Rogue felt somewhat better after her conversation with Kitty and Jean, but she knew the hardest part was still to come. She had to tell Bobby she wanted to be with Logan, and she hoped he wanted to be with her. Regardless, she couldn't be Bobby's girlfriend anymore. It wasn't right to stay with someone when you loved someone else, even if - maybe especially if -- it turned out the other person didn't love you back.

She thought of all the things she could say, all the clichés she'd heard on television and at the movies, and no matter how she put it, she knew he wouldn't believe her, and she knew he would be hurt.

He'd always been very understanding about her feelings for Logan, maybe because he'd believed Logan was never coming back. But he recognized that the feelings were there, like the elephant in the room no one wants to talk about.

So when she stopped him in the hall on the way to down to dinner that night, nervously tugging at her gloves and unable to meet his eyes, he knew the hammer was about to fall.

He'd followed Scott's advice in the past few days, and showered her with little gifts and notes - reminders of the good times they'd had together. He'd followed Jean's advice and didn't push her for an answer. Hell, he'd even given Dr. McCoy's extremely depressing words about walking away a lot of thought. But he couldn't do it, even though he knew Kitty was watching him, waiting for him, her eyes hopeful every time he sought her out for comfort. He just couldn't let Rogue go.

And what was all that "Marie" crap, anyway? he wondered. She said she wanted to be called "Rogue" and he had obliged her, regardless of whether it made sense.

She was his first real girlfriend. They'd been together unofficially almost since the day Logan left. Maybe some part of him knew that those two years were simply an interlude for her, that she would only ever be his in a shadowy, in-between-times way. He was just a stand-in while she waited for Logan to return.

He wasn't completely unprepared when she said, all in a rush, "Bobby, you know I love you. You were, like, the first friend I ever had here, but I can't be your girlfriend anymore. It's not fair to you or me or any of us. And I don't like feeling as if I'm cheating on you. I don't want to feel bad about loving Logan, and I don't want to make you feel bad, either."

Bobby found that even when you're expecting it, being dumped hurts like a mother. His fists clenched and unclenched spasmodically as he fought the urge to encase her in ice so she'd still be his, at least until the ice melted.

He thought he'd managed to handle his anger pretty well so far, but now he allowed it free rein. He was tired of being mature and getting hurt. He wanted to do some hurting of his own. He focused on the last part of her little speech and her unwillingness to look him in the eye. The word "cheating" stood out like a red flag, and he leapt at it.

"Cheating on me?" he asked harshly. "What did you -- What did he do to you? Did that son of a bitch put his hands on you, Rogue?"

She had never seen him so angry. He'd always been sweet, gentle Bobby with her. She still wouldn't look at him. "It's not like that," she said weakly.

"You can't even look me in the eye, Rogue. What the hell happened?" He grabbed her arms. She freed herself remarkably easily and had him up against the wall, fist at his throat, before he knew what hit him. His eyes burned with unshed tears; he wasn't sure if they were from anger or shame. Probably both.

Suddenly, he understood. "You let him touch you again, didn't you," he accused. Rogue wasn't normally the most agile fighter, though in her first few weeks at the school, when Logan's personality had permeated her being, no one had been able to match her. The physical skills faded quickly, though she still had the memories of his technique. Apparently, those dormant skills had been revived by his latest touch.

She was looking him in the eye now, a little confused at her reaction. "I'm so sorry," she said, letting him go, but he clutched at her hand, and with his other he reached toward her face. "Bobby, no," she snapped, pulling away, "I don't want you to get hurt."

He laughed bitterly. "You mean you don't want me in your head, getting in between you and him." He managed to turn the simple pronoun into a vile epithet.

She was getting angry now. "If that's what you want to believe," she said, "I'm not going to stop you. I was hoping-"

"We could still be friends," he finished with heavy sarcasm.

"You knew what the deal was," she replied. "You knew from the moment I got here, what it would be like to be involved with me, so don't blame me if you can't handle it now.

"I like you, Bobby. I even love you - you're one of the best friends I ever had -- but I don't have to justify myself to you. I'm so tired of all this, this tension. I want it to end."

"You want, you want it to end?" He was getting loud now. "Well it doesn't just end, Rogue. I can't turn off my feelings for you because you want to be with someone else. After he gets what he wants from you, how long do you think he's going to stick around, huh? You think it's gonna be all hearts and flowers and Sunday picnics? Well, let me tell you something. It's not."

She flung up her hands. "I've had enough," she said. "I don't have to listen to this."

"Go right ahead and walk away, but don't expect me to be waiting when he leaves again and you've got nothing."

And she did, leaving him standing in the hallway, angry, hurt and ashamed.

He didn't go to dinner at all. He raided the cache of beer he and John had accumulated over the past couple of months. The beer, on an empty stomach, fueled some of his more baroque revenge fantasies, so he sat just inside the garage, waiting for Logan to return.

---

It was dark as Logan made his way slowly back to the mansion. He'd gone down to Manhattan, drunk enough to float the Titanic (Damn healing factor, he thought, can't even go on a good, long bender), and gotten into a couple of unsatisfyingly brief scraps with assholes who'd looked at him the wrong way.

Now he was sober and disgusted with himself. Not only had he practically had sex with Marie on the pool table, he'd lost control and kissed her - on the mouth. Part of him wanted to believe that he was truly lost in the moment and hadn't known what he was doing, but deep down inside he knew he wanted to be inside her head again, as if mere physical coupling - which was almost, but not quite, impossible with her - was not enough. And he'd done it knowing full well that she'd hate herself for hurting him. He just hoped she wouldn't hate him for doing it to her. Or maybe he did. Maybe if she hated him, she wouldn't look at him with those soft eyes, and he wouldn't feel the need to throw himself at her feet like some damn fool eager-to-please puppy. So he was a selfish, perverted old bastard on three counts at least.

He didn't want to know what Chuck was going to say about the whole thing. He was sure he was in for a stinging lecture on the inappropriateness of a man his age seducing a student. He focused instead on the damage to the pool table. He'd have to pay it off, but Scott was going to hold it over him forever. He just hoped that damn one-eyed choirboy didn't find out why he'd torn it apart.

And he was sure Jean would be disappointed in him. He wasn't used to caring what other people thought - they could all go to hell as far as he was concerned - but he found that the redhead's opinion mattered to him, and even more amazingly, not because he wanted to get into her pants.

It was strange to care, he mused, but strange in a good way. It meant he wasn't alone anymore. Of course, for every good part of it - like the way Marie smiled at him when he managed to be civil to Scott, or when he said something that made her eyes light up with laughter - there was a bad part -- like having to be civil to Scott, or being accountable for when you screwed up. Everything's a trade-off, I guess. But Marie is worth it.

As he approached the mansion, he was pulled out of his reverie by the smell of beer. Beer, anger and Bobby Drake. He sighed. He couldn't hurt the kid, well, not too badly anyway, or he'd be in even more trouble, especially with Marie. He was going to have to keep control - something he'd already failed at a number of times today. He parked the bike and began walking away, hoping the kid was having second thoughts about confronting him, but he was ready when Bobby jumped out of the shadows.

"You can't have her," Bobby said, slurring slightly. "You don't deserve her."

"Can't really argue with that," Logan replied quietly. "But shouldn't that be Marie's decision?" He couldn't believe he was standing there talking like a wuss - like Summers - when every instinct screamed to remove his rival, preferably in the most painful way possible. He recalled Jean's words from the other night - he was the adult, he was the one who should be able to walk away without feeling like a dog slinking off with its tail between its legs. But he'd lived like an animal for so long, and he was still working at overcoming that part of himself. The idea of walking away from even this type of confrontation left a sour taste in his mouth.

"Don't try to pull that crap," Bobby snarled. "You knew she loved you and you left anyway. I was here for her, every day. I made her happy when no one else could. What gives you the right to walk back in and expect her to fall into your arms?"

He had no answer for that. It had been fear, pure and simple, which had driven him away from his present and toward his past. Fear, and the desire to learn something about that past. "Marie," he started, but Bobby was swinging a fist at him - a fist encased in ice, he noted as he avoided it. Bobby staggered as he missed, and barely managed to right himself.

"Her name is Rogue." Bobby swung wildly again. "You think I'm afraid of you? Why don't you fight back, you old pervert?" And again he threw a punch, which actually landed, shocking Logan into a retaliatory blow so quick he couldn't have stopped it even if he'd wanted to. Which he didn't, he admitted to himself.

"Her name is Marie," he growled as he knocked the kid down. Bobby would have a nice shiner tomorrow. He could smell the fear wafting off the boy now, overwhelming the anger and even the alcohol. It stopped him from following up and beating him to a bloody pulp. He was just a dumb kid who was panicked and hurting.

He was also a kid who had his hands extended, frost streaming from them. Logan's momentary hesitation had given him time to use his power.

"Whoa, kid," Logan said, "that ain't a good idea." But it was too late. He was frozen to the shoulders in a block of ice. He couldn't get any leverage to claw himself free.

Bobby, realizing what he'd done, ran. He was going to be in a world of hurt tomorrow, he knew. It was bad enough he'd gotten drunk on stolen beer. But to use his power against Logan, even if he had been defending himself, was out of bounds.

Time slowed to a crawl as Logan stood ensnared in his icy prison. Of all the things Bobby could have done to him, leaving him trapped and helpless was the worst. He extended his claws and tried to find some way to escape, but he was going to have to wait until the ice melted a little. The outside of the column of ice was beaded with condensation, and, with the night as warm as it was, he figured he'd soon be able to claw his way out. At least, the rational part of him figured that. The other part of him wanted to howl at the moon and use his teeth to chew through the ice. He was sweating profusely, even on ice, because of it.

Then he got wind of Scott. He snarled like a trapped animal. Goddammit, he thought, why couldn't it be Jean or Storm? Not only had he been bested in a fight by a drunken child, but now he was about to be discovered in this humiliating circumstance by the one guy who'd revel in the sight and never let him live it down.

Scott took in the scene before him. There were empty beer cans scattered on the floor of the garage and Logan stood encased in ice up to his neck. He knew it was wrong, but he couldn't help it - he laughed until his sides hurt.

"Bobby got his revenge, I see," he finally choked out. He'd deal with Bobby's offenses in the morning. He couldn't be too upset with the kid right now - he was laughing too hard. Logan simply growled. "I guess after your little pool table escapade with his girlfriend, he thought you needed some time to cool off, eh?"

Logan closed his eyes and willed the ice to melt so he could kill Scott. He opened them and looked down. It hadn't worked, of course. He said nothing, even though he knew if he asked, Scott would break him out of the ice.

"What do you want, Scooter?"

"I want to know if you plan to seduce that girl and take off again, or if you're in this for the long haul."

Logan was surprised by Scott's turn toward the serious. "It's none of your damn business," he snapped, not believing a word of it. "You're not her father." His respect for the guy increased a notch (not that it was all that high to begin with) - he seemed to actually care about Marie.

"No, but someone needs to look out for her."

"That's my responsibility."

"And a damn fine job you've done of it, too, what with the disappearing, and the reappearing and the seduction in a public place." Scott was irritatingly smug in his list of Logan's sins with regard to Marie. "Not to mention breaking up her relationship with Bobby and wrecking the Professor's very expensive pool table."

Now Logan wanted to howl in triumph. Marie had dumped the kid. She wanted to be with him. He suddenly felt strong enough to crack the ice surrounding him. He grunted with the effort. No dice. Apparently love doesn't conquer all, he thought ruefully, glad Scott couldn't read his mind.

Scott just looked at him, inscrutable as always. The ruby visor hid his eyes completely, of course, making it extremely difficult to tell what he was thinking at any given moment. Logan tackled the easy part first.

"I can pay for the pool table. Not all at once, but I can make the money. Tell Chuck not to worry about it."

"Professor Xavier already has an idea as to how you can pay for the table. That's the least of your problems."

Logan tried to work the kinks out of his neck as he figured out what to say next. "I'm not gonna hurt her," he said finally, with a quiet intensity that reassured Scott.

"Not deliberately."

Logan rolled his eyes. "Of course not, dumbass. People get hurt. It happens. But I'm gonna do everything I can to keep it from happenin' to Marie."

Scott was satisfied for the moment, though he didn't allow it to show on his face. Jean was convinced of Logan's sincerity and good intentions regarding Rogue, though she'd been upset by his behavior. Scott just wanted to make sure the other man knew Rogue was not without protectors.

Meanwhile, Logan's attention had shifted to his current predicament. He thought the ice was starting to get a little slushy and he'd be free soon. He hoped so. Cold didn't usually bother him, but he was freezing his nuts off. Literally. And he was damned if he was going to ask the boy scout for help.

"All right," Scott said after a few moments of silence stretched uncomfortably. At least, it was uncomfortable for him. Logan didn't seem to notice. "But if you screw up, being frozen is the least of what'll happen to you." Logan let out a bark of appreciative laughter. There were times when he almost liked the guy. "If you ask nicely, I'll cut you out of there," Scott continued, and Logan remembered why he didn't.

He grunted noncommittally. He really wanted out of the ice. He wanted to knock on Marie's door and finish what they'd started this afternoon - this time without screwing it up. But he hated the idea of asking Scott for help.

And Scott knew it, which made the situation even funnier for him. When Logan said nothing, he said, "Well, good night, then," and walked away.

Damn, Logan thought, I thought I had him. "Thanks," he said grudgingly, "for lookin' out for Marie."

Scott turned and smiled. "Sure thing." Putting a hand to his temple, he cracked the ice enough so Logan could claw his way clear. "Don't even think of going to see her tonight," Scott said as Logan walked away. Logan ignored him. He'd do what he damn well pleased.

"You smell like a wet dog," Scott called after him, laughter in his voice.

There was that to consider. Not that it had stopped him in the past. But she had a roommate - the kid who walked through walls. He didn't want an audience for when he turned into a sap. He decided it could wait 'til the morning. He'd ask if she wanted to learn some foosball tricks he knew. Grinning like an idiot, glad his back was to Scott, he went to his room and took a shower.

---

Bobby awoke the next morning with a head that felt three sizes too big and a mouth that tasted like he'd been licking the pavement in the garage. The garage! he thought, sitting up suddenly, and then carefully laying back down when he felt his gorge rise. Oh god, I froze Logan in the garage. I am so dead.

"You all right, there, slugger?" It was Kitty.

"Not so loud," he muttered. "Who let you in?"

"John. He mentioned something about getting out before you yakked."

Bobby thought about that for a second. He was queasy, but he didn't think he was going to puke. "I'm all right."

"Here's some aspirin," she said, handing him the pills. "You should put some ice on that eye."

He got up and looked in the mirror. His right eye was practically swollen shut, and the skin surrounding it was a garish purply black. He fell back into bed, moaning. "Do you think they're gonna expel me?" he asked.

Kitty looked him over sympathetically. "For drinking or for brawling?" She appeared to think for a moment. "Only if they kick out Mr. Summers and Logan as well."

Bobby laughed weakly at the joke. Maybe it would be all right. Kitty didn't seem to know about his lapse in judgment. "So is Logan around this morning? I'd kinda like to avoid him."

Kitty smiled. "No problem. You don't have time to eat." Which was fine by Bobby. He didn't think he could face food for a few days. "You've already missed most of History, and Physics starts in 15 minutes. You know he won't be in class." But that made him realize he was going to have to face Rogue. With a shiner. He moaned again.

"Get up, Robert Drake. You are not staying here like a coward. You got dumped. It happens to everyone. You face Rogue now, things will be much easier next time. Trust me."

"You two made up?" he asked.

"Yeah."

"She doesn't deserve a friend like you." He paused, thinking of how Kitty was always there for him, encouraging him in everything, even his relationship with Rogue, though he knew she had feelings for him herself. "Neither do I."

"Damn right, Popsicle Boy. Now get a move on and get dressed." She waited, but he didn't move. "What part didn't you understand?" she asked, hands on hips.

"I can't get dressed with you here," he squeaked, humiliated.

She rolled her eyes and walked out. "I'll be right here," she said as she closed the door.

Kitty stood in the hallway, tapping a foot impatiently. And the guys complain about us taking a long time to get dressed, she thought.

The only reason she wasn't going to get in trouble for missing History was that Ms. Munroe had already told her she was going to pass with flying colors, regardless of her score on the final exam, for which the class was reviewing that morning.

Even though it had only been a few minutes, she was getting tired of waiting. She wanted to get him to class so he and Rogue could get the first meeting over with, and then they'd all be on their way to eventually patching everything up. At least, that's what she was hoping.

So she poked her head in, catching Bobby in his tightie whiteys and nothing else. They both blushed crimson.

He stared at her and sputtered, "Geez, Kitty, what the - can't a guy have some privacy?"

"Just wanted to make sure you were all right."

"I'm fine," he snapped, still red.

"Your blush clashes terribly with the black eye," she said helpfully, trying not to laugh. He was so cute.

"Kitty!"

"Er, sorry." With that, she left him alone.

---

Kitty and Bobby slid into their seats in Physics only a few minutes late. Professor Xavier raised an eyebrow, but said nothing, out loud anyway.

~Mr. Summers would like to see you after class, Bobby.~

Bobby closed his eyes - he was in the jackpot for sure. "Yes, sir," he said.

There were only six of them in the class, but Rogue managed to keep her eyes intently focused on her textbook and Professor Xavier for the whole hour, not once sneaking a glance at Bobby. Finally, when it was over, she looked over at him and gasped.

"Bobby, are you all right?" That was dumb, she thought. You dumped him and treated him like shit, plus he's got a huge black eye, courtesy of Logan, I bet. Of course he's not all right.

He brushed past her out into the hallway. "I have to go see Mr. Summers."

"I'm so sorry," she said. I've been saying that a lot lately. Maybe at some point I'll stop messin' up and I won't have to apologize anymore. He continued to walk away from her, so she followed, almost skipping to catch up with him. "I was, well, I was a real bitch to you yesterday, and I'm sorry. I was out of line. I'm really sorry. I know you must be hurtin' and I never meant for that to happen. I just - " she broke off as he stopped and turned at last.

"Whatever," he said, but his voice lacked the bitterness she had feared. She thought that, given time, he might forgive her. And that was more than she had a right to expect, so it was okay. She would have a few choice words for Logan, though, the next time she saw him.

Which was right after lunch. She had an unexpected free period since her daily session with Jean and the professor had been cancelled. They spent an hour every day with her, looking for something in her head that might allow her to turn her mutation off. So far it hadn't been successful, but they were nothing if not persistent. However, Jean was preparing to go to Washington for a conference, and the professor was locked in his office with Mr. Summers and Logan, so she was free for an hour.

She was sitting outside on a bench, puzzling over Raskolnikov when a large shadow fell over her book. She shifted her eyes slightly and saw a pair of worn black boots in front of her. I guess he's not with the professor anymore.

"Hey, kid," Logan said, sounding disgustingly eager to his own ears. She raised her eyes to his face. He wasn't sure what approach to take. She'd been so upset with him yesterday - for good reason - but he was hoping he could coax her out of it. Maybe if I pretend it didn't happen... Nah, that wouldn't work. Or would it? "Wanna go shoot some stick?" That was real subtle, you jerk, he thought. But maybe she'll go for it.

She flushed becomingly, which made him ridiculously happy. He wondered how far down below her collar the blush extended, and hoped to find out soon. He imagined unbuttoning her blouse slowly and running his hands over her body. He had a pair of gloves in his back pocket for just such an occasion.

So he was more than a little shocked when she stood up and started yelling at him. He was lost in his little fantasy and missed the first couple of words, but he knew immediately what she was talking about when she said, "... and he's like half your size. How could you hit him? What could you possibly have to prove?"

"Whoa, Marie, slow down," he said, catching up quickly. "He -" he couldn't say, "He started it," because then he'd sound like just another dumb kid. He couldn't say, "He deserved it," even though he had. And he, for damn sure, wasn't going to tell her that the kid had gotten the best of him. So he stopped and just looked at her, enjoying the picture she presented. Her eyes sparkled and her chest was heaving. He couldn't help but grin.

"And you - you think you can just stand there grinning at me and I'm going to fall into your arms again like some sort of silly schoolgirl, after you abandoned me without a word for two years." She was working herself into a temper now, and he wanted to nip that in the bud.

"There were things-" he started, but she cut him off.

"You had to take care of. Like that redhead in Edmonton? And the woman with the gloves-" she inhaled sharply, trying to figure out exactly what the gloves had meant to him. "Gloves, Logan? What the hell were you doin' in Canada when you were supposed to be here, takin' care of me?" And she shoved him in the chest with both hands. He didn't move, of course. It'd take a lot more than that to knock him over. He'd take whatever she wanted to dish out, though. He deserved it. But she just left her hands there, as if she were reluctant to break the contact.

He hadn't realized such a brief touch would have allowed her access to his latest memories, though he supposed it was possible. What the hell had he been doing? They hadn't really discussed his trip, or what he'd gone looking for.

Alkali Lake proved to be a big dead end, and he didn't want to admit that he'd found nothing. He also didn't want to tell her he'd spent the last two years wandering the backwoods of Canada, drinking and brawling, trying to forget about her, this place, and the fact that he couldn't remember anything about his life before he woke up with adamantium soldered to his bones. Though she probably already knows, he realized. His ears burned slightly from embarrassment. He couldn't hide from her.

She wasn't waiting for him to answer though. She was on a tear and she was going to say her piece.

"I prayed every night, to whatever gods there might be, that you'd be all right, that you'd come home safe. I looked at the stars and thought you'd be lookin' at them, too, and it made the world seem a little smaller, made you seem a little closer.

"And you were off screwin' around. Now you're back and you want to screw around with me, too. Is that it?" She was conveniently forgetting everything Jean had said to her yesterday, forgetting even the images and feelings that she'd absorbed from him, images and feelings in which she was the main attraction. She didn't even care that she was letting her feelings for him show, that she was making herself vulnerable to him.

She had so many conflicting emotions fighting for precedence - love, anger, lust, fear - and right now, anger was winning. Even she hadn't realized how hurt she'd been by his disappearance, but it was all coming out now. Her hands clutched convulsively at his shirt.

He told himself he wasn't going to get angry. He just wanted to make things right with her. He'd messed up big-time yesterday and didn't want to make the same mistake twice. So he said nothing. If she had seen all that, she had to know how much she meant to him, how much he wanted it to be more with her than just meaningless sex, and how sorry he was that he'd left her alone for two years.

"Answer the question, Logan. What are you plannin' on doin' with me?"

He captured the gloved hands that still rested against his chest. "If you know so much about what's in my head, Marie, why don't you tell me?" He said it quietly, hoping, willing her to see it.

She blinked and seemed to shake herself. She'd felt his love for her yesterday, as well as his fear, and knew what an effort this whole thing was for him. That he was making it, that he was willing to shoulder some responsibility and willing to stick around, despite his aversion to being tied down, told her how much he really cared. But still, she was hurt. Her confusion was evident.

"I, I..." She looked at him, unable to speak about what she'd seen in his head, her eyes bright with tears. Love was now overwhelming anger and confusion, but it was a close call.

He decided they'd done enough talking. He pulled her roughly into his arms and hugged her until she thought her ribs were going to break. She buried her face in his chest, inhaling the scent of him - motor oil and cigar smoke and just him. She was trying hard not to cry. She was tired of crying, even if this time the tears were from happiness. She could feel his heart beating, and it seemed to be in time with her own. He kissed the top of her head, and then rested his cheek there, content, for the moment, just to hold her.

end