"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.

. . .