Logan knew something was wrong two steps in through the front door of the mansion, before he even climbed the stairs to the room he'd shared with Marie for almost two years. He had an itch, right between his shoulder blades, that would not leave him be... and the sight of Yellow and the Kitten huddled together at the curved tip of the banister, worried looks facing the second floor crystallized the sense of danger and he just knew something had happened to Marie.

The two young women jumped at the sound of the growl that somehow slipped free of his lips. They swung towards him as he strode across the entrance hall's smooth marble.

"Rogue needs you," the firecracker spoke softly, not even a hint of her usual combustibility leaking through.

Kitty nodded in agreement and worry, and added, "She got a letter this morning, and hasn't come out since. Won't unlock her door, won't answer her phone." He could see her concern for her friend as her control slipped momentarily and her twisting hands passed through the banister without her notice.

He grunted and began to climb the stairs. His Rogue's only a year older than the two young women behind him, but somehow to him, she had never seemed as young as they. Even though all three of them had less than pleasant memories of their childhoods, what drew him to her like a moth to the flame was the strength that she kept contained within her slight frame, built from her fierce will and stubborn determination and honed by long sessions with the professor.

Battling the others present in her mind, learning to control them, to contain them, to prevent them from taking her body from her, not to mention the myriad memories and life experiences of that diverse group, had aged her far beyond her physical years, and yet... she retained an innocence and naivety about some things that he found endearing and worthy of his protection.

As he reached the top of the stairs and began the long walk to the very end of the corridor, where their room sat overlooking the woods at the back of the mansion, he smelled her. He breathed in deeply, and tasted the salt of her tears and the faintest taint of her blood.

As he reached the room and unlocked the door, he scented both her joy at his return and her sadness at whatever the letter told her, spread out in front of her across the blanket-covered bed.

He crossed the room in an instant and opened his arms to her, glad that his flannel would protect her from any loss of control she might suffer in her grief. He didn't care about her skin, never had and never would, but he knew how devastated she was whenever her iron control slipped and he was determined to prevent any accident that might cause her more grief than she already felt.

She latched onto him, burying her face in the front of his shirt and gave way to the sobs she'd been holding down for hours. He knew that he was the only one she gave this side of herself to. Even with her closest friends she was always the strong one, the rock, never letting her inner turmoil show through. It was a side-effect of her fight for control of her mutation: she never fully relaxed near to another, other than him, too afraid that the slightest carelessness could cause pain or even death. In return, she was the one there for him when his nightmares painted his world in stripes of red and green, blood and the liquid from the tank in which his skeleton was bonded with adamantium. She knew, as did he, that he could and had pierced her with his claws on more than one occasion, and yet she remained by his side, secure in the knowledge that his healing protected her as well.

He gathered her to him and sank down on the bed, ignoring the papers scattering at his movements. She'd tell him the news in her own time, she always did.

He drifted a while, content to hold his mate as her sobs subsided and she just lay against him, snuggled up into his chest, breathing in the scent of him, cigar smoke, cedar, motor oil and pine, taking in the sound of him, his heart beating steadily under her ear, reveling in the feel of him, solid and warm surrounding her and keeping her safe.

Finally, as the light outside the window dimmed away to nothing, she shifted against him and he loosened his hold on her, giving her the space she needed to twist around and gather up the forgotten sheets of paper and dump them onto the night stand.

"Mama's dead," she finally whispered.

He waited, nothing if not patient.

"Papa's been dead... long since, years now. Think Mama said he died during that twister back a few years, the one that tore straight down the middle a'town. Too damn drunk to clear outta his truck when the sirens blew. Never was nuthin but a fool, that man," she paused, staring at her hands knotted into fists in her lap.

"Mama... Mama wanted me home for the funeral, but... well... he ain't never been no daddy to me, why'n the hell should Ah start treatin' him like one jus' cause he up and got hisself killed?" her drawl grew stronger as she spoke, and despite the circumstances, he couldn't help the slight shiver that raced up his spine at the sound.

She didn't seem to notice his momentary distraction, still staring at her fists as if they held all all the secrets of the universe within.

"Ah've to go back," she finally admitted. "Ah'm named in the will and t'house comes t'me, no thanks to Papa."

She leaned back against his shoulder and looked up at him, "D'ya know that he tried ta get me declared dead when Ah was 19?"

He shook his head and held his peace.

"Yup, Mama wrote t'mah aunt, 'member her? The one Ah sent the flowers to that time? She's actually Mama's aunt, Gran's youngest, but twern't many years 'tween those two and Mama always said she was her big sister. Told her not t'have nuthin t'do wi'Papa neither, but Mama was stubborn as a mule those days. Aunt Millie said so, anyway."

"So, Aunt Millie, Ah kept in touch wi'her a bit. None too regular, jus' bits 'n pieces here n' there. She's the one tol' me 'bout Papa trying t'do what he did, and she put a stop to that right quick. Took a heap o' pleasure in it too, provin' Ah wasn't dead, don't doubt that none. No one Ah know beats that lady in the no nonsense department..." she trailed a bit, as if she'd managed to distract herself from her grief for a short while.

"That... that letter's from Aunt Millie's lawyer. 'Parantly Ah gotta go down there t'sign paperwork, do what Ah like wi'the contents o' the house, that stuff, " she looked back down at her hands, which had begun to twist around each other again.

"When do we leave?" he questioned gruffly.

Any qualms he might have had were blasted to pieces by the look of intense relief that crossed her face as she looked up at him.

"You don't mind?" she questioned, and he sensed that she needed the reassurance more than she was actually questioning his intention of going with her.

"Hmmph, I been in my share of southern hick towns, don't matter if yours is less hicksville or more, ain't no way I'm letting you go down there alone. We face those demons together!"

She smiled at him, a bit watery, and not nearly as radiant as her usual , but definitely there, and she leaned up and kissed the tip of his nose.

"Thanks, sugar, having you there will make this bearable."

They left the next morning, taking the beat up old jeep that usually lurked at the back of the mansion's generous garage. Logan had suggested the bikes, partly because any excuse to swipe Scott's pride and joy was high on his priority list, but Marie had nixed the idea. For one, the bikes were loud and for another, if there did turn out to be things she wanted to keep, there wasn't much room on the back of a bike. Logan hadn't complained, much, and had shut his mouth with a snap and without the usual return banter when she'd arched one eyebrow and suggested Scott drop them off in the Blackbird, since "Sugar, Ah know how much y'all just love flyin'." He was just grateful she was feeling enough herself again to give him a little of her sass.

They packed light, stuffing clothes into a couple of backpacks and that was that. Jubes and Kitty saw them off at oh-dark-hundred, Jubes half crushing Marie in a hug while whispering fiercely, "Chica, you need backup, you call, or I'll paff your ass from here to Australia, capiche?"

Marie smiled at her friend and hugged her back just as fiercely. Of all her friends at the mansion, Jubes knew best how hard this trip was going to be, and how tough it was to go back to a home that hadn't felt like a home in a long, long time, not since the day an innocent kiss stripped her world from her and tossed her out on her ass with the few dollars her Mama had given her. Her Papa had backhanded her a few good ones while ranting on about God, Judgment Day, and the soul blight that caused "unholy mutation", all the while swigging back enough cheap liquor to drown a horse. He'd dragged her up the stairs and locked her in her room at one point, after declaring his intention to "reclaim her from the touch of Satan". She hadn't stuck around long enough to find out just what that would have entailed, throwing her belongings into her duffel and shimmying down the trellis outside her window as soon as her Mama had shoved under the door the small wad of cash she'd managed to collect from the meager amounts he allowed her for "womanly fripperies" as he termed it and had whispered through the door that he was out cold.

Marie shook the memories from her head as she climbed into the jeep beside Logan. They figured at least three days of driving to get to Meridian, and she was grateful that the upgraded jeep's gas tank would only need to be filled up a few times in the 1300 miles. Logan had asked, gently, if she wanted to take turns driving or if they'd be sleeping in motels along the way. She'd appreciated the gesture, yet another reason she loved him so much, he didn't just assume. She'd shaken her head to the driving and told him there was no deadline, just her wanting to get the painful trip done with.

Three dingy motels and six grubby gas stations later, they entered the small city that was their destination, just after lunchtime. Marie gave Logan terse directions until they pulled up in front of the court house.

She took a deep breath before squaring her shoulders and hauling herself out of the jeep. He came around beside her and the two entered the building together.

The sun was dipping down towards the horizon when they emerged, tired but oddly satisfied. The paperwork was done, there was no contesting, no oddball relatives coming out from nowhere demanding their share of the meager pie. There was only Marie D'Ancanto, with full title to a little house and its contents, on the outskirts of a small city some twenty miles from the Mississippi-Alabama border.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Logan left the driving to Marie for the final leg of the trip. The roads were terrible, poorly maintained and a grid of streets named by the most imaginative city planner on the planet: 42nd Avenue and 26th Avenue South, and he'd seen the map on the court house wall, 14th Avenue, 14th Street, 14th Court, 14th east-of-the-railway and 14th west-of-the-railway. He'd no idea how anyone could find their way anywhere, since the grid wasn't a proper grid at all, with sections of streets missing, so that the rest weren't even in numerical order.

And then Marie turned into a neighbourhood, muttering "Almost there," and he could hardly contain the eye roll that welled up from deep inside, as he was presented with E Street and D Street and C Street, before she turned onto B Street. If he ever ran into the person who planned out this rundown grimy piece of Nowhere's Ville, he'd give them a detailed re-education on how to set up a town, cause Jesus fuck, this wasn't it.

She turned down another side street, 24th he noted absently, and slowed the jeep on the pitted and uneven pavement, finally pulling to a stop in front of a small, overgrown property. The house stared back at him impassively, stoically squatting in the midst of the half-dead grass and tangle of bushes, the once-yellow paint faded and mildewed where it wasn't peeling back from the god knows how many previous coats layered on the wood.

There was a small stoop at the front, that at one time might have been a nice place to sit around and chew the fat, a once-pretty lattice enclosing the sides. Whatever furniture might have stood there was long gone, and only leaves and some small branches broken off the tree that grew near the house graced the worn deck boards.

Marie took a deep breath, shaking him out of his appraisal of the house, and opened the jeep door. "Come on, sugar, let's get this over with."

He followed her up the worn steps and through the scattered debris, waiting while she struggled with the stubborn lock before it finally gave up and clicked open. He'd need to oil the thing if they were going to be using it at all regularly. With both his and her strength, either one of them could accidentally crack the flimsy wood if they weren't careful fighting that lock.

He drew breath sharply as the door swung open. However rundown and dilapidated the outside of the house looked, it was obvious that the inside had been cared for with a loving hand. Clean, pale cream walls gleamed at them as they bent to unlace their boots and leave them inside the door, on the little metal grating that stated "Mud Me" in wrought iron letters.

They set down their packs beside their boots and stepped off the tile of the entryway and onto the polished wood floor. The hallway led towards the back of the house, with doors opening to the right and left onto a family room and what looked like a storage room. A stairway beside the storage room led to the second floor and at the end of the hallway lay the kitchen, with a four-person dining table covered with a cheerful pale pink tablecloth with delicately printed strawberries scattered across the fabric. Logan was surprised again, that the table was covered with real cloth and not some Wal-Mart special, vinyl tablecloth. Everything about this house was surprising. You'd never have guessed at the interior by looking at the exterior of the place.

Marie opened the refrigerator and peered inside. It was running, but other than some canned drinks and a single partial bottle of red wine, it had been cleared out. That was a relief, she'd been half afraid that they'd have to employ their super strength to combat the mutant monster she'd expected to find lurking in the refrigerator.

Running her hand over the soft tablecloth Marie smiled, Mama always loved that print for reasons she'd never quite gotten around to explaining. She'd just say it felt like spring when that cloth was out and then she'd smile, just a tiny smile that barely twitched the corners of her lips, but her eyes had shone, and Marie had known that why ever it was, her Mama got real happy when that cloth was out.

"Let's go look upstairs," Marie told Logan as she led the way out of the kitchen and up the creaking stairs.

She giggled, despite her nerves, when Logan looked down hurriedly and threw her a questioning glance. "It'll hold y'all, Ah promise. That's the step that was Mama and my 'alarm step'. Always wailed like a banshee when Papa came home drunk as a skunk, gave us plenty a'warning to make ourselves scarce," the smile slipped from her lips and she shook her head.

"Not as much of that man left here's I thought there'd be. Looks like Mama cleaned him out some, after."

Another deep breath and she continued up to the second floor. There was a bedroom and a bathroom with a shower to the left and the master bedroom with its own bathroom to the right, facing the front of the house. He glanced through the door but dismissed the room immediately. It had the look of belonging to a woman who'd done her best to remove all traces of a man, and for Marie's sake he was glad.

"What the..." he heard Marie exclaim and turned towards the back of the house to see what had caused her exclamation.

He saw her standing in the doorway to what he assumed was her room, rooted to the spot in shock.

When he stepped up behind her and peered over her shoulder, he couldn't help but share her surprise: it looked like no one had touched Marie's room since the day she'd walked out.

She'd talked to him about it once or twice, when they'd been unable to sleep but tired enough after a mission that the things that normally hurt sharp and bright had only dully ached as they talked. She'd mentioned the posters she'd had up, the boy bands she'd been following at the time and the scenes of Alaska that she'd slapped up there beside them.

And there they were, just like she'd described, still hanging there, faded but there as if she'd only left yesterday. His sensitive nose could tell that the room had been cleaned regularly and lovingly, and that her mother had spent enough time in there that the lingering scent of Marie was covered by her own.

He put his arms around her waist and kissed the top of her head. "She loved you. Her scent's all over this place."

He felt her nod to acknowledge his words, but she didn't speak, and he smelled the salty tang of her unshed tears. He hugged her tighter and they just stood there a while, taking in the presence of this woman who had clearly loved Marie so much, and yet in the years since her husband died, had made no attempt to contact her daughter.