"Just give me the whole bottle," he grumbles.  The bartender continues cleaning glasses, peering at the dark, scruffy stranger dubiously.  He looks kind of dangerous, so the bartender considers giving him what he wants.  But a whole bottle...

"I said give me the whole damn bottle," the stranger growls, and the glint in his eye says that he is not in the mood for negotiating.  The bartender puts his hands up in a gesture of surrender and then cautiously places the bottle in front of the stranger.  He watches in fascination as the man guzzles a quarter of it in one go.

"Thanks," the stranger mutters, plunking the bottle down.  He reaches inside his jacket for something.  For a moment the bartender thinks the man is going to pull a weapon.  But instead he pulls out a wad of cash and tosses in on the bar.  "Now fuck off."

The bartender scuttles off, leaving the stranger to scowl over his bourbon.

"Wow.  Somebody's in a cranky mood."

His body stiffens at the sound of the old woman's voice.  Fuck.  Did he really just let her sneak up on him like that?  He's clearly losing his touch.  He doesn't have to look to know who it is; he already knows just by her scent; that and the voice.

After a long moment, he finally unclenches his jaw enough to grind out the words.

"How'd you find me?"  He asks without looking, his eyes staring straight forward at nothing.

"Wasn't easy, I'll tell you that much."  The little old lady slowly climbs onto the barstool.  He winces when he hears her joints creaking and popping.

She waves an arthritic hand at the bartender and orders a Sex on the Beach.  Logan is about to raise his eyebrow and make a smart remark about her choice of drink, but stops short when he turns his head and actually sees her.  The change is...not wholly unexpected.  It has been, what, fifty-some years?  But it's still a shock.

Fifty years...too long.  Not long enough.

He wants to hug her, and at the same time, he wants to walk out that door and get as far away from her as possible.  Hugging her would imply that he's glad to see her (which he isn't), that he missed her (which he didn't), and by proxy has missed everyone else from his old life (which he hasn't).

He stares at her as she brings her drink up to her mouth for a sip and then watches the glass shake as she sets it down, noting the slight tremor in her hands.  Her hair is salt and pepper now, though it's mostly salt; her skin looks fragile, like wrinkled tissue paper.  She's also about 4 inches shorter than he remembers. 

"Take a picture, it'll last longer.  In my case, literally," she says wryly and takes another sip.  She sets the glass down again and swallows, releasing a sigh.  "Geez, how 'bout a hug or something?  I can't decide which is more insulting, the fact that you can't tell an old lady that she looks amazing for her age, or that your first words to me after all this time are 'How'd you find me'.  And you were about to make fun of my Sex on the Beach, which, by the way, is fabulous, so don't hate."

He looks away and shifts uncomfortably.  "Sorry.  I wasn't expecting..."  He trails off, then takes a swig of his drink.

She looks at him with amusement.  "Expecting what?  To be found in the middle of bumfuck, nowhere and caught off guard by little old me, or to see your dear friend Jubes looking like an ancient prune?"

His eyes dart to her for a moment before going back to his bottle, an uncomfortable silence stretching out between them.  "Both, I guess."

She snorts at that.    "Yeah, I hear ya, Wolvie.  I was kind of caught off guard myself.  Don't ask me how, I don't know.  One day I'm a hot little potato with not a care in the world, and the next minute I'm shopping for bifocals and all the cute guys are calling me ma'am and asking if I need help crossing the street.  Ma'am?  Ugh. Where the hell did the time go?  I mean I kind of saw it coming, but I didn't, know what I mean?"

Still the same Jubes, he thinks.  Clearly the years have not affected her ability to run at the mouth. 

"No, I don't suppose you do know what I mean," she says, taking another sip of her drink.  "Must be nice, never having to deal with the aging process."

He looks at her sharply.  The remark is just a little too close to home, and he wonders if maybe she meant it as a jab.  She continues sipping her drink placidly, ignoring his glare.

"So what have you been doing with yourself all this time, Wolvie?  Fighting the tough guys and fucking the groupies on a nightly basis I presume?"

He takes another swig and plunks the bottle down, wiping his mouth on his sleeve.  "Yeah, you know me," he says without humor.  "I'm just livin' it up every night, fighting and fucking, 'cause that's what the Wolverine does.  I'm amazingly two-dimensional."

"Yeah, that's what I'd be doing if I had eternal youth.  Livin' it up."  He looks at her again as she swings her legs back and forth, apparently oblivious to his sarcasm.  She's either oblivious, or she's needling him again.  Her expression is unreadable as she sips her drink.

He's getting a little pissed.  He hasn't seen her in five decades, and the first thing she does when she finds him is bust his balls?  How 'bout a fucking hug from her?  And what the hell does she know about living with eternal youth, anyway?  If he could give it up for a normal life span, he would in a heartbeat.  If she knew anything at all, she'd know that this wasn't living it up.  What he's been doing is barely living.  He's been existing, nothing more.

He wants to tell her a thing or two, but the words won't come.  "It's not all it's cracked up to be," he finally manages to grind out.

"No? That's a bummer."  She rests her chin in her hand and leans on the bar, looking at him.  "I don't know, Wolvie.  They say that youth is wasted on the young, and boy are they right.  I look at my pruny ass in the mirror every day and think to myself that I'd love to have me one of those healing factors."

"You have no fuckin' idea what you're talking about," he growls, clenching his fists.  Sharp bumps push up under the skin between his knuckles, and he has to close his eyes to calm down.  It's the most emotion he's felt in a long time, considering that most of the time he just feels numb.

"Alright, alright," she concedes.  "No need to get all growly and pointy at me."  She takes another sip.  "So, you're not livin' it up, then.  I get it.  What have you been doing?"

Walking the earth like a wraith.  Alive on the outside, but inside...dead and dry, like an old husk.  He grips the bottle and says nothing.

"C'mon, dude.  You've been running for fifty-odd years now.  You haven't seen or done anything noteworthy in all that time?

He bristles at her words.  Running for fifty-odd years.  She didn't say it out loud, but her intent was clear enough.  Running scared is what she really meant.

She's not here to catch up with an old friend.  She's here to punish him.

"Oh, I get it," she says with nod and a knowing smile like he just told her a big secret.  "You haven't been running at all, have you?  Wolvie's finally settled down!  So, what, you have, like, a house now?  A regular job?  Oh!"  She gasps.  "A beautiful woman to warm your bed and make it all worthwhile?"  

He stands up suddenly, his bar stool scraping loudly across the dirty wood floor.

"I am not having this conversation with you.  Fuck this shit, I'm outta here.  Have a nice life, what's left of it."

"Logan, wait." She drops the bravado, but he already has his back to her and is making his way towards the exit.  "Wait!  I want to talk to you!"  She gets down from the stool, cursing her aching bones and lack of speed.

"You just did," he says without looking back.  "Say hi to the old gang for me.  Or not.  I don't give a shit."

"Logan!"

He ignores her and begins weaving his way through the bar patrons.

"I would say hi to the old gang," she calls out wistfully, "but they're all dead."

He stops in his tracks.             

Dead.  Can it really be true?  He closes his eyes.

Somehow he thought he would sense it...feel it, even if no one had told him.  That he would just...know when she finally passed from this earth.  The fact that it happened without him feeling it hurts almost as much as knowing that it happened.

A stupid idea, he chides himself; just one last vestige of the ridiculous, romantic ideas he once secretly harbored and had long since buried after he left.  And yet, it's an idea that he has never been able to let go.

He's been waiting for this.  Waiting for the news one day that would either crush what little was left of his soul, or finally set him free.  He doesn't feel free.

He stands there, feeling nauseous.  Empty.  Completely and utterly alone.

"They're all gone now...except for me and Rogue.  We're the last two."

He whirls around.  "What the fuck?"  He growls, staring at her incredulously like she has just hit him upside the head with a shovel.  He suddenly lets out heavy breath, like he has been holding it for a very long time.  He points at her accusingly.  "You fuckin' let me think she was dead," he yells, "and then you take it back in the next breath, like it's nothing?  What is this, some kind of game to you?"

"I'm sorry it came out wrong," she apologizes.

"Came out wrong, huh?  Bullshit.  You knew exactly what you were saying, and what it would do to me."  He's downright trembling with anger, and if he's honest with himself, relief.  But mostly anger.  He doesn't want to think about what the relief might mean.  The emotional whiplash makes him want to claw something, but he settles for smashing a nearby chair and tossing aside the fragments. 

"I didn't mean to...mislead you," Jubilee says calmly.  "But how else was I going to stop you long enough to catch up with you?  I'm an old lady, for goodness sake."

"Excuse me, ma'am.  Is this man bothering you?"  A handsome young blonde haired man in a cowboy hat is concerned for her well being, and he's brought his cute friend to help.   They both eye Logan, evaluating how hard it will be to take him down.  Logan is about to tell them to fuck off.

"Ma'am?  Aw, damn it.  See what I mean?"  Jubilee frowns at Logan and shakes her head with disappointment.

She sighs, then puts on a smile and her best sweet little old lady voice.  "Oh, that's so very kind of you, boys, but I'm just fine.  I can take care of myself.  Thank you very much, though."

The young men look at each other, but remain rooted to the spot, unconvinced.

"Are you sure, ma'am?  We'd be happy to remove this gentleman from the bar and escort you safely to your car if you like."

Logan huffs at that.  "I'd like to see you try."

"We'll do more than try, mister," says Blondie, who starts rolling up his sleeves.

Logan cracks his neck, and Jubilee can see that the shit is about to hit the fan.

"Now boys, please play nice," she says in her gentle-yet-authoritative grandma voice.   She places a hand on the shoulders of the two young men.  "I don't think my heart could take all the excitement.  Please don't fight.  Oh!" She pretends to falter.

Both men immediately rush to steady her, placing her hands on their arms for support.

"Oh my, you're both so strong.  Please, I need to sit down."  They carefully escort her to a table and pull out a chair for her, gingerly setting her down.  Jubilee winks discreetly at Logan and he rolls his eyes.

"Such handsome, chivalrous men," she croons, patting their faces.  "You remind me so much of my two grandsons.  I bet the ladies are just lining up daily to get you boys on their dance cards, aren't they?"  Blondie and Cutie look quite flattered and pleased, practically blushing at her compliment.

"Right.  And on that note, I'm outta here.  Have fun, 'grandma'."  Logan turns and heads for the door.  Jubilee is about to call after him, but Cutie is feeling extra proud and confident after all the praise, and he stands up to taunt Logan.

"That's right, walk away, dirtbag!  You know you don't want none of this.  We would have kicked your ass!"

Logan turns around slowly.  "Is that right?  Well why don't you just come on over and kick my ass right now?"

His smile is sinister enough to make the blood curdle.  He's going to enjoy this.

"Ah, shit," Jubilee mutters under breath, closing her eyes and pinching the bridge of her nose.  Why couldn't Cutie have just kept his mouth shut?

"Now boys--"

Before she can even blink, the boys are being thrown across the room, crashing down on a table of bikers, and the entire bar has erupted into one huge brawl.  Right smack in the middle of everything is Logan, of course.

She taps her foot and looks at her watch.

"You almost done, Wolvie?  I've got places to be," she calls out.

"No one's stoppin' ya," he replies with a grunt as he knees another man in the gut.

Jubilee sighs.  "I was kinda hoping you would be coming with me."

She watches as Logan puts a burly looking man in a sleeper hold.  "Keep dreaming, Yellow.  Ain't gonna happen."

"Pretty please, with sugar on top?"

"No."

"C'mon, don't make me beg," she pleads.  "That's so not becoming to a woman of my stature."

"Pftt.  A woman of your stature, huh?  Don't worry, begging won't get you anywhere, either."  He drops the now unconscious burly man to the floor with a thud and then staggers as another man jumps on his back and puts him in a chokehold.

Logan begins thrashing him around and the two slam into Jubilee's table, spilling her drink into her lap.  Her mouth falls open as a river of cold Sex on the Beach rolls down her legs and splashes onto her bright yellow shoes.

"Ugh, that's it!  I have had enough!"  She slowly climbs to her feet, draws a deep breath, and with an angry yell, paffs an explosive spark from her hands so powerful that it knocks everyone in the bar off their feet.

A stunned silence follows as the entire room of men watches the tiny old woman, their faces frozen with confusion and awe.  They've all been flattened to the floor in a circle around her, like trees in the blast radius of a comet that has struck the earth.  The only sound that can be heard is an old country song whining from the jukebox and Jubilee's footsteps as she hobbles over to Logan.

"Fuck.  That was pretty impressive."  Logan pushes Mr. Chokehold off of him and staggers to his feet, brushing off his clothes.  "Not bad for an old lady.  I didn't think you'd be that powerful."

"Yeah, I'm like a fine wine.  Or cheese or whatever.  I've only gotten better with age," Jubilee replies dryly.  "Now are you coming with me, or do I have to paff you into oblivion and have someone drag you to my car?"

He's about to say something smart, but suddenly, he just doesn't have it in him.  The walls he has so carefully built over the years begin to crumble at the thought of seeing Rogue again.

"Look, Jubes, I told you," he says with a sigh.  "Ain't gonna happen.  I don't want to fight with you, especially in your condition..."  Jubilee narrows her eyes with indignation.  "but I can't go back there.  Please, just...let me go."

Apology and misery are thick in his tired voice; longing and sorrow are etched in his face.  Jubilee softens at his expression.  She understands everything now.  And she finally knows without a doubt: everything she suspected is true and that she is doing the right thing.

"She needs you, Logan.  It's coming to the end now, and she needs you."

Logan closes his eyes.  Please don't say that she needs me, he thinks.  Not now.

He chose his path a long time ago and has seen it through for five decades.  But not to the end.  Not yet.

He hasn't been exactly happy, but he has found some measure of peace over the years that came with acceptance.  But this, this is exactly what he has been afraid of, what set him on this path to begin with, and to go back now...all these years of longing and heartache and wandering and trying to find peace would be rendered...pointless.

He doesn't know if he can do it.  Doesn't know if he has the strength to face this.

And yet...

Jubilee's words ring in his ears.  It's coming to the end now.  She needs you.

An old memory comes rushing back to him, and he remembers the feeling, as strong as the night it happened.  The night on the Statue of Liberty, when he realized that he would do anything, anything to answer her plaintive cry for help.  He would put his claws through his own chest to get to her.  He would let her take his life, if it meant that she could live.

He couldn't deny her then, and he can't deny her now.

The powerful call to answer her need is thrumming through his veins.  It's more powerful than his fear, more powerful than him, and from that, he is forced to draw his strength.

"Ok."  He opens his eyes.  "I'll go."

. . .

"Hey, Logan."  Rogue stands beneath the arch at the garden entrance, watching him for a moment, before quietly making her way closer. "Thought I might find you out here."

He looks up and peers at her through a white puff of smoke.  "Just steppin' out for some air."  His eyes follow the movement of her body as she approaches, lingering for a moment too long on the sway of her hips before he catches himself.  He looks away and takes another drag of his cigar.

She sidles up and sits next to him on the edge of the retaining wall.  "I haven't seen you all evening," she says looking at him sideways with a little smile.  "Where have you been?"

"Around," he replies with a shrug.

"Around, huh?  Lurking in a dark corner, scaring off people to avoid social interaction?"

He huffs at that.  She's remarkably close to the truth on that one.  "More or less," he replies.  "I've been here the whole time.  But these kinds of parties are just..."

"I know," she finishes for him.  "They're just not your thing."

"Yeah.  You could say that," he agrees with a nod.  He looks off in the distance and takes another puff.

"I appreciate you coming to my party anyways," she says with a smile.

He looks at her, the warmth and fondness in his eyes breaking through his ever-present scowl.  "Of course, darlin'.  I wouldn't miss my girl's birthday for the world."

She blushes and looks down with a shy smile.  He mentally kicks himself; maybe he shouldn't say things like that.

He's been watching her grow up for the past two years, stopping in to check on her once in a while during his travels.  It was pretty easy calling her 'my girl' when she looked like a kid, because it was just a term of endearment.  But somehow, it feels a little different this time, and he's not sure what to make of it.

He clears his throat.  "So, how was your birthday, kid?"  He throws in that last part, the word 'kid', for good measure.

Truth be told, he's spent so much time telling himself that Rogue is a kid that it caught him by surprise tonight when he saw her walk into the room.  Swept up hair and that green satin evening gown with opera length gloves, revealing a graceful form with curves that weren't there before.  Nineteen years old going on twenty four by the looks of it.  When the hell did this young woman replace the scrawny runaway that climbed into his truck?

She sighs happily.  "It was just lovely.  My friends spoiled me all day, and the Professor and everyone threw such an elegant party, and I even got to dance all evening.  It really was a nice birthday."

"Hmph.  Glad to hear it," he says, taking another drag of his cigar.  She seems happy, he thinks.  Good.  Sounds like she's got friends and a new family of sorts now; she's safe, she's getting three squares a day, and she's getting an education.  Not too bad, he thinks with a sense of satisfaction; he actually did right by her, leaving her with the X-geeks.  She has a future. 

"Yeah, it was nice," she says softly, picking a small flower and twirling it between her gloved fingers.  If he didn't know any better, he'd think there was a note of wistfulness in her voice.  He wonders if she misses her old life in Mississipi.

"That's good," he says, trying to keep the tone light.  "Did you get lots of presents?"

"Oh, yeah, I got lots of nice things.  Everyone really did spoil me."

"You deserve to be spoiled," he says matter-of-factly, reaching into his jacket pocket.  "Here, my turn to spoil you a little more."

She reaches out and takes the small rectangular gift with a twinkle in her eyes.  "Oh, Logan, you didn't have to do that.  And look, it's all wrapped up so prettily."

"I'm not the best wrapper," he says sheepishly, "but it's the thought that counts, right?  Now go on, open it."

With a playful nudge of her shoulder against his, she tears off the pretty blue paper with fervor and inhales.  "A camera!  Logan, you shouldn't have.  This is too much," she protests, though she can't help the pleased smile pulling at her cheeks.

"Nah, nothing's too much for my--" He catches himself and quickly recovers, "--my favorite sidekick."  He mentally grimaces at his slip up, and his lame choice of words trying to cover it.  Sidekick?  Ugh.  She doesn't seem to notice, though, as she fiddles with the buttons on the camera.

"Ok, here we go.  Now get closer," she says, squeezing into him and turning the camera around for a selfie.  "Smile, Logan!"

A blinding flash of light and a click of the shutter go off before he knows what hit him.  Rogue laughs and bounces a little when the little white square pops out of the slot.  He tries not to notice the movement of her breasts when she bounces.  They were warm and pressed against his arm a moment ago, and now she's at the perfect angle to give him a clear line of sight straight down into her cleavage.  He shifts a little and turns his attention to some uninteresting purple flowers, bringing his cigar up for another puff.

"Logan, you didn't smile!" she playfully chides him as the image develops on the photo paper.

"Darlin, I don't smile for photos," he grumbles.

"Oh come on.  One little smile won't kill you," she says with a grin.

"It might.  So why take the chance," he counters.

"Pfft, you're the Wolverine, I think you'll be just fine," she says with an eye roll.  "Now come on, give me one good picture."  She squeezes in close again and turns the camera around.  She notices his scowl and frowns.  "Please, just one smile," she pleads.  "Do it for me?  Please, Logan?"

He sighs.  He knows he's a lost cause when it comes to her pleas.  The Wolverine, brought to his knees by a few words from a slip of a girl.  Mustering up the nicest smile he can manage, he looks into the camera.  He waits for the press of her finger on the button to bring about the inevitable blinding flash, but it doesn't happen.

He's about to tell her to press the button already, but before he can say a word, he feels it.  She pinched his ass!  He turns to look at her and that's when she presses the button.

She breaks into a giggle and ventures a glance at him, biting her lip.  He narrows his eyes at her, but he can't help the little smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, which makes her laugh even more.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry.  I just wanted to loosen you up a little, that's all," she says with a little nudge of her elbow.  "Now come on, this time for real, no monkey business I promise."

She pulls him closer and tilts her head to touch his as she lifts the camera once more.  Despite himself, a real, genuine smile creeps up on his face, and the shutter snaps.

"There, you happy now?" he grumbles.  "I smiled."

"We'll see, sugar," she says with a skeptical tone, gently flapping the photo paper back and forth.  "The proof will be in the pudding."

"Hmph," he grunts.  He puts on his customary scowl and acts disinterested, but steals a glance out of curiosity when she isn't looking.  The expression of pure rapture on her face as she stares at the image tugs at his heart, and he decides that whatever discomfort he experienced for this photo, it was worth it.

"Oh, Logan!"  Her eyes are lit up and her smile goes from ear to ear.  "It's perfect!"  She throws her arms around him and squeezes tightly.

"Woah..." He catches himself before they both tumble over from the impact.  She holds on, though, and as he tentatively puts his arms around her, it's not long before he is once again very aware of her breasts pressed against him.  She smells so good...

"Thank you," she whispers in his ear, her breath tickling his neck.  She pulls back just a little, and kisses him softly on the muttonchop.

A strange, indefinable feeling begins to stir inside of him.  The sensation of her body pressed against his; her voice in his ear and her breath on his neck; the gentle, innocent kiss on his cheek and her unabashed affection...he's not sure what it means, but he's sure he shouldn't be feeling this way.  He shifts uncomfortably. 

She pulls away, as if she suddenly realizes her mistake.  "I'm sorry," she says, looking embarrassed, and now he's kicking himself for...for whatever it was that he was feeling just now, which obviously made her uncomfortable.  He clears his throat and looks at the ground.

"Kid, I..."

"I should have been more careful," she continues.  He looks up, surprised.  Then he realizes what she is saying.  She thinks she made him uncomfortable by getting too close with her bare skin.

"Hey, it's ok.  You know I don't worry about your skin."

Her eyes are grateful when they meet his, but she's not completely convinced.  "Are you sure, Logan?  'Cause it seemed like you were a little nervous just now.  Like I got a little too close for comfort."

He winces internally at her words.  She did get a little too close for comfort, but not for the reason she thinks.  He can't tell her that, though.  "No, it wasn't you, darlin'.  Really."

She doesn't say anything, and he scrambles to come up with an excuse.  "I wasn't trying to get away from your skin.  I just needed to...adjust myself.  That's all."

Her eyes widen just a little, and he mentally kicks himself yet again.  What is wrong with him tonight?  He can't seem to say the right thing to her.

"Oh..." she says simply, a blush beginning to rise in her cheeks.

"Guys need to do that from time to time," he explains, trying to sound non-chalant about it. 

"I see..."

The silence stretches out between them, and for some reason he feels the need to fix the awkwardness with more explanations.

"It's just something we need to do.  Ask any guy and he'll tell you."

"Yeah, I suppose you're right," she says thoughtfully.  "I think I might have seen Piotr and Remy doing that couple times.  I never really thought about it before, but I guess if you've got this big thing between your legs--"

"You know what, scratch that, kid," he says abruptly, cutting her off.  "You don't need to be thinkin' about guys and their..." he clears his throat, "male habits and whatnot.  Just...forget I said anything."

She stares at him for a moment, a little bewildered.  But as she watches him scrub his face with his hand and mutter the word "fuck" under his breath, she suppresses a little smile.

"It's alright, Logan," she says, sitting down beside him.  "I may be inexperienced, but I'm not that innocent."

His eyes snap to hers.  He wasn't thinking along those lines; he just didn't like the idea of her thinking about other guys and their cocks.  And what the hell is that supposed to mean, 'not that innocent'?  Shit.  He shouldn't be thinking about either of these scenarios.

He doesn't know what to say, so instead he turns his attention to those stupid purple flowers again and smokes his cigar.

They sit for a while, saying nothing, and although it's awkward at first, eventually they fall into a companionable silence.  Mercifully, she doesn't feel the need to pursue the topic of him sticking his foot in his mouth any further.  He's always liked that about her, the way they can just sit together comfortably without saying anything at all.  She rests her head on his shoulder and he feels his body relax.

"Logan?" he hears her say softly.

"Yeah, darlin'?"

"It's almost midnight."

"Yeah, I guess it must be," he answers, looking up at the moon.  The sky is clear and filled with stars tonight.

"My birthday's almost over."

There's that note of wistfulness in her voice again.  He sits quietly, waiting for her to continue. 

"Would you do something for me?"

Normally he would answer with a "Sure, kid.  Anything, you name it."  And he would mean it, too.  But he gets that feeling again, like something is different this time.  He's not sure what it means, so he says nothing and waits.

"Logan...would you...would you dance with me?"  She lifts her head to look at him.

She wants him to dance with her?  Why would she want that, and from him?  He knows she's not asking him to do a jig, and he doesn't think she wants to squaredance, either, but his brain is taking a minute to accept the obvious; she wants a slow dance.

He doesn't know what it would mean if they slow danced together.  Probably nothing; it's just two people, moving to music, no big deal.  But somehow he gets the feeling it would mean something, and he's not sure he wants that.  Does he?

He doesn't like dancing anyway.

"Darlin'...I don't dance."  He tries not to look into her soft brown eyes, because he knows what will happen; the words 'lost cause' come to mind.  But he can still feel her watching him.  Can feel her disappointment mixed with a little hope.                                

"I know but...just this once, Logan?"

"I thought you danced all evening," he points out, finally venturing a glance at her.  "I saw a string of boys a mile long waiting to ask you."

"I did, and there was...but...I was kinda hoping you would ask me."  She looks away shyly and fiddles with her gloves.  "I...I was saving the last dance for you."

 He looks at her then.  Her lovely face, so sweet and heartbreakingly vulnerable.  "Darlin', I...I don't know."

His resolve is weakening, and he's sure she can sense it.  She watches him with those puppy dog eyes, and it's like a chain tugging at his heart.

But then, something changes; a shift in the balance.  He can see it in her face, her resolve strengthening as his own weakens.  Straightening up, she suddenly looks like she has made up her mind.  She stands up to face him and holds out her hand, looking at him expectantly.

He looks at her outstretched hand and quirks an eyebrow at her.  She quirks her eyebrow right back at him.

"My mind's made up, Logan.  I saved my last dance for you, and you're gonna damn well have it."

"Oh, is that so?" His voice is gruff, but he can't help the little twitch at the corner of his mouth.

"That's so," she says with a raised chin, daring him to refuse.  "Now come on, stand up."

She takes his hand and pulls.  They both know that she would not be able to budge him an inch if he didn't want to move.  But he indulges her and pretends that her little tug is enough to bring him to his feet.

He comes closer until they are standing toe to toe.  She looks up at him with a smile, and as he looks into her eyes, he suddenly forgets all the protests and excuses he had lined up as to why he didn't like dancing.

"Like this," she says, guiding his one hand to rest on her waist and raising his other hand to lead. 

He quirks his eyebrow at her again.  "You don't need to show me, darlin'.  I know what I'm doing."

She quirks her eyebrow back at him.  "Oh really?  I thought you didn't know how to dance."

He begins gently swaying them both back and forth.  "I never said I didn't know how.  I just said that I don't dance."

She huffs and narrows her eyes at him, but he simply grins at her.  She tries to hold her indignant expression, but her face breaks into a smile and they both chuckle.

They continue swaying gently back and forth without saying anything more.  There's no music, but neither of them seem to mind or notice at all.

Somehow, this feels so natural.  He knows it shouldn't...but it does.

A silvery lock of hair floats down to rest on the side of her cheek.  She looks up at him through dark eyelashes, then down again, suddenly shy.  He wonders if her eyelashes are as soft as they look, wonders how they would feel, if he were to touch them.  Not with his fingertips, no; for something so delicate he would need to feel them fluttering softly on his lips.

He shouldn't be thinking things like this...but he is.

She sighs gently with contentment and moves both of her arms higher, lacing her fingers together behind his neck, pressing her body close to his.  His one hand is now empty without her hand to lead, and tentatively, he places it on her waist.  The swell of her hips lie just below his fingers, swaying, swaying.  Calling his hands to slip lower and caress their ripeness through the smooth satin.

This should feel wrong...but somehow, it doesn't.

It's the most natural thing in the world, allowing his affection for her to be expressed in the form of touch.  They've always been that way.  He's never been afraid to touch her and she has never been afraid to get close to him.  Trust; it's something they've always had with each other, since the very beginning.

He remembers the day they met in Laughlin City.  The conversation in the cab of his truck; the way she got him to open up more to her in those short minutes than he had ever opened himself to anyone.  From the beginning, something dormant inside of him reacted to her...awoke in her presence.

He called it all kinds of things; protectiveness...kinship...connection...an odd fondness for her which he had never felt for anyone else.  And it was all those things, yes.  But there was something else.  A wisp of recognition.

Just a wisp; not fully formed...easy to overlook--or maybe easy to ignore--when you have your routine and your roles to play, when you think you know where everything stands.  There's a quiet instinct that is telling him something about this girl...this woman...that he is not ready to hear.

He definitely shouldn't be thinking things like this.  This is Rogue.  The kid.  The girl he swore to protect, and that would not be protecting her.

He needs to separate his feelings from his baser animal instincts; he's never cared about anyone the way he cares for her, and the intensity of it is throwing him off.

"It's late," he says, slowing their dance to a stop.  "You should probably get to bed, kid."

He throws in that last word, kid, for good measure.  Though somehow, the word doesn't seem right.  It doesn't fit, doesn't roll off his tongue any more.  Which makes him all the more aware that something is different, and all the more determined to keep things exactly the same.

He draws her hands down from his neck and takes a step back, holding her gloved hands in his own.  She looks up at him with big, wistful brown eyes, and if he didn't know any better, he'd think she was going to ask him something.  He doesn't trust himself to answer her the way he should.  It's time for him to go, while he still can.

"Goodnight, Marie.  Happy birthday."  He kisses her hand, then gazes at her for a long moment before turning to leave.

"Logan..."

Just a soft word from her lips and he is stopped in his tracks. 

"There's...there's one more thing that I want for my birthday." 

Slowly, he turns around.  He doesn't trust himself to answer, because when he sees that look in her eyes, he knows what might escape his lips.  Anything, darlin'.

He stands there, watching her as she tentatively steps closer.

"Logan, I...I was wondering if you..."  She hesitates and shifts nervously, screwing up her courage with a deep breath.  "I was wondering if you would kiss me?"

He stares at her; blinks once, then twice, his mouth seemingly glued shut.  With each passing moment, she blushes a deeper shade of red.

"Look, I know we're just friends and maybe it would be a little awkward, but I'm 19 years old," she scrambles to explain.  "Nineteen and never been properly kissed, Logan.  And maybe it's stupid, but I didn't want another year to pass, never knowing what a real kiss felt like.  I...I might not ever know what it feels like..."

"You've never been kissed?" he finally manages to stutter.

She shakes her head.  "No one's ever been brave enough," she whispers.

He doesn't know what to say.  He's still a little mixed up from their dance.  If he kisses her...that line is going to get blurred again, and he doesn't want that.  Does he?

"Darlin', I don't know..."

"You're the only person who touches me voluntarily--at least without being filled with terror," she says with a sad laugh.  "Those boys were nice to dance with me tonight.  And they were being nice.  Don't get me wrong, they wanted to dance with me, and they like me well enough...but I could still sense their fear."  She wraps her arms around herself and looks off in the distance, her eyes glistening with unshed tears.

His heart hurts for her.  She looks so beautiful and sad, and he wants nothing more than to take her in his arms and show her how perfect she really is.  But he shouldn't.  His hand lifts a little, instinctively reaching for her, and he has to force it down.

She turns her gaze to him.  "It doesn't have to mean anything...it's just a little kiss.  I'm a big girl, now, Logan.  I won't get any foolish ideas."

Just a little kiss.  Looking at her warm brown eyes, he's torn.  It doesn't have to mean anything...but it might.  And he's trying so hard to do the right thing.

She takes a step toward him, and without thinking he takes an almost imperceptible step back.

She sees him pulling away and freezes.  And he can see the emotions crossing her face.  Realization.   Hurt.  Sadness.  Resignation.

She drops her eyes to the ground, unable to look at him any longer, and nods slowly.  "It's alright.  I understand."

He watches her turn away, her back to him as she quietly walks over to the retaining wall.  She picks up her camera, and one by one, she gathers her pictures.  He can hear a little sniffle, sees her discreetly wiping her cheek.  He wants to say something, anything, but the words won't come.

She takes a quiet, calming breath.  Turning around, she approaches him once more to say goodnight.  But instead of the crestfallen look she carried moments ago, her tears have been wiped away and she has straightened herself up.  Shoulders squared and head held high, she smiles at him warmly, though he can still smell the pain emanating from her.  His girl, the picture of grit and grace.

"Thank you for the camera, and for the dance, sugar."  She hugs him tenderly.  "I'm so glad you were here for my birthday."

She pulls away and turns to leave.  And suddenly, he doesn't want to let her go.  He doesn't know why, but it feels like all the air is leaving his lungs and going with her as she walks away.  Before he think about it, before he can stop himself, he's grabbing her hand and pulling her back to him.

Wide eyes look up at him in question.  And as he gazes down at her beautiful face, suddenly all the reasons why this would be a bad idea go straight out the window.  Without a word, he slowly draws the sheer black scarf from her neck, watching her intently as the silk glides across her skin.  He drapes the weightless material over her lips, and takes her face gently in his hands.  He can feel her heart speed up as he bends closer, closer.  Then, the feather of dark lashes as she closes her eyes.

His lips press to hers, chastely at first, and he can feel the warmth of her mouth through the scarf.  With the tip of his tongue, he ventures a small lick of her lower lip, then another.  She parts her lips with a sigh, granting him access, and he deepens the kiss.  Her fingers curl into his shirt, pulling him closer, and he responds, lacing the fingers of one hand through her hair and wrapping his other around her waist. 

He can taste her through the thin material, and it's like the sweetest honey on his tongue.  He takes his fill, leaving no part of her luscious mouth unexplored.  Finally, when he feels she has been thoroughly kissed, he lets her take a breath of air.  She looks up at him, dazed and blushing.  His eyes lock with hers as he lets the scarf slip away, and then he places one last gentle kiss on her bare lips, just for a second, pulling back before her mutation has time to react.

They stand there saying nothing, both breathing a little heavier.  He tucks a loose strand of white hair behind her ear and gives her a little lopsided grin.

"There.  Now you've been properly kissed," he says in a low, gravelly voice.  She looks up at him, her lips parted, but apparently at a loss for words.  "So, did you finally get everything you wanted for your birthday?" He asks her with a smirk.  "'Cause I don't have all night, you know."

A smile begins to grow on her face, and she bites her lip.  "Yeah...I think I did, sugar."

"Good." He grins back at her.  "And if you're a good girl all year, I might give you another kiss for your next birthday."  He says it half-jokingly, but if he's honest with himself, he feels a little glimmer of anticipation.

"You promise?"

He looks into her warm brown eyes, and once again the words 'lost cause' come to mind.  And there can only be one answer.

"Yeah.  Yeah, I promise."

With a pleased smile she nods.  She stretches up on her toes to kiss him on the muttonchop, then turns to leave.  She's almost to the garden entrance when she turns around and comes running back.

"Oh!  I almost forgot."  She opens his jacket and slips something into the inner breast pocket.  When he looks at her with a question in his eyes, she answers him simply.  "For when you're on the road...so you'll always have something to smile about."

She heads toward the entrance once more, casting a backward glance and a smile before disappearing into the darkness.

He stares at empty space beyond the arched doorway for several moments, until he can no longer hear her footsteps.  And he finds himself wishing she was back already.  Reaching into his breast pocket, he feels a thick slip of paper and pulls it out.  She gave him one of her photos.  There's the image of himself, staring at her with an incredulous look on his face, as she grins like a fool with a mischievous glint in her eyes.  It's the one she took when she pinched his ass.  He chuckles and shakes his head; she always knew how to get past his armor.

 

He stands there, staring at the picture in his hands.  He touches her face, runs his finger along the white streak in her hair, wishing he could feel the silky strands in his fingers once more.

"Watcha got there, Wolvie?"

And suddenly he is standing in the parking lot of a highway rest stop instead of the garden at the mansion, and the photo in his hand is old and dog eared from a hundred touches and a thousand miles running, and he is dragged back to the present by the voice of an annoying little old Asian lady.

He looks up and scowls in annoyance before quickly putting the photo back in his breast pocket.  "Nothin'," he grumbles.

Jubilee doesn't say anything, but as she passes him on the way to the car, she has that knowing look in her eyes again, like she's got his number.  He wishes she would quit looking at him like that, because she doesn't know a damn thing.

. . .

"So, who's the kid?"  Logan nods his head at the young man driving their car.

"That's Seth; Kitty and Piotr's grandson."

"Grandson?"  It takes him a moment to wrap his head around the idea of Piotr and Kitty being grandparents.

Well, what did he expect?  Life didn't suddenly stand still the moment he left the mansion, and he knows that.  But it's easy to forget how much everything changes when you look in the mirror every day and see the same face you did fifty years ago.  Everyone kept moving forward in their lives; everyone except him.  Not much has changed for him in five decades, and it makes his life seem so...stagnant and meaningless.

"Yeah.  He's a good kid," Jubilee says with a smile.  "Totes my ass everywhere I need to go, carries my bags, runs errands for me.  I don't know what I'd do without him."

"He's a big boy.  Just like his granddad."

"Yeah, he's a lot like Piotr.  Though his skin doesn't turn to metal.  It's more like a kind of force field built into his skin or something, which allows him to phase through or repel matter.  Hank thought it might be a kind of variation on Kitty's powers.  But Piotr's strength and size were definitely passed down to both his three sons and his grandson."

"Hmph."  Logan always liked the Tin Man.  Honest and hard working, strong as an ox with a big heart to match.  "How long has Piotr been gone?"

"A few years.  He and Kitty had a good life and grew old together, just like they always hoped they would.  Kitty passed away peacefully in her sleep one Sunday morning...poor Piotr went not long after.  Everyone knew he died of a broken heart," Jubilee whispers sadly.

Logan looks out the window.  He watches the dark silhouette of the tree line moving against the evening sky and says nothing.  It would be hard to helplessly watch your wife's life slip away...though he can't help but envy his old friend.  Piotr was lucky; at least he could die from his broken heart.

. . .

. . .

Logan races down the hall, heart pounding.  The med bay might as well be a thousand miles away for as long as it seems to get there.  He's nearly sick with the dread of what he will find.

He came back to the mansion after months on the road, thinking she would meet him excitedly in the foyer, throwing her arms around him for a big hug.  He was looking forward to that smile and the sound of her laughter ringing in the halls.  Instead he was met with concerned expressions, the sound of apologetic voices.

He growls at the memory and quickens his pace.  Finally, he arrives at the door, impatiently waiting as it opens with a swish.  The pungent smell of antiseptic hits him first, but there's another scent interlaced with it that punches him in the stomach: Rogue's blood.  He traces her scent to the last stall in the med bay, and warily pulls back the curtain.

His heart stops at the image before him.  Rogue. Laying in a hospital bed, hooked up to oxygen, tubes, and sensors.  Her face marred by big purple bruises, her one arm in a cast and the other in bandages, stained with blood.  She looks so small and fragile.

The reality of what could have happened sets in, and he has to fight down the panic and terror welling up inside him.

There's a young man, brown haired and almost boyish looking, sitting by her side, gloved hands holding her delicate bare hand.  Something about him seems vaguely familiar to Logan, though he can't put his finger on it.  Doesn't matter; he needs to get the hell out.

"Beat it, kid.  The new shift is here."

The young man looks up and opens his mouth to say something, but Rogue begins to stir and both of them snap their eyes to her.  Dark lashes flutter, slowly, as she opens her eyes and looks around.  Her gaze falls on Logan, and a tiny smile tugs at the corner of her mouth.

"Logan," she whispers, lifting her fingers to reach for him.

Logan rushes over and gently takes her other hand, thankfully prepared with his own gloves.

"Hey darlin'.  How're you feeling?"  He gently strokes the white lock of hair from her forehead, careful not to bump her bruised cheek.

"Never better," she replies with a weak smile.

He sighs, bowing his head.  She's ok.  But barely.  He can't stop the trembling in his hands--God, he could have lost her.  She could have been gone, just like that.  He feels her thumb, softly caressing his hand, and he looks up.  Warm brown eyes are watching him, trying to comfort him.  Even in her battered state, she is the one comforting him.

"Rogue, do you need a drink?  More pain medicine?" asks the young man, breaking the moment.

"I thought I told you to beat it," Logan says gruffly, staring him down with a dark glare.

The young man looks at Logan, then at Rogue. 

"I'll be ok, Alex," Rogue assures him.  "Logan is... a good friend.  He'll take care of me."

There's a long pause as Alex tries to assess whether he should actually go or not.  Logan's  menacing stare makes him think that maybe he should.  "I'll be back in a little bit to check on you, Rogue," he says finally, standing up.

"Don't bother, 'cause I'm here all night," Logan informs him.

Alex looks at Logan once more and then Rogue.  "Alright.  Just...call me when you're ready for me."  Logan watches him walk away reluctantly, waiting for the swish of the med bay door to close before turning back to Rogue.

"Water, darlin'?"  She nods, and he gently supports her head and neck, bringing the cup to her lips.

She takes a small sip and leans back with a sigh, closing her eyes for a moment; even this small amount of activity is enough to wear her out.

He watches her for a moment, eyes roaming up and down her body, assessing her injuries.  He's trying to stay calm, for her sake.  Trying to be reasonable.  Soothing, even.  What do normal people do when they're trying to be calm and comforting?  Small talk, he guesses.  He's never been good at that, but he'll try.

"So...I heard you tried to take on the whole FOH by yourself, storming their headquarters like gang busters."

She almost laughs at that, but it turns into a cough and she grimaces in pain.

"Shit, I'm sorry.  I should've been more careful," he says with a worried expression.

"S'okay, Logan.  And it wasn't like that at all; we were ambushed."

Ambushed.  He clenches his fist, trying to tamp down his rising anger.  The word ambushed should not even be a part of her everyday vocabulary.  What the fuck were they thinking, putting her on the team in the first place?  Her powers wouldn't do her any good in a combat scenario, and she could have been killed.

He looks up and notices her watching him again with knowing eyes.

"I know what you're thinking.  And they didn't ask me to be on the team.  I asked them."

And just like that, his carefully measured demeanor cracks open and he can't hold himself in check.  "What the--why the hell would you do that, Rogue?  There is no reason to put yourself in danger like that.  How fuckin' stupid can you be?"

She opens her mouth to argue with him, then closes it, pursing her lips.  She wants to argue, but she is weak and tired, and she's not going to win this fight in her current state.  Instead she closes her eyes and turns her head away.  He can feel the sting of his words in her hurt expression, and he immediately regrets the harshness of his reaction.

"Hey...I'm sorry.  Darlin', look at me."  He touches her chin, gently turning her face back to him.  "I'm here to take care of you, not kick you while you're already down.  I'm really sorry, ok?"

She glares at him for a moment, but her expression softens.  "Fine, I'll forgive you.  This time."

"Thanks, kid."  He smirks at her.  "That's a real heart of gold you got there."  She sticks her tongue out at him and he chuckles.

Her face relaxes and she sighs.  "How'd you know I was hurt?  Did the Professor call you on the brain phone?"

He snorts at that.  "No, I was actually in town for your birthday.  I went looking for you when I got in, and that's when I found out you were in the med bay.  Almost gave me a damn heart attack, kid."

His words are light hearted, but deep down he can feel the disturbing sense of fear and loss still lingering in his gut.  He could have lost her.  He could have lost her, and he wouldn't have even known until it was too late.

"Some birthday, huh?" She says weakly.

He caresses her hand with his thumb, and his heart twists a little in his chest as he looks into her sad eyes.  He can't stand seeing her like this.  And he knows in that moment, that he'll do anything to take the hurt away.

"Well, maybe I can cheer you up," he says, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a small box covered in green satin brocade.  Her face lights up, but he holds the box just out of her reach.  "There's a catch though.   You've gotta live in order to get it."

"Logan..."

"So, first things first."  Her eyes follow him as he sets the box down on the bedside table and stands up.  "I owe you a birthday kiss."

It takes a moment to register, but then her eyes widen with realization at what he is about to do.  "Logan, no.  You'll get hurt!" 

He leans over her, gently cupping her face in his hands. She tries to push him back, her hands pressing against his chest as he leans closer and closer, but she is helpless to stop him.

"A promise is a promise," he murmurs right before his lips make contact with hers.

He's been waiting for this moment.  Thinking about it way more than he'd care to admit, and now that it's here, it's even sweeter than he imagined it.

She tries to fight it at first, but it's not long before she opens her mouth to him, making little sounds of contentment.  It's a moment of bliss, before the connection opens up and then he feels her power, drawing the life from his body in a blinding rush of pain. 

The medical equipment erupts in a noisy cacophony of beeps and alarms, piercing his eardrums.   And then the noise begins to fade.  He is losing consciousness, and the alarms are a thousand miles away as darkness encroaches on the edge of his vision.  Everything is turning grey, and all he knows is the softness of her lips, the taste of her on his tongue.  Nothing else matters.

He feels her pushing him off, breaking their kiss and gasping.  The last sound he hears is Rogue, screaming for Hank as he slumps to the floor.

He wakes up a few hours later in the medbay.  This time he is the one in the hospital bed, and she is the one at his side.  She's not holding his hand, though.  Her arms are crossed over her chest, and she looks pissed.

"Hey," he croaks, blinking a few times, trying to clear the cobwebs from his brain.

"Don't hey me, mister," Rogue growls.  "You idiot!  What were you thinking?"  Her eyes are blazing with anger, and all he can think is that she is cute when she's mad.  "What would have happened if I wasn't able to push you off of me?  You could have died, Logan!"

"I'm fine," he replies, though truthfully he feels like death warmed over.

"You are not fine.  Not fine at all.  How fucking stupid could you be?  You have some nerve, giving me a hard time about putting myself in danger, and then you go and do something like this," she fumes.

"S'not the same," he mumbles.  "I heal."

"Ugh!  You think you're so invincible, don't you?  Well I have news for you, bub.  You aren't.  You keep taking chances on me, and one of these times you aren't going to heal."

Her words hang in the air as she glares at him.  He doesn't say anything for a moment, and the silence stretches out between them.

"I couldn't let you suffer like that," he says quietly.  "I just...can't do that, so don't ask me to."

After a moment, her expression softens, and she sighs.  "I know."

He lifts her hand to his lips and kisses it.

"You should have done things the safe way, Logan.  You could have brought in Jean or Hank, so they could keep things controlled and pull you off before I took too much from you.  Or you could have, I don't know, just touched a finger to my arm or something."

"And miss giving you your birthday kiss?  No way."  He smirks, lifting his arms and lacing his fingers behind his head with an air of confidence.  "Besides, if I'm going out, I'm going out in style.  No better way to die than by kissing a beautiful woman."

She blushes at that, and he cocks his eyebrow, completely satisfied with himself. 

"Oh, you wipe that look off your face, mister.  You're not completely off the hook yet."

"Hey, don't take this moment from me, darlin'.  Not only did I heal you completely with an amazing kiss, but you have to admit, I was your Prince Charming when I saved you from that ugly frog at your bedside."

She huffs with indignation, but he can see her trying to hold back a grin, until finally she breaks into laughter.

"Hey, now, that's uncalled for.  Alex is harmless; he's just a good friend."

"Sure he is."

"He is!"

"Uh huh."

"Ugh, you are impossible."

"I know.  But you love me anyway."

Her laughter fades, and she looks at him.  A long moment passes, until she finally gathers herself.  "Logan..."

"Hey, how 'bout opening that present now?" He says before she can finish.

She gazes at him for another moment, then looking down, she nods her head.  "Alright."

He sits up slowly, feeling every aching, adamantium covered bone in his body groan in protest.  Picking up the pretty little satin box from the side table, he places it in her hand and nods at the box.

"I saw this while I was in Japan.  Made me think of you."

She looks and him and smiles.  Carefully, she opens the box and she lets out a little gasp.

"Oh, Logan.  It's beautiful." 

"The Japanese call it sakura.  It's a cherry blossom."

"It's lovely," she whispers.  

He watches her eyes sparkle as she lifts the dainty gold necklace up and gazes at the pink flower dangling from her fingers.

"Here, let me help you put it on.  Sit next to me," he says, patting the bed.

She lets him take the necklace and sits down on the bed with her back to him.  He watches as she gathers her hair up to give him access to her neck, and for a moment, he is mesmerized.  The graceful curve of her neck to her shoulders, her scent, warm and sweet...he has to fight the urge to kiss the soft, delicate skin calling his name.

"Logan?"

He catches himself and blinks.  The necklace, he remembers.  Carefully, he drapes the necklace around her neck and fastens the clasp.

"There you go.  Happy twentieth," he says softly.  She turns around to show him.

"Thank you, Logan.  I love it."

He smiles at her for a moment, and tucks a white strand of hair behind her ear.  "One of these times you'll have to come with me to Japan during their cherry blossom festival.  It's beautiful."

"I'd like that."  She gazes at him with warm brown eyes.

His eyes drift down to the delicate pink flower nestled at the base of her throat.  He reaches out to touch it, brushing her skin lightly as he lifts the blossom with the tip of his finger.  She sucks in a small breath, but the contact is too short for her mutation to kick in.

"You know, the cherry blossom has as special meaning in the Japanese culture.  It reminds us that life is beautiful..." he murmurs, lifting his eyes to hers, "and so fleeting."

She looks at him and swallows.  He lays the blossom back in place and lightly touches it once more before removing his hand.

"Rogue..."  His eyes bore into her.  Demanding.  Pleading.  "Quit the team."

"Logan..." Her eyes fall, unable to withstand the intensity of his gaze.  "It's important to me."

"Marie...please."  He can hear the desperation in his own voice, but he doesn't care.  He'll do anything to keep her safe.

She looks at him for a long moment, torn.  "I'll think about it," she says finally.  "That's all I can give you right now."

. . .

Why on earth Jubilee chose to ride by car the whole way to the mansion, he'll never know.  They've been on the road for hours, with countless more ahead of them.  The car slows down and pulls into the parking lot of an old motel, close to a truck stop diner.

"Ugh, I am so glad we are turning in for the night.  I don't think I can feel my ass any more," Jubilee complains.  Seth opens the door and gently helps her get out of the car, deftly lifting her up as if she weighed no more than a feather.

"Is there a reason you decided to drag me across the country on four wheels instead of taking the Blackbird?" Logan grunts as he stands up and stretches, cracking his neck.  He's pretty sure he can't feel his ass any more, either.

"I thought you liked road trips, Wolvie.  You were always on the road, sometimes for months at a time."  She peers at him over her shoulder, "Never bothered you then."

He stops and throws her a glare, which she completely ignores as she hobbles away, her small, wrinkled hand hooked on Seth's huge arm.  There she goes again, casually needling him in her annoying, nonchalant way.  The comment sounds innocent enough, but it feels like a jab, per her usual.  "What's that supposed to mean?" He growls, to which she doesn't reply.

He had his reasons, and he doesn't have to explain them to her.

He watches as she produces a set of keys from her purse and unlocks the door.  Seth takes her bag inside, then takes the keys and opens the door next to it, gesturing to Logan that this is his room.     

"Life is not about the destination, Logan, it's about the journey.  You should learn how to enjoy the ride."

"Hmph."  She was always like that, he remembers; sticking her nose in other people's business, dishing out comments, opinions and/or advice, whether they were wanted or not.  The only thing that has changed these days is that she no longer cracks her bubble gum while dispensing said unsolicited advice.  "Depends on the company," he shoots back.

She rests her hand on the doorknob and pauses, quirking an eyebrow at him.  "Yes it does," she returns with a smirk, closing the door in his face.

-----

He can't sleep.  Stupid diner sign, shining in through the damn crack in the curtain that wouldn't cover the whole window, no matter how many times he yanked it shut.  One of the letters is flickering.  He can hear it buzzing weakly, like a dying fly trying to escape through the glass on a hot summer day.

His mind is buzzing, too; all the memories he has tried to bury, memories of her, climbing to the surface.  Wondering how her life turned out.  Wondering if she ever thought of him while she was getting married and having babies and moving on to a better life.

It's no use wondering that now, but still.  He can't help it, and he hates that he can't help it.

He lies there for as long as he can, staring at the ceiling, until he can't take it any more.  If he's going to be up, he might as well be doing something productive with his time.  He's going to get something to eat.

A short walk across the lot and he's there, taking a whiff as the door opens.  Smells decent enough.  Not that he's real picky, but he won't eat at a place that has spoiled food, or a cook with B.O.  That kind of stink clings to everything, including the meal.

"Logan," he hears a young man call out from the back corner booth.  Seth raises his hand and smiles.

It's unexpected, seeing Seth here at this hour, but Logan supposes the company could be worse. He strolls down to the end and drops into the spot across from the burly kid, who nearly fills his entire side of the booth.

"Couldn't sleep," Seth explains, handing Logan the menu.  "Hungry for pancakes.  You?"

"I could eat."  He scans the menu and orders the steak and eggs.

"I'll have two orders of pancakes, two orders of bacon, sausage, hash browns, four eggs--sunny side up, and...toast.  That's all," Seth says with a nod.  "Wait, on second thought, I better add a slice of apple pie, with whipped cream, too.  Oh, and a glass of milk.  Thanks."

Logan just sits there, one eyebrow raised at Seth as the waitress scribbles everything down and heads to the kitchen.

"I'm really hungry," Seth explains with a sheepish smile.

"You don't say," Logan replies dryly, which makes Seth smile even bigger.  He takes a sip from his cup and sighs; the coffee is good at least.

"It seems like I'm always hungry.  It takes a lot to keep this going," Seth gestures towards his body with a wave of his hands.  "My parents always had a hard time keeping the fridge stocked when I was growing up.  My dad would buy a gallon of milk and a loaf of bread in the morning, and by the time he got home in the afternoon they would be gone," he chuckles.

"Yeah, Piotr was a big eater, too, from what I remember," Logan says with a faint smile.  "The Professor always had a hard time keeping the school fridge stocked when he was around.  Meal times were a sight to see."

Seth's face lights up.  "Piotr?  My grandfather?"

"Yeah.  He was a good friend of mine, back when we were X-men."

"You were an X-man?  At the same time as my grandfather?"  Seth looks at him in wonder.  "That was years ago, before the war.  But...you look like you're only 30."

Logan shifts uncomfortably.  "Healing factor.  I don't age." 

"Awesome," Seth breathes, his voice laced with admiration.

"Yeah.  Real awesome," Logan grumbles.  A scowl darkens his face as he stares at his coffee, feeling bitter and irritated.  Why do people think it's so awesome to live forever?  Moments later, he looks up, and Seth still has a big, stupid grin on his face.  "What?  You think it's so great?"

"Well, yeah," he says with a huff.  "I mean, that must change your whole outlook on life, knowing that you can do whatever you want and not die.  You stay young and healthy forever.  Just think of the possibilities."

"Hmph.  Believe me, it's not all it's cracked up to be."

"You kind of get to see the past and the future, in a way," Seth continues, becoming more animated.  "The way people dress, the transportation they take; how cool would that be, to see technology change over time?  You don't have to wonder what the future will be like, because you know you'll get to see it eventually." 

Logan clenches his jaw and stares at the young man, who remains unperturbed by the death glare being shot at him from across the table.  There is a certain disarming kind of innocence about the Seth that makes Logan like the boy, in spite of himself.  Still, his enthusiasm in the face of a very imminent ass-clawing is annoying.

"How old are you, kid?"

"Almost twenty-one."

"Almost twenty-one.  Got any plans for the future?"

Seth nods, practically puffing up his chest.  "I'm training to be a pilot.  Soon I'll be flying the X-jet."

"Pilot, huh?  I didn't know the school still used the X-jet."

"It's not the original of course; that one was retired way back when.  This one's probably like version ten or something."

"Probably.  Got any friends?"

"Well, yeah.  I've got friends; mostly kids I grew up with at Xavier's school.  We're still close."

"Got a girlfriend?"

Seth's face turns a little pink.  "Um, yeah; we've been together for a few months."  He pulls out his brown leather wallet and hands over a picture.

"Very nice," Logan murmurs.  He gives back the photo.  "And do you love her?"

"Well, it's kind of early yet..." Seth stammers, "but, yeah; I think I'm starting to.  I think...she might actually be the one."

"The one?  That's a pretty bold statement there.  She must be somethin' special."

"Yeah, she is," Seth says with a growing smile.

"Do you want to marry this girl?  Buy a nice little house in the suburbs, have 1.5 children and live the dream?"

Seth thinks about it for a moment.  "I do want to get married eventually.  Not sure about kids; we haven't talked about it yet.  We might live in a house in the suburbs, or maybe at Xavier's school, or we might just travel.  I don't know what the future holds, but as long as we have each other, it won't matter.  We'll figure it out."

"I'm sure you will," Logan nods.  "So, you're young and your life is just beginning.  You've got excellent career prospects, you're surrounded by good friends, and you've got a lovely girl who might just be the one. Sounds like you've got pretty good thing going on."

Seth smiles.  "I think I do."

"Hmm."  Logan reaches into the inner pocket of his jacket and pulls out a flask.  He pours some amber-looking liquid into the coffee and downs the rest, wiping his mouth on his sleeve.  "That's real nice.  Talk to me when you're a couple centuries old and everyone you've ever cared about is dead."

Seth sits frozen in stunned silence. 

"I told you, it's not all it's cracked up to be," he grumbles.

"I...I'm sorry," Seth says quietly, his face falling.

Logan glares at him for a moment, but he sighs and the glare fades. That was kind of mean, setting him up and then knocking him down like that.  He seems like a good kid; not an ounce of wile or insincerity in him.  He's so much like his grandfather.

"S'alright, kid.  You didn't know."

Seth nods in understanding, but he looks down at his place setting dejectedly.  A somber silence hangs over the table, and although Logan has never been one to feel obligated to fill awkward silences, for some reason he wants to say something now.

"So..."  Logan clears his throat.  "What do you think the world is going to be like a century from now?"

Seth cringes at the question, his eyes still fixed on his placemat.  "Look, Logan, I'm real sorry I said anything.  I didn't mean--"

"I'm not tryin' to bust your balls, kid," Logan cuts him off.  "I'm asking a real question."

Seth looks up, surprised.  He searches Logan's face to see if he's really sincere, or just setting him up again.

"Odds are I'm still going to be alive in a hundred years; might as well place your bets now.  I'll compare notes when I get there," Logan says dryly, though he wears a little smirk when he says it.

Seth stares at him for a moment; then slowly, that big, goofy grin makes its appearance again.  Logan's not sure why, but his shoulders feel a little less heavy after that.

"So?" He looks at Seth expectantly.

"Ok, well, umm..." Seth thinks for a moment.  "I think vehicles are all going to run on solar power.  Or maybe hydrogen.  And they won't have wheels anymore; they'll have some kind of anti-gravity capability, like a hovercraft."

"Oh yeah?  Interesting.  What about motorcycles?"

"Oh, they'll have hoverbikes, too.  It'll be so cool.  You'll be able to drive on land or water if you want."

"Sounds like fun."

Seth nods.  "Medical care is going to be as simple as walking to a kiosk and getting a body scan.  The computer will know how to treat you without any human intervention, and the machines will fix you right up."

"Hmph.  Not sure I like that, but ok," Logan replies, taking a sip of his coffee.

"Food is going to come in pill form--but you won't be swallowing your meals," Seth rushes to add when Logan makes a face.  "You'll load the pill into some kind of appliance that will rearrange the molecules and poof, a full course dinner materializes as if you cooked it yourself."

Logan cocks an eyebrow at Seth.  Neither of them speak for a moment, then they both break into a chuckle.

"Ok, maybe that's a bit far-fetched," Seth says sheepishly.

"Kid, we've got that ability right now.  You go to a diner, order from a menu, and poof, food materializes in front of you, as if you had cooked it yourself."  Just then, the waitress appears with their order.  "See what I mean?"

Seth's face lights up at the smorgasbord of food being laid out before him.  "Ha!  You know what, you're right!" He says, grinning from ear to ear.

Logan pretends to ignore him as he digs into his steak and eggs, but he sneaks a glance at Seth, who is tearing up his food like there's no tomorrow.  He shakes his head and goes back to his meal, but he can't suppress the little twitch of amusement at the corner of his mouth.  Just like Piotr, he thinks.

. . .