Stop. Drop. Roll. It isn't exactly how I'd been taught and Logan would probably cringe if he knew. But it works for me every time, so he won't argue the point.

Almost there, just a couple more yards. Kitty is already in place waiting for me.

Stop. My vantage point is perfect. It takes only a couple of seconds to assemble my scoped rifle. Kitty spots out my target, I take a deep breath then let it out, and squeeze the trigger. I hold firm against the recoil as Kitty confirms the hit and the sentinel hemorrhages fluid.

Drop. I disappear behind the edge of the roof and police my brass. Logan would be disappointed if I didn't bring it back for reloading.

Roll. Literally, I roll a couple feet to my left and repeat the process.

The odds are now in our favor and it's time that Kitty and I make our exit. Quickly I disassemble my weapon and stow it in my pack. Kitty has already waved bye and sank through the roof. We always exit the engagement area separately to lessen the chance of us both being caught. The fastest way for me off this roof is a pile of rubble at the back; I skid and slide my way down the debris. At the bottom, I pick my way through the remains of two more buildings before I make it to street level.

Crouching behind a partial wall, I wait until the sounds of battle die down before entering the street. Pack slung over a shoulder, I keep my head down and scurry to the intersection. There are few people and even fewer vehicles, but that doesn't mean you can take your time or loiter out in the open. This part of town is decimated and the last thing you want is to get caught on the street without a reason.

One more block and I turn south toward our hideout. Hideout sounds too romantic. At one time I would have seen it as something exciting. Our current location is anything but romantic. The basement of the old mental health hospital is dark, dank, and musty. There is a group of about fifteen mutant and humans hiding there in addition to Logan and myself.

I know of a couple of the other safe houses around the city. I suspect Logan is the only one among us who knows all of them. Though it would be near impossible to keep track of them since the groups move every few days to a few weeks. Once when Logan was trying to obtain some important intel, I stayed at a farmhouse for almost a month. After today's operation, we'll be on the move, if most of those not involved haven't already dispersed. Storm's and the Professor's groups will be on the move as well.

At the corner, it will be three more blocks to the mental hospital. Out of habit and a few tricks picked up over the years, I cross the street before turning. I'm on the wrong side of the street to enter the building, but it gives me more time to assess the situation before approaching.

From the corner of my eye, I see the mobile command center for the Mutant Task Force. The large semi-truck, not one of the smaller units used for random sweeps, pulling up in front of the hideout.

Without changing direction, I continue on south. I'll need to make my way to the backup site, possibly stash my weapon for later retrieval, evade the MTF, and do it before sunset. At one time New York City was open for business twenty-four/seven. That's no longer true, not even criminals venture out after dark. The risk of being picked up by the MTF as a mutant or a mutant sympathizer are too great.

Two more blocks down, a dozen or so to go. Turning down an alley, I check my back trail while taking a quick break in an empty doorway. I can hear the heavy footsteps of an armored Force soldier coming down the sidewalk. His radio crackles with static.

"Sweep the alley, then repeat on the opposite side. Over."

I may not have been followed, but I will be found. I pull my hood up and place the tactical neck gaiter over the lower half of my face. Don't need a clear picture of myself of his body cam. Grabbing a piece of pipe up out of the alley, I tighten the straps on my pack and wait.

It doesn't take long for him enter the alley, I take hold of the barrel of his rifle and stepping into his space, smashing the pipe into his throat. He makes an odd choking noise and tries to pull away. Struggling for control of his rifle, I successfully keep it pointed away from me and hit him again.

The soldier goes down, his helmet goes flying out onto the sidewalk. It always pays to have your chin strap secured because I immediately show him the heel of my boot without worrying about dealing with his face shield.

There's blood trickling from his nose and he's not moving, I hope he isn't dead. I have yet to outright kill anyone and I want to keep it that way as long as possible. Retrieving his helmet, I drag him further into the alley. The best I can do is hide his body from easy view.

As I straighten up from the side of the building, my pant leg catches on a piece of jagged metal. There's a sharp pain just below my knee. Great, can't even dispose of a body without having problems.

I quickly check it for any real damage and decide it doesn't need attention right away. Peeking out into the street, I cautiously exit the alley and get on my way. My head is filled with Logan's voice and the hundred other ways he thinks I could have handled this better. Whatever, he wasn't there. He will give his own analysis later whether I want it or not.

By the time I reach the rendezvous point it's already dark and I'm limping. I hobble down the steps to the basement of the burned out brownstone. Just outside the hallway, I stop. There's someone here, but my eyes haven't adjusted to the dark hallway yet. If it were a soldier, I'd know it by now, but that doesn't mean the person is friendly.

"You're late." Logan's voice is gruff. "And you make enough noise to wake the dead."

"Nice to see you too," I retort. I'm tired and want to rest, I don't need a lecture on how sloppy I'm getting.

I shuffle in past him down the hall to a room emitting a light. In the dim light from the lantern, I can see the 'new' place is small. A mattress, a few supplies, and enough room left over for two people to quickly get on each other's nerves. Taking a step back, I look further down the hall and listen for sounds to indicate the others are here. I turn back to Logan questioningly.

"Told you, you were late. This is just the secondary rendezvous point." He frowns, eyes traveling down my leg. "You're bleeding."

"Yeah, scratched it." I set my pack down as I enter the room.

Logan follows, bolting the door behind us. Catching my hand, he pulls off the glove. "Let's get it fixed up real quick."

"Nah, I'll get it cleaned up in a minute." I flash him a tired smile and think about rummaging through the supplies to see if there is anything to eat. "A little rest and I'll be fine."

When I tug at my hand, he won't let go. He has his 'I gave you an order' face on. No one ever questions him; everybody knows the time for discussion is over.

"Too big of a chance." His voice is low and demanding.

"Logan, it's a scratch. I'll be fine." Something passes across his face.

It's an emotion I can never read properly. I see it now and again, only ever directed at me. I always want to call it patronizing, like an older brother might give his kid sister. But I know that's not it as he's never been condescending toward me. Not all those years ago at Xavier's when he taught me everything I needed to know about being a sniper. Not when he showed me all he knew about explosives and how to make them.

He certainly isn't condescending now. Logan worries about me always has, and that won't change anytime soon.

I know he doesn't like to send me off on an assignment like today. He's careful to plan my part of any mission, going over the details of it endlessly beforehand. Sometimes it feels like he's just fulfilling his promise to take care of me. Only late at night do I pretend his consideration is actually love.

He's closed the distance between us and there is more concern on his face. I saw this when he sent me to the farmhouse. I see it every time he makes a decision on what part I'll play in an operation. It's not something born of brotherly love.

My back is against the wall and he's gripping my face with both hands. It should be crushing, yet it's surprisingly gentle.

"Turn it on, Rogue." There's a different edge to his voice, one I've never heard.

He has a feral snarl on his lips and his eyes are overpowering. I want to look away, but he won't let me. Instead, I close my eyes.

I'm not scared, not of Logan. Everyone knows what can happen if an infection sets into a wound. It's not pretty and I understand him not wanting to take a chance. But it is never that simple with Logan.

"No," I say shakily. It's been so long since he's touched me. I'm almost constantly at his side, yet he never makes contact. Then again this is the first time we've been alone in years, just the two of us. "You need to stop protecting me from everything."

"I can't," he says softly, thumb caressing my cheek.

My heart skips a beat, his mouth hovers above mine and we share the same breath before he presses his lips to mine. His tongue sweeps along my parted lips and I grasp at him trying to pull him closer. Breaking the kiss, he rests his forehead on mine. I want to touch him, but his body armor is in the way and I let out a small huff of frustration.

"Why?" I'm not sure if I mean, why does he need to protect me or why is he kissing me after all these years? I decide I'll take whatever answer he wants to give as long as he keeps touching me.

"I need you." His voice breaks a little. "I need to know you're safe, so I can do what needs to be done." He kisses me again, slow and languid. His tongue pushing against mine, making me weak in the knees. I find the buckle for his chest armor and pop it, followed by the one on his other side. He backs away long enough for me to slide the plating off over his head and capturing my lips again as it falls to the floor.

My armor is more complicated, the most advanced system Logan could get his hands on. He sings its praises every time I struggle to put it on. So it comes as no surprise that he curses it when he fails to get the latch undone.

I put my head back against the wall and laugh at the entire situation. All the years of pining for him. Years of relishing the fact that he at least wanted me near. There was a time when I'd taken the cure and refused the advances of a boy, in hopes that this man would notice me. After the cure wore off and I learned control, I still waited for him. Longed for him.

He is kissing his way down my neck, pulling at my clothing to uncover as much skin as he can, all the while fumbling with the latching mechanism.

"Logan, why now? I've been with you all this time."

Straightening up, he looks me in the eye and I finally understand the emotions there. He loves me and has been fighting to maintain control of it. To keep himself in check.

"Once I started touching you, I knew I wouldn't be able to stop." He's eyes don't leave mine; he's not afraid of his need.

"Then don't stop," I plead.

He pushes my coat from my shoulders and wraps his hands around my waist pulling me as close as he can. I push my neck gaiter up, leaving it on my head to keep my hair out of the way. Logan's erection is pressing into my belly and I can feel how hard it is through all the layers between us. Layers used to be my security blanket, now they are an annoyance.

I tug at the zipper of his padded shirt and pull it out from under his belt as he loosens my pants. God, I don't know how many times I've stared at this chest, but finally, I can touch it. Stroking his chest hair with one hand, I bite on the fabric of my glove trying to free my other hand.

There is a low growl that rumbles up through his chest and into me. Suddenly, there are too many buckles, straps and pieces of armor left to deal with. I push him back toward the mattress and he tries to pull me down with him.

Resisting the urge, I instead work at getting my pants down. It would take too long to get my boots off, so my pants just past my knees with have to do. I straddle him as best I can and lean over him for a kiss as he finishes freeing himself. The position is awkward, but neither of us are complaining as I sink down onto his cock.

I stop as he enters me all the way. This is all new and I wish my armor was flexible enough to allow me to bend over and kiss a trail across his chest.

"Marie?" His hazel eyes are full of concern.

I bite my lip and move my hips a little. A moan escapes me. "You feel so good. Why'd you make me wait this long?"

He smiles, his hands on my hips pulling me down so he can grind into me. This so much better than anything my own hands have ever done. There is no comparison to the touches I pretended were his and the feel of him really being under me. I glance down at him and his jaw is set, teeth grit, but he's watching me ride him.

"You're so damn beautiful," he says huskily.

Leaning forward, I balance myself with my hands on his chest. He's starting to sweat and my hand easily slides to his shoulder. He's found an opening in my armor and has worked his hand up underneath it to brush my nipple with his fingertips. I gasp and dig my fingernails into him.

I can feel the trickle of sweat running down my back and on my inner thighs as they slide against him. My legs are trembling, my knees ready to give out, and I splay my legs out further. He goes deeper and this time, he groans.

I want desperately to kiss him, but I'm afraid of losing the friction that has built up. Panting and sweating above him, I'm sure I must be a wreck. I can feel everything in me tightening, slowing as if I'm going to fall apart.

He's not watching me anymore, not exactly. Logan's attention has shifted to where our bodies join. His hands are on my hips as he thrusts up into me. The veins and muscles of his neck and chest stand out with the strain. His breath coming in short bursts as he grunts through clenched teeth. I feel him pulse inside me, filling me with his warmth. I spasm and everything goes white hot.

I'm limp and wilty, only my body armor is preventing me from slumping over. Flexing my fingers away from where I'd dug into his chest, I watch the small crescents I'd made disappear.

The sound of my heart is pounding in my ears and his is beating just as wildly underneath my hands. He's sunk back into the mattress trying to calm his breathing while he absently runs his fingers in circles over my thighs.

"Huh," he exhales with the sound after a time. I raise my eyebrows in question and he knocks on my breastplate. "Shouldn't be so loose."

"That's all you have to complain about." I give him a fake glare and he smirks in return. "I've got a killer cramp in my leg."

He rolls us to our sides so I can straighten out my legs. The smile is still in place and I bat at his shoulder. "Don't laugh, it's bad."

His eyes travel down to where I'm trying to knead the cramp out. When he frowns, I glance past my knee at the cut I received earlier.

Sighing heavily, I examine it. It's not that bad. "What if I promise to take good care of it?"

Shaking his head, he answers, "No, but can I talk you into letting me kiss it better?"

I blink at him several times; my mind has skidded to a halt with the idea of being kissed all over. Frantically, I work to unfasten my boots. "Don't just sit there. Get this fuckin' armor off me. I got other places that need kissing."

Finally, his now steady hands manage to undo the clasps on my armor. I'm almost finished with my boots by the time he's gotten it and my shirt pulled off. Logan's busy placing kisses down my spine, stubble sending shivers back up it.

My boots are off and I shimmy out of my pants. He pulls me down next to him on the mattress. His hands skim over my breasts and further down my body. I want to touch him too, but he's still mostly clothed.

His tongue swirls around my nipple and his finger repeats the pattern on my clit. A long soft lick, a swirl, followed by a hard slipping motion. I try to replicate the feeling with my hands on his cock. It doesn't take long to have me panting and begging for more.

Coaxing him on top of me, I push his pants as far down as the padding allows. He pauses, "Maybe we should slow down. You'll be sore later."

"I thought you were going to kiss it all better," I mock him. He snorts and I wait impatiently.

Torture. I always knew he was capable of it, but never thought he would do it to me. Exceedingly slow torture as he enters me.

"Oh god, Logan," I moan. He hasn't set a rhythm, just a slow slide that is killing me. "Please."

He smirks, but I see the sweat breaking out on his forehead. It might have put a strain on him as well. He picks up the pace and I follow the lines of muscle down his back and across his buttocks. I keep my hands there liking the flex of muscle with each stroke.

And then he adds a twist of his hips. I gasp and dig my fingernails into his ass.

"You like that?" he asks smugly.

"Yes," I hiss out, but he doesn't repeat it. "Don't make me beg."

Smiling, he kisses me, twisting his hips as he did before. Breaking the kiss he continues to lean over me, head hanging so close our lips almost brush with every thrust. The tightening feeling is back and I'm desperate to fall apart underneath him.

I start bucking against him every time he thrusts into me. The shudder begins low and works its way up my torso, in response, he speeds up; faster, harder. There's a broken moaning sound and I'm not sure which one of us is making it. I have a vague sensation of trying to hold on as a second wave overtakes me.

Some time later, I'm sitting wrapped in a blanket as Logan picks through the supplies looking for MREs. Specifically, he's looking for my favorite one, beef taco. Normally, we don't pick, you grab and go, glad to have a meal. He's feeling generous at the moment.

Unable to find it, he gives me the runner-up, barbecue beef. He sets about heating them while I contemplate the 'desserts'. I know he doesn't care and will trade me. I nibble on a brownie while we wait and he shakes his head at me. He lifts the edge of the blanket to peek at my cut then glances at me suspiciously.

I shrug. "My control might've slipped a little."

"In more ways than one," he mumbles.

Kicking him teasingly with my foot, I reply, "I love you, too."

He gives me that sideways glance of his, secretly pleased with himself. I wiggle my toes, blushing. I should probably get dressed, even though we'll spend the night it's best to be ready to leave at a moments notice.

Reaching for my shirt, he stops me. "I was planning on having dessert after we eat."

My eyebrows must have shot up to my hairline. He chuckles and hands me my food. As hard as I try, I can't concentrate on my BBQ. At the halfway point, I give up and tackle him. He tackles me back and our meals wait for later.

Another day, another hideout. This one though is a step above the usual place. It has running water and Hank has a generator of some odd design, so there is electricity.

We don't usually come here. Hank's place is the one stationary hideout that's 'protected'. He and Forge often work here like a research and development department for the war. They created a device that shields this small section of the building from mutant detection instruments.

They need Logan's help to test a smaller, personal sized version. The hope is they can eventually produce these devices for others. At the very least it would give us an edge in the war.

I hate to think of how bad it has gotten. There are detention centers and potentially 'dangerous' mutants are rounded up every day. Though the outright assaults on mutants and endless raids on human helpers have slowed, things are far from peaceful.

The destruction of property and loss of human and mutant life has drawn the attention of those in the upper crust of society. No one has been left untouched by this disaster of a policy; a program government officials have lost control of. Even the President's daughter was killed in a raid of her college sorority in the DC safe zone. Her dangerous mutation was being able to change the color of her hair at will.

So here I sit impatiently waiting for the 'guys' to return. I cleaned a little and dusted, something I have always loathed and none of which are on Hank's list of priorities. They weren't anywhere near my list of priorities either, but doing it kept me from chewing my nails down to the bone.

There are footsteps in the stairwell and I freeze before I hear Forge's voice. Two sets of footfalls and something thudding down the final set of five steps. Panicking, I yank open the door to the hall.

In between Forge and Hank is Logan; they are supporting him as they practically drag him into the room. Logan's cermet chest armor, worn specifically for today so he can get up close and personal with a sentinel, has been crushed like an aluminum can. There is blood running from the corner of his mouth and his lips are blue from lack of oxygen. The two men place him on the floor as gently as possible. Immediately, I see that his buckles are jammed and take my knife from the sheath on my thigh and cut the straps. Hank pries the breastplate back like the lid of a sardine tin.

Logan had given me a weak smile when he first saw me despite the pain he was suffering. The pain in his eyes had been subtle; he was used to living with it all the time, but now as he sucks in his first unhindered breath I can see exactly how much pain he's in. It hurt just as much to have the armor removed as it did to have it crushing his chest.

I swipe at the blood with the edge of my sleeve and cup his face with my hands forcing him to focus on me. "You with me, Logan?"

"Hey, Darlin'," he wheezes. I swear I hear a rib snapping and his eyes slide closed.

"Logan!" His eyelids flutter and tears begin to form in my eyes. Damn him and his cavalier attitude toward death. A healing factor doesn't make it all right.

"Don't," he whispers wiping a tear from my eye with his thumb. "None of that." He smiles, but I see the muscle twitch in his jaw.

There is a sickening popping sound from his chest. Even Hank flinches. Finally, Logan is able to take in a full breath. Sitting back on my haunches, I rest my hand on his chest. He covers it with his own and relaxes as he continues to knit himself back together.

"I take it the device was a failure?" I ask, glancing up at the two men. The device should have protected him but he has multiple wounds. We all had such hopes for it, it would make not only Logan but others much safer on missions had it worked.

"Quite the contrary," Hank answers. "It worked as intended." I look between the two men, giving them Logan's signature raised eyebrow.

"Until it was knocked off," Forge interjects. He turns the device over in his hands and then looks at Logan with a pained expression before peering over at Hank.

"Rogue," Hank begins softly, obviously tuning his own heightened senses in on Logan. "What do you need from us?"

"For the two of you to get to work on fixing that so it doesn't fall off." Glancing back at Logan, I rake my fingers through his hair knowing the calming effect it has on him. "We'll be fine."

The two men wait a moment before wandering off to one of the workbenches discussing a better system for attaching the device.

Sighing, I look down at Logan. "You are not out of trouble mister." I can't even muster fake anger, only resignation that my lover is the best man for this kind of job.

"Make it up to you," he says, his voice still hoarse.

"How about as soon as you can walk, we get you cleaned up?" I know they were testing the device on a sentinel, but I can't identify the goop in his hair or on his clothes.

"Sounds good." He gives me a lopsided grin and wags his eyebrows at me. I have to laugh, even with the shape he's in, he thinks of sex.

After a few minutes, he declares himself mostly alive and we make our way to the bathroom area. He's slightly wobbly and by the time we get there he's exhausted. I leave him leaning against a wall and hunt down a sturdy chair.

This particular building was once a school and the rooms were part of the sublevel of storage and locker rooms. There are plenty of old janitorial supplies, scientific equipment, and other odds and ends. I easily rustle up a chair, some towels, and a new bar of soap.

Logan throws a skeptical eye at the chair. "Don't need that," he states, continuing to lean on the wall for support.

I give him my best mean look. "I thought you were going to make this up to me."

"Yes, Darlin'," he acquiesces. Sitting down wearily he allows me to take off his boots and shirt.

I adjust the nearest shower to a nice warm spray and work at lathering his hair. Two washes later and it's no longer sticky. He's feeling even better and I help him stand up and strip down the rest of the way. He harumphs at my less than tender attitude.

I'm worried about how bad he is internally. That man of mine can take a shit load of abuse and bounce back. Then again he tends to cover up the worst injuries to keep us all moving forward.

While he scrubs up, I wash out his clothes as best I can. On a whim, I do a quick wash of my own. There is no telling when I'll get another chance. The old partitions will have to work as a makeshift clothesline.

When Logan's finished rinsing, I lay a towel out on the chair and help him sit back down. "Your turn," he tells me.

Looking at him, I blink a few times. A shower, to be clean for the first time in forever, would be beyond luxurious. I brought in enough towels and I could even wash my hair. "Okay, when you're dried off."

"Now?" he asks, desire flickering in his eyes. "I want to watch you."

I know I must look like a deer caught in the headlights. Alone time is a precious commodity. This is as private as it gets even with two people only a room away. We haven't been alone together since our first time months ago.

"Please," he pleads. "I need this."

We never talk about the future; it's best to live in the present. Death is a constant companion for all of us. Near death experiences are common and bind us tighter.

I study him a second. This isn't an adrenal fueled need, a flare of desire quickly burned off through sex. This is something different. Logan needs the reassurance that he is alive. That his woman loves him and as a man, he is still whole.

I simple nod, unable to verbalize a comment that would soothe him. Removing my undergarments, I swiftly wash them. Logan scoots his chair forward to the edge of the spray while I put my things with the others to dry.

Starting with my hair reminds me of the past. There was a time that I wouldn't have dreamed of washing my hair with a bar of soap. But that seems like a million years ago when there were a multitude of bottles lined up in the shower for both hair and body. Today clean soap smell is all I care about. Rinsing the soap from my hair, I squeeze out the water and tie it in a loose knot to keep it out of the way.

My face is barely washed, when I hear his voice. "Turn around."

Facing him, I let my eyes drift down his body to his erection. I bite my lip in anticipation. It is obvious how he wants this to end. The thought of it puts butterflies in my stomach.

I watch him for a moment casually touching himself as I wash. Our eyes meet and I have to look away. The want in his eyes is intense; the raw need is too much for me. It is too close to the surface and calls to mind how fragile life is now.

The rest of the time I avert my eyes from him. I hear him growl, the predator in him emerging. One would think after my time with him, and sex with Logan being what it is, I would be bold and challenging. But I don't think I've reached the point where I'm confident in my own needs.

The chair creaks and I glance to see him moving to stand. "Sugar, stay down. I don't need you getting all lightheaded on me."

Reluctantly he complies and I rinse the soap from my body. I turn the water off and take the few steps to stand between his spread knees.

"Are you up for this?" I ask. He only rumbles in reply, which is his version of never better.

One hand is on his cock idly stroking it; the other is on my hip kneading my flesh. I'm about to ask him how he wants this, but contrary to my earlier thoughts I've taken the initiative and ordered him to stay seated. This limits how this will play out and if I want him sitting I will need to make it happen.

I lean down, keeping my balance with a hand on his shoulder and kiss him. His mouth is hungry, nibbling at my lower lip when he finally lets me up. I push his damp hair back and I'm surprised over the mix of emotions there. Those hazel eyes hide none of the love or the need to possess me.

His hand moves from my hip and gently pulls my leg to the outside of his. I rake my fingers through his hair while he sucks at my breast. I'm trembling with need for him. As if sensing it, the hand that had been trailing along my inner thigh tangles in my wet curls. My moan spurs him on and he bites lightly at my nipple when he slips a finger inside me.

Kissing him again, I straddle his hips and still the hand on his cock with mine. He draws back as I position myself above his shaft. Our eyes lock and I begin to descend. He thrusts up to meet me and I gasp at the suddenness of it.

He's watching me, scrutinizing my reaction as he pumps into me. Although it is pleasurable and I tell him as much, I know I'm just along for the ride and he will finish long before I do. There's a chance if I keep it simple, I can slow him down.

"Stop," I whisper in his ear. His hips slow, an almost growl rumbles through his chest but he stops.

Readjusting myself for better friction, he grunts and bears his teeth as he slides deeper. I start moving, rubbing on him in a way that makes me whimper. His hands grip my hips tightly, guiding me.

My focus narrows with each plunge; the set of his jaw, the way his sideburn brushes my cheek, and the curl of hair on his neck. His head lolls to the side and I follow the corded muscle down his neck with my mouth. I'm shaking and the only thing keeping me going is his hands. There will be bruises later, but he'll willingly kiss those away.

I've forgotten how to breath and Logan's own ragged gasps fill my ears. My vision goes white hot and I bite the base of his neck. I'm faintly aware of the familiar sound of his claws releasing as a coppery taste fills my mouth and I convulse around him.

When the fuzziness in my brain dissipates, I'm like a rag doll on his lap. There is no trace of the bite I gave him. The flush burning my cheeks is only partially due to physical exertion. I'm suddenly embarrassed at the abandonment of all decorum on my part.

Logan caresses my back, his breathing returning to normal. "Am I out of trouble?"

"Maybe," I mumble into his shoulder.

He begins to chuckle; a deep, rolling sound, that shakes us both. "Glad I'm alive?"

"Always." And I am, but I don't want to let him know how many years off my life I lose every time he goes out. Then again I'm sure he has the same worries when I'm gone too. I move to get up and he holds me in place. Sighing, I rest my head back in the crook of his neck. "No more putting your healing factor to the test today."

"Okay," he replies, kissing me behind the ear. He then pinches my bottom, "Later?"

I groan at his persistence and relax into him. Tonight when I'm positive he's completely healed, I'll let him sweet talk me into something. Despite my protests right now; since he started touching me months ago, I don't want him to stop.

Smiling at my handiwork, I adjust the belt holding Forge's new device around my waist. It's the same one Logan tested for them almost six months ago. Forge and Hank were able to perfect it and produce a small number of them. Logan made sure I received the first one.

Stretching the kinks out of my back, I add the finished projectiles to a bag. Bullets are too far and few between; it's been easier to modify things like old paintball guns to shoot different projectiles. Things shouldn't have gotten this far, but many of our most powerful or experienced fighters eventually end up dead or in camps.

Actually, the guys are at one of the camps right now on a raid. Hank had discovered the means to nullifying the inhibitor collars from the tech of a downed sentinel. If everything goes right, they won't be risking life and limb to free a few mutants, but rather they can liberate the entire camp at once.

The last sentinel factory was destroyed a week ago, so any response to the fleeing captives would be limited. The MTF's numbers have dwindled and with few people joining their ranks, the camps run on a skeleton crew. Nowadays, the Force's response time to this type of thing is as slow as molasses on a good day.

Picking up my armor, I head for the living area. Logan would have a fit if he knew I wasn't wearing my armor. Today has been sunny and warm for November and I couldn't take it anymore. The belted device should be enough to keep me safe while I'm in a safe house.

"Hey, Rogue, can you come here a minute?" It's one of the younger mutants.

I mentally run through the list of names. She and her brother are new to our group. "Sure, Mary Kate."

I follow her through a maze of storerooms to where the explosive devices are laid out in various stages of completion. Mary Kate's younger brother waves hello as we enter. The two, just teenagers really, turned out to be a very efficient team with a great aptitude for explosives.

A pang of guilt hits me hard. I should be overseeing the decorations they are making for Xavier's Thanksgiving, not their skill at assembling bombs. Though the war has slowed it isn't over and even if it were finished it would be years before things became peaceful again.

"Rogue?" Mary Kate has obviously asked something while I was lamenting what couldn't be.

I pick up one of the devices, turning it over I examine it. "Looks complete."

"Good," she says as I set it down. "I wanted to make sure the new configuration was right before we did too many."

"It's a fine job, Mary Kate." I feel the pang of guilt again. "Why don't you guys clean up for the day."

It's already sunset and I make a quick patrol of the area. Those who took part in the raid should be filtering back in. The camp is far enough away we won't be moving this evening.

Getting something to eat and a book, I set up watch at one of the entrances. With all the tech available to us for perimeter protection, nothing beats a pair of real live ears. The MTF doesn't run operations at night anymore after losing several field Head Quarters that way. Yet it's still a good idea to have someone in place to alert others of anything strange.

I snort at that. The things in our daily lives that we now consider normal. Quiet at night has become the new normal all over the city. Power and water are scarce, even in former safe zones. Anything more than a scurry of an animal is worth inquiry.

Even my taste in reading material has changed. Not that I get to read much, but there are books that get passed around. I used to love dystopian books, but they've lost their appeal and not just for me. Most of the books you see are romance novels, westerns, and anything that would have been considered a beach read. Any book that takes the reader out of the pains of life and into another world. The favorite ones are where the bad guy gets his due and everyone rides into the sunset.

I look at the cover of tonight's entertainment and try to picture Logan in a kilt. It brings a smile to my lips. He wouldn't see the need for the kilt and we'd skip right to the racey parts.

Settling in with my book and food, I spend the next hour listening to the quiet sounds of those returning from the raid. Logan's the last one in. He tries to sneak up behind me and kiss my neck.

I let him, a little worried that I caught the scrape of his boot before he got to me. He'll deny being hurt if I ask, so I don't. "How'd it go?"

"Good. A few more tweaks and it will be able to deactivate and unlock the collars at the same time."

"Mmmm...," I respond as he places another kiss on my neck. "How are the Professor and Storm?"

"Fine." His hands roam down my sides. "They both say hello." I nod absently trying to finish the chapter. "What are you reading this time?"

Logan prefers the classics and often pokes fun at my choice of reading material. "Do you know how to use a broadsword?" I ask innocently.

He moves around in front of me and glances at the cover. "A claymore, sure. You want me in the kilt too?"

I laugh quietly. "Don't need the fantasy when I have you," I reply leaning in for a kiss.

He inhales and pauses before kissing me. I'm left, lips puckered, waiting. Taking my hand, he lifts it to his nose and sniffs. I sigh heavily; I should have scrubbed my hands.

"I thought we had an agreement," he states flatly.

Jerking away my hand, I head off the lecture that is coming. "We do. Mary Kate wanted to know if they were doing it right." I scrutinize his clothes, noting the fresh bloodstains and holes. "Our agreement is worthless if I'm left alone."

Suddenly, I'm angry at him and stomp off. My chances of dying behind the lines only helping are as great as if I were out fighting like I used to. I don't care if Hank said it would be best if I didn't handle the explosives. Someone's got to and why not me instead of two kids. It's just as bad for their health.

By the time I make it to our 'bed' I've calmed down. I've never been one to be moody. I tell myself it must be the change of seasons and the thought of another year lost. The longer the war drags on the more people grate on each other's nerves.

Can someone become a professional sigher? I think I spend half my days sighing, usually at something Logan has said or done. It didn't use to bother me, but not even a year ago I was still pining for him. Now that were together...I don't know, I'm tired and need to sleep.

---

"Sorry, didn't mean to wake you," Logan says in a hushed, soothing tone. He's lying beside me but giving me space.

I suppress my sigh before it can escape. I don't want him tiptoeing around me, forever thinking he's on my bad side. "I'm the one who should be sorry...about earlier. I was out of line."

Pushing the stray hairs out of my face, he cups my cheek. "No, you weren't out of line. I expect you to understand and it's not fair." Moving closer, he places a kiss on my forehead. "It's not easy living with me, especially now."

We've rehashed this conversation more than I care to think about. I know he thinks that going all out keeps me safe. I can't ask him to be somebody he's not, letting someone else take a hit he can easily survive; that's not the man I fell in love with. If he started pulling punches and taking the easy way out, he wouldn't be the Wolverine anymore. Logan and Wolverine are a package deal and I wouldn't have it any other way.

"I love you," I whisper, putting my hand on his. "Life hasn't been fair to either of us. But I can't imagine it without you."

I shift around on my nest of old shipping blankets; snuggling back into him and pulling his arm over me. He draws me in. "Love you," he breathes into my ear.

"You know what I could use right now?" I ask wiggling my ass into his groin.

"A bowl of chocolate ice cream," he teases me, running his hand down my hip and thigh.

"Unless you have some, don't tease," I say as he sneaks his hand under my shirt. "I thought you might be up for a demonstration of your love."

"Is that so?" he asks, cupping my breast and thumbing my nipple. I moan as he lightly bites my neck. "Like this?"

I raise my head and look around. The others are far enough away, but I still feel slightly off balance, vulnerable from earlier. This position is the easiest and simplest for what I need. I'm not ashamed to admit that tonight I want the closeness it brings more than the orgasm.

"Yes, just like this," I affirm, unfastening my pants. He helps me push them down and kick them off.

He pushes his down far enough to free himself and press his hardening cock into the flesh of my butt cheek. His hand on my hip is gentle but firm. "You'll tell me if..."

I answer yes before the question can be finished; only it comes out more as a moan when his fingers find my clit. All other thoughts are lost as he works his magic on my body. His cock is hot and throbbing on my backside and I'm beginning to rethink my earlier decision on an orgasm.

Rearranging us, he pulls my leg over his and moves so I'm leaning on him more than not. He holds me securely as he eases himself into me. The first thrust is slow, it's an odd angle, but not unpleasant.

He stops, his heart pounding into my back.

"Logan?"

"Give me a sec," he grunts out. I want to tease him and grind down, but this isn't the right position for that. He moans with pleasure, "You're so..."

He doesn't finish the thought, knowing him it is something that will do him in if he says it out loud. Instead, his fingers are back on my bud starting a rhythm there. I wiggle and he groans; his breath in my ear, his body drawn tight from the strain. He rocks into me slowly, carefully.

His hand falters on my clit as his thrusting becomes faster, I tangle my fingers with his to keep the friction I need going. Biting my shoulder he tries to stifle the noise he makes when he comes. We make another stroke across my sensitive flesh and I shudder with my own orgasm.

Pressing a kiss behind my ear, he continues to cradle me. "Where are your boots?"

I laugh lightly. Pillow talk in our current situation is rarely sweet murmurings. Waving a hand toward the end of my nest, I answer, "Feet were cold."

"Want me to massage them?" he asks turning my pants properly and helping me put them on.

"No, they're pretty toasty now," I say. He winks at me and retrieves my boots, putting them on and tying them for me.

Logan snuggles back in behind me, carefully wrapping me up in his arms. He smoothes a hand over my growing belly. "Can I talk you into taking our girl to Hank's yet?"

I lay a hand on top of his. Another discussion we continue to have. He insists the baby is a girl and that I'm further along than calculated. I don't care boy or girl, but well the truth is it's all guesswork anyway. It's not like there are any sonogram machines laying around that we can use.

Early on we had talked about being careful. We did try. Or rather Logan tried, but sometimes I flung caution to the wind. Other times, well he'd throw me one of those looks I can't refuse. All it takes is one time of being careless and suddenly we are on our way to being parents in less than desirable conditions.

"Nope, women have babies all the time. Even during war." I turn my head and he leans over for a kiss. "Besides, I would worry more about you while I'm there than staying with you."

I slide his hand across my stomach to feel the movement of the baby. He grunts in amusement, smiling into the skin of my neck. I know right now that he is feeling the hope that we might make it out of this. That one day our daughter won't have to live like this. Patiently we wait for the next kick, one moment at a time.

Easing away from our resting spot, I check out the street ahead of us. All is quiet like it has been for months. No MTF, no sentinels, people can actually be seen going about the streets during certain times of the day. Once again people and mutants are gathering in large groups. They are trying to rebuild some semblance of society. Even Xavier is hopeful as Magneto has surfaced to help rebuild.

Me, I think it is a calm before the storm. Nothing can make me shake that feeling. Everything around me is in the new growth of spring and I don't feel it.

We'd been at the old subway tunnels today helping a small group resettle with those living there. Marie had watched the children play, a wistful look in her eyes. She is no longer wondering if, but when. On those rare moments like today, I let her hope and enthusiasm override my doom and gloom.

She has it all planned out, including a few supplies tucked away at Hank's. Blankets she'd scrounged, clothes she'd remade, whatever she could get her hands on. She joked that it was a good thing she'd always been interested in cloth diapering.

I glance back at her as she steps out of the shelter. A smile creases my face, my woman all aglow even as uncomfortable as she's been lately. No matter what I say, she refuses to take it easy.

Marie tries to hide it, but she's been experiencing false labor pains for a couple of weeks. She covers it up well, but I've seen her tense, can sense the pain they cause. I've got myself a headstrong woman and the most I can do for her is make sure I don't cause her more stress than necessary. That and back massages.

I turn to move out, taking lead but don't get more than a step. Something is wrong. A slightly sweet smell, a trickle of... My head snaps back around to a wide-eyed Marie, standing stock still, her water running down her legs.

"Logan?" Her voice is shaky, uncertain.

"Shit." It is one thing talking and planning; a whole different thing to actually be caught off guard in the middle of nowhere without a plan.

Scooping her up, I start to jog back to the tunnels. This isn't plan A, not even plan D, but the community is closer than Hank's and there is a midwife. I'd seen several babies there earlier and know that is the best place for help. A runner can be sent to fetch Hank if need be.

Smoothing out my stride, I hold her tight. Her arms are around my neck, head buried in my shoulder. The first time in weeks she hasn't argued with me about the best course of action. All her bravado of the past months has vanished.

Things had been simpler a year ago before we become lovers. Back when Marie took orders like the others, though I know I worried about her just as much then, too. Things may have been simpler but I have no regrets at the turn of events in our personal lives.

Slowing, I navigate the debris that leads up to the tunnels. My lungs are burning, muscles aching, though I've never had a sense of purpose like this before.

The midwife greets us at the entrance to her dwelling. "Knew you'd be back to see me," she said with a smile.

Fair-haired Gia, the midwife with an ever-present smile, shoos her children out to play. Only her oldest remains to assist. The two women busy themselves making Marie comfortable and keeping me out of the way.

I want to say everything progressed normally, but I've never had first-hand experience with this. Gia said it was the fastest delivery she'd done in a while. However, there seemed to be an awful lot of Marie being in pain, pushing, and blood. The best I could do was support her figuratively and literally.

In the end, I hold a tired Marie as she nurses our baby girl. It is the first sense of contentment I've had in some time. All the worries of the world seem to be far away.

"She's going to need a name," I comment, drawing a fingertip across what little bit of dark hair clings to the baby's head.

"Mmm..." Marie answers quietly. "And no, Hope is not in the running. She doesn't need to be one of five girls in her class with that name. Been there, done that."

I chuckle at her and she elbows me playfully in return. "So," I prompt.

"Laura, from a book I read a long time ago." Marie readjusts the baby, who's sleeping again. "I read the whole series and we've talked about eventually making our way up North to that cabin in the woods. I want our daughter to have a childhood like the book. Little House in the Big Woods. Something better than this anyway."

Grunting in response, I turn the idea over in my head. An odd bit of information makes it's way to the forefront. "Laura...honor and victory. Good choice." We can certainly use more honor in the world right now.

My plans change as I hold Marie and Laura close to my chest. As soon as they can travel, we'll get out of Gia's way. Then when things even out and my dire predictions prove false we'll make long term plans. Plans that give Marie that life she wants for Laura.

Some place up North in the forest, with big snows in the winter and wildflowers in the summer. A place where this life is nothing but a far away memory.

Two months. That was all we were given. Two months of hope with our little girl. It had been enough for even me to believe the future held promise of being better.

Then the new line of sentinels appeared. More fearsome than the last. The tunnels, with the burgeoning community, were hit first. Nothing was left.

I didn't need to ask, we headed for Hank's. Marie and Laura would stay there. I would regroup with the others as battle plans were once again put into action.

My hands are perfect now. Time has passed, don't know how much. Don't care, cause the last day I was alive was the day I dug through the rubble until the flesh on my hands was shredded. The last rays of sunlight glinting off the metal covering my bones. I blocked out the Professor as I searched for the girls, following their scents through the debris of Hank's hideout.

I knew they all thought I'd gone over the edge, watching me frantically dig like a madman. Probably still think I haven't made my way back. We'd all been there before having lost comrades, friends, and loved ones. This was no different except that Marie and Laura where my humanity. The part of my life that that gave it any meaning.

I couldn't say when the rain began, covering the retreat of the others after I refused to abandon my family. Marie and Laura were gone, dead. I knew it, so did everyone else. Only difference was I was going to lay them to rest properly.

The sentinels converged from all sides, a red haze descended upon me. Flashing claws, severed metal limbs...I saw little and remembered even less. When I finally came to on top a pile of metal corpses, I was broken, worn, and alone, but finally able to complete the task I'd set out for myself.

Hank was first with his blue fur burned, protecting their hiding place. He'd been a good friend to the end. Marie crouched behind him, Laura clutched to her chest. Both crushed by the collapse of the ceiling of the cubby where they hid.


I fell down beside them, pulling them to me, trying to will them back to life. I couldn't help but think of the first time I held them both so close. This time drops were falling, but it wasn't the rain. Gently I kissed Marie's cold cheek and brushed bits of dust from Laura's dark hair. My girls were gone.

By the time my tears had finished mingling with the rain and a final kiss bestowed on both, Magneto reappeared, entombing their final resting place in metal. We exchanged no words, but there was an understanding.

---

Time marches on and so does the war. There will be no victory; any side you pick is a losing side. I have cut loose those people that were loyal to me. Let them choose their own fate. No need for them to follow me to hell.

My lot is tied to the Professor's, that is what Marie would want. I have returned to the front-lines once more, hoping to lose myself in the fighting and the pain. Only voicing my opinion when I can see a better way, a way that might end this wretched existence.

No matter how many times I die there is no reprieve from my living nightmare. I look at myself in the little mirror over the sink. I won't let myself think of how long it's been because that would mean I'm counting every day, know every minute. Even though I do know them and feel every last one. I died with them on that day; my body just won't admit it yet.

Leaving the bathroom I rejoin the others in the main area of the jet. It's become home to the four of us; Xavier, Storm, Magneto and I. It keeps us ahead of the sentinels and out of the destruction on the ground. They tell themselves it is to better coordinate the fight, but we all know it is only to keep them one day ahead of death.

The Professor located Kitty and the small team she's with. They've formulated a plan, one that will draw this war to an end. We'll see, I've heard it all before, those promises that no one can guarantee.

I look around at those gathered; a few of Marie's friends are here. It reminds me of how young she was, how young they are. This is no way for any of them to be living.

My hands begin to shake again and I hide it with the lighting of my last cigar. Can't tell if the tremors are from anger or grief, don't know if there is a difference. Don't know if I'd be able to tell. Or if I even care.

The talking makes me antsy. I've allowed myself to become another piece of machinery in this war. Something used to grind down and destroy. Anything to try and numb my body, my mind to the pain.

Before my brain can engage, my mouth does. I've volunteered for something that will require both patience and teamwork, two things I haven't possessed since that fateful day.

This chance being offered is more than I've had in a long time. Kitty says to think peaceful thoughts. When we begin I think of those moments I held Marie and Laura in my arms.

If this doesn't work out, maybe I'll finally die, never to see this life again. Maybe then I can quit counting.

The song has gone on long enough and I reach up to turn it off. Then it strikes me; I haven't had a radio in years. Haven't had a bed or pillow either. Something about this scene is familiar, and I realize; I already did the seventies version of this.

Turning my head I quickly take in my surroundings. She isn't close by, but the pillow smells like Marie. The adrenaline shoots through me yet I resist the urge to jump up and go off half-cocked in a search.

Letting my senses be a guide, I latch onto another scent. It's familiar, but not as strong as Marie's. Sitting up I see the crib at the far wall. Laura. My heart starts beating wildly in my chest, I've been out of hope for a long time, but I don't want this to be a dream.

Slowly, I make my way to the crib, taking in the impersonal nature of the room as I go, one of Xavier's guest rooms. Looking down into the crib I don't need the scripted L emblazoned on the frilly blanket to know this is Laura. Same dark hair, Marie's nose, and complexion are enough.

I want to hear her sweet cooing again, but I hesitate at disturbing her. Marie probably spent a good deal of time putting her down and won't be happy to have me waking her. Laura's breathing is even in deep sleep and I settle for watching her a moment.

Meanwhile, I can hear the sounds of kids changing classes in the background. Then I hear a familiar walk, unmistakable even in sneakers. She pauses outside the door saying goodbye to Kitty and Jubilee.

The door opens and I'm gripping the railing of the crib so tight my knuckles are white. Marie's scent rushes in filling the room, I want to drown in it.

"Hey." The hushed tones of her sweet Southern accent slide over me, soothing my nerves. "Baby girl still asleep?"

I grunt. Can't get anything else to leave my mouth. In fact, I have to remind myself to breathe.

"You were supposed to pack after your shower. Looks like you took a nap instead," she reprimands me. She's messing with a duffle bag that was on one of the chairs. "Logan?" This time she sounds concerned.

Prying my hands loose, I turn to face her. Damn, she's more beautiful than I remembered. All curves and long hair that I can tangle my hands in.

"Is everything okay?"

"Yeah." I try to put on a smile, but it feels shaky. I want to believe this is true way too much. "Woke up from a nightmare."

She stops what she is doing and puts the bag back down. "The future one?" she asks, stepping over to me and placing a hand on my sideburn. "Do you need to talk about it?"

"No." I rest my hands on her waist. "I think they're over with."

Squinting at me skeptically, she finally pats my cheek. "Good, get to packing mister."

I don't let her leave; instead, I start working my hand under her shirt. I need to touch her, reassure myself she isn't going away. "When was the last time I told you how beautiful you are?" She blushes and averts her eyes.

What the hell is wrong with me in this timeline that I haven't told her, just saying it makes her blush? Then I remember that you take very little for granted when you're living so close to death every day. With a quick look around I can tell that there was no urgency here. We had time, there was always tomorrow to tell her how I felt.

"You're beautiful, I'm lucky to have you." I kiss her then, soft at first so I can explore her mouth.

She lets out a little sigh of pleasure before pulling away. "We should be packing," she insists, her Southern drawl thick and seductive.

"Mmm," I agree. If there is time for packing then there is time for other things. Nuzzling her neck, I can smell her arousal and press my cock into her belly.

She giggles as I hit a sensitive spot and pushes me away playfully. "Logan," she chastises unconvincingly.

I slip my hand under the waistband of her sweats and try to walk her back to the bed. I need to show her how much I need her, how much I've missed her. She doesn't even budge; looking down at her I'm worried something's amiss in this timeline I've not picked up on.

"This ain't about packing." That wouldn't be Marie in any timeline; she hates to pack after carrying around that huge duffle when we met. No, this is something else, more serious. "Did Hank or Jean-"

She cuts me off. "No, no. Everything's fine." Yet she is looking everywhere but at me.

Gently, I place a finger on her chin and turn her face until our eyes meet. Raising an eyebrow I wait for an answer.

"I'm out of shape," she sighs heavily, shoulders slumping.

"Really?" I ask pulling at the neckline of her t-shirt and glance at her breasts. "Look good to me."

Flushing bright red, she lightly smacks at my hand. Despite the smile that has crept on to her face she's serious. "I haven't trained in almost a year and there are lines...Everywhere."

So that is the big hurdle, Marie is self-conscious about the way her body has changed. None of it matters to me, she is alive and we are still a family, though I can see she needs some reassurance.

"I'll be the judge," I tell her. She eyes me doubtfully, but doesn't say anything or resist as I pull off her shirt.

My hands settle on her waist. "Still fits right," I observe before skimming my hands up her sides. A shiver goes through her and her scent grows stronger. Unhooking her bra, I slip it off her shoulders and drop it with her shirt.

Gliding my fingertips across her chest, I cup her breasts. "Hmm," I put on a frown. "These might be larger, I'll adjust."

Marie snorts at me but doesn't protest any further. In fact, she leans toward me for a kiss as I move my hands lower. She wraps her arms around my neck and presses herself into me deepening the kiss.

She pulls back, teeth tugging at my bottom lip and I start to push her sweatpants down over her hips. Peeking over my shoulder at Laura, Marie huffs quietly, "What if she wakes up?"

I tilt my head, listening to the baby's breathing. "We're good unless you start screaming."

She pushes my shirt up. "If I remember right, I wasn't the loud one."

"Only one way to find out," I comment when she gets my shirt off and kicks off her shoes.

This time she lets me walk her back to the bed. The rest of our clothes have been shed and I draw her down beside me. I want to go slow. I promised myself more than once in the other timeline that when I got the chance I would take my time and make love to her. But with the way she's touching me, I don't know how long I'll last, especially since I'd pretty much written this possibility off.

She pushes me onto my back and straddles me. The hesitation is back and it appears like she wants to ask permission to be in this position. Then I remember how young she is and the fact that she probably let me take the lead due to experience. The Marie I remember took the initiative because of the life we led; here there's been no need to.

"Anything you want, Darlin'." I make a mental note to work on letting her take charge more often.

I watch her intently, not wanting to miss anything. She blushes a little under my gaze but doesn't stop until I'm buried inside her. Caressing her thighs, I wait for her to make the next move.

Leaning over she kisses me and begins to move. Slow at first then setting a pleasurable pace. Her head is tilted back, breasts swaying in my face and I cup them, thumbing her nipples. She gasps and stalls in her pace, definitely overly sensitive.

Carefully I nip and lick at her breasts when her rhythm picks up again. From the set of her jaw, she has her teeth clenched trying to keep quiet. I grab her hips as the first wave of her orgasm hits her, hoping to keep her moving. She's so damn beautiful I have to shut my eyes as my own release burns through me.

When I open my eyes she's staring down at me, still gently rocking. Finally, she smiles, giving me a quick kiss before tucking herself into my side. I'm at a loss of what to say, Marie and I have only ever had practical small talk afterward. I'm not sure what we've been like in this timeline but it can't be massively different if we made it this far.

"Love you." It's barely a whisper, but the most heartfelt statement I've ever made.

She pushes herself up and studies me; I can tell my tone has caught her off guard. "I love you too, Logan. Very much."

She draws some random patterns on my chest with her fingers for a moment. Making up her mind, she pats my chest, "Come on mister, you have some packing to do."

I chuckle and get up with a groan. Apparently, we don't do pillow talk after sex now either. "Yes, ma'am. Off to the little cabin in the big woods." She smiles brightly and throws my pants at me.

I know the minutes I've counted in this timeline. Soon I'll be able to count the days. Maybe counting isn't so bad this time around.

~*~