Disclaimer: This fan fiction is not written for profit and no infringement of copyright is intended.

Marie sighed tiredly and picked up the post.

It’d been an hour since she’d woken up and she still couldn’t seem to get her head clear. She’d hoped that a week off would make her feel better, but it turned out that working nights made her exhausted all the time, more than a week without work could fix. She couldn’t even sleep properly when she was on vacation and she had to go back tomorrow- Because if she didn’t she wouldn’t be able to make her portion of the rent, and that would mean another fight with- Well, it would mean another fight.

Sometimes it seemed her life had been easier when all she had to worry about was Bucket-head and his plans for world domination.

She sighed again then, rubbing at tired eyes, wondering what time it was. Man, she needed a vacation. Or another job. Or just a break from the routine of work, house-hunting and fighting with her boyfriend- Though something told her Callum wouldn’t be impressed with the idea that she wanted time apart. In fact, she was certain that Callum wouldn’t be impressed with the idea that she wanted time apart. And since they were coming up on their two year anniversary, and since he’d started making noises about getting married, she supposed she shouldn’t be thinking about being single. Again. No matter how attractive the idea was-

She tried to push the thought away.

This was the life she’d chosen, and she’d be happy about it. Even if it killed her.

The Wolverine in her head growled at the thought.

Marie sighed again then, sorting idly through the post. Ignoring the thing growling inside her head from years of practice. Trying not to summon the image of Logan which was never far from her mind. She tossed the junk mail in the trash and piled Callum’s mail (it was always Callum’s mail) onto the locker beside her while she waited for her coffee to kick in. She’d put aside two utility bills, a bank statement and a postcard from some woman in work who’d gone to Barbados and was just about to return to the kitchen when she noticed a smaller envelope sticking out from behind the postcard.

A smaller envelope which was addressed simply to Rogue.

Marie felt her heart lurch in her chest then. Nobody had called her by that name since- Since she left the Mansion. Since she had that final blow-out with Logan and walked out on his bossy, vexatious, deeply-in-denial ass, vowing never to return. That’d been two years ago so she couldn’t imagine why the X-Men would be contacting her now. Besides, Storm had her phone number in case she ever had to get in touch; Sending mysterious packages wasn’t the weather witch’s style. Which meant-

Her heart literally skipped a beat at the thought.

But she stopped that idea right there. She wouldn’t let herself believe that, not now. Not after two years. Not after she’d finally managed to get his hairy, growly, perfect self out of her system. Half the reason she’d chosen Callum was that he was the exact opposite to Logan, right down to his choice of work (he was a doctor) and his choice of lifestyle (he was a health nut). Marie eyed the envelope with sudden suspicion, hefting its weight in her hand and considering binning it. But she knew she couldn’t. Not if it was from him. Curiosity got the better of her and she ripped at the envelope open, her fingers cutting into the paper-

And a pair of battered dog tags fell out.

Well, holy shit, she thought then.

For a second she just stared at them, unable to believe what she was seeing. Unable to believe that he’d actually sent those to her. And they could only be from him. But there they were, glimmering in the evening light. Looking beat up and bloodied but unbowed- kinda like their owner. She looked in the envelope, hoping for a message but there was nothing. Just the tags. Oh, and the cluster-fuck of emotional baggage they were carrying in their wake. Marie stared at the little metal rectangles, willing her heart to calm down. Trying to make herself intelligent and adult and capable, trying to decide what she should do. Because she knew why he’d sent them. It’d been their system, anything ever happened to him and he had to go underground he’d get in touch, send her the tags. Let her know that he needed her help. They were part warning and part proof of life. They meant he needed her-

And it’d been so long since he’d needed her that she felt her heart give another, more painful lurch at the thought.

So she walked calmly to her bedroom. Felt under her bed and pulled out the pre-paid, unused cell-phone she’d taped there. Kept for just this purpose. Sent a text message to the only two numbers stored within its memory and waited to hear back.

The message was only one word: Houston.

Those who’d need to would understand what that meant.