Mama used to say that givin' someone a haircut is a very intimate thing.  She'd know; before she married Daddy, she went to school to be a beautician, straight outta high school.  She had this dream of someday ownin' her own business; a cute little shop right on Main Street.  "Prissy's Curl Up and Dye" she was gonna call her shop, which I thought was rather clever. 

A few months before graduating from beauty school, the students got to practice haircuts on real people.  It's surprising how many people are ok with bein' pretty much a guinea pig.  It's kind of a gamble, really; you're gettin' a free haircut, sure, but God help ya if you get a student who doesn't know what she's doin'.  You're gonna be messed up lookin' for a least a month.

Still, people are willin' to take that chance, especially if they think they can size up the students and guess which ones have some talent.  That's how Mama and Daddy met, actually.  She used to tell me this story all the time, and I always thought it was so romantic.  One fine Tuesday, Daddy strolled into the school salon, lookin' for someone to take a little off the top.  As he spoke to the teacher, all the girls were standin' there by their chairs, hands folded nice as you please, smilin' and hopin' that they'd be the one who got to practice on this handsome newcomer.  Well, he scanned the room, took one look at my mama, and said, "That one."

A collective sigh of disappointment could be heard around the room as Daddy sidled up to Mama's chair with a smile. 

Turns out my daddy picked himself a good one.  Not only was mama good at doin' hair, but she was smart, pretty, and easy to talk to.  It wasn't long before Daddy was comin' by the salon for a haircut way more often than he needed to, asking for Mama to take "just a little off the top".

Mama used to say that she knew Daddy was the one for her by the 3rd haircut. 

"People don't realize it, but you can tell a lot about a person when you cut their hair, Marie," Mama said as she rinsed the last of the dishes and placed them in the dish rack.

"Really?" I  looked at her with wide eyes, even though her back was turned to me.  "Like what?"

Mama shut off the water and turned around, drying her hands on a tea towel.  "Well, think about it, hun.  First of all, there's a certain amount of trust involved."  She crossed the kitchen and pulled out a chair from the table, setting a plate of warm chocolate chip cookies in front of me before sitting down.

"They come to you, and sit in that chair," she continued, "an' then ask you to alter the way that they look, the way that they present themselves to the world.  An' they're trustin' you to do it with sharp instruments in your hands," she quipped with a little smile and a twinkle in her eye.

I chewed on my cookie thoughtfully.  "Yeah, I suppose you're right, Mama."

"Somethin' about sittin' in that chair and havin' someone touch your hair makes people relax and wanna tell you things that they wouldn't normally tell a stranger." She reached over and took a cookie from my plate.  "Ah swear, sometimes that chair was like a confessional, and I was the priest," she giggled and took a bite.  "They just couldn't stop themselves.  I was privy to all kinds of things you wouldn't believe."

My eyebrows shot up and another bite of cookie went into my mouth as I stared at her, entranced.

"Of course, I would never tell another soul the things that I heard," she assured me, raising her chin.  "I would never betray their trust that way."

I nodded, proud that Mama was trustworthy like that.

"You're standin' so close, washin' their hair, massagin' their scalp.  Seein' every pore in their skin, that's how close you are to them.  In a sense, it's one of the most intimate ways that people allow themselves to be touched by someone, other than a lover."

"Mama!"  Like most 13-year olds, I blushed at her mention of the word 'lover'.

"What?  It's true," Mama smiled.  

"So every time you gave someone a hair cut, it was like you were--you know--like a..." I stopped and lowered my voice to a whisper, "...a lover?"

Mama threw her head back and laughed. "No, hun, it wasn't like that at all."  Her smile softened and she put her hand on my arm.  "There are different kinds of intimate, Marie.  Mostly it was just a feelin' of trust and familiarity between me and them."  She paused to hold my gaze for a moment before she stood up gracefully and went to put on the coffee.  "The only one who was different was your daddy.  That...that was somethin' else..." She trailed off, pot still in hand and eyes dreamily staring out the window.  I curiously studied her face, wondering what she meant by that.

Her reverie was broken by the sound of the door unlatching.  "What was somethin' else?" Daddy boomed as the door swung open.

"Owen!" Mama pranced over to Daddy, throwing her arms around his neck and kicking her heels up.

I couldn't help but smile as Daddy twirled her around the kitchen, planting a big kiss on her lips.  All was right in the world once Daddy was home.  Mama and Daddy were madly in love, and I was the apple of their eye.

Things were so simple back then.  God I miss that.

"I was just tellin' Marie about how we met and fell in love," Mama beamed.

"Is that so?"  Daddy grinned knowingly at Mama.  "Yeah, I was at that beauty school just about every other day," he chuckled.  "What was it I used to say every time?"

Daddy turned to look at me.  "I used to say--"

"...Just a little off the top, Rogue."

"Huh?"

"I said, just a little off the top."  Scott looks at me expectantly.

"Oh!  Right.  Of course, Scott."  I've apparently been taking a trip down memory lane.  Oops.

"Are you ok?" he asks.  "Where did you go just now?"

"Yeah, I'm fine.  Really."  He continues to analyze me.  For someone whose eyes are always hidden, his face is surprisingly expressive.  There's a tiny hint of concern, but I think mostly he just thinks I'm daydreaming.  Which I totally am, of course.

"I was, um, just thinkin' about what I learned in my cosmetology classes at vo-tech," I scramble to cover up.   "It's been a while since high-school.  But don't worry, I won't screw up your hair, I promise."

Scott leans back in the chair and flips open his newspaper.  "I have complete faith in you, Rogue."

I feel a smile creeping up as I fluff the cape and secure it around his neck.  "Thanks, Scott.  That means a lot to me."

"Thank you, for agreeing to get the team all gussied up for the charity ball tomorrow.  We've all been so busy that we haven't had time get out for routine maintenance, if you know what I mean."

I think it's funny that Scott uses the term "gussied up".  As team leader, he has a somewhat formal, authoritative air about him; he's a serious, principled man who commands respect, not someone who says "gussied up".  But now that I'm old enough to call him Scott instead of "Mr. Summers", I'm starting to see another side of him, one with a humorous streak that you can detect if you're paying attention.

So somehow I've been designated as the "team stylist" for the charity ball, and I'm not quite sure how that happened.  Well, I guess I do have some idea of how that happened.  It all started yesterday after team meeting, when Professor Xavier reminded everyone to look their best for the ball Friday night.

"Ooo, chica, can you put my hair in an updo?"  Jubes had turned to me with her eyes lit up.

Returning her smile, I tugged on a lock of her hair.  "Of course.  Anything for my Ju-Ju-Be."

Jubilee beamed.  "Bet you didn't know that Roguey here is actually a wizard with hair," she informed the room.  All eyes turned to me, and I could feel my face get warm.  "And not just with up-dos.  She cuts like a pro. Oh, yeah, Girlfriend's got skills," she affirmed.  "I wouldn't trust this 'do to just anyone."

"Da, it's true," chimed in Peter in his deep Russian accent.  "Rogue cut hair for me the day I proposed to my Kitty." Peter and Kitty smiled at each other.  "I think she liked it, eh, my kotonok," he teased affectionately.

Kitty nodded without taking her eyes off of Peter.  "It was perfect," she murmured.

"Oh, excellent.  I could use a little trim myself to neaten things up," said Scott, gathering his things.  "Rogue, would you mind?  It would save me a lot of time just getting that done right here."

"Um, not at all, Scott," I replied, surprised that he would even think about letting me near his hair, which is always immaculate.

The soft whir of the Professor's chair passed behind us and paused.  "I believe you will be in good hands, Scott."  Xavier's eyes met mine, a touch of mirth lighting their depths.  "I would ask you to cut my hair as well, Rogue, but as you can see," he said, smoothing his hands over his bald head, "I had all three of them trimmed just the other day."

My jaw dropped for a moment as I stared at the Professor, at a loss for words.  He chuckled warmly and I gasped, realizing that he was pulling my leg.  "Professor!"  I giggled as he and Scott exchanged knowing smiles.

I got up from my seat, when out of the corner of my eye, I could see Jubilee talking in hushed tones to Bobby, Remy, Jean and 'Ro, then glancing in my direction.  What was she up to?  Everybody dispersed and headed for the door, but not before surrounding me to say thanks for being the team stylist for Friday.  Jubilee!

My eyes traveled across the room to Logan, leaning against the windowsill with his arms crossed.  Arching his eyebrow, he gave me an amused smirk.

I fought the urge to stick my tongue out at him, instead shooting him a half-hearted glare.  The corner of my mouth twitched and broke into a small grin.  Damn him, lookin' so good like that.  I wish he'd let me do his hair, and then some.

Right on cue, Jubilee piped up, "Hey, Wolvie!  What about you?  Looking a little wilder than usual these days.  How about Rogue hooking you up with something rugged-yet-refined for the ball?"

Logan's smirk changed to a scowl. "No." 

"Oh, come on!  Just a teeny, tiny buzz to tame those crazy points of yours."

"No."

"Rogue will take good care of you, I promise."

"No, thanks.  I'm fine," Logan grumbled.

"Of course you are."  Jubilee rolled her eyes before turning to Remy.   "I bet Remy would love a little buzz, wouldn't you, Remy?"

Remy sauntered over to me.  "Remy would love to have chère's hands in his hair," he purred.  His eyes slid up and down my body appreciatively, not even bothering to be discreet about it.  A little tingle went up my spine and I blushed.  "Miss Rogue can do anything she like to Remy."

You'd think I would be indignant or something, watching him look me over so boldly, like he was undressing me with his eyes.  But that's Remy; he's a scoundrel, and for some reason we all let him get away with it.  Truth be told, I kinda liked it.  Lord knows Logan wasn't looking at me like that.  He put me firmly in the friend zone when I was 17, and I've been stuck there for years.  Sure, we're best buds, and sometimes we even flirt a little.  But it's just playful banter.  None of it's real; the last time I tried to take the flirting to something a little more serious, Logan high-tailed it out of here like a scalded cat and I didn't see him for days.  Point taken, Logan.

"Why Mr. LeBeau, I do declare!" I said in my sweetest Southern accent, pretending to fan myself.  I'd play this game with him, why not.  He's sweet, and charming, and certainly easy on the eyes.

I stole a glance at Logan, whose face was still wearing a dark scowl.  I'd like to think it was because he was secretly in love with me and therefore furious with jealousy, but I'm not that lucky.  Yeah, that's what his face looks like ninety percent of the time, so not likely. 

Remy, on the other hand, looked pleased as punch at my response.  "Come by tomorrow at 5, petite; you do your thing, and 'den Remy will find a way to repay you for your kindness.  Maybe dinner and une lagniappe?"

Lagniappe is a French Creole word, meaning "a little something extra"; this could be an extra few slices of meat at the deli, a free dessert at the restaurant, or a treat on the pillow at your hotel.  Just a little something extra to sweeten the deal, so to speak.  Knowing Remy, I had a pretty good idea what he meant by lagniappe.  Even if I didn't know what it meant, just the word itself, and the way it sounded leaving Remy's mouth was naughty enough to send a little zing through me.

"We shall see, Mr. LeBeau.  We shall see."  Giving him a saucy wink, I turned to follow Jubes and Kitty out the door.  I stole another glance in Logan's direction, hoping he noticed, but he was already gone.  Damn.

I've got a little time to myself before I have to teach class, so I've decided to go running.  I always gravitate to the woods, where it's nothing but the sounds of the forest and the soft thump of my footsteps.  Heading down the wide shaded path, I hear a chipmunk chirp and scamper up a tree; the hollow knocking sound of a woodpecker resonates above, which I find oddly comforting.  It's nice to have the time alone, away from conversation and obligations.  This is one place where I can just...be.

I make my way at a nice even pace, following the trail for about a mile and a half.  Then I slow down and turn off the path, cutting through woods and brush.  There's no more smooth, manicured trail now.  Just a few familiar markers made by nature.  A small dogwood tree on the right.  Moss covered log.  Sassafrass tree further down on the left.  A massive oak with three gouges in the bark, from the time Logan and I had that big argument.

Just a few steps further, and I reach a small clearing, revealing my favorite spot.  The bubbling sounds of the brook are soft and welcoming, the cool air lifting off of the rushing water smelling so good, I breathe deeply before letting out a sigh.

I take off my shoes and socks, and gently step my bare feet onto the small rocks, dipping my toes into the edge of the water.  Little minnows dart about at first, then tentatively make their way back to surround my toes, and I smile.  I used to come here all the time before I was able to control my mutation; on hot summer days, I'd take off the gloves, the scarf, all those damn layers that kept me from hurting others and myself, and I'd feel free.  Logan showed me this place.

We've spent many an afternoon or evening here, skipping rocks and talking about everything and nothing.  Sometimes we come here together, and other times we come here alone for some solitude.  Today I'm here for...comfort?  Familiarity?  I suppose, but I don't think it's really either of those things that I'm after.  

I close my eyes and sigh, soak in the sunlight peaking through a break in the treetops.

"Hey, darlin'."

I gasp and my eyes fly open as I spin around.  "Logan!  Jeez, I told you not to sneak up on me like that!"

"Sorry," he says with a mischievous grin.  "I'll try to sound like you tramping through the woods next time."  Smug bastard.  As big as he is, Logan can move through the forest without making a single sound--not twig snap, a leaf rustle, nothing.

I turn and begin walking a little further into the water, slowly feeling my way over the rocks.  "So what's up, buttercup?" I say with lightness that I don't really feel.  "Needed to get away from the mansion for a while?"

I hear the thud of a heavy boot dropping to the ground, and then another.  The swish of socks coming off, and then soft footsteps approaching.  Logan steps through the scattering minnows and slowly makes his way next to me.

"I dunno.  Just felt like I wanted to be here, I guess."  He tucks his hands loosely in his pockets and looks out over the water.

"Yeah, me too."

We stand there in silence for a while, lost in our own thoughts.

Logan is the one person I can do this with.  We can just be in each other's presence, for hours sometimes, without feeling the need to say anything.

Today something is different, though.  I feel like there is something hanging in the air between us.  He doesn't seem to be ready to say what's on his mind, though, so we continue stand next to each other, saying nothing.

I survey our surroundings, observing the low hanging branches skimming the water's edge, the crayfish scooting between rocks.  My eyes come to rest on three claw marks scarring the massive oak.

"Remember that time we had that huge fight, and you slashed that big old oak tree?" I muse.

"Yeah.  You had me pissed off real good," he says without humor.  We start heading toward the dry ground and settle down on a fallen log.  "You never should have gone in there without calling for backup first."

"I know."  I pick a weed flower and twirl it between my fingers.  "But everything worked out ok, didn't it?"

He looks at me sharply.  "You almost got yourself killed."

"But I didn't.  And it was worth the risk in the end."

"It was stupid and thoughtless.  Nothing is worth you risking your life for," he says heatedly.

"It was worth it to me!"  I say, my voice starting to rise.

"Dammit, Marie!"  His eyes blaze hotly as he struggles to control his anger.  I stand up, about to go head to head with him again, over something that really should be old news.  How did we just flash fire from zero to angry in 5 seconds flat?  What are we fighting about?

"God, Logan!  You're starting to sound like my father," I spit, knowing that it's a cheap shot.  I don't care right at this very moment, though.  To hell with it; I'm in a mood to push some boundaries.  "Newsflash--you're not my father, and you're not my big brother, either."

He stands up, too, jaw clenched, and I'm just waiting for it, because I know how pissed off he was the last time we fought about this.

Instead, we stand there looking at each other for a few moments.  And then his eyes soften.

"You're right.  I'm not your father, or your brother.  But I do care for you," he says tenderly.

I wasn't expecting him to say that.  He takes a step closer, so close that I can feel the heat radiating off of his body.  He smells so good...

He starts to say something, then stops.  I can see the conflict in his face, as if he is trying to tell me something, but doesn't quite know how to say it.

"You just don't understand how important you are to m-- to the team," he corrects himself and looks away.

Did he--almost make a slip just now?  A tiny spark of hope rises up in my chest.  But it's soon squashed.

"You've got a good thing going right now," he says, looking at me intently again.  "You're a teacher, educating young mutants, in a school that has become your home.  And you're a pilot now.  Those are both really good things, Marie.  You're needed here.  Sometimes, when you've got a really good thing...you hold on to that."  He gently cups the side of my face with his hand.  "You don't go jeopardizing it all for something that...that could end badly."  His thumb gently caresses my lower lip, and my insides turn to jelly, just from this one little touch.  My lips part involuntarily and I suck in a small breath.  His eyes dart down to my mouth, and if I didn't know any better, I'd swear he wants to kiss me.

I stare at him for a moment, gathering my thoughts to formulate a counter argument, but realization hits me.  Somehow I get the feeling that my safety and my career with the X-men are not the only things he's referring to.

Logan and I have always been straight with each other, about everything, except this.  Us.  This undefined, more-than-friends but not-quite-lovers thing we have going on.

He's not exactly the kind of guy who talks about his feelings easily.  Logan would say that he's not good with words.  Or if he were in a facetious mood, he would say that he's a man of action, not words.  But he's not joking or being playful right now, and I wonder.  If his actions speak louder than words, what has he been trying to say to me by sending me those intense, burning looks one minute, and then pulling back and keeping his distance the next?

He sighs and runs a hand through his hair.  "You're my friend, Marie."

Oh.  Great.  I'm being taken by hand and placed back in the friend zone, like always.

He exhales gently and says in a quiet voice, "You're my best friend.  I know you want more, and maybe I'm being selfish, but I don't...I can't...I can't risk losing you.  I can't lose...this.  Do you understand?"

His eyes search mine, willing me to understand. 

Oh.  Oh.

For a moment I'm stunned into silence. 

Is he saying what I think he's saying?  I'm struck with feeling an odd mixture of giddyness, affirmation, and disappointment.  If he doesn't want to lose this, that means he has thought of us as something more than this.  Yes!  I knew it!

On the other hand, he's not willing to risk the possibility of things "ending badly".  What does he mean by that exactly?  I remember how he once said that he never allowed any of his, ahem, 'lady friends' stay over because he still has nightmares.  Is he afraid that he'll hurt me?  So we had a minor stabbing incident that one time years ago, and so it was a tiny bit traumatic.  He can heal me, right?

Wait, is he afraid I'll hurt him?  Is he afraid of my skin?  No...he never shied away from touching me, even before I learned to control it.

So then, maybe he's afraid that I'll hurt him, you know, like emotionally.  Maybe he thinks that if he lets himself truly fall for me, that I'll betray him in some way, or that I'll break his heart.  I would never!  Would I?  No.  God, no!  And I think after all these years, he knows me well enough to know that I would never do that, not on purpose.  At least I hope he knows that.

Maybe he doesn't think he's going to want to stick around after a while.  Maybe he wants to come and go as he pleases, like always, and he doesn't want to be tied down to me or anyone.  That's a sobering thought.  What if he knows that he'll never be happy with just one woman, and he's trying to spare me from the inevitable heartache?  The thought of him with another woman is already feeling like a kick in the gut, and he's not even mine yet.  I don't think I could be around him after that.

And maybe that's the gist of it.  I would never intentionally hurt him, and he would never intentionally hurt me.  But sometimes things just don't work out between people.  That could happen to us, and then where would we be?  I'd like to think that we would always love each other as best friends, but maybe it would just hurt too much.  Maybe, despite our best intentions, an invisible wedge would be driven between us, and our friendship wouldn't survive.

Can I even think about risking the loss of my best friend?  I would miss him so much.  I would miss the day to day banter and silliness as much as I would ache at the loss of the deep abiding bond between us.  Wouldn't it be better to have him in my life as a friend than not have him in my life at all?

But oh, God--when I think about what we could be together if we decided to take that chance!   And I don't just mean the heat that is so obviously between us.  I love this man so much...and I know he loves me, too.  Taking the next step would just be the most natural thing in the world, if we let it be that way.  Why should we deny ourselves the one thing that could make us truly happy?  To crush the potential of something so beautiful before it even has a chance to blossom seems...wrong!

I want to be angry with him.  I want to shout that he's wrong.  I want to tell him that some things are worth the risk.  But I do none of those things.  Instead I look into his beautiful hazel eyes and see... longing.  Resignation.  A plea for understanding.

This is the closest that Logan has ever come to openly talking about us.  No playful banter, no bravado or flirtatious joking to skirt around the subject or distance himself.  Just naked sincerity, from the man who bears his soul to no one.

It's killing me; knowing what we are to each other, and now...knowing that he is not willing to be more.  But it kills me more to see this raw, open vulnerability from him.  When he looks at me that way, I know that I would do anything, anything for him.

He has always been there for me.  Saved my life, in more ways than one.  Surely I can do this one thing for him.  

I love him.  How can I not be the friend that he needs me to be?

I take his hand in mine.  "I understand, Logan," I say, surprised at the steadiness in my voice.  He looks at me, unsure.  I scrape together my conviction, and try to sound more confident.  "I understand now, Logan, I really do.  You're right; the risk isn't worth it.  You won't lose me...  You're my best friend, too; and I'll always be there for you.  I promise."

His eyes continue to search my face, still uncertain.  I give his hand a reassuring squeeze and plant a chaste kiss on his scruffy cheek.  He looks relieved, but also--sad?  Just then my alarm goes off, and I realize it's time to get back to teach class.

"Oh!  I gotta get going.  Creative Writing class."

"Sounds titillating," he says with a smirk.

"Oh, you have no idea how titillating I can be, mister," I reply with a devilish grin.

He grins as well, happy to fall back into our usual routine of lighthearted flirtiness and witty innuendos.  "Hmm, maybe I should take your class myself.  Would you teach me a lesson, Miss Rogue?"

"I'd teach you somethin' alright," I shoot back.  "But I have to warn you, I'm very strict.  One toe out of line, young man, and I may slap you with my ruler."

"Ooo, that sounds painful.  Too bad I might enjoy it."

"Pervert!"  I laugh and slap him lightly on the arm.  "Walk me back?"

"Sure thing, darlin'."

We slip on our socks and shoes and start heading back to the trail.

"So, do you have something to wear for the ball?" I ask eventually.

"Yeah, Jubilee actually picked something up for me," he replies with side glance, cracking a smile.

"Jubilee did that for you?"  I don't know why I'm surprised.  Jubes may have her gum-cracking, superficial persona down pat, but in reality she has a heart of gold.  She sticks her nose in everyone's business, but also makes it her business to take care of everyone.

"Yeah.  Looks pretty good, too.  I might need some help with the tie, though."

"I'll stop over and fix that up for you," I offer.  "And I promise, I won't touch your hair."

"That's good," he says, and then gives me a look that I recognize.  Oh shit.  "Too bad I can't make the same promise!" he yells, wrapping his arm around my neck before I can get away and giving me a noogie.

"Ahh!  Haha!  You jackass!"  I squeal and elbow him in the ribs.  I wrestle free and he tries to dodge me as I reach for his neck in turn.  He starts taking off down the trail, but not quickly enough; I'm fast and light, and I've got my running shoes on.  I manage to leap onto his back, wrapping my arm around his neck and reaching for his head with my free hand.  He sees it coming and grabs my hand, then the other, pinning both down on his chest so that I can't move either one.

"Hey, no fair!" I laugh, and he laughs, too.

"I never said that I played fair, darlin'."

"Fine," I say, wrapping my legs around his waist.  "Then you're carrying me the rest of the way back!"

He sighs in fake resignment.  "Well, I guess I really am a jackass." 

"Yah, mule!" I call out triumphantly.

He glances over his shoulder with a smile before trotting down the path with me on his back.

And just like that, we're back to being best buds again.

"Girl, work your magic!" Jubilee says as she plops down on the chair in front of me and opens up a copy of Star magazine.  "I wanna do something different.  Still elegant and classy, but like, you know, with a twist."

"Why do you always have to do something "different" and twisted?" Bobby says without looking up from his phone.  He's sitting over by the window on a giant beanbag chair, hair freshly trimmed thanks to yours truly.

"First of all, I said 'with a twist'," replies Jubilee.  "And second of all, it's because I'm one of a kind, baby.  We can't all be vanilla, now can we, Snowflake?"

Bobby rolls his eyes but smiles, continuing to play games on his phone.  Kitty comes out of the bathroom, hair all rolled up in curlers.

"What about a French braid, only wrapping around your head like a wreath or something, instead of straight down the back?"  Kitty suggests.

"Eh, I don't know about that," says Jubilee doubtfully.

I stand there and tap my chin for a moment.  "How about two poufy buns, up high where pigtails would be, with skinny braids criss-crossing in the back and some gems?"

"YES!  That sounds awe-sommme!"  Jubilee sings.

"Alright then, sugar.  Sit back and let me work my magic."

Just then there is a knock at the door.  "I come bearing pizza and candy," says a deep voice with a Russian accent.

"Peter!"  Kitty exclaims, prancing to the door and swinging it open.

"Hello again, my kotonok.  I missed you," Peter says before nuzzling noses with Kitty.

"You two are so cute together," Jubilee complains humorously.  "It's disgusting."

"Yeah, really.  It's been seriously 5 minutes since you last saw each other," Bobby adds.

"Whatever, you're all just jealous," Kitty says as she puts the pizza and candy on the big ottoman.  The boys start digging into the food while Kitty hands Jubilee a slice on a plate.

"Oh yeah, totally jealous," says Jubilee.

I look around the room and smile to myself.  Here we are, adults in our twenties, and we're hanging out in Jubilee's room on a Friday afternoon eating pizza and goofing off like a bunch of teenagers.  It's just like old times.  The only thing missing now is--

"Ooo, you know what we really need?"  Jubilee says.  "We need some adult refreshment."  Yep.  Right on cue as always, Jubes.

"Jubes, it's 1 o'clock in the afternoon," Kitty reminds her.

"Pfftt.  So?  I'm not looking to get hammered.  But it's been a long-ass week for all of us.  I think we deserve a little something, don't we guys?"

"I second that," Bobby agrees.

"Third," says Peter.

"Amen to that," I chime in.  "This morning's Danger Room session was brutal.  My neck is still killing me."

"I know!" groans Jubilee.  "That was rough.  Cyke was relentless with those Sentinel drills.  I thought I was gonna die from sheer exhaustion."

"Where are we going to get alcohol right now?" Kitty asks, hands on her hips.  "This is a school, after all."

The rest of us exchange "the look", and then all eyes turn on Kitty.  Her eyes widen with realization.  "Oh, no.  No way."  She crosses her arms.

"C'mon, Kittyyy," Jubilee says in a sing-song tone.  "We're thirsty..."

"I'm not doing it."

"Yeah, c'mon, Kitty." Bobby makes a sad puppy face.  "So...thirsty..." he says, coughing and sputtering like a man dying of thirst in the desert.

"No!"  Kitty sighs in protest, but her resolve is already weakening.  "I haven't done it ages.  What if it's not in the same place?  What if I get caught?  He is the world's most powerful telepath, after all."

"Oh my God, Kitty.  Are you seriously worried that you'll get in trouble or something?"  Jubilee laughs.  "We're not kids anymore."

"Well...no," Kitty falters.  "But can you imagine how embarrassing it would be if I did get caught? I mean, we are adults and all, but still.  Plus, it's the middle of the day.  I've only ever done it at night."

"Where's your sense of adventure, Shadowcat?"  I question her as I take a bobby pin from my mouth and secure one of the buns on Jubilee's head.  "You're supposed to be the queen of stealth.  And besides, the Professor is going to be all over the mansion supervising preparations for the ball.  He's probably nowhere near his office.  C'mon, Shadowcat, live up to your name.  Use your powers for the greater good."

Kitty looks to Peter, who shrugs his shoulders and smiles.  "It's up to you, my kitten.  Could be fun."

"C'mon, Shadowcat!  Shadowcat, Shadowcat," Bobby chants, and then Jubes and I join in.  "Shadowcat, Shadowcat!"

"Ugh, fine," Kitty concedes with a roll of her eyes.

"Yeah!" we all hoot and cheer.

She takes off her robe, already wearing a black t-shirt and leggings.  Peter follows as she walks over to the one side of the room and faces the section of wall between the bookcase and the nightstand.

Purely by accident, we discovered years ago that Jubilee's room is directly above the professor's study; and in fact, this particular wall and this particular spot is directly above his liquor cabinet.  We've gotten into some crazy hijinks over the years, but busting into the Professor's stash was probably the riskiest thing we ever did.

I always wondered if the Professor knew what we were up to, but he never let on that he knew anything.  Back then we always thought, in our over inflated teenage confidence, that we were just that good.  Who knows?  Maybe we were that good.  Or maybe, I muse, he did know what we were up to, but let us get away with it because we were bonding, working together as a team; sort of like preparation for being future X-men.  Would he do that?  Nah...

Kitty rolls her shoulders and shakes her hands loosely like she is preparing for a fist fight, or a sprint.  Jubilee and I look at each other with amused grins.  Bobby has gone downstairs to check the Professor's door and stand as lookout.

Gracefully, like a skilled gymnast, Kitty bends forward and places her hands on the floor, then elevates her feet straight into the air, toes pointed, performing a perfect handstand.  Peter grasps her ankles and looks to me for the signal.  My phone alerts me to a text message from Bobby: Woodchuck to Grey Squirrel.  The Eagle is clear for landing.  I chuckle and nod to Peter.

"Ready, my love?"

Kitty blows out a puff of air.  "Ready.  I'll wiggle my toes when I need you to pull me back up."

Peter begins to slowly lower Kitty into the floor.  First her head disappears, then her shoulders.  She's down to her waist when she puts up her index finger, indicating that Peter needs to pause.  I can just imagine what this must look like from the floor below us; the top of her head peeking through the ceiling, then two eyes, peering back and forth.  The view from up here is equally as bizarre; it's a little jarring to see half of Kitty's body phased through the floor with only her legs showing.  I don't think I'll ever get used to that.

After a moment, Kitty gives the thumbs up, and Peter begins lowering her further into the floor.  Soon she's down to her ankles.  We hold our breaths and wait.  Ten seconds later, Kitty wiggles her toes, ready to be pulled back up.

Just then, there is a knock at the door.  "Jubilee?"  Crap.  It's Jean. 

"Um, yeah?" Jubilee calls out, and looks at me with big eyes.  Peter freezes, while Kitty continues wiggling her toes impatiently.

"Is Rogue in there with you?  I need to speak with her."

"Uh, yeah, I'm here, Jean.  Just a sec."  I motion for Peter to get Kitty out of the floor.  He yanks her up quickly and the bottle of liquor slips out of her hand and goes flying.  It makes a loud clanking noise as it crashes into the lamp and bounces off the floor.  Thank God there was a soft rug there to break the fall.  That could have been disastrous.

Jubilee covers her mouth and suppresses a snicker, while Kitty straightens out her clothes and gives Peter a 'What the hell?' look.  Peter puts his finger to his mouth to tell Kitty to hush and picks up the bottle, stashing it under the bed pillow.

Trying to act casual, I walk to the door and open it calmly.  "What's up, Jean?"

"Hey," Jean smiles warmly.  "You weren't in your room, so I thought you might be here.  I just wanted to let you know that Professor wants us to do a routine pick-up tonight after the ball, so we need to be ready to fly."

"Oh!  Ok.  I'll be ready.  Who's going with us?"

"Well, it's nothing too crazy tonight; it's a teenage runaway, no FOH or anything like that, so it'll be just us and the new girl, Angelica."

"The new Physics teacher?"  I say with mild surprise.  "Firestar, right?"

"Yes, that's right," Jean confirms.  "The Professor thought it would be a good idea for her to get her feet wet with an easy mission before getting into the heavier stuff."

"Yeah, probably a good idea," I agree.

"Ok, great, so I'll see you later, Rogue," Jean says, turning to go.

"See you later," I reply.

Jean stops and turns back to me for a moment.  "Oh, one more thing."  She reaches for something just outside the door then hands me a six-pack of ginger beer and a bag of limes.  "The Professor said to be sure you replace his Grey Goose the next time you're out, preferably by the end of the week."  

Bobby arrives at the door and screeches to a halt when he sees Jean. She winks and gives me a coy smile before heading down the hall.  "Have fun," she calls out behind her.

I turn around on my heel, holding the ginger beer and limes up, while Bobby closes the door behind me.  For a moment we all look at each other, speechless.  Jubilee sputters and we all burst out laughing.

"Well then.  I guess we weren't as good as we thought we were," I say, biting my lip.  "Damn telepaths."

"That sly old dog!"  Jubilee exclaims with a smile.

"Ugh, I am never going to be able to look the Professor in the eye again," moans Kitty.

Jubilee goes to the armoire and shuffles some things around, then pulls out a familiar set of copper mugs.  "Looks like it's a round of Moscow Mules, guys," she says with a grin.

"Ura!," crows Peter, pulling out the vodka from under the pillow and raising it in the air.

Jubilee pours the ginger beer, Peter adds the vodka, and Kitty adds the lime juice.  "Bobby, would you do the honors?" Jubilee asks.

"Yes ma'am," Bobby replies.  He blows some air over the mugs, and they instantly frost over, tendrils of cold vapor wafting up from the liquid.

We each take a mug and raise it in the air for a toast.  "To good friends and great shenanigans!"  Jubilee cheers as we clank our mugs together.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

An hour later and we're all feeling pretty damn good.  Not smashed good, but definitely buzzed.  Just a little.  We've demolished the bottle of Grey Goose, as well as the pizza and candy.  Kitty is sitting on the floor, stroking Peter's hair as he lays with his head in her lap.  Bobby is sprawled out on the beanbag again, and Jubilee is on the bed, laying on her stomach and reading another celebrity magazine.  I'm curled up in the easy chair, hugging a pillow.

My mind wanders to the conversation with Jean earlier about the mission.  "I wonder what that Angelica chick is like," I murmur, not realizing that I'm thinking out loud.

"Who, the new girl, Firestar?"  Bobby says, instantly perked up.

"Oh, um, yeah.  Jean says she's supposed to go on the pick-up with us tonight."

"Oh, man.  She's hot.  Both literally and figuratively," Bobby says with eyebrows waggling.  He places his hands behind his head and leans back with a sigh.  "One look from her could melt me into a puddle."

Jubilee rolls her eyes.  "Very helpful, Bobby."

"She's got this whole cute yet sexy thing going on," Bobby continues, ignoring Jubilee.  "Everybody says she's super nice, and funny as hell.  She's got a great laugh, too; I heard her the other day.  That's a big plus in my book.  Pretty smile.  Nice curves.  And all that long, fiery red hair...even hotter than Jean's."

"Ugh, not you, too, Bobby.  What is it with you men and redheads?"  I grumble.

"I don't know," Bobby shrugs.  "It's just hot.  I can't explain it."

Yeah, yeah.  Redheads are so frickin' hot, I know.  How many times have I seen Logan shamelessly flirting with Jean?  And when he goes out to the bars, if there's a redhead in the room I know he goes for her 9 times out of 10.  He's told me.

I used to roll my eyes and act like I was amused by all of that nonsense.  I even managed to convince myself that it didn't bother me at all.  I mean, why would it?  We've always been just friends.  Right?  Truth is, though, you can bury those feelings all you want, but they raise their ugly heads eventually.  Truth is, it did bother me.  Because truth is, no matter how much I've tried to tell myself that we're just friends, I've always loved Logan.  From the beginning.  Even when I was supposedly too young to know what it meant to have anything more than a crush on someone.  I've loved him since the day he let me into his truck that snowy day so long ago.

Sure, I needed to grow and mature some, and I needed to allow our friendship to grow naturally over the years.  So I buried those feelings down deep with school, friends, work, training; I tamped it down with our day-to-day friendship and teamwork and our ridiculous shared sense of humor.  I buried them so deep, I almost had myself convinced that it really was just a crush, or some kind of hero worship.  But truth is, those feelings don't want to stay buried any more.  They've bided their time, but now they want air, and sunlight, and they want to live out in the open.

Truth is, I've always thought of Logan as mine, from day one.  Too bad he doesn't want to be mine.

"Have you even talked to Angelica yet, Bobby?"  Jubilee says with a raised eyebrow.  "I mean, geez.  If this chick is really all that, why don't you ask her out or something?"   She goes back to reading her magazine.

"I'm gonna," Bobby says defensively.  "I just haven't had a chance yet.  She's always busy talking to other people.  It would be rude to interrupt."

"Uh huh," Jubilee says, cracking her gum and flipping the page.

"I think I'm going to ask her to dance tonight.  That is, if Logan doesn't get to her first."

Suddenly my body stiffens.  Jubilee stops chewing her gum and shoots Bobby a look.  Bobby hasn't looked up yet, so he doesn't notice.

"I was going to go introduce myself yesterday, but Logan was already talking to her.  They were in the gym, and he was all up in her space, showing her how to use the equipment."

I'll bet he was.

"Bobby."  Jubilee says, shooting him another look, but he still doesn't notice.

"Logan doesn't waste any time does he?  He probably took one look at her and decided to stake his claim."

"Bobby!"  Jubes says sharply.  "Knock it off."  She looks at him like she wants to punch him in the face.  Bobby just stares at her for a moment, trying to figure out why she is looking at him that way.  Then he looks at me and realization hits.

"Shit." Bobby says quietly.  His eyes dart back to Jubilee and then to me again.  "I'm--don't listen to me.  That's the booze talking," he stammers, running his hands through his hair.  "I don't know what I'm talking about.  Really."

"Damn straight you don't," Jubilee glowers.  By now Kitty and Peter are sitting up, and their eyes travel from Bobby to Jubilee and finally to me.  Their faces are a mixture of shock, as if Bobby has let out some secret that they were all keeping, sympathy, which I cannot stand, and apprehension, as if they are waiting for me to react.

I clear my throat and look down, suddenly realizing that I have been squeezing the pillow with a kung fu grip.  I slowly release my fingers and try to straighten out the fabric.  I'm not exactly sure what to think at this moment, not sure what to say.  All I know is that I need to get out of here.

I'm known to be a little bit of a hothead at times, so it's not unusual for me to go storming out of a room when I'm feeling this conflicted, slamming the door for good measure.  But I don't have it in me today.  I feel like I've been kicked in the gut.  I feel like all the air has been knocked out of me. 

I stand up slowly and put the pillow on the chair.  "Hey guys.  I'm kinda tired.  I think I'm gonna go to my room and lay down for a while."

Everyone sits there in silence, unsure of what to say.  I pick up my shoes and walk to the door, letting myself out quietly.  The door latches with a click that sounds so loud, so final.  Somehow, in this busy school, there is no one in the hallway as I make my way back to my room.  The silence is deafening.

Moved on.  I can't believe he's moved on already.  Did we not just have "the talk" only yesterday?  He didn't even wait a full day.

Correction, I tell myself; we were never "together", so there was never anything to move on from.  He made his intentions clear--he did say in not so many words that he couldn't lose me...but as his best friend.  That's the distinction.

What did I think was going to happen here?  That Logan would just be content with my friendship and not need the company of another woman, ever?

I turn off the water and lower myself slowly into the hot, foamy bathwater, my only comfort when I'm feeling like this.  I ache all over from this morning's Danger Room session, but none of that compares to the ache in my chest.

Bobby was right; Logan didn't waste any time, either.  That stung.  So, what, did he bear his soul to me by the stream, get the reassurance he needed, carry me to the mansion on his back, then waltz directly to the gym and start his campaign to get the Shiny New Thing in his bed?  God, I feel like such an ass.

An ass because it was so easy for him to draw that line of friendship, and so hard for me to stay behind that line.  I reassured him that I understood; and yet, on some subconscious level, I somehow still thought of Logan as mine, despite the words that we said.  I blatantly danced up and down that line, whether I was aware of it or not.  I convinced myself, promised that I would be the friend that he needed me to be, when in fact I was just burying my feelings all over again.  I managed to fool both him and myself.

The more I think about it, the more foolish I feel.  When we stood there by the stream, I thought I felt something more between us at that moment, even if he couldn't say it.  I had somehow imagined that there was this undeniable heat between us when it was in reality just simple flirtation; he held my face, caressed my lips, and I mistook his tenderness to mean feelings of romance. 

I have no one to blame but myself.  And that makes it all the worse.

There is a familiar stinging in my eyes, and I know what's coming.  Don't cry.  Don't. Fucking. Cry.  It seems I'm throwing a little Rogue pity party of one, and I am not having that bullshit.

I direct my eyes down to the bubbles floating on the water, and try to distract myself by searching for random shapes and patterns.  Despite my monumental efforts to not give in to the urge to cry, a tear slides down my nose and falls into the water, creating a small ripple in the surface.

Ok, just one tear, but that's it.  I will not allow any more.  Against my wishes, another slides down my cheek, and then another.

"Argh!" I growl, and slide down, completely submerging myself under the water.  Fine, you little fuckers.  Try rolling down my face when you're under water.

I clamp down and wait for the tightness in my chest to dissipate.  20...21...22...The silence, save the odd, subdued sounds of being underwater, makes me feel like I'm suspended in another world, and I try to find peace in that feeling.

"Marie?  Marie!" says a muffled voice from above, and suddenly I'm being pulled swiftly upright by two strong hands.

"What the--" I sputter, grasping the side of the tub and wiping my eyes.  "Logan?"

"Are you ok?  What the hell are you doing?" he demands.

I stare at him for a moment as if he has gone mad.  "I'm taking a bath, what does it look like?"

His eyes scan the room, noting the candles and bottle of bubble bath solution.  "I don't know.  It looked like you were drowning when I walked in.  I just reacted on instinct."

We continue staring at each other for a long moment, until his eyes dart to my breasts, and I suddenly realize that I am very naked here.  I gather the bubbles around me to cover up, and he looks away, clearing his throat.

"What are you doing here, Logan?  Haven't you ever heard of knocking?"

"I did knock, but you didn't answer."

"Well then, I guess that means that I'm either not home, or I don't want company," I say smartly.

He looks at me but doesn't say anything for a moment.  "Jeanie said that I should come talk to you.  She wouldn't say why."

Jean told Logan to come talk to me?  Why would she do that? 

"I knocked on your door, but you didn't answer," he continues.  "I thought you weren't here, so I was going to keep walking, but then...I smelled your tears."

I blink a few times, taken aback by his admission.  I had forgotten just how sensitive his sense of smell is.  Which means that if I even think about making something up about the reason I was crying, he'll know it's a lie.  Shit.  I am not about to tell him that I was crying over him wanting to hook up with Little Miss Cute-yet-sexy-funny-as-hell-great-laugh-great-curves-hot-red-haired-wonder-girl instead of hanging around doing platonic things with his BFF for the rest of his life.

"Why were you crying?"

"I don't know."

"Bullshit.  Why were you crying?" he says again.

"I'm PMS-ing," I lie futilely.  "It's perfectly normal for women to be emotional when it's close to that time of the month."

He crosses his arms.  "Try again."  Damn.  I thought talking about female stuff would throw him off.

I sigh and look at him tiredly.  "Logan...please.  I don't want to talk about it.  Just...let me be, ok?"  I hug my knees to my chest.

He scans my face for a moment, and then his eyes soften.  Moving closer, he sits on the side of the tub and leans in.  "Hey," he says gently, lifting my chin.  "Look at me."

I don't want to.  Looking into your eyes will just break my heart and I'll start crying again.

"Marie.  Look at me."

A take a moment to gather myself, and then slowly lift my eyes to his; those intense hazel eyes, so beautiful, looking at me with tenderness and concern.

I open my mouth to speak, but nothing comes out.  What can I say?  That I'm crying because he was totally honest with me about wanting to be just friends, but I didn't think it would be this hard?  That I secretly love him and that it hurts to even think about him being with someone else?  That I promised I would always be there for him, but only if he didn't pursue other women?  I can't say any of that.

"What's going on?" he asks gently.  He tucks a white strand of hair behind my ear, pauses, then slowly trails his finger along my jaw before cupping his hand to the side of my neck and face.

I close my eyes...this feels too good.  His thumb begins to caress my cheek, wiping away the invisible path of the tears I shed earlier, and it's almost too much.  Then I feel his thumb slowly, tentatively begin to caress my lips, just like when we stood by the stream.  My eyes fly open at the sensation; he is staring at me intently with dark, hooded eyes, and my heart flutters.  No.  I'm seeing things that aren't there again.  No, no, no!  I have to stop this right now.

"Don't."  I jerk my chin away, and he looks surprised, then...hurt?  Well--well too bad.  He shouldn't be looking at me like that, touching me like that.  It's sending the wrong message to my heart, and it's already confused as it is.

He's too close.  I can feel his body heat and he smells so good, and oh God I want to pull him into this tub and feel his hard body against my soft curves, and I have to stop this right now before he smells my arousal and I have to protect my heart, and where the hell is my towel?  My mind races and my eyes search frantically for a towel, a robe, anything within reach so I can cover myself and get out of here.  Dammit!  Why do I always forget to keep a towel close by when I take a bath?

Finally I spy my robe across the room, draped over a chair.  Ugh, I'm going to have to ask Logan to get it for me.  I take a deep breath.  "Would you please get my robe for me?" I mumble.

He doesn't answer.  His brows are furrowed and his jaw is set, and I can tell that he's gone from hurt to angry.

"Logan, please.  My robe."

"No." 

"Excuse me?"

"Not until you tell me what's going on."

Now it's my turn to be angry.  "I don't have to tell you anything!"

"Darlin', I can wait here all day," he says, crossing his arms.  "As long as it takes."

Oh, the nerve!  Who does he think he is?  He's going to hold me hostage in my own tub, just so he can satisfy his curiosity?  Well screw that!

I glare at him for a few moments, fuming while he just sits there arrogantly with an eyebrow cocked like he knows I'll have to give in.  Well, he's got another thing coming if he thinks I'm going to cave in to his little pressure tactic.

"You know what, Sugar?" I say with an evil smirk, "It's a good thing you don't age, 'cause you're gonna be waitin' a long time."  I rise to my feet and face him head on, enjoying the feel of water and bubbles sliding down my body, reveling in all my naked glory.  The look on his face is priceless.

I reach for his shoulders, bare breasts a mere few inches from his face as I steady myself and step out of the tub.  I saunter across the room, grab a towel from the bar, and hear a low rumble from Logan's chest as I bend over to wrap my hair in a turban.  Without so much as a glance backward, I slip on my robe and walk out of the bathroom.  If he won't leave, then I will.

"Be sure to close up here when you're all finished," I call out behind me as I strut out of the room and shut the door.

Well, right about now I'm wishing that I was telepath, or a teleporter like Kurt, so I could take a peek into my room and see if Logan is still there.  I've been hiding out in the second floor reading nook at the end of the East wing, trying to act all casual while random people give me odd looks.  Why yes, fellow mansion dweller, it was quite necessary to visit the library wearing nothing but my bathrobe.  See, 'cause I just looove books.  Can't get enough of them.  In fact, I love them so much, I couldn't even wait long enough to put some clothes on first.  That's how much I love them.  It's perfectly normal.  Yeah, totally.

I suppose I could have gone to Jubilee's or Kitty's room to hide out.  But after that whole thing with Bobby spilling the beans about Logan and Angelica, I just didn't feel like going back there yet.

I didn't really have a plan per se for what I would do once I put on my little rebellious naked parade in front of Logan.  Once I strutted out of that room, I just started making a beeline towards the first place I could think of on the fly.  That's the problem with us hotheads.  We don't really think things through before we do something impulsive like that.  I have to shake my head and roll my eyes at myself.  Not so Rogue-ish now, are we?  Instead I'm hiding--hiding--like a ridiculous juvenile, afraid of facing the big, bad Wolverine after that display I put on.  Still, it was totally worth it to see the look on Logan's face.

I think my inappropriate attire and impending nakedness have killed the peaceful reading vibe in the room, because everyone has quietly cleared out.  Sigh.  I suppose I need to strap on a set and start heading back to my room, Logan or no Logan.  Besides, I'm getting cold.  Reaching up to put away the book in my hand, I spot a worn copy of Anne of Green Gables.  Oh, man--I haven't read that series since I was a kid.  That brings back a flood of memories.  My best friend Sarah and I used to voraciously read all about Anne and her misadventures, and then try to reenact them, pretending we were Anne Shirley and Diana Barry.  Sarah was the sweet, proper one, so she liked being Diana.  I was always Anne, of course.  That's how I broke my arm the summer I was twelve, trying to walk the roof of Daddy's tool shed the way that Anne walked the Barry's kitchen roof.

After I pulled that stunt, Daddy wanted to take away all my Anne of Green Gables books so I wouldn't get any more ideas.  But Mama stepped in and said it was good for a girl to have ideas, good to get into trouble once in a while.  That's what made a girl independent, and tough, she said.  Thanks to Mama, I was back to reading my books the very next day.

I always admired Anne for her spirit, her spunk.  Maybe she was an orphan, but she found a new family and became friends with people who loved her more than she could have ever hoped.  And no matter what bumps life threw her way, she was always able to overcome them, in her own unexpected and gloriously spunky way.

After flipping through the pages, I push Anne back onto the shelf, then pause.  You know what?  Maybe it would be kind of fun to read her again, just for old time's sake.  I tuck the book under my arm and head for the door.  Ugh, I hope I don't run into anyone I know, like Scott.  Or worse yet, one of my students.

"Oh, hi!  You're Rogue, right?"

Aw, cheese and crackers.  This can not be happening.  I've never met this person before in my life, but somehow, I know exactly who she is.  Why, oh why do you delight in torturing me, fate?

"I'm Angelica.  I'm so glad that I bumped into you; I wanted to introduce myself before the mission tonight."  She extends her hand and flashes a mega-watt smile.  I want to punch all her perfect teeth in.

Where did that come from?  No, Rogue.  Be nice.  Be professional.  This woman has done nothing to you.

Yeah.  Nothing except swoop into my domain with her flowing red hair to take my Logan away.  Screw being nice, says my inner voice.

You know, me and Logan, we were getting along just fine before this red-headed hussy showed up, says the voice.   We had a good thing going.  In fact, things were just starting to warm up.  I bet if I could have just kept chipping away at his resolve, he would have been mine in no time.  Then she came along.  What a coincidence that Logan decided to have "the talk" with me the same day he and miss FireSlut met up at the gym for some "physical education".

The thought makes my blood boil.  For the first time since I learned to control it, my skin wants to turn itself on.  Quite suddenly, I can feel everything, only magnified; the insidious craving, the itch to touch bare skin and feel the pull, the insatiable hunger.  My skin is hungry for life, and power, and memories.  It wants to reach out, and take, and take until there's nothing left.

A black thought, snakelike and sinister, creeps up the back of my neck and coils into my brain.  It would be so easy.  So easy to just extend my arm and take her hand, under the guise of friendship and politeness.  She would never see it coming.

I wouldn't have to hold on for very long.  Just a brief touch, enough to take a peek at her memories.  That's all.  We don't really want to hurt her.  We just want to know what she and Logan have been up to.  We need to know.

Just one, little, tiny, harmless touch.  She'll barely feel it.  Maybe she'll feel a little dizzy, but she'll shrug it off as nothing.  It's wrong, I know.  But we don't care, do we, says my inner voice.  We deserve to know.

I plaster a smile on my face, and everything is in slow motion as I reach for her outstretched hand.  My heart is beating so loud in my ears and I wonder if she can hear it and I can't believe I'm doing this but I can't stop myself, I don't want to stop myself.  Our hands make contact and I'm still smiling, and then carefully, carefully, the voice says, just for a second it says.  I open the connection, and quickly try to close it before I knock her out.  Unexpectedly a flood of images invade my brain, of Logan smiling at her, flirting with her, giving her that look that is so familiar because it's a look that used to be reserved for only me.  She laughs and touches his chest, and it's like a slap to my face when he touches her face in return.  The images are so vivid, and oh God I forgot, I forgot how strong and fast the memories come on, and I've seen enough and I don't want to see any more, and I try to close the connection, but something is wrong.  I can't close it, and now I can see the veins popping up in her face and her eyes are wide with fear and pain, and I try to pull my hand away, but I can't, I can't.  What's happening?  Let go, my inner voice screams, but I can't.  I can feel her powers surging through my body, the microwave energy pulsing all around, the heat radiating from my pores.  I'm trying to wrench my hand free from hers, but it's like they're fused together, and still her life force is being sucked into my body at an alarming rate, and I can hear her voice inside my head now and she's scared and confused.  Let go! My inner voice and hers scream in unison, and now I can't tell whose voice is whose, and I'm seeing her and seeing myself at the same time, and we both have a look of horror on our faces.

Her pupils have dilated and her eyes are frighteningly black, and her lips are blue now, and I can feel the influx of her life force slowing down, but not because I'm controlling it and not because I've broken contact, but because there's not much left.

Finally the connection is broken; she is emptied, and her body drops to the floor with a sickening thud.  My chest is heaving.  Tears are streaming down my face; tears that are both mine and hers.

What have I done?

I look down at my hands.  My treacherous, poisonous skin and murderous hands.  The air around them is rippling with energy, intense heat radiating from my palms.  The atmosphere is thick and heavy, vibrating with a low, oscillating hum.  The curtains, the wallpaper, the books on the shelf begin to smoke as if they are about to set on fire.

There is a mirror on the wall to my right.  Slowly, I turn my face towards the reflection; the image I see sends a chill down my spine.  Gone are my stripes.  In place of mahogany and white, long voluminous waves of flowing red hair.

Approaching the mirror, I gaze into stricken eyes that are mine and not mine.  What have I done?

The girl in the mirror reaches her hand towards mine; she wants to touch me, but I recoil.  Question fills her eyes... her hand stops, and then hesitatingly withdraws.  Her lips are moving, but I can't make out the words.  She's trying to tell me something.

"I'm sorry," she says.  "I'm--

"--sorry, I must have the wrong person.  I thought you were Rogue."

"Huh?"  I blink my eyes a few times and look around.

"I said I'm sorry, I thought you were Rogue, 'cause of the...because of the stripes in your hair.  My mistake.  Sorry about that."

"Fuck," I whisper under my breath.  I've been daydreaming again.  Hallucinating is more like it.  Or was that fantasizing?  Ugh, that is terrible.  I need to snap out of it and get a grip.  What kind of a person thinks those thoughts?  A person who needs serious help, that's who.

Angelica's eyes shift nervously, clearly not expecting a complete stranger to refuse her hand like a leper and then swear at her after what appears to have been a psychotic episode.  Better try to recover this, quick.

"Oh, um...no, hi," I reply awkwardly, pulling my robe a little tighter and offering my hand.  "It's me.  Rogue.  I was just...you caught me off guard is all."  I smile and try to look as normal as possible.

She smiles apprehensively, then shakes my hand.  "Hi, nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you."  Much to my relief, it's nothing but a normal handshake; I have managed to not suck the life out of her.  Go me.  "Sorry about that...thing...a minute ago; it's been a rough day.  I didn't mean to get all weird."

"Oh.  That's ok!" She smiles without reserve now.  "We all have days like that, right?"

"Yeah," I chuckle, and this time, I'm the one to smile without reserve.  Something about her demeanor puts me at ease right away.

"So, um...yeah.  I just wanted to introduce myself, and I thought maybe we could get to know each other a little bit before the mission tonight."

"Oh, yeah.  Of course.  That's a great idea." I glance down at my appearance and smile sheepishly.  "As long as you don't mind me hanging around in this getup.  Don't ask."

"Not at all," she laughs.  "And I won't ask."

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

An hour has passed like the blink of an eye since we sat on the sofa for a chat.  In such a short time, I feel like I've known her my whole life, and all I have to say is this.  Slap me with bread and call me a sandwich, she really is as great as everyone says she is.  After a mere 10 minutes of talking to her I could see what all the fuss was about.  Smart, funny as hell, super nice--a much nicer person than I am, apparently, seeing as that she doesn't seem to have warped fantasies about draining the life and memories out of a person she just met--and, dare I say, hot.  She really does have a whole cute yet sexy thing going on.  Great smile, and dammit if her laugh isn't just the right mix of feminine and genuine.  No wonder both Logan and Bobby want her.  Hell, if I ever switched sides, I'd want her.

She's the real deal, too; an open book with not a fake or malicious bone in her body.  I have a very sensitive bullshit meter, and this girl has not set it off.  Not even remotely.  She's actually... someone that I could see myself being friends with.

This is so unfair.  I wanted to hate her.  I really, really did.  But instead, I find myself actually liking her!  What the hell just happened?

Suddenly I'm feeling very conflicted.  For once, I realize, Logan is interested in a woman that might actually be good for him.  That's never happened before.  She's a genuinely good person, with just enough sass to hold her own against his strong and dominant personality.  And I think she would treat him right.  If I really care for him, shouldn't I want what's best for him?  Shouldn't I want him to be with someone if there's a chance that she might make him happy?  He deserves that.

And what about Angelica?  Logan is a great guy...a really great guy.  If she truly likes him, and he truly likes her, and there is even a small chance that they could be happy together, who am I to stand in the way of that?  I can't come between two people, can't crush their potential, just for my own selfish reasons.  That's one step away from being a home wrecker.

It all falls into place.

Angelica is still talking to me, but I can't hear her any more.  I can only feel my long-buried hopes dissolving, floating away.  I can do this for Logan.  I can give him a chance.  And this time, I'm going to keep my promise to be the friend that he needs me to be.

"Hey...are you ok?"  Angelica's brows are drawn together with concern.  "You have tears in your eyes.  What's wrong?"

A tear rolls down my cheek, but this time I don't fight it.  "It's nothing," I reassure her with a watery smile.  "I'm just...PMS-ing.  I get emotional sometimes."

She looks at me with an expression that says she doesn't believe me, any more than Logan believed me when I fed him that line.  To her credit, she says nothing, instead giving me the space I need to grieve without scrutiny.

We decide to take our leave and head back to our rooms; the ball is only a few hours away, and we both need to get ready.  To my surprise, she gives me a hug.  And to my bigger surprise, I hug her back like I mean it...because I do.

We go our separate ways, and I start the long walk back to my room.  Once again, the hallways are empty as I make my way, and I am grateful.  I won't have to explain myself, not for what I'm wearing, and not for my tears.

By the time I reach my room, the tears have dried.  The room is quiet; Logan is not waiting for me.

I drop my robe to the floor, and then my hair towel.  I enter the bathroom and face the mirror.  After a moment, I splash some cool water on my face and pat dry with a towel; then I go to my closet and pull out a forest green wrap dress and black heels.  Laying them on the bed, I go to my dresser and take out a black satin bra and matching panties.

I finish dressing and begin working on my hair and makeup, an elegant upsweep with white strands framing my face, smokey eyes and a touch of gloss on my lips.

I take one last look in the mirror.  Then I gather my things: scissors, clipper, comb, all tucked into a small leather bag.  I turn off the light and close the door behind me, then start down the hall...now turn left at the corner...2, 3, 4...5th room on the right.

I stand in front of the door, and smooth my dress one more time; I take a deep breath, then knock on the door.  For a moment, there is no answer.  I'm about to turn away, when the door unlatches and swings open.

"Why hello, chère.  To what do I owe the pleasure?"  A pair of glowing red eyes peer at me inquisitively, then skate up and down my body.

"I promised you a haircut.  And you promised dinner and une lagniappe."

He pauses, surprised at my assertion.  "That I do recall, Miss Rogue," he says finally.  He studies my face for a moment, then steps aside.  "Please, entrez."

His eyes follow me as I walk past, and then the door shuts behind us.

"Can I offer you a drink, belle?"  Remy crosses the room and gestures to a fully stocked wine cooler.  You would think that having a wine cooler in your bedroom would be a bit much, but in Remy's room, it works.  His suite is a warmly decorated, masculine space; clean and comfortable; rustic leather furniture set in contrast to sensual touches, like a bed made with silk sheets and sumptuous pillows.  On the end table is a vase of gorgeous roses; in his bathroom, a thoughtful basket of lovely smelling soaps and feminine toiletries placed by the sink.

It's a room where a woman goes to be charmed by his rakish personality.  Seduced by his velvety voice...beguiled by his handsome face, his lithe, muscular body.  Made to feel special...perhaps made to forget, if only for a little while.

"Do you--have anything stronger?" I ask, feeling a blush warm my face.

Remy pauses, and then a kind smile touches his lips.  "Of course," he says, pulling a bottle out of the hutch above the cooler.  "Créole Shrubb?"

"Sounds perfect," I reply with a nervous smile.

He pours a glass and I meet him halfway to take it.  Forgetting all manners and decorum, I bring the glass to my lips start throwing back the rum, unable to stop until it's gone.  Shyly I bring my fingers to my mouth and delicately blot a drop of the liquid, only now thinking about how I must appear.  Mama would have died of embarrassment if she could have seen me just now.

"Thanks," I say sheepishly.

The corner of Remy's mouth twitches.  "Pas du tout," he replies, gently taking the glass from my hand.  "Would you like another?"

"Um, yes...please.  I'll take it a little slower this time," I say with a little chuckle.

Remy pours a second glass for me, and this time I try be a little more sophisticated.  I wait for him to pour his own drink, instead of downing mine immediately in one fell swoop.  As I bring the glass to my lips, I close my eyes and take in the aroma of the Creole spices.  A sip of the sweet, smooth liquid carries wonderful notes of orange peel, chocolate, and fresh sugar cane.  Delicious.

"I didn't think you would come."

"Well I...I didn't think I would have the time, and...I wasn't sure if...I mean..."  I look down at my glass, struggling to find the words.  "I don't know, I thought maybe..." I trail off.  What's the right thing to say here?

"Hey...it's ok, chère.  You don't have to explain.  You are always welcome at Remy's."  His eyes lock with mine for a long moment.

"Thanks, Remy," I say softly.

"Besides," he smiles.  "Remy never passes up the opportunity to have a beautiful woman runnin' her fingers through his hair."  He nods his head toward my leather bag of styling tools.

I laugh and brush a lock of hair away from his eyes.  Remy always seems to know just the right the thing to say to put you at ease.

"Do you really want me to cut your hair?" I ask.  "It looks good just the way it is, too."

"'Course I do," he replies, pulling back the curtains and opening the balcony door.  "C'mon.  Let's do it outside, chère; it's a beautiful afternoon."  He walks to the bathroom and begins wetting his hands and running them through his hair.  "Go on ahead and enjoy the sunshine.  I'll be there in a minute."

"Ok," I reply with a smile.  I grab my bag and walk onto the balcony.  A breeze caresses my face as I step outside, and I draw in the sweet air deeply.  Down in the courtyard, Storm is placing fresh flowers on white linen-covered tables for the ball.  She notices me standing above on the balcony and pauses, giving me a wave and a smile; I smile and wave back, happy to see my friend, the weather goddess.  Just as I'm about to turn, Logan appears, lugging a huge planter of flowers.  My heart skips a beat.

"Tell me again why I'm doing this, 'Ro?" he grunts.

'Ro points to a spot beside an arch covered in vines and purple blossoms.  "Because you love me," she says with a smirk.

"Not enough to be playin' with flowers and haulin' stuff like a pack mule," he retorts.

"And because you owe me," she continues.  "Don't give me that look.  If it wasn't for me, you know Scott would have never let you hear the end of it.  I saved your behind from a major pride-swallowing."

"Alright, alright," he grumbles.  "Don't remind me."  He hoists the planter to the chosen spot with another grunt, muscles bunching and flexing in his back, shoulders, and arms.  He is so strong...I take a gulp of my drink and watch as he wipes his forehead with the back of his arm and starts heading back to get the other planter.

Just then he notices me and halts in his tracks.  I think I've stopped breathing.  I'm expecting him to look angry, or maybe irritated, considering our last encounter.  Instead his face is unreadable as we just stare at each other, not saying anything.

The moment is broken by a sultry Cajun voice behind me.  "I'm ready for that haircut, mah lady."

"Remy!" I breathe with a start.  "I didn't hear you coming."

He looks down to the courtyard and then back to me.  "No, I suppose you wouldn't with all the...distractions out here," he says with a wink.

Oh my god.  Busted twice in the span of five minutes.  I look down again, but Logan has gone back to work.  "I was just...'Ro was decorating for the ball and...Aw, hell."  I gulp down the last of my drink and hope that he'll cut me a break.

He chuckles warmly and his eyes twinkle playfully.  "Come on, love.  Let's see if Remy can't do a better job of keepin' your attention."  He takes me by the hand and leads me to a chair that he's brought out to the balcony.  Turning to face me, he crosses his arms at the hem of his shirt and pulls it off over his head in one fluid motion, revealing a smooth, tan, perfect chest and rippling abs.

Oh my.  I drop my glass in surprise, but Remy doesn't let it hit the ground, catching it deftly and setting it on the ledge.

"Easy, chère," he says.  "Jus' thought it would be better to keep the hair off mah shirt."

"Um...right.  Of course," I stammer, trying not to stare.

He sits in the chair and leans back, beautiful muscular arms hanging down to his sides, his flat stomach looking so very touchable right now.  "I'm all yours.  Do with me what you will," he says with a grin so charming, I can't help but grin back.

"Very well, Mr. LeBeau," I say, opening my bag and pulling out a comb and a pair of scissors.  Slowly I walk in a circle around Remy, observing the cut of his hair and making mental notes of what I want to do.  I come back around and position myself in front of him, reaching out to run my fingers through the damp hair above his eyes, drawing it upward to estimate the length.

He moves his legs farther apart.  "You can come closer if you want, chère."

I search his face for another grin or a playful glint in his eye, but he's not being playful anymore.  Burning red eyes are fixed on mine, and there's that tingle down my spine again.  I step closer, and his eyes gaze upward at me.

"I, um...I'm gonna...start in the back, I think," I say, stammering again.  Blushing like a schoolgirl, I step around his leg and circle behind him, and dang, he looks good from this angle, too.

I don't know why I'm being so silly; I talk to Remy all the time.  I've seen all the guys at the mansion with their shirt off at one time or another.  But usually not this up close and personal.  So close that I can see the texture of their skin, every pore, every muscle movement, every eyelash; see and hear every rise and fall of their chest.  When you get that close to someone, and they're as attractive and charming as Remy, and all their attention is on you, it's easy for a girl to get a little giddy.

Still, outside of giving a haircut, there are few men that I've been that close to before.  There's really only one man I've ever wanted to be that close to.  I feel a pang in my chest, and quickly push that thought out of my head.

I begin drawing sections of Remy's hair between my fingers and start snipping away.  I'm going to trim it enough to give it some shape, but I think part of Remy's hotness factor is his longer hair, so I'm not taking off too much.  At first I'm nervous, wondering what he must be thinking every time I touch his hair or brush up against him, but as I go along it gets easier.  My heartbeat and breathing slow down eventually, and hey, I'm kind of enjoying this.  Yeah, until it's time to make my way to the front of his hair, and now I have to stand between those hard thighs again.  Ugh, there goes my steady heartbeat.

C'mon, girl.  Get a hold of yourself.  You're the Rogue, for cryin' out loud.  You don't turn into a swooning fool just from standing next to a man.  I try to reason with myself and stay unruffled.  It's just Remy.  Sweet, charming, genteel Remy...dashing, handsome...tall, muscular...shirtless...completely...hot...Remy.  Oh boy, I'm in trouble.

A few last hurried snips, and oh thank God, I'm finished with the haircut.  Tamping down the urge to fan myself, I stand back a little and squint one eye to survey my handiwork.  He looks damn good, if I do say so myself.

"How do I look?" he asks, turning his head side to side.

"Well, I can only do so much, Sugar," I sigh with a pretend air of resignation, "but I'd say you're actually...less ugly."  We both look at each other, trying not to smile.

"Did I say that out loud?  Nuts, I meant to say you look acceptable," I correct myself.

"Hmm," he says thoughtfully, "Well, you did the best you could, considerin' what you had to work with."

We look at each other a moment longer, his mouth twitching and me biting my lip, until we can't take it any more and we both start laughing.

"Here, let me help you," I say, brushing the hair off his shoulders while he brushes off his legs.  After a minute we've almost got it all except for one stubborn spot. 

"Hang on, there's one piece that keeps sticking," I point out, "right on your neck."  

"Here?" he says, brushing his hand over his neck.

"It's still there...let me get it for you."  He watches me as I hesitate, then step a little closer, placing my hands on his chest as I lean in.  "It needs...a little air to unstick it," I say softly.

Remy tilts his head a little to the right to give me better access.  I smell the faint scent of soap and cologne as I inch closer...I can hear him breathing, feel the warmth of his thighs against my legs.  The brush of my breasts against his chest causes my nipples to tighten, and suddenly, I realize how very intimate this is.  I'm wondering if I've gotten too close, too soon.  I go to pull back, and a pair of warm hands land on my waist.  I stop, and my breath hitches.

"It's ok, chère," he whispers.

A shiver runs through me at the sound of his words.  I stand there for a moment, while Remy remains motionless except for the slow rise and fall of his chest.  Then, once more I lean forward.  I take a breath, and blow a soft stream of air over his neck to unstick the hair.  Goosebumps instantly form on Remy's skin.

"It's gone," I murmur, slowly pulling back.  He turns to me then, looking into my eyes.  Our faces are so close, I can feel his breath on my lips.  The tension in the air is palpable.

I can't believe this is happening.  Do I want this?  Yes...I do.  It's what I'm here for, isn't it?  It's what I came for.  Is that wrong?  Maybe.  But there are far worse things than to fall into the arms of a man as sweet and handsome as the one before me.  There are far worse things than to seek the comfort of being wanted by someone, even if it's not the man you love.

I close my eyes.  I lean in closer, and now I can feel the warmth of his mouth across the tiny gap between us, and we're so close...

Suddenly, a familiar sound cuts the air.

*Snikt*

My eyes fly open and I turn them toward the courtyard, where Logan is standing with his claws out, glaring in our direction.  'Ro is standing next to him with a hand on his arm.

"...need to let her move on," 'Ro says softly.  He doesn't respond, continuing to glare.  I walk to the balcony ledge and his eyes bore into me.  Then, slowly, the glare softens to an expression that I can't decipher.

We continue staring at each other, something passing between us, but what, I don't know.  I feel so mixed up right now.  Remy comes up behind me, and Logan's face darkens to a glare again.  'Ro's eyes travel from Logan to Remy and back to Logan.

"Logan," 'Ro says gently, pulling his arm.  A low growl is rumbling from Logan's throat, and 'Ro puts a hand on his chest as he takes a step forward.

"Don't," she says.  The wind is picking up, and the branches on all the trees begin whipping back and forth.  Logan starts to shake her off, when the sky darkens in a matter of seconds, and suddenly a bolt of electricity strikes the ground just ten feet in front of him, stopping his advance.  Moments later it begins to pour, the wind howling and streaks of lightning flashing across the sky.  The flowers are blown off the tables and the tablecloths are getting soaked, but 'Ro doesn't stop the maelstrom.  Logan looks back at 'Ro, and then to me again.  She places a hand on the back of his neck and says something inaudible to him; slowly, recognition crosses his face, and he sheathes his claws.

The rain is coming down in sheets. "C'mon chère, we need to get inside," Remy urges, taking me by the hand.  He begins pulling me towards the door, covering me with a protective arm.  I steal one more glance back at Logan, who watches me until I'm in the door, then turns away.

Remy shuts the door to the balcony and gently guides me into the bathroom.  While he rummages through the linen closet, I wrap my arms around myself and watch the water drip from my hair.

I can't get the look on Logan's face out of my mind.  What was that?  Anger?  Jealousy? Accusation?  I feel like somehow I've been caught, but I haven't done anything wrong, and neither has Remy.  I refuse to be made to feel that way.  He can't say he wants to be friends one minute, and then start popping the claws the next minute when a man gets close to me.  It's not right.  You can't have it both ways.

But then I also watched as his face changed to something like...regret. Loss.  It almost broke my heart to see that look on his face.  I can never stand to see him suffer in the slightest, and to see that look...Right then and there I wanted to jump down from that balcony and run to him.  But loss of what?  You can't lose something you never had.  You can't mourn the loss of something you never wanted.

Or is it the loss of the person he thought I was?  The loss of the neat little arrangement we had, where he could run about town bedding any woman he pleased, then come home and pal around with innocent little Rogue, who played the asexual, unattached friend and companion?  Always available, just waiting around for him.

I'm sorry, but I just can't do that anymore.  It hurts too much.

"Let's get you dried off before you catch a cold," says Remy, tenderly wrapping me in a big, fluffy towel.  He takes a smaller towel and begins blotting my hair to stop the dripping.  I'm feeling chilly now, and my body starts shivering.  Remy tosses the small towel aside and pulls me to his warm chest, wrapping his arms around me tightly and rubbing my back.  I rest the side of my face on his chest and start to relax as his body heat envelops me.

We stand there like that for a few minutes, just holding each other, feeling the heat return to our bodies.  Slowly, tentatively, I snake my arms around his waist.  So warm.  My hands leisurely stroke the smooth skin of his back; and then, as if they have a mind of their own, they wander to his sides, skating up and down, caressing his beautiful, perfectly cut obliques.

Remy hand stops rubbing my back.  I wait for further reaction, but he says nothing.  My fingers continue their shy exploration, tracing the muscle down his hip, until they reach the waistband of his pants.

Remy's arms loosen their tight hold, and he pulls back, searching my face; still, he says nothing. My fingertips slowly move over his stomach, and he draws in a ragged breath, touching his forehead to mine.

"Rogue..." he says softly, "chère...we--"

I don't let him finish, now sliding my hands up his bare chest and then behind his neck.  Please don't stop me.  I need this.  I pull him down, arching up desperately to bring his mouth to mine.  His lips are warm and soft, his kisses are gentle, sweet.  His breathing quickens as his hands tighten around the small of my back; I start to deepen the kiss, but then Remy breaks away.

"Chère...don't do this," he whispers.

I look up at him with uncomprehending eyes.  He brings his hand to my face, and with his thumb, gently wipes away a tear that has run down my cheek.

"Remy be the best thief there is, but someone has already stolen chère's heart and locked it up tight."

For a moment, I'm unable to speak.  Then I bow my head down in defeat.  "It doesn't matter.  He may have my heart, but he doesn't want it.  Not in that way."  I look up at Remy again in earnest.  "You can help me break my heart free, Remy.  Just help me forget for a while.  You don't have to love me.  You don't even have to care for me.  Please."

"Oh, chère," he says softly, covering my hands and moving them over his heart.  "I do care for you.  And that is why I cannot do this."

I shake my head in disbelief.  "I don't understand."

"I can't break your heart free without hurting you, too.  You belong with him.  I see that now."  He gazes at me with a wistful smile.  "The Wolverine has stolen your heart without even tryin', and like a fool, he's hidden it so far away that he's forgotten what a great treasure he has, just for the takin'.  But don't you worry none.  Soon he's gonna come to his senses."

"And if he doesn't?" I whisper.

"He will.  Trust me, petite.  Remy knows a thing or two about love." He winks at me.  "And if he doesn't, well, 'den I'm gonna have to charge up a whole deck of cards and knock some sense into that thick metal skull of his."

I laugh and sniffle.  "You are so bad.  But then again, I might ask you to if he doesn't come to his senses."

He takes both of my hands in his and kisses them.  "C'mon, chère.  Let's find something dry for you to wear, and 'den you can watch sappy old movies with Remy and eat dinner on the sofa."

"Thanks, Remy," I smile.  "That sounds wonderful."

He rummages in the linen closet once more and pulls out a fresh robe for me, then leaves the bathroom and shuts the door.  After stripping down and taking a hot shower, I hang my dress, bra, and panties over the shower curtain bar, then wrap myself in the robe and tie the belt snugly.  For a moment I wonder if I should feel self-conscious about my drawers just hanging out there in the open like that in Remy's bathroom.  Of course, Remy's probably no stranger to having women's lingerie scattered about his living quarters, so it probably won't even faze him, I muse.  And then I wonder if it's weird that I'm going to be strolling around his room wearing a robe with not a stitch underneath.  Oh yeah.  Already did that once today in the library.  How ironic that I'm right back where I started.  I can't seem to stay clothed appropriately today.

When I come out of the bathroom, Remy has changed his clothes and already has a small feast of French bread, cheese, sun-dried tomatoes, and grapes laid out on the coffee table.  He sets a couple of Hubig's Pies on the table next to the grapes.  "A guilty pleasure," he smiles sheepishly.

"Hey, nothing to feel guilty about, sugar.  Clearly you're burning those off as soon as you eat them, 'cause you are looking mighty fine to me.  But if you're worried, I'll help you by eating both myself," I say with a grin.

"You better not!" he says, daring me to try.

"After the day I've had, those pies are as good as mine," I reply with a glint in my eye.

Our eyes lock in challenge as we circle the coffee table, poised to dive and snatch the sweet paper-wrapped confections.  I lunge forward to grab the pies, but Remy gets there first, snatching them and spinning out of my reach.

"Hey! Gimme those pies!" I laugh, and then wince in pain as I pull back up.

"You ok?" Remy asks, immediately by my side.

"Yeah, I'm fine," I assure him, rubbing my neck and shoulder.  "I'm just a little sore still, from this morning's Danger Room session."

"Oui, that was a tough one," he agrees.  "Ol' Cyke was intent on runnin' us ragged."  He pats the sofa.  "Sit here, chère.  Let Remy take care of you with his magic fingers."

Reluctantly I sit down and turn my back to Remy.  "I'm fine, Remy, really.  And besides, I've never really liked massages anyw--oooohhh," I moan.

"You were saying?" Remy says with a knowing tone.

"I was just saying---mmm---where have you and your magic fingers---ooohh---been all my life?"  Remy chuckles and continues to melt away all the knots in my neck and shoulders with his skilled hands.

"Mmm...oohhh..."  My head lolls forward as Remy massages the base of my neck.  "I am so embarrassed, but I just can not stop---aaahh---moaning."

"You're not the first femme to say that to Remy," he quips.

I look back at him and roll my eyes.  "Oh lordy be, did you just say that out loud?"

He grins back at me. "Yes I did," he says with a self-satisfied air.  "You got a problem with that?"

"As a matter of fact, I do--oooo!" I moan in satisfaction as Remy presses his thumbs deeper into my shoulder muscles.  "Oh God! Remy!  That feels so--ahhh---so good!"

"You like that, chère?

"Yes!  Uuunnhh!"

"Does Remy make you feel good?" he says playfully.  "Does Remy touch you in all the right places?"  We're borderlining on sounding like a French porn soundtrack at this point, and he knows it.

"Oh God, yes!" I moan again, unable to stop myself as he massages his way up the back of my neck.  "So good!"

Just then I hear loud growl outside the door and the metallic sing of adamantium blades as they slice through the latch like butter.  Logan kicks open the door and comes charging in the room, chest heaving as he breathes furiously in and out through his teeth.

Remy and I sit there frozen in place with dumbstruck expressions on our faces.

"Easy homme," Remy says, cautiously lifting his hands from my shoulders and holding them in the air.

"Shut up, Cajun," Logan growls, pointing his claws at Remy.

Remy stands up and looks around for something to charge, grabbing the first thing he sees.  "You don't wanna be like that, Wolverine.  Remy is a peace-lovin' man, but you come at me with those knives and I will blast you into next week with this--" he looks at the glowing purple object in his hand. "...pie."

Logan cocks his eyebrow at Remy.  "Really, Gumbo?  A pie?"

"Logan, what are you doing here?" I interrupt, standing up and stepping in front of Remy.

Logan sheathes his claws.  "I..." he shifts uncomfortably.  "I was walking by, and thought I heard you..."  He shifts again and looks around, noting the table of food and then looking Remy up and down.

"Heard me what?" I say, putting my hands on my hips.

"Talking," he stammers.  "I thought I heard you talking in here, and I needed to see you about something."

"I see.  And what was so important that you felt the need to chop Remy's door open and come barging in here like hell on wheels?"

Logan says nothing for a moment, realizing that there is no easy way out of this.

"I need a haircut," he says feebly.  I stand there staring at him with my mouth agape like a slack-jawed yokel, and he shifts again.

"You...chopped open the door.  To ask me for a haircut?" I say finally.

"Yeah, that's right.  I need you to cut my hair.  Right now."  He says it with as much conviction as he can muster, even though it sounds ridiculous.  "The ball is just a couple hours away, so it can't wait.  I need you.  Right now."

My heart skips a beat when he says those last words.  I glance at Remy, who winks at me discreetly.  "Alright, Logan," I say calmly.  "I'll cut your hair."

"Great, let's go."  He grabs my arm and starts pulling me towards the door.

"But Logan, I don't have my--"

"No time, kid.  We gotta move," he cuts me off, yanking me out the door.

"I'll save you a pie," Remy calls out after us.

The air is practically rushing past my ears as Logan pulls me down the hall to my room; I don't really know what's going to happen, but I've got butterflies in my stomach and I have to hold back a goofy smile that wants to spread across my face.  Logan's pulling me by my hand now instead of my arm, and I know I'm being a twit, but the thought that Logan and I are holding hands is making my stomach do flip-flops.  How very old-fashioned of me, getting flustered by a little hand-holding; but I can't help it.  Isn't it funny?  Logan and I have been friends and teammates for so long that touching is not something new for us.  We've hugged.  I've wrapped my arms around him when we've gone for rides on his motorcycle.  He's held me when I cried, and I've used him as a guinea pig when I was learning to control my mutation.  One time, during an especially grueling mission, Logan and I actually had to hide in a hole together for seven hours straight; the space was so small that we had to lay face to face with our bodies flush against each other from chest to feet just to fit.  That was something, let me tell you.  And yet, any feelings I had then pale in comparison to the way I'm feeling right now, just holding his hand.  This is different.

Every so often he glances back at me, and I quickly try to school my expression to something more neutral.  I know damn well that Logan did not come looking for me because he wanted a haircut.  Just two days ago he was vehemently refusing to let anyone touch his hair in preparation for the big gala, and now he's dragging me down the hall for an emergency haircut, just moments after busting through Remy's door, claws a-slashing?  What changed between then and now?  I'm afraid to hope what that might mean.  I try to tamp it down, but some tiny, stubborn part of me refuses to let go of that spark of hope.

We're approaching my room now, and Logan finally slows down; he turns back to me one more time as his hand rests on the doorknob.  He says nothing, but his face carries an expression that makes me feel like I am about to cross over a significant threshold.

Stop thinking that every look and every touch is more significant than it is, my inner voice says.  That's what you did in the woods, and look what that got you.  Nothing but a kick to the gut, says the voice.  Remember a certain red-head named Angelica?  Shut up.  I push back that little voice and stuff it into a closet at the back of my brain, but the thought is already out in the open.  Like a whisper behind closed doors, it's barely audible, and I'm trying to ignore it, but all the while I know it's still there.

Logan doesn't give me time to dwell on it.  He holds the door open for me and waits, never taking his eyes off of me as I cross over the threshold; I swear I can feel a tingle running down the entire back side of my body as he follows me in.  Every part of me can feel his presence; it's like he's the proton to my electron, attracting, drawing my molecules toward him.

He closes the door, quieter than I would have expected after the scene in Remy's room and the ensuing rush down the hall.  Now what?  We stand there in the middle of the room, not saying anything; we just look at each other in silence.  The room is quiet; so quiet that I can hear the little alarm clock beside my bed ticking, counting the seconds as they pass by in maddening anticipation.  An entire minute passes by until I finally break under his intense gaze.  My eyes fall to the floor, and I start toeing the carpet.

"Logan, I can't give you a haircut without my stuff; I tried to tell you earlier--my clippers and such are all out on Remy's balcon--"

"Tell me why you were crying."

For a moment I'm stunned by the question.  I meet his eyes again, and they are still fixed on me intently.  My lips part, but no sound comes from my mouth.

"Earlier today.  When you were in the bathtub...you were crying.  Tell me why."

Oh, no.  Don't ask me that.  "Logan, I...I told you.  I don't want to talk about it."  I hang my head and sigh.  "It's stupid..."

"Marie."  He takes a step closer.  "I need to know...please."

Something in his voice catches my heart, and I glance up again.  There's that look.  Those beautiful hazel eyes, looking at me with tenderness and concern.  But there's something else there, too.  There's that shadow of vulnerability that he almost never shows.

When I see that look, all resolve, all pride, all hesitation crumble away.  I've never been able to deny him anything when he looks like that.

I cross the room to my bed and sit down, my knees feeling a little weak at the thought of what I'm about to confess.  Logan doesn't move from his spot, and my anxiety bumps up a notch.  Here goes nothing.

"Here's the truth."  I take a deep breath.  "When we had our...talk, in the woods..."

Logan flinches, ever so slightly, but says nothing.  I don't think he was expecting me to say that.  I swallow hard and continue.  "It was tough for me because...well...you're my best friend.  And because...because..."

Shit.  Why is this so hard?  Funny how I always thought that Logan was the one who couldn't talk about feelings, couldn't talk straight about us.  Turns out, I'm not so good at it, either.

"I...you were right, you know.  When you said that I wanted more.  And I think...we both know we weren't just talking about my career with the X-men."  Logan doesn't say a word, but I can see the wheels turning.

"But then, you said you couldn't lose me, you couldn't lose...this," I say quietly, "and I could see that you were struggling, trying to get me to understand...that you didn't want to be...couldn't be more than friends."  Logan's eyes drop for a moment, but then he lifts them again, looking like he wants to speak, but I have to finish this now or I'll never be able to say it.

"And I was ok with that," I continue before he can say anything.  "I accepted it.  Because I could understand it.  It hurt a little, but then I was ok with it, because that was what you needed.  And when we fell back into our usual routine, and you carried me to the mansion on your back and we were having such a good time and acting like best buds I thought, I can do this, because at least I would always have you that way."  I look down at my hands, which are nervously tangled on my lap.  I hear Logan cross the room, then feel the mattress sink down as he sits beside me.  I can't look at him for this next part. 

"I thought I would be ok with it.  But then...then Bobby said he saw you later that very same day in the gym, flirting with the new girl, Angelica, and suddenly...suddenly I was so very not ok with it."

There.  I said it.  I turn my face toward Logan, with no clue how he's going to react to that.  I'm immediately taken aback, because the look on his face is actually one of...surprise.  His eyebrows come together and he narrows his eyes slightly, turning his face a little, as if he's wondering how Bobby would ever come to that conclusion.

My heart flutters in my chest; is it possible that this was all just a misunderstanding?  Did I just spend the day on an emotional rollercoaster, all for nothing?  The more I think about it, the more I realize that I allowed myself to get worked up over simple hearsay, which is so stupid.  I should know better.  I am simultaneously embarrassed and relieved.

"I told you it was stupid," I say, my face turning red as I stare at my hands again.  "I was just confused and feeling raw from our talk in the woods, because...ugh, because I'm sure you know that I've had a crush on you for years," I blurt, my words starting to come out faster before I can reign them in.  "But I grew up, and we became close friends, and what started out as a crush became genuine, deep affection...And after all this time, I did want more, and I guess I thought that maybe you wanted more, too.  I mean, I thought that...the way you were looking at me and... touching my face...I thought that I felt something between us.  And so even though you said that you didn't want to risk it all for something more, I thought it would be ok, because we had time to figure it all out."

I venture a shy glance at Logan, and now his eyes are filled with warmth and affection and tenderness, and wow, my insides are turning to golden honey.  Suddenly I just want to lay the rest of it out on the table, just to put all this silliness and misunderstanding to rest.

"I was crying because I totally jumped to conclusions.  Based on a passing comment made by Bobby," I say sheepishly.  "At the time it felt like a slap to the face...all I kept thinking about was how you basically drew that line of friendship, knowing how I felt...and then once you got the reassurance you needed, I find out that you barely tossed me off your back before waltzing into the gym and putting the moves on Angelica.  Which is so silly," I say, sitting up straighter and hands becoming more animated.  "I mean, not that you've ever needed my blessing to pursue other women or anything.  And I've met Angelica, and I know that she's a redhead and totally awesome and beautiful and whatnot.  But even so, I know that you would never do that to me.  You would never have this soul-bearing moment with me one minute, and then drop me like a sack of potatoes the next minute to stake your claim on the new girl.  You wouldn't do that to me."  I heave a relieved sigh, so glad to get that off of my chest.  "Ugh, I feel so silly now that I've said everything out loud."

I look up and smile at Logan, thinking that he's going to smile back and say, "Aw, darlin', I would never do that to you," and "I don't even think that Angelica is pretty," or something as equally reassuring.  But instead my stomach lurches, because his expression has changed from warm and affectionate to a face of guilt.

"Logan?"  No answer.

"You...would never do that to me, right?"  Still nothing.  Oh God.  This is worse.   This is so much worse than before, because at least before, there was some small part of me that thought I could be wrong, that I was just jumping to conclusions.  But now I've told him everything, and it turns out that it's true.  And it hurts even worse.

"So...Bobby was right," I whisper.  "You did want to stake your claim on Angelica.  And you didn't waste any time at all."

"No, it wasn't like that," Logan finally says, shaking his head.  "I mean, I did...flirt with her that day...but it wasn't...it wasn't like I just dumped you off so that I could hurry up and jump in the sack with Angelica.  It wasn't like that."

"Oh, no?  What was it like, then?"  I say evenly, trying to swallow down the bitterness rising in my throat.  "Because it sure feels like that."  I stand up, fists clenched, unable to sit down any longer with the hurt and anger bubbling up inside me.  I can feel my eyes start to sting, threatening to spill over with tears again, but I'll be damned if I cry one more time today over this selfish bastard sitting in front of me.  I clamp down on the hurt, and instead grab onto the anger, channeling it until the pain in my heart is buried.

"Marie," Logan says, looking up at me.  He opens his mouth, but nothing comes out.  Finally he exhales, rubbing the back of his neck .  "Marie," he tries again, "I know that's what it might feel like to you, but..." he stammers, unable to find the words.

"I'll tell you what it feels like, Logan," I say, pointing my finger at him.  "It feels like being taken for granted.  It feels like having a carrot dangled in front of my nose, then getting a pat on the head and having to watch as the carrot is fed to someone else.  No, make that a milkbone, not a carrot...because you know I'll always be that puppy dog waitin' around for you when you're done playing," I say, suppressing a small quiver in my voice.  I wrap my arms around myself and walk to the window. 

"And to think," I huff as I gaze out the window, "I was so concerned about your happiness, about what you needed.  I was ready to do anything, be anything you asked; I was ready to give up on my own needs so that you could be with Angelica, if she was what it took to make you happy." I turn my face to Logan, and he is the one to look stunned now.  A small, bitter laugh scrapes out of my throat.  "How pathetic, right?  And the kicker is, I was romanticizing the whole thing!  I thought, 'Wow, this Angelica is really great, and she'll be so good for Logan.  I think she could make him happy, maybe fill that void for him.  He deserves to be happy, to be whole.  I want him to have that...even if it's not with me.'"  I turn my face back to the window.  "You have no idea how much that hurt, to finally let go."  The sun is shining again, and I close my eyes, letting its warmth caress my face. "That's when I turned to Remy.  Too bad you weren't as concerned about my happiness."

"Hey, now wait just a minute," Logan growls, standing up.  "You think that sonuvabitch is going to make you happy?  Look at who you're talking about, Marie.  He's a womanizer!  He only wants one thing from you, and he has no problem manipulating and taking advantage of a sweet young thing to get what he wants." 

Oh, the nerve!  Not only am I pissed that he would assume something so untrue about Remy, but he thinks I am incapable of discerning when I am being manipulated and taken advantage of!

Logan starts walking toward me, his face set in a mask of anger.  "And I'll tell you another thing--"

"Is that why you flew into a rage in the courtyard when I was about to kiss Remy?  Is that why you busted in to Remy's room and dragged me out of there?"  I shoot back with a glare.  "To 'rescue' me?"  Logan stops in his tracks.  "Do you think that I am so stupid that I can't tell when I'm being manipulated or taken advantage of?  Poor little naive Marie needs to be rescued again!" I spit.  "The real question is, were you protecting me, Logan, or were you keeping me in my place?"

"What?  Keeping you in your...no, I--" Logan says, shaking his head.

"We have a nice arrangement going on, don't we?  You can run about town, jumping into bed with any woman you please, then come home and pal around with your buddy Rogue, always available, just waiting around for you.  Joke a little, flirt a little...touch a little, break my heart a little, it's all good.  As long as I know that we're just friends.  As long as I stay sweet and innocent, and all yours.  No, you don't want me for yourself, not in 'that' way, but you don't want anyone else to have me either."

Logan stands there, looking like he has been slapped in the face, but he doesn't deny it, either.  I hate seeing that look, and my anger starts to waver.  Shit.  No, I can't lose the anger, because then the tears will come back.  He needs to hear this, and I need to say it.

"That's why you dumped me off and went running to Angelica, and that's why you couldn't stand to see me with Remy," I say with a lump in my throat.  "Do you want me, Logan, or do you just want me around?  'Cause you know what I think?  I think you don't know what the hell you want.  And I think you're not planning on figuring that out any time soon."

I walk past Logan and head for the door.  I'm barely hanging on to that last thread of anger, and I need to get out of here before I break down.  I place my hand on the doorknob and pause.

"You know, when we had that talk in the woods, I thought to myself that I would rather have you in my life as my best friend than to bear the pain of not having you in my life at all.  But I'm not so sure any more.  Maybe I'd rather have a quick knife to the heart than to die of a thousand paper cuts."

Silence.  I turn the doorknob, but before the door is opened more than a few inches, I see a blur rushing past the corner of my eye and the door is slammed shut.

"You're not goin' anywhere, darlin'," Logan says by my ear in a low, tightly controlled voice.  I turn around, and he steps closer, invading my space until I take a step back.  I feel the door pressing against my back as Logan places a strong arm on either side of me, effectively trapping me in.  "We're not finished here.  My turn."

There's a dangerous glint in his eyes, and I open my mouth to protest, but think better of it and close up again.  Logan's nostrils are flaring and his mouth is pressed into a hard line.  I can feel the anger rolling off of him as he pins me down with his glare...but then his eyes dart to my mouth, and I swear that it's a look of hunger.  He's so close, standing over me, blocking out everything from view but him, and all I can think of is how every cell in my body wants him to give in to that hunger and devour me.  Quite suddenly a wave of lust hits me hard and goes straight between my legs.  God, no matter what anger or pain this man causes me, I can't stop myself from wanting him. 

Logan sniffs the air deeply, the scent of my arousal no doubt inflaming his passionate state, and lets out a low rumble.  I can see him warring with himself, struggling to gain control.  Something about his demeanor feels very predatory and thrilling, and like a little rabbit frozen by the stare of a wolf, I can't bring myself to move.

"Logan?"

"Just...give me a second," he grinds out, closing his eyes.  A few moments pass by; his breathing slows, his brows unfurrow; his face relaxes, but not completely.  Instead, when he opens his eyes, his expression becomes a complicated mixture of anger, hurt, and guilt.  Now instead of being pinned down by his predatory gaze, I'm being tied down in place by my own damn heartstrings.  Why can he do this to me with a single look?

"I did...go to Angelica...after our talk," he says finally.  Another paper cut to my heart.  "But, it wasn't how you thought it was."  He pauses, searching for the right words.  "When we had our talk in the woods, I thought...I thought I was doing both of us a favor.  I was protecting us both, protecting our friendship.  No, let me finish," he says before I can protest.  "I know you don't want to hear it again, but you are my best friend.  You really don't know how important you are to me, Marie.  You're the only one who truly knows me.  I've shared shit with you that I've never shared with anyone else.  I look forward to seeing you every day, and I don't look forward to seeing anyone.  You know me, I hate people."

I can't help but crack a tiny smile at that.  Logan relaxes a little and the corner of his mouth twitches.  But then a shadow of pain passes over his face, and the playfulness is gone.  Slowly, he lowers his arms, removing the cage of muscle that had me entrapped; instead of feeling relieved, I feel oddly bereft.

"Do you know what it's like to be a creature that heals from anything, Marie?  It means that I've got nothin' to lose.  It means that no matter what happens out on that battlefield, I've got nothin' to fear.  I do what it takes to get the job done, and I can be a risk taker, because really it's no risk at all."

I flinch at the memory of all those times we boarded the jet after a mission, seeing Logan's uniform riddled with bullet holes and blood.  The pain always bothered me more than it bothered him.

"But thinking about you and me...what we have now, and what we could have together...all I could think about was what we could lose if it didn't work out.  For the first time in my life, I would be taking a real risk...and I've never had that before.  I've never cared about anything enough to have something to lose."

He bows his head and sighs.  "It never occurred to me that by trying to hold on so tightly to what we had, that I would end up driving you away."  He shakes his head, still bowed, and closes his eyes.  "When I carried you back to the mansion after our talk in the woods, I couldn't drop you off fast enough."  Um, ow.  I can feel that wound opening back up again, and I start to squirm.

"But not because I wanted to get rid of you," he clarifies, looking at me again.  "It was because having your arms around me, feeling your body against mine...felt so good, so right...and I was losing my resolve.  I had to get out of there, take my mind off that feeling.  I went to the gym to work out and clear my head..."  His expression changes to guilt again, and he looks away.  "And there was Angelica."

Oh, no.  I don't want to hear this.  I don't want hear this...

"The first thing I saw was that head of red hair," he continues.  Fuck.  Fucking red hair.  I really don't want to hear any more.

"I thought that I could push away those thoughts about you by doing what I've always done.  Follow the same routine.  Walk in like I owned the place.  Turn on the charm.  Have any woman I wanted."  He forces himself to look at me again.

I can't take this any more.  I don't want to hear another word.  "Logan, please stop.  I have to go," I whisper, trying to twist away from the door.

"No, listen to me, Marie," he says, grabbing my shoulders.  "Listen to me."  I turn my face away, unwilling to look at him.  "Marie...please."  He gently takes my chin and turns my face back to him.  "The problem was, I didn't want her.  I tried, but...it just wasn't right.  I couldn't do it.  Couldn't go through the motions.  All I kept thinking when I was flirting with her was that this wasn't what I wanted.  Not anymore.  I ended up going back to my room alone."

I stare at him, relieved, but at the same time, afraid to allow myself to believe it.

"I had no idea that Ice-Pick saw me talking to her; otherwise I might have had some clue as to why you were crying in the bathtub.  Then again, maybe not," he says wistfully.  He brings his hand up slowly and gently caresses my cheek with his thumb.  "I used to know what you were thinking all the time.  You've always been able to tell me anything.  But not this time.  I didn't mean to be so pushy, trying to make you talk...but I could feel something changing between us.  You were shutting me out.  For the first time I was getting a taste of what it would be like to lose that closeness we've always had, and I didn't like it."

Logan's hand begins to gently stroke the white streak of hair framing the side of my face.  I let his words sink in.  Regret is etched into his face; regret and loss, and I recognize it now as the same look on his face when he saw Remy and I on the balcony.

"Then I saw you...I saw you with Gambit.  And it was like a kick to the gut," he says hoarsely, resting his hand on the side of my neck, stroking my jaw with his thumb.  Suddenly my stomach is filled with butterflies, and tiny spark of hope spikes through my chest.  I search his eyes, and he meets them with an intensity that fans that spark into a flame.

"Things really hit home when 'Ro said that I needed to let you move on," he continues.  "I thought for just a minute about what that might be like.  You and me, seeing other people but remaining friends...but the thought of you...the thought of you with someone else was just..." he stops, shaking his head and shutting is eyes tightly, as if trying to shut out the image from his mind, "...unbearable.  Seeing you with someone else every day would kill me."  He opens his eyes, and a pang hits me in the chest, because he actually looks broken. 

"And when I stood outside the Cajun's door, and I heard you...making those sounds, imagining what he might be doing to you, I...I just lost it."  He touches his forehead to mine, breathing a little faster.  "Maybe you could move on, but I knew right then that I never would.  "

At his words, my heart is breaking and soaring at the same time.  I can no longer contain myself, and my hand goes to his face, comforting, caressing, needing to feel some intimacy with him.  His other hand comes up to cover mine, and we remain in this embrace for several moments, foreheads together, breaths mingling and hearts pounding.  Finally, Logan pulls back to look into my eyes, and oh, there's that warmth and affection again, tinged with apology and a silent plea.

"I was a fool, Marie.  I was afraid of losing what we had.  But now I know, I would risk it all to be with you...because some things are worth the risk."

My insides turn to golden honey again, and my knees go weak.  "Logan," I whisper, and then his mouth comes down on mine in answer, kissing me with a tenderness so warm and sweet and so good I want to die.  Is this really happening?  His tongue gently coaxes my mouth open and he deepens the kiss, moving one of his hands to wrap behind the small of my back, pulling me closer, and God, I'm lost in the sensation, drowning in a a swirl of love and reconciliation and desire and secret prayers answered.

I've imagined this moment so many times, but nothing could have ever prepared me for this.  This onslaught of emotion, the surrealness of this new level of intimacy.  My heart is hammering inside my chest as Logan possesses my mouth, first with gentle nips and the soft darting of his tongue, then with a more insistent exploration, tasting, demanding, claiming. 

Suddenly he pulls back and looks at me, slightly out of breath, and for a moment I'm reluctantly dragged from the haze by a tiny spike of fear.  Why did he stop? Is he having second thoughts?  But then he slowly traces his fingertips along my cheek, his touch feather light. His hand cradles the side of my face, caressing my lower lip with his thumb, an echo of those other times when he caressed my lips the very same way...there's that same tenderness and affection, the same look of desire lingering in dark, hooded eyes.  Only this time, I'm not wondering if I'm seeing things that aren't there...not wondering if he's given that look to someone else, touched her that same way.  This time, it's real, and I don't know how I know, but everything in my being tells me that this look is mine and mine alone.

"Do you know how long I've wanted to kiss you like that?" Logan murmurs.

"Um..." I bite my lip, trying to prod my addled brain into forming a coherent thought.   "Since Laughlin City?"  His eyes twinkle with amusement for a split second before turning dark and molten, and then his mouth is on mine again in a scorching kiss that leaves me breathless.

My hands can't stop touching his face while we kiss, my fingers reveling in the roughness of the stubble along his jaw.  I glide my hands down his neck and shoulders to feel the hard planes of his chest, gripping the soft material of his t-shirt, as if I need to hold for dear life because at any moment, I could float away.  He breaks the kiss again and begins to plant little kisses and nips along my neck and collarbone.  A small whimper escapes from the back of my throat, and Logan's hands grasp my hips tightly in response, pulling me closer with a growl.  He moves aside the collar of my robe as his lips travel to that spot where my neck meets my shoulder, and oh...he kisses and laves the sensitive skin there, and damn, that's...oh that's...I'm having trouble finishing a single thought. 

"Say it, Marie" he says in a low husky voice that sends another bolt of heat through my body.  "Tell me that you'll never move on."  He pulls back to look at me, with an expression so intense that I almost can't bear it.  "You're mine.  I need to hear it."  There's passion and dominance and possessiveness in his eyes and his voice that turns me on to no end.  But then there's also a wisp of desperation and vulnerability there, too, and that's what breaks down the last of my walls.

"I could never move on," I confess, glancing up shyly.  "Not truly."  I lift my eyes to meet his fully, matching his intensity with my own.  "I've always been yours, Logan.  Always."

Like a crack forming in a dam, my words break something inside him, and Logan's eyes can not hold back the truth any longer.  "Marie..." he whispers.  "I love you...It's always been you."

The floodgate is sprung open, and all the fears, all the doubts between us are washed away, leaving nothing but simple, naked truth between two best friends.

We lock eyes for what seems an eternity.  It's real.  It's real.  We're both stunned into silence.  Isn't this the part where the romantic music swells and we kiss each other dramatically in an embrace for the ages?  That's how it is in the movies.  We were all over each other just minute ago...but this is different.  Suddenly there's almost a kind of...shyness between us.  We've never been exposed to anyone more than we are right now.  We've never laid all our cards on the table before.  Best friends who have known each other for years, have been through it all together...now treading new territory.

I never would have expected hesitation or shyness from Logan, a man who sees what he wants and goes for it without hesitation, and certainly without shyness.  But it actually makes me feel kind of glad, knowing that we're both starting out on somewhat equal footing.  And to think that I could actually have that effect on Logan...well it's actually kind of sweet.

Once more I can hear the steady ticking of my little clock on the nightstand, counting the seconds of maddening anticipation.  We both lean in close, our lips hovering just a fraction of an inch apart, and there's almost a crackle of energy buzzing in the air.  3...2...1...Then...Logan grabs me by the waist and pulls me to him.  Contact.  The kiss is soft and strong and honest and mind-blowing all at once.  He tangles one of his hands in the back of my hair, crushing me closer, and my hands wrap behind his head and neck; set to the song of our beating hearts, it's an embrace for the ages.

In less than a minute, any shyness we might have had quickly burns away in the flash fire of heat and the release of long-held desire.  Logan's hand slides up from my waist to brush a thumb over my breast, causing my nipple to pebble under the fabric of my robe, and then his hand slides down to cup my ass, squeezing it possessively.  "Logan..." I breathe, grasping his biceps as he breaks the kiss and starts blazing a trail of kisses down my neck again, intent on finishing what he started earlier.

He moves aside the collar of my robe, and there's a small pause as he hovers just a hair's breadth over 'that' spot--you know, the one between my neck and shoulder that he kissed earlier, taking away my ability to form coherent thought...I can feel him lightly sweeping his nose over the area, drawing in my scent; and then suddenly, I feel the firm but gentle bite of his teeth sinking into my flesh, and oh my stars, a bolt of white hot desire lights up my entire body.  I had no idea that spot was such an erogenous zone for me, but I sure know it now.  My head lolls to the side and my eyes close in pleasure, instinctively exposing my neck in some kind of primal surrender.  He soothes the bite with a series of butterfly kisses, and then he pulls back, eyes boring into me with pure desire.

Slowly, his hands take hold of the belt of my robe, untying the knot with erotic deliberateness, all the while holding my gaze with dark, predatory eyes.  The belt drops and my robe falls open, exposing the front of my naked body.  The cool air brushing against my exposed skin sends a sweet shiver through me, in contrast to the warmth of my blush and the heat of his stare.

Logan slides the robe back over my shoulders, unhurried, allowing the fabric to slowly glide over my skin, sensitizing every inch along the way.  Finally, he allows the robe to fall to the floor in a pool around my feet, and oh God, I am completely, utterly naked before him.  Not like when I stepped out of the bathtub and strutted around in front of Logan in defiance.  No, not like that at all.  There's no pride, no anger, no rebellion to shield me this time.  I feel his eyes sweeping over my body, appraising, savoring, and there's that look again--like he wants to devour me.  His mouth comes crashing down on mine in a searing kiss and he holds me firmly against his body.  He is still fully clothed, and the feeling of his clothing brushing roughly against my skin, the cool metal of his belt buckle pressing into my belly while I am completely naked is unexpectedly salacious.

Logan presses me roughly against the door with his hip, and I wrap my leg around him, craving more, needing to get closer still.  He growls into my mouth and presses harder, the thrusting the hard ridge of his erection against the sensitive flesh between my legs and sending off a shower of sparks through my body.  My head falls back against the door, a gasp drawn from my lips as his hand cups one of my breasts and he bends down to take my nipple into his mouth.  Sucking, teasing with his tongue and then moving to my other breast to do the same, then back to the first breast to start all over again, slowly driving me insane.

"Logan...please..." I whimper, begging for something, but what, I don't know.  A tension is starting to build in my belly, and I want, I just want.  He continues laving, kneading, suckling, teasing until I think I can't take it any longer, and then suddenly he draws my arms around his neck and lifts both of my legs up around his waist, hoisting me up with two firm hands under my thighs.  I cling to him tightly as he carries me over to the foot of the bed; he lays me down gently, pressing his erection into my hip and then kissing me once more before standing up between my knees, my legs draped over the edge of the bed.  He reaches behind his head and tugs his shirt off, and wow.  I've seen him with his shirt off plenty of times before, but never while he's towering over me like this, standing between my spread knees, his eyes dark with lust and totally focused on me.  He looks fierce and beautiful, and I'm suddenly having a flashback to the first time I saw him fighting in that cage.  I just have to sit up and touch him.  My fingers reach for his stomach, running through the line of soft hair from abs to chest.  He closes his eyes and rumbles in pleasure as my hands glide over his rippling muscles.

Logan drops his shirt to the floor, and then starts to go for his belt, his eyes fixed on my face, watching me, watching him, and all I can do is stare, hypnotized by the sexyness of his movements.  In a matter of seconds, all of his clothes are off, and he's pushing me back onto the bed with his hot and naked body, and oh my God, I can't believe this is happening, can't believe that Logan is here.  Naked.  On top of me.  He takes my mouth again in a hungry kiss, then circles his arm under the small of my back and easily shifts me higher up on the bed.

The muscles in his arms and shoulders bunch as he braces himself over me, and my hands can't stop touching him all over, his arms, to his shoulders, to his chest, and then to the powerful muscles in his back.  Never breaking eye contact, he starts repeatedly rubbing his erection over my opening, sliding through the slick folds and over the sensitive mound of flesh that sends showers of sparks through my body again, and I'm nearly mad with want for him.

He pauses and looks at me with that same expression he wore when we were about to enter my room, a meaningful look that says we are about to cross over a very significant threshold.  And then he enters me with one long, smooth thrust.  I throw my head back and cry out in simultaneous agony and ecstasy, clenching my eyes shut and breathing through the intense sensation.  We're one.  We're one, and it's so good, so beautiful, so...everything I've longed for, and a tear escapes from the corner of my eye.

"Marie?" I hear Logan say with concern in his voice.  I open my eyes to see apology and worry etched into his face.  "I'm sorry, baby.  I should have known...should have asked if this was your first time...I'm so sorry I hurt you."

"Shhh..."  I whisper, holding his face with my hands, caressing his lips with my thumb.  "It's ok.  I'm ok."  His eyes are filled with concern and I can see that doesn't believe it.

"Take a little of my healin', baby.  Turn it on for just a second," he urges.

"No, Sugar...no," I say, tracing his eyebrow with my fingertip and caressing the side of his face.  "To hurt you like that, even for a second, is unthinkable.  And besides," I interrupt him as he starts to protest.  "I want all of this.  All of it.  I want it to be real and I want to feel everything, even the pain."

He still looks concerned, but love I see reflected in his eyes at that moment is just...breathtaking.  I pull him down and kiss him, softly and sweetly at first, and then with a growing hunger.  I start moving my hips, and he groans, trembling with the effort of restraining himself.  Unable to hold back his body's response, he begins slowly moving with me, burying his face into the crook of my neck as I wrap one hand around his back and lace the fingers of my other hand through his hair.

"Marie..." he rumbles huskily into my neck.  Our breathing picks up as the tension builds, every movement stoking the growing fire.  The pain is gradually replaced by exquisite pleasure with every stroke, and soon the only thing I know is that I can't get enough, can't get close enough to him.  I'm gripping his hair, digging my fingers into his back, struggling to gain purchase.  I wrap my legs around Logan's waist, and with a growl he raises himself up, gripping one of my legs to hitch my knee higher, driving deeper into me.

"Oh, God!" I gasp.  He starts a new, powerful rhythm and changes the angle, gliding over some kind of sweet spot deep inside me, and fuck, that feels good.  Everything is escalating to a fever pitch.  I'm so close, so close.  "Please, Logan...," I beg, the words wrung from me with every thrust.

"I know, baby.  I know," he murmurs.  He slides his hand between our bodies, then presses his thumb right there, rubbing circles over that bundle of nerves until suddenly, I throw my head back and gasp, my vision exploding with a blinding white light, followed by bursts of color as wave after wave of bliss washes over me.  I raise my head, still riding out the pleasure, and see Logan watching me intently as I'm coming.  Looking into his eyes like this is by far the most intimate thing I've ever done, and it only heightens the ecstasy to be laid bare before him, knowing that he sees me at my most vulnerable and will keep me safe.

Soon after I come down, Logan quickens the pace until he reaches his own climax with a roar, muscles bunching and flexing as he pulses and spills into me with each thrust.  The look in his eyes is fierce and almost animalistic at first, but then gradually it melts into something softer, and that's when I can see it.  His soul, laid bare before me this time.  I can see his love for me, deep and real and intense.  The moment is so intimate that it almost hurts.

He snakes his arm under my back and collapses down to his elbows, careful not to crush me.  I wrap my arms behind his neck as he rests his forehead on mine.  We remain in that position for several moments, both breathing heavily.

Finally, he lifts his head.  We look at each other for a long moment, saying nothing.  And then...we both burst into laughter.  Logan nuzzles into my neck, breathing in my scent deeply.  He growls playfully and rolls us both over.  I squeak in surprise, causing us both to break into more peals of laughter.  I shift to my side and snuggle up to him, resting my head on his chest and hooking my arm and leg around him.  We both breathe contented sighs.  We are at peace, now that we finally crossed that threshold.

~~ "Rogue? Rogue...Can you hear me?" ~~

My eyes open slowly.  "Professor?"

Logan wraps his arm around me and pulls me closer with a rumble and a sigh.  We're snuggled nose to nose in a tangle of sheets, our legs woven together, and it's so warm and cozy and I am in heaven.  I close my eyes and start to drift off.

~~"Rogue...I am very sorry to interrupt your...nap time, but our guest are arriving, and you and Logan are needed downstairs, post haste." ~~

My eyes fly open and I lift my head, squinting at the little clock on my nightstand.  Realization finally hits me.  "Shit!  I mean, sorry, Professor!  I--we'll be down in a minute!"

I shake Logan's shoulder.  "Logan, wake up.  We're gonna be late."  Logan tries to pull me back down to the bed with a grumble.  "Come on, Sugar," I say, planting a kiss on both of his eyelids.  "We have to get up, right now.  We're late for the big gala, and the Professor's calling."  I plant a chaste smooch on his lips.  Just as I'm pulling away, Logan's arms snap closed around me like a sprung trap, and he captures my mouth in a deep, scorching hot kiss.  He finally releases me and we both come up for air.

"Now we can get up," he says with a grin.  His beautiful hazel eyes are sparkling, and God, I wish we didn't have to get up now.  I just want to stay right here in his arms forever, the rest of the world be damned.

I hurry up and throw on my panties, bra, evening gown, and shoes in record time, all while Logan lays there naked, watching me with an amused expression on his face.  "Logan, you need to get your tux!"

"Alright, alright," he concedes, rolling out of bed and standing up.  He saunters over to me, completely unabashed at his naked state, while I'm the one that is blushing.  "Do you think I can get away with a run to my room, just like this?" he asks innocently.

"You better not!" I gasp.  "From now on, no one gets to see you naked but me.  You got that, mister?"  I slap his ass cheek.  "You're mine now."

The look on his face is part amusement, part liquid fire, sending a tingle right down my spine.  Dear heavens this man is so very fine and...oh shit--I recognize that look.

"Ahh, haha!" I squeal, artfully dodging his grasp as he lunges for me. I make a beeline for the door and yank it open, intent on escaping to Logan's room so I can grab his tux.  That's when I see it, hanging on the other side of the door, along with a pair of shiny black shoes.  "Your tux!" I gasp.  I unhook the hanger from the knocker and shut the door.  There's a sticky note on the bag:

Remy said that you might need this delivered.  You can thank us later.  ;)

-Jubes

I can feel my face heating up with a bright red blush.  "You knew that this was here!" I exclaim, turning to Logan.  "Please tell me she didn't hang it on the door when we were..."  I can't finish my sentence, my mouth hanging open in shock.  Logan just gives me a lopsided grin and shrugs his shoulders.  "Oh mahgawd..."

Logan starts to laugh, apparently very entertained by all this.  "Relax, darlin'.  I heard Jubilee come by some time when we were sleeping, after," he clarifies.

"Oh, you!" I laugh, smacking his arm.  With a big smile, he takes the tux and starts getting dressed.  Just seeing him smile like that--a real, genuine smile--warms my heart and almost makes me tear up.  Logan actually looks...happy.  I've never seen that look on his face before.  And I'm the one who made him look that way.  Me.

Logan is dressed in two shakes of a lamb's tail, and he hands me the tie.  "A little help, babe?" he says with a sheepish smile.  With a grin and a peck on the tip of his nose, I make quick work of the tie.  It's another little thing that warms my heart, doing something so simple and domestic as fixing a tie for the man I love.  Geez, I'm really mushy today, I think with a smile.  Logan seems to be thinking along the same lines, because he's watching me with the same expression on his face.

I glance at the clock.  "Time's up, Sugar!"  I pick up my little purse and grab Logan by the hand, making a rush for the door.  Just as we're about to exit, I feel the strong pull of Logan's hand, yanking me back into his arms.

"You're not goin' anywhere, darlin'...Not until I get another kiss," he says with a smoldering look.  He locks his mouth onto mine, and soon I can't remember why or where I was in such a hurry to get to.  He finishes with a few soft licks and nips to my lower lip and a firm squeeze of my ass.  "Later..." he rumbles in my ear.

Quick as a flash, he's dragging me down the hall, and then we're going down the stairs, hand in hand, stealing glances at each other and laughing like a couple of kids.

When we get to the ballroom, everyone is already dancing.  Logan winks at me, and then when the timing is right, he blends us in with the crowd of dancing couples seamlessly.  It's a slow dance, the soft music beckoning us to bring our bodies together and sway to the rhythm.  I loop my arms around Logan's neck, and he wraps his hands around the small of my back.

"I don't think anyone noticed us," I say with a sigh of relief.  "We'll just say we were here like 15 minutes ago, right?"  Logan just shakes his head and grins.

"Rogue!  You finally decided to join us!" I look over my shoulder, and it's Jubilee, dancing with Remy, both with huge smirks on their faces.  Aw, hell. 

"Hey Jubes, Remy..."

"The Professor was looking for the both of you.  But don't worry, we covered for ya," she says with a wink.  "We told him that Wolvie here had a hair emergency, and you were the only one who could help him."  Jubes and Remy exchange knowing smiles.

"Uh...thanks," I stammer, unable to come up with anything better.

"Lookin' good, Wolvie," Jubes observes with an appraising look.  "And the 'debauched' look suits you well, Chica," she remarks, noting my hair.

"Oh my God!  I forgot to put my hair back up!"  I squeak.  I feel a blush coming on, all the way down to my toes.  "We were in such a hurry to get down here.  Please tell me I don't look like I just had a roll in the hay!"

"Relax, Roguey," Jubilee laughs.  "I'm just teasing.  You look beautiful."

"Agreed.  You are truly a vision, chère," says Remy.  He smiles at me fondly, and in his eyes I can see that he is truly happy for me.  He leans in to kiss my cheek.   "I told you he would come to his senses," he whispers in my ear.

5 Years Later

I'm a tigress on the hunt.  I make no sound as I prowl my territory, every movement of my body lithe and graceful, my feet padding the ground softly so as to not alert my prey.  Scanning the area for signs of a trail or hiding place, I use all my senses to track its movements, but this creature is good.  It has senses of its own, better than mine.  The creature has eluded me many times before, ending my hunts in frustration; but this time, I am determined.  You see, I know the creature's weakness.  I didn't want to resort to baiting, preferring to make it a fair hunt.  But desperate times call for desperate measures.

I reach into the bag, making sure it crackles enticingly as I remove its contents.  Though the creature may be hidden so well that it can not see the bag, I know it can hear everything. Smell everything.  That crackling bag is a siren song that the creature can not resist.

I place the tasty morsel of food in an area that I know the creature likes to forage.  Then I crouch down, hidden from view, and wait.

At first, nothing happens.  There is nothing but silence, and the very air around us seems to still with anticipation.  Patience.  Patience...

There.  I see two eyes, peeking from its dark hiding place, peering suspiciously in every direction.  It doesn't want to come out; it suspects that someone is waiting for it, ready to pounce.  Good instincts, I note with some satisfaction.  But try as it might, the creature can not resist the bait.  Slowly, tentatively, it creeps out from its hiding place, scanning the area for a predator.  Patience...The creature moves silently, making not a sound as it approaches the bait; but being silent won't help the creature now.  I've got it in my sights, and there is no escape this time.

Finally, the moment I have been breathlessly waiting for.  The creature gingerly picks up the bait.  Sniffs it.  Then stuffs the bait into its mouth with a satisfied smile.

"Gotcha!" I roar, springing forward and trapping the creature with my arms and holding its thrashing form to my body.

"Mama!" He protests, wriggling and squirming, still holding on to the chocolate chip cookie with two hands.  "Let me go!"

"No can do, Charles.  You know it's time for your hair cut," I reply, carrying him into the bathroom and setting him on the counter, where my comb and scissors are laying ready on a towel.

"But I don't wanna hair cut," he says with a scowl, his beautiful hazel eyes ablaze.  I brush a long spike of his dark, unruly hair with my fingers.  So like his father, I think with a smile.

"I know you don't, but do it for me, 'kay?" I say with a sweet smile.  He looks at me dubiously, as if to say that it's going to take a lot more than the desire to grant me a personal favor in order to allow me to touch his hair.  And if I didn't know any better, I'd say that he's already learning to cock one eyebrow, just like his daddy.  "Alright," I sigh. "Will you do it for another cookie?"

I'm rewarded with a big cookie-crumbed smile.  "Yeah!" he hoots in triumph.

"Kid, you're givin' in too easy.  Next time hold out for more cookies," I hear a gruff voice say from behind me.

"Logan!" I spin around, and isn't that just a tall, cool drink of water standing there in my doorway.  Rushing over to greet him, I can't stop myself from throwing my arms around his neck and kicking up my heels, planting a huge kiss on his sexy lips.

"Hey, babe," he murmurs in between our fervent kisses and nips.  "I missed you."  He sets me down and takes my face into his hands, gazing into my eyes as though we haven't seen each other in weeks.  It's only been a few days, but that doesn't lessen our hunger for each other when we are reunited.

Logan bends down to kiss me, softly, deeply, and it's so, so good, I find myself completely lost, getting weak in the knees.  I'm only vaguely aware of the thump behind me, followed by the pitter-patter of little footsteps.  Somewhere in my fuzzed brain, I realize what that sound was.

"Charles!" I say breathlessly after pulling back from the kiss.  "He got away from me again!"  I look back to the counter, now devoid of one cute little butt, and spy a trail of cookie crumbs left in his wake.  Logan chuckles and I whip back around, squinting my eyes at him in false indignation.

"That's my boy," he says with a smirk.  His eyes are sparkling with amusement, and I just can't help myself but laugh.

"Your boy is gettin' a haircut today if it's the last thing I do!" I say, twisting away from Logan to catch Charles, who is running past with two cookies waving in the air.  He sees me on his tail and lets out a squeal before picking up speed and nimbly dodging my grasp.  Oh, you're in trouble, young man.  I've got my running shoes on this time.

Jumping over furniture and making hairpin turns, I am the tigress again, chasing my prey through the dense jungle.  The little creature is fast, but mama tiger has a strategy, and soon I have him cornered.  Fierce hazel eyes say that he won't go down without a fight.  But there's also a little twitch at the corner of his mouth that says he is enjoying this game.  I'm closing in now, and there is no escape...you're mine little wolverine.

"Well, what do we have here?" says a sultry Cajun voice behind me.  "It looks like Uncle Remy is just in time to rescue 'dis little bebette from a terrible fate!"

"Uncle Remy!" Charles slips past me in my moment of distraction and leaps into the safety of Remy's arms.

"Hey little man," says Remy, greeting him with a hug.  "You ready for a big day of fun with Uncle Remy and Aunt Jubilee?"  Charles nods his head enthusiastically and stuffs a hunk of cookie into Remy's mouth.

"Hey, Remy!  So good to see you!"  I give him a big hug and he kisses my cheek.

"Always a pleasure to see you, chère," he says with a smile.

It always makes me smile to see Remy holding Charles; the way he and Jubilee dote on him all the time is so sweet.  Remy and Jubes have been together almost as long as Logan and I have been, but I don't think they are planning on having any children; I really think they are perfectly happy just spoiling Charles all the time.  Which suits Charles just fine, I'm sure.

Funny how things have a way of working out; and never the way you think, either.  It's hard to imagine that at one time I actually thought that Logan would end up with Angelica, and because of that I went to find comfort in Remy's arms.  Thank goodness Remy was such a gentleman.  When I told Logan what Remy did that day, he actually gained a whole new respect for Remy, and since then they have actually become good friends.

Angelica and Bobby are married now, if you can believe that.  He asked her to dance that night at the gala, just like he said he would, and the two hit it off right away.  Fire and Ice, go figure.  They have a little red-haired girl that Charles just adores.

"Hey, Gumbo," says Logan as he walks into the room, breaking my reverie.  "Thanks for taking Charles out for the day.  I owe you one."

"Out for the day?  What's this?" I look at Logan inquisitively.

"She forgot," he says to Remy, shaking his head.  Forgot?  What did I forget?  I quickly go through my mental checklist.  There's no mission tonight as far as I know, nowhere that we're supposed to be.

"Hmm, perhaps you better get busy reminding her, homme," Remy replies with a wink.  "C'mon, little man, let's go get Aunt Jujube and have some fun."  Charles gives him a big smile and stuffs another hunk of cookie into Remy's mouth.

"Bye Mama, bye Daddy!"  He waves at us like he's the celebrity in a parade as Remy carries him out the door.

"Bye, Charles--be good!"  I shut the door and turn back to Logan.  "So, are you gonna tell me what this is all about?"

He pulls me close and kisses me on the nose.  "Nope.  If you don't know already, I'm not going to just give you the answer."

I squint my eyes at him.  "Is that so?"

"That's so."

I circle around Logan, looking him up and down.  He just continues standing there with a smug look on his face.  So, he's in the mood for games, is he?  I'll play.

"Come with me, young man," I say, crooking my finger.  The corner of his mouth twitches, and he takes a tentative step toward me.  I take his hand and pull him behind me, leading him down the hall and into the bathroom.

"Are we taking a shower?" he asks innocently.

"Sit," I order him, nodding my head toward the chair I have waiting in front of the vanity.  He smiles and sits down with his back to the vanity, then leans back and laces his fingers behind his head, that damn eyebrow cocked like he is quite pleased with himself, the smug bastard.  I refuse to notice that sexy, touchable spot of muscular abs showing where his shirt has ridden up a little.  No, I need to focus if I'm going to win this little game.  Too bad my body hasn't gotten the message; before I realize it, I'm biting my lip and staring, while the smile on Logan's face is getting wider.  Ahem.  Focus, Rogue.

"Are you sure you don't want to just tell me?" I say, slowly circling him again.  I trail my hand, light as a feather, across his chest and along his shoulders as I make my way around, then caress the stubble on his cheek and under his chin.

"Yep," he says, still looking smug.  Oh, I am gonna wipe that grin right off of his face.

I circle behind him once more.  Placing my hands on his shoulders and slowly sliding them down over his chest, I lean in close to his ear.  "We can do this the easy way, or we can do it the hard way, Sugar," I murmur into his ear.  Logan tries not to show any reaction, but there's a slight hitch in his breathing as my breath caresses his ear, and little goose bumps appear on the back of his neck.

"I'd say that I like it easy," he says, recovering quickly, "but I know you like it hard, don'tcha, darlin'?"  He accents that last part by shifting his hips a little and adjusting himself.

"Hmmm...so, you're gonna make it hard for me, then?"  I say with a husky voice against his neck.  "How hard?"  Logan smirks at the innuendo.  "Are you gonna make me beg?  Pleeease," I whisper.   "Please, Logan...Is that what you want to hear?"  I swing around to face him and push his legs apart, kneeling between them and looking up innocently.  "What if I get down on my knees and beg...will you tell me then?" 

Logan tries to keep his expression neutral-yet-smug, but there's nothing neutral about what's going on between his legs.  He shifts in the chair and lets out a low rumble.  "Keep that up, darlin', and you'll be begging for something very soon," he says with a predatory glint in his eyes. "That still won't get you any answers, though."

"Is that so?"

"That's so."

Part of me gets a little thrill from playing this game, knowing that he could quickly turn this whole thing around on me and make me beg for real.  The thought sends a little tingle down my spine.  I can't help wanting to walk that fine line between making him squirm and pushing him just a little too far.  I know he loves it when I walk that line, too. 

I stand up and glide my hands up his stomach and chest, then straddle his legs and rest my arms around his neck.  I can feel the hard ridge in his jeans, pressing against a very nice spot between my legs.  I lean forward and hover my lips just a hair's breadth away from his mouth.

"You know," I say, putting on a fake foreign accent, "Ve haf vays of making you talk."  I shift my hips and grind against his erection, eliciting a stifled groan from Logan.  Now I'm the one with the smug look on my face.  You like that, sugar?  Nice and slow, I lift my shirt, Logan's eyes following every inch of exposed skin as I take off my top in a sensual striptease.  I raise myself up and lean forward, allowing my breasts to brush up against his face.  He closes his eyes and nuzzles them ever so slightly, drawing in my scent.  His hands twitch, and I can tell he's fighting the urge to place his hands on my hips, to push them down and make me grind against him again.  I extend my hand discreetly behind Logan to reach for something on the vanity.

"Unfortunately for you, Wolverine," I continue with the accent, "not all of those ways are...pleasurable."  That's when I flick on the switch of my hair clipper and hold it front of him menacingly like I've just pulled out a torture device.

The look on his face is surprise at first, which is quite satisfying, because Logan is very hard to surprise with all those enhanced senses of his.  I can't restrain the grin that forms on my face when I realize that I actually managed to spring something on him like that.  Logan quickly recovers from the surprise and puts on his poker face, but not before a spark of challenge lights up his eyes.

"That's playin' dirty, darlin'," he says with a low gravelly voice that goes straight between my legs.  "You better watch yourself, 'cause you ain't seen the kind of dirty that I can dish out."

"Make one move, and you'll be balder than the Professor," I say with a glint in my eyes.  "Now, tell me everything you know, Wolverine."

We just stare at each other for a long moment, eyes locked in challenge, arousal thick in the air around us.

"God, you're beautiful when you're devious," he breathes.  "So fucking beautiful."  He captures my lips in a hungry kiss.  His strong hands grasp my hips, pushing them down and grinding me against his hardness, and I moan into his mouth, heady with the sensation.  He slides his hands from my hips to my waist, grasping, kneading, then sliding his hands further up to graze the curves under my breasts with his thumbs.  Suddenly I've forgotten all about this little game we've been playing, can't think about anything except for this moment, this feeling as Logan fills my senses.

He slips a finger under my bra strap, tracing it up and down slowly.  With his other hand, he exposes a few inches of one claw, and cuts the strap.  I can't help the tiny gasp that escapes my lips, and he smiles.  He does the same with the other strap; then, slipping his finger between my breasts, he lifts the small strip of fabric there and slides his claw underneath.  The feel of the warm metal gliding sensually over my skin makes me bite my lip, and I have the sudden urge to lick the blunt side of the blade, kiss the space between his knuckles.  Logan seems to sense what I'm thinking, because his eyes look up to mine and the corner of his mouth pulls in a sexy, arrogant smirk before he slices through the fabric.  My bra springs open and he tosses the shredded remains to the floor, then pulls me to his mouth for a deep kiss.

His lips travel from my mouth to my jaw and then my neck, blazing a trail of kisses and licks down to my collarbone.  He takes his time caressing the curve of my breasts on the sides, underneath, kisses the cleavage between them; everywhere except where I need it, slowly driving me crazy.

"Logan..." I whimper.  I squirm in his lap, wrapping my legs behind the chair for leverage and rolling my hips.

Logan's eyes look up as he is kissing the space between my breasts and he smiles.  With the voraciousness of a starving man, he takes my nipple into his mouth and begins sucking, licking, teasing with his tongue.

"Ahh," I cry softly, my head falling back in pleasure.  He begins ministrations to the other breast, kissing, sucking, grazing ever so slightly with his teeth, causing me to gasp.  I raise my head and catch a glimpse of us in the mirror.  I have a glazed look in my eyes as I stare at this sensual scene before me; watching our reflection, Logan's head moving as he teases one breast and then the other while at the same time feeling all those sensations is incredibly erotic, and my arousal bumps up a notch.

I think Logan can smell the spike in my arousal, because he suddenly stands up with a growl, carrying me over to the vanity and setting me on the counter.  He pulls off his shirt and then quickly tears off all the clothing from the lower half of my body.  His mouth comes crashing down on mine again, his hand tangling in my hair as he pulls me closer and pushes his tongue into my mouth, demanding to taste every square inch of my lips and tongue.

He reaches down between us, unbuckling his belt and opening his jeans, freeing his cock to spring forward with a groan.  The hot, thick stand of flesh is heavy on my leg, nudging at the apex of my thighs as Logan continues plundering my mouth with his tongue.

I am lost in a lust-induced haze, but somewhere in my fuzzed brain, I become vaguely aware of a strange buzzing noise.  I'm about to dismiss it as a minor distraction, because I've got better things to focus on, like Logan's hand sliding up my inner thigh.  Then it finally registers.  I break the kiss and look down in disbelief at the source of the buzzing sound.  There in my hand lies the forgotten clipper!  Realization dawns on me, and my jaw drops.

"You dirty rotten scoundrel!  You--distracted me with your damn--sexy moves!" I sputter.

"Told you I would play dirty," Logan says with a smirk.

I hop off the counter and squint my eyes and scowl with the evilest look I can muster.  "This is your last chance, sugar.  You better tell me what this is all about, or I am gonna shave off every last hair on your body."  I hold up the clipper threateningly.

"Is that so?"

"That's so."

We stare at each other for a long moment, not a sound in the room except the buzz of my clipper.  Suddenly in a move quick as lightning, Logan snatches it from my hand and with a flick of his fingers drops the batteries to the floor.  He sets the clipper down and takes a step towards me, crowding me back against the vanity, towering over me with a look on his face that is positively feral.

"I told you to watch yourself, darlin'."  He slowly glides his hands up and down my sides, then abruptly grabs my hips, spinning me around to face the mirror.

"Oh!" I yelp in surprise.

Logan wraps an arm across my body to hold me against his chest, his other hand reaching down to cup my crotch.  I stare at our reflection in the mirror; his huge, muscular form wrapped possessively around my small body; his tan skin against my creamy white skin.  "Now you're gonna watch yourself for real," he rumbles into my ear.  He pushes a finger inside me, and my head falls back against his shoulder, a small moan escaping my lips.

"Look at yourself," he commands.  "I want you to see how you look when I do this to you."  He slides his finger out, gliding it up to rub slow circles around my clit, then dips back down again to push two fingers in.  My head is still leaning back against his shoulder, but I can see myself in the mirror, my mouth open and a look of sheer pleasure written on my face.

His eyes are fixed on me in the mirror, watching me as I watch us, as he continues to relentlessly toy with me.  Back and forth, he alternates between pushing his fingers inside of me and sliding them out over the slick folds to tease and rub my clit, while I moan and writhe under his firm grasp.

His breathing is getting heavier, and I can tell that his own need is growing with every moan that is wrung from me.  He gently turns my face back toward his and takes my mouth in a deep, passionate kiss, then turns my face back toward the mirror.

"Watch," he commands.  Then he bends me forward and thrusts himself inside me, burying himself to the hilt.

"Oh, God!" I cry out, and I watch the look of satisfaction on Logan's face as my own forms an expression of complete ecstasy.  He grips my hips and starts pumping into me, agonizingly slow at first, withdrawing with a long, slow slide, and then back in, letting me feel every inch as he fills me completely again and again.  It's so, so good; a delicious torture, winding me tighter and tighter each time until I can't take it any more.

"Logan, please..." I whimper.

"What's that, baby?" he murmurs into my ear.

"Please..." I whimper again.

"Please, what?  Please stop?" he says with a small hint of a smile.

"N-no!  Don't s-stop!" I say desperately as he stills himself.  Somewhere in the back of my mind, I know that he won't really stop until we're both finished, but in this moment I'm so desperate I can't even think straight.  I start pushing myself back against him, frantically trying to regain the beautiful friction of our bodies.  "Please, Logan...more!"  I plead.

"Oh, you want more?" he murmurs. 

"Yes--yes!  Please!" I beg.

"Well, since you're begging me so nicely..." He slams into me forcefully and I cry out in a loud moan.  He withdraws and slams into me again, causing me to see stars.

"You feel so good, baby," he says hoarsely, pounding into me again and again.  He pulls me upright against his chest, still buried deep inside, and kisses me hungrily.  I wrap my arm up behind his neck, pulling him closer, gripping his hair as he thrusts into me again.  His hand slides up and down my body, cupping my breast, stroking my belly, lightly brushing that sensitive mound between my legs and sending off sparks in my body, then caressing my belly again.

"Marie...," he murmurs, kissing my favorite spot, the one between my neck and shoulder that makes my knees go weak.  "Marie..."

When he says my name, I know that neither one of is playing the game anymore.  Time to lay our cards on the table.  "Logan," I whisper.  "I love you...I love you so much."

Logan pauses for a moment, and looks into my eyes through the mirror.  "That's all I wanted to hear, baby." He kisses me deeply, tenderly, taking my breath away with the love in his kiss.  "Now look," he says, his eyes going back to the mirror.  He wraps his arm around me and begins moving his hips slowly again, his dark, intense eyes never leaving mine as he slides in and out.

"Do you remember the first time we made love just like this?" he asks.  "You were wearing your silk dress that night, and I was wearing a tux...you looked so beautiful."  He kisses my neck.  "We were talking with friends, dancing, putting on a nice show for the professor...but all I could think about was being inside you again."  He kisses my shoulder and pushes into me a little harder.  I'm so close to climax right now that I can barely see straight, but somewhere in my addled brain there is a tickle of a memory starting to form.

"We went back to your room so you could fix your hair, but I followed you into the bathroom, because I just couldn't wait another minute," he says, his voice starting to strain with the need for release.

"The gala!" I gasp.  "Our first night together."

"That's right, baby," he smiles, nuzzling my neck.  "Best night of my life."

Logan kisses me once more, then with a growl he begins thrusting into me harder, wildly and desperately driving us both towards the brink.  He brings his hand down between my legs, and it only takes one touch to bring me over the edge, a powerful orgasm rocking through my body with the force of a tsunami, wave after wave of mind-numbing ecstasy crashing over me.  Logan follows soon after, sinking his teeth into my shoulder as he is taken by the wave of his own earth-shaking orgasm.

Sated and trembling, I feel like I'm going to collapse forward, but Logan pulls me back against his chest, wrapping his arms around me securely.

I look into the mirror at our reflection, and the memory of that night comes rushing back to me, the past and the present overlapping each other before my eyes in the mirror.  Then and now, Logan and I look into each others eyes with the same love...the same passion...possession...devotion.  Still best friends and lovers, still soulmates after all this time.

"Happy Anniversary, Marie," he whispers in my ear.  He picks me up and carries me to our bed, where we spend the rest of the evening celebrating.  Five years ago, we never did make it back to the gala after sneaking off to my room.  And tonight, I know we'll never make use of that damn hair clipper.  That's ok; I've always loved that wild, untamed hair of his.  And at this rate, I may never cut it again.