“Shadowcat, report.”

“Access to level 2 granted...gates should be opening now.”

“Good job -- Colossus, you’re on point. Shield up.”

“Rogue, you and Jubilee take the east hall. Check every cell.”

“Scott -- watch out -- on your left!”

“Thanks Jean. Two hostiles down, west hall clear. Okay in the east?”

“Yeah, two hostiles, taken care of. Five mutants over here. They’re...okay. Physically. They are coming along okay, but...”

“But what, Rogue?”

“They’re -- I don’t know, like dolls are something. Just empty.”

“As long as they’re mobile, that’s what counts. You and Jubilee get them to the Blackbird. Let the doc sort them out. We’ve got four here but there’s one more cell on the end.”

“Shadowcat, one more door, special access. Do you have a code for me?”

“Working on it....you’ll need a keycard.”

“Got one.”

“Okay...try hotel victor five seven whiskey echo zero.”

“Got it...thanks. One more in here...damn it, watch out! He’s not happy. Tranq him.”

“Colossus, need you here...he’s damn heavy. Shit -- he’s up! Fall back! Christ, Piotr, I didn’t think anything could dent that skin of yours. Those claws are something new...Jean -- can you get in his head? Get him to calm down and come with us?”

“Can’t -- not sure why -- it’s not working. What do we do?”

“Cyke, we got reinforcements coming. Military from the south, law enforcement from the east and west. First ones ETA 10 minutes.”

“Thanks, Shadowcat. Piotr, get the others out. I’ll try one more tranq.”

“Great, I just made him madder. Must be a super-healer. Damn it, we’ll have to leave him.”

“Leave him? What do you mean? You can’t!”

“Damn it Rogue, what are you doing here?”

Rogue took in the scene before her. She had passed Piotr in the smoky hall behind, herding four more of the doll-like mutants to the Blackbird. Now just a few steps behind Jean and Scott, she stared past them at the dim figure of a mutant, his back against the cell wall, hulking form barely distinguishable in the red emergency lighting. Looking closer, she saw the glint of metal, and made out the claws -- razor sharp knives protruding from his hands. Christ, that must hurt, she thought.

The figure growled a warning as Scott’s angry voice rang out. “Rogue, you’re supposed to be escorting the others to the Blackbird.”

“Jubes has it covered,” she said absently, still scanning the scene, taking in the details. Deep gouges in the bars separating his cell from the narrow hallway, leather restraints on the wall, blood spattering his naked form... “We can’t leave him.”

“I’m not jeopardizing the mission, Rogue. We have to get the others out,” Scott snapped. She could tell he was angry at the thought of leaving a prisoner behind as well -- Scott didn’t deal well with failure.

Rogue’s eyes were adjusting better to the dimmer light at this end of the hall now, and for some reason she couldn’t let this go. There would be hell to pay later she knew, but for now....there was something in the eyes of the prisoner. Anger, yes, but also underneath -- a trace of panic? “Give me two minutes,” she said calmly.

“What do you think...” Scott started.

“Two minutes, Scott. Please. Can you trust me?” she said. He turned around, prepared to snap out another order she knew, but whatever he saw in her expression must have made him reconsider. “Two minutes,” he said grudgingly.

Rogue took a step forward slowly, and then another. The man was still, but she could see his labored breathing, the pulse hammering in his throat, and his eyes darting back and forth between her, Scott, and the cell door. “Kitty, cut the alarm,” she said, and almost immediately the shrill blaring stopped. Kitty was damn good at tech, she’d give her that.

Rogue eased in the door of the cell slowly, ignoring the motion in the corner of her eye of Scott’s intake of breath and the warning hand Jean placed on his arm to stop him from saying whatever he had planned to say. Easing to the side to be sure she was no longer between the prisoner and the door, she slowly approached the man.

His eyes stopped darting and focused in on hers, and she felt the sudden force of his gaze as a physical thing, causing her breath to hitch. One step, and then another, trying to project calm and warmth, not fear. For some reason it wasn’t as hard as it should be. As fearsome as the man looked, she wasn’t quite able to feel afraid of him. Mama always said I had no sense, she thought fleetingly.

Another step and she was close enough for him to skewer her if he chose but instead he remained still, body rigid with tension, pulse still hammering. She could see his eyes clearly now -- pupils so dilated it was hard to tell the color of his eyes, but they were communicating watchfulness and not violent intent. At least not yet.

Slowly, making sure he saw every move coming, she removed her left glove. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Scott tense again, but she knew her skin was securely off. She would rather leave this man to fend for himself than do that to him. She held out her hand, palm up, and for a second time seemed to stop. The man narrowed his gaze on her hand, and then again on her eyes. He took one shuffling step forward, and she concentrated on keeping her body loose, letting no tension show in her posture. The sudden /snick/ as the claws retracted startled her, but she managed not to jump.

He watched her closely, reaching toward her hand. Suddenly he grabbed it, and for a second she thought he was going to bite her palm. But he just took a deep inhale, smelling her scent and then looking back at her eyes, assessing. She thought she saw a slight lessening of the tension in his posture after this strange ritual, but either way they were out of time.

“It’s okay, right?” she said, addressing the man in a voice so quiet it was little more than a breath. “You’re coming with us. We’re going to go now. Okay?” she said. He gave her no sign one way or another, but she nodded as if he had. She turned her hand, still held palm-up in his, until she was grasping his hand. “We’re going now, Scott. It’ll be fine.”

For someone with a visor over half his face, Scott could be damn expressive. Hell to pay, she thought again. But -- with a nudge from Jean-- Scott turned and started back through the metal door they had jammed open that separated this cell from the others.

Rogue took a step towards the cell door, the man’s hand still in hers. Please come. she thought, refusing to look back to see if he would. Their arms stretched between them for a second, hands still clasped, and then she felt him move to follow her. She swallowed down a sigh of relief as they padded awkwardly down the hall, her soft-soled shoes making as little noise as his bare feet, hastening their steps now.

“ETA law enforcement 7 minutes -- I’m heading back now,” Kitty said in her earpiece, as they followed the backs of Jean and Scott. Once he had made up his mind it seemed like the man had no other doubts. Although she could feel the tension in the hand gripping hers, he followed her wordlessly through the complex, hand-in-hand. Like first-graders in a fire drill Rogue thought wryly, as they ran up the steps and out, suddenly, into the crisp air.

She half expected him to break for the open space -- seeing the Blackbird through his eyes as a mass of light and noise. She felt a momentary tug as he hesitated, but she tightened her hand in his and forged on, hoping her certainty would draw him along through sheer force of will.

The Blackbird’s engines were already going, the ramp starting to fold up as they ran up it, and Storm was wheels-up in seconds. The rest of the team had wisely stowed the other rescued prisoners in the fold-down seats along the wall and left the back two bucket seats empty. Rogue guided the man into one of them, only having to push a bit to get him to sit. He was cooperating, but she didn’t fool herself into thinking him passive. Unlike the other rescued mutants, who had vacantly looked into space and numbly moved where guided, this one was fairly trembling with tension. His eyes were constantly assessing the situation, glancing at Storm, narrowing on Scott, and then focusing back on Rogue as she strapped herself in to the seat next to him.

Scott had been busy letting the school know that they were on their way back and making sure the med bay was prepped for the rescued mutants, but now he disconnected and roughly unbuckled his harness, heading for the back.

“Rogue, what the hell...” he started, and then they all froze as the prisoner leapt to his feet with a growl, placing his body in front of Rogue’s chair and unsheathing the claws, hands in fists and arms splayed at his sides.

“Scott, listen to me and do exactly as I say,” Rogue said quietly, as Scott’s hand instinctively went to the side of his visor. “Take a step back.” Scott dropped his hand and stepped back as Rogue slipped out of her harness. “Now another step back. Now sit in your chair.” Damn, it’s kind of fun to give Cyke orders, Rogue thought, getting a quick glance of Kitty and Piotr wide-eyed and craned around in the seats in front. I could get used to this.

She eased around to the side of the prisoner again, making sure his attention was focused back on her. “It’s okay,” she said. “It’s all okay. Sit.” Acting as if the claws weren’t there, she reached a hand out to his shoulder, and again he let her guide him into the chair. She stifled the urge to say, “Good boy,” and pat him on the head, instead pulling a blanket from a handy storage spot and tucking it around him, like that would keep him in his spot.

“Obviously, we’ll talk about this later,” Scott said from the front, his voice so carefully neutral it was bordering on robotic. Obviously, Rogue thought.

“So, where is he going to go?” Kitty piped up, and then looked flustered as the eyes of every team member swiveled to her. Scott, Jean, and Rogue exchanged glances, acknowledging that neither of them had thought ahead so far.

“He can’t come to the mansion,” Scott said.

“No...” Rogue agreed, and then she continued “...It’s too noisy” at the same time that Scott said, “It’s not safe for the children.” Great, Rogue thought, feeling her cheeks flush a bit, More proof that I’m a lousy X-Man. The safety of the kids should come first, and I didn’t even think of them. She decided she was in enough trouble, and resolved to zip her lip, and both she and Scott looked at Jean.

“We don’t have facilities at the medbay to restrain him,” Jean said thoughtfully. “If he could cut Piotr’s metal skin I don’t know what will hold him except for chemical restraints, and I think he’s had plenty of that.”

“How can you even think of that after where we just found him?” Rogue hissed angrily. A warning rumble from the seat next to her cued her that she better switch back to her Everything-Is-Hunky-Dory calm voice.

“I’m just talking it out, Rogue,” Jean said, and again Rogue felt her cheeks warm at the gentle censure in her voice. These two had the ability to make her feel like a child. “I understand that this situation may be a little sensitive for you...” Jean continued.

“No, you don’t understand,” Rogue interrupted flatly. It was a tacit agreement at the school that no one mention how Rogue had come to them, rescued from a lab herself and half-mad with the voices in her head. Jean must truly be pissed off to play that card.

Into that tense moment, a calm clear voice from the front spoke out. “The lake house,” Storm said. Like a ping pong match everyone turned their attention to her, but she remained facing forward, serenely flying the plane as she had since the moment they lifted off.

“The lake house,” Scott repeated, and Rogue could practically see him turning the suggestion around in his head, looking at it from all angles to create a detailed list of risks and benefits.

“That’ll work,” Rogue said, forgetting her resolution to be quiet. She had always found it remarkably peaceful there, and if there was a better place to house a potentially violent, traumatized, knife-wielding mutant she didn’t know of it. “I’ll stay there with him,” she said. “Just have some groceries and supplies sent out from the mansion. And some clothes.”

She only had the slimmest hope of sliding that by without objection, and sure enough Scott didn’t take it well. “Rogue, has your common sense gone out the window? We have no idea what we’re dealing with. We don’t even know the scope of his mutations. Probably a superhealer, probably feral as well, and those claws -- we don’t even know what the hell those are. He could go berserk at a moment’s notice -- we don’t even know what kind of drugs they pumped into these guys.”

Rogue took a deep breath, willing herself for once not to answer impulsively. “I understand it’s a risk,” she said, “and a big one,” she hurriedly continued as she saw Scott draw breath to argue with that understatement. “What can I say? He trusts me. I don’t think he’ll hurt me. I’ll be as careful as I can be. Don’t forget, I’m not exactly defenseless. And honestly, what other choice do we have? Is there anyone else who can even get him off this plane?”

Scott leaned back, frustration in every line of his body. He looked almost automatically to Jean, but whatever he read in her face, it wasn’t objection. “Storm, is there room to set down by the lake house before we return to the mansion?”

“No problem,” Storm said, with a quick conspiratorial look back at Rogue that made her have to look down to hide her smile.

Pain. The pain was always there. Pain and fear, pain and hunger, pain and bone-rattling cold. The days were a grey blur, but the pain wove through them all like an angry red wire. Logan had no memory of a time before this, and could not imagine a time after. There was just now, and the pain and fear and hatred. The tasteless food and the shuffle of boots, the shock of the prod and the clang of the cell door. Awakening to find his arms flayed open, his skin charred black, his muscles torn, and then the slow painful process of knitting himself back together would begin. His ears rang from the screams of the other prisoners, and the stench of fear and chemicals choked him.

When he got the rare chance he would lash out, cutting people or things -- it hardly mattered which -- but it never changed anything. He had no goal in mind anyway, this misery is all there was and all there would ever be. In rare moments, his mind would start to clear and things would come to him -- thoughts and memories that seemed like they couldn’t possibly be his. Rain on his face, movement down a road, the scent of a forest, a warm touch of skin to his. These scraps of thought were so confusing to him that at times he welcomed the needle guns and the return to greyness. Remembrance was pain.

At first he noticed nothing different. More noise, louder and shriller than usual. Darkness, and red light. New guards, but still the same needle guns, the hands reaching for his weakening body. This time, though, the needle guns were less powerful, and he was able to swipe before they ducked away. More needle guns, infuriating him further.

Then, all of a sudden, there was Her. Different, somehow. She was just -- good. Soft and slow. Calm and warm. Her voice made something warm uncurl in his belly, bringing to his mind a strange word -- honey -- and the ghost of a sweet taste on his tongue. She came toward him and reached out to him, and the touch of her hand and the smell of her skin soothed him, as if she had run her hand in a rippling path down his body, leaving warmth behind. She smelled of rain and earth and comfort. She was making sounds he didn’t understand, but he did know one word. “Go.”

“Go,” she said, and he went, because of all the things he could do right now the one thing he couldn’t do was let go of her hand.
________

Rogue swung the door to the lake house wide, scooping up the duffel bag and box of groceries from the porch. Someone must have hauled ass to get it there from the mansion before they landed. That or maybe Kurt bamffed it there, she’d have to ask him later.

“Welcome home,” she said. She left the front door open, dropping the duffel in the hall. She unzipped the leather jacket of her uniform and draped it over the kitchen chair, rolling her shoulders under her tank top in relief. The open floor plan allowed her to watch the door from the corner of her eye while she put groceries in the fridge. She had a feeling he needed to make this choice on his own, and she breathed a sigh of relief when she saw him approach, and then finally step through the doorway. “Just call me the mutant whisperer,” she mumbled.

Perishables put away, she considered what to do next. She could try to get him clothed, but honestly he seemed to have no problem strolling around in the buff, and after her stint in the lab nudity no longer held any shock value for her either. She could try to get him clean, but herding him into a shower seemed like a bit too much of a project for right now. “Okay, food it is,” she said aloud, watching him explore and sniff his way into the adjoining rooms. “Hopefully this place is puppy-proofed, but try not to hang yourself on a drapery cord or something in the next five minutes.”

She remembered times in the lab, voices of other people crawling under her skin, when the only thing that had kept her sane was listing and re-listing all the foods she would eat if she ever got out. Sweet versus savory, appetizers versus entrees versus desserts, aisle by aisle at the grocery store...she had told herself if she ever got out she would open a restaurant called “Marie’s,” and the menu would be titled, “Foods So Good They Make You Want to Live.”

Suddenly, a sense of shame welled up in her, so strong it weakened her knees. She lowered herself to the kitchen floor, back against the cabinets, and put her head on her knees, feeling shaky. Here she was making jokes, calling this man -- this man -- an animal when she of all people knew the truth. This is what they do to us, she thought. They hurt us, and rape us, and beat us, and drug us, and treat us like less than human until that’s what we become. This is what they make us.

The joke-cracking wiseass Rogue was attempting to distance herself from the situation, but Marie knew better. “Point taken, Marie,” she mumbled. She lifted her head and an undignified squeak popped out. He was standing right in front of her, brow furrowed, head tilted to make out her face behind the curtain of her hair. She drew in a shaky breath and stood up, trying to smile encouragingly. “No problem, everything’s okay,” she said. “Food, right?”

Determined now to treat him like a man, she found herself babbling. “Something quick and filling, right? Scrambled eggs? Hope you’re not allergic, sugar. We didn’t go through all that dramatic rescuing just to kill you with anaphylaxis.” She grabbed a bowl and whisk and cracked five eggs into it. Another considering look at him and she added three more. Although he was still an impressively large man, she could see now that the breadth of his shoulders was out of proportion to the concave stomach. He had been underfed for a long time.

“How about bacon?” she continued. “You seem like a meat eater. Unless you keep kosher?” Before she realized what she was doing her eyes slid down to his groin. She snapped her eyes back up to his, realizing he had watched every move intently. “Eep!” she said, and wheeled around to beat the eggs to a frothy mass, blushing to high heaven. “Great, now naked bloody feral guy thinks I’m a pervert,” she mumbled.

She turned around to put the eggs in the frying pan, and once again he was right there, staring at her intently. “I’ve got to remember that you can do that,” she breathed. He stepped closer, and tentatively pressed his fingers to her cheekbone. She felt a new rush of warmth to her skin as the lingering blush he was touching intensified. What was with her today? She had never felt so thin-skinned, so unbalanced. Everything about this man was throwing her off her game.

She took his fingers in hers. She could handle this. Make a plan, follow it through. “Let’s wash you up a bit,” she said. She wasn’t sure if he even knew how to use silverware, a handwashing would be a start.

She drew him over to the sink and turned the water on, but he pulled back when she tried to bring his hands under the spray. “Don’t worry,” she said. “See?” She put soap in her hands and demonstrated. This time when she reached for his hands he let her. She put a dollop of liquid soap in her own palm, and rubbed it into his hands, rubbing her thumbs across his palms, over the backs of his hands, between the knuckles where the blades came out, the action feeling surprisingly intimate. She wondered how the blades were stored, that she couldn’t even feel a trace of them under his skin.

Suddenly he took over, rubbing his hands together automatically, scrubbing his fingers. “Fixed action pattern,” Marie said, the phrase floating to the top of her mind from a long-ago biology lecture by Hank. Overlearned actions so automatic they just had to be set into motion. At one time he had lived as a civilized person.

She guided him into one of the kitchen chairs, partly to prevent him from being so unnervingly close. He followed her every move with his intent gaze while she scrambled the eggs, fried the bacon, toasted the bread. Finally she made up the plates, one piled high for him and a smaller one for herself. She put the plate and a fork in front of him, scanning the meal for missing food groups. She got back up and poured him a glass of orange juice, getting them both water as well before sitting down opposite him in front of her own plate.

She had seen him looking at the food avidly, but he still hadn’t touched it. When she sat down, his eyes snapped back to hers, narrowing in suspicion. She felt her heart wrench. She knew that feeling. Her first days at Xavier’s had been spent like that -- unable to trust the slightest kindness, always looking for the catch, the punchline. Nothing good comes without a price. It was a lesson much harder to unlearn than it ever was to learn.

“It’s good, see?” she said. She took a bite of eggs from his plate and swallowed it. Next a bite from his bacon, and then a corner from his toast, placing each carefully back on his plate. She cast her eyes down, pretending to focus on her own meal as she ate, until at the edge of her vision she saw him pick up the fork and start to eat, wolfing down the food as if she was going to snatch it away at any moment.

She hoped he would keep it down, she knew what a sudden influx of food could do to a starved stomach. It was what put several foods off her “Foods So Good They Make You Want to Live” list and onto her “Foods I Never Want to See Again” list. After a time she got him more water and toast, putting an extra batch of bacon to fry and trying not to laugh at the face he made when he tasted the orange juice. Oh well, hopefully superhealer meant he was resistant to scurvy.

After they had both eaten, they sat for awhile. She put her feet up on a chair, looking him over consideringly, and he seemed content to look right back at her. She thought maybe there was a little more awareness in his eyes, but maybe it was simply the lessening of fear and the effects of a solid meal. Next project, getting him clean. “Howzabout a bath?” she said.

Rogue went on a scouting mission. She had stayed at the lake house on occasion before, but she’d never had the place to herself. Jean and Scott had always snagged the master suite.

Yowza, she had no idea what she was missing. Situated right off the main living room area, the master bedroom was huge, with a wall of windows and a french door out to a back deck overlooking the lake. The bathroom was probably the size of her room at home, with a giant rainshower and a huge separate soaking tub. Probably a good idea, not having to try to wrestle him past a shower curtain.

She started the water running, checking the temperature from time to time. This thing was going to take awhile to fill. In the meantime she found a cabinet full of fluffy towels and pulled out a good supply. Another cabinet held quite a variety of soaps and shampoos. She sniffed a few, finally settling on the mildest-smelling soap -- lemongrass, she thought -- and a baby shampoo that had no scent at all, at least to her. She didn’t actually have high hopes that he’d allow her to get him in the tub, let alone give him a good shampoo, but she figured she’d take the most optimistic approach.

The tub was almost full when she saw him at the door to the bathroom, apparently having followed the sound of the water and the scent of her. “Good timing,” she said. She went to him and took his hand, but his eyes were on the tub, and he was looking frankly terrified. “It’s okay,” she said. “It’s good. Warm. Clean.” She tried to draw him closer, but after a step or two he pulled back.

He began to shift nervously from side to side, again resisting as she tried to draw him closer. “It’s okay, I promise,” she said. She tried one more pull, and he suddenly released her hand. She tried to stifle the wave of hurt feelings she felt at that. She hadn’t realized how important to her his tacit trust had become.

She took a deep breath, trying to regroup. She felt like she was committed to this now, she didn’t want him to be always on edge, thinking that this was some torture she had planned that she was only putting off temporarily. Now that she had started, she had to repair the trust between them. He was looking back and forth between her and the tub anxiously, and began to make a high, keening sound that made her heart wrench. “Jesus,” she said softly. “What did they do to you?”

She took his hand again, but this time took a step away from the tub. His eyes showed both uncertainty and relief. “Let’s go back a step,” Rogue said. “Do you have a name?” She didn’t really expect him to answer, but surprisingly he seemed to be giving the question consideration. His brows drew together, and he looked at her and then somehow through her. She couldn’t tell if he didn’t understand the question, or if he simply didn’t know the answer.

“I’m Marie,” she said, surprising even herself. Marie was her own secret name, no one at the mansion called her that. For some reason, though, it felt right. “Marie,” she said again, bringing their clasped hands towards her chest. She put their clasped hands on his chest then, and looked at him.

He seemed thoughtful again, but ultimately moved their hands back towards her. “Ma--” he said, and she felt the smile spread across her face. He looked at her, and for the first time she saw him smile too, an adorable little quirky half-smile that made him look suddenly quite young. “M’ree,” he said. “M’ree.”

She didn’t know how long they stood there, smiling foolishly at each other, until she snapped back into focus. “Right,” she said. “I’m Marie, and you can trust me. I won’t hurt you, okay? Watch.” She toed off her boots, and stripped off her socks. Finally, she shucked the leather pants of her uniform, ending up in her black tank top and underwear.

She stepped into the tub, and then kneeled down. “See?,” she said. “Nice. Warm. Clean. I promise.” She made a few splashing movements, pretending to enjoy herself immensely in the tub, feeling like a total idiot. Then she stood up and held her hand out to him again.

He took a hesitant step forward, and then another. He reached down and touched the water, and then looked at her again. He seemed surprised by the warm water, and again she wondered what they had done to him and what he had been expecting. Finally he put his hand back in hers, and she let out breath she hadn’t realized she was holding in a sigh of relief.

He allowed her to guide him to step one foot in the tub, and then another, and then they knelt down together, facing each other. Figuring she’d start with safe territory, she soaped up a washcloth and rubbed his hands again. They seemed so large in comparison to hers. She soaped and rinsed his arms, and then across his shoulders.

He made a rumbling noise and relaxed under her hands, closing his eyes. She shifted to the side a bit, water sloshing at their waists, and reached around to rub down his back. She shifted back to rub up his strong neck, and then gently over his face. She ran the washcloth across his high brow, and then gently wiped his closed eyes, and then down his strong nose. She spread the washcloth on her hand and wiped each cheek, feeling the stubble through the thin fabric of the washcloth as he nuzzled his face up into her hand a bit.

The situation felt a bit dreamlike to Marie. The only sounds were their breaths and the occasional slosh and plink of water in the tub. Time seemed to have slowed and the world narrowed until there was nothing except them, and this odd ritual they were creating. She took advantage of his closed eyes to look her fill of his chest. It was a magnificent chest, she had to admit. She let the washcloth stray there, pressing harder until she felt his heartbeat slow and steady against her palm through the wet cloth.

Suddenly he opened his eyes, and she felt a sudden return to awareness as if a spell had been broken. She turned around self-consciously to fidget with the shampoo, pooling some in the wet washcloth. He allowed her to soap his head, rumbling a bit more as she ran her fingers through his hair.

His hair was shaggy but not overly long, and she wondered when it had last been cut, and if that could prove to be a clue as to how long he had been imprisoned in the lab. She rinsed the shampoo out, leaning in to look more closely. On a hunch, she held out a lock of hair from his temple, and then leaned forward a bit more to hold out a lock from the nape of his neck. They were roughly the same length. His hair hadn’t been cut, it had been shaved to the scalp, and then allowed to regrow. It must have taken months, if not years, and who knows how many times they had done it.

Lost in her musing, she had failed to realize the precarious position she had put herself in until she felt his hands, warm at her waist. She froze, forearms on his shoulders, and felt him lean in to inhale the scent of her neck. Careful, she told herself. She felt the rasp of his tongue as he tasted the skin right where her pulse beat strongest in her neck, and couldn’t suppress a shiver.

She slowly leaned back, until she could see his eyes again. “I’m sorry,” she said, not entirely knowing what she meant. Sorry for getting carried away by her own pleasure in touching him that she hadn’t really been thinking about how it might affect him? Sorry for what they had done to him? She lifted his hands from her waist, and gave them a squeeze before letting go. She stood up and got out of the tub, drying her legs and wrapping the towel around her waist, clearing her throat awkwardly. “I’ll just...find you something to wear. Come out whenever you’re ready,” she said, walking on somewhat shaky legs to the adjoining room and sitting on the bed, out of sight.

She closed her eyes and took a few deep breaths. She tried to figure out what she was feeling. She was used to knowing exactly how she felt -- afraid when she thought of her time in the lab, angry when she disagreed with Scott or Jean, happy at times when she was doing what she liked. She preferred to avoid situations that had the potential to elicit more complex emotions, and it was easy to do.

Her somewhat dramatic arrival at the mansion as a half-mad girl with poison skin had been sufficient to keep most people at a distance. Even after her work with Professor Xavier, the person she felt closest to of all, had helped her contain the voices and control her skin she still kept mostly apart from others. She had a generally collegial relationship with the other team members, and she cared for them. She had avoided any romantic relationships as a complication she didn’t want or need.

She held no illusions -- her poison skin had protected her from outright rape at the lab and she knew that was more than could be said for most of the other mutants there, but enough had been done to her to color any relationship she might have. Imagine starting a first date with, “Hi, I’m Rogue, and these are all the things you and I would have to get past before we can have a fighting chance.” It was easier to just wall off that part of her that yearned for a connection, and be happy with what she had in life.

Now those easy rules she had established to govern her life were suddenly all confused. She felt a tangle of emotions in her belly -- the shame of taking advantage of a man who was not even fully aware, the joy of the previously unknown freedom of being able to touch someone so completely, the confusion of this strange connection they seemed to share...

She gave herself a mental shake. She could sort her feelings out later, her job was to help this man as best she could. He must be exhausted. Hopefully he hasn’t fallen asleep in the tub and drowned while you are out here mooning over your relationship problems, Rogue, she snarked to herself. She went into the hall to retrieve the duffel that had been left for them, and found a pair of sweatpants in roughly his size. She stepped to the open bathroom door to check on him, and -- um...okay...and oh.

He was stretched out in the tub now, head resting against the back, and he was -- touching himself. It was not like she had never seen that before, in the lab sometimes the guards would do that, pulling her hair to force her to watch. This was as different from that as she could possibly imagine.

The man seemed totally unaware of her, eyes closed and face turned partly away. She watched his hands move over his body, causing him to shudder. Soft groans escaped his lips as he moved, rubbing up into his hand. She knew she was watching something private, but she couldn’t turn away. Her eyes were drawn to his face, and the expressions of fierce pleasure she saw there.

She suddenly imagined what it would be like to be the one giving him such pleasure -- her hands on his body, his hips writhing against hers. Her breath quickened. She watched a droplet of sweat as it traveled down his neck and landed on his chest, and the urge to lick it away was so strong she took a half-step forward before she caught herself.

She wheeled away and stepped out of sight, pressing her back to the wall next to the doorway, pulse racing, frozen between competing impulses to go to him or to get a good distance away so she could think. She heard a whispered breath from him, and it sounded like, “M’ree.” She pushed herself away from the wall and went into the living room.

Logan was confused. She -- Marie -- had been close to him. All the good things that she brought -- foodwarmcomfortclean -- were nothing compared to the feel of her hands moving over his skin. He could not remember ever feeling a touch to his body that wasn’t inflicting pain -- grasping, hurting, prodding. Her touch brought nothing but pleasure -- somehow both soothing and arousing him at the same time.

He wanted to bring her closer to him. She was his. He wanted to touch her, smell her, taste her. But it must have been wrong, because she had gone away when he had done it, and he didn’t know why. She hadn’t seemed mad, but she had gone. He closed his eyes in frustration and confusion, and leaned back in the tub, feeling the warmth on his skin and drinking in the scent of him and her combined.

At the bad place he had been he was usually restrained. At times his body would become hard and he would feel the pressure, and he would press himself against the cold concrete floor until it was relieved. Now he ran a hand down his body, and was shocked at the bolt of pleasure it caused. He thought of Marie, and the way she had smelled, and looked, and tasted. He moved his hand and shuddered and groaned with pleasure as vague, half-formed thoughts ran through his mind. Thoughts of tasting her more and deeper, pushing against her, rubbing his scent on her and hers on him, marking her as his. And he breathed, “M’ree.”

When the man emerged from the master bedroom, he was wearing the sweatpants. Marie blinked in surprise, realizing she must have dropped them by the bathroom door. Again she wondered if his mind was clearing, or if it was just wishful thinking on her part.

He was looking at her somewhat uncertainly, and she gave him an encouraging smile. “We should go to bed now,” she said, and then blushed. “I mean, we should go to sleep. Sleep. You can sleep in there. Here, I’ll show you.” She walked him back into the bedroom, and turned back the covers. She sat him down on the bed. “You can lie down here, okay? Sleep.” He lay back, and she pulled the covers up over him. “I’ll be right outside, on the couch, if you need anything. Goodnight.”
________

Marie was tied down to her cot again, and she knew what that meant. “No,” she sobbed. “Please, no. I don’t want to.” She pulled at the metal shackles, accomplishing nothing except the bite of pain where they dug into already torn skin. She heard the scrape of the guards’ boots outside her cell.

She knew the moment when the mutant they were bringing to her saw her. He started protesting and struggling, but she knew it was no use. They opened the door of her cell, dragging him forward, his bare feet scuffling to find purchase on the floor. “No,” he begged the guards. “Stop, I’ll do anything.” Still they dragged him relentlessly forward, and now he started to beg her instead, panicked white-rimmed eyes locking on hers in his pale face. “Please, don’t do it,” he said. “Please.”

She shook her head uselessly. “I don’t want to,” she cried. “I’m sorry, please forgive me.” The guards heaved the man on top of her, his bare chest pressing into her face, and within moments she felt it begin. She gasped shuddering sobs into the man’s chest as he screamed, first into her ear and then inside her head, the terror washing through them both. “I don’t want to,” she sobbed, even as her skin avidly sucked his life inside hers.

He began to convulse on top of her, smashing her down into the cot, chest mashing her face until she thought she would die this time for sure from the screaming in her head and the snot and tears and weight of him choking her mouth and lungs. But she didn’t die, her body gasping one involuntary breath after another, the smell of the dying man choking her lungs and the anguish of him choking her mind, as she heard the heart pressed against her ear slow and then stutter and then stop.

________

Marie came awake with a jerk, up on her feet ready to run before she was even fully aware. She was disoriented for endless seconds, her heart racing, a cold sweat prickling all over her body, stomach clenched tight over a pit of nausea. She finally got her bearings, and sat back down on the couch. Lake house. Prisoner. The lab was years ago, she thought. She forced herself to take slow deep breaths, willing her heart to stop racing in her chest. She hadn’t had one of those dreams in awhile, she had forgotten just how much they sucked.

She stood up to get a glass of water, and then she heard it -- thrashing and muffled yells coming from the man’s room. She had vaulted the couch and was scrambling through the half-open door before she realized it. From there things seemed to happen in flashes. She saw him thrashing in his bed, in the throes of a nightmare. A blur of motion and he was coming towards her, roaring, claws out. Another moment and she felt the impact of his body into hers, feeling the wrench of her ankle as it twisted underneath her and the painful crack of her head as it hit the door behind her. She tasted copper in her mouth from where she had bit her tongue, and realized she was pinned to the door by his body, uncertain if the claws had gone through her or not.

It was too soon after the nightmare, and she felt the memory overwhelm her as his heaving chest pressed against her face. She felt the control of her skin slipping away from her for the first time in years, and she closed her eyes and scrabbled desperately through her head, trying to maintain it. She could feel it slipping, slipping away, and she knew she was going to hurt him.

“No!” she said out loud. Casting desperately through her mind, she identified a trace of Piotr from when she had brushed against him in training. She clutched at that trace frantically, feeling her skin cool. It was his strength that she wanted, though, as she placed both palms on the man’s chest. “No!” she said again, shoving him off in a burst of power so strong he flew halfway across the room, landing on the floor by the bed. She slipped through the door and closed it behind her, limping from the pain in her ankle, making her way shakily back to the couch.

She sat down, her mind clicking through her options. She didn’t have many. She knew that he hadn’t meant to hurt her, he was as vulnerable to the nightmares as she was. He must have moved his claws aside at the last minute, she had felt them scrape out of the door on either side of her head as she pushed him away, had glimpsed the six long gouges as she fled through the door.

Now that she had hurt him, though, how would he react? She couldn’t outrun him under normal circumstances, let alone with a sprained ankle. She had one option left, her dreaded ace-in-the-hole. The only reason Scott had ever agreed to let her watch the prisoner alone. She heard his parting words of advice clearly in her head. “If he makes one move towards you, suck him dry and run like hell.” “I don’t want to,” she said miserably to herself. “I don’t want to.”

The bedroom door opened, and she stood up to face him. His figure was in silhouette against the moonlit windows of the bedroom, all she could see was the slow approach of his dim form. She heard his breath rasping in his chest as he came closer and closer. Her heart racing, her whole body trembling, she braced against her instinct for both fight and flight, trying to get a sense of his intent. The claws were no longer evident, and that gave her the courage to stand still as he approached within a step of her.

Suddenly he fell to his knees before her. He pressed his forehead against her belly, nuzzling her, producing that high keening whine of terror she had heard only once before. She felt relief wash over her, weakening her knees. He wasn’t going to hurt her, and she wouldn’t have to hurt him. She reached out a trembling hand and brushed it through his hair.

“It’s okay,” she said. “We’re okay. It was just a dream.” He stopped whining but continued to nuzzle her desperately, pressing his face into the fabric of her tank top. She rested a hand on his shoulder, and felt the shudders running through his lean body. “Shhhh, it’s okay,” she said. “I’m not mad, it’s okay.”

She gingerly lowered herself to the couch, and he crawled up next to her, curling his feet up with his head still in her lap as she threw an arm over him. She continued stroking his hair with her left hand while the right stroked down his bare back. She felt the shudders slow and then stop as she continued her stroking and hushing. She found the edge of the blanket she had been sleeping with on the couch and pulled it over him. “It’s okay,” she said. “We’re okay. Sleep.”

She came awake slowly this time, aware first of the crick in her neck. She opened bleary eyes to bright sunlight, her hand automatically reaching down but finding only warm blanket where the man had been. She sat up with a start, wincing at the pain that caused in her neck. A few worried seconds later she spotted him, sitting in a chair on the back deck, staring out over the lake. She heaved a sigh of relief and rolled her neck, trying to get the crick out.

She looked at her ankle. Ugh, it was pretty puffy. She should have iced it last night. She stood up, weight on her right foot, and gingerly put it to the ground. Okay, it didn’t feel great, but it could bear her weight. Just a sprain. She picked up the duffel, pulling out a change of clothes and discovering with pleasure that her toiletry bag had been packed as well. She fished out a bottle of ibuprofen and swallowed three dry.

She made her way through the bedroom towards the master bath. The french doors were open, letting the crisp morning air inside. She could tell by the slight movement of the back of the man’s head that he was tracking her path, but he made no move towards her nor she towards him. She let the hot water of the shower ease the pain of her sore neck and ankle. She pulled on her clothes, jeans and a long-sleeved t-shirt, and rubbed her hair dry enough to keep it from dripping before running a quick comb through it, careful of the sore spot where she had hit her head the night before.

The man was still looking out over the lake when she passed through again, and she found a spot on the living room couch where she could keep him in view and called the mansion, dialing the number that rang through directly to the medbay.

“McCoy,” a warm voice said, and Rogue grinned.

“Hank, how are you?” she said.

“How are you, young lady, I should be asking,” he replied.

“So you heard about our guest, huh? We're doing all right. How are things there?” Hank sighed. “Hank, have you been up all night?” she asked.

“I think I got an hour or two here and there,” he said. “Are you ready for the scoop?”

“Lay it on me,” Rogue said.

“This is something very different from what we’ve seen before. The chemical cocktail these mutants have been given is completely new -- it’s leagues beyond anything I’ve ever heard of. It’s a synthetic compound that specifically suppresses function in myelinated neurons, particularly connective fibers and long white-matter tracts. Callosal tissue, arcuate fasciculus, dorsolateral frontal pathways...”

“Hank,” Rogue interrupted. “English, please.”

“Knock it off, Rogue, you were always brilliant in bio,” Hank said, “Think it through.”

Rogue had to like how Hank never condescended to her. “Okay, call it too early in the morning, and I haven’t had my coffee,” Rogue said, trying to shift back into student mode. “What you’re describing -- it’s going to affect their higher brain functions specifically, right? Language, planning, abstract problem solving...”

“Excellent, Rogue,” Hank said, and she smiled at the pride in his voice. “Autoregulatory functions would be unimpaired -- sleeping, eating, temperature regulation, breathing -- and the power of their mutations.”

Rogue saw the picture suddenly come into focus. “Shit,” she said. “It’s perfect. The mutations are active so they can experiment all they want on them, but they don’t have to worry about them using the mutations against the guards, talking to each other, forming plans, trying to escape. They’re automatons.” This is what they make us, she thought again.

She gave her head a quick shake to clear it of the horrifying picture. “So, what about the man who’s here,” she said. “He wasn’t like the others. I mean, he’s still not right, but he’s more aware than they were. What’s different about him?” Hank sighed again, and she felt her heart clench. That wasn’t tiredness, that was sorrow. “What is it, Hank? Tell me straight.”

“We found some records,” Hank said. “Kitty is still decrypting them, but we can make out parts. There seems to be a lot different about that man. They called him the Wolverine, but they also refer to him as having the name Logan.” Rogue filed that bit of information away, still on edge waiting to hear the bad news.

“Even the lab didn’t have complete records on him,” Hank continued. “The metal of his claws is something called adamantium, and I can’t even begin to know how that happened. As far as I know there is no way to render that metal malleable, but they must have done it, because it is apparently forged to every bone in his body, throughout his skeleton.” Hank took another weary breath. “They must have flayed him alive,” he said flatly, and Rogue felt a lurch of nausea imagining it. “But, strangely, this seemed to happen before he was captured by the lab we rescued him from,” Hank continued. “They documented the work but they aren’t the ones who performed it, it had been done at least a decade earlier.”

“He was captured twice?” Rogue said, her heartrate picking up at the thought. Her deepest fear was being recaptured, knowing what imprisonment in the labs meant. The man must have seen that fear realized.

“Yes,” Hank said, and she could tell he felt the impact of that too. “He’s a superhealer for certain, that is documented in...all too much detail. Feral as well, heightened senses and the rest. He may have had rudimentary claws before they were reinforced with the adamantium, but now of course they are far more lethal. He is virtually indestructible.” All Rogue could think of was that at the lab, that must have been so much more of a curse than a blessing.

“So, what does it all mean?” she asked. “Now that we know, can we counteract the drugs? Help him think clearly again?” She heard the pause, and knew it wasn’t good news.

“For the others, the drug seems to be clearing their system naturally. It’s a slow process, but time alone should do the trick.”

“Why not for him, then?” Rogue pleaded. “Shouldn’t it be easier?”

“It’s hard to say,” Hank said, “especially without having run any tests on him. I fear however...I fear that his unusual reaction means that they gave him the cocktail in infinitely higher and more frequent doses than were used to control the other mutants. They must have had to, to override his body’s natural immunity to such things. There is a chance that exposure at such levels...well, it may have actually broken down the myelination of his cell axons. The damage may be permanent, Rogue.”

“I don’t believe that!” Rogue said. “I won’t believe that.”

Hank’s voice softened. “I know it’s hard to think about, and I’m not saying it’s a certainty,” he said. “But you have to be prepared for the possibility.”

Rogue sighed. “Okay, Hank,” she said. “I’ll keep it in mind. I won’t dismiss it just because I don’t want it to be true. But, I know he’s in there somewhere. And he spoke -- just one word, but he said my name.”

“That’s great news,” Hank said, and she took heart at the surprise in his voice. “How about this. Charles wants you to have transportation, in case you need anything. Do you think he might be up for a visitor? I can drive the Jeep over and walk back, I could use some time to clear my head. And we’ll see what we can get from him. Blood and tissue samples would be best to look for markers of neurodegeneration, but even a cheek swab and saliva might give us some hints.”

Rogue looked out at the man. Logan, she corrected herself. He had been out there for at least an hour, virtually motionless. “I think it’ll be okay,” she said. “Maybe plan on coming by in an hour or so? If something goes wrong and I don’t think he’ll take it well, I’ll call back.” Hank agreed.

She made her way out towards the back deck. The man turned his head slightly, and she saw sadness darken his eyes when he took in her limping progress. He looked down, and then back out over the lake. She sat next to him, enjoying the cool morning air, and the various rustlings and chirps that came from the woods all around. The sun was low enough to mark a golden path over the surface of the lake, and she simply watched the shimmer for awhile.

Tentatively, the man reached out a hand for hers, and she smiled. They sat for awhile longer, watching the water hand-in-hand, as she wondered how much of the conversation he had overheard -- probably all of it -- and if he had understood any of it. “Is your name Logan?” she asked him softly. He jerked his head around at the word, and she thought that was answer enough. She saw his lips moving as if in an attempt to reproduce the name, but if he said it it was too quiet for her to hear. She gave his hand a squeeze, and then stood up. “Are you hungry?” she said. “Food? I’m in the mood for pancakes.”

This time he prowled around the kitchen as she cooked, opening cabinets, poking around in drawers, looking through the fridge, jumping at the sound of the garbage disposal as she washed the eggshells down. “Oops, sorry,” she said.

She wondered if adding caffeine to his neurotoxic mix would kill him. It would be just plain mean to make coffee and not give him any if he was a fan. She decided that she could make the ultimate sacrifice of foregoing coffee this morning to avoid that possibility, but it was a close call. She was certain now that he had more intentionality to his actions than he had demonstrated before. He watched attentively as she flipped a pancake, and for the next one she gave the spatula to him. He did a pretty good job with his flip, and they both smiled.

She tried to prepare him for Hank’s visit while she cooked, letting him know that someone was coming, and that he was a friend. He appeared to listen closely, but gave no other sign of understanding.

As she got the plates ready, he moved toward the table, and she saw him stumble for a moment. He sat down, but instead of wolfing down his food as he had the night before, he ate slowly, and stopped while his plate was still pretty full. “Are you okay?” Rogue asked. “Not a fan of pancakes?” He looked at her, and she saw suddenly saw the dullness in his eyes and the flush in his face. “Logan!” she said, getting out of her chair. Suddenly he arched backwards, the leg of his chair splintering beneath him as he tumbled to the floor.

Marie fell to her knees at his side, pushing the chair and table aside to give him room as he convulsed. His body was helplessly wracked, back arched, muscles twitching wildly, face drawn into a grimace. Marie realized she was sobbing his name when she felt a gentle hand on her shoulder.

“Let me see,” Hank said.

“Hank -- thank God -- you have to help him!” Marie said. She moved to the other side, still on her knees, getting a dishtowel under Logan’s head to protect it from the cold tile floor. She tried to gather her wits, thinking what Hank might need to know. “He was fine -- he seemed fine -- and then he stumbled, and he didn’t eat much, and I just noticed that he seemed out of it and flushed when the seizure started. He’d been seizing for about a minute before you got here. What can we do?”

“I have medication to stop the seizure if it goes on too long,” Hank said. “But for now...ah, there.” Logan’s body was finally easing -- a few more muscle contractions and his body seemed to relax into total unconsciousness. Rogue helplessly stroked his hair. “Let’s move him,” Hank said. “Then I’ll examine him, and we’ll see where we are.” He gathered Logan up in his arms and pushed himself to his feet with a grunt. “Well, he certainly is heavy.”

Rogue held open the bedroom door. She could tell that Hank had noted her limp, but was diplomatically refraining from commenting. He laid Logan’s limp form out on the bed, and Rogue couldn’t restrain herself from giving Hank a big hug. “I’m so glad you were here,” she mumbled into his chest, as his furry hand smoothed the back of her head.

“Take heart, Rogue,” he said. “I have a feeling this may be a very good sign.” Rogue pushed back in surprise, looking into Hank’s face, but she could read no more in his furry blue expression.

“Do you mind if I stay while you examine him? I -- I don’t want him to wake up scared.” Hank looked at Rogue, and she suspected he was seeing a bit more than she wanted to share. “That’s fine. In fact I think that’s a very good idea,” he reassured her.

He went back out to the living area, and returned with an honest-to-God black doctor’s bag, which made her smile despite her worry. She watched as he looked into Logan’s eyes and ears, took his temperature with an ear thermometer, listened to his heart and breathing, gauged his pulse and blood pressure, tested his reflexes, ran a thumb down the bottom of his foot.

“This may be our best opportunity to take samples,” Hank said neutrally, looking at Rogue for her decision. Rogue felt the weight of the responsibility -- and finally nodded. She held the man’s hand -- carefully keeping her arm out of the potential path of the claws -- but he remained unaware as Hank drew several vials of blood, swabbed the man’s cheek, and finally used a small black instrument that snapped like a stapler to remove several tiny dots of skin. They both watched as the dots healed up almost immediately, leaving only smooth skin behind. Rogue ran a finger over the place the samples had been taken, wonderingly.

Finally Hank appeared done with his exam, and pulled a chair up to sit in front of Rogue at the man’s bedside. He smiled, and Rogue felt something she hadn’t realized was clenched in her chest release a little.

“I think this is a good thing,” Hank said. “It is my belief that the torment they put this man through at the mutant laboratory -- and I mean, daily torment -- had overtaxed his natural healing ability. It was still present, but the combination of drugs and physical stress was more than it could handle. I think now that this man has had some good nutrition and rest, his healing factor is making up for lost time. He spiked a very high fever, and that is what caused the seizure. Now it has lessened, and I think his body is repairing the damage that has been done to it. Right now the fever is our greatest concern. If we are able to keep that under control, however, I am hopeful that he will make a full recovery -- physical and cognitive.”

Rogue looked down at the man, amazed. She stroked his warm forehead. “So, he could wake up, completely -- himself?” She wondered at the feeling of loss that struck her. It didn’t make sense, she had been hoping for his recovery all along, but the man she had gotten to know so intensely over the last day may be gone for good.

Hank reached out a hand, and she felt comforted again as he squeezed it. “I know given this man’s experiences you will not want him moved to the medbay, and I think that is wise. Do you need someone from the mansion to come help you take care of him? You will mostly need to keep him hydrated, and cool him if his temperature climbs too high.”

Rogue was strangely resistant to the idea of someone else helping Logan. “I’ll do it,” she said, and listened carefully to Hank’s instructions. Hank insisted upon wrapping up her ankle before he left, and provided instructions for that as well. He left her with the thermometer, the keys to the Jeep, and a final request for her to call him if things got better or worse.

“I look forward to meeting him,” he said, with a twinkle in his eye behind his small round glasses, and again Rogue couldn’t help but hug him.

Rogue gathered a few things, and went back to the bedroom. She lay down beside Logan, examining his profile. He looked so peaceful. She placed her palm against his bare chest, and let his strong steady heartbeat reassure her.

Throughout the afternoon and long into the night, she watched the man. He roused for only moments at a time, eyes glassy, and she encouraged him to drink as much as she could. At times his fever spiked high, and she laid cool washcloths on his burning skin, feeling them heat almost instantly. She helplessly watched the shivers wrack his body, stroking his hair and hushing him until his temperature finally eased.

Rogue stirred towards awakeness, grasping for the memory of something she had forgotten. The man -- she was supposed to be watching him, and she must have fallen asleep! She opened her eyes, and gasped in a startled breath. He was lying on his side, facing her, inches away, and she was looking right into his clear hazel eyes. She dazedly marveled at the flecks of gold and green in his clear gaze. She smiled. “Hey,” she said.

“Hey,” he rumbled back.

Marie had to close her eyes for a moment against the flood of mixed-up emotions and the prickle of tears. “I’m so glad you’re awake,” she said. She reached out automatically to brush back the hair at his temple. He flinched away from her hand. “Oh -- sorry,” she said, pulling her hand back as if it had been stung. She felt color rise in her cheeks. “I’m -- I’m sorry.”

Logan felt like he had been run over by a truck. His mouth was dry and fuzzy, and his head ached -- hell, his whole body ached. The brightness of the room hurt his eyes. And to top it all, he had this weird feeling that there was something just at the edge of his mind, something he couldn’t quite put his finger on. He pulled himself up onto his elbows, and took another look at the girl lying in bed with him. She was a looker all right. She smelled great -- more than great. She smelled familiar, but still new. But damned if he could remember a thing about her. Well, he had never been known for his good manners. “Listen, sorry lady, but do I know you?”

Lookit that, she blushed some more. The women he knew weren’t usually blushers. Shameless was a better way to describe the women he usually picked up. Something was definitely off about this situation, and if he could just figure it out...

“You...well, kind of. I mean, we met...a couple of days ago?” She seemed to be struggling with the situation too, but the hell if he knew what she had to be confused about. “Do you -- do you not remember?” Logan winced at the pain in his head as he sat up more and rolled his neck. Remember...what did he remember?

/pain, burning pain/
/drowning, a metal cage plunging into freezing water/
/the smell of chemicals and fear/
/lashing out against restraints, the shuffle of the guards’ boots/
/flesh being peeled off his bones/

Suddenly he found himself out of bed, back against the wall, the claws out and ready. His heart pounded like it was going to jump out of his chest, and his breath rasped in his dry throat. The girl was staring at him with wide eyes.

“What is this -- what the fuck is this?!” he rasped out. “What the fuck is going on?!”

The girl was sitting up now. “Logan, it’s okay...”

“Don’t you tell me what the fuck is okay,” he snarled, and she flinched. “How do you know my name?” She seemed to be at a loss to explain that, and his eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Who the fuck are you?” he said, and that seemed to hurt her, the salty smell of her sorrow catching in his throat.

“My name is Marie,” she said, and for some reason he felt her name like a chime in his chest. MarieMarieMarie. “I -- I’m a mutant too,” she said. “I work with a group of people who try to -- to help other mutants. They got me out of a lab, like the one you were in, a few years ago. And a few days ago we got you out.”

A lab. Now he was starting to remember more. They had taken him outside of Laughlin City. He knew he shouldn’t have used the handle Wolverine for the fights, he had probably led them right fucking to him. A half-assed roadblock and a few guys with sniper rifles and tranq guns, and he remembered now the helpless rage as he pulled against the restraints, knowing he was being taken back to his nightmares...

“Where am I?” The girl was telling the truth, he could tell that, but he still couldn’t tell what the fuck was going on. “Why -- why don’t I remember much?”

“You’re in Westchester, New York. In a lake house owned by a man, Charles Xavier. He’s the one who -- who got our group together. He’s a mutant too. I think -- I think you don’t remember much because of the drugs they had you on at the lab. You’ve been pretty...out of it...for the last couple of days. Listen, I know you’re scared...” He snarled at that -- she didn’t know shit. “...but, I promise you’re safe here. I’ll answer any questions you have. And if there’s anything you need -- like food, or I don’t know if you want to call someone and let them know you’re all right -- just tell me. I’ll help you.”

Call someone. Yeah, right. Who the fuck cared if he lived or died? Right now all he wanted to do was get the hell away. He needed to think, if the aching in his head would go away he could just think...

“Just stay right there,” he growled. He sniffed the air, looking for others. He moved toward the bedroom door, and froze for a minute when he saw the six deep gouges there. /His body pressed against hers, the smell of her blood/ He darted out the door, keeping close to the wall. An empty living room and a kitchen, with a chair half-smashed on the ground. The smell of pancakes. /”Not a fan of pancakes?”/ The couch had a blanket and pillows tumbled on it, smelling of both him and her. /His head pressed against her belly, her fingers brushing through his hair. “Shhhh, it’s okay... I’m not mad...”/

She was sitting on the edge of the bed. The curtain of her hair hid her face, but he thought she was maybe wiping tears away. Her head jerked up. He felt something twist in his stomach. “Listen,” he said, and then stopped. He really didn’t have a good follow-up to that. “I’ve been here with you, right? I think I remember a little.”

She took a shaky breath and stood up. “Yeah,” she said carefully. “You’ve been here with me for awhile.” Her voice was kind of funny, kind of flat. He thought of the “Hey,” when she first woke up. She didn’t sound like that anymore, and all of a sudden he really wanted her to sound like that again.

He tried to take a deep breath. “Listen, I’m sorry if I scared you. I just -- I didn’t know what was going on for a minute there, okay? I still don’t know what the hell is going on.” She laughed a bit -- it was shaky, but it was a laugh.

“Yeah, okay, I get that,” she said. “Do you -- you want a drink or something?” He knew he liked something about this girl. MarieMarieMarie.

“Got a beer?” he asked.

He followed her into the kitchen, and then outside onto the back deck with the six pack. Some fancy local craft brew stuff, but he wasn’t in the mood to be picky. He sat down and savored that first sip. Damn, that was good. They looked out over the water in silence for awhile, but it wasn’t one of those prickly silences, it was just -- comfortable. He had the urge to reach out and take her hand, which was pretty fucking out of character for him. The sun was still low enough in the sky to make a golden trail in the water, and... “Did we sit out here before?”

She looked over at him, but he couldn’t read what was in her eyes. “Yeah, it was...I guess it was yesterday morning?” she said. “It seems like a long time ago,” she said softly, as if to herself. He didn’t know what to make of that.

All of a sudden he was mad. “Why the hell are you out here with me?” he snapped. “Who thought that was a good idea?” He saw color rise in her cheeks again, but wasn’t sure if it was more blushing or anger to match his.

“I did,” she said, with an edge to her voice. Okay, anger then. “I thought it was a good idea. Trust me, I was the only one.” He gave her a sharp look, but apparently she wasn’t going to say much more about it.

He looked back over the water, still pissed off, but not sure why. “I could have hurt you,” he said. /His body pressed to hers, the scent of her blood/ He looked at her again. “I did hurt you, didn’t I?” He looked down at her ankle. He had marked her limp before, as she walked to the kitchen. “I did that?”

She shrugged. “It was an accident.” He felt nauseous suddenly, a cold sweat prickling on his back. “Did I -- was there anything else?” /His body pressed to hers, the scent of her blood, her voice crying “No!”/ He felt sick at the thought. He hunched his shoulders. “I gotta ask. Did I hurt you...anywhere else?”

“No!” she said, and then seemed a bit shy of her vehemence. “You wouldn’t do that,” she said more softly.

He raised a skeptical brow at that. “Wouldn’t I?”

“No,” she said, with a certainty that unnerved him. “You wouldn’t.”

He sighed and sat back. Everything about this situation was confusing as fuck. This girl who seemed to know him, these flashes of knowing her. It was like he’d see something, and then suddenly his vision would split and he’d see a different view of it -- a dim shadow of a memory, but with all this intense emotion behind it. Confusing as fuck. He thought over what she had told him so far. “I was in a lab?” She nodded. “How long?”

“I don’t know,” she said, and hell if she didn’t sound really sad about that. “They got some records out...they are still decrypting them. I’m sure you can see them anytime you want.” He nodded. Didn’t that sound like fun. He only remembered bits and pieces, but it already seemed like more than he wanted to know.

“And you guys just...broke in there and broke me out? Just...’cause you felt like it?”

“It’s part of what we do. Professor Xavier got information that mutants were being held, and experimented on, so we went in. There were nine others, and then you. The others are at the mansion...” -- He raised an eyebrow again at the idea of a mansion for mutants -- “...but you were...different.”

“Different how?”

She seemed to consider the question carefully. “The meds seemed to work on the others exactly as they were designed,” she said. “They still had their mutations, but they were completely zoned out. Like living, breathing, dolls. You were more aware. Confused, but aware. At first we weren’t even sure if you would come with us.”

/A voice like honey, and the smell of rain and earth and comfort. “Go,” she said./ “You were there,” he said, more to himself than to her. “I left because of you.”

She nodded. “That’s why you’re here with me. We seemed to do okay together. And I’m not exactly defenseless, either.”

That caught his interest. She must have a hell of a mutation to not be scared of him, but whatever it was it didn’t seem to have protected her completely. She still had that ankle, after all. “So, what’s your mutation?” he asked. Very smooth, he thought, it’s barely a step above “What’s your sign?”

She looked away, for long enough that he thought she wasn’t going to answer. “It’s my skin,” she said finally. “If I touch someone, my skin to theirs, it...I dunno, sucks their life force out of them, and into me. If I hold on too long I kill them. Even a little and I hurt them. And it hurts me too. I get their thoughts and feelings and memories. I don’t want to know that stuff. I wish I didn’t have to carry it. I used to not have any control over it. When I was in the lab...” her voice broke. He wanted to tell her she didn’t have to say any more, but somehow he thought she wanted to.

She cleared her throat and started again. “Anyway, I didn’t have control over it then, and they made me hurt a lot of people, and it hurt me real bad too. When Professor Xavier’s people found me I was pretty much crazy from all the stuff in my head that I didn’t know how to deal with. But the Professor is a really good guy. He’s a telepath, and crazy talented. He can talk to you in your head, but other stuff too. He could even make you do things if he wanted, but he doesn’t. He helped me. It’s hard to explain, he taught me how to build walls in my head to keep the other people separate and quiet, and to keep ahold of the part that was just me. And then over time, he helped me so that I could turn my skin on and off, so I didn’t have to worry all the time. That was -- a really big thing for me.”

She looked at him for the first time after saying that, and he nodded. He could see how that would be a really big thing. “If the person I touch is a mutant, I pick up their mutations too. It used to be that they would just show up afterwards whether I wanted them to or not, and then go away over time. Lately the Professor has been helpin’ me figure out how to keep them, and maybe use them when I want to. It’s tough -- the walls are hard to build in the first place, and then to break them down again -- it’s kind of risky sometimes. We’re workin’ on it, though.”

Logan turned that around in his head for awhile. He could see how that could be handy, but it seemed like a lot of bad stuff went along with the good. “This Professor sounds like a good guy,” he said finally. She smiled, a big genuine grin that lit up her face. Damn, she’s pretty, Logan thought.

“He really is a good guy. They all are. I’m sure they’ll be real anxious to meet you, when you’re ready.” She started to get up. “ I should call and let the doctor know you’re better. I promised him.”

She swayed a little, and he caught her arm to steady her. “Okay there, darlin’?” he asked. She giggled, an honest-to-God giggle.

“I guess I have a little mornin’ drunk goin’ on,” she said. Well, lookit that, the honey in her voice came out even more when she was tipsy. He smiled, using the excuse to gather her in a little close to his body as they walked.

“You better be careful about walkin’ around on that ankle drunk,” he said. Damn, she felt good pressed against his side like that -- soft and small. And the smell of her, earthraincomfortMarie

“I’m not normally such a lightweight,” she said. “But I haven’t had anything to eat since breakfast yesterday, and in fact neither have you.”

“Well, we better fix that,” he said. They made their way to the kitchen, and this time he made her sit with her foot up while he fixed the eggs.

He picked up the broken chair, and set it to the side. “What happened here?” he said.

She seemed to sober up in a hurry. “You had a seizure,” she said quietly. “Scared me real bad.” He tried to remember, but he had nothing for that one.

“Did I hurt you?” he asked. She looked at him funny.

“No, you just fell over. I was just scared for you.” That one surprised him. He was used to people being scared of him, but he didn’t think anyone had ever been scared for him before.

“Why did you care?” he asked. That was a damn stupid thing to say, he thought. It came out sounding mean, and he didn’t mean it that way. She seemed to understand what he meant, though.

“I...I guess I like you. And I was taking care of you.” He still wasn’t sure how he felt about that. He didn’t like that he had needed taking care of, but overall he thought he had gotten pretty damn lucky in getting her to be the one to do it.

“I’ll fix the chair,” is all he could think of to say, and there it was -- that smile of hers again. He could get used to that.

They ate breakfast pretty companionably. She didn’t seem to expect him to carry on much in the way of conversation, which suited him just fine. She filled him in a little on Professor Xavier and the doctor who had apparently been out here to see him and some of the other members of her group. X-Men, she said they called themselves, which struck him as a little silly but since they had busted him out of hell on earth he wasn’t going to say so out loud.

She told him about the mansion that was a school for mutant kids, and although she was too polite to even hint it he realized the reason he was out here and not there was because he had been too damn dangerous to be anywhere near kids. Again he got a little mad that Marie had taken that risk. She shouldn’ta be putting herself in danger like that. He coulda done anything to her, and her X-Men wouldn’ta been much help.

She mentioned that at the mansion they all call her Rogue, that Marie was her real name but that she didn’t really tell anyone about it. He asked why she had told it to him, and she just kinda blushed again, and said it seemed like a good idea at the time.

She said the doc had been up late and she’d give him a chance to sleep in a little, and that she’d call after her shower. He was kinda glad to have a little more time just with her, and wondered if she was feeling the same way. The Professor seemed like a good guy and he sure owed him one, but he was never much for meeting lots of people and he still felt like he was getting his bearings again. It was okay with him to just stay here with Marie for a little longer, and not have to try to figure out what he was going to do from here.

Instead he just lay on the couch a little bit while she showered, trying not to think too much about her naked in there, but not doing so good at it, especially surrounded by the smell of them both mixed together like he was. MarieMarieMarie.

Then she was out, all pink and soft and damp, her shirt sticking to her wet skin a little bit in the front, and he had to swallow a few times before he could ask her if it was okay if he showered next.

She set him up with a change of clothes and even a razor, following him into the bathroom to show him where everything was and how to use the complicated shower that had about fifteen damn knobs. The smell of her was everywhere in the steamy air, and he closed his eyes to drink it in for a minute. /Her soft waist between his hands, the taste of her skin where the pulse beat strongest/

Before he could think about what he was saying, the question popped out. “Marie, did we take a bath together?” Boy, now that was the mother of all blushes. She must be pink from the top of her head to her toes.

“I was just trying to -- to get you clean, and -- and you wouldn’t go in without me,” she stuttered. He smiled. She was cute when she was rattled.

“Well, darlin’, I hope I enjoyed it.”

A little secret smile from her at that, and she called out, “I think you did,” as she walked towards the door. Right at the door, she turned to look at him, and there’s that secret smile again. “And so did I.” Well, damn.

He shaved first, thinking it over. He enjoyed the shower a lot, thinking the whole time that he probably didn’t enjoy it as much as the bath with Marie, and wasn’t it a damn shame that he only remembered bits and pieces of that.

She had left him a full set of clothes, even shoes in his size and a comfortable-looking leather jacket, and he wondered how she had managed that. He came out of the bedroom intent on getting her to do a little clarifyin’, but stopped short at the look in her face when she saw him.

“What, I miss a spot shaving or sumthin’?” he asked self-consciously. She shook her head and laughed, coming closer to him.

“You just look a lot different, all cleaned up and dressed,” she said. She reached a hand out to touch his shaven cheek, and boy did that feel nice.

He put his hand over hers. “Marie,” he started...

Suddenly her hand clenched into a fist below his, and she fell to her knees. “Marie!” he said. “Marie, baby, what’s wrong?”

She could see Logan hunched over her, concern in his eyes, mouth moving. All she could hear, though, was Professor Xavier’s crisp voice in her head, urgent in a way she had never heard before. “Rogue -- RUN,” he was saying.

Marie felt Logan’s hands on her arms, trying to pull her to her feet. “I’m okay -- just give me a minute,” she managed, holding him at bay. She had heard the Professor in her head before, but this time was very different. It was not just his voice, but a series of images and instructions, flashing into her mind so quickly and intensely that she felt like her head was going to burst.

“Military,” the Professor communicated, and she saw the scene, uniformed men informing the Professor that Logan was an enlisted officer wanted for desertion, with orders for his immediate apprehension. ”Cash,” the Professor said, showing her the lake house’s hall closet and the trap door under the floorboards. “Gear,” and she saw the bag, in upper storage of the lake house’s garage. “Tracker,” and she memorized the code to disable the Jeep’s transmitters. “Phone,” and she knew they were already trying to trace all the mansion residents that way. ”Route,” and through the Professor’s eyes she saw a small back road that bypassed the mansion drive, winding through the surrounding woods to meet up with a county road. ”Run, NOW,” he repeated finally, and then suddenly her head was clear.

She realized she was on her knees, half in Logan’s lap, as he pressed her against him. She was shaking like a leaf. “I’m okay,” she said, trying to catch her breath. “But they’re coming for you. We have to go, right now. There’s a blue canvas bag full of gear in the overhead storage shelves of the garage. Get it and meet me at the Jeep.”

Logan gave her one searching look and then he was already in motion. Maybe he really is military, she thought as she pulled the chip from her cell phone and smashed it under her heel, grimacing as she bore her weight on her injured ankle. She accessed the hidden closet space and found a satchel, full not only of cash but also a laptop, two prepaid untraceable cell phones, and a portfolio of documents that she didn’t have time to examine.

She made it to the Jeep just as Logan tossed the bag in the back. “Can you drive?” she asked, and threw him the keys at his brief nod. She pointed out the route, flipping open the glove box to reveal a panel of tech stuff specially designed by Kitty and punching in the code to disable the Jeep’s tracking device.

They tore down the road. Logan had to deliberately loosen his hands on the wheel before he snapped it. His heart was hammering, and every heightened sense was in overdrive. He took a look at the girl next to him, regret twisting his stomach.

“When we get clear a little ways, I want you to take the Jeep and go back to the mansion,” he ground out. “I’ll go my way on foot.”

Shock widened her eyes. “Like hell!” she said. “We’re in this together.”

He bit back some prime curses. He imagined them taking her, putting her back in some lab, and he felt the growl rising in his chest, his knuckles itching with the urge to pop his claws. “There’s no reason for you to get mixed up in this, Marie. And I’m not going back. Whatever it takes, I’m not going back there.”

He could feel her serious brown eyes on him as he glared at the road ahead. “Whatever it takes,” she repeated. “I’m not letting them take you.” He couldn’t help but look at her then, her words pulling at something inside him. Suddenly, a reckless smile spread across her face, lighting her eyes. “Besides, sugar,” she said, “You haven’t seen what I can do.”

He heard it then, the high whine in the distance. “I think I’m about to find out,” he said. “I think that chopper’s looking for us.”

She craned her neck, looking out the open top of the Jeep. “I don’t see it,” she said.

“I hear it,” he explained grimly. “Approaching from 3 o’clock.” She was digging something out of her jeans pocket. He took his eyes off the road for a second to look closer. It was a silver lighter, painted to look like a shark’s head. “Nice lighter,” he said.

She smiled again. “I took it off an old ‘frenemy’. Along with...other things.” She took off her seatbelt, shifting so she was mostly standing, ducking just a little to keep her head inside the Jeep’s open top. She handed the satchel over to him. “This stays with us no matter what, got it?” He nodded tersely, slinging the strap across his body. “When the copter is close to overhead, hold your speed as steady as you can,” she said. “I want to try to disable it, not crash it.”

He shot her a look, but she had her eyes closed, concentrating. He followed the winding road as the whirring of the chopper got louder and louder. “Marie...” he said, getting even edgier, but she was already opening her eyes. Down by her waist, out of the wind, she flicked the lighter open, and out of the corner of his eye he saw a ball of flame gathering in her hand. “Jesus,” he said, trying to keep the Jeep as steady as he could.

The chopper was nearly overhead now and she stood up, her dark hair flying behind her like a banner. She cast her arm up, sending the bolt of fire directly at the rear rotor. The rotor and a good part of the chopper’s tail was smashed to pieces, and he heard the change in the sound as the pilot tried to compensate for the sudden imbalance. The chopper quickly veered off, the sound of the main rotor fading into the distance.

Marie ducked back down into the car, and he shot her a sidelong glance. “That was pretty...neat,” he said wryly. She didn’t seem to hear him though, she was watching a flame flicker in the palm of her hand, entranced. “Marie!” he said, and she looked up suddenly, her eyes snapping into focus as the flame snuffed out.

“Sorry,” she said, shaking her head a little bit as if to clear it. “It’s a little hard to let go of sometimes.” He kept sneaking glances at her, but she seemed okay now. “We shouldn’t be far from the county road, and then it’s only twenty minutes or so into New York City, even by the back roads,” she said. “We should be able to lose anyone there.”

Logan narrowed his eyes, trying to concentrate both on the road ahead and the sounds around him. “We’ve got a vehicle on our tail,” he said. “Heavy, maybe armored.” He pressed on the gas even harder, but looked up when he felt Marie’s hand on his thigh.

“Only one?” she said.

He slowed the car a little, looking at her again. “Just what are you thinkin’, Marie?”

“I’m thinking this may be the best chance we have to find out who exactly wants you so bad. We have to stop them from following us either way.”

Logan thought about it. “Ramming it with this Jeep is not going to get us very far. You got something in you that can stop an armored vehicle?”

Marie smiled that reckless smile again. “Think those claws of yours will cut wood?”

They found the perfect spot about a minute down the road. A sharp curve in the road, heavily wooded on both sides. They pulled the Jeep off to the side well ahead, and doubled back quickly. Logan started hacking at a tree, quickly toppling it over to cross the road. Marie kneeled down and closed her eyes, and soon a slick of ice spread outward from her hand, sheeting the road.

“I want you to stay out of sight,” Logan said. He took the satchel off and slung it across her body, unable to resist the urge to let his hand linger as he settled the strap across her. He saw her open those soft lips to object and suddenly had the strongest urge to squeeze her to him and kiss her quiet. Instead he just put a hand to her face, rubbing his thumb across her lips gently. “Please,” he said. “I don’t want them knowing about you any more than they do already.” She finally nodded, eyes wide, and with one final look back she disappeared into the woods along the side of the road ahead.

Logan crouched down out of sight and waited, one hand to the ground to feel the vehicle’s approach. His senses still on overload, he had almost all the information he needed before the vehicle was even in sight -- the sound of the engine, the smell of the fuel, the four men inside smelling of excitement but not nearly enough fear. At least not yet.

The vehicle came roaring around the curve, and the driver didn’t stand a chance. If he had kept his head he might have at least just hit it straight on, but he foolishly jerked the wheel and braked and the ice slick sent the car into the felled tree at an angle. The car started rolling almost before it hit the tree, and it had barely settled into a crunch of steaming metal and broken glass before Logan was on it, grabbing the man who was unfortunate enough to be the only one still conscious and shoving him up against a tree.

“Oh God, oh god, don’t kill me, don’t kill me,” the kid was babbling. Hell, he barely looked eighteen. He got a good look at the claws, and started blubbering so hard Logan had to shake him.

“Why are you after me?” he growled.

“I don’t know, I don’t know anything!” the kid sobbed. “The orders came from another unit, we just happened to be in the area! I don’t know anything!” Christ, this was almost embarrassing. Logan had been more than ready for a fight, and instead this kid was just pathetic. Logan had a feeling that if he loosened his grip on him he’d fall down at his feet like a wet noodle.

“What were your orders?” he snarled, moving the claws in a little as motivation. The kid looked like he was going to faint.

“We were supposed to apprehend you and turn you over to General William Stryker...that’s all I know! You were supposed to go straight to the General, and nobody else. I don’t know why -- I don’t know anything!” Logan roared with frustration, sinking his claws into the tree at the side of the man’s head.

He heard an intake of breath, and saw Marie, at the edge of the woods, watching him. He closed his eyes for a minute in shame and frustration. Well, at least now she knew what he was. He’d get her to the city, and then he’d let her get free of him before she got hurt any more.

He knocked the kid’s head against the tree for good measure, helping him along in his faint, and then dropped him. “C’mon,” he said, grabbing Marie’s elbow not so gently and towing her to the car, so caught up in his anger that he didn’t even remember her bum ankle until they were almost there. Like he needed more proof that all he could do was hurt her.

Marie insisted on driving, saying she knew the back roads into the city like the back of her hand, thanks to many weekend jaunts from the mansion. He sat in the passenger seat and brooded, caught up in his self-hatred and the general suck that was his life.

Marie shot him a glance from time to time, but generally left him to his thoughts. For some odd reason, that made him even more angry. She was a woman, dammit, shouldn’t she be bugging him to express his feelings and shit? He could not figure her out, she never seemed to do what he expected. Insisting on sticking with him when she should be running as far and as fast as she could. Even back there, any normal woman would be screaming and crying about being chased by the military, and she just coolly decides to attack instead.

Marie drove into Harlem, picking out an underground parking garage at random and parking the Jeep there. Logan watched her as she bought a stamp and envelope from a newsstand, and conscientiously mailed the parking ticket back to the mansion with no note and no return address. The damn girl thought of everything, and it was really beginning to piss him off.

He carried the bag of gear while she carried the satchel, guiding him into a subway stop and buying tickets for them both. Goddamn, he hated cities like this. The constant noise, the press of people against him, the million smells choking his lungs. He was constantly on edge, itching to bash in the face of the next person to brush against him.

They emerged from the subway downtown, wandering for a bit until they found a more or less deserted diner with internet access. They sat in a booth at the back. Logan watched Marie lift her foot up onto the seat beside him and rest her head on the back of the booth. She looked pale and exhausted, and again guilt and regret twisted his gut. “Are you okay?” he asked gruffly.

She managed a wan smile, letting her eyes close for a bit. “I’ll be okay. I didn’t sleep much last night, and using other peoples’ powers just takes it out of me sometimes -- ya know?” He remembered what she had said about the walls in her mind and how it was risky to tear them down, and nodded.

He looked down into his coffee glumly. He’d have one last meal with her, and then he’d go. He looked up to find her moving around the table, squeezing into his side of the booth with him. She leaned up against him, and without meaning to he let his arm come up around her shoulders, pressing her hard into his side. He pulled her head into the crook of his neck, stroking her hair, and let himself just feel and smell her for the last time. EarthraincomfortMarie.

She made a happy humming noise that he felt all the way to his toes, wrapping an arm around his waist, and only the arrival of the waitress with more coffee broke them apart. Marie pulled the laptop out and fired it up. “We’ve got plenty of cash, but I think a used car lot would ask too many questions -- you know, proof of insurance and all that. I say we find something on craigslist that we like, it’ll be a lot easier. You want some kind of SUV? I figure we might have to sleep in the car sometimes, so we might want a little more room to spread out...”

Logan looked at her, disconcerted. “You can’t seriously be thinkin’ about stickin’ with me after all that?”

Marie looked up at him, her dark deep eyes serious under furrowed brows. “Of course. I told you, we’re in this together.” Logan pushed his coffee away, aggravated.

“Why?!” he asked. “You don’t even know me. Who exactly do you think I am?”

Marie just looked at him, those damn chocolate eyes calm and trusting. “Who do you think you are?”

He stood up suddenly, tension and frustration in every line of his body, unable to think straight with the smell and feel of her so close to him. After pacing for a few seconds, he finally sat down opposite her again.

“I’ll tell you who I am,” he said finally, in a hard low voice. “I’m nothin’. I’ve never done any good for anybody. I don’t even remember who I was before fifteen years or so ago. I woke up with these things in my hands, and since that time I’ve been doin’ nothing worth a damn to anyone. Fighting, fucking, just gettin’ by. I’m a piece of highway trash, and you’re going to throw in with me? Risk your life for me?! Whatever you think I am, you’re wrong. This is all there is.”

He was half hoping she would get mad. Argue, huff out, something to make this easier. Maybe even tell him she thought he was some kind of Prince Charming, so that he could know for sure that she was crazy, and feel better about shipping her off back to that mansion. Instead she just reached out her hand to touch his, rubbing her thumb across his palm contemplatively, and then drawing three of her fingers lightly down the spaces between his knuckles, so sensitive there it made him want to groan with wanting.

“I’ll make up my own mind about you,” she finally said. “But I want to stick with you. I don’t know if I can explain it, and maybe it’s not worth trying. I don’t know what your life was like before except what you tell me, but things are different now. You’re not alone unless you want to be. If you can’t stand having me around, tell me to get lost and I’ll get lost, but otherwise I’m with you. So what’s it going to be?” She looked up at him, and he could not look into those eyes and let her go. He looked down and cursed under his breath.

The waitress came with their food, eggs and pancakes for her and bacon and eggs for him. Marie kicked his foot a little to get him to look up from his dark thoughts. “Cheer up,” she said. “That makes three days that we’ve been together and we’ve never made it past breakfast. High cholesterol may get us before the military does.”

He couldn’t suppress a laugh at that. To hell with it all, he thought. If she was crazy enough to want to stick with him, he would be selfish and keep her around. At least he would be close by to protect her. He came back to her side of the booth, pushing in beside her and stealing a bite of her pancakes. “Let’s get an SUV,” he said.

Logan looked over Marie’s shoulder as she sent a bunch of emails for cars he deemed acceptable, finding one person who was apparently glued to his computer screen. A little back-and-forth and they were set up to meet with the seller, a hippie-looking guy in his mid-twenties who talked Marie’s ear off about wanting to go green and downsize while Logan prowled around the car, checking out the engine.

Only half paying attention, he heard Marie spinning some tale about just moving to the city and planning to buy a car a little later, but then her dad got sick and now she has to drive to South Carolina this weekend, her honey-coated accent getting thicker by the minute until by the end of it she got a couple of thousand dollars knocked off the price. They finally drove off and left the guy looking dazedly after them, but whether it was because of Marie, the wad of cash she had handed over, or the growl from Logan when hippy dude asked for Marie’s phone number, there was no knowing.

With no real plan except to get as far from the city as they could, they started driving out north and west, Marie navigating them out of the city and then Logan taking over on the highway as Marie dozed next to him. Marie knew of a place in the Catskill mountains where she had been camping a time or two, and they headed there, just making it before the national park closed at dusk.

They found a deserted spot as far away from others as they could, and Logan finally felt some of the tension leave his body. Setting up the tent from the bag of gear, he unrolled the sleeping bag. Marie was so sleepy he practically carried her to it, holding her closer to his body than he probably needed to and enjoying the feel of her hair as it grazed his arm. He zipped her in and settled at the entrance to the tent looking out into the night.

He thought she’d be out like a light, but she continued to make restless movements behind him. He closed his eyes, willing himself to keep some distance, but it was no use -- he was sunk. Maybe he could just lie beside her, on top of the sleeping bag. That would be safe, right?

“Can’t sleep, baby?” he asked. She squirmed a little more, and God he loved to see that, the shape of her mesmerizing even wrapped up in the sleeping bag.

“It’s a little cold,” she said. Damn, damn, damn.

“Ya want me to get in there with you?” he asked, and much as his brain objected his heart sang out when she nodded. He unzipped the bag and squeezed in there with her, ending up with her half sprawled on top of him, her slight weight pressing into him, curves against his body in just the right places.

“Marie,” he rumbled, wrapping his arms around her and lifting his head to drop a kiss on her forehead. “Marie...” he said again, and ... felt her slide into sleep. He let his head thunk back against the ground hard, welcoming the pain. It was going to be a long, sleepless night.

Logan woke slowly, conscious first of the smell and weight of Marie against his body, her hair tickling his cheek and her warm breath puffing against his neck. He had expected to stay awake all night, especially racked by lust as he had been, but somehow Marie’s soft presence had lulled him into a deep and restful slumber.

They had apparently become completely entwined during the night -- her legs interlaced with his, her lithe thigh pressed firmly against a rapidly hardening part of his body. Her small warm hand had somehow burrowed under both his shirts during the night and now rested flat against his chest, as if even in sleep she reassured herself with his heartbeat.

He had lain awake for hours, both glorying in and tormented by the feel and scent of her, her total relaxation and trust in him both baffling and deeply affecting. Never in his memory had he shared sleep with a woman like this. Usually his women were quick fucks that he couldn’t wait to get out the door. He rarely took them to whatever hole he was staying in, let alone into his bed, and he was sure as hell not going to let any woman see him after one of his nightmares.

He couldn’t resist the urge to run a hand down Marie’s back, stifling a groan as it caused her to burrow even closer into the warmth of his body. She made a happy humming sound, and then opened her eyes, blinking at him a little dazedly. “Hey,” he said, remembering how she had greeted him the morning before. She smiled back.

“Hey yourself.” She seemed a bit surprised to find herself wrapped so completely around Logan, and started to pull back, but he tightened his arm around her back to arrest her movement. After a moment of hesitation she settled back into him, inadvertently grazing her thigh across the growing pressure in his jeans, and he couldn’t help the rumble that escaped him, giving in to the urge to press up into her warmth and softness.

She drew in her breath in surprise, and he smelled the sudden spike in arousal adding to all the other scents that were her, earthraincomfortMarie. She moved against him again experimentally, and Logan quaked with the strength of his reaction to her tentative movements. He burrowed his head into the curve of her neck, inhaling her scent as his hands came to her hips, pressing her harder against him. She made a soft noise of excitement and he smiled against her skin. “Marie...” he said.

Suddenly, he caught a scent that was completely different. This smell was threatening -- fetid and feral. In a flash he turned Marie under him, protecting her with his body. “Stay here,” he whispered in her ear, and he was on his feet and out of the tent in moments.

The morning outside was clear and bright, and Logan narrowed his eyes against the glare, turning his head and sniffing to try to identify the source of the threat. He turned around just in time to see the tree swinging toward him, wielded by a giant man, the source of the noxious smell.

Logan ducked away but the tree still caught him across the shoulder, tumbling him backwards. He rolled and sprang back up to the balls of his feet, popping the claws and attacking with a roar. He managed to get in under the man’s guard, sinking his claws deep into his belly and twisting, but instead of dropping the man just grunted and shoved, pushing Logan off him and halfway across the clearing. Logan circled around, assessing.

The man turned his head a bit, his lanky, greasy hair swinging to the side. “I smell a girl on you,” he said. An evil smile spread across his face as he glanced towards the tent. “Maybe I’ll let you watch.”

Logan roared with rage, circling around behind the man and coming in low again, swiping his tendons at the back of his knee and ankle. The man fell to his knees, bringing Logan with him, slamming Logan’s head to the ground repeatedly. Logan felt his skull crack, gritting his teeth against the blinding pain. He managed to free himself, scrambling around to the man’s back to dig his claws in, not entirely surprised now to see the man’s tendons healing as Logan felt his own skull knit back together. Sonuvabitch.

“Marie -- run!” he yelled, twisting his claws in the man’s kidneys. He felt her scrambling out of the tent, heard the muffled jingle of the car keys in her hand. The man reached over his head, grabbing Logan by the shoulders and pulling him to the ground again, his yellow clawlike nails piercing Logan’s throat as he squeezed.

They both heard the car start up and the big man turned his head, Logan using the momentary distraction to break the choke hold. The man focused his attention back, picking Logan up by his shirt and pants and throwing him forcibly into a tree. Logan struggled to his feet, still trying to suck breath into his lungs, hearing the car rev and looking up just in time to see Marie drive full-tilt into the big man, knocking him over with the fender before the wheels crunched over his body. Marie threw the car into reverse, wheels spinning, humping it back over the man before stopping by Logan.

She jumped out and ran over to Logan, pushing her shoulder under his, trying to help bear his unsteady weight. “Marie -- just go!” Logan squeezed out, but she ignored him, doggedly pulling him towards the car.

With a roar, the large man was up again, plucking Logan away from Marie as if he were a doll. He lifted Logan and brought him down hard on his knee, snapping his spinal column and throwing him aside to rest against a tree. Logan felt panic pressing hard against his throat, his heart triphammering as he scrabbled ineffectively with his arms, unable to move his lower body until his spinal cord repaired. He could only watch helplessly as the large man stalked towards Marie now.

“Sabretooth,” Marie said, and the man narrowed his eyes in suspicion. “Yes, I know who you are,” she hissed. “You’re with Magneto...since when are you on the military’s side?” Sabretooth growled, still moving towards Marie as she circled aside.

“Maybe more than one person wants that little runt of yours,” he sneered. Marie made a move to pull the lighter from her pocket, but in a bound Sabretooth was on her, hand wrapped around her throat. “I want to hear you scream,” he whispered, his sour breath dank against her cheek.

Marie closed her eyes as Sabretooth ran a hand up her side to squeeze painfully on her breast, both of them ignoring Logan’s angry howl as he once again tried ineffectually to move towards them. She opened her eyes again, both despair and resolve in her clear gaze. “You first,” she squeezed out, slamming her mutation into full gear.

Sabretooth’s hand tightened uselessly on Marie’s throat as his power and life flooded into her. Dimly she could feel the slackening of his grip and the choking sounds he was making, and she gripped his wrist tightly in her hand to maintain the connection. Then she was lost, a flood of twisted emotion and sick memories sweeping through her mind, burning through any barriers she futilely tried to erect like they were nothing.

She felt the snarl rising in her throat as the blood lust gripped her. She felt the connection break, and lashed out blindly. “Marie!” Logan said, pinning her to the ground, shaking her a little. He hissed in his breath with shock as she looked up with him with malevolent golden eyes. She snarled, and tried to bite the hand that pinned her wrists, pulling against his grip with surprising strength. “Marie!” Logan said again urgently, and he saw the hesitation and confusion as her golden gaze dimmed.

Her eyelids fluttered closed, and when she opened them again her own deep chocolate eyes looked back at him, dazed. “Logan?” she said, and he squeezed her tight against him in relief. She struggled away from him, looking back at the slumped body of Sabretooth. “I have to finish it,” she said, her voice breaking.

“No way, Marie, you can’t!” Logan growled.

“He tracked us through New York City. He heals. We’ll never get away,” she sobbed. “I have to take it all.” She reached out an unsteady hand towards the hulking unconscious form.

“No!” Logan said, snatching her arm away. “You can't take any more.” He lifted her in his arms, placing her gently in the passenger seat of the car. She couldn’t help but give in to the relief of not having to take more of Sabretooth into her mind, the nightmarish images and feelings she had pulled in already still rushing over her in waves, threatening to overwhelm her. She finally gave in to the struggle, closing her eyes, shutting the world out while the battle raged inside her head.

Logan checked Sabretooth’s body. He was pale and still convulsing, breath shallow and uneven and heartbeat thready. Logan reached out and sliced his throat, then clawed him in the belly and twisted for good measure. He watched him for a moment. If he was healing at all, it was slow.

Logan returned to the SUV, clasping Marie against him. As safe as it probably would be to leave her behind briefly, Logan couldn’t stand the idea of being out of sight of her for even a moment, especially with that bastard still around. Holding Marie’s trembling body cradled in his arms, he followed Sabretooth’s fetid trail backwards, finding his truck parked less than a mile away, the keys still in the ignition. He settled Marie in the passenger seat and drove it to the clearing, noting the clanking coming from the covered bed of the truck.

Sabretooth was still where he had left him, his head lolling and guts still open. Logan opened the truck bed and looked in, taking in the shackles. So this is how Sabretooth planned to transport him. He popped a claw and scratched at the metal, but was unable to cut it. He looked through the truck, but there were no papers or clues as to where Sabretooth planned to take him. There was, however, a convenient extra container of gasoline behind the front bench seat.

He pulled the shackles from the truck bed, fastening them around Sabretooth’s wrists and ankles. He then firmly anchored Sabretooth to a large tree, grunting as he hauled the deadweight of him into position. Finally, he put Marie’s shuddering form back in their SUV, belting her into the passenger seat. He took a moment to smooth a hand over her hair, nuzzling his head into her neck to inhale her scent and press a soft kiss there. “Stay with me, baby,” he murmured. “I’ll take care of you.”

He collapsed their tent in moments, stowing it and the sleeping bag in the back of the SUV and driving the car a short distance away, leaving no trace of themselves in the clearing. Then, he drove Sabretooth’s truck at full speed into his body, smashing him between the front grill and the tree trunk. He came around to inspect his work, popping the claws again and fully severing Sabretooth’s head for good measure.

Finally he doused the truck and body with gasoline, finding Marie’s lighter where she had dropped it and setting the whole thing ablaze, tossing the empty gas can into the inferno. He heard the gas tank of the truck blow as they drove away, leaving a tower of smoke and flame behind them. If you can heal from that, you bastard, it won’t be soon, he thought grimly.

Logan drove doggedly for hours, stopping only to fill gas. He tried to get Marie to eat or drink, but she simply shook her head, eyes pressed tightly closed, shuddering from time to time and making distressed noises. Logan was sick with worry. Finally, as it grew dark, he pulled off into a motel parking lot, quickly securing them a room and carrying Marie inside.

He laid her on the bed and stretched out beside her, clasping her tightly to him. “Please, baby,” he said helplessly. ”Please.” All of a sudden she rolled them over, pinning him to the bed and straddling his hips. She looked down at him with golden eyes.

“Please what, sugar?” she purred.

Logan looked up at the stranger straddling his hips. “Marie,” he said, his mind rejecting the idea at the same time. She didn’t sound like Marie, she didn’t even smell like her -- an acrid, musky animal smell swamping Marie’s own warm clean scent.

She narrowed her golden eyes, scratching a fingernail cruelly down his cheek, drawing blood. She popped the bloody finger in her mouth, sucking it clean as she ground down against his body. “Mmmm...tasty,” she purred.

Logan grabbed her hands, tumbling them until she was pinned down under his body. He looked urgently into her eyes. “Marie!” he said.

“Marie, Marie, Marie” she mocked. “Is that all you can say? Why do you want that pathetic little bitch back anyway?” She tilted her head up, licking and nipping at his neck. “I can do more for you than she ever could.”

“Shut up!” Logan snarled, shame rising at the bolt of lust caused by her soft tongue and sharp teeth on his skin. He shook her a little, feeling helpless. “Marie!”

“Little virgin Marie,” she sneered as Logan’s eyes widened in surprise. She smiled at his reaction. “What, you didn’t know?” she mocked. “You couldn’t smell it on her? Pathetic little Marie, unable to touch for so long. Then she finally can, and she’s too chicken to even try.” Her malevolent eyes narrowed. “Except for you. She touched you a lot,” she taunted. “Too bad you don’t remember. Maybe I should remind you.” She bucked her hips up against him, and he scrambled away from her in disgust.

“Let her go,” he growled. “You’re not her.”

With feline grace she slid off the bed, slinking towards him, unbuttoning her shirt as she went. “I know,” she said. “I’m soooo much better.” She pushed him, and unprepared for her strength, he was slammed up against the wall. She rubbed her lush body against him. “C’mon, sugar,” she purred.

He felt the fury rise up in him at the familiar endearment from this stranger’s lips, and reversed them, slamming her up against the wall, claws snicking out reflexively. He buried the claws in the wall on either side of her head, pressing his body to hers to keep her still. “Stop it!” he ground out.

She turned her head and licked the claw closest to her, sending a shudder through his body against his will as her soft pink tongue ran across the blunt edge from the skin of his knuckle to the wall. “That’s good, sugar,” she said. “I like it rough.”

“You got it,” he said, retracting the claws and pushing her towards the bed. He threw her down, pinning her with his body again, as she rubbed up against him, purring in pleasure. His claws snicked out again and he rapidly tore a pillowcase into strips, binding her wrists to the headboard before pushing himself off her, shaking.

“No!” she yowled, pulling against the bindings. “You son of a bitch!” He pulled up a chair and sat opposite her, coldly watching her struggles as she practically spat in anger. He paced the room a bit, letting her exhaust herself. When she lay still, looking at him with hot fury in her eyes, he sat down again.

“Marie,” he said. “You have to remember...remember who you are. Just you. You came and got me out of the lab. You took care of me. You threw in with me, God knows why. I want you back.” His voice broke. He took her face in his hands, staring into the angry golden eyes. Finally he dropped his head into the curve of her neck. “Please, baby,” he whispered into her skin like a prayer. “Come back to me.”

He felt a shudder run through her body, and then another. Hope flickered in his belly as her scent changed, the acrid animal smell dispersing and the sweet clean scent of his own Marie coming to the forefront. He looked up to find her brown eyes locked on him. She turned her head away and closed her eyes as tears leaked out from under the lids. “Logan,” she said, and he enveloped her in his arms, shaking with relief.

“I’m here, darlin',” he said. “I’m here, I’ll take care of you. Stay with me.”

He held her close, hushing and soothing in a way that seemed both entirely foreign and yet completely natural to him. For long hours he held her, tracking her scent as she fought the battle in her head, racked with emotion after emotion -- sorrow, anger, fear, despair.

Finally her scent changed again, her body twitching restlessly in his arms. “Marie, baby, what’s wrong?” he asked.

She pushed free of his grasp, standing up to pace beside the bed. Her eyes remained clear and brown, but her hands clenched and unclenched at her sides and her movements were still characterized by that unnatural feline grace. “I don’t know,” she said. “I itch,” she said finally, arching her back and rubbing it against the wall. “I want...” she trailed off.

“What do you want, baby, I’ll get it for you,” Logan said.

“I don’t know,” she said, helplessly. “I just...I feel...everything. I smell...everything. I’m crawling out of my skin, I can’t stand it.” Again she stopped pacing, rubbing her back against the wall, but this time her hands traveled up over her body as well, and she shivered.

Her eyes snapped open, and she pinned him with the force of her gaze. “I want to fuck,” she said. “I want to fight. I’ve just...I can’t stand it. I’ve got to get out of here.”

She moved toward the door, practically hissing at Logan when he intercepted her. “Get out of my way, Logan,” she snarled.

“You’re not leaving this room, Marie,” he said. “Not like this. Not until you’re yourself.”

“Oh, I’m myself,” she snapped. “And I’m taking myself outta here, if I have to take you down to do it.” He leaned back against the door and folded his arms over his chest.

“Just try it, baby,” he said.

She narrowed her eyes, and aimed a punch at his belly. She was unnaturally strong and fast but so was he, and he managed to deflect her blow, catching her arm. She kicked at his knee, and he stepped aside, causing her to fall up against him. She lost it then, throwing her body against him, clawing and kicking. “Fight me, damn you,” she huffed as he deflected and contained her assault easily. She managed to head-butt him hard in the ribs, knocking the breath out of him.

“Damn it, Marie,” he wheezed, pinning her arms to her sides and pushing her up against the door to restrict her range of motion.

Suddenly, she was no longer fighting him. Her hands still ranged over him, but this time rubbing, caressing, instead of punching and scratching. She ran a lean leg up his, looping it around his waist to press herself closer. “Logan,” she breathed. “Touch me, Logan.”

Logan closed his eyes, steeling his body against her. “Stop it Marie,” he said. “You don’t mean it.” Her hands found their way under his shirts, caressing his chest and making him shudder with longing.

“Yes I do,” she said, grinding her body into his. She practically climbed up his body to get to his mouth, throwing her other leg around his waist, and he automatically put his arms around her to keep her from falling. They both grunted as the sudden shift in her weight tipped him a little, throwing him hard up against her.

She twined a hand in his hair and took his mouth, slicking her tongue across his lower lip before diving in to kiss him hard and deep. He tried to pull back but she followed him, tightening her hand in his hair and kissing him ravenously.

Finally Logan leaned her hard against the door and got her pinned in place, her hands trapped tight between them under his shirts while his hand pushed her head down, trapping it at the crook of his neck. He felt her inhale hard, and then lick and bite him there, and his heart raced, lust roiling in his gut. He knew he had to get control of her soon, he was one step away from taking her hard up against the door.

“Marie,” he ground out, breathing hard. “Stop it, this isn’t what you want.”

“It is,” she said again, grinding her hips rhythmically against him now. “I want this -- I need this.” He shuddered again at the words, leaning his head against the door, trying to keep his body in control and think, but she was making it impossible. She pulled his head back and forced him to look her in the eye. “Don’t make me beg. You promised, Logan. You said you’d take care of me. This is what I need,” she pleaded. “It hurts,” she said, closing her eyes against tears of humiliation.

Christ. He buried his head in her neck and inhaled, searching his senses for the golden-eyed stranger, or some indication that she was playing him, anything to strengthen his resolve. All he sensed there was Marie, and naked wanting, and the shadow of the fear of rejection. He made up his mind. “Okay, baby. I’ll take care of you.”

He felt some of the tension leave her body. She threw her head back, resting it against the door, still grinding herself against Logan. He traced his fingers through her hair, cupping the back of her skull as he licked and nipped at her lips, pulling back to keep the kiss teasingly gentle as she tried to take control. “Easy, darlin’,” he said.

He tilted into her body, meeting her firmly, and slipped a hand inside the open neck of her button-down shirt to cup her full breast, nipple taut against his palm. That was all it took and she came hard, shuddering against him uncontrollably, limbs tightening around his body, her honeyed voice gasping his name.

He tamped down hard on his own reaction, the sight and sound and smell of her coming almost sending him over. He desperately tried to think of other things to slow his heartbeat and catch his breath, gathering her up against him and carrying her to the bed.

He lay down and settled her soft weight atop his body, still breathing hard. She curled up against him, quiet for only a moment before lifting her flushed face. “I want more,” she said. “I want to touch you, Logan. Let me.” Her hands came under his shirts again, and he let her pull them up over his head. She ran her hands over his chest and neck.

Logan threw his head back, drinking in her touch, hissing with pleasure as she carelessly brushed over his nipples. Acutely attuned to his response, Marie’s attention focused in, and she nuzzled his chest and then licked his nipple into her mouth, sucking gently. Logan groaned, helplessly arching up against her. She began to move against him again, sucking and licking, and then biting gently, causing him to buck up hard against her.

She traced her hands down his belly, starting to dip one inside the low waist of his jeans. “No, baby,” he said firmly, holding her hands still, then drawing them back up to his chest. She shook her hands free.

“I want to,” she said, running the heel of her hand firmly down the hard ridge pressing against the front of his jeans. Logan felt like he was gonna cry.

“Shhh...” he said. “Just let me take care of you, darlin’.”

He rolled them over, pinning her hands up over her head. He pulled apart the edges of her shirt, popping the rest of the buttons free. He slid a claw out a fraction, relieved that the bite of pain gave him something else to focus on, and cut the front of her bra, springing it open. He rasped his tongue over her nipple and she immediately seemed to forget her objections, hands coming up to grasp the pillow behind her head as he licked and suckled.

“Logan,” she moaned. He unbuttoned her jeans and roughly pulled them down her legs, and she frantically kicked them the rest of the way off. He pressed a strong thumb against the wet front of her panties, rubbing a slow circle as he sucked deeply at her breast. Then he slipped his hand inside her panties, gently pushing two fingers into her wet heat, drinking in her gasps and the flush that spread across her damp skin.

She was making soft excited sounds as he drove her relentlessly to the edge. “C’mon, baby,” he urged. “Good girl, that’s it...come for me, darlin’.” She came apart again, writhing against him, hands clenching the pillow, hips jerking hard against his hand. He eased her down from the peak, licking gently at her breast, his hand circling and pushing into her softly, wringing every last sensation out of her until her eyelids fluttered.

He rested his head on her chest, feeling her heaving breaths and hammering heartbeat against his skin until she finally slowed and calmed. He smelled her tears again, and sat up, guilt sinking his belly. “Darlin’, are you all right?” he asked, scared to hear the answer. She nodded, closing her eyes against the tears, running her hands through his hair.

“It’s just good,” she said. “It’s too good.”

He sighed with relief, cuddling her against him. “Hush, baby,” he said. “It’s okay, I gotcha.”

He traced gentle circles on her belly, feeling her residual trembles beneath his fingers and then a new laxness in her muscles as she finally slipped into sleep. He pulled the blanket up over them both, keeping her close against his body, and tormented himself with doubts about how she would feel about it all in the morning.

The banging on the door had him up on his feet, claws ready, before he was even fully awake. “Housekeeping!” a way-too-chipper voice called out. Christ.

“Come back later,” Logan barked, listening carefully until the cart rumbled on. When he turned around Marie was already sitting up on the edge of the bed, facing away from him, shyly slipping out of the remains of her bra and buttoning her shirt up over her bare chest. She seemed to be at a loss once she hit the buttons he had ripped off and stopped, looking down, the fall of her hair hiding her face.

Logan regarded her uncertainly. Looking at the curve of her spine and the delicate planes of her shoulder blades under the thin shirt, he realized for the first time just how frail and vulnerable she really was. He started to reach out to touch her, and then pulled his hand back. “You -- you mad at me, darlin’?” She shook her head, but still wouldn’t meet his eyes.

He felt suddenly large and out of place, not sure what he could do to make things better. “Regrets?” he asked gruffly. She nodded her head, closing her eyes to hide the gleam of tears, and he felt a coldness spreading inside his chest. She may not blame him, but she hadn’t wanted to be with someone like him. He sat down beside her and looked down at his own hands awkwardly. “I’m sorry baby,” he said. “I shouldnt’a -- I shoulda known you wouldn’ta wanted...”

She hung her head more. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered, so softly he could barely make it out. Logan interrupted his ramblings, confused.

“What are you sorry for, darlin’?”

She looked down at her feet again, rubbing the bridge of her nose. “I scratched you,” she said ruefully. “I rubbed against you like a cat in heat. I asked you -- begged you -- for...things, and I didn’t give you anything in return. It’s...embarrassing.”

Logan’s eyes snapped to hers. Christ, is that all? She was just embarrassed? He gathered her up into his lap. “Hey, don’t do that,” he said, wishing he were someone for whom reassuring words came easily. “You don’t need to be embarrassed. You were beautiful.” She looked down again, and he tipped her chin up, his hazel eyes honest and clear. “I’m serious.”

It was more than that, though. He could feel the tension in her body. He hadn’t realized how naturally in the past she would just relax into him when he was close to her, but now he felt a fine trembling in her muscles, as if she were suppressing the urge to spring free of his grasp. He slackened his arms a bit and sure enough she was up, carefully keeping her back to him, her spine stiff but her head bowed.

“I really need a shower,” she said, and he could hear her efforts to keep her voice steady, and how much she failed to do so. “Would you be up for getting us some new clothes?” Logan didn’t need his heightened senses to know that as much as she might want a change of clothes, what she wanted most was to have some time away from him. The coldness was back in his chest.

She didn’t even wait for his rumbled answer before she was in the bathroom, turning the shower on. He reached down and picked up her torn bra, telling himself he needed it for the size, but knowing the animal deep inside him just wanted something that smelled like her to hold on to. He was losing her, and he didn’t know exactly why.

Any other man wouldn’t have even heard her muffled sobs or smelled the salt of her tears underneath the sound of the shower and the flowery smell of the cheap hotel soap, but he wasn’t any other man. The sound and scent of her sorrow followed him as he stepped outside and shut the hotel door softly behind him.

Marie let the hot water wash over her, and the sobs shake her body. She knew that Logan was concerned, and that she was pushing him away, but she couldn’t help it. She felt like a little more kindness right now would make her shatter. The wall in her head seemed tissue-thin, and behind it Sabretooth scrabbled and growled.

She pressed her cheek against the cool tile of the shower wall, trying to ground herself in the real world. She felt him throw the hulking form of his consciousness against the flimsy barrier as his snarled words snaked through her mind. Scream for me, Marie. I’m going to make you scream.

Logan returned with clothes and supplies for them both, and a good stock of food and water. Marie continued to avoid his eyes, getting dressed in the bathroom while he set out a breakfast for her. When he got out of his shower, emerging from the bathroom steamy and ruffled but dressed as well, she had barely picked at her meal. He thought about pressing her for answers. He thought about kissing her senseless. “Let’s hit the road,” is all he said.

For lack of another way to help her, Logan decided to get as much distance as he could between them and what was hopefully Sabretooth’s rotting corpse. They drove west and south, the empty highways lined with gold and green fields, hypnotic in their unceasing sameness. In the warm close confines of the car, Logan found himself acutely attuned to the woman beside him.

She sat with her head turned away from him, staring blankly at the fields outside her window. He clenched his jaw hard around the question he most wanted answered but could not bring himself to ask. Who broke you, honey? Was it Sabretooth -- or was it me? Instead he found himself gauging her every reaction -- trying to read her emotion in her scent, the hitch of her breathing, the minute fluctuations of her temperature. He felt as though if he closed his eyes and concentrated he would be able to see the pattern of electrical impulses in her brain, waves and starbursts of ice blue and white and green like the Northern lights. His body was tense with the impulse to do something, fight something, take some action to make it better.

Finally, he could stand it no longer. He heard his voice, low and pressured, harsher than he had intended it to sound. “Are you sorry I touched you?” That seemed to shock her out of her daze.

“No!” she said, her eyes wide, and he knew her surprise was genuine. She turned her head away and swallowed. “I’m sorry I let you think that for even a minute. That’s not what’s going on. I’ve messed things up so badly. I wish I could explain to you...”

“Just try,” he growled. “Anything you can say to me will be better than what I’m imagining is going on in your head.”

Marie shook her head as if to clear it. “Did you know I grew up in Mississippi?” she said, seemingly out of nowhere. Logan shook his head. “My parents were really strict, really religious. I was an only child, and I was pretty lonely. I guess I didn’t really know that it could be any other way until I got older. I saw other parents hugging and kissing their children, or each other. It was never like that in my family. We never touched. I kept dreamin' of the day when I would break out of that cold house. It was going to be like it was in movies. I would find someone, and fall in love, and hug and kiss and hold on to him, and I’d never be lonely again.”

She seemed to be talking more to herself now, her voice slow and meditative, her drawl coming to the forefront as her mind turned back to the past. “David was the first boy to show an interest in me. Just a neighbor boy, but I thought he was the answer to all my dreams. I would tell him that I was goin’ to run away, up to Alaska, but really I was hopin’ that he’d say he’d run with me. And then one day, he kissed me, and that was it. My skin sucked him in, and put him in a coma. And nothin’ was ever the same again. Everythin' I thought would get better -- it just got worse. I was never alone in my head again, but that was the only place. My parents kicked me out the next week. I was sixteen. I was on the streets for almost a year before the lab got me.”

Logan was seeing it all too clearly -- Marie, but younger, more vulnerable, confused, friendless. He thought of that young girl in a lab and his claws burned in his arms, helpless fury gathering in his chest. Marie’s voice was still dreamy as she continued, though.

“The lab was -- well, you know what the lab was. They were too scared of my skin to risk raping me outright, but they still made me do things. With my hands, with my mouth.” Logan felt the rumbling in his chest and suppressed the growl before it could become a roar.

“They would make me watch them, or tie me down and touch me, their squeaky gloved hands everywhere. I got really good at just disconnecting myself from it. It’s hard to describe, but I would just go away for awhile. The one thing I couldn’t block out, though, was this voice in my head. Not one of the people they made me take in -- it was my voice, but different. It was Rogue. And she would talk to me. She wasn’t mean, she was just brutally honest. She would tell me the things Marie was trying hard not to know. And what she’d tell me was that this was it -- I was gonna die in that lab. Once they got all they needed from me they were gonna kill me. And this was the only kind of touch I was ever gonna know.”

Logan pulled to the side of the road, and cut the engine. He reached out -- slowly, like he was gentling a wild animal -- and smoothed her hair, and Marie shuddered and leaned into him. He closed his eyes in relief, gathering her in against his body. “I didn’t tell you this for sympathy, or anything,” she said, her voice muffled by his shirt, her breath heating his skin through the fabric. “When the X-Men got me out of the lab, it was a long time spent putting my head back together, and then getting control of my skin. Once I had it, I thought about trying to...be with someone, but it just seemed easier not to try. I guess what I’m saying, is that I never thought I’d be able to touch someone, or have them touch me, like we did last night. You gave that to me, and it was really important. I could never regret it. Never.”

Logan smoothed her hair again, taking comfort in the feel and scent of her against him. “Then what is it, baby?” he asked. “This morning -- it seemed like you couldn’t stand to be around me.”

She sat up, wiping her eyes, and nodded to him to start driving again. She looked out the window again, gathering her thoughts and her courage. “Taking someone into my mind -- it’s always hard,” she said. “The others I’ve taken in -- they were mostly terrified, and I thought it was the worst thing ever, to have their terror inside me. Their thoughts, and memories -- even their likes and dislikes -- I didn’t want them, but they didn’t try to destroy me. Sabretooth was different.”

She took another deep breath, and he sensed that fine trembling start in her body, as if her slim frame was not strong enough to contain the emotion inside it. “He was a monster,” she said flatly. “He liked to hurt women. Not just hurt them, even.” She paused, and the trembling increased. “He drank in their screams. He licked up their pain. He loved it. And when I remember it, so do I.”

Finally, the sobs broke through. Logan reached out for her, but she shied away. “I don’t know what to do,” she managed. “Last night -- when I scratched you, and taunted you -- that was me, but that was him also. I wanted you, and he wanted to hurt you, and somehow we were all mixed up. You helped me separate us again, but I don’t know how long it will last. He’s strong, and he’s still with me, just waiting for a moment of weakness. And I don’t want him to be part of me, but I especially don’t want him to be a part of us. The things he likes to do -- and that I can like them too, remembering -- it makes me sick and ashamed. And I guess I didn’t want you to know that I have this monster inside me. I just wanted to run away and hide from you, so that you couldn’t see what I’ve turned into. But there’s nowhere to go, and I don’t want to leave. I don’t know what to do. I’m so messed up.”

She curled up in her seat, pulling her head to her knees and folding her body over the regret and shame twisting her belly. Logan felt the tension rising in his body. He was used to facing problems with action, with fists or claws or the burn of his muscles. He didn’t know how to help Marie with this, couldn’t fight the battle in her head for her.

He reached out again, running a warm hand across the nape of her neck and down her back, trying to soothe in the only way he knew how. He watched his hand moving over her body with a gentleness that was unfamiliar even to him.

He drove on, eyes flicking between her and the road, thinking about what she had confessed. He had his own instincts, and at the heart of them was a rule he had never had to articulate, even to himself. The natural survival instinct of a predator. Only show your true self to those who won’t live to tell the tale. Even if telling her would help her, and not just cause her to turn away from him in disgust, he didn’t even know how to go about it. As his eyes assessed her for the hundredth time, though, he knew he had to try.

“I don’t know what your mutation is like for you, Marie,” he said. “But I know what mine is like for me. If there’s anyone who knows what it’s like to live with a monster inside them, it’s me. I’ve spent more hours than I can count wondering who put these blades in my hands, and how they did it. What I’ve never spent even a second wondering, though, is why.”

He struggled for the words, clenching his fists on the steering wheel until it creaked ominously. “I know why they picked me, and it wasn’t just for my healing. They picked me because deep down I’m an animal. A killer. The fighting, and the fucking, it’s just a shallow substitute for what the thing inside me really craves. The crunch of bone, and the spill of blood. Slicing these claws through flesh, and hearing their screams. That’s what feeds what’s inside me. That’s what I am.”

Marie raised her head, her eyes deep and unreadable. “That may be true, but that’s not all of you.”

He smiled bitterly. “When I first woke up from the drugs, you said that I would never hurt you," he said. "You seemed so damn sure. You have no idea.”

Now she reached out for him, her hand covering his on the steering wheel. “I was sure then, and I’m sure now. Whatever you may also be, you’re still the man I’ve gotten to know. That part of you is real, it’s not just a disguise for the other.”

Logan had no idea why hearing her say those words suddenly meant everything to him. “If that’s true, Marie,” he said, “Then I know that you can still be yourself even with Sabretooth inside you. You might not be able to unknow the things that you got from him, but you can decide if they are going to destroy you or not. And we’ll get you any help that you need.”

Marie looked bleakly at the gathering dusk outside. “I don’t know what will help me,” she said. Logan sighed, and rolled his shoulders. Here was something else that went completely against his instincts, trusting someone else. But he’d do it for her.

“I think it’s time we contact this Professor of yours,” he said.

Charles Xavier was tired. He felt the weight of every one of his years, as if a stone for each hung around his neck. Years, responsibility, the weight of his own conscience -- all different pressures that at times like these he felt might snap his elderly frame if he let them. He was old, and the world was getting more dangerous for mutants every moment. On nights like this one it felt as though all his efforts -- and the efforts of his children -- were useless.

It was the end of a long, pointless day testifying before a commission on Mutant Rights, and the sheer power of the willful ignorance and bigotry that had been displayed had worn him to the bone. He had struggled to keep his mental shields up against the force of such violent emotion, struggled against the impulse to slide into key minds and change them through insidious manipulation. These people flaunted their hatred like a banner, and more and more humans were answering their rallying cry every day.

“Thank you, Scott,” he said, at the door to his hotel suite. “I will see you in the morning.” A slight movement of Scott’s body that would have been imperceptible to most indicated that Scott had expected to accompany him inside, but after the briefest of pauses he simply nodded his agreement. Charles stifled a sigh of relief as the younger man continued down the hall to his own room. He wheeled himself into the suite, finally relaxing his stiff spine and feeling the lines of fatigue deepen on his face. He was not sure at times why he felt he had to keep up the illusion of unwavering strength even to his own children, but the habits of a lifetime were not so easily shed.

The door to the suite had already swung closed behind him when he saw the large man, dimly outlined in the light of a single lamp, a predatory alertness in every line of his body. So this is how it ends for me, Charles thought, surprised almost equally by the presence of the assassin and the relief that washed through him at the thought.

At the same time that he dropped his mental shields, preparing perhaps a moment too late a telepathic assault, the man stepped aside. Behind him, curled up in a chair, was a figure familiar enough to Charles to cause him to halt his attack. “Rogue,” he said, as she ran up to him, kneeling beside his wheelchair. “My dear,” he said, as she leaned her head against him, her distress echoing within his mind before he was fully able to shield himself again. He looked up at the man, observing how he remained within arm’s reach of Rogue, recognizing his stance now of one as protection, not aggression. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Logan. We have much to discuss.”

Logan watched Marie lean against the man in the wheelchair, suppressing his urge to pull her back towards him. This is what they were here for. Given Marie’s description of the Professor, at first the frailty of the old man had surprised him, but now he saw the inherent power in the man’s calm voice and keen blue gaze. He watched as the Professor held up a hand to the side of Marie’s face. “May I look?” he asked her.

Marie placed her hand over his. “Yes. But Charles...be careful.” The Professor nodded in acknowledgement, and then they both closed their eyes and tensed. The connection only lasted a few minutes, but both Marie and the Professor were pale and shaken when it was complete. Logan could hold back no more, he put his hand on Marie’s shoulder where she knelt and she reached back to reassuringly squeeze it.

“Rogue,” the Professor said, a new sadness in his eyes. “Such pain you’ve endured.” He looked up Logan now. “Thank you for taking care of her. You were right to seek me out.” Logan shifted uncomfortably, as the Professor kept his keen gaze focused on him. “Will you allow me...?” he asked.

Logan reared back in surprise. The Professor wanted to look in his head? The idea gave him the creeps. He could trust the guy to help Marie on her say so, but to let someone into his thoughts? He looked at Marie, and then back at the Professor. “Will it help her?” he asked gruffly.

The Professor seemed to consider the question carefully. “It might, although I have already seen what has occurred with Sabretooth through her eyes. It might also help us understand why you are being pursued by so many different forces. I will admit that Magneto’s interest in this affair puzzles me greatly.”

Logan regarded the Professor watchfully, but could sense no ill intent. He rolled his shoulders, and then cracked his neck. Finally, he took a deep breath, and kneeled before the older man. He felt Marie, now standing behind him with a hand on his shoulder as he had done for her. The Professor placed his hand along the side of Logan’s face, and closed his eyes.

Logan closed his eyes as well, and it was the oddest feeling -- his memories of the last few days seemed to be unspooling, traveling from his head to those of the other man, faster than he could track. Then more memories -- flashes, now -- fuzzy images from his time in the lab, a cage fight, that blonde in Nogales. And then the tenor of the memories changed -- tinged with green and pain and fear, like his nightmares. Submerged in a tank, his lungs choked with fluid, the burn of liquid metal in his bones, waking in the cold and snow with the terror of the blades in his hands....

Distantly, Logan heard himself howl, although in his memory or in the present, he had no idea. He felt the Professor break the connection instantly, and suddenly he was back in the hotel room, the memories fading almost as quickly as they had emerged, although his heart was still racing and a cold sweat covered his body. He had popped his claws reflexively at some point, one hand was dug deep into the carpet at his side.

He felt warmth and comfort at his back, and realized that Marie was kneeling behind him now, her cheek pressed to his shoulderblade, both arms wrapped tightly around him. He retracted his claws and managed to half-turn to hold her to him. “It’s okay,” he rasped, although whether he was trying to reassure her or himself he wasn’t certain.

The Professor leaned back in his chair, his eyes growing distant as he sorted through the influx of information. “Perhaps some tea would be beneficial,” he said.

Logan watched Marie fiddle with the room’s coffeemaker to heat the water for tea. She seemed much calmer now that she was in the presence of her mentor. Although he still sensed tension, the underlying panic that had tinged her scent for days was mostly dissipated, her heartbeat slow and regular. He, on the other hand, still felt very much on edge. The way the Professor had drawn those memories from his head -- it was unsettling. And if the Professor had not broken off the contact -- would he have been able to resurface memories from even earlier -- from the life that Logan had lost?

They sat down at the small table. Logan couldn’t remember the last time he drank tea, but he had to admit something about it soothed his raw nerves. An echo of an image came to mind. A willowy Asian woman in traditional dress, his hands on a warm bowl of tea, steam hot on his face as he rotated the bowl to drink from the side as a guest should...

Logan shook his head to clear it, and saw the Professor observing him closely. “I am sorry, Logan,” he said. “I had not realized that accessing your memories might cause you pain. The waters of your mind have been stirred, and you may feel the effects of it for a short time. I was not aware of what had been done to you.”

Logan narrowed his eyes. “Do you know why I can’t remember?”

The Professor shook his head. “I cannot tell. With more exploration, perhaps. But at present it may be wise to let your mind settle.”

Logan was definitely on board with that plan. Anyway, they were here for Marie. He looked at her. She was staring into her cup of tea as if the answers might be found there. “You can help her?” he asked. At that she looked up, and Logan’s heart lurched as he saw the vulnerability in her eyes that she had been trying to disguise.

The Professor looked at Rogue with compassion. “I believe so,” he said. “But we must take a different tactic this time, Rogue. The previous personalities were controlled through a process of both integration and compartmentalization. You were able to integrate the aspects that were compatible with your own personality, and contain the rest. I do not believe that Sabretooth can be integrated. The core of his personality is dominance, and he will never cease in his desire to subjugate you. We must try to contain him entirely, with a barrier more inviolable than any you have created before. But I believe it can be done.”

Marie closed her eyes, and Logan saw some of the tension leave her body. Before he realized his own intent, he had pulled her close to his side in relief, his head buried in her hair. Startled at his own action, he looked up at the Professor, but saw only understanding and approval in the clear blue eyes.

“With your permission, I will contact Scott,” the Professor said. “He was also able to determine that it was General Stryker who gave the orders to apprehend Logan, and he has been compiling information since the attempt was made.” Logan looked to Marie, who nodded her assent. Logan expected the Professor to pick up the phone, but he simply closed his eyes for a moment. Neat trick, Logan thought.

Within a few minutes, they heard a gentle knock at the door. Marie went to answer it. “Rogue!” a man’s voice said in surprise. As Marie held the door open wider, Logan’s eyes narrowed on the ruby visor, and he felt a rumble start in his chest. “This guy?” he growled.

Scott’s hand automatically went to his visor as he took in the aggressive stance of the man standing behind Rogue. “Scott! Logan!” the Professor’s crisp voice snapped out, as Logan reached out and yanked Rogue behind him. Scott paused, suddenly making the connection. He lowered his hand, taking in the changes in the man he had last seen naked, blood-spattered, and feral.

Scott had felt from the start that it was a bad idea for Rogue to be given sole charge of the obviously dangerous man at the lake house, and those fears had been confirmed when the military had come hunting Logan. Although Hank had tried to reassure him that Rogue seemed to care for the man, he had been haunted by guilt worrying that Rogue had been coerced into accompanying Logan on the run. A few days ago, when the Professor had no longer been able to track Rogue’s course using Cerebro, he had feared the worst. Seeing Rogue manhandled by the large mutant spiked his anger further.

“Jesus, guys, settle down!” Rogue said, stepping between them again.

Scott took in her appearance. She was rubbing her arm. She looked thinner than she had seemed only a few days ago, and exhaustion had left dark smudges under her eyes. “Did he hurt you?” he asked curtly, ignoring the angry growl from the man behind her.

Rogue shot exasperated looks at both of them. “Of course not,” she said. “Logan, this is Scott. I told you about him, he’s our team leader. Scott, this of course is Logan.” She didn’t seem to be afraid of Logan, but Scott knew that above all things Rogue was good at disguising her feelings.

Professor Xavier spoke up again as the two men eyed each other warily. “Logan, please keep in mind that your memories of Scott are confused. He was trying to extract you from the experimentation facility, in the only way he saw possible.” He turned his attention to Scott. “Scott, Rogue is in no danger from Logan.” Another comment, sent directly to Scott’s head. They care for each other, Scott. Do not anger either of them with your assumptions.

Scott looked at Logan in surprise and suspicion. Rogue -- caring for this man, after just a few days? If anyone was guarded in her personal relationships, it was Rogue. If this man had some hold on her, he did not believe it was one of affection.

Apparently dismissing both men from his attention, the Professor spoke to Rogue. “I think, my dear, that we had better get started. It will take some time and meditation to accomplish this task.” He spoke once more to Scott. “Perhaps you can take Logan to your room and brief him regarding General Stryker. We will join you there when we have finished.”

Scott watched as Logan visibly brought himself under control, relaxing his stance, flexing his hands and cracking his neck. Scott was not fooled, he could see the anger still burning in the man’s eyes. He tensed as Logan took a step towards Rogue, pulling her into a rough hug. Rogue had always been careful of her personal space, even after gaining control of her skin. Christ, was the man smelling her? Dressed and groomed or not, he was still feral, and Rogue had been alone with him for days. Scott bristled as Logan seemed reluctant to leave Rogue’s side. Was he intent on protecting her, or controlling her?

Logan followed Scott along the hall to his room, the tension in his body rising with every step he took away from Marie. He knew his hostility towards Scott was somewhat misdirected -- he did owe the man for getting him out of that lab. But goddammit, he didn’t even know him and his first thought was that he had hurt Marie? It riles you because it’s true, he thought bleakly.

Everything Marie had gone through was because of him. He had watched Scott assess the changes in Marie, and seeing the inventory of damages through someone else’s eyes had opened up a sick emptiness in the pit of his stomach. He had told himself that if he stayed with Marie he could protect her, but he had fucked that up as miserably as everything else in his rotten life. He looked out the window at the city lights as Scott shut the door to the room firmly behind them.

“She’s just a kid,” Scott said.

Logan’s eyes narrowed on Scott’s reflection in the picture window, but he refused to turn around. “Marie?” he said, mostly to irritate the other man. Of course he knew who he was talking about.

”Rogue,” Scott snapped. He knew Rogue’s other name from her records, but to be honest he had forgotten it. It rankled him beyond belief to hear Logan use it so easily.

Logan found himself slipping easily into the character of the heartless bastard Scott took him for. “She sure looks grown to me,” he said with a smirk. For a moment he thought he had managed to goad Scott into a fight -- he heard the man’s sharp intake of breath as the smell of his rage grew thick in the air. Logan’s fists clenched and his blood sang with the idea of finally getting a target for his frustration over the last few days. Scott had more control than he thought, though, damn him. He deliberately took a deep breath, and then sat down in a chair facing the window as well, the lights of the city reflecting off his visor.

“Did you know I was the one who found her in that lab?” At that, Logan did turn around, his throat suddenly dry as Scott continued. “She was...what -- seventeen? Half naked, half starved.” Scott was looking past Logan now, at the city skyline. “She looked like a mongrel dog someone had chained outside and forgotten about. Wouldn’t let me near her at first, just kept screaming, ‘Don’t touch me!’” Scott smiled bitterly. “Not that that was unusual for some of the girls we had rescued before -- we know what happens to them there. But she was the first one to scream it in five languages, and to be talking to herself half of the time.”

The urge to fight left Logan, and he just felt empty instead. He owed this man more than he had realized.

“Even after she was better, she was still -- fragile. I didn’t want her going on missions at all, but Charles thought it would help her, to have a focus. She’s been with our team for two years, but I try to keep her in the background. She wants to feel strong, but she’s not. She can fight all right, but her powers -- they are just not practical. She can’t use them without hurting herself. Any time she accesses a personality, or God forbid absorbs another, she threatens the stability of her mind.”

From the tilt of his visor, Logan could tell Scott was looking him in the eye, now. “What are you playing at?” Scott asked him roughly.

Logan tensed again. “You’re in dangerous territory, bub.”

“Knock it off,” Scott said almost tiredly. “I could blast a hole in you before you got within claw-reach, and I don’t even have to feel bad about doing it because you heal. And I want to know what you mean by messing around with Rogue. She’s...”

“Not that kind of girl?” Logan suggested sarcastically.

Scott’s voice was icy. “Yeah. Not that kind of girl. And we both know that. So what are you up to? What is she, to you -- a matter of convenience? An easy target? A challenge?”

Logan’s knuckles itched. He was starting not to care exactly how much he owed this bastard. “You don’t seem to have a very high opinion of either of us,” he growled.

Scott refused to rise to the bait. “No, I understand how it may be for Rogue. She’s naive. She has zero experience with relationships. She’s vulnerable. But you -- I don’t know what you’re getting out of this. What’s your plan? Are you going to drag her on the run forever? Drop her by the roadside somewhere when you get tired of her? Settle down with her at the mansion? Are you the kind of guy who sticks around?”

Logan felt every word like a punch in the gut. Scott wasn’t saying a thing that he hadn’t already told himself, lying in hotel rooms in the dark and feeling the trusting warmth and weight of Marie pressed against his side. He had no plan, and whatever he did from here -- hunt or be hunted -- it was only going to get more dangerous. He had no idea what he felt for Marie -- his feelings for her were so complex they were completely outside his frame of reference. All he knew was that he wanted her -- not just wanted to fuck her, but wanted her. Wanted to keep her with him, hold her to him. Wanted to protect her and possess her. Wanted to mark her and own her, and didn’t that just confirm what a fucking animal he was.

He looked at Scott again. These people were Marie’s friends, ones she had known for years. They were doing the job of fixing the damage he had caused, protecting her where he couldn’t. She would be safe with them, and far away from the destruction and despair that tainted everything that he touched. Whatever obligation and concern Marie had felt for him as a fellow lab-rat would fade, and she could go back to her normal life, a life so different from anything he had ever known that there was no place for him in it.

Scott nonchalantly reached down, and pulled a file from a briefcase at his feet. He dropped it on the table, giving it a little spin. “Stryker’s file. Everything you need to know.” Logan felt the eyes behind the visor burning into his. “You didn’t answer my question. Are you the kind of guy who sticks around?”

Logan felt a rush of bile at the back of his throat, and swallowed it down. He reached out and slammed his hand down on the file, stopping the lazy spin. Without a word, he took the file, and walked towards the door. His acute hearing picked up Scott’s comment, soft as it was. “I didn’t think so.”

Logan walked, his senses leading him unerringly to the seedy side of town, his mind roiling with self-hatred and despair. Fuck it, fuck it, fuck it, he repeated to himself, but somehow he was unable to reach the state of numb detachment the words promised. He found a store that sold both Jack Daniels and condoms, and snarled as the pimply cashier flashed him a knowing smirk.

He found a motel, one of the dank holes he was used to, and got a room. Then he followed the twin scents of vomit and human misery to the source, a dismal squalid bar on a dismal squalid side street. The beaten-down bartender made the mistake of meeting his eyes for just a moment, and whatever he saw there made him serve up Logan’s beer in a hurry and not say a word as he alternated pulls from the bottle of whiskey with gulps of beer.

Logan eyed the bar’s inhabitants, looking for an easy fuck or a hard fight. This was exactly what he was used to. This was where he belonged. So why was the pressure in his chest so tight he felt like he couldn’t breathe? He took another long pull on the whiskey bottle.

He smelled her coming, a combination of carelessly washed body, acrid hairspray, and arousal. As she got closer he smelled the increase in both her excitement and fear, and knew she was exactly what he was looking for. She wanted someone who would hurt her, and he sure as fuck wanted to hurt someone right now. Still, he had trouble making his body turn around to even look at her.

“Lookin’ for company?” she asked archly. He took in the blowsy form -- brassy hair, too much flesh in too little clothes, lines of age and hard-living under the thick makeup. Exactly what he was looking for. He slammed money down on the bar, grabbing her elbow roughly and pulling her out the back door, feeling with disgust the excited hum of her blood as he manhandled her.

Another alley, another easy fuck, he’d been here a hundred times or more, and yet still it felt like this attempt to slide back into his former life was a smothering weight on his body instead of a sweet relief. Fuck it he tried to tell himself again, closing his throat tight against her smell, pushing her up against the wall, pressing his body against hers and yanking her leg up around his waist. “Ooh, baby,” she said, and he pressed a rough hand to her face, turning it towards the wall so he wouldn’t have to look at it, taking another pull from the bottle in his other hand.

Distantly he felt her hands under his shirts, pushing them up. The front of his shirt covered his face for just a moment, but it was enough. Suddenly the clean sweet scent of Marie filled his head, her voice ringing in his head as another woman’s hands traveled over his chest. /”I want to touch you, Logan. Let me.”/

He pushed away from the woman with a roar, turning his back on her, swallowing down the bile that rose up in the back of his throat.

“Hey -- c’mon, do me baby,” she whined, reaching a hand out for his shoulder, as he shuddered and shrugged it off. “C’mon, you bastard!” she said, angry now, and without turning around he popped his claws. “Fuck -- get away from me, you freak!” and now she was cowering away, scurrying back towards the bar.

Logan started walking again, the bottle falling from his nerveless hand and shattering on the alley floor. Almost against his will, he lifted the front of his shirt to his face, smelling Marie again, thinking of her arms wrapped around him, her cheek pressed close against him. earthraincomfortMarie.

Suddenly the pressure was too much -- the tightness in his chest, the roaring in his head. He had never cried in his memory, but somehow he knew that lump of bitterness that stung the back of his throat was tears. He stopped, leaning both palms up against the rough brick of the alley wall, breathing in shallow pants. He bashed his head into the wall, once, and then again, cursing the healing that caused the pain to fade too soon.

He didn’t remember exactly how he found his way back to the motel, before he knew it he was fumbling open the metal door to his room, slamming it behind him. He turned around and punched it as hard as he could, closing his eyes and welcoming the pain as the skin split over the metal on his bones.

“Careful, sugar, you’re gonna lose your security deposit.”

Logan wheeled around, half believing that the familiar honeyed drawl was in his mind. Despite the darkness of the room his eyes quickly focused in on Marie, casually leaning back in a chair tipped against a wall, her eyes lazily raking over his disheveled, bloody form.

Marie lifted one booted foot, letting the chair thump back onto all four legs. She watched Logan’s dazed eyes follow the motion and then snap back up to her face. She ground down hard on the tenderness she felt seeing him like this, bloody and bewildered. She had a strategy, and damned if she was going to let her soft heart get in the way of it.

“So, that was it, huh? No goodbye, no ‘Thanks for the good times, see ya around, sweetheart’?,” she drawled, stalking towards him. “Papa Scott feeds you some line about how you’re the Big Bad Wolf taking advantage of poor l’il ol’ me, and you buy it -- hook, line and sinker?”

His eyes narrowed on hers for a moment, and she read the intent look. “Aw, don’t worry, sugar, while you were skedaddlin’ from the hotel with your tail between your legs...” -- a low growl at that, which she ignored -- “...the Professor and I got Sabretooth safely walled away. This is just Marie.” She tilted her head thoughtfully. “And maybe a little bit of Rogue, because let me tell you, sugar, the two of us are all kinds of pissed off.”

He was edging away from her now, eyes refusing to meet hers, and she felt a flash of triumph -- if he had simply turned and gone out the door she would have been sunk, but she had him now.

“So back to our l’il fairy tale.” Turning her tone light, almost amused again, drawing him in. “Did you really think it was that simple? Did you really think we were that simple?” Still he refused to look at her, sitting down on the bed and staring numbly at the floor. God, she knew him, felt his thoughts moving through her brain as if she had taken him inside her head. But understanding him didn’t make his sheer bloody-mindedness any less frustrating.

“Convincing you that you’re not the Big Bad Wolf may be a little harder, so let’s start with the easy one. The part where I’m not a little girl, skippin’ through the forest, takin’ cookies to Grandma.” She leaned back against the wall, regarding him with exasperation. “Hell, sugar, you saw me take out a helicopter and drop a man who’s invulnerable with my bare skin. Do you really need more proof that I’m not some delicate flower?”

Finally, a response from him. “It’s not the same, and you know it,” he muttered. And then raspier -- “Besides, it hurt you.”

She suppressed the urge to reach out and touch him at the raw pain in his voice when he talked about her getting hurt. “Well, sugar, a lot of things worth havin’ take a little piece of your soul in the process. Don’t tell me I learned that lesson before you did.”

He closed his eyes, and she gave herself a mental shake. Focus, she told herself. “So, anyway, we’ve established that I can take care of myself physically. So, what, you’re worried about breakin’ my poor l’il heart?”

Closer to the bed now, putting her body just a step away from his, trying to stifle the wave of satisfaction as she saw him reflexively fill his lungs with her scent. “Well, let me tell you some things about little virgin Marie that would make Scott Summers clutch his pearls and reach for his smellin’ salts.”

A step closer now, and she could almost feel the heat of his body. “I may not have done much with this body, but I have a fuckin’ multitude in my head, and the things we’ve done would curl that wild hair of yours.” Reaching out and raking her nails through his hair, watching him shiver.

Lowering the tenor of her drawl now to a deep purr, “I’ve been a man fuckin’ a man, and a woman fuckin’ a woman.” One booted foot hard against his groin, grinding into him, watching his eyes grow hot and dark. Pushing him, knowing his control was near to snapping, and that was exactly what she wanted. “I’ve had it slow and easy, and I’ve had it hard and rough.” Turning away from him now, casually throwing over her shoulder. “I even took on two cowboys at once one night in Phoenix. Well, not me exactly, but boy, I sure do remember...”

He moved so fast she didn’t even hear him, suddenly finding herself up against the wall with his body pressed against hers, his voice low and dangerous in her ear, sending shivers down her spine. “What are you doin’, Marie? What do you want from me?”

Suddenly, it was too much. The familiar feel and smell of him, his breath hot against her neck and the heat of his body close against her. She was tired of the act. She had been playing this game for all that it was worth, but it was time to throw all her cards on the table. She dug her hands in his hair and pulled back hard, so she was looking him in the eye. She heard the rough undertone of tears in her voice, and hated it. “Honesty. That’s all. Did you want to leave me, or did you just think you should?”

And quick as that, his anger was gone too. She saw it all in his eyes -- confusion, regret, longing, despair, self-hatred. And he stood for a long moment and let her see it, let her in. Finally he dropped his head to the crook of her neck, slowly shaking it there, half in denial, half nuzzling her tender skin. “I don’t know what to do, Marie.” And then, as if torn from inside him, “Don’t leave me.”

Ah, crap. She felt her tears finally fall as the man who had tried to drop her like a bad habit begged her not to leave him. “I won’t,” she simply said. “I won’t.” For long moments they both stood there, feeling each other close and letting the acceptance of that settle into their bones.

Finally, she led him to the bed and sat him down. She went into the bathroom, returning with a warm damp washcloth, tenderly wiping the blood from his head and face, and then from his hand. She ran her fingertips down the side of his face, brushing his temple, tracing the line of his cheekbone, curving her palm down his stubbled cheek as he closed his eyes and turned his head to place a kiss in the hollow of her hand. When his eyelids lifted there was something new in his eyes, a heat that echoed deep within her, making her breath hitch and her skin tingle.

He laced his hand in hers and pulled her, slowly, until she was straddling his lap. Then she felt his hand, gentle on her face, drawing her towards him. She wasn’t sure what she had expected, but it wasn’t this -- his kiss slow and seductive, gently seeking, coaxing her to answer his tongue with hers. She closed her eyes and gave in to the warmth and taste of him, splaying her hands against his chest to steady herself against the sudden dizziness.

He pulled back, and now she felt his mouth graze against her ear, her neck, a light nip at her collarbone causing her to shiver. “Marie,” he breathed into the hollow of her throat, his stubbled cheek rasping slowly against her skin. “I want to see you.”

She nodded, and he swung around so he was sitting on the edge of the bed, letting her slide slowly down his body until she was standing between his legs. His knees pressed into her thighs, steadying her, and she was glad of the support as he slowly unbuttoned her shirt, placing soft kisses and little nips over the skin he uncovered.

He skimmed the shirt off her shoulders, and she let it fall to the floor. Her bra followed and then he was looking at her, a dark heat in his hazel eyes, his hands following everywhere that his eyes traveled, caressing and arousing. “Beautiful Marie,” he said, his voice rough, as he leaned forward, wrapping his arms around her waist and suckling gently on the peak of her breast. She swayed into the heat of his mouth, gasping at the shock of the deep pull that seemed to reach inside her, sending a bolt of heat throughout her body.

Suddenly she needed to see and touch him too. With shaky fingers she unbuttoned the flannel shirt, pushing it off his shoulders and then pulling the undershirt over his head, smiling at the ruffled hair she caused. She felt his smooth skin and the play of the muscles of his chest under her hands as he responded to her touch, felt the tension in his strong arms as he restrained his movements to let her explore.

The last time she had touched him she had been so frantic, but now she allowed herself time to take in every detail -- how his chest hair felt rough against her hypersensitive palms, the small growly noises he made as her exploring hands brushed against his sensitive nipples, the jump in his pulse as she pressed her tongue at the base of his strong neck, tasting his salty skin.

She wanted to tell him how much this meant to her -- how long she had wanted this with someone, and how long she had wanted this with him. “Logan...God...” she said, and he seemed to understand, his arms tightening around her body, his mouth taking hers again more urgently this time in a delicious slick invasion.

She kicked off her boots and toed off her socks and he did the same, with a smile that kindled that warmth in her belly into a flame. Then his hands were warm against her waist as he unbuttoned her jeans, traveling her body in a slow sensual slide as he stripped jeans and underwear off her in one smooth motion. She felt his hands clench almost painfully tight on her hips as he looked up at her, heat and wonder and yearning all mixed together in his clear hazel gaze. He dipped his head and nuzzled his face into her belly, muttering words so soft she could barely make them out. “I’ll make this good for you, Marie.”

She smiled, her hand lacing through his thick hair. “I know. It’ll be good because it’s you, Logan.” A growl from him at that as he pulled her onto the bed, bracing himself over her on his elbows so the solid weight of his metal-laced body barely brushed her skin. She felt completely surrounded by the warm bulk of him, braced and protected by his heat and hardness surrounding her body.

He took her mouth again, a little more roughly, pressing his lower body into hers as the pressure and friction of his jeans against her sensitive skin made her gasp. She couldn’t help opening her thighs to him, embracing the feel of the rough fabric, the bite of his belt buckle against the soft skin of her belly as she helplessly arched up into him.

Her hands fumbled between them, seeking more access, more of his beautiful skin to touch. “God, Marie...” he groaned as her eager fingers brushed against his hardened flesh. He kicked his jeans off and turned them over, settling her atop him as she stroked and explored.

This was something she had never imagined, all those times that she had thought of touching or being touched. Her borrowed memories had not prepared her for the sheer joy and sense of power that rose up in her as Logan responded to her. She had never imagined the satisfaction she would feel knowing she was the cause of his panting breaths, her hands on his body causing him to shiver and groan, her tongue on his neck causing his pulse to jump.

“Marie, please,” he finally said, bucking helplessly up against her hands. Then she was taking him into her body, biting her lip against the slow burn as she adjusted to the feel of him. He ran his fingers through the fall of her hair, licking and kissing her neck, her breasts, her lips, as she started to slowly rock against him.

“That’s it...ah God...Marie baby...darlin’...just like that...” His hands found her hips, helping guide her, finding a rhythm that made the pleasure coil tighter and tighter inside her.

She heard herself as if from a distance, words helplessly falling from her mouth -- Logan, and sugar, and please. And then the pleasure so strong within her that the words dissolved into excited huffs and gasps, wordless murmurs as he began to push up against her, meeting her rhythm with his own, grinding up into her as his lips found hers again.

“God baby...you’re so close...so beautiful...show me...” he said, his rough voice pushing her higher as his hand came between them, his fingers slowly circling on a point of exquisite pleasure, coaxing her towards her peak.

She suddenly felt it all at once -- his body hard inside her, his solid frame clasped between her thighs, his tongue slick in her mouth, his hands on her skin, Logan -- and it was as if all the pleasure that had been coiling tighter and tighter inside her coalesced, and then rushed through her body in waves, as she shuddered and spasmed and sobbed his name into his warm mouth.

He continued to move gently against her, drawing out her pleasure, sending jolts of aftershock through her body for endless moments, before she finally collapsed on his chest. He tumbled her underneath him then, spreading her hair across the pillow, a hand coming up to run a thumb over her soft lips as her eyes met his.

She saw his jaw clench and eyes close, as every muscle in his body bunched with tension under her hands. “Marie...baby...I can’t...” he ground out, and she suddenly realized the effort he had been making to restrain himself.

She raked her hands through his wild hair, turning her head to sharply bite his thumb. “You don’t have to hold back, Logan. I want all of you,” she said. He opened his eyes, searching hers for her meaning, and she knew the exact moment when he saw it there. Something new flickering in his eyes, replacing the tenderness -- a dark predatory intent that rekindled the warmth in her belly.

Another low growl sending shivers through her body, his teeth bared against her neck, and then he was pushing into her, harder and deeper than she would have thought possible. His mouth was everywhere, devouring her, nips and licks and sucking bites over her lips, her neck, her breasts. She felt her body, still pliable from her own release, adapt to the onslaught as his hands spread her wider, pulling her knees up so he could go even deeper.

She felt his wildness call to something equally wild within her, and she raked her nails down his back, hands clenching against his sweat-slicked skin to pull him closer, harder. Feeling more than hearing his deep possessive growls and her own excited whimpers now in reverberations through her belly pressed against his as his body pounded into her.

She felt the pleasure start to build again, but faster, more intense this time, as the feel of Logan’s uncontrolled passion answered something fierce inside her. She stuttered half-formed words against his skin, more, and harder, and yes.

He lifted her, pinning her back up against the headboard, kneeling now between her long thighs wrapped around his waist, the new position allowing him leverage to grind into her harder, faster. He fucked her like she was everything, like he could push his soul into hers, imprint her body with his.

He was pushing her beyond thought, to a place where nothing existed but the feel and taste and sound and smell of him, body moving thickly in hers, tongue devouring her mouth, hands bringing her hips up and then insistently slamming her down again to seat himself fully inside her on every delicious stroke.

She was so close, she felt it coming, and so did he because he suddenly tore his mouth from hers, jerking his head back to pin her with his dark gaze. He wants to watch me come, she realized, and that thought was enough to send her over, her head snapping back as her body arched in ecstasy, her nails digging into his flesh and her mindless whimpers turning into a long breathy wail that had his name somewhere at the core of it.

Her eyes fluttered open in time to see his light up with primal satisfaction before he buried his face in her neck, his body pumping into hers in erratic thrusts. She felt him anchor his hands on the headboard, and then heard the metallic snap of his claws releasing as he bit down sharply on her shoulder. His body shook against hers as he came hard with a growly howl torn from deep inside him, rocking her with another burst of pleasure. She tightened her whole body around him as the heat and wetness of his release pulsed inside her, so intimate it made her heart twist.

They sat slumped over each other for long moments, trembling, feeling each others’ panting breaths and humming blood as their skin slowly cooled. Finally he lifted his head from the crook of her neck, sheathing the claws, smoothing her hair back, looking into her eyes with concern. “Marie...baby...darlin’...did I hurt you?”

She felt the wide smile spread across her face, words still beyond her. He buried his face in her hair and huffed in laughter and relief against her. Reluctantly pulling his body from hers, he pulled them down in the bed, spooning her against his front.

The rush of warmth and wetness widened her eyes, and she sat up on her elbow. “Logan...we didn’t...I didn’t even think of protection...”

He nuzzled her gently. “Not your time, baby,” he said. She met his eyes, startled, and saw the hint of shame they always held when he spoke of his more animal side. “I can tell,” he simply said. “If it makes you feel better, though...”

She placed a soft kiss on his lips, not even having to do the quick math to know he was right. “I trust you,” she said, and he rumbled his approval against her as he settled them back down.

She relaxed into his body. He was completely wrapped around her, his chest strong against her back, his legs curled under hers, one arm under her head and the other around her waist. She felt warm and protected and thoroughly debauched, and she luxuriated in those feelings. She felt his hand rubbing gentle circles on her belly and his rough tongue lapping soothingly at the bite on her shoulder as she slid into sleep.

Logan lay in the dark motel room, watching Marie sleep. The lights of the motel parking lot filtered through the cheap polyester curtains, creating a synthetic moonlight that illuminated her body, heightening the contrast between her pale luminous skin and the velvet shadow of her hair and lips.

He struggled to make sense of feelings that were both completely unfamiliar and completely overwhelming. He thought of his previous sexual encounters -- the familiar game of pick-up, the quick sexual release, the immediate goodbye. Making love with Marie -- he raised a sardonic eyebrow at the very term, but knew he couldn’t call it anything else -- had affected him in ways he couldn’t name.

His tenderness, her acceptance, their mutual passion. It made him feel like a different man, like something in him that had long ago healed wrong had been broken and reset. Like loving Marie had shattered him and then put him back together, better than before. Had she changed him? Pulled something from him that he had never known was there? Was this was the kind of man he had been, in the time he couldn’t remember?

He nuzzled his face into her hair, inhaling her scent and his mixed together with a feeling of possessiveness and deep satisfaction. He had marked her -- with his scent, with his bite, with the imprint of his fingers in the tender flesh of her hips. He knew he should feel bad about some of that, but instead he gloried in it. Mine, he thought, and the animal inside him purred. He had claimed her -- only him, and knowing that satisfied some dark need within him.

So what was she to him? His girlfriend? He wasn’t the type. His lover? He quirked his lip at the term, one that conjured up images of dramatic French movies with subtitles that he would only see to get out of the rain. My mate. The words appeared in his head fully formed, and he felt the truth of them in the very marrow of his bones.

He smoothed a hand over Marie’s hair, and even in her sleep she made that happy humming sound, her body pressing even closer to his. He remembered her words spoken in the diner days ago, during just one of the many times he had tried to leave her. You’re not alone unless you want to be, she had said. For the first time, he started to believe that it was true.
__________________

Logan woke slowly, tendrils of sensation tickling his consciousness one by one as he emerged from a deep sleep. The smell and feel of Marie’s hair against his nose, her body pressed soft and warm against him. The unprecedented relaxation in his body, as if every muscle and tendon had been infused with a liquid warmth. The wonderful lightness in his head, feeling for the first time the absence of the weight of exhaustion and troubled sleep that was so familiar he had not even registered its constant presence until it was gone.

He felt Marie wake, flexing against him in a full-body stretch that made him groan with wanting even as his mind reluctantly registered the small hitch of pain in her movements. She turned to him, her eyes dark and deep, her lips still swollen from the force of his kisses. He wanted to tell her everything he had realized during the night, but he didn’t know how to go about it. Instead he ran a warm hand down her hair and back, pressing her closer to him. “Sore, baby?” he asked.

She smiled that wide smile again. “In a good way.” He couldn’t help a satisfied growl at that, rolling her under him and kissing her, soft and deep. God, she felt good, tasted good, smelled good. Her body was so supple and responsive beneath him he wanted to press her down into the rumpled sheets and stay there with her forever.

With a final nip he forced himself up to sit heavily on the edge of the bed. “A hot shower will help. You can go first.” She sat up too, but didn’t leave the bed. He felt her press close against his back. Her small warm hands roamed his body -- a trace of her fingers through his hair, a brush of her palm against his back making him shiver, a soothing press of her knuckles at the base of his spine. It was as if having been given permission to touch him she couldn’t stop, and every sweet brush of her fingers sparked a new warmth inside him, weakening his resolve.

With a sigh he pulled her around to sit on his lap, a bolt of lust sizzling through him as her soft warmth settled on his erection. “Marie...go shower,” he grumbled, his body involuntarily pressing up against her in direct contradiction to his words.

He felt her smile against his skin, her teeth coming up to graze at his earlobe. “Come with me.”

She was killing him. Honestly killing him. He nuzzled his face into her neck, his voice hoarse with wanting. “I’m tryin' to be good, Marie.”

“Don’t be.”

He felt the rumble start in his chest, and she giggled as the reverberations tickled her belly. He pulled her so she was straddling his lap and then scooped her up, moving towards the bathroom with her wrapped tightly around his waist. She nipped and sucked at his neck as he walked, weakening his knees until he pressed her up against the wall beside the bathroom door, capturing her mouth and kissing her breathless.

He stumbled them both into the bathroom, blindly turning knobs to get the shower going. He settled her on the edge of the sink, laughing as she squealed a little from the cold. His hands were free now to run over her taut thighs, cup her ripe breasts, dip down to caress the curve of her waist.

Holding one hand out to test the water and finding it warm, he scooped her up again and deposited her under the spray, his body hardening even more painfully at the sight of the warm water running down her body in rivulets. She tilted her head back, exposing the long slender line of her neck to let the water soak her hair. The action revealed his bite on the tender flesh of her shoulder, and something wild and possessive stirred within him at that implicit sign of trust and submission.

He wanted to kiss and lick and fuck her all over, and the wild force of his emotions paradoxically made him want to be even more tender with her, testing the limits of his control. He slicked his hands with soap and began to run them all over her body, rubbing gentle circles into her skin, kneading the taut muscles of her shoulders, drinking in her sighs and gasps as she moved fluidly under his hands.

He heard words falling from his mouth without thought, hearing the roughness in his own voice. “Marie -- you deserve to be touched, all over. Everywhere, all the time. I’ll never stop touching you.” Something in his words seemed to resonate with her, her eyes fluttering open to lock on his, her hands reaching to grasp him closer.

He pushed her up against the tile wall, head dipping down to suckle her breasts, licking a long line down her tender belly. Her eyes were a mix of innocent curiosity and wonder and liquid heat, and he felt the wicked smile on his own face as he pressed her thighs apart to widen her stance, reveling in her gasp of shock as she realized his intent. God, he wanted to show her everything.

The spray of the shower was warm on his back as he kneeled before her, the heady scent of her arousal making him almost dizzy as he tasted her. Her shocked intake of breath quickly dissolved into excited murmurs and whimpers as he used his mouth and hands on her tender body to say everything he was unable to put into words. Protect you, want you, take care of you, never hurt you, his mind chanted as his tongue circled and suckled and licked, his fingers dipping and pushing and stroking to push her closer and closer.

He could smell her peak approaching, and he growled low with satisfaction, the vibrations sending her over the edge as she clutched his hair, her knees wobbling as she shuddered in pleasure against his mouth. He braced her with strong hands on her waist, tongue lapping gently against her, drawing the sensation out, easing her down from the crest.

He stood up, clasping her close to him, feeling their wet flesh clinging together, taking in panting breaths to ruthlessly curb the needs of his body. He felt her chuckle against the wet skin of his chest. “Still bein’ good, sugar?”

He smiled ruefully. “Still tryin’.”

Her voice, equally amused, “Well, stop.” He felt her small slick hand on his body, the sharp nip of her teeth on his neck, and he felt his blood heating and humming to a roar in his ears. A quick wrench in his belly as his overstretched control snapped, and he turned her roughly in his arms, bracing her hands up against the tile. Then he was pressing into her, arms wrapping around her body to push deeper into her, closer against her.

He heard low inhuman noises coming from his own throat -- wet growls and soft whimpers -- as he pushed and pulled against her, spreading her wider, feeling every inch of her body in delicious friction against his. He felt the pressure building quickly, steamrolling through his body, driving him towards release as he quickened his rhythm to a steady, relentless pace. God, he couldn’t get close enough to her, couldn’t get enough of the feel and smell and taste of her, the soft sounds he was drawing from her body with every thrust.

He buried his face in her wet hair, inhaling the scent of her, warmth and sweetness and arousal and Marie, feeling the tension pull tight in every muscle of his body. His hands came over hers on the tile wall, pinning her as his body invaded and claimed her. He knew the pressure of his hands on hers let her feel the glide as his claws slid out, the action causing no fear in her, only a new burst of arousal so keen he could taste it in the air. A final deep thrust and he was coming hard, growling his release out against her skin as his body throbbed inside her, pleasure roiling through him in a burning rush.

He hadn’t even realized the water had turned tepid, but now he felt it cool against his heated skin. He turned off the spray and gathered her up, snagging a towel to run over their wet hair, as he ambled back through the motel room with her in his arms, tumbling them both into a boneless heap on the rumpled sheets.

Logan reluctantly wrenched his eyes away from the sight of Marie licking french fry salt off her fingertips. God, was there anything this woman could do that he didn’t find sexy? For two days now they had been holed up in the cheap motel and no matter how many times he found glorious release in her arms, the next few moments had him wanting her just as much as before.

She shot him a sidelong glance through her eyelashes, and the quirk of her lips told him she had noticed his intent gaze. Her tongue took a particularly long languorous swipe before she popped her index finger in her mouth, sucking it thoroughly, grinning at the low growl she elicited from him.

He picked a pillow off a chair and lobbed it at her, smiling as she easily deflected it and reached for another fry. He glanced down and a sudden stillness came over him as he saw the file that had been hidden by the pillow. Stryker’s file, lying right where he had thrown it two nights ago. He had known that they couldn’t stay here playing honeymooners forever, but still a sense of dread gripped him as he sat down in the chair and flipped open the file’s cover.

He was completely unprepared for the wave of panic that washed over him. Clipped to the file’s inside cover was the picture of a man -- boxy head, grizzled hair, cold grey eyes. Stryker. He had never seen the man before that he could remember, and yet he had to clench his jaw against the rush of cold fear that shook his frame, nausea roiling in his belly.

Logan felt his breath rasping in frantic pants, his heart pounding in his chest. He jerked to his feet, struggling against the urge to pop the claws, eyes automatically searching the room for a threat. He caught a glimpse of Marie’s face, startled and concerned, seeing her as if from a distance.

“Logan -- sugar, what is it? Are you remembering?”

He shook his head wordlessly, unable to bring his body under control, panic and a sick rage still holding him in an iron grip.

“Stryker?” she said, reaching out a hand to touch the file. Instinctively he snatched it away. He had to keep Marie away from this. He didn’t know what else was in the file, but he knew he could not allow it to touch Marie.

“Keep away from that,” He heard his own voice snap out, harsh and angry.

He saw her eyes narrow on his, assessing. When she spoke, her voice was flat. “You have gotta be fuckin’ kidding me.”

“It’s nothin’ to do with you.” He heard the cruelty in the words, knew he was acting all wrong, but he couldn’t find even a fingerhold of control.

A note of steel entered her voice now. “How many times are we going to have this same conversation, Logan? It’s not you against the world anymore. If you want to go after Stryker I’m all for it, but I’m helping, and the team will help too if we need them.” Her voice softened. “Sugar, you can’t shut everyone out. Just talk to me...”

She reached out a hand towards him, and his overstrung senses couldn’t handle it. He felt pressed, cornered, his voice snarling out without conscious thought. “Don’t touch me.”

Even with the blood roaring in his ears, the icy terror gripping his body, he knew it was the worst possible thing he could say to her, of all people. He saw the blank shock in her eyes, changing like quicksilver to hurt and then anger before she shut down, stepping back with a cool glance.

“So that’s the way it’s gonna be, sugar? None of this...” -- she waved her arm in a curt gesture, encompassing the motel room -- “...meant anything?”

He felt the unfocused rage in him target her for a moment. That she could say that -- even imply such a casual dismissal of how he felt about her? He clenched his hands tight, trying not to strike out -- at her, at the room, at the unknown man whose picture alone could shatter any semblance of humanity in him. He turned and left the room, the motel door slamming behind him with a hollow clang.
______________

Logan stood outside the motel room door in the early dusk. He had walked for hours, his feet driving him aimlessly forward in an effort to outpace whatever unknown horror Stryker’s picture had unleashed.

He despised his lack of control over his own body. He had been maddened by the tickling feeling at the back of his brain of a memory just out of reach. With no target for his fear and rage, he had been at the mercy of wave upon wave of violent emotion, his heart pounding, his breath erratic, his throat bitter with bile, his ears deafened by the rush of his own blood. Even now, hours later, his nervous system was still jangling from the effects.

Even once he had gotten some control over his reactions, the thought of what he had done to Marie had kept him walking. He had no idea what to say to her to make things right. The image of her face when he told her not to touch him was burned into his brain. She had suggested that he cared nothing for her, and he hadn’t even argued. He had just run, the only goddamn thing he was ever good at, his response to any difficult situation. Marie deserved better than that.

With a deep breath he opened the door. The room was dim. He stepped inside. “Marie?”

No answer. Coldness spreading in his chest, he wrenched open the door to the bathroom. Empty. He sniffed the air. No one else, just his scent and Marie’s. He opened one of the drawers, already knowing what he would find. It was empty. The room was bare, only Stryker’s file still on the table where he had left it.

He sat heavily on the edge of the bed, the springs creaking in protest of his weight. Of course she had left him. What the hell had he expected? He didn’t really understand why she had stuck with him in the first place. He had proved to her in every way possible what a bastard he was. She was probably back at the mansion by now already.

After all the violent emotion of the last few hours, he couldn’t even manage to be angry. He just felt cold and numb. He hung his head and closed his eyes, letting the despair overtake him.

_____________

Marie hefted the duffel bag higher on her shoulder as she fumbled with the room key, idly wondering how Logan had managed to find a motel so antiquated that it still used metal keys instead of key cards. She could see through the curtains that no lights were on in the room. Logan still hadn’t returned, then, in the whole time she’d been at the laundromat. Stubborn jackass.

She opened the door, flipping on the light, startled to see Logan sitting on the bed. He looked up at her, and she was shocked at the expression in his eyes. He looked...destroyed.

Before she had time to say a word he was bounding towards her. She heard a startled “Eep!” escape her as he picked her up and squeezed her so hard her breath huffed out. She felt him bury his face in her hair, inhaling her scent, squeezing her even tighter.

“Logan?” she managed to wheeze out. He didn’t respond, just leaned back against the door, still holding her with her feet dangling off the floor. Finally he slid his back down the door, ending up sitting down with her in his lap, his head still buried in her hair.

“Sugar, what’s wrong?” She dug her hands into the hair at his temples, pulling his head up to try to see his eyes, finally getting a little breathing room. He took her mouth in a scorching, desperate kiss that left her seeing stars. She finally managed to pull back, panting. She looked in his shadowed eyes. “You thought I left, didn’t you?”

She saw the truth of it in his expression before he ducked his head back into the crook of her neck, squeezing her tight again. She shook her head in disbelief, running her fingers through his hair. “Because of our fight? It was just a fight. It happens. We’ll figure it out.”

He spoke against the skin of her neck, his hot breath making her shiver. “I’m sorry, Marie. I’m so sorry for what I said.”

“I know, sugar. You were freaked out. It’s okay.” She sighed, still absently combing her fingers through his hair. “I’m sorry I didn’t leave a note. I took our clothes to the laundromat. I didn’t think about how it would look.” She couldn’t help smiling. “Did you really think I was not just mad enough to leave, but to take all your clothes with me?”

She almost laughed as he jerked his head up in surprise, a chagrined expression on his face. “I didn’t think of that,” he admitted.

She shook her head in amusement. “Always ready to think the worst, aren’t you?” Her voice and expression grew serious again. She wanted to be sure he understood, needed him to be sure of at least one thing. “We’ll figure out how to get Stryker, and neither of us will get hurt. We’ll figure it out together. But I promised you, remember? I promised that I wouldn’t leave you. And I won’t.”

His gaze searched hers, and she saw the moment when he seemed to find the answer he was looking for. Something in him eased, and he leaned back against the door, pulling her close against him again. “You promised,” she heard his low voice repeat, as if to himself. “You promised.”

Marie tapped her fingers against the steering wheel thoughtfully. Her turn for a question, and she wanted to make it a good one. Finally, she decided. “Favorite kind of pizza?”

Logan’s stomach growled at the thought. “Loaded. Everything.”

“Really? Vegetables and everything?”

He quirked an eyebrow. “Yeah. Why?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never seen you eat a vegetable.”

“You’ve seen me eat french fries. Potato’s a vegetable.”

“Those don’t count!”

He seemed to consider. “I like spinach. And broccoli. And onions, and olives. Don’t like peppers.”

“Huh. Good to know.”

They were two hours into their nightly four-hour stakeout of the Claremont Hotel. Scott’s file on Stryker had been extremely thorough. The General lived on base, and after much discussion Logan and Marie had agreed that even with considerable stealth and luck it would be near impossible to approach him there.

Scott’s records had revealed, however, that once a month the General checked into a room at the Claremont. The hotel’s doorman had reportedly divulged that despite bringing his own car to the hotel, the General took a cab the morning after his visit and was gone all day. Marie wondered if they had bribed the information out of the doorman or if Jean had simply fluttered her eyelashes a bit.

In Scott’s thorough manner, he had tracked the cab logs coinciding with the morning after Stryker’s hotel check-ins, tracing his destination to a private residence owned in the name of Stryker’s mother. Either Stryker was a dutiful son, visiting his elderly mother every month, or he kept the place as a love nest. Either way, when they scouted it security around the house seemed minimal, and they had decided to target him there.

Unfortunately, there seemed to be no pattern to the day of the month Stryker chose for his visit, and the streets around the residence were too quiet to hide their presence for long. The only consistency was his check-in at the hotel, sometime around 8 p.m. every visit. They had decided to stake out the hotel from 6 until 10 every night to be safe. Two nights in, Marie had invented the little question game to get Logan talking.

“Your turn.”

Logan grinned wickedly. “Favorite sexual position.”

Marie blushed. Dammit, how could he still do that to her? She gave it serious consideration. The four-hour nightly stakeout had left them with twenty other hours a day to fill, and Logan had been very creative in finding ways to pass the time.

“I like being on top,” she said. She could feel her blush intensify. “I like having you spread out underneath me, knowing I can touch you wherever I like, whenever I like.”

Logan growled low, shifting uncomfortably in his seat, causing Marie to burst out laughing. “Well, you asked!”

“I didn’t know your answer would be so hot,” he grumbled.

Marie smacked him on the leg. “Hey, look,” she breathed. A car was pulling into the hotel’s semicircular driveway, under the awning. A silver metallic Lincoln towncar. “Can you see the plate?”

She could tell the answer by the tension in Logan’s body before he even spoke. “Yeah. It’s him.” Marie held her breath as the man got out of the car. It was Stryker all right. He seemed older, frailer than she had expected. He seemed to have difficulty levering himself out of the car. Once he stood, however, his back was ramrod straight. He moved with intrinsic authority, not even sparing a glance for the bellhop who scrambled behind him to carry his bag. The hotel doors closed behind them, and Marie suddenly found herself able to breathe again.

She looked at Logan. He was still staring at the doors through which Stryker had disappeared, naked hatred in his eyes. “Hey,” she said, and sucked in a breath as the force of that cold predatory gaze focused in on her for a moment before Logan blinked and his own familiar hazel eyes looked back at her.

Damn. Just an instant of that gaze had frozen her to the core. Her heart was still racing, her breath still short. She knew Logan could sense her fear, too. He avoided her eyes, adjusting his seat all the way upright, fastening the seatbelt he had grown accustomed to wearing at her insistence. “So, tomorrow then?” Marie said, embarrassed to find her voice a little wobbly.

“Yeah. Tomorrow.”

Logan was distant and quiet during dinner, and Marie was careful not to push him. When they returned to the motel he gave her a short, urgent kiss. “I’m takin’ a walk.”

He returned hours later, seeming much calmer. He made love to her for hours that night, first with slow tenderness, and then with a desperate urgent passion. She woke several times during the night, and each time she found him still awake, watching her sleep, his hands moving tenderly in her hair and over her body, gentling and soothing. “Go to sleep, baby,” he said, and each time she fell asleep again to the sound of his steady breathing.

The next morning, they showered and dressed in near silence. “Did you sleep at all, sugar?” she asked.

He managed a hollow unconvincing smile. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

He got behind the wheel of their SUV, and she saw the white-knuckled tension in his hands as he drove.

“I think we should switch motels,” he said suddenly. “We’ve been in one place too long. I packed the duffel while you were in the shower. I want a safe place for us to meet up if something goes wrong.”

“Nothing will go wrong, sugar. We know the security system. We have a plan.” He didn’t respond. She searched his face, but saw only a firm resolve there, a muscle ticking in his jaw. “Okay,” she said. It did make sense.

He drove them to a new motel, to her surprise parking directly outside a room rather than going to the office to check in. He saw the question in her eyes as he pulled the key from his pocket, the duffel over one shoulder. “I checked in last night,” he mumbled. “Didn’t want them to see us together.”

“Oh.” She walked into the room, flipping on the light. She felt him close against her back, and then suddenly he was lifting her, kissing her desperately, pushing her up against the door. She automatically wrapped her legs around his waist. “Hey -- sugar, it’ll be all right.”

She felt him walking, his mouth still invading hers, tongue warm and slick, teeth nipping gently at her lips. She clung tighter to him, trying to keep a steady head. “Sugar, we don’t have time for this.”

She felt him lean her up against another wall, another swift deep searing kiss sending warmth flooding through her body as he let her slowly slide down him to stand. He pulled his head back and looked in her eyes, and she shivered at the intensity of his gaze. “Marie...” he said. He stopped, ducking his head into the crook of her neck, taking a deep breath. “I love you, Marie,” he said, speaking the words hoarsely against her skin.

She felt her heart thumping wildly. “I love you too, Logan. Of course I do.” He looked up at her again, and she felt a chill run through her. There was something in his eyes she couldn’t read, and she furrowed her brow, trying to figure it out.

“I’m sorry, Marie.”

Before she could react there was a sudden empty space where his bulk had been, and she was abruptly aware as the door slammed in her face that it had been the bathroom wall he had leaned her against. “What...?” she started, as the realization hit her, sinking into the pit of her stomach. She heard the click of several latches, and then the snap of a padlock. Still stunned, she placed a trembling hand against the door.

“Logan -- what are you doing?” she said, already knowing the answer.

She heard his weight rest up against the bathroom door, his voice hoarse with emotion. “I can’t let you go with me, Marie. You’re the only good thing I’ve ever had. Whatever happens, I can’t let Stryker get you too.”

Marie snapped out of her daze, rattling the door. “What -- you can’t keep me here Logan. What are you thinking?”

He sighed. “There’s food and stuff in the tub.” She looked at the tub, her mind still spinning. The locks, the food -- he had set this all up last night. He had never intended for her to go with him. “I’ve got the rooms on either side, and I’ve given the manager enough cash that he’s not going to come around for noise. I’m moving the dresser in front of the door. You can’t freeze it, and I know you’re not going to burn your way outta there. You wouldn’t put other people at risk.”

She put her forehead against the door. “Logan. Don’t do this.”

She heard the hitch in his breathing. “I’ve called Scott. He doesn’t know why, but he’s agreed to come pick you up. He’ll be here in about three hours. It’ll be done by then either way. If I’m not back...” He stopped, and she heard him take a shuddering breath. “If I’m not back, it’s all gone wrong and Stryker will be on full alert. You won’t be able to come near him, even with the team. I don’t want you to try. I know better than to try to talk you out of it, so I’ll have to trust Scott to keep you in line.”

She heard the scrape as he pushed the dresser up against the door. She slammed her hand against the door, and then kicked it for good measure. “Logan, don’t do this to me. Don’t do this to us.”

A long silence, and she thought maybe he had left already, before she heard his low voice. “It’s done.”

She heard a click as he turned on the clock radio, finding a music station and cranking it up loud. Another moment and she heard the motel room door close behind him. In a sudden flash of comprehension, she recognized the look in his eyes she had been trying to decipher before he slammed the door on her. It had been goodbye.

Logan crept up the stairs, silent as a shadow for all his bulk. His heightened senses were on high alert, taking in the somewhat musty smell of the old townhouse, the scent of the polish that had been used on the rich wood of the banister, the slight sounds of activity in the room above.

As he moved stealthily closer, he was able to make out the rhythmic hiss and suck of a ventilator, the occasional beep of a monitor, the hum of a fluorescent light, even the slow dripping of intravenous medication. The stale scent of illness wafted down the stairs towards him. When he and Marie had discussed Stryker’s visits to this house, his money had been on Stryker keeping a mistress, but perhaps Marie was right and Stryker simply paid monthly visits to his invalid mother.

He stopped outside the slightly open door. He could just make out the figure in the hospital-style bed, but instead of the elderly woman he had been expecting it was a younger man. Logan could smell another person in the air, knowing by how the odor made his gut roil that the scent was Stryker’s, but the General was nowhere in sight.

In a smooth movement, Logan ducked through the door, flattening his body against the wall behind. After a moment spent assessing the situation, he approached the bed. A man probably in his early thirties, his figure so frail he looked like he had been bedridden for years, his skin papery, his head shaven. A breathing tube obscured some of his lower face, and sensors placed on both his chest and his head were connected to the monitors. An i.v. dripped medication steadily into a port in his vein.

Logan leaned down and sniffed the medication. In a rush, he was overwhelmed by the memory. /The hiss of a needle gun, the return to greyness./ This was the drug Marie had told him about, the one that had kept him only half-aware in the lab. This man was a mutant, and Stryker was trying to control him.

With an angry jerk Logan yanked the needle out of the man’s venous port, leaving it dangling to drip slowly and silently onto the threadbare oriental rug. He didn’t know what he hoped to accomplish, this man obviously wasn’t going anywhere, but he was too angry to care. Stryker, he thought, rage clouding his vision red for a moment.

As if the thought had summoned him like a demon, Logan smelled Styker approaching. He quickly flattened himself against the wall as the General entered the room, barely casting a glance at the man on the bed before crossing towards the window. Logan circled behind him silently before closing the door with a firm click. He saw Stryker straighten at the sound, but he did not turn around.

“The Wolverine,” Stryker drawled. “I was wondering how long it would take you.” Now he turned, hands, in his pockets, the cold grey eyes regarding Logan impassively.

Logan felt his claws snick out reflexively at the sound of the General’s voice. Stryker flicked a quick glance at the blades, and then back to Logan’s face. “Some of my best work,” he said.

Logan felt the growl start in his chest as the rage rose within him. His breath came in quick pants as he fought the urge to simply bury the claws in Stryker now. “You’re going to tell me what I want to know, and then I’m going to give you the chance to experience your work up close and personal,” he snarled.

Stryker smiled coldly, unimpressed by the threat. “No need to be so crude. I am happy to speak with you. The Wolverine, the most gifted of my children. Do you even know what you are?”

“I know what you made me.”

“You have no idea. Even I had no idea.” Stryker took a step closer, and Logan saw the mask of impassivity slipping for a moment, a shimmer of madness underneath. “The first time I had you I was blind to your true potential. I looked at you and saw a weapon that I could wield. A few...modifications...and you would be the perfect soldier. Invulnerable. Deadly. My vision was so narrow.”

Stryker’s eyes were wide with emotion, hands clenched in fists at his side. “I didn’t know what you truly were until you had escaped me. It took me almost two decades to find you again. My life’s work, finally in my grasp once again. And then they stole you away from me.”

Logan took a step closer. “Both times...it was you. Both times,” he hissed.

Stryker spoke quickly now, spittle flying from his mouth. “Of course it was me. You and I -- we are tied together, Wolverine. It took me far too long to realize your true potential, and once I knew I could never have let you go.”

“My potential for what?” Logan lifted his fist, the tip of a claw entering almost delicately into the skin at the side of Stryker’s neck. Stryker didn’t even seem to notice, his mad eyes gazing into Logan’s, jowls quivering with emotion. He pushed closer, a rivulet of blood trickling from claw’s entry point.

“All the labs...not just yours, but all of them. I oversaw them all, and never was there another like you. You, my child, are unique.”

“Stop raving, old man. I heal. It’s handy, but I’m not the only one.”

“No! You’re wrong! You’re so wrong!” Stryker turned and paced toward the window, almost manic in his agitation. “Others heal. They repair. You revert.”

“What are you talking about?” Logan growled.

Stryker was yelling now, a vein bulging in his neck. “What am I talking about?! I’m talking about a cure, you fool, a cure!” He took a step back, seemingly trying to gain some control over himself.

Stryker cast his eyes toward the bed for the first time. “My son,” he said flatly. “My son Jason. My beautiful boy. My pride. And then I found out. He was corrupted. Infected. The cancer of mutation became active in his body. And he became a monster.”

He strode toward the bed, lifting the man’s head roughly, and then dropping it back on the pillow. “You see him now. Inert. Harmless. But before -- he had the power to create nightmares. His own mother put a drill to her head to bore out the images he was projecting into her mind. My boy. The great illusionist.”

Logan felt a lurch of nausea. And he called his son a monster. “You did this to your own son?”

“Xavier promised to help him. He did nothing! It was to me to rescue him from the disease of mutation. And I realized too late, once you had already escaped my grasp, that you were the key to not only his redemption, but for all of humanity. The scourge of mutation, wiped from this earth!”

Logan had reached his limit. The madman’s ravings were not giving him any answers. With a growl he moved forward to strike, only to find his knees suddenly giving out beneath him. He hit the floor with a thud, catching himself with his hands as the claws snicked in. A wave of dizziness crashed over him.

“What did you do to me?” he grated out.

He saw Stryker’s polished shoes and creased trouser legs approaching him. Then he was pushed backwards, as the old man kicked him squarely in the chest, slamming him against the wall, his legs splayed helplessly in front of him, the breath knocked out of him. He struggled to rise, but he felt like he was mired in quicksand. He tried to lift his arms, grunting with the effort, but they barely twitched. His head fell back against the wall with a thunk, his eyes staring helplessly ahead at the old man’s knees.

Stryker leaned down, looking into Logan’s eyes. He reached out and slapped Logan’s cheek, an evil smile spreading across his face at Logan’s helpless paralysis.

“Not that some mutants aren’t useful, though,” Stryker chuckled. “We found a very helpful guy, has the ability to alter the molecular structure of chemicals. He needed a little arm-twisting, but we have people for that. He created the mutant tranquilizer, but he also whipped up a little something special for me when those damned X-Men stole you away from me.”

Stryker reached into his pocket and pulled out a glass vial, open and empty. “An airborne neurotoxin, specifically engineered to affect the Wolverine and you alone. I told you, Wolverine, you and I are tied. I knew you would find me. And wherever and whenever you did, I knew I wouldn’t let you escape me again. I released it the moment I knew you were here. It was a little slower to take effect than I hoped, but you can’t have everything.”

Logan felt his heart pounding in his chest, his blood roaring in his ears. He put every bit of strength he had into taking another breath. Marie, he thought.

“Don’t worry, Wolverine,” Stryker crooned. “As I said, you are unique. You will revert. In about half an hour you’ll be fine. Of course, you’ll be safely back in the lab by then. And we can begin the tests again. Every time we damage you and you revert back to your pre-injured state, we learn more about how you do it. And from that will come the cure. We just have to learn to control the setpoint, and then we have it. The ability to revert every mutant to their pre-mutation state. To turn back the hands of time and bring my beautiful boy back to me. To wipe the cancer of mutation from the face of the earth. You, Wolverine, will be a greater weapon than I had ever imagined.”

Logan struggled in another breath, despair overtaking him. He had failed. He was going back to the lab, and he would never see Marie again. Once they got the drug in him, he probably wouldn’t even remember she existed. And if this madman really could use him to generate a mutant cure, a war between humans and mutants would be inevitable. He had unknowingly put her in more danger than ever.

Now that he had irrevocably lost her, she suddenly seemed to be with him more than ever. He still tasted her on his lips, the scent of her filled his lungs. He felt a small warm hand brush his cheek, but nothing was there. Hallucination, he thought. And then he heard her voice, the softest possible breath in his ear. “Locking me in a bathroom, sugar? You thought that would hold me? Remind me to tell you about Kitty some time.”

Stryker strode to the telephone. He picked up the handset, and started to dial. After a moment he jerked the handset from his ear. With a frown, he pulled on the phone’s cable, finding the end cut. He looked at Wolverine sharply. “Wolverine. Such a blunt instrument you are.”

He pulled a cell phone from his pocket, but it suddenly flew from his grasp.

“Don’t talk trash about my Logan.”

Stryker wheeled around, mouth agape, but nothing was there. An invisible blow to the back of his knee made him stumble as the voice continued.

“All the labs. I’ve been listenin’ awhile. You oversaw all the labs.” Logan recognized Marie’s voice, but he had never heard her sound so cold. So dangerous. Another invisible punch sent Stryker’s head snapping back, blood appearing at the corner of his mouth. He swung his fists wildly, but connected with only air.

“I was in a lab.” Another swift invisible blow and Logan heard the crack of a rib as Stryker doubled over, wheezing. “A sixteen year old runaway, scared and alone. They made me hurt a lot of people. They even made me kill some.”

An apparent push, and Stryker went stumbling towards Logan. Logan strained with effort, sweat running into his eyes, but only managed to twitch a bit. The neurotoxin was wearing off, but slowly, too slowly.

“One of the people you made me kill -- his name was Michael Shaw. He had a wife, and two small children. He loved and missed them until the moment he died, in terror, pressed against my skin.”

Stryker turned in circles, striking out uselessly at empty air. Another crack, and he thumped heavily to his knees in front of Logan, gasping for breath, still looking around himself wildly.

“His mutation was invisibility.”

A shimmer in the air behind Stryker, and Marie slowly appeared. She looked like an avenging angel -- eyes blazing, face set in cold determination, merciless beauty incarnate. Stryker looked back at her and cowered.

“Impossible,” he sputtered, bloody spittle flying from his mouth. “Wolverine is alone.”

A look that was almost pity crossed Marie’s face as she looked at the old man. “Not anymore.”

She looked into Logan’s eyes, and he into hers. He had thought that he knew Marie -- her warmth, her vulnerability, her bravery -- but suddenly he realized that he had never really understood, never really seen what she could be when pushed. For the first time he glimpsed the part of her that had enabled her to survive the horror of the labs, the rejection of her family, the isolation of her poison skin. A steely core, as stark and unyielding as the metal underneath his own skin. In a moment of complete recognition, he looked into her eyes and saw a ferocity equal only to his.

“Still want this kill, sugar?” she said, her voice ruthless and steady. Logan managed a nod.

“Then show ‘em to me.”

Logan sucked in a deep breath, mustering all his strength. With a roar of effort, he popped his claws. He saw the sudden comprehension and terror in Stryker’s eyes. With an almost careless shove, Marie sent Stryker forward, impaling him on the razor-sharp blades. Logan managed a twist of his wrist, gutting Stryker and stopping his heart with a growl of satisfaction.

With a heave, Marie pulled the corpse off of Logan’s claws and threw it aside. He snicked the claws back in.

She sat down next to Logan, knees up, her side pressed against his. They sat silently for awhile, the only sounds the hiss and suck of the ventilator and the occasional beep of the monitors. Logan slowly felt his breathing become easier and more even.

“I should be givin’ you hell right now for locking me in that bathroom,” she said.

Logan grunted in agreement.

“Maybe later,” Marie said, and they sat in silence some more. He felt Marie rest her head against him, and with a great effort he managed to lift his arm, wrapping it around her and pulling her closer.

Marie wrapped her arms around Logan and pressed her cheek to his chest, listening to his breathing and steady heartbeat.

“I left a message for Scott where we’d be. You might get to meet Kitty in person if they storm this place lookin’ for us.”

Logan managed to pull his knees up. “If Scott has to carry me out of here I’ll never live it down,” he grumbled.

Marie snickered. “Boys and their pride. And you’re the worst of them.”

Another grunt of agreement from Logan, as he tried unsuccessfully to get to his feet.

“Give it another minute, sugar. We have time.”

They sat in silence for awhile more. Finally, Logan spoke, raw pain rasping in his voice. “I thought I was never gonna see you again.”

Marie nodded, giving him another squeeze. Now that the blaze of her fury at Stryker was fading she was terrified by how close Logan had come to being recaptured. She tried for a joking tone, but she heard the tremble in her own voice. “Does this mean you’re done trying to ditch me?”

She felt Logan nod, his chin brushing her hair. He smoothed her hair back with his hand, and then kissed the top of her head. Again he tried to stand, but this time he was able to make it to his feet, leaning heavily against the wall, Marie at his side steadying him.

He stood for a moment more, panting with effort. He cracked his neck and rolled his shoulders, pushing away from the wall, standing on his own with just a slight sway. “Let’s get outta here.”

She took his hand and started toward the door. Suddenly, she felt his hand jerk from her grasp. She turned around. “Logan?”

He was staring at her, absolute hatred in his eyes. The claws snapped out with a metallic zing. “Stryker,” he hissed, looking at her.

Marie stepped back. Was this some side effect of the neurotoxin? He seemed fine only moments before. “Logan, it’s me, sugar. Marie.” She tried to keep her voice calm and steady, but he didn’t seem to hear her. He cocked his head, as if listening to something else.

With a sudden roar, he was on her. Marie grasped desperately for Kitty’s power, but it was too late. The shock of Logan’s attack had made her hesitate for a vital second, and she looked down at the claws buried in her chest and belly. With the clarity of the dying, she recognized how little pain there was, even though she was hanging from Logan’s claws. Just a cold burn and the slow choking sensation of blood welling up in her lungs.

The force of Logan’s attack had pinned her up against the hospital bed. She turned her head and looked directly into the open eyes of Jason Stryker. One green eye and one blue eye looked malevolently back at her. Stryker’s voice echoed in her memory. My boy. The great illusionist. The walls of the room rippled, and instead of Logan standing before her, she saw Stryker, holding a knife buried in her chest.

She shook her head. “Nice try,” she murmured through the blood bubbling up in her throat. She reached a hand behind her, into apparently empty space, but felt the contact of cold papery skin against her palm. She closed her eyes, gathering the last of her energy to switch her mutation on.

Injury and emotion had always weakened her control on her skin, and she felt Jason Stryker’s life roar into her head in an ungovernable rush. She tried to keep a single thought in her head that was hers and hers alone. She would free Logan from his grasp before she died.

She felt the last of Jason’s energy drain into her, and the walls of the room rippled again. The image of Stryker dissipated, and it was once again Logan standing before her. She saw the cold predatory satisfaction fade from his eyes, shock dawning on him as the illusion cleared for him as well. God, she wished there was some way she could spare him this.

“No,no,no...” He looked down in disbelief at his claws buried in her body, his knuckles pressed up against her bloody shirt. His claws retracted, and he caught her as she fell, stark terror in his voice. “Marie!”

Her skin inert once again, she reached a hand out to touch his face, trying to memorize the feeling. “Shhh...s’okay,” she managed.

Through dimming vision, she saw Logan’s eyes wide with panic as he pressed his face to hers. She saw him look up at the body of Jason Stryker, realizing what had happened. “Marie!” He squeezed her tighter, and she saw a wild hope enter his eyes. She shook her head, knowing what he was going to ask.

“Turn it on, Marie. Turn your skin on. Take my healing.”

The agony in his voice was hurting her more than dying was. God, she wished she had more time and more words to explain. Emotion and injury always weakened her control, and now, with the chill of death spreading through her, the pain of losing Logan piercing her deeper than his claws, Jason Stryker whispering vengeance in her head, she knew she would not be able to stop it. “No control...kill you.”

“I don’t care.” He pressed his face into her skin, and she felt the wetness of tears. “You have to...darlin’, please. Do it. I’ll be okay. Take it!”

She shook her head again. She had loved and been loved for a few weeks. It was more than she ever thought she would have. It was enough -- it had to be enough.

She felt comfortable now, and sleepy. She could just rest a little, and not have to think anymore. His voice ripped through the haze, urgent and anguished.

“You promised me, Marie. You promised not to leave me.” Stubborn man. She remembered him holding her, pressed in his lap against the motel door, whispering the words to himself like a prayer. And she remembered her answer.

____________

“Shadowcat, report.”

“I’m inside...looks like security was already disabled. Opening the door for you now, Cyke. No sign of anyone down here.”

“I’ll take point up the stairs...Kitty, make sure the lower levels are clear. Jubilee, you take the rear.”

“Jesus christ! Jeannie -- get in here, stat! We have injured...Rogue is...christ, she’s covered in blood. Logan too.”

“I’m on my way, Scott. How bad is it?”

“I’m not sure...they both have a pulse. There’s just so much blood -- Jubilee, help me get her out of his arms, we need to lay her flat. Put pressure here, I’m going to see...wait a minute. Wipe...yeah, there. Wait a minute. It’s -- it’s okay. Whatever the blood is from, it’s gone. Jubes, check Logan. Nothing there either, I think all the blood is hers. They’re both just out. Two others dead, though. I think -- I think he healed her.”

“Okay... I’ll stop running then, honey.”

Marie opened her eyes, squinting against the bright lights of the medbay. She was assailed by a flood of smells -- antiseptic, latex, and...was that Hank’s smell? She hadn't realized she knew that one. And then -- Logan. She turned her head towards the scent as her eyes found him.

He was stretched out on a bed several feet away. She reached out a hand towards him, before realizing that it was encumbered with a tube and sensors. She ripped the pulse monitor off her finger, and an incredibly shrill sound pierced her ears. She clapped her hands over her ears. Argh, it was too much -- too bright, too loud, everything smelled so much. She sat up, as a wave of dizziness crashed over her, adding to her panic. She could hear her own heart pounding in her ears, feel her own pulse thrumming through her veins.

Easy, darlin’.

His voice, so clear that her eyes snapped to his form, only to find him still unconscious. Belatedly, she realized the phrase hadn’t been spoken at all. Logan? she tentatively thought.

Warmth spread through her like an embrace. I’m here, darlin’.

As Hank bustled in, summoned by the shrill alarm, Marie started to cry.

____________

Logan jolted to consciousness, eyes snapping open to look at the paneled ceiling. “Marie,” he said.

“She’s fine.”

Professor Xavier gazed kindly at him from a wheelchair pulled close to his bedside. Logan hauled himself up onto his elbows slowly, every movement an effort. He felt like his whole body had been turned inside out. “It worked? She’s okay?”

“She recovered faster than you did, my friend. She has been waiting here for you to wake up. I finally convinced her to take some time to change and eat with the promise that I would alert her as soon as you awoke.”

“She’s all healed up?” He knew he was repeating himself, but he was having trouble believing it. His brain felt as wobbly as his body did. Marie sure packed a hell of a punch with that mutation of hers. Logan looked around the unfamiliar bedroom, still trying to get his bearings.

“She also insisted that you be moved from the medbay. She knew you would not want to wake there, and with her new senses she was finding it a bit overwhelming as well.”

“New senses?” Logan felt his fuzzy mind grasping for something, and falling short.

“You know how her mutation works, Logan. She took in not just your healing, but a good amount of the rest of you as well. Memories, emotions, personality traits. And your senses. Apparently they take a little getting used to.”

Logan felt the missing puzzle piece click into place. Goddamn, he had been so focused on Marie using him to heal that he had forgotten the rest of what she would have to handle. He remembered sitting next to her, looking out over the lake, when she had first described her mutation to him. /”I get their thoughts and feelings and memories. I don’t want to know that stuff. I wish I didn’t have to carry it.”/ And his destructive thoughts, and twisted feelings, and horrific memories? The idea of his sweet Marie knowing those things about him, having to struggle with his torments -- it was intolerable.

The pain in his body seemed to be gathering in the middle of his chest, making it hard to breathe. He hung his head, taking shallow breaths, trying to gain some measure of control.

“I hurt her.”

“That’s not exactly the case, Logan.”

The ball of hurt in his chest was burning, expanding, turning to anger. “What the hell do you know? You wouldn’t even be talkin’ to me if you knew. I hurt her, I dug my claws into her and almost killed her. And now she’s got all my shit to deal with. I’ve lived with that shit for fifteen years, and it’s fuckin’ intolerable. And now you’re telling me I gave it to her?”

“I suspected you might react this way.”

Logan looked at Xavier in suspicion. “You knew I was waking up, that’s why you sent her away.” Xavier didn’t deny it, just kept looking at him in that damn calm, kindly way. “So you could talk to me first? To what -- warn me off?”

Xavier leaned back into his chair, a shadow of sadness in his eyes. “Quite the contrary, Logan. Call me an old meddler, but I care very much for Rogue, and she cares very much for you. I was concerned that you might...have a strong reaction to what happened. I thought it might be best if you had some time to adjust to the idea before you spoke to her. And perhaps that you would believe me when I told you that she has allowed me in her mind, to help contain Jason Stryker, and that your presence there is an immense comfort to her.”

“She likes having me in her head?”

Xavier smiled that kindly smile again. “Is that so hard to believe, Logan? Think about it. And please, talk to Rogue before you do anything rash. I will let her know that you have awoken. In...shall we say half an hour or so?”

___________

Marie followed the trail of Logan’s scent through the mansion. All the scents and sounds were still somewhat overwhelming but she was managing better, blocking some out and focusing in on others. And Logan’s scent was as familiar to her now as her own, a warm rich mix of woods and cigar and pure Logan. She followed the trail out across the grounds, experiencing the cool autumn air and the grass springing under her feet in a new way.

She found him sitting on a stone bench, staring at the ground. She knew the second he scented her, his shoulders drawing in, fists clenching, even as his eyes hungrily looked her over. He’s flinching at the very sight of me. she thought.

No, darlin’, just hunkerin’ down to take the punch. His voice, quick and cryptic in her head.

He said nothing as she sat next to him, although she felt his eyes focus on her belly. She realized he would want to be sure, she could hardly believe it herself.

“All better,” she said, lifting the edge of her shirt to display the smooth unmarked skin. “Wanna feel?” The tease fell flat, however, as his eyes ducked away from hers. She pulled her shirt down self-consciously, fingers clenching around the edge.

She had been here before. She knew the drill. She suddenly felt exhausted. She had fought so hard -- for control, for him -- and when it came down to it, it never mattered. She was still what she always was, Marie with the poison skin. Unwanted. Unlovable.

She bit back hard on the tears. “It’s okay,” she said. “I know how it is. I get feelings too, remember? I know what it feels like for my...victims. The violation. Hell, my own mother looked at me with disgust once she felt it. It changes things to know what I can do. I understand.”

What? “What?” The Logan in her head and the one next to her, speaking in stereo. “You think...what the hell are you thinking? That I’m mad? That I don’t want to touch you anymore?”

Darlin’, you couldn’t be farther from the mark if you were in Alberta...

With an almost angry motion he pulled her roughly into his lap, snaking his arms under her shirt to wrap around her bare waist, face nuzzling into her neck. She let out a shocked breath that was half a sob.

“Nothin’ has changed about what I feel for you,” he growled.

She felt her head spinning, whether from his closeness or all these sudden lurches of emotion, she didn’t know. “What is it, then?”

He sighed into her hair, taking another deep inhale of her scent before setting her next to him again. He smoothed her hair back, his clear hazel eyes finally looking into hers.

“Xavier said you have me in there now,” he said, nodding towards her forehead.

“Yeah.”

He looked down at his hands, rubbing his knuckles. Marie looked down and realized that Logan’s hands were shaking. She reached out to steady them, and realized that hers were shaking too.

“You can’t tell me you still feel the same way about me. Knowin’ all that. The things that I think, and feel. I told you before that I’m an animal, and I know you didn’t really believe me then. But now you know, right? So how can you say that doesn’t matter?”

Marie looked up at Logan -- his brow furrowed with worry, his eyes shadowed with fear and shame. Christ, she wanted to kiss the hell out of him and knock him upside the head at the same time.

She took a deep breath. “You jackass.” Okay, not the most diplomatic way to start. Maybe she could blame that on residual Logan in her head also. At least she had his attention, though. “You think I couldn’t love you, knowin’ all about you? I love you because of all that stuff. Everything you are -- the scary parts, the pretty parts, the angry parts, all of it. It’s all you, and I love you -- all of you.”

“How can you?” Disbelief still strong in his eyes, but also hope.

“Dammit, Logan. What can I say? It just is. You can smell a lie, right? Do you think I’m lyin’ to you right now?”

He dug his fingers into her hair, holding her head still, searching her eyes. Finally -- finally-- she saw his doubts start to crumble, the growing warmth and tenderness in his eyes making her sob once again. And then he was crushing her, squeezing her, his hands rubbing all over her, his face buried against her neck, murmuring rushed and incomprehensible words into her skin. She was crying and laughing all at once, trying to pull his face up to kiss him.

When they had settled a bit, they sat for awhile longer, Marie nestled into Logan’s lap as close as she could get.

“I’ll mess it up,” he said.

“Yeah, probably,” she said musingly, and he couldn’t suppress his huff of surprised laughter. “Or I will,” she continued. “But then we’ll fix it. Everybody messes up. But if it’s important to us, we’ll work it out.”

He smiled. “It’s that easy?”

She placed a kiss on the center of his forehead. “Maybe not easy. But it’s that simple.”

______________

The Professor’s crisp voice rang out before Logan even had a chance to knock on the study door. “Please come in, Logan.” Show-off.

Logan entered the room, taking in the scent of old books, furniture polish, and...was that the faint scent of cigar? Interesting. He sat in one of the stiff-looking chairs in front of the old man’s desk.

“So. You spoke to Rogue.”

Logan felt the smile spread across his face at the thought of Marie. Xavier smiled back. “I am so pleased.”

Xavier’s face grew serious again. “I am afraid that Magneto will not be satisfied with Stryker’s death. He will do anything to prevent a cure from being developed. He would not attack this mansion, but your safety would be at risk anywhere else. And if you remain, we could perhaps attempt to learn more about the memories you have lost.”

Logan eyed the old man. “Make up your mind -- are you tryin’ to scare me or bribe me into stayin’?”

Xavier looked taken aback. “Perhaps that was the wrong way to put it.” He moved his wheelchair around the desk, close to Logan’s side, looking seriously into his eyes. “I am trying to tell you that there is a place for you here. We could use a man with your skills. In our classes, teaching the children what they will need to know to defend themselves in the troubled times that are almost certainly to come. And on our team, if you choose to fight beside us.”

Logan tried to wrap his mind around that. “I’m not exactly a team player. And I sure as hell ain’t no teacher.”

Xavier continued to regard him placidly. “Perhaps there is more to you than you know, my friend. Please think about it. This mansion could become your home, if you allow it to be.”

Logan looked at Xavier. He respected the old man. He was even starting to like him. Logan owed him the truth.

“My home is with Marie. She says we stay, and we’re stayin’. And I’ll give all that a try. She says we go, and we’ll be gone the next minute, and not even you will be able to find us.”

Xavier leaned back in his wheelchair. “I see. Well, then.” A slight smile. “Welcome home, then, Logan.”

_____________

The windows were open a few inches, letting the crisp autumn breeze into Scott Summers’ classroom. He had hoped the fresh air might keep his final class of the afternoon awake, but five minutes from the end of Intermediate Trigonometry that hope was dwindling.

“Thus, the sine of an angle is half the chord of twice the angle. Consider the angle BAD in this figure, and assume that AB is of unit length...” he continued, moving toward the blackboard. Suddenly, he froze, his gaze fixing on the bare arm holding the pointer. His bare arm. He looked down at himself, muffling a shriek. He was naked. Naked! Why was he teaching class naked?

He ducked behind the blackboard, thinking frantically. He had dressed this morning, hadn’t he? He must have! Suddenly, though, he couldn’t remember. He dared a peek around the edge of the blackboard, to find the curious eyes of his class riveted on him. He ducked back.

The murmurs started, along with a few twitters of laughter. “Mr. Summers?” one of the students braved. “Are you okay?”

Scott couldn’t begin to answer that question. No, he was very much not okay. He was naked. Naked! Nakednakednakednaked! He jumped out from behind the chalkboard, grabbing a book off his desk, attempting to cover himself with the meager object. “Finish reading the chapter and I’ll see you all...later,” he managed hoarsely.

He darted into the hall, slamming the classroom door behind him, hearing the nervous murmurs of the class grow to a clamor. God, he had to get to his room. He just had to avoid...

“Scott?” Scott quailed at the voice of the one person he most dreaded encountering.

“Professor Xavier...Charles...my deepest apologies...” he stammered out.

Professor Xavier examined Scott closely, from his neatly combed hair, over his crisp pinstriped shirt and tie, past carefully pressed khaki pants, to his matching socks and penny loafers. He returned his gaze to find Scott blushing as ruby red as his visor. “Scott -- what is amiss?” he asked.

“I understand sir...very inappropriate...will not happen again...” Scott sputtered, backing anxiously away. Finally he turned around and darted up the stairs. Xavier watched him in bemusement until he disappeared from view. He heard the door to Scott and Jean’s room slam upstairs.

Xavier looked around to see if any other mansion residents had witnessed Scott’s erratic behavior. Across the hall from Scott’s classroom, the door to the terrace stood open. Rogue was standing with her back to the hall, apparently entranced by the view of the lawn and late afternoon sky, elbows resting on the balustrade. Logan stood next to her, his back casually leaned against the rail, smoking a cigar. Catching Xavier’s glance on him, he gave the older man an impassive nod and then returned to puffing his cigar contemplatively.

Professor Xavier dismissed the odd incident with a shake of his head. He would follow up with Scott later, but for now he had other duties which required his attention. He propelled his wheelchair a short distance down the hall, stopping suddenly when he heard a muffled giggle.

He turned his head sharply, glancing again at the terrace. Logan stood directly behind Rogue now, his brawny arms braced on the railing to either side of her slim frame as they both looked out at the view. As Xavier watched, Logan tilted his head, nuzzling Rogue’s neck, eliciting another giggle. Ah, young love. Xavier’s heart warmed with the knowledge that two people who had faced such formidable obstacles in their past had found such joy and peace with each other. He continued down the hall with a contented smile on his lips.

Logan pressed his chest against Marie’s back, casually blocking her from Xavier’s view as her body heaved with the force of her repressed laughter.

“Careful, darlin’, you almost gave the game away,” he murmured, sending her into an even more pronounced fit of laughter.

She turned, nestling herself into his strong chest as she slowly got herself under control, wiping her eyes and subsiding into only occasional giggles and hiccups.

“You have to admit it, sugar,” she drawled, between the bursts of muffled giggles and hiccups. “Jason Stryker may have had a meglomaniacal psychotic sonuvabitch father and a crappy-ass life, but his power has some serious entertainment value.”

With a wink, she conjured up an iridescent green butterfly which circled Logan’s head and dive-bombed his face as he swatted at it in irritation.

“Quit playin’,” he growled, pulling her close, as she let the illusion dissipate.

“Aw, c’mon sugar, I owed Scott one for stickin’ his big nose in our love life.” She grinned up at Logan.

He tried to smother a smile, unsuccessfully. “Love life?” he said, raising an eyebrow at the term.

Marie was unfazed. “You heard me sugar,” she said, pressing even closer to him. “Love. Life.” Each word was punctuated with a kiss.

With a playful growl, he scooped her up, enjoying her squeal as he settled her precariously on the balustrade. “Remind me not to get on your bad side, darlin’,” he said, bracing his hands low on the small of her back as she wrapped her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist for support.

“Don’t worry, sugar. I’ll take great pleasure in remindin’ you every single day,” she grinned, right before he took her mouth in a kiss, swift and soft and deep. Holding her close to him, breathing in her scent, basking in her affection. Everything he had never known he wanted. EarthraincomfortMariehome.