She could hear them talking about her again. It had been going on all semester, from the first class really. Comments about her hair, her clothes, her gloves. Even her quietness, and on the rare occasions when she did speak, they would inevitably mimic her accent in their mocking comments. She always ignored them – never said anything or did anything. She didn’t even look at them. but today was different. Today, their comments were pissing her off and she was getting ready to do something about it as their mockery continued.

“I mean, the way she dresses is bad enough,” the bleach-blonde, bubble-gum snapping girl named Monique continued, “but those tacky dog tags she wears? Puh-lease! What – is she some sort of war refugee and she wears them to remember the brave American soldier who saved her life?” Jennifer and Rachel, the two girls always trailing after Monique stifled giggles behind their hands as their other regular companion, Todd, merely rolled his eyes. Monique nodded her frizzy head. “I know, right? That’s just impossible. She’s just some goth-wannabe who thinks it’s cool to wear tags. And the way she’s always hanging onto them is just ridiculous. I mean, get the girl a security blanket or something. At least that’s kinda normal.”

The girls’ snickers increased and Jennifer managed to choke out, “Yeah, for a two year old! But seriously, Mon, she wears all that weird crap so she doesn’t look normal. And what’s with the way she acts? Always jumping away whenever somebody bumps into her and tensing up when somebody walks by? It’s just an act so people notice her.”

By this point in the overheard conversation, Rogue was clutching Logan’s tags so tight in her gloved fist that the word “Wolverine” was probably indented into her palm. When Rachel chimed in with her theory that Rogue had stolen the tags from a crush she was stalking, Rogue whipped around to face them, a growl on her lips. As her muscles tensed in readiness to launch her toward the annoying trio, Rogue saw that Todd was silently observing her. She froze, her right hand still gripping Logan’s tags as her eyes met his warm brown ones. He held her gaze for several seconds more, and when the girls' snickers devolved into barely restrained snorts of mirth, he mouthed, “Sorry,” and turned away to face the professor who had just entered the front of the classroom. Rogue's muscles relaxed and her right eyebrow quirked upward in confusion, a habit she had absorbed from Logan and never seemed to lose.

The professor loudly cleared his throat several times and waited until the room fell silent. He then launched into a monotone lecture on psychological theories of transference that lulled no fewer than a dozen students into sleep. Rogue, as usual, took careful notes, but she couldn’t help feeling disappointed by the professor’s teaching methods. Every day, he would just come in and talk at them for the required period of time before clearing his throat again, no doubt to wake the sleeping students, and remind them that their assignment for the next class was on their syllabus and to please leave this week’s homework on the corner of his desk as they filed out of the room. She was undoubtedly spoiled by the interesting and varied teaching strategies she had benefited from at Xavier’s, so she tried not to hold her relative boredom against Professor Bixler. In all fairness, she did learn a great deal in his classes, and she wouldn’t have been comfortable in a more energetic setting anyway, surrounded as she was by non-mutants who had no idea of her condition. Rogue’s almost mindless transcription of the day’s lecture was interrupted, as expected, by the professor’s habitual “a-hem”-ing. She flipped her notebook closed and slipped her pen into the spiral binding. As she reached for her backpack on the floor beside her, the professor lifted his hand in a “wait, please” gesture, and Rogue straightened back up, leaving her bag where it was.

“You’ll notice,” he said, “that your syllabus says ‘project’ this week and for the next couple of weeks as well. These projects will actually be written and visual reports that you will present in class.” Unsurprisingly, his announcement was met with groans and several “boos” from the class. Professor Bixler waved his hand again, this time in a quelling gesture, and continued with probably the first hint of emotion they had ever heard from him. “I know, I know. Everybody hates presentations. But deal with it, people. Public speaking is a fact of life. And while you may never enjoy it, and you may never be enthusiastic when speaking,” here he raised both eyebrows and looked pointedly around the room, “you need to at least learn to be comfortable enough in front of a group so that you don’t freeze up. I’m going to make it easier on you, though, and let you work in groups of five. I have taken the liberty of assigning these groups, and I’ll be taping the list up here on the board in just a moment. The groups are non-negotiable, people. I don’t care – and neither will any future employer for that matter – if you have to work with someone you don’t like. Deal with it and get the work done. Whatever grade the group as a whole receives is the grade that each group member will get. We will not meet for the next three classes. Instead, you will use that time to work on your projects. Your first group meeting is to take place at the library next week during our normal class time, and believe me, I will be camped out at the library entrance taking attendance as you come in, so don’t even think about skipping out or being late. As a matter of fact, how about a free gift? The assignment due today, one that a number of you have undoubtedly neglected to do, as usual,” there were some nervous giggles from several students, “is now due next Thursday. You may hand it to me at the library. The next two class periods after that, I don’t care where you go or what you do. You can meet as often or as little as you like – you can even meet before next Thursday if you’re feeling ambitious enough – but two weeks from today, on the 16th, you will be here in class ready to present. If you have any questions in the meantime, you can email me or see me during my regularly scheduled office hours.” He held up a thick stack of paper. “These are the project guidelines. Please take one for each member of your group.” Clearing his throat twice more, Bixler dropped the papers on the desk with a dull thwacking sound and turned to tape the group list to the board behind him. He grabbed his briefcase and quickly escaped the room before the first rush of students reached the board. Rogue snatched her backpack up from the floor and held it to her chest, her elbows held tight to her sides as her classmates streamed by her. She had no intention of joining the cramped knot at the front of the room until it thinned out enough to avoid any accidental contact. While she could usually control her skin, she was not confident in an unrestrained crowd. She scoffed at herself. Yeah, in an unrestrained crowd and even just walkin' down an almost empty hallway. A coward, that’s all Ah am. Walkin' around the mansion is one thing. Even without mah gloves they all know to keep their distance, but here…Ah don’t even wanna think about it.

An excited squeal from the front of the room drew Rogue’s attention. Monique was standing in front of the group list clapping her hands happily, although Rogue noticed that she was not so excited as to forget about her perfectly manicured nails. She kept the fingers of both hands stiffly curved outward so the sharp tips of her nails wouldn’t be chipped from hitting against each other. Monique squealed a second time before exclaiming, “This is great! We’re all in the same group. Professor Bixler must have a crush on me or something, don’t you think?” Jennifer picked up the squeal and nodded her head while Rachel leaned in for a closer look at the list.

“Ooh! Look, girls, Todd is with us too!” Rogue was amused to note that Todd didn’t look too happy at the announcement, but his slightly clenched jaw and forced smile were lost on the girls as they let loose with a chorus of high pitched squeals. Rogue barely contained a snort of laughter as Todd flinched and lifted his hand to press against his right ear. The slight smirk that had made its way to her lips disappeared when Rachel tapped the list with a finger and said, “But who’s this Rogue person?”

Aw, ya gotta be shittin’ me, Rogue thought furiously. Nothin’ Ah can do about it though, since the prof said the groups were non-negotiable. Might as well get this over with then. Standing smoothly and slinging her backpack onto her right shoulder all in the same movement, Rogue announced loudly, “Ah am.” She was somehow horribly amused at Monique’s look of distaste, her cherry-red lips pursed in a way that made it seem like she smelled something particularly foul. Jennifer and Rachel were giving her a once-over, their heavily made-up eyes pausing at certain points: at the white streaks in her hair, at her black leather jacket with its many zippers and buckles, at her short black leather biker gloves, at her silver chain mail belt, and finally at her black combat boots laced up over her tight black jeans. The looks on their faces made it clear that they didn’t approve of her fashion.

Like Ah give a shit, Rogue thought. Ah don’t wear the gloves ‘cause Ah like ‘em. And damned if ye’re gonna make me ashamed of this belt. Jubes spent weeks makin’ it for me. She didn’t even bother justifying the boots in her mind. They just made good sense for riding with Logan when any careless drop of her feet toward the ground could burn her calves or ankles on the exhaust. And then Logan would go all guilty on her and insist that she borrow some of his healing. Not that he could ever force her to any more. Ever since she gained control, she had resisted drawing anything from Logan, no matter how badly injured she might be. In fact, there was a four inch gash across her ribs currently healing under layers of protective gauze and surgical tape. The stitches itched something fierce, but Hank had said they could come out in just a couple more days. She refocused her attention on the group in front of her and found it interesting that Todd didn’t seem all that surprised or disappointed.

“What the hell kind of a name is Rogue?” Monique demanded.

“The kind that ain’t none o’ yer business,” Rogue drawled evenly. The corner of Todd’s mouth twitched. Interesting-er and interesting-er, Rogue noted flippantly. “Look,” she continued, “like it or not, we have to work together, so let’s just move this shit along, shall we? We gonna have our first meetin' at the library next Thursday or not?”

“Not,” Monique returned sharply. “There’s no way I’m taking any chances with my grade. We’re going to meet this weekend to get started. Give me your number and we’ll call you when we’ve decided on a time.”

Rogue couldn’t help scoffing as she walked forward. “Fine. When you’ve decided what time, you give me a call.” After a moment’s consideration, she scrawled the phone number for Logan’s room at the mansion across the top of one of the project guidelines and handed it to Monique. She was more likely to actually get the call at that number than at the mansion’s main number where any one of the students might pick up. Plus, she thought snidely, there’s a good chance Logan’ll scare the girl shitless when he picks up. While debating whether or not to warn Logan that she might be getting a call in the near future, Rogue strode quickly out of the room and toward the stairs at the end of the hall.

She was already outside the science building and making her way down the sidewalk toward the road when she heard someone calling her. Looking over her shoulder, she saw Todd jogging toward her. He moved around in front of her to block her path.

“I’m sorry about that,” he said.

“Sorry? Not yer fault she’s a bitch.”

“Well, no,” he chuckled, “it isn’t. But I still feel bad about the way she treats people.”

Rogue tilted her head to the side. “Then why do ya hang around her and worse yet, stand there and let her do that to people?”

Todd blew a deep breath of air up toward his spiky blonde bangs, reminding her of Bobby. “I don’t hang around her. I hang around Rachel,” he said sheepishly.

Rogue made a soundless “oh” with her lips.

“Yeah, I know,” he said. “She probably doesn’t seem all that great to you, does she?” Rogue shook her head in slight amusement. “She isn’t like you think, you know. I met her freshman year and she was always such a sweetheart. But she started hanging out with Monique and Jennifer last year and ever since then….” He trailed off with a shrug. “I’m just hoping that if I hang around long enough, she’ll get over her ‘Monique phase’ and be all sweet again and then I can finally ask her out.” He grinned broadly and tucked his right hand against the back of his neck and tilted his head to rest his forehead against the crook of his elbow, a gesture that again reminded her of Bobby’s awkward shyness. “So what about you?” Todd asked.

“What about me?” Rogue demanded.

“Well, until today I didn’t even know your name. What should I know about you?”

“What ya should know is that Ah don’t like questions,” she returned, “and besides. Ah gotta go.” She looked pointedly over his shoulder.

Turning to follow her gaze, Todd saw a bulky man leaning back against a parked Harley, his muscled arms crossed over his chest and his right foot lazily crossed over the left at the ankle. Todd idly wondered how the man could make the precarious position look so comfortable. If he leaned even a tiny bit too much weight back onto the bike, it would topple over. His pondering was cut short when he noticed the angry scowl on the man’s face as he watched Rogue. Todd whirled around to face her again.

“Are – are you in trouble?”

“Huh?”

“I mean,” Todd swallowed visibly, “is he bothering you? Do you need me to walk you to your dorm?” Hoping fervently that she would decline – he really didn’t want to have his bones broken today – he was nonetheless slightly put out when Rogue burst out laughing. “What’s so funny?” he asked angrily.

Rogue merely shook her head and bent forward slightly as she continued laughing, her right hand crossing over her stomach to press against her ribs. Todd took the chance to observe the man again, feeling even more alarmed as he straightened away from the bike and frowned. A fluttering motion caught Todd’s attention and he saw Rogue watching the man and waving him back with her free hand. “He’s not trouble,” she gasped as her laughter slowed and she stood fully upright once more, “He’s mah ride.” She grinned cheekily and loped off toward the man and the Harley.

“You live off campus?” Todd couldn’t keep the surprise out of his voice. He knew apartments in the area were expensive; he didn’t know anybody who could afford to live off campus, and for some reason, he had always assumed that Rogue didn’t have a lot of money. She certainly didn’t act like it. He frowned. Then again, if she was shacking up with the guy…but the scruffy man didn’t look like he could afford to live in the area either.

“Yeah, Ah live off campus,” Rogue tossed over her shoulder. “Ah’ll see ya later.”

Todd watched as she reached the man’s side and couldn’t believe that she stood that close to him, tilting her head back and grinning up at him. The man continued to scowl, looking over Rogue’s shoulder at him until she said something and a slight smirk quirked up the corners of his mouth. In a quick move that Todd almost missed, the man tweaked one of the white streaks in Rogue’s hair with a thick index finger and slung his leg over the seat of the Harley before kicking the stand up with one booted heel. He held a black visored helmet out to Rogue, waiting patiently as she slipped her left arm through the other strap of her bag and shrugged a couple of times to center it on her back. She took the helmet from the man and tipped her head back slightly and shook her hair away from her face before putting it on. She then grabbed both of the man’s shoulders and slid her right knee across the black leather seat until she could straddle the bike. Todd could see the muscles in the man’s jean-clad legs tensing as he steadied the bike while Rogue lifted her feet to place them on the pegs in front of the back tire. She shifted forward a bit until she was almost plastered against the man’s back and tapped him once on the right shoulder before wrapping her arms tightly against his waist. A turn of the key and the Harley growled to life before rolling slightly forward as the man lifted his feet up, and then they were roaring away. Todd stood looking after them until they disappeared from sight, thinking that Rogue might just be the most interesting person he had ever met. And all he knew about her was her name and that she lived off campus.

* * *

Logan cut the engine, letting silence fall once again on the cavernous garage. He remained on the bike, steadying it for Rogue as she climbed off. Dismounting after her, he watched as she pulled the helmet off her head, always loving how her hair fell in a jumbled mess against her shoulders. Following their normal routine, he held out his hand for the helmet so he could strap it once again to the back of the bike, allowing her a few seconds to smooth her flyaway hair. When the helmet was stored and Rogue’s hair returned to some semblance of order, they turned in unison and let themselves in through the door leading from the garage into the mansion’s gleaming kitchen. A few of the younger students camped out at the cherry table in the far corner of the kitchen, textbooks and bags of chips and cookies sprawled across the warm-colored wood surface, froze as the infamous pair made their appearance.

Logan, even without his superior sense of smell, could see their suddenly fearful behavior. The exaggerated stillness in tense muscles, the averted eyes, the shallow but rapid breathing made him sigh internally. Even if they were relatively new to the school, they should know by now that he’d never hurt them. As he watched their eyes flick furtively between him and Rogue, however, he felt the slight stirring of anger. While he didn’t like them being afraid of him, contrary to popular belief, he could understand their fear. What he could never understand was their fear of Rogue. She didn’t have a mean bone in her body. He had always figured he had enough for both of them, and on his more contemplative days, had wondered if that’s what had always drawn him to her. Her gentleness and genuine kindness grounded him, made him feel more human and less like the animal he had always believed he was. Every time she treated him with kindness, every gentle look and word she gave him, made him finally see himself as somebody worth caring for. He was still learning how to reciprocate that, but Rogue had assured him that while others knew intellectually that she carried a lot of sadness around with her, only he truly knew how deep the well went. She said it made her feel like she wasn’t alone anymore, and for her, that was enough. So now, seeing the four kids looking at her like that, he realized exactly how hurt she would be if she realized they were afraid of her too. Especially the skinny girl in the corner who wore her lavender hair in two low pigtails; she was the same girl he and Rogue had seen dusting the library last weekend as punishment for some minor infraction. They had come upon her looking out the window longingly, the feather duster drooping from her hand as she watched her friends playing. He would have been content to continue on, but Rogue stepped into the library and called out, “Why don’t ya join them? I’ll finish the little bit of dustin' you have left. It’ll be our little secret.” And then she winked at the little girl who cast her a nervous smile while handing her the duster. Rogue, good to her word, set about dusting and only Logan saw the girl rejoin her friends and gesture toward the library window where Rogue was still visible. Her friends’ eyes widened and one of the boys yanked the girl’s arm toward him and leaned down to whisper in her ear. Logan had watched as the girl’s eyes also grew large and her hands came up over the lower half of her face, had watched as Rogue continued dusting with a gentle smile on her face, oblivious to what was going on outside. Now he had a sick, sinking feeling in his chest as he saw Rogue’s smiling face. Before she could say anything and possibly be rebuffed by the girl, he leapt at the opportunity the cold soda cans presented.

“What do you think you’re doing, brats?” he growled. “Put some napkins under those cans before the condensation ruins the tabletop.” None of them moved. “Now!” he snapped, and the boy sitting closest to the sink leapt into action to grab a roll of paper towels and start dispensing them to his friends. Logan watched for a moment longer and then strode heavily from the room.

“Logan!” Rogue scolded from behind him. He kept walking, knowing that she would follow soon. He heard her gentle her tone as she spoke to the still-frightened kids. “Don’t let him scare ya – he’s all bark and no bite. Ya’ll see.” He could imagine her smiling and winking at the kids and hoped that she would never catch on to the fact that they were scared of her too.

She caught up to him on the stairs and they continued walking toward his room in silence. As they finally stepped off the stairs into the third floor hallway, the thought Logan had been mulling over before the kitchen incident came back to him. Turning his head slightly so that he would be able to monitor Rogue’s expression, he asked, “So, what was that thing back at the school?”

“Todd?” The slight furrowing of her brow as well as the subtle change in her scent told Logan that she was equal parts irritated, anxious, and confused. “I have to work with him on a Psychology project. He doesn’t bother me that much, but I can’t stand the other people in the group.” She smirked suddenly. “As a matter of fact, one of them will be calling your room later.”

“What? Why?”

“Well, Ah didn’t want to give them the school’s main number since ya never know who’s going to answer the phone around here, let alone whether ya’ll ever even be told that there’s a call fer ya.”

“But why not give them the number for your room?” he ground out in frustration.

She smirked again. “Because, sugar, then ya wouldn’t have the chance to growl at the bitch fer me.” He couldn’t contain a short bark of laughter.

“She’s that bad?” At her wordless nod, Logan laced his fingers together and stretched his arms out in front of him to crack his knuckles. “Leave it to me, darlin’.”

A few hours later Logan was sprawled across his bed, pillows piled against the headboard supporting his back. A hockey game was playing on low volume on the smaller sized TV he kept in his room and Rogue was curled up against his side, her head resting on his shoulder as she read through her Biology textbook. Unbeknownst to Logan, instead of paying attention to what she was reading, she was quietly contemplating her time at the mansion. She had always been too aware of her awkward role there to feel comfortable studying in the library or kitchen as most of the students at Xavier’s did. She was the only one her age living at the mansion. Kitty, Jubilee, and Bobby would sometimes come visit when they got breaks from school, but Rogue was the only who had decided to stay. She had spent months before their high school graduation agonizing over the decision. At the time, she also had the more pressing concern of the return of her mutation. She had somehow known that the cure wouldn’t be permanent. She had also somehow known that to take it when she did, when it was in the earliest stages of its development, would probably render her immune to any future versions, much like a bacteria might develop a resistance to a whole family of drugs when introduced to even the weakest member. Nevertheless, she had grasped at the chance to feel normal again, if only for a short while, and hadn’t even felt surprised when the cure lasted for an even shorter period of time than she had expected. It had given her a mere three months of freedom from her skin, a mere three months to experience life as a normal girl again. Ironically, her relationship with Bobby didn’t survive those three months, but looking back, Rogue could see that it was because she had been able to see him as a normal girl would, instead of always seeing him from the perspective of a girl who was deathly afraid of being alone her whole life. Temporarily freed from that mindset, she had realized that while she felt fondness for him and gratitude, she did not love him. Besides, even as a normal girl, she still saw the looks he and Kitty sent each other. Barely a month after taking the cure, she had told Bobby that they should end their relationship. To his credit, Bobby had seemed surprised, and did not approach Kitty right away. In fact, he and Kitty hadn’t gotten together until after Rogue’s mutation had reappeared.

She hadn’t found out about its return in any dramatic or dangerous way, for which she would always be grateful. It had been Logan, even mired in grief over Jean’s death as he was, who had picked up on her anxious behavior and confronted her about it. They never beat around the bush with each other; Logan had cornered her in the library late one night and with one word, “Spill,” had Rogue confiding in him. He had listened calmly as she explained the suppressed feeling to her skin, the slight tingling “hum” that she had been feeling ever since the doctor had injected her with the cure. He hadn’t reacted at all when she told him she could feel the pressure on her skin lessening each day, that the “humming” beneath her skin was gradually becoming muted. He had merely stood looking at her until she finally begged, “Say something.” To which he had replied, “Every morning and every night we’ll meet in my room and you can touch me. If it does come back, I’m not going to let you be surprised by it. And if you feel at all funny during the day, come find me and we’ll test it out.”

So began their routine of daily meetings and neither of them questioned that they kept it up even after her mutation reemerged. Her company allowed Logan to heal from Jean’s death, and his willingness to spend time with her when he no longer had to had bolstered Rogue’s courage and confidence and gave her the peace of mind she needed to make progress in her mental training sessions with the professor. After her friends went away for college, Rogue was left feeling a bit adrift with Logan as her only possible anchor. He didn’t seem to mind the role, and so hockey and studying became their usual after dinner ritual. The only things that varied were the teams fighting it out on the screen and the subject Rogue was studying. On this particular night, the ritual was interrupted by the phone ringing.

Logan and Rogue froze briefly before giving each other identical wicked grins.

“You know,” he rumbled quietly as the phone rang again, “I never though anybody but you would ever be callin’ this number.”

Rogue patted his firm stomach affectionately before saying, “And, sugar, Ah never though Ah would ever be givin’ yer number to another woman.” Logan chuckled quietly as he rolled to a sitting position and picked up the phone.

“What?” he growled into the receiver. He turned his head and locked eyes with Rogue. When there was no immediate reply, he said in the same growling voice, “Listen, either speak or hang up the damn phone.” Rogue could swear his eyes were almost twinkling with mirth as tinny stammering finally emerged from the other end of the line.

“Um…y-yeah. Sorry. I’m, uh, I’m calling to talk to a classmate.” Logan raised his eyebrow as Rogue slapped a hand over her mouth to stifle her giggles.

“This ‘classmate’ have a name, genius?” The growl was a tad rougher this time.

“Oh! Oh, yeah, it’s…uh, it’s ‘Rogue’?”

“Is that an answer or a question? Are you looking for Rogue or aren’t you?” By this point Rogue was clutching her stomach with her free hand as she rolled back and forth on the bed in silent laughter. Logan winked at her.

“Are. I m-mean ‘am’. Yes, I’m looking for Rogue.”

“Then why didn’t you say so instead of wastin' my time with this twenty questions bullshit?” The growl was rougher still. “Hang on.” He held the phone slightly away from his face before saying loud enough for Monique to hear, “There’s some idiot on the phone for you, darlin’. Says she’s your classmate.”

Suppressing the last of her giggles, Rogue pitched her voice a bit louder as she answered, “The must be Monique then.” Logan gave her another smirk and an approving nod before handing the phone over.

“Monique? Hi,” Rogue said breezily as Logan turned back to his hockey game. She could tell that he was still monitoring the conversation though.

“Just who the hell was that?” Monique demanded angrily.

“That was Logan,” Marie deadpanned. She had to hold the receiver away from her ear at Monique’s wordless shriek, and from the corner of her eye, Rogue could see Logan flinch in discomfort.

“And who the hell is Logan?” How the girl could get any words out at that pitch and volume was beyond Rogue.

“None o’ yer business,” she managed calmly. “Now, have ya decided when and where we’re meeting?”

“As a matter of fact I have.” Rogue was instantly on edge hearing Monique’s smug tone.

“Where?” she asked, glad that none of her nerves were apparent in her voice.

“Todd told me that you live off campus….”

“Yeah, so?”

“Sooo,” Monique drew out the word, letting Rogue know that she wasn’t going to like whatever followed. “Since it’s so hard to find a quiet place to study on campus, we decided that we’ll come to your place on Saturday morning. Say around ten?”

“Now wait just a minute!” Rogue exclaimed as she jack-knifed to a sitting position, thrusting her hand down on Logan’s stomach hard enough to make him grunt. “ Ah don’t live here all by mahself, ya know. Ah can’t just have guests without clearin' it first.”

“So clear it now. I’ll wait for a few minutes.” Rogue loathed Monique’s condescending smugness.

“Fine! Hang on a minute.” Rogue slammed the receiver down on the bedside stand, hoping that the impact at least left Monique’s ear ringing. “Can ya believe her nerve?” she whisper-yelled to Logan.

“Just ask the professor, darlin’. I doubt he’ll agree to people traipsing through the mansion anyway.”

Rogue immediately relaxed and nodded. “Ye’re right.” Professor? she queried mentally, knowing that he would pick it up even though she had no telepathic abilities whatsoever.

Yes, my dear? he answered immediately.

Ah have a bit of a problem. Rather than spend time “verbally” explaining the situation, Rogue allowed the professor to see through her recent memories on fast-forward before concluding with, so, they wanna come here on Saturday morning. But that’s not possible, right?

There was silence for a moment. Not necessarily. Rogue slapped her hand against Logan’s stomach again, forcing yet another grunt from him. She barely even noticed the annoyed look he cast her as he trapped her hand in place with his.

What do ya mean?

I mean, my dear, that you shouldn’t have to be a prisoner here. It’s your home as much as mine, and you may have whatever visitors you like.

But Ah don’t like! she shrieked mentally. Ah mean, Ah don’t want them here.

I think it’s more the tone of the young lady’s request you object to than her actual presence here, is it not?

Ah…Ah don’t know. Rogue frowned in confusion as she tried to look at her dislike of Monique objectively. She wouldn’t have a problem with any of the others coming to the mansion, but she couldn’t stand the thought of Monique being there, of seeing her living with other mutants. If that happened, then Monique would -

If that’s what you’re worried about, my dear, it won’t be a problem this weekend, Xavier interrupted gently. Scott and Ororo are taking all of the younger students to the amusement park. Only a few of the older students and Kurt and Hank are staying behind, and I think they can be trusted not to cause problems.

But, professor, Rogue protested immediately, they shouldn’t have to hide or sneak around in their own home.

Oh, I didn’t say that they would be forced to. Give me just a moment to ask them what they think.

Professor, no, wait! Rogue was met only with silence. “Ah can’t believe this!” Her sudden exclamation caused Logan to clench his fingers tight around her hand, whether in surprise or as protection against another physical outburst Rogue couldn’t be sure.

“What’s going on?” he grunted. Rogue opened her mouth to answer and switched to shaking her head as she felt the professor’s presence once more.

Rogue? They don’t mind at all. Tell your classmates that they are welcome. The students won’t be due back until almost six, so you’ll have plenty of time.

Professor, wait! Ah’ve changed my mind! They don’t need to come here, Ah’ll just tell Monique it’s not possible. Ah’m sure Logan won’t mind bringin' me to campus.

Rogue, no. She had rarely heard such a firm tone from the professor. Normally, he was more than willing to grant whatever request one of his students, or former student in her case, might have. I will not allow you to sequester yourself in such a way. It is normal for one to have visitors on occasion, and you know that I have never approved of how solitary you and Logan force yourselves to be.

Professor, it’s not safe! Rogue used her trump card in hope of dissuading the professor.

Rogue, do you trust me?

Of course! she answered immediately.

Then trust me in this and trust that I will keep you and everybody under my care safe. Now pick up the phone and tell the young lady that ten o’clock Saturday is fine.

“Unbelievable!” she snarled in an uncannily accurate imitation of Logan. She picked up the phone, as instructed, and breathed in slowly and deeply. “Monique?”

“Took you long enough!” Rogue gritted her teeth.

“Yeah, well, like Ah said, it’s not just me makin' decisions around here. Ten o’clock Saturday is fine. Let me give ya directions.”

“Dummy! Just give me the address. We’ll get directions online.”

“Fine.” Rogue rattled off the address before adding, “We’ll only have until four or five at the latest.”

“Fine. We’ll be there exactly at ten, so you better be up and ready.”

“Fine.” Rogue wondered idly if the conversation was really as childish as it sounded. “Call this number if ya have any trouble gettin' in.”

Monique snorted. “What? You live in a gated community or something?”

“Or somethin'.”

“Whatever.” The buzzing of dial tone interrupted anything Rogue might have said, and she slammed the phone back in the cradle harder than necessary. She let her breath out in a frustrated huff as she looked at Logan. He raised an eyebrow.

“So the wicked witch is coming for a visit?”

“Yeah,” she answered grimly. “Think the professor would mind if Ah dropped the house on her?”

Logan shrugged and saluted her with his empty beer bottle before turning back to the game.

* * *

Saturday morning found Professor Charles Xavier at his desk going over the budget for the following school year. While he could personally absorb some of the costs of running the school, he did rely partially on grants and some anonymous backers. The bulk of his own money went into maintaining and upgrading the lower levels of the mansion, the part that had nothing to do with formal education. He always managed the budget with incredible care, making sure not to take any funds from the money intended for the children’s education. On this particular day, an accounting discrepancy was causing him a headache, which he found mildly amusing. He could look effortlessly through all the minds in the world, but a single column of black numbers was making his thoughts swim. Just as he came to the decision to leave the problem to Scott, the buzzing of the intercom on his desk interrupted him. The flashing red light to the left of the buttons told him that it was the front gate.

He knew that it must be Rogue’s classmates as a glance at the clock showed that it was precisely 10am. Although he would never admit it, he was intensely curious about them. Rogue’s vehement reaction two nights ago suggested that she didn’t want anybody from her school to come to the mansion, but Xavier had picked up a marked dislike for only one of the students. It was his policy to never intrude unnecessarily on another’s thoughts, but when speaking mind to mind as he and Rogue had been, a little “spillover” was to be expected. Frankly, though, he was surprised to have picked up even that much from Rogue. She had the most unique mind he had ever encountered, and its strange unfamiliarity made it almost impossible for him to read her, even when she wasn’t actively shielding her thoughts.

Further contemplating the impression he had gotten from Rogue, he realized that what had been lurking in her subconscious thoughts was incredibly close to loathing. Bone deep, all-encompassing loathing, an emotion Xavier would never have expected from Rogue. She had always seemed to be such a gentle, caring girl that he had never realized she had the capability to dislike someone so intensely. To his knowledge, she did not even feel that way toward Magneto, but perhaps that was because she had him in her head and knew him just as well as, if not better than, Charles did. It was much harder, Xavier reflected, to hate someone you knew. Pulling himself forcible from his musings, which had taken place in the span of only a few seconds, Xavier pressed the button to connect him to the front gate intercom. Immediately, a heated argument filled his ears.

“No, there’s no way that little ghetto-rat lives here! I mean, look at this place! It’s practically a palace.”

“Monique,” a male voice responded, “this is the address Rogue gave us. Stop jumping to conclusions about her, and please stop calling her names.”

In a nasal tone dripping with disdain, Monique challenged, “Why should you care what I call her? You got a thing for the little freak or something?”

Xavier’s eyebrows shot up toward his nonexistent hairline. Freak? Did this girl know that Rogue was a mutant? Making a split-second decision that Rogue’s safety, and that of everyone at the school, trumped his moral squeamishness over eavesdropping, Xavier stretched his mind toward the girl at the gate. What he received when he made contact was a hectic jumble of thoughts and images. He saw Rogue as he always saw her: beautiful, withdrawn, her countenance tined with sadness. The thoughts accompanying those images, however, were drastically different from his. Monique saw Rogue as creepy and unnatural. Oddly enough, she also saw her as competition since Rogue gained a fair amount of attention around campus. This made Monique see her as a chronic attention-seeker despite the fact that she had no real evidence to support that belief. Digging a little deeper, Xavier noted wryly that this was, in fact, one of Monique’s own shortcomings projected onto Rogue. Taken all together, Monique’s mostly incorrect assumptions about Rogue culminated into a mangled, confused ball of irritation, jealousy, impatience, fear, and, Xavier was worried to note, the seeds of hate. Putting “freak” together with “fear” and “hate” in his mind, Xavier became even more worried that the girl knew Rogue was a mutant.

Morals and ethics be damned, Xavier thought, and delved deeper into the girl’s mind, sifting through memories of her childhood, adolescence, and her time at college. While he was relieved at his findings and actually slumped back into his chair, he couldn’t help but pity the girl. Deep down, she actually admired Rogue’s quiet confidence. Thinking about it for a moment, Xavier realized he would never have thought to include confidence as one of Rogue’s attributes. He should have, though, considering that at seventeen, Rogue had been able to leave the only home she had ever known and make her way alone to Canada. The professor had always assumed the task had been accomplished on adrenaline and fear, an instinctive flight response to the rather traumatic manifestation of her mutation. Making a mental note to never underestimate Rogue again, he leaned slightly forward and spoke into the intercom.

“May I help you?” He had to speak loudly to be heard over the continuous bickering from the car. He was somewhat amused to note that two more female voices had chimed in, one invariably supporting Monique and the other somewhat more diplomatic, pointing out that Todd might have a point.

“Oh! Uh, yeah.” The sound of a throat being cleared interrupted the young man’s words. “We’re looking for Rogue. Is this the right place?”

“Indeed it is,” Xavier said cheerfully. “Let me buzz you through. You may park to the left of the garage and I’ll meet you at the front door.”

Some more throat-clearing and then a somewhat muted “Thanks” was the only response Xavier got. Manipulating the controls on his wheelchair, he exited his study and slowly made his way down the hall toward the foyer. He alerted Rogue to her classmates’ arrival with a simple projected thought. He caught the barest hint of resignation from her before he severed the telepathic connection.

* * *

Rogue let out a wordless huff of irritation. Not only would she have to deal with Monique all day, but Logan had high-tailed it out of the mansion an hour earlier, refusing to answer her questions about where he was going and when he would be back. He merely shook his head once and offered a gruff “Good luck, kid.” She couldn’t stop the soft smile that came to her lips at the memory; Logan would probably still call her “kid” when she was in her eighties. Rogue smoothed her hands down the sides of her forest green shirt, slightly worried about the skin the slashed sleeves revealed. The plunging V-neckline showed yet more skin, but the cut remained modest. She grabbed a sheer silk scarf in the same green color and would it around her neck, one end trailing in the back and one in the front.

She was going without gloves today, confident that she could control her skin for a few hours. As long as nobody unexpectedly bumped into the bared skin of her upper arms, everything should be fine. At the professor’s mental call telling her that her guests had arrived, Rogue cast one last nervous glance in the mirror and clutched Logan’s tags briefly with one hand before dropping them to rest warmly against her chest once again. She grabbed her psychology book and notes and made her way downstairs. Hearing voices from the foyer, Rogue paused mid-step on the bottom stair as she realized that she was the current topic of conversation.

* * *

Xavier had remained in the foyer with the visitors after introducing himself and assuring them that Rogue would be down shortly. He watched as Monique and the two other girls looked around curiously while doing their best to maintain expressions of disinterest. Xavier noticed Todd, the only one who had bothered to give his name, also observing the girls. The professor was amused to see Todd roll his eyes at their behavior before turning to face him.

“Professor Xavier, may I ask you a few questions?” Todd asked politely.

Xavier considered the young man for a few moments before replying. “You may, but I cannot promise to answer all of them.” Todd nodded once in acknowledgement.

“Why does Rogue live here?” The three girls suddenly lost interest in looking around the foyer and down the one hall they could see and focused all their attention on Xavier.

“As you may have noticed from the sign at the entrance, this is a school. Rogue was one of my students, and when she graduated and enrolled at your college, I asked her if she would like to stay here. Of course, she has a room in the teachers’ wing now, rather than in the students’ dorm.”

“Forgive me for saying this, but isn’t that a little odd? I mean, you can’t offer that option to all your former students, right? So why did you offer it to Rogue?”

“In many ways, Rogue is like a daughter to me. I think of all my students as my children, but she had a rather unique situation and came to us relatively late. That, combined with various other things, made it somewhat difficult for Rogue to leave immediately after graduation.”

“What he means,” Rogue drawled as she walked up beside the professor and laid a hand on his shoulder, “is that mah parents kicked me out when Ah was sixteen and told me to never come back.”

“Why? What did you do?” Monique blurted, speaking for the first time since entering the mansion.

“Ah almost killed somebody. Satisfied?” Rogue responded, challenge clear in her voice. Todd drew in a sharp breath.

“Rogue!” Xavier warned in a low voice.

“You don’t have to be so mean. It was just a question,” Monique scoffed after a moment of stunned silence. “And I don’t appreciate the sarcasm. If you don’t want to tell, you don’t need to make up a story. I mean, I’m sure we can all figure it out anyway.”

“Oh?” Rogue tilted her head to the side. “And what do ya think ya have figured out?” she asked in a dangerously soft tone.

“Well obviously they caught you in bed with some boy,” Monique said with fake innocence. Rogue couldn’t contain her snort of cynical amusement as she reflected that it had actually been something like that. Monique’s eyes narrowed in response. “Oh no,” she continued with manufactured worry, “you didn’t get pregnant, did you, honey?”

Rogue arched a brow. “Speakin' from experience?”

“That is quite enough!” Xavier interrupted firmly. His statement was met with sighs of relief from the other observers. “I believe you will be quite comfortable studying in the kitchen. And, Rogue, make sure to offer your guests, all of them,” he emphasized, “whatever they might need. I will be in my study should you need anything.”

As Xavier turned away, Monique smirked at Rogue. She was barely able to contain a growl before leading them to the kitchen.

* * *

Several hours later, they had made good progress on their research into the psychological aspects of indoctrination. They hadn’t yet come up with examples to analyze during their presentation, but they still had plenty of time. Thankfully, Monique was actually a studious person and her attention to their research had kept Rogue from wanting to throttle her.

Todd leaned back in his chair, stretching his legs out in front of him and his arms above his head. Rogue could hear several soft pops deep in his back as his spine decompressed.

“I could use a break,” he said. “How about you, ladies?” A chorus of agreement met his suggestion.

“Ah’ll get us some drinks,” Rogue volunteered. “Ya’ll want some soda?”

“I’ll have spring water,” Monique said as Rogue opened the refrigerator.

“Of course ya will,” Rogue muttered under her breath. She pulled out three cans of soda for the others and had stuck her head back in the fridge to dig around for Monique’s water when she heard the door leading in from the garage open. The chattering at the table behind her died abruptly.

“You better not be after my beer again, darlin’,” Logan’s deep voice rumbled. Rogue felt his hand rest comfortably on the swell of her right hip as he leaned slightly against her left side and with his left hand reached into the back of the fridge to pull out a bottle of Molson. He straightened up and grabbed the magnetic-backed bottle opener from the freezer door to pop the top off his beer. Finally locating a bottle of water, Rogue grabbed it quickly and kicked the fridge closed with her foot as she handed the water to Monique. Turning back to Logan, she propped her hands on her hips and smiled saucily.

“And what would ya do about it if Ah was after yer beer?”

Logan took a long pull from the bottle and leaned back against the granite-topped island in the center of the kitchen. He considered her for a moment and then a wicked grin spread across his face.

“I suppose I’d just have to turn you over my knee.” Three feminine gasps came from the table, but Rogue and Logan ignored them. Rogue dropped her hands to her sides and sauntered closer to Logan, stopping only when the toes of her shoes were meeting the toes of his worn boots. Logan brought his left hand up to grip Rogue’s hip, his thumb feathering lightly against her waist. Her eyes locked with his, Rogue reached up slowly and pulled the bottle out of Logan’s hand, inwardly amused when she met no resistance. Tipping her head back slightly, but maintaining eye contact, she brought the bottle to her lips and took a long, slow sip of beer. The kitchen was silent save for the humming of the refrigerator.

“Is that a promise, sugar?” Rogue winked. Logan’s hand tightened reflexively on her hip before he chuckled and snagged his beer back.

“This one’s mine. Get one of your own, darlin’.”

Any response Rogue would have made was interrupted by the hum of the professor’s wheelchair at the entrance to the kitchen.

“Ah, I’m glad you’re back, Logan. I need to talk to you about something,” Xavier said in his cultured tones.

“Logan?” Monique squeaked from her chair. “You’re the jerk who answered the phone the other night?”

Logan allowed his hand to trail across Rogue’s stomach before gripping her opposite hip as she turned within his circling arm to face Monique. Rogue leaned her back comfortably against his chest and narrowed her eyes.

“Ya know, it’s not polite to call people names in their own home.”

Todd merely shook his head and sipped his soda when Monique narrowed her eyes in return.

“He lives here? As what? The resident handyman or your personal bed-warmer?” she asked snidely.

Logan cut off Rogue’s reply as he pulled her tighter against him and nuzzled her hair. “Don’t pay any attention to her, darlin’,” he rumbled in Rogue’s ear. “The bitch is just jealous.”

“Logan! That’s enough!” the professor commanded.

Logan’s head whipped around to face Xavier. “Or what?” he growled.

“Or I’ll turn you over my knee?” Xavier suggested archly.

The kitchen once again fell silent. After a full ten seconds, a choking sound from the table drew Rogue’s attention. Todd was desperately trying to repress his laughter while Monique, Rachel, and Jennifer just sat with confused looks on their faces.

Rogue snickered.

Logan lightly pinched her side in reproach and she erupted into full-blown laughter. She turned her face into Logan’s T-shirt covered chest and continued laughing as her eyes teared with mirth. Logan dropped his hand lower on her hip and smacked her bottom sharply.

“I’m glad you find it so amusing,” he growled in irritation.

Rogue looked up at him and gasped through her laughter, “Logan, ya have to admit, the visual is pretty damn funny.”

He stared at her blankly for a moment. All of a sudden he snorted, and a reluctant grin pulled up one corner of his lips. He hid it quickly by draining the rest of his beer, but Rogue caught it all the same. He smacked her bottom once more, lightly this time, before letting her go and moving toward the fridge. He tossed his empty into the recycling bin beside it and then pulled two more bottles of beer out of the fridge. He popped the tops off both of them and silently handed one to Rogue.

The professor cleared his throat to draw everybody’s attention back to him. “I have taken the liberty of ordering pizza for dinner. It should be here in about forty-five minutes, so, Rogue, would you be so kind as to get the door when it comes?” He waited for Rogue’s nod before continuing. “It’s all paid for – the tip too – so you needn’t worry about that.” Turning his head slightly to look at the guests, he added politely, “And of course you all must join us. I trust you like pizza, yes?” Monique made a face and opened her mouth, but before she could speak, the professor cut her off. “I also ordered a small vegetarian pizza just in case one of you might prefer that. Now, Logan, I need a word with you in my office.” Without waiting for acknowledgement, Xavier manipulated the controls on his chair deftly, turning around and whirring off down the hall. After exchanging a brief glace with Rogue, Logan followed.

“Like the professor said, ya’ll can stay fer dinner,” Rogue said, “but ya’ll’ll have to leave right after.”

“That’s fine,” Todd responded. “We – well, I wasn’t expecting you to feed us, so make sure to thank the professor for us if we don’t see him again before leaving. Do you want to work on the project a little more while we wait for the food?”

“Hell no!” Monique burst out and glared at Rogue. “Little Miss Rogue here owes us an explanation.”

“How do ya figure?”

“That Logan guy,” Monique snapped, earning nods of agreement from Jennifer and Rachel, who had been oddly quiet the whole day.

“What about him?” Rogue growled in a fair imitation of Logan.

“Who is he?”

“Listen, Monique, Rogue doesn’t owe you anything. And don’t forget that we’re guests here. You’re being rude.” Todd tried to derail Monique’s line of questioning.

“It’s all right, Todd,” Rogue said in a much calmer tone. “Logan’s a teacher here.”

“You’re having an affair with a teacher?” Monique squawked. “Do you sleep with the professors at school too?”

“It’s not an affair,” Rogue snarled, “and he’s not mah teacher, so it wouldn’t matter even if it was. And Ah’m not even going to respond to yer last bit o’ idiocy.”

“You little—”

“Just stop,” Rogue interrupted, suddenly feeling tired. “It really isn’t any of yer business, but Logan’s mah best friend and Ah’m his. Ya don’t need to know anythin' beyond that, so just drop it. Now let’s get back to work. We’ve got all this research done and tons of notes, but we haven’t discussed how we’re gonna present any of it yet.”

* * *

Logan shut the office door behind him and watched Xavier maneuver himself into position behind his desk. The professor absently steepled his fingers in front of his chest and looked up at Logan.

“Please, sit.”

Logan grunted and took one of the two seats in front of the professor’s desk. Xavier stared at Logan for several seconds before finally speaking.

“You know that I have always had a difficult time reading you and Rogue.” Logan didn’t respond and the professor shifted a bit uncomfortably. “Yes, well. How are you and Rogue doing? I assume everything is well between the two of you?”

“Look, Chuck. I have no idea what you’re actually asking. I’m fine, she’s fine. We’re fine. Now what the hell is this actually about?” Xavier was actually surprised at how even Logan’s tone was. Of course, it did have the dangerous undertone of impatience and irritation that seemed to be typical of all of Logan’s conversations. Save the ones with Rogue. He was counting on her being one of the topics of this conversation to keep Logan somewhat in line.

“What is the—” Xavier cleared his throat and tried again. “What is the nature of your relationship?”

“We’re friends,” Logan said warily, suspiciously.

“Yes, yes of course. But is there anything more than friendship?”

Logan narrowed his eyes. “How is that any of your business?” he growled.

Xavier swallowed hard. “Logan, I understand that, strictly speaking, it is absolutely none of my business,” he began placatingly. “But please trust me enough to answer my questions honestly. I assure you that there is a very good reason I need to know some things.” The professor had the uncomfortable impression that Logan was weighing him with his piercing hazel eyes. He had never been frightened of the man, but on several occasions he had been made startlingly aware of Logan’s feral nature. Xavier found it extremely disconcerting to feel like he was facing not a man, but an animal, one capable of intelligent cunning and planning, motivated to act on primal emotion. He had often wondered if such a behavioral pattern was the reason he continued to find it difficult to read Logan. The human characteristics of his mind were familiar enough to Xavier, and he knew that Logan was an extremely intelligent man, despite the lengths he took to hide it. However, Logan’s animal characteristics were so much a part of his thought processes that the professor was often unable to make sense of the things he gleaned from the man’s mind. Even Logan’s insistence on hiding his intelligence had a very animalistic motivation: the animal in him saw that his intelligence could be targeted, and so they hid it, much like an animal may feign injury to draw his pursuers in close enough to attack. If all anyone saw in Logan was pure animal brawn and reflexes, they wouldn’t be prepared to deal with him as a thinking, adaptable, and highly inventive human being.

Xavier found the similarities between Logan’s and Rogue’s minds startling. Rogue did not possess a normal human, or even mutant, mind either. The only time he had attempted to read her was that first time he had searched for her with Cerebro, and although he had located her, he was unable to get anything more than her surface thoughts. Any attempt to pry further met with a stubborn, foreign resistance. A primal defense, the professor had thought at the time, that was due to her recent absorption of Logan’s personality. However, as time passed and Logan’s presence in her mind should have faded, Xavier remained unable to bypass her defenses. The sessions they had done together to help her control her skin had been most vexing to the professor as he was only able to talk her through the image “training” he had developed for his students. Although Rogue had grasped the concept of seeing her mutation as a physical entity in her mind, a realm completely under her control, Xavier was unable to monitor her progress as he was used to doing with the other students.

“Chuck? Hey, Chuck, you all right?” Logan’s gruffly concerned voice brought him back to the present.

“I’m sorry, Logan, I find myself easily lost in thought today. I received some rather disturbing news earlier.”

It was Logan’s turn to shift uncomfortably. “What’s the problem?”

“Everything’s all right for now. Although things may become dangerous in the very near future, and I’ll need your help and Rogue’s to try to prevent that. That’s why I need you to answer some questions for me before I tell you about it.”

“Well, hell, Wheels. Now that you put it that way, what do you need to know?"

“I’m sorry, Logan, but I do need to know about your relationship with Rogue,” the professor insisted.

Logan tossed his head side to side, cracking his neck, and then shrugged one broad shoulder. “We’re friends, Chuck. I don’t know what you’re going for, so maybe you should just ask straight, simple questions I can answer.”

Xavier nodded. “Very well. Are you intimately involved?”

“You mean have we had sex?” Logan asked bluntly.

The professor sighed. “Logan, I am very well aware of how intelligent you are, and that you understand my question perfectly. You’re just avoiding answering, and I’m curious as to why you would feel the need to do so.” Xavier held Logan’s gaze for several long seconds.

“No,” Logan answered evenly, “we haven’t had sex.”

“Are you attracted to Rogue?” He was confused by Logan’s sudden burst of laughter. “Logan? Logan?” he questioned several times until the man was finally down to just a low chuckle.

“Hell, Chuck. I think it’s safe to assume that any man with a pulse would find Rogue attractive. You should probably realize that same as I do.” He arched a brow pointedly at the professor and was amused to see a faint blush tinge his cheeks.

“Yes, well. Hmm,” the professor cleared his throat. “Moving on then. If you find Rogue attractive, why are you still just friends? You don’t really have friendships with women, Logan.” Now the professor was the one giving pointed looks.

“We’re friends because she hasn’t given me any indication that she wants anything else.”

“And that’s important to you? To decide your actions based on what Rogue wants?”

Logan tensed in his chair. He could smell the anxiety rolling off the professor in waves when he asked the question. That, and the fact that Xavier was now swallowing rapidly, told him that the answer to this question would somehow be important in light of the upcoming danger the man had mentioned previously. Logan nodded cautiously.

“Of course it’s important to me. You said I don’t really have friendships with women, and you’re right about that. But for some reason, even though she knows what I am, Rogue still wants to be around me. She knows me, Chuck, better than anybody, knows me as well as I know myself.” Logan took a deep breath. “And what I know about myself, I don’t like. I could never understand why an innocent little thing like her wasn’t scared or disgusted by what she knew about me. I never understood what had her waitin’ here patiently for me to come back whenever I went off somewhere, and why she was so happy when she saw me again. So one day I asked her.”

Xavier waited quietly for Logan to continue, but as the man continued staring at the toes of his boots, he felt the need to prompt him. “And? What did she tell you?”

The eyes Logan raised to his held more emotion than the professor had ever seen from the rough man. Pain, wonder, even love.

Ah, Xavier thought, he does love her. The question now is how much?

“She told me that I wasn’t any different from anybody else.” That certainly wasn’t the answer the professor had been expecting, but he held his tongue. “She told me that nobody really liked who they were, that we’re all lonely and kinda ugly inside. That we feel like we’re worth less than nothin’. And then she said that the point of relationships was so we could start hating ourselves a little less, stop feeling so alone and ugly. She said that’s what I did for her. That I made her feel like she was worth something again. And I couldn’t argue with her, Chuck, because the only time I don’t hate what I am, the only time when I feel like I’m more than just an animal, is when I’m with her.”

Xavier sighed heavily. “What she said is true, Logan. I’ve seen enough people’s minds to know that the overwhelming majority hate themselves. They do not often, however, consciously recognize this. I’m surprised that Rogue would have come to that conclusion when she is so young.”

“You’re forgetting something, Chuck.” Logan said softly. “She has other people in her head. She knows because of them. She knows more about them, about me, than any telepath ever could, because they’re actually a part of her now.”

“Yes, yes I see,” Xavier mused. “When I am observing, or even controlling, another’s mind, I am very aware of a clear separation between us, and I can sense that they in turn can feel me as something foreign. Though I think that separation is necessary to maintain my own sense of self. I don’t know what would happen if I were to try to merge fully with another’s mind. I think that is part of why I haven’t been able to help you recover more of your memories, Logan. With children, and people my own age, I am able to see every aspect of their lives.” Xavier held Logan’s gaze evenly, knowing that what he was about to admit might irreparably damage their relationship. “But with you, not knowing how old you are, how many memories and experiences you have, I’m afraid of what might happen to me if I look too deep into your mind.”

Logan drew in a sharp breath and held it for a moment. He let it out in a long, controlled exhalation and his head jerked in a curt nod. “I can’t blame you for that, Chuck,” he rasped. “At least not the animal part. The Wolverine knows that self-preservation is the most important thing. The man, though, he wants to kick your ass.” Oddly enough, Xavier was relaxed by the smirk Logan gave him. He was also intrigued by Logan’s reference to the Wolverine as a separate entity. Despite his past care and hesitancy when reading Logan’s mind, he had nonetheless delved deep enough to see the relative compartmentalization of personalities. There was always some blending of the two, but depending on what would be most beneficial in any given situation, only one of the personalities was ever fully in control.

“Logan, you said that the Wolverine sees self-preservation as key?” Xavier asked as a thought occurred to him. “When you saved Rogue at the Statue of Liberty, do you know what his thoughts were?”

Logan looked startled. “You know, sometimes I can feel him fightin’ me when I’m about to do something he doesn’t think is worth the risk. He didn’t fight me then. And earlier, before Magneto got her, when I had promised Rogue that I’d take care of her – he didn’t fight me then either.” Logan now looked puzzled. “Matter of fact, I can’t remember any time he’s fought me when it comes to Rogue.”

“Interesting.” Xavier steepled his fingers once again and tapped his forefingers against his chin. “And should Rogue want something more than friendship from you, how do you think Wolverine would react?”

Logan’s whole body tensed and his breathing hitched. Xavier could see the darkening of his hazel eyes. “He likes the idea,” Logan growled.

“And you? Do you like the idea?” the professor pressed.

“I don’t know!” he hissed, his teeth clenched. “I don’t know,” he said again, softer. “I’m not going to lie, I’m attracted to her. Not that I always was,” he said hastily.

“Of course not,” Xavier indulged with a grin.

“I wasn’t! Hell, she was a kid when we met, Chuck. But in the last couple of years…” Logan trailed off and shrugged. “I can’t help it. Like I said before, any man with a pulse, right?” he finished with a grin.

Xavier surprised himself by chuckling. “Indeed,” he said, amused that he could shock Logan with the admission. He was not amused, however, by the darkening look on Logan’s face or the low growl emanating from deep in his chest. “Logan?” he asked quickly, dropping his hands to his lap.

“You’re like a father to her, Chuck, so don’t go stirring up feelings that you got no business stirring up, you hear me?” Logan demanded.

“Of course not, Logan. I can look at Rogue and appreciate her beauty, but I assure you, I have no intention of ever being anything but a father figure to her. I feel that way about all my students, current and former.”

Logan nodded. “Good. You’d be answering to me otherwise.”

“Everybody knows you’re protective of Rogue, Logan, that you’d even give your life for her. What I need to know now is would you let her decision guide the course of your lives, even when it’s a decision you would never make willingly for yourself?” the professor asked gravely.

“What are you talking about, Chuck?”

“The Mutant Registration Act. It’s on the table again.”

* * *

“Dammit, no!” Monique shrieked, slamming both of her hands down flat on the table. “There is no way in hell we’re going to include some mutie freak crap in our presentation!”

“Why not?” Rogue challenged. “We’re lookin’ fer examples of indoctrination that have made people do things that they would never have done on their own. Hitler, racism, WWII internment – those are all valid, but they’re also things that people already know about, things they would expect us to use as examples. If we talk about mutants, that’s gonna make people think.”

“I agree with Rogue,” Todd said. “What real proof do we have that we should be afraid of all mutants? And still, all we hear in the media is how mutants are dangerous.” He shrugged. “Whether you agree with it or not, Monique, you have to admit it’s an interesting argument.”

“No I don’t!” Monique insisted.

“That’s right!” Jennifer chimed in.

Rachel sat carefully still, her eyes darting back and forth uncertainly between Monique and Jennifer and Rogue and Todd

“Listen,” Rogue continued patiently, “indoctrination is basically acceptin’ a set of values or beliefs without question, right?” She waited for Monique and Jennifer’s hesitant nods. “Why do ya think mutants are dangerous? Do ya know any?”

“Well, no,” Monique admitted sullenly. She looked at Jennifer hopefully, but she just shook her head. “But you have to admit, everything you see in the news shows us that they are dangerous.”

Rogue let out an unladylike snort. “Yeah, and the news is full of rapists and murderers too, but you wouldn’t say that that represents all people. The media deals in whatever the current system of thought is. If the hot topic is the danger posed by mutants, they’re gonna go lookin’ for those stories. Ya go lookin’ fer somethin’, ye’re gonna find it.”

“I don’t know,” Monique said, clearly wavering. “The news talks about rapists and murderers, and that makes me be extra careful when I’m walking alone at night. You wouldn’t say that’s unreasonable, right? So if the news is telling me that mutants are dangerous, why would you tell me that it’s unreasonable to be suspicious of them?”

“Think about what ya just said, Monique! Ye’re scared to walk alone at night ‘cause ya’ve heard stories not just from the news but from real people, maybe even come close to a situation yerself that gives ya some real proof that there are rapists and murderers. But ya don’t walk down the same stretch o’ sidewalk durin’ the light o’ day thinkin’ somethin’s gonna happen to ya. And that’s ‘cause there are other people around, right? Ya know that there are decent people around who would try to stop somethin’ from happenin’ to ya. Is it so hard to believe that yeah, while there are bad mutants, there are decent ones too?”

“Yes!” Monique said triumphantly. “Because regular people don’t hide away in the light of day. Mutants do!”

Rogue couldn’t stand the smug little smirk on Monique’s over-painted lips, and Jennifer’s emphatic nod of agreement made her grind her teeth.

“That’s not fair!” Todd chimed in. “Mutants only hide because they’re afraid. They know that people won’t accept them because they won’t take the time to find out whether they’re good or bad. We can’t blame them for that!”

“So it’s all our fault?” Monique jeered. “If they want us to see them as good people, why oppose things like the Mutant Registration Act? That would bring all of them out into the open and we’d know what they can do, and then we’d have a way of knowing who’s good and who’s bad. They wouldn’t have to be afraid anymore. And neither would we!”

“You just don’t get it!” Todd snapped.

“And you do? You’re probably some freak mutie lover, aren’t you?”

Rogue stood up so quickly her chair tipped over backward and crashed against the tiled floor. “That’s enough!” she shouted. “Doesn’t this argument prove that the treatment of mutants would make a good example? Each of us is convinced that we’re right, so doesn’t that mean that there’re some underlyin' beliefs that we’re not willin' to question?” Rogue couldn’t believe the concession she was making. Monique was dead wrong, but if the girl was as brainwashed as she seemed, Rogue could talk till the end of time and it wouldn’t make any difference. The only thing that could change the girl would be a first hand experience with mutants, good and bad, so she could see that they were individuals, and not some amorphous “them.”

A melodious chiming rang through the mansion, cutting off any response Monique was ready to make.

“That’ll be the pizza,” Rogue said tiredly. She pushed her hair back with one gloved hand, holding it briefly in place before letting go. As the brown and white strands tumbled back down, she looked at Todd and asked, “Will you help me bring them in?”

“Sure,” Todd readily agreed.

“Where’s the bathroom?” Monique asked with frigid politeness.

“The closest one is under the stairs in the foyer.” Rogue turned to walk out of the kitchen, trusting that Monique should be able to find her way without help. Todd followed close behind her, not even missing a step as Rogue paused for a moment at the kitchen door to push the button that would open the front gates for the delivery boy.

“You shouldn’t let her get to you you know.” Todd spoke quietly. “She doesn’t know any better.”

“Does not knowin’ any better ever excuse hate and intolerance?”

“Excuse it, no. But it does help to explain some of the reason for her general horrid behavior, doesn’t it?”

“Some of the reason, sure. But what’s the rest o’ the reason for it?”

“Well, that’s easy,” Todd said matter-of-factly. “The girl’s just a born bitch.” He grinned cheekily and Rogue was forced to laugh.

By the time they opened the front door, the delivery boy had already pulled his car up at the top of the driveway and was unloading five pizza boxes from his ramshackle Ford hatchback. Rogue couldn’t even begin to guess the model since much of the car’s body appeared to have been cannibalized from cars of different years and colors.

“Hey, there isn’t as much as Ah thought there’d be. Do ya think ya can manage to bring it back to the kitchen on yer own? Ah wanna let the professor and Logan know that the food’s here.”

“Sure, no problem.”

“Do ya ever say ‘no’ to anythin’?” Rogue asked with a smile.

“Only if somebody’s asking me to do something unreasonable.” Todd returned her smile. “Or disgusting,” he added.

“Ah’m not even gonna ask,” Rogue said over her shoulder as she walked toward the professor’s office.

* * *

“I thought they did away with that thing!” Logan thundered as he pushed forward in his chair.

“It was an odd situation, Logan. The MRA was still being revised and no official vote had been taken. When the scientific community announced that there was a possible cure for mutancy, the act was allowed to sit idle. Nobody in Congress saw the need to spend time and resources on something that might not be necessary in the long run. Now that the cure seems to have failed….” Xavier trailed off.

“What about the president? Can’t he just veto it if it makes it that far?”

“When he called me today, he said that he could do that, but that it would be a last resort. He’s worried that just vetoing the act won’t solve any of the underlying problem. He thinks, and I agree with him, that it is necessary to make the general public aware of the danger the MRA poses to mutants.”

“Just tell him to veto the damn thing,” Logan groused. “You know there’s nothin’ he can say that will suddenly make people sympathetic toward mutants.”

“He knows that, Logan. That’s why he asked me for help finding mutants who would be willing to go public.” The professor’s voice was soft, almost a murmur, but Logan heard every word clearly.

“Go public how?” Logan asked cautiously.

“President Carson thinks that mutants need to be seen as ‘real’ people to the general population. It’s harder to hate people you ‘know’.” Xavier had to appreciate the irony of that particular maxim coming up twice in the span of a few short hours. “To do that, he has devised a plan for a televised talk-show style interview with an approved member of the media. He wants us to know, however, that there will be no masking of voices or appearances. Such concealment would just reinforce the concept that mutants have something to hide.”

“No. Hell no. You can’t ask any of the students to expose themselves like that, Chuck. If this thing doesn’t work out the way the president plans, the kids have no way of protecting themselves. I don’t see why he’s rushin’ this anyway. If he vetoes the act, it’ll buy us plenty of time to figure somethin’ else out.”

“That may be so, Logan. But have you considered that this is president’s second term? In just five more months, we’ll have a new president in office, one who might not have any consideration for the safety of mutants. President Carson feels great responsibility toward our cause, and he confided to me that the reason he does is because of the files we presented him with after – after Stryker.” Xavier hesitated to refer more directly to the first time Jean had died.

“You still can’t put the kids at risk, Chuck, no matter how much good it might do. They’re too young and they could never make a decision like that on—” Logan stopped abruptly. “You’re not askin’ the students. You’re askin’ Rogue.” A rolling wave of nausea forced its way up from his stomach to lodge at the base of his throat. “No,” he said unequivocally.

“Logan,” the professor began soothingly, “why do you think I’m talking to you first? I know that you and Rogue are close and neither of you would ever make a decision like this without consulting the other. I also know that your unique…” he paused as if searching for the right word, “personality makes it terribly hard for you to see the value of risking one’s safety for such a reason.”

“If it means that Rogue doesn’t have to, I’ll do it.”

“I expected you would say that. But, Logan, the potential fallout might include you and Rogue being separated. I don’t think that’s a desirable choice for you. If you were to do the interview together, you could remain together no matter the outcome.”

“Shit,” Logan replied succinctly. After a moment of thought he ground out another question from between his tightly clenched teeth. “Why the two of us, Chuck? You know plenty of other adult mutants who would do it. Hell, neither of us is even impressive-lookin’ as mutants go.”

Xavier chuckled briefly, but his tone was somber as he answered. “It is precisely because of your rather ordinary appearances, Logan. What value would there be in parading around obvious mutants – ones with blue skin, or forked tongues, or scales – when they would have no hope of remaining in obscurity anyway? You and Rogue, however, are different and barring any unavoidable display of your gifts, you could remain hidden indefinitely. By coming forward, you would be making it clear that you are making a conscious choice to give up the freedom and safety of anonymity. People will at the very least acknowledge and possibly respect that sacrifice. And that, my friend, may very well be the beginning of sympathy and understanding.”

“I don’t think six adamantium claws and killer skin will make people particularly sympathetic, Wheels.”

Xavier hesitated for a moment. He wasn’t sure how Logan would take the next bit of information, but he knew that it wouldn’t be fair not to tell the man all the reasons why he had chosen him and Rogue. “The president had an additional request when he asked me to find mutants who would be willing to help. He asked specifically for mutants who were dangerous.”

“How the hell is that supposed to help anything?” Logan roared as he stood up from his chair. He paid absolutely no attention to the chiming noise coming from the speaker on the professor’s desk. “And Rogue’s not dangerous. Just her skin is.”

“That’s exactly the point the president was hoping to make, Logan. Rogue is a person that nobody would ever think to fear, and she does her best to make sure that the people around her are not harmed by her mutation.”

“What about me then? You can’t say that people would see me the same way.” Logan felt secure in this argument, knowing that even the professor at times felt uncomfortable due to his somewhat menacing presence.

“You’re another case, Logan. Your mutation itself is not dangerous.” Xavier held up a hand when the other man opened his mouth to argue. He was mildly surprised when Logan remained silent, albeit with a scowl etched deeply on his face. “What makes you dangerous are the alterations made to your body by humans. Without the claws and adamantium skeleton, you’d be seen as nothing more than a man with advanced healing abilities who happens to also be good in a fistfight.”

Logan grunted, whether in disgust or agreement Xavier couldn’t say.

“What the military did to you will illustrate how horrific a mutant’s life can become if he or she is forced out into the open.”

“Stryker said I volunteered for the program, Chuck.” Logan’s voice was low and gruffly ashamed.

“We have no proof of that, Logan. And even if you did ‘volunteer’ as Stryker said, I’m sure that you were approached with the suggestion first. Your penchant for self-preservation would of course make you averse to participating in such an experiment without significant persuasion.”

“You got that right,” Logan grunted, distaste briefly clouding his features as remembered pain and terror roiled in the pit of his stomach.

“Yes, so if you were indeed asked to volunteer, that would mean two things. One, that you were known to be a mutant, and two, that as a volunteer, you should have had the right to stop the experiment at any time. I can’t imagine that you would have wanted it to continue to the end, but clearly, they didn’t stop.” Xavier’s voice was gentle. “As much as you might hate the label and its implications, that puts you squarely in the victim category, my friend.”

Logan sighed heavily. “All right. I get why you chose us. But let me be the one to talk to Rogue about it, okay?” Xavier understood clearly that he wasn’t asking for permission, despite the politeness of his phrasing.

The door squeaked quietly open.

“Tell me what?” Rogue demanded.

Logan couldn’t believe that he had been so deeply involved in the conversation that he had missed hearing her approach. He grimaced at the professor before turning to face Rogue. “I’ll tell you later, darlin’. You come to tell us the pizza’s here?”

Rogue propped her hands on her hips and tilted her head to the side as she considered him. “Yeah, but that’s not important right now. What’s wrong, Logan?”

“Nothin’s wrong, darlin’. Come on, I’m hungry.” Logan took a step forward, intending to pass Rogue and leave the room, but she smacked her left hand firmly into the center of his chest, stopping him in his tracks.

“Bullshit!”

Logan’s eyebrow swept upward. He didn’t mind when Rogue swore, but before, she had always refrained from doing it in the professor’s presence. Apparently she was edgy enough not to care about offending the man at the moment. Logan cautiously covered the small hand on his chest with one of his own rougher ones. “It’s not bullshit, darlin’.”

“It is too bullshit! That’s three ‘darlin’’s in less than a minute. I know when ye’re keepin’ things from me, Logan. Now tell me what the hell’s goin’ on!”

Most days Logan enjoyed getting the young woman riled up. Her eyes sparkled and her cheeks flushed, and he admitted, although only to himself, that he liked the way her chest would heave when she was agitated. Normally he would redirect her anger with some teasing or suggestive flirting, but today he could hear the barest hint of fear underlying her angry tone. He squeezed her hand briefly and without taking his eyes off hers, he tossed over his shoulder, “Chuck, mind givin’ us a minute?”

“Of course not,” Xavier murmured as he wheeled past them. “I’ll be down in the lab talking with Hank if you need me.”

Logan didn’t speak until the whir of the professor’s wheelchair had faded even beyond his ability to hear it. He carefully took in Rogue’s features. There was a slight furrowing between her delicately arched brows. He reached up with his free hand and smoothed the pad of his thumb over it, hoping to ease some of her tension. If anything, her tension increased and her lower lip trembled almost imperceptibly. He wanted more than anything to drop a gentle kiss on her mouth, but he recognized that this certainly wasn’t the time for it. He trailed his hand down to cup her face, unable to keep his thumb from tracing over her cheekbone in a soothing caress.

“The Mutant Registration Act’s back, darlin’.”

“No,” Rogue breathed. She dropped her left hand to rest against his waist and brought her right hand up to wrap around his wrist. She was so small standing in front of him, Logan mused. Her head barely reached his shoulder and her fingers could only close halfway around his wrist. That combined with the feeling of her fragile bones beneath his hands deepened his resolve to always take care of her. She was his to protect and had been since the day he gave her a ride on a snowy Canadian road. Rogue tilted her head to nestle her cheek more fully into his broad palm, and he knew at that moment that whatever she decided to do, he’d go along with her, if only to keep her safe.

* * *

Monique heard a strange whirring noise as she stepped out from beneath the stairs in the foyer. Turning to her left, she caught a glimpse of the bald guy’s head as his chair turned the corner at the end of the hall. As she turned to head back to the kitchen, she heard Rogue’s voice followed by a nearly inaudible response from a deep masculine one.

I bet she’s fooling around with that Logan guy, Monique thought with spiteful glee as she crept closer to the partially open door halfway down the hall.

“Logan, Ah don’t know what Ah wanna do yet. Ah need to think about it, all right?”

“I know, darlin’. Whatever you decide is what we’ll do.”

“Don’t do that, Logan! It’s not just mah choice, ya know. Ya need to tell me what ya think.”

Monique heard the man let out a heavy breath. “I think this needs to be done, but I don’t like that we’re the ones who are gonna have to do it.”

“Why?”

“What the hell do you mean ‘why’, Marie?”

Marie? Monique thought, I knew Rogue couldn’t be the little freak’s real name!

“Ah mean why is it a ‘we’, Logan?”

“Marie!” The name was a growled warning. “Dammit, we’ve been a ‘we’ for five years, since the first day we met. You know I’ll never let anything happen to you, so why are you bringin’ this up now?”

Five years? Shit, the guy’s at least in his mid-thirties now. Little miss Lolita has a dirty little secret, doesn’t she? And that works out perfectly for me…come Monday, everybody on campus is going to know that the little whore’s been seducing older men for years.

“Was there a ‘we’ when Jean was still alive?” Rogue asked in a hesitant voice.

What, now there’s a dead chick thrown in the mix? This is better than Jerry Springer! Monique knew enough about men to know that you didn’t bring up their exes, and given that the woman was dead, she was hoping Logan’s reaction would be violent. She listened intently for the sound of a heavy hand slapping Rogue’s cheek.

“Darlin’,” Logan drew a shaky breath in around the word, “at the end, when it was just Jean and me, the only reason I was able to do it was because of you.”

Rogue gasped. “What?”

“I knew that it had to be done. I knew that. But I still hesitated. I was willing to let everybody die so I wouldn’t have to be the one to….so I wouldn’t have to be the one. And then I thought of you. You’re the only one I couldn’t let die, Marie. I had to choose between the two of you that day, and I chose you, darlin’. So yeah, even when Jeanie was still alive, there was always you and me.” Logan’s voice was little more than a rasping whisper by the time he finished.

Monique heard sniffling. Holy shit…the guy’s not crying, is he? She couldn’t see the same nasty, gruff bully from the phone or the kitchen crying.

“Aw, shit, darlin’, don’t cry.” Logan’s voice was pleading.

“If you were willin’ to – to do what ya did to keep me safe, then Ah shouldn’t be willin’ to put you in danger with the interview, Logan. We’ll tell ‘em that they’ll just have to find a couple o’ other mutants to talk to.”

Monique’s heart lurched to a stop and her breath thickened in her lungs. Mutants?

Monique backed carefully toward the foyer, glad now that she hadn’t given in to the urge to get close enough to peek through the crack in the door.

Have to get out…it’s not safe here she thought desperately. If I can just get out the door without them noticing…what’s freak-girl’s power anyway?...Don’t they all have some sort of super-power? And the guy…he’s one of them too? What the hell can he do? What if – what if they can read minds? Monique froze as the thought occurred to her. She eyed the office door warily for a few seconds, but there was no movement, only the low murmurs of their continued conversation. They can’t be mind-readers then…they’d be after me already if they were.

As Monique drew up alongside the hallway leading to the kitchen, she glanced down it and frowned. What about the others? I should warn them, shouldn’t I? She shook her head. No. No, they can take care of themselves. Monique spun around and walked rapidly toward the front door, and when she was almost there, her hand lifting up to turn the doorknob, she realized something.

Keys…I don’t have the keys. She cursed herself now for insisting that Todd drive this morning. I don’t have a chance without the car…If I just walk out of here, I won’t get very far before they wonder why I left. I can’t even say anything to the others…what if the freaks have super-hearing? What am I going to do? At this point, Monique’s thoughts were a high-pitched wail in her head. With no other choice that she could see, she headed toward the kitchen.

* * *

A few minutes later, Rogue stopped in front of the kitchen door and swiped her fingers over her eyes to erase the last trace of tears from her lashes. Logan had told her she looked fine, but she knew her eyes were probably puffy and red. Worried about how long Monique and her friends had been left on their own already, Rogue didn’t want to take the time to go check her appearance in a mirror. So she had decided to take Logan at his word, albeit against her better judgment. The man had once told her she looked fine when she had a split lip and the beginning of a black eye. Of course he hadn’t let them last long at all. He had often taken full advantage when her control over her skin was still shaky, waiting just long enough to get her settled in the jet before yanking off one of his uniform gloves and placing his bare hand on her face. It had been almost two years since he had been able to force healing on her like that, and every injury she had gotten since then, no matter how slight, had led to fights between the two of them. Rogue lifted a hand to her right side, her fingers tracing lightly over the row of stitches that she could feel even through the gauze pad and her shirt. Hank had promised to remove them on Sunday, and Logan, who had insisted on accompanying her to each of her follow-up visits with the doctor, had scowled and muttered something about her not needing stitches at all if she weren’t so stubborn.

With a gentle smile at the memory, Rogue dropped her hand back to her side and pushed the kitchen door open. Todd glanced up at her and straightened slightly away from the open pizza box in front of him.

“I hope you don’t mind us not waiting. I was starving,” he said sheepishly, cheese sliding off the piece of pizza he was holding.

“No problem,” Rogue murmured, moving to the pantry to pull out a stack of paper plates. “Here, use these. At least that way ya won’t have to hunch over the box like that.” Todd took the plates and transferred his slice of pizza to one and set it aside. Reaching back into the box, he put a fresh slice on another one of the plates and handed it to Rogue with a wink. She grinned at him and leaned back against the kitchen island as he continued putting pizza on plates and handing them around to the others.

“So what about the professor and Logan? I thought you went to get them for dinner?” Todd asked as he was handing Monique her plate of vegetarian pizza. Rogue frowned at the stilted way the girl’s arm moved as she reached to accept it.

“They’ll be here in a little bit. Logan needed to finish up talkin’ to the professor about somethin’.” Monique’s hand twitched when Rogue said Logan’s name. Rogue turned her attention more fully toward Monique as she took a bite of her pizza.

She’s pale. Wonder if she’s not feelin’ well? she mused as she chewed the mix of pepperoni and cheese toppings. She’s movin’ all mechanical-like, though, more like she’s uncomfortable than sick. With a shrug, Rogue finished all but the crust of her pizza and took a step forward to grab another slice out of the box on the table. As she reached toward it, Monique dropped her own slice of pizza back onto her plate and snapped her hand back to rest in her lap. Rogue paused and glanced up at the girl, confused to see Monique staring intently down at her plate, seemingly paying no attention to Rogue.

Refilling her plate and settling once again into her standing position by the island, Rogue split her attention between the inconsequential conversation between Todd, Rachel, and Jennifer and considering what might be wrong with Monique.

Maybe she’s still mad about earlier? she wondered. She was pretty worked up about the mutant conversation. Although after her talk with Logan, Rogue was even more motivated to use mutants as an example in their psych presentation, she decided not to press the issue any further today. She knew she wouldn’t be able to discuss it calmly with Monique at the moment anyway.

The kitchen door swung open suddenly, and Rogue turned her head to look at Logan as he stepped into the room. He studied her face for a few seconds, lingering on her eyes and mouth, and then dropped his gaze to her plate. His eyebrow quirked up when he took in the pizza crust, and with a slight smile, he stepped forward and snagged it off her plate. Eating half of it in one bite, Logan turned toward the table to get his own plate. Shoving the rest of Rogue’s pizza crust into his mouth to free up his hands, he almost missed it when the girl sitting at the far corner of the table tensed. Curious, he scented the air, but all he could smell was hot bread dough, cheese, and cooked meat. Figuring that she was just touchy around him because he had called her a bitch earlier, Logan mentally shrugged it off. He piled the remaining half of the pepperoni pizza onto his plate and moved to stand next to Rogue again. She glanced down at his plate.

“Pig,” she said softly, a gentle smile curving her lips. Seeing that she had finished her second slice, Logan grabbed her plate and dumped the second pizza crust on top of his mountain of food and slid the empty plate underneath his own. He returned her smile as she brushed crumbs from her hands.

“Haulin’ around this carcass of mine takes a lot of energy, darlin’.”

Rogue snorted. “Piotr doesn’t even eat as much as ya do,” she argued with a laugh.

“What’s the joke?” Todd asked curiously with his mouth full, dribbling grease down his chin. Rogue watched him swipe it off quickly with his napkin.

“Piotr’s a giant. Almost seven feet tall and all muscle. He makes Logan look like a runt.”

Logan growled deep in his chest at the word, reminded of how Sabretooth loved to taunt him.

“Funny thing is,” Rogue continued, glancing over at Logan with an amused smirk, “Logan weighs more than he does.”

“How the hell does that work?” Todd asked in an appropriately surprised voice. “I mean, Logan’s a big guy and all, but the other guy has almost a foot on him, right? That’s so weird – you ever been able to come up with a reason?”

As Rogue continued staring at him and grinning, Logan realized that she wasn’t going to answer Todd’s question.

“Heavier bones,” he muttered around a mouthful of pizza, glad that Rogue was still able to smile despite their earlier conversation. He hadn’t exactly been worried that she’d be weepy all day – she was tougher than that – but he had expected at least a few frowns and glowers.

She’s quieter than usual, though, he noted suddenly. Normally she’d be makin’ fun of me, makin’ all sorts of obnoxious comments about how hard it must be to swim with all my extra weight and the like. Stupid of me to think just ‘cause she’s smilin’, she isn’t still havin’ a hard time. I’ll have to get her to talk about it again later.

Rogue was standing companionably silent beside Logan as he continued eating. Over at the table, Jennifer and Rachel were merely picking at their second slices of pizza while the last quarter of Monique’s first piece lay cooling on her plate. Todd, Rogue was amused to see, was in the process of pulling apart a second pizza, this one with sausage and peppers. Sliding two onto his own plate, he looked toward Logan and made a silent “want some?” gesture by holding the box aloft in his direction. Logan grunted and grabbed a couple slices out of the box. Rogue merely shook her head before heading over to the fridge to get a couple beers. She opened them and handed one to Logan and ignored his raised eyebrow as she took a long pull from the second bottle. She had been pilfering beers from his stash long before she had turned twenty-one, and at this point, his show of mild irritation was just another habitual part of their seemingly odd relationship.

She smiled softly, earning another quirked brow from Logan, this time a curious expression, as she remembered the time Scott had caught her drinking. It was around 3am and she was only eighteen. Scott, even more stringent with the rules since Jean’s death, had actually been yelling at her, apparently unconcerned with waking the other students and teachers. Rogue hadn’t been able to get in even a single word. Otherwise, she would have explained that she was only sipping slowly at the beer for the taste, having awakened from one of Logan’s nightmares with his consciousness very much present in her mind. He, and Rogue herself, were too agitated to go back to sleep, and his longing to try to unwind with a beer had proven too much to resist. Rogue wasn’t sure what would have happened if Logan hadn’t come stomping into the library just as Scott grabbed the almost empty bottle from her hand and threw it against the stone fireplace where it shattered in a wet explosion of brown glass.

“Go on up to my room, darlin’,” Logan had said without even glancing at her. “I’ll be up in a little bit.” Looking at him, Rogue had been able to tell from the tightness around his mouth that he was good and pissed at Scott, but she had also seen the shadows sliding across his eyes and had known that he, too, had been awakened by a nightmare. She had obeyed him without a second thought, although she was slightly worried about what he would do to Scott. Climbing the stairs to the third floor, she had heard both men’s voices raised in an argument, but she hadn’t been able to make out anything they were saying. When she reached the third floor landing, she thought she heard the dull smacking sound of a fist against flesh, and decided to ask Logan what had happened whenever he got to the room.

Thirty minutes had passed before Logan appeared. He was carrying two open beers and wordlessly handed her one where she sat on his bed watching an old black and white horror movie on low volume. Against the backdrop of shrill screams echoing from the TV, Rogue began, “Logan, what—” but with a slight shake of his head, he cut her off. He set his beer down long enough to pull a long-sleeved flannel shirt on over his grey wife-beater, and beer once again in hand, settled onto the bed next to her. He fluffed a few of the pillows and then slung his right arm around her and pulled her against his side. Rogue, unable to control her skin then, had hesitantly rested her head against his shoulder. She had sat unmoving for several minutes, rolling her eyes up toward Logan’s face occasionally, but he had been sitting stonily silent, watching the TV and sipping his beer. As she relaxed a bit, Rogue copied his behavior, and sometime before her beer was even half gone, she had fallen asleep.

She was alone the next morning, but she knew that it was Logan who had carefully tucked her under the covers and slid off her gloves. She saw them resting on the bedside table next to two empty beer bottles. Smiling as she pulled on her gloves, Rogue realized that Logan must have finished her beer, and she had been amused that despite the fact that he hadn’t seemed to have been paying any attention to her as they had watched the movie, he had still been aware enough of her to know when she had fallen asleep and had kept her from spilling beer all over them.

Coming back to herself with a slight shake of her head, Rogue bumped her hip companionably against Logan’s as he finished the last of his pizza. He looked down at her, yet again raising his brow in question, and she held her hands out wordlessly for the empty plates. He handed them to her and watched as she moved to the table to take her classmates’ empty plates and soda cans and stacked them, along with the used napkins, into the empty pizza box. She carried the whole mess over to the trash and recycling bins, and as she dropped the cans into the bin on top of several empty beer bottles, her mind wandered back just slightly and she realized that Scott had never again expressed any disapproval of her actions after that night.

“We have to go now.” The sudden exclamation startled Rogue and she jumped a bit, the last soda can dropping from her hand to fall with a clang against the other cans and bottles in the recycling bin. Looking over at the table, Rogue saw that Monique was already standing with her purse slung over her shoulder and her books and folders held tightly to her chest. The others were looking at her with slight surprise on their faces.

“Yeah, okay,” Todd said with a frown. He turned to Rogue. “It is almost five, and you said we’d have to leave around now anyway, right? Well, thanks for having us, and make sure you tell Professor Xavier thanks for dinner, all right?” Rogue nodded.

“Ah’ll walk ya out.”

“No need,” Monique said quickly. “We know where we’re going.” Jennifer and Rachel exchanged confused glances as Monique swept from the room, but they hurried after her without question. Todd gave a silent wave to Rogue and nodded to Logan before following after them.

Rogue glanced at Logan, and seeing that he was scenting the air, she asked, “Anything?”

“I can’t tell,” he groused. “All I can really pick up is the damned pizza.”

Rogue chuckled a bit as she said, “Well, Ah’m not too worried about it. Ah think she’s pro’ly just miffed at me for somethin’ we were talkin’ about earlier.”

“Maybe,” Logan conceded. But he was frowning nonetheless.

* * *

Several hours later, Logan was back in the kitchen looking for more beer when Scott found him.

“The professor told me what’s going on,” he opened.

Logan took a long drink from his beer before answering. “Yeah.”

Scott huffed, actually huffed Logan was amused to note, before asking, “Well?”

Deciding to string him along, Logan merely arched a brow and said, “Well what?”

“Dammit, Logan! This is one thing you shouldn’t be fucking around about!” Scott slammed the side of his fist against the wall and glared at Logan.

Straightening to attention, Logan returned the glare. “I’m not fuckin' around. Rogue said no, so we’re not doin' it.”

Scott thumped his fist against the wall again, lighter this time. He opened his mouth as if to reply, but closed it again. He was now absentmindedly tapping out a slow rhythm against the wall. He opened his mouth again, and this time hesitant words made their way out.

“You know I’ve never interfered with anything between the two of you s-since shortly after Jean…” Scott trailed off and cleared his throat. “You made it clear to me that you wouldn’t tolerate my influence in Rogue’s life, but I think you might be doing her a disservice if you give her what she wants this time.”

“Look, bub,” Logan snarled, “it’s my responsibility to see that she gets whatever she wants or needs to be happy. I told you that years ago, and you agreed to butt the hell out from then on.”

Scott nodded. “I know I did. I don’t think either of us was thinking very clearly at that point in time though.” It was as close as Scott had ever come to acknowledging the feelings Logan had had for Jean. He cleared his throat again. “But if you give Rogue what she wants in this situation, it won’t bring her happiness in the long run. You’ll just be letting her hide a bit longer. And what happens if the MRA is passed? You don’t think she’ll regret not stepping forward now? You don’t think she’ll feel guilty for the rest of her life wondering if maybe she could have made a difference?”

Logan grimaced and flipped Scott the bird, but he nodded. “I’ll talk to her. But if she still says no, I’m not gonna push it. And if you say or do anything to pressure her, I’ll rip your guts out through your ass, got it?”

“Got it,” Scott said almost cheerfully.

* * *

Sunday found Rogue and Logan sitting in the medical lab waiting for Hank. He was supposed to remove her stitches today, but apparently he was running late. The lab was silent, although the tension between its two occupants was reaching an almost audible hum.

“Oh, quit poutin’, Logan!” Rogue snapped when she couldn’t take the silence any longer.

“I’m not poutin’,” he said sullenly. Rogue merely raised an eyebrow in response. “Shit. Fine. I am poutin’. But you didn’t have to yell at me like that, darlin’.”

“Ye’re right,” Rogue readily agreed. “And Ah am sorry Ah yelled at ya.” Logan accepted the apology with a nod. “It’s just…Ah’m scared, Logan. What ya said this mornin’ about regrettin’ not doin’ anythin’ to stop the MRA, ye’re right. Ah am worried Ah’ll regret it, but Ah’m more scared about what happens if we do do it.”

“You know I’ll always take care of you, darlin’.”

“But ya shouldn’t have to, Logan! Ye’re always takin’ care o’ me, and the only reason ya ever have to is because Ah’m a mutant. Ah’m scared what’ll happen to ya if we do the interview and things get worse because of it!”

“I know, darlin’, you said that yesterday. But you need to know that no matter how bad things might get, whatever the reason, I want to be the one takin’ care of you.”

“Why?” Rogue whispered despondently. “Ah’ve never once done anythin’ fer ya, Logan.”

“Yes you have,” he returned firmly.

Rogue snorted in disbelief. “Like what?”

“You trust me.”

“How does that count as doin’ somethin’ fer ya?”

“Nobody else has ever trusted me. And I can’t blame 'em for it,” Logan said honestly.

“That’s bullshit!” Rogue hissed furiously. “Ya damn well can blame ‘em fer it! Everybody’s always lookin’ at ya like an animal with no loyalties or conscience, so as far as Ah’m concerned, they aren’t worthy o’ yer trust either. And what the hell are ya grinnin’ about?” Her last sentence was an irritated shriek.

“You.” No matter how hard he tried to stop grinning at her, Logan couldn’t help it. Her glittering eyes and flushed cheeks and the look of indignation on her face were all for him. For as long as he could remember, nobody had ever cared enough about him to get that emotional on his behalf. “You say that you haven’t given me anythin’, darlin’, but here you are yellin’ and almost stompin’ your little feet all because you trust me and care about me.” The grin finally faded from his face. “Nobody else has ever cared like that.” Logan shrugged uncomfortably. “You said that people look at me like I’m an animal; truth is, darlin’, I don’t care what they think anymore. You’re the only one who makes me want to act like a human being instead of like an animal.”

“Ye’re sayin’ Ah gave ya yer humanity?” Rogue asked cheekily.

“Got it in one, darlin’,” Logan snorted. “You tamed the wild beast.” Her giggle brought back his smile. “There’s somethin’ else you gave me, you know.”

Rogue titled her head quizzically. “What’s that?”

“Your name. You’ve never given your name to anybody else, Marie.” Logan swallowed twice rapidly. “That’s always meant more to me than I can say.”

Rogue began blinking quickly, hoping that she could keep the tears from spilling over. The last thing she wanted to do was reward Logan’s honesty and vulnerability with tears. The man could never handle tears, she knew. To distract herself from her emotions, Rogue went back to subject that had caused their earlier fight.

“Do ya think we should do the interview, Logan? Ya never did give me a straight answer yesterday or this mornin’.”

Logan shifted his weight on the flimsy rolling chair and crossed his arms over his chest. “If it was just me, darlin’, no. No, I wouldn’t do it. It’s a lose-lose situation. Do the interview, everybody finds out I’m a mutant. Don’t do the interview, they’ll probably pass the Mutant Registration Act and everybody finds out anyway. Just might take a couple years longer.”

“And since it isn’t just you? How does that change anything?”

“We do the interview together, there’s no guesswork. We know when and how we’re exposed and we can plan accordingly to make sure things go as close to how we want it as possible. Minimize the risk to our safety and also minimize the chance of separation.”

“A preemptive strike,” Rogue mused, borrowing from Logan’s tactical knowledge that had never faded entirely from her mind.

He nodded. “Exactly.”

“Let me think about it a little longer, sugar?”

“Course.”

At that moment, Hank strode into the room with his odd lumbering gait. He looked a bit frazzled, his blue fur actually standing on end in some places.

“Sorry, sorry,” he said. “I had a problem with my blow dryer,” he admitted sheepishly.

Rogue and Logan stared at him stupidly.

“Yes, anyway,” Beast rumbled, “let’s take a look at those stitches. Lift your shirt please, Rogue.”

Hank was amused to note as he snapped on a pair of latex gloves that Logan quickly averted his eyes when Rogue lifted up the bottom half of her blouse. Concern for a lady’s modesty was certainly not a quality he would have thought to attribute to the Wolverine. Hank leaned in to take a closer look at the stitches high up on Rogue’s ribcage and ran his gloved fingers over the puckered pink flesh of the scar beneath them. He stiffened when he head a growl inaudible to anyone without enhanced senses off to his left. Glancing over, he saw Logan observing his actions with his lips pulled back slightly over his teeth, his entire body tensed in readiness. Interesting, Hank thought, making sure to lower his gaze in a submissive gesture as he turned back to Rogue’s stitches. Wonder what set him off?

“They can come out, right, doc? Ah can’t see ‘em too well,” Rogue said in irritation, and leaning back, Hank saw that as Rogue was holding the bottom of her shirt up, she was mashing her right breast flat in an attempt to see the mostly healed injury. As a result, she was pushing the swell of pale flesh almost completely out of the V-neck of her long sleeved shirt. The volume of Logan’s growling increased a fraction, and when Hank looked at him this time, he was astounded to see a faint blush on Logan’s cheekbones. He couldn’t entirely stop his smirk, but he cut it off quickly as Logan’s scowl deepened.

“Yes, Rogue. They’re ready to come out.” Hank prided himself on the professionalism that allowed him to keep all traces of mirth out of his voice. As he carefully snipped the row of sutures in Rogue’s pale skin, he scented the air surreptitiously. What he learned had him grinning inwardly. Judging from the aggression rolling off of Wolverine, I think it’s safe to surmise that he has chosen Rogue as his mate. I don’t know why he would be so defensive otherwise. Casting another glance at Logan, Hank saw that the man had once again averted his gaze from Rogue’s exposed flesh. He snorted mentally. I don’t think he knows it yet, though. If he did, there wouldn’t be anything in the world that could keep him from looking at what’s his.

* * *

On one of the rare occasions since Rogue had started college, Logan wasn’t dropping her off at campus. Some errand for the professor, he had said, and suggested that she take one of the cars on her own instead of waiting for him in case he wasn’t finished in time. He had promised, however, that he would be done in time for lunch, and since Rogue only had morning classes on Monday, the plan was for her to go back to the mansion and wait for him there. She was distracted as she pulled into one of the parking lots near the academic buildings, going over the lunch choices. Maybe she could talk Logan into going to that new diner in town and then they could catch a movie. She knew he hated going to the theater due to all the smells – spilled soda, burned popcorn, even the scent of warm film wafting down from the projection room – but he would usually indulge her for one of the shorter movies. Unfortunately for Logan, that meant that he had ended up sitting through numerous romantic comedies as they were usually shorter than the run of the mill action flicks.

Rogue was smirking to herself as she opened her door and leaned across to the passenger seat for her bag, thinking about how uncomfortable Logan had seemed during the last movie they had watched together. She couldn’t for the life of her remember the name of the movie, or even the plotline; all she remembered was how Logan had continuously shifted his weight in the uncomfortable folding seat as the actors delivered cheesy dialogue and humorously frantic kissing scenes. He had been on his feet ready to go before the last scene had even faded to black. Rogue shook her head as she climbed out of the car and clipped her keys to one of the straps on her backpack; she should probably give Logan a break today. Just the diner would be fine.

It was because of Rogue’s absentminded musing that she missed the crowd of people moving swiftly toward her.

As she pushed the car door shut and started to turn around, she felt hands grip her shoulders and spin her around, slamming her back against the car. Her bag fell to the ground and the small vehicle rocked sideways on its tires, the metal frame groaning a protest. The dark-haired young man who was now leaning his left forearm across her collarbone was a stranger.

“What—” her question was cut off when he launched a meaty fist toward her face. His arm against her chest prevented her from dodging completely, but she managed to twist away just enough that what was intended to be a direct hit to her left cheek ended up being a glancing blow along her cheekbone. The student’s fist slid past her ear and crashed against the window behind her. She barely heard the shattering of the glass as she followed his momentum, pivoting around on her left foot until she was behind him. She gripped his short hair tightly and smashed his face against the door frame, releasing him only when she felt his body go slack. She turned quickly to face the rest of the crowd, not bothering to watch as the first attacker slid to the ground in a bloodied heap.

“What the hell is goin’ on?” she yelled at them. Nobody answered, but nobody stepped any closer either. She gauged the distance between her and the nearest potential threat, another male student with muscles bulging beneath his thin t-shirt, to be about four feet. Plenty of space for her to anticipate and avoid – or neutralize – his attack.

Of all the days fer Logan not to be with me, she thought, and quickly scanned the gathered crowd. Her eyes focused in on one thing: Monique holding up a sign with a messily scrawled “Mutants Go Away.” Rogue shook her head slightly, not sure if she was seeing it right. How did she find out?

She had no more time to wonder about it as the muscle-bound threat she had noticed earlier snarled, “Mutie freak!” and leapt toward her. She attempted to deal with him as she had the first attacker, and gripping the fist he threw at her, she took a step to the side and back, which would let his body go sailing past her. Perhaps she should have paid attention to how the first one had fallen though, since now she stumbled on his sprawled legs. She tumbled to the ground, still holding onto the man’s fist, but instead of him passing by harmlessly, his broad shoulder plowed into her mouth and chin. The burst of pain caused her vision to grey for a moment and she was briefly aware of the taste of blood.

Rogue didn’t even think about what she did next, launching into a last-resort move Logan had taught her. She thrust her elbow up in a sharp, controlled movement so that it slammed against the underside of the man’s jaw. There was an audible wet crack and his head snapped back. He slumped to his side and didn’t move. Rogue was back on her feet again in less than half a second.

She was pleased to see that the crowd had taken a collective step back. They had also fallen silent as she had dealt with the second attacker.

“Anybody else?” she growled, seeing flecks of blood fly from her bloodied mouth.

“What are you? What the hell are you?” Monique screamed fearfully, the sign now hanging limply at her side.

“Ah’m a mutant, Monique. Thought you had that figured out already?”

“B-but they never mentioned a mutant like that…they never said that fighting skills was a mutation,” Monique returned in confusion. The crowd was now shifting its attention between Monique and Rogue, unsure whether they should try another attack or not.

“It’s not. None o’ that,” Rogue gestured vaguely behind her toward the men on the ground, “is my mutation. That’s martial arts training.” Incomprehensible murmuring erupted from the crowd.

“Then what – what do you do?”

“Somethin’ much worse than that. But ye’re not gonna see what it is. Instead, ye’re gonna get yer wish, Monique. Ah’m gonna go, and Ah won’t be back.”

Rogue began backing toward her car, now mindful of the unconscious bodies in the way. She carefully stepped over the limp arms and legs and eased open the car door. Quickly kicking her backpack up into the air, Rogue grabbed it and folded into the driver’s seat all in one motion. She pulled the door shut and hit the lock with her elbow as she hurriedly unclipped the keys and thrust them into the ignition. As the car roared to life, she slammed the gearshift into reverse and squealed out of the parking space. She braked quickly and shifted into drive even before the car came to a stop. Her hands began shaking on the wheel and tears rushed to her eyes as she drove away, glancing once in the rearview mirror to make sure no one was going to follow her. In the mirror, she saw Todd standing on the sidewalk in front of the Science building, books and papers scattered at his feet as if they had been dropped there in surprise, and she could read one word on his lips as he repeated it over and over: “No.”

Rogue wrenched her eyes away and focused them back on the road in front of her. It wasn’t until she was almost halfway back to the mansion that she became aware of the air flowing past her left ear, blowing her hair into her face where a few of the white strands stuck to her lips and quickly turned pink. She started laughing hysterically as she realized that during her escape, she had wasted time locking a door that no longer had a window.

Scott wasn’t sure what made him look toward the front door. He was on his way to his next classroom – early of course – walking across the foyer with a thick stack of papers in his hands, when he suddenly stopped and turned his head. It couldn’t have been that he caught something in his peripheral vision – he didn’t have any to speak of because of his visor. Even looking directly toward the door, though, it took him a few seconds to understand what he was seeing.

Rogue stood there silently, one hand twisted behind her gripping the doorknob and supporting her weight. Her breathing was slow and shallow, almost as if she were sleeping, and her eyes were sweeping the foyer restlessly without stopping or focusing on anything.

There was blood all over the lower half of her face and the front of her shirt.

Despite wanting to throw his papers to the ground and run over to Rogue, Scott forced himself to move slowly and calmly. She looked like she was in shock and he knew that it wouldn’t be safe to startle her, not with the training Logan had given her. Training he had forced on her, really, if truth be told.

As he moved closer, her eyes fixed on him steadily although she showed no other reaction. Scott stooped down slowly and put his stack of papers on the floor as close to the wall as he could manage. When he straightened up, he slowly lifted his hands to grasp Rogue’s upper arms.

“Rogue.” There was no response. He jostled her arms a bit as he called her name again. “Rogue.”

“S-Scott?”

“Rogue, what happened?” He could hear the brittle tone of concern beneath each of his carefully enunciated words as he tried to hold the rising panic back.

“Ah…Ah went to school.” Her voice was so soft he almost couldn’t hear her.

“Yes, I know that much. What happened after that?”

“They were waitin’ fer me when Ah got there. ‘Cept Ah didn’t notice ‘em at first.” Rogue’s voice was getting stronger now.

“Who? Who was waiting for you, Rogue? Was it the Brotherhood?”

“No.” She shook her head. “No, not the Brotherhood. It was the students.”

“What?” Scott breathed. He straightened up abruptly and tightened his grip on her upper arms. Rogue winced, and he forced himself to relax his hold and take a deep breath. “Rogue. Did you use your mutation on anyone?” His voice was sharper than he had intended.

She shook her head. “No, Ah got away usin’ some moves Logan taught me.” Her eyes widened and she grabbed at his arms, mirroring his position. “Scott, Logan’ll kill ‘em. Ah gotta get this blood washed off!” She let go of his arms and scrubbed her hands over her face, trying to wipe the drying blood away. As she looked down to check what state her clothes were in, her hair fell forward over her face. “Oh Lord…it’s in mah hair. Scott, it’s in mah hair. Even if Ah wash it out, he’s gonna be able to smell it.” Her hands dropped limply to her sides and her head drooped forward, her bloody hair once again tumbling across her face.

Unbeknownst to him, Scott’s right eyebrow quirked up much like Logan’s would. His sense of smell is that good?

“Scott, what time is it?” Rogue’s voice was suddenly tired.

“Almost noon. Why?”

Rogue sighed before answering. “Then Logan’s gonna be back soon. Ah don’t know how long Ah was standin’ here ‘fore ya came by.”

“What? You mean you didn’t just get back?”

Rogue shook her head slowly. “No. Ah remember not bein’ able to find the garage door opener in the car, so Ah just parked the car outside and came in the front door. But then Ah realized that all the students have classes, and Ah didn’t want to walk around all bloody and scare ‘em.”

“What about the professor? You could have called out to him.”

“Ah tried.” Rogue gave him a sheepish grin. “But mah thoughts were racin’ around so much that Ah couldn’t concentrate enough.”

Scott nodded. “Well, I called him. He wants us to meet him in his office, and Hank’s going to bring some things up from the med lab to take a look at you.” He kept his grip on one of Rogue’s arms and started walking her across the foyer.

“Scott?”

“Hmm?”

“Can ya make sure Hank brings me a wet washcloth or somethin’ too, so Ah can clean up a bit?” Her tone was rueful. “Logan’s gonna know somethin’ happened, but at least Ah don’t have to look like Bloody Mary when he gets here.”

Scott nodded. “Sure, Rogue.”

* * *

Hank had actually cleaned her face for her. “I have to be able to see where the blood is coming from, and I don’t want you to reopen any wounds by scrubbing at your skin, my dear,” he had explained in his low rumble. She didn’t bother telling him that she had already started her cuts and scrapes bleeding again when she had rubbed at her face in the foyer.

Scott had left only long enough to retrieve his papers and instruct his students to use their class time as a study hall, and to inform Ororo of what was going on. At Xavier’s suggestion, she was holding class as usual. The students were used to one of their teachers occasionally having to take care of something during classes, but they had long ago learned that when more than one of them disappeared, something bad had happened. Or was going to happen. And one thing could always be counted on at Xavier’s School For Gifted Youngsters: the children talked.

* * *

Logan was amused to see the small car Rogue had been driving that morning parked out front. She had often joked about leaving a car out for a quick getaway when the constant hustle and bustle of bodies at Xavier’s became too much for her. Figuring that she was as eager for their lunchtime outing as he was, he thought nothing of it as he started to pull the red Chevy pickup up to the garage, various carpentry supplies and 2x4s rattling around in the truck’s bed. And then he saw the shattered driver’s side window.

“What the fuck?” he roared, and slammed on the brakes. He threw the truck into park and cut the engine almost simultaneously and swung his door open so hard that the hinges creaked. He was up the front steps and through the door less than three seconds later. “Where is she?” Logan demanded of the small knot of students whispering in the foyer. They stared at him. He popped his claws and pointed a tightly knotted fist at the kids.

“Rogue?” they squeaked as a group.

“Where is she?” he growled again, aware that the students always knew what was going on at Xavier’s, despite the fact that everybody pretended otherwise. He had always viewed the students’ gossiping nature with secret amusement until the morning Rogue was seen leaving his room before classes. That had been the morning after the “drinking incident” with Scott, and while it had been completely innocent, Xavier had still read him the riot act since Rogue had been a student at the time. Ever since then, he had referred to the students as a junior spy network.

He was hoping that the network was still up and running as he glared at the kids. They remained silent, clutching at their books, until he growled again. One of the kids, braver than the rest, raised a trembling arm to point toward Xavier’s office door. No longer having any interest in them, Logan ran down the length of the hall and burst into the professor’s office. Everybody turned to look at him, and their general lack of surprise at his appearance calmed him somewhat. Until he saw Rogue.

Logan quickly took the four steps required to reach her, pushing Hank’s hands away from her face and shouldering the man out of his way as he dropped to his knees in front of her. He didn’t notice the crowd of students peering through the still open door, nor did he notice when Scott shooed them away and pulled the door closed again. Nobody spoke as Logan retracted his claws and raised his hands up to cup Rogue’s face. He turned her face slightly toward the warm sunlight streaming in through the tall windows behind Xavier’s desk and took in her scratched and already bruising cheekbone, her split lip, and the pink tinge to her white streaked bangs. Inhaling deeply, he smelled blood. Hers and two others, but some of it was fresh. He dropped his hands to her shoulders and pulled apart the blanket draped around her.

Logan hissed as he saw her blood soaked shirt. Most of it, he could tell, wasn’t hers, but the scent of fresh blood had grown stronger. He reached for the hem of her shirt and started to lift it upwards.

“Logan! What are ya doin’?” Rogue batted ineffectually at his hands. From the corner of his eye, he saw Scott frowning as he took a step toward them.

“Scott.” Xavier stopped the man with a shake of his head.

Logan ignored Rogue’s struggling and continued what he was doing, stopping only when he could see the scar on her ribs. Rogue gasped as his hands shifted, his knuckles brushing the undersides of her breasts as he pressed his left thumb against the trickle of blood seeping from one end of the mostly healed wound. Logan stiffened, worried that he had caused her more pain. When he lifted his eyes to her face, though, he saw that her eyes had darkened and she was breathing in soft little pants through slightly parted lips. The hands that had only short moments before been fighting against him now gripped his wrists and held him in place.

His nostrils flared as he caught the faintest scent of arousal. What the hell? he thought in surprise. She picks now off all times to show an interest in me? Logan released a low rumbling growl from his chest as he swept his thumb soothingly across Rogue’s ribs. The growl cut off abruptly as her breath hitched and her eyes darkened further. It means she’s all right, though he realized with desperate relief, and as much as I’d like to take her up on what her eyes are offerin’… his thought trailed off.

What’s wrong with takin’ her up on it? Wolverine was beginning to stir in the depths of his consciousness.

It’s just an instinctive response, Logan returned. Lord knows I get horny as hell after bein’ in a fight. He shoved the Wolverine back forcibly and ended that line of thought. He released his hold on Rogue’s shirt hem so he could pull his hands away, forcing her to let go of his wrists.

When he turned to Hank, he caught the man scenting the air, his eyes fixed on Rogue and a predatory look on his face. Logan loosed a full-throated growl, startling the men in the room into looking at him. The professor and Scott appeared confused at his sudden aggression toward Hank, but Logan knew that the doctor understood as human awareness began to return to his eyes.

“Hey, Furball,” he snarled, “I can trust you to take care of her ribs, can’t I?” Logan felt smug satisfaction as the flaring of anger in the otherwise gentle man’s eyes told him that Hank had heard the dual challenge and warning in his words. Without taking his eyes off Logan’s, Hank lowered his furry blue head in a slow nod.

Giving his own nod in reply, Logan shifted to Rogue’s left side, placing one of his hands on the side of her neck to keep her head turned toward him. He used his free hand to sweep the bottom of her shirt back up, his forearm blocking any accidental – Or deliberate the Wolverine snarled in his mind – contact that Hank might have with her breasts as he tended to the freshly opened wound.

“It should be fine with a butterfly bandage,” Hank murmured to no one in particular as he swabbed Rogue’s ribs with antiseptic. “No need for re-suturing.”

“Tell me what happened, darlin’,” Logan said quietly, seeming to ignore everybody else in the room, but surreptitiously keeping a close eye on Hank.

Rogue lifted her arms up and clasped them overtop the arm he had across her ribs, the fingers of her left hand threading through his where they rested high up on her right side.

“It was Monique. She found out about me somehow.”

“Fuck it all!” Logan snarled. “I’m gonna gut that little bitch!” He felt a surge of approval from Wolverine.

“Logan!” Xavier admonished. Whether it was in response to Logan’s swearing or the threat against the human girl wasn’t clear.

Logan turned on the man. Every muscle in his body was tensed, but his hold on Rogue remained gentle. “I don’t even want to hear anythin’ from you!” he roared. “This is your fault,” he accused Xavier. “She must have found out when she was here on Saturday. You’re a fuckin’ telepath, so why the hell didn’t you know about it?”

Logan felt no remorse when his words brought a stunned and sickened look to the professor’s face. The man exchanged a look with Scott but remained silent.

“Well?” Logan demanded.

“Logan, you can’t begin to know how much I regret what happened to Rogue today,” Xavier began.

Logan snorted. “Spare me the sentimental bullshit, Wheels, and give me a straight answer before I decide to gut you instead!”

Three things happened at once. Hank jerked away in surprise, Scott straightened away from the wall and balled his hands into fists, and a hard smack landed against the side of Logan’s head.

He whipped around in anger and shock. “What the hell’d you hit me for?” he asked Rogue disbelievingly. He was momentarily distracted by the way her rapid breathing caused her breasts to rub against his arm.

“Don’t ya dare go threatenin’ our family, Logan!” she snarled, her accent thicker in her anger than he had ever heard it before. “It’s mah own stupid fault for not payin’ attention when Ah pulled into the parkin’ lot.”

“Who said these idiots are my family?” he snarled back.

“Ah can’t believe you!” Rogue shrieked, flinging his arm away from her and jerking back from the hand still gripping the side of her neck. The room’s other occupants watched in silent amazement. “Ah know ya consider the professor and everybody else here yer family, Logan, and just ‘cause ye’re scared o’ what might’ve happened doesn’t mean ya can start insultin’ ‘em.”

Logan stood abruptly and snapped his fists down to his sides, his claws springing free. “Who the hell said I’m scared?” Some part of him recognized the defensiveness of the question, and that was all the reason the Wolverine needed to swarm up to the front of his consciousness.

You know you’re scared, he growled. The thought of losin’ her has you shakin’ like a whipped little boy. And do you know why you’re takin’ it out on Chuck? It’s because you don’t want to admit that if she had died today, we would never have the chance to make her ours the way we want to.

The insidious whispering faded away as Logan became aware of the sharp little finger poking him in the chest. His anger increased when he realized that Rogue was so unthreatened by his unsheathed claws that she was actually backing him across the room. He hadn’t been paying attention to the litany of insults she was spewing at him while he was absorbed in his inner monologue – Can it really be considered a monologue? he mused absently – but he tuned in now just in time to catch “…and Ah don’t care how scared ya were; it doesn’t excuse yer rudeness to the professor!” The back of his legs collided with Xavier’s desk and he sat down on it heavily, an involuntary oof escaping, and damn it all, now Scooter was snickering at him. His annoyed growl was cut short by a hard jab to his breastbone that actually had him wincing, and he focused once more on Rogue’s furious and beautiful, albeit bruised, face. “And did ya even consider, ya selfish jackass, while ya were indulgin’ in yer self-righteous accusations, that Ah’m scared too and maybe Ah just need ya to hold me?” Her eyes were bright with restrained tears. “Bastard!” she exclaimed vehemently, and poked his chest again for emphasis.

As Rogue’s lower lip trembled almost imperceptibly, Logan’s anger evaporated. He retracted his claws and covered her assaulting hand with his own. She immediately tried to tug it back, a mutinous look on her face. Logan refused to let go, though, and wrapped his other hand around her hip to try to draw her closer. Rogue pushed stubbornly against his shoulder with her free hand as she continued to struggle silently against Logan’s hold.

“I’m sorry, darlin’,” he murmured. She stilled. He tugged at her hip and this time she came willingly, stopping with her thighs against the front edge of the desk. Logan’s long legs bracketed her hips and he slid his hand up her back to rub slow circles between her shoulder blades. “You’re right,” he continued, holding her watery gaze with his. “I was out of line, and I’m sorry.”

Rogue tugged again at her trapped hand and this time he let it go. She wrapped both arms around his shoulders and leaned forward to snuggle her face into the warm crook of his neck. Logan cupped the back of her head and continued to rub her back soothingly with his other hand.

“‘S’all right,” she mumbled against his neck. “It’s not me ya owe the apology to, though.”

Logan sighed heavily. Without releasing Rogue or making any attempt to turn toward the man, Logan said, “I’m sorry, Chuck. I know none of this is your fault and I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.”

“Apology accepted, Logan,” the professor said warmly. “I understand completely.”

Rogue straightened away from Logan and beamed at him. For some reason, it made him feel like he was a child receiving his mother’s forgiveness after a scolding. Feeling thoroughly unmanned, he scowled at her.

Rogue arched a brow at him, the smile still on her face. “Now what’s got ya grumpy, sugar?”

Logan’s scowl deepened. He didn’t want to share his most recent thought; it would undoubtedly send Scott into gales of laughter. So he dropped his gaze and plucked at the front of her long-sleeved pale pink shirt, offering the first excuse that came to mind. “They ruined your favorite shirt, darlin’.”

Well shit. Scooter’s laughin’ anyway, he groused.

A sudden sniffle brought his attention back to Rogue’s face. She was gazing down at her bloodstained shirtfront sadly, her eyes filling again as she ran her fingers over the fluffy grey kitten with its nose upraised to smell a once bright yellow daffodil. The tears finally spilled over and ran down her cheeks.

“Aw, shit, darlin’,” Logan groaned, feeling like a cad.

Good goin’, you stupid ass, Wolverine growled. Now you’ve made our girl cry.

Shaddup, Logan snarled back and offered up the ultimate sacrifice to try and make it right. “We’ll get you cleaned up and then I’ll take you to the mall and buy you a new one, all right, darlin’?” He hoped the department store where he had bought the shirt almost a year ago for her birthday still had them in stock.

Rogue lifted her head and cast him a wan little smile. “Thanks for the offer, sugar, but Ah like this one.” Xavier’s “ahem” saved Logan from having to respond. It also, thankfully, made Scott stop snickering.

“I owe you an apology, Rogue,” the professor said. “And an explanation as well.” He nodded at Logan.

“Professor, no—” Rogue began.

“But I do,” he insisted firmly, cutting Rogue off. “I am afraid that the reason I missed this danger to Rogue is absolutely inexcusable.” Logan’s sudden attention made Xavier slightly uncomfortable, but he continued anyway. “I was deliberately shielding myself Saturday afternoon because of a headache.” He waited for Logan’s tirade, knowing that it would be completely justified.

To his surprise, Logan just grunted softly before turning back to face Rogue.

“Come on, darlin’,” he said. “You need a shower.” He looked at Hank and raised a questioning eyebrow. “Unless she needs more fixin’ up, doc?”

Hank shook his head. “No, not right now.” He shifted his attention to Rogue to address her directly. “Let me know if the cut inside your lip keeps bleeding; it might need stitches if it does. I would estimate approximately another hour before it stops, and you should avoid salty and acidic foods for at least three days. They won’t delay the wound from healing, but they would naturally cause a great deal of pain.” He shrugged his massive shoulders before continuing with the medical rundown. “Your bruises will continue to darken over the next several days, and will probably take two to three weeks to fade completely.” Hank paused again when Logan growled softly. “The butterfly bandage on your side should remain dry and clean for the next two to three days, and you should keep the scrape on your cheekbone covered – and no makeup until it’s healed. I’ll give you an antibiotic ointment for that and your split lip.”

Logan and Rogue both nodded. “Right. We’re done in here for now then,” he said. When Scott look like he wanted to protest, Logan shot him a quelling glance. The younger man frowned and looked past him to Xavier for direction. When the professor shook his head, Scott’s frown deepened and he crossed his arms over his chest, but he did step away from the doorway.

Slinging his arm carefully around her shoulders, Logan steered Rogue toward the door. He glanced down at her and saw that she was biting her injured lip, a worried look in her eyes. Reaching up, Logan gently tugged her lip away from her teeth with one callused finger.

“What’s the matter, darlin’?” he asked, soft enough that only she, and perhaps Beast, could hear.

“We need to talk about somethin’, Logan,” Rogue whispered. She slipped out from under his arm and opened the office door. Reaching back without looking, she snagged one of Logan’s hands in hers and tugged him through the door.

Despite having said that they needed to talk, Rogue was uncharacteristically silent as they walked up to the teachers’ wing. Logan kept sneaking glances at her, but figured it wasn’t a good idea to pester her when she was frowning like she was. He knew, he mused ruefully, that the young woman had one hell of a temper. So Logan tactfully took his cue from Rogue and kept his mouth shut.

When they reached the door to her room, Rogue didn’t release his hand, and he took that to mean that he was supposed to follow her in. She still didn’t say anything, didn’t even look at him actually, as she gestured for him to close the door behind them.

“Ah’m gonna take a shower,” Rogue said abruptly. “Ya go on into yer room and Ah’ll call ya when Ah’m done, sugar.”

Not the happiest voice I’ve heard her use, Logan thought, but she called me ‘sugar.’ So far so good. Out loud he said, “All right, darlin’. Let me know if you need anythin’.” Rogue nodded absently as he moved toward the door that joined their rooms. They had expected an argument from Xavier and especially Scott when they requested the adjoining rooms almost three years before, but surprisingly, the professor had only nodded while Scott clenched his jaw.

“Leave the door open,” she called softly after him as he stepped into his room.

Logan sat down on the edge of his bed and turned on the TV, more because he had nothing else to do than out of any desire to watch something. His sensitive ears picked up the rustling sound of Rogue removing her clothes, the turning of the shower taps, and finally the water as it came rushing through the pipes. He listened for the sliding of the shower curtain hooks on the shiny pewter rod as Rogue stepped into the spray, and he heard her gasp as the water hit her skin. She never tested the temperature before getting in. It was just one of her little idiosyncrasies that he had learned over the years living separated by a thin wall and a door that was open more often than not. It was, admittedly, a habit he wasn’t so fond of, but that was due to the number of times he had been wakened from a sound sleep first thing in the morning by Rogue shrieking when the water was too cold.

He wished he had been able to grab a beer from the kitchen on the way up. No reason I can’t go get one now, he figured, but what if Marie needs somethin’ and I’m not here? Restless now, Logan stood up and paced for a bit until he could feel the heat of the billowing steam escaping from Rogue’s bathroom. He scented the air and picked up the sweet strawberries and cream of her favorite shampoo. He stopped mid-step as an idea came to him.

“Girl shampoos her hair forever,” he muttered to himself. “Reckon I can sneak in real quick without her noticing.”

Steal a peek at her while you’re at it, Wolverine suggested lasciviously.

Logan groaned as his mind was flooded with an image of Marie’s naked body, steam swirling around her in a warm caress. Both hands were in her hair, her head tipped back and her back arched as water sluiced down her body, sliding over curves that he had never actually seen.

“Dammit!” he growled, the sudden heaviness in his groin slowing his steps. “Get it under control, you old lecher.” He searched for something that would distract him from the erotic image of Marie. Scooter in a thong, Scooter in a thong… he thought, keeping up the mantra so that his desire died down by the time he reached Rogue’s bathroom. He ducked inside quickly, careful not to look anywhere near the shower, and spotted the pile of discarded clothing. Logan could see the edge of a pale pink cuff sticking out from under a pair of faded jeans. He snagged it with one hand and pulled it toward him, starting up his mantra again as two scraps of peach colored lace tumbled into view. Clutching the bloody shirt tightly, Logan bolted from the bathroom before his mind conjured up a picture of Rogue in the undergarments. On his way through Rogue’s room, he stopped briefly to grab the laundry detergent from her closet floor.

A few minutes later, Logan was hunched over his bathroom sink scrubbing away at Rogue’s shirt. He wasn’t seeing much improvement so far, although he had had to drain the sink twice already when the water turned pink with blood. He grunted as his fingers turned numb, and he cursed the peculiarity of bloodstains that required washing in cold water.

He didn’t know much about laundry, but he did know that. Just one of the things Rogue had taught him. Don’t know why she bothers to tell me that stuff, though. She’s been washin’ both our clothes for years now. Seeing that the water needed to be changed yet again, Logan popped the plug and frowned at the swirling mess. Maybe it needs more soap, he thought, and plugging the sink once more, he poured in a capful of detergent and turned the cold tap on full blast. As he was looking down into the sink, the new froth of soap already turning pink, he noticed that he had blood on his own shirt. Must have gotten it on me when Marie hugged me.

Logan shrugged off his flannel and pulled his wife-beater over his head as he walked into his bedroom. He dropped the dirty shirts on the floor behind him and pulled clean ones from the laundry basket Marie had left at the foot of his bed that morning. He was stepping back through the bathroom door, shrugging one arm into a black and red flannel sleeve when he caught sight of the bubbles overflowing the sink.

“Shit!” he exclaimed as he leapt forward, one empty sleeve flapping behind him like a flag. He was busily scooping the suds back into the sink with both hands when Rogue found him.

She stood in the doorway, wrapped securely in a fuzzy bathrobe, a bemused expression on her face as she lazily toweled the ends of her hair dry.

“Why don’t ya turn off the water, sugar?” she drawled.

Logan froze. He turned to face her, his hands falling slack, and the sudsy water cascaded over the sink to splash against his stomach and legs. He was urged into action as the water soaked through the front of his jeans.

“Shee-it!” he yelped, and jumped back away from the sink that continued to overflow. “That’s cold,” he gasped as he did his best to pull the wet denim away from his skin.

Rogue dropped her towel and bent forward suddenly at the waist, full-bellied laughter spilling from her lips. She wrapped one arm around her ribs, pressing against the soreness of her recently reopened wound, and lifted her other arm up to point a shaky finger at Logan. She was still laughing, but Logan grumpily realized that she was trying to form words through her gasping breaths.

“Well shit,” he muttered. “Today’s just my day to be laughed at I guess.” He gave up on his jeans, resigned to the miserable feeling of wet denim clinging clammily to his lap, and stepped forward to turn off the cold water tap.

“Oh, L-Logan,” Rogue hiccupped, “the look on your face!” And she was off laughing crazily again. Logan ignored her for the time being, choosing instead to take his humiliation out on the sopping fabric in his sink. He bunched the shirt up roughly and twisted it with a vengeance, not realizing that the image of him up to his elbows in sudsy water was prolonging Rogue’s laughing fit. He began punching the wadded up fabric under the water, figuring that a good pounding might help him and the shirt. He kept at it until Rogue’s laughter faded.

“What on earth are ya doin’, sugar?” she gasped, still breathless. Logan didn’t answer. He pulled the plug on the sink, letting the bubbles slide down the drain before turning on the water once again. He left the drain open as he went back to punching and kneading the fabric until the water ran clear with no trace of color. “Logan?” Rogue questioned again. Soaking the shirt thoroughly one last time, Logan began knotting the ends in his fists. Wringing the fabric with a twist of his wrists, Logan finally turned to face Rogue. He lifted his hands and snapped the shirt out, sending drops of cold water spraying across the room. He was pleased, and rather impressed, to see that he had gotten all the blood out. Logan held it out to Rogue.

“Oh, Logan,” she breathed, her breath catching as she took the shirt from him. He was horrified to see tears gathering in her eyes.

“Oh hell no!” he roared. “Don’t you start cryin’ again. I’ve had enough tears the past couple days to last me the next ten lifetimes. And I don’t have time to sit with you until you stop; I’m cold and wet and in danger of chafing if I don’t get out of these damned jeans soon.”

Rogue’s eyes grew wide and she hugged her damp shirt to her chest. She pressed her lips tightly together, but a snicker slipped through nonetheless. Clapping a hand over her mouth, Rogue looked at him over the ridge of her knuckles.

When her face turned an alarming shade of red, Logan huffed, “Aw, hell. Go ahead.” He stomped past her into his room, her laughter following his every step. He made sure she didn’t see the smirk on his face as he pulled on yet another fresh set of shirts and grabbed a dry pair of jeans.

Laughin’s better than cryin’, he thought smugly.

* * *

Half an hour later, Logan was finally taking the first sip of the beer he had been craving. He and Rogue were lying on his bed; Logan was on his back propped against the headboard, his feet crossed at the ankle, and Rogue was sprawled on her stomach facing the TV, idly kicking her feet in their ridiculous bunny slippers. A gift from Jubilee, the slippers were more like clogs instead of the traditional style, so that Rogue’s feet were inserted under the bunnies’ tails. That combined with the startled, goggly-eyed look on the rabbits’ faces gave the impression that her feet were firmly stuck up their rear ends. Logan smirked as he gazed at the bunnies; he would never admit it, but he thoroughly enjoyed the humor of the slippers.

He sighed as Rogue dropped yet more crumbs on his bed. Since their lunch date hadn’t happened, she had opted for cold pizza, beer, and tortilla chips in his room, and whatever sports game or crime show was on TV. Seeing that the show they had been watching was ending, Logan picked up the remote and hit the mute button before tugging lightly on the leg of Rogue’s pajama pants. Rogue looked back over her shoulder at him with a frown, thinking that he was going to start harping on her pajamas again.

Logan held his hand up, palm out, in a placating gesture. “It’s not about the pajamas,” he said. When he had innocently asked what she was wearing pajamas for when it wasn’t even dinnertime yet, she had given him a thorough dressing-down where he was informed that after the day she had had, she could wear whatever she damn well pleased. Logan was inclined to agree. He dropped his hand back to her calf and rubbed the rounded muscle soothingly. “You said we needed to talk, darlin’,” he reminded her gently.

Rogue sighed heavily and flipped over onto her back. Logan accommodatingly moved his hand to her shin and kept rubbing.

“Throw me a pillow, sugar.”

When Logan tossed one to her, she shoved it under her head and then laced her fingers together over her stomach. As Logan’s eyes roved over Rogue’s face, he noticed that her bruises had darkened considerably even in the short span of time between Xavier’s office and now. She had given him a clinical rundown of the fight, and from what he could see, it looked like she might even end up with a couple of black eyes from the force of the one guy’s shoulder ramming into her chin and nose.

“I’ve been thinkin’, Logan.”

“‘Bout what?”

“Why Monique did what she did.” She raised an eyebrow at Logan’s sudden scowl.

Taking an angry swig of beer, Logan growled, “‘Cause she’s a mean bitch, darlin’.”

Rogue slowly shook her head, her hair rustling against the pillow case. “Ah don’t think so. Ah mean, Ah know she’s not a nice person,” Rogue qualified, “but Ah don’t think she did it just ‘cause she could. Ah was thinkin’ earlier that what she did was mah fault.”

Logan sat up sharply and tightened his hand on her shin. “Bullshit. None of what happened was your fault.”

“Well, not entirely at least.” When he looked like he was going to argue, Rogue shook her head again. “Now wait a minute, sugar. Just let me finish, ‘kay?” Logan nodded reluctantly and slumped back against the headboard. “When Ah thought about it, Ah realized that if it had been Todd who found out instead of Monique, he probably would have asked me about it instead of gettin’ a mob together, ya know? Just a feelin’ Ah have.” She waited for Logan’s nod of agreement before continuing. “And that’s partly ‘cause they’re different kinds of people, Ah guess, but Ah was also a hell of a lot nicer to Todd than Monique. Maybe if Ah hadn’t antagonized her so much, she wouldn’t have done what she did.”

“There’s no point in playin’ ‘what if’, darlin’,” Logan said.

“Ah know that. But at this point, Ah feel like Ah kinda have to. So here’s another one. What if Ah hadn’t been making any real effort to hide mah mutation? What if, when Monique asked me why Ah wear gloves at school all the time, Ah hadn’t lied to her?”

“She would have organized that little lynchin’ party earlier, that’s what,” he growled in response.

“But maybe not,” Rogue insisted stubbornly. “Sure, she woulda been shocked, but Ah doubt she would have done anythin’ if she had learned about mah mutation when we were face to face. Ah think it was the secrecy and the hidin’ it from her that really scared her, Logan.”

Logan sipped his beer pensively. Recognizing that he needed a moment, Rogue fell silent, carefully observing his face for any indication of his thoughts.

Although I hate to admit, she does have a point. Doesn’t change anythin’ though, and I doubt that the experience is gonna make Marie volunteer the fact that she’s a mutant to everybody she meets. Logan’s eyes widened slightly.

“What are you sayin’, darlin’?” he asked quietly, afraid that he already knew the answer.

“Ah’m sayin’ that Ah think we should do that interview, Logan.”

“No. Absolutely not.” Logan slashed his hand through the air in a cutting gesture. This was exactly what he had been afraid of.

“Why the hell not?” Rogue asked in shock. “Just yesterday ya were tellin’ me how much good it could do, and how much Ah might regret not doin’ it if the MRA was actually passed. How could ya change yer mind between yesterday and today?” She was yelling by the end of the sentence.

“You did the same thing!” Logan yelled back. “And I can change my mind because yesterday nobody was attackin’ you. There’s no way I’m gonna let you do an interview on national television so you can have thousands of people gunnin’ for you instead of just a dozen or so.”

“There’s no way ya’ll let me?” Rogue hissed dangerously. “Last time Ah checked, Ah didn’t need yer permission to do a damned thing!”

Yes she does, Wolverine growled suddenly. She’s ours, and it’s best you make her aware of that soon.

“Shut up!” Logan roared in irritation.

An outraged gasp came from the other end of the bed. “Excuse me?”

“Not you,” Logan groaned, “him.” He gestured to his head angrily. A look of understanding crossed Rogue’s face, but it did nothing to diminish her anger. “Look, darlin’,” he sighed. “After what happened today, I just think it’s too dangerous for you to do the interview. Monique and the people she scrounged up didn’t even know what your mutation is. I don’t think you’ll get a better reaction even if you offer up the information voluntarily. You can kill people with a touch, Marie. As mutants go, it doesn’t get much scarier than that,” Logan said gently, apologetically.

“Ah know that,” Rogue mumbled, staring intently at her hands. “But, Logan, ya know that Monique won’t keep quiet. She’ll tell everybody she can that Ah’m a mutant. Ah can’t go back to school; pretty soon, Ah pro’ly won’t be able to walk around the mall, or sit down in a restaurant for lunch. Because of that, Ah won’t be able to have a life here anymore.” When she lifted her gaze to Logan’s face, he could see the pain and resignation swimming in her warm brown eyes.

“You can still have a life here. You were plannin’ on teachin’ here anyway once you finished school, and you know Chuck would never make you leave.”

“Logan,” Rogue began slowly, as if she were explaining something to a small child, “that wouldn’t be much of a life. Ah wouldn’t be able to go out without worryin’ someone was gonna try somethin’, and Ah still have enough of ya in me that Ah’d go stir crazy in a matter o’ weeks if Ah was always cooped up in here.”

Logan grunted in agreement. “But it’d be the same if we did the interview. People all over the country would recognize us.”

“Ya said the professor told ya that the president was willin’ to offer protection fer whoever did the interview. Ah think we should find out what type o’ protection he was talkin’.”

Although it rankled that she wasn’t willing to accept his way of keeping her safe, Logan knew she had a point. “Fair enough. Let’s go talk to Chuck.”

* * *

“I can’t say I’m not pleased with your decision to further consider the interview,” Xavier said. “But are you sure, my dear, that you’re making the choice with a clear mind and it’s not just a reaction to the rather traumatic experience you had earlier today?”

“Well, o’ course that has somethin’ to do with it, professor. But Ah was thinkin’ about it yesterday too. It’s just that today has kinda forced mah hand, ya know?”

“You shouldn’t be forced to do anythin’,” Logan growled from the seat next to her.

“Oh hush,” she said waspishly. “It’s a lose-lose situation, remember?”

Logan scowled at having his words thrown back at him. “Fine,” he rumbled.

Xavier looked back and forth between them. “You are in agreement then?” he asked. They nodded. “Then I will contact the president. He would like to have the interview as soon as possible, of course, but he has agreed that the timeline should be worked out with your input. For that reason, he said that if the two of you agreed to do, or were even slightly interested in doing the interview, he would like to meet with you privately.”

“Do we have to?” Logan asked petulantly and with an utter lack of respect.

Rogue had a far more practical concern. “Oh Lord. What am Ah gonna wear?”

Logan scowled. “Well, I wouldn’t recommend the pajamas and bunny slippers, darlin’.”

The professor chuckled as he reached for the phone, wondering what the president would think of the pair.

Logan couldn’t seem to stop growling today. He hadn’t been particularly fond of the idea of meeting the president when the professor had told them about it three days ago, and now on the actual day of the meeting, he was in a horribly foul mood.

He was currently settling into one of the passenger seats in Xavier’s jet, trying to untangle the mess of straps that made up the chest harness. When he was thwarted by a particularly stubborn knot in one of the thick, woven nylon straps, he let loose a full-throated snarl that had Scott whipping around in the pilot’s seat to stare at him in alarm.

Scott scanned the interior of the jet quickly, his hand on his visor ready to blast whatever threat Logan had detected. When he saw the other man glaring at the harness in his hand, he couldn’t restrain a laugh. Logan turned his glare on Scott and popped the middle claw on his left hand. His glare turned into an evil smirk as he then angled the claw against the knotted strap.

“Logan, don’t!” Scott yelped. He sighed in defeat as Logan wadded up the ruined mess of the harness and tossed it off to the side. Logan was still smirking as he crossed his arms over his chest and settled back into the seat. Intending to thoroughly annoy Scott, he closed his eyes and adopted a falsely peaceful look.

He was rewarded with a snort of disgust.

“You know how much those harnesses cost, you ass?” Scott asked mildly.

“Professor’s rich, isn’t he?” Logan grunted without opening his eyes.

“You know that’s not the point.” Scott sighed and said in sudden irritation, “What in the world is taking Rogue so long?”

That got Logan to open his eyes, and he sent another glare at Scott. “Said somethin’ ‘bout her shoes not goin’ with her shirt,” Logan muttered.

“What the hell does that matter?” Scott asked in disbelief. “Your shoes and your shirt are a hell of a long way away from each other, so who’s gonna care?”

Logan scowled. “That’s what I said. Then she threw one of the shoes at me and told me to go wait in the jet.”

Scott snorted in amusement and shared a rare sympathetic moment with Logan. “Jean did that once,” he admitted softly. “Except it was dinner plates and napkins. And of course it wasn’t a napkin she threw.” He smiled sadly at the suddenly somber look in Logan’s eyes. “You know, I always used to get angry whenever I thought of that. But now…now even that’s a good memory.”

“Scooter, listen,” Logan began gruffly, shifting his weight uncomfortably, “Jean only ever had good memories of you too.”

Scott’s smile grew. “Logan, I appreciate that. But you really suck at pep-talks.”

Logan smirked again. “That’s what Rogue always says.”

Observing the other man quietly for a few seconds, Scott figured he might as well ask a few things he had been wondering about.

“So, about you and Rogue…everybody knows you’re close. How close exactly?”

As Scott had expected would happen, Logan’s right eyebrow shot up.

“You suddenly got the urge to play daddy, Scooter?”

“Maybe,” Scott mused. “Or at least ‘older brother.’ So, you going to answer my question, or are we going to have to take this outside?”

“Temptin’,” Logan grunted. “But Rogue would kill us both if we did. Can you believe that she’s actually excited about meetin’ the president, even though she knows the topic of conversation won’t be pleasant?” His tone was amused.

“Can’t blame her. It’s not everyday you get to have a private sit-down with the Commander in Chief. And you’re avoiding the question,” Scott finished gleefully.

“Prick,” Logan snorted. He scrubbed his hands roughly over his face. “We’re close, Scooter, but not in the way you think. She’s my best friend, and I’m hers. And that’s all she’s ever seemed to want until lately.”

Now it was Scott’s eyebrow going up. “Until lately? Has she said or done something to suggest she wants more?”

“Well, no,” Logan hedged a few seconds later.

“Then I don’t get it,” Scott admitted, thoroughly confused. “What makes you think she wants something more? And even if she did, would that be a problem for you?”

“Hell no, it wouldn’t be a problem. And that’s the problem.”

“Huh?”

Logan growled in frustration. “Look, I know she wants me, and I would have no problems takin’ her up on it.”

“Then why don’t you?” Scott flung his hands up in exasperation.

“‘Cause it’s just her body that wants me!” Logan thundered.

Scott stared at the brooding expression on his face for a full minute, trying to make sense of the conversation. Logan’s arms were once again crossed over his chest, but this time the posture was purely defensive. “Okay,” Scott said carefully, “let me see if I have everything straight so far. You find Rogue attractive and would have no objection to acting on that attraction.” He waited for Logan’s reluctant nod before continuing. “However, Rogue has neither said nor done anything that expressly indicates she feels the same way.” Another nod. “And you said it’s ‘just her body’ that wants you, meaning that her mind doesn’t want you?”

“Yup, that’s about it,” Logan grumbled.

“Okay. But I’m still confused about something. How do you know she wants you? I mean, something must have tipped you off, but generally if a woman’s got it in her head that she doesn’t want a man, even if she is physically attracted to him, she’s not going to be sending him signals that she does.” Scott paused for a moment. “Well,” he continued reasonably, “not unless she’s a cutthroat bitch of a tease. And something tells me Rogue’s not like that.”

“She isn’t.”

“Then what the hell makes you think she wants you, Logan?”

“Dammit, Scooter,” Logan rumbled, “I can smell it on her.”

“Spare me the metaphors and give me a real answer.”

“I am givin’ you a real answer. Shit, this is just gonna prove your little pet theory that I’m more animal than man. I can literally smell the arousal on her, okay? You can go ahead and laugh now.” Logan glared at Scott.

“Damn. That must be useful when you’re trying to pick up chicks at a bar.”

Logan blinked in disbelief.

“What?” Scott asked indignantly. “I’m a guy too, you know. And maybe you’ve never experienced this before, but it really sucks when all you want is to get laid and you spend a couple hours chatting up a girl and at the end of the night you find out all she wanted from you was the thirty bucks worth of drinks you bought her.”

Logan snorted in laughter. “Thirty bucks, Scooter? Double that and you could get yourself a decent hooker for a half hour.”

Scott’s back went ramrod straight. “I do not consort with women of ill repute, Logan.”

Logan’s amusement turned into howls of laughter. He was shocked as hell when several seconds later, Scott joined in with a few quiet chuckles.

“Anyway,” Scott said. “Seriously, I think you should talk to Rogue about it.”

“Oh, right. ‘Listen, darlin’, I know your body’s hot for me and your mind isn’t along for the ride, but we could still have us a good time.’ Not gonna happen, Scooter. I’d embarrass her to death and things would get all awkward.”

“Maybe she wouldn’t be as embarrassed as you think,” Scott mused.

“What d’you mean?”

“After Rogue was attacked, she was worried about the blood in her hair. She said that even if she washed it, you’d still be able to smell it. That true?”

“Yeah. So?”

“So, if she knows you’d be able to smell something like that, do you really think she doesn’t know, or at least suspect, that you can smell it if she wants you?”

Logan’s breathing hitched for a fraction of a second and his eyes widened.

Scott merely nodded at him before his eyes drifted over Logan’s shoulder. “Rogue,” he said. “About time.”

“Sorry Ah’m late,” she said breathily as she collapsed in the seat next to Logan. She quickly strapped herself in and cast a glance over at Logan. One of her delicately arched brows quirked up as she caught sight of the frayed stubs of the harness straps along his seatback. “Ya know, sugar, ya should really wear a seatbelt,” she said softly, smiling.

Logan chuckled and reached over to tug at her white streaks. “Smartass,” he grinned.

Scott merely shook his head at them as he started the jet’s engines, confused as ever by their relationship.

* * *

“This is already turnin’ out to be more trouble than it’s worth,” Logan griped as their cab pulled up to the next security gate. The cabbie wore a look of amazement as Logan leaned over his shoulder yet again to say to the guard at the front window, “We’re from Xavier’s. The president’s expectin’ us.”

The guard nodded once and pushed the button that would buzz them through to the next gate.

At least they all seem to know who we are. Wouldn’t be able to stand it if we had to sit and answer endless, stupid questions. Logan thought, casting an amused glance at Rogue who was absently patting his thigh in a “there, there” manner as she craned her neck around in curiosity, trying to take in all the new sights at once.

Instead of paying attention to their surroundings – Logan figured that the White House grounds were safe enough – he was observing Rogue. As annoyed as he had been earlier about her preoccupation with her wardrobe, he had to admit she looked beautiful. She was wearing pants of course, since she never felt comfortable with the potential problems a skirt would entail, given her mutation. And although Logan had always thought he preferred skirts on women, the shorter the better, the fit of Rogue’s black pants was rapidly changing his mind. They hugged her hips and bottom closely without being immodest, and the soft fall of the fabric over her legs made them seem a mile long. Add to that the three inch black heels with the thin strap of teal-colored leather crossing over her pretty toes, and Logan was rapidly beginning to think he might be converting to a leg man.

Hell, doesn’t matter, Wolverine rumbled appreciatively as they took in the curves hinted at beneath the clinging fabric of Rogue’s shirt. Leg man, ass man, breast man…our little gal’s got what it takes to keep ‘em all happy.

Damn straight, Logan agreed absently as his eyes were drawn to the silver chain that disappeared beneath Rogue’s shirt. His tags were the only accessory she wore other than the black satin gloves with little teal-edged buttons up the sides that matched both her shirt and her shoes. He knew from the barest hint of cleavage revealed by the wrap style of the shirt that the tags were nestled firmly between Rogue’s breasts. Indulging in a momentary fantasy of tugging the chain free and lifting the tags, warmed from her flesh, to his lips, Logan missed the question Rogue asked.

“Come again, darlin’?” he said, moving on in his little fantasy to wonder what kind of undergarments she was wearing. Lace, like the ones I saw the other day, he decided. What color though? Hmm, black maybe?

Flesh-colored, Wolverine growled quickly, So it’ll look like she isn’t wearin’ anythin’ at all.

Logan barely bit back a groan and forced himself to focus on what Rogue was saying.

“Ah said Ah still don’t understand why Scott had to drop us off in that park. Ah mean, all the guards obviously knew we were comin’, so shouldn’t the president have been able to let us fly right up?”

“Restricted airspace,” Logan grunted. “Hell of a lot more red tape involved with landin’ a jet on the White House lawn. Plus, this meetin’ isn’t exactly supposed to be public knowledge, and arrivin’ in a jet does tend to draw a lot of questions, darlin’.”

“Oh.” Rogue’s softly rounded lips finally pulled his attention away from the rest of her body. Her lip was healing nicely, but the bruising was still prominent. Even under layers of artfully applied makeup, the area around her scraped cheekbone left bare as Hank had ordered, Logan could see the dusky coloring on her chin and around her upper lip. He had been right about the possibility of black eyes too. Dark purple shadowed the tender skin beneath Rogue’s eyes, although he was pleased to see that her eyes themselves were fine. Although he had never had a black eye himself, he had given enough of them to know that they were typically accompanied by ugly redness shooting through the whites of the eyes.

At the last gate, Rogue was the one who gave the standard “We’re from Xavier’s” explanation, and Logan caught the cabbie glancing in the mirror for a view of Rogue’s cleavage as she leaned forward.

“Eyes forward, bub,” he snapped, and the cabbie jerked in surprise.

The car pulled forward until they were waved to a stop by a man wearing an understated dark suit, and as the man lifted his arm and spoke into his wrist, Logan and Rogue climbed out of the cab. Logan tossed a few bills in the cabbie’s open window and then placed his left hand on the small of Rogue’s back to usher her toward the agent waiting for them.

“Through that door to your left,” the agent said without bothering with a greeting or introduction, “stop at the desk for your passes, and then down to the end of the hall for the security check.”

“Friendly people,” Rogue murmured less than two minutes later. The agent at the desk had greeted them with a single word – “Names?” – before handing them passes to hang around their necks and pointing toward the end of the hall where several people were lined up, waiting for uniformed guards to clear them for entry.

As they got closer to the checkpoint, Logan could see what security measures were being taken.

“Uh, darlin’. We might have a problem.”

“What do you mean?” Rogue wasn’t paying any attention to their destination, busy as she was reading the various plaques along the wall.

“Look.” Glancing up at Logan, she followed the direction of his gaze. She saw a heavy balding man in a rumbled suit pull keys and loose change from his pockets and drop them into a tray before stepping through a nondescript grey gate.

“Is that a metal detector? Well shit, sugar.” Unfortunately Rogue’s less than hushed response drew the attention of one of the guards. He watched them with narrowed eyes as they stepped closer to the gate and gestured at Rogue.

“You first,” he commanded. “Put any metal items you’re carrying in this bin and step through the gate. That includes jewelry and hair pins.”

Glancing again at Logan, Rogue paused for the merest fraction of a second before shrugging and pulling the dog tags from around her neck. She dropped them in the bin and as she stepped through the gate, she noticed that the second guard, who was observing a monitor, gave his colleague a subtle nod.

The first guard addressed Rogue again. “Take your belongings and wait beyond the yellow line.”

Rogue scooped up her tags and looked down to see a yellow stripe across the linoleum floor about five feet beyond the gate. Positioning herself just past the line, she turned to watch as the guard waved Logan up to the gate without a word.

“The gate’s gonna go off,” Logan said quietly, mindful of the people stepping up behind him to wait their turn at the checkpoint.

“Metal belongings in the bin,” the guard said sharply.

“I’m tryin’ to tell you, no matter if I put everythin’ in the bin, the gate’s still gonna go off. I have metal in my skeleton.”

Both guards measured him with careful gazes and Rogue saw the one at the monitor slowly reach under the counter. When he withdrew his hand, a flash of color caught her attention. Looking up, Rogue could see a small light blinking on what must be a security camera. Glancing past Logan down the hall they had just walked, she noticed that the cameras were spaced every five feet or so on both sides of the hallway in a zigzagging pattern. None of them had flashing red lights.

“Titanium surgical screws and staples shouldn’t set off the gate.”

Logan snorted. “It’s a little more extensive than screws and staples.” The people waiting in line behind him suddenly looked interested and both guards tensed. The one at the monitor reached under the counter yet again.

He must be hittin’ a buzzer or alarm or somethin’, Rogue thought.

“Titanium rod in your thigh or spine perhaps?” The guard rested his hand on his leather utility belt, his thumb soundlessly flipping up a strap and easing around the edge of a black device.

“Uh, not exactly,” Logan hedged, “And it isn’t titanium. Look, if you’ll just make a call, you’ll find out that the president’s expectin’ us. We’re from Xavier’s. We had no trouble at any of the gates on the way in.”

“Unfortunately, sir, we can’t just take your word for that. You understand,” the man said with icy civility, shooting a quick look at his colleague.

Just as the guard at the monitor was responding with another almost unnoticeable nod, Rogue heard quick footsteps approaching from behind her. Looking over her shoulder, she saw a man in a sedate brown suit heading toward them. He was wearing an impersonal smile and held a plain manila folder in one hand, and as he drew closer, Rogue saw that he was wearing an atrociously obnoxious tie. The fuchsia geometric print on its pale tan background looked like it was shifting as he walked and Rogue was forced to blink several times to keep her eyes from crossing. Even when he stepped past her and she could no longer see the tie, the bright pattern seemed to have been burned into her retinas and everything she looked at – the floor, walls, ceiling – was overlaid with crooked fuchsia ladders and shimmying squares. She continued her rapid blinking as the man addressed the guards.

“Sorry, sorry. Paperwork mishap up in the offices. These folks are cleared.”

“Sir,” protested the guard who had thus far been the only one to speak, “he still needs to go through the gate. That’s the protocol.”

The man in the suit tapped the folder he was carrying against his thigh impatiently. He then flipped it open and pulled a single sheet of paper out, although Rogue could see that there were several more inside.

“Here.” He handed the page to the guard. “Direct order from the president, complete with the man’s photograph, telling you to let him through.” By now there were four people waiting behind Logan, and they all started whispering to each other. “You can have him step through your gate if it’ll make you feel better, Gibbons, and it’s going to go off, like the man told you, but that will be the end of it. No pat downs or strip searches for you today.” At the man’s jovial tone, Gibbons’s eyes narrowed, and Logan snorted.

Gibbons whipped around to face Logan and snarled, “Through the gate!”

Rogue saw Logan’s eyebrow inch upward, but instead of saying anything, he just shrugged and strode through the gate. Immediately, a shrill sequence of beeps split the air and all the cameras along the hall lit up with little red flashes. The second guard’s eyes widened at whatever he saw on his monitor and he slapped a button to his left, silencing the alarm.

As Logan drew up next to Rogue, his face was contorted in a pained wince and, lifting his right hand up, he stuck his pinky finger into his ear and jostled it around a bit.

“Sorry sorry,” the man with the horrible tie said again. “My meeting ran late and I wasn’t able to get down here in time to spare you all that hassle. It’s nice to meet you –” he flipped his folder open yet again and scanned the top sheet, “‘–Wolverine and Rogue’. Follow me please.” He paid them no more attention after that and began walking away.

Logan gave his ear one last jiggle as he and Rogue followed the man.

* * *

They found themselves sitting on an uncomfortably overstuffed sofa several minutes later. The man with the tie, who hadn’t bothered introducing himself, had escorted them into the Oval Office, waved vaguely in the direction of the furniture, and told them to wait while he let the president know they had arrived.

“Ugh,” Rogue said in disgust as she shifted around yet again, “slice this thing open so Ah can yank out some o’ the stuffin’, would ya, sugar?”

Logan grunted. “I guess it is pretty uncomfortable.”

“Ya guess?”

“Part of my healin’ ability, darlin’. I can feel that it’s uncomfortable, but it’s not gonna cause any aches or pains no matter how long I sit here.” He smirked at her.

“Well aren’t ya just special?” Rogue said nastily as she leapt off the sofa. She moved around the room trying each piece of furniture; Logan observed her movements without a word, his eyebrow inching ever higher as Rogue growled with each failed attempt to find a comfortable seat. She gave him a disgusted look when she finally circled back to him and flounced down onto the sofa next to him.

“You could always sit on my lap, darlin’,” Logan murmured, equal parts ribaldry and chivalry.

Rogue titled her head as she considered him. “Sugar, somehow Ah doubt that would stay comfortable for either one o’ us.” She ignored Logan’s startled look and turned her attention to the other furniture in the room. “Ya know, Ah think the ungodly awful furniture is deliberate. Not a comfortable seat on this side o’ the desk, but just look at the president’s chair. Looks like ya could sleep in that damn thing for a week and not have to worry ‘bout even a crick in yer neck.”

A door to their left opened suddenly. “You are quite right, Miss Rogue,” the president said. “The furniture is a tactical maneuver, designed to make world leaders and other visitors squirm in discomfort. Their desire to get away from it makes them more likely to agree to whatever requests I make.”

“Really?” Rogue squeaked in surprise.

“No.” President Carson’s face was split in a huge grin. “It’s just that it’s antique furniture and not designed for comfort. You’re the first one to ever say anything about it though.” He looked over his shoulder into the room he was exiting. “Marcus, get somebody to help you bring that loveseat from the staff office in here, please.”

They heard a faint “Yes, sir” from the other room as the president walked toward them. Rogue stood immediately and was pleasantly surprised when Logan did the same.

President Carson shook hands first with Rogue and then with Logan. “Did you have a pleasant trip here?”

“No,” Logan grunted. Rogue gasped and smacked him in the chest with the back of her hand. The president’s lips twitched in amusement.

“Yes, sir, it was a very pleasant trip,” Rogue corrected politely. “Please forgive Logan; he seems to have woken up on the wrong side of the bed today.”

“Like hell,” Logan returned instantly, ignoring the man standing before them. “I was havin’ a great day ‘til you threw that shoe at me this mornin’.” Rogue’s face immediately flooded with color.

The president burst out laughing just as two man came through the door he had left open. They both cast him startled looks before continuing, one walking backward as they guided the piece of furniture into place behind Logan and Rogue. The younger of the two left without a word, and President Carson struggled to control his laughter long enough to call after him, “Thank you, Justin.” The second man, the one with the tie, remained standing beside the loveseat.

After a few more quiet chuckles, the president swiped a knuckle along the lower lashes of his right eye, removing the visible signs of his laughter.

“Hm,” he cleared his throat quietly and gestured toward the man. “Marcus probably didn’t introduce himself to you, did he? I’m afraid it is his one consistent short-coming. This is Marcus Whittaker, my Chief of Staff. Other than me, he is the only one who knows why you are here. You needn’t worry about it, though; Marcus is the soul of discretion. Should anybody ask him about your visit, you can be guaranteed that he will suddenly know nothing about it.” President Carson sent the man a fond smile and a nod, effectively dismissing him. As the door clicked quietly shut behind Marcus, the president waved his hand toward the new sofa and moved around to the back of his desk.

* * *

He waited until Rogue and Wolverine were comfortably settled onto the sofa before speaking again. “I imagine you have some questions, and you personally have more at stake here than I do, so why don’t you two begin?”

The man grunted, grudging respect and appreciation showing briefly on his face. Or at least, that’s what I think it is, Carson thought. “If we do this, how are you going to keep her safe?”

“Her? You are not concerned for your own safety?” He noted the scowl on Rogue’s face with interest. He’s protective of her, cares about her. But she’s not happy about it?

“Listen,” Wolverine began heatedly, “I’m sure you have files on us, so you know that I heal. It doesn’t matter what might happen to me, but if you can’t promise that the girl will be safe, we’re walkin’ out now.”

Rogue’s scowl deepened, and before the president could form an answer, she was already responding to her companion.

“Darnit, Logan! Ya know nobody can guarantee anythin’. Not even ya can.”

Her voice had started out harsh, but had softened remarkably by the end. Still, he saw the gruff-looking man wince. “Logan?” I thought he didn’t know his name. And I think there’s more to this little exchange than is evident. I wonder if it has anything to do with her scrapes and bruises?

“I think that he has raised a valid point, Rogue,” he began cautiously. “My offer of protection extends to both of you, but I have yet to determine what form that protection will take. Professor Xavier suggested that you would be much more amenable to the idea if you were able to tell me what would be necessary, Wolverine.”

The man’s brow winged up. “No guards,” he grunted, “they’d just get in the way and would probably get killed anyway. Money. And we’d need IDs, probably multiple sets, so if somethin’ gets dicey, we’re covered for a quick exit without leavin’ a trail to follow.”

“You sound as if you don’t expect to be able to stay at Xavier’s?”

“Look, if we can stay at Xavier’s, fine. He has enough security to keep us safe, and enough money for any necessary upgrades. And he can probably manage authentic IDs without a problem.”

What kind of man is this professor, exactly? Carson mused. I know from the time he gave me Stryker’s files that he has access to things that even I don’t. Or maybe he just knew where to look while I didn’t. And I’m pretty sure this guy was the one who warned me that they’d be watching. He couldn’t hold back a small wave of resentment and anger at the memory. Don’t know about the girl, though; I was too focused on the blue guy that had attacked me. He forced himself back to the present as Wolverine continued.

“The only reason we’d need your protection” he snarled the word, “is if we can’t go back. And if you arrange this interview right, that shouldn’t be a problem. So why don’t you start talkin’ now, and tell us what you’re prepared to do.”

He didn’t reply immediately. Rather, he sat studying the man and young woman in front of him. Xavier had sent him a file on each of them, but he wondered how complete they were. In light of the fact that the file only called him “Wolverine” and never mentioned the name “Logan,” the president felt safe in assuming that the professor had held back quite a bit. Added to that the bruising on the girl’s face, something Xavier had not mentioned in his brief phone message the day before, and Carson was starting to feel uncomfortably blind in this situation. Xavier hadn’t even mentioned how confrontational this Wolverine could be, or how protective he was of the young woman at his side. Nor, Carson’s eyes narrowed as he saw Rogue’s hand patting the man’s thigh soothingly, had he explained the relationship between these two.

Maybe that was a deliberate oversight on Xavier’s part, he thought. The things in the file are what the interviewer will be telling the audience, just facts and figures, nothing real, nothing personal like what I’m learning just from watching them interact. No wonder he insisted that they do the interview together or not at all.

Out loud he answered, “The interview will be as anonymous as possible without the benefits of screens or voice-masking. You will be using the names in Xavier’s files – Wolverine and Rogue – instead of your real names. There will be no in studio audience, but people will be able to call in with questions. The interview will broadcast from an undisclosed location, the host we have chosen is impartial on the mutant issue –”

“Impartial?” Wolverine cut in. “‘Impartial’ means he could wake up on the day of the interview and decide that he’s anti-mutant and try somethin’. Wouldn’t somebody who’s pro mutant be a better choice?”

“On issues of safety, perhaps,” Carson conceded. “But it wouldn’t allow the viewers to sympathize with the plight of mutants quite as much. If the host was known to be mutant friendly, that alone would be enough to color people’s perception of the honesty and trustworthiness of the news source.”

“Wouldn’t using our mutant names do the same thing?” Rogue questioned softly, glancing briefly at Wolverine’s scowling face before turning her attention back to him.

She looks to him for agreement and guidance. Wonder is she realizes that? But she doesn’t have a problem taking him to task either, he noted, smirking inwardly as he remembered the petite brunette chastising the large, gruff man earlier.

Carson shook his head in response to Rogue’s question. “No, I believe your names will actually gain sympathy. Xavier indicated that you don’t know anything about your past, Wolverine, as a result of the medical experimentation you suffered. If people were able to imagine the horror of not even knowing who they are, they wouldn’t be able to ignore the danger involved in forcing mutants to expose themselves and their abilities.” He paused for a moment as he considered that this argument might actually be faulty. “However, you seem to know your name. ‘Logan,’ isn’t it?”

“I don’t know,” Wolverine ground out. “It was the only name I could remember when I finally came back to myself somewhat. Figured it was as good a name as any.”

Tilting his head quizzically, Carson questioned, “Came back to yourself?” The man immediately tensed, the knuckles of one hand whitening on the armrest of the sofa. Rogue reached over for his other hand and pulled it into her lap. He saw the man slowly relax as she ran the gloved pads of her fingertips rhythmically over the skin between his fingers. Eventually, Wolverine turned his hand around in hers and laced their fingers together, absently giving her a shaky smile.

“I was covered in blood, naked, in the middle of the woods. And none of it was my blood.”

The blunt delivery startled him, as did the slightly dissociated tone in the man’s voice. He killed them? All of them? With his bare hands? Even if I asked, I don’t suppose he’d know. He swallowed hard and gave Wolverine a slow nod before turning to the young woman. “As for your name, Rogue, Xavier’s file stated that you adopted it after being thrown out of your home. Many street kids do the same for fear of discovery, and that’s one of the things that makes it so hard for them to be found. Changing your name is a kind of defense-mechanism, and in the case of children and adolescents, an attempt at self-actualization, and the establishment of an identity unassociated with their parents.”

Rogue snorted, the unladylike sound surprising him. Are they related somehow? She sounded just like Wolverine.

“Ah don’t mean to disrespect ya, sir, but spare me the psychoanalysis. Ah changed mah name ‘cause mah father called the police on me ‘fore throwin’ me out.”

“Oh,” Carson managed, feeling stupid as he sat blinking rapidly.

“You never told me that, darlin’,” Wolverine rumbled quietly, tightening his fingers around the woman’s hand.

“Ya never asked,” she returned simply, and that seemed to be enough explanation for the man.

Carson’s mind was a whirling mess of thoughts, but he latched onto one and ran with it. “The fact that you’ve both managed to surprise me several times in the course of only a few minutes tells me that you’re the right ones for this interview.”

“How do you figure that?” Wolverine asked. There’s that damned eyebrow again, Carson thought in mild irritation.

“I have files on both of you, and they are certainly detailed enough that I thought I had a basic understanding of who you are and what your lives are like. But since I came through that door, you have done nothing but prove my assumptions wrong. That’s what needs to be done for the American population. They’ve got a whole mess of assumptions that you need to shoot down just like you did mine.”

“We’re not gonna be dealin’ with just assumptions. Prejudice and hate are a lot harder to get rid of, ‘specially when all you’re doin’ is talkin’. What makes you think this interview is gonna do all that?”

“Because,” he gave Wolverine a level look, “You’ve amused me, irritated me, challenged me, and made me think in just the last few minutes. From my dealings with you, I don’t think I like you,” he ignored Wolverine’s arrogant smirk, “But I find myself sympathetic toward you.”

“I’m not in this for pity and boohoo-ing.”

Carson gritted his teeth. “I never said you were. And I never said I pity you. I said I find myself sympathetic toward you. And most of that sympathy is due to the protectiveness you feel toward the young lady at your side. Granted, you had horrible things done to you, but you’re gruff and unfriendly and few people are going to want to admit to feeling anything like sympathy with that ‘screw you’ attitude of yours. But seeing the two of you together, I can understand why Xavier insisted that he had the perfect people in mind. You humanize each other. People will be able to identify with your relationship, and from there they might be able to begin identifying with you as individual people.”

He waited as Wolverine and Rogue exchanged a long glance, seeming to discuss the situation with each other. I don’t know how the hell they’re doing it. He raises his eyebrow, she nods. She purses her lips and he shakes his head. He tightens his hand on hers and she cocks her head to the side like she’s thinking about something. They’re not telepaths, Xavier promised me. So what in the world is going on? Just as his puzzlement was growing unbearable, his guests nodded in unison and turned to face him.

“Fine. We’ll do it.”

Finally spotting Rogue curled up on a couch in the rec room, Logan made his way over to her. She was watching a romantic comedy with Ororo and neither woman noticed his presence until he ran his hand from the crown of Rogue’s head to her nape, smoothing her silky hair. She craned her neck around and gave him a questioning look.

“I’m goin’ for a beer, darlin’,” he murmured. He nodded to Ororo, squeezed Rogue’s neck gently, and walked out.

“Did he come looking for you just to tell you that he was going out?” Ororo asked in her softly accented voice.

Rogue just nodded.

“One wouldn’t expect such…consideration from the Wolverine.”

Angry now, Rogue’s chin inched up in aggression and she spat out a challenge. “Why not?”

Ororo’s eyes widened in surprise. “I meant no offense, Rogue. But you can’t deny that Logan is neither the most sociable, nor respectful, person.”

With slow, controlled movements, Rogue clicked off the DVD player and television, placed the remote on the coffee table, and stood to face Ororo. She kept her stance unthreatening; she relaxed her jaw and shoulders, kept her hands down at her sides and her fists unclenched.

“Did ya ever think, Ororo, that Logan isn’t sociable because ya’ll never make an attempt to include him? That he isn’t respectful because ya don’t treat him like he’s worthy o’ respect? That he isn’t considerate of ya’ll because ya’ll aren’t considerate o’ him?”

“Rogue?” Ororo question worriedly. “I’m sorry if it seems that way. But we’ve just been taking our cues from Logan. He acts like he doesn’t want to be bothered, so we leave him alone.”

Rogue closed her eyes tightly and took three calming breaths. Upon opening her eyes, she could see that Ororo was genuinely confused, and her anger began to dissipate.

“‘Ro,” she said softly, “Ya’ll think o’ Logan as more animal than man, don’t ya?”

“I’m not sure I know what you mean. Logan’s thinking is definitely human, but he certainly seems to allow his animal nature to guide most of his actions.”

Rogue considered the other woman’s words carefully. She didn’t know how Ororo could have lived in the same house as Logan for almost five years, give or take the few months Logan had spent on the road, and not understand a thing about him. She imagined that if Ororo, the one she had always thought was the most observant, didn’t really see Logan, then it was likely that nobody else in the mansion did either.

“If ya expect Logan to act like an animal, how can ya hold it against him when he does? He’s been hurt by so many people, ‘Ro,” Rogue whispered in a pain-filled voice. “And any animal that’s been abused the way he has would be skittish around people, seen as unfriendly – unsociable – but ya don’t hold it against the animal, do ya? No, ya watch yer step around him until he learns that he can trust ya, that ya won’t hurt him the way everybody else has. Why can’t ya’ll do the same for Logan?”

“I…” Ororo stuttered in a tight voice, “I hadn’t thought of it like that, Rogue. I never thought of his passive actions as animalistic, only the aggressive ones. But if he’s been that hurt during his time here, why didn’t he say anything to us?”

“Does an injured animal advertise the fact that he’s injured, ‘Ro?”

“No, no he doesn’t,” Ororo murmured, her brow furrowed in thought. “How do I – we – fix it?”

“Ya don’t. Logan and Ah’ll do that ourselves durin’ the interview.” Rogue sighed heavily and flopped back down on the couch. “Ah’ve started thinkin’ that the problem between humans and mutants hasn’t got anythin’ to do with the differences in our abilities or appearances.”

Ororo paused in the awkward position of leaning forward to pick up the remote and turned her head toward Rogue. “What do you mean?”

“Ah think it’s much more basic than that. Just plain ol’ human misunderstandin’ with somethin’ to focus on.”

Ororo grabbed the remote and leaned back gracefully. She thumbed the power button on before responding. “I think you might be right.”

* * *

The music blaring from the jukebox at the end of the bar was hurting Logan’s ears. He winced even more as Scott leaned in to whisper-yell, “What ‘bout the blonde two tables t’ the left o’ us?”

Logan downed his whiskey and slammed the shot glass hard on the bar, catching the bartender’s attention. He jerked his head at the empty glass, and the man nodded in acknowledgement before turning back to the drink he was mixing.

“Dunno,” Logan grunted.

“What d’ya mean ya dunno?” Scott was almost whining. “Ya said ya could smell it’f a woman wanted ya.”

Logan turned to look at the woman in question, catching her gaze and holding it. His nostrils flared slightly and he turned his back abruptly. “She wants somebody.”

“Well? ‘S it me or you she wants?” Scott questioned eagerly, losing his balance on the barstool as he leaned toward Logan. His nose smashed painfully into Logan’s shoulder before he managed to grab the rail running along the outside of the bar to steady himself.

“Hell, how much’ve you had to drink, Scooter?”

“Dunno. Been tryin’ t’ keep up with you.” Scott grinned wide enough that Logan could see his molars.

“Not the smartest thing you’ve ever done,” he snorted, downing another shot of whiskey and tapping the bar with a fingertip. The bartender set the half empty bottle down in front of Logan and Scott and turned away.

“Pro’ly not,” Scott agreed, still grinning. “So, how ‘bout it? She want me’r you?”

“Dunno. It’s not like she smells any different dependin’ on what guy she wants. All I know is she wants somebody.” Logan followed Scott’s gaze as he swiveled around shakily on his stool to watch the blonde. He watched in amusement as the woman eyed the rear of a short waitress bending over in front of her to pick a napkin up off the floor. He snorted a laugh. “Might not even be a man she wants.”

Scott’s head whipped around and his mouth fell open. “Wha- s’r’sly?”

Logan shrugged and tossed back another shot.

“S’ wait,” Scott slurred. The lowering of his brows told Logan that Scott was narrowing his eyes at him. “S’ all those times ya flirted wit’ Jean. Could ya smell that she wanted ya?”

Logan paused with his shot glass half way to his lips. He set the glass back on the bar and turned to face Scott fully. “Jeanie always smelled interested,” Logan said carefully.

“Wha’s that mean?”

Logan let out a slow breath. “It means that if I had set my mind to it, I think I could have made her want me.”

Scott clumsily folded his arms on the bar and laid his head on them. “S’ why din’t ya?”

“I don’t know,” Logan admitted softly.

“Ya loved ‘er though, I know that,” Scott said belligerently. When Logan was about to respond, Scott held up a hand shakily. “Now jus’ wait. Not sayin’ there’s anythin’ wrong wit’ ya lovin’ Jean. Can’t blame ya for’t. Jus’ wond’rin’ why, if ya loved ‘er, ya di’n’t do anythin’ ‘bout it. Way I see’t, ya’re ‘fraid. Same’s ya’re now.”

“What?”

“Rogue,” Scott said clearly. “Ya love ‘er, right?”

Logan said nothing and Scott snorted. “‘He who r’mains s’lent’s un’erstood t’ agree.’”

“‘Qui tacet consentire videtur’,” Logan murmured. “Maybe.”

“Huh?” Scott demanded.

“Never mind.” Logan slapped a few twenties on the bar and pulled up by his arm. “Come on. Let’s get you home.”

“Huh? No. I wan’ed t’ get laid t’nigh’.” Unfortunately, Scott made his whining declaration just as the song playing on the jukebox ended. Silence fell over the room as all heads turned toward them, and as the bar patrons saw Scott swaying unsteadily on his feet, his head on Logan’s shoulder and his face angled up toward his companion’s, they burst out in collective laughter.

“Somehow I don’t think that’s gonna happen, Scooter.” Logan swung Scott’s limp arm up over his shoulders, gripping his wrist in one hand. Wrapping his other arm around Scott’s waist, he made quick work of dragging him out of the bar.

* * *

Professor Xavier summoned Logan to his office as soon as he had finished helping Scott up to his room. Rogue had borne silent witness to the whole ordeal from the third floor landing, watching as Logan pulled a barely coherent Scott through the front door, across the foyer and up the stairs. They said nothing to each other when he passed her going up, and they said nothing as he passed her on the way down. Logan did, however, cock an eyebrow in the direction of the kitchen, and Rogue nodded in understanding.

Standing in front of Xavier’s office, Logan paused with his fist upraised to knock on the door. He waited several seconds for the professor to call out to him to come in, but he heard nothing but the faint scratching of a pen on paper. Puzzled, and somewhat worried, Logan rapped sharply on the door twice. He heard paper shuffling together, a drawer being opened and then closed again before the professor bid him enter.

“Sit, please, Logan,” Xavier said softly. He waited as Logan made his way to a chair and settled into it gingerly, worried as always that this might be the day that the spindly legs of the furniture finally collapsed under his weight. “So, tomorrow is the interview. Are you and Rogue prepared?”

Logan grunted. “As much as we can be. Kinda walkin’ into this thing blind after all.”

“I suppose so. The only background information they will be using is taken directly from the school’s files, if that helps to put your mind at ease.”

“A little. Of course, Rogue and I never knew what you had in our files anyway, but I don’t think you’d give them anythin’ dangerous.” Although Logan’s tone was flat, Xavier heard the unspoken question.

“Dangerous, no. But there might be a few things that you find surprising, and I’m not sure what conclusions the various…” Xavier seemed to struggle to find an appropriate word, “…staff members might draw from the information.” He held up a hand to forestall Logan’s response. “I’m sorry. You know as per the agreement with the president that I cannot divulge anything more. For the interview to remain authentic and unrehearsed, it is of utmost importance that you and Rogue have no previous knowledge of the questions you will be asked. And of course, the television audience will be given the opportunity to call in with questions, so there is always the potential for unexpected topics of conversation anyway.”

“Yeah, can’t say as I’m happy with that.” I don’t know who might call to talk to me. Probably some barflies I screwed givin’ me what for ‘cause I’m a mutant. Lord I hope not…don’t want Marie to hear that.

Xavier felt mild surprise as he heard a rare, clearly projected thought from Logan. He could only assume that “Marie” was Rogue, and a wave of sadness swept through him unexpectedly. As fond as he had become of Rogue, and she of him he thought, she had never trusted him with her name or her past.

“I don’t think she’d hold something like that against you, Logan,” the professor said gently. He saw Logan tense and go still, slight panic in his eyes before they narrowed dangerously.

“We’re gonna need to borrow one of your cars,” Logan said abruptly. “Takin’ my bike wouldn’t be safe if things don’t go well.”

“Yes. Yes, of course.” Xavier knew that Logan ignoring his previous statement was his way of offering a courteous warning to keep what he had learned to himself. He was slightly flattered that Logan actually trusted him enough that he didn’t feel the need to use verbal or physical threats as he would normally do. He had, however, almost physically felt the slamming of shutters over Logan’s thoughts and had the odd feeling that if he were to pry, all he would encounter would be a firm barricade with menacing red and black “Keep Out” signs. Or perhaps “No Trespassing.” He never underestimated Logan’s ability to keep him guessing. Snapping himself out of his thoughts, Xavier continued by saying, “Take whichever vehicle will suit you best.”

“The black Explorer,” Logan said immediately.

The professor nodded. “Done.”

* * *

Logan leaned against the kitchen doorframe as he watched Rogue, her back to him, scooping ice cream into two bowls. He ran his eyes over her figure from the top of her head down to her heals, pausing at the wisps of hair against her nape that had escaped from her messy ponytail and at the gently rounded curve of her hips. She had on a long-sleeved white t-shirt, old black sweat pants, and her bunny slippers. Those damn slippers again, he thought with a reluctant grin.

“Hey, sugar,” Rogue greeted without turning around.

Logan grunted softly and walked toward her. As he straddled one of the high stools at the kitchen island where Rogue was finishing dishing up the ice cream, he asked, “How’d you know I was there?”

She shrugged a slim shoulder and closed the lid on the container of Death by Chocolate. Sliding one of the bowls in front of him, Rogue hooked her foot around the second stool and pulled it closer to her and with an odd little hop, got herself settled comfortably on it. Logan noticed a bit of chocolate dripping along her left thumb, and before he could say anything, Rogue absently lifted her hand and flicked her pink tongue over her thumb.

“Shit!” Logan exclaimed at the unexpected clenching of his stomach muscles.

“What?” Rogue asked in alarm, her spoon hovering midway between her bowl and her mouth.

Exhaling slowly and consciously relaxing his muscles, Logan staunchly ignored the lingering feeling of warmth in his lap, hoping that Rogue would do nothing else to make it spread.

“Nothin’, darling. Just realized that, uh,” That that tongue of hers could be put to good use, Wolverine’s suggestive whisper made Logan choke and stammer. “Uh. Yeah. ‘Bout tomorrow. We’re drivin’. Can’t take the bike though. Yeah.”

“Ohh-kay,” Rogue said carefully, slowly. “Why can’t we take the bike? The studio is only ‘bout an hour from here.”

“Not safe, darlin’.” Thankfully, now that he was focusing on minimizing any risk to her safety, Logan was able to tear his eyes away from her mouth and all the Wolverine did was growl softly at the back of his mind. “If we have to leave in a hurry or anythin’ like that, an enclosed vehicle is best.”

“Oh.” Rogue took a bite of her ice cream. “That makes sense. ‘Leave in a hurry,’ huh? Guess that means Ah should pack a bag, right?”

“Right,” Logan muttered, shoving a large spoonful of ice cream into his mouth. He quickly screwed his eyes shut and winced at the stinging cold that burst through his nose and across his forehead.

Rogue sniggered. “Forgot ‘bout the ice cream headache, didn’t ya?”

Logan merely growled in response as he lifted a smaller portion of the dessert to his lips.

* * *

Logan looked over at Rogue as he parked in front of the studio. The hour long ride had been made in relative silence, the only sound in the vehicle coming from the radio Rogue had turned on as they left Xavier’s earlier that afternoon. In deference to his sensitive hearing, she had kept the volume low, and in deference to her nervousness, he hadn’t once complained about the whiny pop station she had chosen. Switching off the engine, he popped his seat belt – another thing he had done in consideration of Rogue’s comfort – and twisted in his seat until he was facing her.

“Ready, kid?”

She smiled faintly at the endearment. He rarely ever used it anymore, and when he did, she knew that he was using it as a subtle reminder of his promise to always take care of her.

“Ah’m ready, Logan.”

He nodded once and they stepped from the vehicle in unison. As he rounded the front of the Explorer, he saw a uniformed guard walking swiftly toward them. He slipped his hand under Rogue’s left elbow and pulled her slightly behind him as he turned to face the guard.

“You folks follow me,” the guard muttered quietly, sweeping his eyes over the mostly empty parking lot. He led them into the rambling one story building and down a series of twisting hallways. He stopped in a reception room of sorts and gestured for them to sit before disappearing farther down the hall. Turning to inspect the room as Rogue flopped down onto one of the cheap couches, he saw that the plastic tree in the corner was covered in dust, the wallpaper was beginning to peel at the top corners, and small puffs of dust rose up from the carpet with each of his steps. Unless he was poorly mistaken, they had chosen a studio that had been shut down some time ago. He grunted softly in approval. Nobody would expect such an “important” interview to be broadcast from a rundown building. Scanning the room once more, he was pleased to note that there were no cameras or microphones hidden away in any of the dusty corners. Rogue was watching him curiously, and when he met her eyes, he offered her a half smile before sitting down next to her. Immediately, Rogue scooted closer and looped her arm through his as she rested her head on his shoulder. He tilted his head so that it rested lightly on hers.

“Ah already miss ‘em,” Rogue whispered.

Logan grunted in acknowledgement. “You’ll see ‘em again in a few hours, darlin’.”

“Maybe,” she murmured. “But gen’rally ya don’t get hugs from everybody when ya’re just goin’ out fer the day.” Logan winced inwardly as he remembered the scene in the foyer after lunch. Scott, Storm, and Xavier had come to see them off, and as Logan had stood at the door, Storm had moved forward and embraced Rogue fiercely. He had wondered briefly if she had seen him stowing his and Rogue’s bags in the back of the Explorer that morning. Ororo certainly hadn’t expressed any concern over the interview in the last couple weeks and her sudden show of affection suggested that she knew they might not be returning. When Ororo had stepped back, Scott took her place, whispering something so softly to Rogue that Logan hadn’t been able to catch it. The low humming of Xavier’s wheelchair had pulled his attention away from Scott and Rogue. The professor had spoken softly, telling him that the entire mansion would be tuning in to watch the interview and to call him immediately if they needed anything. He hadn’t given Logan a chance to respond, though, and wheeled forward to grasp one of Rogue’s gloved hands and pat it affectionately. As Rogue had leaned down to quickly kiss the professor’s cheek, Ororo and Scott had looked at him and merely nodded before turning away.

Grasping for any response that might put Rogue at ease, Logan said, “Yeah, well. They didn’t hug me, kid. So if your little theory’s right and they were tryin’ to say a long term goodbye, don’t you think I’d have gotten a little more than silent nods?”

Rogue giggled and hugged his arm tighter. “If they weren’t afraid ya’d skewer ‘em, Ah’m sure they woulda hugged ya too.”

He was saved from having to reply by a frazzled-looking woman bursting through the door. The suddenness of her entry put him on edge, and if it hadn’t been for her irritated mumbling, he probably would have popped his claws to defend Rogue against the woman.

“‘Go do their hair and makeup,’ they say. ‘Go see if their wardrobe is acceptable,’ they say. Oh shoot!” The armful of small cases she was carrying tumbled out of her arms and scattered across the dusty carpet, and the only thing she managed to keep her grip on was a small oval mirror on a stand. As she stepped forward, her heal landed squarely on a flat black square case and she squealed loudly as she fell backward, her hands flailing in the air in a futile attempt to regain her balance. The mirror flew out of her hand, and as it sailed past his head, Logan leapt forward and grabbed the woman’s outstretched arms to hold her upright. He heard the mirror shatter against the wall, and the woman’s shriek was cut off abruptly when she didn’t hit the floor as she had expected to.

Looking down into her face, Logan couldn’t hold back a chuckle; her eyes were clamped shut so tightly that all of her features seemed to be drawn in toward them. At his chuckle, she slowly cracked one eye open, causing half of her face to relax while the other half remained puckered in toward her still-closed eye.

“Oh, mah Lord!” Rogue exclaimed, rushing forward. “Are ya all right?” She slid her arm beneath the woman’s back and helped her stand upright. Logan kept his grip on her forearms to steady her as her head swiveled back and forth between the two of them. The startled look on her face was replaced by one of confusion.

“Are you the mutants?”

Logan stiffened and flung the woman’s arms away from him as he took a step back, reaching out to yank Rogue behind him as he did so.

“Ouch! Logan!” Rogue hissed as she rubbed her sore wrist. She elbowed him out of the way and tossed him a glare as she drew even with him. He huffed and took a small step away from her. Rather than being hurt by the gesture, Rogue knew that he was just giving himself room so that if he needed his claws, he wouldn’t accidentally scratch her.

“Yes, we’re the mutants,” Rogue said directly to the woman in a soft voice.

“Oh. Well good.”

“Huh?” Logan asked in disbelief.

“They told me to come do your hair and makeup.”

Logan took a hasty step back. “No way in hell!” he snarled.

The woman propped her hands on her hips and took a step forward in pursuit. “Look, mister. I’m just trying to do my job, and I’d appreciate it if you didn’t give me a hard time about it.”

Rogue giggled at the scene before her. For every step back that Logan took, the woman stepped forward until she was effectively stalking him across the room.

Rogue’s laughter drew the woman’s attention to her. Ignoring Logan for the moment, she stepped forward and extended her hand to Rogue. “Hi, I’m Cherise. You don’t have a problem with me getting started on you first, do you?”

Rogue shook her head as she grasped Cherise’s hand. “That’s fine. Ah’m Rogue. And that’s Logan,” she said, nodding in his direction.

Cherise dropped Rogue’s hand with a murmured, “Pleased to meet you,” and immediately reached up to grasp her chin. Rogue gasped and jerked her head away.

“Watch it!” Logan yelled as he once again jumped toward the woman. He caught her wrist and pulled her hand away from Rogue.

“What are you doing?” Cherise exclaimed angrily. “I’m not going to hurt her.”

“Ah’m sorry!” Rogue said hurriedly.

“You don’t have anythin’ to apologize for, darlin’,” Logan growled after he let go of Cherise’s wrist.

Rogue nodded slightly to him. “Cherise?” she asked. “Did they tell ya anythin’ ‘bout us?”

The angry hurt on Cherise’s face was replaced by puzzlement. “Well, no. The just said that I was doing hair and makeup for two mutants today. I have to admit, though, that I was worried you’d be all blue or something with spiky hair or scales or…or…I don’t know. But you look pretty normal to me. Are you sure you’re mutants?” Her tone was suspicious.

Rogue gave a watery chuckle. “We’re sure. And Logan does have spiky hair,” she said, flashing him a quick grin when he narrowed his eyes at her. “Well, kinda anyway.”

“So if you’re both mutants, why don’t you look like it?”

“Most mutants look like regular people,” Logan said.

“Then how do you know you’re mutants?” Cherise asked innocently.

Logan exchanged a look with Rogue, one that said Is she for real?

“Because of what we can do,” Rogue explained softly. “When ya reached for mah face earlier?” Cherise responded with a curious nod to the questioning tone in Rogue’s voice. “Mah skin’s poisonous.”

Cherise blinked rapidly and her lips tried to form multiple questions at once, making her resemble a fish gasping outside the water. “Well shit,” she finally managed. “How am I supposed to do your makeup if I can’t touch you?”

Her question was greeted with silence. Rogue’s sudden laughter caught Logan’s attention. He had never before heard such a light, joyous sound from her, and he couldn’t hold back an answering smile.

“Ya can touch me,” Rogue replied, smiling at Cherise. “Ah have some control over mah skin. It’s just that when ya tried to touch me before, Ah wasn’t expectin’ it, so mah skin wasn’t…‘safe’ then.” Rogue drew quotation marks in the air with crooked fingers.

“Oh.” Cherise’s tone was matter-of-fact. “What about him? He got poisonous skin too?” She looked at Logan.

“No,” Logan grinned nastily. “Just claws.” He snapped his arms down and the claws came shooting out.

“Oh. Nifty,” Cherise said.

Logan and Rogue gaped at her. Logan sniffed the air curiously, expecting to smell fear from the woman despite her calm demeanor. Nothing.

The woman’s crazy. That’s the only explanation for why she isn’t afraid. Even Marie was scared of our claws at first. Logan agreed with Wolverine’s assessment.

“I don’t think there’s anything I can do for him as far as hair and makeup goes,” Cherise said to Rogue. “They said to play up your mutations, although how I’m supposed to do that when you look normal is beyond me. But I guess his hair being all wild like that suggests ‘animal’ like the claws do.” She turned to Logan, “Facial hair and makeup generally don’t mix well. And no offense, hon, but I don’t think ‘clean-shaven’ will go with the animal look either.”

“None taken,” Logan grunted, relieved enough to have avoided makeup that he didn’t even mind that she had basically called him an animal. He retracted his claws and moved to the couch.

Cherise took a step closer to Rogue and lifted her hand into the air between them. “May I?” she asked, and Rogue nodded. Cherise grasped Rogue’s chin between her thumb and the knuckle of her curled index finger. Tilting Rogue’s head from side to side, she “hmm”ed under her breath. “Where’d you get the bruises, honey?”

Rogue started. She had thought she’d done a good job covering them that morning. “Group of kids at school ganged up on me when they found out Ah’m a mutant,” she answered simply.

Cherise made a sound of disgust deep in her throat and let go of Rogue’s chin. “Idiots,” she muttered as she rummaged through a small bag on the floor, one of the items she had dropped when she came in. She pulled out a small white box and popped the lid off. Rogue was confused when Cherise approached her with the makeup removing wipes.

“What’re ya doin’, Cherise?”

“‘Play up their mutations,’ they said,” Cherise muttered as she gently ran the cloth over Rogue’s face to clean away the layers of makeup. “What needs ‘playing up’ here is human stupidity and meanness. Oh, don’t get me wrong,” Cherise hushed Rogue before she even managed to get a word out. “I’m not going to do anything to make you look more beat up than you are. I’m just going to send you out as you are. Pure, unvarnished truth.”

“Cherise?” Rogue questioned.

“Hmm?” Cherise was studying Rogue’s face closely.

“Why aren’t you afraid of us?” Logan’s ears, if they had been able to, would have perked up in interest.

Cherise nodded to herself in satisfaction and stepped away from Rogue. “I figure if you had meant me any harm, you would have let me touch your skin that first time I reached for you.” She turned to Logan, who was glowering at her from the couch. “And you. You can be as growly as a bear and brandish those claws at me all you like. But you kept me from falling down, and you kept me from touching Rogue’s skin. You did all of that so I wouldn’t get hurt.” She shrugged. “The way I see it, you’re not bad people, and you mean me no harm. So what do I have to be afraid of?”

Cherise knelt on the floor and started gathering up the scattered foundation, blush, and eye shadow compacts. After a moment of frozen silence, Rogue rushed to help her. When they both stood, Rogue placed her hand on the other woman’s forearm.

“Cherise. Thank ya,” she said softly.

Cherise nodded to her and then to Logan. “Good luck,” she said, and snorted a laugh right after she got the words out. At their looks of confusion, she explained, “Here I am wishing the two of you good luck, and I’m the one who broke a mirror today.” She lifted her chin toward the pile of silvered glass against the far wall, and without another word, she turned and walked out of the room.

* * *

Logan wasn’t at all sure he liked the man who was interviewing them. His hair was slicked back with enough product that Logan could smell him from three feet away and he had so much makeup on his skin that his face looked like it might crack if he smiled too broadly. Logan was amused to note that the makeup made the man’s skin look sallow, and he wondered if it was Cherise’s work. He had liked the plucky woman, and he wouldn’t put it past her to make them look better by making their host look ill. He glanced at Rogue as the man behind the center camera counted down from three with his fingers. He was proud of her as she made an effort to stop scowling at him. Logan had put himself in the seat between her and their host, despite her protests that she would need to lean forward to see around him whenever the man spoke to her. Logan had wordlessly yanked her chair, with her in it, forward about four inches, effectively solving the problem. The crew working around the set had looked like they wanted to protest, but Logan’s wordless glowering had scared them off.

“This is Phil Ruskin, coming to you live with a special interview. We’re making television history here today, interrupting regularly scheduled programs across the entire country to broadcast on all major networks from an undisclosed location.” Phil paused for exactly two seconds as he looked directly into the cameras. “I have with me today two brave souls who are willing to let us into their lives. They’re here to tell us what we’ve always wanted to know about what it’s like to live as they do. What it’s like,” Phil took a convincingly bracing, although faked, breath, “to live as mutants.”

Phil’s pause this time was four seconds, and then he turned away from the cameras to face Logan and Rogue. Logan couldn’t stop the frown that tightened the corners of his mouth. The man’s theatrics put him on edge.

“Wolverine, Rogue,” he said warmly, “thank you for joining us here today.” He waited expectantly for a response and Logan’s frown deepened. He felt Rogue lean into his shoulder in subtle admonishment as she spoke.

“Thank ya for havin’ us, Phil,” she returned politely, her drawl heavier due to her nervousness.

“I think the first thing people might wonder about,” Phil chuckled, “is your names.” He turned to address the cameras directly again. “‘Wolverine’ and ‘Rogue’ are codenames of sorts,” he explained in a knowledgeable tone. “Many mutants take on such names not only to protect their public identities, but as a kind of identification with, and an assimilation of, their mutant abilities.”

Way to go, jackass, Wolverine snorted, pushing to the forefront of Logan’s consciousness. First words out of his mouth and the idiot’s already made us seem like outsiders. Logan ground his teeth together, agreeing with the Wolverine, but unable to think of a way to minimize the damage Phil had done. Their host was looking at them again.

“Would either of you care to explain how and why you chose your names?” he asked with false politeness. Logan could hear the underlying demand beneath the question.

“Wolverine didn’t choose his name,” Rogue said abruptly, and Phil’s smile slipped infinitesimally. Only Logan picked up on the anger humming through Rogue’s body.

“Oh? Please explain,” Phil invited, recovering quickly. Rogue looked at Logan, unwilling to speak further in case she revealed something he would rather keep hidden.

Logan released the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “I don’t know any other name,” he said gruffly. “I don’t remember anythin’ about my life except for the past fifteen years. I woke up in the woods somewhere, naked except for a pair of dog tags around my neck. The name on the tags said ‘Wolverine,’ so that’s what I go by.” He shrugged dismissively, leaving the blood and his claws out of the story. And it was true enough; he hadn’t remembered the name ‘Logan’ until several weeks after that.

“Oh my,” Phil said with carefully controlled sympathy. “That must have been awful. Truly awful. Dog tags are military issue, though, are they not? Surely you could find out about your past by making the proper inquiries?”

“Tried,” Logan grunted, crossing his arms over his chest. It had, in fact, been the professor who had quietly looked into the issue. “No government, domestic or foreign, has any knowledge of ‘Wolverine.’”

The Wolverine snorted again. Bullshit, he said. But at least nobody’s gonna be callin’ us up today claimin’ ownership. Not after sayin’ on national television that the government denied Weapon X’s existence.

“That is truly unfortunate,” Phil was saying. “And what about you, Rogue? I hope that your story isn’t quite as melancholy?”

“‘Melancholy?’” Rogue repeated, her accent drawing the word out comically. “Ah suppose that’s one way to describe it.” Phil stiffened at her dry tone. “Ah was sixteen when Ah found out Ah was a mutant. Ah…it was a bad situation, the way Ah found out.” She shrugged helplessly. “Mah parents were scared an’ angry, and mah daddy told me to get out. That Ah wasn’t his daughter anymore, that Ah wasn’t his – ” she cut herself off before revealing her real name. “Ah figured if mah daddy, the one who had named me, didn’t want me usin’ mah name anymore, Ah had no right to it.”

“But why ‘Rogue?’” Phil pressed.

Rogue looked faintly embarrassed as she shrugged again. “Ah was a junior in high school, an’ Ah had just started studyin’ for the SATs. It was on the vocab study list an’ it just seemed to fit.”

Phil chuckled and Logan wanted to punch him. Wolverine gave a wordless growl of agreement before settling back down. “Now, from what I understand,” Phil said, “even though your names weren’t consciously chosen as a reflection of your mutative abilities, they are, ironically, appropriate enough.”

‘Mutative?’ Logan thought, raising his eyebrow.

“Now, Wolverine,” Phil continued, turning to face him directly, “I understand that you are quite vicious in a fight.”

“He’s not vicious!” Rogue exclaimed before he had a chance to reply. “He’s tough an’ he does what needs doin’, but he doesn’t start fights an’ he doesn’t draw ‘em out any longer than they need to be.”

Although it wasn’t entirely true – he did occasionally start fights, and Rogue knew it – he appreciated how quickly she had come to his defense.

“It’s all right, darlin’,” he murmured, and silently cursed the microphone pinned to his collar that amplified his words for everyone to hear. He cleared his throat and looked at Phil. “I like a good fight,” he admitted, “But I don’t go poundin’ on innocent people, and I don’t do them permanent damage unless they’re tryin’ to do the same to me.”

“I’m glad you brought that up,” Phil segued seamlessly, “‘permanent damage.’ Now, correct me if I’m wrong, but isn’t it impossible for you to sustain ‘permanent damage’?”

“More or less,” Logan grunted cautiously. He didn’t like Phil’s guileless tone, but at least he was keeping the focus was off Rogue for the moment.

“More or less,” Phil mused, looking briefly at the cameras and his invisible audience. “The way I heard it, you can heal from anything.”

“Maybe,” Logan said noncommittally.

“Oh, come now, Wolverine. There’s no need to be shy.” Phil gave him a friendly smile. “I have it on good authority that you’ve been shot, stabbed, poisoned, burned, dismembered, have fallen from great heights, been crushed under several tons of debris, been starved, drowned, electrocuted, frozen, buried alive for days, um, what else?” Phil pulled a note card from the table beside him. “Ah, yes. You’ve also been skinned, exsanguinated, and survived numerous invasive surgical procedures with no anesthesia. And also, it seems that you do not get sick. Ever. You’re immune to even the common cold, isn’t that right?”

Son of a bitch! Wolverine thundered murderously. Is he intentionally tryin’ to dehumanize us?

Logan was cautious with his answer, wondering, like Wolverine, what Phil’s angle was.

“That’s not exactly right,” he said slowly. “I’m not immune to diseases. I do catch them, but my body’s able to produce antibodies almost immediately. Or at least that’s what doctors have told me.” He shrugged and continued before Phil had a chance to interrupt. “I heal from cuts and burns like other people would, just faster and without scars. Poisons don’t work on me for long because my metabolism’s too fast; same with anesthesia. And alcohol,” he added dryly. “Can’t get drunk no matter how hard I try. And the only way I was able to survive being crushed under that building is because of my skeleton.”

Phil was suddenly alert. “Yes, let’s talk about your skeleton for a moment, shall we?” He gestured to a screen behind them and it was suddenly backlit, no doubt due to a stagehand flipping a switch somewhere off screen. On the screen were the x-rays Jean had taken when he had first arrived at Xavier’s. “Now, what you see here, folks,” Phil spoke again to the cameras, “is Wolverine’s skeleton. And that’s not bone. That’s metal.” He paused for the requisite two seconds. “An indestructible metal called ‘adamantium.’”

Logan felt of surge of satisfaction as the smarmy host stumbled over the unfamiliar word.

“Now, I’m sure you’ll all have questions – and doubts – about the truth of this,” Phil was nodding at the cameras now, “but we do ask that you remain patient. We’ll have a phone number you can call later in the broadcast to ask whatever questions you might have. For now, let’s see if we can’t find some way to convince you that what you’re hearing is true.” He turned to Logan again. “Now, Wolverine.” Logan was getting sick of the way the man kept saying ‘now.’ “Can you perhaps show us a demonstration of your healing?”

“No!” Rogue exclaimed loudly, grabbing onto Logan’s arm.

“Why not, Rogue?” Phil questioned with false innocence. “He heals from anything, so there’s no real danger, isn’t that right?”

“Because, ya j–” Rogue stopped abruptly.

‘Jackass,’ Wolverine interjected smugly. Our girl was gonna call him a jackass on national television.

“Because ya just don’t understand,” Rogue covered smoothly. “He may heal from anythin’, but he still feels pain. It’s not fair to ask him to hurt himself just to satisfy yer curiosity.”

Logan covered her hand with his. “It’s all right, darlin’,” he said again. He turned to Phil. “You want proof of the metal skeleton and proof of the healin’, right?”

Phil nodded. “That’s right. I think our viewers deserve it.”

Bastard. He’s just as curious and doesn’t want to admit it.

“Fine.” Logan let out a breath and removed Rogue’s hand from his arm. He rolled his shirt sleeves up to his elbows and popped the claws from his right hand, savoring the way Phil startled back in his chair and inhaled so quickly he was momentarily caught in a coughing fit. “Adamantium claws,” Logan grunted. “Same as the metal that coats my skeleton. It isn’t a natural mutation,” he said shortly.

“If it isn’t natural,” Phil said when he regained his breath, “then how did it happen?”

“My healin’ factor,” Logan said softly, although his mic picked up every word. “My healin’ factor made it possible for somebody to surgically graft the metal to my entire skeleton. And you remember what I said about anesthesia not workin’ on me?” Phil nodded slowly, and this time Logan was the one to address the cameras directly. “I was awake for the entire thing except for when the pain made me black out. They would stop then, wait for me to come to, worried that even my healin’ wouldn’t keep the shock from killin’ me. And then they would cut me open again and start right back up from where they had left off.”

“I thought you said you couldn’t remember anything about your past,” Phil challenged.

Logan turned slowly from the cameras to face Phil, his claws still out. “I dream about it almost every night. And enough people have poked around inside my head to confirm that they’re not just nightmares. They’re memories. Memories of people standing around drinkin’ champagne while I was bleedin’ and screamin’.” Logan didn’t volunteer the information that it was telepaths and not psychiatrists who examined his mind.

Phil seemed not to have heard Logan’s words as he continued the interview. “And the metal, this adamantium, is indestructible? How was it formed around your skeleton then?”

“Damned if I know,” Logan grunted. “Not many people know how to manipulate it, from what I’ve been told, and once it’s cooled, it can’t be reshaped.”

“Your claws. Can they cut through, say, steel?”

“Yeah.”

Phil turned quickly to address somebody off camera. “Bring us something steel to test.”

“Wait a minute!” Rogue said, latching onto Logan’s arm again. “Ye’re gonna hurt him!”

“How will testing the sharpness and durability of his claws hurt him?” Phil asked.

Before Rogue could answer, two men clambered onto the slightly raised stage area hefting a section of steel girder between them.

“Ya had this planned!” she accused Phil, barely restraining herself from pointing a finger at him. “There’s no way ya had a steel beam lyin’ around the studio.”

Logan squeezed her fingers with his right hand, careful not to knick her with his claws, and then removed her hand from his arm. He stood up and walked toward the girder where it now sat balanced on a pair of sawhorses.

“From the other side, please, so you don’t block the cameras,” Phil ordered. Logan stiffened, but did as the man directed.

“You’re gonna have to hold the ends,” he said to the stagehands before they could get more than a couple feet away. They looked at each other and then to Phil, who nodded.

Logan waited until the men were in position, and then took a deep breath to center himself. In one quick motion, he swept his right fist up into the air and then brought it down with his full weight behind it, grimacing at the impact and screech of his claws hitting the steel. He felt resistance for only a fraction of a second before the beam fell into smoothly sliced sections at his feet. He felt the burning of torn muscle and ligament much longer.

When he looked up, he saw that Rogue was on her feet facing him, and she had tears standing in her eyes. Phil had his hands over his ears. The sound of the heavy steel hitting the floor had been a bit louder than even Logan had expected. The stage hands had backed away abruptly, each of them also covering their ears. Logan bent down slowly and picked up the two pieces of one-inch thick steel that had dropped from between his claws. He left the larger pieces where they were. As he walked back toward Rogue and Phil, he tried to retract his claws, but his muscles weren’t cooperating. He held his left hand out to Rogue, and she took one of the steel pieces from him and tightened her hand into a fist around the eight inch long section. He handed the other piece to Phil, who turned it over and over in his hands as he examined it from every angle.

Phil finally looked up at him after several long seconds. Swallowing visibly, he said, “Well, I’m certainly convinced. Why don’t we have a seat again.” Phil seemed to collapse into his chair and drained the glass of water on the table beside him.

Rogue noted with sudden bitterness that neither she nor Logan had been offered anything to drink. As Logan sat down next to her, she tucked the 1 x 8 inch piece of metal on the chair beside her and reached for his right forearm. He startled at her touch, and smiled when she began massaging the sore muscles with her gloved fingertips.

She always knows when we’re hurtin’. Logan heard the affection behind the Wolverine’s words. It surprised him a bit. He had heard anger, pride, and lust from him before, even a brief surge of panic and fear at the Statue of Liberty when it had seemed like he couldn’t heal Marie. But he had never heard such softness from him before today.

“All right,” Phil said suddenly, his energy and enthusiasm seemingly restored. “That takes care of proving the metal skeleton. Now how are you going to prove the healing?”

“He’s already proved it,” Rogue said angrily, still massaging his arm. “He tore up his muscles durin’ yer little demonstration.” She spat the last word.

“That may be,” Phil said, his words practically dripping sympathy, “but I’m afraid it’s not enough for our viewers at home. They need something they can see.”

Rogue stood abruptly and rounded on Phil. “Enough!” she screeched. “He’s hurtin’ and all ye’re worried about is yer damn show. Ye’re just like the people who tortured him in that lab!”

“Are you saying that’s true of our audience as well, Rogue?” Phil’s silky tone doused her anger.

“No. No,” she muttered. She knew what Phil was doing. He was manipulating them, using the audience’s opinion against them. As long as they were live, she and Logan needed to be incredibly careful of what they said and did. One wrong step and they could offend and alienate the entire country. “That’s not what Ah’m sayin’, an’ Ah apologize. Ah was out o’ line. O’ course everybody’s curious, an’ Ah understand, Ah really do. It’s just…he could use a few minutes to recover. Please?” She hated the pleading tone in her voice.

“I think that’s reasonable,” Phil said agreeably, and Rogue let Logan tug her back down into her seat. “We’ll talk a bit until Wolverine’s fully recovered, all right?”

Rogue nodded cautiously and began massaging Logan’s forearm again. She could feel the heat gradually leaving his muscles and knew that in just a couple more minutes, he would have full control over his claws again. He had told her once that muscle injuries took the longest to heal.

“You’re quite protective of Wolverine, aren’t you, Rogue?”

Rogue froze momentarily before lifting her eyes to Phil’s. His look was calculated.

“Yes. Yes, Ah am. An’ he’s protective o’ me too.”

“You look awfully young. How old are you, Rogue?”

You son of a bitch, Rogue thought even as she smiled politely at Phil. Ye’re gonna try to make my friendship with Logan into somethin’ tawdry, aren’t ya?

“Ah’ll be twenty-two in a couple months,” she said out loud.

“Hm. And how long have you and Wolverine known each other?”

“Five years.” She kept her answers short, offering no more than what Phil asked.

“Five years. So you met each other shortly after you became aware of your mutation. When you were sixteen, you said?”

“Mah mutation manifested when Ah was sixteen. Ah was seventeen when Ah met L–Wolverine.”

Phil’s eyes narrowed at her near slip and he opened his mouth to toss out his next question. He was distracted by the distinctive snikt as Logan was finally able to retract his claws. Although his breath caught when he saw the cuts between Logan’s knuckles meld seamlessly together, he seemed unwilling to abandon his new line of questioning.

“Seventeen,” Phil repeated. “That is young. And Wolverine. You look like you’re in your mid-thirties, so it’s fair to say there’s at least twelve years between the two of you.”

Logan shifted slightly in his chair. He could tell where this was going, and from Rogue’s stillness, he knew that she had figured it out too. He wasn’t sure how to answer the man, though, since he didn’t know if his slow aging was mentioned in Xavier’s file. He took a gamble that Jean’s notes from those initial tests merely stated that it was impossible to determine his exact age.

“That seems fair,” he acknowledged.

“Twelve years’ difference then. Wouldn’t you say you’re a little old for her?”

Logan heard Rogue’s sharp breath and answered quickly so she would have a chance to get her anger under control. He was having some difficulty with his own anger, though, as the Wolverine kept up a mental litany of insults. “We don’t have that kind of a relationship,” he said simply.

“No?” Phil questioned. “You seem like you do.”

“Can’t help the way you see things,” Logan returned laconically.

“That’s true,” Phil nodded. But then he gestured toward the cameras. “But I’m sure I’m not the only one who sees things that way.”

Rogue sputtered wordlessly beside him.

“Look,” Logan said, running his hand through his hair. “Rogue and I do not have and have never had that kind of a relationship. So there are no legal or moral issues here.”

“Perhaps no legal issues, but the moral terrain is a bit trickier to navigate, isn’t it?”

“No,” Logan said sharply, “it isn’t. I would never intentionally do anythin’ to hurt Rogue; I care about her and want to see her happy, and I’ll protect her from anythin’ and anyone. If you want to call that immoral, go ahead.”

Perhaps sensing that he would get nowhere in his argument with Logan, Phil abruptly changed the subject. “You seem to have recovered your strength and vigor, Wolverine. How about that demonstration of your healing abilities?”

“All right,” Logan returned immediately and popped a single claw. He smiled as Phil jumped yet again. “You’re gonna have to watch closely, I heal fast.” With that, he drew the claw across his left forearm, deep enough that blood welled up, but by the time he had pulled his hand completely away, he could feel that the flesh had already knit back together.

“Ya don’t need to do this!” Rogue said, tugging her sleeve down over her gloved hand and wiping away his blood.

Phil leaned closer for a better look at Logan’s arm. “It doesn’t look like he did anything. There’s nothing there, and I know that if I’m sitting this close and didn’t see anything, our viewers certainly didn’t. Are you ready for a close-up,” he asked the cameramen, “we’re going to try again.”

“No, we’re not!” Logan heard the tears in Rogue’s voice.

“Rogue,” he said quietly, pleased that the microphone didn’t pick it up this time, although he knew that Phil did. “It’s all right, darlin’.”

Rogue leaned her forehead against his upper arm. “Ya keep sayin’ that, sugar, an’ every time ya get hurt.” She wasn’t arguing with him, he realized, just expressing her concern and displeasure over the situation.

“If you want a clear view of this, I’ll need a towel or somethin’ to wipe the blood away.” Phil was quick to send someone for the item. When the stagehand returned and offered it to Phil, Rogue was quick to snatch it away with a glare that did the Wolverine proud.

“This is the last chance ya get, Ah mean it,” she said sternly to Phil. “So get those cameras ready an’ pay attention.” She wanted to growl at the indulgent, condescending look Phil leveled on her. The president had said the man was impartial to mutant politics. The ass wasn’t impartial; he had ice water in his veins and didn’t give a damn about anybody one way or the other, mutant or human.


“Ready?” Phil questioned the cameramen, and at the thumbs-up across the board, he turned back to Logan and Rogue. “Whenever you’re ready,” he said graciously.

Logan slid his claw across his arm yet again, but this time, he immediately retracted the claw and thrust his thumb into the wound, holding it open. He hissed in pain. Rogue quickly wiped the blood away, giving a clear view of the red ruin of Logan’s arm. Phil made a sick sound deep in his throat, but didn’t look away. Rogue continued sopping up the blood that spilled free, careful not to obstruct the cameras’ view. She’d be damned if she’d let Phil accuse her of ruining the shot. As she worked, Rogue could see the way the cut was closing from the ends first, toward Logan’s thumb at the center. Just as the lips of the wound were about to draw closed around his thumb, he pulled it out. Rogue made one last pass over the sealed wound to wipe away the last of the blood, and all that was left was clear, unmarked skin. She sat back and passed the towel to Logan so he could clean off his thumb.

“Proof enough for you?” Logan asked. Rogue could hear the undercurrent of pain and anger.

“Y-yes. Yes, I think that should do it.” Phil reached for his glass again, only to find it empty. Somebody rushed in from the wings and handed him a bottle of water. He murmured “Excuse me” to the cameras before uncapping the bottle and taking a long draw from it.

Phil cleared his throat and began speaking to the cameras in a much steadier voice. “You have now seen what a class 4 mutant is capable of.”

“What?” Logan and Rogue interrupted in unison.

Phil turned to him. “You didn’t know your own classification?”

“No, why should I?” Logan returned. “Mutant classification is a government medical laboratory scale. After what I’ve told you, it shouldn’t take a genius to figure out I’d rather avoid labs and medical testing.”

Rogue clapped a hand over her mouth to keep from laughing.

“Well, be that as it may, at some point, you were determined to be a class 4 mutant. What that means,” Phil continued, turning toward the cameras again, “is that Wolverine is at the higher end of the mutant power and ability scale. The levels run one through five, one being reserved for those with only mutations to their appearance but no secondary abilities. Class two mutants and up have either a combination of a physical mutation and a secondary ability, or just the ability without any apparent physical difference. Those with multiple abilities are assigned to a class according to the strongest of their abilities. There are also subsections of alpha and beta mutations, which I will explain in just a moment.” Phil paused for another drink of water. “Wolverine, as I said, is a class 4 mutant. He has multiple mutations, or abilities, one being the healing you just witnessed. His other mutations are collectively referred to as a ‘feral’ mutation, is that right?”

He turned to Logan for confirmation, who just nodded wordlessly. Phil turned back to the cameras with a smile.

“A feral mutation refers to enhanced senses – in Wolverine’s case, hearing and smell – and in some cases, increased and uncontrollable aggression. Wolverine’s feral mutation is rated as a beta 3, the class determined by the number of feral mutations he possesses, while his healing is an alpha 4. Therefore, his classification falls with the higher rating, making him a class 4 alpha mutant. Alpha and beta refer to a mutation’s ability to effect change. Beta mutations are abilities that exist without creating change in either the mutant or his surroundings. For example, enhanced hearing is a beta mutation because it neither changes Wolverine physically, nor changes anything around him. Other beta mutations include mild telepathy – where the mutant has no control over others, and no ability to project his or her thoughts to others, and merely ‘listens in.’ Alpha mutations, on the other hand, change the mutant and/or his surroundings. Wolverine’s healing is rated as alpha because it can literally change his reality. For example, he receives a wound that would be considered lethal to a regular human; however, due to Wolverine’s ability to heal, that reality is changed, and the lethal wound becomes non-lethal. If his claws were natural rather than manmade, that would be an alpha mutation as claws certainly have the ability to effect change in others. Other examples of alpha mutations are mind-control, the ability to walk through solid objects, and telekinesis. If you have any questions about mutant classification, please call us later – we’ll be posting the 800 number shortly – or visit the website you see at the bottom of your screen.”

Logan felt his eyebrow go up. They have a website about this classification nonsense?

Phil finally turned his attention back to Rogue and Logan. “Did I explain that properly?” he asked.

“Ah dunno,” Rogue said, sounding stunned. “That’s the first Ah ever heard o’ any o’ it.”

“Really? So you don’t know that class level is primarily determined by how dangerous a mutation is considered?”

“No. L–Wolverine’s healin’ is dangerous enough to make him a class 4? How is healin’ dangerous? It doesn’t hurt anybody…it just helps him out.” Rogue looked at Logan, confusion stamping her features.

“Such accelerated healing is considered dangerous because should Wolverine attack someone, say a police officer, there is nothing the officer would be able to do to protect himself. He could literally empty his gun into Wolverine and it wouldn’t save him.”

“But he’s not gonna attack a police officer!”

“It’s a measure of potential danger, Rogue. Wolverine’s mutation leaves him potentially unstoppable.”

“But that’s not fair!” Rogue huffed in exasperation, and Logan smoothed a hand down her hair to calm her. “Ya can put a gun in mah hand and the potential for danger increases, but it’s the gun that’s dangerous, not me.”

“But you have control over that gun once it’s in your hand, Rogue, and that makes you dangerous by extension, doesn’t it?”

“Ah – Ah suppose so,” Rogue conceded, her brow furrowed in worry. Logan scowled at Phil.

“Everybody has the potential to be dangerous,” Logan growled. “I don’t think you can measure potential danger without examinin’ intent. Kids on a playground playin’ tag are pushin’ and shovin’ each other, but put one mean-spirited kid in the mix, and that same pushin’ and shovin’ leads to deliberate injuries.”

“True,” Phil nodded with an amiable smile. “What you’re arguing is an example of restraint, self-control if you will.”

“Yeah,” Logan said cautiously, not liking Phil’s smile.

“That’s why class 5 is reserved for mutants who have uncontrollable conscious abilities. By uncontrollable, I mean an ability over which the mutant has no control, or an ability that, should the mutant choose to use it fully, cannot be neutralized by any outside force.”

Logan felt a cold finger of fear trail down his spine. Jean he thought, but he knew that the professor had been able to keep her abilities out of the news. He has to have a reason for bringin’ this up.

“You just said that my healin’ makes me potentially unstoppable. That sounds a lot like I can’t be ‘neutralized by any outside force,’ and I don’t have any control over my healin’, so why aren’t I a class 5?”

“You’re right, you don’t have any control over your healing and it works on its own, but I said ‘uncontrollable conscious ability.’ While a class 5 mutant may have an ability that, similar to yours, works on its own, it isn’t a threat until the mutant consciously decides to use it. And that directly speaks to your point about examining intent, Wolverine. A class 5 mutant, one who has an uncontrollable conscious ability, in choosing to use that ability, intends to do harm. So, class 5 mutants are potentially, in a word, deadly.”

“The scale doesn’t make sense then,” Rogue jumped in. “Ya were talkin’ about alpha and beta mutations measurin’ the ability to effect change in oneself or one’s surroundin’s. The way ye’re describin’ it, callin’ ‘em deadly an’ all, class 5 mutations all effect change on the mutant’s surroundin’s.”

Phil smiled again. “That’s why there are no subsections for class 5 mutants. They’re all considered alpha.”

“Ah don’t like it,” Rogue said stubbornly. “Ya can categorize the mutations all ya want, but ya can’t pigeonhole people that conveniently.”

“I can certainly understand why you would feel that way, Rogue.”

Rogue’s eyes narrowed in suspicion at Phil’s slight emphasis on the pronoun and Logan’s hand stilled in her hair.

“What d’ya mean?” she asked.

“Because,” Phil said, still smiling, “you’re a class 5 mutant, Rogue.”

“Bullshit!” Logan said angrily, the volume just below a yell. “She can control her mutation.”

Phil’s smile grew wider and he turned toward the cameras. “Rogue here has deadly skin. She can literally suck the life out of you.”

“We’re not finished talkin’ here, bub!” Logan roared, and grabbed the arm of Phil’s chair, jerking it around and forcing the man to face him. Phil’s smile slipped and was replaced by stark fear.

“Stop. Sugar, stop,” Rogue sobbed as she tugged on Logan’s arm. The scent of her tears finally reached him, and Logan pulled his hand back. He glared at Phil, wishing he could stab the man through the heart and show him that mutant classification be damned, he was more deadly than Rogue would ever be. Logan growled low in his throat and turned to Rogue.

“Please don’t cry, darlin’.” Logan’s voice sounded desperate even to his own ears as he reached up and wiped her tears away with his thumbs. They kept spilling down her cheeks, though, and he finally gave up and just cradled her face gently in his rough hands.

“He’s right, though. Ah’m lucky Ah didn’t kill anybody on campus that day.”

“That’s just stupid,” Logan said, angry again.

Rogue’s head snapped up and her eyes glittered. “Don’t ya call me stupid!”

Logan huffed in startled amusement and Wolverine gave an interested growl. Girl goes from weepy to angry in 0.4 seconds, he said. Wonder how long it takes her to go from angry to aroused?

This is not the time, Logan thought sternly to himself and to the Wolverine, cursing the peculiar effect Rogue’s angry eyes always had on him.

“I’m not callin’ you stupid, darlin’,” he said, staunchly ignoring Phil’s efforts to get their attention again. He turned her face toward the cameras. “Look,” he said directly to the lenses, “you see all these bruises? Some kids came after her at school when they found out she was a mutant. She has control over her mutation, though, and the only harm she did to them was from punchin’ and kickin’. Call her a deadly class 5 mutant or whatever the hell you want, but this girl isn’t dangerous.” Logan let Rogue push his hands away from her face only after he finished speaking.

“She may have control over her mutation, but it still can’t be stopped once she uses it,” Phil reminded him, and then turned immediately back to the cameras. “Unfortunately, this makes it impossible for Rogue to give us a proper exhibition of her abilities, but we have arranged an alternate demonstration.” Phil waved a hand at a man standing just off camera.

“What?”

“What the hell do you mean ‘alternate demonstration’?” Rogue and Logan spoke simultaneously, Rogue’s voice fearful while Logan’s was angry.

The stage hand returned carrying a cage containing two small black and white rabbits.

“Ya can’t be serious?” Rogue asked in disbelief.

“Quite serious, Rogue. Now, I understand that your mutation requires contact with your skin, so if you would just take off your gloves?”

“No!” Rogue refused loudly while Logan growled. The rabbits froze at the sound, rolling their eyes in their heads until they focused on Logan. He was reminded for an uncomfortable moment of Rogue’s bunny slippers.

“Why not?” Phil asked. “We agreed that this was a full-disclosure interview, and surely a demonstration of your mutation falls under the category of full-disclosure.”

“Ah am not gonna kill bunny rabbits!” Rogue huffed.

“We could get something else,” Phil offered. “Perhaps some mice? Unless you’re afraid of mice?”

“Ye’re entirely missin’ the point!” Rogue yelled. She wondered if Phil knew about the other part of her mutation, that she retained some vestige of the psyche of whomever she touched. She was thankful that she had never killed an animal with her touch; other than the fact that she would feel horribly guilty, she wasn’t sure she ever wanted to know what went on in their furry little heads. Will mah mutation even work on animals? she wondered, curious despite herself.

“Now what point is that, Rogue?” Phil asked, still trying to play the accommodating host.

“The point is,” she hissed furiously, “that Ah am not gonna kill anythin’, no matter what it is. An’ ya can’t make me, so don’t ya dare trot another animal out here. An’ seein’ as how we’re live an’ everythin’,” she continued sweetly, “ya can be sure that the SPCA and PETA will be followin’ up on the welfare o’ those bunnies.”

“Good one, darlin’,” Logan murmured with a grin, making sure that the microphone picked him up this time.

Phil’s plastic smile slipped into a scowl for a fraction of a second, but came back full force when he faced the cameras. “I’m sure we all admire Rogue’s consideration for the animals. You should see the 800 number on your screen now. We have several operators standing by to take your calls, so if you don’t get through immediately, please keep trying.” A man wearing a headset and holding a clipboard waved his hand at Phil. “I see we already have our first caller,” he said cheerfully, and nodded at the man with the clipboard. “Hello? You’re on the air. Do you have a question for our guests?”

“Why, no, not just a question. A comment and a question about an issue that I think needs further clarification.” Rogue and Logan exchanged a look. Although he was trying to disguise his voice, they both recognized Hank.

“Go ahead, caller,” Phil said invitingly, smiling for all he was worth into the cameras.

“I’m an amateur scientist, so forgive me if I don’t understand the classification system correctly. A class 5 mutant is somebody who either has no control over his or her mutation, or somebody whose mutation cannot be stopped once it’s in use, correct?”

“Yes, that’s correct,” Phil said encouragingly.

“So this girl, this ‘Rogue?’” Rogue almost smiled at the fake question in Hank’s voice. “She clearly can control her skin since that Wolverine guy was just touching her face, right?”

“Why, yes,” Phil said, now clearly puzzled by the direction the discussion was going.

“So that would mean that for her to be a class 5 mutant, once her mutation was in use, there would be absolutely nothing she or anybody else could do that would stop it.”

“Yes, that’s correct,” Phil answered. “Is that all you wanted to ask?”

“No, I have a question for Rogue.”

Phil looked at her, further confused by the smile on her face. “What’s your question?”

“Once you use your mutation, are you able to stop its effects either by yourself or with somebody’s help?”

“Yes,” Rogue said clearly, triumphantly. “Yes, Ah’ve always been able to let go, an’ even if Ah couldn’t, there’s no reason somebody wouldn’t be able to pull me away.”

“Then correct me if I’m wrong,” Hank returned immediately before Phil could reply, “but there’s no way this girl could be a class 5 mutant, judging by the aforementioned criteria of course.”

“I – well, yes that seems to be the case,” Phil said, nonplussed. “We retained a scientist to help us with the information; perhaps he did not have sufficient information at the time to accurately determine Rogue’s classification. Next caller, please.”

“You little bitch!” Again they recognized the voice. “I don’t care what you say about being able to control it. Your mutation makes you a killer, so you’re just lucky we didn’t know what you could do that day on campus, or you wouldn’t have gotten away so easily. And you’re not going to get away easily now. I know where you live, and I’m more than ready to post the address on the internet for everybody to see.”

Rogue felt Logan tense beside her, and panic welled up from her stomach, almost choking her. Everybody at the mansion would be in danger because of her unless she did something. She was speaking before she was even certain what she was going to say. “They kicked us out when they found out what we are, Monique, so it doesn’t matter what you do with the address. We won’t be there.” She looked to Logan when she finished, knowing she had just sealed their fate, and hoping desperately that he wasn’t angry with her. Logan’s eyes were calm as he held her gaze, though, accepting even though his body was still tense with anger.

“Good for them!” Monique spat. “If you ever come near here again, I’m sure there’ll be plenty of people who’d want to get rid of you!”

“Next caller!” Phil requested a bit desperately.

“Hello?” The query was warm and soft, and Rogue was relieved that it was not a voice she recognized. “Ah just have somethin’ ta say ta tha gentleman.” The accent, far thicker than Rogue’s, caused an unexpected twinge of homesickness.

“Go ahead,” Phil encouraged.

“Ya should be ashamed o’ yerself! Sweet young thin’ lahke that, an’ tha way ya’ve been carryin’ on durin’ this interview, ya’ve no doubt had yer lecherous paws all ova her since she was little more’n a baby! Ye’re what’s wrong wit’ this country, an’ not ‘cause ye’re a mutant!” The woman’s rant ended with the buzz of a disconnected phone.

“Now wait a minute!” Rogue said indignantly. “Did she just hang up? She did, didn’t she? Well, Ah hope ye’re still listenin’, lady. How dare ya? Ya don’t know anythin’ ‘bout us other than what ya’ve seen today, an’ from the way ye’re so quick to make judgments, Ah’d say ye’re what’s wrong with this country! Next caller!” she said angrily before Phil had a chance to. Rogue crossed her arms over her chest and glared at the cameras mutinously. Logan chuckled at her expression and she loosened her arms long enough to swat him in the chest with the back of her right hand. Logan chuckled again as he caught her hand in his own and held it on the arm of his chair.

“Ya little whore.” The low whisper was eerily calm as it filtered down from the speakers. “All this time, thinkin’ we were finally rid o’ ya.” His voice grew louder as he spoke, and Rogue stiffened suddenly. Logan heard her breath stutter and the sudden pounding of her heart. “An’ now ya turn up on national television.”

Rogue’s fingers felt numb in Logan’s grasp as she looked into the cameras.

“Daddy?”

“I am still having great difficulties believing Logan’s control thus far,” Hank rumbled as he walked back into the rec room where the rest of the mansion’s inhabitants were gathered watching the interview.

The professor nodded absently, a look of intense concentration on his face. He had been monitoring as much of the interview as he could telepathically.

“I can understand your surprise, Hank, but do not underestimate the depth of Logan’s feelings for Rogue. He knows that any rash behavior on his part may impact her for the rest of her life – may put her in constant danger. He would never risk that.”

“But professor!” Scott protested. “The rabbits? I wouldn’t have been able to hold back after that one, and just this once, I would have backed Logan completely if he had skewered that son of a bitch. That Phil person’s job is to allow mutants a voice, a chance to tell the human world what life is like for us, but instead he’s turning it into a freak show.”

“Not intentionally, Scott,” Xavier murmured, mindful of the dozens of little ears listening in on the conversation. His brow furrowed as he concentrated just a tad more. “Phil truly does not see the harm he is doing. He doesn’t think that mutants should have to hide, and harbors no ill will toward Logan and Rogue. He has just lost his perspective on the big picture I suppose you could say.”

“What do you mean?” Ororo asked without taking her eyes off the TV.

The professor sighed heavily and rubbed his temples. “He’s been interviewing people for so long that he instinctively goes after the things the interviewees don’t want to talk about. Logan realized that quite early in the broadcast, and I think that has been helping him control his temper. Likewise, Rogue picked up on it, albeit somewhat later than Logan did.” Xavier chuckled a bit, although the sound was unhappy when he caught Rogue’s thoughts about Monique. “At this point, I am actually more worried about Rogue’s temper than Logan’s.”

A wisp of a stray thought floated to him and the professor looked toward the source. A small girl with lavender-colored hair was watching him intently, unlike her friends who had their eyes glued to the television.

No, child, I am not worried that Rogue would intentionally hurt anyone, Xavier soothed the girl. I’m worried that her temper will lead her to say something she shouldn’t.

The feeling of guilt he read in the girl’s mind confused him, but as she turned back toward the television, Ororo asked another question.

“Was that Monique girl serious, professor? Will they really have to leave the school?”

“I would welcome them back in a heartbeat should they return here after the interview, Ororo. But they were both firm in their decision to protect us and the students by leaving. Perhaps in the future they will come back. Neither of them was thinking that it would be a permanent exile.”

“Where will they go?” Scott asked.

Xavier pursed his lips and rubbed his temples again. The strain of listening in to Rogue’s and Logan’s thoughts at this distance was taking a toll on him. Perhaps I should have a television installed in Cerebro, he thought. Phil’s thoughts presented no problem; the man had no mental barrier whatsoever.

“I don’t know, Scott. I can make an educated guess, but I was not able to glean any details from either Rogue or Logan. They are both quite adept at keeping their thoughts private when they want to.”

“They know you’re listening?” Hank asked in surprise.

“Well, no, they have no idea. It’s just that they’re both private people and shielding their thoughts and feelings is instinctive. And ironically, that instinctive blocking combined with the odd construction of their minds makes their thoughts almost as impenetrable as Magneto’s helmet.”

The adults in the room wore looks of mild disbelief. Their expressions changed immediately to concern, however, when the professor hissed and rubbed his temples yet again.

“Except, of course, when they are focusing ruthlessly on a particular matter,” the professor explained as Rogue lambasted the woman who had called to insult Logan.

“Was that woman serious?” Scott asked, wondering how anyone could focus on something so trivial as an imagined relationship in light of the other topics discussed during the interview.

Xavier ground his teeth together and traced the woman’s mind as best he could. She was physically quite far away, but he was able to follow her train of thoughts enough that he could determine her motivation and reasoning for calling to abuse Logan. As he released his light hold on her mind, the professor slumped tiredly against the back of his wheelchair.

“She was serious in a way, Scott. Her daughter ran off more than ten years ago with an older man. It did not turn out well.” He offered no more explanation than that, feeling guilty for prying into the woman’s personal life, but knowing that it was necessary this time.

“Ya little whore.”

The tinny words echoed clearly from the television and Ororo gasped. Xavier focused quickly on the screen and saw the way Logan was gripping Rogue’s hand, jostling it slightly to get her attention. He saw the stillness of Rogue’s body as she turned her head until she seemed to be looking directly at him. He saw the mix of fear and disbelief in her eyes, and something else that he thought might be resignation. ”Daddy? Without thinking it through, Xavier launched himself after the malicious trail of thought he had picked up from the caller.

A piercing pain stabbed through his temples as he saw a hazy image of a man standing in a kitchen, an old rotary phone dangling from the fingers of one hand while the other held the receiver up to his ear. There was a small black and white television on the counter, and in front of it, a large cutting board with a bowl of peeled apples resting next to it. Several apple slices trailed across the counter and littered the floor, along with a large knife. As his eyes followed the pieces across the floor, he saw an overturned chair and a woman’s ankle. Sprawled on the floor, half under the table, was a softly rounded woman propped up on one hand and holding the other to a reddened cheek. She was shaking her head and saying something to the man, but he didn’t hear her. As Xavier focused more, he picked out the one line of coherent thought in the man’s head.

That’s not Marie, it’s not. That’s a mutant whore, not mah little girl. Not Marie. Not Marie.

“Professor? Professor?” Xavier shook his head slightly as he came back to himself. He looked up into Ororo’s concerned eyes and saw Hank and Scott hovering uncertainly over her shoulders.

“Is it really her father?” Scott asked.

Xavier nodded, unable to speak, as he shifted his gaze back to the television. He focused on Rogue again and gasped as he touched her mind. She wasn’t aware of it yet, but her subconscious had become dangerously fixated on what her father had said.

* * *

Logan stilled abruptly at Rogue’s heartbroken query, feeling like he had been punched hard under the ribs. Shit! he thought. Shit, shit, shit! Wolverine growled an agreement. He shook Rogue’s hand a bit, but she didn’t seem to notice as she continued to stare blankly into the cameras.

It’s just like she’s wounded, Wolverine snarled. Give her a chance to snap out of it, but don’t let them see. Don’t let them know she’s hurt.

Logan bounded out of his chair and moved slightly in front of Rogue, blocking the cameras’ view. He kept his grip on her hand, though, and held it slightly behind him against his belt. Her fingers were trembling so hard he expected them to snap right out of his grip at any second.

“Who the hell are you?” he roared at the cameras.

“Who the hell are ya?” came the angry response.

“I asked first, bub.”

“Ya heard the little whore. Ah used to be her father, and that means ya got no business interferin’ in this conversation.”

“Like hell I don’t!” Rogue’s hand was slightly steadier in his grasp, and he could feel her sliding a finger into his belt loop. “You kicked her out years ago and I’ve been takin’ care of her ever since. Seems to me that you’re the one with no business here.”

A firm tug at his waistline had him looking over his shoulder at Rogue. Her face was pale and her lips were trembling, but the eyes she lifted to his face were clear.

“It’s all right, Logan,” she whispered, so low that not even Phil heard her. Louder she said, “Sit back down, sugar, ye’re blockin’ mah view.”

She recovers fast, Wolverine whispered approvingly as Logan sank into his chair. He kept his grip on Rogue’s hand and pulled it onto his left leg. He laced their fingers together so that the back of her hand rested against the tense muscles of his thigh. She gave his hand a tight squeeze of gratitude and focused once again on the camera.

“He’s right, Daddy. He’s taken care o’ me since the day we met, so anythin’ ya have to say to me involves him too.”

“Oh Ah bet Ah know how he’s taken care o’ ya. Him and who knows who else. Ya only had a few hundred dollars with ya when ya left. Don’t imagine that got ya too far ‘fore ya had to whore yerself fer rides.”

Rogue flinched violently.

“You son of a bitch!” Logan snarled. “She didn’t do anythin’ like that.”

“An’ how would ya know that, boy? Were ya with her the whole time she was on the road? Ya don’t have any idea what she might’ve done. Same as me – didn’t know mah daughter was a mutie whore ‘til she damn near sucked the life out o’ David.”

He’s got a point, Logan thought, feeling so sick to his stomach that he didn’t even notice that he’d been called ‘boy.’ I don’t know what she had to do ‘fore we met up.

We do too, Wolverine snarled. Would’ve been able to smell a man on her.

Yeah, but not if it had been more than a few days…

The rage in the Wolverine’s growl sent a stab of pain through Logan’s head.

And so what? he roared. Whatever she might have done, she was just doin’ it to survive. You gonna hold survivin’ against her?

“That was an accident, Daddy,” Rogue interrupted before Logan could get a response out. Her voice trembled a bit, but she firmed her jaw and continued. “Ah barely even touched David, an’ ya know it.”

“All Ah know is what ya said happened. Convenient fer ya that David doesn’t remember anythin’ from that day, isn’t it?”

Logan quirked an eyebrow at Rogue. “He doesn’t remember?”

Rogue shook her head.

“If I may,” Phil interjected smoothly. “You are talking about the time you first became aware of your mutation, yes?”

Rogue nodded cautiously. Please don’t ask fer details, she begged fervently. It’s embarrassin’ enough that no man’ll ever want to touch me if he has a choice. Ah don’t wanna have to admit that that was mah first kiss.

“So in addition to killing, you cause amnesia.”

“No.” Rogue frowned. “At least, Ah don’t think so.” Ah really don’t know what happens to the other person, she thought. Ah have their thoughts an’ their feelin’s right up until Ah pull ‘em into mah head, but Ah never thought to ask Logan what happens to him after that. Does it make a difference if they’re mutant or human?

She looked at Logan who shook his head. “No,” she confirmed.

Phil was watching their interaction carefully. “Are you saying that you have used your ability on Wolverine?”

“Course she has,” her father bellowed. “They’ve obviously been shackin’ up together.”

“That’s not true!” Rogue denied, anger coloring her voice. Would it be so wrong even if we were? The thought ghosted through Rogue’s mind before she could stop it.

“Like hell it isn’t! No man takes care of a woman for five years without getting’ somethin’ in return.”

“Maybe that’s the way you think,” Logan returned evenly, “but I’ve never once expected anythin’ from Rogue.”

That’s right. He’s never expected anythin’ from me ‘cause he’s always seen me as a child, Rogue thought. Sure, he flirts with me, but it’s just a game. But he doesn’t mean it, not like—

“People, please,” Phil interjected. “I think we’re straying from the subject. The question was, Rogue, have you used your mutation on Wolverine?”

Rogue stared at Phil for a moment and then turned hopelessly to Logan. He squeezed her hand lightly.

“She’s only ever used it on me when it was an emergency.”

“An emergency? Like what? And for that matter, how would absorbing energy help her?”

Shit! Logan thought desperately. I didn’t want anybody to know that Marie absorbs mutations. Hell, every research facility in the country, legitimate and otherwise, will want to get their hands on her.

So lie, Wolverine growled.

“Only way he’d know he can touch her is if he did!” Rogue’s father said. “Only question is, how long’s it been goin’ on?”

Logan clenched his jaw. Lyin’ might work, but what the hell can I say?

Only thing you can do is make it about your mutation and not hers.

Logan almost nodded in agreement, but caught himself at the last moment.

“It’s a quirk with the way my mutation works,” he grunted suddenly. “I heal from anythin’, and that includes healin’ from Rogue’s touch.”

“Sugar, what are ya doin’?” Rogue asked quietly. He shook his head at her almost imperceptibly.

“See!” her father jumped in. “That just proves that they’ve been carryin’ on together.”

“Will you stop already?” Logan roared. “She was just a kid when I met her, and I damn well wouldn’t touch a kid. But guess what, bub? She’s an adult now, so if I want to touch her, it’s none o’ your damn business!”

Everybody was silent for several seconds and Rogue held her breath as she stared at Logan.

What’s he sayin’? Rogue thought desperately. Does he really mean what he’s sayin’, or is it just to piss Daddy off?

Phil cleared his throat. “Does that mean that you do want to touch Rogue?”

“Of course it does!” Logan tipped his head up to glare at the speakers above him. He was getting sick of arguing with somebody he couldn’t see. “He’s nothin’ more than an animal the way Ah see it, an’ all animals think about is eatin’ and ruttin’.”

“That’s bullshit!” Logan yelled, coming to his feet. Rogue latched on to his forearm with both hands and tried to tug him back.

“You haven’t answered the question, Wolverine,” Phil reminded him.

“I don’t have to answer your damned question!”

Phil nodded thoughtfully. “I can see that you might not owe me an answer,” he said silkily, “but you most certainly owe Rogue an answer, don’t you think?”

“I—” Logan began, but stopped and looked uncertainly at Rogue. She wasn’t meeting his eyes. Instead, she was looking down at her knees, letting her hair fall forward over her face.

This might be a good thing, Wolverine mused.

How the hell do you figure?

You keep bitchin’ that our girl only wants us physically, that her mind’s not ready. This would be a good time to plant the idea. Let her think about it a bit. Pretty soon, she’ll be thinkin’ about it as often as we do, and eventually she’s bound to be thinkin’ about it at the same time her body’s noticin’ us.

But it’s makin’ her uncomfortable, Logan argued feebly.

Wolverine snorted. She’ll get over it.

“Well, Rogue? Don’t you want to know the answer?” Phil asked her.

Rogue slowly lifted her head up to look at Logan. He was surprised at her paleness. Suddenly he could hear her pulse rushing in her veins and her scent betrayed her nerves.

“Ah…Even if Ah wanted to know, an’ Ah’m not sayin’ Ah do, that isn’t somethin’ a person should be bullied into answerin’.” She dropped her gaze again and let go of his arm. Ah…was that all right? Ah mean, Ah don’t want to make him angry, and Ah don’t want him to feel pressured into givin’ an answer here. It’d be just like him to say somethin’ foolish just to salvage what’s left o’ mah pride. An’ his stubborn pride wouldn’t let him take it back later. Oh, Lord. Don’t answer, Logan. Please.

Logan felt strangely bereft. He hadn’t realized how much Rogue’s touch was anchoring him, not only physically, but emotionally. Now that he was standing alone with no physical contact with her, he felt out of place. Not knowing what else to do, he sat down beside her, but didn’t dare reach for her hand again.

“Wolverine?” Phil asked. “Do you feel bullied?”

The absurdity of the question made him laugh, and he was relieved to hear Rogue’s startled chuckle. He leaned back in his chair and turned his head to look at her.

“What do you think, darlin’? Am I bein’ bullied?”

Rogue gave him a smile and shook her head. He didn’t answer! Her thought was an exultant crowing.

“Enough o’ this nonsense!” her father yelled. “Ya’ll keep dodgin’ the question, an’ now the girl’s backin’ up whatever ya say. Just like a good little whore would do.”

Why does he keep sayin’ that? The happiness in Rogue’s thoughts suddenly darkened. He’s wrong. He’s got to be. Ah only kissed David, there was nothin’ wrong with that. That’s all he knows about, isn’t it? He doesn’t know about anythin’ else. There’s no way. He can’t know, he can’t. Can he?

“Ah’m not a whore!” Rogue finally screeched. She stared accusingly into the cameras and jabbed her forefinger for emphasis as she spoke. “Ah don’t care what ya think anymore, Daddy! Ah knew what ya thought o’ me after what happened with David, an’ Ah knew ya were afraid o’ me.”

“Ah wasn’t afraid!”

“Bullshit! Ya were too afraid. Why else would ya’ve called the cops on me, Daddy? Ya knew that Ah’d stay as long as Mama wanted me to, an’ ya knew that no matter how much ya bullied Mama, she wouldn’t tell me to get out. Ya were just too scared to tell me to get out yerself!”

“Don’t drag yer mother into this! Ye’re dead to her, same as ya are to me, ya no good little whore!”

Whore. There it is again. Whore. Ye’re never gonna be able to get away from that, are ya, Marie?

“Then why’d ya call, Daddy? If Ah’m dead to ya, what are ya doin’ talkin’ to me? Huh?”

“So ya can reflect on the error o’ yer ways! It’s yer fault ye’re a mutant! Ya knew ya weren’t supposed to have David in yer room, but ya did it anyway. An’ look what happened? An’ ‘cause of that one whorish act, now ye’ll be stuck whorin’ yerself to that man fer the rest o’ yer miserable life!”

He’s wrong. He’s wrong; it’s not true. He’s talkin’ about Logan, so there’s no way that’ll be true.

“Ye’re wrong, Daddy. Ya don’t know anythin’ ‘bout me now. An’ ye’ll never know anythin’ ‘bout Wolverine. So ya got no right – no right– to say anythin’ ‘bout the two o’ us together, no matter what our relationship is. Ah hope ye’ll tell Mama Ah love her, Daddy, an’ that Ah miss her. But ya…Ah don’t ever wanna talk to ya again.”

Rogue reached for Logan’s hand again as she listened to her father’s incoherent sputtering. She was terrified that Logan wouldn’t want to touch her now, so when he willingly laced his fingers through hers, she couldn’t hold back a sigh of relief. She shook her head at his questioning look and turned to Phil.

“Ah’m done talkin’ to him, Phil. Next caller, please.”

Phil frowned, but nodded to a crew member wearing a headset. The man spoke into the mouthpiece briefly, giving the order to cut the call. The last word out of her father’s mouth before the dial tone cut him off was “whore.”

* * *

The rest of the interview was anticlimactic, to say the least. There were no more threats, no more raised voices. Logan wondered if the phone operators were screening for content and refusing to patch the more abusive callers through. From the increasingly disappointed look on Phil’s face, he somehow doubted that was the case. The man had even been trying to steer completely innocent questions toward something more lurid. The most sensational question had been from a female caller who just had to know whether Logan had metal in all his appendages. He was vaguely bemused by that one, and felt the blush covering his face for several minutes after her call.

Logan kept sneaking glances at Rogue as he fielded most of the questions from Phil and the callers. She was unusually quiet, and he was becoming more worried with every question she ignored. She had been completely unresponsive for almost a half hour now.

* * *

Whore. Nothin’ but a whore. The thought wouldn’t leave her alone. At first it had been her father’s voice, but soon enough, it became hers. And then the professor’s. Scott’s. Ororo’s. Bobby’s. And now it was Logan’s. She had argued at first, had imagined curling into a corner and covering her ears tight with her hands as she shook her head. But it hadn’t helped. The voice had just grown louder until she couldn’t hear her own thoughts, and the only thing she was aware of anymore was Logan’s hand squeezing hers.

She wasn’t aware of the end of the interview, of the platitudes Phil offered to them and the viewers. She wasn’t aware of the stage hands unclipping the microphone from her collar or removing the rest of the sound pack from the back of her shirt, nor was she aware of walking out to the parking lot with Logan.

The only thing that brought her back to herself was Logan disentangling himself from her fingers and closing the door behind her. In the short time it took him to walk around the front of the Explorer and climb into the driver’s seat, though, she once more became lost to everything. She didn’t hear the questions Logan asked her, didn’t notice the sky growing darker or the signs they drove past. All she noticed was the rhythmic thrumming of the tires on the pavement keeping time with the accusing voice in her head whispering, Whore. Whore. Whore. Nothing but a whore.

The sudden chirping of a phone somewhere near the center console broke the silence in the vehicle.

“What the hell?” Logan couldn’t contain his startled exclamation, and the Explorer swerved dangerously as his arms jerked in surprise. The sudden erratic movement at least startled Rogue somewhat out of her stupor. “Damn it, Chuck. Every car you own has to come equipped with a phone, doesn’t it? Where the hell is the darn thing anyway?” Logan muttered as he furiously jabbed at buttons and panels in the SUV’s interior. Just as he was getting ready to pop his claws and start tearing things apart, Rogue reached forward and flipped open a compartment near the radio controls.

Logan glanced at her quickly before grabbing the phone. Her face wasn’t quite as pale as it had been during the last part of the interview, but she was still studiously avoiding his eyes. In fact, she seemed determined not to focus on anything inside the vehicle. Even though Logan knew she couldn’t possibly see anything, Rogue was staring resolutely out into the dark night.

“Yeah?” he grunted into the phone.

“Logan?” Xavier’s voice was soft, uneasy, and it put Logan immediately on edge.

“Chuck? What’s the matter?”

Xavier cleared his throat several times before speaking again. “I apologize for calling, Logan, but there’s something we really must speak about. I would have contacted you telepathically, but I didn’t want to startle you while you’re driving.”

“Well hell, Chuck, I almost drove us right off the road anyway ‘cause of this damn phone ringin’.”

“My apologies, Logan. How’s Rogue?” Xavier almost slurred the sentences together in his haste to get the question out. Logan frowned. The professor was usually incredibly precise in his speech, enunciating carefully and pausing for the appropriate amount of time. Xavier’s speech becoming suddenly sloppy at the mention of Rogue’s name told Logan that she was the real subject of concern.

“Fine I guess,” Logan answered cautiously. Does he want her to know we’re talkin’ about her or not? he wondered.

“Not,” was the professor’s immediate reply.

“Ohh-kay,” Logan said slowly. “So what’s goin’ on?”

“Is she acting normally?”

“Not really,” Logan grunted, stealing another glance at Rogue. “And I’m not sure why, but I could make a guess.”

Xavier’s sigh sounded weak and fuzzy coming from the phone. “It was something her father said,” he explained. “I’m not sure what actually set Rogue off, though.”

Logan’s grip on the steering wheel tightened. “Well, can’t you just take a look around and find out?”

“I tried.” The professor’s tone was a mix of exasperation and concern. “I was unable to get into her mind even using Cerebro. Her consciousness hasn’t exactly disappeared, but it’s almost like it’s underwater. At a very great depth. I can make out its general shape and presence, but any attempt I make to get closer just causes it to recede further.”

“What the hell’s that mean?” Logan growled. He was cutting his gaze regularly between the road and Rogue, searching the side of her face and her body language for any clue as to her mood. His nostrils flared slightly as he tried to catch her scent. Just a hint of her strawberry shampoo and nothing else, no anger, sadness, or anxiety. Nothing to clue him in on what was going on inside her mind.

“The only thing I’ve ever seen that resembles it is shock. Something her father said has actually caused a…a…dissociative episode I suppose you could say.”

“That’s bad, right?” But she heard the phone ringin’ and she responded to it, so she’s not totally gone.

“That’s good,” Xavier said in relief.

“The episode thingy you mentioned is good?” Logan asked in disbelief.

“No, no, my apologies. That she responded to the phone ringing is good. The dissociation itself is bad. But I’m not quite so worried now; she’s likely to begin responding more soon, so there’s no need to try nudging her mentally. I’ve talked it over a bit with Hank, and he suggested that you just keep trying to talk to her. She’s more likely to respond to you than somebody else in any case.”

Talk? About what? It’s not like I’m a great conversationalist or anythin’. Shit, she’s usually the one doin’ all the talkin’ and I just sit and listen. Grunt occasionally when she expects a response.

Xavier chuckled. “Anything will be fine, Logan. Perhaps ask if she’s hungry, or where she’d like to stop for the night. Just don’t mention her father or the interview directly. Let her be the one to bring it up, and if she doesn’t seem to want to continue talking about it, let her change the subject.”

“Right,” Logan grunted.

Xavier cleared his throat yet again and changed the subject. “I imagine you are heading into Canada?”

“Yeah, just crossed the border ‘bout an hour ago. Wanna drive at least another hour or two. Too many American tourists closer to the border, and I don’t want to have to deal with anybody who might have seen or heard about the interview.”

Rogue flinched slightly.

“Sounds good, Logan. I’ll contact you again tomorrow afternoon. But if anything comes up, don’t hesitate to call me.”

Logan just grunted again and snapped the phone closed. He tossed it carelessly into the change tray under the radio console and noticed the way Rogue started to turn her head toward the sound.

Chuck said to talk to her…might as well see what happens.

“You hungry, darlin’?”

No answer.

“Darlin’?” Her shoulders stiffened a bit, but she didn’t look at him. Logan cleared his throat and said slightly louder, “Marie? I said, you hungry?”

Rogue gave a quick, almost violent shake of her head as she continued looking out her window. The gesture tossed her white-streaked bangs into her eyes, but she made no move to pull them away.

“Darlin’, you okay?” Logan asked, reaching out to brush her hair back from her face. His fingers had just barely brushed Rogue’s temple when she jerked away from him, slamming her head hard against the window.

“Ow! Shit!” Rogue cursed loudly, pressing the heel of her hand against her forehead.

“Shit, you okay?”

“No, Ah’m not okay,” Rogue ground out, whipping her head around to glare at him. There were angry, pained tears standing in her eyes, but when Logan saw her stubborn look, he knew that they wouldn’t be allowed to spill down her cheeks.

“Let me see,” Logan said, reaching toward her again. Rogue rudely slapped his hand away.

What the hell’s she angry at us for? The Wolverine was as bewildered as he was by Rogue’s behavior.

Logan inhaled deeply, scenting the air. I don’t know. I don’t smell anythin’, so at least we know she isn’t bleedin’.

“Fine,” he said out loud. “We’ll stop in about an hour for somethin’ to eat, and you can put some ice on it then.

“Ah don’t need ice, dammit.” Rogue’s tone was still angry, but now it was bordering on petulant.

“Darlin’, from the way it sounded when you hit the window, you’re gonna have one hell of a bruise. Trust me, you’re gonna want to ice it.”

“An’ what the hell would you know ‘bout it? Since ya heal from everythin’, ya’ve never had to ice anythin’ in yer damned life.” The comment had a vicious undertone to it.

What the hell? Wolverine and Logan thought simultaneously.

“Listen, Marie,” Logan said angrily, “I don’t know what the hell’s goin’ on with you, but you don’t have to get pissy with me.”

“Pissy?” Rogue spat, dropping her hand away from her forehead. Logan took the chance to look her over, visually confirming that she really hadn’t broken the skin. “Well excuse me if ya think Ah’m bein’ ‘pissy.’ Ah’ve had a shitty day, an’ maybe Ah’m just not able to handle it with yer preferred degree o’ stoicism.”

“What the hell makes you think I prefer shit to be bottled up?”

Don’t lose it, Wolverine growled a warning. There’s obviously somethin’ wrong with our girl, and snappin’ at her probably won’t help her.

Fuck that, Logan returned, astounded that the Wolverine was the one urging gentleness and caution. She wants to get nasty about shit, I’m gonna give her nasty. Wolverine snarled viciously, but Logan felt him retreat slightly. He would probably just sit back and observe for now.

Fine, he growled softly. But you treat her too rough and I’ll smack you down, got it, bub?

Logan snorted, the irony of being threatened by his alter ego finally getting to him.

“Think you know everythin’ about me, do you?” he asked, returning to the conversation with Rogue.

She glared at him mutinously and wordlessly tapped the side of her head.

“Oh. Right.” Logan was temporarily at a loss. While it was true that he preferred to hide his emotions, he didn’t think Rogue should have to. If he said that to her, though, she would undoubtedly declare it a sexist double standard. He cursed inwardly; the Wolverine was right. An argument right now wouldn’t do her any good, but if Xavier was right, he had to keep her talking. He settled on asking her something he had always wondered about. “Exactly how much of me do you have up there?”

Rogue’s look turned cautious. “What do ya mean?”

“How much of what you know about me is from havin’ me ramblin’ around in your head, and how much is stuff you’ve learned bein’ my friend?”

Rogue smiled slightly at the word, which she normally did whenever Logan referred to their relationship.

“Ah’m not sure Ah know anymore,” she said softly.

Logan’s curious look prompted her to explain.

“Ah mean things like ya wantin’ yer coffee black and scaldin’ hot, Ah’m not sure if Ah know that from havin’ ya in mah head, or if Ah know that ‘cause of when Ah snagged yer mug from ya durin’ breakfast that one time an’ burned the hell out o’ mah tongue.” Rogue’s delicately arched brows drew together in a frown. “Then again, if Ah’d known that from havin’ ya in mah head, Ah pro’ly wouldn’t have drank yer coffee in the first place. Or maybe Ah would have? I dunno. Sometimes Ah don’t know what’s me and what’s not.”

“What’s that mean?” Logan grunted, turning away from the road to look at her.

Rogue held his gaze steadily for a few seconds and answered only when he had to look back at the road. “Ah dunno how to explain it. It’s kinda like, at times, Ah am ya.”

“What the hell?” Logan couldn’t hold back the startled exclamation. She isn’t saying I’m takin’ her over, is she? “Are you sayin’ it’s like you’re possessed?” He cringed inwardly as he heard how horrified he sounded.

“No,” Rogue was quick to reassure him. “Just that…” Her hands waved helplessly in front of her as she searched for the words. “Havin’ ya in mah head doesn’t force me to do anythin’, but sometimes Ah’ll want mah steak rare when Ah normally eat it well done.”

“Steak,” Logan said slowly. “And the coffee? You’re sayin’ I make you eat different?”

“No. Yeah…sorta. It’s not just food, but that was the easiest example Ah could think of.”

“You’re gonna have to explain it a little more, darlin’, ‘cause I don’t get it.”

Rogue let out an exasperated huff of air. “Okay, yer cigars, for example.” Logan quirked an eyebrow, but didn’t look away from the road. “Ah have a cravin’ fer cigars that Ah know Ah got from ya, an Ah have yer memories o’ the way they taste, an’ in the memory, Ah like ‘em. But in real life, Ah hate ‘em. Think they’re disgustin’. Beer, on the other hand, Ah like in the memories an’ in real life. But they don’t taste exactly the same.”

“Huh.” Logan couldn’t resist his next question. “Which is better? The way it tastes to me, or the way it tastes to you?”

Rogue chuckled. “Ah don’t know. They’re both good, but different. An’ when ye’re fresh in mah head, beer actually tastes to me like it does to ya. Takes a while fer that to fade.”

“But it does fade. What about the memories, do they fade?”

“Just like any memory would. Yer memories get kinda fuzzy to me just like mah own do, but they don’t go away.”

Logan shifted uncomfortably, unsure if he wanted the answer to a question he had been wondering about for years.

Gotta keep her talkin’, Wolverine reminded him.

“What do you know about me from my memories?” Logan obscured his real question in general phrasing.

Rogue frowned in response. “Ah know everythin’ about ya that ya knew about yerself at the time Ah absorbed ya.”

“Yeah, but…I mean, do you know everythin’?”

“Ah…Logan, Ah don’t know what ye’re askin’.”

“Gimme another example of somethin’ you know and somethin’ you don’t know.”

She huffed and crossed her arms over her chest. “Okay. Yer cigars again. Ya don’t smoke ‘em anymore, an’ Ah don’t know why.”

“You don’t?” Logan was surprised.

“No. Ah never asked ya why ya quit.”

“But you’ve got me in your head. Shouldn’t you know from that?”

“No.” Rogue’s tone was growing increasingly frustrated. “Ya quit a long time after Ah last absorbed any o’ yer memories, an’ at that time, ya weren’t even considerin’ givin’ ‘em up. So the reason ya quit is somethin’ Ah won’t know unless ya tell me, an’ Ah won’t ask, ‘cause Ah do know from yer memories that ya value yer privacy an’ don’t like havin’ to explain yer reasonin’ to people.”

“When you never asked, I just assumed you already knew the reason.” He chuckled.

“Well Ah don’t.”

Logan looked at her curiously. “You’re not gonna ask?”

“Logan! Ah just told ya Ah won’t pry ‘cause Ah know ya don’t like it.” Now she sounded angry.

“I never mind anythin’ you ask me, darlin’.”

“Ya don’t volunteer much though,” Rogue pouted.

That got a real laugh out of him. “That’s because if you don’t ask, I figure you already know.”

“Well shit, Ah guess Ah gotta ask then. Why did ya quit smokin’ yer cigars?” she asked cheekily.

“Because you wrinkled your nose.”

“What?”

“Whenever I smoked them around you, or whenever you could smell the smoke on my clothes, you wrinkled your nose. I figured you didn’t like the smell.”

“Well, Ah didn’t. But that didn’t mean ya had to quit.”

Logan shrugged. “It was really just a habit more than anythin’.” He threw her a grin. “Now, if you had objected to my drinkin’ beer, that would have been a different story.”

Rogue laughed and shoved his shoulder lightly.

She seems fine, Wolverine commented quietly.

Yeah.

So, why don’t you ask the question we’ve both been wonderin’ ‘bout?

Logan cleared his throat. “So darlin’, you said you know everythin’ ‘bout me that I knew when you absorbed me, right?”

“Yeah.”

“So does that mean that you know, uh…do you know about stuff like…” Logan trailed off as he rethought the wisdom of asking this particular question. “Hm. No, nevermind.”

Rogue stared at him, bemused. “What’s the matter, sugar? Are ya tryin’ to ask if Ah know somethin’ like what yer favorite sexual position is?”

Logan sputtered and coughed. “No! No, that thought never crossed my mind.”

Liar.

They continued driving silently for the next several minutes. Finally, when Logan’s curiosity and Wolverine’s constant badgering for an answer wore him down, he blurted, “Well, do you?”

Turning away from her window, Rogue blinked a few times at him in feigned confusion. “Do Ah what, sugar?”

“Do you know…aw hell!” he snarled. “Nevermind.”

Rogue laughed and looked out her window again. “Who would’ve ever guessed,” she said innocently, “that the big, bad Wolverine prefers good, old-fashioned missionary position.”

“Shit,” Logan growled in resignation. “So you do know.”

“Yup,” Rogue said, giving him the biggest, most self-satisfied grin he’d ever seen.

I don’t know if I like the nasty edge to that smile. If he didn’t know any better, Logan would have sworn that the Wolverine was nervous.

* * *

An hour later as he pulled into the parking lot in front of a diner advertising twenty-four hour service, Logan wasn’t worried about Rogue anymore. She had returned pretty much to normal except for a few unusually long pauses in their conversation, but after the day they had had, even he was prone to bouts of brooding introspection. He thought nothing of the silence that fell as they ate, the way Rogue never lifted her gaze from her plate. He thought nothing of the fact that she didn’t even remove her gloves to pick up her hamburger and the fact that she ate her fries with a fork. He wasn’t worried when she didn’t order her customary dessert of chocolate cake even when he pointed it out on the menu. When he asked her what she thought about checking into the motel across the street, he didn’t worry that she replied with only a shrug.

What did worry him, however, was the way she ducked away from him when he went to sling his arm over her shoulders as they walked out of the diner.

She’s never done that before, Wolverine was quick to point out.

I know, Logan replied, frowning. He watched Rogue carefully, not liking the carefully measured three feet she kept between them. I guess Chuck was right after all. Damned if I know what’s wrong though.

“Come on,” Logan grunted softly. “I’m not gonna bother movin’ the Explorer, so let’s just grab our bags from the back.”

Rogue complied wordlessly and opened the back passenger door. She froze as she swung her black duffel over her shoulder. Logan, having opened the other door, observed her from the opposite side of the vehicle. He heard the way the woven nylon duffle strap creaked as she tightened her grip on it; if she hadn’t been wearing her gloves, he had no doubt that he would be able to see her knuckles turn white with the strain.

He swung his own bag onto his shoulder and followed Rogue’s gaze down to the floorboard where her bag had been. Resting at a right angle to each other were her bunny slippers.

Shit. She’s thinkin’ about the rabbits and the interview.

Probably, Logan returned uneasily. Straightening up, he closed his door and walked around to stand next to Rogue.

“I grabbed ‘em this mornin’ when I brought our bags out. Figured you’d be wantin’ ‘em if we had to stay away from the mansion for a while.”

Rogue reached out to grab them, her movements jerky and stilted. She picked up the slippers in one hand and hugged them to her chest.

“Thank you,” she said stiffly, and turned to walk across the street.

Logan followed slowly, making no move to get any closer to her or to put his arm around her. Her posture was screaming “Don’t touch,” and his pride was still a bit bruised from her avoidance a couple minutes ago.

Get her talkin’, Wolverine reminded him. That’s what Chuck said to do, and we shouldn’t let her go to bed like this. There’s no tellin’ what she’ll be like tomorrow if she has all night to stew about whatever’s botherin’ her.

Yeah, but he also said not to mention the interview directly, so how the hell are we supposed to get her talkin’ about it? Logan returned in a frustrated growl.

He could feel Wolverine also observing Rogue through his eyes. She walked into the motel office with her shoulders stiff and her eyes directed at the floor; her grip on the strap over her shoulder didn’t seem to have lessened at all, and the fuzzy slippers were mashed flat against her chest, their startled eyes now seeming to be a result of her tight grip. She stopped in front of the counter and waited for him to catch up.

“Can I help you?” the clerk asked.

Rogue ignored him.

“Yeah,” Logan said, stepping up beside her. “We need two rooms.”

“Two, huh?” The clerk eyed him and then Rogue with a leer. He showed his nicotine-yellowed teeth in a knowing smile and Rogue stiffened. “Yeah, sure. ‘Cept we don’t got two rooms.”

“Fine. One room with two beds then,” Logan ground out.

You know what that bastard’s thinkin’, right? Wolverine whispered.

Yeah. He’s thinkin’ Rogue’s younger than she is and that I’m a pedophile tryin’ to keep up a front of propriety. And she knows it too, dammit.

She does look younger than she is, Wolverine admitted. Especially holdin’ onto those slippers like that.

Dammit all! She does not need to deal with shit like this after the day she’s had.

“Look, bub. You got a room for us or not?” Logan slapped a few twenties onto the counter, thinking to speed the process along.

The clerk’s grin widened. “Sure,” he said. “I’ll help you out, buddy.” He winked at Logan and waggled his eyebrows in Rogue’s direction.

Logan heard the strap of Rogue’s bag creak again as she tightened her grip. He growled low and deep in his chest and the clerk started.

“Uh, yeah. So we have some rooms left, but they’re all with just one bed. I’m sure you two can figure somethin’ out.” He slid a key across the counter and scooped up the money all in one gesture.

Logan snatched the key quickly and checked the room number on the tag.

“Come on, kid,” he grunted, leading the way across what was meant to be a courtyard. The concrete benches were crumbling under denuded trees and the paving stones were cracked underfoot. He heard Rogue’s startled gasp as she tripped on one, but he made no move to catch her. After a couple stumbling steps, she regained her balance and followed him up the poorly lit stairs to the open second floor hallway. At the Wolverine’s quiet urging, he began speaking as they walked down the hallway.

“Listen, darlin’, just ignore that idiot. He’s sick in the head and whatever he was thinkin’ is his problem, not ours. Some people don’t need a reason to think the worst of other people, and he’s obviously one of them. And he’s not even worth your time or consideration, you got that?” Vaguely aware that he was beginning to ramble, Logan paused briefly to give Rogue a chance to respond. When she didn’t, he continued. “Matter of fact, his opinion says nothin’ about you. I bet you anythin’ he took one look at me and decided I looked like the type to do somethin’ disgustin’ like go after a little girl. Not that you look like a little girl…that’s probably just what he thought.”

Logan felt something like relief when they reached the door to their room. He unlocked it slowly and glanced over his shoulder toward Rogue quickly as he stepped into the room.

“Don’t worry about him, darlin’. He doesn’t know anythin’ ‘bout us, and it doesn’t matter what he thought. You know and I know that you wouldn’t be involved in anythin’ like what that guy was thinkin’. That’s all that matters here.”

Logan had just flicked the light switch on when the door slammed violently shut behind him. He jumped a little in surprise and whirled around to face Rogue.

“Shit, darlin’. What’d you do that for?”

Rogue glared at him as she dropped her bag onto the floor beside her and flung the bunny slippers toward the side of the bed.

She’s angry, Wolverine noted in surprise as they took in her narrowed eyes and the stubborn set of her jaw.

“What the hell do ya know ‘bout it, Logan?” Rogue’s voice was a hateful snarl. “Ya think ya know everythin’ ‘bout me? Enough to decide in an instant that other people are wrong when they talk ‘bout me? Well guess what, sugar. Two people in just one day have thought Ah’m a whore. My f-father,” Rogue swallowed hard before continuing, “and now that skeevy little man downstairs. What’s more likely, Logan, that one person is right while two are wrong? Or is it the other way around? What would ya think if ya were wrong? Maybe Ah am a whore an’ ya just don’t know it.”

Logan was surprised by Rogue’s attack, and worried by the way she hugged her arms around herself. The odd mix of her offensive language and defensive posture set off alarm bells in his head.

“What are you talkin’ ‘bout, darlin’? You’re not a whore, no matter what anybody might say.” He was careful to keep his tone even, unchallenging. He spoke matter-of-factly, but not dismissively; obviously the name-calling during the interview and people’s perception of her had been bothering her all day, and he wasn’t about to disrespect her by making light of her concerns.

“But Ah am a whore!” Rogue shrieked, her voice breaking.

“No you’re not. I know you.”

“Ya’re not listenin’ to me! Ah’m tellin’ ya, Logan, they’re right. Ah am a whore.”

Another automatic denial was on his lips when the Wolverine cut in. Careful, he cautioned. She really believes it, so there’s no sense arguin’ back and forth. Find out why she thinks they were right, and then we’ll go from there.

“I am listenin’, darlin’, but it’s not makin’ much sense to me. Tell me why I should agree with them.”

Sudden tears poured down Rogue’s cheeks. “What would ya call a girl who traded sexual favors fer a ride in a warm truck an’ a bag o’ pretzels if not a whore?”

The softly spoken words were like a fist slamming into his stomach. They forced the air out of his lungs, and he was vaguely aware that his mouth must be working like a fish trying to breathe outside the water. His vision greyed at the edges as the Wolverine howled wordlessly in anguish.

“But…how….Your skin…” His first comment was horribly stupid and insensitive, he realized immediately. But he couldn’t think of any other way to respond. He shook his head firmly. “No. No, you’re not a whore, even if somethin’ like that did happen.”

Rogue looked at him in disbelief, a reckless light slowly coming into her eyes. She took a step forward and dropped her arms to her sides.

“Somethin’ like that did happen, Logan. An’ ya just don’t wanna believe it. Maybe Ah should prove it to ya?”

The singsong quality of Rogue’s voice sent a chill along the nape of his neck and he felt the hair on his arms lift in response. Logan shook his head again and took a step back. Rogue took another step forward, stalking him.

“Yes.” She nodded to herself. “Ah should prove it to ya. Ah never have been able to pay ya back fer what ya’ve done fer me. Ah’ll sleep with ya now if ya want me to, Logan, to pay ya back. An’ maybe…maybe Ah want to do it even if ya don’t expect anythin’ from me. That makes me a whore, doesn’t it?”

Before he could respond, Rogue launched herself forward and wrapped her arms around his neck. She pulled his head down roughly and their teeth clashed together as she kissed him with more aggression than skill. Adjusting quickly, Rogue tilted her head and laved his lower lip briefly with her tongue before thrusting it into his mouth.

Logan stumbled backward a step and Rogue’s body fell full against him. He groaned quietly at the feel of her breasts against his chest and her thighs pressed to his, and without thinking, he wrapped his arms around her lower back to pull her closer as he began to return the kiss.

He was distracted by a wave of longing and hesitance from Wolverine, and his mind worked sluggishly to try to figure out what was causing his alter ego such distress.

What? he asked in irritation.

Don’t do it. Not like this.

What? He could hear the disbelief in his own thought. Why not?

Because if we do this, this will be the only time it’ll ever happen. Do you seriously think she’d stick around tomorrow mornin’? She isn’t a one-night tumble and you know it. She’s a keeper, worth somethin’ long-term and definitely worth repeat performances. So don’t go thinkin’ with your dick and fuckin’ it all up tonight. The Wolverine’s voice was a silky hiss of warning.

Logan was torn, knowing that Wolverine was right, but Rogue was steadily pushing him toward the bed, pulling his shirt loose from his jeans and running her gloved hands over the bare skin of his back. He found it nearly impossible to deny the demands of his body after having waited for Rogue for so long.

You’re gonna have to help me out here, bub, he thought desperately, ‘cause from where I’m standin’, it looks like tomorrow can just worry ‘bout itself.

With an angry snarl, Wolverine pushed himself to the forefront of Logan’s mind long enough to flood his consciousness with his enhanced senses. He heard the rustling of blankets from the room next door, smelled the bleach on the fluffy white towels in the adjoining bathroom. And he could suddenly taste the sharp tang of tears on his lips.

They’re hers, Wolverine hissed. Marie’s. You think she should be cryin’ because o’ this? Those aren’t tears o’ joy, jackass. She’s hurtin’, and you’re makin’ it worse.

The realization was as effective at dousing his amorous intentions as a bucket of ice water poured in his lap.

“Dammit,” he muttered, spinning Rogue around and pushing her onto the bed, letting his body follow her down. He braced his elbows on either side of her to protect her from his weight and kissed her again. Once more, he tasted her tears and moved his lips lower to scrape his teeth lightly over the point of her chin before drawing away. He looked at her from a mere six inches away, seeing the tears that continued to spill from the corners of her tightly clenched eyes, seeing the shimmering trail of those tears disappearing into the soft hair at her temples. Shifting his gaze lower, he saw that her lips were trembling and cursed himself that he hadn’t felt that while he was kissing her. Logan framed her face carefully with his hands and ran his thumbs under her eyes, wiping away her tears. At his back, Rogue hands fisted in his shirt in response.

“Darlin’, look at me,” he said softly.

Rogue shook her head, her eyes still tightly closed.

“Fine, don’t look at me then,” Logan continued with quiet intensity. “But you’re gonna listen to what I say. If this is what you really want, then I’m more than happy to oblige. But it’s not gonna be anythin’ angry or desperate, and it’s not gonna end in regrets with you gone in the mornin’. I wouldn’t use you that way, ‘cause that’s the way you treat a whore.” He paused as Rogue flinched. “And I would never let it be that way between us, darlin’. So regardless of what might’ve happened in the past, what you and whoever else might think of you, when you’re here with me you are not – and you never will be – a whore.”

Rogue’s breath hitched and her eyes cracked slowly open. She stared up at Logan, searching his eyes quietly. Whatever she saw there caused her hands to still and her body to slowly relax. Rogue drew in a long, shuddering breath and let it loose in one whispered word.

“Promise?”

Logan’s lips quirked upward in a slight smile. “Yeah, kid. I promise.”

Tears spilled once again along her temples and sobs rattled in her chest as she pulled her arms away from him and pressed the heels of her hands tight against her eyes. Logan said nothing more, just watched her and smoothed her hair back from her face. When her sobs began to slow, he leaned up slightly and pressed a kiss to her forehead. He made no attempt to move away from her, content to remain cradled between her slightly parted thighs, his stomach flush against hers and her breasts brushing lightly against his chest with each breath.

We still have to find out what happened to her, Wolverine reminded him quietly.

I know. She’ll tell us when she’s ready.

After a few more minutes, Rogue finally dropped her hands from her face. For an awkward moment, she didn’t know where to put them and then finally settled on Logan’s upper arms, wrapping her fingers around his triceps and leaving her thumbs to rest lightly on his biceps.

Rogue didn’t speak, preferring instead to study Logan’s face. She started at his chin and worked her way up, skirting around his eyes to study his temples, forehead, and his eyebrows. Only when she had nowhere else to look did she finally meet his eyes.

To Logan, she seemed suddenly skittish – shy and embarrassed. Her fingers began plucking nervously at his sleeves, but she didn’t drop her gaze from his.

“What’s the matter, Marie?” he asked quietly.

She took a deep breath and Logan felt a brief twinge of guilt for reacting to the feel of her breasts pressed more fully against him.

“They were right,” Rogue began. “Ah am a whore.” When Logan tensed, she was quick to reassure him. “Now don’t get all angry, sugar. Ah heard what ya said, an’ Ah believe ya meant it. An’ Ah trust ya enough to believe it too.”

“Tell me what happened, darlin’, ‘cause I’m havin’ a hard time believin’ you’re a whore.”

“Why would Ah lie ‘bout somethin’ like this, Logan?”

“I’m not sayin’ you’re lyin’, darlin’, just that I don’t understand. From what you’ve said, I assume somethin’ happened before we met up, but I don’t know what, exactly. And if it happened right before that…I would have been able to smell it,” Logan finished with an awkward shrug.

Rogue’s face instantly flooded with embarrassed color, and she considered him carefully for a few moments before nodding slightly.

“It wasn’t the trucker who brought me to Laughlin. It was the one before that.”

Logan couldn’t keep himself from tensing, and Rogue unconsciously set about soothing him, rubbing her hands lightly along his arms and shoulders until he calmed down a little.

“You didn’t have sex with him,” Logan said confidently. “I still would have been able to smell that, darlin’, and there was nothin’ when you came into the bar. Just the smell of cold air and diesel fumes. And strawberries.” Logan smiled. “Even after a couple days probably without washin’, your hair still smelled like strawberries.”

“No, ya’re right. Ah didn’t have s-sex with him.” Rogue blushed yet again when she stammered. “Ah…he wanted me too, b-but Ah told him Ah had a disease, an’ Ah thought that would be the end o’ it. Ah don’t know if he believed me or not, but after a while, he said a disease didn’t matter if Ah just used m-mah hands.”

Logan frowned. “Marie, I’m not callin’ you a liar, darlin’, but that still doesn’t match up. You either kept your gloves on, or you didn’t and he wore a condom. I didn’t smell anythin’ on your gloves and there wasn’t even a hint of latex on your hands.”

Rogue held his gaze steadily and swallowed audibly. “Ah wore mah gloves. That made him angry, but Ah told him it was either the gloves or a condom, an’ since he didn’t have any…” Rogue trailed off and shrugged. “It was disgusting,” she continued. “He kept trying to grab onto me, an’ Ah kept pullin’ away. He got angrier every time that happened, an’ when Ah thought he was about to hit me for it, Ah told him he c-could hold mah h-hair. He grabbed a handful of it and held it over his face, breathin’ it in Ah thought. But it worked, an’ he didn’t reach for me again.”

As Rogue continued talking, Logan’s anger increased, and he could feel Wolverine stirring violently. He wondered why he hadn’t been able to detect the man’s scent in Rogue’s hair, but he stayed quiet, not wanting to interrupt her or pressure her in any way.

“He kept his eyes closed. Ah don’t know if Ah could have f-finished if he had been lookin’ at me, an’ Ah tried not to look at anythin’ really. Ah didn’t want to look at his face, or at what Ah was d-doin’. Ah tried closin’ mah eyes, but that was worse. Ah started imaginin’ what he – Ah started imaginin’ things that Ah didn’t like, so eventually Ah opened mah eyes an’ just stared at the gear shift the whole time. Ah didn’t know that he was finished until he yanked on mah hair, an’ that surprised me enough that Ah looked up at him. His m-mouth was hangin’ open, an’ he was all s-sweaty. An’ Ah didn’t think about it, but Ah looked down at mah hand. It was all over mah g-glove, Logan.”

There were tears standing in Rogue’s eyes, but she blinked them back furiously and cleared her throat. “Ah had been ridin’ with him for more than two hours before he made me…before he made me touch him. He had said he’d take me as close to Laughlin as he could, an’ that was still almost a hundred miles away, but Ah didn’t care. Ah just didn’t want to be anywhere near him. So Ah grabbed my bag in my clean hand an’ opened the door with the other one. Ah fell on my knees in the snow and tore off mah gloves ‘fore the…the m-mess could soak all the way through to mah skin. Ah was scrubbin’ at my hands with the snow when he leaned over the seat to close the door, an’ he called me a dirty little whore. As soon as Ah heard that, Ah knew it was true. Ah bent right over an’ threw up.” Rogue gave a short, hysterical laugh. “Ah threw up the pretzels Ah had whored myself for.”

Logan had to work at unclenching his jaw and took a few deep breaths to steady himself. “Marie, it wasn’t your fault. He took advantage of you.”

“But Ah didn’t have to do it. Ah could’ve gotten out of the truck instead. But Ah was too worried about it gettin’ dark an’ how much colder it’d be. Ah ended up gettin’ out anyway, so why didn’t Ah just do it before? What was wrong with me, Logan?”

“You were scared, cold, and hungry, darlin’. I don’t know that I would have done any different if I were you.” They stared at each other wordlessly for a few long moments. “How long were you walkin’ before the guy who brought you to Laughlin picked you up?”

“Ah don’t know. Maybe an hour? Long enough fer it to get dark anyway.”

That makes sense then, Wolverine cut in. If she was walkin’ that long, the cold and the wind would’ve cleared the bastard’s scent out of her hair.

Yeah.

“Ah almost didn’t flag down the next driver. Ah thought ‘bout just lettin’ him drive right on by, but Ah couldn’t feel mah fingers or toes anymore, an’ mah face was startin’ to go numb. Ah had left the gloves on the side of the road an’ the only other pair Ah had was too thin to keep mah hands warm.” Rogue shrugged slightly, the motion sending tingling shards of pain through Logan’s forearms as the pressure from her shoulders resting on them was momentarily eased. It was a minor discomfort to him, though, and he was unwilling to move. “You saw the gloves,” Rogue continued. “You know they were too thin for that weather.”

“Yeah.”

“Ah suppose Ah shouldn’t entirely regret the way things happened.”

“Why the hell not? You have every right to be pissed off ‘bout what that bastard did to you.”

Rogue shrugged again. “‘Cause Ah might not have met ya if Ah had passed through Laughlin City a few hours earlier.”

Logan snorted. “Yeah, and Sabretooth wouldn’t have been able to catch up to you.”

Rogue frowned but didn’t say anything. After a moment she pushed against Logan’s shoulders.

“I didn’t make you angry, did I, darlin’?” he asked in confusion, shifting away only a bit.

“No, but ya are kinda heavy, sugar, an’ mah legs are startin’ to fall asleep.”

“Oh.” Logan immediately rolled to the side and allowed Rogue to stretch and realign her limbs. She grabbed a pillow and tucked it under her cheek as she moved onto her side, facing away from him. Logan cautiously slid one hand over her hip and settled down behind her, spooning her from shoulder to knee.

He hadn’t realized he was worried that she might reject him until she grabbed his hand on her hip and pulled it around her. With his hand resting low on her ribs and both of her arms folded over it, Logan felt more at peace than he could ever remember feeling. There was only one thing wrong. He slipped his hand out from under Rogue’s arms and started tugging at the fingers of one of her gloves.

“Take these off, darlin’. You know you don’t need to wear them around me.”

You just want to feel her skin against yours, even if it is just her hand on your arm.

Damn straight, Logan acknowledged Wolverine’s comment smugly. The only response he got was an amused huff before Wolverine withdrew to the back of his mind, leaving behind a feeling of contentment similar to Logan’s own.

He waited patiently as Rogue pulled off her gloves, and the moment her hands were bare, he wrapped his arms back around her. Rogue’s hands fluttered nervously over his skin before settling lightly onto his bare forearms. He doubted she was aware of the soft sigh that slipped past her barely parted lips or the way the tension drained out of her body at the contact. Sensing that Rogue had no desire to talk at the moment, Logan let his mind wander.

I don’t touch her often enough, he realized. I mean, I’ll put my arm around her, or nudge her arm or leg when we’re sittin’ next to each other. But when was the last time I made an effort to touch her without a layer of fabric between us? I don’t remember. Granted, my memory’s not that great, but if I can’t even begin to remember, it must have been a while ago…Marie must have been feelin’ lonely. Why didn’t she ever say anythin’? She knows I’d do anythin’ for her.

Idiot. Wolverine stirred sluggishly. Touch isn’t somethin’ anybody should ever have to ask for. Having said his piece, and feeling Logan’s quiet agreement, he settled back down.

“Logan?” He started a bit when Rogue’s quiet voice broke the relative silence of the room.

“Hmm?”

“Did ya mean what ya said? ‘Bout how if Ah had wanted to…that ya wouldn’t mind bein’ with me?”

Logan’s eyebrow went up in interest and he felt the Wolverine swarming fully to the front of his mind, his previous intentions of settling down for a relaxing nap abandoned.

I told you! he said triumphantly. Just had to put the idea in her mind.

“I meant it, darlin’.” Logan’s reply was a low, throaty rumble.

“Is it somethin’ ya’d do only ‘cause Ah want ya to?” Rogue’s voice was hesitant, uncertain.

“What are you askin’ me, Marie?” Logan lifted himself up on his right elbow and pushed at Rogue’s shoulder to get her to roll onto her back so he could see her face. “Listen up, kid. I wouldn’t sleep with you out of pity. What I meant is that no matter how much I might want it to happen, it never will unless it’s somethin’ that you want.”

Rogue slowly let out the breath she was holding and offered him a shy smile. “So ya wouldn’t mind too much if maybe Ah took ya up on it someday?”

Logan froze. Inside him, the Wolverine was making a curious noise, something midway between a growl and a purr, and it was all he could do not to mimic the noise himself. Seeing the sudden uneasiness on Rogue’s face, he realized that he was probably giving her a predatory look. Forcing himself to relax and letting his face soften, Logan returned her earlier smile.

“Marie, I wouldn’t mind at all.”

Rogue blinked a few times and shifted her eyes away from his.

“Ah’m gonna go brush mah teeth,” she blurted and jumped up from the bed. She grabbed her bag and disappeared into the bathroom with a slam of the door.

Wolverine chuckled darkly. It’s going to be interesting. She’s likely to lead us on a hell of a chase, he warned. You ready for it?

Logan snorted. I’ll chase her wherever she wants for as long as she wants. Just as long as I catch her in the end. He heard the rattling of the shower curtain in the bathroom and the hiss of water spraying from the showerhead. It was followed a moment later by Rogue’s startled yelp.

Too cold this time, Wolverine noted in amusement.

Yup, Logan agreed, rolling onto his back and lacing his fingers behind his head. He sighed in contentment and closed his eyes as the sweet smell of strawberry shampoo seeped into the room.

The smell of strawberries and sleep-warmed skin woke Logan. As was his custom when he didn’t smell or hear anything immediately threatening, full consciousness came slowly. Instead, he took his time taking in the scents and sounds of the room, starting from the far corner and gradually coming to focus on the things nearest him. As he continued waking, his inhalations became deeper, his heart sped up, and his muscles started twitching subtly. When he was awake enough for his eyes to start fluttering open, he stretched and curled his fingers. He found comfort and contentment in the ritual, and while he was aware that Rogue slept next to him, he hadn’t been paying any attention to how close together they lay. It was for this reason that he hadn’t noticed for a full sleep-fogged minute where his left hand was. As soon as his curling fingers registered the warm, soft resistance of Rogue’s breast, he was fully awake and frozen in place.

Was wonderin’ how long it’d take you to realize where your hand was, Wolverine said in amusement. As always, Wolverine was fully aware and chatty first thing in the morning. Although he had never shared the information with anyone, that was the number one reason Logan wasn’t a morning person. Every day, at the first hint of conscious thought, Wolverine greeted him in some fashion. Essentially having no time to himself in the morning – or whenever he happened to wake up – made Logan surly for the half hour of so it took Wolverine to fade into the back of his mind. He had tried arguing about the situation with his alter ego once, but Wolverine had completely blown him off by saying, “Hey, you’re the one who shoves me front and center when you sleep. I have no choice in the matter.” After a while, Logan recognized it as the effective defense that it was; he was free to sleep deeply as long as the Wolverine was conscious at the front of his mind and monitoring their surroundings for danger. Wolverine being completely present when he woke also gave him the ability to attack immediately and instinctively as needed.

On this particular morning, Logan was glad for the other presence.

What do I do? he asked, unable to resist a second, light squeeze of his hand.

Wolverine snorted in amusement. You did not seriously ask that question.

Ass, Logan returned. You know what I mean.

You’re askin’ whether she’d be at all receptive to bein’ woken up with our hands and lips on her?

Logan raised an eyebrow at the peculiarity of Wolverine’s plural possessive. He had noticed it before whenever they discussed Rogue – Wolverine considered the girl his just as much as Logan did. That had never happened before, not even with Jean. Wolverine had acknowledged her as an attractive female, had even expressed an interest in sleeping with her, but had felt none of the attachment that Logan had. It was actually frustrating to Logan how close-lipped Wolverine was on the subject, and the amused condescension in his tone the one time Logan had tried warning him that Rogue didn’t belong to anyone but him had cured him of the desire to argue the point. Admittedly, it had taken Logan a while to get used to the idea of “sharing” Rogue with Wolverine, but once he had, he was strangely grateful for the situation. He at least knew that Wolverine wouldn’t interfere where Rogue was concerned, and he was just as willing as Logan to die for her if that’s what it took to keep her safe. That willingness for self-sacrifice allowed Logan to cut Wolverine some slack when it came to things like the possessive speech patterns, or the occasionally lustful comment.

Yeah, that’s what I’m askin’, Logan said, returning to the conversation.

Wolverine was quiet for a thoughtful moment. I don’t think she would be. Last night was rough on her, and you saw how twitchy she was before she finally fell asleep. Hell, she damn near bolted out of the bed when you put your arm around her waist.

Only did that to make her stop movin’ around so I could get to sleep.

Rii-iight, Wolverine drawled. And the fact that you then pulled her up against your chest served what purpose?

Logan answered with a wordless mental snarl.

Besides, she’ll be pissed that you didn’t keep your promise. You told her that you’d keep away from her since she doesn’t know if she can control her mutation in her sleep.

Wolverine was right. He sighed and slowly pulled his hand away from Rogue’s warm breast. At the movement, a soft little mewling sound escaped Rogue’s slightly parted lips, and Logan froze again, this time with his hand hovering in the air over her shoulder. That one sound flooded him – and Wolverine – with frenzied desire.

Forget what I said, Wolverine demanded. She might not be receptive at first, but she will be soon enough.

Logan gritted his teeth and closed his eyes. You jackass, he accused, that would be takin’ advantage of her. And after what she told us last night, do you really want to force anythin’ on her before she’s ready?

There was a wave of wordless remorse from Wolverine. Things like that always confused Logan. Wolverine was capable of independent thoughts and feelings, and the man – could he call him a man? That was yet another confusing point for him, so Logan usually referred to him as Wolverine or just “him” when he had to – had a conscience and sense of decency despite his ability for absolute ruthlessness. Rogue had half-seriously compared it to the unspoken Italian mafia-man code once: take care of business however it needs taking care of, but don’t disrespect or hurt family, children, or women. She had said that after Alkali Lake when she was the only one to notice how much he had regretted having to kill Lady Deathstryke. Most people had attributed his odd behavior then to Jean’s first “death” and only a few of them who knew about it thought he was upset at having lost his only link to his past. Only Rogue had seen that he – and Wolverine – were swimming in regret and self-recrimination. He had seen his actions only as failures; Lady Deathstryke hadn’t been acting of her own will and he hadn’t been able to save her, nor had he been able to save Jean.

Despite that, Rogue had addressed his feelings of guilt with only one sentence: “You do what needs doing when it needs to be done, but nobody here blames you for the things you can’t do, so you shouldn’t blame yourself either.” Oddly enough, that had helped him work through the worst of it; that and Wolverine’s snickering comment that it was like a shrink or social worker telling him “It’s not your fault” over and over until he believed it. But they both knew that they would never accept the words as truth from anybody but Rogue. Her ability to look at his ruthlessness as necessary and justified, coupled with her ability to give him the unvarnished truth when he needed it, made him feel like a whole person for the first time he could remember. Before Rogue, he had always felt like he and Wolverine were two separate entities fighting for control over the same space. And Wolverine had once shared that he had only felt the need to fight Logan because Logan had been fighting him. Once they had finished with the territorial posturing, life had become at least more integrated if not easier.

Come on, out of bed, Wolverine urged. If we stay here we’re gonna end up all over her.

Logan couldn’t argue. He rolled away from Rogue and exited the bed from the opposite side. He quietly picked up his bag and headed into the bathroom. As he flipped on the light, he caught sight of his face in the mirror over the sink. Unsure of why he was doing it, Logan leaned into the sink and examined his reflection. He felt Wolverine’s puzzlement, but ignored him. He started with his hair.

Looks messy, he thought. Nothin’ I can do ‘bout it. My hair won’t lie down flat no matter what I do. Logan changed his focus. Eyes are okay, though. I wouldn’t call ‘em “pretty” like Marie does. Hers are pretty…mine are just regular ol’ eyes. Nose is straight. That’s actually surprising’ with the number o’ times it’s been broken, even takin’ my healin’ factor into consideration. Same with my teeth – I wonder why they’ve never been knocked out before? I’ll have to ask Hank ‘bout that some time, see what he thinks. I’ve got lines at the corners’ o’ my eyes. Wonder when I got those? Don’t remember if I had them when I came to in the woods. I guess they prove that I am aging? Wouldn’t the healin’ factor keep my skin unwrinkled if I wasn’t? That’s another question for Hank.

He dismissed the line of questioning and took in his bristly muttonchops. He ran his hand over them consideringly. He directed his next thought to Wolverine. Wonder if I should shave?

Why? Wolverine asked in surprise.

Logan felt his cheeks grow warm under his fingers. Thinkin’ it might make me look a little younger. Maybe people wouldn’t be so nasty and disapproving to Marie if I didn’t look like I’m old enough to be her father.

Damn people don’t need a reason to be nasty. They just are. And you’ll still look enough older than our girl for people to get upset about it. Screw them; don’t shave. Not unless Marie wants you to. Her skin’s soft enough that she’ll probably end up with whisker burn if you do.

Logan grunted. Hadn’t thought o’ that. Next time we’re at a convenience store, I’ll see if they sell clippers or somethin’. I won’t shave it off, but I might as well trim it down a bit.

Whatever floats your boat, bub, Wolverine returned noncommittally.

Logan nodded to himself and quickly stripped off his shirt. He couldn’t help a quick smirk when he remembered the first time Marie had come into the gym while he was working out. The way she had stared at him with huge brown eyes and the forceful swallow he had seen rippling along her throat had been the first hint he had of her attraction to him. After that, he had paid more attention to her reactions to him, but he had never been certain if she was actually attracted to him, or just nervous around him. He hadn’t asked or made any overt gestures, though, since she had still been under age; besides, Jeannie had still been alive at the time.

It hadn’t been until the morning she had come to get him for breakfast that he knew she desired him. Rogue had knocked lightly at his door before letting herself in just as Logan was stirring awake. He had cracked one eye open at her entry and growled a good morning in a sleep-roughened voice. He followed the greeting with a leisurely stretch that had the sheet covering him slipping farther down his bare torso, and just as his left hipbone was exposed, Rogue had made an odd little sound in her throat and the scent of her arousal had filled the room. Logan had frozen mid-stretch and met her eyes. Or tried to; she was too busy devouring his chest and stomach to bother with eye contact. Logan wasn’t sure how long they had stared at each other, but eventually he had reminded her that he still needed to get dressed before they could go eat breakfast.

Rogue had merely responded with a breathy “Oh” before backing out of his room and closing the door behind her. She barely spoke to Logan at breakfast, and had been twitchy around him for several days after that.

While the memory, now nearly three years old, was satisfying, it was also endlessly frustrating for Logan. It had been long enough after Jean’s death that he had felt comfortable enough to begin flirting subtly with Rogue after that morning, and after a while, she had learned to relax and respond in kind. But she never seemed to take him seriously, even when he had made his flirting blatantly obvious. Until last night. For the first time, Rogue seemed to understand that he really did see her as a desirable woman and not just some stray he had picked up.

Shaking the thoughts from his head, Logan pulled open the shower curtain and turned on the water. Unlike Rogue, he always took the time to adjust the temperature before getting in. When it was warm enough, he removed his sweatpants and boxers and ducked quickly under the needle-like spray. He leaned forward into the water, tipping his head down and bracing his hands on the wall in front of him. As the water soaked his hair, he could pick up the faint, lingering traces of strawberry from Rogue’s shower the night before. Wolverine stirred briefly and pushed an image to the forefront of Logan’s mind. While he usually avoided imagining Rogue naked, Wolverine had no such qualms.

Logan groaned at the picture taking shape behind his closed eyes and felt his body responding.

His eyes snapped open. Enough of that, he growled at Wolverine.

Not nearly enough.

Logan hissed in exasperation and did his best to ignore Wolverine as he quickly finished his shower. He dressed in his usual jeans, wife beater, and flannel combination, shook the water from his hair and ran his hand through it once. Once he brushed his teeth, he was good to go.

* * *

Rogue looked up as the bathroom door opened. The groaning rush of water through the pipes had woken her a few minutes earlier. Figuring that Logan couldn’t have been awake for very long, she ran her hand over the pillow and the space beside her. It had still been warm, telling her that Logan hadn’t moved away from her as he had promised he would. She was torn between anger and excitement. She was angry that Logan had taken such a risk – she had worn socks, pajama pants and a long sleeved t-shirt to bed, but hadn’t worn gloves – but excited because he had obviously wanted to stay close to her and because of the possibility that she was able to control her skin while she slept. She couldn’t imagine that there hadn’t been some skin to skin contact.

Logan froze in the doorway when he saw her watching him.

“Mornin’, darlin’,” he said amiably.

“Mornin’, Logan,” she returned calmly. “I see ya survived mah deadly skin last night.”

Rogue felt vaguely guilty when Logan winced.

“I don’t want to argue with you, darlin’. I’m sorry I didn’t keep my promise, but I couldn’t help it.”

Rogue’s right eyebrow winged up.

“Honestly.” Logan looked uncomfortable as he cleared his throat. He stared at her for a few seconds and finally shrugged his broad shoulders. “I meant to move away, but I fell asleep.”

Rogue was surprised by the answer for some reason. She couldn’t be angry at him since he hadn’t intentionally broken his promise. She frowned, uncertain what to say. She finally settled on “Oh.”

A faint grin appeared on Logan’s lips. He stepped away from the bathroom and jerked his head toward the door. “Come on, darlin’. Get up and get dressed and we’ll go back to the diner for breakfast. Figure we’ll check out and drop our bags back at the Explorer on the way.”

Rogue nodded and scrambled from the bed, an idea already forming. “Ready in two shakes of a lamb’s tail, sugar.”

Logan snorted. “Never knew what the hell that’s supposed to mean.”

Rogue’s mischievous grin was the only answer as she grabbed her bag and disappeared into the bathroom.

Our girl’s up to somethin’, Wolverine warned.

“I noticed,” Logan murmured wryly as he set about shoving things into his duffle bag. Since he always packed light, he still had some room left and after a moment’s thought, grabbed Rogue’s bunny slippers and stuffed them into his bag too. As he was tossing the blankets and pillows back into some semblance of order, he heard the rasping grate of Rogue pulling the zipper closed on her bag. He turned just in time to catch the door opening.

Da-amn.

Logan couldn’t formulate a coherent thought to answer Wolverine, but he seconded his opinion. Rogue had on a pair of tight, dark wash jeans and a rich, ruby red tank top. The tank had thin straps edged with lace that followed along the edges of the deep v-neck. The shadow of cleavage revealed there made Logan’s mouth dry, but before he gave into the temptation to say or do something to make a fool out of himself, he tore his eyes away. The fine points of her collarbone drew his attention to the graceful slope of her shoulders and the lean, pale lines of her arms. She had on a short pair of black lace and ribbon gloves that left her fingertips bare, telling him that they were definitely not chosen for protection or basic functionality.

Why the hell’s she dressed like that? And why the hell is a simple pair of jeans and a skimpy little shirt doin’ this to me?

Who cares, came Wolverine’s ready reply, and because it’s Marie wearin’ ‘em.

Thinking to find a clue as to what Rogue was thinking, Logan lifted his eyes to her face. He felt again as if he’d been punched in the stomach as he saw the smoky shadow and black eyeliner framing her eyes. Her lashes were darkened and curled upward until they looked impossibly long, and she had artfully covered her bruises until all that remained was the faintest shadow along her cheek where he knew the scrape had not yet fully healed. Dropping his gaze to her lips, Logan was for some reason grateful to see that she hadn’t used any lipstick. Rather, Rogue’s full, pouty lips were left their natural pink color and coated with a clear gloss that made them look slightly wet, as if she had just run her tongue over them. Her hair was left loose in tumbling waves that brushed her shoulders.

“Well, whadya think, sugar?”

“I think…” Logan swallowed and tried again. “I don’t know what I think. Why the hell are you dressed like that, darlin’?”

Rogue’s smile faded. “It doesn’t look good?”

“Hell no. I mean yes. Yes, it looks good. Too good. Get changed.”

What?

“What?”

The questions came simultaneously, and Logan shook his head a little to clear it.

“You’re gonna have every man we come across droolin’ over you, darlin’. And I don’t feel like fightin’ our way across Canada unless it’s in a cage.”

A self-satisfied smirk drew Rogue’s lips into an appealing curve.

“Good.” She turned and walked toward the chair by the door to retrieve her coat and Logan saw that the V of the neckline was mirrored in the back, the lace edging brushing the delicate wings of her shoulder blades as she moved.

“What the hell do you mean ‘good’?” Logan thundered, suddenly, unreasoningly, angry.

“Don’t get yer boxers in a bunch, sugar.” Rogue’s flippant tone pulled an involuntary growl from deep in his chest. She rounded on him, her arms crossed against her chest and a mutinous look on her face. “An’ don’t ya growl at me. In case ya forgot, Logan, Ah don’t take orders from ya. So Ah can wear whatever Ah want whenever an’ wherever Ah want.”

“I know that,” he acknowledged gruffly. “Do you mind at least tellin’ me the reason for that getup?”

Who cares? Wolverine insisted stubbornly. We get to look at her all day.

Logan staunchly ignored the little thrill that ran up his spine and cocked an eyebrow at Rogue. “Well?”

“‘Cause o’ that jackass downstairs.”

“You dressed up for that skeevy bastard? Why?” He didn’t even try to keep the surprise out of his voice.

“Not for him exactly. But when we go to check out, he’s not gonna be thinkin’ that Ah’m a little girl or that ye’re a pedophile anymore, now is he?”

Oh, she’s evil. The Wolverine’s feeling of smug approval mirrored Logan’s. He felt his lips drawing back into the semblance of a smile, but he knew that the end result was likely more a feral baring of teeth.

“I like the way you think, darlin’.” Logan nodded to the jacket in her hands. “Gonna be warm enough without that ‘til we get to the car?”

Rogue looked down at the garment in surprise. “Oh. Yeah. Ah hadn’t thought ‘bout that. It would rather ruin the look, wouldn’t it?”

Logan just nodded again and held his hand out for the jacket and her bag. They didn’t speak again as he followed her out of the room and down to the shabby little office.

The same smarmy clerk was sitting at the desk with his feet up, leafing through a magazine with a picture of a swimsuit clad woman on the front. He turned the magazine lengthwise for a better view as they stepped up to the counter.

“Can I help you?” he grunted without looking up.

“Just here to turn in our room key,” Rogue said in a drawl that was somehow breathy and sultry all at the same time. Logan felt the muscles low in his stomach tighten.

The man at the counter…twitched. It was the only word that Logan could think of to describe it. As if in slow motion, the man lowered the magazine until he could see Rogue over the top of the page. Logan’s sensitive hearing picked up the man’s hasty gulp, and the Wolverine cackled madly.

Oh, she’s got him good and hooked, he crowed triumphantly. And she didn’t even do anythin’.

Idiot, Logan thought. She’s not even talkin’ to us and she got us all worked up too.

That’s different, Wolverine insisted. She’s ours. She’s supposed to be able to do that to us.

Maybe, Logan mused as he watched Rogue lean into the counter, giving the clerk a full view of her cleavage. He was amused as he listened to the man stammer, but was also tense with vigilance.

“S-so, you’re t-turnin’ in your room key then?” The clerk’s eyes were fixed on Rogue’s cleavage as he spoke. When Rogue drew breath to reply, the man’s pasty tongue darted out to lick his lips. Logan wanted to hit him.

Let her have her fun, Wolverine cautioned. She’s handlin’ him just fine.

I don’t want him lookin’ at her, he growled.

Neither do I. But whatever she’s got planned, she wants him to look.

Logan growled again, this time audibly, and the clerk jumped and cast him a nervous glance. His eyes grew wide when he recognized Logan. His gaze swiveled back to Rogue and he looked at her face for the first time. Rogue cast Logan a quelling look before turning her attention back to the man. She held the key out to him, dangling it in front of her cleavage to draw his eyes back down. He reached for it slowly.

“W-was the room to yer…likin’?” The greasy innuendo lacing his words was punctuated by another flick of his tongue over his lips as his fingers closed around the key.

Rogue smiled. “The room?” She turned away from the clerk and leaned back, resting her elbows on the counter. Logan saw the man lean toward her hair and inhale deeply. Logan scowled. “Was the room to our likin’, sugar?” Rogue asked him innocently.

So that’s her game, Wolverine purred. Logan’s scowl turned into a smirk. He stepped forward and rested a hand on Rogue’s hip and met the clerk’s gaze.

“The room was crap. Bed was great though.” This time the clerk scowled.

“It was, wasn’t it?” Rogue said thoughtfully. “Plenty o’ bounce in the springs.”

Logan almost choked on his tongue. He tightened his grip on Rogue’s hip and pulled her toward him. A rustling sound drew his attention back to the clerk and he saw that the man had clenched his fist hard enough to crumple the magazine he still held in one hand. Logan offered him a savage, toothy grin and slung his arm around Rogue’s shoulders as he turned to escort her from the office.

* * *

Their breakfast at the little diner passed mostly without incident. They had stopped at the Explorer to drop off their bags and Rogue had taken a thin black sweater out of her duffle and pulled it on. Logan had then held her leather jacket for her as she slipped her arms into the sleeves.

Now, both of them having shrugged off their jackets, they were lingering over coffee and blithely ignoring the stares of the wait staff and the customers who had the look of regulars hanging about them.

“Two questions fer ya, sugar,” Rogue said.

“Shoot,” Logan grunted and took another sip of his coffee.

“One: why do ya think they’re all starin’ at us?” She pitched her voice loud enough that it would carry throughout the small room. “And two: do ya think it’s too early to get a slice o’ chocolate cake?”

Logan chuckled and shook his head at her, but decided to play along. He said loudly, “To answer your first question, I’m sure these folks are too polite to do anythin’ like stare at us, darlin’.” Rogue almost laughed at how quickly eyes were averted and backs were turned. “And for your second question…” Logan turned toward the counter. “Can we get a slice of chocolate cake over here?” The waitress nodded without looking up from the cup of coffee she was pouring.

The beaming smile Rogue gave him was a little too enthusiastic to match the situation and Logan felt his eyebrow lift questioningly.

“Wasn’t sure you noticed ‘em starin’,” he said quietly.

“Course Ah did. It didn’t feel mean or anythin’, though, so Ah put up with it as long as Ah could. Ah finally just got sick enough of it to say somethin’.”

“People in small towns tend to stare a lot at unfamiliar faces,” Logan explained, “although this is the first time that’s happened to me.” He grinned.

“Ya normally scare ‘em off with a growl, do ya, sugar?”

Logan snorted. “Close enough.” The waitress interrupted them long enough to put a large slice of cake in front of Rogue and to refill their coffee cups. “Bill, when you’ve got a chance,” Logan said to her. Again, the waitress nodded wordlessly.

“Not too friendly, are they?” Rogue asked around a mouthful of dessert.

Logan made a noncommittal sound and moved on to his next question. “You don’t eat cake at breakfast. What’s up, darlin’?”

Rogue sighed and leaned back in the booth. “Ah guess it’s another rebellion like the thing with the clerk this mornin’,” she said after a while. She pushed crumbs of cake around with her fork as she slowly lifted her eyes to Logan’s.

He saw something like shadows sliding behind the pretty brown and didn’t care for the way it made her look older than she should. And tired; the shadows made her look tired the way no amount of missed sleep ever could.

Logan carefully put his mug aside and slumped against the padded backrest. He stretched his legs out until they rested on either side of Rogue’s feet and nudged her left ankle with his right boot. She jumped a little and gave him a wan smile before taking another small bite of cake.

“If the ‘rebellions’ are helpin’, Marie, there’s nothin’ wrong with ‘em.” Logan wondered for a brief moment why Wolverine was silent. Normally, he had varied and colorful advice to offer during his conversations with Rogue.

“Ah –” Rogue’s voice cracked. She cleared her throat and tried again. “Ah don’t know if they’re helpin’, Logan.” Her shoulders drooped as she spoke. “L-last night would have been a rebellion of sorts too, ya know. An’ if ya hadn’t stopped me…” Rogue shrugged.

Oh, Logan thought, at a loss what to say next.

“So, Ah guess what Ah’m sayin’ is maybe Ah lack perspective in what Ah’m doin’?” The look she gave him was pure vulnerability edged with anxiety.

Logan realized with a sense of surprise that he knew how to respond to that look if not to her words. “Marie. Don’t worry about it. You know I’d never let anythin’ happen to you.”

She looked uncomfortable for a moment. “Don’t take this as an accusation or anythin’, ‘cause Ah don’t mean it as one, okay?” Rogue waited for Logan’s cautious nod before continuing. “Ah know ya’d never mean to let anythin’ happen to me, Logan. But ya can’t protect me from everythin’.”

“Bullshit,” Logan returned instinctively. “I’ll keep you safe even if it kills me.”

The smile Rogue gave him squeezed his heart in a tight little fist; it was edged with the same sadness and tiredness he had seen in her eyes. “Logan, Ah don’t want to be protected like that.”

“What d’you mean?” The slight swell of panic he felt at her words had him raising his voice as he sat up abruptly. He was vaguely aware of the curious glances aimed at them, but chose to ignore them for the moment.

“It means,” Rogue said slowly, holding Logan’s gaze with her own, “that Ah don’t want ya to get hurt just to keep me from bein’ hurt.”

“I heal, darlin’.”

Rogue ran her hands through her hair in a jerky motion. “Ah’m not talkin’ ‘bout physical hurt, sugar.”

“Oh.” Logan slumped back again. “You talkin’ ‘bout last night, then?” he ventured.

Rogue blushed faintly. “Yeah. If…if ya had done what Ah wanted ya to, we wouldn’t be sittin’ here right now.”

“Yeah,” Logan grunted. “I kinda figured.”

“But anyway,” Rogue said hurriedly, “that’s what Ah was talkin’ ‘bout when Ah said Ah lacked perspective. The guy this mornin’, an’ mouthin’ off to a diner full of curious people…Ah don’t know if they were the right thing to do…probably not, but they’re things Ah only felt safe doin’ ‘cause ya’re with me. An’ if ya hadn’t stopped me last night, Ah’d be off doin’ who knows what all by myself. Do – do ya know what Ah’m sayin’, Logan?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I get ya, Marie. It’s kinda like what happened after Jeannie died…ya kept me grounded. Even when I went off and did somethin’ stupid – like the night I ended up in jail after that bar fight – you were there to bring me back to myself.”

Rogue’s face cleared. “Exactly,” she said. “Ya keep me grounded. So don’t go sayin’ ya’ll die to keep me safe, an’ don’t let me do anythin’ that would drive ya away. If ya’re not here with me, Ah’ll be lost.”

Rogue picked up her fork again and finished the rest of her cake with evident enjoyment while Logan sipped at his now cool coffee. The waitress arrived a moment later with their bill, and checking the amount quickly, Logan dropped a few bills on the table and stood up. He slid his jacket on easily and once again held Rogue’s for her. After she shrugged to settle it in place, Logan dropped his hands onto her shoulders and squeezed gently. Rogue tipped her head back to glance up at him and lifted her right hand to rest briefly over his. They shared a smile and the moment fell away when they dropped their hands and moved toward the door and out into the cold, crisp air.

* * *

Logan was biting his tongue to keep from laughing. They had been driving north and west for almost ten hours, with only a quick stop for food and gas and a call to the professor which had ended after only a couple minutes. Rogue had fallen asleep about thirty miles ago, her head tipping back against the headrest. Sometime in the last minute, her mouth had fallen open and she had begun to snore. The soft snuffling sound, somewhat like the indecipherable fuzz from an untuned radio, was loud in Logan’s sensitive ears. He thought the snore was adorable, and not funny by itself, but Wolverine was in rare humorous form and began mimicking the sound between snorts of mirth.

Come on. It’s funny, Wolverine insisted.

Not really. It’s just snorin’.

Not really, came the mocking reply. It’s too damn funny for words. ‘Cause you know that Rogue, badass of the younger X-men group, would be mortified to be caught snorin’.

Logan snorted and quickly looked at Rogue to make sure he hadn’t woken her. He went right back to biting his tongue, though, as he saw the slightest hint of drool glistening at the corner of her mouth.

Wolverine’s laughter became more of a howl.

Quit it, Logan chastised.

Not a chance in hell, Wolverine vowed. He again mimicked Rogue’s snoring and this time shoved a cartoonish image of her with a string of drool hanging from her mouth into the forefront of Logan’s mind. Somehow obscuring his own vision for a moment, the Explorer swerved and Logan cursed. Beside him, Rogue’s snores were cut off with a startled snort.

Rogue lifted her head and looked around dazedly. “Whatsa matter?” She absentmindedly wiped the corner of her mouth with the back of her ungloved hand, grimacing at the wetness. Logan couldn’t contain his laughter anymore.

He laughed until his stomach started to hurt, quite a feat considering his healing factor, and when Rogue just sat blinking at him in confusion and concern, he laughed some more. Wolverine was smart enough not to shove any more pictures in his face, so he managed to stay on the road, despite the slight weaving of the vehicle.

It was perhaps due to the unfamiliar haze of tears filling his eyes that he did not notice the flashing lights right away. Logan continued driving a somewhat crooked path while he laughed and unsuccessfully tried to wipe the tears from his eyes and ignored Rogue tugging at his sleeve.

“Uh, Logan…” She knuckled the sleep from the corner of one eye.

Wolverine’s howls of laughter were renewed, as were his own.

W-why is this so funny? Logan asked him in confusion, surprised that his mental voice seemed out of breath from laughter.

‘Cause we’re the only ones who ever see this side of her. And you know that if you told anybody back at the mansion, they wouldn’t believe it any more than they’d believe it about us. Little Marie has a badass reputation that nobody else can see past. Just like us.

Logan snorted, aware of Rogue’s hand gripping his elbow. Not like anybody’d believe me laughin’ so hard I’m cryin’ either.

True, Wolverine acknowledged. But seriously, enough now. See what our girl wants before she thinks you’ve completely lost your mind.

Logan came back to himself in slow pieces and turned toward Rogue. She was still tugging on his sleeve, but he was surprised to find she wasn’t looking at him. Instead, she was turned half around in her seat peering out the back window.

Logan blinked rapidly to clear the last of the tears out of his eyes and started to ask, “What’s up, Marie,” when the short wail of a siren cut him off.

“Shit!” Logan growled when he looked in the rearview mirror to see the white police SUV following close behind. “How long has he been there, darlin’?”

“Since right after I woke up, I think.”

“Shit!” Logan cursed again and thumped the heel of his hand against the steering wheel. He stepped lightly on the brake and pulled the Explorer over to the shoulder of the road. Rogue was already rummaging around in the glove box for the vehicle’s registration, which she quietly passed to Logan when she found it. She reached into the compartment again and pulled out two envelopes addressed to each of them. She opened her own quickly and found a driver’s license and birth certificate, as well as a passport. Logan reached for his and tipped the contents into his lap and tossed the envelope back to Rogue. She shoved both empty envelopes into the glove box and snapped the door closed.

“Logan Xavier?” Logan read in disbelief, quickly memorizing the name, birthdate, and address on his new ID.

“Marie Grey,” Rogue said softly, and Logan turned quickly to stare at her. Oddly enough, he wasn’t upset at hearing part of Jean’s name. What bothered him was that the professor had obviously known Rogue’s real name.

Logan leaned slightly closer until he could read the vital information from Rogue’s passport. “Age twenty-one – looks like he kept your real birthday there – and the address is the same as mine?”

“What’re we gonna—” Rogue’s question was cut off by the police officer rapping on Logan’s window.

“Wing it,” Logan muttered in response as he hit the button to lower his window.

Logan didn’t speak, and neither did the officer for a moment. The man stared at him hard from under the brim of his hat, his eyes flickering over once to look at Rogue.

“Registration and ID,” the man said. Logan wordlessly handed them over. The officer looked them over slowly before passing them back through the window without asking any questions about them.

“We weren’t speeding, were we officer?” Rogue leaned forward to look around Logan as she asked the question. The officer didn’t answer her.

“Have you been drinking, sir?”

Logan blinked in surprise. “No.”

“You haven’t had anything at all to drink in the last few hours?”

“I already said ‘no’,” Logan replied in a near growl.

“Logan!” Marie hissed. “Don’t get nasty with him. He’s only doin’ his job.”

Logan clenched his jaw and didn’t reply.

“If you haven’t been drinking,” the officer continued in a calm, slow voice, “can you explain why you were swerving across the center line?”

Logan felt the faintest wave of warmth sweep over his face as he cut a glance at Rogue. He muttered a quick answer to the officer. Rogue and the officer frowned.

“What was that, sir?”

Logan muttered again, and the officer’s hand dropped to the baton at his belt. The officer looked again at Rogue and narrowed his eyes.

“Are you all right, miss?”

Rogue blinked in surprise. “Ah’m fine,” she answered, her confusion evident in her tone. The officer relaxed the slightest bit.

“Miss, you tell me. Why was this vehicle swerving all over the road?”

“Darned if Ah know. One minute Ah was sleepin’ an’ the next, he’s laughin’ like a loon.”

The officer frowned. “Are you on any sort of medication, sir?”

Rogue snorted a laugh and Logan glared at her.

“No,” he ground out.

“Do you use any recreational drugs?”

“No.” The word was a heated snarl.

The officer stepped back and drew the baton out of its holder. “Step out of the vehicle, sir.”

“What?” Logan shook his head. “Listen, I haven’t been drinkin’ and I’m not on any drugs, legal or otherwise. Somethin’ was funny and I was laughin’ too hard to see straight. That’s all.”

“And what was funny?” The officer didn’t relax his stance at all.

Logan mumbled a reply.

“Sir! You’re going to have to speak up,” the officer warned sternly.

“Logan, just tell him,” Rogue said, her tone not quite pleading, but close.

“Fine,” Logan sighed. “She was snorin’,” he confessed, jerking his thumb toward Rogue.

“Ah was not!” Rogue gasped.

“Were too,” Logan said, grinning. “Was cute too.”

“Ah. Do. Not. Snore,” Rogue enunciated carefully through gritted teeth.

“Well, apparently you do, darlin’.” Logan was aware of the police officer looking back and forth between them as they bickered.

“Fine. Care to imitate this alleged snore then?”

“Hell no.”

“Well, until Ah hear it, Ah maintain that Ah do not snore an’ ye’re just makin’ up some story to cover up that ya were pro’ly thinkin’ lecherous thoughts an’ weren’t payin’ attention to yer drivin’.” Rogue turned her head away from him and crossed her arms over her chest.

Logan gaped at the childish display and heard something suspiciously like a laugh from the man outside his window.

“I won’t imitate it, but I can describe it.” Logan grinned toothily and winked at the officer. “It was all soft and snuffly, kinda like a pig rootin’ around for a comfortable sleepin’ spot.”

“Logan!” Rogue snapped, and punched his arm. Hard.

“Ow.” He cradled his arm briefly for show. “I understand you’re embarrassed, darlin’, but there’s no need to get violent.”

“Ah’ll show ya violent!” Rogue vowed, brandishing a fist in the air.

“Now, miss,” the officer interrupted with a slight hint of alarm. “I don’t think that will be necessary. I’m sure the gentleman’s sorry for his rather…insensitive description of your snoring.”

“Ah don’t snore!” Rogue said stubbornly.

“Tell you what, sweetheart. We’ll stop in the next town to buy a tape recorder and that way you’ll have proof before the week’s out.”

“Jackass!”

Logan grinned unrepentantly. “I will admit, though, that snorin’s rare for you. This was the first time I heard it. That’s pro’ly why I thought it was so funny. Badass girl of the mansion, makin’ noises like a cute little critter.”

Rogue smiled reluctantly. Logan felt the Wolverine prodding at him and couldn’t resist his next comment.

“It was the drool that had me swervin’ all over the road, though.”

Rogue gave a wordless shriek and quickly wiped her mouth and chin with her sleeve.

The police officer was openly laughing by this point, and the glare Rogue gave him only increased his mirth. Rogue huffed and crossed her arms again.

“Aw, come on, darlin’. Don’t be angry,” Logan cajoled. “It really was cute, and I’m sorry I laughed.”

Rogue unbent enough to give him a regal little nod of acknowledgement. “Can we go then, officer?” she asked.

The man gave one last chuckle and nodded. “Sure. You folks gonna be on the road much longer? It’s going to get dark soon.”

“Thought we’d stop in Bronson,” Logan said. “Saw a sign for a Teak’s Bar and Motel?”

“Listen,” the officer said, suddenly somber. “You don’t want to be stopping there. The bar’s the only place in town that serves food and it’s a little too rough for a lady. Rumor has it they have organized fights.”

Logan frowned, but Rogue seemed unperturbed by the news. Wolverine was intrigued and was clamoring to get in on the possible fights. “What’s the next closest place to stop for the night?” Logan asked.

“About another hour or so past Bronson.”

Logan’s frown deepened. That would have them on the road for at least another two hours. “All right. Thanks.”

The officer nodded and turned to walk away. Logan looked at Rogue.

“Want to keep drivin’, or stop in Bronson?”

Rogue shrugged. “Bronson,” she said. “Ah’m too tired to stay in the car any longer than that. ‘Sides. Ah’m hungry as hell.”

Logan merely nodded and pulled back onto the road as he tried to ignore the feeling of savage satisfaction from both the Wolverine and himself at the prospect of a fight.

It was obvious as Logan pulled up at the bar that it was a truckers’ dive. He leaned forward over the steering wheel and peered up at the building, a frown building on his face.

“You sure about this, Marie?”

“‘Course. As long as they serve decent burgers, Ah’ll be fine.” As she finished speaking, the front door opened and tall man with muscles straining under his black t-shirt threw a smaller man several feet out into the parking lot. “Uh, how about an addendum? As long as they serve decent burgers an’ ye’re with me, Ah’ll be fine.” She offered Logan a weak grin.

He snorted and conferred briefly and silently with Wolverine.

Should be okay, Wolverine acknowledged. We’ll just make sure everybody in there knows she’s ours, put her front and center where we can see her, and then go kick some ass. Nobody’ll dare touch her after the first few schmucks end up bleedin’ on the floor. ‘Sides, she can take care of herself pretty well.

Logan thought it through for a few seconds.

“Okay,” he told Rogue. “But at the first sign of trouble, we’re leavin’.”

“Okay.”

The bar was dim, as all bars seemed to be, and the thick haze of smoke filling the room made it even more difficult to see. Logan paused in the doorway for a moment to let his eyes adjust, all the while careful to keep his arm against Rogue’s back and his hand resting lightly on her hip. The strategic pause in the doorway also allowed the room’s occupants to observe his claim on her. He didn’t bother explaining any of that to Rogue, though, as he had a feeling she might not like being treated like a piece of territory to be marked.

If she’s got a problem with it, just lay it out straight. Tell her how it’s gonna be.

You’re jokin’, right? You know she wouldn’t stand for that. Would probably go and get herself in trouble just for the chance to prove that she doesn’t need our help getting’ out of it.

Wolverine grumbled a bit, but didn’t argue. He was already distracted by the slightly raised section of floor at the opposite wall where people were lining up to watch the fight that was about to get started. Rogue had seen it too.

“Ya pro’ly wanna get in on that, right?” She jerked her thumb in the direction of the makeshift ring.

“Not right now,” Logan replied, ushering her toward the bar along one side of the room. He settled himself on the only available stool and stood Rogue squarely in front of him, bracketing her ribs with his thighs. He tapped on the bar with a closed fist.

“What can I gitcha?” the bartender asked, running a towel along the glass in his hands to dry it.

“Couple o’ burgers and two beers – whatever you got in bottles.”

The man nodded, not bothering to ask Rogue for ID, and shouted the order through the cutout section of wall behind him. “Burgers will take a bit,” he said, and pushed a couple of open bottles of beer in front of them.

Logan nodded back and swiveled slightly on his stool so he could see the rest of the room. Rogue turned with him, leaning back against him and hooking her elbows on his thighs for balance. They each sipped their beers slowly as they considered the crowd.

Most of the men, and the few women scattered throughout the room, were truckers. They were largely unwashed, although not yet offensively so, and denim and flannel were the uniform of choice. Most of the men had long, unkempt hair pulled back into low ponytails. Rogue gave a little snort of amusement.

“Grow yer hair out a bit an’ ye’ll fit right in, sugar,” she said, patting Logan’s knee for emphasis.

“Hush, you,” Logan chastised, although he was secretly amused. As was the Wolverine. He turned back to the bartender. “What’s the deal with the fights?”

The bartender looked him over appraisingly before answering. “Hunnerd t’ enter. Winner at the end o’ the night takes all. Single round fights can be arranged between ya an’ another fighter, same entry amount fer those. Two-hunnerd max payoff, though, since there’s no bettin’ allowed on those matches. Ya wanna sign up, ya gotta do it in the next five minutes. Single matches are first, an’ then the tournament starts in a half hour. Kitchen closes then, too, so if ya want somethin’ else, better put yer order in soon.”

“Sign me up,” Logan said, and slapped some bills on the bar, glad that they had taken the chance shortly after crossing the border to exchange some of their money at a bank. He had no doubt they’d take American money, but for the moment, he’d rather nobody knew where they were from.

Wolverine snorted. Yeah, sure. As soon as Marie opens her mouth people know where we came from.

True, Logan returned, taking a swig of beer, but they don’t know for sure that I’m from the same place. He scrawled “Wolverine” on the sign-up sheet on the clipboard the bartender put in front of him and then turned back to survey the room again. He could pick out most of the fighters from the nervous energy that seemed to be rolling off them in waves.

Rogue patted his thigh to get his attention. “Ah need to use the Ladies’, sugar.” Logan frowned and gestured the bartender over to them.

“You got a bathroom the lady can use?”

“We only got one,” the bartender said, nodding toward a scarred grey door to their left, “for men an’ women both.”

Logan frowned and swept the room, taking note of the numerous gazes that had been resting on Rogue since they first came in. “Come on, darlin’. I’ll wait outside the door for you.”

“That won’t be necessary,” the bartender said. He jerked his chin in a beckoning gesture at the large man they had seen tossing a customer out the door. The man lumbered over, not needing to shoulder anybody out of the way as they were all quick to move away from him. “This here’s Max,” the bartender continued. “He’s our bouncer, so ya can trust him to escort yer lady while ya save yer seat.”

Logan considered the bouncer. He was several inches taller than Logan, although no more muscular. What drew Logan’s attention most was the vicious-looking scar that bisected the man’s left eye. The slash started just above his eyebrow and continued over the eyelid itself and trailed down over the man’s cheek until it ended in a hook shape just above his jawline. The eye itself was a murky blue while the other was dark brown. Logan felt his frown deepen.

“Can I trust you to keep her safe?” he asked in a growl.

Max just nodded and held his hand out for Rogue’s. Logan nudged her forward a little with a hand at the small of her back. He held Max’s gaze as he spoke to her. “You need me, I’m just a scream away, darlin’.”

“Gotcha, sugar,” Rogue returned nonchalantly, already making a beeline for the bathroom door with Max in tow. Logan watched them as Max pushed aside the men waiting in line to use the facilities. None of them protested.

“What’s with that?” he asked the man behind the bar.

“House rules. Ladies don’t need to wait in line.”

Logan quirked an eyebrow and the bartender smiled faintly as he nodded at the burgers he placed in front of Logan. “My wife’s the cook and co-owner o’ this place. Was her idea.”

Logan nodded. “Hey, listen,” he said. “We’re gonna need a room after the fights. Where do I take care of that?” There was no way he was letting Rogue sleep in a separate room after what he had seen of the crowd.

“Ya take care o’ it right here.” The man reached under the bar and came up with a key in his hand. He slapped it on the counter in front of Logan and named what Logan thought was a reasonable price.

“Clean sheets and towels?”

The man nodded. “Wife takes care o’ all that.”

“Any TV?”

Another nod. “A few local stations, and one news station.”

“That local too?” Logan grunted, picking up his burger.

“Naw. It’s one o’ them news networks that covers international stuff.”

Logan nodded, pleased with the answer. He and Rogue could at least find out what was going on back in the States. They had tried to ask the professor earlier, but Xavier had been unusually brusque, telling them that he would call as soon as he had a chance to talk more in detail. Rogue hadn’t thought anything was odd about it, figuring that the professor was just busy, but Wolverine hadn’t liked Xavier’s reason. Neither had Logan. There was some indefinable tone to his voice that told Logan that the professor was worried about something. He just had no idea if it was something that would impact him and Rogue, or if it was some trivial matter about the school.

Logan was half finished with his burger when Rogue came back. He slid off the stool and offered it to her so she could at least sit while she ate. She gave him a grateful little smile and settled herself comfortably in the half-bracket of his arm that he formed by putting his arm behind her and gripping the far edge of the stool. Logan ate the rest of his burger with his free hand and grinned when Rogue shoveled her french fries onto his plate.

“Thanks.” Rogue merely nodded, her cheeks puffed out with the large bite of food she had in her mouth.

Logan worked steadily on the fries, pausing only long enough to gesture to the bartender for another round of beers.

You do realize you eat like a pig, right? Wolverine’s tone was mild.

I’m not takin’ lessons in table manners from you, Logan returned. I may not remember much about my past, but I do remember when I survived after the lab by lettin’ you stay in control. You had me eatin’ raw meat right off the sides of deer and rabbits.

Wolverine snorted. It was necessary. But right now, I’m just sayin’ that you’re not gonna impress Marie actin’ like a slob.

She knows how I eat by now. What’s the big deal? But Logan did take a few seconds to observe Rogue as she ate. Besides the first huge bite she had taken, she was eating slowly and neatly, taking small bites from her burger and setting it down at regular intervals to clean the grease off her fingers with the rough paper napkin the bartender had handed her. He watched as she took a sip of her beer, surprised that he had never noticed before the precise way she held the bottle and the slight lift of her pinky. You may have somethin’ there, he acknowledged grudgingly. But she’s never complained about the way I eat.

She wouldn’t. Would consider it poor manners.

Well hell. How would I know that? She’s got no problem swearin’, an’ she tells idiots at the mansion off on a regular basis. She certainly has no problem tellin’ me off if she thinks I need it.

Yeah, she’s a walkin’ contradiction. ‘Cept you gotta figure most o’ that kind o’ behavior is pro’ly from havin’ absorbed us.

Maybe. That still doesn’t mean I need to change my eatin’ habits.

Wolverine snorted. Idiot. It’s a courtin’ gesture. She’s finally thinkin’ about us in a sexual way, so you damned well better not do anythin’ that might make her rethink that.

A mild wave of disbelief swept through Logan. Courtin’ gesture? What the hell would you know about that?

Plenty.

Then why is now the first time I’m hearin’ about it?

‘Cause, Wolverine explained reasonably, never had reason to worry ‘bout it. You did fine on your own with Jean, despite the fact that it never went anywhere. An’ the other women we weren’t interested in courtin’; just screwin’.

Logan finished the last of his and Rogue’s fries and nodded slightly as he took a swig of beer.

Guess that makes sense. So, you got any other ideas on ‘courtin’’?

Gotta make it so that everythin’ that happens seems like it’s her idea. Don’t push her or she’s likely to turn on us. The reply came quicker than Logan had expected.

Thought a lot about this, have you?

Not really. Just the law of nature. You ever pay attention to animals in the wild, and you’ll see that even though the male seems like the aggressor, nothin’ ever happens until the female’s good and ready.

That’s true, Logan conceded, but was distracted from further conversation by the appearance of a short, round woman behind the bar. The bartender, whom Rogue had learned was named Mo with no “e”, nodded to the woman and turned immediately to pull a sliding panel over the window into the kitchen. There was a sign on the panel announcing “Kitchen is Closed.” The woman cast a curious glance at Logan and Rogue.

Mo cleared his throat. “This here’s Wolverine and his lady. They’re the ones what wanted the burgers.” Rogue frowned and looked at Logan.

“I’m Clara,” the woman said in a high, bird-like voice. She reached over the bar to shake Rogue’s hand, but merely nodded to Logan.

“Ah’m Marie,” Rogue said softly, ignoring Logan’s look of surprise. She leaned into him and whispered near his ear, “Ah can’t believe you wrote ‘Wolverine’ on that sign-up. Thought we were gonna try to avoid anythin’ that’d link us to the interview. ‘Swhy Ah told her my real name.” Logan nodded. He thought they were far enough from the U.S. border that nobody would have heard about the televised interview, but Rogue was right to urge caution.

“My name’s Logan,” he offered to Mo and Clara. “Wolverine’s just a name I decided to use for the fight. Borrowed it from some crazy guy I met a few years back.”

Crazy indeed, Wolverine snorted.

What would you call a guy who has in-depth conversations with himself?

Point taken.

A bell rang lightly near the fight ring. Logan turned around to see the last of the individual matches’ loser behind dragged unconscious off the platform. He felt his eyebrow lift in appreciation. He hadn’t been paying attention to the fights since the first match had been a disappointment. The fighters had stood toe to toe exchanging punches to the head without trying to block at all. After about ten or so punches, the smaller of the two men had fallen backward and didn’t get up. He was removed from the stage, and the winner of the fight had also needed assistance from a couple of his friends.

“Tournament fights are gonna start in a minute,” Mo told Logan. “We run things a little different from most places. Ya won’t stay in the ring ‘til ya lose. All the fighters have been divided into groups, A, B, and C; the fighters from group A all have a go at each other, same as the other two groups. The winners from those matches fight the other winners in their group, until there’s just one left. The last fight is between the three top fighters.”

“A three person fight?” Logan asked with renewed interest.

“Yup. If ya wanna back out, now’s the time.” Mo grinned. “‘Course, we keep yer entry fee if’n ya do.”

Rogue snorted, drawing Clara and Mo’s surprised attention to her. “This idiot’s excited at the chance to fight more’n one man at a time.”

“You prefer fightin’ more than one at a time, too,” Logan reminded her mildly.

Rogue responded with a rather wolfish grin, not noticing, although Logan did, that Clara looked a bit horrified.
“Got a C block fight to start things off!” the announcer in the ring called over the loud crowd. “First fight’s between a ‘Behemoth’ an’ a ‘Wolverine’, so would you two please come to the ring? We’ll start in about five more minutes, folks.”

Logan cocked an eyebrow at Mo. “Late sign-ups usually fight first?”

“No.” Mo grinned again, but offered no further explanation.

Logan shrugged and turned to Rogue. “Stay here, darlin’. I don’t want you up by the ring. Too many guys end up bein’ tossed into the crowd or fallin’ into it if there isn’t a cage to hold ‘em in.” Rogue frowned, but nodded. Logan turned back to Mo and Clara. “You’ll keep an eye on her?” He nodded meaningfully toward the other end of the bar, mystifying Rogue, but Mo nodded in understanding. A heavy, middle-aged biker type had been eyeing Rogue since her trip to the bathroom.

“Oh, we’ll take care o’ the little gal, don’t ya worry,” Clara reassured him and made a shooing gesture toward the fight ring.

Logan nodded and strode away.

* * *

As soon as Logan was a reasonable distance away, Clara leaned forward over the bar. “How’d ya get mixed up with someone like him, sweetie?” She didn’t notice the slight pause in Logan’s step or the way he turned his head slightly back toward them, but Rogue did.

“He saved mah life,” Rogue answered simply. Logan continued walking.

Clara smiled. “That must be some story. I’d hardly consider him the knight in shining’ armor type.”

“No disrespect, ma’am, but that’s ‘cause ya don’t know him.”

Clara and Mo exchanged a look. “So why don’t ya tell us ‘bout him. Startin’ with how ya’ll met.”

Rogue smiled uneasily. She couldn’t see any harm in pretty much sticking to the truth. “Ya can pro’ly tell from mah accent that Ah’m not from around here.” She didn’t wait for the couple’s nods. “When Ah was sixteen, things got kinda…bad at home. So Ah ran away.” Clara frowned and shook her head, making light tsking sounds with her tongue against her teeth. “So, anyway Ah made it up to the Canada border without too much trouble. Buses at first, an’ when mah money started runnin’ low, Ah hitched rides.”

“Dangerous thing fer a young girl to do,” Mo said disapprovingly as he dried yet more shot glasses and tumblers.

“Didn’t have a choice,” Rogue said honestly.

“Ya didn’t have any friends or family that’d take ya in, sweetie?”

Rogue shook her head. “No, ma’am. Never had any family ‘sides Mama an’ Daddy, an’ they made it clear Ah couldn’t stay with ‘em anymore. Only friends Ah had lived in the same town, an’ everybody knew what was goin’ on at mah house. They were afraid to be aroun’ me after the…the trouble started.”

“So this Logan guy is somebody ya hitched a ride with?”

“Sorta,” Rogue said, giving her first genuine smile since she had started telling the story. “First time Ah saw him, he was cage-fightin’.” Clara tsked again. “It was a bar in a run-down little town an’ the trucker Ah was hitchin’ with wasn’t goin’ any farther that day. Ah followed the trucker into the bar, thinkin’ Ah’d at least get warmed up a bit ‘fore lookin’ fer another ride. Ah had run outta money a few days ‘fore that, an’ Ah was starvin’.” Rogue paused, wondering how much to tell Clara and Mo. She decided that it might help to tell them everything about what had happened to her. She swallowed hard. “Ah…Ah had had somethin’ to eat that day, but Ah hadn’t been able to keep it down after the trucker ‘fore the last one made me…” Rogue shook her head and didn’t finish. She had thought she could do it; she remembered how Charles and Jean before him had always told her that talking about things was therapeutic. They had been worried about how silent she was around the mansion, thinking that she always just bottled up her emotions. They hadn’t realized then that she talked most things over with Logan when she had a problem.

“Anyway,” Rogue continued, staring down at the scarred surface of the bar and missing the horrified look Clara gave Mo, “Ah was hungry, didn’t have any money, an’ was scared ‘bout ridin’ with people. Sat at the bar fer a couple hours kinda sizin’ everybody up. Didn’t get a good feelin’ from anybody, but fer some reason, Logan didn’t scare me. Not even after Ah saw him fight, an’ not even after some guy angry at losin’ his fight came after him when he was sittin’ right next to me. Logan left right after takin’ care o’ the guy, an’ Ah followed him. Climbed into his trailer without him knowin’ an’ hunkered down under a tarp.” Rogue chuckled a bit at the memory. “Ah was freezin’, cursin’ at myself fer bein’ so stupid as to ride in an open trailer in the cold, when all of a sudden Logan stopped. Ah thought maybe he had stopped in another town fer somethin’, but Ah didn’t hear any other cars or people. Held as still as Ah could; held mah breath, too, in case he saw vapor comin’ out from under his tarp. Ah heard his footsteps crunchin’ in the snow until he was standin’ right next to me.” Rogue let out a short, happy laugh. “An’ then he poked me right in the head with his finger. He still hasn’t told me how he knew Ah was there.”

“That’s it?” Clara asked in disbelief. “He just gave ya a ride after that?”

“No,” Rogue admitted. “He left me on the side of the road and drove away.”

Mo frowned and Clara sputtered. “That…that cad!” she exclaimed. Rogue laughed loudly and noticed how Logan turned at the sound to look at her. She smiled at him and waved.

“That’s nicer than what Ah was thinkin’ ‘bout him at the time,” Rogue said. “But he hadn’t even driven out o’ sight ‘fore he was pullin’ over an’ waitin’ fer me.”

Clara smiled. “Ya been with him ever since?”

“Yeah,” Rogue said with a soft smile. “We found a place to stay with some other people; Ah finished school, an’ had plenty o’ friends an’ people to look after me when Logan had to go off on…business.”

“Finished school? How old are ya, sweetie?” Clara asked.

“Twenty-two in a couple o’ months.”

Clara was visibly surprised. “Ya don’t look much older than eighteen or so, hon.”

Rogue grimaced. The makeup she had applied that morning had worn off throughout the day, leaving her looking much like she always did. “Yeah, Ah know. Logan gets a lot o’ grief fer that,” she said musingly. She took another long sip of beer.

“Well, honey,” Clara said carefully, “ya have been with him since ya were sixteen. ‘Course people will be lookin’ at that kinda funny.”

Rogue slammed her bottle down on the bar. “It’s not like that,” she hissed. “With the exception o’ just recently – very recently – Logan never touched me like that. An’ even then, Ah kissed him, so don’t ya dare think bad o’ him.”

Clara had lurched back a step at Rogue’s verbal assault. “I’m s-sorry, sweetie. Mo an’ I just assumed, since yer Logan only reserved one room an’ all.”

“He got us a room?” Rogue asked in surprise, her anger rapidly fading at Clara’s sincere apology.

Clara nodded. “We thought ya were younger than ya are an’ were worried ‘bout the single room. That’s why Mo got Logan into the first fight. We wanted a chance to make sure ya were okay.”

Rogue smiled and laughed a little. “Thanks. Normally Logan an’ Ah’ll get separate rooms,” she admitted. She looked over the crowd again, seeing that Logan had taken off his shirt and was already standing in the ring waiting for his opponent. “But seein’ the sort o’ people out an’ about ‘round here, mah guess is Logan was worried ‘bout leavin’ me alone at night.”

Clara looked surprised, yet again. Rogue wondered how the woman could remain so delightfully naïve working in a bar where people regularly got drunk, swore, and beat each other to the ground.

“Oh,” Clara said. “That’s right…gentlemanly of him.”

Rogue grinned at her, and hearing the bell sound over at the ring, she turned around to watch Logan fight.

The first man went down much faster than Logan thought he would. They had exchanged only a half dozen blows, and for the last punch the man threw, Logan blocked with a sweep of his left forearm and delivered a quick right hook to the man’s jaw. Perhaps he had punched harder than he had intended, or maybe it was just that with the adamantium reinforcing his knuckles, his punches were more damaging than the average man’s. Whatever the case, he was climbing out of the ring less than two minutes after the fight had started and reclaiming his shirt from a chair in the corner. He hadn’t even broken a sweat, he mused, pulling on only his wife-beater and folding his flannel over his arm.

He saw Rogue watching him as he approached, a bemused little smile on her face. When he got close enough, he handed her his flannel shirt, which she placed in her lap.

“Thought ya might drag the fight out a bit, sugar. Give yerself somethin’ to do after bein’ cooped up in the car all day.”

“Was plannin’ on it,” he grunted. “Didn’t realize the guy had a glass jaw.”

Rogue smirked and handed him the shot of bourbon she had ordered for him. Logan grinned his thanks and downed the drink quickly, smacking the glass down onto the bar.

“Keep those comin’, Mo,” he said. “One after each round.”

Mo gave him a look of disbelief. “Ye’re gonna be drunker’n a skunk if’n ya drink like that.”

“Nah. Don’t get drunk.”

Clara gave an unladylike snort.

“He doesn’t,” Rogue confirmed. “Ah’ve drank with him often enough to know. An’ Ah’m the only one who ever ends up with a hangover,” she said ruefully.

“That’s ‘cause you try to keep up with me,” Logan said with a smirk.

Rogue made a rude gesture that had Clara gaping and tapped the bar to signal for another beer.

“Um, that’ll be yer fifth, little lady,” Mo reminded her as he slid a bottle in front of her.

Rogue shrugged. “Then Ah’m fine fer now. Eight’s mah limit.”

“Somebody’s gonna have to carry ya outta here later. Ya tryin’ to pickle yer liver, sweetie?” Clara asked, half serious.

“Nah. Liver’s fine. ‘Sides, Ah’ve been drinkin’ since Ah was seventeen; Ah’ll be able to walk mahself out just fine.”

“Seventeen? So ya did let this fella corrupt ya a bit.”

Logan raised a brow. “I assume you’re talkin’ ‘bout me.”

“Who else?” Clara asked archly.

“It’s got nothin’ to do with Logan,” Rogue defended him. “That place Ah told ya about, where we ended up livin’? Lots o’ kids with problems lived there. A bunch o’ us would sneak drinks.”

Logan made a rumbling sound low in his throat. “You always told me you were the only one stealin’ my beer. Gonna stick to that story?”

“‘Course, sugar.” Rogue smiled. “Everybody else was too scared o’ ya to try.”

“Fair enough,” Logan said, taking her beer from her and taking a long sip.

Rogue snatched the bottle back. “That’s not to say that they didn’t ask me to do it on occasion.”

Logan chuckled. “Thought so. Damn beer disappeared too fast for just you to be drinkin’ it.”

“An’ yet, ya kept buyin’ it, an’ in larger quantities, too.” Rogue shook her head in mock wonderment.

“Least ‘til I got the mini fridge in my room.”

“True,” Rogue acknowledged. “Then Ah was the only one drinkin’ it.”

Before Logan could respond, Mo pointed over his shoulder. Turning to look, Logan saw that the announcer was waving his hand, calling him back to the ring. He was mildly surprised. The fights were all moving much faster than he had thought they would. He tugged off his shirt again and tossed it at Rogue. She snatched it out of the air deftly and slung it over her shoulder.

“Make this one interestin’, sugar. Else Ah might get bored.”

“Smartass,” Logan said with a grin as he turned to leave.

Logan could see immediately that his next opponent was used to fighting. The man had a calm, observant glint in his eyes and he moved with Logan, shifting his body gracefully to always keep him in front of him. Logan could feel a feral grin stretching across his face and heard Wolverine’s faint growl of contentment.

The blond man was waiting for him, showing a patience that Logan never had in any of his recreational fights. In serious fights, such as missions with the X-men, he could be as patient as the situation required. But here, in a ring, he liked to get things started as soon as possible. It was with this thought that Logan suddenly rushed the man.

He went in low, bending his knees and then lifting upward in a vicious right uppercut to the man’s hard stomach. The blond’s breath came rushing out in a wheezing grunt as he was lifted onto his toes by the force of the punch. He recovered quickly, though, and Logan wasn’t able to block the elbow blow to his temple. He staggered back a few steps, and saw that rather than following, the blond actually shifted his weight back a half step.

He’s gonna kick, Wolverine warned a fraction of a second before the man’s foot came flying toward his head. Logan ducked, lunging forward and slamming his shoulder into his opponent’s stomach. The man’s unsuccessful kick unbalanced both of them and they slammed to the floor of the ring. Once again, the blond’s breath was forced out of his lungs.

He pushed his hands hard against Logan’s shoulders, his face registering faint surprise at being unable to move him. Logan grinned again, not against using the weight advantage the adamantium gave him. He put some muscle behind that strength, grinding his left elbow into the tender area directly below the man’s right collar bone. The move also served to immobilize his arm, allowing Logan to deliver a short blow to the unprotected left side of the man’s face.

His head was slammed to the side, but he immediately turned back and spit a mouthful of blood into Logan’s face.

Dirty move, Wolverine growled.

Nah, he’s pinned good, Logan returned. I’d pro’ly do the same in his position.

Logan grinned again, not realizing how much the expression unsettled his opponent. He eased up just the slightest bit, allowing the man to throw him off. Although he couldn’t say that he appreciated having blood spit at him, he had to admit that the blond had his interest.

That interest was rewarded with a spinning back kick the moment Logan was at the appropriate distance. He let the kick land on his shoulder, pivoting with the impact to minimize the damage. Although he wasn’t worried about permanent damage, a dislocated shoulder in the middle of a fight would seriously hinder him. That was one of the strange quirks of his reinforced frame. Joints could still be dislocated and he could, in theory, be dismembered with little difficulty. He remembered the sparring session with Rogue that had resulted in a dislocated shoulder; the pain wasn’t too bad, given that his healing factor had the pulled muscles and tendons repaired before he even noticed the injury. What hurt was trying to get the joint back in the socket afterward.

He and Hank misjudged the angle and Logan had actually heard the screech of adamantium bones scraping together deep in his body. That was the only time Logan could ever consciously remember blacking out from pain. He knew, intellectually and from his nightmares, that it had happened often when he was in the lab, but those memories had never included the slow slide into soft, embracing blackness.

Ironically, it was a sensation that Logan had quite enjoyed. He hadn’t realized, however, that in such a situation, Wolverine was also effectively unconscious. Upon coming to in the mansion’s infirmary, Wolverine immediately began railing at him. He hadn’t liked the sudden unawareness, the lack of all senses. Wolverine’s mind, if he possessed one separate from Logan’s, had still been functioning, but it had been closed off from everything, almost as if his connection to Logan’s body had been severed. After discussing it a bit, they determined that that was probably partly responsible for the difficulties Logan had remembering his time in the military lab. They had no doubt, however, that his inability to remember his life prior to that was due to the massive trauma caused by the insertion of the adamantium into his body, and whatever else they might have done to him in the lab.

He supposed that he could get more answers about the situation if he shared what he had discovered with Professor Xavier, but he was strangely reluctant. Rogue was the only person he had told. And she was the only one whom Wolverine did not object to telling. When he had broached the subject of asking for Xavier’s help with his alter ego, he had been presented with a graphic depiction of violent decapitation. He had to admire the fact that Wolverine was able to converse so succinctly without words, but it was rather creepy that Wolverine identified himself as looking just like Logan. So the image was effectively of being decapitated by a swipe of his own adamantium claws.

In mentioning the peculiarity to Rogue, she had just given him a little shrug. “Well, what else should he look like, sugar?”

Logan hadn’t known how to respond; he had always assumed that there were enough fundamental differences between him and Wolverine for there to have been physical differences as well if Wolverine had his own body. Even without explaining any of that to Rogue, she had been able to answer. “Ya know,” her tone had been musing consideration, “maybe ya talk to him the way ya do – as a separate person an’ all - because ya have a hard time picturin’ him any other way. He’s you, ye’re him – parts o’ ya anyway. Do ya remember the first time ya seemed like two people?”

Again, Logan hadn’t had an answer. Neither had Wolverine. But they knew that the split, for lack of a better descriptive, had probably occurred during their time at the lab. The only basis for this reasoning was that Wolverine responded primarily to pain stimuli. If Logan felt pain, Wolverine was instantly swimming to the forefront of his mind, ready to take control if necessary, perhaps in an attempt to avoid blacking out.

Of course, he had recently made appearances much more frequently and for reasons other than pain. Most of them centered around Rogue.

There was a burst of pain in Logan’s left eye socket. His musing had distracted him enough that he hadn’t seen the backhand the blond had flung at him as he stumbled away. Luckily, his skin hadn’t split open; the last thing he needed was to heal instantaneously in front of a room full of people.

Won’t be able to hang around for long after the fights, though, Wolverine reminded quietly. Logan smiled faintly. That had been how he had met Rogue: staying long enough after the fight that people noticed when he didn’t develop bruises.

* * *

That damned grin again. It unsettled Hector more than he could say, for reasons he couldn’t name. The man’s smiles weren’t malicious or condescending, like the ones some fighters manufactured for the sake of psyching out their opponents. Maybe it was the pure animalistic joy in the smile that shook him. Except for the last smile; that one had spoken of fondness and contentment, two emotions completely out of place during a fight.

He had had a lot of surprises during this fight. The first had been the speed with which his muscular opponent moved. He hadn’t expected that first rush, or the pain that had shot through his elbow when he retaliated. The next surprise came in trying to push the man off him. Hector knew that thickly muscled men tended to weigh more than one might expect, but his opponent was ridiculously heavy. Hector could bench press 320 on a good day, but he had barely been able to budge the other man. It had been mainly out of frustration that he had spit in his face, knowing that he couldn’t get out of the hold, and feeling angry that the man seemed to want to draw out the fight. Maybe it had been misplaced pride, but Hector had wanted the man to end it quickly and brutally. There was no dishonor in losing like that, but to be pinned to the floor while the crowed jeered at you to give up? He wouldn’t let it end like that.

And then the bastard had eased his hold. Had let Hector break free. His pride was trashed after that, and all he felt was confused wariness and cold fury.

The man called Wolverine evaded or countered most of his blows, except for the occasional one that Hector knew he allowed to land. He began to feel something like desperation as his opponent allowed the fight to continue and Hector’s focus narrowed to one goal: find the man’s weakness.

A particularly vicious right jab knocked Hector back several steps and he almost tipped over the edge of the raised fight platform. There was too much weight and hardness behind the man’s punches, and the bastard even seemed like he was pulling them. As Hector teetered and regained his balance, he saw Wolverine glance over his shoulder toward the bar. The little bit of a girl he had come in with merely raised an eyebrow and lifted her hands in front of her surreptitiously. She tapped the index finger of her right hand on an imaginary wristwatch.

What the hell? Hector thought, insulted. She knows he’s toyin’ with me and tellin’ him it’s time to end it. Why though?

His opponent was frowning a little now, almost pouting really as he turned back to the fight. And suddenly Hector realized how he could salvage a bit of his pride.

“She’s got you whipped real good, huh?” He hardly noticed the flecks of blood that sprayed from his gums as he spoke.

“What did you say?” The man’s growl didn’t sound human. Another idea came to Hector, and he ran with it.

“Is it ‘cause she knows your secret?” He saw a flicker of panic flare to life in Wolverine’s eyes, but it was extinguished just as quickly as it had appeared.

“Don’t know what you’re talkin’ ‘bout, bub. Don’t much care either.”

“I think you do,” Hector goaded, shakily dodging a punch. “Is she like you then?” The second punch landed hard on his mouth and chin, and he felt his lower lip split open like an overripe melon. Hector cursed and spat a mouthful of blood off to the side.

“Keep your stinkin’ mouth shut about her,” Wolverine warned. For the first time during their fight, a real killing intent entered his eyes and Hector felt a surge of satisfaction. He had the upper hand at the moment and would use it to see that the fight ended the way he wanted it to.

“Okay,” he agreed, panting heavily as he moved around his opponent. Despite the roar of the crowd, he kept his voice low, not wanting to risk being overheard. “But on one condition.”

“You’re not exactly in a position to bargain, bub.”

“Oh, but I am,” Hector countered, spitting another mouthful of blood. “I’ll keep my mouth shut about you and her. About what you both probably are, but only if you end this fight the way I want.”

“I’m not big on takin’ falls just ‘cause somebody threatens me.”

“That wasn’t what I was proposin’. Way I see it, I’m losin’ this fight, and have been since it started.” Hector was amused as his opponent blinked twice rapidly and even lost a step in his prowling stride as he stalked Hector around the ring.

“Then what do you want?” Wolverine asked suspiciously.

“All I ask is that you show me some respect, fighter to fighter, and quit playin’ with me. One solid punch to knock me out, man. No shame in losin’ a fight that way. But if this keeps draggin’ on, I’m gonna end up lookin’ like a pansy.” Hector cut his eyes to the side, directing Wolverine’s gaze to a tall blonde woman standing close to the ring. She was chewing on her lower lip and wringing her hands. “And I’ve got my own lady watchin’.”

Wolverine grunted. “Understood,” he said, a slight lift to his lips as he moved in closer. “Looks like you’re just as whipped as I am.”

Hector didn’t even see the punch. He did, however, feel the sudden whoosh of air past his chest that exploded on the underside of his jaw. His head snapped back and his body arched backward away from his opponent. He thought he felt his heels lifting off the ground until he was standing on his toes, but he couldn’t be sure. His body was numb and limp as his vision turned grey and his head felt as if it were stuffed full of cotton. He twisted as he fell, and his eyes slid closed before he hit the floor. The last thing he saw was Joanna covering her mouth with both hands and tears standing in her eyes.

* * *

“One last shot of bourbon,” Logan said to Mo. The bartender slid the glass in front of him and also threw a small white towel toward him. Logan ignored the latter until the bourbon was burning a cheerful little hole in his stomach. As he wiped the sweat and the other man’s blood off his chest, he felt Rogue’s hand on his shoulder.

“What’s the matter, sugar?”

“Dunno,” Logan grunted. But he did. He just wasn’t sure if he could explain it to Rogue.

Rogue tipped her head to the side as she looked him over. “What did he say to ya?”

Surprised, Logan turned to look at her. “Didn’t think you’d noticed.”

Rogue took the towel from him and moved around to his back to wipe the sweat from between his shoulder blades. She didn’t speak again, knowing that Logan would eventually give in and tell her what was bothering him. She finished toweling him off and handed him his shirts. She tossed the towel onto the bar and Clara swept it up and dropped it in a sink.

Logan pulled on his wife beater and spoke while the fabric still covered his face.

“He knew.”

“Knew what, Logan?”

“‘Bout us.”

“Ya mean he saw the interview?” Rogue asked anxiously.

“No.” Logan scrubbed his hands over his face harshly. “He just seemed to figure it out while we were fightin’. Knew I was holdin’ back and pro’ly figured that the only reason I would be is if I was…different.” Logan spoke softly, mindful of Mo and Clara close by.

“Whatdya wanna do, sugar?” Rogue asked quietly.

“Hey, Mo,” Logan called. The bartender turned to look at him. “I’m done with fightin’ for tonight. That guy punched hard as hell.”

Mo’s look was one of surprise. “Ain’t more’n two fights left ‘fore the three way showdown,” he protested.

“Even so,” Logan said, “I think he might’ve cracked a rib.” He clutched his side and offered what he thought was a convincing grimace.

“But—” Clara’s elbow to his stomach cut Mo off.

“Ya just head on over to yer room, then,” she said soothingly. “I turned the heat on earlier and the bed’s been turned down fer ya. Plenty o’ fresh towels in the bathroom, too.”

“Thanks,” Logan grunted, sliding some bills over the counter.

“What’s this?” Mo asked. “Ya already paid fer yer food and room, an’ ye’re out the hunnerd fer the entry fee.”

“Consider it a tip for watchin’ over Marie for me,” Logan said as he shrugged on first his flannel and then his jacket. He held Rogue’s for her and settled his hands on her shoulders as she zipped up the front.

“That’s not necessary,” Clara protested, trying to hand the money back.

“Keep it,” Rogue said softly. “Ah appreciate ya bein’ so kind to me.”

Clara looked torn for a moment. Finally, her brow smoothed out and she nodded once decisively. “All right. But only if ya stop by fer breakfast ‘fore ya leave. Back door will be open, so just let yerselves in, say around eight o’clock.”

Rogue smiled and looked over her shoulder at Logan. He nodded. “We’ll do that. Thanks.”

It wasn’t until Logan was unlocking the door to their room that Rogue spoke again.

“Ya figure it’ll be okay? Lettin’ ‘em see ya tomorrow when ya won’t be all bruised up?”

Logan grunted softly as he stooped slightly to grab their bags from Rogue. “Pro’ly. Won’t shave in the mornin’, though. That’ll cover up enough of my face that they won’t look too hard for bruises. Just remind me to hold my ribs every now and then.”

Rogue chuckled. “Will do, sugar.”

They were pleasantly surprised at how cozy the room was. Although the bedding was slightly worn, it was obviously clean, as was the carpet and the drapes covering the room’s only window. The heater beneath the window was humming cheerfully, taking all but the barest hint of a chill out of the room. Logan tossed their bags on the bed and went to inspect the bathroom. The tile and all the porcelain gleamed with cleanliness and the towels were white and fluffy, showing none of the use that the bedding had. He felt Rogue behind him peering over his shoulder. He knew when she raised up on tiptoe by the way her hands clutched at his shoulders for balance and for the briefest moment, she leaned into his back in a half-embrace. Logan inhaled quickly, the expansion of his ribs and back allowing him to feel Rogue’s breasts more fully, but before he had even let the breath back out, Rogue was dropping down on her heels and moving away.

“Looks good,” she said. “Why don’t ya go ahead an’ shower first? Ye’re all sweaty still.”

Logan grunted and took the two steps forward into the bathroom. He swung the door closed without looking back at her. He stripped off his clothes quickly and started the shower.

What do you make o’ that? His tone was grudging as he asked Wolverine’s advice.

She’s nervous.

Why?

Some part o’ her pro’ly expects us to jump her.

Logan growled a bit as he tested the water temperature. Finding it warm enough, he stepped into the shower and drew the curtain closed behind him. Why the hell would she think that?

Wolverine gave the mental equivalent of a shrug. Dunno for sure. It’s hard to figure with Marie. On the one hand, she seems years older than she actually is, and the memories she has from other people make her seem more experienced than she is. On the other hand, she is still young. And a virgin.

Logan couldn’t help but chuckle at the satisfaction he heard in Wolverine’s voice. His chuckle quickly ended in a scowl as he got a mouthful of shampoo.

Logan spat and rinsed his mouth. Even so. She knows us. Knows that we would never hurt her.

Maybe that’s it, Wolverine mused.

What?

She knows you, but does she know me well enough to know I wouldn’t hurt her?

‘Course she does. Logan finished lathering up with soap and began rinsing off quickly. She’s got you in her head same as she does me.

How often does she let me out, though?

Logan’s hands paused mid-motion as he considered the question. You might have somethin’ there, he conceded. For a moment, he leaned forward into the water and braced his hands on the wall. The sharp, needling spray was like a thousand tiny fingers massaging along his back. I used to keep you locked up pretty tight in the beginnin’. Might be Marie’s been doin’ the same.

I’d put money on it, Wolverine said. So, congratulations. It’s not you she’s afraid of. It’s me.

Even though Logan knew that Wolverine shared his affections for Rogue, he was still surprised by the sad chagrin in his voice.

Hey, don’t wor—

Rogue’s sharp cry cut him off.

“Logan!”

Just that one word had him bolting out of the shower without even turning the water off. He was reaching for the door when Wolverine’s hasty reminder had him slinging a towel quickly around his hips. He flung the door open and caught it instinctively as it rebounded off the wall. Scanning the room swiftly, he saw no immediate threat. His eyes went to Rogue sitting on the foot of the bed, the remote in her hand, and her eyes fixed on the television. She glanced up at him and pointed wordlessly at the screen.

Logan went quickly to the foot of the bed and the headline scrolling across the bottom of the screen had him sinking down beside her.

“American Scientific Community Revamps Mutant Classification Scale,” it read.

A pretty brunette reporter dressed in icy blue shuffled a stack of papers in front of her. “Would it be fair to say, Dr. Michaels, that this is in response to the interview of the mutants known as Rogue and Wolverine yesterday?”

The image of the newscaster was compressed to fill only half the screen. On the other half, a burly man with a full, greying beard appeared. The caption below him read, “Dr. Andrew Michaels, Senior Mutant-Genetics Researcher, Matagene Laboratories.”

“Not entirely, Susan. Adjusting the Mutant Classification Scale – we call it the MCS at the lab – isn’t something that can be done overnight. I think it might be more accurate to say that the interview paved the way for the revised scale to go public.”

“That seems reasonable,” Susan said, shuffling more papers. “I have a report on the revised scale here, but I have to admit that I don’t understand it completely. Could you give me – and our viewers – a description of the changes in layman’s terms?”

Dr. Michaels chuckled. “I can try,” he said, “but make sure to stop me if I’m mucking up the explanation with too many scientific terms.”

Susan offered a completely fake smile and nodded. “Please, Dr. Michaels, go ahead.”

“Well, basically the scale has been reworked so that it no longer gauges just the strength and entropic potential of a mutation. It now directly addresses threat to human life.”

“I’m sorry, Doctor. ‘Entropic potential’?”

“Oh…yes. That is, hmm…the ability of a mutation to effect change in the mutant or his surroundings.”

“I see. And how does the scale determine ‘threat to human life’ without it being a completely subjective system?”

“Yes, that is still of concern. But we aren’t, of course, labeling mutants a threat to human life. Merely their mutations.”

Susan’s head snapped up from her papers. “But the two can’t be separated, Doctor. Labeling the mutation as a threat to human life is just as good as labeling the mutant himself dangerous.”

“Hmm…yes, I see your point.” Dr. Michaels shifted in his chair.

“So, put this in terms we can understand, with examples of mutations and where they would fit in the new scale, please.”

“Yes, certainly. We’ll use the mutants from the interview as an example, shall we? The gentleman, Wolverine; his healing factor on its own has been downgraded to a class 1 mutation. This is because the ability to heal in and of itself poses absolutely no danger to humans. However, the claws he possesses are at the class 5 level because they can easily take a human’s life.”

“But those claws are not a natural part of his mutation,” Susan challenged.

“True, but they are a…side effect of sorts of his mutation. Therefore, they may be assessed according to the new system.”

“All right,” Susan said slowly. “So he is potentially deadly, but surely not without provocation. The law allows the use of deadly force in self-defense.”

“Only to a certain extent,” Dr. Michaels defended quickly. “There are numerous incidents of highly trained service personnel serving jail time due to altercations that resulted in them using their skills on civilians. They are aware that their abilities give them the advantage over the general population, and so they are held to a higher standard of restraint.”

“Are you also a lawyer, Dr. Michaels?”

“No.” The man’s surprise showed on his face.

“Then we will leave the legal discussion for when our station may retain and interview a lawyer. Now, how about the girl? Rogue.”

“Oh, she’s a class 5. The girl can kill with a touch; she’ll always be a class 5 mutant, no matter how you spin it.”

“So what has happened to the ‘controllability’ factor in determining mutant classification?”

“It was decided that it was not an essential criterion in assessing risk to human life.”

“And why is that?”

“Whether the mutation is controllable or not no longer matters. If a mutant chose to use his or her ability against a human or an accident occurred because the mutant has no control, the human is still injured regardless of the mutant’s intentions.”

“I see,” Susan said coldly. “Well, unfortunately, we’re out of time, but thank you for joining us, Dr. Michaels.”

“My pleasure,” the geneticist responded stiffly.

Susan shuffled her papers again and turned more fully toward the cameras. “Join us next hour for more on Mutants’ Rights issues and a discussion of how the changes in the Mutant Classification Scale have affected the Mutant Registration Act in the United States.”

The news broadcast was replaced by a commercial for extra strength laundry detergent.

Logan slid the remote from Rogue’s limp fingers and clicked the television off.

“I guess now we know why Chuck was so distracted on the phone,” he said grimly.

“So what the hell are you sayin’, Chuck?” Logan was standing shirtless in the middle of their room, his free hand clenched into a fist at his side. He had taken only a few moments to throw on a pair of jeans before calling the professor.

“I’m saying that the political situation is volatile. Mutant-human relations have, for the most part, been on the political agenda for years now, but this is the first time that there are grassroots demands for more stringent control over the mutant population.”

“Bullshit,” Logan growled, locking gazes with Rogue. “Bigoted idiots have been lynchin’ mutants longer than anybody knows.”

“Yes, Logan, but that was vigilantism. It was illegal and apolitical. The grassroots movement I am speaking of is meetings at town halls, petitions, even plans for rezoning in certain areas. Apparently there is some legal loophole that may allow for segregated living.”

Logan cursed loudly and vilely. “Shit, Chuck. They can’t do that. If they have all mutant neighborhoods, any kid growin’ up there will be seen as fair game, whether he’s a mutant or not. Hasn’t anybody considered that argument? That mutant parents don’t always have a mutant kid?”

Logan heard the professor’s heavy sigh and a slight creaking that suggested Xavier was settling wearily back in his chair.

“There’s a convoluted legal precedent for that as well. ‘A child follows the condition of the mother.’”

“What the hell’s that mean?”

“It refers to the legal particulars of slavery. It was determined that a child born to an enslaved woman and a free man shared the status of the mother. Thus any child born to a female slave was the property of the woman’s owner.”

“That’s disgustin’,” Logan growled. “And since slavery’s illegal, the precedent shouldn’t apply anyway.”

Rogue gave him a look of startled anxiety. Realizing that she thought he and the professor were discussing the enslavement of mutants, Logan shook his head at her. Rogue visibly relaxed, but didn’t loosen the grip of her teeth on her bottom lip.

The professor sighed again. “I agree, Logan. But case law on the matter was not automatically overturned when slavery was made illegal. Right now, it is technically legal to consider any child born to a mutant woman to be a mutant.”

“But they can’t know that,” Logan burst out, running his hand angrily through his hair. Realizing that he was just taking his frustration out on the professor, Logan dropped his argumentative tone. “So, what happens if the kid hits puberty and there’s no apparent manifestation of a mutation?”

Xavier made a low humming sound of consideration. “That’s a good point. I imagine that there would be some sort of genetic screening in that situation, and if found to be human, the child would be free of any potential laws governing mutants.”

“It still sucks, Chuck. The kid would be a pariah anyway. What the hell kind of life could he have? People would know about his parents, where he came from. Hell, for that matter, would he even be allowed to have children since he might pass on the mutant gene?”

Another sigh. “I don’t know, Logan. Hank is working on something now. A model of sorts, to determine the likelihood of mutant children born to human parents and vice-versa. It’s difficult, though. Our argument for the privacy and anonymity of mutants is now actually hindering us.”

“Whatdya mean?”

“Naturally, Hank must gather enormous amounts of data from numerous subjects in order to come to a reasonably accurate conclusion. He has started with the school files, charting which of our students were born to human parents, and which to mutant parents. However, many of our students are admitting that they don’t know much about their parents. Many of them are runaways who never discussed their mutations with their parents and others were abandoned and have no idea whom their parents might be.”

“Shit.” Logan flopped down on the bed next to Rogue. “Can it even be accurately predicted? I mean, they call us mutants because our abilities come from a mutation. Isn’t that supposed to be random?”

“Sometimes. But sometimes the mutation is passed to offspring.”

“But not in any predictable way?”

“Correct. A child possessing the mutant gene may or may not manifest an ability, and there is no way to tell what sort of ability might develop.”

“I’m getting’ confused as hell, Chuck.”

“I understand, Logan. My head is hurting a bit as well. Let’s put this aside for the moment, shall we? How is Rogue?”

“She’s fine.” Logan turned his head to look at her, amused to see that she had sprawled on her back beside him.

“May I speak with her?”

“Sure,” Logan said with some surprise. He held the phone out to Rogue. “Professor wants to talk to ya, darlin’.”

Rogue smiled faintly as she took the phone. “Hello, professor,” she drawled softly.

“Rogue.” She could hear the smile in his voice. “How are you doing?”

“Ah’m fine. Much better than Ah was yesterday,” Rogue offered, wondering how much the professor knew about her situation. She knew that Logan would never volunteer anything about her, but she had no idea what Xavier might have picked up from her mind.

“That’s good to hear. Rogue, about the current situation…I think it might be best if you and Logan keep moving for the time being. As you are undoubtedly aware, the interview is quickly becoming a matter of international scrutiny due to the recent revisions to the MRA and the Mutant Classification Scale.”

“Ah understand,” Rogue said, glancing at Logan lying beside her with his eyes closed. “Do ya have any idea when…if…we might be able to come back?”

“I don’t know,” Xavier said gently. “No matter where the two of you end up, though, we’ll be able to keep in touch. That’s a satellite phone I gave you.”

“Oh.” Rogue really wasn’t surprised. “What was all o’ that slavery stuff ya were talkin’ to Logan ‘bout?”

Beside her, Logan tensed. She reached over absently to pat his stomach reassuringly, forgetting that he wasn’t wearing a shirt. When her hand encountered bare skin, she froze, giving Logan time to capture her hand and hold it in place. Her attempt at soothing him worked, though, and she could feel the tension begin to drain out of his muscles. Unfortunately, the new position had her muscles tightening with nervousness.

Relax, ya idiot. This is Logan. He doesn’t mean anythin’ by it. Rogue tried to talk herself into calming down, but she couldn’t quite drown out a smaller part of her that was warning her that while Logan would never hurt her, Wolverine was still an unknown entity.

An insidious little voice in her head began whispering to her, making it impossible to concentrate on the professor’s rambling legal explanation. All that talk to Logan throughout the years about Wolverine being part of him and nothing to be afraid of…were you lying then?

Rogue was growing increasingly uneasy listening to the voice when something occurred to her.

“Professor.” She felt no guilt cutting the man off mid-sentence.

“Yes?”

“Have ya ever met anybody who speaks with an accent, but doesn’t think with one?”

“What? Why?” Rogue didn’t answer. After just a few moments, Xavier continued. “Hmm. For people with regular minds and thought processes, no, I suppose not. But you are the exception to that, Rogue. The few times I’ve been able to catch a stray thought from you, they have all been relatively unaccented thoughts, but were definitely in your voice.”

“Do ya think it has somethin’ to do with mah mutation?”

“That is certainly a possibility. Why, Rogue? Has something happened?”

Again, Rogue didn’t answer.

“Rogue,” Xavier said, concern evident in his voice. “My theory in all of this is that the thoughts I was hearing weren’t your own, but belonged to one of the…psyches you had absorbed.”

“Why would they be in mah voice then? When Ah hear ‘em talk, they sound like themselves.”

“Perhaps that is because wherever, or however, they are stored in your brain, you are able to recognize which psyche is speaking and hear the appropriate voice. I would have no way of knowing, though, so I think that any thoughts that I detect from you, I hear in your voice.”

Rogue took a few seconds to think about the professor’s reasoning. She was unaware that her muscles had relaxed during the conversation, and had forgotten about Logan’s grip on her hand.

“Ah suppose that makes sense.”

“I’ll think about it further, perhaps consult with Hank. If we come up with any other possibilities, we’ll let you know. Now, may I speak with Logan again?”

“Sure. Thanks, professor.”

Having easily heard both sides of the conversation, Logan’s hand was already reaching for the phone when Rogue pulled it away from her ear. She gave him a mock scowl, which he returned.

“Yeah,” Logan growled into the phone.

“Keep an eye on her, Logan. She wouldn’t say why, but you know there’s always a reason when Rogue asks questions.”

Logan felt a light tug on his hand. Glancing over, he saw that Rogue was studiously ignoring him while trying to free her hand. A light blush covered her cheekbones. He grinned and tightened his grip. For a while at least, she had been able relax. He had no doubt that if kept his hold on her long enough, she’d eventually relax again.

She had the conversation with Chuck to distract her, that’s why. Logan could hear the laughter in Wolverine’s voice. She’s strugglin’, but she’s kinda enjoyin’ it.

Intrigued, Logan scented the air. Wolverine was right. Although there was no hint of arousal to Rogue’s scent, there was no panic either. Just the scent of her skin running a little warmer than usual, laced with cigarette smoke and whiskey from the bar.

“Yeah, I will,” Logan said, returning to his conversation with the professor. “Do ya think it might have anythin’ to do with what we talked about the other day?” That ‘dissociative’ stuff, Logan thought clearly, directly, hoping Xavier would pick it up somehow.

“Yes, perhaps,” Xavier said. That is what I’m worried about, Even as he was projecting the words directly into Logan’s mind, the professor continued speaking out loud in generalities. I suspect that Rogue may be hearing a voice she does not recognize as her own or one of her…boarders.

Bemused by the way the professor was able to essentially hold two different conversations, Logan answered out loud. The professor had neatly left his spoken question open-ended enough that, should Rogue actually be overhearing any of it, she would not be suspicious of anything Logan might say.

“You think that’s a serious problem?”

“I don’t know yet,” Xavier seamlessly launched into another telepathic sentence. I don’t believe that Rogue’s being spied on telepathically, or that she’s in any way possessed – and yes, I did pick that thought straight out of your head. That she’s aware that this voice is not her own is a good thing, though.

“Do you know who it might be?” Logan asked, careful to keep his sentences short and generally relating to what the professor was saying out loud. He was beginning to get a headache focusing on the separate conversations.

“My apologies, Logan,” It gave me a headache the first time I tried it, too. And no, I don’t know yet. Just keep a close eye on Rogue for now, and let me know if you notice anything peculiar.

I’ll keep a close eye alright. On her face, on her lips, her hips, her br–

“Excuse me?” The professor’s voice was confused, and slightly scandalized Logan thought.

Logan huffed a slight laugh. “No. No, that wasn’t me, Chuck.”

“Then who – ”

Wolverine.

“Oh. I see. That’s very interesting.” Is he normally such a distinct voice in your head?

“Pretty much. Been getting a little clearer lately.”

“Hmm. Very interesting indeed. I think, perhaps, I need to discuss the situation with Hank.” I have a theory about what might be going on with Rogue, but I’ll need some more information from you. When you have a chance to talk without Rogue being able to overhear us sometime in the next day or so, call me back.

“Right. We’ll do that. ‘Night, Chuck.”

“Goodnight, Logan.”

Logan flipped the phone closed and tossed it lightly toward the pillows. He turned his head to focus his attention on Rogue. Her blush was deeper and she was tugging a little harder on her hand.

“What’s the matter, darlin’?” Logan asked innocently.

“Nothin’,” she answered at once. “Can Ah have mah hand back?”

Keeping his grip on her hand, Logan rolled onto his side to face her. Taking pity on her, he slid her hand up so that it rested over his heart instead of his stomach. Logan gave her question serious consideration, or at least appeared to do so.

“No, I don’t think so,” he said finally. “I like havin’ your hand on me.”

Rogue’s breath hitched and her blush deepened yet again.

She smells a little nervous, but not afraid, Wolverine said. Care to test my theory?

What are you talkin’ ‘bout?

What we were talkin’ ‘bout in the shower. That it’s me Marie’s afraid of an’ not you.

Logan had a distinctly uncomfortable feeling and knew that if he had fur like Hank’s, his hackles would be raised.

Don’t get your panties in a bunch, Wolverine said with real irritation. You know I’d never hurt her.

I know that. But if you’re right, she’s gonna be scared. I don’t want that.

I don’t either, Wolverine said sullenly. Can you think of a better way, though?

No, Logan admitted reluctantly. Let me try to ease her into the idea, though. And there’s no way in hell I’m givin’ you full control, okay?

Understood.

Logan returned to himself to find Rogue eyeing him warily.

“Ya were talkin’ to him, weren’t ya? To Wolverine.”

Logan couldn’t keep the startled look off his face. “You can tell?”

Rogue shrugged. “Yeah. Whatever ya’ll were talkin’ ‘bout, doesn’t seem ya liked it.”

“Marie,” he began slowly, “what do you know ‘bout Wolverine from havin’ absorbed me?”

Another shrug. “Not much. Ah mean, he’s there, but ya keep him in check.”

“I do?”

“Yeah. Ah hear him sometimes, usually when Ah’m angry ‘bout somethin’. An’ then ye’ll come along an’ calm me down so he goes away again.”

Logan frowned. “Do we ever…I dunno…fight?”

“What? Ya mean do ya an’ Wolverine fight inside mah head?” Rogue laughed. “No, sugar. He listens to ya. If ya tell him enough’s enough, he’ll back down. He’ll grumble all loud an’ snarly, but he’ll back down.”

“Well, hell. Wish he’d be that polite inside my head.”

“Ya fight with him?”

“‘Course. You already know that though. Remember when I told you he threatened me with decapitation that one time?”

“Oh. Right.” Rogue frowned and began tugging at her hand again.

Way to go, genius. Now she’s startin’ to get afraid.

Shut it, Logan said in a heavy mental sigh.

“He wants to take care o’ you, too, you know.”

Rogue froze. “What?”

“Wolverine. He worries ‘bout you the same way I do.”

“Why? Ah mean, doesn’t he just feel what ya do?”

“No. We usually agree on things, that’s true. But there have been some people I like that he can’t stand. Like Jean,” Logan admitted.

“What?” In her surprise, Rogue rolled onto her side toward Logan. She pulled her left arm up to cradle her head.

“He didn’t hate her or anythin’. An’ he found her attractive, same as I did. He just wasn’t in love with her like I was.”

“Ah…how…so ya really are two different people in there?”

Logan shrugged one shoulder. “I guess. Don’t really know. You told me once that I shouldn’t worry ‘bout it, remember? Said that I’m him and he’s me.”

“Yeah, Ah did. But Ah’m not sure Ah really understood everythin’ then.” Logan could see the curiosity seeping into her dark brown eyes. “Ya said that he wants to protect me same as ya. What else?”

Logan quirked an eyebrow at her. “He likes your company, same as me. Thinks you’re funny. Thinks you’re the best drinkin’ buddy we’ve ever had. And has a secret desire to shred your bunny slippers in a fit of hunger every time he sees ‘em.”

I do not!

Logan burst out laughing. “Okay, so that last bit isn’t true.” Rogue gave him a skeptical look. “Seriously, darlin’. You’re the only person we’ve ever completely agreed on. He cares about you and wants to keep you safe. Always.”

Rogue searched his face. “Ah believe ya, sugar. Ah’m just wonderin’ why ya’re tellin’ me all this.”

Logan took a deep breath. “Because o’ the other night. I told you that I want you, darlin’.” He felt Rogue recoil suddenly.

“No. No, ya said ya wouldn’t mind sleepin’ with me if that’s what Ah wanted.”

Logan couldn’t help it. He burst out laughing. At Rogue’s hurt look, he quickly calmed himself.

“Same thing, darlin’. I want you, have for a while. But nothin’s gonna happen without your say so.”

“Fer a while? S-since when?” Logan’s heart clenched suddenly at her nervous stutter. He squeezed her hand reassuringly.

“Not exactly sure. The last couple years at least.”

“Years!”

“Yeah.” Logan was bemused by the disbelief in Rogue’s voice. “What, you don’t think I’m capable of restrainin’ myself that long?”

“No. Ah mean, yes. It’s just…if it’s been that long, why didn’t ya ever say anythin’?”

Logan shrugged again. “You never gave me any indication that you felt the same way.”

“Well o’ course not!”

“What the hell’s that supposed to mean?” Logan growled the question and pushed on Rogue’s shoulder until she was lying on her back. He followed her movement until he was hovering over her upper body. He let go of her hand and braced his elbows on either side of her head. Rogue swallowed heavily, drawing his attention to the slim line of her throat.

“A-Ah mean that, despite everythin’ that’s happened, an’ the fake flirtin’ we’d do when people annoyed us, Ah’m still a lady, Logan. An’ ladies don’t make the first move.”

For the second time in as many minutes, Logan laughed. The laughter relaxed him and drained away the fear and confusion he hadn’t realized he was feeling. Rogue pushed at his bare shoulder with one fingertip and scowled at him. His laughter died down to chuckling and he dropped his forehead to rest against her hair.

Rogue made a startled noise as her nose brushed against his throat. Her breath moving over his skin raised goosebumps along his arms.

“Does that mean that you’re just waitin’ on me to make the first move then?” He whispered the question into her hair. She shuddered, but didn’t answer. Logan drew back to look at her. Rogue was biting her lower lip anxiously, and he saw in his peripheral vision that she was lacing and unlacing her fingers over her chest, carefully avoiding touching his skin. “Marie?” he asked quietly.

“W-what about Wolverine?”

Logan didn’t know why, but he felt a bit of surprise. You were right, he murmured to his alter ego.

Let me talk to her. Just for a while. Soon as she wants you back, I’ll leave.

Logan hesitated. “He wants to talk to you.”

Rogue’s eyes widened. “He can do that? What happens to ya when he’s in control?”

Logan shrugged. “Nothin’, really. I’m still here, just not holdin’ him back like I usually do. Only time he’s ever fully in control is when we’re in real trouble. An’ sometimes right when I wake up.”

Rogue gave him another startled look. “Was he there this mornin’?”

Logan nodded.

With her eyes narrowed a bit, Rogue searched his face. After several seconds, her brow smoothed out and she gave a short nod. “All right. Ah’ll talk to him.”

“You’re sure, darlin’?” At Rogue’s nod, Logan continued. “Okay. But if you want me back at any point, you just tell him. He promised he’ll do whatever you want.”

Leaning forward slightly, Logan dropped a quick kiss on Rogue’s forehead. He drew back immediately, at a loss as to what to do next. He had never willingly given control to Wolverine before and wasn’t sure how it was supposed to happen.

As soon as he finished the thought, Wolverine was stirring, pushing his way forward. Logan could feel himself falling back into his own mind and saw Rogue’s face in a curious overlay of different colored double-vision. He saw the hint of fear in her eyes and could vaguely feel the way her muscles tensed beneath him. In an oddly disjointed way, Logan felt his ribs expand as he inhaled, and felt the tightening of his vocal cords as Wolverine opened his mouth to speak.

Rogue was watching Logan’s face intently, wishing she had asked him to let her up, when she saw the slight shift in his eyes.

“Hey, darlin’,” he rumbled at her, his voice with a bit more growl to it than usual.

“L-Logan?”

He shook his head slowly.

“Ya’re Wolverine then?”

“Yeah.” She could tell he was examining her closely, although she wasn’t sure why.

“Ya wanted to talk to me?”

“Yeah.” Rogue waited for him to continue. When he didn’t, and she couldn’t stand being stared at anymore, she shifted her eyes down and stared at his collarbone.

Logan’s collarbone, she thought to herself.

“Well?” she prompted. “‘Bout what?”

Wolverine drew back slightly, putting some distance between them so he could lift her chin with a crooked finger. Unless she was going to be childish enough to close her eyes, Rogue had no choice but to meet his gaze again.

“Wanted to talk ‘bout you. And let you ask any questions you might have.”

“Questions? ‘Bout what?”

He shrugged. The gesture was so much like Logan’s that Rogue’s breath hitched.

“Anythin’ you want to know.”

Rogue considered him carefully for a moment. While she was uncomfortable with their position, him hovering over her like a bird of prey over its food, she somehow lacked the courage to say anything about it. Wolverine inhaled deeply. She was familiar enough with the action that she recognized that he was scenting the air. Whatever he detected made him frown.

“Was Logan right? Do ya care ‘bout me the same way he does?”

“More or less.”

Confused by his answer, Rogue waited silently, hoping he would take the hint to explain. Several moments passed by in silence and she gradually became aware of the ticking of the clock on the nightstand and the hum of the heater beneath the window. The only other sound was Wolverine’s slow, relaxed breathing.

Rogue cleared her throat, the noise seeming incredibly loud in her ears. “What do ya mean by that?”

“We both want you safe and happy. We both desire you. And we would both die for you.”

Rogue felt her heart flutter quickly against her ribs and wondered if Wolverine could feel it or even hear it.

“That’s all the same. ‘More or less’ implies that there’s a difference in the way the two of ya think ‘bout me.”

Wolverine nodded. “There is a slight difference in our thinkin’. I’m not sure that you want to hear it, though.”

“Ah…” Rogue let the word trail off, not sure what she actually wanted to say. She settled for a question she thought was relatively safe. “Why not?”

“Because I think it might scare you. And I don’t ever want you to be afraid o’ me.” He chuckled, surprising Rogue. “Well,” he amended, a slight smirk on his lips, “at least no more afraid than you already are.”

“Ah’m not afraid o’ ya!” Rogue denied quickly.

Wolverine’s smirk faded and he spoke gently. “Darlin’, you can’t mask your scent. And right now, it’s tellin’ me you’re afraid.”

Unable to help it, Rogue scowled. “Ah hate that ya can do that, ya know.”

“I know.”

“So why do ya keep doin’ it?” she demanded.

Rogue sensed Wolverine’s hesitation. “I don’t think I know how not to do it,” he admitted.

“Huh. Ah suppose Ah can understand that. Ah mean, even Logan does it. Or are ya the one doin’ it?”

“No, that’s Logan most o’ the time.”

“Tell me one thing recently that’s been you,” Rogue requested impulsively. Again, she sensed an odd hesitation from Wolverine.

“I haven’t really been…out in the last few days,” he hedged.

“Well, tell me somethin’ ya had a hand in then.”

“I don’t think you’ll like it.” Rogue was suddenly amused at the almost fearful hesitance in Wolverine’s voice.

Not knowing for sure where she got the nerve, but thinking that it might have something to do with his hangdog look being so similar to Logan’s when he knew he was going to be in trouble with her, Rogue teasingly asked, “If Ah promise not to yell at ya, will ya tell me?”

When Wolverine quirked his eyebrow in the exact same manner as Logan, Rogue found herself relaxing completely. She was no longer worried about him leaning over her, effectively trapping her with his arms on either side of her.

“All right,” Wolverine said slowly. “The other night, when you…you know. I’m the one who got Logan to stop.”

Rogue felt her face heat up. “Y-ya were around fer that?”

“Yeah, darlin’. Nothin’ to be embarrassed ‘bout.”

“Yes it is!” Rogue covered her face with her hands. For a moment, she recognized that it was the same reaction she had had the night she threw herself at Logan. She wondered if Wolverine would make the connection.

“Marie.”

Rogue froze. She peeked out from between her fingers. “Ah don’t know why, but fer some reason, Ah didn’t expect ya to know mah name.”

“I know everythin’ ‘bout you that Logan does. Sometimes maybe a little more.”

Curious despite her embarrassment, Rogue dropped her hands. “Like what?”

“I’m the one who knew that you were afraid o’ me. That’s why I asked Logan to let me talk to you.”

“How on earth did ya figure that out?”

A wry grin curled up the corners of his mouth. “Not much else to do but think when you’re ridin’ around in someone else’s head.”

“Oh.” Rogue chuckled suddenly. “The Logan in mah head said that once.”

Wolverine grinned back at her. “Doesn’t surprise me.”

Unaware of what she was doing, Rogue tapped a finger on his chest as she thought. “So what’s yer take on it? Are ya an’ Logan two separate people?”

Wolverine considered her question. While he thought about his answer, he reached up and wrapped a white section of her hair around his finger. The gesture was, again, similar to one of Logan’s.

“I’m not sure,” he said finally. “I remember, somehow, a really long time ago, when there just seemed to be one of us. But Logan doesn’t really remember that.”

“He said somethin’ similar once.”

Wolverine nodded. “I think, whatever I am, I’ve always been with Logan. I just don’t know for sure when I started bein’…I dunno…me, I guess.”

“Ya don’t know fer sure? Ya have an idea, though?”

For a moment, Wolverine looked distinctly uncomfortable. Rogue saw the moment his eyes seemed to turn inward, the way she was used to seeing Logan’s when he was talking to Wolverine.

He snapped back to himself quicker than Logan usually did.

“At the lab,” he said suddenly. “When we were at the lab is the first time I remember bein’ just me.” Wolverine moved his shoulders in a half-shrug and began playing with the lock of hair he still held. If Rogue didn’t know any better, she would say he was fidgeting.

“Do ya think that’s why Logan’s memory’s so messed up?”

Giving her a guilty look that he hid quickly, Wolverine shrugged again. “I dunno. Maybe. But enough. Let’s talk ‘bout you for a bit, darlin’.”

Rogue shook her head stubbornly. “No. Ya said Ah can ask ya anythin’ Ah want to know. An’ Ah want to know ‘bout this.”

“Dammit, Marie! No!” The words were a furious growl right in her face.

Marie just raised an eyebrow and looked Wolverine straight in the eye. “Well, sugar. Looks like ya got yer wish. ‘Cause Ah’m not afraid o’ ya anymore. Now answer the question.”

Wolverine looked at her from only a few inches away, his mouth opening and closing a few times. When Rogue’s eyebrow lifted further, he laughed.

“I told him you’d lead us on a hell of a chase,” he murmured almost too low for Rogue to hear.

“Huh?”

Still smiling, Wolverine shook his head. He leaned back a bit and his expression sobered. “About Logan’s memory. We don’t remember anythin’ clearly from before the lab. And I’m not sure Logan’ even remembers the lab itself.”

“‘Course he does. Well, maybe not consciously, but he remembers it in his nightmares.”

Wolverine shook his head slowly. “No, he doesn’t.”

“Ya can’t seriously be tellin’ me that Logan’s nightmares aren’t real? I’ve seen ‘em first hand, sugar. Nobody can make that shit up.”

Wolverine began stroking her hair absently with his other hand. “I know they’re real. And I’m sorry you ended up with ‘em too. But they’re not Logan’s.”

“What? Then whose the hell are th–” Rogue cut off her words as soon as she realized what Wolverine was telling her. “They’re yours?” she asked, her voice low and horrified.

Wolverine nodded curtly, turning his head slightly so he was no longer meeting her eyes. He fixed his attention on the hand he had twined in her hair.

“But how?”

Still not looking at her, Wolverine answered slowly. “In the labs…you know some o’ how bad it was. Logan was there at the beginnin’. But after a while, it got to be too much, you know? He kept passin’ out from the pain, even though he tried not to. It wasn’t possible to stay conscious through all that.”

“But ya did?”

Another slow nod. “For the most part. I think I’m kinda like Logan’s default settin’, if that makes sense.”

“When he can’t do somethin’, ya do it fer him?”

“Basically. And I think, back then, I knew everythin’ ‘bout him that he knew ‘bout himself. But at the end, the pain got to be too much even for me. I blacked out too. Weirdest damned thing, though.” Wolverine met her eyes again. “It was kinda like I was just floatin’ around inside myself. Not really unconscious, I guess, since I could still think, but I felt completely cut off from my body and Logan. Spent every second waitin’ for even a twinge of feelin’ to come back. And when it did, it was just me and I couldn’t feel Logan anymore. First thing I remember seein’ is one of those bastard doctors leanin’ over the table, pryin’ one o’ my eyes open. Still don’t know how I did it, but I snapped one o’ the restraints and gutted him. And then I got us the hell out o’ there.”

“If most o’ the memories of the lab are just yours,” Rogue spoke slowly, “how come Logan dreams ‘bout it?”

Wolverine held her gaze for a few moments before answering. “‘Cause if there’s somethin’ he wants to know, I can’t keep it from him, even if I try. I didn’t want him to remember the lab…figured it wouldn’t do him any good. When he’s awake, part o’ him doesn’t want to know either. But when he’s asleep, the part o’ him that wants to know just goes diggin’ until it finds those memories.”

“Does it work both ways? Can Logan keep ya out o’ his thoughts an’ memories?”

“Maybe.” Wolverine shrugged. “He’s never tried.”

“Huh.” Rogue scrunched her nose up in thought, making Wolverine chuckle. The motion caused his stomach to brush against hers. He felt his muscles tighten and his gaze focused quickly on her face, looking for any sign that she was as affected as he was.

No such luck, bub, Logan interjected happily as they observed Rogue’s look of concentration and the way she was tapping a forefinger against her chin. Wolverine gave a wordless mental growl in response.

“Anythin’ else ya wanna know, darlin’?” Although his voice was a bit deeper than before, Rogue didn’t notice.

“Yeah.”

“Well? Let’s hear it.”

“Logan said ya didn’t really like Jean. Why not?”

Wolverine snorted and grinned. “Jealous?”

“Huh? No, not really. Just curious.” The honest confusion in Rogue’s voice deflated what was left of Wolverine’s ego. Logan’s howl of laughter only served to further blacken his mood.

“Didn’t really dislike her. Wouldn’t have minded sleepin’ with her. Just didn’t think she was all that special.”

In a voice laced with disbelief, Rogue questioned, “But why not? Everybody loved Jean.”

“I dunno. Guess since I knew she was never really serious ‘bout Logan, I couldn’t make myself care ‘bout her like he did.”

“But if ya knew she wasn’t serious ‘bout him, why didn’t ya say anythin’?”

“I did. Idiot wouldn’t listen to me.” Rogue could hear a distinct pout in Wolverine’s voice. She arched an eyebrow at him.

“Why not?”

“Said it didn’t matter. He knew that she didn’t feel the way he did, but said that that could change at any time. And he intended to be there when it did.”

Rogue gave a startled huff of laughter. “That sounds like Logan.”

“Yeah. Like I said, he’s an idiot.” Wolverine winced.

Watching him curiously, Rogue tilted her head to the side. “Ah suppose he took exception to that?”

“Yeah,” Wolverine muttered with a scowl.

“Why do ya like me when ya didn’t like Jean?” Rogue blurted the question before she could restrain herself.

Wolverine gave her a look filled with surprise. “I’m not entirely sure.”

“Well that’s flatterin’,” Rogue said, trying to keep the hurt out of her voice.

“I didn’t mean it that way, darlin’. I’m just sayin’ that there’s somethin’ ‘bout you – always has been – that kinda draws me in. Logan too.”

“But why? Ah mean, Ah’m just me. Nothin’ special.”

Wolverine laughed in her face. “Are you serious?”

“Well, yeah. Nothin’ ‘bout me stands out ‘cept fer the skin. Poor little Rogue with the deadly skin who can still be nothin’ more’n average. Average grades, average skills, average looks. An’ nobody even knows ‘bout mah skin ‘til it’s killin’ ‘em. Sometimes Ah wish Ah was bright green an’ orange to go along with the poisonous skin – ya know, like those little frogs that can kill ya? – an’ at least that wouldn’t be average.”

Wolverine was staring at her. “You wanna look like a frog?” he asked, his voice serious.

“No!” Rogue smacked him on the shoulder, her hand lingering for a moment of its own accord. “Ya know what Ah mean. Ah’m just so sick o’ bein’ treated like a…a non-entity ‘cause Ah don’t stand out in any particular way.”

“That’s just plain ridiculous, Marie.”

“It isn’t,” she insisted. “Don’t ya feel the same way? Ah mean, ya’re here, a separate part o’ Logan, an’ nobody ever sees ya even though they know ya exist. It’s kinda like that.”

“You sayin’ your friends don’t see you?”

“Not like ya an’ Logan do, no.”

Wolverine scowled at her and cupped her face in his rough hands. “I’m gonna let you in on a little secret, Marie. If everybody saw you the way I do – the way Logan does – we’d have to kill ‘em to keep you to ourselves.”

“Huh?” Rogue’s brow furrowed in confusion.

“‘Cause what we see isn’t average at all. We see somebody with exceptional strength and courage. Kindness. Intelligence.” When Rogue opened her mouth to argue, he cut her off with a quick shake of his head. “Maybe not the book smarts that other people pride themselves on, but you know people. You understand things ‘bout them without anybody havin’ to explain it to you. An’ maybe that’s what drew us to you in the first place. That day in the truck, it felt like you understood us without even havin’ to exchange more’n a dozen words or so, and whatever it is you knew ‘bout us then, you didn’t judge or pin any expectations on us. And if everybody would just pull their heads outta their asses and look at you, they might understand how exceptional you really are.”

Rogue sincerely hoped that Wolverine’s hands on her face were covering her blush, although she suspected, correctly, that he could feel the increased warmth beneath his palms. Feeling horribly uncomfortable and desperate for something to say, Rogue spoke the first thought that came to mind.

“Well, thanks fer all that, sugar. But Ah’m still just average lookin’.”

Wolverine’s predatory grin increased her uneasiness. “Wrong again. You’re fuckin’ gorgeous, darlin’.”

Certain that her deepening blush must be scalding his hands, Rogue dropped her gaze to his chin. She tugged lightly at Wolverine’s wrists, but he refused to move his hands.

“Logan can just kill me later,” she heard him murmur. “Might as well do this while you can’t get any more embarrassed.”

He brushed his thumbs over her cheekbones in a brief caress and she felt his weight shift slightly forward. Startled, Rogue lifted her eyes to his and caught her breath.

His look was determined, almost stern, but beneath it was a tenderness she had never expected to see on his face. Or on Logan’s for that matter. She had time for only half of a startled thought - Is he gonna… - and then his lips were on hers, warm and soft, and more gentle than she had believed possible from him. The kiss was a tickling brush against her lips, a whisper of breath. She felt the slight rasp of stubble against her chin, and was suddenly aware of the strength and warmth of the wrists she still grasped in her hands. Her fingers tightened reflexively and she pulled herself up slightly so she could increase the pressure of his lips on hers. She felt the tip of his tongue nudge against her and she parted her lips obligingly. Just as his tongue brushed the tip of hers, she felt him wince and draw back abruptly.

Rogue opened her eyes slowly, not even remembering when they had fallen closed, and looked up into his face. Anger stood bright in his narrowed eyes and his mouth was pulled tight in a furious scowl.

“I’m gonna fuckin’ kill him!” Logan’s roaring voice made her ears ring.

Along with the slight twinge of pain, Rogue felt what she suspected was a twinge of disappointment at the interruption. Keeping her grip on his wrists, Rogue dropped her gaze to Logan’s left shoulder, trying to give him time to get over his anger.

“And what the hell were you doin’ kissin’ him back?” The accusation was a malicious hiss.

“What?” Startled, and starting to feel angry herself, Rogue met Logan’s eyes. The anger was still there, but swimming at the edges was a trace of hurt. Rogue’s burgeoning temper was swept away and she rubbed her thumbs soothingly along Logan’s wrists. “Ah didn’t really think it through, Logan.”

His scowl deepened. “You sayin’ you couldn’t resist him then?”

Rogue returned his frown. “Not exactly. More like Ah liked the way it felt an’ Ah knew ya were there so Ah wasn’t afraid.”

Logan’s expression cleared a bit, but the frown remained. “Bastard still got to kiss you ‘fore I did.”

“What?” Rogue’s eyebrows drew together in confused thought. “Ah kissed ya the other night.”

Logan shook his head and brushed his thumbs along her cheekbones. “That doesn’t count, darlin’. You didn’t enjoy it.”

Again, Rogue blushed and mumbled a denial. Logan chuckled and shook his head again.

“Thanks for tryin’ to spare my ego, Marie, but I know you were too scared then to really be payin’ attention to what was goin’ on.”

The room fell silent while they stared at each other. As Rogue considered what Logan had said, a quiet voice in her head began whispering.

He’s right, you know. You don’t even remember what it felt like when you kissed him because all you could think about was that bastard trucker.

It probably felt like it did with Wolverine, though, right?

The voice snorted. Suuure, honey. Wolverine was holding back, being careful not to scare you. Logan wasn’t that night. Don’t you want to know what it feels like to be kissed by a man who has completely lost his mind with wanting you?

Ah…Ah don’t know.

Another snort. Grow up, little girl. And when you do, come talk to me.

There was a curious snapping sensation as Rogue felt the voice withdraw. While she still felt uncertain, she had to admit that what the voice said had made her curious.

“Logan? Ya still angry with me?”

Logan forced a half-smile. “I wasn’t really angry with you to begin with, darlin’.”

“Oh.” Rogue bit her lip in indecision. Mustering her courage, she continued. “Well, if ye’re not angry, then Ah wouldn’t mind tryin’ it again.”

“Tryin’ what?”

“Kissin’ ya,” Rogue replied in a rush. She felt more than saw Logan’s surprise. His entire body went still and it seemed he even held his breath for a few seconds.

“Thanks, but no.”

“No?” she asked in disbelief. There was a stirring of emotion beneath her heart that she couldn’t yet identify as anger or hurt. Maybe it was both.

“If I kiss you now, you’ll just be comparin’ me to him. I don’t want that,” Logan explained in a growl.

“But ye’re the same person, Logan!”

Logan scoffed. “After talkin’ to him, do you really believe that any more?”

“Yeah, Ah do. The only reason Ah was able to relax at all with him was because he’s so much like ya.”

“We’re no more the same person than identical twins are.”

Rogue frowned and Logan sighed heavily.

“Listen, darlin’. He was right in sayin’ that we think of you a little differently. It’s nothin’ bad, but it’s an important difference.”

“What is it? Why wouldn’t he tell me?”

Logan hesitated. “Because I didn’t want him to.”

Rogue thumped his shoulder in irritation. “So ye’re keepin’ secrets from me?”

Logan considered her question. “Yeah, for now I guess I am.”

Giving him a look full of frustration and not a little hurt, Rogue punched his shoulder and said spitefully, “Ah don’t wanna kiss ya anymore. Get off o’ me.”

Frowning, Logan rolled away and let her up. As she stalked angrily toward the bathroom, Logan called after her, “I didn’t mean to upset you, darlin’.”

Rogue turned in the doorway. “Yeah, well. Didn’t mean to, but ya did.” The door slammed loudly behind her and a moment later he heard the shower.

* * *

“What weren’t you tellin’ me earlier?” Logan demanded of the professor. While focusing on the man’s response, Logan kept an ear tuned in to the shower.

“Monique has organized a movement to have mutants known to have dangerous mutations banned from college campuses. There have been enough ‘accidents’ involving mutant students that people are listening to her.”

“What do you mean by accidents?”

“Mostly involving mutants who attend school full time and live on campus. They can only hide their mutations for so long before somebody starts noticing and confronts them.”

Logan snorted. “So instead of callin’ the ‘confrontations’ hate crimes and protectin’ the mutant students, they’re tryin’ to protect the vigilantes.”

“Yes, I would say that’s an accurate assessment,” the professor said, his words laced with humor.

Logan shook his head in bemusement. He couldn’t understand how Xavier could find anything funny at the moment.

“So, does it look like she’ll be successful?”

“Perhaps. She has an online petition set up. She has over 5000 electronic signatures at the moment.”

“When did she start the campaign?”

“This afternoon.”

Logan gave a low whistle. “And she’s got over 5000 signatures in only a few hours?”

“The situation does not look good, Logan. At all.”

Knowing that Xavier was referring to more than Monique’s campaign, Logan asked, “We’re not gonna be able to come back, are we?”

The hesitation before the professor spoke was answer enough. “Probably not any time soon. There’s talk of setting up patrols along the Canadian border, and the Mexican border has been effectively closed.”

Logan frowned. “Why’s there a difference between the two?”

“A geneticist recently published a study that supports higher rates of mutation in warmer climates.”

“Bullshit,” Logan denied immediately.

“Quite likely,” Xavier agreed, “but at the moment, people believe him.”

From the sound of things in the shower, Rogue was already rinsing her hair. “I’m runnin’ short on time here, Chuck. What’s the theory you have on Rogue?”

“I would like more time to discuss the issue with Hank before I say anything, Logan.”

“I don’t care. You need to tell me what you suspect. Now.”

Xavier sighed heavily. “Very well. You are aware that Rogue’s mind works quite differently from other people’s, yes?”

“Yeah. So?”

“And that part of the way her mind works is that it has an increased capacity to store foreign psyches?”

“Yeah, get to the point, Chuck,” Logan said impatiently.

“We – Hank and I, and Jean while she was here – believed that Rogue learned to manage those psyches herself so they did not overwhelm her. However, in his research Hank discovered a tendency in powerful mutants to manifest alternate personalities. You with Wolverine, Jean with the Phoenix. And now, perhaps, Rogue.”

“You sayin’ she has multiple personalities?” Logan asked skeptically.

“No more than you do, Logan.”

“If you’re right, why now? Nobody tried to block it off like you did with Jean.”

Another heavy sigh met Logan’s ears. “No, you’re right. Hank thinks that it might be related to the interview, that whatever issue Rogue was dealing with that threw her into the dissociative state may have opened the doorway for the other personality to assert itself.”

“What are you sayin’, exactly? Is she gonna start actin’ like a different person? Like Jean did?”

“We just don’t know, Logan. We believe that there is a correlation between the strength of the mutation and the strength of the alternate personality. As the only class 5 mutants I have ever known, I would suspect Rogue will be affected similarly to Jean.”

“No,” Logan denied instantly. “I’m not gonna let that happen.”

“Logan,” Xavier soothed, “You’re forgetting that the Phoenix’s behavior was largely the result of long-term suppression. That hasn’t happened with Rogue. But I do believe that her alternate is beginning to make itself known. Have you noticed any differences in Rogue since you left the mansion?”

Logan frowned and thought quickly. “She seems a little uncertain of herself. I figured that it was just ‘cause she was shaken up by the interview and everythin’ that’s happened.” Logan cleared his throat as he thought of the incident with the motel clerk. “And then there are times when she seems more normal, just a little more….I dunno. Brazen, I guess.”

“Hmm,” Xavier hummed, and Logan heard the scratching of pen on paper as the professor took notes. “How are her moods? Consistent, or do they change quickly?”

Logan couldn’t hold back a chuckle. “She’s gotten angry at me a few times lately. But given the circumstances each time, I don’t think her reaction was abnormal.”

“Oh?” Xavier asked, a smile in his voice. “Been giving her a hard time have you, Logan?”

“Can’t help it,” he admitted cheerfully. “Ever notice how pretty she is when she’s angry, Chuck?”

Xavier laughed in surprise. “Yes, indeed I have. But I think it might be best if you refrain from angering her for the time being, Logan.”

“I’ll try,” Logan returned ruefully, “but I can’t make any promises.”

“All anyone can ever do is try,” the professor sighed. For the first time, Logan heard the professor’s age in his voice. “Keep an eye on her, Logan, and let me know as soon as you notice anything out of the ordinary.”

“I will.” Logan hesitated for a moment. “Hey, Chuck? I just found out that Wolverine tries to protect me from things – he thinks that’s the reason he exists. Whatever’s happenin’ with Rogue, do you think it might be the same?”

There was a moment of silence. “Perhaps. Hank thinks that the reason Rogue would have an alternate is so that it can serve as a gatekeeper, or warden of sorts, for the psyches she has absorbed.”

From the bathroom, Logan caught the squeak of the shower knobs turning.

“Gotta go, Chuck.”

“All right. Goodbye, Logan.”

* * *

The first fingers of dawn were just beginning to creep over the horizon as Logan and Rogue headed for the Explorer. Although Rogue felt a hint of sadness over skipping breakfast with Clara and Mo, she wasn’t about to argue with Logan about leaving. They had monitored the international news channel throughout the night since neither of them had been able to sleep soundly. Only an hour ago the station showed a short clip from the interview, and although neither Logan nor Rogue was on screen for very long, there was no doubt that they would be easily recognized as a result.

Rogue was already settled in the passenger seat, the engine running, and Logan was tossing their bags on the back seat when Clara stepped out the back door of the bar. Logan froze and exchanged a look with Rogue. She shrugged her shoulders and turned her head to watch Clara’s approach. The older woman’s breath steamed in the cold morning air and Logan detected shivering beneath her voluminous, fur-lined parka. She was clutching a paper bag in her gloved hands. Clara eyed Logan over the hood of the Explorer as she rapped on Rogue’s window. When Rogue rolled it down, Clara thrust the bag into her lap.

“Been my habit for years now to watch the news while I make up the mornin’ coffee. Saw somethin’ interestin’ and figured the two o’ you might not feel up to stayin’ fer breakfast today. So I brought breakfast to you. Weather report said the snow’s supposed to hold off ‘til early evenin’, so it’s best you’re startin’ out now.”

Rogue blinked rapidly and crumpled the top of the paper bag in her fist.

“Clara, Ah…”

Clara ignored her and stared intently at Logan. “You take care o’ this little gal, you hear me?”

Logan nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

Clara nodded curtly in return and turned away without another word. Logan stood watching until the bar door closed quietly behind her. He climbed into the Explorer slowly and looked at Rogue.

Seems she took to motherin’ Marie after last night. Wolverine’s voice was quiet, respectful.

Seems so, Logan replied. Don’t think she took to me too well, though.

That’d be because of the interview segment they showed. Even I thought it made you sound like a pedophile.

“Thanks,” Logan muttered, and shook his head at Rogue’s questioning look. He did his best to ignore the rest of what Wolverine said as he pulled the Explorer onto the road and headed yet farther north.

After a few miles, Logan glanced over at Rogue again. “So what’s in the bag?”

Rogue took a quick peek, a smile spreading over her face. “Looks like coffee,” she said, pulling out a small thermos, “breakfast sandwiches, and fresh cinnamon buns.”

“Gimme some o’ that coffee first,” Logan grunted, inhaling appreciatively as the warm scents of bacon and sugar frosting filled the car’s interior.

Rogue carefully poured some of the coffee into the thermos top and handed it to Logan. She screwed the lid back into place and watched him as he took his first sip.

“So what were ya an’ the professor talkin’ ‘bout last night?” At Logan’s hasty gulp and the slightly pained look that crossed his face, Rogue’s right eyebrow lifted in cold amusement.

“You were there, darlin’. You heard my side of the conversation at least.”

“Ah’m talkin’ ‘bout yer other little conversation, Logan,” she said sternly. When he remained silent, Rogue scoffed and reminded him, “The one ya’ll had while Ah was in the shower.”

Logan grunted and took a quick swig of coffee before answering. “Figures you’d know ‘bout that. How, though?”

“‘Cause ya always have a look on yer face after talkin’ to the professor.”

Knowing better than to deny Rogue’s claim with a vehement “bullshit,” Logan just cast her a sideways glance.

“Ya always look like ye’re thinkin’ hard, but there’s an edge of…Ah dunno… ‘A-hah!’ to it.”

Logan snorted a short laugh. “An edge of ‘a-hah’?”

“At the very least,” Rogue returned primly. “So what all did the two o’ ya figure out last night?”

Sighing heavily, Logan met Rogue’s eyes briefly. “Monique’s makin’ trouble.”

“That’s a given. What else?”

“Political situation with mutants in the States is getting’ worse.”

“Can’t say as Ah’m surprised. Ye’re hedgin’, Logan. What part o’ the conversation with Chuck had ya lookin’ at me funny the rest o’ the night?”

A small smile tilted up the corners of Logan’s mouth when Rogue used the nickname. The smile faded quickly, though, as he turned once again to look at her. “Do you hear voices, darlin’?”

Rogue jerked back as if struck and dropped her gaze to her lap. “Did Professor Xavier pick up on that?”

Logan sucked in a deep breath, knowing that the situation was serious if Rogue didn’t waste any time denying it. “How bad?”

Her brow furrowed in a frown and her head tipped toward one shoulder in consideration, Rogue finally met his eyes again. “Not…bad. Just different. Ah mean, it’s not like the voice is tellin’ me to do anythin’ bad or sayin’ nasty stuff. An’ Ah know it’s not mah voice, so it can’t trick me into anythin’. It just sorta points things out to me that Ah’m not entirely comfortable havin’ pointed out.”

Logan gave a bitter chuckle, all too familiar with the situation Rogue was describing. Perhaps she heard some of that in the sound he made, and her look changed to one of sympathy.

“So Ah’m not crazy, an’ it’s not gonna go away?”

Logan shook his head. “Not likely. Chuck’s gonna talk it over with Hank, see if they can find some reasons, mess with some scientific mumbo-jumbo…whatever they do together.”

“Is it ‘cause o’ the number o’ times Ah’ve absorbed ya?”

“Hm?”

“Well, Ah’m developin’ an alter ego like Wolverine, right? Since Ah’ve gotten a little bit o’ him whenever Ah absorbed ya, do ya think maybe mah mind’s just gotten used to that kind o’ arrangement an’…adopted it fer itself?”

Logan considered the idea briefly before shaking his head. “No, darlin’. Chuck and Hank think it’s part o’ your mutation. The professor said it was probably a gatekeeper o’ sorts for all the personalities you’ve absorbed.”

“Huh,” Rogue said thoughtfully. “Ah guess that makes sense. Kinda like Wolverine takes care o’ ya, this gatekeeper takes care o’ me? But Wolverine only fully merged with ya after…after the lab. Ah haven’t had any kind o’ traumatic event like that to bring out the voice.”

“Haven’t you?” Logan asked shrewdly. He handed her the empty thermos top and flicked a finger quickly over a section of white hair. “You’ve had a whole string o’ traumatic events since your mutation manifested, darlin’. Nobody said the trauma had to happen all at once to bring out an alternate personality.”

“Ah guess,” Rogue acknowledged. She handed Logan one of the breakfast sandwiches and then poured some coffee for herself. Squaring her shoulders, the gesture Logan recognized as Rogue’s way of deliberately putting aside a matter, she turned to him and asked, “So, where we goin’?”

“North. Just north for now. We’ll figure out the rest when we get there.”

“Works fer me,” Rogue murmured, taking her first sip of coffee.

Stretching as she stepped out of the Explorer, Rogue slapped both hands onto her behind and groaned, “Oooh, mah butt’s sore.”

Logan choked on a laugh. His mirth quickly turned into a furious scowl when he saw a scruffy twenty-something who was getting out of his truck eyeing Rogue appreciatively. He flipped the kid off and moved quickly around the front of the vehicle to drop his arm possessively over Rogue’s shoulders.

“I’d offer to massage it for you, darlin’, but that might get us in some legal trouble.”

“Huh?” Rogue craned her neck around to look at him. A frown of confusion was forming between her brows.

Nice, Wolverine scoffed, makin’ jokes the girl doesn’t understand.

Logan sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. The tension always gathered right in that spot when Wolverine was being snarky.

“Laws against public lewdness, darlin’,” he muttered, steering her toward the convenience store.

“Oh.” A faint blush dusted her cheekbones.

Inside, Rogue ducked out from under his arm and headed purposefully toward one side of the store. Logan took two steps after her, unwilling to let her out of his sight, before she rounded on him. Rogue made a shooing motion with both her hands as she walked backwards.

“Go on with ya, sugar. Ah’m just gonna be over here a bit an’ then Ah’ll met ya at the checkout.”

“I don’t mind goin’ with you, darlin’.” He continued walking after her.

“Well Ah mind. Now shoo.” She flapped her hands at him again in dismissal.

Logan felt a faint trace of amusement from Wolverine. “You tryin’ to get rid o’ me, Marie?”

Rogue stopped and planted her hands on her hips. “Yes.”

Logan stopped as well and blinked at her. “But why?” He winced internally, hoping that his voice didn’t sound as whiny and little boyish to her as it did to him.

“‘Cause Ah’ve got some stuff Ah need to buy.”

He shrugged. “So do I. We’ll get your stuff, then we’ll get mine. What’s the big deal?”

Rogue’s features contorted into a frustrated pout. Idiot, Wolverine whispered to him.

“The big deal, ya idiot, is Ah want a little privacy, an’ Ah shouldn’t have to give ya an explanation to get some.” Rogue whirled around on one heal, her hair flying out behind her, and stalked away.

“What the hell did I do?” Logan murmured to himself and to Wolverine.

Think, genius. Why would a female want privacy?

Logan blinked. I dunno. It’s Marie. She’s never hidden anythin’ from us before.

True, Wolverine conceded in a tone reserved for particularly slow children, but she’s never flaunted any of the private aspects of her life in our face either, has she?

What the hell are you gettin’ at? Logan roared in impatience, hardly noticing the people skirting around him and casting strange looks at the man standing stock-still in the middle of the aisle with his fists clenched.

I’ll ask you again. Why would a female want privacy from a male?

I dunno. For female stuff, I guess, but what the hell does that have to do with needin’ privacy to buy stu….Oh.

Yes, ‘Oh.’ Moron. Wolverine scoffed once and retreated.

Feeling sheepish, Logan hurried down the aisle searching for the things he needed.

* * *

Back at the Explorer, Logan and Rogue stashed their bags behind their respective seats. Rogue sighed heavily and started to climb into the vehicle, wincing a little as she settled in. Standing at his open door observing her carefully, Logan caught the brief, pained expression and the quick press of one slender hand low on her stomach.

“Come on. Let’s walk a bit, darlin’.”

Rogue’s head whipped around, a smile already starting in her eyes. “Ya sure?”

He shrugged. “I’m sure. Haven’t heard anythin’ on the radio recently that indicates the interview’s made the news this far north. And we won’t go far. Maybe just up that little trail there.” He gestured vaguely toward the wooded side of the convenience store lot. Turning to look, Rogue could just make out the hint of a trail through the snow-dusted evergreens. She gave Logan a beaming smile and hopped out of the Explorer, slamming the door perhaps a little too enthusiastically judging by Logan’s low chuckle.

They moved in tandem toward the front of the vehicle and Rogue expected him to drape his arm across her shoulders again. It was a habit with him, and she genuinely enjoyed the heaviness of his metal-weighted arm surrounding her. But Logan surprised her this time, and with barely a glance in her direction, he grabbed her gloved hand in his and kept moving.

Blinking a little at the change in routine, it took Rogue a few seconds to wrap her fingers around Logan’s hand. She snuck a glance at him, but he wasn’t paying any attention. Rogue could feel the heat radiating from his hand, even though he wasn’t wearing any gloves. In fact, he wasn’t at all protected against the cold except for his beat up leather jacket, and even that was left open. She suddenly felt like a child in her gloves and scarf, her coat buttoned all the way up to her chin. She was even wearing the ridiculous moose earmuffs Jubilee had given her last Christmas, and the way Logan was holding her hand and leading her forward just reinforced the image in her mind of her as a little girl out for a day with Daddy. Rogue scowled.

She cast another surreptitious glance at Logan and tugged on her hand a bit. When he loosened his grip, she quickly rearranged their fingers so that they were laced together. Logan stopped abruptly and looked at her in surprise.

“Darlin’, that’s not exactly the safest way to hold my hand.”

Oh, Rogue thought, somewhat happily. He was holdin’ mah hand that way ‘cause he’s afraid o’ slicin’ mah fingers.

No sooner had she finished the thought than a drowsy voice murmured to her, There’s no danger here. Don’t let him let go. Recognizing the voice from before, Rogue was intrigued by its awareness of her surroundings.

She tightened her grip on Logan’s hand. “Ya just said ya think it’s safe here. An’ Ah still have enough o’ yer senses to tell that the woods are perfectly safe. Maybe a couple o’ deer millin’ around in there, but no people.”

Logan stared at her a moment longer before nodding slowly. He squeezed her hand briefly and started walking again. When they reached the beginning of the path, Rogue saw that it was much narrower than she had thought, and following the quiet whisper at the back of her mind, she took a half step closer to Logan and leaned into his arm, her other hand coming across her body to grip his arm right below the elbow. She glanced up at him from the corner of her eye and saw the hint of a smile tilting up his lips.

They walked that way in silence, their breath pluming the air in front of them, and their boots making muffled crunching noises on the light blanket of snow. The path turned upward briefly and Rogue tightened her grip on Logan a little as they climbed. She could feel his muscles bunching as he absently provided a bit of lift as she stepped over a branch that had fallen into the path. The trail leveled out again, and just up ahead appeared to be a sharp turn. They paused and Logan titled his head in the peculiar manner that Rogue had learned long ago meant he was listening intently.

“Water,” he said finally, curiosity coloring his tone. They continued forward, and upon turning the corner, Rogue saw that he was right. A small stream cut across the path and disappeared into the thick undergrowth of the forest.

“It’s covered in ice, though. Ya could hear the water runnin’ underneath it?”

Logan nodded.

Rogue slid her earmuffs down so they wrapped around the back of her neck and tilted her head the way Logan had a few moments before. She strained her senses, but couldn’t hear anything.

“What’s it sound like?”

Logan considered her question. “The water movin’ along the ice sounds kinda like…mouse feet.”

Rogue burst out laughing, and a cloud of condensed breath briefly surrounded them. “Ah’m afraid Ah don’t know what mouse feet sound like, sugar, but Ah get the idea.”

Logan grinned at her and she leaned her head against his shoulder. They stood watching the slow trickle of water under the ice for a few moments, enjoying the quiet and the solitude. After a while, Logan jostled her hand.

“Better get goin’.” They were back at the bend in the path before Logan spoke again at Wolverine’s prompting. “Listen, darlin’. We’re gonna be with each other pretty much all the time now, so I don’t want you feelin’ embarrassed ‘bout anythin’. And especially when we’re on the road, if you need to make a stop to…you know… take care o’ anythin’, just let me know.”

At the sharp tug on his hand, Logan glanced down and saw that Rogue’s cheeks were covered in a deep blush. He wouldn’t let go of her hand, though. She turned to face him, planted her free hand against his chest, and shoved hard. He barely rocked on his feet, but she lost her balance and started to tip backward. Logan lunged forward and wrapped his arm around her waist to steady her, but he misjudged the slope of the path and they both went down hard.

Powdery snow flew up around them, and as it settled back down, Logan took stock of the situation. He had prevented Rogue’s head from slamming into the ground by getting his hand into place quickly enough, but he didn’t think that an adamantium-laced hand was much better than the frozen ground. Rogue’s eyes were open and focused on his, and he could see a hint of pain in the brown depths. Her tongue probed her lower lip carefully, catching his attention, and he noticed a trace of blood, maybe from his shoulder slamming into her when they fell.

He had managed to fall mostly on his elbows so he didn’t crush her under his considerable weight, but as it was, she had to be uncomfortable. One of her legs was trapped completely under his, and the other was sprawled a bit to the side. The end result was that he was in an awkward half cradle with their stomachs and hips pressed firmly together.

Rogue gave up poking at her lip and pulled her leg up to get her foot on the ground, the inside of her thigh resting against Logan’s hip. She pushed against his shoulders, giving him a disgruntled glare when he didn’t budge.

“Ya gonna let me up?”

Don’t you dare move, Wolverine said firmly.

Wasn’t plannin’ on it. Logan couldn’t keep the satisfaction out of his voice.

“Don’t think so, darlin’,” he said out loud, some of his smugness seeping through. “Shouldn’t move for a while after a fall like that. In case of serious injuries.”

“Ass,” she mumbled, poking him in the sternum resentfully and locking her gaze on the hollow of his throat.

Logan sighed, his breath stirring her white bangs slightly. “Marie, I’m sorry if you’re embarrassed, but it’s not like I didn’t know.”

“Know what?” she asked mulishly.

You’re gonna have to say it. She’ll just keep pretendin’ she doesn’t know what you’re talkin’ ‘bout otherwise.

Knowing Wolverine was right, and knowing that Rogue would see it as an invasion of her privacy, he explained, “That it’s your time of the month. Well, it will be in a couple of days anyway.”

“What the hell?” Rogue yelped, startled into meeting his eyes again. “How the hell do ya know down to the day?”

Logan cleared his throat. “Heightened senses, remember?”

Rogue’s lips twisted distastefully. “Ye’re sayin’ ya can smell the difference? That’s just…disgustin’.”

He sighed again. “Marie, listen. Don’t worry about it. Your scent changes slightly, that’s all. It’s not like I spend my time sniffin’ around tryin’ to figure it out. And you don’t smell bad or anythin’. Just different.”

Eyeing him distrustfully, Rogue remained silent.

“It’s just like when I pick up on the change in your scent when you’re afraid or nervous. Or lyin’,” he chuckled.

“Ah’ve never lied to ya!” Rogue denied hotly.

“I know that. But you’ve lied to other people in front o’ me.”

She scowled at him a moment longer. Letting out a sigh of her own, Rogue closed her eyes and a slight look of concentration crossed her face.

Ah’m bein’ an idiot, aren’t Ah? For the first time, Rogue tried directing her thoughts toward the voice she had been hearing.

Yes, came the prompt reply. But he won’t hold it against you. I, on the other hand, might if you don’t get your head out of your ass.

Rogue surprised herself with a mental snort at the voice’s straightforward attitude. Opening her eyes, she studied Logan’s face. He was keeping a carefully neutral expression, but something in the set of his shoulders betrayed his anxiety.

He’s really worried he’s upset me, isn’t he? she marveled. He’s not just bein’ a typical male an’ assumin’ Ah’m getting myself worked up for no good reason.

I would think, the voice said tartly, that you should know that by now.

Stung by the unspoken accusation, Rogue defended herself quickly. Ah guess it’s just hard to believe that he’d take me seriously at all when Ah’ve been all…wonky the last couple o’ weeks.

Full-bodied laughter spilled into every empty space in Rogue’s mind. 'Wonky?' There was a definite smile in the voice now. That’s one way of putting it. So, forgetting everything that’s happened, if you had found yourself in this position with Logan a couple weeks ago, what would you have done about it?

As Rogue opened her eyes, she felt a grin pulling at her lips and warmth pooling in her stomach. Ah woulda made the best o’ the opportunity.

Exactly right, the voice responded, and then seemed to take a step back.

“Fine then, sugar,” she said, her voice slightly husky. “Ah’ll let ya know whenever Ah want ya to stop.”

Logan’s eyes narrowed and heat spilled into them. Wondering if he had imagined the double meaning to her words, he observed her carefully. He didn’t dare scent the air in case he was mistaken; the action would no doubt send her into a fit of angry accusations.

I don’t think you were, Wolverine rumbled, his voice close to a purr. Her pupils are dilated.

Seeing that Wolverine was right, Logan dropped his gaze to the pulse fluttering rapidly at the base of Rogue’s throat. He noted at the same time that she was breathing faster. As the small puffs of air escaping from her slightly parted lips brushed his chin in a warm caress, Wolverine became fixated on the tiny bead of blood welling from her split lip.

Vaguely hearing Wolverine’s Rrrw of interest, Logan asked in a low voice, “How’s your lip doin’, darlin’?” Without giving her a chance to respond, he leaned in and gave her a half-kiss. His upper lip brushed hers lightly, and his tongue, in place of his lower lip, laved the cut gently.

Rogue’s breath caught in her throat with an audible gasp. Logan chuckled as his eyes closed and he kissed her fully this time. Feeling her gloved fingers lacing through his hair, Logan couldn’t help feeling satisfied that there was none of the hesitance that had marked her kiss with Wolverine. The thought brought Wolverine even more fully to the front of his mind, but instead of fighting him as Logan usually did, or falling back to give him control, there was a curious shifting sensation. When everything settled once again, Logan felt Wolverine’s startlement at his place next to Logan. He was unsure how he had made room in his psyche for Wolverine’s presence to equal his own, but he – and Wolverine was in agreement – deemed it unimportant at the moment. He turned his attention back to Rogue.

Marie, his voice and Wolverine’s whispered together.

He cracked one eye open long enough to note that Rogue’s were closed. When he noticed the excited color high on her cheekbones, he felt a surge of satisfaction that matched one from Wolverine.

She’s never had a chance at this, you know, Wolverine said. She always had to worry ‘bout her skin before, and even after she got control of it, nobody at the mansion dared go near her.

Their loss, Logan muttered in response. Now shut up.

He nipped lightly at the uninjured side of Rogue’s mouth and nudged her parted lips with his tongue. Chuckling lightly when he realized she had her teeth together, Logan lifted his left hand to cup her jaw and pressed the pad of his thumb against her chin right below their joined lips. Understanding what he wanted more out of instinct than any reasoning thought, Rogue relaxed her jaw and Logan took the opportunity to lightly brush her tongue with his. She made a noise low in her throat that had his stomach muscles clenching tightly. He slid his hand forward until his fingers cupped the nape of her neck. She shivered when he rubbed the silky skin of her earlobe with his thumb. Liking the response, he did it again and was rewarded when Rogue pulled him closer and deepened the kiss.

Several minutes later, when he thought that he could happily spend the rest of his life with his world narrowed to just Rogue’s lips and tongue, he felt the cold dampness of melting snow against the back of his knee. Focusing on their position for a moment, he was aware of one of Rogue’s hands gripping his back just below his shoulder blade and the other restlessly caressing the back of his neck. The dampness on his knee, he realized, was from the heel of Rogue’s boot. At some point she had freed her trapped leg and hooked her foot around him. Her left foot was still flat on the ground beside him, but she had bent her knee at a sharper angle, shifting until her ankle was against his hip and her thigh was pressed tight against the side of his waist.

Encouraged by the position, and unable to believe he hadn’t even noticed how it had come about, Logan slid his right hand down from Rogue’s shoulder. He pressed his hand firmly against her side, resenting the bulky fabric of her coat. He thought, perhaps, that his thumb had brushed the side of her breast, but he couldn’t tell. Wolverine gave a frustrated growl, and he was surprised to hear the same sound from his own lips. He drew his hand along Rogue’s ribs and waist. When he felt the rough denim of her jeans beneath his fingers, he cupped her hip and squeezed briefly before sweeping his hand under the edge of her coat.

He paused at the feel of her smooth, warm skin beneath his callused palm, and Rogue gasped slightly through their kiss. Logan splayed his fingers wide, marveling at how petite Rogue actually was when he realized he could easily span her stomach. Letting his fingers relax again, Logan moved his hand up to her ribs, tracing each one before moving higher. While before he had cursed the coat between them, now he was glad for it. The confining fabric kept his hand pressed firmly against Rogue’s skin, leaving no chance for an accidental break in contact.

When the tips of his fingers encountered the satin-covered underwire of her bra, Logan paused again. Dismissing, for the moment, the option of working his hand under the fabric – he was back to hating the coat because it didn’t leave him any room to maneuver – he slid his hand up just a few inches more and palmed her breast.

Rogue gasped and arched into his hand, tipping her head back and breaking the kiss. Content with the change, Logan pressed his lips to the underside of her chin. He trailed kisses down her throat, nudging her scarf aside with his chin, and finally settled on the curve of her neck where it met her shoulder. Rogue gasped again and tightened her grip on his head and shoulders when he brushed his thumb gently along the inside curve of her breast. Trying to get more leverage while he considered fuzzily how upset Rogue would be if he popped his claws and sliced through her jacket, Logan used the crook of his elbow to edge the bottom of her jacket up. The fabric moved easier than he had expected, but before he could get his hand inside the cup of Rogue’s bra, she screeched and shoved hard at his shoulder.

The combination of the force of the shove and sheer surprise was enough to unbalance Logan and he rolled heavily onto his side, grunting a bit as he did so. Rogue sat up immediately and swiped at her lower back frantically.

“Cold!”

It took a few seconds for his desire-fogged brain to process the situation. He thought, at first, that perhaps he had done something to scare her, but when the meaning of her gasped exclamation hit him, Logan chuckled.

Rogue glared at him as she finished brushing the snow off her skin. She paused briefly when she noticed the golden hue of his eyes, but dismissed the oddity as an effect of the bright winter sunlight.

Logan sat up slowly, wincing at the tightness of his jeans. He cast an amused look at the trampled snow around them and chuckled again when Wolverine thought the melted hollows looked like the beginnings of a den. As Rogue continued staring at him wordlessly, Logan wondered if she was regretting any of what had happened. He cleared his throat, but his voice was still rough when he spoke. “Guess this wasn’t the best place for that, was it, darlin’?”

He climbed to his feet and brushed the snow from his jeans before holding his hand out to Rogue to help her up. She grimaced as she stood, but before Logan could ask if she was hurt somewhere, she sighed and shook her head. “Great. Ah started out with mah butt sore, an’ now it’s cold an’ wet.” Rogue turned away from him and started walking gingerly down the trail.

When he saw that her jeans were soaked through in the back, a laughed bubbled up and burst forth, the sound clearer and more joyous than any he had ever heard from himself. Rogue paused and looked at him over her shoulder. Her lips stretched wide in an answering grin and Logan moved forward quickly to catch her hand in his.

He laced their fingers together as they walked, and when they reached the parking lot, he didn’t care who saw the silly grin on his face or whether they wondered about their wet clothes.

After changing their clothes quickly in the convenience store restroom, they climbed back into the Explorer. As it turned out, it was going to be their last night spent on the road. A brief conversation with Xavier had led to the man asking their whereabouts and a quick promise that he would call back shortly. Barely two hours later, the professor gave them an address a little less than a day’s drive away.

“It’s nothing extravagant,” he had said, “but it’s yours. The paperwork will be available at the nearest real estate office – that’s still about three hours away from the cabin – and all you have to do is show the identification I provided for you.”

Something stubborn and unreasoning had chafed inside Logan for a few moments while Wolverine grumbled that they were perfectly capable of providing for Rogue. Knowing why Wolverine was upset, and agreeing with him, Logan nonetheless squashed the tiny surge of resentment. We can’t provide for her this quickly, though.

Wolverine settled back down and Logan managed a grudging “Thank you” for the professor. Still, when he explained the situation to Rogue and she responded with an offended huff that they could take care of themselves, he couldn’t keep a feral grin of satisfaction from spreading across his face.

Now, however, as they were settling into the rundown motel room, Logan and Rogue found themselves in the middle of an argument. Logan’s mood wasn’t helped at all by the fact that Rogue had requested a room with two beds, but Wolverine had warned him not to push the issue. He chose, instead, to focus on something else.

“Why are you bein’ so stubborn, darlin’? It would just be for a second.”

“No!” Rogue pulled a change of clothes out of her bag and rounded on him, her fists propped on her hips. “Ya can’t heal every little ouchie Ah get.”

“‘Ouchie’?” Logan’s lips twisted in a smirk around the word.

Now’s pro’ly not the best time to be pokin’ fun at the way she talks, Wolverine warned, still in his place beside Logan instead of being shoved into the depths of his mind.

“Yes, ‘ouchie’,” Rogue said, gritting her teeth. “This little scrape is nothin’ at all an’ Ah’m certainly not gonna refer to it as an injury or a wound. An’ since it isn’t serious, you’re gonna keep yer hands an’ yer healin’ to yerself.”

Logan leered at her. “Sure you want me to keep my hands to myself?”

“Pig,” Rogue responded succinctly before rummaging through her shopping bag. She added a small box to her pile of clothes and reached back into her duffel for her strawberry shampoo and conditioner. “Since Ah’m not gonna let ya heal this, an’ ya can’t force the issue, this conversation is over. Ah’m gonna take a shower. After that we can go get some dinner at that sketchy little place down the road.”

Logan snorted and called after her retreating back, “You want to eat at a ‘sketchy’ place?”

Rogue closed the bathroom door smartly behind her and yelled through the faux wood, “Didn’t see any other option, did ya?”

* * *

Doesn’t look too bad, Logan commented to Wolverine, running his hand over his jaw. He put the electric clipper down on the dresser and peered a little closer at his reflection in the mirror. The muttonchops were gone, but he hadn’t been willing to go completely clean-shaven. Instead, he had opted for an ‘I haven’t shaved in a couple days’ stubble.

No, not bad, Wolverine conceded. Hair’s still too distinctive, though.

Logan snorted out loud. You really wanna tackle that on our own? We’ll have Marie do it. He squinted into the mirror. And what the hell’s wrong with our eyes?

Wolverine turned his attention to Logan’s question. They do look lighter, don’t they? He gave the mental equivalent of a shrug. We can still see just fine, though. Ask Hank about it sometime. And as quick as that, Wolverine dismissed the unsettling change.

Logan shrugged as well and folded up the towel he had spread on the dresser to catch the hair trimmings. As he was shaking it over the trash can, the bathroom door opened.

What in the hell is that stench? Wolverine asked in an offended yowl.

Damned if I kn…they’re gone. Logan’s initial denial was cut off by a startled realization.

“What the hell did you do to your hair?”

Rogue’s right hand lifted self-consciously to her head. “Ah thought the streaks were too noticeable. Does it look weird?”

“Yeah. I mean, no it doesn’t look weird, just different. I liked the streaks,” he finished somewhat plaintively.

“Me too, sugar. An’ once we get where we’re goin’ an’ get settled in, we’ll see if it’s safe to let ‘em come back.”

“It’ll take forever to grow them out, though.”

Rogue shook her head, her newly dyed hair swaying softly. The gesture didn’t seem as emphatic as it normally did without the eye-catching white. “Ah used semi-permanent dye. It should wash out in a couple months.” Her eyes narrowed. “Yer turn, sugar. What’d ya do to yerself?”

Logan rubbed his hand over his jaw. “Was thinkin’ the same as you I guess. Too noticeable. I’m gonna need your help with cuttin’ my hair, though.”

“What makes ya think Ah’m any good at cuttin’ hair?” Rogue asked innocently. “Yer hair might end up lookin’ like it got in a fight with a litter o’ kittens.”

Logan snorted. “At least it won’t stink the way yours does. Anyway, I remembered you tellin’ me once that you used to cut your daddy’s hair for him.”

At the pained look that crossed Rogue’s face, Wolverine delivered a walloping mental smack to his head. Not even bothering to respond to it since he knew he richly deserved the punishment, Logan crossed the room quickly and gathered Rogue’s hands in his and pulled them up to rest against his chest.

“I’m sorry, darlin’,” he rumbled.

Rogue shook her head wordlessly, the motion serving to waft the strong chemical smell toward his sensitive nose. His eyes immediately started tearing.

“Sugar, what in the world?” Rogue sounded downright horrified. “It’s all right. Really. Ah know ya didn’t mean to upset me.” As she patted his cheeks soothingly, he caught the smell of the dye clinging faintly to her skin too.

Logan took a hasty step back and shook his head, waving his hand in front of his nose to clear the lingering smell. “Lord you stink, darlin’.”

Understanding dawned and Rogue gave a relieved laugh. “Well, Ah’ve never been so happy to be insulted,” she drawled. “But be nice, sugar. Ah get to cut yer hair later, remember?”

Logan grinned back and held out his hand. Rogue took it happily, not even minding when Logan wrinkled his nose as she came closer.

* * *

All through their meal of burgers and fries at the diner, Logan and Wolverine discussed the issue of Rogue requesting a room with two beds.

I think she’s just nervous, Wolverine suggested. With what happened earlier today, she might be thinkin’ that we expect more.

Maybe, Logan acknowledged, ignoring Rogue’s curious look at his continued silence. But she should know we’d never force her into anythin’.

Wolverine mulled over his response. That might not be the problem. We would never force her to do anythin’, but we could pro’ly convince her with very little effort.

Huh. So you’re sayin’ she doesn’t trust herself?

Could be.

Feeling marginally better now that he had a plausible explanation for Rogue’s request – one that had nothing to do with his own shortcomings – Logan finally started talking to her.

“Seems to be somethin’ special about the place Chuck’s got set up for us.”

“Like what?” Rogue eyed him warily, still wondering about his earlier silence.

“Dunno. He said there’d be a letter at the realtor’s explainin’ it.”

Rogue snagged a french fry from his plate, having finished hers a while ago. She grimaced for a moment and muttered, “Ya know, Ah don’t think Ah’ll be able to eat french fries for months after this.”

Logan chuckled. “Burgers and fries are kinda standard road fare, aren’t they?”

Rogue sighed and dusted the salt off her fingers. “Logan?” she asked hesitantly.

“Hmm?” he mumbled around a mouthful of food.

“When we get to the new place, what’re we gonna do?”

Logan swallowed. “What d’you mean?”

“Ah mean, what are we gonna do all day long? As much as Ah like yer company, sugar, Ah don’t wanna just sit around an’ stare at ya.”

He looked at her for a moment, thinking through her words. “You wanna get a job? Is that what you’re sayin’?”

“Maybe,” Rogue admitted. “Ah mean, dependin’ on what the area’s like an’ all, Ah could maybe work a few days a week. What d’ya think?”

Logan nodded and took a sip of his beer. “That sounds reasonable. We’ve got legitimate IDs, and Chuck did say there’s a small town about an hour away. We’ll spend the first week or so checkin’ everythin’ out and then we’ll see, okay?”

“Okay.” Rogue smiled at him happily and finished the rest of her strawberry milkshake.

* * *

“Ya sure ‘bout this, sugar?” Rogue asked a couple hours later. Logan was seated on the edge of the bathtub and Rogue stood over him with a pair of scissors and a comb.

“Yeah,” Logan rumbled, rolling down the edge of the towel he had draped around his neck. He hadn’t bothered putting a shirt on after his shower, and a bead of water that had escaped the towel rolled down his spine and was absorbed by the waistband of his jeans. “Just get on with it, darlin’.”

“Not too short, right?” she asked.

“Right,” Logan confirmed.

Rogue silently went to work, and Logan couldn’t help but be impressed with how swiftly she used the scissors and comb.

That might not be a good thing, Wolverine cautioned with amusement.

It’s just hair, Logan snorted. Even if we do end up lookin’ ridiculous, it’ll grow out.

Rogue caught some of the amusement on his face. “What’s funny, sugar?” she murmured absently.

“Turns out Wolverine’s a bit of a fashion plate. He’s worried you’re gonna make us look funny.”

Rogue chuckled. “Well, ya can tell Wolverine Ah said – ” and she stuck her tongue out mockingly.

Wolverine growled. “Oh, I think he got the message.”

Rogue almost made a mistake with the scissors when a voice whispered to her, You know, this would be an excellent time to put that overgrown rat in his place.

Rogue gulped back a retort. What d’ya mean?

I mean I can’t stand how he thinks he has us all figured out. Doesn’t it make you angry at all?

No, Rogue answered cautiously. Ah assume ye’re talkin’ ‘bout Wolverine an’ not Logan, right?

Right, the voice confirmed. Logan still has the humility and good sense to understand that he’ll never have us pegged. At least not entirely.

What’s wrong with somebody knowin’ us completely? Rogue asked curiously.

Nothing’s wrong with it, exactly, the voice acknowledged grudgingly. He just hasn’t earned the right yet.

How d’ya know? We’ve only talked to Wolverine once. An’ he wouldn’t tell us everythin’ Ah wanted to know.

That’s my point. He decided what we should and shouldn’t know.

But that was somethin’ Logan didn’t want him to tell me.

The voice snorted derisively. That was just an excuse. You don’t really think the Wolverine’s so under Logan’s control that he couldn’t have told us if he had wanted to?

Maybe not, Rogue mused, stepping back to take a look at Logan’s hair. “All finished, sugar,” she said out loud, still thinking over the things the voice had said.

Logan got up and inspected his hair in the mirror. “Not bad, darlin’,” he said admiringly. His hair was shorter at the sides and back, with a bit more length at the top.

Satisfied? he asked Wolverine.

Looks okay, Wolverine returned.

Better than okay, Logan snorted. She could make money doin’ this. A thought came to him. “Marie?”

“Hmm?” she asked absently as she swept the hair clippings up in a towel.

“D’you think you might want to have a little barber’s shop when we get where we’re goin’?”

Rogue paused, tipping her head to the side as she considered the question. Slowly, she shook her head. “Ah don’t think so. Ah wouldn’t be able to wear gloves while Ah worked, an’ ya know Ah still have to concentrate really hard to control mah skin all day.”

Logan nodded, his face thoughtful. “We’ll figure somethin’ out, then.”

Rogue nodded and smiled. Logan watched her as she continued cleaning and straightening the bathroom. Wolverine prodded him.

“Can I ask you somethin’, darlin’?”

Rogue glanced over her shoulder in surprise. “Of course.”

Logan took a deep breath, finding it hard to believe that he was actually nervous. “I – we – were just wonderin’. Why’d you ask for two beds?”

“Ah…” she trailed off and shrugged awkwardly. “Ah don’t think Ah’m ready to…Ah didn’t want ya to think Ah was just teasin’ ya earlier, but Ah wasn’t sure how to bring it up.” She shrugged again.

Logan exhaled in relief. “That’s what Wolverine thought,” he murmured.

Ha! Rogue said triumphantly to the voice that had taken up residence in her head.
Seems he knows us better than ya thought, doesn’t it?

Don’t get uppity with me, little girl, the voice snapped back. I’m here to look after you, and if that means being suspicious even of Wolverine, then that’s what I’m going to do.

What d’ya mean ye’re here to look after me?

You’ll find out soon enough, the voice said, and then faded away.

“– thought I’d done somethin’ to upset you,” Logan was saying when she came back to herself.

“Huh? No, ya didn’t upset me, sugar.”

“You know I’d never rush you, right?” Rogue’s eyes softened at his earnestness.

“Ah know,” she acknowledged softly.

“Then sleep in the same bed with me tonight? I just want to be able to hold you,” he admitted.

Rogue frowned. There was an undercurrent to his voice that she couldn’t identify.

Vulnerability, that voice whispered to her.

‘Bout what?

Why don’t you ask him?

“What’s wrong, sugar?”

Logan sighed. “Nothin’s wrong, exactly.” Wolverine poked at him, prompting him to tell her the rest. “It’s just that I don’t know what the hell’s gonna happen. We’re not gonna be able to go back to Xavier’s for a while. Maybe not for a long time.”

“Ah know. But we’ll be fine,” Rogue reassured him.

“That’s not what’s worryin’ me, darlin’.”

“Then what is it?” Rogue pressed, bewildered.

“I dunno,” Logan admitted, running his hand through his hair in frustration. The gesture felt odd with shorter hair.

An idea flashed through the back of Rogue’s mind, and she wasn’t sure if it came from the mysterious voice or not. But she went with it.

“It’s ‘cause ya were startin’ to think o’ the school as home, isn’t it?”

Logan blinked once, slowly. “Maybe,” he mused quietly.

“An’ havin’ to leave’s got ya all unsettled.”

“No.” Logan frowned. “No, that’s not it. I feel settled as long as you’re with me,” he admitted. Thinking it through a little more, he came to a realization. “I think it’s more that it was your home, darlin’, and that’s somethin’ that I always wanted for you. I couldn’t give you back your first home with your parents, and now I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to give you back your home at Xavier’s.”

A slow, brilliant smile crept across Rogue’s face. “So, ye’ll make us a new home wherever it is we’re goin’.” She crossed to the door and placed her hand on the light switch. “That’s all Ah need, Logan. A home with ya in it.” She flicked the light off, leaving him in the darkened room. “Oh, an’, Logan? Bein’ held tonight sounds good.”

* * *

True to his word, Logan did nothing but hold Rogue that night. He made no comment when the chemical smell of her hair caused his eyes to tear, and he eventually got used to it enough to drift into a dreamless sleep. In the morning, they rose without a word, got dressed, and headed back to the diner for breakfast. They managed to talk the waitress into filling Clara’s thermos with coffee for them when they were paying their bill, and then they hit the road again.

They rode mostly in silence, but as they got closer to the town where Xavier had told them they would find the realtor’s office, Rogue’s nerves got the best of her and she started chattering almost non-stop. Logan took it in good humor, understanding her nerves, and didn’t answer beyond the occasional “Uh-huh”, or “I guess so.” After his sixth “I guess so” in as many minutes, though, Rogue gave him a curious look and then snorted in humor.

“Ah’m ramblin’, aren’t Ah?”

“Uh-huh.” Logan smirked at her and Rogue punched him lightly in the shoulder. She managed to be quiet the remaining fifteen minutes of their ride.

At the realtor’s office, they were greeted by a stooped old man in a suit and tie. Having looked around the town as they drove through, Logan couldn’t imagine that the office got enough business to warrant such professional attire. However, when he and Rogue introduced themselves using their aliases, the old man’s wrinkled face brightened in a genuine smile. He introduced himself as Walter Burroughs.

“Well now,” the old man said through his smile, “I was wondering what sort of people you might be. Can’t believe a young couple like you is interested in that property.”

“Why? What’s wrong with it?” Rogue asked bluntly. Logan chuckled.

The old man kept smiling as he shook his head. “Nothing wrong with it but age and neglect,” he said. “It’s been listed with our office for going on five years now, but we’ve had an inspector out there every spring. He assures us it’s still structurally sound, so no worries there. It just looks a little run-down and could probably use a new roof this year.”

“How old is it?” Logan asked curiously.

“Well now, let’s see,” Walter said, shuffling through some papers in a file folder. “Looks like the main cabin was built in the early 1900s. Then the outbuildings were added in the ‘50s. New plumbing and wiring in all the buildings in the mid ‘80s.” Walter looked up from the file. “Lots of space for just the two of you. What are you planning on doing with it?”

Logan and Rogue exchanged a look. “We’re not sure yet,” Logan said slowly. “The purchase was handled by a third party, so we don’t even know exactly what’s on the property.”

“Oh, of course,” Walter said. “That fancy New York lawyer sure wanted everything handled in a hurry. I have some photos here if you’d like to take a look?” He held the file aloft in a questioning gesture.

“That’d be wonderful,” Rogue said with a smile. As she spread the photos out on the desk in front of her, Logan looking over her shoulder, Walter snapped his fingers suddenly.

“I darn near forgot,” he exclaimed. He started rummaging in the top drawer of his desk. “Where in blazes did I put?” he mumbled to himself. “Ah-hah!” he crowed happily, and flourished a plain white envelope in the air. “This arrived by courier this morning for you,” he said, and handed it to Logan.

Rogue spared him one curious look before turning back to the photos of the property. From what she could see, there was one main cabin and three or four “outbuildings” as Walter had called them. They were long, three-story structures, each with numerous windows, but only one entrance per building. At the center of each one, she could see the hint of a chimney peaking from the sloped, grey-shingled roof. At the edge of the clearing in which the buildings sat, all she could see was thick, dark foliage. They looked mostly like pines, and at the edge of one photo, she could see more trees lining a long, winding driveway. The drive didn’t look paved, but from the gritty-looking texture, Rogue was guessing there was at least gravel.

“It’s a letter from the professor,” Logan murmured to her, and handed it over while Walter searched through yet another drawer for the appropriate set of keys. Rogue abandoned the pictures in favor of the letter.

Dear Logan and Rogue,

As I said on the phone the other day, the property is yours free and clear. That means, that while it is my hope you will agree with me on this, you are by no means obligated to use the property as I had intended when I first came across it last year. I did not purchase it then because of purely logistical concerns – who would renovate it, who would operate it, could we keep it private and secure? – but now, I think the two of you would be able to handle much of the work yourselves. What I would like to do is use the property as another school for gifted children. Of course, given the current political situation, it wouldn’t be operating as a legitimate institution, and there would be no government funding. And it will likely never be fully staffed. It could, however, provide the same safe and caring environment that we have tried to create here at Xavier’s. It could be a place where children with nowhere to go and no one to turn to could find the help and peace that they so desperately want and need. So, perhaps it won’t be a school, but more a half-way house where the residents would be welcome to stay for as long or as short a time as they need.

Should you decide to adopt this plan as your own, please contact the lawyer who handled the purchase of the property – Mr. Burroughs will have his information – and you will be provided with the funds for renovations and upkeep. If that is not what you want to do, I will still provide you with whatever assistance you might need, but there will be no need for the lawyer to be involved any further. Either way, it will take quite some time to complete the repairs to the property, so please think it through.

Yours,
Charles

Folding the letter quietly and slipping it back into its envelope, Rogue looked at Logan. “What d’ya think?”

“I think…maybe.”

“Ya wanna get a feel fer the area first?”

“Yeah. And like the letter said, we’ll have time to decide while we fix the place up.”

“Okay,” Rogue nodded.

“Found them!” Walter said, and jangled a set of keys in the air. “I do apologize,” he continued, “that I won’t be driving out to the property with you. It’s just too long in the car roundtrip for these old bones of mine. I took the liberty of typing up directions for you, though. And my office and home phone numbers are there as well should you need anything.” He handed the keys to Logan and shook hands with both of them. When Rogue asked if they could take the file with them, Walter generously agreed. “Drive carefully, now,” he said, and waved to them from the window as they climbed back into the Explorer.

To their surprise, the cabin was partially furnished, but it was a bit of a mess. When Rogue smacked the back of the plump sofa to try and clean some of the dust off, a thick cloud of it rose up into the air and took several minutes to settle again.

“First thing we need is a really good vacuum cleaner with an upholstery attachment,” she said wryly.

They walked through the rest of the cabin, admiring the hardwood floors and the raw wood planking of the walls. While inspecting the bathrooms, Rogue was secretly relieved to find that they were decorated in none of the garish color schemes she had been imagining since Mr. Burroughs had told them the place hadn’t been updated for over twenty years. She clearly remembered the powder blue sink and toilet in the upstairs bathroom of her parents’ house and her mother’s constant griping about ‘70s and ‘80s decorating.

The rooms were somewhat small, but the spacious living room with the vaulted ceiling and large windows made up for it in Rogue’s opinion. In the middle of one wall of the living room was a stone fireplace. Logan immediately got down on his hands and knees in front of it and peered up the chimney.

“Looks a bit clogged,” he grunted. “I’ll get up on the roof and start cleanin’ it out tomorrow. Assumin’ there’s a ladder somewhere.”

Rogue shivered suddenly. “Isn’t it gonna be a bit cold tonight?”

“Place has gas heat,” he mused, having read through the file quickly.

“Yeah, but is it on?”

“Electricity is,” Logan returned. “I can’t imagine Chuck wouldn’t have thought to have it taken care of.”

“Ah’m not so sure ‘bout that. After all, we didn’t even think to ask Mr. Burroughs ‘bout it, did we?”

“So call the man and find out, darlin’.”

“Mr. Burroughs or the professor?” Rogue asked smartly.

“Pick one,” Logan smirked. Rogue chuckled and took the cell phone from him.

“Rogue?” Xavier answered after the first ring.

“Charles,” she greeted, wincing a little when she felt Magneto influencing her speech. Can’t ya do somethin’ ‘bout that? she tried asking the voice she had been hearing.

Gladly, came the immediate reply, and Magneto’s presence was suddenly gone.

“Rogue?” the professor questioned again. “Who was that?”

“Ah…nobody, professor. Just me an’ the voices in mah head.”

“Hmm,” Xavier acknowledged tactfully. “Well, are you and Logan settled in then?”

“Not quite. We were wonderin’ ‘bout some o’ the details with the electricity an’ heat an’ whatnot, but we didn’t think to ask Mr. Burroughs.”

“All taken care of, my dear. Mr. Burroughs promised to send somebody out yesterday. You should even have plenty of hot water by now.”

Rogue relayed the news to Logan. He grunted and gestured for the phone.

“Darlin’, why don’t you go open the taps and let ‘em run for a few minutes? There’s gonna be debris sittin’ in the pipes.” At Rogue’s nod, he put the phone to his ear. “Hey, Chuck. So what’s the current news?”

Xavier sighed. “Things are very quickly getting worse, Logan. The president called me this morning.”

“Why?”

“To apologize. By now he’s aware of the fallout from the interview. I must admit that it’s somewhat disconcerting to have someone of his stature set aside time just to offer us his condolences. He has also offered you and Rogue whatever help he can. Although it will, of course, be handled unofficially and for only as long as he remains in office.”

Logan snorted. “Yeah, well. We knew that we might have to run. Just didn’t think Monique would get her grubby little mitts into the situation quite so fast. Everythin’ okay at the school, though? No trouble there since we left?”

“No,” the professor assured. “Monique seems to believe what Rogue said during the interview.” He hesitated for a moment. “Todd called and asked for Rogue this morning, though.”

Logan growled. “Think Monique put him up to it?”

“No,” Xavier mused, “I don’t think so. The young man sounded genuinely concerned for Rogue’s well-being.” He chuckled suddenly. “He was quite put out when I told him that I couldn’t tell him where she went.”

Hearing the upstairs faucets being turned on, Logan deemed it safe to turn the conversation to another topic. “Hey, listen, Chuck. I need you to ask Hank ‘bout somethin’ for me. Ask him what might make someone’s eyes change color.”

“Did that happen with Rogue?” The professor’s voice sounded suddenly alert.

“No.”

“With you?” he asked slowly. “When did this happen and what were you doing when it did?”

Logan cleared his throat. “Just tell him that Wolverine and I have started sharin’ the same space in my head. We noticed the difference in our eye color a couple hours after that.”

“Do you feel any different? Have less control over yourself or anything like that?”

“No. Well, yeah, I feel a little different. I’m used to Wolverine bein’ shoved to the back o’ my brain most o’ the time. The only real difference I’ve noticed is that my senses are a little sharper than normal. Other than that,” Logan shrugged, “nothin’.”

“All right. I’ll have Hank look into it. Any changes with Rogue?”

“She’s talkin’ to the voice more often,” Logan admitted quietly. “She hasn’t told me, but I’ve noticed.”

“Do you think it’s influencing her in any way?” Xavier asked sharply.

“Hard to tell,” Logan grunted. “I think she’s been considerin’ the things it’s been tellin’ her, and maybe she’s been makin’ some decisions based on that.”

“No serious behavioral changes, though?”

Logan cleared his throat again, considering the changes the last couple days in his relationship with Rogue. “No, no harmful behavioral changes.”

“Logan.” The professor’s voice was suddenly stern.

“Look, Chuck,” he ground out, “a few things have changed between Rogue and me, but nothin’ seems to have happened too fast or without reason. And I’m not sayin’ any more than that.”

“Very well,” the professor sighed. “Perhaps you might be more forthcoming if you discussed the situation with Hank?”

“Maybe. If there’s anythin’ worth discussin’ with him, I’ll let you know.”

“Very well,” Xavier said again, recognizing that he couldn’t push Logan on the matter. He cleared his throat. “You and Rogue are considering my proposal?”

“Yeah, we’re thinkin’ ‘bout it, Chuck. Gonna concentrate on gettin’ the place fixed up for now and kinda just mull it over for a while.”

“Take your time, Logan. I know from experience that it isn’t a decision to be made rashly.” The professor cleared his throat again. “Anyway, I believe I mentioned that Hank is continuing with his research on mutant genetics. He has managed to obtain complete genetic profiles from several families and is currently analyzing the data.”

“That fast?” Logan asked with some surprise.

“Yes. We didn’t think it was wise to waste time given the current situation. Plus, we have arranged for whatever we might find out, should it be worthy of publication, to be handled at an independent lab. Hank is a known mutant, and we can’t afford for any of his findings to be questioned based solely on that fact.”

“Can you trust the lab?” Logan growled.

“We believe so. The people there are not mutant-friendly, per se, but they have never shown any kind of bias or bigotry in the past. They seem to be men of pure, rational science.”

Logan growled. “Yeah, well. I’ve met a few doctors who considered themselves men of ‘pure, rational science.’”

There was a moment of silence. “Yes, of course,” the professor murmured finally. “We’ll be careful, Logan. And we’ll keep you updated. The first chance you get, please head into town and set up a post office box. I do apologize for the inconvenience, but I’m afraid there is no regular mail delivery out your way.”

Snorting a laugh, Logan replied, “Suits me just fine. Can’t say as I like the idea of anybody stoppin’ by regularly anyway, even if it is just to drop off a few envelopes.”

Xavier chuckled. “I’ve already sent you and Rogue a package, care of the general post in Twin Pines. Unfortunately, this is the only time I will be able to do that. New postal regulations will be put into effect next week. All packages leaving the United States must be properly addressed to a receiving individual and they must be signed for at pick-up. And it seems that no package of any sort may be sent to a post office box. Only residential or business addresses will be allowed in future.”

Logan gave a low whistle. “I’m guessin’ one of the new regulations also allows for random package inspections?”

“Quite right.”

“What ‘bout sendin’ stuff by private courier?”

“It will no longer be allowed internationally, and all domestic courier services must register each package with their local police station where they will be assigned a tracking ID chip that guarantees delivery at the specified address at the specified time.”

Logan gave another whistle. “What exactly do they think people might be sendin’ that’s so dangerous?”

“I believe there is a dual concern. One, mutant-generated biological threats – poisonous secretions, quills, etc. – and two, there seems to be a black market version of the cure circulating.”

“But the cure doesn’t work,” Logan said with a frown.

“The original is not permanent, no, and it doesn’t appear to have any effect on mutants already exposed to it. But this new version seems to be lasting much longer, albeit with some incredibly dangerous side-effects. Including some deaths,” Xavier finished softly.

“I would think that would make some people happy,” Logan said harshly, “mutants willingly injectin’ themselves with somethin’ that might kill them.”

“If it were only mutants taking it, perhaps.”

A horrible numbing sensation crept up Logan’s spine. “What are you sayin’, Chuck? Why would humans take a mutant cure?”

Xavier swallowed rapidly several times, loud enough for Logan to hear. “The deaths have primarily been human children who feared that they might be mutants. They injected themselves to keep any potential mutation from manifesting.”

“How the hell did it come to that?” Logan roared. He heard Rogue’s faint call from upstairs followed by the sound of her feet pounding down the stairs. “And so fast?” He was bewildered at the news, wondering if the interview had been in any way responsible for the turn of events.

“Logan, no,” Xavier said firmly, picking up the thought. “Things have been heading in this direction long before that. It’s just that now, with anti-mutant sentiment running so high, things are rapidly coming to a head.”

Logan hung his head. “And the possibility of the MRA bein’ passed isn’t helpin’.” He felt Rogue moving up behind him, felt the hesitant touch on his arm.

“Logan?” she asked in a quiet, worried voice. He turned toward her and looped his free arm around her waist. Pulling her tight against his side, he rested his chin on top of her head and sighed heavily. Strands of her hair, all a uniform shade now, stirred briefly. Rogue wrapped her arms around his waist and lightly rubbed his lower back.

“What ‘bout the kids at the school?” he asked. “Any o’ them gettin’ mixed up in this?”

“No, nobody here. I think, and you should really tell her this since it might set her mind at ease, that Rogue’s experience with the cure seems to be an example to the students. Please understand that it is not something that the staff and I discuss with the students, but they do talk amongst themselves, Logan. I think that years from now, when the students from that time are no longer here, it will still be talked about.”

“Yeah, if the school even has years left to it,” Logan muttered, squeezing Rogue gently.

“We’re doing our best to make sure it does,” Xavier reminded him.

“Yeah.” Logan sighed again. “Listen, Chuck, Rogue and I need to talk ‘bout some stuff. We’ll give you a call when we pick up that package.”

“All right,” Xavier acknowledged. “Should something pressing come up either in the political arena or with Hank’s research, we’ll let you know.”

Logan ended the call without another word and slipped the phone into his back pocket.

“What’s the matter, sugar?” Rogue murmured, her voice muffled by his shoulder.

“Some idiot kids gettin’ themselves in trouble with a black market mutant cure.”

Rogue stilled for a moment. She took a deep breath and then her hands went back to their soothing rubs along his back. “It’s bad?”

“Yeah. Kids at Xavier’s are all right, though. Chuck thought I should tell you that your run-in with the cure has kinda tempered the students’ curiosity ‘bout it.”

“Good,” Rogue said firmly. “The original cure wasn’t a cure at all, and I can’t imagine that this new one is any better.”

“It’s not,” Logan admitted quietly. “It’s killed some o’ the kids. Chuck said somethin’ ‘bout human kids takin’ it on the off chance that they might be mutants.”

Rogue’s fingers dug into his back suddenly. “They’re gonna use that.”

“Huh?”

“Scientists, politicians. Whoever. They’re gonna use the deaths as a reason for genetic screenin’ and mutant registration. ‘The deaths of children can be prevented with only a simple blood test to determine whether they carry the mutant gene.’”

Logan swore low and vilely. “You’re right. Shit, you’re right.”

“An’ once they’re exposed as mutants, since the cure doesn’t work anyway, what’s gonna happen to ‘em, Logan?”

He sighed again. “They’re gonna need safe places to go. Like Xavier’s. Like here?”

Rogue nodded.

“Guess we made that decision faster than we planned, huh?” Logan chuckled darkly.

* * *

They inspected the other buildings early the next morning. Three of them were set up much like dormitories while the third appeared to be a dining hall, complete with ovens and a grill in a long, narrow kitchen running the length of the back wall. There were rough, scarred tables in the dining hall, but the dorms were unfurnished.

Rogue tapped the file folder on her thigh before flipping it open. “It was an orphanage,” she said quietly. “Was only open fer twenty years or so. Looks like the furniture in the dorms was sold at auction.”

“What ‘bout the cabin?” Logan grunted the question as he inspected the ovens and gas lines in the kitchen.

Rogue shuffled some pages. “An older couple was still livin’ there. They lost the fundin’ to keep the orphanage runnin’, but they still owned the land. None o’ the money they got from the government was used on anythin’ in the cabin, so they couldn’t be forced to auction it.”

“Seems like a strange setup,” Logan mused as he straightened from a crouching position.

Rogue shrugged. “The file just gives an outline o’ the property’s history. Don’t know why or how the couple got the place started.”

Logan nodded wordlessly. “Well, come on then, darlin’. Let’s head into town and get some supplies.” He frowned suddenly. “Might have to rent a truck to get stuff back here. Would you be okay drivin’ the Explorer back?”

“Sure, sugar,” Rogue said with surprise. “But wouldn’t it make more sense just to leave it in town an’ we’ll get it when ya bring the truck back?”

“Don’t want to leave it sittin’ out where people might take note o’ the plates.”

Rogue frowned. “What does that matter? Our IDs have a New York address on them anyway.”

A low growl of frustration rumbled up from Logan’s chest. “That’s true. Still, we’re not gonna leave the Explorer anywhere we can’t see it, all right?”

“Ye’re the boss,” Rogue acquiesced and Logan snorted.

“Yeah right.” Rogue responded with a cheeky grin.

* * *

“Sign here,” the bored looking postal clerk said as she slid a clipboard over the counter. Logan scrawled a messy signature, remembering just in time to use the new name from the ID the professor had provided. The clerk didn’t even look at the signature before flipping up a hinged section of the counter and pushing a rolling cart through. The box on the cart was bulky and awkward looking. Logan glanced over at Rogue where she was filling out the paperwork for a post office box.

“I’m gonna need your help gettin’ this into the car, darlin’.”

“‘Kay,” Rogue said without looking up. She put the pen down and slid the paper over the counter to the clerk. Again, the woman didn’t bother looking at what was written and mumbled the yearly fee for the box. Rogue patted her jacket pocket and blinked once in realization as she looked over at Logan. “Ah don’t have any money, sugar.”

Logan just grunted and pulled out his wallet. He dropped the requisite number of bills on the counter and turned away, pushing the cart in front of him. He heard the quick tap of Rogue’s shoes as she hurried to get the door. After a few fumbling moments where neither of them could get a decent grip on the box, they managed to wrestle it into the back of the Explorer.

“What the hell did Chuck send us?” Logan growled as he pushed the cart back to the post office, Rogue once again jogging ahead to open the door for him.

“Dunno, sugar.” She smiled and shrugged, the gesture sending her ponytail bouncing around her shoulders. Logan paused and looked her over. She somehow seemed thinner than she had a few weeks ago, and a bit younger.

Could be ‘cause she’s not wearin’ any makeup, Wolverine interjected curiously.

Maybe, Logan responded quietly, and shook his head at Rogue’s questioning glance. As they finished with the cart, he kept mulling the issue over. He realized that part of Rogue looking younger was, indeed, the lack of makeup and the careless ponytail. The other part of it was the worn jeans, sneakers, and oversized hooded sweatshirt she wore with her colorful gloves – actually worn for warmth instead of protection – and moose earmuffs. Logan grinned suddenly. She looked like a kid for the first time since he had met her. Even the shadows in her eyes seemed faded today.

As they walked down the sidewalk away from the post office, Logan gestured to a diner a block down. “Hungry, darlin’?”

“As a horse!” she exclaimed cheerfully, wheeling around to look at him. She walked backward a few steps while Logan just chuckled and shook his head. Seeing that they were coming to the edge of the sidewalk, Logan lurched forward and grabbed Rogue’s hand to pull her to a stop.

“You’re gonna end up with your butt covered in snow if you don’t watch where you’re goin’,” he warned, jerking his chin toward the curb behind her.

Rogue spun around and continued walking. She paused halfway across the street and called over her shoulder with a wink, “Ya’d dust it off fer me, though, wouldn’t ya?” She twirled around and jogged the last few steps to the diner and disappeared inside.

“What in the world is goin’ on with her?”

Dunno, Wolverine said with interest. It’s kinda surprisin’ given what Chuck told us last night. She looks happy, though. Can count on one hand the number o’ times that’s happened.

Yeah, Logan returned as he crossed the street. And that’s what has me worried. Chuck said to watch out for changes in behavior.

Wolverine growled. You think whatever’s in her head’s messin’ with her?

I don’t know. Worried and intensely unsettled by the possibility, Logan was scowling when he walked into the diner. He scanned the interior quickly, pleased to see that Rogue had chosen a booth in the corner and sat facing the door. Focused as he was on Rogue, he missed the slightly alarmed look from the woman behind the counter as he strode quickly over to the booth.

“Scoot over, kid,” he said with an accompanying gesture. Rogue calmly slid down the seat and leaned her back against the wall, making room for Logan on the outside end. He shrugged out of his leather jacket and tossed it onto the opposite seat before folding his tall frame into the cramped booth. Legs sprawled out in front of him, he observed Rogue as she pulled off her earmuffs and unwound her scarf. She clipped him in the shoulder with her elbow and mumbled an apology. Handing the discarded items to Logan, she started to struggle out of her sweatshirt.

A sudden squeak brought his attention back to Rogue as he was tossing her scarf and earmuffs on top of his jacket. Her face was buried inside the sweatshirt while her right arm was above her head and almost free of its sleeve, but her left elbow was trapped against the side of the table, effectively robbing her of the leverage she needed to free either arm.

“A little help here?” came her muffled voice.

Logan burst out laughing and narrowly avoided the blind kick Rogue sent his way. Still chuckling, he grabbed the lower edge of the sweatshirt and tugged it back into place.

Rogue scowled at him when her face reappeared. “Ah wanted help gettin’ out of it, not back in.”

“I know,” Logan rumbled, smiling at her. “Hands up, darlin’.”

Understanding what he meant, Rogue smiled cheerily and thrust her hands into the air. Logan shook his head in bemusement and once again grabbed the hem of her sweatshirt. In one swift movement, he pulled it up and over her arms and head, turning the shirt inside out in the process. Rogue’s hair briefly crackled with static and she stripped her gloves off quickly to smooth it down. Logan took the gloves from her lap and threw them, along with the sweatshirt, onto the other bench.

They stared at each other for several moments, becoming aware of their surroundings again only when the waitress slapped two laminated menus onto the table in front of them. She pulled two sets of napkin-wrapped silverware out of one pocket of her apron and placed those next to their menus.

We’re idiots, Wolverine growled. We got so distracted that we didn’t even notice her comin’ over to the table. I don’t like it.

I know, Logan acknowledged briefly. That’s never happened before. Think it has somethin’ to do with the new arrangement upstairs? he asked, referring to the newly shared space in his head.

Wolverine snorted. Who the hell knows. I wasn’t front and center while you were sleepin’ last night, though. That’s never happened before either.

Logan frowned, not even listening as the waitress rattled off the breakfast specials.

“So, what can I get ya to drink?”

“Coffee. Black,” Logan said. He glanced at Rogue, who was perusing the back of the menu.

“Ya’ll have chai lattes?” she asked in happy surprise. “Ah’ll have one o’ those. With whipped cream. But only if it’s real whipped cream. Nothin’ from a can or a tub.”

Logan chuckled. “You and your frou-frou drinks.”

Rogue mock-scowled at him and poked him in the ribs. The waitress smiled at their interaction. “Do ya know what ya want, or do ya need a few minutes?” she asked.

“Give us a few,” Logan said, again without looking at her. He was going to have steak and eggs, he knew, but Rogue liked to look at the menu.

Rogue, as expected, spent a few minutes going over her options and Logan remained dutifully silent. After one memorable occasion when Rogue snapped at him for interrupting her, he was always careful to wait until she had made a selection. Glancing up, he saw the waitress heading back to their table with their drinks. At the same time, Rogue closed her menu and set it on top of his.

“Order me a veggie omelet with a side o’ home fries. Ah need to use the ladies’ room.” Logan obligingly stood and offered Rogue his hand so she could more easily slide from the booth. She walked past the waitress without a word. The woman placed their drinks on the table, her eyes trailing after Rogue.

“She seems like a sweet girl,” the woman said brightly.

Logan merely nodded and recited their order to her. Figuring that Rogue would eventually ask for water during their meal, he asked for a couple glasses. Plain for him, with lemon for Rogue.

“Ya know,” the waitress said after carefully writing the order, “it’s nice seein’ the two of ya together.”

Eyebrow raised in surprise, Logan questioned, “It is?” He was far more used to people giving him suspicious looks or disapproving glares when he and Rogue were out together.

“Yeah,” the woman said softly. “My daddy and I never spent any time together.”

“Uh,” Logan began, uncomfortable with the idea of Rogue as his daughter.

“He’s not mah father.” The soft drawl came from a few feet away.

“What?” The waitress paused in the act of putting her order pad in her pocket and looked from him to Rogue.

“Ah said he’s not mah father.”

“Then what is he?” the woman asked bluntly, her eyes suddenly narrowed.

“That’s really not yer business, is it?” Rogue challenged, a hard smile on her lips.

The woman didn’t back down, although she did spare time for a scathing look at Logan. “Maybe not mine, but it might be police business.”

Rogue arched an eyebrow. “Nope, none o’ their business either. An’ Ah don’t appreciate the way ye’re lookin’ at Logan.” Rogue’s voice was loud enough to draw the attention of the other diner patrons.

“Any man who involves himself with young girls deserves whatever looks I or anybody else give him.” The waitress’s voice matched Rogue’s in volume, and had a noticeable undercurrent of anger running through it.

Rogue snorted and propped her fists on her hips. “Ah’m older than Ah look, sweetie.”

“Okay,” the waitress nodded, “If you insist, I’ll give you eighteen maybe. That’s still too young for him, and maybe you don’t realize that, girl, but he should.” She jabbed her finger accusingly at Logan.

Logan ignored the finger and sipped his coffee. You know, he said conversationally to Wolverine, I’m gettin’ really sick o’ people reactin’ this way.

Wolverine growled in response. She does look young, he reminded Logan grumpily.

“Ah’m twenty-two. Wanna see mah license?” Rogue asked, venom dripping from every syllable of the otherwise polite question. Everybody in the diner was paying careful attention to the two women and Logan saw the man at the grill frowning and reaching for the phone.

“Yeah, I would,” the waitress said haughtily and held out her hand.

“Fine!” Rogue snapped.

“Uh, darlin’?” Logan interjected. “You left your wallet at the cabin, remember?”

“Well shit!” she shrieked, and several women gasped and covered their children’s ears. Rogue cast them a disgusted look. “What’re ya doin’ that fer? They already heard it. Come on, sugar, let’s go.”

With Wolverine rumbling discontentedly in his ear, he reminded her mildly, “We haven’t eaten yet.”

“Ah don’t care!” Rogue snapped as she shouldered the waitress out of the way and grabbed their belongings from the seat opposite him. She threw Logan’s coat at him. “Now move it!” She spun on her heal and strode angrily toward the door.

Logan gulped the rest of his coffee hastily and drew his wallet from his back pocket as he stood. He tossed a few dollars on the table for their drinks and muttered sarcastically to the waitress, “Thanks.” The woman just blinked at him.

“Logan!” Rogue called angrily from the doorway.

“Yeah, I’m comin’,” he groused.

“Keys!” Rogue demanded, thrusting out her hand when he got closer. He dug them out of his pocket and handed them over without argument. He kept quiet as they walked back to the Explorer, letting Rogue vent. He winced when she slammed her door angrily, but otherwise didn’t react when she peeled out of the graveled parking lot. He didn’t react when she took the snowy curves of the road too fast, didn’t react when he felt the back end of the vehicle sliding. They were halfway to the cabin before Rogue said something he could actually respond to.

“Ya think Ah overreacted, don’t ya?”

Logan looked at her for a moment, seeing that most of the anger had faded from her eyes. “Maybe a little,” he acknowledged calmly.

Rogue huffed and eased her foot off the accelerator. “Darnit,” she muttered grumpily. They had been driving in silence for another minute or so when Rogue snickered. “Guess nobody’ll be forgettin’ the new folks in town anytime soon.”

Logan snorted.

Rogue cast him a mischievous grin. “Here’s the game plan, sugar. Ah realize Ah kinda ruined the day for us, so we’re gonna go back to the cabin so Ah can get mah wallet. An’ then we’re goin’ back into town so’s Ah can apologize to the waitress an’ we can get somethin’ to eat.”

“She’s likely to spit in our food with or without an apology,” Logan warned her.

“Yeah, well, if Ah acted that badly, Ah guess Ah deserve it.”

“I don’t,” Logan grumbled. “We’re better off eatin’ somewhere else.”

“Hush up,” Rogue said mildly. “Ah’ve decided we’re goin’ back to that diner, so that’s what we’re gonna do.”

Logan didn’t bother arguing after that, and while it seemed Rogue was over her anger, he couldn’t help the worried feeling nagging at him. Or Wolverine whispering to him that they had never seen Rogue act that way and that she had never been prone to mood swings before.

Logan told Rogue he’d wait in the Explorer while she ran into the cabin for her wallet. As soon as she was out of sight, he pulled the cell phone out and called the professor.

“Don’t have much time, Chuck,” he greeted. “It’s about Rogue. She’s havin’ mood swings. Happy one minute, lookin’ for a fight the next.”

“Are you sure it’s not just normal emotional fluctuations?”

Logan growled. “I know her better than anybody, Wheels, and if I say she’s actin’ weird, then she’s actin’ weird.”

“All right,” Xavier soothed, “I believe you. Did you open the package I sent you?”

“No, didn’t have time.”

“Well, there’s a laptop equipped with a camera so we can do video conferencing. Get it set up this evening and Hank and I will observe Rogue throughout the conversation. If she agrees, I’ll try reading her using Cerebro and see what I can find out.”

“Uh, Chuck. We don’t have internet service up here.”

The professor chuckled. “The laptop is equipped with all the newest gadgetry – I don’t pretend to understand it, I had Kitty make the selection – and with something involving satellites, we’ll have clear, unbroken images and you’ll have internet access whenever you want or need it.”

“Kitty?” Logan said in disbelief.

“Yes, she’s turned into quite the accomplished technophile. She also assures me that whatever she’s set up for us is untraceable.”

“And you don’t understand the technology? Couldn’t you learn anythin’ you want to know by readin’ people?” Logan asked curiously.

“I could,” Xavier admitted, “but that is hardly an ethical use of my abilities.”

Logan snorted. “So we get this thing set up tonight, but what should I do in the meantime?”

“I would recommend just observing Rogue. Don’t do anything to upset her, and certainly don’t let her do anything she would regret.”

“I don’t think she’s dangerous, Chuck,” Logan said with a frown.

“Maybe not, but it’s probably best to expect the worst in this situation.”

“Right,” Logan said hurriedly as he saw the front door of the cabin swinging open. “Gotta go.” He snapped the phone closed and slid it into his jacket pocket. Rogue was walking toward the vehicle with her head down and her hands shoved in the pockets of her sweatshirt. When she opened the passenger door, Logan raised an eyebrow and obligingly slid over into the driver’s seat.

“Let’s go,” Rogue said softly, her accent strangely muted.

* * *

She seems nervous, Wolverine observed as they were walking back into the diner.

Rogue paused in the doorway and scanned the interior, quickly locating their waitress. Not even sparing Logan a glance, she made a beeline toward the woman. Perhaps attracted to the sudden, purposeful movement in her direction, the woman glanced up. When she saw Rogue, she frowned and slammed the carafe of coffee she was holding onto the counter. Rogue slowed and pulled out her wallet. She flipped it open and held it out to the woman with an awkward smile.

“I’m sorry about earlier,” she said softly and shrugged. “It’s just that we – Logan and I – have been dealing with people looking at us funny for too long.”

Logan was suddenly alert, a chill creeping over him at Rogue’s precise, unaccented speech. Dimly, he felt Wolverine’s heightened awareness at the situation.

The waitress considered Rogue for a moment before slowly reaching for the ID. She looked at it closely and frowned as she handed it back. “I suppose I owe you two an apology then,” she said cautiously.

Rogue shook her head. “No, you were just trying to look out for somebody you thought needed help. Nobody should ever apologize for something like that.”

The waitress cracked a smile. “Well, since we seem to be tryin’ to be honest with each other here, I have to admit that I overreacted. My little sister got mixed up with an older man when we were still in high school and made a mess of her life.”

Rogue smiled back. “That must’ve been hard on you. But what I’ve got with Logan isn’t like that. Even though he is quite a bit older than I am.”

Logan, having moved to stand next to Rogue, frowned as he listened to the exchange. He made an effort to relax his features, though, as the waitress’s eyes flickered to him and her smile became uncertain.

“Don’t mind me,” he murmured to her.

Her smile became less tentative and she waved toward the booth they had been in earlier. “Why don’t ya’ll have a seat and I’ll bring you a couple menus and some coffee?” she offered.

“Sounds good,” Rogue chirped and smiled brilliantly.

Choosing to sit opposite each other this time, Logan watched Rogue closely as they looked over the menus. She glanced up and caught him staring.

“What?”

“What’s goin’ on with you, darlin’?” he asked cautiously.

“Nothin’, sugar,” she said with surprise. Logan felt the muscles in his shoulders relax when he heard the southern drawl.

“You’ve been actin’ odd today.”

Rogue’s face scrunched up in an odd mix of confusion and apprehension. “Ah…Ah kinda feel odd today, Logan. Thought it was just ‘cause o’ movin’ around an’ all.”

“Odd how?” he asked sharply.

Rogue shrugged uncomfortably. “Ah’m not sure exactly. This mornin’ Ah was almost giddy, but when we sat down an’ Ah was readin’ the menu, it started to fade.” She searched his face anxiously before continuing. “Ah started to feel kinda dizzy, so Ah went to the ladies’ an’ splashed some water on mah face, an’…I dunno.” She shrugged again.

She’s hidin’ somethin’, Wolverine said abruptly.

I know, Logan replied, scenting the air subtly. There was an odd edge to Rogue’s normal, clean smell. Underneath the strawberry and faint scent of chemicals still clinging to her hair, there was a hint of something that reminded him of freezing metal. Magneto actin’ up? he questioned.

He had the odd sensation of Wolverine shaking his head. No. With him, it’s always like the air right before a lightning strike.

Deciding to quit the guessing game, Logan said bluntly, “You smell different.”

Rogue reared back in surprise. “Ah do?” She started chewing nervously on her lower lip. “How?”

“Like you, but with somethin’ else mixed in.”

“Ya ever noticed anythin’ like this before?”

Logan considered the question seriously, wondering how honest he should be. Finally, he shook his head slowly. “Not with you.”

Rogue stilled. “With anybody else then?” Logan remained silent. “Who? Logan, ya need to tell me.” The pleading edge to her voice prompted him to reply.

“With Jean.”

“W-when she changed?”

“Yeah.” Logan’s voice was grim.

* * *

They ate their meal in near silence, speaking only when the waitress came to check on them. Logan, and strangely enough Wolverine as well, were content to let Rogue mull over the disturbing information he had dropped in her lap.

Rogue was not so calm, although she showed none of her anxiety outwardly.

What the hell’s goin’ on? she railed desperately at the voice in her head as she took a precise bite of broccoli.

Honestly, I’m not entirely sure, the voice said soothingly. I can’t really explain how I came into existence, you know, but I can tell you that I mean you no harm.

Ah…ya…who are ya?

I’m you. And I’m not.

Rogue snorted mentally, wondering absently if the various passengers in her head had equipped her with the ability to hold internal conversations or if it was a skill she had always possessed. That doesn’t help.

I know, the voice said apologetically.

Do ya know why ye’re in mah head?

To help.

With what?

With everybody else up here. With your control. With your emotions.

Mah emotions? Rogue squeaked. Ye’re manipulatin’ the way Ah feel? Is that why Ah went all psychopath this mornin’?

Nooo, the voice said carefully, that happened because you were fighting against me.

Huh?

I was trying to help you stay calm, but you were getting worked up too fast. That’s why you felt sick.

No, Rogue said instantly. That was before the waitress said all that stuff. Ah wasn’t upset then.

You were, the voice argued. You just didn’t realize it yet.

Rogue shook her head. She was startled for a moment when she realized that the gesture was completely internal and no movement of her physical body followed. There wasn’t anythin’ to upset me at that point, she stubbornly maintained.

Nonverbal clues. You were responding to looks and the way people moved when they saw you and Logan together.

Ah can’t do that.

There was a brief moment of silence. But I can.

Ya mean it was yer fault? Ah got upset ‘cause o’ what ya saw?

I’m sorry, the voice said contritely. It was automatic, my feeding you information I gathered. By the time I realized it was upsetting you, the damage had already been done, and that’s when you started fighting me. You were already set to go off when the waitress started in on your relationship with Logan.

Rogue chewed slowly as she thought over the morning’s events. Did ya help me calm down afterward?

As soon as I could. You were blocking me out pretty effectively for a while.

How’d Ah do that? Rogue asked with real curiosity.

Your mind’s equipped with traps, snares, and locked rooms galore, girl. And more show up every day.

Ya’ve lost me, Rogue admitted. Ah mean, Ah know Ah got pretty good at puttin’ everybody into their own little room when the professor was helpin’ me with mah control. But traps? An’ Ah haven’t thought up any rooms ‘cept fer the ones holdin’ in all the other personalities.

Maybe not consciously. But it’s like an ongoing construction project in here with new hallways, rooms, stairs, trap doors popping up everywhere.

Severely unsettled by the information, Rogue’s mental voice shook. We need to talk to the professor ‘bout this.

Okay, the voice readily agreed. We can trust him. Just do me one favor and make sure he doesn’t do anything to try to get rid of me, will you?

The bizarre cheerfulness of the voice’s request for continued survival caught Rogue by surprise and her snort of laughter was not only mental. Logan looked at her questioningly, but she just reached for her water and dismissed his concern with a waggle of her fingers.

“Marie?” he growled, staring at her intently.

“Ah’m fine, Logan. But Ah gotta talk to the professor tonight. Maybe Hank too?” Rogue tapped her lips with her index finger as she thought about it.

Logan sighed in relief. “Yeah, we’ll talk to ‘em.”

* * *

They spent the rest of the day finishing the errands that had been interrupted that morning. While loading the supplies and groceries into the Explorer, Logan cursed himself for not taking the package from the professor out of the vehicle when they had gone back to the cabin. Wolverine pointed out pragmatically that they had had other, more important, things on their mind at the time.

With an exasperated huff, Logan admitted that he was right and bent down to pick up the last item. Wrestling the newly purchased extension ladder onto the luggage rack on the roof, Logan paused only long enough to throw an end of rope to Rogue, who was standing on the other side of the Explorer. She caught it deftly and wove it securely through a rung of the ladder and, still holding the rope, ducked into the back seat and crawled across to Logan’s side. His door also hung open and she waited patiently for him to hand her the other end of the rope. Pulling both ends taut, Rogue, without thinking about it, tied a complicated knot with the two ends, one that was incredibly strong and secure, but could be undone easily with a tug on the right section of the rope.

Logan ducked his head inside and grunted his approval. “Where’d you learn that knot, darlin’?”

Rogue’s hands hovered uncertainly over the rope. She blinked slowly as she met Logan’s eyes, and he had the strange impression that she was just waking up.

“Ah…Ah don’t know.” She frowned and pinched the bridge of her nose hard with a thumb and forefinger. She screwed her eyes shut and Logan saw her lips moving in a silent conversation.

What the hell’s goin’ on? Wolverine asked nervously.

“Marie?” Logan said loudly.

Her eyes snapped open. “Yeah. Yeah, Ah’m all right. Magneto. He used to go fishing with his father when he was a little boy. That was the last knot his father taught him before the camps.”

Logan shifted his weight uneasily. Before he could speak, though, Rogue continued in a soft, almost dreamlike voice.

“Ya learned it when ya were a boy, too.”

His heart slammed hard against his ribs. “What?”

“Ah…there was a boat alongside a dock. An’ a girl showed ya how to tie it up so it wouldn’t drift away.”

As soon as she spoke, Logan’s senses were filled with the clean scent of lake water, the faint rolling feel of wood beneath his feet. He heard the gentle stir of small waves against the shore behind him and the skittering of pebbles pulled out of place as the water receded. There was a slight chill to the air that blew against his cheek even though the sun was bright and warm up above. Looking down, he saw small unscarred hands hopelessly tangled in a length of rope while larger, more delicate looking hands worked to free them. There was the impression of movement and a strand of red hair fell forward over the hands, only to be swept away a moment later in irritation. Logan – the boy, he realized – started to look up at the redhead.

Rogue’s hand roughly shaking his arm brought him back. “Logan? Logan, ya all right?”

He shook his head a few times to scatter the lingering image and met Rogue’s anxious eyes.

“We’ve both gotta talk to Chuck,” he said hoarsely.

Logan was quietly surprised when he figured out how to hook the laptop up with a minimum of fuss. Although there was a brief moment when a cable of some sort had become hopelessly tangled up in another and he was two seconds away from slicing them apart. He didn’t need Wolverine to tell him that his impatience stemmed from worry about Rogue and an odd mix of fear and anticipation over what Hank and the professor might be able to tell him about the recent development with his eyes and the remapped territory in his mind. But that didn’t stop Wolverine.

You’re bein’ a pansy, Wolverine growled succinctly at the tail end of their conversation.

Logan snarled in response and flipped the laptop open. He started it up using the password Xavier had given him and then sat in an awkward hunch with the computer balanced on his knees as the screen flashed to life. Scowling at the icons on the desktop, he slid a glance over at Rogue and, with a grunt, set the laptop on the kitchen table and slid it toward her. She spared him a short, curious glance, and then shrugged. She leaned forward and with a series of rapid finger movements had a window opening on the screen. Logan immediately recognized the professor’s office and heard Hank’s voice, although it sounded a bit tinny. Suddenly, the view pivoted dizzyingly and the two men became visible.

“What’s wrong?” Rogue asked immediately. Logan looked at her sharply and then focused his attention on the screen again. He hadn’t noticed anything odd about the professor or Hank, but scrutinizing them now, he picked up on the tension at the corners of Xavier’s mouth and the slight beetling of fur on Hank’s forehead.

Why didn’t I notice that sooner? he wondered.

Wolverine grunted in irritation. Too used to relyin’ on people’s scent to tell us when they’re anxious, I guess.

The speakers carried the sound of Xavier clearing his throat. On the screen, he seemed to hesitate and then gave a half shrug. “More of the same.”

“Meanin’?” Rogue demanded.

The professor and Hank exchanged a long look and Logan knew that they were telepathically discussing how much to reveal. Evidently, Rogue knew as well.

“Cut the shit,” she demanded harshly, surprising the two men at the mansion but not Logan with her tone.

Xavier cleared his throat again. “Very well. Monique has become the official spokesperson for an organization advocating mutant registration.”

“That’s no surprise. What’s the big deal?”

“It’s a government funded organization dedicated to the development of policies and procedures to ensure homeland security.”

“Oh.” Rogue took a moment to digest the information. “By what means?”

“Officially,” Hank said, “by non-violent means. Unofficially, by whatever means necessary.”

Logan spoke for the first time. “And what’s that mean in this situation?”

“Right now, it means procuring private medical records on the basis that blood work or tissue samples may reveal that an individual constitutes a threat to national security. It’s being termed a ‘voluntary’ surrender of data, but reports are coming in that medical staff who resist – and even security guards at warehouses where such information is stored – are being subdued by paramilitary forces.”

Familiar with such scenarios, Logan asked suspiciously, “Subdued how?”

“Smoke bombs, tear gas, stun guns. There have been no deaths so far, and only minor injuries.”

“How are they able to do that?” Rogue asked angrily. “It’s unconstitutional.”

Hank and the professor exchanged another look. “There are a number of laws currently in place,” Xavier explained slowly, “that allow for the seizure of private property and information when national security is threatened.”

“You mean the Patriot Act,” Logan said flatly.

“No,” the professor continued, still speaking carefully, “not exactly. The Patriot Act specifically cites the obstruction of terrorism as its goal. Nobody has called the mutant crisis,” Xavier’s mouth briefly quirked in distaste over the term, “terrorism. Yet. But the general public and government consensus is that mutant abilities do in fact constitute a threat to American life and livelihood. The laws allowing the recent activity are being grouped under the name ‘The Good Citizen Agreement.’”

“That’s bullshit,” Rogue burst out. “There’s no way they could have gotten laws in place so quickly.”

“That’s where we’re having difficulty fighting it,” Hank cut in. “Charles said there are a number of laws currently in place. These are old laws given a modern twist to fit the current situation. And it’s actually much harder to repeal a law than it is to get one passed.”

“What laws, exactly, are we talkin’ ‘bout here?”

“Eugenics laws,” Hank said softly.

And damned if he could prevent it, Logan felt his mouth drop open slightly.

“What the hell’s that?” Rogue demanded, her head swiveling to look at each man in turn. The professor and Hank wore identical grim looks, their lips pressed tightly together as though they were cages designed to prevent something particularly vile and dangerous from escaping. “Logan?” she asked, the voice in her head providing her enough information on each man’s body language to know that he was the only one who would answer.

“Eugenics is basically…” Logan exhaled forcefully. “It’s basically selective breeding.”

“What?” Rogue breathed.

Logan ignored the startled looks on the other men’s faces – apparently they hadn’t expected him to know the term – and turned to Rogue.

“In the early 1900s, a number of states passed sterilization laws to prevent passing on undesirable traits to future generations. Insanity, violent tendencies, sexual promiscuity, alcoholism.” Logan shrugged. “You name it. ‘Undesirable’ could mean pretty much whatever they wanted it to. Hitler actually used the American eugenics movement as support for ethnic cleansing.”

“An’…an’ they’re bringin’ those laws back?”

“They never went away,” Hank cut in. “Several of them were modified throughout the years, but they weren’t repealed. Like I said earlier, that’s harder to do than you would expect.”

“It’s still unconstitutional,” Rogue maintained.

“In its very essence, yes, you are correct, Rogue. But the wording of these laws is incredibly careful and from an objective, legal examination, they cannot be proven unconstitutional.”

Rogue opened and closed her mouth several times, grasping futilely at arguments hovering just out of reach. “What do we do?” she finally managed.

“We’re still working on that,” Xavier said, his tone obviously meant to be soothing, but both Rogue and Logan saw the way the grooves bracketing his mouth deepened. “For the moment, though, let us deal with more immediate concerns. Logan? You had some questions for Hank?”

Without waiting for Logan to answer, Hank started speaking. “Yes, of course. I wouldn’t be concerned about your eyes, Logan. It’s a fairly common development with feral mutations, although the changes do tend to take place at puberty – when most mutations manifest. However, as is always the case with you, your physiology makes it difficult at best to determine a normal developmental timeline or even a metabolic baseline.”

“What’s my metabolism got to do with my eyes?”

“I think you’re misunderstanding my use of the word. Too many people understand metabolism to mean anything related to digestion and the burning of fat and calories,” Hank said dryly. “It is, in actuality, the life-sustaining functions of an organism. In any case, while I would normally suggest extensive medical testing to rule out disease or injury as the cause of a rapid change in eye color, I highly doubt that is necessary with you.” If possible, Hank’s tone became drier as he continued. “So, if the change in eye color is not related to your particular mutation, that leaves stress as the most likely explanation.”

“Stress?” Logan echoed disbelievingly.

Hank nodded. “Stress can do all sorts of things to the body. Even yours.”

Logan snorted and crossed his arms. “So what’s your take on my other situation?”

“Ahem,” Hank cleared his throat with a loose fist held in front of his mouth. “I believe I will leave that matter to Charles.”

Xavier tapped his steepled fingers against his chin in thought. “Despite the newly shared space in your mind, your personality has remained stable, has it not?”

“As stable as it’s ever been,” Logan muttered. This time Rogue snorted.

The professor smiled vaguely, although Logan could see the slight fuzziness in his grey eyes that sometimes accompanied a particularly strenuous use of his telepathy. Logan felt a light tickle at the front of his mind, and before he could help it, barriers slammed shut against the intrusion. He saw the professor wince.

“Sorry, Chuck,” he said, feeling guilty. “But you didn’t give me any warnin’.”

“I doubt a warning would have helped,” the professor said hoarsely. “Even the few times you invited me to read you left me with a headache.”

Logan felt another wave of remorse. He frowned. “You never told me,” he said, feeling childishly as though the accusation would absolve him of his guilt.

Xavier waved his hand in dismissal, a gesture curiously unlike him.

Wolverine snickered. Stress can do all sorts of things to a body he paraphrased, mimicking Hank’s precise tones. Logan, although amused, did his best to ignore him.

“I don’t think it’s anything to worry about,” Xavier said. “Even from that brief contact I could feel that your mind has still compartmentalized your personality from Wolverine’s. Except now those compartments are butting up against each other whereas before, there was more space between them.”

“And that means what, exactly?”

There was a pause. “Leakage.”

“Huh?”

“Logan!” the professor said with some exasperation, “The compartments are figurative, not hermetically sealed containers inside your skull.”

“I know that,” Logan muttered, “but what the hell do you mean by leakage?”

Xavier flapped his hand again and then massaged his temples briefly. “Just that your thoughts and probably your motivations are more in line with Wolverine’s right now. And vice versa. It’s probably a completely normal development.”

“How do you figure?” Logan frowned and Xavier sighed.

“As with any two individuals who spend enough time together, there will be some blending of mannerisms, preferences, and even thoughts. Basically,” the professor said wryly, “you and Wolverine are like an old married couple.”

Rogue guffawed.

Logan scowled. Damned if I’m gonna ask him ‘bout that memory o’ the redhead now, he grumbled to Wolverine. He felt his alter ego’s nonverbal agreement as he turned to Rogue. “Your turn,” he said to her snidely, and waved his hand at the computer screen.

Rogue didn’t even think twice before responding to his tone. She rudely flipped Logan the bird and turned her attention to the professor, absently noting his and Hank’s shocked looks.

I see what you mean about Rogue acting oddly, Xavier’s voice whispered in Logan’s mind. Before Logan could respond, he was gone.

* * *

The idiot’s just worried, you know.

Still doesn’t give him any reason to be nasty to me, Rogue sniffed.

The only response was the vague impression of a shrug.

“Let’s get this over with,” Rogue sighed.

“Very well,” came Xavier’s muffled response. He opened a drawer in his desk hidden from the camera’s view and came up with a curious looking helmet. The professor adjusted several knobs studding the outside of the contraption and then placed it on his head. He flipped a yellow tinted visor down once he had the helmet settled securely.

“What the hell,” Rogue asked curtly, “is that?”

“Portable Cerebro,” Xavier murmured, squinting a bit into the camera. “Now I need you to relax, Rogue, and try to empty your mind like I taught you.” The professor stiffened momentarily before asking uneasily, “Does your new…friend have any objection to what we’re about to do?”

Nope, came the unbidden reply.

Rogue relayed the information, wondering, as she had before, at the voice’s carefree tone. She settled comfortably in her chair and began the deep breathing exercises that helped her calm her mind. It was, unexpectedly, easier than it ever had been before, and even as her eyes were just sliding closed, she felt Xavier slip effortlessly into her mind.

Xavier abruptly found himself standing in a garden. He was surprised at how easy the transition to Rogue’s mind had been, and he looked around cautiously. The scent of blooming flowers, grass, and underneath it all the peculiar smell of fresh spring growth assaulted his nose while he struggled to identify the individual sounds he was picking up. There was the slight rustle of wind through soft new leaves, the humming of insects in the grass. Despite the tranquility of his surroundings, Xavier was uneasy. It took him several minutes of intense observation to identify the problem. Compared to the dozens of mindscapes he had been in, this scene was too crisp, too controlled.

As soon as he formed the thought, a figure popped into existence in front of him. Xavier stumbled back a few steps in surprise.

“Was wondering what took you so long to figure it out,” Rogue, in a white sundress, chirped brightly.

“Figure what out, exactly?” Xavier asked.

She waved her hand vaguely at the garden. “That everything here is too perfect to be real. It isn’t, you know.”

“What do you mean it’s not real?” he asked, frowning as he looked around them again.

Rogue mimicked his expression, giving him the uncomfortable feeling that he was being mocked. “I didn’t expect you to be so slow, Professor.” She turned and walked away, disappearing behind a tall, full rose bush.

“Rogue, wait!” Xavier called, hurrying after her.

Her voice drifted back faintly, borne on a warm breeze that hadn’t been there a moment before. “I’m not Rogue.”

With the revelation came a confusing mixture of smells. The fresh scent of newly formed ice was laced with the more pervasive scents of scorched metal and burning wood, and another scent, one that was so cloying and sickeningly sweet that Xavier couldn’t identify it. As he jogged toward the bush behind which Rogue - Not Rogue, he reminded himself – had disappeared, he inhaled deeply several times, trying to figure out the last scent. It was somehow familiar, something he felt he should know even though he was positive he had never smelled it before. As he passed the rose bush, his elbow brushed against it and a viciously curved thorn dug through his suit jacket and sleeve, embedding itself in his skin. Looking down, Xavier saw that he was firmly caught and no matter how hard he tried to carefully free his elbow with his opposite hand, he couldn’t do it. Gritting his teeth in anticipation of the pain to come, he jerked his elbow forward. Oddly enough, he felt no pain, but more disturbingly, he actually heard his flesh tearing as he pulled free, and a new scent joined the others. This one was salty and metallic, bearing just a trace of the same sweetness he hadn’t been able to identify.

It’s my blood, he realized. I can smell my own blood here. Tearing his eyes away from the drops of wet redness seeping through his tattered sleeve, Xavier stepped around the bush.

The garden disappeared. He suddenly felt the yielding grittiness of sand beneath his feet and a wave of heat washed over him, bringing with it a concentrated burst of the sick-sweet smell. Xavier shielded his eyes from the overly bright sun and looked around him. The tumbled, charred remains of buildings surrounded him. Scattered haphazardly throughout the rubble were slumped, rounded forms. They looked strangely out of place among the sharp, jagged edges of concrete and twisted metal beams. As Xavier walked closer to get a better view, the smell grew strong enough that he gagged. Coughing several times in a futile attempt to clear the smell from where it clung at the back of his throat, he pulled his handkerchief from his pocket and pressed it over his nose. He crouched down next to the nearest form and stared at it for several seconds until his mind made sense of what he was seeing.

It was a decaying body. With a gasp that brought enough of the scent into his mouth that he could, for a moment, taste the putrid flesh before him, Xavier stood and stumbled back. He looked around wildly, trying to find Rogue – not Rogue – but all he saw were more bodies in varying stages of decomposition. The one in front of him was too far gone for him to even try to identify it, and seeing little other choice, he walked doggedly to the next slumped form.

This one was clearly a woman. Although the body was facedown, there was enough flesh left that he could see hints of roundness to the body’s shape, and brittle locks of long hair stirred desultorily in the hot wind. Xavier squinted and focused on the hair. It was a lackluster brown, but he thought he had seen a flash of white. Frowning, he walked around to the other side to get a better look. Dull grey bone peeked through the wisps of hair while sand and ash covered this side of the body. Unwilling to disturb the body, Xavier moved on to the next one.

As he approached, the sick-sweet stench grew stronger, and he realized this was the freshest body yet. The other bodies had carried with them a dry mustiness, but this one reminded him of overripe peaches swelling and splitting open on hot summer days. This one was similarly covered in the dirt and grime of the desolate landscape, its hair also a dull ashy brown, but when Xavier was only a few feet away, he saw the telltale strand of white. With a groan that hardly sounded human, he forced himself to drop his eyes to her face.

“Rogue?” he whispered desperately.

“Not Rogue,” said her voice behind him.

Xavier gasped in surprise, drawing in yet another taste of decay as he whirled around.

The Rogue from the garden stood before him. He looked from her to the body next to them, to the next closest body, and then the next. “Are they all ‘not Rogue’ then?” he asked, turning to her once again.

“Yes. And no.”

Xavier stared hard at the woman in front of him. He didn’t think she was trying to be difficult. Maybe a subtle probe at her mind might help him find some answers?

“I wouldn’t if I were you,” his guide warned, shaking her head.

Xavier blinked in surprise. “You know what I was thinking?”

Not Rogue chuckled. “Hello? Telepath in mutant-power-sucking mind. Do you really think you keep any of your abilities once you get here?”

“I…then what would be the harm in trying to use my telepathy?” the professor challenged.

“Because it would give me a headache and still not do you any good. So let’s just skip the annoyance of a headache and we’ll answer your questions the usual way, shall we?” She waved her hand around them to indicate the scattered bodies. “I told you they’re all Rogue and not Rogue. They’re parts of her, just like I am. And every one of them is here because she absorbed somebody.”

Xavier shook his head. “No, there are too many.”

“We needed many to deal with Magneto,” Not Rogue murmured.

“What?”

The girl sighed heavily and pushed her hair away from her face. “Rogue’s mind used to be like that garden, you know. All if it, not just that little bit you saw.”

“What happened? And why am I seeing Rogue’s dead body everywhere?”

“The first time Rogue absorbed somebody, it was a human boy. When he arrived, he was in the garden, and Rogue – a part of her at least – went to greet him. She knew he would be scared. Hell, she was terrified. But when David saw her, he ran. He left the garden, running too fast for Rogue to catch up, and as he got farther and farther away, she wished hard that he would just stop, that she could somehow wall him in. And a wall appeared right in front of David, too close for him to avoid running into it. The impact snapped his neck.”

Xavier shook his head in disbelief. He opened his mouth to reply and, finding he didn’t have any words, closed it again.

“Rogue was hysterical. She was crying and screaming for David to get up, afraid to touch him, thinking that she would only make it worse. But after a while she realized that he was dead, and she finally knelt down beside him. She tucked a bit of his hair behind his ear, and as she did, her thumb brushed against his forehead.” Xavier’s guide paused and looked around them in apparent wonder. “Things work differently here.”

“What does that mean?”

The smile she turned on him was brilliant and joyful. “It means that while Rogue’s touch brings death on the outside, here it brings life. David came back.”

Xavier’s breath caught in surprise. “And what happened to Rogue?”

His guide shrugged. “She died. But another came to take her place.”

“And David? Where is he now?”

Not Rogue frowned. “He’s locked up in a facsimile of his childhood home.”

“Locked up?”

“He kept running. And if you run in Rogue’s mind, you die. So don’t run, Professor.”

Xavier shook his head in denial. “No, Rogue wouldn’t do that.”

The girl’s smile was grim. “Rogue doesn’t do it deliberately.” She gestured again to the bodies decaying around them. “The lengths she goes to to keep them all alive should tell you that.”

“I don’t understand any of this,” Xavier said, hating the hopelessness and confusion roiling inside him.

“It took me a while to understand, too,” his guide mused. “David was basically running around all over the place for the first couple years. He’d pop up, run away again, die again. Another part of Rogue would die bringing him back to life. Then he’d go into hiding for a while before eventually coming out again. It wasn’t until you started helping Rogue with her mental control that she was able to sustain David’s home in her mind. He’s content to stay there now, and Rogue doesn’t have to chase after him anymore.”

“And the others?”

“Magneto was a pain in the ass, let me tell you. Tried to force his way out, beat on everything he could see. He died many times for his stubbornness.”

“Rogue wouldn’t kill him, though,” Xavier protested, “and I can’t see Eric running from anything.”

“No,” his guide agreed. “He didn’t run. He attacked. He got Rogue – not Rogue, really, a part of her, you know? – by the throat and was squeezing the life out of her. She didn’t fight back. She figured she deserved to die for what she was.” The girl trailed off thoughtfully. After a few seconds she shook her head briskly and continued. “But anyway, Rogue’s mind really does not respond well to violence – she’s a regular little pacifist – and as Magneto squeezed harder, his own air supply was cut off. Fool that he is, he kept choking her, thinking that she would die before he would.” She shook her head again. “Didn’t happen that way. They both died. And another part of Rogue was sent out to revive Magneto.”

“He attacked that one, too?” Xavier asked softly.

“Yeah. That’s part of why Magneto’s such a strong presence in her mind, you know.”

Xavier’s brows drew together in confusion. “I thought that was because of how long he held on.”

“Partly. The bigger part is because of how much of herself Rogue had to sacrifice to keep him alive. His presence here outweighed hers for a while.”

“What about with Logan, then? I can’t imagine him running or attacking Rogue.”

“He didn’t. Both times Rogue absorbed Logan, he arrived here already dead.”

“What?” Xavier breathed.

Not Rogue’s brow furrowed. “It was strange. Both times Rogue was screaming and crying even before Logan got here, like she knew what was going on. That had never happened before. Logan also appeared right in front of her. That’s something else that just doesn’t happen here. All the other times, we’ve had to go looking for them; no telling where they’ll end up either.” She shrugged. “Anyway, with Logan, she was able to heal him without dying – probably something to do with having absorbed his healing factor. That’s why she doesn’t become unstable when she absorbs Logan like she does with the others. She doesn’t have to give any of herself up to keep him alive here.”

Xavier frowned. “How is that possible? And are there two Logans here then, from each time she absorbed him?”

Not Rogue smirked. “Come now, professor. Do you really think it’s only happened twice? Half a dozen times now at least. When Rogue’s control was still shaky, Logan was healing every little scrape and bruise she got.”

“I…I was not aware of that,” Xavier murmured with quiet dignity.

“Yeah, well. All due respect, but when it comes to Logan and Rogue, you really don’t get even a tiny fraction of what’s going on.”

“What?” Xavier couldn’t remember a time when he had found a conversation so confusing. While he really hadn’t thought he relied on his telepathy to any great extent, its absence in Rogue’s mind was making him appallingly aware of the limits of his intelligence.

“Oh, I wouldn’t say you lack intelligence, Professor,” not Rogue said cheekily.

And for the first time in his life, Xavier responded with, “Huh?”

The girl cackled with genuine mirth before explaining. “You’re definitely smarter than the average person. Much smarter. It’s just that your telepathy has always added to that. Even when you’re not actively using it, you still pick up all the surface thoughts that are swimming around all the time. And if somebody’s concentrating on something particularly hard, you pick that up whether you realize it consciously or not.”

Not sure if he should believe her, Xavier nonetheless gave her the benefit of the doubt. “How do you know all this?”

She shrugged again. “I gather information for Rogue. And that includes figuring out mutations. I’ve been in contact with yours often enough to have figured out how it works.”

Xavier’s eyebrows flew upward. “Rogue has never absorbed me.”

“No. But you’ve poked around in her head plenty. Even peripheral contact is enough for me to determine the type and strength of a mutation, as well as how it’s used and what its weaknesses are.”

Xavier was silent as he pondered the implications of not Rogue’s revelation.

“But anyway,” she continued, “we haven’t answered your question.”

“What question?” Xavier murmured, distracted.

“About Logan. There were two of him for a while. But as soon as they were in the same room, they kind of snapped together into one.”

Tilting his head to the side, Xavier let the visualization play out in his mind. “I think you’re going to have to explain that one a little more.”

“Sure.” Not Rogue winked at Xavier and suddenly they were standing in front of the mansion.

“Where are we?” he asked, turning in circles as he took in the building, the driveway and gate, the trees surrounding the open expanse of the lawn.

“This is where Rogue is,” his guide said. She gestured him toward the front door. “Shall we?” Once they had crossed the foyer and begun walking up the stairs, she continued her explanation. “This is where everybody comes eventually. It didn’t always look like this, of course, but once Rogue identified the mansion as home, it kind of just took this appearance. So anyway, the first Logan was staying here with Rogue when the second one gets dropped right on the doorstep. Rogue heals him and brings him up to her room where the first Logan is. As soon as the second one walked through the door, fwshht!” The sound effect was accompanied by not Rogue bringing her hands abruptly together to indicate merging. She shrugged and dropped her hands back to her sides. “Logan’s more put together than the others, too. More like his own person.”

“What do you mean by that?” Xavier asked as they reached the third floor and started down the hall.

“He’s able to do things here without Rogue knowing. None of the others can do that.”

The professor remained silent as they continued down the hallway, uncertain of the implications of Logan being an autonomous entity in Rogue’s mind. When his guide walked past Rogue’s door, he paused in confusion. Not Rogue moved on to the next door, which would have been Logan’s room in the real mansion, and pushed it open without knocking. She stepped through the door, calling over her shoulder, “By the way, if you’re gonna be poking around in here, remember that you should always knock. Logan and I are the only ones who don’t have to. Not that you’ll ever be wandering around here without me.”

“What happens if I don’t knock?” Xavier asked curiously as he followed after her.

“Bad things happen.” The reply was made with Rogue’s voice, but the positioning was off, so he knew it hadn’t been his guide who answered. Xavier focused on the source of the voice and saw Rogue – the real one, he assumed – lying on her side on the bed with her head resting on one of Logan’s thighs. Logan was studiously ignoring them, fixated on a hockey game playing on the TV in the corner of the room. Slightly shocked by the sheer mundane nature of the image, although he couldn’t say what else he might have been expecting, Xavier was unable to respond for a moment. Instead, he took his time examining his surroundings. With the exception of the building’s quietness, everything was a faithful replica of Logan’s room in the mansion, right down to the barely noticeable stain in the carpet in front of the nightstand. Logan had never volunteered what caused it, and Xavier had never asked. He suspected it was blood, but since it was obvious that Logan – or perhaps it had been Rogue? Xavier now wondered – had made quite an effort to get rid of it, he didn’t feel that he had any right to pry. The pair had always had more secrets than any of the mansion’s other residents, secrets that at first belonged only to each of them individually and that later they had learned to share with each other. Pulling himself from his thoughts with a shake of his head, Xavier turned his attention to Rogue. From the look on her face, he was uncomfortably aware that she had probably heard every one of his thoughts.

“Ah did,” she said wryly.

“How?” Xavier asked curiously.

Rogue shrugged. “Ah dunno. As soon as anybody’s in my head, Ah can listen in on ‘em if Ah want.”

“If you can listen to their thoughts, that means that you should be able to figure out where they are, isn’t that correct? So why would I need to knock before opening a door?”

Logan snorted and smoothed a hand over Rogue’s hair. “You weren’t listenin’, Chuck. She said she can listen if she wants to. You think she’s gonna go out of her way to listen to everybody all the time? It’d drive her crazy within a week. You should know that,” he finished pointedly.

“Indeed,” Xavier murmured, his discomfort increasing as Rogue ignored him in favor of the hockey game. Logan, however, looked him over closely.

“He probably shouldn’t spend so much time this far in, darlin’,” he murmured to Rogue. She made a low noise of agreement, her fingers curling lightly against the muscles of Logan’s thigh. He chuckled and smoothed her hair again. “I’m gonna go talk to Chuck for a bit and then we can send him on his way, all right?”

“All right,” Rogue murmured sleepily, shifting a bit to allow Logan to get up. She immediately curled herself around the pillow he had been leaning against and closed her eyes.

Logan set his empty bottle on the nightstand and stood watching Rogue for a few moments as her breathing evened out and slowed. Xavier’s discomfort grew as he observed the tender look on Logan’s face. Although it was an expression that he had never seen in reality, he had no doubt that Logan looked exactly as he would in real life should he ever show his emotions openly. Feeling like a voyeur, Xavier dropped his eyes to the ground. Logan chuckled and murmured, “Hallway,” as he moved toward the door. Not Rogue followed after them.

“What’s going on, Logan?” Xavier asked. He immediately frowned, wondering if he was actually speaking to Logan, or if it was, in actuality, Rogue’s mind projecting Logan’s image and characteristics.

Logan leaned against the wall and crossed his arms over his chest. “It’s me, Chuck. Kinda.”

“I – I don’t understand any of this, Logan.”

“Join the club,” the other man grunted. “Listen, I’ll tell you everything I can. What do you need to know first?”

The professor considered the question carefully. “When you said I shouldn’t stay this far in for too long...what did you mean?”

Logan shrugged. “It’s not dangerous for you, Chuck, so if that’s what’s worryin’ you, you can stop. It’s just that it tires Marie out.”

“Why?”

“Everybody here, except for me it seems, draws their energy from Rogue. You bein’ here kinda distracts her and she has to concentrate more.”

Xavier frowned. “What happens if she loses her concentration.”

Logan smiled humorlessly. “Let’s just say the natives get restless.”

“Can’t you help her with that?”

“Some,” Logan acknowledged at the same time not Rogue said, “Not nearly enough.” They scowled at each other. “Next question,” Logan barked.

“Who, exactly, is she?” Xavier asked, gesturing vaguely at their female companion.

“What, didn’t I answer that well enough?” she mocked.

“Quiet, you,” Logan said. She stuck her tongue out in response. Logan shook his head and focused on Xavier again. “As near as I can tell, she’s a manifestation of Marie’s mutation.”

Xavier’s breath caught in his throat. “Is it…is it like it was with Jean then?”

Logan shook his head. “No. Rogue – I call her Rogue and the one in the other room Marie to keep things simple – is here to protect Marie, but she can’t take over. She can pretty much do what she wants when Marie lets her, but she always knows what’s goin’ on.”

“And you?” Xavier asked. “Rogue here said that you’re your own person here.”

“Not exactly. That’s somethin’ Marie gives me.” Logan looked suddenly frustrated and raked his hands through his hair. “Little idiot. Even after all the times she’s taken me in, even after knowin’ everythin’ about me, she still feels like she’s stolen my life from me. I don’t blame her or resent her for anythin’, but she just doesn’t believe me when I say so.” Logan shrugged. “So she lets me be. Set up all sorts o’ barriers so she never influences what I think or feel.” He grinned wolfishly. “Doesn’t matter. I just tell her everythin’ anyway. Freely given, so she can’t go feelin’ guilty ‘bout that.”

The professor’s frown had deepened as he listened to Logan’s explanation. “Rogue’s mind doesn’t work at all the way I thought it did,” he murmured. “Why didn’t I see before?”

“Simple. She didn’t let you see before, Chuck.”

Feeling somewhat insulted, Xavier argued, “I’m the most powerful telepath in the world, Logan. I should have seen the way things are regardless of Rogue’s allowing or not allowing it.”

Logan snorted. “In Marie’s mind, you’re not a telepath, Chuck. Nobody here has any gifts except her.”

“But every time I worked with her on her control, I was able to move within her mind just like I did with others.”

“That was ‘cause she allowed it. Rogue here,” Logan gestured to the girl next to him, “fed Marie information on how your telepathy worked and she was able to use that information to allow you to do what you needed to do.”

Shaking his head, Xavier let the subject go. “I don’t think I’ll ever be able to understand that fully. Anyway, something Rogue said confused me.” He turned to address her directly. “You said that Rogue’s absorbed Logan several times, but you spoke of him arriving only twice.”

She nodded. “Those were the two strongest absorptions. Each time after that, the Logan here just got a little stronger. No new arrivals and no new fwshhts.”

“No new fwshhts,” Xavier repeated dubiously.

“Don’t mind her,” Logan said dryly. “She’s the resident crazy.”

“Hey!” the girl cried, backhanding Logan in the chest.

Observing their interaction curiously, Xavier questioned slowly, “Mind you, I’m not complaining. But if you can do what you want here, Logan, why does Rogue need to be present for our conversation?”

“You weren’t listening very well, were you, Chuck?” she asked. Xavier’s eyebrows shot upward in surprise. She hadn’t addressed him so informally before. “Yeah, Logan leaks into me a bit if we spend too much time together.”

“Huh?” Logan asked, looking between her and the professor.

“The professor was just wondering why I started to sound like you,” she explained.

Logan grunted wordlessly.

“So anyway, Chuck,” she grinned evilly as she emphasized the nickname, “Logan can do anything and go anywhere he wants here, but you can’t. I’m here to keep you from fading away.”

Frowning, the professor said, “I’m quite adept at keeping my mental projections focused, my dear.”

“You’re not listening to me,” she said, frustration evident in her voice. “You are nothing here. You’re not real. You have no powers here, so Rogue’s holding you together through me. That’s why it was so easy when you first stepped into the garden. You didn’t do that. Rogue and I just popped you into existence here.”

“So I won’t remember any of this when I leave?”

Rogue frowned. “I don’t know. That’s an interesting question, isn’t it? We’ve never tried this when we weren’t physically in the same room.” She shrugged suddenly in dismissal. “No matter. If you don’t remember it, we’ll just zap the memory to you.”

“How would you do that?”

Rogue tapped her head. “Telepathy.”

“You’ve never absorbed that particular gift, though,” he protested. And then, uncertainly, “Have you?”

“Absorbed, no. But like I said earlier, I’ve observed it often enough to know how it works.”

Logan’s head jerked up sharply. “I’ve been wonderin’ ‘bout that,” he growled.

“What?” Xavier asked as Logan and Rogue faced off.

“I knew you’d figure it out eventually, Logan. You can’t tell Rogue yet, though. She’s not ready.”

“What? What’s she talking about, Logan?”

Logan’s voice was low and rough as he answered without taking his eyes off Rogue. “It means that Marie doesn’t have to absorb somebody to use their mutation. She can copy it just by bein’ around it. She just doesn’t know it yet.”

“No,” the professor shook his head. “That’s not how Rogue’s mutation works. She absorbs energy, life force through skin to skin contact.”

“Says who?” Rogue challenged.

“I…well…me,” Xavier floundered.

“Uh-huh. Says you,” Rogue said, tapping her chin mockingly in thought. “You, who by your own admission can’t understand how Rogue’s mind works. You, who hasn’t been able to find the key to controlling her ability all these years. You, who can’t seem to grasp the fact that you don’t actually exist here. You, who was so blind to her abilities that you didn’t see that Magneto was after her until it was too late. Yes, certainly, Professor, after considering all that, it’s clear that you understand everything.”

“Logan?” Xavier questioned, looking to him for support.

Logan merely shook his head. “Sorry, Chuck. I happen to agree with her.” His voice suddenly lowered to an angry growl. “And you know I’ll never fully forgive you for letting Magneto get Marie in the first place.”

Hanging his head in tired shame, Xavier shrugged listlessly. “That’s something that I’ll regret until the day I die, Logan. But from our conversations the last couple years, I thought you had at least begun to forgive me.”

Logan snorted, the rude sound startling the professor into looking at him. “The me in here and the me out there are two different people, Chuck. He might have forgiven you, at least partially, but I don’t change all that much unless Marie absorbs me again. Then I get all the thoughts and experiences the me on the outside has had.” He shrugged. “And it’s been a while since that happened. So if there’s been any forgiving, it happened between the last absorption and now.”

“But if Rogue doesn’t need to absorb mutations to use them, why does it happen?” Xavier protested, trying desperately to understand.

“There are two sides to her mutation,” Rogue explained. “Think of it in terms of being defensive and offensive. The ability to copy a mutation through observation would be offensive, obviously, but the added ability to drain an enemy of his gift is the perfect defense. Plus, it would take a while to learn how to control a copied power. But, absorption gives almost instantaneous knowledge in that area. So, yes,” she shrugged, “Rogue can absorb abilities, but it’s not necessary. She can copy and eventually control any mutation she observes. Well, everything except physical mutations.”

Xavier’s eyes widened. “You’re saying that if Rogue absorbed, say Kurt, she would have the ability to teleport, but her appearance wouldn’t change?”

“Bingo!” Rogue said.

“How do you know? You haven’t tested it, have you?”

“No,” Rogue shrugged, “but when she didn’t sprout claws after absorbing Logan, it was pretty much a given.”

“Logan’s claws aren’t a natural part of his mutation, though.”

“They are,” Logan said gruffly.

“No,” Xavier protested again, stopping abruptly when he noticed the identical looks of pity Rogue and Logan were giving him.

“That’s somethin’ else Marie’s given me,” Logan explained. “There’s nothing you can hide from her here, even if it’s something you yourself don’t know. When I learned that, I asked Marie to look at all my memories. Mind you, the claws aren’t anything I’ve seen for myself – I don’t have any abilities here – but Marie told me all ‘bout them. I originally had bone claws before they grafted in the adamantium.”

“Why hasn’t she told you – the other you – about it then?” Xavier exclaimed.

“She doesn’t know,” Logan said simply.

Rogue continued the explanation. “Just like the Logan in here and the Logan out there know different things, the Rogue here and the one out there are different.”

“It is like Jean, then,” Xavier breathed, horrified.

“No!” Logan said, thumping his fist angrily on the wall. “Nothing like that. I – we,” he said, gesturing at the girl beside him, “think that it’s only a matter of time before Marie knows everything fully. That’s why she’s been changing lately.”

“I thought you didn’t know anything from the outside,” Xavier said suspiciously.

Logan growled. “You haven’t been listenin’, Chuck. Marie and I talk ‘bout everythin’, an’ the one here knows everythin’ the one out there does. Just not the other way around.”

“So the Marie in that room,” Xavier paused and pointed at the door behind them, “is more informed than the Marie sitting in front of the laptop?”

“Right.” Logan sighed in relief that the professor finally understood.

Xavier mulled the situation over for several moments. “It’s the separation between her conscious and subconscious minds.”

“Bingo again,” Rogue said. “And everything in the subconscious mind eventually comes to the surface. That’s something you do know, Professor,” she finished dryly.

“Yes, indeed,” Xavier acknowledged, unaccountably flustered. “Then, in your opinions, there’s nothing to worry about with Rogue?”

Logan and Rogue exchanged an uneasy look and shrugged in unison. “We’ll see,” Rogue said finally.

Xavier frowned and opened his mouth to demand a fuller explanation, but Logan cut him off. “Look, Chuck,” he sighed, “we know you came here lookin’ for answers, but the bottom line is none of us can see the future. So until it happens, until there’s only one Marie, we don’t know how it’s gonna turn out.”

“We do know it’ll be soon, though,” Rogue chimed in, scowling at Logan when he narrowed his eyes at her angrily.

“How?” Xavier asked.

Logan sighed again and raked a hand through his hair in agitation before gesturing to his room. “She’s tired all the time now. Quieter. She doesn’t go out much anymore; says she doesn’t have the strength. We used to at least walk around the gardens, but now she just wants to stay in.”

As he mulled the information over, Xavier came to a sickening realization. “If she continues to weaken what will happen to the two of you? And the others?”

Rogue shook her head. “We just don’t know. I can guess that nothing much will happen to me. I’m not dependent on Rogue for my existence like the others are. And Logan’s different, too. The others…they might just disappear. Or they might try to overrun her mind. Logan and I agree, though, that we’ll do everything we can to prevent that.”

“And then again, it might be that nothing happens,” Logan said. “Right now it’s Marie’s subconscious mind keeping everyone under control. The transition to conscious control might be as easy as flippin’ a switch on a railroad track so the train changes direction.” Although he looked like he might say more, Logan was distracted by Rogue rubbing her temples with both hands. He frowned as he grabbed Xavier by the elbow and steered him down the hall away from Logan’s room, Rogue following behind them. “It’s time for you to go, Chuck.”

The professor turned at the top of the stairs to ask a final question, but a sharp shove in the chest from Rogue had him falling backward into thin air. Xavier gasped and closed his eyes, bracing for the impact. It didn’t come. Instead, a flash of pain accompanied by images of all he had seen in Rogue’s mind streaked through his head. Taking a deep breath, he cautiously opened his eyes to see Rogue staring at him quizzically from the computer screen as she massaged her temples with both hands.

* * *

“Well?” Hank asked as Xavier stowed the portable Cerebro back in its drawer.

“Rogue’s mutation is far different than what we imagined,” he said grimly and proceeded to fill the other man in on all that he had seen and heard. The detail and almost film-like precision with which the experience replayed in his mind left the professor with no doubt that Rogue had made good on her promise to “zap” the information to him as he was forcibly thrust from her mind. When he finished, Hank regarded him in stunned silence.

“I think,” he finally said carefully, “that it might be wise to regard Rogue’s abilities as two separate mutations that happen to work particularly well together.”

“Yes, that’s possible,” Xavier mused. “It’s rare that anyone would possess two such powerful gifts, though. Even Jean really only possessed one ability – to control and manipulate everything, even thoughts – with her mind. It was only after separating her from the Phoenix that her abilities were limited to telepathy and telekinesis. Yes,” he said again, more firmly, “two mutations makes more sense in Rogue’s case.”

Hank nodded his furry head. “Perhaps, then, Rogue’s inability to gain complete control is because the mental exercises you gave her are working at cross-purposes with her second, purely physical mutation?”

“You mean her skin as the physical mutation? Yes. Yes, I think you’re right, Hank.” The professor steepled his fingers together and tapped them broodingly against his chin. “Do you think that the exercises have been helping her with the non-physical aspect of her gifts? The ability to copy mutations through observation?”

Hank shrugged, the motion particularly ungainly with his broad shoulders and long arms. “I would imagine so. She’s certainly made progress in sorting out and containing the psyches she’s absorbed. That’s another point of interest, here. We always just assumed Rogue’s gift would be either off or on. I wonder if it would be possible for her to learn to control what she absorbs?” Hank frowned as he considered his own question. After only a few short moments, he shook his head decisively. “No. I imagine it would only ever be on or off.”

“Why is that?”

“I find my thoughts on the matter surprisingly difficult to explain,” Hank said in frustration. He laughed darkly. “It’s an oddly existential situation. A physical mutation either is or it isn’t. For example, I’m furry. There’s nothing I can do about that. Kurt and Mystique are blue – what is it about physical mutations and that color?” Hank asked ruefully.

Xavier, for the umpteenth time that day, found himself horribly confused. “Hank, my friend, I’m afraid you’ve lost me,” he admitted sheepishly.

The other man blinked at him and then threw his hands up in the air half-heartedly. “Oh, blast it all, Charles. Just read my mind.”

“I – really?” Hank had never made the invitation before, which Xavier took to mean that his eloquent friend was well and truly at a loss for words. At the firm nod in response, he sent out a questing mental finger, quickly latching onto Hank’s thoughts and perceptions of Rogue’s gifts. “Oh. I see.”

“You do?” Hank asked hopefully. “Perhaps you could put it into words for me then so we can work through it together?”

“I shall certainly try. I think that your earlier example of Mystique might serve us well here. She can control her physical mutation, yes? As can Logan with his claws to a certain extent.” Xavier had been surprised that Hank had merely raised an eyebrow and regarded his own clawed hands when he had disclosed that detail earlier. “Perhaps we need to classify physical mutations as…hmmm. Static versus fluid?”

“Static versus fluid? Hmm, yes, I like that. Static being an example such as my fur or Kurt’s skin. Fluid being Mystique’s skin or Logan’s claws?”

“Yes,” Xavier nodded. “Artie’s tongue would be static. Angel’s mutation would be fluid then since he does, indeed, control his wings.” They spent the next several minutes categorizing the physical mutations of all the residents of the mansion, and known associates of Magneto. However, they again had trouble when it came to Rogue.

“We just don’t know enough about her, Charles,” Hank finally concluded. “With all the mutants possessing a fluid ability, there seems to be a period of learning and adjustment, yes?”

Xavier nodded. “Are you saying that Rogue just hasn’t been able to learn and adjust with her skin yet?”

“I’m saying that she hasn’t even had the chance. Think about it, Charles. All the other physical mutations we’ve discussed don’t require the participation of another individual to test their effects and limitations.”

“I see your point. However, how would you explain the minimal control she has learned thus far?”

“I’ve been thinking about that ever since you explained what you learned in Rogue’s mind. And I’ve been mapping the developments with Rogue’s mutation on a rudimentary timeline, the midpoint being when she took the cure. She only learned a degree of control after the cure, yes? I think what actually happened is that she mentally learned to duplicate its effects.”

The professor gasped in surprise. “Yes,” he breathed, “that makes sense.” As soon as the words left his mouth, he frowned.

Hank gave a toothy grin. “I surmise you have arrived at the same question I have. Leech’s mutation doesn’t negate his own ability, but only the ability of others, so how could Rogue use it effectively on herself?”

“Precisely.”

“I think it is because she actually took the cure and observed how it affected her specifically. She’s never met Leech, correct?”

“Yes, that’s right. He was only here for a few short days before the Worthingtons took him in. I must admit, I was surprised that he wanted to go with them.”

Hank shrugged. “Despite spending most of his life in the laboratory, he was treated well and the scientists and Mr. Worthington were genuinely fond of him. But we digress. In the case of Leech’s mutation, Rogue’s copying ability had only the chance to observe how the mutation worked on her since it was injected directly into her bloodstream. I believe that, should she and Leech meet and she sees him drain another mutant, she will be able to duplicate that effect as well.”

“Her copying abilities are not under her conscious control yet,” the professor reminded him.

“That’s true,” Hank conceded. “This is all theoretical anyway. Now that I think about it, a meeting between Leech and Rogue would be most interesting. If she can copy his ability, would it work on Leech so that he would be unable to drain other mutants in her presence?”

Xavier blinked.

“And for that matter, would she be able to keep her skin under control indefinitely? For example, Logan’s claws retract automatically when he’s unconscious, and as we know, Mystique cannot sustain a transformation permanently, at least not in whole – her eyes, you remember? I imagine it is similar to holding one’s breath. People can do it, and for varying lengths of time, but everybody must eventually breathe again.”

Xavier blinked again. “Do you have any idea of how long Rogue would be able to keep her skin ‘off’?” he asked slowly.

“It could be anywhere from a few hours to a few months, I suppose. It would depend entirely on whether there are any adverse effects from maintaining the ‘off’ mode.”

“What effects would you expect?”

“I don’t know.” Hank shook his head. “We know so little about how Rogue’s skin actually works. The only thing that gives me pause is that she first and foremost pulls energy from those with whom she comes in contact. The memories, thoughts, and psyches are secondary.”

“Why would that give you pause?”

“I’ll use the breathing analogy again. Everybody must breathe to sustain life. I’m wondering if Rogue must periodically absorb energy to sustain her life.”

Xavier shook his head. “I don’t believe that. She’s gone months at a time – over a year at least – without absorbing anybody.”

“We can’t know that for certain,” Hank argued. “Her skin might always be absorbing minute traces of energy from the air around her – almost like breathing – except for the times when she’s suppressing it. We just don’t know enough about it yet.”

“What kind of tests would you be able to conduct to find out?”

Hank stilled in surprise. “I assume you mean long distance tests?” At the professor’s nod, he replied, “Well, ideally a skin sample would be a good place to start, but we can’t exactly have Rogue send that to us in the mail.”

“We’ll get you a sample,” Xavier stated decisively.

Hank gaped. “How?”

With a slight smile, the professor asked, “Have you forgotten our friend Nightcrawler?”

The next few days passed uneventfully. Logan and Rogue focused on fixing up a few things around the cabin and worked on cleaning out the dorms. Although they didn’t have another webcam conference with the professor or Hank, Rogue noticed that Logan was having daily phone conversations with them.

Instead of feeling offended or worried that she wasn’t being included, all Rogue could really feel was relief. Her mind was…unsettled. It wasn’t anything she could pinpoint, certainly nothing like having a headache or just being distracted. It was more like things were shifting around, like tumblers realigning in a lock. And frustratingly, the voice refused to offer any explanation. She just said that everything would work itself out in time.

* * *

Logan sighed and ran his free hand through his hair. After yet another day spent cleaning out the dorms, he was sitting on the cabin porch steps talking to Xavier and Hank. Again. They had been talking on the phone every night after Rogue went to bed, and Logan finally felt like he had a complete picture of what Xavier had seen – or been shown – in Rogue’s mind.

Taking a swig of beer, Logan growled, “So you’re sayin’ she’s bein’ taken over?”

“No,” Xavier reassured him. “Just that her mutation seems to finally be developing fully.”

“See, that’s where I’m still havin’ some problems, Chuck. Other mutations are fully formed from the get-go. Why is Rogue’s different?”

Hank cleared his throat, startling Logan. He hated conference calls.

“We’ve already explained that we believe Rogue possesses two very strong mutations. It could be that one manifested later than the other. Or they could have manifested at the same time, but the…mental mutation is taking longer to develop.”

“Why?” Logan asked bluntly, stubbornly.

“That happens sometimes with mental mutations, Logan,” the professor said. “The mind is more complicated than anyone can ever know. Even I still don’t fully comprehend it, and you have to admit that I have an advantage in that area.”

“Did your telepathy develop gradually or was it all at once?”

After a few seconds of silence, Xavier finally admitted, “It was gradual. I think that if it had manifested fully developed, I would have gone insane in a matter of weeks.”

Stunned by the admission, Logan took another bracing sip of beer. “You think that’s a danger with Rogue?”

“No,” Xavier answered immediately, and Logan could picture him shaking his head for emphasis.

“You have any basis for that opinion, Chuck?”

“Well, no,” the professor said hesitantly. “It’s just that I’ve never encountered a mutation that becomes detrimental years after manifesting. Mutations are first and foremost adaptive, Logan. They provide some sort of benefit.”

“No offense, Hank,” Logan said, “but what does being blue and furry do for you?”

Clearing his throat again, Hank said, “I’ve done extensive research into my genetic genealogy, Logan, and it appears that several generations back, both sides of my family were from the northernmost Inuit cultures. I visited the region a few years back, and it turns out that my fur keeps me quite warm in that climate, and its color actually blends with the dark half of the year, making me incredibly hard to see. Of course, the other half of the year, when it’s light out, the blue probably serves no purpose. Unless, of course, it’s because dark colors absorb light and heat better. I didn’t stay for a full year, so I’m not positive. In any case, you can see that given my ancestry, my mutation is, in fact, beneficial. I just wasn’t born in the corresponding location.” Logan pictured Hank shrugging.

“Fine,” he growled. “Now what are we going to do about that skin sample you said you needed?"

“We’re still working on that,” the professor said. “We’re almost done testing out a theory with Kurt. For years, he’s been convinced that he needs to be able to see where he’s going, but when we asked him about the attack on the president, and when he went after Rogue when she fell out of the plane, he admitted that in those cases, he actually couldn’t see where he needed to be. We’ve determined that Stryker probably showed him a layout of the White House, so he knew mentally where everything was. We’re still not sure how he got to Rogue, but we’re not too concerned with that at the moment.”

“So, what? You’re showing him a map so he can get here?”

“Not exactly. After a few experiments, it seems that Kurt needs a little more detail than that. We’re compiling a series of satellite photos that he can use to make his way to you. Also, his ability is limited to a distance of several miles at a time, so we need to make sure that the photos we obtain are at the appropriate points.”

“If they’re satellite photos, that should be easy enough, right?”

“Again, not exactly. For example, heavily wooded areas are problematic since a slight miscalculation on Kurt’s part might very well end with him stuck in a tree trunk.”

Logan snorted at the image. “Yeah. Problematic,” he said, finishing his beer. He frowned suddenly. “Hey, Hank, you coming with him?”

“No, I’m scheduled to address a Senate committee on gestational versus developmental manifestations of mutations.”

“Then how the hell do you expect to get a skin sample without hurting Rogue?” Logan roared.

“Skin sampling hurts regardless of who does it. Kurt will be bringing a local anesthetic and a sampling device with him. The apparatus ensures the proper amount and depth of skin is taken. Unfortunately, we’ll need several samples from various locations.”

Logan growled.

“I’m sorry,” Hank continued, “but it’s necessary. We won’t be taking samples from her hands – too many nerves, you understand – so we’ll be taking from her arms and legs, as well as her back and stomach. It would be fascinating, of course, to have a sample from her hands or another nerve-concentrated area to see if the skin there absorbs more quickly, or if it absorbs different things. Fascinating. Fascinating indeed, but ultimately inhumane to conduct such tests.”

“Glad you realize that,” Logan said, his voice still a growl.

“I meant no offense, Logan,” Hank said hastily.

“I’m not offended!” he roared in response. “I’m…I don’t know what I am. But I don’t like any o’ this.”

“Impotent,” Xavier said suddenly.

“What?”

“You’re feeling impotent, Logan.”

“Uh, no, Chuck. Last time I checked, no problems there.”

Xavier laughed. “No, Logan. I mean you’re feeling powerless in this situation.”

Logan cleared his throat. “Oh. Right. I knew that.” He shifted uncomfortably on the step for a moment as he considered it. “Yeah, I think that’s it, Chuck,” he finally said with a sigh. “I mean, even after all this information you’ve given me, there’s still nothin’ I can do. And then you tell me that you’re gonna have Kurt stick Rogue with some apparatus instead o’ havin’ a doctor do it? What if somethin’ goes wrong? Shouldn’t a doctor or a nurse at least be here?”

“Logan, if anything goes ‘wrong’ with the sampling, you can just lend Rogue some of your healing. I suspect you’re going to do that regardless, yes?”

“No,” Logan muttered.

“Excuse me?” Hank asked, bewildered.

“She doesn’t like doin’ that, and I’m not gonna press the issue right now. We still don’t know exactly what happens when she absorbs me, right? I mean, are you sure I’m not what’s takin’ her over and not this alter-ego of hers?”

“That’s unlikely, Logan,” Xavier soothed.

“But not impossible.”

“No,” the professor conceded reluctantly, “not impossible.”

“So yeah,” Logan said, hefting the beer bottle for another sip before remembering it was already empty, “no absorbing, just regular pain and human-slow healin’ after the skin samplin’, dammit.”

“Logan, we’ll see what we can do,” Xavier promised quietly. “It might just be sending some painkillers that Rogue can use while she heals, but we’ll do everything we can.”

Logan sighed. “I know.” He stared out into the dark night for several silent seconds. “Tomorrow night?” he asked finally.

“Yes, I think Kurt can be ready by then. Expect him around this time, then. If anything changes, we’ll call you. Good night, Logan.”

“Night,” Logan replied, flipping the phone closed.

* * *

All through the next day, Logan wondered if he should tell Rogue that Kurt was coming that night. But as the hours dragged by, he kept thinking that he’d be getting a phone call postponing and so, logically and rationally, he figured there was no point in adding to Rogue’s stress when the visit and subsequent skin sampling might not take place.

Rogue, of course, saw that he was jumpy but respected his need for secrecy. With a mental shrug, one mirrored by the new resident in her head – new? she wondered briefly, feeling suddenly like the voice had always been with her – Rogue pushed her concern and curiosity to the back burner, knowing that, as always, Logan would talk when he was ready.

But he didn’t talk. He watched the clock a lot, though, and he watched her. Finally, despite her vow of patience and understanding, Rogue couldn’t take it anymore and a little before midnight slammed her mug of tea down on the kitchen table.

“What the hell’s goin’ on, Logan?” she growled. “Ya’ve been jumpier than a june bug in a skillet all damn day.”

Logan jumped in surprise, an action she would have laughed at on any other day, and turned away from the clock.

Before he could answer, a loud bamf cracked through the room and two figures collapsed next to the table. Rogue started in her chair and Logan jumped in front of her, his claws out.

“I think I’m going to be sick,” Rogue heard a male voice moan.

“Entschuldigung!” Kurt’s voice apologized. Logan’s claws slid smoothly back into place. “It is ze sulfur, and perhaps a bit of motion sickness, no? It happens to everybody ze first time zey travel wit me.”

“Do we have to go back right away?” the first voice asked. It was a little stronger, and Rogue leaned around Logan and tried to get a glimpse of his face, positive she knew that voice.

“Zat,” Kurt said, climbing to his feet and reaching a hand down to help his companion, “depends entirely on Logan and Rogue’s vishes.”

When the second man stood, Rogue's mouth dropped open in disbelief.

“Todd?” she squeaked.

Todd gave her a sick smile and waved weakly. “Hiya, Rogue.”

Logan growled, the claws shooting out again. He pointed them menacingly at Todd, who looked like he was going to faint.

“Explain,” he rasped curtly, jabbing a clawed hand for emphasis.

“Uh…I came with Kurt?” Todd offered, and Logan leapt toward him.

“Listen, you little shit,” Logan growled in Todd’s face, his fists wrapped in the younger man’s shirtfront and pulling him up onto his toes, “don’t get cute with me. What the hell are you doin’ here?”

Todd lifted his arms out to his sides in a shrug of sorts. “The professor asked me to come and help with the skin sampling.” At another, more menacing growl from Logan, Todd hastened to explain, “I’m a nursing student!”

Logan dropped him abruptly. Todd stumbled back a few steps, one hand catching the edge of the table to steady himself, the other going across his still-queasy stomach.

Rogue rose from her chair and stepped toward Todd, shaking off Logan’s restraining hand on her shoulder. “I didn’t know you were a nursing student,” she said in surprise.

Todd gave her another weak smile. “Yeah. But how could you know? It’s not like we ever talked before that psych project.”

“I just assumed you were a psych major like me since we had so many of the same classes.”

Shaking his head, the sick look finally fading from his face, Todd explained, “Nursing students at our school have to take a minimum of four psych classes. In theory, a lot of the problems patients face – especially with chronic or terminal illnesses – are going to be psychological. We’re supposed to be able to listen to what they’re saying and watch their behaviors for any signs of depression or other stuff.”

“‘Other stuff’ huh?” Rogue asked with a smirk. “That medical terminology?”

Todd gave her a cheeky grin. “Yup.”

“Let’s cut the chit-chat,” Logan rasped, having moved to stand next to Kurt. “You’re here for a skin sample, so get it over with.”

Hesitating over his answer, Todd looked at Kurt pleadingly.

“Oh,” Kurt said with surprise, “right. Vell, since Todd is most likely going to spend ze return trip much like he spent ze trip up, it might be best if ve stay here tonight, and do ze sampling in ze morning, ja?”

“No,” Logan said stubbornly.

At the same time, Rogue asked, “What? How’d he spend the trip up?”

Todd sighed. “He meant every time he teleported, I puked. Well, I only puked the first four or five times. Dry heaves after that.”

“Oh,” Rogue said, the look on her face making it clear she was sorry she had asked.

Logan laughed harshly. “Good. That means you should leave tonight. Nothin’ to puke up. It’ll be a different story in the mornin’.”

Kurt looked like he might be swayed by that reasoning, as he kept glancing down at his feet and grimacing.

“You get splashed, elf?” Logan asked with amusement.

“Ja,” Kurt said sadly, “many times.”

“I’m sorry!” Todd cried, embarrassed.

Kurt looked up and smiled reassuringly, his pointed teeth ruining the effort. “I know, and I’m not angry wit you. You couldn’t help it, after all. I vould just prefer to avoid repeating ze experience if I could.”

Todd laughed nervously. “Ah, yeah, me too.”

“We should let them stay, Logan,” Rogue urged, grabbing his flannel-covered elbow.

Looking down at her pleading expression, Logan felt his resolve weakening. Before he gave in, though, Todd interrupted.

“No, we’ll leave tonight, Rogue. Logan’s right about my stomach, and if we stayed, we wouldn’t be able to leave until tomorrow night. Can’t travel during the day.”

“I had not thought of zat,” Kurt said musingly.

“Plus,” Todd continued, “we only have the bare minimum necessary for transporting the skin samples. Hank designed the containers for a window of only a couple hours or so. After that, the samples won’t be kept cool and the tissue will start to degrade, and we already spent about thirty minutes getting up here.”

“Couldn’t you just keep them in the refrigerator?” Rogue asked, confused.

Todd laughed. “Not exactly. The containers don’t just regulate temperature. There are a couple other things Hank tried to explain to me – vacuum storage and particulate suppression? Something like that – that I just didn’t understand. But yeah. Short answer, no, can’t use the fridge.”

“Oh,” Rogue acknowledged in a smile voice. With a sigh, she flopped back into her chair and rolled up her sleeves, presenting her arms. “Get on with it then.”

Todd was clearly surprised, but hesitated no more than a few seconds before swinging his bag off his shoulders and rummaging through it. He took out eight containers and lined them up on the table after removing a small glass vial from each and setting them to one side of the table. A black marker and rolls of gauze and sterile padding followed, as well as an unmarked brown bottle. A second bottle, this one clear, was next. The last thing Todd pulled out of his bag looked a bit like a staple gun.

Rogue looked immediately to Logan when she saw it. He was leaning back against the refrigerator, his arms crossed tightly over his chest and a scowl on his face.

He looks nervous, Rogue mused.

‘Course he does, dummy, her voice answered. He’s worried about you, and he was basically tortured in that lab. Medical tools are bound to make him a bit twitchy.

True, Rogue conceded, recognizing on some level that her preoccupation with Logan was keeping her from getting anxious about the procedure. She didn’t even flinch when Todd swabbed her right forearm with the cold disinfectant from the brown bottle. Next, he swabbed the spot with the liquid from the clear bottle, the slight tingling numbness telling her it was a topical anesthetic. She ignored him when he loaded one of the glass vials into the base of the gun. She still didn’t flinch when he placed the sample gun against her skin. Her eyes stayed on Logan even when Todd pulled the trigger and the gun gouged into her skin with a hiss. So she saw that, while she didn’t flinch, Logan did.

When Todd pulled the vial from the gun, a messy bit of her flesh flopped against the glass and Logan closed his eyes briefly as though he were in pain. From the corner of her eye, Rogue saw Todd drop the vial into one of the canisters, flip the lid back on, and scrawl “Rt. forearm” on the blank label. He wiped the wound with a pad soaked in the disinfectant, pausing to look at Rogue curiously when she didn't react to the burning sensation, and then taped a soft guaze pad over it. They repeated the process seven times, and Rogue remained silent and unflinching as skin was cut from her right and left biceps, her left forearm, her stomach and back, and both thighs. While it was somewhat awkward shifting her clothing around and maneuvering so she could keep Logan in sight, she managed it all without looking away from him once. Kurt had courteously left the room when she dropped her jeans for the skin samples from her legs. He reappeared as Todd was snapping the lid on the last container.

“Are you all right, Rogue?” he asked, his blue face scrunched in a worried frown.

Rogue nodded wordlessly.

“And you, Todd? You’re looking a bit pale.”

Todd waved Kurt's question off as he packed everything back into his bag. “I’m fine. Just need a glass of water.” Casting another curious glance at Rogue, Todd shrugged and moved to the sink. The first cupboard he tried, the one to the right of the sink, held the glasses, and he carefully pulled one down and filled it. He drained the glass quickly and immediately refilled it. Turning around to face the room’s other occupants, he lost his balance and the glass slipped from his fingers.

Logan and Rogue, intent on each other, didn’t notice what was happening. When the glass hit the floor and shattered, the sound deafening in the quiet room, Logan jumped and his claws shot out as he turned toward Todd.

And Rogue disappeared with a bamf, leaving behind a cloud of blue smoke and the smell of sulfur.

Xavier smelled the barest hint of sulfur less than a second before Rogue toppled onto his desk.

“Ow,” she mumbled, rubbing her hip as Xavier reared back in shock as far as the confining embrace of his wheelchair allowed. Suddenly realizing where she was, Rogue’s eyes widened briefly before a cool veil of dignity dropped over her face. “Professor.” She nodded to him as she gracefully swung her legs over the edge of his desk to stand beside him.

The professor maneuvered his chair back a few feet and tipped his head to look up at her.

“This is most…unexpected, Rogue,” he said, unwilling to admit even to himself that he found it difficult to mimic her stoicism.

Rogue shrugged.

“You don’t exactly seem surprised that you just teleported several hundred miles,” he tried again.

Another shrug. “I’m not.”

“But you were surprised,” Xavier persisted.

One of Rogue’s eyebrows shot up in eerie imitation of Logan. “Not everyday I end up draped over your desk,” she nearly growled, the tenor of her voice creeping into Logan’s deeper range.

Xavier blinked twice slowly, his mind racing. “Mindscape Rogue, I presume?” he asked quietly.

Logan’s leering smirk looked out of place on Rogue’s soft features. “Charles, Charles,” she mocked in Magneto’s cultured tones, “when will you ever learn?”

Feeling an unexpected surge of anger, Xavier demanded, “Enough, young lady. There is no need for games with me.”

An unrepentant shrug was Rogue’s only reply. Propping a hip against his desk, she crossed her arms in front of her chest. “So. Any ideas on the recent developments, Professor?”

“Too many to count,” Xavier admitted dryly. “The only one that makes sense, however, is that your mutation has been in the process of maturing the last several years and your full potential is just now emerging.” Rogue stared at him, face blank. “But you knew that, of course,” he added, hoping for a reaction.

Another damnable shrug. “Course I knew. Little Marie just didn’t know.”

“And now she does?”

“Yeah. She’s suspected for a good long while, though. Fought me like hell at times without even being aware of it.” Xavier wondered if he was imaging the admiring tone.

“Is she…gone?” the professor forced himself to ask.

For the first time since Rogue realized she was on his desk, he got an honest expression from her. The thunderous scowl she threw at him somehow made him feel like a fool for even asking the question.

“No, she’s not ‘gone’ in the way you mean. She’s here. I’m here.” Another shrug. “Don’t ask me to explain it, Chuck. It’s the ultimate existential question and I doubt I can answer it any better than you could answer if I asked you, ‘What makes you you?’”

“I see. So you’re still Marie, but not?”

“Sure. Why not. Call me Marie 2.0. Fully upgraded and integrated.”

Perplexed, Xavier pursed his lips. “Can you tell me what makes you different from the original Marie? Other than the power boost, of course.”

“I’m still me, Professor,” she said seriously. “Just more so.”

“Give me an example,” he insisted, probing a bit at her mind and encountering only an odd static.

“Cut it out,” Rogue demanded, “that tickles.”

His start of surprise making him choke on an inhalation, Xavier coughed spasmodically a few times. “That’s new,” he commented hoarsely.

“It’s always tickled,” Rogue returned serenely.

Suspecting that she was deliberately missing the point, Xavier allowed his implied question to go unanswered in favor of his first one. “I would still like an example, Rogue.”

“Like what?” came the unfazed response.

Casting about for an appropriate topic, Xavier finally settled on, “How do you feel about Logan?”

“Same as always.”

“And that would be?” Xavier cursed internally as he heard a trace of excitement in his own voice.

Rogue blinked in mild surprise. “Why Xavier, you old snoop. You’ve been wondering about that all this time and were never able to figure it out, were you?”

“Yes, well,” he hedged. “You and Logan were always the most mysterious of the mansion’s inhabitants, you know.”

Rogue laughed throatily. “And you had to listen in on all the students’ gossiping thoughts about us, didn’t you?”

“I didn’t intend to,” he said stiffly. Then he sighed. “It’s just that youngsters’ minds are so loud all the time.”

“I bet,” Rogue said in amusement, giving him a gamine grin and staring at him expectantly.

“Oh, very well,” he said tolerantly when he realized Rogue was stringing him along. “Rogue, what do you feel for Logan?” he asked directly.

Rogue gave him a slight nod. “I love him, of course. Always have and likely always will. Unless he does something completely and uncharacteristically assholistic.”

Xavier sputtered. “What?”

“You know,” Rogue said nonchalantly, “like turn into a condescending, beer-guzzling jerk.”

Xavier’s brows lifted in amusement. “There are plenty of people who would describe him in precisely those terms.”

“Yeah, but he’s not actually like that. It’s all just camouflage.”

“For what?” Xavier probed.

“Stop playing stupid, Chuck. You know as well as I do that Logan’s a big softie.”

“I wouldn’t go so far as to say that.”

“Not consciously, no,” Rogue conceded. “But you never once thought twice about leaving any of the children in Logan’s care, did you?”

“Well, no,” Xavier said with some surprise. “Should I have?”

“Course not,” Rogue said impatiently. “And that just proves my point. Whether it factored into your conscious decision making or not, you always knew that Logan isn’t the type to ever hurt or neglect a child no matter what.”

“I would think everybody can see that, though.”

Rogue shook her head. “No. A lot of them only see the beer-guzzling jackass image. That’s why Jean never gave him a real chance, you know.”

“What?” the professor asked in surprise. “What do you mean?”

“Jean was so good at reading people that she thought she had Logan figured out from the get go. Basically, she stopped looking before she got past the exterior.”

“I don’t think that’s entirely accurate, Rogue. Some part of her knew him fully. I don’t think she would have asked of him what she did otherwise.”

Even before he finished, Rogue was shaking her head. “Nope. She asked him to kill her because she thought he was nothing more than a beer-guzzling jerk with no feelings. You’ll notice she wasn’t asking you or Scott to do the deed.”

Xavier frowned. “Hmm,” he considered. “I hadn’t thought of that. I always just assumed it was a combination of Logan’s abilities and Jean’s knowledge of his sense of justice and sacrifice that made him the logical choice for her.”

“Nope. Self-absorbed bitch right to the end,” Rogue returned in an almost cheerful voice.

“Rogue,” Xavier chided with real disapproval.

Sighing, Rogue conceded, “I know, I know. Jean wasn’t all bad. I just didn’t like her much for obvious reasons.”

“Logan?” Xavier questioned.

“Of course Logan,” Rogue scoffed. “Now, can we move on to the real issue here?”

“Which is?” Xavier was forced to ask, feeling as if he had been left behind several minutes ago.

“My upgrade, Chuck.”

“Oh! Oh, yes, of course. Do you foresee any more…improvements?”

“As far as my abilities go, you mean? No, not really,” Rogue replied, shaking her head. “I imagine my control will improve, and I’ll continue to clone whatever powers I encounter. But I don’t think any more ‘Rogue originals’ will emerge.”

“Rogue originals?”

“Yeah. You know - powers and abilities unique to me. Everything from here on out will just be me getting comfortable with what I have.”

“I see,” Xavier said, pressing his fingers into a steeple. “And how quickly do you think you’ll be able to adapt to your new abilities?”

Another gamine grin and a wink was Rogue’s only response before she disappeared, leaving only a bit of blue smoke and the scent of sulfur in her place.

* * *

“Where the hell’d she go, Elf?” Logan growled in Kurt’s face as he tightened his hold on the blue mutant’s collar.

“I don’t know!” Kurt cried, wrapping his three fingered hands around Logan’s. He briefly considered teleporting in an effort to escape, but tight as Logan’s clenched fists were, he’d just end up bringing the man with him.

Todd, just a few feet away, was pale, his mouth gaping open as he looked between the other two men and the place where Rogue had been only moments before.

“Can’t you follow her?”

“No,” Kurt protested, tugging experimentally at Logan’s hands. “It doesn’t vork zat vay.”

“Then how the hell are we supposed to find her?” Logan roared, shaking Kurt for emphasis.

“Um, ‘scuse me,” Todd interrupted timidly.

Logan‘s head whipped around and he glared at Todd. “What? he snarled,

“Would the professor be able to find her?”

Todd was fascinated by the way the tension visibly seeped out of Logan’s muscular body.

“Yeah. Yeah, Chuck could find her,” he said in relief, dropping his hands from Kurt’s collar and absently smoothing the fabric in a gesture Kurt found somewhat disturbing coming from Logan.

“Zen ve vill just call zhe professor, ja?” Kurt said calmly.

“Yeah,” Logan muttered, already rummaging in the pockets of the coat he had been wearing earlier. He pulled the phone out and flipped it open. For several long moments, he just stared at the illuminated display, his fingers not moving to dial.

“Logan?” Todd said.

“What if he can’t find her?” Logan asked, his voice low and husky.

“She certainly can’t be found until somebody looks for her, my friend,” Kurt said gently. “Call zhe professor.”

His jaw clenched tight, Logan closed his eyes briefly before hitting the button that speed dialed the mansion. The first ring hadn’t even finished when the professor picked up.

“Logan, Rogue was just -”

Bamf

Logan didn’t hear the rest of what the professor was saying.

Raising an eyebrow in Logan’s direction, Rogue asked cheekily, “Did ya miss me?”