue defended Logan's actions to her friends, ruthlessly ignoring the little voice in her head that agreed -- Logan should have taken her with him. He should have wanted her with him. She would have loved to go to Belize with him, even if they had to work part of the time. The best vacation she'd ever had was that first trip with Logan to Juneau -- they'd gathered a little intell for the professor, and then they'd holed up in a cabin for a long weekend and discovered that they fit together in all the right ways. She'd made snow angels, and Logan had watched, grinning, from the front porch. He'd cooked for her and she'd peppered him with sarcastic remarks from the comfort of the small couch, dubbing him her cagefighting manservant. To her delight, he'd taken offense at that and tackled her.

They'd ended up staying an extra two days, just because they were enjoying each other so much. Why didn't he want her with him this time?

"We didn't mean to upset you, Rogue," Kitty explained, her tone apologetic. We just think he should've taken you with him."

"Or," Jubilee added, "that you should've invited yourself."

"No," Rogue countered immediately. "I don't want to pressure him."

Jubilee and Kitty exchanged looks. "Okay," Kitty said.

"What?" Rogue demanded. "This is Logan we're talking about. He's never even stayed in one place before. It can't be easy for him to have all of these responsibilities. I'm sure the Belize thing was just a quick getaway." From me, she added silently. And that was the part that stung.

Jubilee and Kitty murmured encouragement and thankfully let the subject drop just as they crossed over into New York. By the time they pulled into the garage at the Mansion, Rogue was almost too exhausted to notice that Logan's bike was back. She frowned at it, calculating days in her head. He'd only been gone for four days, at the most.

Her spirits lifted, despite her efforts to remain calm, and Rogue grabbed her back from the trunk with a quick, "I had a great time. Good night!" She practically ran to their room, forcing herself to slow down to a dignified pace once she reached their hallway.

Logan was in the armchair reading, a beer dangling from his free hand. He looked up at her entrance and gave her a reserved smile. "You're back."

Dropping her bag near the dresser, Rogue smiled at him. "You're back."

He nodded. "Finished the job."

Frowning a little, Rogue approached and sat on the ottoman, curling her legs up beneath her. "I thought you wanted to stay a few days at the Gulf. Get away from it all."

She thought she imagined the way he winced in reaction to her words. "It was raining," Logan answered. His gaze slid down her body, an eyebrow lifting. "You didn't break anything."

Laughing, Rogue leaned over and smacked his knee. "Be nice."

"You stayed on the bunny hill, didn't you?" Logan guessed, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Rogue mock glared at him. "I'll have you know that I skied down an actual slope."

"With your eyes closed, screaming the whole way?" he teased, putting the beer bottle between his legs so he could mark his place in the book.

Rogue snagged his beer and took a swig, then made a face. "I may have screamed once, but it was a victorious scream."

Logan tossed his book on the floor and slid forward in his chair, reaching for the beer and placing it on the small table. "A victorious scream, huh?"

Smirking, Rogue nodded. "Yup."

Logan's hands landed on her knees, rubbing gently and sliding upwards. "I may have heard that particular scream once or twice," he commented. Rogue launched herself onto his lap, knocking him into the back of his chair. His hands slid down her back and latched onto her hips to shift her closer. Pressing quick kisses to her jawline, Logan worked his way toward her ear to whisper, "I'm gonna get that scream out of you right now."

Her breathing erratic, Rogue reached for his face and tugged his chin up so she could kiss him.

They ended up on the floor, half-dressed, and he was right -- he did get that scream out of her. But she got a particularly loud growl out of him, so she figured they were about even. As their breathing slowed, Rogue tightened her grip on his waist and rubbed her face against his t-shirt. "I missed you," she murmured.

Logan's hand slid down her spine, caressing her gently. "Me, too," he admitted.

The moment was perfect, one of those moments she wished she could freeze in time and keep with her always, even if her knee was protesting their fierce coupling.

Then Logan disentangled himself from her and sat up, ignoring her groans of protest. "Listen," he said, his tone serious. "You don't have to wait until I'm out of town to spend time with your friends."

Puzzled, Rogue reached for his discarded flannel and pulled it on to ward off the chill. "What?" she asked. She tried to read his expression, but he wouldn't quite meet her gaze. Her fuzzy afterglow faded fast, leaving her with that same cold panic she'd been feeling since he left for Belize.

"You should spend more time with Jubilee and Kitty," Logan explained, stealing glances at her. "They're your friends. If you want to go skiing with them, it shouldn't matter whether I'm going to be in New York."

Rogue stared at him, trying to decipher his words. He wanted her to spend more time with her friends. He wanted her to go away with her friends. That uncertain feeling was back.

Logan obviously wanted more time to himself, and didn't know how to ask for it without hurting her feelings.

"Okay," Rogue answered slowly, pulling his flannel tighter around her body. It shouldn't surprise her that Logan needed space. He was the prototypical loner, and obviously the way she co-opted his time was starting to bother him. "Okay," she repeated, promising herself that she would stop crowding him.

The Canadian Rockies were really quite something. Tall and craggy and proud, with a perpetual dusting of snow. When Rogue crested a foothill, giving her the first unobstructed view of the mountain range, she actually gasped aloud.

She glanced around before pulling to the side of the road and climbing out. The air was chilly, and she shivered badly as she stood beside her car taking in the view. "Wow," she murmured, awed by the sheer size and beauty of the mountains. The late afternoon sun hovered among the cheery clouds, just above the jagged mountaintops.

In all of her travels, during her eight months of hitchhiking, during her trips with Logan, and during childhood car trips with her parents, she'd never, ever seen the Rockies. They were truly breathtaking.

Reflexively, Rogue glanced around, but she was alone, save the occasional passing car. She had the urge to share this with someone, to exchange looks with someone as awed by the sight as she was. But it was just Rogue, her car ticking as it cooled down, and the stunning vista before her.

She remembered Alaska, sitting in the passenger side of a deceptively clunky-looking truck with her face nearly pressed to the glass, staring out at the gorgeous terrain below. Logan had been driving up a narrow road, switchback after switchback, heading through the mountain pass to reach the small town on the other side, and Marie was supposed to have been navigating. But she'd been far too enthralled by the view.

Near the top, Logan had pulled the truck over and turned it off, smiling when Rogue had turned a perplexed look his way. "C'mon," he'd ordered, brushing off her protests about the truck blocking the road. "Do you see any other cars?" he'd asked pointedly. "I'll move it if we hear anyone coming."

She'd slid across the bench seat and followed him out into the sharp, cold Alaska air, her eyes stinging a little from the wind. Logan had pulled her closer to the edge, holding fast to her hand while she gazed out over the countryside. Snow, blinding white snow, for as far as she could see, broken only by snow-covered trees and, once in a great while, a small cabin with grey smoke puffing merrily from its chimney.

"Oh, Logan," she'd murmured, shivering in the cold but not wanting to leave. "It's so beautiful."

He'd simply moved closer, wrapping his arms around her to share some of his warmth, and waited until she was ready to leave.

Rogue never forgot the way he'd treated her. She never forgot the way he'd altered his plans, changed his schedule to accommodate her on that trip. But mostly, she cherished the experience that they'd shared -- he'd been to Alaska before, but he'd taken no small amount of pleasure in her reaction, and in sharing what he knew of the region with her.

More than anywhere else on earth, Logan knew the Canadian Rockies. And standing there, alone, as she stared at the glorious range, Rogue ached for him to be there with her, to share the moment like he had in Alaska, to tell her stories about ice fishing or long walks in the brilliant cold or the modest comforts of the tiny cabin he'd holed up in years ago.

The realization hit hard -- she wanted Logan. She wanted Logan beside her. She wanted to take bad pictures of the mountains, pictures that didn't come close to capturing the immensity of the mountains, and then make Jubes and Kitty and Jean and Scott sit and flip through the prints.

She could imagine it with such clarity -- Jubes making her typical sarcastic remarks while Rogue narrated the pictures, Logan watching with quiet amusement, trading the occasional barb with Scott. The professor would wander in eventually, and Rogue would start over from the beginning.

Rogue ached just thinking about. Her eyes stung, and she slumped against her car, arms wrapped tightly around her midsection. She wanted to go home. She wanted it so badly, but she couldn't figure out how she could ever go back to the Mansion.

The tears were cold on her cheeks, and she told herself to stop crying. Numb and shivering, she slid back into the car and turned the key in the ignition.

Rogue really, really wanted to cry when Logan told her he was leaving -- again -- on a recon trip for the professor. He'd just gotten back from Madripoor the night before, exhausted and cranky, and Rogue wanted to ask him to stay. A few months ago, she would have told him to stay, pleading and cajoling and batting her eyelashes until he agreed or took her to bed. But she'd tried to persuade him to turn down the Madripoor trip, and it had gone badly.

Very badly.

He hadn't appreciated her remark about his wanderlust, and she'd reacted very badly to his comment that some things were more important than individual desires, that sometimes, a common goal was more important than what any one person wanted, and if she couldn't understand that, maybe she needed to grow up.

It had devolved from there, but not into a heated shouting match. Instead, there had been an impenetrable coldness that lasted for four days, right up until the night before he left. That night, she'd vowed that she wouldn't lose him. She promised herself that she would act like an adult, whatever it took. And then she found him outside on the balcony and offered a beer, an apology, and a heartfelt kiss that sparked a fiery reconciliation.

Now that he was back, she was leery of appearing too young, or too immature. She wanted him to stay in New York, but she figured that asking would be immature and way too needy, so she swallowed past the lump in her throat and tried to smile. "How long will you be gone?"

Logan shifted, leaning back against the wall and watching her carefully. He'd waited until they were alone to tell her, and she wondered if he'd expected another fight. "I'm not sure. A while, probably." He had his arms crossed, but there was something in his demeanor that was almost... defensive.

That didn't make any sense, so obviously she was imagining things. Rogue looked down at the bedspread, her bare fingers tracing the muted pattern. "Oh." She heard movement, but didn't glance over at him as he turned and reached into his all-purpose duffel.

"Got you something," Logan said, crossing their bedroom to sit beside her.

Surprised, Rogue met his gaze. "Really?"

Logan gave her an offended look. "Thanks."

"No," she protested, laying a hand on his flannel-clad forearm. Why couldn't she seem to say anything right lately? "I mean -- thanks."

With a brief nod, Logan handed her a long, thin box decorated with a dark green ribbon. The bow was squashed from being packed into his bag, but she didn't much care.

Rogue accepted the gift and fingered the ribbon, giving him an amused look. "Wrap this yourself?"

Logan rolled his eyes. "Not really a ribbon kind of guy, Marie."

Her smile widened. "True." They weren't much for gifts, or for traditional relationship-type actions, so she did her best to savor this. Slowly, she pulled the ribbon free, placing it carefully beside her before she opened the box. She peeled back a layer of tissue paper to reveal a deep maroon fabric. "Oh, Logan," she murmured, reaching for the scarf. "It's beautiful."

When she looked up, he was smiling, one of those rare, genuine grins. "You like it?"

"I love it," she answered. She wanted desperately to add "I love you," but she knew better than to put any pressure on him. Logan wasn't an "I love you" kind of guy, and she could learn to live with that. Whatever adjustments she had to make, she would make, so she could keep from scaring him off. "Where did you find this?" she asked.

"Little shop in Madripoor. Thought the color would look good against your skin." Logan reached for one end of the scarf and lifted it, draping it across one shoulder. He raised an eyebrow. "I was right."

Rogue blushed. "Thank you."

Logan trailed his fingers down her arm, stopping at the end of her sleeve. "Miss me?" He sounded hopeful, which was odd, because he had to know that she missed him every second he was gone.

She grinned up at him and shrugged playfully. "Little bit."

"Good," Logan said, leaning closer. He pressed a kiss to her hair and sighed. "Listen, the professor wants me to leave again tomorrow." Leaning back a little, he looked at her expectantly. "Not as far this time, just Belize. He wants me to check out some rumors that made their way back to him."

"Rumors?" Rogue repeated, frowning. "Of... what?"

"The usual," Logan answered, his warm palm landing on her thigh. "Government containment facilities."

"Whose government?" Rogue wondered. Because she hadn't ever heard much about Belize in the context of human-mutant relations.

Grimacing, Logan answered, "U.S. But outside the borders and outside the reach of U.S. laws."

Considering the implications, Rogue crinkled her nose. "Yuck."

Logan very nearly laughed. "Well said." His thumb moved in small, soft arcs on her leg, his fingernail scraping against the denim.

"No, I mean, that's awful," Rogue amended quickly, ignoring the hot flush of embarrassment. She cast about for something more intelligent to say. "So the professor wants you to find out if it's true?"

Nodding, Logan said, "Pretty simple assignment. Shouldn't take more than a day or two."

She tilted her head. "Sounds like Alaska."

It took Logan a minute to figure out what she meant. "Right. Basic intell gathering." He gave her an expectant look. "Same type of assignment as the one in Alaska."

"Good," Rogue said. "I mean, good that you won't be in much danger." She glanced up at him. "You won't be in much danger, right?"

His fingers tightened on her thigh. "No, I won't be in danger." He cleared his throat, glancing away from her. "Actually, the town isn't far from the Gulf of Mexico. Supposed to be pretty down there this time of year. Might be relaxing."

Rogue swallowed the little flare of panic. He wanted to vacation in Belize. Alone. And considering the way he kept stealing glances at her face, he wanted her to be okay with it. She swallowed her hurt feelings and forced a smile. "Okay."

Frowning just a little, Logan repeated, "Okay?" He looked confused, but hell if Rogue could figure out why.

"It's fine," Rogue insisted, seeking to reassure him that she could take this like an adult. "You should take a couple of days and just..." She shrugged. "Hang out."

She couldn't read the play of emotions on his face. "Hang out," Logan echoed, an undercurrent of bitterness in his words.

Wincing, Rogue covered his hand with hers and tangled their fingers together. "I just mean that you deserve a break, Logan. You work too hard." He still looked skeptical, so she gave him a playful shove. "I'll be fine. Jubilee and Kitty wanted to go skiing next weekend, and I wasn't going to go if you were going to be home."

Logan's quizzical look hardened into impassivity. "Go skiing," he said, his tone unreadable. "You should go have fun with your friends." He looked away from her, his gaze fixed on the wall opposite the bed, his back ramrod straight.

Rogue nodded her acceptance and tried to mask her disappointment when she reached for him. "If you're leaving tomorrow..." she said in her best suggestive tone.

After a moment of odd tension, Logan sighed and leaned in to kiss her. He held her differently that night, almost tentatively, and the memory of that strange distance between them lingered as Rogue stood by their window and watched him drive away.

When her gas tank got low, Rogue pulled into a small motel just off of the highway. It was late and she was tired and she thought maybe tonight she'd be able to sleep without his nightmares. They'd always bothered her sporadically, but now that she was on the road by herself, she woke screaming every single night.

In a word, it sucked.

To be perfectly blunt, her life sucked beyond the telling of it. Since her minor episode at the mere sight of the Rockies, she'd been taking stock of her life. She was driving aimlessly around Canada, missing her family back at the Mansion, and most especially missing him. She wanted rather desperately to be back in New York with Logan, but paradoxically, he was the reason she couldn't go back.

"Dammit," Rogue muttered, fumbling with the room key and its giant plastic keychain. She got the door open to her motel room and trudged inside, taking in the sickly carpet and the sagging bed with a jaundiced eye.

She briefly considered a bubblebath, but the tub looked a little dingy so she settled for a shower. When she emerged into the steamy cocoon of the bathroom, Rogue tugged one of Logan's flannel shirts from her bag and slipped it on. She'd only brought one with her, and she'd saved it all this time, waiting until she really needed the comfort of his scent and the feel of his flannel against her skin.

For nearly an hour, she put off calling New York. She checked the weather forecast. She ran through some quick calisthenics, and then a bit of yoga. She flipped through the motel's 17 channels three times looking for something to distract her. Mostly, she ignored the churning in her stomach and the tightness in her chest.

When she picked up the phone, her hands were shaking and she felt more than a little nauseated. She told herself he wouldn't be there. She told herself that even if he was there, he wouldn't want to talk to her. She told herself it was over, and no amount of undignified begging and pleading would change that.

Still, as she listened to the dull purr of the ringing phone, some blindly optimistic part of her half-expected a contrite Logan to answer.

"Xavier's School," a familiar voice greeted.

Rogue sank onto the edge of the mattress and tried not to be disappointed. "Jean. Hi. It's Rogue."

"Rogue," Jean answered, sounding pleased. "It's so great to hear your voice. How are you? Where are you?"

Stifling a sigh, Rogue resigned herself to a brief chat with Jean. "Somewhere in Alberta, I think. I turned northwest at the middle of nowhere and kept driving." Rogue twisted the phone cord around her finger. "How are things in New York?"

"Everyone's fine," Jean said, warmth and understanding in her voice. "Logan's fine."

"Good. Good." Rogue ignored the way her stomach twisted and dipped at the mention of his name. One of these days she'd have to get over that.

After an awkward moment, Jean pressed on, "Jubilee will be sorry she missed you. She and Kitty are out with Bobby. I'm actually not quite sure where they've gone."

Rogue nodded, unable to speak past the unexpected lump in her throat. "Mmm-hmm," she managed. She wanted to be in New York so much it ached. She wanted her friends back. She wanted her life back. She wanted Logan back.

A sigh traveled down the line. "Rogue, why don't you come home?" Jean asked softly. "We all miss you."

"I can't," she answered shakily.

"He never wanted you to leave, Rogue."

Rogue's eyes drifted shut, and a tear streaked down her cheek. She wiped it away angrily. "I can't be there when he's there. Not yet." She imagined bumping into him in the hallway and trying to act like he wasn't walking around with her heart tucked, unnoticed and unwanted, in his back pocket.

"I know," Jean murmured. "But Logan wants you to be the one to stay at the Mansion."

Rogue opened her eyes and frowned absently at the garish curtains. "What does that mean?"

"If you came back and didn't want to be in the same house as Logan, he would move. He's made that clear."

That felt a little bit like a kick to the kidneys. She tried to imagine going back and knowing she'd driven him away, driven him from the only home he'd ever known. Rogue hunched over, curling her free hand across her abdomen. "I can't be there without him, either, Jean," she answered carefully.

"Okay." After a moment, Jean said, "The thought of you out there on your own really worries him. You should see him these days."

Typical. Logan was worried about the little girl he'd promised to protect. "You can tell him I don't need him to protect me anymore." She flopped down onto her back, most of the fight gone out of her. Her anger with Logan was short-lived, and it always, always, always faded to that bitter taste of regret. "I can take care of myself."

Jean hesitated, and when she answered, she sounded confused. "Rogue, what are you--?"

"I'm not that girl on the train anymore," she explained tiredly. "I know that he can't see me as an adult. I understand that. I just don't understand why he started it in the first place." She winced; she hadn't meant to say that last part out loud. That was the absolute last thing she wanted to talk about with Jean, the woman Logan had always wanted.

"Why he started--" Jean stopped suddenly, and Rogue could practically hear the light bulb go off over her head. Jean continued more slowly, "Why he started a relationship with you."

Rogue rolled over onto her side, bringing her knees up. "Jean, I don't really want to talk about this anymore."

"Have you talked about it at all?" Jean asked. She sounded so kind, so concerned -- like an older sister or something.

Rogue smoothed the bedspread with her free hand, plucking at stray threads.

"Rogue, I think you know why he started it."

"Yeah," Rogue answered. "Pity for the girl with the hopeless crush on him. And when that ran out, he ended it." Jean didn't answer, which was confirmation enough for her. "Listen, thanks for the pep talk--"

"Are you crazy?" Jean demanded, much more strident now.

Surprised, Rogue asked, "What?"

"You think Logan pitied you?" Jean began, sounding somewhere between stunned and irritated. "Look, I know this is probably none of my business, and under the circumstances, I may not be the person you'd like to discuss Logan with, but we don't always get what we want."

"Jean--"

"I don't know where you got the idea that Logan pitied you. Anyone with eyes can see that he loves you."

Every muscle in Rogue's body tensed. "He... What?"

"Do you hear me, Rogue? He. Loves. You."

"You're wrong," Rogue insisted, even as she wanted desperately for Jean to be right. She had that annoying fluttering feeling in her stomach again. "That doesn't make any sense."

"No, your pity theory doesn't make any sense," Jean answered.

Rogue rolled onto her back and flung her free arm across her face, hiding. "Jean, Logan wants to protect me. He doesn't like to see me hurting, which is why he managed to fake it for so long--"

"He's not faking it," Jean interrupted. She sounded oddly confident about what she was saying. She sounded like it was the most obvious thing in the world that Logan loved Rogue. "He never faked it. You shouldn't be wondering why he started things with you," Jean continued. "You should be wondering why he ended it."

That stung, even if it was the truth. Still, Rogue attempted to modulate her voice. "Jean, I appreciate you trying to make me feel better, but you're wrong."

"I'm not," Jean declared. "He loved you enough to let you go because he thought that's what you wanted--"

"What I wanted?" Rogue echoed, stunned.

"And he's been an absolute bear since you left. But the thing that should convince you is this: Logan bought a cellphone, Rogue, and he posted the number on the bulletin board near the phone, so anyone who talked to you would be able to pass it along if you asked for him."

Rogue couldn't move, couldn't breathe. That couldn't mean what Jean thought it meant. He must've left it in case she screwed up and needed rescuing out there in the big, bad world. He couldn't have left it in case she just... wanted to talk to him.

Could he?

"Rogue?"

"Jean, this... This doesn't make sense."

"I know he's not the most talkative man in the world," Jean said, sounding more than a little frustrated. "But think about all the things he did for you. Remember the way he treated you. And then try to explain why he would be moping around the Mansion if he didn't love you."

"But," Rogue spluttered, unable to wrap her mind around the idea of Logan moping over her. "But he -- he never said --" She shook her head. "He never said he loved me."

Jean sighed. "Did you ever tell him you love him?"

Rogue flinched. "No," she admitted softly.

"Why not?"

It took a lot of courage for Rogue to put her feelings into words, but she squeezed her eyes shut and whispered, "Because I didn't want to scare him. I didn't want to pressure him, or make him stay with me out of obligation."

Jean didn't answer for a long moment, and Rogue's words hung there, unchallenged.

"Maybe Logan didn't want to pressure you," Jean answered quietly. She hesitated. "Listen, I won't give you his number if you don't ask for it, but, Rogue?"

"Yeah?"

"Ask me," Jean ordered.

Rogue closed her eyes tight. "Can I have the number?"

The nightmare shoved Rogue rudely into consciousness, leaving her shaking and sweating and searching the darkness of her wood-paneled room for human monsters with cruel metal instruments. Muscle by muscle, she made herself relax, her limbs trembling in the aftermath of adrenalin. She breathed in deeply, imprinting the orange-y scent of wood polish, so different from the metallic taste of fear from Logan's nightmares.

After tossing some water on her face, Rogue ran a damp washcloth over the back of her neck and headed down to the kitchen for some orange juice. She slipped silently through the deserted halls, not bothering to turn on any lights on her way. Juice in hand, she started back to her room.

When she turned the corner to the staff wing, she saw a familiar figure lounging in the doorway to his room. Rogue gave Logan half a smile as she moved over to him and halted.

With a quick glance at her orange juice, Logan lifted an eyebrow. "I heard you get up. Nightmare?"

"Yeah," Rogue said. It wasn't unusual for Logan to spend some companionable time with her after she woke from a nightmare, or for her to bring him a beer after he woke from one. They'd slipped into a very comfortable relationship, now that she was old enough to consider herself his equal. He was more than the unattainable ideal to her now; he was her friend.

Logan stepped back, and she followed him into his room. "Yours or mine?" He dropped down to the edge of the mattress, leaning forward to place his elbows on his knees. Rogue noticed the tangled sheets and figured he'd had his own nightmare at some point, too.

She stopped by the unused writing desk, leaning back against the edge, settling in. "Yours tonight."

Logan grimaced. "Sorry."

He hadn't bothered to turn on the lights; he could see just fine without them. As her vision adjusted to the faint light of the moon, Rogue noticed the duffel bag parked by the foot of his bed.

"Are you going to apologize every single time I have one of your nightmares?" Rogue asked, exasperated. His guilt complex could get very tiresome. She wouldn't have the nightmares without his interference, but of course, she'd also be dead. Given the tradeoff, she'd cheerfully take the nightmares and she knew Logan agreed, but he'd always hated to see her suffer.

"Probably," he answered, arms crossed over his chest as he watched her. "You shouldn't have to deal with that shit."

Shrugging, Rogue pointed out, "Neither should you." She took a slow sip of juice, then placed the glass down on the desktop. "Besides," she added, wearily pushing her hair back from her face, "it's worth it to have a little piece of you running around in my head."

"Doubt that," Logan snorted.

"It's true." Rogue tilted her head, considering. "It's nice having you in a way no one else can," she decided.

Logan stared at her, his expression unreadable as he digested her words. The words were far too revealing, but it was too late to take them back. Maybe he'd blame the moonlight, or some kind of post-nightmare psychosis.

Rogue took an unsteady breath. "Anyway--"

"You already do," Logan said, standing slowly.

She stared at him, puzzled. "What?"

Logan shifted, moving a little closer in the dimly lit room. "I don't make promises easily," he explained, rather obtusely. But there was something in his expression, something in the way he was looking at her that made her insides heat up, made her breathing speed up.

Rogue pushed away from the desk, drawn to him for some inexplicable reason, even as her better judgment screamed in protest. "I know you don't," Rogue answered, her voice low. He'd promised to protect her, years ago, but something in his voice... The air felt odd. Charged. Electric.

Tensing up, Logan stared impassively at her as she approached, stopping a foot away from her. "Marie." It was just her name, but there were a thousand messages all tangled up inside his voice when he said it, and she couldn't decipher a single one.

Her courage faltered, and she looked down, noticing the duffel bag again. Forcing a false note of brightness into her voice, she asked, "Going somewhere?"

"Alaska," he answered. "Need to look into some things for the professor."

"Alaska?" Rogue echoed, momentarily forgetting her nervousness. "You're going to Alaska?"

"Juneau, then some small town up in the mountains," he confirmed, watching her closely.

Rogue started to smile. "Take me," she suggested, raising her eyebrows, not even registering the unwitting double entendre.

Logan blinked. "What?"

"Take me with you," she clarified, moving closer in her excitement. "You know I've always wanted to go to Alaska." Excitement bubbled up at the possibility of seeing Alaska, finally, with Logan.

"It might be dangerous," Logan protested, his mouth set in a determined line. He stared down at her, his expression quizzical.

"Oh, come on, Logan," Rogue cajoled, tilting her head to the side. "I'll be fine. I can help you." She flashed her best grin, batting her eyelashes at him in exaggerated fashion.

Rolling his eyes at her theatrics, Logan shook his head. "No," he answered, seemingly unable to come up with a decent counterargument.

"Yes," she argued, grinning. "I'm going."

"Marie--"

"I'm going," she repeated, lifting her chin. "C'mon, it'll be fun," she cajoled.

His eyebrows lifted. "Fun?"

"You. Me. Alaska," Rogue explained. "We can play in the snow. We can make snow angels."

"I'm not making snow angels," Logan vowed. It didn't escape Rogue's notice that he hadn't said she couldn't make snow angels, and she could only do that if she were with him in Alaska. She started to smile.

"Okay, you can watch me make snow angels." She moved even closer, looping her arms around his neck and holding on. "Take me with you," she implored. His eyes were beautiful up close, deep and brown and intense enough to make her forget what they were talking about.

Logan stared down at her, his hands landing just below her waist. "It's not gonna be all snow angels, Marie. There's work to do, too."

With a little squeal, Rogue tightened her arms around his neck and hugged him, savoring the sound of Logan's laughter in her ear. Later, she would never be able to explain where she got the courage to do it, but she cupped his jaw with her palm, centered herself, and leaned up to kiss him.

For a long, horrifying moment, he didn't react. He didn't move, didn't breathe, and Rogue braced for a crushing rejection. And then his hands clutched at her back, yanking her up against that beautiful chest of his, and his mouth opened to her.

That first kiss was mind-blowing. It was so great and so dizzying that it took Rogue far too long to recognize that her control was slipping. By the time she pulled back, Logan's grip on her had tightened and he seemed a little dazed.

"Sorry," she murmured, letting the burst of Logan, the splash of lust and caring and relief start to fade a little.

Logan shook his head slightly, shaking it off. "Sorry for what?"

"Losing control," Rogue explained shyly, not quite able to meet his gaze.

Eyes narrowing, Logan studied her, his fingers tensing on her waist. "Of your mutation, you mean," he said, but he didn't sound too sure of himself.

"Of course," Rogue confirmed. She realized belatedly that she was shaking, and that she'd just kissed Logan, and that he'd kissed her back, and she was pretty sure she was grinning like an idiot, and why was he looking at her like that?

The edge of his mouth quirked upward. "Thank God," he muttered, pulling her close.

They kissed again, just as desperately, and Rogue managed to pull back in time, resting her head against his shoulder as she fought to bring her breathing under control. Logan's hands skimmed across her back, dancing down her spine.

"Marie," he murmured. "Look at me."

She was blushing a little as she lifted her head. "Yeah?" she asked shyly, half-expecting him to call the whole thing off.

But she'd never seen that particular intensity on Logan's face. Or at least it'd never been aimed at her before. Liquid heat pooled in her stomach as she waited for him to move, to speak, to do something.

Logan shifted, his palm slipping to the small of her back. "You sure about this?" he asked, his voice rough and tender at the same time. "This is what you want?"

Rogue blinked against the sudden sting of tears. "Yeah," she answered huskily. "I'm sure. Are you?"

He didn't answer in words. He simply nodded and kissed her again, and then took her to bed.

Rogue told herself to sleep on it, to take some time before she made the decision whether to call Logan. But she couldn't will herself to sleep, and no matter where she moved in the small motel room -- the bed, the cramped chair near the window, the floor in front of the TV -- her attention almost immediately returned to the small scrap of paper on the bedside table.

Logan's number.

She ached to hear his voice. She knew it was only a matter of time before she called him, but she needed to get her head straight before she did it. She wanted so badly for him to want her back, but she tried to keep her expectations low. Psychic or not, Jean had to be wrong about this.

Though Rogue had to admit that her relationship with Logan had changed after they fought over Madripoor, and if she considered things objectively, she'd been the one to change things. She'd started to watch what she said around him, to censor anything that might sound too immature or too needy. She'd tried so hard not to make any demands on him that maybe, just maybe, he'd misunderstood.

The possibility was tantalizing. If she'd screwed things up, she could probably fix them, because then it was possible that Logan actually did love her. On the other hand, if she'd screwed things up, maybe he would be too hurt to ever forgive her, because he wasn't the kind of guy who gave his heart easily.

She couldn't stop the endless loop in her head. When she grabbed the hotel phone, she dialed without letting herself second-guess her decision. One way or another, she would know.

The phone rang four times, and Rogue was frantically trying to compose a voicemail message when he answered. "Hello?"

She closed her eyes. Logan. God. She'd missed him. "Logan?" Her voice came out small and strangled, but she could hear him exhale slowly on the other end of the line.

"Marie?"

"Yeah," she confirmed. And then she realized she had absolutely nothing to say. She couldn't think of a single sentence, a single word that could possibly breach this awkward silence.

"Where are you?" Logan asked after a long moment.

She almost smiled. "At the foot of the Canadian Rockies."

"Oh."

Rogue frowned at the wall. "Logan?"

"You're... far away," he said, an odd note of melancholy in his voice. "The car's holding up?"

"The car's fine," Rogue snapped. Why the hell was he more interested in her car than in her?

"Good," he answered, his tone flat. "Good."

This was awful. Jean was wrong. In fact, Jean was so wrong that Rogue started to wonder if this wasn't some cruel practical joke. "I'm sorry," Rogue said. "I shouldn't have called." She hoped like hell that Logan couldn't hear the tears in her voice.

"No," Logan answered. "It's good you called. I--"

She waited, but he didn't continue. The silence lengthened, and panic swirled up into her throat. "I'm sorry, Logan," she blurted, desperate to get off the phone, to end this painful farce. "I never wanted it to end like this."

"I never wanted it to end," he answered, a note of bitterness in his voice.

Rogue couldn't breathe. He didn't just say-- "What?"

"I said I never wanted it to end, you and me," Logan repeated tiredly. "Look, Marie, I'm sorry if that's not what you want to hear, but I thought you should know. I'll understand if you don't call back."

"You'll understand?" she echoed blankly. "You -- wait. You didn't want this to end? I don't understand."

"What's not to understand?" Logan demanded, his tone harsh. "I'm sorry I wasn't the man you thought I was. I didn't want to hurt you, Marie. Ever."

"But--" Rogue shook her head. Could they have possibly mis-communicated this badly? "But I thought--"

"You thought what?" If she didn't know better, she'd think he sounded almost hopeful.

"I was too needy," she admitted, shame welling up in her voice. "I pressured you and I made demands on you, and you never wanted that."

"Are you serious?" Logan asked. He sounded shocked. She wished she could see his face so she'd have some clue what he was thinking.

"Yes," she answered. "I'm sorry about that. I tried to be a better girlfriend, but..." She couldn't say it, couldn't stand to hear the confirmation.

"But what?" Logan demanded.

Rogue took a deep breath and closed her eyes. "But it didn't matter because you never wanted me in the first place. So I'm sorry that I pressured you into this."

Silence.

Rogue choked on a sob. "I need to go--"

"No!" he shouted. "Don't you dare hang up. Do you love me?"

"What?" she asked, her voice clogged with tears.

"Do you love me?" he repeated in a tone that brooked no argument.

It felt like jumping off of an incredibly high cliff, so she braced herself for the crash landing and said, "Yes."

On the other end of the line, Logan made a strangled noise and said, "Come home."

Rogue's eyes popped open. "What?" she squeaked, utterly convinced that she'd misheard him. Or that she was having a really enjoyable dream and would soon come crashing back to reality, all alone in a crummy motel room in fucking Canada.

"I need you to come home," Logan explained, sounding impatient.

"I'm..." She shrugged, "in Canada."

"Take a plane," he suggested. "Come home, Marie."

"But," she said, shaking her head even though he couldn't see her, "but why?"

"Because this shit isn't worth it without you here. Nothing's worth it without you. I need you here, Marie." He hesitated. "Do you understand?"

Did she understand? Because that sounded a lot like I love you to Rogue. But he couldn't possibly mean that. "You--" She swallowed, steadied her voice. "You need me?"

"Yes."

It should be enough. It was more than she'd expected. But she had to know. "You love me?" she asked quietly.

Silence spooled out so long, Rogue was just about to hung up when he answered, "Yes."

Logan would never say it if it weren't true. She knew him well enough to know that. The possibility that he'd loved her all along, that they'd screwed up so monumentally -- She couldn't think of a thing to say in response.

Thinking back on the way things had unraveled, the way they had mistaken each other's actions, Rogue simply shrugged and said, "I'm sorry, Logan."

"For what?" He sounded puzzled.

She sighed, not wanting to dwell too much on the past, not right now. She was sorry for a thousand different things, a thousand different times she'd managed to make him think she didn't love him. Mostly, she was sorry for letting her doubts control her actions. Jean was right -- Rogue should've known from the way Logan was with her, from the way he treated her. And if she'd been unsure, she should've talked to him.

The best reply she could come up with was: "For not asking you that a long time ago."

"You shouldn't have had to ask," Logan answered gruffly. "Sorry."

"I know now," Rogue said. She couldn't quite believe how entirely her life had shifted over the course of just a few minutes. She was no longer that wandering loner in search of a home; she had a home, with friends she adored and a man she loved waiting for her. It was amazing what a little communication could do. "So," Rogue said, trying to make sense of things. "We really fucked everything up, didn't we?"

Logan sounded relieved when he answered, "We really did."

"Do you think we can fix it?" Rogue asked.

"Yeah," Logan answered, and he sounded so confident that Rogue had to smile. He was a force to be reckoned with when he made up his mind. "We can fix it. Are you coming home?"

"Yes," she answered, grinning even though he wasn't there to see it. She knew he'd be able to hear it in her voice. She wasn't sure how things would be when she got there, but even the possibility of fixing their relationship was enough to make her giddy. "I'll be there as soon as I can."

"I'll be waiting."

THE END