It was gray. The sky, the snow, the road. Even the piece of shit car, which Marie was pretty sure started out an icy blue, had shifted into a dirty, slushy gray. She blew out a breath as she slammed the hood down, and damn if her breath wasn't gray, too.

She walked slowly around the car and stood for a moment, pondering her situation. On some nameless road in the middle of this godforsaken state, which for some reason she'd always longed to see, though for the life of her she couldn't recall why at the moment. Not another car in sight. Presumably there was a town somewhere along this road, but she had no clue how far it was. And the car ...

Marie reached for calm, but it seemed to have deserted her. She took her anger out on an innocent tire, punctuating every kick with a hissed curse. "Shit-shit-shit-son-of-a-motherless-goat-piece-of-shit-car!" Growling, she gave the tire one more kick.

Real mature, Marie.

Her conscience, in the voice of her Momma, piped in as always. Ladies do not curse, Marie. Don't lose your temper, Marie.

Shit.

"Well," she said aloud, startled at the echo of her own voice. "Looks like we're gonna be walkin', Fred."

Fred, a mutt of indeterminate parentage she'd picked up a few states back, grinned at her from the front passenger seat of the car, slobbering all over the window. Obviously, he didn't understand the gravity of the situation. But then, he trusted her to take care of him, so that in itself showed how little sense he had.

Marie sighed and opened the back door, climbing in and shutting it behind her. It was fortunate, she supposed, that she'd started her journey on a bus and had packed lightly. Of course, it was a wonder she'd packed what she needed, considering her state at the time. The memories threatened, and she ruthlessly pushed them back. No time to think. No time. Maybe later, 'K? Like in fifty years or so.

She opened her duffel bag and surveyed its contents. A few changes of clothes. Toiletries. Her journal. Wallet. She leaned over into the front seat, pushing Fred and his doggy breath gently out of her way, and yanked her portable CD player out of the tape deck. Stretching a little farther, she managed to snag the case off the dashboard that held all 10 CDs she'd brought with her.

Music was key to Marie's life. Sometimes in high school, she'd gone without lunch for weeks to save money to buy CDs she'd wanted. When it came to survival, Marie thought honestly that while starving to death would be bad, starving for music would be worse. Maybe if she'd been able to carry a tune herself it wouldn't have been as bad. She could have just sung her way through life instead of relying on the songs of others.

By ditching a sweatshirt, she managed to cram the player and CDs into the bag. Just barely, and she wasn't sure how on earth she'd manage to carry the bag to the next town. Wherever that was. She wondered briefly if she'd die of cold or exhaustion first and if she'd be gray, too, when they found her dead body by the side of the road. And then, wouldn't her father be able to give a big, fat "I told you so"?

"I'm gettin' morbid," she told Fred, who just gave her his dopey dog smile, as if to remind her that she'd been morbid for a year and a half, and what was so unusual about that, anyway?

Marie tightened her coat and wrapped her scarf more firmly around her face. She clambered out of the car, dragging her bag out and dropping it on the pavement with an echoing thud. She opened the front door and let Fred out. He ran up the road and back again, wagging his tail. He knew better by now than to jump on her, instead jumping up and down excitedly in front of her.

"Yeah, yeah," she told him flatly. "We're goin' for a little walk. Whoo-hoo."

Fred froze, staring back the way they'd come. Marie stopped, hearing the car a moment after the dog did.

"OK," she said. "Fred, you gotta sit there and look as harmless as possible, boy." She pushed her hood off her head and loosened the scarf. She knew she looked about 16, though she was 20. Might as well use that innocent look.

Hitchhiking is dangerous, Marie, her Momma's voice said.

"So's freezin' to death," she argued aloud. Fred didn't even look at her. He was used to her talking to herself.

A truck with a camper attached barreled down the road, and Marie took a deep breath and stuck out her thumb.

The truck flew by. It didn't even slow.

"Son of a bitch!" Marie looked at Fred. "Can you freakin' believe that?"

Fred obviously couldn't believe it, either. He was staring down the road at the disappearing vehicle.

Just her luck. The one person besides her to drive down this godforsaken road all damn day was a heartless bastard.

"I guess we walk, then, huh boy?"

Fred panted in agreement, thumping his tail on the ground.

Marie grunted and pulled her bag up to her shoulder. She started walking, finding that she could position the bag near the middle of her back and take the weight pretty well. She stopped as she noticed Fred wasn't with her.

She turned back to find him sniffing around the car. After a moment, he hiked a leg and peed on a tire before before trotting to stand next to her. Marie snorted out a laugh, the first in several days, if she remembered correctly. "I couldn't have said it better myself."

---

Jed's Landing -- and what kind of name was that for a town, anyway? --was basically a bump in the road. But it had some buildings, which would mean heat, Marie thought. And heat sounded like heaven at that moment. Even Fred was looking a little frozen around the edges.

She wasn't sure how far they'd walked, but it had been hours since they left the car, and she'd long since lost all the feeling in her extremities. Unfortunately, she still had all the feeling in her back, which was killing her. There were a few houses and some kind of general store, which was closed for the night.

The only place that showed any life was a big, square building at the end of the "town." Judging by the pickup trucks and semis crowding the parking lot and the neon signs in the window, it was a bar. It looked like paradise to her.

She was worried they wouldn't let Fred in the door, but nobody even looked at them when they entered. In fact, all attention was focused on a giant cage in the center of the room, where it looked like two men were fighting.

Marie laughed shortly, and that was twice in one day, probably a record. Some people found the strangest things entertaining. She nudged Fred with her foot and moved to a booth in the bar area off to the side. Only a handful of people were over there, as most were watching the fight. She settled the dog under the table and positioned her bag in front of him, just in case. She sat down with a sigh, stretching her feet onto the seat across from her.

A few minutes later, she felt someone shake her. "Miss?"

Marie jerked awake, staring up into a woman's face. She looked to be in her 50s, with platinum blond hair and the biggest purple hoop earrings Marie had ever seen.

"Y-yes," she stuttered, disoriented. "Shi -- um, sorry. I think I fell asleep."

"It's OK, honey," the woman said kindly. "But you looked like you were gonna fall out of the booth, so I thought I'd wake you up. Don't know how you can sleep with this racket goin' on."

Marie smiled, and the expression felt foreign to her. Had it been so long since she'd smiled at someone? "I can sleep anywhere," she said.

"Can I get you anything?"

"Somethin' hot? Coffee, tea, anything," Marie said. She shrugged off her coat. It was almost steamy in the building, but her insides still felt frozen.

"And some water for your dog?"

"Uh ..." Marie started. "Yeah, that'd be great."

As the blonde moved away, she looked under the table. Poor Fred looked exhausted. "I'm sorry, buddy. I forgot you were there."

Fred's tail thumped, and he stared at her with his trusting brown eyes. Dumb dog.

The woman -- Marjorie, she said her name was -- returned with some blessedly hot coffee and a bowl of water for Fred. She also brought over a bowl of pretzels "just in case you two want a snack." She refused to take any money, and Marie was reminded that there was the occasional nice person in the world.

---

The coffee warmed her up considerably, and she and Fred shared the entire bowl of pretzels. She finally decided she didn't have frostbite, and she considered her next move. Obviously buying that car was a mistake, no matter how cheap it was, and that was a mistake she would take care of right now.

She grabbed her bag and coat and motioned to Fred. Marjorie swapped several dollars for quarters and pointed her toward the pay phone. Unfortunately, it was all the way on the other side of the building. Halfway there, she paused, drawn almost against her will toward the cage.

Inside, two shirtless men were grappling. One of them, the taller one with reddish hair, was pounding the second man, who was on his knees. She watched in sick fascination, feeling almost sorry for the second man, though God knew it was his own fault for getting into that situation.

He turned her way, and her eyes met his. They were filled with pain and disgust and something she couldn't quite identify, and they held hers for a second. She felt ... something. A tug. A connection.

Then it was gone. He looked away, sending an elbow into the taller man's gut. Standing, he punched the man, and Marie frowned at the almost metallic sound that came just before the horrible crunch of the man's jaw breaking.

He was down for the count, and among the jeers of the crowd she heard the announcer say the winner was the Wolverine. Looking at the victor, she could see where the name came from, and she wondered that anyone would dare fight this man. He had an almost animal look to him, and his wild head of dark hair and bushy sideburns only added to that impression. And that bare chest made a woman want to lick the sweat right off of him and find out if he was just as hairy all over his body.

Yowza! Marie yanked her mind out of the gutter and flushed as she realized the Wolverine was watching her watch him. He sent her a slow smile, as if he could read her mind and would be happy to show her anything she liked. Heat rushed through her body, and for a moment she believed that spontaneous combustion was actually possible. Then his smile morphed into a smirk, and anger overtook the brief spark of lust. Arrogant jerk.

Her mood didn't improve when she finally made it to the phone and found three other people waiting to use it. Sighing, she went to the end of the line and leaned against the wall. Fred sat down next to her, his chin leaning on her thigh, and looked up at her adoringly. How the hell did he get the idea that she knew what she was doing, anyway?

Half an hour later, she got her turn at the phone.

She dug the card out of her bag and fed some quarters into the phone. The receptionist at Diamond's Auto Sale-O-Rama apparently was used to irate customers. She had a strategy all worked out.

"Wait!" Marie yelled. "Don't put me on hold. I"m at a --"

Too late. Marie fed more quarters into the phone and wondered if they were hoping to keep her on hold until she forgot that the car she bought was broken down on the side of the road. Oh, great. Lionel Ritchie. She was going to have "All Night Long" in her head for days. It must be part of their evil plot. Drive the customer insane, and you won't have to take responsibility for your criminally crappy cars. If she had a business, she'd never put people on hold. And if she did, she'd have them listen to Dido or Letters to Cleo, or something that didn't completely blow.

"I need to use the phone." A low voice came from behind her.

"Wait your turn," she snapped without turning around. Oh, God, she thought as the music in her ear changed. Not The Carpenters! Bring back Lionel Ritchie!

"I. Need. To. Use. The. Phone." It was a growl this time, and she turned to find the Wolverine behind her. Showered and changed -- shirt on, unfortunately -- but still rather animal looking.

If she had the sense God gave a goat -- and Lord knows her Momma'd told her often enough that she didn't -- she would have been afraid. Apparently goats the world over had more sense than Marie Gordon.

"Wait. Your. Turn," she said, matching his growl rather admirably, she thought.

"Hey, you're that hitchhiker," he said suddenly.

Her eyes widened. "You're that bastard who left us out there to freeze."

He winced and almost managed to look guilty.

"You know," she said angrily. "It's not like I planned for that piece of -- hello?" She turned back to the phone. "Is this Jimmy? How ya doin' Jimmy? It's Marie Gordon. Remember me? Yeah, I'd be the damn fool who bought that rolling disaster from you, oh, a week ago?"

Jimmy did, in fact, remember her, though he apparently forgot that she was supposed to have two weeks to return the car if she wasn't satisfied with her purchase. She reminded him.

"News flash, Jimmy. Cars are much better if they actually run. Now, be a good boy and call the credit card company, 'cause if that thing shows up on my bill, I will sue your ass from here to Mississippi and back, and don't think I'm playin' with you, buster."

She gave him vague instructions on where he could pick up the car and hung up the phone, feeling better than she had in weeks. Nothing like a verbal ass kicking to clear out the cobwebs. Her mood soured considerably when she turned around to find Fred making friends with the Wolverine.

"Fred," she told him. "You have the worst taste in people of any dog I've met."

"He likes you," the man said, and damn if he didn't sound amused. That just pissed her off more.

"Like I said, bad taste," she said. "C'mon Fred."

The building had emptied out since she'd been on the phone, but Marjorie was still there. She told Marie she thought there were a few truckers still outside, and just about any one of them would be willing to give her a ride.

There were, in fact, several truckers standing over to the side talking and laughing. She and Fred were headed that way when she heard the sound of an engine that didn't want to start. She glanced over, and sure enough, it was that Wolverine guy in his truck.

She tried to ignore it, but she was pretty sure she knew what the problem was, and of course, Momma took this opportunity to remind her that the Bible said to pay back evil with good. Marie always thought there was something off about that, but now she hoped it was true because wouldn't that mean someone as evil as she was should be getting a big bucket of good pretty soon?

She was afraid her conscience wouldn't shut up, and one more dab of guilt was likely to send her right over the edge, laughing like a freaking loony. And the fact that that didn't sound as bad as it used to scared her enough to propel her over to the truck.

She went to the window, amused to see him beating on the steering wheel. Yeah, that'll fix it, wolf boy. She motioned for him to roll his window down, and, frowning, he complied. "What?"

"Pop the hood," she said.

He just stared at her. "Pop the hood, damn it. I'm freezing my ass off out here, and I don't have all day."

He looked startled, but she heard the hood click open. "When I wave at you, start the truck."

She fiddled under the hood for a moment, then waved at him. He turned the key, and the engine caught. He was out of the truck a second later. "How'd you do that?"

"My Dad has a truck just like this," she said, pointing. "You gotta jiggle that thingy, and then press on that doohickey. Then it'll start. But you need to have this jobber replaced."

"Doohickey? Jobber?"

"I don't remember what they're called," she said, scowling. "But it got your stupid truck running, so back off."

She picked up her bag and started to walk away.

"Wait." When she turned around, he said quietly. "Um, thanks. And I'm .. uh. I'm sorry about before. When I didn't ..."

"Whatever. Come on, Fred."

The dog sat at the man's feet and tilted his head at her. The traitor. Fine. That was fine. She didn't need a damn dog anyway.

"Wait," he said again. Sighing, she turned around. "Um. You want a ride?"

She almost laughed at the look on his face, like he couldn't believe he'd just offered her a ride. He looked like he desperately wanted to take it back, so she decided to accept.

"Better late than never, sugar."

---

It's not like she wanted to talk to him or anything.

It was just the silence was so ... silent.

Marie didn't deal well with silence. It left so much time for that pesky thing called "thinking." Which always brought up nasty things like memories. Which really weren't an option for her at the moment, since she enjoyed her illusion of sanity, thank-you-very-much.

When she drove alone, she filled the silence with music, off-key singing and chattering nonstop to Fred. Before Fred forced her to give up buses and trains as a mode of transportation, she could always count on some talkative fellow passenger to make the quiet go away. And if they asked questions about her, she exercised her skill in storytelling and made up something entertaining that wasn't even remotely close to her real life.

Fred didn't seem to mind the quiet much. Sprawled across the seat with his head in her lap, he grunted a little and pushed at her hand with his nose to let her know some ear scratching wouldn't be out of line.

She absently scratched behind his ears, looking around the truck. It occurred to her that she didn't even know the driver's name. In the fight, he'd gone by Wolverine, but he hadn't said a word to her since they'd left the parking lot.

She wanted to ask his name, but the whole silence thing was turning into kind of a quiet grudge match. It was kind of grade-school, the way they kept glancing at each other, waiting for someone to speak. She figured she'd be the first one to break, but she didn't want it to be so soon.

Twisting, she peered back into the camper. God, what a pit. The man was a total slob. She wasn't exactly Martha-freaking-Stewart herself, but heavens, did he ever do laundry? And, geez, was that a pizza on the counter? It was fuzzy! Yuck.

Suddenly her pathetic life didn't look so bad. She thought about telling him so but decided against it. After all, the guy was giving them a ride, right? The last thing they needed was to get dumped in the middle of nowhere and have another long, cold walk.

Marie turned back, catching him staring at her again. She really wanted to know his name. She certainly couldn't call him Wolverine. Now that she got a close-up look at him, she wondered why he didn't just call himself Wolf. As far as she could remember, a wolverine was kind of like a bear, and this guy seemed more like a wolf than a bear. Of course, she'd never met a wolf or a bear, so ...

"Where you headed?" he asked, startling her.

"Um ... Anchorage," she said finally, smirking a little. Yessss! She had triumphed over the mighty Wolverine. Gotta take the small victories where you can find them.

"You're pretty far north," he commented.

"Yeah, I got ... off track," she said. "Fred ate my map, and I got off on this road to nowhere. And then my car broke down."

"He ate your map?"

"More like, he ripped it into tiny dog-slobbery shreds."

"What kind of dog is he?"

OK. We're going to talk about Fred. Nice, safe topic. "I don't know. I think he's mostly lab, but I'm not really sure."

"Why'd you name your dog Fred?" He honestly sounded curious.

"A) He's not my dog. B) He just looked like a Fred." She looked down at the dog, who was grinning up at her, no doubt remembering the map-chewing incident with glee. Damn dog.

"He's not your dog?"

"Full of questions, aren't we?"

"Never mind," he growled, and she immediately felt bad. As long as he only asked about Fred, it wouldn't hurt to answer him. It wasn't like he was asking questions about her.

"I found him," she said softly. "In a little town. In Minnesota, I think, a while back. He'd been abused, and he was starvin'. I fed him. He's followed me around ever since."

He was quiet for a few minutes. Marie started to get fidgety again when he spoke. "Hard to imagine somebody hurting a dog like this."

"If I could get ahold of those bastards, they'd be the ones hurtin'," she said. That was an ass-kicking she'd imagined many times.

"I bet they're shakin' in their boots," he said.

"They should be," she said, smiling faintly. "I'm Marie Gordon, by the way."

"Yeah, I think half the state heard that when you were givin' that poor guy hell over the phone."

She snorted. "That poor guy sold me a shit-mobile car that broke down in the middle of nowhere."

He chuckled. She waited another minute, and when he didn't say anything, she remarked casually, "This is the part of the conversation where it's customary for you to tell me your name."

He looked at her but didn't answer.

"Or I could just call you Wolverine," she said. "Or, oh! Hey, I'll just call you Wolvie. Yeah, I like that. Wolvie."

"Logan," he said. "My name's Logan."

"First name or last?" she asked. It seemed to fit him, whichever it was.

"Yes," he said.

All-righty, then.

Marie stared at him for a moment, noticing he wore dogtags. "Were you in the Army?" she asked, pointing. "Doesn't that mean you were in the Army?"

He frowned and tucked the tags under his shirt.

OK. Topic off-limits. Got it. She wanted to ask him more, but having more than a few off-limits topics herself, she decided to keep her mouth shut for once.

She stared out the window, watching the gray trees flashing in the glow of the headlights, then blending into the dark night. Was everything in this stupid state gray? It was such an ugly damn color, and it reminded her of Seth's eyes. Light green-gray, then dark, then cold ... No. Don't think about it. We agreed on this one right, girl? No thinking.

Logan cleared his throat. "I need to stop in the next town for the night. They've got a place where I'm fighting tomorrow night. It's a little out of the way."

It almost sounded like ... "Are you asking my permission?" She knew it was a mistake to ask before the words left her mouth.

He scowled at her. "No. I'm just telling you. I'm stopping there."

"Fine," she said.

"Fine," he said. Then, "I wasn't asking permission."

"OK," she said.

"OK."

After a moment, he spoke again. "You talk a lot."

"I'm not saying anything."

"If I'd known you talked this much, I wouldn't have given you a ride."

"You're the one who was playing twenty-freakin'-questions a minute ago," she said, annoyed.

"I think we should just not talk," he said.

"Fine."

"Fine."

She held out for a few more minutes before she couldn't stand it anymore. "Could we listen to some music?"

"Radio doesn't pick up much," he said.

She remembered her CD player and dug around in her bag. "Does that tape deck work?" It looked ancient.

"Dunno."

"Don't you ever listen to music?" She found it unbelievable that he could drive around by himself and not listen to some kind of music. Then again, maybe he didn't have thoughts and memories that crept up on him like malicious whispers. She bet he'd never had to pull off the road, crying and shaking and wanting to drive off a cliff somewhere and just silence everything.

"Not much," he said, and she shook her head quickly, throwing off the thoughts, pushing them back as always. She flipped on the radio and hooked her portable player up to the tape deck.

"We'll start you off easy," she said. "A little Shawn Colvin."

Logan glanced at her case as she flipped through the CDs. "I don't know about this," he said. "I don't know if I'll like it."

"Well, if there's music, I won't be talkin'."

"Put it on," he said.

She pressed play, smiling as she heard the opening notes of "Steady On." After a moment, Logan relaxed, and Marie smiled even more.

She'd promised not to talk, but she hadn't said anything about singing.

---

It was surprisingly easy for Marie to reconcile the vicious cage brawler of the previous night with the man who was, at the moment, playing an endless game of fetch with Fred in the motel parking lot.

It was a little more difficult to understand the man who left them to freeze their butts off by the side of the road, then relented and gave them a ride, and then gruffly offered to pay for her motel room last night if she couldn't afford one.

Normally that would have set Marie off because, damn it, she could take care of herself. And coming from anyone else, she might have thought he was suggesting something different than a decent night's sleep. But something about Logan seemed too honorable for that, and she was able to calmly turn him down. She even managed to thank him for the offer.

She chuckled a little and shifted on the concrete block she was sitting on. The man was certainly a puzzle. It was a little disturbing how safe she felt with him, though. Marie, the girl who didn't trust anybody, actually fell asleep in the truck with him. She tried to remember the last time she'd felt so comfortable with someone. It must have been Chicago, nearly a year before, she decided. Of course, that almost didn't count, as her time in Chicago was mostly a big, drunken blur.

But speculating about Logan was much more fun than pondering her own sorry life. And the man wasn't bad to look at, either, she thought as he bent over to pick up the tennis ball he'd bought for Fred.

You know boys are only after one thing, the Momma-voice reminded her. And after they get it ...

Yeah, no shit.

She knew exactly what boys were after, but it occurred to her it might be fun to find out what exactly men were after. Immediately, she took back the thought. The last thing she needed was to add something else to her list of mistakes and regrets.

Logan laughed out loud at Fred's antics, and she sighed. No mistakes, no matter how tempting.

Then he turned and shot her a charmingly childlike grin before tossing the ball to her. She caught it without thinking, just before Fred crashed into her, knocking her to the ground.

She lay on the ground, staring at the sky, until Logan moved into her view. "Come on, lazy," he said, pulling her to her feet. "Let's get something to eat."

---

They ate at what was apparently the only restaurant in town, a diner just down the street from the motel. Marie crumbled crackers into her soup and looked out the front window. Just down the street was a pretty seedy-looking bar.

"That where you're fightin'?"

"Yeah."

"You like fightin' for money?" she asked.

He shrugged. "It's a living."

"Hmmm."

"What do you do?" he asked her.

It was her turn to shrug. "I work wherever I find something. Bartending, waitressing, stuff like that. Once, I was a stripper."

He froze, his eyes narrowing. "You're kidding," he said finally.

"Yep." She grinned. "But I thought about it. There's big money in stripping."

He shook his head. "A girl like you shouldn't be doing something like that."

"A girl like me?"

"A nice girl," he said seriously.

She choked on her soup. "A nice girl? Are you on crack or somethin'?"

"A nice girl with attitude," he amended.

She rolled her eyes.

"Where are you from, anyway?" he asked.

Marie nibbled on her grilled cheese sandwich and debated with herself. She never told anyone the truth about herself. Ever. She made up wild stories, borrowed stories she'd heard from other people, or else told them to mind their own damn business.

"Mississippi," she answered honestly, surprising herself.

"Got family?"

"Nope." Well, that was a lie. But no way was she getting into that subject.

"What's in Anchorage?"

Marie sat back and fiddled with her silverware. She didn't really have an answer to that. Anchorage was just a place she'd always wanted to see, and she certainly didn't have anywhere else to go. She shrugged. "I'll find out when I get there, I guess," she said.

"Look," he said. "I can ... I'll give you a ride as far as Anchorage if you want."

"I'd appreciate it," she smiled gratefully at him. Without a car, traveling with Fred was a challenge sometimes. That obviously wouldn't be a problem with Logan. He was half in love with the mutt already.

"It's no big deal," he said gruffly. "I'm sort of heading that way anyway."

They finished their meal mostly in silence and waited for the check. Marie watched Logan's hands, mesmerized, as he played with his glass. Damn, the man had beautiful hands, she thought, as he rubbed his thumbs up and down, trailing through the condensation on the glass. She wondered what they would feel like on her skin.

"So, you comin'?" he asked.

"Uh ... I ... huh?"

"Tonight? To watch the fights?" he said, looking at her strangely.

"Um." Marie flushed. Fights? Right. Fights. Her mind had gone to a very different place. What a time for her to develop a libido. "Um ... yeah. I'll be there."

"I figured," he said, smirking.

"What do you mean by that?"

"Well," he sat back. "You know, by the way you were checking me out last night ..."

"I was not checking you out!" Her exclamation drew the attention of almost all the diner's patrons, but she was beyond caring. She was outraged, though honestly, she had been checking him out, and who could blame her?

"No?"

"I was only watching because I'm always fascinated by the dumb-ass things people will do for money."

"Uh-huh."

"You arrogant bastard," she hissed. "I don't think there's enough room here for both of us and your ego." Marie got up, grabbed her coat and stormed toward the door. She remembered the check just as she heard him laughing behind her.

Screw it, she thought. Let the jerk pay.

---

She burned off her mad taking a walk around town, then spent the rest of the day and evening watching game shows and sitcoms and taking a nap with Fred, who was a champion napper.

By 8 p.m., she had showered and put on a clean pair of jeans and a wine-colored sweater. Leaving Fred behind, she headed for the bar.

Logan sat on a stool at the bar, smoking a cigar and glaring at people. She grinned. The bar's patrons apparently knew enough to stay away from him, since several stools on either side of him were empty.

"Hey, sugar," she said, sitting next to him. "Buy a girl a drink?"

He looked at her for a moment, then smiled faintly. "Beer?"

"How 'bout a diet Coke?" she suggested. "Alcohol and Marie don't really mix. Or, actually, they mix a little too well."

Logan ordered her drink and leaned on the bar. "Didn't know if you were gonna show."

"Hey, couldn't miss a chance to drool over your manly chest," she said, only halfway joking.

"Smartass."

"Well," she drawled, "I figure I can win some money bettin' on you, sugar. So don't lose."

"Not a possibility, darlin'," he said.

She rolled her eyes. "Look out for the rapidly expanding ego, folks."

Logan went into the cage a few minutes later and started pounding the crap out of the idiots who were dumb enough to challenge him. Marie found herself getting more turned on, watching his lean muscles straining and the sweat rolling off his body.

Damn, girl, get a grip on yourself!

Becoming some trashy fight groupie was really not in her plans for the future. Although, technically, she really didn't have many plans for the future at all, and the man was looking so hot ...

Just then one of the aforementioned trashy fight groupies sauntered up to the cage with a glass of bourbon and handed it to Logan before coming back to the bar. She slid on a stool nearby and laughed. "I'm gettin' me some of that tonight," she told her friend next to her.

Think again, bimbo.

If anyone was going to lay hands on that prime piece of man brawling in the cage, it wasn't going to be some big-hair-havin', spandex-wearin', whiskey-drinkin' skank. It was going to be Marie Catherine Gordon, and nobody else. The end. That's all she wrote. Call the fat lady and tell her to get singin', 'cause it's all over, baby.

Her decision made, Marie reveled in the desire that flooded her body. She was going to have this. She was going to have him. It might be a mistake, but she imagined it would be worth some trouble later on to have those hands on her body now.

Of course, Logan easily beat all his challengers, and Marie cashed in on her bets with a smile. Logan walked up as she sat at the bar, counting her money. "Hey, Wolvie," she said, grinning. "You made me a couple hundred dollars. Now I can buy you a drink."

She stood up, brushing her body against his deliberately as she shoved the cash in her jeans pocket. She sank back onto the stool and smiled at him.

He moved closer, nudging her legs apart and standing between them. "I could feel you watching me," he said, sliding his hands up her thighs. "Admit it. You were checking me out."

Marie grinned and shrugged. "Yeah. So? What're you gonna do about it?"

"I can think of several things," he said, hands squeezing her thighs slightly. Her breath caught in her throat, and she shivered at the tone in his voice. She decided maybe now would be a good time to adjourn to a more private location.

"You owe me some money, bitch," a man said angrily next to them. Marie recognized him as one of the men Logan had beaten to a pulp. The right side of his face was already one big bruise. "You and your mutie freak boyfriend."

There were so many things wrong with that statement. Where to begin? She settled on the most obvious. "I bet on him because it was obvious he could kick your pansy ass halfway across the state," she said calmly. Logan snorted out a laugh.

Marie stood up slowly, rubbing against Logan again. Mostly just because she could. "Maybe we should go," she suggested.

What happened next was so fast she never quite grasped what was going on. One minute, she was standing pressed up against Logan, the next minute, she was on her ass on the floor behind him where he'd shoved her.

Before she could complain, she noticed that the other man had pulled out a knife. As he lunged toward Logan, there was an odd noise, and six huge metal claws popped out of Logan's knuckles. The bar went entirely silent.

"Holy shit," Marie murmured, the sound magnified by the quiet of the room.

The man across from Logan had frozen, all the color drained out of his face by the shock.

Marie heard the strange sound again, and the blades vanished. Logan turned and helped her up. He settled her back one the stool, and giving one last glare at the room, he walked out.

---

He had claws.

Marie was sure there were other thoughts trying to work their way through her brain, but she was stuck on a single one.

He had claws.

Big freaking metal claws that came out of his hands. Blades. Knives. Out of his knuckles like claws, and damn, wouldn't that have to hurt?

The other bar patrons, quiet for a full five minutes after he left, finally returned to their chatting and flirting and lying and cussing. Of course, the only thing anybody wanted to talk about was the guy with the claws.

You and your mutie freak boyfriend. That's what the guy had said, and Marie figured he was paying more attention than most. More than she had. All the little things she'd picked up but never put together coalesced into the full picture. A mutant, of course. And he'd want to keep it quiet, the way the anti-mutant forces were growing in number and flexing their collective muscles.

But he'd revealed himself. To keep her safe. And now he probably thought she was ... what? Frightened? Disgusted?

Shit.

Marie hopped off the bar stool, pushing past the crowd that lingered around the bar, and raced out the door. Even down the street, she could hear his truck starting. She sprinted toward the motel parking lot, desperately jumping in front of the truck before he could pull onto the street. He slammed on the brakes, stopping just before he plowed her into roadkill.

Marie blew out a shaky breath while the Momma-voice lectured her on the dangers of playing in traffic.

"Get the hell out of my way."

Well, he was back to his surly self, wasn't he? Not that she could blame him.

She started to go to his window, then paused, staying in front of the truck. No need to tempt him into driving away without her, was there?

"You said you'd give me a ride to Anchorage."

He was quiet for so long she thought maybe he hadn't heard her. Finally, he backed the truck up and pulled into the parking space in front of her room, leaving the engine running. She followed slowly, coming to stand in front of him as he got out of the truck.

She wasn't sure what to say, and it was his turn to talk, damn it.

"I thought ..." he started, then sighed. "We'll need to leave now. They probably called the cops."

"It's not illegal to be ..." She wasn't sure how to finish the sentence. "Different."

"It may not be illegal -- yet -- but it ain't wise to be 'different' in these parts."

She nodded. "I'll get Fred." She stopped at the door and looked back at him. "Don't leave without us. Please."

"Hurry up."

She took that to mean he would wait, but she still rushed to throw her things into the duffel and followed Fred out the door in less than a minute.

"All set," she said, climbing into the passenger seat.

They drove in silence for 15 or 20 minutes before she dared to speak. "Logan ..."

"Yes."

"I wanted to ask you something." Marie ran her hands over Fred's coat and considered the best way to phrase her question. The last thing she wanted to do was offend him.

"I said yes," he snapped. "I'm a mutant."

"Duh," she snapped back before she could think better of it. "I thought we'd established that by the whole ... snikt thing." She imitated the sound the blades made and formed her fingers into claws.

Logan chuckled. "Then what did you want to know?"

"What ... what kind of mutation is that?" she asked. "I've never even heard of anything like it before."

"That's not really my mutation," he said. "They grafted metal onto my skeleton, and apparently decided to add some claws for good measure while they were at it."

"Who's 'they'?"

"Government, military? Who knows?"

"You don't remember?"

He sighed. "I woke up in the woods. Eighteen or so years ago. I didn't remember anything except my name. And I don't even know if that's real. I've been trying to find out what happened, but I'm not really getting anywhere."

"I can't imagine anyone could live through that." She stared at him, trying to imagine what it would feel like to have metal running through your body. Trying to imagine what it would be like to lose your past. As many times as she'd tried to lose hers, it stuck around as stubbornly as a shadow, matching her every move.

"Well, my mutation ... my 'gift' is super-healing ability."

"You say that like you don't believe it," she said. He looked at her blankly. "That it's a gift," she explained.

"That's what ... some people I know call our mutations. Gifts. I think that's a crock of shit." Logan's hands tightened on the steering wheel.

"When they come out ... does it hurt?"

He flexed his fingers and stared at his knuckles for a moment. "Every time," he answered quietly.

She suddenly wanted to cry. For the first time in ages, she didn't want to cry for herself or her own losses or mistakes. She wanted to cry for this man. The fact that she cared frightened her. That was part of the new Marie. No caring. Not about anyone. Fred got past her defenses when she wasn't looking, but she couldn't take caring about anyone else. It was too painful when they left. Because they always did.

Logan cleared his throat. "I thought you'd ... you, uh, don't seem scared."

"Of what?"

"Of me."

"Oh." It never actually occurred to her to be scared of him. "I figure you could've hurt me any time in the past couple days if you wanted to."

"I guess. I wouldn't, though."

"I know." And she did. It was a little crazy, though. Maybe she was a mutant, too, and just didn't know it yet. She seemed so comfortable with them; maybe mutation was just a state of mind.

He fell silent again, so she spoke. "I always thought it'd be cool to be a mutant."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. I knew this guy in Chicago ... 'bout a year ago. Johnny. He could make fire, like, out of thin air. I thought that would be a kick-ass power to have."

"Gift," he said sarcastically.

"Right. A kick-ass gift. Of course, knowing me, I'd probably accidentally torch something and get arrested for arson."

"It ain't all fun and games," he said seriously. "Being a mutant ... people hate you."

"Yeah. We always hate what we don't understand, I guess." She didn't tell him about the long talks she'd had with Johnny. He'd told her about his parents, how they'd kicked him out at the first manifestation of his power. Their own son. A freak. They couldn't deal, and he was on his own.

She'd felt a connection with Johnny. She'd even told him the truth about herself. Parts of it, anyway. Her parents had disappointed her, too. Disappointed her with their disappointment in her. Hey, she'd wanted to say, you made me what I am today. Aren't you proud? Her Momma-voice was pretty silent on this topic. As usual.

She put in a new CD to drive the thoughts away. Save Ferris, and she could tell Logan hated it even though he did't say a word. Fred, however, liked the CD, and he sat up between them, wagging his tail.

"What is he doing?"

"He likes this CD," she explained.

"Uh-huh."

"Either that, or he has to pee."

"Well ..." Logan trailed off and hit the brakes. Fred crashed into the dashboard with a yelp and Marie gasped as her seat belt yanked the breath out of her.

"What the ..." Marie drew Fred into her lap. He didn't seem to be hurt and was even wagging his tail again. Logan unhooked his seat belt and hopped out of the truck. "Logan, what --"

She looked up then, and the sight made her catch her breath. Three cars, or what was left of them, were twisted into a mass of metal along the road. Two people, bruised and scratched, were trying to help someone out of one of the other cars. Logan ran over to help them.

Breathe, Marie. Breathe.

Suddenly, hyperventilation seemed like a possibility. She pushed Fred off her lap and unsnapped her seat belt, dropping her head between her knees. It's OK don't think don't think about it don't think, it's OK. She forced herself to breathe normally and slowly lifted her head, just as Logan went around to the back of the camper.

Marie shakily got out of the truck, shutting Fred inside. She ignored his whines and went back to Logan.

He climbed out of the back with two blankets. "Here." He shoved them into her arms. "There's a woman. She's hurt. She needs these. Over here."

He snapped out the orders like a military officer, and she followed him wordlessly. The other two men were still trying to get another person out. She stumbled a little at the sight of the woman on the ground, but she kept following Logan.

Don't think don't think don't think don't think. She tried to put something else in her mind and came up with a song. Do a deer a female deer, re a drop of golden sun, mi a name I

"Marie!" Logan waved a hand in front of her face. "Are you OK?"

She tried to answer him, but she couldn't find the words.

mi a name I call myself, fa a long long way to run

"Marie? Snap out of it. She needs help, damn it."

She nodded and dropped to her knees, tucking the blankets around the woman on the ground. She was in her 30s with curly blond hair matted with blood. Her round face was streaked with tears. Marie wanted to smile at her, but she couldn't remember how.

"You're gonna be OK," she whispered, hoping she sounded convincing.

There is nothing like a dame, nothing in the world, there is nothing you can name, that is anything like a dame

"What's your name?" the woman asked, her voice rasping.

Marie wondered if she had internal injuries. "Marie," she answered. "What's yours?"

Getting to know you, getting to know all about you, getting to like you

"Alice," she said. "Am I dying?"

God. Don't think don't think don't think. "You're gonna be OK," she repeated.

Happy talkin' talkin' happy talk, talk about things you like to do

"OK," Alice said.

Marie tried to pray, but she couldn't remember how to do that, either. How could she remember the words to all these damn songs and not remember how to smile? How to pray? She remembered sitting on the couch with her Momma, watching musicals, and the way Momma would sing along in her beautiful voice and not mind if Marie sang, too, in her terrible one.

Don't think don't think don't think. Just pray. You used to do it all the time. How did that go? She couldn't remember, so she settled on one word.

Please.

---

The ambulance came and went, and they said Alice was going to be fine. They weren't as sure about her husband, who'd been in the car with her.

Marie wasn't so sure about herself, either. She sat in the truck, rocking back and forth, as Logan told the police what little he knew about the crash. She would be all right if she could just shove it all -- memories, mistakes, fears -- back into the little box she kept in her head. If she could just get them all back in and shove the lid down, she would be fine. Trouble was, once they got out, they were stubborn about going back in.

Logan got in the truck. "You OK?" he asked. "Marie?"

"I'm fine," she lied, surprised at how convincingly it slid out. "I ... I have a thing about blood. I was scared."

He reached out and touched her shoulder, waiting until she looked at him.

"I'm fine," she repeated. "Just tired."

"The cop said there's a motel in a couple miles," he said finally, squeezing her shoulder. "We'll stop there."

She nodded and cuddled Fred closer on her lap. Do a deer a female deer, re a drop of golden sun

---

He didn't ask this time, just paid for a room and carried her bag for her.

"Get some sleep," he said gently before leaving, and she wanted him to stay but he didn't offer and she couldn't make herself ask.

She didn't tell him that sleep would be a bad idea because that opened it all up, and she wasn't ready to go there with him. She wasn't ready to tell anyone about the Red Dream, though she thought he might understand. He'd probably understand all of it, but she just couldn't take the chance of opening herself up to him. To anyone.

She watched late night talk shows and infomercials and tried to stay awake. But she'd had an exhausting couple of days, and it caught up with her.

It was the Red Dream, like she knew it would be. Everything was red. The sky, the road, the car, her mother. The words coming out of her Momma's mouth were red, too, an angry red. They flew across the front seat of the car and into her like shards of red glass, leaving her with scarlet ribbons of blood over her red clothes. And then it was real glass, and metal, and the sound of the crash was so red it hurt her ears and made them bleed. And she saw her Momma, and she knew. She knew the truth about what she did, about what she was, and she screamed and screamed, and the screams were the reddest thing of all.

"Marie! Wake up, Marie. It's a dream. You're OK, honey, wake up."

It was Logan. It was Logan and she had the Red Dream, and couldn't he see it on her? What she was? What she'd done? She tried to shove him away, but he wouldn't move.

"You're OK," he repeated. "It was just a dream."

"No," she said hysterically. "No. I killed her. I killed them both. It's all red now." Then she burst into tears.

Logan held her as she cried, and if she'd been able to think clearly she would have been embarrassed at slobbering and crying all over his bare chest. She ever fell apart in front of people. Never.

She was doing a lot of things lately that she "never" did. That was going to have to stop.

Finally, she got herself under control and pushed away from him. Then she noticed the door, standing wide open, nearly off its hinges. The doorknob was completely gone, and she thought she spied claw marks in the door.

She laughed shakily. "They're gonna make you pay for that," she said weakly.

"Are you all right?"

"Yeah," she said, wiping the tears out of her eyes. "Yeah. It was just a bad dream."

---

Logan paid for the door. Marie didn't know how much it cost. Didn't care, really. All she cared about was putting all the little pieces of herself back together before something even more terrible seeped through the cracks.

She just needed some time alone, but it didn't look like she was going to get it.

"Marie?" Logan knocked gently at the bathroom door. "Are you OK in there?"

She stared at herself in the mirror and combed through wet hair. Taking a deep breath, she did her best to manufacture a normal voice. Whatever that sounded like. "I'm fine, Logan. I'll be out in a minute."

The manager had requested that they leave immediately, but she wanted a shower first, and she doubted the short, chubby man was about to take Logan on over a few minutes' delayed departure. Still, they needed to get going. The sooner they got to Anchorage, the sooner she could leave Logan behind. And then she'd have still more memories and regrets to ignore.

When she thought she looked relatively normal, she pushed open the door. Logan stopped in mid-pace. She smiled faintly and shoved the rest of her things into her duffel bag. "We always seem to be leavin' in a hurry," she said lightly. "That normal for you?"

"Only since I met you, darlin'," he said. "Are you --"

"I'm fine," she said, her voice strained. "A little tired of bein' asked the same question, though."

"Let's go, then."

She almost thought she'd hurt his feelings, and she didn't want that. "I'm just cranky, sugar," she said. "That nightmare ... does it to me every time."

They got in the truck under the motel manager's watchful eye. Marie almost laughed. Was he thinking they were going to steal the threadbare towels or the butt-ugly still life? Maybe he thought she was going to take the puke-colored bedspread as a souvenir of her time there.

As they left the parking lot, Logan spoke again. "I've got nightmares, too. Some doozies."

She wanted to ask what his were like, but she didn't really want to explain her own, so she just hummed in response.

"You wanna tell me about it?"

"It was just a nightmare, Logan. No big deal."

A moment later, he tried again. "You said ... you killed her. Obviously, there's something --"

"It's a dream about when my Momma got killed," she said flatly. "It was a car wreck. I was there. I dream about it." Leave it alone. Please don't ask me any more about it.

"I'm sorry. Do you want to talk about it?"

"I think you've been watching too many daytime talk shows, Logan," she said, annoyed. Why couldn't he just drop it? "I don't need you to go all Oprah on my ass. Just drop it."

"Fine."

"Fine."

---

They got to Anchorage that evening, and they checked into a small but decent motel. Marie refused his offer to pay and thought she needed to get a job soon and decide what she was going to do. She was finally here, yet she felt nothing as they entered the city limits. She should have felt something, but there was just a big emptiness inside her and too many thoughts in her head.

"Do you ... can I buy you dinner?" Logan asked.

"I'm really tired. I'd rather sleep than eat."

He nodded. "OK. Can I take Fred with me? There's a park not too far away. He'd probably like to run some."

Marie nodded, blinking back tears as she watched the two head for the truck together. Fred jumped excitedly around Logan and didn't look back. He wouldn't even miss her. Which was fine, because it's not like he was her dog, anyway. She thought maybe she should just give him to Logan, since the two got along so well, but she wasn't sure she could.

A tear escaped her eye, and she brushed it off angrily. Now she was getting all weepy over a damn dog. She went in her room and flopped on the bed. What she wanted was some time to herself, and now that she had it, she couldn't quite handle it.

She hadn't realized how much she'd come to depend on Fred: hogging the bed, trying to crowd himself onto her lap, running around and jumping like an idiot, panting his doggy breath in her face, making her laugh.

She was pathetic.

She focused on the fact that she was in Anchorage. The city she'd wanted to visit since Uncle Phil came back from a trip with trays of slides when she was 11 years old. All the adults had tired of seeing the pictures, but Marie watched slide after slide, fascinated by this beautiful place. Then she asked to see them again. On her birthday a few months later, Uncle Phil had sent her a gorgeous hardbound book about Alaska. It was the one thing she wanted to bring on her trip that she couldn't fit in her bag.

So she was here, finally, after meandering her way around the States for nearly two years. She wasn't sure what she expected to find. Forgiveness? Sudden inspiration? A new outlook on life?

She sighed and closed her eyes. She'd settle for some sleep.

---

The music woke her up. At first, she thought it was just a passing car, and she wondered how someone could not go deaf with music that loud in their car. But it didn't pass, and she pushed herself off the bed and groggily looked out the window. Just down the street was some kind of dance club. She could see people milling around outside and flashing lights peeking through the front door. The neon sign overhead said The Power Plant.

Before she had a chance to think about it, she changed into her only pair of black jeans and a black T-shirt. She brushed her hair and dug some nearly forgotten red lipstick out of her bag. She shoved her key, ID and some cash into a pocket and was out the door in a flash, leaving her coat behind.

It was a typical dance club. Flashing lights, blaring techno music and bars of neon light tracing the walls. She slid onto a stool at the bar and waited for the harried-looking bartender to get to her.

"Can I buy you a drink?"

Marie twisted slightly and studied the guy who sat beside her. Frat boy, she decided. He was cute. Blond, probably blue-eyed, and he was actually wearing Dockers and a polo shirt. To a dance club. Marie shook her head at that. A shell necklace that was so 10 years ago was around his neck. He looked like he could afford to buy a drink or twelve for a little ol' girl from Mississippi.

"I'd love a beer," she said sweetly, thickening her accent. For some reason, a good Southern drawl tended to liquefy the brains of most men. This kid was no exception.

"Two beers," he snapped at the bartender, who scowled but complied. The frat boy didn't even leave a tip. Jerk.

"Why don't you give the man a tip?" she asked, giving him her best wide-eyed Southern belle look. "Or don't ya'all do that up north?"

The bartender laughed, and the frat boy grudgingly left a dollar on the bar.

Ooooo. Big spender.

Marie sipped her beer and flirted with the guy. What the hell. He was buying. He bought her another beer. Then another. Two of his friends came over, and one of them -- tall, dark and handsome, her favorite kind -- bought her another beer and asked her to dance.

"Sure, sugar." She hopped off the stool and swayed slightly, giggling. "I looooove to dance."

She hadn't been dancing in ages, but it wasn't hard to get into the music. It echoed through the building, pounded into the floor and up from her feet into her whole body until it was all she felt. She thought her heart was beating in time with the music, and she wondered what would happen if the music stopped. But it didn't stop, only faded into another song, and she danced.

They stopped dancing to have a couple more drinks, but Marie wanted back out on the dance floor. Mr. Tall, Dark and Handsome danced with her, getting closer with every beat, brushing his body against hers. She'd never asked the guy his name, but she thought she'd call him Seth because he looked so much like him. So much, and she wondered if it was the alcohol or the music, or if she had finally lost her mind.

The beat pulsed through her body. And she danced.

Marie, you're so beautiful.

The Seth look-alike ran his hands down her sides. And she danced.

I want you so much.

His hands gripped her hips, pulled her closer. And she danced.

I need you, baby.

His lips brushed her throat. And she danced.

Please.

Suddenly, there was a growling noise, and he was gone. Her dance faltered as she twirled right into Logan. She laughed and tilted her head back to look at him. He didn't look happy to see her.

"Hey, Logan," she giggled. "Wanna dance?"

"We're leaving," he said, picking her up and throwing her over his shoulder.

She felt like she should be mad, but her head was spinning, and it was kind of like being on a carnival ride. And she knew he wanted her, which made her laugh more. Maybe if he touched her, it would all just go away. He was a super-healer, wasn't he? He could heal her with his touch.

He shoved open the door to his room and stood her on the floor. "What were you doing?" he asked harshly. Fred, who had been milling around their feet, knew something was up. He went to the corner and hid under a chair.

"Forgettin'," she said slowly, trying not to slur her words. She pressed her body against his and slid her arms around his neck. "Help me forget, sugar?"

He leaned closer and sighed. "I ... this isn't how --"

"Shhh." She slid a finger over his lips and shook her head. Even in her drunken state she could tell that he was less than sober himself. Maybe she wasn't the only one who wanted to forget.

And then she couldn't think at all, as his lips crashed down on hers. His mouth was demanding, and she wanted to meet every demand. She opened her mouth to him, her tongue met his, and she tried to show him he could take whatever he wanted. Take it all.

He turned them both around, pressing her up against the door. She hooked her ankles behind him and ground her pelvis into his, eliciting moans from both of them. He was hard already, and just the feel of him was about to drive her over the edge. His lips dropped to her neck, sucking and nipping at her sensitive skin.

"Oh, Logan," she sighed, and suddenly his demeanor changed completely. He carried her to the bed, pulling off her shirt before resting beside her. She tried to think of something to say, but then his hands started to move. One tangled in her hair while the other traced gently up her ribcage, a thumb brushing over her nipple.

She shivered. This wasn't how it was supposed to be. He wasn't supposed to be like this.

His hand abandoned her breast and moved to her face, cupping it before he kissed her, slow and long and deep. She didn't think she'd ever felt anything like it before. He broke the kiss off and stared at her, his eyes dark.

"I want you so much," he said. "You're so beautiful."

Marie, you're so beautiful. I want you so much. I need you baby. Please.

He kissed her again, not noticing how she trembled or maybe just putting it down to desire. His hand went to the front clasp of her bra, and she pushed him away.

"No!" Suddenly, she was crying again, and he probably thought she was insane, and he was probably right because nothing had ever felt so right and so wrong at the same time, and she couldn't handle it all. "No. I can't --"

She stumbled off the bed as he stared at her in shock. "Marie. ... Baby, I'm sorry. Shit. I'm such an asshole. My God, you're drunk, and I --" He reached out to touch her, and she jumped back.

"No! Don't touch me. I can't be ... I can't do this." She ran out the door, not caring that she was missing a shirt, and fumbled for her door key. Finally, she found it and crammed it in the lock, shoving inside the door and slamming it behind her.

She was shaking. She was stupid. She was stupid and crazy and she couldn't stop shaking. And she felt sick. Marie raced into the bathroom just in time to empty her stomach in the toilet. She lay down in the bathroom, the cool tile of the floor easing the heat of her skin. What had she done?

---

A few hours later, Marie had managed to pull herself together somewhat. The problem, she decided, was that she actually cared what Logan thought. She cared about him, and that was a new feeling. Well, not new. Just ... forgotten.

She showered and changed clothes -- laundry was going to have to be next on her to-do list -- and worked up her nerve. She was going to tell Logan everything. All the nasty stuff inside her, if he would listen, if he was even still around. If she were him, she would've taken off immediately.

Somehow, she didn't think he'd gone anywhere. She wasn't sure whether to hope he was there or not. She pocketed her key and left the room. His truck was still in the parking lot, so she knocked on his door. There was no answer. Maybe he didn't want to talk to her. That was fine; she couldn't really blame him after the drunken psycho routine she'd pulled earlier. But she did want to see Fred, maybe take him for a walk.

She knocked on the door again, and when she didn't get an answer, tried the doorknob. Surprisingly, it turned easily, and she pushed the door open slowly. "Logan? Are you here?"

She moved into the room, gasping when she saw Fred on the floor, unmoving. She didn't even think he was breathing. She ran to the dog. "Fred?" she cried, shaking him. This was one thing she couldn't take. "Fred?" She blew out a relieved breath. He still wouldn't wake up, but she saw that he was breathing, though shallowly.

She didn't even hear anyone behind her; she only felt an exploding pain in her head before it all went black.

---

Never again.

Never would she allow alcohol to pass her lips. Not a swig. Not a sip. Not a drop. Ever. Please, God, just leave my head attached to my body and I'll be a good girl.

Marie shifted slightly and shivered as the cold from the floor seeped into her clothes, chilling her. It wasn't the first time she'd passed out on the bathroom floor. There were certainly worse places. But there would be no more passing out, no more drinking. Not for this girl, no siree.

She did a mental check of her condition, which -- to use a technical term -- sucked. She was cold, and her skin felt bruised. She wondered if she'd hit her head on the way down, because it felt so much worse than the average hangover. And Marie knew hangovers well. Her stomach, at least, felt relatively calm.

Marie cautiously opened her eyes, startled to find she wasn't in the bathroom at all. There was a gray wall in front of her eyes that she'd never seen before. At least, she didn't remember seeing it.

She lifted her head a fraction. Not a good idea. Oh, God.

"Oh, God," she groaned.

Was she dying? She thought she might be. The small movement was enough to send the room spinning and make her realize she had been a wee bit cocky about the state of her stomach. She dropped her head on the floor and groaned again for good measure. OK. So, no moving. Moving -- bad. Staying here -- good. Glad we got that straightened out.

"Marie?"

She knew that voice, but it took her a moment to place it. "Logan?" she croaked, not moving her head.

"Are you OK?" His voice was coming from behind her.

"Not feelin' my best at the moment," she said. "If you wanted to, say, stab me through the chest with those claws and put me out of my misery, I'd be eternally grateful."

A pause, then a slight chuckle. He thought she was kidding. "Do you remember what happened?"

"Um ..." Remembering required thinking, and her thinker wasn't at its best. "I remember ... Dancing. Drinking and dancing."

Shit. Make that drinking and slutting it up on the dance floor with some sleazeball frat boy. Then, even worse, throwing herself at Logan. And then freaking out like some kind of psycho. God. Why couldn't she be one of those people who forgot all the damn fool things they did while under the influence?

She'd had quite a bit to drink, but this splitting headache was beyond all she'd ever felt while hung over before. Had there been more drinking? She fought past the pain in her head, mumbling almost to herself. "I remember puking. I remember the puking in excruciating detail. Bleech. I went ... to apologize for freaking out, and I saw ..."

Fred.

Marie sat straight up, willing her head to stay on her shoulders and her stomach to be still. I will not throw up, I will not throw up, I will not throw up. Do you hear that, stomach? Stay right where you are. It was touch-and-go for a moment before her stomach decided to settle down and her head decided to stay put.

"Fred," she gasped.

"What?"

She leaned back against the wall with a groan, taking in their surroundings. They were in a gray room. Perfect. Suddenly, she couldn't seem to get away from the color gray. If she ever got out of this place, she was going south. Florida, maybe, where they painted all their buildings pink and watermelon colors.

Logan was on the other side of the tiny room, his eyes on her, sprawled on a bed. A cot, really, and she saw that one of his arms was chained to it.

"What about Fred?" he asked again.

"He was hurt," she whispered, tears welling up as she remembered her dog on the floor, barely breathing. Yes, damn it, he was her dog. And if she ever got ahold of the person who hurt him. ... She'd think of a proper punishment when the slightest movement of her head didn't make her whimper.

"I'm sure he's OK," Logan said, but his voice didn't sound too sure. "He's not here, so they must've left him. The motel manager would've found him."

Marie wasn't sure if she believed him, but thinking otherwise was just too painful. Poor Fred just couldn't get a break. Why'd he have to hook up with her, anyway? Couldn't he have found a nice family with two happily married parents and 2.5 children living in the suburbs with a big back yard and a steady diet -- they'd never feed him pretzels and tater tots -- and people who would play with him all the time and --

"He's fine," Logan repeated, and Marie nodded slightly, so as not to dislodge her head.

"Where are we?" she asked.

"I'm not sure. Still north, though. I can smell the snow."

She pointed to the chain. "You could break through that in a second," she said. "What's goin' on?"

He hesitated. "You don't remember?"

Closing her eyes, she focused. "Last thing I remember was findin' Fred in your motel room," she said finally.

"You woke up once before," he said. "They ... they put that collar around your neck."

Her eyes snapped open and she grabbed her throat. Sure enough, there was a metal and plastic collar. "What is it?"

"I'm not exactly sure. But it ... hurts you. It knocked you out. They said if I tried to escape, they'd use it on you."

Marie traced the collar with her fingers. There didn't seem to be a way to get it off. Great. "That's great. Who the hell are 'they'? The same ones that turned you into Metal Claw Guy?"

He sighed. "This is someone different. His name's Magneto. I don't really know him, and I don't know what the hell he wants me for. I'm just sorry they got you, too."

Marie inched toward the cot. "Would you mind some company up there? I'm cold."

He didn't answer, instead reaching out and helping her up, settling her against his body.

"Mmmm, warm," she muttered into his chest. "So, why--"

"Just get some rest," Logan said. "We'll talk when you wake up."

She was asleep before he finished speaking.

---

"Isn't that sweet?"

Marie barely registered the unfamiliar voice, but Logan's growl brought her completely awake. A short, dark-haired man was staring down at them, a strange smile on his face.

"Who're you?" Marie asked.

"I'm the one who brought you here, my pretty," he said in a sing-song voice, slipping into a wicked imitation of the witch from "The Wizard of Oz." "I'll get you my pretty, and your little dog, too."

"You son of a bitch!" Headache forgotten, Marie was off the bed in a flash, crashing into the man, who was laughing in a creepy sort of giggle. The laugh ended abruptly as her fist slammed into his nose, and she smiled grimly as she felt the crunch of bones under her fist. This bastard hurt Fred, and he was going down.

Her triumph was all too brief. A second later, a foot to her stomach sent her flying back against the wall, her head slamming into it with an audible crack.

Logan snapped his chain and jumped for the other guy, claws out.

"That's enough!"

Logan froze in mid-swing. Marie rubbed the back of her head and wondered if she had a concussion. It actually appeared that Logan was a few inches off the ground, hovering. The other man, ignoring the blood pouring from his own nose, cackled and sent a punch into Logan's gut. Logan didn't move a muscle.

"Toad! I said that's enough," a voice from the doorway ordered.

Marie reluctantly turned her attention to the man in the doorway. He was an older, gray-haired gentleman, and gentleman seemed to be the right word, despite the circumstances. He was almost distinguished looking, in dark pants and a dark button-down shirt. He held a hand up in Logan's direction; with the slightest move of his hand, Logan was propelled backward into the wall behind the bed.

This must be the guy Logan had mentioned, Marie decided. The bad guy. Magenta? Mannequin? Magnet something? Magneto.

He came toward her and helped her up, letting out a long-suffering sigh. "Really, Toad. She's just a girl."

Toad held a hand to his nose. "Broke my nose."

Magneto led her to the bed. "My dear, that wasn't nice."

Marie shook her head slightly. She felt a little like Alice in Wonderland. Was she supposed to apologize? She almost felt the need to, but seeing Logan sit up next to her with a wince cured her of the urge.

"What do you want with us?" she asked.

"All in good time," Magneto said. "I thought you might like something to eat. Toad --" He waved a hand at his underling, who grabbed a large tray from the floor and carried it over.

"Rest up, children," Magneto said, smiling benevolently before ushering Toad out of the room.

Marie looked at Logan, who was frowning at the door.

"Well," she said slowly. "That was interesting."

"I just wish I knew what he wanted," Logan said.

"I'm sure we'll find out soon enough," she said, leaning forward to look at the tray of food. Oatmeal. Yuck. She hated oatmeal, but she had a feeling her body needed some food. She reached for a bowl, and Logan held her hand back.

"What're you doin'?"

"Eatin'," she said. "What does it look like?"

"It could be drugged."

She shrugged. "So, then I get a few more hours of sleep. Big whoop."

He snorted. "That's one way to look at it."

They ate in silence, finishing the oatmeal, fruit and water in just a few minutes. Logan shoved the tray off the bed and stretched out again, pulling her down beside him. "You OK, kid? How's your head?"

"I think you reach a certain point when the pain in your head just can't get any worse," she said. He probed her scalp with his fingers, and she yelped. "Shit! I was wrong, OK? Don't touch it."

"Sorry."

She cuddled closer to him. "It's OK. You just startled me is all."

"No, I meant, I'm sorry for all of this."

"Not your fault," she said. "Shit happens, you know?"

They were quiet for a few minutes. Marie wished for sleep, but despite her her body's condition, she didn't feel a bit sleepy. Might as well finish what she'd started out to do in the first place. "Logan, you awake?"

"Yeah. You?"

She laughed. "No. I'm talkin' in my sleep."

"I meant ... you can't sleep, either?"

"No." She buried her nose in his flannel shirt and sighed. "I wanted ... I need to apologize for the other night."

"No you don't. I--"

She lifted her eyes to his and spoke over his protest. "Yes, I do. I wigged."

"Wigged?" A slight smile tugged at his mouth.

"Wigged out. Freaked. Went around the bend. Lost my marbles."

"It's OK."

"I just wanted you to know, if we, like, die or something --"

"We're not gonna die."

She sighed again. "OK. Whatever. I just wanted you to know that it really had nothing to do with you. I have some ... personal problems."

"You wanna tell me about it?"

Marie hesitated. She had planned to tell him before; it was just hard after holding it all in this whole time. She certainly couldn't look at him while she spoke. She snuggled her head into his chest again. "It's a long story."

"I ain't goin' anywhere."

"Well ... my best friend, Maggie, always says the best stories start with 'There was this guy...'"

"OK." Marie wondered if she imagined his arms tightening around her. "So, there was this guy ..." he prompted.

"His name was Seth. He was a senior in college; I was a freshman. He was gorgeous, and all the girls wanted him, including me. He was tall and athletic, and smart and funny, and he had dark hair and these beautiful gray-green eyes. I was ... taken with him, I guess you could say."

Logan growled, and she laughed a little, tilting her head up to look at his face. He looked embarrassed. "Sorry," he said. "Go on."

"I guess the story doesn't really start with him," she mused. "It starts with me. Like I said, I was a freshman. I barely squeaked by my first semester because of too much wasting time and partying."

She'd had big plans for the summer before college. She'd been saving money and planning for her Alaska trip for years, but just a few weeks before she was to leave, her parents broke the news. Her grandmother was ill, and Marie and her mother were going to spend the summer in Tulsa taking care of her. As much as Marie had ranted and whined and cried and begged, she was packed off to Tulsa right after graduation.

"I was so childish," she told Logan. "I didn't speak to Momma hardly at all that summer. I did my chores and took my turns sittin' with Grandma, but other than that I stayed to myself. I was just hateful to Momma the whole time. I couldn't see past my own selfishness."

It was the same when she got to school. Frankly, college wasn't something that interested her much, and she couldn't even rouse herself to choose a major. She barely made it to her classes, she bought cheat notes and term papers off the Internet and she faked her way through her tests. And she flirted with boys and drank and went to every party on campus. At one of the parties, she met Seth. It was instant attraction, and they started dating right after that.

Marie fell silent, and Logan tugged on her hair. "What happened?"

"The usual, I guess. He told me he loved me. I believed him. I ... slept with him. Once he got what he wanted, he broke up with me. I'm sure he was screwing around on me the whole time, but I managed to ignore the signs. I didn't want to see it. I wanted to believe he loved me. That I was lovable."

This time, she knew his arms tightened around her.

"I guess that's a typical story," she said. "I'm sure I'm not the only girl he did that to. He was just into the challenge, you know. It hurt. A lot. But I would've gotten over it. But then I found out I was pregnant."

Marie remembered the feeling of horror, the helplessness and the rage she felt when she saw the home pregnancy test mocking her with its little blue plus sign. Why did they make it a plus sign, anyway? Like getting knocked up was a good thing. They should've made it a minus, or better yet, a skull-and-crossbones.

She didn't leave her room for a week. She sat in the dark, crying and raging at the injustice of it all. It was just so unfair. One time. Leave it to Marie Gordon to get pregnant the first time she had sex, despite the fact that they had used a damn condom. One time, and her life was ruined.

It was all Seth's fault for doing this to her. It was her parents' fault for not letting her go to Alaska. It was her friend Dahlia's fault for telling her that Seth was a great catch. It was God's fault for letting her get pregnant.

She didn't blame herself. Not then. That came later.

"Seth, obviously, wanted nothing to do with it," she told Logan. "Not his problem, I think is how he put it. I knew I had to tell my parents, but I kept putting it off. I knew they would be so disappointed in me. But I told them. I went home for the weekend and told them everything."

She knew they'd be disappointed; she thought she'd prepared for it. Somehow, she hadn't expected her Momma to cry and her Dad to threaten to throw her out on the street. It was easy to be angry at her father for being so cold, but how was she supposed to handle making her mother cry? Her Dad decided that she'd give the baby up for adoption. They'd pull her out of school and support her until she gave birth, then she was on her own. And she'd have to give up her baby. No discussion, no decision for her to make. Adoption. The end.

"The next day, Momma was takin' me to the doctor's office. She was yellin' at me the whole time. How I was tryin' to ruin my life and I was so stupid. Didn't I know boys were only after one thing? Hadn't she told me that? She was so busy yellin' ... she ran a stoplight."

She saw it happen again in her mind, and it was like the Red Dream. She couldn't stop the tears. Logan let her cry, rubbing her back and whispering something she couldn't quite catch that made her feel safe. Safe. In a cell, held captive by Magnet Man and his pet Toad. Swell. Her tears slowed, and Logan wiped her face with the bottom of his shirt.

"Thanks," she said with a watery laugh.

"Any time." He cleared his throat. "You don't have to finish."

"Am I boring you?" she asked, smiling.

"No. It's just ... hard for you."

"Actually, talking about it is making me feel better," she said, surprised that it was true. Maybe there was something to the whole therapy notion.

Logan nodded, and she cuddled closer to him again. She inhaled his scent. Cigars and aftershave and a smell that was just him. It made her smile, despite the memories.

"Momma was killed," she said. "And I ... I had a miscarriage." Just a few words, and they could hardly describe how she'd felt. Losing her mother and her child at the same time was devastating, and she couldn't help but think that being allowed to live through it was more a punishment than a blessing.

"You blame yourself." It wasn't a question.

"If I hadn't gotten pregnant, she wouldn't have been yelling at me --"

"It's not your fault." When she just shrugged, he tilted her head up and stared into her eyes. "It's like you said before. Sometimes, shit happens. There's nothing you could do."

"I know that," she admitted. "On some level, I do know that. I just can't forgive myself."

Logan sighed and kissed her gently. She stared at him with wide eyes. "It wasn't your fault," he repeated firmly, brushing his fingers over her lips. "Because I say so."

She startled herself by giggling. "Well, then, if the Wolverine says so, it must be true."

"Damn straight," he said, giving her a smacking kiss and drawing another laugh out of her. "Try to get some rest now. I think we're gonna need it."

Surprisingly, she didn't have the Red Dream. She slept like a baby.

---

Logan's growl woke her up again. Wincing, she let him pull her into a sitting position. She tried to decide if there was a place on her body that didn't hurt but came up empty. Magneto and Toad stood in the doorway.

The older man made his way into the room, smiling faintly. "I was rather angry with Toad for bringing the young lady into this," he said. "But now I see it was all for the best. To tame the wild beast, so to speak."

"What do you mean?" Logan growled, and she could almost see the blades itching to come out of his knuckles.

"Impatient, aren't we? I need you to do a favor for me."

Logan told him exactly what he could do with his "favor," and Magneto laughed. "Such language. You should watch your mouth in front of the young lady."

Marie decided to speak up. "Logan's not doin' shit for you, you bastard."

Logan laughed, and Magneto frowned.

"Young people today have no manners," he complained.

"Gee, sorry," Marie said. "I didn't get the handbook on kidnapping etiquette. My bad."

Magneto dismissed her with a wave and turned back to Logan. "I only need you to do this one thing for me. I believe you're acquainted with an old friend of mine, Charles Xavier."

Logan didn't answer, but Marie felt him tense beside her.

"Yes," Magneto continued. "I see that you are. I know you come and go as you please at his mansion. I want you to go there and kill Charles."

"Excuse me?"

"Charles and his little band of X-Men are becoming quite a nuisance, really," Magneto said. "Kill Charles, and the X-Men fall apart without their leader."

"No way," Logan said. "Not gonna happen."

"Ah," the older man nodded. "I thought you might say that. Toad?"

Toad came forward, a grin on his face. Marie felt her stomach drop. Toad had a small device in his hand, almost like a remote control. That was her last clear thought as pain lanced through her body, throwing her to the floor. She had tried to brace for pain around her neck, but it came from everywhere. Up and down her spine and into her head, which surely had fallen off by now, and all the way up her fingers and toes. She couldn't even catch her breath to scream.

"I said I'll do it, damn it!" Logan was shouting. "Turn it off. Turn it off or I'll gut you right now!"

The pain ended as suddenly as it began, leaving her entire body throbbing and bruised. She whimpered and pulled herself into a ball, barely registering Logan dropping down next to her and putting his arms around her.

"I'll kill Xavier," he muttered. "Just don't hurt her."

---

"You can't kill him," Marie mumbled into Logan's chest. Magneto and Toad had left them alone after securing Logan's promise to kill Charles Xavier. They probably went to fine-tune their Evil Plan.

"I don't know," Logan said.

"It wasn't a question. You can't kill the professor."

"I've killed before." He said it flatly, his voice cold, and Marie shivered. His arms tightened around her.

"Not ... not someone you liked. Respected." She hoped she sounded more confident than she felt. She knew Logan would never hurt her, but she had the strange feeling he would do just about anything to protect her. "And not for me. I won't let you."

Logan chuckled. "You won't let me?"

"Oops. Forgot I was dealing with a real, live superhero."

Logan had told her all about Professor Xavier and his X-Men. Logan had been captured two years before by some military types who thought they'd just return to testing on him like a lab rat. Logan made it clear that he would've escaped on his own, but before he could put his plan into action, these X-Men had shown up and busted him out of the testing facility. From time to time, he would stop by Xavier's mansion and stay for a while, going on missions if they needed him.

The X-Men did good things, Marie thought, and she wouldn't let Logan do anything to hurt them on her account. The world needed a superhero or two.

"I ain't a superhero," Logan said.

"You're just like Superman," she said. "Well, except the claws. And ... you can't fly or leap buildings in a single bound. And you're not--"

"Just like Superman. Right."

She tilted her head up and smiled at him. "Close enough."

Logan ran a hand through her hair. "I'm not going to let anything happen to you."

"You can't kill him," she repeated firmly. "We'll have to think of something else."

Logan sighed and stroked her hair some more.

"So," Marie said casually, staring at his shirt front. "Tell me about Jean."

"Jean?"

"Yeah. Jean Grey? Wasn't that her name?"

Logan shifted and cleared his throat. "Uh, yeah. Dr. Jean Grey. She's telekinetic. And she has some telepathic powers, too. I told you that."

"And?"

"And what?" He was definitely getting agitated.

"Were you ... is she your girlfriend?"

"No!" Logan sat straight up, and Marie rolled onto her back, looking up at him. "No. Why would you ask that?"

"There was something in your voice ... when you talked about her."

"What?" he demanded.

"I don't know. Something."

"Well, she's not. My girlfriend."

"OK."

"If I had a girlfriend, I wouldn't have ... you know, in Anchorage, I would never ..."

"OK," she repeated.

Logan settled back down on the bed. Marie wanted to cuddle into him again, but she wasn't sure what he was thinking. Maybe he was mad at her for asking. But there had been something in his voice.

"I had a thing for her at first," Logan said. "But she's engaged to some other guy. Cyclops."

"I'm sorry," she said softly.

"What for?"

"It's hard ... to love somebody who doesn't love you back."

"I didn't say I loved her. I wanted her, and I like her a lot. But what I feel for her is nothing like --" He stopped abruptly and cleared his throat again. "It's nothing."

Logan pulled her close again, and Marie sighed. She wondered what he had been about to say.

"Logan?"

"Yes?"

"You could escape," she said.

"I'm not leaving you."

"But--"

"I'm not leaving you."

She was quiet for a few minutes, thinking. There had been many times, right after she'd lost her Momma and baby, that she'd wanted to die. She'd spent a lot of time thinking of the ways she could kill herself, finish the job God left undone that day. But when it came right down to it, she was too much of a coward to commit suicide. And now, with death looking more likely by the second, she was finding that she didn't want to die that much, after all. The will to live was a strong thing.

"Logan?"

"What, Marie?" he sighed, obviously afraid of what she was going to ask.

"That metal inside you," she grabbed his hand and rubbed a thumb over his knuckles. "It's, like, indestructible, right?"

"That's what they say."

"Couldn't you, you know, cut the collar off? Then we could make a run for it."

He considered. "Well, I'm not sure I could get it off without cutting you. And they probably have someone guarding us. It'd be risky."

"But better than sittin' here waiting for them to come kill us," she said.

Logan frowned and traced a line across her throat, gently sliding his pinkie finger under the collar. "Roll over," he said. "If I cut you, it'll be better if it's in back."

Marie took a deep breath and rolled onto her stomach. OK, so he was going to be cutting near her neck with really big, really sharp claws. No problemo. She winced when she heard his claws come out, relieved that he couldn't see her face. She didn't want her nerves to make him nervous. One little slip ...

"You smell nervous," he muttered. "Settle down."

"I smell nervous? What's that about?"

"You know. Your scent. It's nervous."

"Oooookay. I'll try to work on that."

"Stretch your neck out as much as you can," he said.

Marie imagined she was an ostrich. Yeah, that was good. Ostriches had that whole thing about burying their heads in the sand. Right. If you can't see the metal blades on your neck, they're not really there ... and whose stupid idea was this, anyway?

"Don't be nervous," Logan said.

Oh, right. Don't be nervous, my ass. Marie wondered if he could smell her sarcastic thoughts and bit back a nervous -- yes, damn it, nervous -- giggle.

"Don't move."

OK, no moving. No breathing. Marie imagined she was a statue. A statue of an ostrich with its head firmly planted in the sand.

She felt the warm metal slide beneath the collar, resting against her skin. She'd expected it to be cold, but she supposed it was warm from being inside his body all the time. She heard Logan take a deep breath, then she gagged as the collar yanked against the front of her throat.

She felt Logan's hand pull the collar off completely, rubbing her neck a little bit at the same time. She rolled back over to face him. "It's off," she said, grinning. "And you didn't cut me."

"Hey, I'm good," he said lightly, but she noticed he was a little pale, and sweat was pouring down his face. Ha! He had the nerve to tell her not to be nervous.

"Let's get outta here," she said. She hopped up from the bed and stood, swaying slightly. In all the "we're escaping" excitement, she'd managed to forget that her poor, abused head was in such bad shape. The room spun around her for a moment, gray walls blending into the gray floor and ceiling. "Oh, boy."

Logan was beside her in an instant, steadying her.

"OK," she sighed. "I'm OK. We don't have much time." She pulled away from him and walked to the door. The walls were no longer moving; that was a definite improvement.

Logan looked the door over before shrugging and swiping at the doorknob with his claws. He shoved the door open. "Wait here," he ordered before vanishing out the door. A second later, she heard a yelp from the hall. She wanted to go help, but she was almost positive it was Toad's voice she heard. Toad, who hurt Fred. Bastard deserved whatever Logan was giving him.

Suddenly, there was a rumble from above them, and the entire building shook. Marie fell down, banging her hip on the floor. "Shit! Ow ow ow ow!"

Logan rushed in and yanked her off the floor. "Let's go. Now."

"What was that?" she gasped as he dragged her down the hall. She saw Toad, lying still in the hall, blood all around him. He was probably dead. She couldn't seem to be sorry about it.

"I don't know," Logan answered. "But I don't like it."

---

They found an elevator and stairs at the end of the hall.

"Stairs," they said together. Logan grinned at her, and she managed a smile back. She didn't want him to know how much of an effort it was to stay upright.

He went to the stairwell first, looking up and around. She saw he was sniffing the air, and she gathered he relied on his sense of smell more than she'd realized. "Clear," he said, grabbing her hand again.

"Logan," she said after the third time she tripped. "Quit draggin' me. I'm gonna fall."

"Sorry," he said. "We've got to hurry."

There had been no more explosions, but that didn't mean there weren't more on the way. The whole building could be on fire. Marie ordered herself not to pass out and ran up the stairs behind Logan. A Mississippi girl wasn't built to keep up with a superhero, but she did her best.

There was a door at the top of the flight of stairs. Logan looked at Marie, and she shrugged. It looked like the only way out. He twisted the knob and leaned slightly out the door. There was nobody around, as far as Marie could see. It looked like a plain old warehouse, and she figured it made a good cover for Magneto's little jail.

Looking both ways, Logan stepped into the room. He motioned for Marie to follow him. Before she could move, he spun around, claws at the ready.

"Put those away," a man said.

Logan growled but allowed the claws to slide back in. "What're you doing here?"

Marie peeked around the doorframe. A few paces away from Logan stood a tall man with dark air and some kind of visor over his eyes. Cyclops. Logan had neglected to mention he was a hottie, and he looked mighty nice in that black leather uniform, too. She hoped she'd get a chance to see Logan in one of those.

"We were in the neighborhood," Cyclops said.

Marie stepped away from the door. Cyclops turned toward her, hand flying to the side of his visor.

"Hey! Don't shoot her," Logan said, and Marie trembled a little. There were only so many near-death experiences a girl could take in one day. "She's with me."

The other man frowned but lowered his hand. She couldn't see his eyes, but she could feel him staring at her, anyway. "I'm Scott Summers," he said politely.

"Um, Marie Gordon."

"This ain't a tea party, people; let's get out of here," Logan said.

Scott sighed. "The building's secure. Storm and Jean are checking out the south side, but I think Magneto's gone."

Scott led them outside. Marie breathed in fresh air and smiled at the sight of the sun. It was cold, but she almost welcomed the feeling. She didn't even mind much when her head started to spin again.

"The Blackbird's this way," Scott said, leading them over. Marie stumbled a little, and Logan put his arm around her. "Miss Gordon, are you all right?"

"My head," she said. "It hurts."

"We'll have Jean look at it," Scott said as Logan sat her down, keeping his arms around her. "Jean!"

Marie leaned against Logan. Now that they were out, she allowed herself to feel the weakness in her body. Her head throbbed in time with her heartbeat. She saw two beautiful women -- of course they would be beautiful, weren't all superheroes? -- approaching. One, a redhead, kneeled in front of her with a smile.

"What hurts?" Jean asked.

"My head. I hit it ... a couple of times, I think. And the collar ..." she trailed off. Continuing the sentence seemed like too much work.

Jean gently examined her head and neck. "You're going to be OK," she said. "Let's get her back to the mansion."

Marie didn't remember much of the trip back to Xavier's. It was all a blur of people talking to her, or about her, but she never really felt like answering. All the time, she could feel Logan's arms around her, and that was all that mattered. Then there was a lab or something. A medical facility, and Jean was doing something to her head. It probably should have hurt, but she felt nothing except a floaty kind of feeling. Logan was growling, and she wanted to laugh. She fell asleep instead.

---

She woke up in a strange room again. After a moment of panic, she glanced around the room and laughed weakly. She thought it doubtful that any Big Evil Guys would have posters of half-naked movie hunks on their walls or a bright purple stuffed pig on their bed. And the room's bright, sunny yellow didn't seem like a real bad guy shade.

"Hi! Are you OK? I know you were out for a long time, but you look a lot better now. And Jean said you'd be better when you woke up."

Marie turned her head, surprised that it actually did feel better. There was a girl, probably about her age, sitting on a black beanbag chair nearby. She had short, dark hair, vaguely Asian features, and a huge smile. "I ... I'm better," Marie said.

"Great! Um, I mean, not that I'm dying to have my room back. I'm just, you know, glad you're feeling better, 'cause you didn't look so good when they brought you in here, babe. Are you thirsty?"

"Uh ... yeah."

The girl bounded out of the beanbag chair and rushed into the bathroom, returning with a glass of water. Marie smiled gratefully and sipped, trying to figure out where she was.

"So, what's the deal with you and Wolverine, anyway?" the girl chattered on. "He was all, like, 'grrrrr, get away from my woman' when Jean was trying to help you. And he totally never growls at Jean like that. I'm thinking the Wolviemeister has a thing for you."

Marie wondered if she was actually required to answer of if the girl would just continue to carry on the conversation without her. "Who are you?" she finally asked.

"Oh! Shit! I'm sorry. I'm just babbling on and on, but it's just been crazy around here lately, when the prof said Logan was in trouble, and then the team went out to get him and they wouldn't take us -- some of us are training to be ..." She grinned. "Sorry. Did it again. I'm Jubilation Lee. Everyone calls me Jubilee or Jubes."

"Nice to meet you," Marie said, smiling. "Where's Logan?"

"He's gone," Jubilee said, rushing to continue when she saw Marie's face. "He's coming back. He said to tell you he was going to get Fred."

"Fred's alive?" Marie had tried not to think about her poor dog, afraid of what had happened to him.

"I don't know. Who's Fred? He didn't say. Mr. Summers took him in the Blackbird, so they won't be gone long."

"Fred's my dog," Marie said, looking around the room again. "Why am I in your room?"

"Oh, well, Wolvie didn't want you to wake up in the med bay. He doesn't like it down there. I thought that was so totally sweet of him. Of course, when I told him that, he was all 'I'm the Wolverine. I'm not sweet,' but I thought it was. Don't you think so? And he didn't know if you'd want to stay in his room, but if you do, we can move you in there."

Marie stared at Jubilee in awe. She was pretty sure the girl hadn't even taken a breath during her little monologue. She managed to nod. "I'd like that," she said.

Jubilee showed her where Logan's room was, talking all the time. Marie found herself liking the girl and figured when she was better she'd like to have an actual conversation with her. If she was still here.

She didn't know what she was going to do. She knew deep down she wanted to be wherever Logan was. But not knowing his feelings kind of put a damper on planning for the future. When he came back, they were going to have to talk.

The trip to Logan's room wore her out, though her head didn't start its spinning again, so she figured she must be better. She assured Jubilee she would be fine on her own and dropped onto the bed. A little sleep would be nice until Logan came home.

A knock on the door woke her.

"Logan?" she asked sleepily.

"Uh, no." The door opened, and the overhead light flipped on. Marie buried her head in her pillow. "But I come bearing food."

Marie sat up, rubbing her eyes. "Johnny?" She hadn't seen him since she left Chicago, and she'd had no idea what happened to him. It figured that he'd end up someplace like this. He grinned and brought in the tray.

"Hey, Marie." He sat down next to her and put the tray between them. "Long time, eh?"

"Very long," she said, reaching over on impulse and hugging him. "So, you're a superhero now, too?"

"A superhero?" He laughed and pushed the tray closer to her.

"You know, an X-Man." Marie inhaled the scent of friend chicken and mashed potatoes and gravy. She grabbed a fork and started eating.

"Oh, that. Well, I'm working on it," he said. "Training."

"Tell me how you are," she prompted between bites.

They talked for hours, and still Logan didn't come back. St. John assured her Logan would be back soon, then he left and let her get more sleep. After tossing and turning and worrying for an hour, she finally fell asleep.

---

Fred was licking her face.

"Ugh, Fred. Doggy breath. Yuck," she mumbled, rolling onto her side. She felt something sharp bite into her cheek and sat up, fully awake. Fred was on the bed, wagging his tail and slobbering all over her.

"Fred!" She laughed and hugged him tight, not even minding the dog slobber for once. "You're alive! Logan --"

She looked around the room, then flipped on the bedside lamp. Nobody else was in the room. She started to get up and look around outside when she saw it.

Logan's dogtag sat on the pillow next to her head.

She'd look around, but she already knew he was gone. He'd brought Fred back to her and left. Well, that answered her question about his feelings.

Still ... he'd left her the dogtag. His only tie to the past. His only important possession.

Marie slid the tag around her neck and hugged Fred again.

"He'll be back," she said, refusing to let herself cry. "And then, I'll kick his ass."

---

Fred’s POV

Three months later

Marie is sad.

I can still make her laugh by jumping around and acting stupid, but her smile isn't the same. She still scolds me for chewing on her shoes, but her heart isn't in it. She still takes me for walks around the estate, but her step is heavier even though she's lost weight. We both have a lot of new friends, but the new can't replace the old.

She misses the other one. Logan.

And to think, I liked the guy.

Why are people so stupid? They know what they want, but they're afraid of it. That's why he left. I could smell it on him. He was afraid of caring for Marie. I don't know why. Love's not something to philosophize or obsess over. It just is.

He's stupid. But she misses him anyway. So you'll understand I was pretty happy to see him when he finally showed up. Walking up to me like he'd never left, scratching that perfect spot behind my ear. You'll forgive me if I got distracted for a minute or two, since hardly anybody knows the best scratch spot. Only Marie.

So, I jump all around him excitedly, wagging my tail, and start to lead him to Marie's favorite spot in the garden.

"Do you know where Marie is, boy?" he asks.

Duh. What am I, a cat or something? Am I jumping around like this for my own entertainment? Geez. People can be so dense sometimes. So, I lead him to Marie, and she just looks shocked to see him.

"Logan?" She stands up from the bench, and I can see him frown at how much weight she's lost. Ha! I hope you enjoy seeing your handiwork, bub.

"Marie." He steps closer to her and raises a hand to touch her. "You're still here."

What a rocket scientist! Of course she's still here, moron. Waiting for you.

"I ... the professor hired me," she tells him. "I'm his personal assistant."

"You're still here," he says again, and before I can howl at how dense he is, he continues. "You lost your chance."

"My chance?"

He steps closer. "To run. I know ... I'm not the best for you. You deserve someone better. So I figured, if you were here when I got back..."

Oh, heaven help us. He thought she could do better? Doesn't the man understand they're soul mates? I mean, I'm not exactly a romantic kind of guy, but it seems obvious to me that their meeting was fated.

"So you left for three months?" She sounds as amazed by his stupidity as I feel.

"Three months," he agrees, brushing his hands over her hair. "Eight days. Twenty two minutes ..." He leans in to kiss her, yelping as she smacks him upside the head.

"You idiot!"

That's my Marie. You didn't think I picked her out for her looks, did you?

"You complete idiot!" Now she's pacing back and forth, and Logan's looking a little stunned. That probably wasn't the welcome he was expecting. "You gave me three months to come to my senses? It didn't take me three minutes to realize how much I missed you!"

Then she kisses him, hard. When she pulls back, he's still looking stunned. Say something, doofus.

"I ..."

Real brilliant.

He tries again. "I missed you, too. I love you, Marie."

OK. That was pretty good. Marie seems to think so, too, because she kisses him again. I try not to roll my eyes as this goes on for a while. Get a room, people.

Finally, he leads her to the bench and they sit down. "So, you're happy here?" he asks.

"Yes," she says. "I like working for the professor. And I'm in therapy for ... everything. And Fred loves it here."

Logan looks at me and smiles, and I start to remember what I liked about the guy. I guess, as long as he's making Marie happy, I could put up with him. I do like it at the mansion. There are people everywhere. Nice people. And they always want to pet me or play with me. And the cook always has table scraps for me in the afternoon ... in fact, it's getting to be about that time now, but I'm not sure if I should leave Marie alone with him yet.

"He's actually gonna be a daddy," Marie says, smiling at me. I smile back and wag my tail. Did I mention I found my own soul mate here? Muffin's her name. A little smaller than me, brown and white coat, big brown eyes ...

"Apparently, Fred's never been fixed," Marie says, and that ends my grin right there. Fixed? Nu-uh. No fixing for this boy. I ain't broke, I don't need to be fixed.

I see Logan wince, and I figure I have an ally on this issue. Boy, it's great to have him back.

Well, then they start getting all mushy again, and it doesn't look like they're gonna take my advice about the room when Marie's shirt flies off and lands in a bush.

Humans. They have no control.

As for me, I have a date with the cook, who would be crushed if I didn't show up for the table scraps. Then some of the kids will be expecting me to show up after classes let out. And Scott will probably want to play some fetch later. And then maybe I'll have some quality time with Muffin.

It's a dog's life.

The End