It took Rogue a while to realize that men were fighting over her.

She realized it on a day that started out the same as every other day. She spent the morning training with Logan in the Danger Room, as she did six days of every week. Logan was as adamant as the metal on his bones that she had to train hard and often if she expected to be permitted to go on missions. She never asked, because she didn't have to, whose permission he was talking about; he obviously meant that he, himself, would bar her from the team – lock her in her room and hide her uniform if he had to – unless he felt confident she could take care of herself in combat.

Logan pushed her to all of her limits in training, every day, and that day was no different. Swift kicks to her torso – she blocked them. An elbow in the direction of her face – she grabbed a hold of it and delivered a jab to his unbreakable nose. He flipped her a half dozen times, but she managed to sweep his legs out from under him twice, and that was something. He never let her get cocky though.

"Your defense is gettin' good, kid, but you gotta know how to attack if you wanna win."

It was true: Rogue felt about a thousand percent more comfortable protecting herself than purposefully trying to hurt someone. But Logan was merciless when it came to her training, so for the second half of their session, she came at him again and again and again, using arms, legs, head, and teeth, and finally, when he allowed her to pin him to the floor, he urged her to do the most difficult thing:

"Remember, kid, if the fight gets real nasty, take the gloves off." He meant it literally. He wanted her to be able to use her power against others, if she had to. But Rogue still couldn't bring herself to take the leather off her hands, even to practice.

That morning, their training session was interrupted by the sound of Scott clearing his throat in the doorway.

"Rogue, our tutorial starts in fifteen minutes."

Rogue looked at Scott in surprise. She hadn't realized how late it was. Scott gave her a slightly condescending glance – it was amazing how much he could communicate with his eyes, even though they were constantly shielded – and she realized she was straddling Logan's chest, and Logan was holding her gloved hand to his face, trying to get her to at least make the motions of using her touch in a fight. Rogue stood abruptly and murmured an apology to Logan, and his eyes told her she could go. Her daily one-on-one lesson on tactics with Scott was something she took very seriously, and Scott hated it when Logan's trainings made her late. She would have to hurry to shower and dress if she was going to be on time.

But as she sped to the stairway, something reached her ears, and she found herself pausing to catch the words spoken.

"Don't forget, One-Eye," Logan said as he brushed shoulders aggressively with Scott on his way out of the Danger Room, "this one, I met first."

Scott didn't answer and Rogue didn't wait around for them to see her. She resumed her race up the stairs to her room.

But later, as she chewed on mouthfuls of lasagna served up by the school's cook, Rogue realized what Logan had meant. "This one, I met first." It was a reference to Jean. Scott had met Jean first, and that's why Logan had never had a real chance with her. Logan had told Rogue, the day before Jean's funeral, how on her last night alive, Jean had turned Logan down in no uncertain terms, choosing Scott once and for all time. Logan hadn't cried when he told Rogue about that. But Rogue had. Her heart still hurt to think about Jean. It hurt for Scott, for Logan, for the Professor, for everyone who had been Jean's friend or Jean's student, and for herself, who had looked up to Jean, and had a million questions she wanted to ask the older woman that she now would never be able to.

But when Logan told Scott, "This one, I met first," he was saying that he, Logan, had met *Rogue* first. Logan was putting some kind of claim on Rogue, a claim that meant she was more Logan's than Scott's, just as Jean had been more Scott's than Logan's. Why? What would ever prompt Logan to be possessive about her to *Scott*, of all people? What would ever merit a comparison between her and Jean, whose place in Scott's heart, and Logan's too, no one would ever come close to taking?

There were a few possibilities, Rogue admitted to herself as she cleaned her plate (her daily routine with Logan always giving her an enormous appetite for lunch). She knew that both Logan and Scott had taken her on as a sort of project ever since Jean's death. Logan was spending a lot of time honing her skills as a warrior, and Scott was developing her to be a strategist, a leader, like he was. They had each made a protégée of her, but they were teaching her very different things. So maybe Logan was warning Scott that he wouldn't allow Scott to become *the* mentor in Rogue's life. Maybe Logan was reserving that right in Rogue's development for himself.

But something else was possible, too. Something so strange and unthinkable and yet thrilling. What if...what if the rivalry between Scott and Logan over her wasn't about Rogue the student, but Rogue the girl, the woman? If asked, Rogue would vehemently deny that she had romantic thoughts or feelings about either man. She would admit to having had a crush on Logan when they first met, but she would explain that she got over that within weeks of the incident at the Statue. But when she searched her emotions privately, she had to confess, if only to herself, that she was a little bit in love with both Logan and Scott.

Logan was her everything. Her savior, her protector, her trainer, her friend, her confidante, her playmate for games of pool and poker and her buddy for sports-viewing, her frequent hang-out-and-do-nothing companion, and her fantasy. He was tough and tender and frightening and sweet with her and she basked in the way he paid her more attention than he did anyone else. Logan would always be incredibly special to her. Even at nineteen, she knew what she felt for him would be strong for the rest of her life.

But Scott had earned her affection, too, for completely different things. When Scott finally emerged from his stage of solitary, anguished mourning for Jean, one of the first things he did was suggest to Rogue that he begin training her on how to plan missions. He said that he'd always noticed she had a talent for tactical thinking, and it was time for him to start grooming the younger generation of X-Men, even if it would be years before they got to use what he taught them. Plus, Scott said, he needed to fill his days with something besides grief. Rogue had agreed immediately to the tutorials with Scott. She was bowled over at his praise of her ability and as desperate as everyone else to help him through his pain. But when she started spending time with Scott, it surprised her how well they got along. He was charming and open and poetic and intellectual, and they made interesting conversation that could range from philosophical to hysterically funny. Scott was more...*normal* than Logan, for lack of a better adjective. Scott was communicative and level and could always be relied on to be there for her if she needed him. Rogue always felt excited around Logan, and she always felt settled and sure around Scott.

Was this how Jean had felt about them, too? Rogue couldn't help but wonder.

Of course, even if there was a tiny little bit of romantic jealousy between Scott and Logan over her, there certainly weren't any romantic actions on the part of either one of them towards her. Logan and Scott were nothing if not appropriate in their behavior towards Rogue. Well, except for the fact that Logan had taught her to straddle him in their training sessions.

No, it was no use wondering if Scott or Logan would ever actually...pursue her. (She could scarcely even allow herself to think of the possibility.) They were her teachers, and she was a teenager, and in fact, she had a couple of boys closer to her own age who were locked in some kind of struggle over her.

There was Bobby, her boyfriend of almost two years, whom Rogue adored. Then, there was Remy, the newcomer, cocksure and as handsome and seductive as the devil himself. She loved Bobby, but when Remy smiled and sweet-talked her, she found herself swaying a little closer towards him.

As she finished her lunch and put her tray in the dirty dishes bin, Rogue heard Bobby's voice in the hallway outside the dining room. He sounded furious. That was a very rare thing for Bobby Drake, who was usually as cool as the ice he could make. Rogue walked swiftly to the hall to see what could make him so angry.

It was Remy, of course. Bobby and Remy were almost chest to chest, looking like boxers before a fight. Bobby was shouting, "...way you look at her! And the way you talk to her, in that stupid accent, and the way you brush up against her every time you're in the same goddamn room...."

Remy's grin was evil and beautiful. "The Rogue is not as untouchable as she seems, homme. If you will not do de touchin', then I will..."

"Don't you fucking dare!" Bobby said, his blue eyes darkening to cobalt with anger and jealousy. "She and I have never loved anyone else but each other, and this place has had enough of shady criminals trying to break up solid relationships...."

Rogue froze in shock as, in one terrible instant, she realized who Bobby was talking about. She took a second to shake off her momentary paralysis, then she ran up to the sparring pair.

"Bobby!" she yelled. "Stop this!" She grasped his hand with her gloved one and pulled him away from Remy. Remy leered at Rogue as she and Bobby walked away, but Rogue didn't respond. She concentrated on letting Bobby have a piece of her mind. "Bobby, what are you saying? Are you saying that you think you and I are some kind of...that we're the next Scott and Jean, or something?" Rogue let her own rage infuse her voice. She revered Jean's memory, and the memory of Scott and Jean's love, too much to allow Bobby to get away with such blasphemy.

"Rogue," Bobby protested, "you know that, for better or worse, people look to us that way now. I only meant that you and I can be what they were."

She hated to fight with him, especially in the hallway, where a dozen of the younger students were gawking at them, but she couldn't help herself. "There will never be another Scott and Jean, Bobby. And Remy's no Logan. Remember that the next time he provokes you." Rogue gave a withering glare to both Bobby and Remy, then marched out the front door of the mansion to fume alone.

She wasn't alone for long. Not more than five minutes had passed when Logan tramped through the foliage and sat next to her on the stone bench.

"Did you hear it?" Rogue asked.

"Yup," said Logan. "You sounded pretty mad."

Rogue shook her head. "Only part of me is mad. The rest of me is just, I don't know, confused. Logan," she said, her hazel eyes lifting to his, "there are people in my life, people I care about, who seem to be fighting over me, and I don't know what to do about it."

Neither Rogue nor Logan said anything for a long minute. Rogue could almost swear, from the expression on his face, that Logan knew she was talking about more than Bobby and Remy's argument. She was talking about Scott and Logan, too.

Logan finally broke the silence. He took a breath, then said, "You're the kind of person a lot of people want to be close to." Rogue looked away, blushing at the implied compliment. Logan mostly showed his affection for her in actions, not words, so any praise from the Wolverine's mouth was like poetry to her ears.

Logan continued. "You could probably just choose how you want things to be, and tell people what you want, and it would happen. You could have whatever you want from people. And some people'll be disappointed you don't want what they do, but fuck `em. It's what *you* want that matters."

Rogue frowned. "But there are so many possibilities. The kinds of relationships I could have with people...there are a lot of options, and a lot of them seem good." Love, romance, sex, friendship, mentoring, learning, sharing, Scott, Logan, Bobby, Remy. What did she want, and from who? Who to befriend, who to love, who to follow, who to adore? It was all such a mess.

"If you could have your first choice, what would it be?" Logan asked.

Rogue's muddled thoughts came to a dead halt. If she could have anything? Anything, from anyone? Her first choice.... When it was put that way, it was dreadfully clear....

Rogue's head snapped around and she locked gazes with Logan. *My first choice*, she thought with certainty, looking at the face she loved so much. She swallowed, her throat gone suddenly dry. It took her a moment to get her lips to form words. "What if," she began, and stopped, then started again. "What if my first choice isn't ready for me?"

Logan seemed to consider the question very seriously. "What if it *is* ready for you?" he asked.

Rogue thought she felt her heartbeat triple its speed. Joy and fear simultaneously overwhelmed her as she felt the heat of Logan's stare, and considered the implications of what he'd said. "But what if *I'm* not ready for * it*?" Rogue managed in a whisper.

Logan gave a half-grin that was somehow also a grimace. He laid his arm over Rogue's shoulder and hugged her against his side. Her face pressed harmlessly against his shirt. "You'll figure it out, Marie," he said on a sigh. "You'll know when you're ready."