Logan tightened his grip on the briefcase as the car slowed to a stop. The car door opened, and he automatically scented the air that rushed in. A humid roil, smelling of saltwater and rotting fish. The gentle lapping of waves and the creak of old wood. The docks. He got out of the car, following the driver up the stairs of the rickety old building, his hackles raising at the feeling of the other man following too close at his back.

“Marco’s Bait Shop” the weathered sign read, barely discernible in the fading twilight. The rattle of an air conditioner overlay the sounds of more men inside. Three more by their scents -- Logan numbered them automatically as he approached the door. Cigarette smoke and insomnia, body odor and vodka, peppermint gum and the coppery smell of blood, and...another scent -- fainter, more elusive. A girl. Sweat and terror, with a soft, enticing scent underneath.

The three others were sitting around a table but they shifted to their feet as Logan and the other two entered. Logan didn’t have to look behind him to know that the two thugs who had escorted him here were hanging back by the door, blocking his exit, hands hovering edgily over the grips of their guns. They had been leeching nervousness from their pores since they picked him up, and understandably so. Logan knew better than to try to look nonthreatening, the most he could hope for was to look reasonably calm. From the reactions of the thugs, he must not be succeeding so well.

One of the three men stepped forward. Sleek dark hair streaked with grey, and a sedate blue suit that likely cost more than the whole building. Greed spiked the air as his cold blue eyes flicked to the briefcase and then back up to Logan’s face. “You have the deposit?”

Logan put the briefcase on the table, snapping open the latches. He opened the top and stepped back. “Not many people deal in cash these days,” Logan commented casually.

The suit -- Marco, Logan ironically called him in his head -- gravitated toward the open briefcase like a magnet to true north. Logan sensed the increase in his heart rate, the heated pump of his blood at the sight of the money, but the man’s face betrayed nothing as he picked up a stack of bills and flicked through it. The air thickened with his scent -- now blood, peppermint gum, and greed.

“We’ll accept the rest by wire, but I’ve always found cash transactions to be...uniquely satisfying,” the man said.

Logan focused on keeping his expression blank, his body relaxed, as he looked toward the back room. “She back there?”

A nod from Marco and one of the thugs flicked on a small t.v. sitting on a cabinet nearby. A tube t.v., and black and white to boot. Old school. The screen flickered on to show a girl. Logan took in the picture in flashes as his claws burned in his forearms. Blindfolded and gagged, dark hair with a strange white streak in a tumble around a pale face. Her arms were wrenched uncomfortably behind her -- probably tied to something -- and she intermittently strained against the unseen bonds. No sound, but Logan could see the rapid, panicked heaving of her chest.

She wore a white button-down shirt and a short, girlish skirt, and she was barefoot in ragged tights. One pale toe peeked out of a hole in the foot of her tights, the oddly vulnerable sight twisting something tighter in Logan’s chest as he bit back the angry growl that threatened to leave his throat.

He drew in a slow breath through his nostrils, counting to focus himself before he trusted his voice to remain dispassionate. “How do I know she can do what you say?”

Another nod from Marco and Audiovisual Thug popped a tape into the box under the t.v. which Logan now realized was a VCR and not a DVD player as he had assumed. Seriously, had these guys even heard of the twenty-first fucking century? This one had been taken in a different room, and had sound. Logan found himself wishing it hadn’t as the girl’s clear voice, thick with tears, begged some unseen person to stop, please stop. She didn’t want to, she pleaded. Don’t make her.

It sounded like a rape, and Logan supposed in some ways it was as another voice joined hers. This one was a man, his voice panicked and wheedling. “Please boss, please...I’ll give the money back...it was just a loan, just a little off the top, I was gonna put it back, please...”

They came into camera-view now, the panicked man and cigarette-and-insomnia thug. The awkward arch of the panicked man’s back hinted at the gun Logan knew must be pressed to his spine. His words choked off suddenly as his hand was wrenched forward, pressed against the girl’s cheek by the thug’s firm grip on his wrist.

The girl flinched back as far as her bonds allowed, but it was no use. The man’s hand was pushed inexorably forward, hard against her skin, smashing her cheek. She had stopped protesting now but even with the scratchy audio Logan’s keen ears heard her panicked gasp under the men’s panting breaths as she closed her eyes, tears leaking from under the lids.

Logan’s body was wound tight with tension, with the urge to spring his claws and stop this -- even knowing it had already happened.

The rest happened suddenly, as the man screamed in anguish, his hand locking in what must have been a bone-crushing grip on her cheek as thick dark veins popped out over the surface of his hand and forearm. A few moments of silence broken only by the choked whine of the man and the girl’s gasping breaths, and then the pained rigidity of the man’s body turned to a boneless slump, forcing the thug to bring his gun hand up around his waist to bolster him.

The thug held him, arms straining under the deadweight, until finally Marco’s voice gave the permission to end the contact. “It’s done.”

The thug drew the body back, dropping it to the floor in relief. The girl’s head fell forward, her streaked hair tumbling down to hide her face as the tape abruptly turned to static.

Audiovisual Thug carefully popped the tape out of the VCR as Marco looked expectantly at Logan, his scent flushed with even more excitement. Fuckin’ sadist. He would die last, and slow.

Logan drew in another slow, careful breath. “Fair enough,” he said, neutrally. “Lemme see the merchandise.”

Marco opened the door to the back room, and Logan felt an unexpected pang of guilt for finding the girl’s scent so attractive, even tainted with panic and sick anxiety and what must have been at least a few days without a shower.

He could see the tensing of her muscles, the slight tilt of her head to follow their movements as they came into the room, but she didn’t make a noise aside from the raspy breaths that escaped around the edges of the gag.

Logan saw now all the details he had missed on the live video feed. Her hair was a dark auburn, streaked not with blond as he had assumed from the black-and-white image but with pure platinum white. The dusky purple shadow of a handprint darkened her cheek, smudges from the fingers and thumb and the crease of a palm over her cheekbone. Logan automatically aged the bruise, figuring the videotape had been taken two days ago at the most -- no hint of blue or green edged the marks.

The girl herself was older than he had thought. Her delicate frame and wide eyes on video had made him think she was a teenager, but now his expert gaze judged the maturity of young adulthood in the lack of baby fat in her cheeks, the ripe swell of her breast, the soft warmth of her scent underneath the fear.

She turned her head to follow the sound of his footsteps, the motion revealing a slim metal collar around her neck, mostly hidden by the tumble of hair. He snapped his head around to look at Marco.

“Suppression?” he asked, unable to completely hide his surprise. Old school had its limits, he supposed. He had heard rumors of suppression tech, but until now he had thought it was just an urban legend.

Marco reached out, sliding his fingertips over the skin of the girl’s neck, as she made an indeterminate noise -- disgust or fear or anger, Logan couldn’t tell. Marco let his touch linger long enough to demonstrate that the tech worked before he drew away with a smug smile, pulling an electronic remote from his pocket.

“The collar’ll cost you another fifty grand. But worth every penny, especially for one like her. If you want to try her without it, you wait until after the transfer. Not our problem if you kill yourself then.”

Logan imagined Hank’s hands twitching to get ahold of suppression tech. Worth every penny, indeed. These guys might be bush league middlemen, but whoever was supplying them with their product was in another category altogether.

“I need to make sure she’s undamaged. And hear it from her, what she can do, as confirmation.”

Marco drew back a step. “Be my guest.”

“Alone.” Logan’s voice was cutting, brooking no argument. He let just a little of his rage flash in his eyes, taking a cold satisfaction in the slight paling of Marco’s skin as the smug smile slid off his face.

Marco hesitated, but a look back to the still-open suitcase in the other room seemed to put him in a more accommodating mood. “Ten minutes. You break it, you bought it. We’ll be watching.”

Logan nodded curtly and Marco left, closing the door behind him. Logan listened intently, but there was no telltale whine of a microphone. Video only, and this room was soundproofed -- even with his keen senses he could barely hear the men in the other room. He brushed aside the chilling thought of why these guys would need a soundproofed room.

Ten minutes. He hoped the girl wasn’t hysterical, ten minutes of distraught sobbing would get them nowhere. He pulled off the blindfold, and was startled to find deep brown, furious eyes staring him down. Fuck. Far from hysterical, but maybe even more of a problem.

_________________

Marie heard the door open. The scuff of footsteps sounded on the creaky wood floors, making the tension between her already aching shoulders draw even tighter, the cuffs biting further into the raw skin of her wrists above her gloves. She drew in frantic gasps around the gag, the ever-present terror of throwing up spiking higher as she felt the rough cotton sucked deeper into her mouth.

She heard a new voice, deep and rumbling. “Suppression?” it asked.

She hadn’t realized they were so close, and so the cold fingers on her neck caught her by surprise, the startled curse stopped up in her throat by the gag. The sickening smell of peppermint on his skin gave away his identity before he spoke, and her stomach roiled as he bragged about his stupid collar.

“I need to make sure she’s undamaged. And hear it from her, what she can do, as confirmation.” That deep, rumbling voice again. Undamaged? Her heart clenched at the thought of what he might mean.

Marie had no illusions, she knew she was being sold, the peppermint-scented man -- apparently prohibited from actually hurting her -- had settled for tormenting her by telling her in gleeful detail all the scenarios that might be in store for her. She felt a wave of lightheadedness wash over her, her skin prickling with a cold sweat. Don’t panic, goddammit, she told herself. Maybe the guy buying her would be fat, and slow, she told herself, trying to keep the mindless fear from taking over. Maybe if she caught him off guard she could just...

She heard them agree on ten minutes alone. “You break it, you bought it.” Fucking bastards, haggling about her like she was a second-hand car. She had never used her mutation deliberately -- had taken extreme measures to avoid even the accidental touches she had suffered -- but now she fervently wished this collar gone. She didn’t care how much it would hurt her, she thought spitefully. She would drain them both dry without a second thought and spit out their husks.

That bracing thought was fresh in her mind as she felt the blindfold being removed, squinting against the sudden brightness. Her eyes adjusted, and she found herself looking into a keen pair of amber-hazel eyes. She tried to keep her anger up as a shield against the creeping panic, but her heart sank as she took in the rest of him -- the intent gaze in a rugged face, the broad chest and massive arms. His whole body radiated a brutal competency. There would be no catching this man off guard. There would be no outrunning him.

She closed her eyes against the dismal thoughts, and so his incongruently gentle tone of voice caught her even more by surprise.

“I’m not gonna hurt you, kid.”

Her eyes flew open. The man was crouched in front of her now, his voice pitched so low she had to strain to hear it over the sound of her own labored breathing and racing heart.

“You heard what he said, right? We have ten minutes. They can see us, but they can’t hear us. I’m going to take your gag off, but I need you to listen to me first, okay?”

She could feel her eyes narrowing in suspicion, but she gave a curt nod. Not like she had any choice, anyway, but she would agree to most anything to get this gag off.

“We’re going to put on a little show for the camera, okay? I’m gonna pretend that I’m looking you over for injuries, and that you’re telling me about your mutation. Keep looking scared -- “ he stopped, and his lips quirked “-- or angry, or whatever, but answer my questions as quick as you can and I’ll get us both out of here, okay?”

She nodded again, and felt with relief his fingers deftly working at the knot of the gag. He pulled it free and she gasped in a deep shuddering breath, the nausea mercifully fading to a manageable level, the lightheadedness easing. “What...” she started, and then stopped, drawing in a pained breath as his fingertips ran over her throbbing cheekbone.

“Fractured, maybe, but it’ll heal. Just listen, and answer my questions,” he said, his voice low and urgent. “How long have they had you?”

“I’m not sure,” she said. Her own voice was rusty from disuse, and she cleared her throat, the taste of cotton still bitter on her tongue. “I was drugged at first, until they got the collar on me. A week maybe? I...” her throat froze up with shock as he ran his hands down her neck and over her arms, pushing up the open cuffs of her shirt and running his fingers over the skin of her forearms down to the stained gloves before testing the grip of the metal handcuffs. He must have felt her stiffen up.

“I told ya kid, I’m not gonna hurt you,” he said, a bitter cynical edge to his voice now. She could only stare at him, unable to find the words to explain that surprise at how fearlessly he touched her skin had made her body tense up, not apprehension. Still, his hands were gentle as they ran over her ribs, pressing gently, finding the sore spots with care, mapping her injuries with his fingertips.

“Did you see any others? Were you held with any other girls?” he asked, running his hands down her legs, rotating her ankles. He pulled on the foot of her tights to cover up her exposed toe, and the unexpected kindness of the gesture almost broke her. She felt the tears burning at the bridge of her nose, and concentrated on his questions to keep them at bay.

“No.” Her voice was wobbly, and she cleared her throat again. “Different men, before these ones. But no other girls with me.” She saw something bleak shadow his eyes, and a flash of realization sent hope surging within her. “You’re looking for someone.” He wasn’t a real buyer. Please God, let him not be a real buyer. Was he a cop? Was she really going to be saved?

He nodded. A new rough edge of tension was in his voice. “Two girls, taken together, four days ago. One Asian. One Caucasian, with short brown hair. Both mutants. Did they ever talk about other girls? Did you overhear anything about where they might be?”

She shook her head again, and felt a spike of pity as his jaw clenched in frustration. “I’m sorry,” she felt compelled to add, but he shook off her lame apology brusquely.

“Anything you can remember about where you’ve been? Anything at all?”

“There was a boat...three days ago. Big waves, like the ocean, not a river. And...ow! Goddammit! You sonuvabitch!”

He had suddenly wrenched her head back by the hair, his eyes growing cold, and she kicked out at him, fury and despair sending her almost into a frenzy. He had lied, he said he wouldn’t hurt her and he lied, she had thought she was saved and he lied...

Soundproofing worked both ways -- it had barely been five minutes when the door opened without warning. Logan heard it just in time but the girl hadn’t, and he had to pull her hair hard to stop her words before Marco heard what she was saying.

He watched helplessly as the light of hope died from her eyes, replaced by a look of utter betrayal. She began to fight like a dervish, kicking her stockinged feet against his legs, turning her head to try to bite his wrist, jerking against the cuffs until the scent of her blood tinged the air.

“I warned you, she’s a feisty one,” Marco smirked. “That collar is well worth the extra investment.”

“Settle down,” he growled, but she didn’t seem to hear him. He let go of her hair and stepped back, letting her struggle futilely against the cuffs, spitting curses at them both. He looked to Marco. “Bring her. I’ll start the transfer.”
__________

Logan entered an account number onto the screen. If there was one advantage to working for a man richer than God, it was unlimited funds for shit like this. No need to set up a dummy account and risk warning bells going off. Xavier was more than willing to risk a cool quarter million to get Jubilee and Kitty back.

Marco came from the back room, pushing the girl in front of him. Her hands were still cuffed behind her but her eyes were blank, her body unresisting as he shoved her roughly ahead of him. Her stockinged feet skidded a little on the wood floor, and Marco hauled her upright by the cuffs.

He pulled the collar remote from his pocket and put it on the table. “It takes some time after the collar comes off for the effect to wear off. Don’t be fooled.”

Logan nodded. A few more clicks and the transfer was authorized. Logan watched the “Transfer in Progress” bar patiently, his mind already jumping ahead. He would get the girl out of here to the rendezvous point, and then he’d be back. He had already decided which of the men were immediately expendable and which he’d save for questioning. Marco would definitely go last, slow and painful...

At first he barely registered the buzz of a cell phone, only absently noting as Marco pulled the phone from his pocket and glanced at the text. His senses picked up the change before his mind even processed it. Marco’s breath had hitched, his scent spiking with adrenaline. Fuck.

From then things seemed to happen in disconnected flashes. Logan was already on his feet when Marco screamed “Kill him!” The first shots came from behind, and Logan popped his claws in a smooth motion, ignoring the thunk and burn of the first round, gutting both men at the door in seconds. A second barrage of gunfire at his back and he felt his lung flood with blood, slowing him down. With a choked roar he took out Audiovisual Thug with a slash across the throat, shaking his head to clear the blood from the arterial spray from his eyes.

Marco held the girl defensively in front of him, cigarette-and-insomnia thug at his side. “He’s a healer! Aim for the head!” Marco shrieked. Logan sprang, and the rest was blackness.

______________________

Logan struggled toward consciousness. It was very important that he wake up. Wake up, dammit, he told himself, not knowing why. He became aware of the pain first, a fierce burning in his chest and back, and a pounding ache in his head. Next came the voices, just a babble at first, but then he could make out words.

“I don’t have extras -- get the collar from the girl. Cuffs too. Fuck, don’t argue -- just tie her, she’s not going anywhere. We have to time this just right...”

“He’s coming around, give me the gun...”
______________________

More blackness. Another struggle up from the void. The pain...

The girl. The girl. Fuck...

Logan wrenched his eyes open, springing his claws. He tried to leap to his feet, but was held back. He felt the bite of metal cuffs around his wrists and twisted his hand, trying to cut them with the claws, but couldn’t reach. They had stripped his shirt and jacket from him and cuffed him around a solid metal pipe in the back room, his arms wrenched through the open back of the metal chair. His feet were chained to each chair leg. Fuck.

Marco was standing in front of him, the smug grin back on his face. He triumphantly held something up in his hand, and Logan squinted against the blood in his eyes to see it. A small electronic remote. Fuckity fuck. He felt it now, the slim metal collar around his neck. No healing.

They must have put it on the second the bullets left his skull. His healing factor had prioritized the mortal wounds, and the less serious gunshots to his back and chest were still raw and only partially healed. He could feel blood seeping from the wounds, trickling down his sternum, pooling at the base of his spine.

He tried to clear his head, pushing aside the pain with long practice. Only Marco and the cigarette-and-insomnia thug were left alive. The girl was huddled in a corner, her eyes shut tight, her forehead against her knees. Logan caught a glimpse of rope at her wrists, tied behind her to another pipe. Shit. They could have at least put her in the other room for this.

Marco pulled a knife, and that sick excitement that had tinged his scent as he watched the video came back even stronger. He enjoyed inflicting pain. Logan sighed. Well, he was in for a helluva time. Three hours, give or take, until he missed the rendezvous and Cyke and ‘Ro realized something had gone wrong. He had deliberately stretched the rendezvous time -- hoping to avoid interference from the others, confident that he could handle anything alone. Now both he and the girl might have to pay the price of his arrogance.
____________

Logan was intimately acquainted with pain. He knew every type, every variety. The slow burn and the icy stab, the deep nerve-searing cut and the nauseating ache. You’d think he’d be used to it by now, but somehow it always managed to feel fresh and new. Infinitely surprising in just how much it hurt, just how much he could take. He had passed out a few times already from the pain, which was pretty much unprecedented, but each time they had revived him and moved on to the next torture. Marco did indeed enjoy his work, and in this at least he was no amateur.

“Who do you work for?”

Damn, you’d think the man would be tired of asking the question by now. Logan was sure tired of hearing it. He raised his head against the haze of pain, coughing up a bubble of blood and spitting it out before he could answer, his voice a low wet growl. “Sorry, Bub. Still can’t remember.”

Marco dug the knife in deeper, twisting it with a little flourish. Logan couldn’t help the whine of pain that escaped his gritted teeth. Fuck, he’d better dial back on the smartass comments. That felt like a nick to his liver. Marco’s pleasure in inflicting pain was starting to slip away in his frustration at getting no answers. He was getting careless.

“This is my lucky day,” Marco sneered. “I got the money for the girl...” -- a swift cut of the knife deeper -- “...I get to keep the girl...” -- another twist of the blade -- “...and then there’s you. I bet some lab somewhere will pay a pretty penny for something like you, huh?”

The knife came out and dug in again, a little more to the side, and Logan’s whine of pain came damn near to a scream. When the red haze of pain faded and Logan could see again, he found himself looking past Marco into the deep brown eyes of the girl. She had finally lifted her head, her haunted eyes looking right at his. Fuck, he wished she didn’t have to see this.

“Sorry, kid,” he found himself saying.

“Aw, that’s sweet,” Marco taunted. “Now...” -- another slow twist of the knife -- “Who sent you? Who do you work for?” Logan jerked against the pain, his body convulsing against his will, even though he knew it would only drive the knife deeper. His vision dimmed again.
____________

Logan came to again, lifting his head wearily to face Marco. The questions were the same, the pain still infinitely surprising, but...something was different.

He focused his eyes on Marco, ignoring the movements of the girl in his peripheral vision, desperate not to give her away with a flicker of his gaze. She had gotten her hands free somehow, and was slowly pulling herself to her feet. Logan heaved in a wet, sucking breath and spat blood at Marco’s face. She only had to cross behind them to reach the door, if he could keep their attention on him maybe she had a chance to get away. She was moving silently now, edging with her back against the wall. Good girl.

Marco wiped the bloody spit from his cheek, his eyes glinting with malice. He pressed the tip of the knife against Logan’s eye. Logan kept his eyes steady on his, but something was wrong. The girl had stopped moving.

“Go ahead,” Logan snarled, looking at Marco but hoping the kid would get the message. Fuck, fuck, the girl was pulling off her gloves. What the fuck was she doing? She was coming closer, instead of moving away.

“No,” Logan muttered, and saw Marco’s eyes light up at what he took to be the first sign of him breaking. He felt the knife pierce his eye. “No!” he roared, as he felt the dimness start to overtake him again.
_______________

“Mister. Mister, wake up.”

Stupid kids. They should know better than to bother him when he was sleeping. He tried to slip back into sleep but the voice was persistent, pulling him inexorably toward consciousness, a note of urgency in the clear tones.

“Wake up, Mister.”

Jesus Christ! A slap to his face and who the fuck would dare? Logan tried to pry his eyes open, a growl rumbling up in his chest, and then all of a sudden he was drowning, choking. He coughed -- a wet, gurgling rattle, the coppery taste of blood flooding his mouth as he straightened up.

A wave of pain washed over him -- too much pain, in too many places, he couldn’t even parse it. He tried to pry his eyes open again, and this time he got one sticky eye open. The other didn’t seem to be working.

He looked into deep brown eyes, and his spinning head suddenly put it together. The girl. Marco.

Marco and the other thug were lying at the girl’s feet. He could smell death on them, sense that their bodies were already cooling. How long had he been out this last time?

“C’mon, Mister.” The girl was tugging at him now, gloves back on her hands. She had his leather jacket on. It looked comically large on her, sleeves sliding down to cover her hands where they pushed and pulled on his arm. He opened his eye again -- when had it closed? -- and saw her pale face, her desperate eyes. “I don’t wanna leave you, Mister, but I will if I hafta. Get. Up.”

He realized his hands were free, and he scrabbled at his neck. The collar was gone.

“I took it off, but it lasts a while after. C’mon, Mister, we gotta go.”

He felt unsteady and confused, the pain just another layer of haze over the lightheadedness and his sapped strength, but she tugged at him again and he braced his feet, managing a wobbly stand.

Crazy girl, she put her shoulder under his arm like she could steady him, when he would snap her like a twig. That small act of idiotic bravery got him moving somehow, stumbling across the front room and out the door, half-falling down the rickety steps to lean shakily against the car.

She shoved him and he tumbled into the passenger seat. He realized she had pulled the car around and left the door open for him. Crazy girl, he thought again. She had been in the car, keys in her hand, why the fuck had she come back for him?

A racking, lung-twisting spasm of coughing overtook him and by the time he was done, curled weakly on the seat, she was driving. The streetlights flickered across her face making her look even paler, casting the deep purple bruise and her thick dark eyelashes into sharp relief.

“Are you a cop?” she asked. “Can’t you, you know, call for back-up or something?”

“Got a phone?” he asked. He almost smiled at the disappointment in her eyes. “Me neither.”

He cleared his throat, feeling again the sucking pain of one lung that wouldn’t work among the myriad of other pains. “Not a cop, anyway. But if you get me to a phone, I can get us help.”

“I can find the hospital...”

“No hospitals!” he snapped. He’d be damned if he’d let a doctor he didn’t trust near him again.

Another spasm of coughs, leaving him weak and wheezing. His head spun with lightheadedness. Goddammit.

“Why aren’t I healing?” he muttered, mostly to himself, but the girl heard.

“I only got the collar off you twenty minutes or so ago. It takes almost two hours for the effects to wear off.”

“Fuck.” How did it feel to die of internal injuries? He couldn’t leave the girl.

The girl’s breath was coming in quick pants now, her voice high and tight as the words rushed out uncontrollably. “That’s why I had to wait, I got my hands free after an hour but I had to wait until I felt it come back. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I had to let them...what they did to you...and I just let them...”

Her voice broke off on a sob. She was on the thin edge of hysteria, and he put a hand on the wheel, correcting the drift before they hit the guardrail. “Don’t fall apart on me now, kid,” he growled. That seemed to pull her out of her head, as she looked at him in shock and then back at the road, blinking furiously.

“You did good, kid. Better’n anyone coulda expected. You got us out of there. Now get us to a safe place and a phone, and everythin’ will be okay.”

She took a deep, shuddering breath, and he could feel her hysteria retreat a little. Maybe he had managed to fake enough sincerity in his words. Or maybe not, when she looked at him again her eyes were much older than her years. “Another hour and a half. I don’t know if you’re gonna make it, Mister.”

Yeah, well, that made two of them. He could feel the dimness coming on again, and it was a struggle to gather the breath to try to reassure her. “I’ll heal. Just...get us there.”

He thought maybe that would satisfy her, but a moment later he heard her voice again, cutting through the haze that was starting to envelop him. “What’s your name Mister? If you...if something happens to you, who should I tell?”

Great. She was collecting his last wishes. Fuck, he had to admire her clear-eyed honesty. He wondered what had put that kind of brutal pragmatism in someone so young. He shoulda been thinking more about what would happen to her.

“You got someplace to go?” he asked. “Someone looking for you?”

A bitter laugh. “Far from here, that’s where I’ll go. No one’s looking for me.”

His arm felt impossibly heavy as he ducked his head, pulling the tags from his neck. They were tacky with his blood, but she took them in her gloved hand without hesitation. “M’name’s Logan. If I...if y’need to, go to the Xavier School.” Another wheezing, rattling breath, an odd whistling sound in his chest, and he couldn’t hold the dimness off much longer. He heard the slur in his own voice, as if from a distance. “Show ‘em these. Westchester, New York. Got it?”

She said...something...but he couldn’t hear it over the roaring in his ears. Suddenly he felt her small gloved hand in his, squeezing tight, the tags pressed hard between their palms. She was sweet, so painfully sweet. He had always wondered if he would die alone, and he was suddenly fiercely glad that it was her here with him. He squeezed back as he felt the wave sucking him under. He tried to hold on, but he couldn’t, and it took him.

Logan slowly opened his eyes. The girl was barely a foot away, deep brown eyes watching him, tear tracks on her cheeks.

“Don’t cry,” he said thickly.

A slow smile spread across her face. Damn, she was heartbreakingly pretty when she smiled.

“Okay,” she said softly.

Another tear welled up, trembling on her lower lashes before falling. That didn’t look right, Logan thought, his head still fuzzy. Something that pretty shouldn’t be marred by tears. He reached out a hand to wipe the teardrop away with his thumb.

The girl jerked back in a wild scrabble of limbs until she was crammed as far into the corner of the car as she could get. “Don’t...don’t touch my skin!”

Christ, he had forgotten. Her frantic flurry of movement snapped him out of his grogginess.

“Sorry,” he said. “It’s okay. Relax, darlin’. I won’t touch you.”

He smelled her fear dissipate as she slowly eased back onto the seat. That warm, enticing scent of her was almost overwhelming in the close confines of the car, deep and welcoming under the layers of anxiety and sorrow and his own blood, adding to his dizziness.

Logan shook his head, trying to clear it, and took a quick inventory. He was still in the passenger seat of the car and she was in the driver’s seat, but they were stopped -- he could see the lights of a parking lot through the windshield. It was fully dark, he must have been out for at least three or four hours this last time.

The girl had reclined both seats so that they were almost lying down. His leather jacket was draped over him, smelling deliciously of her and him mixed together. There was still a raw ache in his chest and back, but overlaid with the characteristic itch of healing skin. The vision in his left eye was still kind of blurry, but he was pretty sure he had his eyeball back.

He started to sit up, and as the jacket fell away he realized that he was trussed pretty much from neck to waist, bloody clumps of towel bound around him with strips of sheeting. Something sharp poked him in the chest, and he dug under one of the bandages to retrieve it. He pulled out a plastic motel room key card, sticky with his blood. He looked at the girl, puzzled.

“I got us a room, but I couldn’t figure out how to get you inside. I heard somewhere that you’re supposed to put a credit card against a sucking chest wound, to seal it. I didn’t have a credit card, but I figured the room key was the same thing.” She paused. “We better skip out before they find out about the sheets and towels, huh?”

He couldn’t help his bark of laughter. He turned the key card around in his fingers, examining it under the spotty parking lot lights. It -- and the girl -- had probably saved his life. “You’re a really smart kid, you know that?”

She leaned back in her seat, putting her raggedy stockinged feet up on the dashboard, a smile in her voice to match his. “Not a kid, but thanks.”

Her mention of credit cards reminded him of something else. “I didn’t have a wallet, and I know you sure didn’t. How did you pay for the room?”

She shot him a look like he was crazy. She pushed up onto her knees, reaching over the console into the back seat, and hauled up a briefcase. His briefcase, in fact. Fifty grand in cash.

“I take it back. You’re a fuckin’ genius, kid.”

__________________

He hobbled into the room like a ninety-year-old man, leaning more heavily on the girl than he would have liked to admit. He stumbled as he reached the bed and half-fell onto the covers. The other bed looked like it had been attacked by a bear, the top sheet in shreds. The girl must have been frantic to stop the bleeding. Gutsy kid, he thought affectionately.

He looked consideringly at the phone. Scott and ‘Ro would be freaking out right now, and for that he was sorry. He couldn’t help thinking of that text Marco had gotten, though. Everything had been going smoothly, and then suddenly, just like that, he was made. If there was a leak in their system somewhere, he wasn’t going to risk calling in from a landline. He had the girl to think about now, and he was pretty damn useless until he got his strength back.

He could afford to go dark for a little while. Scott and ‘Ro would have tossed the bait shop by now and gotten any information to be had there. Right now the girl was his best lead, and he had to take care of her. Not that he was doing much of the caretaking right now, he thought cynically, cursing the slowness of his healing.

He forced himself to sit up. The girl returned from the bathroom with a glass of water and he downed it gratefully.

“What now?” she asked.

He looked them both over. Both of them were drenched in blood, but the girl had washed her face and rinsed her gloves. She had put his leather jacket back on as she helped him from the car -- to protect his bare chest and arms from accidental contact with her skin, he now realized. The jacket was bloody too, but it would wipe off, and covering the girl neck to knees like it did she might pass a casual inspection -- a young woman in her boyfriend’s jacket. That thought stuck in his head, strangely appealing. Christ, he must still be woozy from blood loss.

“Clothes, I think, and then food, and we’ll talk.” He pulled her hair forward over her shoulder, so the wave of it shadowed her bruised face. She held her breath this time, but didn’t flinch away.

“A bigger store’ll still be open this late. Don’t talk to anybody. Get shoes first, and if somebody asks say you broke a heel or something and it was easier to go barefoot.”

She shot him a look, and he shrugged. He must have actually learned something from countless trips to the mall with Kitty and Jubilee. The thought of the girls, laughing and happy at the mall, sent a spike of fear and frustration through him and his voice was rougher when he spoke again.

“Clothes for both of us and makeup to cover that bruise before you get me arrested. When I’m dressed I’ll get food while you shower, and then we can talk.” He looked her over one more time. “Can you do this, darlin’?”

He saw the bravado come over her, her pride stung by the question. “‘Course. No problem.” He could sense the shakiness underneath, but she was holding it together like a champ.

It was harder to let her out of his sight than he would have thought. He lay on the bed, cursing his weakness, trying to will his healing to speed up. Doubts started to rack his mind. He should have switched the car out, he shouldn’t have let her take it. He should have called Scott and ‘Ro, had them take the kid far away from here. A girl like that, who knew what kind of trouble she could get herself into.

By the time she got back his strength was back enough for him to be pacing restlessly, one dark scenario after another racing through his head. He yanked her into the room as soon as he heard her key in the door. He pulled her into his embrace, ignoring her squeak of alarm, soothing himself with her scent. She was tense for just a moment and then slowly relaxed into his arms, dropping the bags she carried and squeezing him tight, her hair a screen between her face and his bare chest.

Logan felt the knot of anxiety in his chest start to ease. “You okay, kid?” he couldn’t help asking.

She nodded. “You?”

“Yeah.” He took in another deep breath. He would let her go now. Should have let her go already. She just felt so...right, there in his arms. The soft small shape of her through his voluminous leather jacket, the warm enticing scent of her. He could keep her safe, like this.

She murmured something he couldn’t make out.

“What was that, darlin’?”

“Marie,” she said more clearly. “Not kid. Marie. I’m twenty-two.”

“Marie,” he repeated. He let her go somewhat awkwardly. “You get first shower, Marie. Then we’ll talk.”

The girl sat on her bed and he on his.

She had spent damn near an hour in the shower, and emerged flushed and sweet-smelling in pajama pants and a long-sleeved shirt, socks on her feet and new gloves on her hands. His shower had been quicker. He had to grit back the hisses of pain as the hot water hit the still-healing wounds, and he emerged slightly dizzy again.

In the end he hadn’t found himself willing to leave the girl alone, and had ordered a couple of pizzas to be delivered to the room. He watched the girl carefully remove the gloves before eating, shooting him suspicious glances from time to time as if to ensure that he would really keep his distance while her hands were uncovered. Damn, she was skittish -- but then he thought of the videotape and understood why.

He could smell the hunger on her, but she forced herself to take slow, careful bites. He wondered again where she had learned these hard lessons, but he focused his questions on recent events. The southern drawl that had been barely perceptible when she was stressed came out more now. She had been taken outside her apartment building in Detroit. A van parked outside, and she was simply grabbed by two guys.

It was a rough neighborhood, she said matter-of-factly, and she had thought...she didn’t finish the sentence, but he smelled the spike in her terror, remembering, and knew what she had thought. But they had seemed to know about her mutation, and hadn’t touched her -- just kept her drugged, and blindfolded most of the time. Two or three days in the van, another day in a boat where she got the collar, and then three more days where the videotape had been taken until she got moved to the shack at the Camden docks earlier that day.

She was telling the truth, he could smell it on her, but for some reason her fear seemed to be creeping back. It puzzled him, but he had seen it sometimes, from kids brought in on rescue missions. They held it together in the worst of circumstances, and then when they were finally safe they fell apart.

Not that many would consider being in a hotel room with the Wolverine safe, but this kid -- Marie -- was something else. She had seen him gut three men, and still came back to get him out of there. Killed two men just to make them stop hurting him -- just so that she could take him with her. It made him feel a little strange every time he thought of it. Crazy girl, he told himself again, but it didn’t quite ring true.

He could smell the exhaustion on her now that she was fed and clean.

“Go to sleep, Marie. We can talk about the rest in the morning.”

She lay down, and so did he, but he could still smell the slow welling of dread within her. Surely she didn’t think he would hurt her, after all this?

“Logan?”

“Yeah?”

“The girls you were looking for...when you found me instead...”

The tentative inquiry surprised him, and he turned over on his side to face her. She had asked him to keep one light on, and he could see the shine of tears in her eyes.

He cleared his throat. “Kitty, and Jubilee. I’ve known ‘em since they were kids -- just teenagers. Now Jubilee is in med school and Kitty is gettin’ a degree in some computer thing. They’re both in California, but they come back to the school for breaks. They decided to drive up this time. Disappeared in Kansas, four days ago. They call in every mornin’ when they’re on the road, they know better’n to miss that. Their car was at the hotel, and all their stuff, but they were gone.”

A long silence from her, and he thought maybe she was done asking.

“And you think the guys who took me took them too?”

“Dunno. We hoped...if I coulda got one of ‘em alive to question...” Once again, he felt the bitter rush of failure, and cleared his throat against it. “It’s probably different guys -- local thugs -- at the grab and at the sale, but whoever is in the middle -- that’s the supplier, the one pullin’ the strings. That’s who we’re after.”

Even from across the room, he could feel it -- her whole body starting to tremble. He sat up, even more worried now. “Marie? Darlin’?”

She sat up too, drawing her knees into her chest. “I hafta tell you something.”

“Okay.”

He waited while she pulled herself together a little, sucking in deep breaths, smothered little half-sobs escaping her as she grappled with whatever it was she feared until she had a handle on it.

It pained him, seeing her struggle like this, watching her slender little body shake with the force of it. Just let yourself cry, he wanted to say, except that the Wolverine didn’t say shit like that and she wouldn’t listen anyway. Christ, she had been so brave, cooler under pressure than half of his team woulda been. What the hell was going on with her that could rattle her so bad now?

Finally, she seemed more in control. “What did they tell you -- about my mutation?”

He furrowed his brow in confusion. “That your skin kills, if somebody touches it too long. Sucks the life outta someone, or somethin’ like that.”

She nodded miserably. “I figured that’s all they knew.” Another deep breath, and her fists clenched tight as she gathered her courage.

“The first boy I ever kissed ended up in a coma for three weeks. I can still feel him in my head. His thoughts, and feelings, and memories. It’s the same...” Her voice wobbled. “It’s the same for everybody I touch.”

It took a moment for him to puzzle it out, and then...”Holy fuck.” She flinched at the sudden exclamation.

He moved slowly, trying not to spook her, until he was sitting beside her on her bed. She curled into herself a little more, but let him put an arm around her shoulders. “You touched those guys, back at the bait shop. You know what they knew?”

She pushed her face into his shoulder, hiding, her breath warm through his flannel shirt. “It’s not like...I can’t just tell you things. If they are...just loose in my head, they make me crazy, yelling at me, trying to take over. I figured out how to box them up, keep them out.”

He was starting to understand. “So those guys...they’re boxed up right now, but it’s possible...you could...”

She was shaking again, her words coming out in a panicked rush. “I don’t know if I can...if I can make myself. The most recent stuff is always right there, on top. What they did to you...how they felt doing it. I already had to watch it, and now, if I do this...that’s gonna be me, that’s what I’ll have to feel...” She was starting to hyperventilate again.

“Hey. Hey, Marie. It’s okay, darlin’.”

He took a deep breath. Kitty and Jubes -- time was ticking away for them. But...he thought of the girl’s voice on the videotape, begging. Don’t make me.

He let the breath out in a slow exhale. “It’s okay, darlin’. I’m not gonna force you.”

He pulled her tighter, easing them both down until they were lying down. The girl clung to him, her frantic breaths and smothered sobs finally calming, her heartbeat finally slowing.

They lay in silence for awhile. Finally, she spoke again, her voice back to the unflinching matter-of-fact tone he associated most with her. “I hafta do it, don’t I?”

He sighed, rubbing her back soothingly. “I think...I think that you wouldn’ta told me if you weren’t gonna do it.”

She nodded into his shirt. She drew breath to say something, and then stopped. He waited her out patiently. Not used to asking for anything from anyone, this girl. He could smell her anger at what she saw as her weakness.

Finally she came out with it. “Will you stay here with me...like this? While I do it?”

Something twisted in his chest, and he squeezed her closer. “I’ll be right here, darlin’. I gotcha.”

“I’ll be right here, darlin’. I gotcha.”

She nodded again, and took a deep breath. It seemed as though she had decided to do it fast, before she could change her mind. He felt her muscles tense. A tremor ran through her body, and then suddenly she was...different. Empty, somehow. Flat. It scared him a little, the difference in her, and he held her tight, his own heart thumping in his chest.

She started to twitch. Her heart rate jumped, and he smelled that sick pleasure Marco had felt tainting her own sweet warm scent. He flinched as she suddenly made a stabbing motion with her hand. He caught her arm, holding it still.

“A fucking healer...not so tough now, are you?” she muttered. Her voice had taken on the cadence of Marco’s. Now the angry tones turned to a lewd purr. “Motherfucking mutie bitch whore...the things I’m gonna do to you when this is done...” Her voice trailed off into an indistinct murmur.

She twitched some more, her eyes darting restlessly behind her eyelids. Suddenly she opened her eyes but they were empty, unseeing. “Always late,” she said abruptly, mild irritation in her -- his -- voice. “Goddamn it, I’ll do it myself.”

Her eyes closed again. She seemed to be pushing deeper within her own mind, her movements now just a slight inner twitch of her muscles, nothing but panting breaths escaping her lips.

Her heartbeat got faster, and then faster again. He smelled the spike in her adrenaline as panic seemed to leak from her every pore. Her breathing grew erratic and halting.

He held her, his whole body rigid with tension, unsure of what he should do. Finally she made an awful sound, a low keen of pain, and his resolve broke.

“Fuck it.” He shook her, trying to rouse her, to draw her out from her mind. “Marie! That’s enough. Marie!”

Her head lolled, her body limp as a rag doll. Her pulse was shallow and thready, and a thin sheen of sweat coated her face and neck. Logan felt a bubble of fear rise up in his chest. “Marie!”

With a sudden convulsive jerk she appeared to come back to herself. She drew in a gasping breath, her eyes wide and panicked as she struggled free of his arms. He let her go and she scrambled off the bed to stand in the middle of the room, her body tensed to run, her eyes dazed.

“Marie...it’s okay, darlin’...”

She seemed to focus on him, at first just a reflexive movement of her eyes, and then he saw recognition enter them.

“Logan...” she said shakily. She still looked pale and clammy and he started towards her again, but she was already running for the bathroom, slamming and locking the door behind her.

He stood outside and helplessly listened to her as she first retched up the pizza and then gasped with dry heaves for endless minutes.

Finally it seemed over. He heard her brush her teeth, and then wash her face.

She came out of the bathroom, avoiding his eyes, and got back in her bed, drawing her knees up to her chest again, hugging them tight.

Her eyes darted to his, and then away. “Don’t look at me like that,” she said testily.

Relief washed over him, and he had to smother his smile.

“Like what, darlin’?” he asked mildly.

That earned him a glare. “Like you feel sorry for me or something. I can take care of myself.” God, she was adorable -- looking defenseless as a kitten, pale and shaking, and still trying to act tough as nails.

He sat down on his bed, and then lay down, folding his arms behind his head, carefully regarding the ceiling. “I don’t doubt it, darlin’.”

He could feel her eyes on him, trying to judge if he was being sarcastic, and he kept his face deliberately neutral.

He stayed silent, listening slowly to her heartbeat ease, her breathing slow, smelling that prickly defensiveness start to fade. She hadn’t liked being vulnerable -- he of all people could understand that. She slid down in her bed until she was lying down also, staring up at the ceiling as well.

“He’d done it three times before,” she suddenly said. “Freddy -- the one that smelled like peppermint. Someone just called him up, out of the blue. Said he’d heard good things, and he’d advance him fifty thousand in good faith if he’d handle the sales, and then ten percent commission on every sale.”

Her mouth twisted bitterly. “It was a big step up for him. Before that it had just been petty stuff -- enforcement for loan sharks, fencing stolen guns, numbers rackets, occasionally holding stuff from Florida for awhile until mules could pick it up. He was worried at first that it was a set-up, but he really wanted the money. He liked money almost as much as he liked hurting people.”

Logan slowly turned to face her, but she kept her eyes on the ceiling. “The first one was a girl. A little older than me, maybe. She had the collar on. Freddy...hurt her, and got in trouble for it. Almost lost the deal because of it.”

He had held his breath when she mentioned another girl, but she turned to look at him, and shook her head. “It was a couple of weeks ago, and she was blonde. Her mutation was something about making pheromones, or something.”

She turned back, staring sightlessly at the ceiling as she continued to recount the horrors in her head. “The one after that was just a kid. Eight years old, maybe? He cried a lot. No collar for him. They didn’t say anything about what he could do. Maybe he wasn’t even a mutant.” Her voice wobbled. “The buyer didn’t ask many questions.”

She took a deep breath. “The one before me was a teenage boy. No collar...but they said to make sure he didn’t get anywhere near an open flame.”

“We’ll get them back, Marie.” He could hear the snarl in his own voice, and hoped he wasn’t scaring her more. “Whoever has them...I promise, we’ll find them and get them back. All of them. And we’ll make these bastards pay.”

If she heard him, she gave no sign. Her voice was flat again when she continued. “Freddy started to think, after the girl. The people he was getting them from, he didn’t think they were the ones who hired him. Just another level of middleman. He thought maybe he could cut them out. The pickup was always in some new location. They’d tell him a few days beforehand when it would be, but only called him with the location a couple of hours before. The last time, with the teenager, he doubled back and followed them. He thought they’d go back to some place where they were keeping them, but they got on a boat instead.”

She sat up again and looked at Logan, her eyes once again looking much older than her years. “The next pickup was supposed to be in three days. If your friends were taken three days after me...”

Logan couldn’t help it, he started pacing restlessly. “Do you know anything else about the boat? The name of it, or anything that could help us track it?”

She shook her head. “Just what it looks like, and where it was docked. Not a real marina or anything, just a boat ramp in Delaware. I think I could find it. And I know what the two guys looked like -- I would know them if I saw them again.”

Logan clenched his fists in frustration, the claws starting to slip before he pulled them back with an effort. Three days before they could do anything, three days that Kitty and Jubes would be in the hands of these bastards. And if it came to nothing...if the boat docked at a different ramp, or it wasn’t Kitty and Jubes, or if they got wind that Freddy and his crew were dead...

A million different things could go wrong, and the odds of things going right seemed slim. But it was all they had to go on. She was all they had to go on.

He sighed, and sat down next to her. She let him put his arm around her, only tensing briefly before she relaxed and leaned into his body. “You did good, kid. I’m sorry I hadta ask it of you.”

Her voice was wobbly again when she spoke. “What if we can’t find them? What if they’re just...gone?”

He couldn’t suppress the growl that welled up from his chest at the thought. “We’ll find them. And we have help.” He squeezed her against his side. “I think it’s time for you to meet my friends.”

Logan drove down the nearly deserted highway, most of his concentration focused on the girl sleeping next to him.

She had been exhausted, but he had felt they were too exposed staying in the motel so near the deaths of Freddy and his crew, especially with Freddy’s blood-soaked car parked in the lot. He wanted to get Marie back to the relative safety of the mansion, and so after she changed into jeans and a shirt she had dozed while he boosted a car from the motel parking lot, switching plates with a third car in the hopes the exchange would not be noticed for awhile.

She had barely stirred as he bundled her up in a blanket and buckled her into the passenger seat. Now she slept next to him, her warm enticing scent filling the car, the sound of her soft steady breathing soothing something jagged and raw in Logan’s chest.

She was something else, this girl. He wasn’t quite sure what to make of her yet. Gutsy as hell, and smart, but he still couldn’t quite figure her. Still didn’t know why she hadn’t just run when she had the chance -- why in the hell she had risked her life to save his. And the way she acted. Tough as nails sometimes, and ruthless when she needed to be -- he grinned, remembering how she had smacked him back to consciousness -- but underneath there was this sweetness to her, an elusive trace of innocence...

He shook his head in irritation. Speculating about her innocence -- or lack of it -- wasn’t even something he should be thinking of. Just a kid, he repeated to himself, even knowing as he thought it that it wasn’t true. In her twenties, wasn’t she? Certainly not an age he had ever balked at before. He had laid waitresses and fight groupies by the score as young as she was or younger without a second thought.

Of course those girls had been around the block, they knew what they were getting into. There was something different about this girl. She had some hard edges for sure, but underneath...there was something soft and sweet and warm underneath, something that called out to him. Made him want to keep her close by, want to keep her safe...

Nothing surprising about that, he tried to tell himself with irritation. God knows how it had happened, but he found himself guardian and unofficial watchdog for a whole school full of mutant kids. Hell, he’d only found the girl in the first place because he’d do anything to get Kitty and Jubilee back. But, he reluctantly admitted to himself, he’d never felt like this about Kitty and Jubes. Protective, sure, but never like this. Feeling like Marie belonged with him, like she fit with him in some indefinable way. Like he wanted to pull her into the shelter of his body, and...

“Goddamn,” he cursed under his breath.

He was a fuckin’ animal, having thoughts like that about the girl. Especially after the hell she had just been through. Just a kid, he told himself again. But she didn’t smell like a kid, her scent soothing and arousing at the same time, making him feel a little drunk and dizzy. And she didn’t look like a kid, now that she wasn’t scared anymore. Now that she was safe with him -- trusting him enough to sleep peacefully right next to him, for some unaccountable reason that made his chest feel a little funny again.

No, she didn’t look like a kid at all. She looked beautiful, is how she looked. Thick lashes lowered to hide eyes that he knew were deep and brown, that could be warm with concern or snap with anger. Eyes that held a wisdom much greater than the sum of her years. A soft pink pouting mouth relaxed now in sleep, but he remembered how it had looked set with determination as she forced him to his feet, or curving into that slow incandescent smile when he woke up. Happy to see him alive, even though she didn’t know him, even after all she had seen him do.

He focused his eyes on the road again with another curse. Trying to keep his gaze off her, but unable to do so for long. Drawn to look at her time and again -- her porcelain skin, the delicate beauty of her features, the soft small shape and the warm enticing scent of her...

He couldn’t get to the mansion soon enough.

________

He saw Marie’s eyes grow wide at the sight of the mansion, her scent spiking with nerves. He had woken her about half an hour out from the mansion, and had tried to put into careful words some of what she could expect. A school for mutants, he had told her, and a rich philanthropist. A few teachers like himself who were a little more...active...in the fight against mutant hate crimes than your average academic.

She had just looked at him in suspicion, as if it might be some sort of joke and she was worried that she was the punchline. He could see now that his description hadn’t really prepared her. Hell, as he drove up the imposing tree-lined drive he could hardly believe he lived in a swank place like this himself.

The girl pulled his leather jacket tightly around her as they mounted the front steps, looking more defenseless than ever. He pulled her close as he opened the mansion door, trying to reassure her with his presence. He would just get her in a room, and go talk to Chuck, and...

Fuck.

The scent of sandalwood and spice was thick in the entryway. Jean glided down the stairs as if she had been waiting for her cue. And she probably had been, Logan thought uncharitably. Jean couldn’t usually get a read on his thoughts, but sensing the presence of his psyche in her vicinity was a much easier task.

Jean paused dramatically at the bottom of the stairs. Just after dawn, and she was completely put together from her blow-dried hair to her Louboutin heels. And he should know, having been dumb enough to have given her that particular pair of thousand-dollar fuck-me heels, hoping to feel them digging into the back of his thighs some day.

That was before he had realized that she was just using him to make Scooter jealous. The Wolverine didn’t play those kind of high school games. He had told her to knock it off right before he left for this mission, and he had a feeling he was going to pay for it now.

Instead of laying into him, however, Jean pasted a fake smile on her face. “Wolverine! So nice to see you again! You would not believe how dramatic Ororo and Scott were last night. I told them you would be just fine, but they would insist that you had suffered some grievous accident.”

Her eyelids, thick with powdery eyeshadow, made a lazy sweep of Marie’s small figure. Logan saw her eyes narrow just the slightest as they registered his leather jacket wrapped around the girl, but she continued her perusal, her phony smile transforming into an ever-so-subtle moue of distaste. “And who is this poor creature? So unlike you to bring back a stray, Wolverine.”

Logan felt Marie’s hurt, and pulled her closer into the curve of his body, rage rising up in his chest. “Dammit, Jeannie...”

Jean clacked forward a few steps, heels ringing on the marble tile, interrupting him. “Just like a man, isn’t it sweetie?” she addressed Marie in mock sympathy. “Why, I expect he dragged you straight out of bed without a moment to make yourself presentable...”

Logan felt the growl rising up in his chest, but before it could emerge Marie shook free of his arm and stepped forward, standing up straight in his ridiculously large leather jacket and throwing her streaked hair back to look Jean in the eye.

“You’re right,” she said, in her usual matter-of-fact tone. “He pulled me right out of bed. But even on four hours of sleep I can still recognize a stuck-up bitch when I see one.”

Logan’s incipient growl turned into a snort of amusement as Marie walked on, spine straight and head high, leaving a flabbergasted Jean staring after her. He smoothly slid out one claw, using the blunt edge under Jean’s chin to close her gaping mouth. Jean shifted her glare to him, but managed to reform her features into a pouty seductive look with an effort.

He grazed the claw up her jaw. “Loooogan...” she cooed. He kept his eyes steady on hers, watching the practiced pout melt slowly away into a genuine expression of fear as the claw continued upward, the tip settling just a millimeter from Jean’s jugular vein.

Jean froze. He pressed the flat end of the blade gently to the skin there, feeling the thrum of her pulse quicken against the surface of the blade.

His growl came out without conscious thought. “Don’t you ever try to hurt what’s mine again.”

Jean’s mouth moved to form words, but a frightened squeak was all that emerged. Logan snicked the claw back in and followed Marie, taking deep breaths to cool the rage still racing through his blood, stunned at his own response. Where the fuck had that come from? Jeannie was being a bitch, for sure, but it had hardly warranted a claw through the neck.

Jesus, something about this girl had gotten under his skin, bringing the Wolverine in all his vicious protectiveness too close to the surface. The sooner he could turn her over to the other goody-two-shoes teaching staff -- the sooner he could break this odd connection between them -- the better.

He followed Marie’s scent, finding her out on the terrace. He stood beside her, silently watching the morning sunlight spread across the back lawn.

“You mad at me?” she finally said.

“Mad? Why the hell would I be mad?”

She shrugged, still unable to meet his eyes. “‘Cause I yelled at your friend.”

“She deserved it. She was being a bitch. She’s mad at me for somethin’ else, and took it out on you. I’m sorry about that.”

Another shrug from her.

He watched her in silence, still trying to figure her out. “You okay, Marie?”

Another shrug. She was going to get a shoulder cramp if she kept that up, he thought with amusement. He waited her out patiently, familiar now with how she got when she was working up to telling him something important.

“This place...” she finally said. “I never saw anything like this place. I don’t belong here.”

“Hey.” He pulled her up against him, and she let him. “I felt that way at first, too. But these geeks are pretty good people. Give them a chance, okay?”

No answer from her, and finally he reached out, slow enough not to startle her, and gently cupped her face through the screen of her hair until she met his eyes.

“I’ll take care of you. I promise.”

He saw the emotions flicker through her eyes, so fast that he couldn’t read them all. Hope, and longing, and fear, and something else, something that caused his heart to twist and his blood to speed in his veins. He dropped his gaze, suddenly uncomfortable.

She drew back, that facade of toughness coming up like a barrier between them. She shook her hair back and stood up straight. “I told you once already. I can take care of myself. Now introduce me to these geeks of yours already so I can finally take a nap.”
_____________________

Logan knocked on the door to Xavier’s study.

“Do come in, Logan.”

Logan entered the study, the girl trailing behind him. “Chuck, this is...”

“Rogue,” the girl interrupted him firmly.

Logan raised an eyebrow in her direction, which she studiously ignored.

“Rogue,” Xavier said. “It is a pleasure to meet you.” I am relieved that you are both safe, he added telepathically.

Logan had seen Xavier show off his telepathy to many new students and mansion visitors, but none had ever reacted the way Marie did. Her eyes snapping with anger, she marched up to Xavier’s desk. Her slender frame was tense with indignation as she stared him down. “Don’t you do that again. I have enough voices in my head. I don’t need any more.”

It wasn’t often that Logan saw Xavier disconcerted. He turned an inquiring gaze to Logan, who shrugged.

Xavier’s voice was conciliatory when he spoke again. “I’m sorry, my dear. Many people find telepathic communication unsettling at first, but it has become second nature to me. I will certainly refrain when possible if you find it unpleasant.”

Marie seemed to be gauging his sincerity, and then finally she nodded, relaxing her tense posture a fraction.

Xavier’s smile was warm. “Please, sit down. You have both been through quite an experience. If I may, I will call the others, they have been quite concerned for you as well. And it would be helpful if we could all debrief you at once.”

Logan looked to the girl, who of course shrugged. Hell, she had already yelled at the two people she had met so far, might as well get it all over with, he thought with amusement.

Ororo arrived first, giving Logan a warm hug. “You scared the hell out of us, you know?” she admonished him in her lilting accent. She turned her warm gaze to Marie. “And you -- my child, we were so worried for you.” Marie’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Scott and I found the videotape. What they made you do -- it was horrendous.”

Logan knew Ororo meant well, but he saw Marie retreat further at the thought of others having seen that tape. She pulled his jacket more tightly around herself, looking down until her hair fell over her bruised face.

Within a few minutes Scott, Jean, and Hank had joined them around the small conference table in Xavier’s study. Jean’s scent was tinged with both shame and anger, and she carefully avoided looking at Logan and Marie. After a brief wondering look at Hank, Marie looked steadily at the table as Logan filled them all in on what had happened. When he got to the part about Marie’s mutation and how she had accessed Freddy’s memories to find out information on Kitty and Jubilee, the scrutiny of the others appeared to be too much for her. She pushed away from the table and started wandering around the room restlessly, looking at the books in the bookcases and the various knick knacks on the tables.

“Fascinating,” Hank murmured, his eyes following the girl around the room, and Logan felt a rush of protectiveness towards her. Hank’s furry blue paws were probably itching to get her into the medical bay for testing. Over my dead body, Logan thought, suppressing a snarl.

It must have shown on his face or in his scent -- Logan saw the brief startlement on Hank’s face before the fellow feral nodded carefully in acknowledgement of Logan’s claim on the girl. Christ, his claim on her? There he was, thinking like a fuckin’ animal again.

Scott and Xavier were droning on about tracing electronic money transfers, and so Logan was still dwelling moodily on the girl and his unusual reaction to her when he suddenly scented a spike of panic coming from her. He jumped up, the claws sliding free reflexively. The girl had been wandering by the bookcases. Now she was pale, her eyes locked on Xavier, but he couldn’t see anything wrong.

He sheathed the claws again as the conversation at the conference table halted, all eyes on the two of them. He got close enough to Marie to speak to her without being overheard. “What’s wrong?” he asked in a low undertone.

She seemed to snap back into the present. “Nothing,” she said, avoiding his eyes. “Just bored, that’s all.”

“C’mon, Marie, what scared you? I could smell it all the way across the room.”

Her mouth twisted sullenly. “I told you, nothing, all right?” She tossed her hair back, glaring at the table of X-Men who were staring at them both. She raised her voice so that they could hear it. “Maybe I’m just done being talked about. Maybe I want to do some talking.”

Logan’s angry growl was interrupted by Xavier’s mild voice. “Of course, we would all like to hear whatever you have to say, Rogue.”

Her eyes were cold as they regarded Xavier, but as close as he was Logan could see her hands shaking and smell the nervousness in her scent. “I told Logan I’d help you find those girls, and I will. But not for nothing. There’s a few things I want, too.”

Jean jumped to her feet. “You greedy little...” she hissed. “We could just take the information out of your head if we wanted to...”

“Just try it, Red,” Marie snapped. “I’ll show you some things that’ll give you nightmares for the rest of your life.”

Scott pulled on Jean’s arm, but it was Xavier’s stern reprimand that sat her back into her chair. “Jean! We do not threaten others with our skills.”

Logan put himself between the X-Men and Marie, trying to figure out what the fuck had just happened. “What the hell do you think you’re doin’, Marie?” he growled.

She clenched her hands into tight fists, still avoiding his gaze. “Taking care of myself, like I said I could.” She looked at Xavier again. “They got me where I live. When this is done, I want enough money to start over someplace new. I want...ten thousand dollars. And a fake ID.”

Xavier’s eyes showed his disappointment in her, but his voice was carefully neutral. “That can be arranged. Anything else?”

“Yeah.” She took a step further from Logan. “I want the collar.” She jerked her chin toward Hank. “He can tell me how it works, right? Like, if it needs batteries or something.”

Hank’s gaze was avid behind his round spectacles. “You brought the suppression collar?”

Marie pulled the collar and remote from the pocket of Logan’s leather jacket. Christ, he hadn’t even known it was there, but then again she had been wearing the jacket pretty much constantly since they had escaped. She set it on the table by Hank.

“Anyway, that’s my offer. Think about it. I’m going to find a place to take a nap. I suggest one of you start driving to Camden, and take a computer with a video camera or something. I only know how to get to the boat ramp in Delaware by sight, I’ll have to guide you from the bait shop. You can wake me up when you get there.”

With that she sailed out of the room. Hell, no, Logan thought. He gave her a five second head start -- just long enough to snap, “I’ll take care of this,” to the others -- and then he was stalking her down the mansion hallways.
___________

He caught up with her in the kitchen, firmly hustling her back out onto the terrace, ignoring her kicks and struggles. Once he got her out there he let her go, planting himself in front of the only door, arms crossed over his chest.

She glared at him, straightening his jacket around her. “What the hell, Logan?”

“Exactly what I was going to ask you, Marie. What the fuck was all that about?”

She dropped her eyes. “Just asking for what’s fair.”

“Fair? Money? And that damn collar? Since when did you care about that more than you care about stopping this thing? Finding those other girls, and the ones that got sold before you?”

He could tell from her scent that she was still hiding something, but her voice shook with genuine anger. “Fuck you, Logan. You don’t know what it’s like -- being a prisoner in your own skin. Not able to touch anyone without hurting them, and getting hurt yourself. I deserve that collar. And the money -- it doesn’t mean a thing to a guy like that.”

“Bullshit. You’re buying yourself time for something.” It was a shot in the dark, but he saw it hit home -- her eyes widened and her scent spiked again with fear. He felt the frustration welling up inside him. He grabbed her hard by her shoulders. “What is it, Marie? You already had the collar -- no one else even had to know. And the briefcase -- you had that too. I would have given them to you free and clear if you had asked me. Hell, you could have taken off with both of them, and not come back for me.”

His anger faded as he remembered what she had done for him. He took a deep breath, loosening his grip on her shoulders with an effort. His hands gentled, rubbing her arms and then down her back. He felt her take in a shuddering breath, her body trembling slightly beneath his hands.

“Marie. Darlin’.” His voice was a raspy whisper. “You told me about your mutation. You accessed Freddy’s memories, and -- God -- I could see how much that hurt you. You didn’t ask for anything then. What happened in there? What spooked you?”

He pulled her in close to him, and felt her usual brief resistance before she yielded, burying her face in his chest, hiding in him. He held her, trying to soothe her trembling, willing her to tell him what was going on. “You can trust me, Marie.”

It was the wrong thing to say. She stiffened, pulling free of his arms. She stepped away, huddled into herself. When her eyes met his they were shuttered, unreadable. “I don’t trust anyone,” she said flatly.

Freddy twisted the knife deeper, feeling a rush of satisfaction as he felt the blade scrape along the rib. The mutie freak just gritted his teeth, a whine of pain escaping him. Not good enough. He wanted to hear him beg. He wanted to hear him scream.

The mutie seemed to fade, his head drooping. A few more moments and he roused again. He raised his head, his eyes fixing on something behind Freddy. “Sorry, kid,” he rasped.

Freddy smiled. “Aw, that’s sweet,” he taunted. Maybe he’d cut on the girl next. He glanced behind him, and found the girl glaring at him. Good, still some spark left in her. He’d enjoy breaking her. Motherfucking mutie bitch whore...the things I’m gonna do to you when this is done, he thought with pleasure. The bastards who had hired him had been all strict about not damaging the merchandise after they found out what he’d done to the last girl, but he’d already been paid this time. They didn’t need to know about any of this.

Yeah, he could cut her a little first, make her scream. Nothing got him hotter than hearing a girl scream in pain, begging him for mercy. Too bad he only had the one collar, he was getting horny as hell just thinking about it. Oh well, he could still fuck her, he’d just have to be careful. He let his thoughts luxuriate on it a little. Maybe he’d make this healing motherfucker watch. That would be fun. He thought of her begging, screaming, while the other one raged, pulling helplessly at the cuffs.

Christ, it was going to be good...

_______________________

“Marie. Marie!”

She opened her eyes to a strange room. She felt a sickening spinning in her head, her mind seeming to twist and turn wildly until finally it settled. Marie.

The last of Freddy’s twisted arousal still lingered in her system, making bile rise up in her throat. She closed her eyes again, squeezing them tight. Don’t throw up, she told herself. Don’t throw up. She battled the nausea, taking shallow breaths in through her nose. It was all still so acute, so vivid -- the feel of the knife in her hand, juddering slightly as it scraped the bone, the rush of sick pleasure at every pained gasp and whine she had elicited from Logan.

“Marie. Darlin’, look at me.” His voice was gentle. How could he be kind to her, after what she had done?

“Oh God.” She heard her quavering voice as if from a distance. “What did I do? What did I do to you?”

“Hey.” She managed to open her eyes. Logan sat on the bed next to her, his face lined with concern. “It’s okay...it was just a nightmare.”

She shook her head. She couldn’t even think clearly, her thoughts still swamped with the horror of it. “It wasn’t...it really happened. I had a knife...” She looked down at her shaking hand, half-expecting to see the knife still there, her hand coated with blood. “I cut you, over and over, I enjoyed it. And what I wanted to do to her...” She stopped in confusion. “To me. To her.” She buried her face in her trembling hands. “Oh my god. I’m so fucked up.”

She wasn’t making any sense at all, but somehow he seemed to understand. “That wasn’t you, darlin’. That was him. That other guy, Freddy. You didn’t hurt me at all. You helped me, remember? I healed.”

Healed. She was suddenly frantic to see, to make sure. Before she knew what she was doing she had shoved his shirt up, tugging the white undershirt out and running her hands underneath. His hands twitched as if to stop her, and then dropped to his sides, clenched in fists. Afternoon light slanted through the curtains, illuminating his golden skin. She ran her gloved hands over it -- so warm, lightly furred. Flawless. For some reason that seemed worse.

“It’s like it never happened,” she said brokenly. Her hand on his cheek now, she ran her thumb over his eyebrow, looking at his eye. His warm golden gaze looked back at her, his eye not even cloudy anymore as it had been when he first healed. “But it did -- I remember. I remember everything.”

He pulled her close. She could feel him sigh, his chest heaving against her cheek. “I know. I remember too, darlin’. But it fades. It always fades.”

She shook her head against him numbly, unable to imagine that it would ever seem like a distant memory. He made it sound like he got hurt like that all the time. Maybe he did. That thought made the bile rise up again. She buried her face in his shirt, breathing in his soothing scent and warmth, listening to the steady thump of his heart.

He seemed content to just lie next to her, holding her. Six years since anyone had touched her with affection -- without pain or fear -- and he seemed to do it like it was natural. Like she couldn’t kill him with a touch. And she craved it -- God, how she craved the way he touched her. The simple closeness and warmth of another human being. Someone who knew who she was and yet still didn’t fear her.

Lying up against his body, the echo of the dream still haunting her mind, she felt raw and exposed. She tried to summon that anger that had carried her through earlier and found it out of reach. You can trust me, he had said. She desperately wanted to, but she was scared. Scared to trust him and scared not to -- to be on her own again. Like always.

“You trust these guys?” she finally mumbled into his shirt.

His answer was slow and thoughtful. “Yeah. I do. I don’t trust easy, but these guys -- they’ve earned it.” His voice turned rueful. “I know maybe you didn’t see the best side of them today -- ‘specially Jeannie -- but they’ve really come through for me in the past. They have their weaknesses and blind spots, like everybody does, but they’re good people. They helped me a lot.”

He brushed the white streak of her hair, so close to her face that she held her breath before realizing that he wore gloves. The thought that he had put gloves on for her made tears spring to her eyes again, and she hid her face, embarrassed at her weakness. He wouldn’t let her get away with that, though, his thumb firmly tilting her chin up until she met his warm amber gaze. “They would help you too. If you’d let them.”

She ducked her head back against his strong chest. “And Xavier? You trust him too?”

“Especially him.” Another sigh from him, and she closed her eyes again, drinking in the feeling of his warm chest moving against her cheek, the soft flannel of his shirt like a caress on her sensitive skin. “I’m feral -- did you know that? In addition to the healing -- I see better, hear better, smell...everything. But the metal -- it’s not just the claws, it’s all through my skeleton too. Unbreakable. Someone did that to me. Turned me into a weapon, and took away from me anything I was before then.”

“What do you mean, took it away?”

He exhaled softly. “I just woke up one day, not knowin’ who I was, with the metal in my body. Killed a few people gettin’ out from -- wherever it was, some sort of facility somewhere -- and then was out in the woods alone. Confused. Livin’ like an animal, off of what I could kill.”

One gloved finger tapped against her chest, unerringly finding the tags she wore around her neck, making them clink softly under her shirt. “These were all I had to go on, just the name Wolverine and nothin’ else to call my own.” She felt a fiery blush rise up her neck, making her cheeks burn. She hadn’t realized he had known that she was wearing the tags. She should have given them back as soon as he got better.

“I’m sorry,” she started. “I didn’t mean to...” She moved her hand to the back of her neck to pull the chain off, but his hand came firmly over hers, stilling it.

“Nah,” he said. “You keep ‘em for a little while longer.” His hand brushed her cheek, a swift caress so quick and light that she almost thought she imagined it.

“Anyway,” he continued. “Even after I got myself together a little more -- clothes, and a truck, and all that -- I was still living like an animal. Fightin’ in bars for money, not caring who I hurt. Stayin’ away from people for the most part, in case they saw what I really was. When Xavier first found me, I thought he was crazy. Tellin’ me that I was worth more than that, that I could do somethin’ better. Join his team. I told him to fuck off, and he didn’t even try to argue. He just left me his card. The address of this place.”

She heard the bemusement in his voice. “I still don’t know why it stuck in my head like it did. It took me weeks, but I found myself findin’ fights closer and closer to the border, and then across the border on the New York side. And then one day I found myself standin’ outside these gates. He didn’t even act surprised to see me, just let me in and told me there was a room waitin’ for me. I asked him what the hell he expected from me. What he was askin’ me to do.”

He stopped, apparently lost in the memory. Marie waited as long as she could stand before asking. “What did he say?”

A soft laugh from him. “He put it in fancy words, but basically what he said was that he was askin’ me to be the person that he knew I could be, instead of the person that I was. And damned if I didn’t realize that’s what I wanted too. Maybe it’s who I was before they took my memory away, or maybe it isn’t. Sometimes I think that maybe that person was even worse. But Xavier said it didn’t matter. That this place could be a fresh start for me, if I wanted it to be. If I would let it be. And it has been.” His voice was a low rumble against her ear. “It could be that for you too, Marie.”

The idea of that sent fear racing through her veins. She shook her head. “Someone like me...with what I can do.” She heard her own voice grow hard and bitter. “It’s better for everyone if I’m on my own.”

She felt the tension in his muscles at her refusal. He would be angry now, and go away. It was what she wanted, wasn’t it? To drive everyone away -- to be on her own. It was safer that way. She tried to pretend that she wasn’t savoring this last moment of contact, the final feel of a warm body -- his warm body -- close to hers. She drew in a deep breath and started to sit up. His arm casually looped around her, pulling her back down to him, her breath huffing from her in shock as she landed back on his chest.

“Easy, now,” he said calmly. “If that’s what you want -- to be on your own -- no one’s going to stop you. Show us the boat ramp, take the cash and the collar, and leave.” His voice grew low and intense. “But I don’t think that’s what you want. And so I’m askin’ you, Marie. Stay. Give these geeks a chance. Trust someone, for once. Trust me.”

“I...” She didn’t even know what she was going to say, but he didn’t give her the chance.

“Start with what happened in the study. Somethin’ spooked you, Marie. You can tell me.”

She felt the secret burning in her chest, choking her. She sat up, looking into his eyes, seeing nothing but warmth and concern. She drew her knees into her chest, hugging them, feeling her heart thumping in her chest. He slowly raised his hand, brushing her cheek again, and she had to fight not to nuzzle into his touch. She squeezed her eyes shut, teetering on the precipice of the decision. Finally she let her breath out in a sigh, and started to talk.

“I told you about the other ones I saw, the ones that Freddy sold before me?”

He nodded.

“The teenage boy -- maybe a little younger than me. The one they had to keep away from open flames. The guy who bought him was older, with an accent. European, maybe.”

Logan’s brow was still furrowed in puzzlement. It wasn’t too late. She could still change her mind.

Please, she thought. Please don’t let this be a mistake. “There’s a picture of him in Xavier’s study. He’s much younger in the picture, but I’d recognize him anywhere. Him and Xavier, with their arms around each other, like they’re old buddies or something.”

She watched as his body tightened with tension, his eyes narrowing as he searched his memory. “On the second bookshelf -- with a cathedral tower behind them? The guy in the grey wool cap?”

She nodded.

He took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Erik Lehnsherr. Magneto.”

“What does that mean?”

He lay back down, pulling her against him, squeezing her tight as his voice rumbled low in her ear. “It means, darlin’, that the Brotherhood is involved, and everything just got a helluva lot more complicated.”

Now that it was late afternoon, the halls were overrun with students. Logan watched Marie huddle into herself, flinching every time a student strayed too near. Her pulled her closer, his glowering presence alone enough to clear a path for them to the smaller staff kitchen.

He pulled a stool up to the island, pushing her onto it. He dug in the fridge, collecting an odd assortment of food -- cold fried chicken, fruit salad, cheese. “Eat,” he instructed.

She shot him a token glare, but without the usual force behind it. She still seemed shaken, even though he could smell her relief at having unburdened herself of her secret.

She carefully removed her gloves and started to eat, toying with the food at first and then eating more steadily as her stomach seemed to settle.

He leaned his elbows on the island, popping the cap of his beer on the edge of the solid marble countertop. He took a long draught, watching her eat, thinking over his next steps.

“I’m gonna call Xavier, in here, okay?” he asked. “Just him. And we’ll go from there.”

He saw the flicker of doubt in her eyes, the slight tensing of her muscles as if she would just take off running. He kept his eyes steady on hers, waiting, until the moment passed.

“Okay,” she said.
________________________

“Erik,” Xavier repeated, a wealth of pain and bitter memories in his shocked voice. He seemed smaller in the kitchen, more approachable than he had been in his imposing study, and Logan saw Marie’s suspicious gaze soften a little.

“Erik and I have certainly...had our differences,” Xavier said meditatively. Logan saw the briefest straining of his hands against the armrests of his wheelchair. He had never asked for details, but he knew that it was Lehnsherr who had put Xavier in the chair, decades ago. Differences indeed.

“I cannot fathom, however, that Erik would be a willing part of this...atrocity. It is exactly what he has fought so violently to oppose -- mutants being treated like chattel, the enslavement of a race. If there is one thing of which I can be certain, it is that Erik would revile such a practice.”

“Mar-- Rogue said he was posing as a buyer, and when it comes down to it so was I.” Logan took another long gulp of beer, considering. “I think the Brotherhood got wind of this thing before we did. I know we’ve butted heads with them in the past, but I think we may actually be on the same side on this one.”

Xavier nodded. “Which suggests that they may have more information than we do.”

“He let it happen.” They both turned, startled, at the sound of her clear, quiet voice. Marie’s eyes were still focused on the island countertop, one slender gloved finger tracing the whorls of ivory and gray in the marble.

“Rogue?” Xavier prompted.

She lifted her eyes to them, her expression stark and cold. “The one he bought -- Johnny -- it was more than a week ago. He knew about them all -- Freddy, and the rest. Where they were, and exactly what they were doing. He could have shut them down, like you guys were going to. But he didn’t. He let me...get hurt. Get sold.” She looked back down at the counter, her expression shuttered again. “And what they did to Logan. He just let it all happen.”

Logan saw Xavier’s almost imperceptible flinch.

“Acceptable losses,” Xavier mused. “Sadly, that is very much like Erik.”

Logan nodded, fighting to keep the snarl from his voice. “The Brotherhood is after the big fish. They would want to leave Freddy in place until they knew they had his supplier. Anything that happened in the meantime was just collateral damage.”

Xavier steepled his fingers, tapping them against his lips. “They would have kept the location under surveillance. I have no doubt that every member of the Brotherhood has been briefed on your dossier, Logan.”

This time the growl could not be contained, Logan’s claws humming in his forearms with the need for release as he reached the inevitable conclusion. “They’re the ones who tipped Freddy off. Nothing to lose. If I was there, Freddy and his crew were gonna get taken down one way or another. Tip them off, and maybe they take me down first. Either way, the Brotherhood gets rid of a thorn in their side.”

His eyes were drawn to Marie again. He had no doubts about what Freddy had planned for her, after he had finished torturing Logan. The thought that Lehnsherr would have stood back and let it all play out...the claws shimmered at the surface of his skin, and he clenched and unclenched his fists, forcing them back, trying to think unemotionally, tactically.

“So, the Brotherhood is trying to shut these guys down too, but they’re not above screwing us over in the process if the opportunity arises. What the hell does that mean? How does it change our plans?”

“I think...” Xavier paused, his keen mind considering all the ramifications. “I think that Erik and I will have to speak.”
________________________

Logan paced restlessly as Xavier dialed. He had turned a reluctant Marie over to Ororo to help guide Bobby and Peter to the boat ramp by videolink. Having her out of his sight made him edgy. He liked having her close to him, where he could keep an eye on her. Make sure she didn’t get into any trouble.

“Charles.” Lehnsherr’s crisp voice. “To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?”

“I think you know, Erik.”

A pause from Lehnsherr, and then a slow, rich, chuckle. “Well, well, Charles. So your little tin soldier survived his encounter with that delightful gentleman, Freddy? I have to admit I am strangely pleased. I had almost regretted that I would never have the opportunity to meet him in person. It appears that pleasure still awaits me.”

Logan watched a slow flush creep up Xavier’s face. “Enough, Erik!” he snapped. “I know that we have had our differences in the past, but I cannot believe...” He stopped, almost choking on his rage. “My children...”

“Aah.” Lehnsherr’s voice was suddenly grave. There was no further trace of mockery in his tone when he spoke again. “That I did not know, Charles. Which ones?”

Xavier and Logan exchanged glances. Logan nodded.

“Katherine Pryde. And Jubilation Lee. Five days ago.”

“Five days...” A thoughtful pause.

“Erik, you cannot withhold information under these circumstances. You must realize...”

“Now, now, Charles.” The mockery was back as Lehnsherr interrupted Xavier. “Information isn’t free. And I am not entirely sure that I want your merry little band of do-gooders poking their noses into this sensitive operation. However, I do think I could be convinced.”

“What do you want?” Xavier’s voice was detached, frosty.

“I have a fancy to meet this metal man of yours. The Wolverine. Bring him to meet me, and I’ll give you the information I have so far.”

Xavier’s face flushed red with anger. “You must be mad, Erik. We are all very aware of the harm you could inflict on Wolverine with your mutation. It would be unconscionable to ask him to take that risk -- I won’t allow it.”

"You won't allow it? I hadn't realized you kept your pet on so tight a leash, Charles. Why don't you let him speak for himself? Or am I only imagining that it is he that I hear growling in the background?"

Logan had heard enough. "Just give me one reason why I should give you the satisfaction, you son of a bitch."

"One reason? Jubilee and -- what is that dreadful nickname -- Kitty? I count two."

"You bastard --"

Lehnsherr's dry voice interrupted. "But if you truly need more convincing, Wolverine, I have an additional incentive for you. It regards Weapon X."

Logan felt the blood drain from his head, his whole body breaking out in a cold, prickling sweat. "What does Weapon X have to do with this?"

"Exactly the point, Wolverine. Wouldn't you like to know?" Lehnsherr's voice turned crisp and authoritative now, all mockery gone. "Tomorrow at noon in Central Park. Charles, you know where. I'll bring the boy, so you can be assured of his safety -- but the Wolverine must come, or I give you nothing."

A soft click, and then a dial tone.

Logan looked at Xavier, his mind still racing. "Fuck," he finally said.

Xavier's sharp blue eyes met his, his usually calm gaze seeming equally disquieted. "Indeed."

Ororo watched as Logan spoke in a low undertone to the girl. The connection between them was so obvious -- almost frightening in its intensity. She supposed that she should disapprove. Although the girl was certainly of age there was something so fragile and vulnerable about her. Instead of causing disapproval, however, watching the two of them together warmed something inside Ororo.

Maybe it was the change in Wolverine -- how gentle and patient he was with her. Proximity to the girl seemed to ease something inside him, his typical impression of barely-restrained brutality replaced by a gruff protectiveness. Ororo marveled at the way his eyes seemed to soften and warm when they lit on the girl, how his voice transformed from his usual sarcastic snarl to a low, reassuring rumble.

She wondered if he even realized how much he touched the girl -- small grazes of his hand over her hair, a squeeze of her shoulder, the seemingly reflexive way he pulled her close against his side whenever she was afraid or uncertain. Or the way the girl responded to these small touches -- her eyes glowing, her face brightening like someone first glimpsing the sunshine after a long, cold winter.

Ororo smiled at her own fanciful metaphor. Logan had always puzzled her in his approach to personal relationships. She knew he considered them all to be his friends -- or at least as close to friends as the Wolverine had ever had -- and yet even after six years he still kept a careful distance between himself and the other staff members. He was always professional, but in a way that was not encouraging of personal confidences. Ororo had heard tales of his tomcat behavior outside of work hours, but he always kept that strictly separate from mansion activities, and if he ever saw the same girl for more than one night she would be surprised.

And then there had been his odd fascination with Jean. Ororo felt her smile disappear just thinking of the way Jean had acted. Jean was her friend -- almost her sister -- and yet she had been completely dismissive of Ororo’s advice on that matter. For Jean to start flirting with Logan so heedlessly, knowing she had no intention of following through -- Ororo had found it appalling.

She had told herself that perhaps Jean just needed to experience the excitement of flirting, the thrill of being chased. Jean had been with Scott for so long it was hard to even think of them as individuals rather than a couple. Their engagement, instead of reassuring Jean, had seemed to bring out all her insecurities. And yet it wasn’t Jean for whom Ororo had worried, or even Scott, who perhaps understood Jean’s behavior more than anyone, sharing a connection as they did. Instead Ororo had feared for Logan -- something about the intense, watchful way he had looked at Jean hinting that his feelings might run deeper than the simple, crude flirtation he affected.

Before this last mission, when Logan had finally seemed to realize Jean’s game and had told her off, Jean was spitting mad but Ororo was immensely relieved. And in truth, she suspected that a lot of Jean’s anger was rooted in guilt and shame over her behavior. With probably a healthy dose of genuine anger as well -- Jean refused to admit exactly what Logan had said to her, but knowing the man Ororo suspected he had made no effort to be tactful. No one likes to be made a fool of, least of all the Wolverine, Ororo thought with a smile.

They were finally parting now, Logan having convinced the girl to accompany Ororo to where the videolink was set up. Ororo fancied that she could almost hear a tearing sound as the two of them pulled apart. Again she wondered how conscious Logan was of the connection between them. The animal in him was so intuitive -- on some level he must know. And yet, Ororo knew that Logan tried to suppress his feral instincts in most circumstances, only unleashing the Wolverine in combat. Yes, she surmised, Logan himself might not yet know how deeply he was entangled with the girl. She smothered her smile as he turned towards her. It would be entertaining to watch him coming to terms with that realization -- as long as he didn’t struggle too hard against it, the poor man.

_____________________

"There. At the end of the gravel path. See the ramp? They anchored off there, and used a motorized raft to get back. It was one of those fishing boats, ya know? Not like the professionals have, but like rich guys get when they retire. Two levels, but not big enough that you have to open the drawbridges for it."

Ororo had felt a tightness in her chest since they had realized that Jubilee and Kitty had been abducted, and for the first time she felt it ease a bit. It was a slim lead, but if this was really where they would be brought she would be damned if anything would stop the team from getting them back -- and god help those who had taken them.

“Piotr, Bobby, set up the cameras, but be sure nothing is visible from the ramp or road. We don’t want to tip them off. Start with a cycle of four-hour watches in the day, six hours at night. We don’t expect them until day after tomorrow, at night, but we need to be prepared. If you see them, alert us immediately, but do not engage -- understand? We’ll only have one chance at this.”

“We will be ready at all times.” Piotr’s voice was grim. Ororo had suspected for awhile that he might have special feelings for Kitty, and his reaction to her abduction had turned that suspicion to a certainty.

“We’ll get them back, Piotr. I promise.” Ororo heard the roughness of tears in her own voice.

“Da.” Piotr ended the videolink.

Ororo looked at Rogue, a little embarrassed at the emotion she had revealed, but the girl was staring at the table.

Ororo shifted awkwardly to her feet, clearing her throat. “Thank you, Rogue. You’ve been a great help.”

The girl pulled Logan’s jacket more tightly around herself. She lifted her gaze to Ororo, her eyes sharp and suspicious. “So that takes care of your friends. What about the others?”

Ororo gestured to a large desktop computer, numbers and letters scrolling across the screen. “Logan was able to give us Freddy's account number. If we’re able to hack in, we can try to track who made the other transfers -- bought the others. It’ll take time, though, the computer has to run through every possible password. There are ways to optimize the search pattern, but..." She felt a lump rise up in her throat, making her voice rough. “Kitty was always the best at that sort of stuff.”

Rogue sat in silence for a moment and then stood up, her arms still wrapped around herself protectively. To Ororo’s surprise, she took a few steps and then sat down at the keyboard, her gloved fingers trembling above the keys.

“Rogue -- do you know Freddy’s password?” Ororo asked in amazement.

Rogue shrugged, her expression shuttered. “Not yet.”

She bowed her head, closing her eyes. Ororo saw her grow pale. A twitch of her muscles and then her hands were moving over the keyboard, typing out a password. She hit the return key, and the account opened.

“Rogue -- that’s amazing! Thank you...” Ororo reached out to squeeze Rogue’s shoulder.

The next thing she knew she was pushed back hard, the edge of a filing cabinet biting sharply into her spine. The hand that Ororo had reached toward Rogue was now twisted behind her back, Rogue’s other gloved hand wrapped around her throat. Rogue’s eyes were blank, and the voice that spoke seemed eerily unfamiliar.

“Fucking mutie bitch...” Rogue hissed, wrenching Ororo’s arm higher, causing a sizzling pain to shoot through her shoulder.

Ororo drew in her breath sharply, biting back her yelp of pain. “Rogue....” She tried desperately to keep her voice calm. “Rogue, stop it. Let go.”

The hand at her throat tightened as an evil smile spread across Rogue’s face. “That’s right, bitch. Beg me for it.”

“Rogue!”

A blink, and Rogue’s blank eyes cleared. Ororo watched as the malicious expression changed to stunned confusion and then a growing dismay. Rogue jerked her hands away from Ororo, staring at them in horror for a moment before whirling away.

Ororo straightened up gingerly, cradling her wrenched arm, not sure what to do. She stared at Rogue’s stiff back and bowed head, wishing she could see her face. “Rogue?”

Rogue swiped the sleeve of the leather jacket across her eyes, drawing in a shuddering breath. “Just leave me alone,” she said, her voice shaky and miserable, and then she was out the door.

Ororo started to follow and then hesitated. She looked back at the computer. If the password timed out...there was no way she would ever ask Rogue to do that again.

With a sigh, she sat down at the computer and started tapping.

Rogue heard a knock on her door. She ignored it, just as she had the other two times. This time, however, he seemed more determined.

"Rogue? Open the door."

She put her head down on her knees. Better for everyone if I'm on my own, she repeated to herself.

"Rogue." A pause, and then, "Marie."

She covered her ears with her hands.

She heard the door creak as he leaned into it. "Listen, Marie, I have to leave in a few minutes, and I need to know that you’re okay before I go.” His voice lowered to a growl. “I’m comin’ in one way or another, so open the damn door.”

He was leaving? Her heart sank further. Before she knew it she was in front of the door, her legs stiff and shaky underneath her. She turned the lock and he came inside so quickly she almost tripped over her own feet backing away from him, averting the exposed skin of her face and neck.

She sat back down on the bed, avoiding his eyes, not wanting to see what he thought of her now. Crazy, out-of-control Marie.

“Scoot over.” He pushed in beside her on the bed, startling her.

“What...”

“Hush. It helps.” He pulled her in close along his side, and almost against her will she felt it -- the easing of the tension in her chest, the reflexive way she relaxed into the warmth and heat of his body, the way her jumpy heart slowed into a more steady rhythm.

She pressed her face into his warm leather jacket, realizing he was in some sort of uniform. “Where are you going?” she mumbled.

“Ororo thinks we found one of ‘em. The little kid -- Owen. We had to trace it through a bunch of dummy accounts, but we have an address, at least, to check out.”

She was startled into looking up, into his eyes. “Really?”

He smiled, his golden hazel gaze warm, not at all what she had expected. “Really.”

He hesitated for a moment, his eyes searching hers. “‘Ro told me what happened.”

She ducked her head down again.

His arm around her shoulders gave her a squeeze. “That was a gutsy thing you did, gettin’ the password.”

She shook her head miserably against his shoulder. “Ororo is...she’s nice, and I hurt her. I keep hurting people. That’s all I’m good for.”

“Dammit, Marie...” His voice was sharp with irritation, and she flinched. He stopped and took a deep breath, apparently gentling his voice with an effort. “You couldn’t be more wrong. If we find Kitty and Jubes, it’ll be because of you. If we find this kid tonight -- that’ll be your doing too. Ororo’s fine. It’s you I’m worried about.”

She pulled away from him, moving to look out the window at the gathering dusk, trying to keep it together. The last thing she wanted was his pity. “I’m fine.”

“Are you?”

She leaned her forehead against the chilly glass. What could she say to that? Of course she wasn’t fine. She was crazy. Violent. Toxic.

He sighed. She didn’t hear him move but suddenly he was behind her, his strong chest against her back, arms wrapped around her, his chin resting on her head. His voice was rough when he spoke. “Marie...”

Whatever he was planning to say, he seemed to change his mind. He pulled away, clearing his throat. “Get some sleep. I’ll see you in the mornin’, okay?”

She didn’t turn around until she heard the door shut behind him.
_______________________

Logan sat in the bucket seat of the jet, his leather-gloved hands clenched on the armrests. Flying, like pain, was another thing he should be used to by now, but he just hadn’t managed it. To add to the fun, Ororo had stayed at the mansion to track the remaining transaction. Scott was flying the jet, leaving Logan and Jean in the back.

Ten minutes into the flight and he was already tired of her anxious smell and the way she was avoiding meeting his eyes.

“Out with it, Jeannie,” he finally snapped.

She shot a nervous glance at Scott, but he was still engrossed with his instrument panel.

“I’m sorry,” she finally said, to his surprise. “For...a lot of things. But especially how I treated you and Rogue when you got back to the mansion.”

She looked down, fiddling with a fingernail. “I know that you were right about some of the things you said to me, but...it hurt. And you said them and then just took off. I just had to stew, and wait, and worry when we thought something had happened to you...”

He raised a skeptical eyebrow, and she sensed it. She met his gaze now, anger coloring her voice.

“It’s true -- I worried just as much as Scott and ‘Ro and the rest of them...spent half the night wide awake, worrying, and then you just breeze in, with that girl wrapped around you, wearing your coat...” Her scent was tinged with jealousy now.

“Jesus Christ, Jeannie, she’s just a kid.”

Now it was her turn to raise a skeptical eyebrow. “Don’t tell me you actually believe that, Logan.”

Unbidden, the memory of saying goodbye to Marie sprang to his mind. How it had felt to hold her in his arms as she looked out the window, the thoughts that had been in his mind before he had managed to catch himself and pull away from her...

Suddenly it was he who couldn’t meet Jeannie’s eyes.

He looked out the window at the lights of rural Pennsylvania below, flexing his fingers. “I’m not...some kind of animal,” he muttered, wondering which of them he was trying to convince.

“Oh, Logan...”

Scott popped his head into the back. “We’re starting our descent. Should be on the ground in a minute or two.”

Jean smiled at him. “Thanks, honey.”

She looked at Logan again, her voice amused now. “Well, anyway. I’m sorry. I hope...that we can be friends again.”

“I’d like that. And...I shouldn’ta threatened you like that.”

She smiled. “Yeah, probably not. But I think I know why you did.”

“What do you mean by that?” he asked sharply.

His only answer was a widening of her smile as she moved forward to join Scott in the front, volunteering to help him with the landing sequence.

________________________

Their point of entry was an attic window. Scott took the lead at first, but the house -- smaller than Xavier’s but definitely a mansion in its own right -- was so large that Logan took over, tracking the faint scent of a young boy through the maze of rooms and passages.

The place seemed abandoned, but the boy’s scent was fresh. They passed through room after room, each one darkened, the white hulks of dustsheet-covered furniture looming eerily up out of the gloom.

Finally, a few rooms on the lower level showed signs of habitation. A messy kitchen, with dirty dishes piled on every surface. A once-grand study littered with newspapers and coffee cups.

Scott paused for a moment, shining a flashlight on the study walls. Framed newspaper articles touted the accomplishments of Randolph Coal, accompanied by pictures of a bewhiskered Martin Randolph, and then later what appeared to be his son, a grim-looking Samuel Randolph. From what Ororo had been able to tell, Samuel Randolph had raided the last assets of his failing company to buy the boy.

Logan rumbled his impatience, and they moved on. They entered a dark hallway where the silence of the house was finally broken, two televisions flickering behind two different doors. The door on the left was slightly ajar, but the door further down the hall on the right was deadbolted and chained on the outside.

Scott gestured unnecessarily -- Logan was already snicking out a claw. He inserted it between the door and the frame, the adamantium blade cutting straight through the bolts and latches like a hot knife through butter.

He gritted his teeth, preparing himself for what he might find, and opened the door.

A young boy sat on the bed, fully dressed. Logan scanned the room, finding only more newspapers and magazines -- the Wall Street Journal, Financial Times, the Economist, Finance India, Kiplinger -- and a television, locked in a glass cabinet, blaring the stock report.

The boy raised his head, regarding them calmly. He hopped off the bed.

“I’m already packed,” he said, reaching under the bed and pulling out a battered suitcase.

Logan, Scott, and Jean exchanged glances. Jean stepped forward into the room, coming to a crouch in front of the boy.

“Owen? Hi there. I’m Jean, and that’s Scott and Logan. We’re going to...”

“I know,” the boy interrupted.

Jean looked uncertainly back at the others. “Um...”

“I can see what’s going to happen,” the boy added. “But only sometimes.” He shifted the suitcase to his other hand, gesturing to the television. “Not like he wants.”

His face was expressionless, lit in flashes of greens and blues by the television screen.

“He’s going to die now,” he said, his voice flat.

Jean looked back at the others again, and then her eyes widened.

“Scott!” she yelled in warning, just as Logan launched himself at the man who had appeared in the doorway of the other room, gun drawn.

They went down together, the gun flying from the man’s hand -- aided no doubt by Jean’s telekinesis -- as the man’s head hit the hardwood floor with a loud crack.

Logan jerked his hand back with a snarl, snicking the claws out.

“Wait!” Scott grabbed Logan’s arm, and Logan shook him off impatiently.

“Logan...” Jean was there now, pushing between Logan and the man. “Let me see...”

Logan managed to rein in the bloodlust, breathing heavily. He stood up, watching as Jean opened the man’s eyes, shining a light into his pupils -- one small, the other blown so wide the man’s iris was just a thin blue rim. The man jerked -- his arms pulling up into his chest, hands clenched in fists, while his legs strained outward.

Jean pulled the man’s robe open, pressing her ear against his pajama jacket. “Subdural hematoma,” she muttered. “He’s herniating.”

She placed two fingers on his carotid artery, and then looked at Scott, shaking her head. “It’s too fast.” Logan could have told her that, he could already hear the man’s pulse stuttering to a stop.

Jean’s eyes strayed to the boy, standing in the doorway now with his suitcase, watching the scene impassively. He shrugged. “I told him.”

Scott’s mouth was compressed into a thin line. He flipped on the light, crouching down in front of the boy as Jean had. “Anyone else know that you’re here? Was anyone else a part of this?”

The boy shook his head.

Scott straightened, assuming the mantle of authority that came so naturally to him. “Logan, he slipped in the shower. Set it up. Jean, wipe this room clean of prints.” He took the suitcase from the boy. “Owen and I will start the jet. Sound good to you, buddy?”

The boy smiled for the first time, his face pinkening with excitement. “Cool.”

A knock on the door pulled Marie from her restless sleep. She squinted against the bright morning light. “Yeah?”

“Open up.” Logan’s voice.

She rubbed her eyes blearily. She had stayed up late, watching for the jet to land back under the basketball court. Even then, she had been unable to sleep, wondering what had happened on the mission, worried that something had gone wrong, that Logan had been hurt...

She pulled the door open a crack. “Don’t you ever sleep?”

He smiled. “Never, darlin’.” He had already showered, his hair a wild damp ruffle. Her heart thumped a little harder at the sight of him.

He looked her up and down, his grin widening. She blushed -- she must look a mess.

“I’ll give you ten minutes,” he said. “Get ready.”

“Wha...”

He beeped his watch, raising an eyebrow. “Nine minutes, fifty-eight seconds...”

She slammed the door in his face, pulling her pajamas off frantically as she headed for the shower.
_____________________

“Where are we going?” she asked, as he practically pulled her down the stairs. She had never seen him so...ebullient. It was making her nervous.

“Breakfast.”

She braced her feet, jerking them to a stop. “You hustled me out of bed just for breakfast?”

He looked back at her impatiently. “There’s something I want you to see. C’mon.”

She reluctantly followed him, until they got to the open door of a noisy cafeteria. She peeked in, and ducked back. “I can’t go in there...it’s too crowded. My skin...”

He was relentless, tugging her towards the door. “It’ll be fine. C’mon, ‘Ro’s saving us seats.”

As much as he had seemed to dismiss her fears he still stood close by her side, the solid bulk of his body automatically blocking others from getting too near as he guided her to the seat.

He sat down across from her, looking smug. Marie looked at Ororo, who was also smiling ear to ear. “What?” Marie asked sharply, feeling like she had been left out of some joke.

Ororo nodded her head at a table behind Logan. Marie looked over at a bunch of kids, eating and laughing. She looked back at Ororo, and Logan, and something in their eyes made her look again, more closely.

“Is that...”

Ororo’s smile, impossibly, widened. “Owen. He got here last night. You found him, Rogue.”

Marie’s eyes were irresistibly drawn back to the boy. He seemed so happy -- at ease, as if he had been at the mansion for years and not hours.

“He’s staying? He doesn’t have parents, or someone to go home to?”

Ororo’s smile faltered. “His mom died last year, and his dad was never around. He was in a series of foster homes, but with his gift...he made people uncomfortable. The last home never even reported him missing until he was due at school two weeks ago.” Her blue eyes snapped with anger. “They collected the checks for an extra two months after he was taken.”

Ororo’s eyes softened as she looked at the table of kids again. “It seems to be the case for a lot of kids whose mutations start before puberty -- Hank believes trauma triggers early activation of the X-gene. Owen’s mutation started with the death of his mother.”

Marie felt the sudden burn of tears at the back of her nose, overwhelmed by a rush of feelings too complex for her to even explain. Pride that she had helped find him. Anger at the people who had abandoned and exploited him. And an odd sense of bitterness and regret.

Owen would be happy here -- she knew it, just looking at him. She found herself wondering what might have happened if she had found this place when her parents first kicked her out. Before life had pushed her around. Before she got so hard, and angry, and bitter.

She looked back at Ororo and Logan. Logan’s mouth was quirked in a little half-smile that suddenly made him look quite young, his eyes warm as they met hers. She avoided his gaze, gripped by a sudden rush of queasiness. She didn’t know how to do this -- this connection to other people. Growing to like them, and rely on them. She didn’t want it. She felt her heart start to beat faster, a creeping panic speeding her pulse.

“Rogue?” Ororo’s voice was soft and kind, almost maternal, and it only made Marie’s panic increase. She felt like something inside her was breaking, some wall that she had created to protect herself was crumbling. Logan’s gaze was concerned now, and she felt a cold sweat break out over her body. She felt as if the eyes of everyone at the table -- everyone in the room -- were focused on her, watching her shatter.

“I’m not hungry,” she managed. She stood up, almost knocking her chair over, clumsy in her desperation to be free of the situation. The room was so crowded and noisy -- it felt like everything was closing in on her. She backed away from the table. Everywhere she turned there were kids -- running, laughing...vulnerable. Bumping carelessly against her, their skin exposed to hers, not even noticing her deadly presence.

She started to hyperventilate, her blood roaring in her ears. She felt like she was struggling through quicksand as she wove through the press of children towards the door. She was suddenly clear, running through the paneled hallways to her room. She slammed and locked the door behind her, pressing her back to it as if it might be broken down at any moment.

What had she been thinking, to come here? To follow Logan so blindly, to a school of all places? To let these people into the life she had so carefully scraped out for herself, a life where she didn’t need anybody and nobody needed her. She had spent six hard years building up these walls -- controlling the voices, brutally suppressing the naive and tender-hearted Marie so that all that was left was Rogue -- tough, wary, Rogue. Rogue was protected from all the hurt and betrayal that had almost destroyed pathetic, dumb Marie. She was safe. Why, in a moment of vulnerability, had she ever given Logan that other name -- the name of that needy, weak girl that she used to be?

She gulped in a deep breath, wrestling with the fear, shoving it down in her mind, armoring herself with the hostility and detachment that she had foolishly allowed to slip over the last few days. Fear and loneliness -- those emotions belonged to Marie. She wasn’t Marie. She was Rogue, and she was strong. She didn’t need anyone to take care of her, and if someone hurt her she would hurt them back double. With that thought burning in her head, she went to find Xavier.

The steering wheel creaked ominously under Logan's grip, and he forced his tense fingers to loosen.

"There's no reason for the kid to be there," he growled for the third time, knowing even as the words left his mouth that the argument had already been lost.

Xavier favored him with a long-suffering sigh. “She is an adult, Logan, and allowed to make her own decisions. She has as much of a stake in this as we do, and she has promised to stay in the car with Jean. In any event, we need her to identify the boy.”

“She could have done that remotely. No damn need to get her anywhere near this bastard.”

Xavier’s keen eyes caught Logan’s glance in the rear-view mirror. “Rogue has been keeping her distance from everyone at the mansion. I see her willingness to become involved in this mission as a very good sign.” His voice became more persuasive. “If she forms connections to us, and understands the principles for which we are striving...” A knowing look entered his eyes. “She may decide to stay.”

Logan could only growl at this blatant manipulation. His gut was telling him that everything about this meeting was wrong, and having Marie anywhere nearby was a mistake.

He pulled up to the curb, slamming the car into park. “We’re here.”
______________________________

Logan carefully navigated Xavier’s wheelchair down the path. From the corner of his eye he could see the car with Jean and Marie pull up and park, but he was careful not to let his gaze stray in that direction.

He pushed Xavier’s wheelchair towards the elderly man sitting at a chess table, a sullen-looking teenage boy standing beside him. Despite the metal helmet on his head, the elderly man only received the occasional second glance from passing joggers. Only in Manhattan.

“Erik,” Xavier said, his eyes lingering on the helmet with the faintest note of mockery.

“Charles.” Magneto took in Xavier’s all-plastic wheelchair with a similarly ironic expression. “Would you be so kind?” He inclined his head towards the passers-by, and Xavier nodded curtly, spreading a telepathic field to subconsciously guide bystanders away from the area and ensure that whatever occurred would be ignored by anyone who did happen past.

Xavier’s hands tightened on the arms of his chair. “May I presume that this is Johnny?”

The boy, who had been restlessly flicking a lighter, lifted his head. "It’s Pyro to you, grandpa," he snapped.

Magneto's mouth twitched up in a smirk. “We are still working on his manners, obviously,” he said dryly.

From the corner of his eye Logan saw Jean flash her lights once, signaling that Marie had confirmed the boy was the one she had seen in Freddy’s memories.

Magneto’s cold grey eyes lifted to Logan. "And this must be the notorious Wolverine. It is a true pleasure.” As Magneto’s gaze swept him from head to toe, Logan felt an odd humming through his metal skeleton. He clenched his jaw against the eerie sensation, unwilling to give Magneto the satisfaction of a response to this obvious provocation.

“Yeah, well. Wish I could say the same. Now what in the hell do you want from me?”

Magneto chuckled. “You do not disappoint, Wolverine. You are every bit the blunt instrument I expected.”

“Enough of this,” Xavier interjected. “Erik, if you know anything more about who has Kitty and Jubilee, you must tell us. You cannot expect us to believe that Weapon X has something to do with this. Nick Fury personally assured me that the program had been shut down -- entirely disbanded.”

Magneto tilted his head back, his eyes hooded and unreadable as he regarded Xavier. “Far be it for me to disagree with such an illustrious personage as Nick Fury, but...” He pulled two folders from his coat, tossing the first on the chess table. “The Weapon X program may have lost government funding, but you of all people should know that a man obsessed would not allow his life’s work to be eradicated by a few signatures on some government documents.”

Xavier reached for the folder, flipping it open to a dossier page. A gray-haired man with glasses looked solemnly out from a photograph.

“Dr. Abraham Cornelius,” Magneto stated. “Former second-in-command of the Weapon X program. In contrast to what General Fury may believe, he has not resigned himself to an early retirement. When the government shut down Weapon X, he recruited several key scientists and took the core of the operation private. They abduct mutants. Sell the ones with less...potential...to fund the continued experimentation and weaponization of the others.”

The cold grey eyes snapped back to Logan. “Together with this man. He’s in it purely for the money.” The second folder was tossed to Logan, and he caught it automatically.

He opened it up. A straggly-haired blond man stared out from a mugshot, his malicious smirk exposing sharp canine teeth. Logan had never seen the man before, but for some reason his pulse sped up, his blood rushing through his body at the sight of him. “Victor Creed,” he read aloud.

“Victor Creed,” Magneto affirmed. His sharp eyes remained steadily on Logan. “Do you know him?”

Logan met Magneto’s gaze, every sense alert -- Magneto’s tension had increased at the question despite his continued facade of nonchalance.

“Never heard of ‘em. Why?”

“No reason in particular, Wolverine. I thought you might enjoy an introduction. You have much in common, after all. Both feral, both superhealers...”

“Enough bullshit,” Logan growled, the leash on his temper finally snapping. He stalked towards Magneto, his claws snicking out. “These are the guys who have Kitty and Jubes? Where are they? What else are you keeping from us, you sonuvabitch?”

Magneto’s casual posture disappeared instantly. He held out a hand, freezing Logan in place by his metal skeleton. A twitch of his fingers and Logan was lifted off his feet, his body stretched and twisted by the pressure on his skeleton.

“Don’t bark at me, you mangy dog,” Magneto hissed.

“Erik! Release him!” Xavier snapped.

“Stay out of this, Charles. There is a war brewing, and I need to know if your mutt here is as loyal as he appears. So tell me again, Wolverine. Have you ever met Victor Creed?”

He spread his fingers and Logan’s claws spread wide, tearing at the fine muscles and tendons of his hand. Logan closed his eyes and clenched his jaw against the haze of pain, a roar of rage stifled in his throat.

“Put. Him. Down.” Marie’s clear voice cut through the pain, and Logan’s eyes snapped open to see her standing next to Magneto, an ungloved hand inches away from his face. Fuck.

The pressure on Logan’s skeleton diminished somewhat as Magneto’s attention snapped to the kid.

“And who might you be, little girl?”

“I’m the one you didn’t care enough to help. The one who kills with a touch,” Marie hissed.

Logan saw the awareness enter Magneto’s eyes as he instinctively shrank back from her hand.

Pyro made a sudden move towards her and she held her other ungloved hand out in his direction. “Don’t even try it. I’ll drain the life from you before you can even make a spark.”

Magneto caught himself and straightened. His eyes mockingly swept over her small figure -- the slender frame still wrapped in Logan’s huge jacket, the bruised face, and finally the trembling ungloved hands.

“And you think to threaten me, child?” His mouth turned up in a mocking smile. “I believe you have forgotten something.”

Quick as a flash, Logan’s dogtags whipped up from around Marie’s neck, tightening on her throat with a force that sent her stumbling back a few steps.

Logan struggled helplessly against the force holding him in place, snarling as he watched the tags pin Marie back up against a tree. Her small fingers were scrabbling at her throat, trying to loosen them, but Magneto was merciless.

“Erik!” Xavier roared. “Stop this immediately! Let them go!”

“Oh, I will, my friend. But I think that they both need a lesson. And I have a wish to see exactly how well your metal man here can heal.”

A flick of his fingers, and Logan was sent careening toward Marie. He saw her eyes widen even further in panic as she understood Magneto’s meaning. He strained futilely as his hand was drawn up by Magneto’s force to press firmly against Marie’s face.

For two long seconds everyone was frozen in place, and then suddenly the pain wracked him -- more than he had ever felt before. It felt like every nerve in his body was on fire, every muscle seizing, every cell exploding. Through the red haze of agony he saw dark veins pop out over his hand and arm as tears leaked out from under Marie’s closed eyelids.

A moment later and they were thrown apart. Logan landed on his back, the impact of the hard ground echoing through his ravaged body. He managed to curl on his side, coughing and gasping. Through dimmed vision he saw Marie, fallen to her knees by the tree, the tags now lying laxly against her chest.

Marie raised her head, her deep brown eyes flashing golden amber. Logan blinked, thinking his vision was failing him, but it was not -- before his eyes, the dark purple bruise was fading from her face, the red mark of the chain disappearing from her neck. She struggled to her feet, growling -- Logan’s own, feral growl.

“Fascinating,” Magneto murmured, and Logan felt a sinking sensation in his gut at the intent interest in his voice. “You have hidden depths, little girl. I think perhaps you may be coming with us after all.”

“Charles!” Jean’s voice rang out, as she telekinetically pulled Magneto’s helmet from his head.

Xavier’s response was instantaneous. “Sleep,” he said, and Magneto and Pyro slumped, Jean cushioning the boy’s fall.

Marie was crawling on her hands and knees now, snarling, making her way towards Magneto.

“Rogue -- sleep,” Xavier said, and she slumped to the ground as well.

“Marie...” Logan ground out. He pushed up on his elbows, trying to get up, but his head spun dizzily. The ground seemed to pitch and roll underneath him, and his vision dimmed again before blackness overtook him.
________________________

Logan struggled toward consciousness, first becoming aware of a wrenching, full-body ache, and then a relentless pounding in his head. He forced his eyes open, squinting into the bright lights with a growl.

The med bay. Fuck, they knew he hated this place. What the hell was he doing here?

He tensed his muscles against the ache, trying to sit up.

“Easy, friend.” A furry paw landed on his shoulder, gently restraining him. “You may sit up, but do it slowly.”

He turned his head, trying to swat the paw away but finding his limbs strangely heavy. His voice was a dry rasp when he spoke. “Goddammit, Hank, what the hell did you do to me?”

Hank chuckled. “Ever the sparkling personality, my friend. But it was not I who did this to you.” The paw shifted to Logan’s back, helping him upright. The room heaved and whirled for a nauseating minute, and Logan breathed deep through his nose. Jesus, he felt like he’d been run over by a truck. And he should know, it wouldn’t have been the first time.

He managed to get a hand up, pulling electrodes off his chest, the shrill whine of the alarm piercing his throbbing skull before Hank flipped a switch and silenced it. He ran a hand over his face. “What happened?”

Hank’s voice was grave now. “It was Magneto. Or rather, Magneto by way of that exceptional young woman -- Rogue.”

Logan’s eyes snapped open as he remembered with a rush. His futile struggling as he saw his own hand pressed hard to Marie’s face, the tears that had leaked from her eyes as the pain consumed him. And then afterwards...her eyes glinting golden, her feral growl, her injuries healing before his eyes. And not just his eyes, but Magneto’s very interested eyes as well. I think you may be coming with us after all.

“Where is she?” he growled, jumping to his feet.

“Careful!” Hank barked, as Logan swayed. Hank shoved a burly shoulder under Logan’s arm, bracing him. “It took three of us and Jean’s telekinesis to get your considerable bulk onto that exam table in the first place, do not make me do it a second time,” he snapped in irritation. “Rogue is...safe enough for now. I will take you to her as soon as you are able to walk, but your pig-headedness is helping no one right now.”

Logan clenched his jaw, drawing in another deep breath. Slowly he found his footing and was able to shift his weight from Hank’s shoulder.

“That’s better,” Hank said calmly.

“What do you mean she’s safe enough for now? I saw what happened. She...changed.”

Hank’s blue eyes assessed Logan through his round glasses. “You are correct about that. As you know, when Rogue touches someone, she takes on...aspects of their personality. Memories, and emotions, and the rest. What none of us realized -- not even Rogue, I suspect -- is that when Rogue touches a mutant, she has the ability to take on their mutation as well.”

“Meaning what? She heals now?”

A curt nod from Hank, but Logan read the hesitance in his eyes. “What else?”

“You must control your temper, my friend. We had no choice.”

The claws slipped free before he knew it. “Goddammit, Hank, no choice in what?” He heard the starkness in his own voice, the icy control that came just before the ungovernable rage.

Hank’s gaze flickered down to the claws, and then back up to Logan’s eyes. “Follow me. She is in containment.”

Hank was feral too -- there was nothing careless about the way he deliberately turned his back on Logan, leading the way down the hallway. Logan could not suppress the low rumble in his chest as he followed Hank to the containment room.

Hank opened the door to the observation room, allowing Logan to go first. “We are not certain how, but she found a way to resist Charles’s suggestion after a time. We could not reason with her, and so I thought it best to contain her here and leave her be until you recovered.”

Logan’s eyes were riveted on the girl. Marie, but somehow not -- her slender body moving with a fluid animalistic grace as she prowled the small room, snarling and growling.

“What...” As he watched the girl sniffed the air, her eyes dilating as the low rumble increased to a roar. She stalked to the one-way mirror, scrabbling at the corners, her nostrils flared, her teeth bared. Suddenly she seemed to give up, returning to the center of the room with a disgruntled growl after a final bang on the bulletproof glass.

“She knows you’re here,” Hank commented unnecessarily.

Logan realized his claws were still out, and forced them back into his arms. “Jesus Christ, Hank. It’s bad enough if she got a good hit of my memories, and all that shit...” He felt his gut wrench just thinking about what she might have to deal with. “But why the hell is she like this? I might be feral, but I’m not...out-of-control like this.”

Hank cleared his throat tactfully. “Not now...but at some point? Might you have been?”

Logan shut his eyes, swallowing hard. His memories of that time were fuzzy, but he knew that he had lived in the woods for countless months after escaping the facility. Shivering naked in the cold, finding shelter in nests of branches and leaves, eating his kills raw. I’m not some kind of animal, he had told Jean just last night. He had been fucking kidding himself.

“She has absorbed others in the past, Logan. Do you know how she dealt with those absorptions? She must have found some way to keep herself from being overwhelmed by the new personality. Charles tried to find her, but he said there is such chaos in her head right now that he could not locate Rogue.”

Logan shoved his emotions down, focusing on recalling what Marie had told him. “She had some way...she called it ‘boxing them up’. Keeping them quiet in her mind, unless she chose to access them. And when she did -- it hurt her. And sometimes got away from her for a while. You heard what she did to ‘Ro after she got the password?”

Hank nodded. “She is all animal instinct right now, Logan. Which means she will only respond to someone she trusts. I believe that is you, my friend.” He lifted a pair of leather gloves from the table, handing them to Logan who took them automatically. “She may be unaware of the danger her skin holds for others.”

“Exactly what the hell am I supposed I do in there?”

Hank’s eyes twinkled for a moment. “Animal instinct, Logan. Whatever feels right to you to calm her. I believe that she can gain control over this feral response, but right now she is in overdrive -- frightened and enraged at being caged. If you can soothe the fears of the feral, Rogue may be able to regain control.”

Logan buttoned up his shirt and tugged on the gloves, his body already tensing in readiness as he laid a hand on the door handle. “Don’t interfere. No matter what happens.”

Hank’s eyes narrowed for a moment, but then he nodded his assent. “If she takes you out, I’m not sure what I could do anyway,” he said with a hint of amusement. His voice sobered. “But be aware, Logan. By Charles’s account she only touched you for a few moments in the park, and you’ve been unconscious for more than two hours. More extended contact and she may overcome even your considerable healing. You are strong but not invulnerable, my friend.”

Logan nodded, clapping Hank on the shoulder briefly. A quick check through the observation window confirmed that Marie was still in the center of the room. “Lock it after me,” he instructed, and stepped into the room.

________________

Marie lifted her head, scenting the air. This place was frightening. Too cold, too bright. Harsh smells burned her nose and brought back flashes of things that made her blood run cold -- tanks and needles and burning, blinding pain. Now, though, she scented something different. Him.

She didn’t know who he was, only that he was hers. If she closed her eyes she could see him -- warm golden eyes and smooth golden skin, and a deep rich scent that made something inside her soften and pull. Hers, and he was here -- close by. They were keeping her from him, keeping her trapped in this shiny cage.

She followed his scent to a dark shape on the wall, her fingers scrabbling at the edges, trying to pull it free, trying to get to him. It was no use, she simply tore her fingernails, watching with confusion as the pain faded and new nails grew in to take their place.

She slammed her palm on the flat surface with an aggravated growl, returning to the center of the room. She didn’t know why she was here, but someone would come. Someone would come, and she would be ready. This cage would open, and she would get to him.

Her head swung around as she heard a sound. She tensed her muscles to spring, and then stopped in confusion.

It was Him. She froze, trying to make sense of it. Him, keeping her in this cage? It was not right, and her mind balked at the idea. She growled, confused and angry, and was startled when an answering growl rumbled up from his throat. She took an unconscious step backward, and then stopped, furious with herself for showing weakness.

She gathered her anger and snarled, taking a step forward, but his steady pace never faltered. He snarled back at her, advancing on her steadily, his posture brutal and confident, his scent deepening with musk and aggression. She heard an odd sound, and something emerged from his hands -- sharp shiny claws that made her uncertainty increase.

Her next growl came out more as a confused whine. She backed and circled, trying to pass around him, but he stepped confidently into her path. She ducked the other way and again he was there, ever closer, hemming her in.

She whimpered in outright fear now, her back coming up hard against the wall, and his stern expression softened. With another metallic hiss his claws retracted. His gloved hands reached for her. For some reason her fear spiked again -- she knew he would not hurt her, but she also knew somehow that he should not touch her. She whined again, cringing away, but a warning growl from him silenced her.

Suddenly his hands were on her. She held her breath, but nothing bad happened. She tried to pull away, but he growled again, his hands gripping her more firmly, his body pressed up hard against her. The warmth and scent of him overwhelmed her, and she whined again, this time pressing up against him.

His golden eyes burned into hers, and she dropped her gaze. A deep, satisfied rumble from him at her action, and she felt a tug. The cloth at her neck was pulled up, and she felt his teeth take hold in a gentle but firm bite. She tensed for another moment, and then something in her relaxed. Calm spread through her body as things fell into place, her uncertainty and confusion swept away in a pleasurable rush of submission.

Another satisfied rumble from him as he kept up the pressure for a moment longer and then his teeth released her neck. She felt his breath huffing warm through the damp fabric, and then soft swipes of his tongue licking away the hurt. She whimpered again, pressing against him, feeling with satisfaction his body growing hard and heavy against hers.

To her confusion he pulled away, but then his hands were there, running over her hair, her face, soothingly down her back. He pulled her down to sit in his lap, his hands still running over her. She reached for him but he growled in warning again, gathering her wrists into one large hand. She stilled, leaning against him, a little confused still about why he was stopping her but enjoying the feel of him against her nonetheless.

She let the feel and sound and smell of him surround her. The steady thump of his heart drowned out the strange buzzing of the lights while his deep warm scent filled her nose and chased away those awful burning smells that made the bad feelings come.

She felt the rest of her panic and fear subside, and as she relaxed into him she felt his body relax against hers as well. He ran a hand over her hair, and she nuzzled up into his shirt.

He made a noise with his mouth, a different kind of noise, and she didn’t like it. It made her feel bad again, all upset inside. She pushed her face into his chest, hoping he would stop. His hand wound through her hair, pulling her head back, his eyes on hers again even as she dropped her gaze. He made the noise again, and she shook her head, trying to avoid it.

He growled briefly, his face nudging close to hers without touching it. She looked at him, confused, searching for a sign of what he wanted from her. He made the noise again, and because it seemed important to him she listened carefully, her brow furrowed in concentration. One more time he said it, his eyes intent on hers, and like the last piece of a puzzle snapping into place, the funny sounds turned around in her head, forming into a word and then a meaning.

“Marie.”

Logan paced outside Marie’s room, waiting for Xavier to emerge. He had been in there for two damn hours, kicking Logan out into the hall after the first five minutes so that Marie could concentrate on getting her head back straight without the distress his presence seemed to cause her.

Two damn hours since the Wolverine had felt Marie submit to him, gathering her into his lap and growling reflexively to keep her wandering hands in check. Two damn hours since the Wolverine, satisfied in having staked his claim, had stepped back and let Logan force Marie back to the surface. Two damn hours since her wild golden eyes had turned back to brown, the glow of trust and satisfaction turning to confusion and dismay. Two damn hours, and his mind was still reeling from what had happened in the containment room. Animal instinct, Hank had said. Well, that was the fuckin’ understatement of the century.

Twenty years ago Logan had gained control over the beast inside him, and since that time he had never allowed the Wolverine free rein outside of mortal combat -- a few moments in a haze of blood lust and brutality, and then Logan was back in charge. This afternoon, in the containment room, he had let the animal take over -- opening his senses fully, acting purely on instinct. And it had been a fuckin’ revelation.

Logan leaned up against the wall with a sigh, trying to ease the tension in his body. This afternoon the Wolverine had looked at Marie, and he hadn’t seen a kid. Not a little girl, or even a defenseless, damaged young woman. The Wolverine had looked at Marie and seen his mate, and she had been fucking fantastic.

Logan tried to concentrate on all the reasons that this was a bad idea, but there was no going back. All the defenses he had unconsciously thrown into place -- telling himself Marie was just a lead in finding Kitty and Jubilee, just another nuisance kid -- had been blown to hell the second the Wolverine had been allowed to surface, seeing and scenting his mate. With perfect, merciless clarity the Wolverine showed Logan what he had subconsciously been telling him for days now -- that Marie was his. She was his match, his equal -- and she belonged to him, absolutely and unequivocally.

Animal instinct, Hank had said with a twinkle in his eye, and Logan wondered now how much he had known. Because there was no doubt about it, it was pure animal instinct the way he had behaved toward Marie -- testing her strength and willingness, and reveling in her every response to him. Claiming her as his own, with his body and scent and teeth. Feeling her delicious submission, his blood singing through his veins as her body and mind readily acknowledged his possession of her.

Hell, the Wolverine had been one step away from taking her up against the wall -- kept in check only by the knowledge of her deadly skin and of Hank’s likely observation of them both. Satisfied enough by the assertion of his claim and her willing acceptance of it, the animal had subsided a bit, allowing Logan to regain control, but he was still too close to the surface. Even now, he was growling at the thought of Hank’s eyes on her, at the thought of Xavier being in that room with her while he was stuck out here in the hall.

As much as Logan had kept his private life separate from the mansion, he knew there was still talk about the way he behaved off duty. The other mansion residents chalked it up to the feral in him, but he knew the truth. The Wolverine might have a drive for sex, but the emotional detachment of the one-night-stands was entirely the choice of the man.

It was Logan who liked things uncomplicated -- an unspoken mutual agreement, a simple bodily function, and then an immediate goodbye. No emotion, no entanglements, no obligation or regret. That was what the man wanted. In sharp contradiction to what others thought, it was the animal in him that craved something more. Loyalty, not promiscuity. A total mutual fidelity to a chosen mate. The Wolverine had craved -- and been denied -- that connection.

To the Wolverine, everything was stunningly, blindingly simple. Marie was no girl, no kid. She was a woman, and a fuckin’ magnificent one at that, and she was made for him.

Unfortunately, for Logan things weren’t quite so simple. He had only known Marie for a few days, but he had no illusions that things would ever be simple with her. She was constantly catching him off-guard, never acting as he expected. Risking her life for him one moment, and then responding with suspicion to his slightest gesture of friendship the next. Seeming heartbreakingly fragile and innocent one moment, and irredeemably tough and jaded the next.

Someone like her -- so guarded and prickly, so uncertain in her reaction to even simple emotional connections -- she was nowhere near ready for the intense mutual possession the Wolverine had in mind. As hard of a time as Logan was having adjusting to the idea, he knew Marie would find it even more preposterous. Would have probably run like hell at the very idea of it, even before this afternoon.

Things were damn complicated enough already, and now she had absorbed him, and who knew what the aftermath of that would be? He had been torturing himself with the thought of it -- his dark nightmares, and destructive thoughts, and brutal emotions, inflicted on her. What she might know about him now, and how she might feel about him. Whether the next time he saw those beautiful brown eyes they might look on him with disgust, or fear. Dread and self-recrimination burned in his chest at the very thought of it.

What a fucking mess. The Wolverine, inexorably bound in dumb animal devotion to a girl who might not be able to stand the sight of him, and Logan forced to deal with the consequences.

______________

The muted hum of Xavier’s chair interrupted Logan’s dark thoughts. He straightened, searching the older man’s face for an indication of what had happened. Xavier looked pale and tired but pleased, and Logan felt some of the tension in his body ease.

“She is sleeping,” Xavier stated calmly. He placed a reassuring hand on Logan’s arm. “It was a great deal to absorb, but she is managing admirably. Come now.”

He continued down the hall, and Logan hesitated for only a moment before keeping pace with the whirring wheelchair.

“So what does that mean -- she has me boxed up now, like the others?”

“It may not be that simple, Logan. It will be a process for her. This experience -- it has been different for her than it has been for some of the other individuals she has touched.”

“Because I’m a mutant? Or because I’m feral?”

Xavier’s glance was keen and cryptic. “For a multitude of reasons.”

Logan growled in irritation. “Damn it, Chuck...”

Xavier’s mouth kicked up at the corner. “She called me that as well.”

He smiled further at what must have been Logan’s stunned expression before his expression sobered. “The next few days will be crucial, and I don’t believe any of us -- least of all Rogue -- know exactly what is going to happen. All we can do is support her to the best of our ability.”

“And the healing, and the...rest.” His fists clenched. “Is she still feral?”

“I’m not certain. I did not want to overwhelm her at present, but tomorrow Henry may be able to give us some guidance in that regard. To my knowledge, the only way to express a mutation is through activation of the mutant gene. For her to manifest mutations through touch -- it may indicate a malleability of her underlying genetic structure. It is quite remarkable and, as far as I know, unprecedented.”

“So we don’t have any goddamn idea what this is going to do to her?”

Xavier nodded curtly. “All we can do is wait.”

__________________

Logan’s heart raced, his pulse pounding in his head. He had been here a thousand times before -- the cold steel laboratory, the green liquid tank, the scientists clinking champagne flutes in triumph in the observation gallery...

Something was different this time, though. The scene was not hazed with green fluid and the thick glass walls of the submersion tank. Instead, Logan was watching from above, standing frozen in the gallery as the scientists murmured congratulations all around him.

He clenched his hands on the railing, his eyes drawn helplessly to the tank below. A slender figure writhed in pain, her delicate limbs flailing, churning the green water. Marie. He tried to move, to yell, but some unseen force held him in place -- his skeleton locked motionless even as he struggled, straining his muscles to free himself.

Her face was a rictus of pain, a wordless scream trapped in her throat as she jerked and twisted. A nimbus of auburn hair with a streak of platinum floated around her pale face. Suddenly her eyes snapped open, meeting his. He looked into the depths of her brown eyes, and the accusation he saw there curdled his blood.

He watched helplessly, his breath panting, his heart racing, straining futilely as her desperate movements slowed and then ceased. Her eyes drifted closed, her chest still now as she slowly settled down to the bottom of the tank with a metallic clank.

Logan’s head swiveled in an involuntary movement. Lehnsherr was lurking in the shadows of the gallery, his cold gray eyes regarding Logan thoughtfully as a slight smile twisted his mouth.

“Logan,” he said in Marie’s clear voice.

“Logan!”

__________

Logan jerked awake, springing to his feet with a roar of rage, the claws snicking out reflexively. The burst of pain as the metal split his skin jolted him to full awareness. Another fuckin’ nightmare. Jesus Christ.

He snicked the claws in, rubbing a trembling hand across his sweaty face. Suddenly he lifted his head, his nostrils flaring as his eyes focused on a dim figure standing just inside his doorway.

“Marie?”

“Marie?”

Dusk had fallen, and even with his keen night vision she was just a dim shadow, hovering inside the doorway as if ready to take flight at any moment.

She took a step forward into the light but turned her head aside, her hair falling in a curtain across her face. He realized she was blushing, and that he was standing stark naked before her.

“Christ...just gimme a minute,” he mumbled, turning his back and pulling his jeans from the floor, the belt still through the loops from when he had carelessly shed his clothes and fallen exhausted into his bed.

“You okay, darlin’?” he threw over his shoulder as he hastily pulled a shirt on.

Her voice was so quiet he could barely hear it. “Yeah. I just...I had a nightmare.”

He froze, the half-undone button in his suddenly numb fingers. “One of mine?”

Her silence was answer enough.

“Shit,” he said, finishing the buttons and yanking the gloves on. “I’m sorry, darlin’, I didn’t want you to...”

“You’re sorry?” Her sharp voice interrupted him, catching him by surprise. Her arms were wrapped tightly around herself, her movements stiff and jerky as she moved to the window, pushing aside the curtain and staring out with unseeing eyes.

“You told me...” she started, her voice growing raspy. She took a deep breath and started again. “You even told me what they did to you, and I didn’t understand. I was so stupid. I didn’t know...that you were awake, that you felt it.”

He moved toward her slowly, still uncertain of her mood. “I didn’t want you to know, baby. I still wish you didn’t have to think about that shit...”

He reached a hand toward her, but she ducked away, her eyes bright with anger or tears, or both -- he didn’t know. “You’re worried about me having to think about that? When you lived it? Jesus, no wonder what Freddy did to you hardly bothered you. He was just an amateur, wasn’t he? And you’ve been tortured by the best...”

He sensed the rise of the hysteria within her, and this time he did not let her pull away. His grasp on her was firm as he gathered her up against him, letting her brief struggle subside until she was clinging to him, her face pressed hard into the flannel of his shirt.

After a moment he scooped her up, sitting on the bed and settling her in his lap. He leaned back against the headboard, soothing and hushing her, listening to her heart rate finally settle, her breathing slow.

He felt her shake her head against him. “I don’t know how you can be like this...like it doesn’t even matter what they did to you. Like you don’t even feel it.”

He sighed. She was so young, so raw, for all that she pretended to be hard and jaded. He didn’t know how to explain it to her. “It does matter. But remember what I told you? It fades, darlin’. The nightmares are a bitch, and it tears me up inside to know that you got ‘em. But it all happened a long time ago.”

They sat in silence for awhile. He found himself enjoying the soft, sleepy weight of her in his lap as some of her tension eased. Her warm soft scent surrounded him, and he had to still the movement of his hands, realizing that his motions had absently turned from soothing to caressing.

“I...I didn’t know where your room was,” she finally said. “But I found you. I...I followed the way you smell. I didn’t know I could do that.”

He smothered a smile at her bemused tone. “I guess that’s somethin’ else you got from me...at least for a little while, Hank thinks.”

She nodded. “Everything smells...so much. And the sounds are so loud, and I just want to get away from it all, to get outside and run...is it always like that? Or do you get used to it?”

He considered the question seriously. “I don’t really know. I guess I’ve never known any different. But I do get restless a lot. Need to get outdoors, or fight, or...”

Fuck, his mind filled in, the thought of it making the soft weight of her in his lap suddenly, acutely painful. He gritted his teeth, trying to distract himself from the gnawing ache of arousal. It was delicious torment having her so close, knowing he had claimed her, even if she didn’t know it yet...

“Do you remember what happened, darlin’?” he finally asked, desperate to know but uncertain what he wanted the answer to be. “With Lehnsherr, and...after that, in the containment room?”

She nodded, and he felt her face heat again as she wiggled, discomfited. He bit back a groan, subtly shifting her off his lap so he wouldn’t embarrass her further.

“I...it’s kind of weird, and hazy, but I remember how I felt...the emotions were really strong. And I remember...”

Her voice trailed off, but her hand drifted unconsciously to her neck where he had bitten her, and he couldn’t suppress the low growl that rose up in his chest at the memory.

She drew back to look at him, startled. He saw her nostrils flare as she took in the change in his scent. “Oh,” she said. A wealth of emotion flickered through her eyes -- realization, longing, a hint of fear, and then something shifted. He practically felt the wall come up in between them again, her eyes growing distant as she retreated into herself.

“Oh,” she said again, her voice flat and matter-of fact. “Here. Let me...” she said, and suddenly her small gloved hands were at his fly.

The rush of arousal shamed him. Some part of him wanted to allow this, wanted to take her sham intimacy and pretend that it was real. He wanted to press her small hands against his body, and that made his actions rougher than he intended as he pushed her away.

“Marie -- what do you think you’re doin’?” He struggled to keep his voice calm.

She grew very still, her face in shadow. “I thought you wanted...” She stopped.

He flexed his fists, frustration rasping in his voice. “Goddammit it...that’s not what I want from you.” He tried to tamp down on his anger and disappointment. She didn’t understand how it was between them. What the hell had he expected her to think, bringing her into his bed, knowing she could scent his arousal?

“Why not?” Her voice was clear and sharp. “I’ve seen some of your memories. You don’t have a problem with...casual sex. So why not me?” Her voice trembled slightly. “What’s wrong with me?”

He pushed to his feet -- his pulse pounding in his ears, his body hot and heavy with lust and anger, her words repeating in his head. I’ve seen your memories... How much had she seen? What did she know?

“Is it my skin? I can wear the collar...”

The thought of it made something snap inside him. “Christ, Marie -- how can you think that for even a second?” He sat down next to her again, his gloved hand winding through her hair, willing her eyes to meet his, trying to break through that damn distance she had put between them.

“Marie...listen to me, darlin’.” He struggled to find the words. “I don’t give a damn about your skin. If somethin’ happens between us...” He stopped, and his voice was a low growl when he started again. “When somethin’ happens between us, it’s not gonna be like this. Not out of gratitude, or loneliness, or whatever the hell else you think you’re offerin’ me right now.”

He took another deep breath, the scent of her making his head spin. “Jesus Christ, Marie. Casual sex? That’s not what I want from you.”

He felt her sudden stillness under his hand, saw the fear flash through her eyes as the detachment slipped, her warm scent tinged now with bitterness and despair. Her voice was bleak when she spoke. “This is all I have to give.”

A chill went through him at the certainty in her voice. He could not smell a lie on her. Her face was shuttered and distant -- the guarded, thorny Marie he had first met.

He pulled her into his arms, pressing his body against her, nuzzling his face into her hair, trying in the only way he knew how to break through to her. “I don’t believe that, baby. You’re not ready now, but I’ll wait. I’ll wait for you.”

She pulled away, backing toward the door, an edge of panic in her wide eyes. She shook her head. “That’s...don’t say that. I’m leaving. You can’t...nobody wants me like that.”

He felt the Wolverine trying to surge free at the thought of her leaving him but he bit back hard on the snarl, keeping his distance, knowing he was probably pushing her too much already.

“You’re wrong.” He clenched his fists, trying to calm his voice. “I know it takes gettin’ used to, kid, but if you remember what happened in the containment room, you know it too. I do. I want you like that.”

Her hand was on the doorknob now, her head still shaking. “You can’t. I...I don’t want it.”

He flinched, the animal inside him whimpering at the rejection. “I’ll wait,” he said again, his voice grim.

Her panic spiked. He had pushed too much, too soon, and he cursed himself as he saw her retreat further, her fear lessening as she straightened, her face closed off from him, her eyes empty. “It doesn’t matter. I don’t care. I don’t need you. I don’t need anybody.”

He felt something twist in his chest. “Marie...don’t. Don’t do that. Don’t shut down like that.” He couldn’t help himself, he reached out for her again. She slipped out the door, closing it behind her.

He stood, his hand on the knob, wanting more than anything to chase after her, but knowing it would only make things worse. He forced his hand to release the doorknob and sat back on the bed, running a tired hand over his face as the Wolverine whined and howled in his head.

Logan didn’t know how long he had been sitting there -- his head in his hands, wrapped up in his dark thoughts and self-recrimination -- when Xavier’s voice rang out in his mind.

“Logan? Forgive the intrusion, but...”

Logan sat up, cracking his neck, pulling on his boots, answering aloud through force of habit. “S’okay, Chuck. Is it the boat?”

“Not yet. But Ororo would like to meet with us in the War Room.”
____________

The others were already assembled when he got to the War Room, still rubbing his blurry eyes. He hadn’t slept for more than a few hours in days, and even with his healing factor he was starting to feel it.

“Ororo?” Xavier inclined his head, inviting her to begin.

“I think I have a location for the last mutant Rogue was able to tell us about -- Stacy. I discovered the address through Freddy’s financial transactions, and Charles was able to verify the presence of her psychic signature with Cerebro. She’s in Greenwich, Connecticut, in the home of a financier named Richard VanDoren -- just an hour by road, or five minutes in the jet.”

“So what’s the issue? We go get her,” Logan grumbled.

“This is also the night that the boat is supposed to land,” Ororo pointed out. “There has been no sign of them so far, but if it happens while we are otherwise occupied it could be disastrous. On the other hand, we know this young woman was already...assaulted...by Freddy. The idea of leaving her with her abductor for even a moment longer than necessary...” She trailed off uncertainly.

“We’ll split the team,” Scott said authoritatively. “We have no idea when that boat is actually getting there -- ‘in three days’ is hardly exact, and that’s assuming it shows up at all. But just in case, most of us will go by road to be on site with Piotr and Bobby.”

He turned his head to Logan. “Logan, you and ‘Ro take the jet and go to Connecticut. You may even make the pickup and beat us to the dock, but we’ll be in constant contact. If Piotr or Bobby see any sign of the boat, abort the pickup and you can get us with the jet on the way to Delaware. At worst it’ll be twenty minutes, and the radar we have in place will sense the boat at least that far out from the dock.”

The ruby quartz visor scanned the table. “Any questions? All right then. With any luck we’ll bring them all home tonight.”
____________

Logan forced the window open, vaulting over the sill and landing silently on the thick Oriental rug inside. This mansion was as large as the one in which they had found Owen, but instead of an abandoned wreck it was a hive of activity. Staff were bustling around the lower floors, apparently clearing away the remains of a dinner party, forcing Logan and Ororo to scale the side wall to the second floor bedrooms as an entry point.

Logan listened carefully, sniffing the air. The room had been occupied recently, but was empty for now. They would have to move quickly. He turned to help Ororo over the windowsill.

The sound of a gun being cocked had him wheeling back around, shoving Ororo behind him and popping the claws.

“Hold it right there, cowboy.”

A woman stood in the doorway to what must have been a dressing room. She was wearing a silk dressing gown, her hair still in an elaborate updo while diamonds glittered at her ears and neck.

Wolverine narrowed his eyes. Not how he expected to find her, but she fit the description. Looking closely he could see a fine pattern of scales, starting at her collarbone and disappearing into the plunging cleavage of the dressing gown. “Stacy?”

Shock flickered through her eyes, but the gun never wavered.

“I go by Miranda here, thanks very much,” she offered in a dry, sarcastic tone. Her eyes raked over them, obviously taking in their status as mutants, and she seemed to relax slightly. “Now what can I do for you two?”

Ororo shifted to the side so that she could peer around Logan’s bulk, ignoring his growl of warning. “We are not here to hurt you, Stacy. We just want to talk to you.”

“Something wrong with the doorbell?”

“We understood that you had been...abducted?” Ororo said hesitantly.

Stacy regarded them impassively for another long moment, and then a sardonic smile twisted her lips. She relaxed her grip on the gun, using it to gesture them toward a pair of armchairs.

“So you’re the rescue party, huh? Left it a little late, didn’t you?”

Ororo moved over to the chairs, tugging Logan’s arm. He retracted his claws and followed, but didn’t sit down, standing instead with his legs braced and his arms crossed across his chest.

“We just found out about you a few days ago,” Ororo explained in her lilting accent. “We have been working to track you and the other mutants who had been sold through Freddy’s financial transactions.”

“Freddy,” Stacy repeated, her green eyes growing cold and glittering like jade. “I have some unfinished business with that sick son of a bitch.”

“‘Fraid you’re too late there. He’s already dead,” Logan rumbled. “And all his crew.”

Surprise crossed her face, but she recovered quickly. “Well, haven’t you been busy bees? I guess I owe you one then. Maybe two if it was slow and painful.”

Logan thought about the video of Marie draining Freddy’s henchman, and his own experience touching her skin. “It was pretty fast, but I guarantee it was every bit as painful as you would have wanted it to be.”

“Well, good.” She moved over to the bed, putting the gun in her nightstand drawer and starting to take off her necklace and earrings. She raised an eyebrow at them. “Anything else?”

Ororo’s voice was warm and sympathetic. “My dear child...don’t you want to come with us? Isn’t this the residence of the man who...bought you?”

Stacy laughed humorlessly. “Who, Ricky? Yeah, he bought me. Lonely old guy, wanted a nice piece of mutant tail at his beck and call. But then he made a mistake.” Her eyes met theirs, her green gaze almost glowing. “He took the collar off.”

She lounged back against the pillows, toying with a diamond bracelet. “Now he’s the one at my beck and call. Bought me all of these,” -- she held her arm up so the diamonds twinkled. “Next week he’s changing his will. After that, who knows.” Her eyes glittered cold again. “Maybe he’ll suffer a mysterious heart attack. Too much adrenaline can do that to a man.”

She shrugged carelessly at Ororo’s soft sound of distress. “Or maybe I’ll keep him around for awhile longer. Either way, I’m doing just fine here.” She smiled again. “So, thanks for the rescue attempt, but I went ahead and rescued myself already. You can go out the way you came. But feel free to leave a card or something. I like the style of your...organization, and I have a feeling there may be a future for me in philanthropy. Do you take donations?”

__________________

Logan and Ororo were already in flight when the call came through on the comm, Scott’s voice taut with tension.

“Piotr called in...a boat is approaching the dock. We’ve found a field for you to land in to pick us up. Sending the coordinates now.”

Ororo quickly made the necessary adjustments to their flight plan, landing the Blackbird gently.

Within moments Xavier’s wheelchair whirred up the ramp, followed closely by Scott, Jean, Hank, and...

Logan sprang to his feet. “What the fuck is she doing here?”

Marie’s eyes sparked with anger. “You can ask me what I’m doing here. I do have a name.”

His voice was equally biting. “From what I remember you have a couple. Which one are you using right now?”

She flinched, and remorse gripped him. He sighed, flexing the muscles in his back, getting a grip on his temper.

The rest of the X-Men studiously ignored them, readying the jet for takeoff as Logan moved closer. He pulled Marie to the side, speaking in an undertone, his eyes searching hers for answers.

“Listen, baby, I’m sorry. But what the hell are you doin’ here? This is gonna get rough, and I don’t want you gettin’ hurt.”

He felt some of the anger leave her as well. “I may not have one of these fancy uniforms, Logan, but I’m as involved in this as anyone. I can identify the boat and the men we’re looking for, and then I’ve promised Professor Xavier and Ororo I’ll stay back and let y’all do your Rambo thing.” Just a momentary hesitation, and then she added, “Unless I’m really needed.”

Suspicion tickled at the edge of his mind. “Needed how?”

She avoided his eyes, and the suspicion crystallized into certainty. “Don’t even fuckin’ think about it,” he snarled, his grip tightening unconsciously on her arm.

She pulled free, her voice sharp again. “If the girls you’re looking for aren’t on that boat, you’re going to need information and you’re going to need it fast. You don’t have any say here -- the choice is mine.”

“Dammit, Marie, the last couple of people you absorbed -- me included -- almost wrecked you. Now you’re signing on to have more sickos in your head?”

His keen senses picked up on the slight paling of her skin, the almost imperceptible trembling of her hands that she tried to hide with clenched fists. “Don’t act like I want this. But I’ve seen -- I’ve felt -- what they do to these girls. If that is what I have to do to stop it, I’ll do it. At least this damn curse of mine will have been good for something.”

“Christ, Marie...” He pulled her into his arms again, smoothing her hair, feeling her take in deep shuddering breaths against his chest. He sighed, and his voice was gentle when he spoke again.

“You don’t have to do something like that, darlin’. We’ll get these guys, and we’ll get Kitty and Jubilee back. You just stay clear, and if there’s any information that needs gettin’, I’ll carve it out of them, okay?”

Some of the tension in his gut eased as she nodded against his chest, the relief rolling off her in waves.

“Prepare for landing,” Scott announced.

Logan led Marie to a seat and buckled her in, his gloved hand briefly caressing her face. “This’ll all be over soon, darlin’, and we’ll have some time to settle in and talk, okay?”

She bit her lip and then nodded briefly, and he knew she was thinking about their conversation earlier that night. What a fuckin’ mess he had made of that, but he would find a way to fix it. Right now he just had to focus on the mission.

_________________

“That’s it,” Marie whispered, her lips a careful distance from Logan’s ear. “Definitely the same boat, and that guy in the front, he’s one of the ones Freddy saw.”

He gave her a reassuring squeeze before silently leading her back to the scrubby tree line. With gentle pressure on her hip and shoulder he guided her into a crouch. “Stay here. No matter what.” He wrapped her gloved hand around the satellite phone. “The mansion’s on speed dial. If it all goes to hell for some reason, head back through those trees and call Hank for a pickup. Promise me, darlin’?”

She opened her mouth as if to argue. A low growl from him appeared to give her second thoughts about that, her eyes lowering in reflexive submission before she seemed to catch herself. She clutched the sat phone tightly, and finally nodded her head.

He pressed a quick kiss to the top of her head and then he was moving silently, feeling rather than hearing the rest of the team fall in behind him as he approached the boat.
______________________

Marie crouched at the tree line, her heart in her throat, focusing every heightened sense she had gained from Logan on the darkened boat. The X-Men had swarmed on board silently, knocking out the man in front before he could sound the alarm. Shortly afterward, however, gunfire had erupted from the interior of the boat, along with shouts and the occasional flash of ruby-red light through the windows.

She was so focused on the boat she didn’t sense him until he was almost at her back, turning to face him with a snarl she didn’t even know she was capable of producing.

Lehnsherr raised his hands in mock surrender. “Peace, little girl,” he drawled. “I am just here to enjoy the show.”

She pulled the tags from around her neck, stowing them in her pocket as she backed away from him. “Bullshit. You’re as twisted as any of those guys on the boat. What the hell do you want here?”

His ironic gaze tracked her every movement, as a slight smile twisted his lips. “Do you really think I need that particular bauble, my dear?”

He pulled his hand from his pocket and opened his fist, revealing a metal disk. Before her eyes the disk lifted, hovering in space and then separating into three pieces. Each piece reformed into a small spherical projectile. With a twitch of his fingers, Lehnsherr sent the three metal balls spinning in orbit around his hand.

Marie kept her eyes on the projectiles, frozen in indecision. If she stepped back any further she would be out of the treeline, exposing herself to the battle below. If Lehnsherr planned on killing her, she would already be dead. He could have put one of those metal balls in her head at any time, before she had even noticed him.

He smiled further at her dilemma. The metal balls snapped back into his palm, and he slipped them into his pocket. He casually walked past her, presenting her with his back as he gazed out at the boat. “As I said, I am just a spectator, as are you. I am interested to see how this all unfolds.”

More yelling and gunfire from the boat drew her attention there, her gaze flickering between Lehnsherr and the boat as she stealthily drew off her gloves and shoved them into her back pocket.

A roar split the air, followed immediately by the smashing of a body through the aft door. Marie’s heart thumped wildly as she recognized Logan’s body sprawled out on the deck. She watched him recover quickly, scrabbling to his feet in a fighting stance, his claws glimmering in the moonlight. A giant hulk of a man -- so large that he had to duck to squeeze through the remains of the door -- lumbered forward.

“Ah,” Lehnsherr commented with pleasure. “I had a feeling these two would not stay below.”

Marie felt fear and rage roiling within her, urging her toward impulsive action. “This is not some fucking floor show,” she spat out.

Lehnsherr cocked an eyebrow in her direction. “I expect to find it quite entertaining nonetheless. Two feral superhealers, so evenly matched -- it would take only the slightest turn of luck to tip the outcome in either direction.”

He turned back toward the boat, where Logan was blocking the large man’s blows with his forearm. He found an opening and lunged, and out of the corner of her eye Marie saw Lehnsherr’s fingers twitch as Logan’s swipe fell a fraction short, his balance uncertain for just a moment before he recovered.

Her gut clenched as she finally understood his comment for the threat it had been. “Leave him alone! What do you even want? I thought The Brotherhood wanted to stop this trafficking as much as we did!”

He didn’t even turn to face her. Logan aimed a vicious kick at the man’s jaw, and Lehnsherr’s fingers twitched again. This time Logan lost his footing, falling to the deck, narrowly rolling out from under the stomping foot of the enormous man.

“What is wrong with you?!” Marie heard the underlying plea in her own voice with disgust. “Do you want me to hurt you?”

“Are you still deciding, little girl? Maybe this will tip the scales.”

He lifted his hand and the boat’s anchor rose from the water. Logan’s attention was still focused on the other man. She screamed a warning and saw him freeze, his head whipping around in their direction. Quick as a snake, the anchor chain wrapped around him. Lehnsherr dropped his hand and the anchor plunged back into the murky water, dragging Logan over the rail and into the depths.

For a frozen moment Marie was too horrified to even make a sound. She watched the ripples in the water as they shone in the moonlight, and then the surface of the water stilled.

She did not even recognize the choked snarl that escaped her as she lunged for Lehnsherr. She grabbed his neck, squeezing it between her bare hands. He wound his own hands in her hair in some parody of a lover’s embrace. As she buckled against the onslaught of his memories -- terrifying images of concentration camps and violent Brotherhood offensives -- a small, distant part of her recognized the expression in his eyes as triumph.

The next thing Marie knew she was already running, her eyes fixed on the black surface of the water where Logan had disappeared, her mind jumbled with Magneto’s chaotic thoughts and memories as she tried desperately to push them aside.

As she ran, she saw Scott duck through the broken doorway. A flash of blinding ruby light caught the large man square in the chest. With unnatural endurance, he jerked and twisted against the force of it until a final widening of the beam blasted him clear off the deck and into the water on the far side of the boat.

She was at the dock now, and she broke the surface of the water in a dive, her breath driven from her by the shock of the frigid river. She opened her eyes underneath the surface, reaching her arms out frantically for some trace of him, but she could see nothing in the murky water.

She kicked desperately for the surface, gathering breath to yell against the numbing cold. “Scott! I need light!”

Scott’s head appeared, peering over the rail. He disappeared for a moment, and then returned with a flashlight. He threw it down to her and she swam toward the sinking light, taking another deep breath and flipping forward into a deeper dive.

She swept the light back and forth until finally the dim beam caught a flash of silver. She focused the light and swam closer. Logan had sunk to the bottom, knees and claws dug into the soft sand, the anchor chain still securely wrapped around him pinning his arms helplessly to his sides.

The beam of light caught his amber eyes as she swam toward him. He shook his head, trying to warn her away, but she ignored him. Her frozen fingers fumbled clumsily at the heavy chain, unable to catch a handhold, while her lungs burned.

A rosy glow lit the water, and she realized that Scott was using his optic blast to light the surface. She could see better now, but the chain was hopelessly twisted and knotted. Logan’s body began to convulse under her hands as he involuntarily sucked in water. Terror gripped her, her mind racing through her options. She could only think of one.

She moved closer, wrapping her arms around Logan, pressing her head against his heaving chest. She closed her eyes, pushing aside the screaming in her lungs and the freezing cold, focusing...

At first it was the barest hum. She opened her mind and the hum became a symphony -- the pure clear note of Logan’s adamantium skeleton like an aria, the deeper, richer tones of the rusty anchor chain curling around it in graceful swoops, the metal hull of the fishing boat like a drumbeat underneath.

She let the metal sing to her, its melody wrapping around them both, pulling them. She felt Logan’s knees suck free of the sand as they started to rise up through the water. Faster and faster they rose, Marie clinging tightly to Logan, until they broke free of the surface. She gasped in a painful breath, her head spinning, wet hair streaming in her eyes.

She had a blurred impression of Scott and Ororo’s shocked faces below her and her concentration broke. Her arms slipped free from around Logan as both of them crashed down to the deck. Her head cracked against the hard wood surface, and the world turned gray for a minute.

When she opened her eyes again Ororo was looking down at her, tears in her blue eyes. “Just stay still, my child.” Her eyes flickered to the side and Marie turned her head.

Logan was splayed out on the deck. Jean was pounding frantically at his chest, but as Marie watched she sat back, tears running down her cheeks. “I can’t...” she gasped, looking helplessly at Scott. “The adamantium...his ribs are too strong...”

Marie managed to push herself to her hands and knees, ignoring Ororo’s restraining hand on her shoulder. She crawled over to Logan, placing her bare hand against the wet leather on his chest.

“Show me where,” she rasped. Jean’s eyes met hers in confusion. Marie closed her eyes, using Magneto’s power to press down on Logan’s metal-laced ribs. A small trickle of water ran from his mouth, but not enough -- not nearly enough. His body remained unnaturally still and lifeless.

“Where?!” she asked again, and Jean’s eyes lit with comprehension. She tugged on Marie’s sleeve, moving her hand lower.

“Here,” she said.

Marie pressed again, and this time a small gush of water flooded from Logan’s mouth. Jean turned his head aside. “Again!” she said urgently, and Marie pressed again, and again, for endless minutes, Jean checking intermittently for a pulse until finally Logan’s large frame twitched, and then suddenly he was heaving up, rolling onto his elbow, vomiting a gush of water.

He collapsed back on the deck, unconscious but breathing, that eerie stillness of death absent. Marie scrambled back, tucking her bare hands under her arms, letting the wave of sickness wash over her.

Dead. He had been not just unconscious, but dead. She felt panic belatedly grip her, her thoughts swirling in confusion. The hull of the boat beneath her seemed to call out to her, Lehnsherr’s voice whispering in her head. She felt the hum of the boat, the soft melody of the X-jet parked a mile away, even the throbbing beat of the cities miles and miles distant, cars and skyscrapers, heaps and piles of metal, begging to be bent and twisted to her liking...

“Rogue!” A voice cut through the haze, and she opened her eyes.

“Charles,” she heard a voice that wasn’t quite hers say. My love...my betrayer...

Her mind was a twisted tangle of emotions -- passion and vengeance, regret and retribution.

“Rogue -- you must control this,” his voice said urgently.

Her dazed eyes met his intense blue gaze. “You must control Erik,” he stated, his voice grim.

She blinked, and suddenly realized that the heaving sensation she distantly felt was not her own dizziness, but rather the movement of the boat beneath her. A low, deep groan ran through the hull as the metal torqued and twisted under the strain of her chaotic thoughts.

Xavier’s reassuring voice reached through the tumult. “Concentrate, Rogue. You can do this. I will help.”

She closed her eyes, focusing as Xavier had taught her, pushing back against the foreign thoughts and emotions. She felt the siren song of the metal fade as she cleared her head, concentrating on her own thoughts and emotions and building a wall between herself and Lehnsherr. It wasn’t perfect, but it would hold for now.

“Excellent, Rogue.” Xavier’s voice was warm with approval. Marie opened her eyes.

Someone had put a blanket around her shoulders at some point, and she clutched it to her. Ororo was close by her side, helping her to her feet.

A large, gentle-looking man she recognized from the videolink as Piotr detached himself from a brown-haired girl. Rogue watched as his skin transformed to metal and he reached down, scooping Logan up into his arms as if he weighed nothing.

A brown-haired girl. Rogue’s dazed mind took a few extra seconds to register it -- she hadn’t seen her before, and she was not dressed in the leather uniform. Rogue turned her head and made out another figure not in uniform hanging back at the edges of the scene -- a small Asian woman, also draped in a blanket. Her befuddled mind reached for the names. Jubilee, and Kitty. She had found them.

Jubilee seemed to feel Marie’s eyes on her. She looked up, scanning Marie from head to toe and mustering up a weak smile. “Nice night for a swim, chica?”

_______________

Marie sat in a chair by Logan’s bedside, her mind numb with exhaustion. It had only been a few hours since she had last been in this room, but she hadn’t really seen it in the darkness. For the hundredth time her eyes took in all the details that made this room Logan’s.

He was neater than she would have imagined him to be. A few pairs of scuffed boots were tucked under a wardrobe and scattered beer bottles cluttered the dresser, but otherwise the room was pretty tidy. One wall held a bookshelf of well-thumbed books ranging from philosophy to martial arts.

The faint scent of cigars hung in the air, and somehow she knew that his was one of the few rooms with a terrace -- Xavier’s tacit concession to his smoking habit. Just as she knew without looking that his desk drawer held a bottle of Jack Daniel’s that he only opened when the nightmares got bad enough.

She leaned her head back against the chair, watching Logan sleep. His face seemed younger in unconsciousness, the tense furrow between his brows finally smooth. For a moment she thought about what would happen when he awoke -- would it be anger, or disappointment in his eyes? -- but her mind shied away from the thought. She had made her decision.

She heard a gentle knock on the door, and then the soft hum of Xavier’s chair. He pulled in beside her, looking at Logan as well.

“He should be awake in a few hours,” he said.

She ran a weary hand over her eyes. “Then it’s long past time I was gone.”

Xavier’s keen blue eyes searched hers. “Is there anything that I can do or say to change your mind?”

She shook her head. “No.”

He reluctantly handed her the briefcase, and after a pause, the collar. “It would be my pleasure...I could provide you with more than the ten thousand, Rogue...”

She interrupted him. “This is what we agreed on. It’s enough.”

He nodded, and she had to avert her gaze from the disappointment and confusion in his eyes.

“The documents are inside. But Rogue...if I could only ask that you rest awhile. At least stay until Logan awakes.”

She pushed to her feet, realizing with disgust that she had to hold on to the chair back to steady herself. “Both you and I know that he wouldn’t let me go. And I have to. I have to go.”

“But Rogue...why? There must be more to this than you are telling us.”

His gaze was so piercing that for a moment she felt a rush of fear -- would he try to read her mind without her permission?

It was no easy feat to lie to a telepath, but she gathered her strength and did what she had to.

“It’s what I want.”
_________________

Marie sat on the front steps of the mansion, willing the cab to come faster. She had to do this quick, before she could talk herself out of it. She focused on the feel of the collar around her neck, the novelty of her gloveless hands on the leather handle of the briefcase. She wrapped Logan’s leather coat closer around her -- she had tried to leave it behind as well, but had grabbed it out of his room at the last minute. She breathed in the scent of him, biting back her tears.

The cab pulled up and she sprang to her feet in relief. She heard the door of the mansion open behind her and refused to look back.

“Rogue?”

A child’s voice, and surprise stopped her in her tracks, turning her head against her will.

“Owen?”

She had seen him around the mansion of course, but had never spoken to him. She didn’t even know that he knew her name.

He walked up to her and then seemed to lose his nerve, his eyes dropping, his foot kicking the gravel of the drive. “They said you were leaving.”

She tried to pull herself together a little. “Yeah. Sorry, kid. I’ve got places to go.”

“No you don’t.”

She drew in surprised breath, and it escaped her in what sounded suspiciously like a sob. She swiped at her eyes. “Yeah, I don’t. But I’m going anyway.”

He finally raised his eyes to hers. “I’ve tried and tried, but I can’t see it clearly. All I can tell is that...something’s coming for you. Something really bad.”

It was the oddest feeling, a rush of both dread and relief. It strengthened her, this confirmation from the unlikeliest source. “I know, kid. That’s why I’ve gotta go.”

The cab driver was watching them with interest, and she opened the rear door, sliding the briefcase on to the seat. She looked back at Owen. “Take care of yourself, okay?”

His eyes were serious. “You too.”

She attempted a smile, knowing she was probably failing miserably. “I’ll try.”
________________

Logan woke, his head aching, a bitter taste in his mouth. He groaned, running his hand over his face.

He opened his eyes to the concerned gazes of Xavier and Hank. He shot them a dirty look. “At least you put me in my own room this time.”

He tried to think of what damn fool thing he had done this time. It suddenly flashed through his mind -- drowning, he had been drowning, and Marie had been swimming through the dark water towards him.

He sat up, and as the sheet fell away his gaze fixed on his dogtags, now back around his neck.

He grasped them in one hand with a growl.

“Where is she?”
______________________

Logan hitched his duffle bag higher on his shoulder, his eyes cold on Xavier’s.

“Don’t even think about tryin’ to stop me, Chuck.”

Xavier’s hands tightened on the arms of his wheelchair. “I would not presume to do so, Logan. I do not believe that I would even want to do so. I urged Rogue in every way possible to stay, at least until you woke. Something was driving her away, and maybe you can find the answer.”

Xavier’s keen blue eyes were steady on Logan’s face as he whirred the wheelchair closer to Logan, away from the front door. “I do have one request, however.”

“What?” Logan heard the harsh tone of his own voice, and didn’t care enough to gentle it.

“Jubilee and Kitty have been through quite an ordeal, and the last time they saw you you were nearly dead. They are waiting in the War Room to start their debriefing. Would you take a moment to reassure them that you are well before you go?”

Logan closed his eyes, swallowing down a lump in his throat as shame welled up within him. Not only a reasonable request, but something he damn well should have thought of on his own -- would have thought of on his own -- if his head hadn’t been so muddled with anger and frustration and fear for Marie.

He dropped his bag next to the door with a thud. “Sorry, Chuck. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

Xavier’s eyes were sympathetic. “You were thinking that you need to find Rogue, and find her you will. We will do everything we can to help. I will continue to look for her with Cerebro, perhaps she might have occasion to take the suppression collar off...”

Logan shook his head, interrupting Xavier’s reassurances. “She can touch now. She doesn’t have to be afraid anymore. I was blind not to realize how much it meant to her. She wouldn’t give that up, not without a damn good reason.”

He ran a frustrated hand through his hair. “I’ll go see the girls and say my goodbyes. Thanks for settin’ me straight.”

He had already turned when Xavier’s voice called after him. “I have no doubts that you will find her, Logan. I just wish I were more certain what will happen when you do.”

Me too, Logan thought bleakly as he made his way to the War Room.
__________________

Kitty and Jubilee were staring at the conference table, looking small and subdued, but both of them jumped to their feet as he walked in.

“Wolvie!” Jubilee practically launched herself into his arms and he caught her with a laugh, gathering Kitty into the hug with his other arm.

The girls clung to him for a moment, and he could feel the fragile hold they had on their composure. He squeezed them tighter, their familiar smells washing over him. He had hardly had time to process it -- Jubes and Kitty, back safe where they belonged. If nothing else, he had Marie to thank for that.

Kitty’s eyes glistened with tears as they separated but Jubilee hid her feelings better, sending Logan a saucy wink with a snap of her ever-present chewing gum. “So glad to see you up and about, dude. Last I saw you looked like a drowned puppy.”

He favored her with a mock growl, and she held up her hands in surrender. “No offense!”

He sat down at the table, and motioned them to do the same. “How are you both doing?” he asked. “And the truth, not a smartass response, Jubes,” he cautioned, and Jubilee closed her mouth with a snap.

Kitty looked at the table, her hands clenched tightly together. Jubilee looked at her, her eyes shadowed with concern, and then met Logan’s eyes squarely. “Kits here got the worst of it. I was zonked out of my head on happy pills for most of the time. I guess they only had one of those suppression collars at first, and didn’t want to get phased six feet under. Me they just kept too doped up to even make a spark, at least for the first few days. Then they got another collar for me, and we were both awake for awhile.”

Logan sensed a new tension in the room. “Kitty?” he asked gently.

Kitty looked up finally, her eyes sparking with anger even as the tears started to fall. “She should have left me! It was my fault -- “

“Dammit, Kits!” Jubilee snapped. “Stop being such a dumbass!” She looked at Logan again. “There was one day...I don’t know, they got the dosages wrong, or something. Before they got a collar for me. I was able to pop the back of the van, and we got out. Started running. Thought we had made it, even, and then they swoop right in and we’re back where we started. Knocked me out cold, and when I woke up they had another collar for me.”

“It was my fault...” Kitty started again.

“Like hell it was, Kits!” Jubilee’s voice was close to cracking, and she took a deep breath. “Even if we had known the collar had a tracker in it, I never would have agreed to split up. Anyway, that big blond asshole Sabretooth would have tracked me with his nose just as surely as they tracked you with the collar. And I bet his range was better than 15 miles...”

Jubilee stopped, taking another deep breath. She grabbed Kitty’s hand, squeezing it tight, her voice thick now with tears. “I would never have left you Kits. Never.”

As if in slow motion Kitty leaned toward her, and then suddenly she was in Jubilee’s arms. Jubilee hugged Kitty close, smoothing her hair as sobs racked her body. She looked up, eyes defiant, ready to tear Wolvie a new one if he had any smartass comments to say about all this, but found only empty space where he had been sitting.
_________________________

THREE WEEKS LATER

Rogue sat, her back pressed up against the back wall of the cell, looking at her hands. She had probably seen more of her bare hands these past weeks than she had since she was sixteen. Her skin was no threat to them with the collar on. They had taken her gloves as well as everything else she had when she got to the facility, giving her in return only short-sleeved scrubs that kept her shivering day and night.

Her gaze wandered up from her left hand to her wrist. She absent-mindedly traced the pattern of the delicate blue vein against the pale skin. Could she do it if she had to? It would have to be fast -- more than a simple bite, a vicious tearing of the teeth would be required to get that vein open and maybe even the one on the other side before they stormed the cell. She wasn’t sure if she had it in her. She was scared to find out, but it might be someday soon. The tests couldn’t last forever, and then she’d know exactly what they wanted with her. And exactly what she was willing to do to keep them from getting it.

She heard the scrape of boots coming down the hall, and pushed herself to her feet, keeping her back warily against the rubber wall. The whole cell was some kind of rubber polymer -- floors, wall, even the ceiling, although she wondered how she was expected to try to bash her head open up there. Maybe there was some kind of super-jumping mutant in one of the other cells, she thought cynically.

The front of the cell was barred with the same polymer, leaving the entire cell visible to the hallway. What there was of it, anyway -- the sad toilet in the corner and the sad foam mattress on the floor. And the sad, sad girl cowering in the back, Marie thought sarcastically, trying to mock into submission the fear that sound sent shivering through her body.

The boots came closer, an ominous scraping sound now detectable along with the tromping noises. Marie watched the three shapes pass, the two guards half-dragging the third figure between them. Marie heard the door of the cell next door swish open, and then a thud and a grunt as the figure was thrown inside. The door swished closed again, and the boots tromped away.

Marie gave it a few minutes before making her way to the shared wall. The wall here was in panels, but there were joints with up to an inch of space between them. She looked through the crack, but the figure didn’t move.

“Forge?” she whispered. No response. “Forge?!”

“Leave me alone, Rogue.”

She closed her eyes in momentary relief, before the tone of his voice sunk in. It wasn’t that he sounded upset -- she was used to that. It was that he sounded like he wasn’t feeling anything at all, his voice flat and lifeless.

“Hey, Forge -- quit napping over there,” she needled, hoping to get some life back into his voice.

He pushed up on his elbows with a groan, and then to a sitting position. He tried to push himself up to a stand and she heard his breath suck in with pain. He sat for a moment, his head hanging.

“C’mon, Forge, wakey wakey.”

“Fuck you, Rogue.” That was better, his voice had a little spark to it. She laid on the Southern accent thick, knowing that usually got a laugh out of him.

“Sorry, sugar, even with this collar you don’t stand a chance with me. But you can keep dreamin’ about me. Ah don’t mind.”

That forced a reluctant chuckle out of him. He scooted back until his back was next to the crack in the wall, resting the back of his head against the panel. She pressed her own temple to the panel next to it on her side.

“Maybe if y’all are extra sweet, I’ll let y’all take me to the cotillion...” she started.

“Number 39! Silence.” The announcement snapped over the speaker, the words barely out before the shock hit her. A mild one, just a warning, starting at the collar and radiating in both directions until her whole body was wracked with pain. She gritted her teeth until it passed.

She and Forge had it down to a science. The cell would be monitored closely for ten minutes after a disruption, and then the security feed would start cycling through the other cells. At ten minutes and fifteen seconds, she started again.

“Was it bad this time, Forge?” she asked seriously.

“Don’t get in trouble for me, Rogue.”

“Then answer my question. Was it Clara?”

He shook his head helplessly. Just when she thought he wasn’t going to answer, he started speaking, his voice hoarse with emotion. “I don’t know how I did it before. Three years and I never gave that kid a thought unless I was writing out the check. And now...the way they make me watch her every day. I know what she likes for breakfast, and which Pretty Pony is her favorite. I know how her eyes twitch when she sleeps, and how she sucks on two fingers when she’s scared. And I try not to care, but then they hurt her, and...” his voice broke off on a groan. “I’d do anything to stop it, Rogue. Anything. I’m so fucked.”

“Did they hurt her today?”

“Just twisted her arm. Not even enough to leave a bruise. That damn woman they have pretending to be her nanny came up to the camera, just as bold as you please, and twisted her little arm until her face turned red, and she was crying so hard she couldn’t even yell for her mommy...” He stopped, burying his face back in his hands.

“Fuck.”

“Yeah, fuck.”

They were both silent for another long while, and then the words started to spill out of him as if he couldn’t stop them. “I know the stuff they’re making me make -- that collar around your neck was just the start of it, I know it’s gonna hurt people a million times worse than they’re hurting Clara, but I can’t help it, Rogue, I can’t let them hurt her, she’s my baby girl, I know I didn’t care before but I do now and I’m sorry, I’m so sorry Rogue, I’m so sorry...”

“Hey!” She interrupted his desperate litany with a sharp whisper. “Don’t apologize. There’s nothing else you could do. Are you listening to me, Forge?”

She forced her fingers through the gap in the wall, and felt him grab them like a lifeline. This was something new to her -- touch as comfort, but she had learned from Logan how powerful it could be, and it seemed to stop Forge’s self-flagellation. He drew in a gasping breath, his hand clenched tight around her fingers.

“Number 39! Hands in the cell!”

She wrenched her hand free just in time, scraping her fingers as she pulled it back through the crack, breaking the skin-to-skin contact before the shock could jump to Forge as well. This one was much stronger, and by the time it passed her ears were ringing, her muscles starting to cramp as lightheadedness washed over her.

“Jesus, Rogue, get away from me before they kill you with the next one,” Forge whispered urgently.

She dragged herself to her mattress, taking in shallow breaths until the nausea passed.
________________

She must have drifted to sleep, the next thing she knew her eyes were open to darkness. Every muscle in her body ached as she crawled back to the crack in the wall.

“Forge,” she whispered. “Are you still awake?”

“Christ Rogue, are you suicidal?”

She had to smother the semi-hysterical giggle. “A little bit. But that’s not why I’m here.” She took in a deep breath. “I wanna tell you something.”

“Whatever it is, it’s not important enough to get fried for...”

“It is. Just shut up and listen, okay? There’s something I wasn’t sure if I should tell you, but I think you need to know.”

A moment of silence from him, and then, “I’m listening.”

“There’s a man coming for you. For you and me both. He’s a mutant. He’s rich and powerful beyond anything you and I have ever known. And he’s going to move heaven and earth to find us both. He won’t stop until he does, and when he does he’s going to rip this place to shreds, do you hear me? So hang in there. You do what you have to do to keep Clara safe, and he’s gonna get us out of here. I promise.”

“What the hell are you talking about, Rogue? Nobody wants me that bad.”

“You’re wrong, Forge. His name is Erik Lehnsherr, and I’ve seen inside his head. He wants you to finish a machine for him, and now that he knows what I can do he wants me to power it. And he will stop at nothing until he has us, do you understand me? Nothing.”

A long silence, and then just as she was starting to drag herself back to her mattress he whispered again.

“Are you fucking with me, Rogue?”

“No way, Forge. I wouldn’t do that,” she said. I wish I was, she thought.

Marie pulled against the leather restraints of the exam table. Her efforts didn’t even get a second glance from the doctor and nurse who were busily milling around her. They knew as well as she did that even in the unlikely event that she could escape the restraints, she wouldn’t get two steps with that collar around her throat. Still, she had her pride, and the futility of it didn’t stop her from fighting. That was one thing they hadn’t taken from her...yet.

“Dr. Cornelius.” There was a breathy deference in the usually-supercilious doctor’s tone that caught Marie’s attention. This was the first time she had seen this man, and the doctor was practically genuflecting in front of him.

He was a grey-haired man with glasses, slim and wiry. She could imagine him being someone’s orthodontist, or even pediatrician -- the kind who drank protein shakes in the morning and ran marathons on the weekends. When he turned his eyes toward her, however, she saw the coldness there. The doctor handed him her clipboard, her voice sickeningly ingratiating.

“This is the one you wanted to see...”

“Number 39,” Dr. Cornelius mused, his eyes flicking impersonally over Marie’s body. “The genetic anomaly.”

Genetic anomaly? Marie thought. What did that even mean...didn’t they all have the X-gene?

“What are you talking about?” she asked. “What does that mean?”

As usual, they ignored her. Dr. Cornelius stepped closer, his hands cold and smooth against her skin as he shined a light in her eyes, and then in her ear. She clenched her mouth shut but he expertly dug his thumb into the joint of her jaw, the pain forcing her mouth open as he peered deep in her throat, gagging her with a wooden tongue depressor.

The other doctor pulled up an image on the computer monitor. “Here’s the array,” she said. “We sequenced it by hybridization...”

The words meant nothing to Marie, the image a meaningless series of blobs and smears, but the two doctors leaned in, intent.

“How many variants?” Dr. Cornelius asked.

“Three. But the potential is...infinite.”

“Fascinating.” He straightened up.

“What the hell do you want from me? Why are you doing this?” Marie gritted out through her teeth.

His eyes flicked briefly to hers, and just as quickly away. “Get a few more skin samples,” he told the doctor. “We’ll have to discuss how to handle this one at rounds.”

He left the room without a backward glance as the other doctor picked up a scalpel and moved closer to Marie.

___________________

Click click click click click

“Fraaaaaaaaaaaiiiiilllll,” the rough voice crooned mockingly.

Click click click click click

“Wake uuuuuuuup, Frail.”

Marie’s eyes shot open, her breath gasping in as the ache of her stiffened muscles hit her in full force.

She felt a momentary relief, thinking the voice had just been part of her nightmare, and then...

Click click click click click

“Don’t keep me waaaaaaaitin’, Frail.”

She scrambled to her feet, keeping her back pressed up against the back wall of the cell. The dim lighting of the hallway silhouetted the giant, hulking figure against the bars at the front of her cell.

Was this it? she wondered. Had they finally decided she wasn’t worth it -- whatever they had been testing her for? Had she not made the cut, and now they were throwing her to Sabretooth like a biscuit to a rabid dog?

Click click click click click

He dragged his claws along the bars again, a stray beam of light catching the gleam of his sharp canine teeth as he smirked at her.

“That’s right, Frail.” He took a deep, showy inhale of her scent. “Fear me.”

She clenched her fists, taking a step forward. “Fuck you, furball.” She couldn’t help how emotion brought out the drawl in her voice, but she kept her spine stiff, her eyes steady. If he wanted her fear, he was going to have to work for it.

He chuckled, low and soft. “A fighter. I like that. Makes it more fun, when they fight back.”

She swallowed hard. “If you interrupted my beauty sleep jus’ to tell me tales of your illustrious history of murderin’ and rapin’, you shouldn’ta bothered.”

His smile widened. “Whatsa matter, Frail? My runt of a brother already bore you with those bedtime stories?”

She felt nothing but confusion for a moment, and then a nauseating rush of lightheadedness. Brother. It suddenly made sense...why Lehnsherr had been so anxious to meet Logan and make sure he didn’t remember Sabretooth. The strange coincidence of them both being feral and superhealers...

“I saw you pull him out of that water, Frail, and I smelled him all over you when they brought you in. Did you even know that -- how much you smell like him?”

He took another deep sniff, and then grinned. “Even now you reek of him. You must have sucked him into you good, huh?”

He suddenly lunged, reaching a long arm through the bars, and she couldn’t help flinching back even with twenty feet of space between them.

“It’s gonna be so good,” he crooned. “Watching you struggle as I’m fuckin’ you...makin’ you scream. It’s gonna be so much sweeter knowin’ it’s his girl I’m tearin’ apart. He may have marked you first, but I’m gonna put my mark all over you before you die.”

Don’t give him the satisfaction, she told herself sternly, even as the sickeningly vivid image he was creating burned into her brain. He was just taunting her again, if they had really given her to him he would be inside the cell by now...right?

“Yeah, yeah,” she drawled. “You’re so big an’ scary. Ya done now? I gotta catch my z’s.”

He chuckled again, and the smug sound of it froze her blood.

“Not yet, Frail. I brought you a present.”

She watched him warily, but he didn’t move -- just stood there with his dead black eyes on her. Then she heard it...the distant sound of boots. He watched her face carefully as the boots tromped down the hall, more slowly than usual, the scraping sound of an unconscious body even more pronounced than usual. Heavier.

She felt the blood drain from her face, her knees starting to tremble. “No,” she heard herself whisper.

Sabretooth smiled, his eyes drinking in every moment of her realization. “That’s right, Frail. The only thing better’n tearin’ you apart...” He paused, his shaggy head turning to the side.

Forge’s cell was on one side of hers, but the cell on the other side had been empty. She heard the door to it swish open, and couldn’t help herself. She ran to the wall, pressing her face to the crack between the panels, her fingertips digging desperately into the rubber surface.

She could just see him in the dim light -- his wide back bare and bloodied, his leather uniform pants torn. The guards dragged him forward, shackling his wrists to a hook midway up the wall. His head hung limply, his body held awkwardly in a kneeling position by his outstretched cuffed arms.

She couldn’t help the muffled scream that escaped her, panic driving all other thoughts from her mind. “Logan!”

Sabretooth chuckled again. “...is gonna be havin’ him watch.”

“Logan!”

Marie barely registered the sound of Sabretooth’s footsteps as he lumbered away, still chuckling. Her eye was pressed to the seam in the paneled wall, her trembling fingers reaching futilely through the narrow gap.

“Logan. God, Logan. Can you hear me?”

His body remained kneeling, slumped in a parody of a prayer, his forearms bolted firmly to the wall, his head hanging limply between them. The dim gleam of light off his sweaty, bloodied back was too faint to let her see if he was even breathing.

“Number 39! Hands in the cell!”

She didn’t react quickly enough and the shock hit her while her hand was still partially through the gap, wrenching her fingers painfully as her spine arced against the jolt.

The shock faded slowly, leaving her ears ringing and her head spinning. She was as close to passing out as she had ever been, and for fuck’s sake she couldn’t afford that right now.

Pull yourself together, Marie. Be smart. The suppression collar had taken away all the other voices, but not this one -- the part of her mind that came out in a crisis, that stayed steely and detached even as she was falling apart. Rogue.

She forced herself to turn around, pulling her knees up to her chest and sinking her head between them, trying to take slow deep breaths.

In one, two, three...hold it...out, one, two, three.

She forced herself to count in her head, trying to keep at bay the panic creeping in around the edges of her mind.

Oh my god, Logan Logan Logan Logan...no, don’t think of that, don’t think of that...In one, two, three...hold it...out, one, two, three...

Ten minutes. You know the system, Marie. Wait it out.

Ten minutes seemed like an eternity, and then she added one more, worried that she had messed up the counting in her frantic state.

Finally she turned around, pressing her eye back to the gap.

“Logan?” Anxiety made her voice come out unbearably louder than she had intended.

Goddammit, Marie, he’s got heightened senses. Pull yourself together. Whisper.

“Logan?” This time the word was whispered, the barest breath. Was it her imagination? Had the slumped head turned just a fraction? Was it a trick of the dim light, or had the muscles in his back tightened for just a moment?

She bit back a sob -- of relief or despair, she didn’t even know. Almost against her will, her hand crept through the gap again, futilely straining toward him even though he was chained several yards away.

“Logan...I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. Why are you here? I thought you’d be safe...I thought if I left you, I could keep you safe -- keep us both safe.”

She saw no perceptible reaction from him. Her head spun wildly, her thoughts scattered. Was he unconscious still? She couldn’t see the shine of a suppression collar at his neck...what could they have done to him, to keep him out even with his healing factor? Or...was he just ignoring her? She had left him, after all -- left him while he was still unconscious, without an explanation, knowing nothing she said would suffice. Was he kneeling there, hating her, wishing he had been put in any cell but this one?

How had he even gotten here? Had they picked him up randomly like the others? Or...

She thought about when she had him strong in her mind. The unyielding devotion she had sensed toward her, the overwhelming need to both possess and protect her. Even potentially hating her for what she had done, had he -- god forbid -- come here looking for her?

Something told her that the latter was true, and despair clenched her heart so tightly she thought it might stop.

“What have I done?” She was talking mostly to herself now. “I’ve fucked things up so bad, Logan. I thought...I thought if I could get away...just disappear...I could stop what I saw comin’.”

She drew in a shaky breath. “I saw it all in Lehnsherr’s head. He has a machine, Logan. Somethin’ that he thinks will make humans into mutants. Except he can’t get it to work. He needed Forge. That’s why he was trackin’ down the black marketeers, tryin’ to figure out where this facility was. He knew the new Weapon X program had Forge, an’ he wanted him. That was his original plan, but then he saw what I could do, an’...”

She wiped her eyes, gulping in another breath. “I became part of his plan too. He didn’t want to power the machine himself, it woulda used up his power so bad...maybe even killed him.”

She was babbling, the thoughts spilling out of her head in a jumble, but she couldn’t stop the torrent of words.

“That’s why he forced me to absorb him, at the boat. He wanted to make sure it wasn’t jus’ somethin’ about your mutation -- that I could take in any mutation, his mutation. And once he knew that I could...you don’t know what it was like, Logan, havin’ him in my mind. He’s merciless. If he wanted me, he woulda come to the mansion for me. He wouldn’ta cared about the kids, or even Xavier. And you...I already saw what he could do to you. An’ you woulda tried...there woulda been no stoppin’ you from tryin’ to protect me. He woulda torn you apart jus’ because he could.”

She curled into herself, her back against the wall, her head in her crossed arms. To the camera it likely looked like she was sleeping, but the words continued to spill out, a whispered confession. Her deathbed confession, she supposed, because she knew now what Sabretooth had planned and she was going to make damned sure that he would have to kill her first.

“At least that’s what I told myself. I’ve had a lotta time to think, Logan, stuck here in this cell, waitin’ to see what they have planned for me. An’ I think some of what I told myself about leavin’ was truth...but some of it was lies.”

Her voice was growing hoarse, thick with tears and rusty from whispering after weeks of barely speaking. “I wish I coulda explained to you what it was like...bein’ jus’ a kid, thinkin’ I knew how my whole life was gonna be, an’ then suddenly havin’ it all ripped away in a moment. One minute wonderin’ if Cody was gonna ask me to junior prom an’ the next minute bein’ out on the street, not knowin’ if I had killed him. One night goin’ to sleep in my own bedroom an’ the next not knowin’ if tonight was gonna be the night I died from bein’ so cold an’ hungry I couldn’t stand it anymore. Findin’ out all at once that I was mutant and toxic and crazy, and so damned unlovable that my own parents couldn’t even stand to be near me...”

She lapsed into silence for awhile, her mind caught up in the past. Not just that one horrible day, but the series of horrible days that stretched into months and years, until Logan had come into her life. Wandering aimlessly, confused and alone, the voices in her head driving her nearly to madness until she had figured out how to clamp down on them.

“Ev’ry time I found a place that I thought might be okay...where I thought I might be able to stay for awhile, somethin’ would go wrong and I’d hafta run again. Ev’ry person I touched -- ones who tried to help me, ones who tried to hurt me -- it didn’t matter. Even when someone was bein’ kind to me, no matter how careful I tried to be, somethin’ would happen. I’d slip up an’ end up hurtin’ us both.”

Her whisper was full of self-mockery as she repeated the familiar words. “‘It’s better for everyone if you’re on your own.’ That’s what my parents said to me, that night they kicked me outta the house, and I started to believe it. I finally figured that the only way to be safe -- to keep ev’ryone else safe -- was to jus’ stay apart from ev’ryone. Not let anyone really know me, or get close to me. An’ I was doin’ okay with that. Or at least I thought I was. Lookin’ back, I can see how lonely an’ sad I was.”

She felt a numb exhaustion falling over her, her voice growing slow and meditative as she put into words for the first time all that she had realized over the past weeks, stuck in this cell with nothing to do but rethink all her bad decisions.

“I was so stupid, Logan. That person I became -- the one who didn’t care about anyone, and didn’t mind that nobody cared about her -- Rogue...”

She took a deep, shuddering breath. “I thought she was strong, and tough. But I was so wrong. I had it all backwards. She was the fuckin’ coward, Logan. I thought I was bein’ tough but I was jus’ bein’ scared. Too scared to have somethin’ that might be ripped away from me again. I thought Marie was weak, wantin’ to be with you, wantin’ to trust you. But I don’t think that anymore, Logan. That’s not weakness. It takes courage to want somethin’, to let it get close enough to hurt you. To let you get close enough to hurt it.”

She shook her head despairingly. “I told myself I was leavin’ to protect us all from Lehnsherr, but truth is I was already plannin’ to leave as soon as you found those girls. I was already scared to death by how much I was feelin’ for you, an’ how much I wanted to stay. Findin’ out what Lehnsherr would do to get me was jus’ another push in that direction. I was already plannin’ on runnin’.”

The regret welled up so strongly -- twisting her guts, choking her. “I don’t even know what I would do if I could take it back, Logan. I only know I woulda done somethin’ -- anythin’ -- diff’rent. Even if my worst fears had come true -- if you had looked at me one day and saw what ev’rybody else sees -- decided that I wasn’t worth havin’. At least I woulda tried. I coulda trusted you, like you kept askin’ me to, and told you about Lehnsherr. I coulda told you how I felt about you. But I didn’t. I missed my chance. I let it all go, an’ now I’m gonna die regrettin’ it.”

She felt the sadness overtake her, too deep for tears. She had squandered her life, and she couldn’t even bear to think of what she might have done to Logan’s life. Would Sabretooth put the collar back on him and kill him? Or even worse, would they keep him alive -- take him back to his nightmares, back to that time of experimentation and mind control? Death would be a mercy in comparison...

The horrific images were so vivid in her head that at first she barely registered the sound of his voice.

“Marie.”

Her heart jolted, and she scrambled around, pressing her eye to the seam in the wall.

“Logan!”

His head was turned toward her, his eyes dark and unreadable.

“Marie,” he said, his voice rusty but firm. “Get down.”

“Marie,” he said, his voice rusty but firm. “Get down.”

Her stunned mind took a few seconds too long to process it but then she kicked into gear, diving for the foam mattress just as a blast of ruby light took out the door at the end of the hallway.

“Logan!” Marie yelled, squinting through the settling dust.

A slight shape in black leather sprinted down the hall, suddenly disappearing in front of Logan’s cell. Marie pressed her eyes back to the seam in the wall, recognizing the girl as the one they called Kitty. She watched in confusion as Kitty touched Logan’s shoulder and he easily pulled free of the manacles. They clattered against the wall, still locked but empty.

Logan rolled his shoulders. “Thanks, Kit,” he growled, and then Marie was scrambling backwards as they both simply walked through the wall.

“Wha...” She couldn’t even formulate the question, but Kitty smiled reassuringly as Logan lifted Marie to her feet.

“It’s my mutation,” Kitty said. “I can phase anything I touch. It feels weird at first, but don’t worry, okay?”

“Why would I...” Marie started, and then to her shock Kitty took Logan’s arm in one hand and hers in another, pulling them both through the front barred wall of the cell.

“I’ve got some computers to hack,” Kitty said, letting go of their arms in the hallway. “The rest are right behind me.” She winked at Marie. “Good luck, you two.” Then she was sprinting further down the hall.

The ground rumbled beneath them. Marie looked back and saw Scott and Piotr working their way down the row of cells, blasting and bashing down doors respectively.

“Stay right behind me,” Logan growled.

“Forge...”

“They’ll get him. Dammit, Marie. Trust me.”

She nodded and he was already in motion, claws out, stalking down the hallway. She followed him up stairs and down endless corridors. From time to time he would stop and sniff, a low rumble escaping him. Three times they ran into guards, Logan eviscerating them with brutal efficiency without even breaking his stride.

He turned a corner, and the low rumble became a roar.

Marie skidded around the corner to find Logan, his feral gaze locked on the giant, shaggy-haired figure at the end of the hall.

“Sabretooth,” Logan growled, his voice low and predatory.

“Jimmy,” Sabretooth smirked.

Marie saw a momentary confusion pass across Logan’s face, and then he was sprinting forward.

“Sorry, Jimmy. Another time.”

Sabretooth ducked through the door, slamming it shut moments before Logan got there.

Marie suddenly felt a brutal yank on her hair. She stumbled backwards as a wiry arm wrapped around her waist and another around her upper chest, pinning her arms to her sides. She must have made some sound because Logan wheeled around, his golden eyes wild.

Marie felt a sharp sting at her neck. The hand at her chest brandished a scalpel briefly before placing it back against her pulse point.

“Everyone just settle down now.” Dr. Cornelius’s voice, slightly out of breath, sounded from over her shoulder.

Logan took a step forward, his chest rumbling like thunder, and Marie couldn’t stifle the whimper of pain that escaped her as the tip of the scalpel dug in further.

“Don’t be stupid, young man,” Cornelius said. “No one has to get hurt here.”

He half-lifted Marie, dragging her a stumbling couple of steps forward.

“There’s a helicopter at the top of those stairs,” Cornelius said. “That’s all I want. Just let me past, and I’ll let the girl go once I’m on the roof. You have my word.”

The rumble in Logan’s chest grew louder, but not loud enough to mask the sound of a helicopter propeller. The whine of the propeller grew higher and then shifted, growing more distant.

“I think Sabretooth took your ride,” Logan snarled. “Now let her go before I take your head off your shoulders.”

Marie heard Cornelius’s breath panting harder. “You dare to defy me?” he spat. “You mindless animals...” She felt the moment he made the decision, his arms tensing as his grip tightened on the scalpel in preparation.

“Now!” Logan snarled.

Marie could only watch in blank shock as Logan sprang forward, his claws disappearing into her chest.

I can’t even feel it, she thought in stunned horror. Am I already dead?

Cornelius gurgled and sputtered in her ear, and she suddenly realized that she didn’t feel anything at all -- not the claws in her chest, not Cornelius’s arms around her body. Nothing except the grip of a hand on her wrist.

She looked down at the small pale hand, her gaze traveling up the slim leather-clad arm until she was looking into Kitty’s wide eyes.

Both of them looked down to where not only Logan’s claws but his whole arm disappeared into Marie’s chest. With a low roar Logan jerked his claws free of Cornelius’s body, letting it fall to the ground at -- no, through -- her feet.

“This way, Rogue,” Kitty said softly, her voice sounding as shaken as Marie felt. She pulled Marie a few steps away from the body. “Ready?” she asked, and Marie nodded numbly.

Kitty let go of her arm, and Marie suddenly felt the ground beneath her feet, and then just as suddenly Logan’s arms around her, pressing her hard against his body, squeezing the breath from her lungs.

“Marie,” he breathed into her hair, so softly she thought she might have imagined it.

Abruptly, she was standing again, Logan’s back already turned to her. “Let’s move,” he said gruffly.

Marie and Kitty followed Logan down more corridors and stairs. The facility was in shambles -- chairs and tables tossed aside, smoking holes punched through walls. Plaster dust choked Marie’s lungs as she struggled to keep up with Logan’s punishing pace, her bare feet getting cut and scraped as she heedlessly scrambled over rubble.

Finally, they burst through a door and were out in the moonlight. Marie saw the lights of the jet in the distance, and started to follow Kitty in that direction.

“This way.” Logan’s hand on her arm pulled her around. Even in her exhaustion and confusion, she couldn’t help a gasp at the feeling of his bare skin against hers.

His eyes blazed into hers, his expression still unreadable. He moved his thumb against her arm -- a caress so slight and quick again she thought she must be imagining it -- and then he was pulling her away from the jet, to the treeline where a cluster of pines loomed in the moonlit night.

“They left us our own transport,” he stated curtly.

The pine needles pricked at her battered feet as she followed him, until finally he ducked past a thicket of shrubbery, wheeling a motorcycle out from its hiding place.

“You ever ride before?” he asked, and she shook her head.

He was already pushing the helmet on her head. “Just hold on tight, and try to lean when I lean, okay?”

She barely had her leg thrown over the seat before he was revving the bike. She wrapped her arms around his bare chest, pressing her cheek against his back as he took off. They bumped and jolted through the woods for a few minutes, making her teeth rattle, and then the path smoothed out.

She braved a peek over his shoulder and saw that they were hurtling down a winding country road. The motorcycle’s headlamp was off, only dim moonlight illuminating the twisting path.

She ducked back against Logan’s back, breathing in his scent and warmth, feeling the muscles of his back shifting underneath her cheek.

They rode for what seemed like hours. She felt exhaustion and the rumble of the motorcycle lull her into a mindless daze, her body automatically following Logan’s cues as they turned the corners.

Finally the path grew jolting again. She opened her eyes to find them back in the woods, the sky pinkening with the light of dawn. Logan slowed the motorcycle as the forest grew thicker, following a path only he seemed to see.

Eventually they came to a small clearing, where an even smaller cabin nestled against the pines.

Logan stopped the motorcycle at the front porch, swinging off the seat. Marie tried to jump down too, and felt her legs embarrassingly give way beneath her.

With an indecipherable grunt he caught her up under her knees, lifting her against his bare chest.

“Logan,” she protested weakly, but he was already up the porch steps, shifting her slightly so he could turn the knob. He shouldered the door open and stood her up, his hand remaining on her elbow until she was steady on her feet.

She hung her head, looking at her dirty bare toes as he went back to the door, locking it and shooting the deadbolt.

She was suddenly afraid to face him. What could she say, after all that she had done? Why wasn’t she allowed on the jet, with the others? Was she no longer welcome at the mansion?

“Logan...I’m s- so sorry...” she started, cringing at the stammer in her voice.

“Marie.” His voice cut her off, sounding forebodingly stern to her ears.

“Logan...”

“Come here, Marie.”

“Come here, Marie.”

His voice brooked no argument, and she padded forward until his boots were in front of her. She gathered her courage and took a deep breath, raising her head to meet his eyes. “Logan...”

In a flash he had spun her around, pressing her up against the door with the weight of his metal-laced body. His mouth was ravenous on hers, devouring her gasp of surprise, stealing her breath. She was frozen for a stunned moment and then she sobbed into his mouth in relief, her arms tightening around his shoulders, her legs automatically wrapping around his waist.

“Marie.” The words were ground out against her lips, as his hand wound tightly into her hair. “Jesus Christ, Marie, don’t ever leave me like that again.”

Relief rushed through her, spreading warmth and joy through her frozen limbs.

She gasped her assent. “Never.”

The single word seemed to unleash something within him. He growled, deep and low, pushing his hips into hers ferociously, his mouth tearing away from hers to place sucking bites down her neck.

He reached her collar, and something about it seemed to pull him back to his senses. He shoved away from her, lowering her to the ground, taking in deep harsh breaths.

Finally, he seemed to have collected himself enough to speak. “The generator’s been on, so the water should be warm. Get showered and dressed, Marie, and then we’ll talk.”

“Logan...”

He silenced her with a quick nip to her lips, his tongue slicking over her mouth, making her shiver. “Just do as I say, Marie. I have somethin’ to do, and then we have to talk.”

With quick efficient movements he pulled the door open and stepped outside, leaving her to lean bonelessly against the wall.

Holy hell, she thought. What the fuck was that?
__________

The shower felt like a miracle after three grubby weeks in the facility. She felt some of the achiness and exhaustion leave her, the terror and regret of the past three weeks seeming to disappear down the drain with the filthy water.

She stepped out of the bathroom and noticed clothes laid out on the bed. Her clothes in fact...or at least the borrowed ones from the mansion. Everything from jeans to scarf and gloves. She dried her hair with the towel, lifting up the suppression collar to dry underneath it as well. She dressed, leaving the scarf and gloves behind.

With the exception of the bedroom and bathroom, the rest of the cabin was one main room. She emerged tentatively, still unsure of what she could say to Logan. How do you thank someone who you abandoned, and who subsequently saved your life? She felt unbearably shy at the prospect of facing him again, even with the memory of his lips on hers warming her blood.

She heard a slight clattering from the kitchen and found him there. He seemed surprisingly at home, moving pans on the stove, pouring coffee into a cup. Her mind struggled to absorb this shockingly domestic version of Logan.

He seemed to have washed up at the sink -- his hair was damp and ruffled, and he was dressed in his familiar flannel shirt and jeans. He pressed the cup of coffee into her hands, guiding her to the couch. In a few more moments he put a plate of eggs, bacon, and toast on the coffee table in front of her.

“Eat,” he instructed, and she automatically pushed some of the food into her mouth.

This is ridiculous, she told herself. “Logan. I want to tell you how sorry I am...”

“I heard,” he interrupted.

“Um...what?”

He sat in a deep leather chair opposite her position on the couch, leaning forward.

“Everythin’ you said in the cell. Sorry, darlin’, I had to pretend to be out so that bastard Sabretooth didn’t come back too soon. But I was awake. I heard what you said.”

“You...” She felt a spark of anger growing to a flame, fired by humiliation. “You...you heard? All of that? And...and you didn’t let me know?”

His eyes gleamed, a smile quirking the corner of his mouth. “Every word.”

“You....you...jerk!”

She made a half-hearted swipe at him, and he caught her wrist. His eyes darkened, and he pulled her towards him slowly. She ended up in his lap and he cuddled her up against his chest, leaning back in the chair with a sigh.

“Yeah, maybe,” he said, his voice low and meditative. “But dammit, Marie...I needed to know what was goin’ on in that head of yours. Would you really have told me all of that if you knew for sure that I could hear you?”

Dammit, he was right. She let her silence answer for her.

He kissed her lightly on the forehead. “I need to show you somethin’, darlin’.”

His arm around her, he walked her to the window overlooking the front porch.

“See that?” He gestured to the clearing, and she looked in confusion at what looked like a small satellite dish on a tripod.

“What is it?”

“That collar you’re wearin’...it has a tracker, darlin’. Allows them to get a lock on your location from anywhere within 15 miles.”

She felt her heart lurch into her stomach. She backed away, tugging at the collar, panic rising within her.

“They’re coming for me?” Her voice was a thready whisper, even to her own ears.

He moved toward her, his eyes reassuring. “Don’t freak out, darlin’. We trashed the tracking system at the lab. If there’s anyone left who cares, it’ll still take them awhile to get up and runnin’. And this thing -- “ he gestured to the satellite dish “ -- will let us know they’re close before they sense us. Hank rigged it to tell us if anyone is tryin’ to track you within 45 miles. Not much of a head start, but it’ll do.”

Her knees were weak again and he must have sensed it, scooping her up and bringing her back to sit with him on the couch.

“Deep breaths, Marie.” His hand stroked gently through her hair, as she buried her head into his chest, breathing in his scent. The first breath came out in a sob, but slowly she was able to calm herself.

“I don’t understand,” she finally managed. “Why didn’t you just cut it off me at the lab?”

He tipped her head back, his eyes meeting hers. “Because it’s not my choice to make, Marie. It’s yours.”

As if he couldn’t help himself, his lips nipped at hers again, arousing and yet somehow soothing.

“You told me once that I didn’t understand what it was like for you -- not bein’ able to touch anyone. Bein’ a prisoner in your own skin. I may still never know, but I know how important it is to you. So if you want to keep the collar, we can make it work.”

Her mind was still spinning, the collar feeling like an unbearably heavy weight around her neck now that she knew what it could do. “What do you mean -- make it work how?”

“However you want. Wherever you want. Mexico, Europe. Fuckin’ Tibet, I don’t care. If you want to go on the run, then I’m goin’ with you. We take this gizmo of Hank’s with us, and we stay one step ahead of anyone who might be comin’ for you.”

She looked into his eyes, seeing nothing but sincerity there.

She swallowed hard. “Your friends...your home...”

“My home is with you, Marie.”

She closed her eyes against the rush of emotion. She never thought she’d hear those words from anyone. That anyone would be willing to make that kind of sacrifice for her.

She felt a momentary pang of regret, but the decision was easy. “Cut it off.”

Shock flickered across his face. “Marie...you’re sure?”

Her eyes were unwavering on his. “Absolutely sure.”

Another quick brush of his lips against hers. “You know it doesn’t matter to me, Marie. Your mutation...your skin...it doesn’t matter worth a damn to me. You’re everythin' that I want.”

She knew. She had always known, even when she tried to deny it to herself. From the moment her mind had taken in his, from the moment she had felt his teeth against her skin in the containment room, she had known.

He stroked her hair one more time, shutting his eyes briefly. She heard the snap of his claw, and couldn’t help the thrilled shudder that ran through her as he traced the blunt edge under the thin line of the collar.

“There’s a hinge on each side,” he said. “Once the circuit is broken the tracker won’t work anymore, but if I cut it at the hinges maybe Forge can remove the tracker somehow, and fix it up again...”

“It’s okay, Logan.” She squeezed her eyes tight. “Just do it.”

A quick flick of his claw at each side of her neck and she felt the collar fall away. He set the pieces on the coffee table. They looked surprisingly benign sitting there -- two slim arcs of metal.

She rubbed her neck where the collar had been, its absence feeling strange already.

She looked down at her bare hands, and thought about the gloves she had left behind on the bed.

“Two hours,” she said to herself softly.

“Marie?”

She wound her hands into his hair tightly, almost desperately. She looked into his eyes, the warm golden hazel sending a shiver up her spine.

“Two hours,” she said to him. “I can touch for two hours.”

She watched his eyes dilate, darkening with passion. A muscle in his jaw twitched. “Marie...you don’t...”

This time she interrupted him, her mouth drowning out his words, her tongue delving deep. Tasting him. For the first and last time, she thought, and then pushed away the bitter thought. This time was a gift she never thought she’d have, and she wouldn’t allow anything to spoil it.

“Shut up, Logan,” she said. She felt the slow smile spreading across her face. “Two hours. And I don’t want to waste a second.”

She felt the slow smile spreading across her face. “Two hours. And I don’t want to waste a second.”

Heat flickered through his eyes, a slight rumble rising up from his chest as he met her lips again. He tasted of woods and coffee and pure Logan, and she tried to memorize the feel of his mouth on hers, the taste of him on her tongue.

His kiss was slow, languid even, and she wound her hands in his hair, trying to deepen it. His lips moved to her throat, trailing desultory kisses. She gave up on trying to pull him closer, her hands moving to fumble frantically with his buttons instead.

“Easy, darlin’,” he said, his words mumbled into the skin of her neck as his fingers came down to twine with hers.

“Logan...” she said, trying to tug her hands away impatiently. “We’ve only got...”

“Shhh...” A quick bite to her collarbone silenced her words in a gasp of pleasure. He lifted his head to look at her, his eyes hot and dark. “We’ve got all the time in the world. Let me make this good for you, darlin’.”

Then his lips took hers again, drowning any response she might have had with a rush of slick heat that sent shivers through her body. In the end, all she could do was murmur her assent, letting her body melt into his as he savored her slowly, his mouth alternately coaxing and demanding.

She swung one knee over until she was straddling his lap, both of them groaning at the feel of their bodies fitting so perfectly together. She brushed her hands over his stubbled jaw, enjoying the novel sensation as it tickled every sensitive nerve ending in her fingertips.

Her hand wandered down the corded muscle of his neck to his shoulders. His tongue continued to move against hers in easy, languorous strokes, but she felt the tension in the muscles of his shoulders, bunched taut with restraint under the thin layer of flannel.

“Logan.” She couldn’t help saying his name again, and the breathy sound of it seemed to spur something in him as well. He closed his eyes and dipped his head, pressing his forehead hard against the skin of her neck, breathing in her scent.

“Marie. My Marie.” His voice was soft, raspy with emotion, the sound of it causing her heart to turn over. He looked up again, and there was something new in his eyes -- a vulnerability that she had never seen before.

“You have me in your head, Marie. You know what I am, probably better’n anybody. Are you sure this is what you want?”

She brushed her fingers down his cheek again, still amazed by the sight of her skin bare against his, the feel of nothing between them. “I want this, Logan. I want you. Everything that you are.”

He shut his eyes at her words, relief and some other stronger emotion warring for precedence in his expression. She felt his hands shaking a little where they gripped her waist, and she realized this was new for him too -- being with someone he cared for in this way.

Then he was standing, her legs wrapped around his waist, her arms around his neck as he walked toward the bedroom. She placed a hard, sucking bite at the base of his neck, making him stumble, and she giggled.

With a mock growl he took her mouth again, kissing her hard and deep this time until her head spun. The next thing she knew he was sitting on the bed and she was straddling him again. His warm hands snuck in under the hem of her shirt, brushing up and down her sides and then pressing firmly on her lower back to grind her against him.

This time he didn’t stop her as her hands pulled at the buttons of his shirt. She spread the fabric wide, pushing it off his shoulders, admiring the play of his muscles as he shrugged it the rest of the way off. Then her hands were exploring his chest -- the crinkle of his chest hair through his thin cotton undershirt, the taut line of his ribs.

She ran her hands up under the undershirt as well, watching him shiver as her palms brushed over his abdomen. She pushed the shirt up, her thumbs skimming over his nipples, ripping an involuntary grunt from him.

Her world spun and then she was lying on the bed, his body a dark shadow above her. His warm lips kissed down her throat, trailing fire, his hands deft on the buttons of her shirt as he kissed every inch of skin he exposed. Then he was kissing down her belly, his tongue dipping teasingly into her navel before he unbuttoned her jeans, pulling them down her hips and off her legs.

She sat up, her hair falling down around her shoulders. She took a moment to memorize the sight of him -- his hair rumpled from her fingers, his eyes hot with lust, his bare chest heaving. She reached for the buckle of his belt and then hesitated.

“Marie?” His fingers brushed gently down her cheek, and then tilted her chin up until her eyes met his. “Is this goin’ too fast for you?”

“No!” She shook her head emphatically. “It’s just...” She stopped, fumbling for the words.

He pulled her in against his bare chest, his fingers brushing soothingly through her hair. “Tell me, baby.”

“I just...I don’t want to disappoint you. Before...when I was going to...” She felt the blush rising up in her cheeks, remembering what she had so callously offered him the last time she was in his bed. She heard a low rumble in his chest and knew he was remembering as well.

With a deep breath she forced herself to go on. “I had planned to...you know...look at your memories, to see what you liked. But I can’t until my mutation comes back...”

The rumble deepened and she stopped, unsure of his reaction.

He took her face in his hands, the intensity of his gaze stealing her breath, making her heart hammer in her chest.

“I don’t want that, Marie. Fuck...I can’t stand the idea of you seein’ me with those other girls, who didn’t mean a damn thing to me. You’ll know what I like because I’ll tell you, and you’ll tell me what you like.”

The expression in his eyes was open, searching. “We’ll learn each other, Marie. I don’t want you tryin’ to be like someone else. I don’t want anythin’ but you.”

His words made her heart soar in her chest, her doubts and fears disappearing like fog in the sunshine. She pounced on him, seeing his eyes widen briefly before she landed on top of him. Her lips clung to his, their legs tangled together.

This time there was no hesitation as she yanked at his ridiculously big belt buckle, pulling the strap completely free of the loops. She reached for the top button of his jeans, and his hands caught hers again.

She looked up at him, confused, and caught her breath at the expression in his eyes.

“Trust me, Marie,” he said, and she let him push her back down to the mattress, his hands linked with hers at her sides as he kissed her slow and deep.

His big warm hands moved to the clasp of her bra, pulling it open, peeling the straps from her shoulders. His eyes blazed gold as he looked at her, cupping her breasts gently in his hands, breathing his admiration against her skin.

“You’re so fuckin’ gorgeous, Marie.”

Then his lips were on her breasts, nipping softly, sucking almost to the point of pain and then laving gently, sending shocks of lust flickering through her body. Her hips bucked reflexively, and then his hand was there, pulling off her panties as his stubbled jaw rasped over the sensitive skin of her belly.

Her eyes widened as she realized what he meant to do and then his mouth was on her and she was lost, drowning in sensation. She gripped the pillow under her head tightly, squeezing her eyes shut. Every nerve and muscle in her body was shuddering, straining toward the point where his talented mouth teased and licked and suckled.

She turned her head into the pillow, trying to muffle her cries, and almost sobbed when she felt him suddenly stop. She opened her eyes to find his gaze on her, dark and hot, as he slowly shook his head.

“Nuh uh, baby. Don’t do that. I wanna hear you. Let me hear you come for me.”

Then his mouth was on her again, lapping harder than before, and she couldn’t help but obey. The wordless cries and urgent, incoherent little noises seemed to drive him on. His arms came up to brace her thighs wide, his hands pulling her harder into his mouth.

“That’s it, baby. Let it happen,” he muttered against her slick skin. “Come for me. Just for me.”

She felt one thick finger, and then two slide deep and hot into her and that was all she needed. He growled low against her and then she was coming hard, shuddering and shaking, feeling nothing but the slow glide of his fingers and the deep warmth of his tongue as the wave rushed over her.

Her mind hazed for a bit, and when she floated back to awareness he was snuggled next to her, his big body wrapped around hers, his fingers tracing gentle patterns on her belly.

“Holy fuck,” she said in wonder, and he chuckled.

She turned toward him, tracing a hand over his stubbled cheek. His amusement fled, his eyes darkening again. She pushed him onto his back and this time he gave her free rein, letting her hands trace over his chest.

This was something she had never realized, in all her dreams about being touchable. Not just how good it was to be touched, but how unbearably sweet it was to touch Logan -- to see his every reaction. Feeling his muscles bunch as she skimmed her palms down his arms, his nipple ruche under her tongue as he hissed in pleasure. Watching his eyes close and his body flex uncontrollably into her touch as she opened his jeans and released him hot and hard into her hand.

“Fuckin’ hell, Marie,” he groaned as she took her time, feeling every texture, exploring the shape and weight of him. It was intimidating and yet fascinating, seeing how much she could affect him, watching his face tighten seemingly in pleasure-pain as his body twitched and hardened almost unbelievably in her palms, a bead of sweat traveling down his temple to disappear into his sideburns.

This freedom he gave her -- restraining himself ruthlessly while she explored his body -- was somehow more intimate than anything they had done so far. He was at her mercy, leaving himself vulnerable to her whims, and she wanted nothing more than to please him to the edge of madness.

She nuzzled into him, and then took his cock into her mouth -- tasting him, suckling and licking as he writhed and growled underneath her.

“Jesus fuck, baby,” he panted. “Please, darlin’...I need...”

She pulled him deep, sucking hard, experimenting with how much she could take. A slight scrape of her teeth had him shuddering. A strangled groan escaped him and then he was inexorably pulling her up his body, kicking off his jeans.

He reached for the nightstand, and she caught his hand in hers, blushing at the question in his eyes.

“At the lab. They gave me a shot. You don’t need...”

Her words stuck in her throat as his eyes flashed golden and feral with rage at the thought of what they had done to her, and why they had likely taken such a step.

She rubbed a hand soothingly down his back, slightly alarmed at his expression. “It’s okay, Logan. I just...if we don’t need it, I don’t want anything between us. This time.” Much as she tried to push the thought away, she couldn’t help how her heart clenched with sadness to think of all the precautions they would have to take in the future.

Her sorrow seemed to bring him back to himself, as she saw the anger fade into concern. He nuzzled her neck gently, kissing up to her ear.

Determined not to let the bitter thoughts spoil this moment, she turned her head to intercept him, her mouth greedily taking his. He growled hungrily into her mouth, returning her kiss with equal fervor, his hands running up and down her body.

He tumbled her until he was spread out over her, his eyes dark and intent. His skin -- so much skin, naked and hot -- was pressed against every inch of hers. He pressed his forehead to hers.

“My Marie,” he said again, and then he was rocking against her, and then into her.

It hurt a little, and she heard him grit his teeth and press further, and then it hurt a lot.

“Logan...it’s not working,” she said, trying to scoot away.

“Marie...” His voice was strained, raspy. “Trust me, Marie.”

She took a deep breath, and nodded, trying to relax. Another rocking motion from him and he suddenly slid home, the painful intrusion turning back into a slightly uncomfortable stretching sensation as her body adjusted to his.

“Okay, baby?” he asked, his voice still rough and strained.

She released the breath she hadn’t realized she had been holding, and nodded. She shifted a little, and...oh, that actually felt good.

It made Logan groan too, and that made her feel even better. She moved again, and this time he moved with her, rocking gently into her, and...wow, that was better than good.

She pressed up into him seekingly and he started a slow rhythm, a deep glide of his body into hers with a seductive little swirl at the end that sent a wave of heat rippling up her spine every time.

“Logan...” She ran her fingernails down his back, feeling the thick muscles flex and release under her palms as he pushed his body into hers. She threw her head back and then his lips were on her neck, making her shiver.

She felt nothing but him, over and around and inside her, possessing and pleasuring her. This was the culmination of everything he had wordlessly promised her in that containment room. She was his, and he was hers. The thought brought her closer to the edge.

She heard herself as if from a distance, soft urgent utterances that may have been his name. He answered her with low incoherent growls, interspersed with words muttered against her skin.

“Fuck, Marie...so good...so sweet...mine...”

“Mine,” she repeated, and the word seemed to make his control slip further. She felt the vibration against her belly as he growled, deep and low, thrusting faster now.

“Oh, god...Logan...please...”

And he growled again, grinding harder into her, deep and hard and so good, so good, so good...

She felt the pleasure build, drizzling through her veins, thick and sweet as honey. His hand pulled her thigh higher up against his hip, his body pressing that much deeper. She was so close, and yet she wanted more, needed more of him. And somehow, some part of her, knew just what to do.

She wound her hands into his hair and pulled until his eyes met hers.

“Everything that you are,” she said again, urgently. She dug her nails into his back, nipping his shoulder hard. He roared in pleasure, and she felt the last of his control slip. She caught a glimmer of his wild golden gaze, a flash of his ferocious smile. Then he was fucking her hard, his breath huffing hot on her neck as his hungry mouth nipped and licked the salty sweat from her skin.

She closed her eyes as his rough, uncontrolled movements caused the pleasure to coil tighter and tighter in her belly. One more growl from him, a deep stroke of his body into hers, and she was suddenly there. The glide of his sweat-slicked skin warm against her, the luscious friction of his body moving in hers, the scent and sound and feel of him...

She threw her head back, her spine arching with the blinding intensity of the explosion as she shuddered and keened, crying his name out into his skin. Dimly she heard a metallic snick as his claws snapped out, and then he was roaring again, his teeth at her neck, his body pulsing deep inside hers.

She clasped him tightly, never wanting to let go, and he seemed to feel the same, still churning into her slowly, growling from time to time as the aftershocks rocked them both. Finally they both stilled, their breath heaving, their skin slicked with sweat.

He rested his forehead against hers for a moment, and then rolled them so she was sprawled across his chest.

She pressed her cheek against his skin, listening to his heartbeat thumping strong and steady against her ear.

“Marie?” his voice rumbled. “Did I...are you okay?”

She lifted her head, her smile wide enough to turn the concern in his eyes to amusement.

“I’m fucking fantastic,” she reassured him, kissing her way up his neck until she reached his lips. “Just calculating how long that took,” she teased between kisses. “By my reckoning that’s only half our time gone.”

He huffed his laughter against her lips, and then ran his hands slowly down her back from her shoulder blades to her hips.

“Well then,” he growled, pressing up into her, making her gasp as she felt him harden and lengthen in her body. “Let’s see how many times I can make you come in the next sixty minutes.”

Logan held Marie tight in his arms. Her small soft body was pressed against the length of his, her head on his chest as he ran his fingers through her hair. Her fingertips traced slow circles on his hip. They couldn’t seem to stop touching each other.

She looked utterly delectable -- her cheeks flushed, her hair mussed, her lips swollen from the force of his kisses. Just looking at her made his heart twist. He had never felt this way about anyone. The joy was so overwhelming it was almost painful, because nothing this good could possibly last. Not for someone like him.

The last two hours had been a fucking revelation. As much as the Wolverine had longed for some kind of emotional connection to a mate, neither he nor Logan had realized how amazing it would be to actually have it. How it would feel to hear those words from Marie’s lips -- accepting everything that he was, promising to never leave him.

Those words had unmade him, shaken him to his very foundations and put him back together into someone new. Someone who would do every possible thing on heaven and earth to make sure that Marie never had even a second of regret for choosing him.

He pulled her closer, drinking in her satisfied sigh. He wanted to keep her right there in his arms, in the shelter of his body, protecting her from anything that might try to hurt her. And yet there was one thing he couldn’t protect against...

As if his thought had conjured it, he felt the sudden tension ripple through her body. She abruptly rolled away from him, almost falling off the bed in her haste.

“Marie...”

He reflexively reached for her but she scrambled away in a tangle of sheet and naked limbs, backing up to the wall.

“No!” she cried out, her hands held up defensively in front of her, her eyes bright with tears.

He froze in place, both of them breathing heavily. He slowly pulled back the hands that were reaching for her, sitting back on the bed.

“It’s okay, darlin’. Take a breath, okay? I won’t touch you.”

Devastation flickered across her expression, making him want to howl. “Goddammit, Marie, you know what I mean...”

She took a deep breath, swiping at her eyes. She turned her face to the wall, gathering the sheet up around her, her voice shaky.

“Yeah, I know. I’m sorry. Just...just give me a minute, okay?”

“Sure, darlin’. Whatever you need.”

She wrapped the sheet more securely around her, and then gathered up a handful of her clothes.

“I’ll just...take a shower,” she said, her voice low and raspy.

“Okay, baby.”

She ducked out of the room and he fell back on the bed in frustration, the delicious scent of her and him and sex now tainted with the salty tang of her tears.

_____________

She emerged from the bathroom already dressed in jeans and her long-sleeved shirt, socks on her feet. He had dressed as well, buttoning his shirt high and pulling his leather gloves onto his hands.

She avoided his gaze as she came back into the room. He watched silently as she pulled the blankets from the floor, looking under them, and then dropped to her hands and knees to look under the bed.

“Fuck,” she muttered to herself. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

“What are you doin’, Marie?”

“Goddammit!” she expostulated. She sat back with a huff of frustration, her eyes brimming with tears, her lower lip trembling. “I can’t find my scarf and gloves...I left them here on the bed...”

She looked so forlorn that he wanted nothing more than to cuddle her up in his arms again. You promised to give her space, he told himself sternly.

“There’s more in the dresser, baby. I brought all your stuff.”

She stood up, walking jerkily over to the dresser, yanking open the top drawer. She made a choked sound when she saw the row of gloves. She held up a pair of black silk gloves, staring at them for a moment before pulling them swiftly onto her hands. She opened the next drawer and chose a dark green silk scarf, winding it around her neck.

She closed the drawers softly but didn’t turn around, her spine stiff and her head bowed. He watched as she took a deep breath, her gloved finger tracing a whorl of wood grain on the surface of the dresser.

“You brought all my stuff,” she finally repeated in a low voice. “How did you know?”

He told her the simple truth. “I wasn’t leavin’ that place without you, Marie.”

At that she turned, her eyes closed tight against the tears. “Logan...” she said, her voice thick with longing and despair.

He couldn’t restrain himself any longer. In two steps he was in front of her, pulling her into his arms, ignoring her reflexive flinch away as he cradled her head against his chest. He had almost forgotten this about her -- how she carried herself when her mutation was active, always so prickly and guarded. The way she instinctively tensed against his touch, and then the slow yielding as she finally let her body relax against his.

He scooped her up, bringing her to lie back with him on the bed. He kissed the top of her head, his gloved fingers brushing the tears away.

“Logan...be careful...” she breathed.

His mind suddenly revolted, a low rumble escaping his chest. Fuck giving her space. She’s mine.

“It’s not gonna be that way, Marie,” he growled. “Out there -- with everyone else -- you can put up those walls again, do whatever you have to do to protect yourself. But here with me, there’s gonna be none of that shit.”

“What...”

He interrupted her, his voice low and gruff. “Your skin on mine -- we’ll avoid that if you wanna, because I sure as hell don’t want to put more of me in your head than you’re already havin’ to deal with. But I’m not gonna let you be scared around me, Marie, and I’m sure as hell not scared of you.”

He tumbled her under him, his gloved hands holding her firmly as he ground his hips into hers, staking his claim. Surprise rippled through her body and then her scent flushed with arousal, so rich and sweet it made his mouth water. His head ducked down, his teeth biting firmly down on her shoulder through her shirt and she whimpered with longing, pushing up into his body. He smiled, his tongue lapping the bite through the fabric of her shirt as he rumbled his approval. Maybe she had kept some of his feral after all.

He felt the Wolverine surging to the surface. This was his mate, sweet and soft and pliant underneath him. She had tried to slip away but he had her back now, and he was keeping her. Even after her shower she still had his scent on her, but not enough -- not nearly enough. He wanted to rub it all over her, mark her with his body until she smelled like him and sex and satisfaction again.

Already painfully hard in his jeans, he ground the firm ridge of his body against her softness, watching her cheeks flush, her breath catching with the sensation. He thought of the look that had crossed her face when he had told her that he wouldn’t touch her, and suddenly he knew what she needed. What they both needed.

“I’m not gonna let you shy away from me, Marie. I want you to touch me. Now, later, all the time. And I’m never gonna stop touchin’ you. So get used to it.”

His gloved hands brushed up her arms, pinning them above her head for a moment, and then with a swift movement he stripped her silk gloves away. She gasped in shock, her hands clenching nervously.

“Logan...”

“Hush.” He pulled the scarf up over her mouth, breathing warmth into the fabric for a moment before his lips covered hers. In an instant the whisper of silk was warm and wet, barely a barrier at all as his tongue moved in slow, luxurious strokes against hers.

He kissed her deep and hard until they were both dizzy, pulling away so he could look once more into her wide eyes. “You think I’m gonna let you wrap yourself up again, hidin’ away from me? Hell, no. I want you naked underneath me, Marie. And that’s how it’s gonna be.”

He pulled hard on the edges of her shirt, popping the buttons, spreading the fabric wide. He growled in appreciation at the creamy skin that was revealed, her lush body practically overflowing the lacy cups of her bra. He ducked his head, suckling her through the lacy fabric, drinking in the soft little sounds she made as her body writhed against him. Fuck, but that was good.

“That’s it, baby,” he muttered, unable to resist a swift lick across her creamy bare skin. She cried out in both shock and arousal, and he felt a deep, possessive sense of satisfaction at the sound. Fuckin’ right. My Marie. Gonna make you sound like that all the time.

He sat back, his hands tugging at the button and zipper of her jeans, stripping them down her legs and off her body along with her socks.

“Goddamn, Marie,” he breathed, running his gloved hand up her leg, from her slender ankle up to her thigh, before cupping her gently through her panties. “You are so fuckin’ gorgeous.”

She was biting her lip, lust and caution warring in her expression, her hands still clenching restlessly above her head as he reached for the nightstand drawer.

“What if...” she started, and he growled, leaving the small foil packet on the bed next to them. A swift lick of his tongue over her bare lips to silence her, and then he was kissing her through the scarf again, his fingers stroking her through the thin silk of her panties until they dampened with her arousal. Jesus Christ, he was near to coming in his goddamned jeans like a teenager just from the feel and sight and smell of her.

He sprang a claw, watching her wide eyes watch him as he cut the center of her bra, and then sliced her panties at the sides, pulling them off her body. He took a moment to appreciate the sight of her, creamy skin flushed pink with arousal, naked except for the remains of her shirt.

Jesus fuck, she was so damn sexy, and he had to be inside her. Had to. After a moment of consideration he sliced a few inches of the scarf, and then sheathed the claw again. He held one edge of the scarf, flicking it out so the fabric settled in a soft whisper over her body.

He saw her hands twitch again, and then she buried them beneath the pillow behind her head.

“Nuh uh, baby,” he admonished. Kneeling next to her, he dug under the pillow, grabbing her wrists and pulling her hands back out. “I wanna feel those sweet hands on me, darlin’.”

He opened up his shirt and pressed her hands against his chest, her fingers spread under his gloved palms. He could feel the warmth of her touch through the thin fabric of his undershirt, making him shudder.

“Logan...” her eyes were hazed with arousal, her scent deep and rich and dizzying. He moved his hands away and hers stayed pressed up against his body, stroking across his chest and down his sides.

“That’s it, baby. Just like that,” he mumbled mindlessly, and then he was pulling at the buttons of his own jeans, releasing himself from the tight denim with a sigh of relief.

He ripped open the condom packet, smoothing it over his skin with a growl. He saw one of her hands reach hesitantly toward him, and then she pulled it back.

“Don’t, Marie.” He held her hand in his, pulling it slowly toward his body. “Don’t be scared, darlin’. Touch, me, baby. Please.”

Her small hand brushed tentatively over his condom-covered length, and then she seemed to gain more confidence, grasping him firmly. He closed his eyes for a moment as his mind went blank with the pleasure of her touch.

“Fuckin’ hell, Marie,” he rasped hoarsely as she stroked firmly, her deep brown eyes glowing now.

Then he was lowering his body over hers, the scarf sliding silkily between them. He growled as he felt her momentary tension.

“If we slip up...” she started, and his growl burst free until it was practically a roar. He was about to go out of his fucking mind with lust for her. He had given himself to her, body and soul, and she had promised the same to him. No way was he going to let fear come between them.

“If we slip up, I’ll get a jolt and then I’ll fuckin’ heal, Marie,” he rasped impatiently. Her body was still tense under his, and he forced himself to gentle his voice, his eyes locked on hers. “Do you trust me, Marie?”

He saw the change in her eyes as she finally let go of the fear, her body relaxing underneath his.

“I trust you, Logan.”

He growled in satisfaction and then he was pressing forward, pushing into her through the tear in the scarf, the silky fabric a caress between both their bodies.

“Logan...” She arched up into him, her thighs coming up over his hips, pulling him closer even as he surged forward into her.

“Marie,” he breathed, his lips a hair’s breadth from her ear. He moved against and inside her, feeling her body responding to him. She was so sweet, so soft, so his, and he thought he might die from how good it felt.

She was so beautiful, the veil of the gauzy scarf emphasizing rather than hiding the lush curves of her body, the flush of her skin as her arousal crept higher.

She was getting braver now, her hands roaming every inch of his covered skin. He reciprocated, touching her tenderly, almost reverently, through the sheer fabric. “Beautiful Marie,” he rasped, his body driving strong and deep into hers.

Suddenly it wasn’t enough -- he wanted to see more of her, all of her, and he rolled them until she was straddling him, pushing back until he was sitting up against the headboard. The scarf fluttered away from her body, leaving her bare to his gaze and to his leather-covered hands.

Startlement crossed her face as the slight barrier fell from her skin, but she only hesitated for a moment, adjusting to the new position. Then his gloved hands were on her hips, guiding her, and she threw her head back with pleasure.

“That’s it baby...ride me, darlin’...so beautiful...”

He could feel his own pleasure building, coiling at the base of his spine. She was taking him deep now, her cheeks flushed pink, sweat sheening her skin, her teeth biting down on her full lower lip. He leaned forward, sucking her lip free. She moaned into his mouth and he was hard-pressed to pull away before her mutation could start.

Her eyes locked on his, dark and deep, mirroring his own wonder and devotion. She was crying out now, soft frantic little noises as she moved over him, chasing her own orgasm. She was beautiful -- so damn beautiful that it hurt just to look at her. He was bucking up into her now, unable to stop himself from growling incessantly. His leather gloves were dark against her creamy skin, restlessly cupping the fullness of her breasts, tracing the graceful arch of her spine, urging her on.

She was close, so close, and so was he, the coil of pleasure winding tighter and tighter, his whole body straining towards hers. Her wide eyes met his, her voice almost a sob.

“Logan...”

He growled, deep and low, answering the note of pleading in her voice. “I know, baby. I know. C’mon, darlin’. Just let go.”

He drifted one hand down, his thumb circling in just the right spot and she came apart around him. He pulled her close against his chest as she shuddered, crying out his name, her muscles fluttering around his body.

His body throbbed as pleasure jolted through him like lightning, and then he was coming hard, thrusting hard and deep into her, growling his release into her hair. He slowed and then finally stilled his movements, drinking in the warm, satisfied smell of her, the soft weight of her cuddled up against him.

She yawned against his chest, and he smiled. He drew her gently off his lap, disposing of the condom and scarf and buttoning a few buttons of her shirt over her bare skin so she would feel more secure. Then he pulled her down to the bed, burrowing in behind her, his body curled around hers, his arms wrapped tight around her.

He pulled the sheet over them both.

“Sleep, Marie,” he said softly, and in moments he felt her body drift into slumber. He sighed with satisfaction, nuzzling his face into her hair, and followed her.

___________________

“Really, Logan? Steak and beer at 2 a.m.?” she teased.

He raised an eyebrow. “Sounds like heaven to me. ‘Sides, I’m not the one who slept for seventeen hours straight. But I can make you pancakes if you like.”

He threw the steak in the pan and it started to sizzle, and despite herself she felt her mouth start to water.

“Actually, steak and beer is starting to sound pretty good right about now.”

She leaned back against the counter, marveling again at how at home Logan seemed in the kitchen.

“So you really can cook, huh?”

He flashed a smile. “Steak ain’t exactly cookin’, darlin’. But yeah, I don’t stand a chance in the kitchen at the mansion, so I like to cook for myself when I come out here.”

“This isn’t just some hideout? You’ve been here before?”

He shot her a quizzical glance. “This is my place. Built it a few years back...needed someplace away from the mansion. Chuck’s the only one that knows about it.”

She looked around her. She could see it now -- the reflection of his tastes. The furniture was simple and austere but harmoniously arranged, the natural textures of wood and stone and wool bringing warmth to the clean lines and sparse furnishings.

She didn’t mean to but she was still recovering her equilibrium, and her mind took a quick sideways slip into his memories.

Suddenly she was with him, part of him, as he sat back, taking a break from shingling the roof. He settled the hammer in his belt, the heavy weight of it satisfying in some odd way, and wiped away the sweat that was stinging his eyes. As he looked out over the clearing and the valley beyond, he felt a peace and satisfaction he had rarely known enter his soul...

“Marie?”

She opened her eyes with a jolt, realizing it wasn’t the first time he had said her name. His concerned face searched hers, and the words slipped from her before she could think about it.

“I was remembering...”

His expression grew guarded, his eyes watchful. She stopped, a blush rising on her cheeks. She looked down, avoiding his eyes.

“I can’t help it sometimes. I didn’t mean to pry...”

He brushed his hand across her cheek, bringing her eyes up to his again.

“Nah, darlin’, I’m sorry. I just...” The guarded expression had faded, his eyes now open and vulnerable as he seemed to search for the right words.

“There’s a lot of ugliness there. A lot of stuff I’m not proud of. An’ I guess I worry that if you see too much of it, you might think better of bein’ with someone like me.”

She couldn’t help it -- she took his face between her gloved hands, kissing him hard, pulling back before her mutation could kick in.

“That’s never gonna happen, sugar.” Her words seemed to ease something in him, the tense furrows on his brow relaxing, a smile quirking his lips.

“Sugar, huh?”

She smiled back. “Yeah. Sugar. I am from the South, after all.”

She grew serious again, feeling the pressure of what she had to say building up in her chest. “I feel the same way, Logan. Like there’s something you see in me that nobody else sees, and sooner or later you’re gonna figure out that they’re right and you’re wrong. There’s nothing special about me -- nothing that makes me worth fighting for, or worth dealing with my skin...”

“Marie...” he growled.

“No...let me finish.” She sighed. “There’s some really bad stuff inside me -- bitterness, and anger. I know...I believe...how you feel about me. I can’t deny it, having you in my head like I do. But I’m still not sure why.”

He pulled her close, his arms wrapping around her. His low voice rumbled in her ear. “I guess we’re both gonna need some convincin’. But we got time for that.”

She breathed in the solid warmth of him, his reassurance soothing her turbulent emotions. She sighed, giving him a squeeze. “There’s one thing I know for sure.”

“What’s that, baby?”

She smiled again. “You like your steak rare, and you’re burning it.”

_____________________

Marie leaned back against Logan’s chest, practically purring in satisfaction. “I think it’s a miracle.”

He stretched out, propping his feet up on the coffee table, gathering her even closer. “What’s that, darlin’?”

“I think this is the first time since we met that we’ve both been clean, fed, and rested at the same time.”

His rumbling laugh tickled her ear. “Well, get used to it. I plan to make a habit of it.”

She rubbed her face against the warm flannel of his shirt. “So...what do we do from here? Magneto is still out there. If your friends got Forge away somewhere safe his machine may never get finished, but if it ever does he’s gonna come looking for me to power it. I can’t bring that kind of trouble to you...to the mansion.”

She felt the tension in his muscles, a low growl building in his chest. “If I need to, I’ll sneak in and kill that bastard in his sleep. You don’t have to worry about him, Marie. He’s not gettin’ near you again. He’s on my list, right after I take care of Sabretooth.”

Her heart stuttered in her chest. She couldn’t believe she hadn’t thought to tell him yet.

“Marie? What’s wrong? If that bastard laid a hand on you...”

“No, it’s not that.” She turned to look at him, her pulse pounding as she struggled to find the words. “He said something to me. Something about you.”

“Whatever that sonuvabitch said...”

“You don’t understand, Logan. He called himself...he said he was your brother.”

An unnatural stillness fell over him. When he finally spoke his voice was emotionless. “My brother?”

She nodded. “He seemed to think that you would remember him. He was talking...bragging...about the women he hurt, and he asked if you had told me those stories already...”

Pain flashed across his face.

“Logan...don’t do that. I know you’re not like that. You’re not like him.”

He heaved in a deep breath, running a shaky hand through his hair. “A brother? That bastard...?”

“I don’t think he was making it up, Logan. I think Magneto knew. That’s why he was so interested in meeting you -- why all he cared about was whether you knew Sabretooth. He wanted to be sure whose side you would really be on if it came down to it.”

“Jimmy.” His eyes were haunted, unseeing. “He called me Jimmy.”

He pushed to his feet, pacing restlessly, the claws springing free with a metallic hiss.

She twisted her gloved hands together, wishing there were something she could say to make this better.

“What else did he say?” he snarled.

She hesitated.

He turned to look at her, his cold predatory gaze turning her blood to ice in her veins.

In an instant he changed, the aggression fading from his stance, his claws snicking in silently. He moved toward her, falling to his knees in front of her, reaching out to pull her up against his chest.

“Christ, Marie...I’m sorry.” He kissed the top of her head, running his hands down her back, soothing her. “Don’t look like that, darlin’.”

She took in a deep breath. “I want to tell you, Logan. I’m just...I don’t want to hurt you more.”

He sat beside her on the couch, nestling her into the curve of his body. “It’s okay, baby. Take your time. But I need to know.”

She nodded, gathering her thoughts. “He used to come by my cell. Taunting me. But the last time, right before they brought you to the cell next to me. It was different. More...personal. I thought that time...I thought that was the end, that they had given me to him.”

He growled, deep and low, his hand reflexively tightening on her waist before he caught himself, consciously relaxing it.

“He stayed outside the bars,” she rushed to assure him. “But he was talking about the woman he had hurt, and then called you his ‘runt of a brother’ and asked if you had already told me those stories. He said he saw me pull you out of the water, and that even after all those weeks I still smelled like you, so I must have sucked you into me good.” She shrugged. “And then just a lot of threats about what he was gonna do to me, how he was gonna put his mark on me...”

She froze suddenly as he dipped his head into her neck, his breath puffing hot against her bare skin.

“Be careful, Logan...” she breathed.

He took a deep inhale of her scent before his eyes came up to meet hers, puzzled. “He was right about that. I thought it was just from where I had touched you, but...”

He pulled her hand gently toward him, rucking up her sleeve to expose her bare wrist above the glove, inhaling her scent once again where her pulse beat steadily under her skin. “It’s more than that. It’s like your scent has changed, just a little. Deepened a little. Like it’s...”

He suddenly lifted his head.

“Logan?”

The rest seemed to happen in a blur. Logan sprang to his feet, claws out, as a dark shape burst through the door.

She screamed as the shape barrelled into Logan. They went down together, smashing the coffee table.

“Logan!” She scrambled over the back of the couch.

Sabretooth lifted his shaggy head, canine teeth gleaming. “Miss me, Frail?”

Sabretooth lifted his shaggy head, canine teeth gleaming. “Miss me, Frail?”

With a roar, Logan smashed his head up into Sabretooth’s nose. Marie heard the bone snap under the force of his blow. He threw Sabretooth off him and snicked out his claws, circling protectively in front of Marie.

Sabretooth looked at the claws and chuckled. “Well, Jimmy, if you’re gonna play it that way...”

His hand darted to the small of his back, coming back up with a vicious-looking knife. The long curved blade, serrated at the tip, gleamed in the dim light.

“This started out as just a job,” Sabretooth taunted. “But now it’s turned into a goddamned privilege. I finally get to put an end to you, runt. But first you get to watch me havin’ some fun with this tasty frail of yours. I’m gonna make her scream so good...”

Logan sprang, his claws slicing towards Sabretooth’s belly. Sabretooth feinted to the side, the claws only grazing him as he reached out, deeply slashing Logan’s arm. Marie heard Logan’s roar of pain as he drew away, blood coursing down his sleeve until it trickled to a stop as his healing kicked in.

They circled again. This time Sabretooth pounced. Logan got the claws deep in his chest and twisted but Sabretooth hardly seemed to feel it, lifting Logan up and smashing his head against the wall with two sickening crunches.

Marie’s frozen shock lifted. She pulled her gloves off. Sabretooth was gloved and covered from neck to toe. She’d have to get to the exposed skin of his face and neck, but he was damn tall.

She leaped toward him but he seemed to sense it, dropping Logan and turning just in time. She scrabbled for his face but he caught her away easily, holding her at arm’s length, dangling from his massive hands.

“Eager, aren’t you Frail?” he smirked. “But I gotta take care of the runt first.”

He threw her roughly back and she toppled over the back of the couch, crashing to the floor on the other side, the breath knocked from her lungs.

She heard another roar from Logan and then more sounds of furniture being smashed as she struggled to her hands and knees behind the couch, trying to squeeze air into her spasming chest.

“Marie...gun...” she heard Logan rasp urgently, and then his words were choked off.

Gun...gun...

She tried to push aside the panic and concentrate, fumbling frantically through his memories. Then she was scrambling, half on her hands and knees, toward the kitchen.

She heard a crash behind her and then Sabretooth’s heavy footsteps were pounding her way.

She yanked open the cellar door, pulling the shotgun from the mounted rack, knowing now that Logan always kept one in the chamber.

She wheeled around, lifting the shotgun and...

At first she thought he had punched her. She felt herself being slammed back against the cellar door, a cold ache in her belly.

Then she looked down and saw it. The knife was buried in her gut, almost to the hilt, pinning her to the door.

“Now, see what you made me do, Frail?” Sabretooth snarled, mild irritation in his voice. He twisted the knife a bit, trying to free it, and this time she felt it, the pain tearing through her, sending fire along every nerve and muscle. In her head she screamed, but nothing came out of her mouth except a shaky wheeze.

As if in slow motion she saw Logan pulling himself to his feet, wiping blood from his eyes as he moved toward Sabretooth, ferocity in his gaze. And she saw the moment he took in what had happened -- his eyes widening in his suddenly pale face, his expression turning to abject horror.

“No.” The word was hushed, almost whispered. A flat denial.

She tried to pull in another breath, whimpering in pain. She saw the full realization move across his face, his inhaled breath shuddering his whole body.

“No!” he roared. “Marie!”

Sabretooth turned to face him, smiling evilly.

“We both know how bad gut wounds can be, huh Jimmy? Remember that...”

Feeling like she was moving through quicksand, like her arm weighed a thousand pounds, Marie tilted the barrel of the shotgun toward Sabretooth’s head and pulled the trigger.

Some instinct must have warned him. He turned slightly at the last minute, but the shot still blew off half of his face. He screamed in agony, his limbs flailing wildly for a moment, and then he crashed through the back door and out into the night.

Marie watched dazedly, back pressed up against the door, the gun falling from her hand, as a moth fluttered in the open door, circling the kitchen light. Then Logan was there, his teeth gritted in anguish. He carefully freed the knife from the door, trying to hold it in place and put his hand over the bleeding, lowering her gingerly to the floor.

“Marie...baby...” His voice was thick and raspy.

He reached out for one of her bare hands, pressing it hard against his face.

“Logan...” She shook her head. He was hurt, and Sabretooth might be coming back. If she took his healing now they might both die.

His eyes blazed into hers, his grip not wavering for a second.

“Come on...come on...” he ground out the words under his breath, as if to himself. He ran a blood-covered hand through her hair, his voice breaking. “God...Marie...stay with me.”

She closed her eyes briefly in resignation. Seconds ticked by as they both waited for her mutation to start. And then more seconds. Marie watched, her own mind clouded with bewilderment, as Logan’s resolute gaze turned to confusion and then panic.

“Marie...what’s happening? Turn it on, dammit!”

She looked at him helplessly, feeling her eyelids flutter as sleepiness overtook her. Turn it on? She couldn’t turn the damn thing off.

“No! Marie! Marie....don’t leave me, darlin’. Stay with me!” His voice was desperate, pleading, and her heart was pierced with sorrow that she couldn’t do what he wanted. She would stay with him if she could. She would do anything to stay with him.

As if from a distance, she heard his roar of grief, and then she heard nothing.

______________________

Logan stared in numb disbelief at Marie’s small body, crumpled on the floor. Dead. She was dead. He had heard her heartbeat grow sluggish and then stop, her last breath sighing from her body. He felt as if his heart had stopped with hers.

His stray thought from the day before rang through his head.

Nothing this good could possibly last. Not for someone like him.

He roared out his grief again, burying his claws deep in the cabin’s wall. He snicked them back in again, his hands shaking, his mind still frozen in shock and disbelief.

“Marie,” he mumbled helplessly. He cradled her small blood-soaked body against him, whimpering, pressing his cheek to her forehead. “My Marie.”

He lifted her body up, stumbling to the couch, his boots crunching over the wreckage of the coffee table.

He lay her down on the soft leather couch, gently pulling the knife from her belly. He kissed each eyelid, running his hand along her pale, blood-streaked cheek. “Marie,” he said again, helplessly, brokenly, as the Wolverine howled and keened in his head.

He heard a scuffling sound from the kitchen. The shocked numbness started to fade as a deep, scalding rage boiled through him, sending his blood roaring through his ears and hazing his vision with red.

Sabretooth.
_________________

Marie felt herself being inexorably pulled to the surface.

Wake up. Wake up, goddammit!

Rogue’s voice, in her head, uncharacteristically frantic.

Wake UP!

She pulled in a gasping, heaving breath, feeling blood bubble in her throat. She curled onto her side, spitting the blood from her mouth, feeling pain slice through her as she took in another breath.

Where was she? What had happened?

She felt the smoothness of leather underneath her cheek. She pried open sticky eyes, her mind taking in a rush of irrelevant details. Cabin. Furniture smashed to kindling. A gleam of metal on the floor amongst the wreckage.

In the next moment sound rushed into her ears -- the din of fighting. Bodies slamming together. The smack of flesh against flesh, the crunch of bone against bone, and an occasional hissing, metallic sound.

She looked down. Her hands were clasped against her belly, her shirt sopping with blood. Suddenly she remembered it all -- Sabretooth. The knife. Logan’s hand against her cheek, his panic as they both realized her mutation was unresponsive, inert. Logan...

Get up! Rogue’s voice was impatient now, frustrated. Don’t you understand?

She shook her head reflexively. She didn’t understand, not at all. As if they belonged to someone else, her hands pulled at her shirt. She looked down at the knife wound, watching it slowly knit together.

You couldn’t take his mutation because you still had it, Marie. You never lost it.

Her mind spinning dizzily, she pulled herself upright on the couch. Through blurred vision, she could see flashes of Sabretooth and Logan, fighting in the kitchen. She saw the knife lying beside her on the couch, and wrapped numb fingers around the hilt.

Not that! Listen to me, Marie.

Like a recording playing in her head, she suddenly heard the voice of Dr. Cornelius and the other doctor from the experimentation facility.

“This is the one you wanted to see...”
“The genetic anomaly.”
“How many variants?”
“Three. But the potential is...infinite.”

Rogue’s voice rang through again, urgent and...hopeful. Three, Marie. Three X-genes. Yours. Logan’s. And Lehnsherr’s.

Lehnsherr’s.

Marie’s heart thumped wildly, her eyes widening, her breath gasping into her lungs in a sudden rush. She knew what to do.

She staggered to her feet, swaying, one hand on the couch to brace herself. Then she closed her eyes and opened her mind, feeling the metal sing to her. There was the knife, a bright hot note like the clash of a cymbal -- but that was not her goal, it was just an afterthought. She carelessly flicked it forward, guiding it unerringly, lodging it deep into Sabretooth’s shoulder with a wet thunk.

He faltered where he had been struggling with Logan, his head turning toward her, startled.

Uncertain what had caused it, Logan nonetheless took instant advantage of Sabretooth’s momentary distraction. He crashed a knee up into his groin, dropping him.

As Sabretooth fell to the ground, Logan’s eyes landed on Marie. She saw the breath leave his lungs in a rush, heard his heart stutter in his chest.

“Marie?” he breathed, his brows furrowing in confusion, wiping his sleeve across his eyes as if she were a hallucination that would suddenly disappear.

Sabretooth was pulling himself to his feet, his dark black eyes on her also. “Sonuvabitch,” he said, his voice bemused.

She looked deep into Logan’s golden hazel eyes, feeling the smile spreading on her face. She lifted up her shirt.

“I healed, sugar.” His stunned eyes flickered down to the stretch of bare skin, marked only by her blood, and then back to her face. “And look what else I can do.”

She closed her eyes again and found them, the slim broken arcs of the suppression collar, pulling them from the wreckage of the coffee table. They were like an unfinished etude -- incomplete, lacking, until she sent them flying forward, uniting them into a complete harmonious melody around Sabretooth’s neck.

She sent her stolen power singing around the circle of metal, fusing the hinges, completing the circuit as the suppression collar hummed to life.

She saw the realization dawn on Sabretooth and Logan simultaneously -- Sabretooth’s clawed hands scrabbling desperately at the collar as Logan lunged forward. He buried the claws in Sabretooth’s belly and then slashed upwards, bone and flesh parting like butter, cutting open his chest until the claws pierced his heart.

With a snarl of satisfaction he dropped his hand, letting Sabretooth slide off his claws. Marie stumbled to Logan’s side, her arm reaching out to hold him tight, her eyes fixed on Sabretooth’s last halting breaths.

“Marie!” Logan cradled her head between his hands, his eyes searching her face wonderingly, disbelievingly.

“Logan.” She smiled, drinking in the sight of him as he was her. As he crushed her into his embrace, however, she drew her arms up, reluctantly pushing back.

“Marie?”

“Your past, Logan.” She looked down at her ungloved hands, moving them down until they were tightly clasping his. “I couldn’t absorb you because I still had you -- you’re a part of me now. But Sabretooth...”

She took a deep, shaky breath. “He’s still alive. I can take him...take all his memories. You could finally know...”

Logan growled, deep and low, pulling her away from Sabretooth and back into his arms. “No way in hell, Marie.”

She looked up into his beloved face. “You’re sure? It might be your last chance...”

His hand brushed over her cheek gently, spreading warmth and joy through her chilled body. “I don’t give a damn about my past, Marie. Not enough to let you touch that bastard for even a second. All I want now is a future -- with you.”

He pulled her against his side and kicked out at Sabretooth, tumbling him fully onto his back. They both watched as the last light of life faded from the malevolent black eyes. Then Logan wrapped Marie back in his arms, burying his face in her hair, squeezing her tightly.

“All I want is you,” he repeated, breathing the words like a prayer. “Just you.”

_________________

Logan stared in numb disbelief at Marie’s small body, crumpled on the floor. Dead. She was dead. He had heard her heartbeat grow sluggish and then stop, her last breath sighing from her body. He felt as if his heart had stopped with hers.

His stray thought from the day before rang through his head.

Nothing this good could possibly last. Not for someone like him.

“Logan!” He heard her voice and hope surged within him, but when he looked at her again her body was still lifeless.

“Logan!”
_____________________

He awoke with a jerk, his heart pounding, his body covered in a cold sweat.

Marie was standing a few feet away, but once she saw he was awake she got back into the bed, burrowing into his arms.

“Marie.” His voice was rough as he squeezed her tight, breathing in her scent, feeling her warmth. “God...Marie.”

“The lab?” she asked.

He shook his head. “The other one.”

“Aw, sugar.” He could hear the incipient tears in her voice.

He couldn’t help it...he had to run his hands over her, reassuring himself. “You’re here,” he said, feeling foolish, but somehow hearing the words aloud helped.

“I’m here,” she assured him, and that helped even more.

He lay back, pulling her with him, letting himself be soothed by her scent and nearness as she stroked his chest tenderly. Eventually his breathing evened out, his pulse slowing to a normal rate.

He closed his eyes, taking comfort in the feeling of her hands moving over him, her soft, sweet little body pressed fully against his. Skin to skin. She may still have to cover up for the world outside, but in here, with him, there were no barriers between them. That was another miracle her permanent absorption of his mutation had given them, second in Logan’s mind only to the miracle of her resurrection. Thinking about it brought the bone-deep feeling of loss from his dream back for a moment, and he shivered.

“You’re worried about tomorrow, aren’t you?” she finally asked.

“Damn right I’m worried about tomorrow. I still think I should be there...”

“Logan.” Her voice was stern, even as her hands continued their soft caresses. “You and I both know that’s the worst idea ever. I love the hell out of you, but where Magneto is concerned you would be the biggest liability possible.”

A low growl escaped him.

“I’m serious, Logan.” She pushed herself up on her elbow, her eyes meeting his. “All he would have to do is hurt you, and I’d do anything to stop it. Give him anything.”

Her intent gaze held his until he finally nodded. How could he argue with that? He felt the same way about her.

“I’ll have Charles with me. It’ll be okay, sugar, you’ll see. I’ll come straight back to you, and then you can be my shadow for the next year if it makes you feel better.”

“I’ll be your shadow for the next hundred years if you let me.”

She smiled at that, and he pulled her up against his chest again.

“I just don’t understand why you have to do it this way. Why I can’t just kill the bastard in his sleep.”

He felt her sigh. She pulled up on her elbow again, one hand stroking down his chest, her eyes downcast, her dark thick lashes casting shadows on her cheeks.

“The memories I take...they’re private, Logan. But I knew you wouldn’t understand this, and so I asked Charles for permission to tell you.”

He sat up, his brow furrowing in confusion. “Tell me what?”

She sat up also, brushing her hair back absentmindedly. “You know that Lehnsherr and Charles go way back, right?”

He nodded. “Never asked exactly what happened, but I know that Lehnsherr is the one that put him in that chair.”

She nodded. “I think that was probably the worst day of both of their lives.” She looked at him now, pain in the depths of her dark brown eyes. “Logan, Charles and Erik Lehnsherr were more than just friends.”

He didn’t get it for a moment, and her meaning suddenly hit him. “Lehnsherr? And Chuck?” It sounded absurd at first, but then he thought of the tension between the two men, the strange entangled relationship they had even now as rivals and mutant leaders. “Huh. I kinda get it now.”

She seemed relieved, settling into his side again, her arm tight around his waist. “I didn’t see too much of Lehnsherr’s memories. And God, I never want to. The concentration camp, the violence, the incredible hatred. But I saw Charles in his memories. One of the only bright spots he had in all that darkness. At one point, long ago, they were everything to each other.”

Logan thought about Xavier. He was always so surrounded by people -- by the team, the hubbub of the mansion, all the kids he had taken in. He had never thought of him as being lonely, but Logan wondered now if the loss of Lehnsherr was why he had filled his life with so many other people.

“Poor Chuck.”

She squeezed him in agreement. “If Charles feels anything close to what Lehnsherr feels...” She sighed. “I know what Lehnsherr is. He came damn close to killing you, and he probably would’ve killed me.” A note of steel entered her voice. “And if it comes down to it, I will not hesitate to end him.”

He rumbled his agreement.

“But...Charles gives so much. All the time. To you, to me...to all the kids here. To mutant society. If I can stalemate Lehnsherr tomorrow -- tie his hands -- that will be my gift to Charles. Letting Lehnsherr live, at least for now.”

“I think I’m finally startin’ to understand.”

She kissed him gently. “I knew you would.”

He kissed her back deeper, capturing her lips, his tongue tangling with hers until he broke away for a moment.

“Just promise me that if he even looks at you funny you’ll snap his neck like I showed you.”

She smiled against his lips. “Promise.”

_______________________

They met in Central Park again, Xavier and Marie winding their way toward the small chess table where Lehnsherr sat, his cold eyes watchful. The boy -- Johnny, Marie remembered -- stood sulkily behind, still flicking his lighter.

“You had something you wanted to discuss?” Lehnsherr asked Xavier, but it was Marie who sat down at the chess table, slowly drawing her gloves off under Lehnsherr’s cautious gaze.

“I wanted to show you something.” She reached a hand out towards his, slowly enough that he could draw away if he wanted.

“Hey!” Johnny said, but Lehnsherr gave him a quelling look. He looked back at Marie and nodded. She took his hand in hers, feeling the tension in the bony fingers until it was apparent that her mutation was not going to start. Lehnsherr’s fingers eased slightly under hers.

“So you can control it. Are you looking for congratulations, little girl?”

She kept her eyes steady on his. “It’s not control.” She gestured with her head to the boy, holding out her other hand. “Ask the firebug to come here.”

Lehnsherr looked over at Johnny and nodded.

“Are you kidding me?” Johnny’s face paled.

Lehnsherr’s icy voice lashed out, his eyes never leaving Marie’s. “Do it, Pyro.”

She continued to hold Lehnsherr’s hand firmly in hers. From the corner of her eye she saw Johnny move hesitantly in the direction of her other hand. His right hand continued to restlessly flick the lighter as he held out one finger of his left hand, touching it tentatively to her palm. For a moment nothing happened and she saw him start to smirk. Suddenly thick veins popped out on his arm, his knees buckling just as she pulled her hand away.

Marie picked up the lighter from where it had fallen to the table, flicking it open. She held out her palm, watching as the flame jumped into it, forming a burning sphere before she closed her hand, snuffing it out.

“Fun,” she said.

Lehnsherr’s cold gaze jumped from Johnny, slumped on the ground, to Marie. She could see his mind whirring, calculating.

“Not control,” she said again. “Just immunity. Turns out when I touch someone, I take them in and get their power. For a little while. And then they fade, but I stay immune.” Her voice was hard and cold. “You blew your shot, Lehnsherr. If you ever get that machine of yours up and runnin’, you’re going to have to be the one inside it. Understand?”

His hand fell away from hers. He gave no answer, but she saw defeat in every line of his body, his shoulders hunched, his head drooping.

They left him there, Marie guiding Xavier’s wheelchair back up the rocky path.

“He bought it,” she said softly when they were far enough away.

Xavier nodded curtly. “For now. But the day might come when he will realize the truth.”

She couldn’t help herself from putting a comforting hand on Xavier’s shoulder. “And on that day, we’ll deal with him. But not today.”

His hand crept back, shaking slightly, to cover hers. He bowed his head, his voice thick with emotion. “Thank you, Rogue.”

She squeezed his shoulder. “You’re welcome, Charles.”

________________________

“Dr. Hines!”

She lifted her head from the chart, surprised by the urgency in the man’s voice.

“Yes, Foster?”

“We finally got a hit on the collar -- Argentina.”

His face was flushed, excited, and she felt her own heart start to speed.

“Number 39?”

He nodded.

The one they had been looking for, for so long. “Send everyone. The whole team. I don’t want anything screwing up this rendition, do you understand me?” Her voice was a cold lash. “I want Number 39 in my hands by this time tomorrow or heads will roll.”

Foster nodded, his excitement somewhat dimmed. “Yes, ma’am.”

____________

Foster wiped the sweat from his brow, gesturing silently to the team behind him. He stepped gingerly up onto the porch of the rickety little shack. If Number 39 had holed up in this godforsaken place in the middle of nowhere, she must be pretty damn desperate.

With one strong kick his booted foot came up, smashing down the door. He stormed into the hut. Empty. He kicked over a dilapidated cot, watching dust billow up as it hit the ground. No one had been here for months.

“Check the signal,” he snapped to the ones who had followed him in.

The followed the signal to a patch of dust out behind the shack. The receiver beeped faster and faster until the stuttering beeps turned to a solid whine.

“Goddammit,” Foster muttered.

“Dig,” he barked to the men.

They dug for hours, until the shovels started to scrape against something metal.

“Get it clear enough, and then stand back,” he ordered sharply.

The men cleared away the crumbling red dirt for another few minutes, and then heaved themselves out of the hole. He jumped down, his bootheels ringing against the metal of a crate. Two half-doors were padlocked in the middle.

He held his hand out for one of the shovels, slamming the shovel’s edge into the padlock until it snapped.

He pulled the padlock free, and then heaved hard, opening the upper door to the crate.

He reared back, choking against the smell. A decaying corpse, the suppression collar tight around its neck, but it wasn’t the slim body of Number 39. This corpse was massive, blond shaggy hair falling in patches from the disintegrating skull.

Foster threw the crate’s door back fully. The corpse had something on its chest, covered by its crossed arms.

Foster pulled aside one fetid arm, revealing a black plastic case. He pulled aside the second arm, and froze. As the second arm was moved it revealed a nest of wires, and the case suddenly lit up. Red numbers flashed in sequence across the front, a beep accompanying each.

5...4...

Foster felt his breath squeeze from his lungs.

3...2...1...

“Fuck.”