6.

an·am·ne·sis

noun

1. the recollection or remembrance of the past; reminiscence.  In philosophy, the remembering of things from a previous existence.

I open my eyes.  It's almost dawn.  The mansion is quiet, the world resting peacefully under a soft blanket of muted blue light.  I turn lazily to my side, and the sight that greets me puts a little smile on my face.  I still can't get over the fact that I'm waking up next to Rogue in my bed.  Naked Rogue, I think to myself, still smiling.  The sheet has fallen away from her breast a little, and I can see a pert nipple just barely peeking over the edge.  She looks so delectable I want to slide the sheet down, take that nipple into my mouth and roll it on my tongue like a sweet raspberry.  Mmm.

She's dreaming about something.  Her breathing is uneven, little twitches tugging at her mouth, her eyebrow.  I wonder what she's dreaming about.

Sleep is so different for me now.  I still have nightmares once in a while, but not all the time like I used to, not since our first night together.  And they're nothing like the ones I used to have where I woke up in a cold sweat, stabbing the air with my claws.

Back in the old timeline, Rogue always seemed to sense when I was having a nightmare.  You'd think that after I stabbed her that first time she came to my room she would never come near me again, especially when I was sleeping.  Wrong. 

I told her to stay away.  Too dangerous, I told her.  Not worth risking her life.  But she didn't listen, no matter I said, or what anyone else said for that matter.  She always did have a stubborn streak.

I remember so many nights, waking up with an angry, desperate roar, claws slashing and sweat pouring off of my body.  It would take a minute to come back to reality, my eyes blinking away the remnants of murky green water.  And then I would hear her.

Shhh...it's ok, Logan.  Everything is going to be ok.

She spoke to me softly from the corner of the room, out of my reach, caressing me with her voice.  Calming the beast.  Recognition settled over me finally, and I retracted the claws.  A wave of nausea hit me then.

"You shouldn't be here," I rasped, hanging my head as I turned to sit on the edge of my bed.

"Don't you worry, sugar. I'm just fine," she replied, padding to the bathroom and flipping on the light.  The sound of running water drifted from the doorway, then the trickle of water being wrung from a washcloth.

"I know how far to stand back now," she said with a knowing little smile, like my claws were some kind an endearing quirk of mine and not a life threatening monstrosity.  "Drink," she ordered, placing a glass of water in my hand.  I obeyed as she draped a cool washcloth over the back of my neck, gently rubbing my back with her gloved hands.

"Want to talk about it?"

"No."  No way did I want to tell her about those nightmares.  She didn't need to know about that.  She didn't need that kind of darkness in her life, like an ink blot, staining everything it touches.

Turns out, though, it didn't matter if I talked or not; she knew it all anyway.

"Was it the one where they put the metal on your bones?" She asked with a hint of sadness in her voice.  "That one hurts so bad."

I looked at her, stunned.

"What do you mean, hurts so bad?"  Realization began to creep into my consciousness, and I shook my head in denial.  "You're saying it in present tense, as if...I never told you...how could you know..."

She looked away, apology written on her face.

"Marie?"

"I...I tried to respect your privacy, Logan.  I blocked your memories as best as I could, both times after I absorbed you.  But the nightmares...they come anyway.  No matter what I do."  She lifted her eyes to meet mine.  "I'm sorry."

She was sorry.  She was sorry that my nightmares were haunting her.  God.

"Darlin, no.  Don't be sorry.  I'm the one who's sorry," I said in earnest, taking her hand in mine.  "I'm so sorry that you have to live with my memories.  No one should have to live with that."

She said nothing for a moment.

"You're right, no one should have to live with that."  Her words cut me to the quick.  It was one thing to wonder, even expect that she might think it, but to hear the words come from her lips..."

"Logan, listen to me," she said softly.  She gently placed a hand on the side of my face.  "Look at me.  No one should have to live with that.  Least of all you."  She gazed at me for a long moment, her warm chocolate eyes looking into mine like she could see right into my soul, and that what she saw there wasn't just a worthless beast. 

That was the first time I saw it in her eyes.  Something that I didn't want to acknowledge at the time, didn't want to put a name to.  Fool.  I'm not afraid to put a name to it now.

"I'm glad to share the burden with you, Logan."  She caressed my sideburn, then she kissed my head.  "I'm always here if you need me," she whispered into my hair.

She left to go back to her room then, stopping at the doorway to glance at me one more time, before disappearing into the dark hallway.

And from then on, that was our routine.

Shhh...it's ok, Logan.  Everything is going to be ok.

You shouldn't be here.

Don't you worry about me, sugar.  I'm just fine.  Want to talk about it?

No.

I'm always here if you need me.

Her words echo in my head as I'm pulled from my reverie by a low whimpering sound.  Rogue is still dreaming, but she is becoming restless in her sleep.  She mumbles something, then shakes her head.  Her breathing is becoming more erratic, her legs shifting under the sheets.  I wonder if she's having a bad dream.  No, it's probably just an active one, I think to myself.

Then I smell it.  The scent of pain.  Sadness.  Her face twists into a grimace, and then a choked sob escapes from her throat.

"No," she whimpers.

"Rogue?" I say softly, touching her shoulder.  Tears gather at the corner of her eyes and run down her face.  I sweep a thumb across her cheek, wiping a tear away.

"Rogue, baby, wake up," I say again, this time giving her a little shake.  "Rogue."  She wakes with a start, watery eyes looking at me but not seeing.  "Hey kid, it's me.  It's Logan."

She blinks a few times, then looks around.  Slowly, she returns to reality, then looks at me again. 

"You ok, darlin'?"

"Um...yeah," she mumbles, clearing her throat.  "I'm ok."  She sits up and wipes her cheeks with the back of her hand.

"You were dreaming," I say, brushing a silvery lock behind her ear.  "Seemed like a bad one.  Wanna talk about it?"

"No, no I'm fine," she says, recovering quickly.  She draws the sheet closer to cover herself.  "I'm fine, really.  What time is it?"

"Little after 5 a.m."

"Five...I better get going," she says, looking toward the door. 

"You're sure you're ok?"

"I'm ok.  Really."  She slips out of the bed and begins fumbling around for her clothes.

 I keep watching her, looking for a sign that says she's not ok like she says she is.

"Stop worrying about me.  I'm totally fine, I swear."  She throws me a quick glance over her shoulder and tries to smile reassuringly before turning to pick up her panties.  She knows me too well.

"Alright, darlin', just making sure.  You women are hard to read sometimes.  Mixed signals and whatnot," I say, attempting to lighten up a little for her sake.  She rolls her eyes and smiles for real at that. 

"So where do you have to be at this hour?" I ask, leaning on an elbow with one eyebrow cocked.

"I, um, have an early morning.  Stuff to do.  Errands...and stuff..." she mumbles, trailing off.

"Errands and stuff, huh?"  She has her back to me, and I watch as she slides her panties up over that beautiful, curvy bottom.

"Yeah, um...just things I have to do.  And then we have team meeting, and practice..."  She hooks her bra and then begins to pick up her clothes that have been discarded carelessly in a trail from the door to the bed.  I step out of bed and approach her silently from behind.

"You're in an awful hurry," I rumble softly next to her ear.  She lets out a tiny yelp of surprise, and I can't help the smirk that appears on my face as she turns around.

"I'm not in a hurry," she denies, her eyes lifting to mine briefly before looking down at the clothes she has clutched to her chest.  She slips past me and drapes them over the armchair.  "It's not that I'm in a hurry...it's just that I have a lot of stuff I need to do."  She picks up her shirt and fumbles with it, attempting to turn it right side out.

"Yes, I think we established that; you have important 'stuff' to attend to," I say, coming to stand behind her again.  I place my hands on her waist and kiss her shoulder.  "But since you're not in a hurry, then I guess that means you can stay a little longer."  She tries to pretend that she is unaffected, but I can feel her resolve crumbling as I continue placing a trail of kisses on her shoulder.  She starts to protest, until I reach that sweet spot where her shoulder meets her neck, and then she closes her eyes with a soft moan.

"Mmmm...you smell so good.  And your skin...so soft and silky," I murmur, placing little sucking nips up and down the smooth column of her neck.  My hands slide up her body to cup her breasts.  "But you know where you're the softest and the silkiest?" I whisper.  My hand begins a downward path, and she waits in breathless anticipation, soft pants coming from her parted lips.  I delve a finger inside of her, eliciting another moan.

"Logan, I really need...to get going..." She protests feebly.

Seeking out that sweet spot on her shoulder again, I place a kiss there and then firmly sink my teeth into the sensitive flesh.  Her head lolls to the side and she drops the shirt to the floor.  Her hands move to cover mine, one at her breast, kneading and pinching, the other between her legs; she follows the movements as I slide my fingers in and out, stroking her slick, wet folds and circling her clit.

"Logan..." she moans. 

"I need to feel your soft, sweet pussy around my cock.  Right now," I rumble. 

Knowingly or not, she presses herself back into me, rubbing her bottom against my erection.  It's all the invitation I need.  Bending her over at the waist, I take her hands and place them on the arms of the chair.  She moans softly as I move the crotch of her panties aside and begin rubbing the head of my cock against her opening.  Her moan turns into a gasp and her fingers dig into the upholstery when I enter her with a hard thrust.

She feels so damn good as I slide in and out of her, pumping with a powerful rhythm into her silky, wet heat.  In the quiet of the early morning, the sound of skin slapping on skin breaks the silence, low grunts and soft cries of pleasure filling the air.

There is nothing that makes me feel more primal than taking her from behind.  I want claim her.  I want to plant my seed in her.  I want her to feel me so deep that I'm fucking imprinted in her very soul and she knows without a doubt who she belongs to.

These thoughts towards her, the crudeness of them...it's wrong, I know.  I should be thinking sweet, romantic thoughts.  I should be making love to her.  Instead I growl with pleasure and possessiveness and raw animal hunger as I thrust faster and harder.

She comes with a strangled cry, convulsing around me, and I follow her, gripping her hips and coming in hot, throbbing spurts deep inside her.

Afterwards, a quiet tenderness settles over us.  I straighten her panties back in place, stand her up, and take her mouth in a sweet, gentle kiss.  Her body is soft, languid under my hands as I caress her skin.

I pick up her forgotten clothes and help her get dressed.  I don't know what makes me feel the need to do this, but in this moment, somehow it just feels right.  Instinctual.  The animal part of me wants to take care of his mate now; that's only way I can describe it.  It's making love, after.

She once again protests weakly, insisting that she doesn't need my help, but I ignore her as I button her shirt and then trail my knuckles along the curve of her breast.  She steadies herself with a hand on my shoulder and smiles, partly amused and part secretly enjoying this strange ritual as I kneel down to slip her shoes onto her feet.  Smoothing a white lock of hair from her face, I finish by tilting her face up with my hands and kissing her luscious mouth one more time.

"Now you can go take care of that 'stuff' that's waiting," I say with a smile against her lips.  She lowers her face and smiles sheepishly at first, but then she straightens up and feigns indignation.

"Hey, that stuff is very important!"

"Uh huh, very important, I'm sure."

"It is!" she huffs.  "Believe it or not, my life does not revolve entirely around you, Mr. Wolverine.  I have other things going on, and they are quite important."  That's the Rogue I know--feisty, proud, and charmingly ridiculous at times.

"Is that so?" I reply with a raised eyebrow.  "So now you've got important things and stuff to attend to?"

"That's right," she says with her chin in the air, mustering her conviction.  "In fact, I better go attend to those things and take care of that stuff right now."  She turns to head for the door, chin held high.  I smack her ass and she gasps, looking back at me with her eyes narrowed and her mouth open. 

"You do that darlin'.  And when you're done, you bring that fine ass back here to me tonight so I can attend to some very important things."

Her face breaks into a grin and then she leaves, tossing her hair over her shoulder and sashaying all the way down the hall.  I stand there admiring the view until she is out of sight.

Smiling to myself, I close the door.  Damn, life is good.

. . .

. . .

I'm still in a good mood from this morning, a damn good mood, and that's a new feeling for me.  I can't remember the last time I felt this...happy.  It's almost enough to make me want to whistle on my way to class.  Almost.  There are some things that the Wolverine just does not do, so a nice swagger down the hall with less scowling than usual will do the trick.

"Logan, a word, please?"  The Professor calls out to me from his office as I pass by. 

Shit.  I've missed another "history lesson" with him; that makes three no-shows now.  I guess Rogue wasn't the only one who had things to do this morning.

"I'm sorry for missing our appointment, Professor.  Again."  

"Logan," he says with a sigh, "wasting my time with your truancy notwithstanding, you've missed 50 years of important history.  And it's imperative that you become familiar with it."

"Yeah, I know, I know.  I've been meaning to talk to you.  But with adjusting to the new timeline and getting my bearings, and spending all my time with..."

He raises his eyebrows.

"Well let's just say I've been...distracted."

"I see."  He wheels around his desk and comes to face me.  "You realize that this isn't just about you resuming your role as history teacher, don't you?  That was the old Logan, and you are not him; or at least, not in the same capacity.  We've made the necessary arrangements for another history teacher, and in the meantime your new role as the survival and self defense instructor is going quite well."

"Hmph."  I find it amusing that old me of the new timeline was a history teacher.  It kind of reminds me of that time we were hiding out at Bobby's parents' house after Stryker's attack on the mansion, and I told them I was a teacher of art.  Never in a million years would I have seen myself as a schoolteacher, let alone someone with a regular job, living in a mansion with a bunch of mutant superheroes.  But here I am.

"That being said," he continues, "our history as a country, as mutants, and as x-men has been re-written.  It is important to know that history, to know where we came from and where we've been, so that we can make a roadmap for our future.  As you know, those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it."

The Professor is really killing my buzz, here.  I've had an excellent morning, and the only future I care about at this point is the one I'm going to share with Rogue.  I don't need to know anything else.

"I'll be honest with you, Professor.  I've seen what the future was like firsthand in the old timeline.  And this life we are living now is nothing like what we were living then.  This is like heaven on earth compared that nightmare.  Look around you," I say, gesturing with my arms.  "Everybody's alive.  No sentinels.  No mutant concentration camps.  No wars.  As far as I'm concerned, we're golden.  What more do I need to know?"

He leans back in his wheelchair.  "It's a little more complicated than that.  Surely you must know that just because there is no war, it does not mean that there is peace.  We prevented a moment in the 1970's that would have led to disastrous consequences, yes.  But human and mutant relations still have a long way to go."

Somewhere in the back of my mind, I know he's right.  Charles has always been a man of peace, has always held onto his idealistic hope that humans and mutants can live in harmony.  But even he has a pragmatic side to him that knows that peace never lasts, and you have to be prepared for that.  It's one of the reasons we still have a danger room, and use it every day.

"Look, Professor," I say finally.  "I get it.  Things aren't perfect.  And if something comes up, you know that I'll always have your back, whatever comes our way. But I'm done with the past.  I just want to move on and enjoy life in the here and now."

His face changes to an expression of understanding, but there is also disappointment in his eyes. 

"Alright," I sigh.  "Just give me a little more time and I'll come by for a history lesson."  I suppose it won't hurt to give him a few minutes of my time if it will make him feel better. 

"Very well," he says, looking pleased.  "I shall look forward to brushing up with you."

"Yeah, can't wait," I reply.  I hear a soft chuckle behind me as I leave his office. 

. . .

. . .