The screen door swung back behind her, slapping the frame and bouncing off twice before finally catching closed. She didn’t have to look to know that the he would soon be following her. His hearing was impeccable and he could smell her out no matter where she was. In fact she’d barely crossed the length of the porch and reached the first step before she caught sight of him in her peripheral vision. His hair rustled with each loping step he made, causing the tags around his neck to jingle ever so slightly. She studied him carefully as he closed in the distance between them.

He hadn't changed much since their first encounter together. Her eyes catalogued his appearance as he neared. He was older but the extra years had not altered his appearance. Physically he was still as large and powerful as ever. His muscles flexed of their own accord when he walked, his hair still thick and wild, begging for her fingers to run across the top of his head and then playfully dance along his chest. It was only his eyes that betrayed his true age. The dark, almost black pupils, were heavy with a long life lived. It was his eyes that sucked her in. They always had, even from the very first day. They were hard, wary, and somewhat feral, but beneath it she saw a sort of kindness that sang out to her. A loneliness that was all too familiar. He was a little scared and a whole lot angry. A smarter person would have seen the way he pinned the other large man to the dingy wall and they would have ran, not walked, as far and as quickly away as possible. But there was something about his eyes. And maybe she just wasn’t all that smart. Because, despite his behavior, she didn’t feel scared or even uncertain. She’d taken one look into those weighed down eyes and something inside of her clicked. She felt safe. Safer than she had in longer than she cared to remember. So when he’d let the man go and rushed away, she acted on pure instinct and followed.

They’d been together ever since.

Her lips curled into an easy smile as he came closer. He had been hunting recently, she could tell. His hair stood up a little crazier than usual and his eyes had the kind of light in them that only a good chase could ignite. He wasn’t carrying any fallen creature with him, but that didn’t mean he had not been successful. It was common for him to leave the house early in the morning to stalk the woods nearby. He never came out with a trophy, but he often had traces of the kill left on his body if she looked closely enough. Today she could easily notice the light splash of blood on his neck that he’d missed while cleaning himself off. He was always so gentle with her, but that didn’t mean he didn’t still have a wild side that needed exercising. His morning hunts were a great way for him let off a little of his pent up animal.

She rested her hand on the rails of the steps. “How was the hunt?”

He looked her at her but didn’t speak. She took no offence. He’d never been much of a talker.

When he finally reached her he stood so close that his chest brushed against her ever so slightly. She could feel the heat radiating off of him, could feel each rise and fall of his chest as he breathed. Both of her hands left the railing and settled somewhere around his shoulders, her fingers massaging his flesh and muscles until she felt him slowly melt into a satiated puddle.

“After breakfast I need to run into town for a few errands. Are you up for a ride?” Her voice caught his attention and he tilted his head towards her. He didn’t say anything but his eyes clearly told her that yes, he was always up for a ride with his woman. She laughed in response.

“Come on you hairy old man,” she gestured to the screen door behind her. “I’m thinking scrabbled eggs and bacon. Does that sound good to you?” Her hands trailed from his shoulders down the length of his back, finishing their journey with a playful slap across his rear end. She turned away and headed back to the house. She didn’t look to see if he was following. She knew he would be.

Once inside they both headed straight to the kitchen. It was no where near as large or as extravagant as the mansion but what it lacked in luxury it more than made up for in comfort. The space was small but open, with light terracotta walls, long counters, and a large box window above the sink that overlooked peaceful bucolic grounds. From that window she could see the expanse of grass from the house out to the barn and front line of trees to the wooded forest. She could also see the driveway to the left, the only entrance onto the property. It was framed with various bushes and flowering trees that offered beauty as well as privacy.

It was when she was cracking open the first egg into the empty glass mixing bowl that she happened to look out the box window and see and old blue Ford truck rumble down the drive towards house. Her companion had his back turned but must have heard the engines because he quickly stood at full attention, his nose testing the air and his head cocked slightly as he strained to listen. She was still wiping off the egg residue from her hands when the Ford came to a stop on the gray gravel drive.

Neither of them recognized the truck. Her eyes locked on the driver’s side of the vehicle, the view of the person inside obstructed by the sun glaring off the windshield. They didn’t have many visitors so she was instantly surprised and suspicious of the interloper.

Her hands now dried off, though still somewhat sticky, she walked around the kitchen to the screen door that lead to the gravel driveway. The door was barely opened an inch when her friend barreled past her, a low grumbling growl bubbling up from his throat, his eyes narrowing sharply. He pushed past her but stopped short at the end of the porch, putting his body between her and the potential threat. His body was tense and primed for a fight and even though his eyes never left the old truck about twenty feet away, she knew that from the angle of his stance he was able to keep her in his sights as well.

The left door of the truck creaked open. A brown leather boot touched the ground, the sound of the crunching gravel loud enough to reach her ears from the doorway. A second boot joined the first. Another crunch of gravel. Then another, and another, as the vehicle’s occupant pulled himself into a standing position and moved just enough out of reach of the truck so that he could brush the door closed.

She studied the person before her. His dark hair was long enough that the ends curled around the collar of his shirt. His legs were long and his chest broad; the jeans were worn tight and smeared with a little dirt and a little grease, and his jacket, the leather one over the denim, was a timeless duster that looked as if it had seen better days. She watched as he raised one hand up to cup his brow, shielding the blinding sun from his eyes. His gaze fell first on her and then on the one standing between them. A calculating squint, then back to her. As his eyes bore into hers she felt her body tense up.

He arched a finely practiced eyebrow.

“Hey, darlin’.

She ignored the term of endearment but nodded her head once in response to his greeting. Suddenly her throat was tight and her tongue too thick for words.

“Think maybe you can call off Fluffy so we can talk?” He gestured to the large English Mastiff still positioned protectively in front of his master.

She didn’t say anything, just shrugged her shoulders in an uncommunicative, unconcerned manner.

He took a small step forward then stopped when the dog between them lowered his shoulders closer to the ground and growled even louder. Strings of thick drool were now hanging from his teeth and jowls. His jaws snapped in the air once, slinging a shower of gelatinous saliva over the steps of the porch.

“Nice dog,” he muttered to no one in particular.

She took a deep breath and cleared her throat. “What do you want, Wolverine?”

Logan’s hand raked through his unruly hair. It was one of the view tells that betrayed his otherwise confident demeanor. He was uncertain. Nervous. And she knew that it wasn’t because of her dog.

“I just wanna talk, Marie.”

“So talk.”

“I was thinkin’we might could do this inside.”

“I—I don’t think so. I think if you want to talk you can say whatever it is you want to say right where you are. Over, uhm, there.”

He let out an exasperated sigh that sounded a lot like ‘Marie’. He raked his fingers through his hair again and then clenched both of his hands by his sides. “Marie, I’m—“

“If this is about what happened then just save it. I know, okay? I already know. You didn’t have to track me down to tell me again. You don’t have to do this. I get it. I do. I just—I just--.”She stopped and took a steadying breath, not having realized that she had stopped breathing as she talked. “I just can’t…”

Can’t what? she thought. Look at him? Talk to him? Think about what happened? Think about what he did? About what happened to her? Just can’t relive those moments again? Not with him; in front of him. Not when she already relives them in her mind almost every minute of every day.

“I just can’t… do this.” She finished lamely.

“Marie---“

“Stop,” she interrupted. “Don’t call me that. I’m Rogue now, remember? Rogue. And I’m finished here, okay? I really am. I’m sorry you came out all this way. I’m sorry you came out all this way for nothing. But I don’t know what else you could have expected. I told you before. I can’t---I can’t. I just can’t. I need more time.”

Her hands were trembling. Tears began to well up in her eyes.

“Rogue.” His tone of voice was pleading, then insistent. “It’s the team.”

That certainly caught her attention. She knit her brows together in confusion.

“They need your help.”

She sobered rather quickly at the thought of any of her old friends needing her help so badly that they sent the one person, the last person on earth who she wanted to see, to come fetch her.

“What’s wrong?” The worry was evident in her voice.

His eyes cut to the dog once more, then back to the girl before him. “I think we’d better go inside to talk.”

Her hesitation was obvious. She could see the twitch of a muscle in his neck and she knew he was struggling not to say anything as he let her make the decision for the next move. She had to give him credit. Scott always said that Logan was an animal, wild and impulsive. But she knew better than anyone how patient Logan could be.

She slapped her hands on her thighs and whistled to her canine companion. He immediately eased his shoulders and looked back at his owner. But he didn’t budge from his stance. He still wasn’t sure about the intruder that made his human act funny. She whistled again and he very slowly took a step back.

“That’s enough, Winston.” At the sound of his name he walked to her and pushed his giant head into her side. An act of submission as well as reminding her that he would always take care of her. She almost smiled at the memory of a similar promise made to her so long ago.

A promise that, like so many others, had failed to be kept.

“Let’s go inside, Winston.” She curled her fingers around the inside rim of his collar. Having him so close helped calm her nerves and give her courage. She looked beyond Winston, past the porch and onto the man standing on her gravel driveway. He was stoic. All except for the twitch of the muscle in his neck.

“Are you coming?” She asked with restrained emotion.

He only briefly hesitated before moving his legs and following behind her. The slam of the screen door in his face not lost on him at all.

Rogue hadn’t seen Logan in more than four years. The last time she’d been in the same room with him things hadn’t gone so greatly. There was a lot of yelling and a lot of crying and a couple of the Professor’s expensive art décor had met their untimely end by way of a quick flight and a hard wall. So things had not gone well that night. She had gone into her room ready to welcome wanted sleep but instead discovered Logan standing by the foot of her bed, waiting for her with a bottle of whiskey in one hand and a cigar in the other

It would be fair to say that she lost it. The sight of him, so casually standing there, looking at her expectantly. Just standing there as he had so many times before. Before things had changed. It broke the last fragile string that was currently holding her together. He stuck the cigar between his teeth and took a step towards her with a reaching hand… and she screamed. It was enough to wake the senior staff at the end of her hall. Jean and Scott ran to her aid with Ororo not too far from their side. They all looked tired but alert.

Scott was the first to push inside of her room, and having instantly surveyed the scene of a crying Rogue and an approaching Wolverine, he quickly moved to shove Rogue behind him with one arm while the other reached for the button on the side of his night visor.

“Move outta the way, One Eye.” Logan’s speech sounded a little slurred. The bottle of whiskey in his grasp obviously wasn’t his first of the evening.

“I don’t think so.” Scott’s fingers tightened by his visor. He squared his shoulders and repositioned his feet, balancing his weight.

“Logan, please.” That was Ororo. “This is not wise. You should not do this.”

He hmphed in response and waved his hand dismissingly in the air. “I need to see Rogue. I need to talk to her.” He all but whined, “I need to see ya, darlin’.” He craned his head to look past the wall of blue pajamas blocking her and saw her retreat further behind Scott. She was shivering.

Jean wrapped her arms around Rogue’s shoulders and pulled her tight against her chest. She then steadied her eyes on Logan’s.

“You’re drunk,” she pointed out. “Go back to your room.”

“Don’t think so, Red. Me and Rogue gotta talk. She has to understand. She has to know that---“

“I think she knows all she needs to,” Scott interrupted. “Now leave. Before I blast you out.”

“Do what you got to do, Scooter. Cause I ain’t going nowhere. Not till me and Rogue are finished.”

“Oh, I think you’re plenty finished,” Scott snapped back. “Take another step and I burn a hole in your chest.” Logan stopped inching forward for Marie and seemed to measure the level of threat Scott was issuing. Maybe it was the alcohol still coursing through his system, or maybe he just truly didn’t find much deterrent in Scott’s threat. Because Logan completely ignored the man in the red visor and took a big step towards the girl behind him.

That was when Rogue saw the blinding red flash and felt the temperature of the room momentarily flair up. She could hear Logan’s howl of pain and Ororo’s sharp intake of breath. Jean held onto Rogue even tighter.

The howl of pain quickly turned into a howl of rage. His claws sang out in the air as they were released from their fleshy sheath. Peaking past Scott’s shoulders she saw Logan jump up, his insides now more on the outside, but knitting themselves back together rather swiftly. The charred skin around his wound was still flaking off as Logan took menacing steps towards their team leader. Jean used her mind to send a couple of heavy lamps flying across the room. One smacked against Logan’s right shoulder. The other clipped the side of his head. He barely registered either action even as blood poured downward from the scalp wound before it could heal, thin red ribbons weaving a path over the curve of his brow and pooling around his lashes and lower lid. When he blinked it sprayed a shower of tiny red drops across the expensive wood flooring. Logan paid no attention; his eyes were now focused intently on Scott.

Ororo took charge by calling upon a mighty wind to push Logan further away but his heavy skeleton helped to keep him grounded. Books and picture frames and small trinkets from Rogue’s desk were sent flying wildly around the room as the current of wind continued to drive at Logan. But he forged on. If it weren’t for his hair blown back and his clothes tight, it would look like he was walking in place. Every time he took a step forward the gusty gale would slide him back to his original starting point.

Despite the powerful wind Logan managed to hit the floor claws first. He used the adamantium blades to drag himself across the room. Had he not been so enraged he would have looked comical with his hands staked to the ground and his torso and legs flailing in the air.

He was now only a few feet away and Rogue could feel her whole body shaking with fear. Tears streamed down her face as she watched her once-upon-a-time hero making his way towards Scott.

“Stop! Please, oh god. Stop. Just stop!!” The terror in her eyes, in her voice, in the way her body convulsed, it was all enough to snap Logan out of his blind rage. He suddenly latched his eyes onto hers and in that brief moment he was drained of all the fight in him. He looked miserable. Defeated.

That’s when the winds slowed to a halt, the hovering objects hit the floor in pieces, Logan’s claws retracted back in, and when Scott let loose with one more beam of pure concentrated energy.

Logan flew backwards. A clean hole where his heart used to be. His body slumped downward and his head lolled back. He didn’t move. Didn’t twitch. His eyes were still open, however, and their dead stare remained locked on Rogue’s.

She let out another horrified scream.

Then she broke free of the red headed doctor. She ignored the calls of her name. She ignored the looks of concerned and confused faces popping out of bedroom doorways. She ignored the heaviness in her chest and the tightness in her throat and the burning in her lungs. She ignored everything.

She ran.

Seconds turned into minutes which rolled into hours. She had no plan of action beyond escape. Her legs pumped the ground, carrying her away from the manicured property, beyond Ororo’s gardens, and past the stretch of woods that were often visited by the mansion’s more youthful residents. She ran and ran until her lower limbs turned to jelly and even then she pushed on through the overgrowth of trees and thorny bushes. She pressed forward until finally the muscles and tendons in her legs contracted so fiercely that she was forced to collapse onto the ground. Her chest burned from a lack of oxygen. Each intake of breath felt like sharp ice scraping against her gullet. Her mouth was so dry that she couldn’t swallow the lump in her throat. With her back against the uneven grass, her hands roughly grasped either side of her head, holding tight against her pounding skull as her mouth worked opened and closed, trying desperately to breathe.

As she lay there, still taking ragged breaths, she closed her eyes only to be greeted by the mental image of Logan’s lifeless body staring back at her. Her eyes instantly ripped open. A new type of pressure built up from within her ribcage. Her heart seized at the memory and try as she might, she suddenly found that she couldn’t regulate anything. Not her tears, or her lungs or her heart. All bodily rhythm was lost as each started and stopped of their own sporadic timing. Every part of body felt like it was on fire and underwater all at the same time. Her body burned from the physical pain as the rest of her felt weighed down so deeply she knew this was what it must feel like to drown. A cold, slow motion death that boiled from within.

With the aid of the Professor, Scott was the one to find Rogue. He pulled back the curtain of leafy tree limbs to find her curled in on herself, weeping and struggling to catch her breath. He approached her slowly, both hands reaching for her as he crouched down to her level. His soft touch to her shoulder jerked her out of her reverie and a pained whine caught in her throat.

Scott wrapped his large arms around hers, carefully positioning them so that he was sitting with his legs sprawled out on the ground and Rogue leaning into his chest. He tucked her head against his torso and held her firmly with one arm, allowing the other to pet her head like one would a small dog. His hand ran from the top of her bangs down to the curve of her neck and back again, his other arm now rubbing warmth into the shoulder farthest from him. He was whispering to her, though she couldn’t concentrate enough to make out the words. Acting out of instinct Rogue’s fingers bunched the fabric of his shirt, curling themselves around his pajamas. She held onto him like he was the only thing keeping her grounded.

Time seemed to pass slowly as the two held each other. Gradually Rogue’s breathing began to normalize and her crying changed from a heavy flow into a sluggish leak. Without the sound of her own ragged breathing in her ears, she was able to listen to the soothing resonance of Scott’s voice.

“Hush. You’re alright. Sshhh.”

Her fingers loosened slightly from their tight hold of his shirt.

She tested her still raw throat. “S-Scott?”

“Yes, Rogue. It’s me.” He continued to run his hand over her hair in a soothing gesture. “You’re alright.”

She pulled back slightly to look at him. She had to see his face when she asked. “What about…” she swallowed another dry knot. “Logan? Is he…?”

Scott’s tone of voice was terse in his response. “He’ll live.”

“Oh.” Was that the sweetness of relief she felt? Or the bitterness of disappointment? She was too jumbled to decipher her own emotions. She lowered her gaze back to the blue fabric of his shirt.

“Jean moved him to the med lab,” Scott continued. “She says he’s healing. Slowly. But he should be fine. She’ll keep monitoring him in the meantime.”

“Oh.”

Her cheek rose with the deep intake of breath Scott took. His hand slowed of its petting of her hair. He was steadying himself.

“Earlier tonight,” he began tentatively, “was he, did he…”

“No!” Rogue whipped her face up to look at his. “Nothing happened,” she added. And suddenly her attention was back on his shirt. One of the pearlescent buttons on his pajamas becoming instantly fascinating. The pad of her covered thumb ran light circles over the smoothness of the round button. She kept her gaze fixated on the shiny object. “Nothing happened,” she repeated.

Scott sighed heavily. “He shouldn’t have been there. Not after…” Rogue felt his neck tilt to face the back of hers, his chin lightly brushing her hair. “Not after what happened before.”

The burning sensation was back within her chest. The feeling of drowning, the cumbersome clenching around her lungs. She drew in a sharp intake of breath and tried to steady her nerves. Despite the unyielding pain, part of her, the small part that still clutched to rationalization, warded off the impending tears and helped her to steady herself.

Her fingers stilled on their exploration of the pajama button. “I think he came to apologize again.” Rationalization be damned, because a single tear escaped down her cheek.

Scott squeezed her tighter to him. “Sshhh, Rogue. Sshh. It’s over.”

Was it over? It was six weeks later and she still couldn’t be in the same room as him. His voice felt like razorblades to her ears, his lingering smell so pungent she often had to race to the nearest trashcan to retch her most recent meal. Six weeks later and ‘over’ sure felt a hell of a lot like ‘still happening’.

“I’m leaving.” Her sudden admittance was a surprise to them both. Neither moved for nearly an entire minute as they each absorbed her words. Finally, Rogue broke the silence. “I think it’s best. Logan, he’s a valuable part of the team. And his knowledge of fighting and self-defense are an attribute to the students. He’s important to the school.” She jabbed Scott playfully in the ribs when he snorted at her last remark. “He’s important, and you know it.”

Rogue pulled away from Scott’s comforting grip. She straightened herself into a sitting position and wiped at her puffy eyes with the back of one gloved hand. She breathed deeply before looking into Scott’s ruby visor. She tried looking past the quartz goggles and imagined peering straight into the eyes of the man before her.

“I’m leaving,” she reiterated, but this time with more resolve. “None of us can continue on like this. I have to go. I need to move on from,” she gestured vaguely in the air with her hands, “this. But I can’t do that if I remain here.” She reached out and touched the upper part of Scott’s arm. “Please tell me you understand.”

Scott’s eyes remained obscured by the red visor but she could see his jaw tighten and grind as he worked through what she had said. He thinned his lips into a straight line and then put one of his larger hands on top of her smaller one. He shook his head. “I don’t agree with you.” Rogue’s head dropped just as his hand squeezed hers a little tighter. “But I do understand,” he finished.

She gazed back at her friend with a weak but appreciative smile.

“But if you’re going, you’re going to go the smart way.” His tone was all business. “Take the F-150 from the garage. It’s got gas and an untraceable phone in the glove compartment. Under the driver’s side floor mat you’ll find an envelope with enough cash to get you started. Jean and I have some money saved; I’ll transfer it to you once a new account has been established. You’ll have my private cell number. I expect you to call. A lot. So that I know how you’re doing. I don’t know how long you think you need out there, but just know you always have a home here. Always.”

“Scott, no!” Rogue’s stared at him with her mouth open. “That money is for ya’lls wedding. I can’t take that.”

“You can and you will. Our line of work has pushed our wedding date back a few times already. Once more isn’t going to change the way Jean and I feel about each other. And right now you need it more than we do.”

“Scott, I…” That blasted lump was back in her throat again, but this time for entirely new reasons. “I don’t know what to say. Thanks, Scott. Thank you. How will I ever make it up to ya’ll?” Yet another tear trickled its way down the curve of her cheek as she fought not to break down into a mess all over again.

He pulled her to him for a hug that felt a whole lot like goodbye. “Just don’t stay gone forever.”

They soon stood, brushed the remnants of the earth from their clothes and trekked back to the mansion. Rogue quickly packed her green duffel bag and said her tearful so-longs to her friends before sliding behind the wheel of the truck and driving away towards her new life.

The more distance she gained from the mansion, the looser the tight hold on her chest became. So what if she had to pull off to the side of the road to cry three times before reaching the on ramp to the interstate? No one was around to see. No one was around to try to bring her back home.

Logan was looking at his glass of sweet tea like he was trying to will it to morph into a bottle of Molson. It was blatantly clear how uncomfortable it was for him to be sitting across from Rogue at the kitchen table. Both had a glass of iced tea nestled in their hands. As he continued to glare at his non-alcoholic beverage, Rogue studied the waves of condensation forming on her own glass. Her bare index finger flicked a droplet of water off of the outside of the glass, sending the globule skidding across her scotch guarded table cloth. They both watched as she mindlessly moved the aqua blob around in circles, her fingers playing a merry dance with the droplet to a tune no one could hear.

After a couple minutes of sliding the pearl of water around and around, Rogue eventually flattened her palm hard against the liquid. It broke into a number of smaller beads that she finally brushed off the table with the side of her hand.

Rogue stood and set her barely touched glass of tea on the counter next to the sink. She then turned to face her visitor, vaguely aware of the shadowed bags under his eyes. He hadn’t been sleeping well. She wondered why a healing factor would neglect circles like that.

“So are you going to tell me why you’re here or am I supposed to guess?”

Logan moved his glass to the center of the table. “Jean and Scooter are finally gettin’ hitched next weekend.”

“I know.” She tried to disregard the quick look of surprise, and hurt? that Logan cast her way. She continued to look at him, stealing her determination to remain calm and detached. She had nothing to feel guilty about. “So what’s the big emergency?”

He looked away first. “Uh, so yeah. The wedding date is next week. At least that was the plan. Maybe still is. I dunno.”

“Why wouldn’t that still be the plan?” Another attack on the mansion? More Friends of Humanity making a stink and interfering with the love lives of mutants around the world? This was all pretty commonplace stuff at this point. “Scott needs to grab Jean by the engagement ring and find himself a Justice of the Peace somewhere.”

“I’m sure he would. If we could find her.”

Ah. And there it was. The one thing that would bring her back to the mansion. Jean Gray, one of few people in the world that she still considered family, was missing.

“Cold feet?” she offered by way of explanation.

The expression Logan gave in return was one of skepticism. “Doubt it. It’s disgustin’ how in love they are.”

“So why come out all this way to find me? What can I do about it?”

“You’ve touched her. Gotta piece of her up in your head somewhere. Scooter thinks you may be the key to getting her back.”

“I---I don’t see how. It doesn’t work that way. I don’t have a, a psychic connection with her or anything. Just a few feelings. A few memories.” Logan winced at the word. Her voice only slightly faltered at his reaction. “What has the Professor said about it? Hasn’t he tried locating her with cerebro?”

He cleared his throat, readjusting himself on the chair. “Chuck’s missin’ too. About the same time as Jeannie.”

“Shit,” she breathed.

“Yeah. That pretty much sums it up.” His head nodded in agreement with her sentiments.

“How long since they both went missing?”

“Four days.”

Rogue reached across the room and picked up Logan’s glass of iced tea, dumped the contents in the sink and then set it next to her own glass on the counter. Then she dumped the contents of that one as well. She turned to face Logan, who was still sitting at the table but who had straightened his back a little more in alert to her movements.

“I can be ready in 15 minutes,” she said.

Logan looked a combination of relieved and satisfied when he said, “Good.”

She was out of the kitchen and almost out of sight in the living room when she stopped and added, “Oh yeah. Winston’s coming with me.”

Logan peered down at the massive dog sprawled out on his back on the tiled floor. One back paw, the size of Logan’s own hand, was wedged against the front of the cabinet behind himself, suddenly thumping loudly in a running sleep against the wooden door like a rabbit in of those old cartoon movies. His tongue hung to the side, inches spread out on the floor atop a growing puddle of drool.

“I don’t think—“

“That wasn’t a question.” Rogue cut in, then disappeared in search of her needed belongings.

Logan looked down at the dog once more. His nose twitched. The dog stunk.

“Guess you’re comin’ with us, Fluffy.”

The sleeping dog didn’t respond.




***************
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Twenty minutes later Rogue’s green duffel was packed. Logan’s eyebrow inched upwards when he spotted it being dragged at her side, but he didn’t say anything until he reached for it and swung the heavy bag over his broad shoulder and groaned.

“Fuck. Sure you didn’t forget anything? Kitchen sink, maybe?”

Rogue rolled her eyes. “It ain’t that heavy you big baby. And be careful with it!” she scolded as Logan tossed the canvas duffel carelessly into the bed of the truck.

“What about the mutt?” Logan thumped his finger over his shoulder. “He come with a cage or somethin’?”

Rogue looked horrified at the thought, and not entirely pleased with the derogatory reference to her canine companion. “Absolutely not! Winston will ride inside. There’s plenty of room.”

This time it was Logan who rolled his eyes but he wisely kept his mouth shut. With Rogue’s bag tossed in the back, the dog taking up more space on the backseat than there was cushion, and with he and Rogue strapped in the front seats, Logan started the engine and circled out of the driveway.

They were barely five miles down the road when Rogue turned in her bucket chair, her eyes as large as saucers. “We’re not driving the whole way are we??”

He glanced at her worried expression. “That a problem?”

“It’s an eleven hour drive. I can’t, I mean Winston can’t, you know. Handle a long drive like that.” Her hands, which were now gloved, nervously writhed together.

Logan took in the worried look and the spike of fear in her scent. His knuckles tightened around the steering wheel as he refocused, rather intently, on the road ahead.

“No,” he supplied after a moment’s silence. “We ain’t driving the whole way. Ro’s got the blackbird gearin’ up waitin’ on us. We’re about a half hour away.”

“Oh,” she exhaled, and the worry seemed to evaporate with it. “Okay.”

Neither spoke as Logan steadied the truck along the winding stretch of asphalt. Both seemed lost in their own thoughts. Occasionally he would glance at the girl next to him, and his eyes would catch on the streak of white in her chocolate hair. He’d look back to the road when she began to squirm under his gaze.

The truck turned off of the road and headed down a path that Rogue hadn’t known existed before. It wasn’t a paved road or even a clearing, really. More like a narrow trail between large trees. She doubted if, before today, it had ever been used by anything other than forest animals. She was still admiring the wooded detour and hadn’t even realized she’d asked Logan a question until she heard herself repeating it, a little louder.

“Why didn’t Ororo come for me?” What she didn’t say, was ‘Why did they send you?’

His knuckles tightened then loosed from the steering wheel with minuscule jerking. He didn’t look at her when he answered, “She’s the only one of us who can fly that damned bird. She had to stay with it incase it was spotted and needed to get the hell outta there.”

That seemed to be enough for Rogue. She leaned into her seat just in time for the front of the truck to pull out into a large clearing. A few hundred yards away stood the blackbird. A metallic giant so very out of place in a green field of yellow poppies. Standing by the rolled out stairs was Ororo, looking very much the goddess her village thought of her as being. She wore a loose fitting white dress that popped against her caramel skin and matched perfectly with her wind blown platinum hair. From the distance Rogue could see Ororo smiling broadly, her arms outstretched in welcome.

Rogue didn’t even wait for the truck to come to a complete stop. She unbuckled her seat belt, flipped the lock on the door and was out of the vehicle running towards Ororo while the Ford was still in mid-roll. She heard Logan curse behind her and slam on the brakes, but she didn’t look back.

“Ro!” Rogue had forgotten how much she had missed the woman until this very minute. She was smiling so wide that the stretch of it hurt her mouth but she didn’t care. She was happy.

“Rogue!” Ororo returned, fully embracing her young friend, headless of any skin that may have been exposed. “Oh child, I have missed you.” Ororo pulled Rogue to an arm’s length away and looked her up and down. “You look well,” she praised. And it seemed Ororo couldn’t stop smiling either.

“Come,” she insisted, leading Rogue to the steps of the jet. “I trust Logan has discussed with you what has happened?”

Rogue’s smile faltered, the remembrance of why they were standing together was like a sharp needle to a taught balloon, effectively bursting the joyful reunion. “He gave me the gist of things. How’s Scott?”

Ororo’s own smile wavered at the mention of their team leader. “He is managing. He will be better once you are home though. He has missed you greatly.” She squeezed the younger girl’s hand. “We all have.”

Rogue was touched by her words. She, too, had missed them all dearly in return. Suddenly four years seemed like a lifetime.

The weather goddess turned and to Logan, said, “Hurry with her things. There is a storm coming.”

Logan let the blonde mammoth out of the back of the truck and then reached for the heavy duffel from the bed. He grunted as he tossed the bulky bag back over his shoulder, then he raised his eyebrow at her. “Ain’t you suppose to be a weather witch? Just hold the clouds back until we’re clear.”

Ororo just shook her head. “I find it best not to get in the way of the true Mother Nature unless it cannot be otherwise avoided. She has set the course of this storm for a reason. When she is ready, she will ease the squall and bring back peaceful skies.” She gazed thoughtfully at an unaware Rogue, who was currently running her fingers through the hair of a dog whose size and color reminded the African queen of the lions from her motherland. She watched the young woman a moment longer then turned her attentive eyes from Rogue to Logan and added, “Often, it is only after a storm that we can truly appreciate the beauty we blindly overlooked in the beginning.”

Logan rocked his head at the regal woman. “Sounds like a bunch of shit to me.”

Ororo only smiled as she ushered Rogue up the stairs of the jet. Winston followed quickly behind. Logan carried the duffel up the steps and pressed a pad on the inner wall to roll in the stairs and close the hatch. He dropped the bag into one of the cargo boxes, latching it securely into place for the ride.

Rogue walked the dog to the back of the plane and, figuring the emergency gurney bolted to the wall to be the safest place, she guided him on top of the table and told him to lie down. She wrapped the straps over his chest and waist and tightened them until he was firmly but comfortably controlled. She then kissed her gloved fingers and pressed them to his gorilla-sized nose. The dog was unsure of his new arrangement and softly pawed the metal gurney.

“You’ll be okay, big guy. I’m right here.” She used her knuckles to rub underneath one of his heavy flapped ears. “I won’t ever leave you,” she whispered. Pressing another finger kiss to his nose she turned and sat in the nearest seat on the jet. She adjusted her own harness straps and buckled the belt around her waist. And though she felt Logan’s eyes on her again, she found herself anxiously looking at anything but him.

Ororo began flipping the final set of switches and priming the jet for take off. Logan, who was still standing by the stairs and had been watching the interaction between Rogue and Winston with stoic concentration, grunted to himself before ducking his head under the low ceiling of the pit’s entryway and took his seated position next to Storm in the aircraft’s flight deck.

As the nose of the jet aimed skywards, no one heard Logan’s throaty growl of frustration over the first roar of thunder in the distance.