Series:  Eighth in the Falling Apart Together series, following Pianissimo: Depression.
Summary: You can kick a dog only so many times before it turns on you and rips your face off.  Translation:  Rogue has come back. But it's not an easy or happy homecoming for anyone. 
Rating: R – for language.
Categories: X3, AU
Pairing:  None
Genres: Angst, Adult, Shipper
Warnings:  This is an over all series warning - Grief and loss issues.  Character death - but that took place in chapter 5 & 6 so you don't need to worry about it from here on in. 
 Author's Notes 1: A HUGE thank you goes out to Anna.  Without her the driving lesson in this chapter would succeed in only making great big sucking sounds.  Thanks hon.  LOVE YA!!!
 Author's Notes 2:  Ah…Rogue's attitude won't make sense for a while.  Bear with me.  Oh, and in true AU fashion, I'm moving Scott's grave.  It chaps my ass that they buried them all together side by side in the last movie when Supreme Bitch was the reason they were all dead in the first place.  You don't like it?  Blow me.
 Author's Notes 3: Jean…the object of extreme aversion or hostility.  Yeah.  That works.

Distribution: The Wayside Inn, Empress' Private Library, and Lady Scriven's only.  All others ask first.

Disclaimer: Marvel owns it all, except for Melody.  She's mine.  I own no one else.  Alas, that means Logan belongs to Marvel too, so I can't keep him.  But I'd be happy as all hell to Wolvie-sit should it ever be necessary.  *eg*

Somebody tell my head to try to tell my heart
That I'm better off without you
Cause baby I can't live
Without you I'm not okay
And without you
I've lost my way
My heart's stuck
In second place
Without you.

Without You - Dixie Chicks 

Later That Afternoon…

Storm didn't have a chance to worry about how to keep me away from Marie long enough to figure out how to stop her from leavin'.  I took that decision away from her.  How'd I know she wanted to keep us apart?  I heard her yakkin' to the Furball about it.  Pissed me off pretty good too.  Why'd she want us not to talk anyway, huh?  What business was it of hers?

Barely an hour passes before I'm knockin' on Marie's door.  When she doesn't answer, I try the handle, and I'm a little surprised to find it unlocked.  Taking that as a good sign, I open the door and step inside, making sure to close it securely behind me.  Lock it too.  Don't need any unexpected interruptions.

On first glance, it doesn't look like she's in here.  But my nose and ears say otherwise.  She's in the shower.  Marie's old room is one of the three on this particular floor that has a private bath, mine being one of the other two.  The Professor moved Marie to this room, while I was gone that first time, off on that lead he gave me himself.  Right after I left, he moved her.   When I found out about it - he told me when I called to check on her a few days later - he tried to explain that it was less dangerous for her and the other students, if they didn't have to worry about accidental contact in the bathrooms that they all shared.

At the time, I had thought it was unfair to Marie, and I said so too.  Even accused Chuck of figuring out just another way to remind her that she's different and set apart even among the other X-Dorks.  Chuck didn't say anything about it other than to talk to her about it myself.  So I did.  Demanded to talk to her right then. 

It took 'em a minute, but when she got on the phone and gave me that first breathy Hey Logan, I started to calm right down.  That's when it hit me that Marie had a way about her - a way she had with me - that no one else ever had.  Something about her just fits right around me.  Makes me more relaxed. 

Here I was, not even a week away from her and I was already missin' her.  Listenin' to her laugh and go on about whatever was the teenage drama of the moment.  And I was grinnin'.  Layin' back on the motel room bed, one hand under my head, the other holdin' the phone to my ear and grinnin' like a loon, lookin' up at the stained ceilin', but seein' dancin' brown eyes and a sassy twist to full smilin' lips.  That's when I knew she was my girl.  Always was gonna be too.  Me and her, we had a connection.  And I grinned some more.

At least I did until she gave me the phone number to her new room.  Seems like her room had been a former teacher's and it had its own private line.   She mentioned something about the Professor thinking it'd be good way for us to keep in touch without her having to sit out in the hall and having everyone and their cousin listenin' in on her half of my calls. 

My calls.

I was only gone a couple of days, and really hadn't planned on callin' regular, much less comin' back for a long time, if ever.  And Chuck's tellin' her about my calls.  Like I'd be makin' more of 'em.  Fuckin' psychics.  I hate 'em.  Always pokin' around in your business whether you want 'em to or not.  Oh, don't get me wrong, Chuck's the best of the best of 'em all.  But he's still a meddler.  Good intentions and all that, but a meddler just the same.  I don't like people fuckin' around in my business.  Pisses me off.  And Marie is definitely my business.

But it was too late.  Chuck had already planted the seed that I'd be callin' her regularly, and she sounded so damn excited about that idea, what else was I gonna do?  Tell her no?  Let her think she didn't matter enough to me for me to even bother keepin' in touch?  Fuck that. 

Okay…so fine…so now I'm gonna call her every couple of days or something.  Fine.  If I'm gonna be involved, then damn it, I'm gonna be involved.  So I told her I didn't like it that she'd moved rooms.  Told her why too.  But Marie set me straight right quick, reminding me that the last thing she wanted was more voices in her head. 

That shut me up.  Felt a bit guilty about it too, since more than once she said I was the strongest one.  She never would talk to me about what was goin' on up there, but every now and then, I'd catch her with a mischievous look in her eyes and I knew she was listenin' to a voice I couldn't hear.  My voice.  Always made me uneasy too.  Never knew what that girl was thinkin'.  What that other me was tellin' her.

You got any idea how nuts it feels to be jealous of yourself?  Try it sometime.  It'll make you crazier than a shit-house rat. 

That was back when we still spoke.  Before we started to actively avoid each other.  I had my reasons, and none of them makes me feel any better.  At the time, they made sense, though.  But that thought reminds me of where I am now.  And why.

I cross the room and settle down onto the cushions in the window seat where she used to sit and read, or stare out of the window.  I can't remember the last time I saw her sitting here.  Years.

Those same reasons, that made so much sense at the time, now leave me feeling empty.  I'd kept my distance for a lot of reasons.  Because bein' around Marie right then made it hurt more.  She wanted to help.  It practically oozed out of her how much she wanted to help make me not hurt any more over losing Jeannie.  But she couldn't help. 

And I didn't want her to.  I didn't want to turn to her for help and have her get the wrong idea.  Jeannie had told me a long time ago that Marie was a little taken with me, that she had a crush on me.  And the last thing I wanted was to confuse her any more than I probably already did. 

So I left.  This time I didn't call or write her.

Why?  Because I couldn't think about anything but Jeannie.  How much I loved her and needed her, and wanted her back.  And in the mean time, my girl, my Marie stopped tryin' to reach out to me.  Stopped crushin' on me.  And she fell in love with…Scooter.  Married him too. 

After that, I didn't know who she was anymore.  The Marie I knew always had time for me and when I was here, no one else mattered to her.  Or so I thought.  Now that I've been here a while without her, I've learned a lot of things I didn't know about her.  Like how she'd loved me once.  Really loved me.

I never saw it.  To tell the truth, I probably would've freaked had I seen it.  But I never did and I kept tellin' her she was family to me long enough that she started believin' it.  Then I left her too long.  And she turned to that walkin' void of a personality. 

And she was happy.  I couldn't hate him for that.  Wanted to.  But couldn't.  Anyone who made my Marie smile like she did on her weddin' day to that life-size Ken doll, I couldn't hate.  Not completely.  But I didn't have to watch it either, not watch her move on without me, now did I?

So, again, I left.  Took up with Pippa and we had some great times.  Heh.  Really great times.  We understood each other.  Just fun and games.  Neither of us wanted anything serious and we liked hangin' together.  It wasn't long though, before I started wonderin' how Marie was doin'.  Pippa knew all about her.  Hell, I couldn't stop talkin' about her.  And after a while, Pippa convinced me to go home and check on her. 

I headed back to Westchester and found my Marie just as happy as she'd been when I left.  But I did some more digging and learned that while Marie was fine and dandy, Cyke wasn't.  He'd married my Marie while still bein' in love with Jeannie.  That's just not right.  No way in hell was I gonna let him hurt her like that.  But before I could do anything about it, the sombitch blasted me right through the chest.  Before that I never though I could actually be killed.  And even though I lived through it, I'm not so sure about the not dyin' part any more. 

Since our first night in the mansion, I've known Marie could kill me.  Always thought she was the only one who could, and in the darker parts of my brain I don't like to examine too often, knowing she could always made me feel better.  Like I finally had an out clause.  But it never occurred to me that One-Eye might be able to get the job done too.  Okay, so it'd take longer, a lot more effort, and probably hurt like a motherfucker, but he probably could get the job done.  Either way, it doesn't matter now. 

Scooter left her the same day he blasted me.  And I had to watch it happen without doing anything to stop it.  Flyboy had been right.  Marie wouldn't have appreciated me buttin' in without her askin' me first.  But that waste of plasma sat there on that bike of his, let her tell him she loved him, didn't say nothin' in return, and just rode away.  I stood in the shadows with the Spark Plug and Flyboy and just watched as Marie's whole world melted down around her.  And it did too.  You could see it on her face when she started cryin' and then ran away.

Then Spark Plug lit into me like it was all my fault.  Because Marie hadn't just had a crush on me.  That she really loved me.  I never saw it, yet still managed somehow to kill it, making her turn to Prince Pain-In-My-Ass.  And he left her.  Just like I always did.

Somehow that only made me miss Jeannie that much more.  I still wanted her back.  Then she came back and nothing was like it had been before.  She was different.  She wasn't my Jean anymore.  Oh, I caught glimpses of her every now and again.  She was in there somewhere.  But draped all over her was this Phoenix person.  And that's one fucked up bitch.

Somewhere along the way, I forgot about Marie.  I was so wrapped up in Jean and bein' miserable both with her and without her, that I just flat forgot all about Marie.  How I'd promised to take care of her, be there for her.  Just to be her friend.  When she needed me the most, when Scott died, I wasn't there for her.  Didn't even try to be.  And I'll be damned if I have a good reason why.  Other than Jean.  For some reason, I had to be with her all the time while she was unconscious.  Nothing else mattered.  Nothing.  And no one. Not even Marie. 

That eats at me now.  It really does.  'Cuz that just ain't like me.  But I did it anyway.

Marie left the mansion and I really hadn't even cared enough to try and stop her.  That's how most everyone saw it, even though that's not how it really was.  When she left, I let her go.  She was a grown woman and could make her own damn choices. 

Where I feel I fucked up was not going after her once things had quieted down a bit.  Just to make sure she was okay.  If she wanted to go off and live without me, then fine. But damn it, I should have at least checked on her. 

That had been before I realized I was going to have to kill Jean to stop her. 

…

It still hurts. 

…

After the Furball took her body from me, I wasn't thinkin' straight.  I just walked off into the night and somehow, I ain't real sure of the particulars, I ended up in the same bar that where I first saw Marie.  Days, maybe weeks later.  I don't really remember.  But it was the same bar in Laughlin City.  That I do remember.

Same bartender too.  Even recognized me.  The man had asked me if I was headed home.  And that's when it hit me that Xavier's had become home to me sometime in the past few years.  With or without the Professor, Jean or even One-Eye, it was the closest thing I had to a home in the whole world, especially since my truck had blown up.

That night, I called Pippa, and just rambled at her for a bout a half-hour before she told me to get my sorry, stubborn ass back home.  That my girl needed me.  She always did have a way of cuttin' through the bullshit.  Probably why I like her so much.  We said our goodbyes, and to tell the truth, I think she knew I wouldn't be comin' back to her this time.  She's always been a lot faster on the uptake than me about stuff like that.  But I like to think we're still friends.  She helped me make my decision, just by listenin' and point out what we both already knew.  Time to go home.  Back to where Marie would be waitin' for me.

I got back right before the beginning of the fall term and walked in expecting Marie run up to me in the foyer like she always did.  At least before One-Eye.  Before he took her away from me.

Back then she'd show up, all smiles and open arms excited to have me home.  She'd hug me and lie about not missing me, even though we both would know she had.  Then after I'd checked in with Chuck, and after she'd ditched the Ice-prick, we'd go talk a while.  I'd make sure her head was still screwed on straight and she'd to the same for me. 

It was a nice arrangement.  We'd settle down on the couch in the rec-room, and just catch up with each other.  I'd tell her about what I found out on the road, what little bits of my past I'd found - even the nasty shit, 'cuz she'd not let me leave it out sayin' there wasn't any point since she had me in her head anyway.  My nightmares were hers too, and she deserved at least to know what she was dreamin' about. 

And in exchange, she'd pour out whatever drama was affectin' her that week.  Early on it was mostly about her classes and the other X-Nerds.  But eventually she started openin' up to me about the Ice-prick and how he'd fucked around on her.  Right before I came back that first time too, apparently.  Like that only a couple of days before, if I'm rememberin' it right. 

I guess that kinda explains why I decided to teach the Ice-prick a lesson for steppin' out on Marie.  I can't help the grin when I remember what I did to him for that.  Nothin' permanent or that would leave a scar - or not one you can see easily.  That'll teach the little stain for hurtin' my girl.  But after Froze-nuts, she stopped talkin' about the guys.  All of 'em.  Come to think of it, she stopped talkin' to me about herself all together.  I guess that should have been a hint to me that there was something else goin' on.  By then though, I was too wrapped up in losin' Jean to even really notice.

So yeah, I was lookin' for Marie when I hit the door this time.  But she wasn't there to greet me.  The Furball was.

And that was damned depressin' too.  Not that I've got anything against Cookie Monster, but he wasn't the one I needed to see right that minute, you know?  So I ask him where Marie was.  And he gives me this strange look, like wantin' to know why I gave a damn.  He tells me, and was kinda snotty about it too, that she'd never come home after I let her leave.  She'd told him she was headed somewhere to take the cure.

My vision went white for a minute.  The cure had been on Alcatraz Island where the fightin' had been.  But I didn't remember seeing her there.  Furball told me then that she'd gone to one of the local clinics in New York, most likely.  All of a sudden I could breathe again.  She hadn't been there…hadn't been one of the many dead bodies, mutants and non-mutants lying scattered around on the ground like forgotten, broken toys.  But still, no one had heard from her.  And they were kinda hopin' I had, even though they doubted it.

Doubted it?  I asked him why. 

And that damn Live-Action Furby even growled at me.  He started spoutin' off about how I didn't even care enough to notice that Marie had a mental meltdown or some shit while I was off chasin' after Jean and that I oughta be keel-hauled or something like that.  And seems like that was the popular opinion from those in the know about Marie and whatever had happened to her while I wasn't payin' attention.

She married One-Eye.  I knew that.  I danced with her at their weddin'.  But come on…what the fuck, huh?  I still don't know how that all happened, and I'll be honest, it's eatin' at me.  I don't need to know how he felt about her.  He made that very clear when he blew a hole in my chest the day he left her to go to Alkali Lake.  But did Marie love him?  Okay, so of course she did.  My Marie ain't the type to marry someone she doesn't love.  So the real question is does she still? 

And….it looks like I'm about to get my chance to ask her.  The water just shut off.

I don't have to wait long either.  The bathroom door opens up and she steps out in a cloud of steam.  Only then do I stop to think that not lettin' her know I was in here was a bad idea.  She's wearin' just a towel.  And it's on her head.

She doesn't notice me right away, but damn if I don't notice her.  Every pale skinned, bare, wet, naked, beautiful inch of her.  And goddamn if there aren't some serious inches to notice too.  She's too thin, though.  Her ribs are showin'…right under the best rack I've seen in a month of Sundays. And those hips, rollin' right down to tight thighs and a small triangle of sable curls…

Damn it.  This is Marie.  I ain't supposed to be thinkin' like this about her.  I must be more in need of gettin' laid than I thought.  And of course, the minute I think that, another part of my anatomy takes a great interest in the view.

I clear my throat, biting back a growl as I shift on the window seat.  "Much as I appreciate the show, you might wanna cover up there, kid."

Without a sound but with a glare that'd lay me flat had it been a punch, she spins around fast, grabs her robe off the peg near the bed and jerks it on.  With angry motions, she ties it up tight and turns back to face me.  And damn if the robe ain't one I gave her years ago.  But it didn't fit her like that when I saw her in it last.  Oh, hell no sir, it didn't.  Back then it covered her good.  She's grown up since then.  Fuck me, if she ain't grown up since then.  All over.  Everywhere.  Shit.

It's a little black silk number with a white wolf on the back.  Short, stoppin' just above mid-thigh and dippin' way too low in the front.  It's something straight out of any red-blooded male's fantasies.  And she thinks that's gonna help me forget what I saw? 

Too late, darlin'.  The image of you naked and wet from the shower will go with me to my grave.  And by God, I'll have a smile on my face that even the undertaker won't be able to remove.  No doubt my girl's gone and grown up on me.  Not that I ever doubted it before anyway.  If anything, I was a little too aware of it sometimes before the whole world went to Hell. 

But Marie was She-Who-Cannot-Be-Touched - and no I ain't talkin' about her skin.  That wouldn't scare me off if I was of a mind to have her.  I mean she was always off limits.  To anyone.  I didn't see her like that and I wasn't about to let anyone else see her that way either.  Didn't do real well in making that one happen, though. 

"Get out, Logan."

My eyebrow goes up all by itself sometimes, I swear.  "It's Wolverine now, kid."

"I don't give a flying damn if you dress up in a pink tutu and call yourself Princess Meriwether.  I said get out, and I mean right the hell now, Logan."

I used to like the way she said my name.  All breathy and full of warmth and happiness.  Now it sounds more like a curse.  Something that makes her sneer, like it's leavin' a foul taste in her mouth just to say the word. 

I can't help but stare at her as she crosses the room and sits down at a little table across from the bed.  She takes the towel off her head and starts to brush out the wet tangles.  I can remember a time when I'd help her with that.  Of course, that stopped when she married Scooter. 

But before him, I used to make it a point to touch her whenever I could.  Sorta to remind her that she wasn't the Queen of the Freaks, like she used to say.  And helpin' out with the tangles she had a hard time reachin' was one of those ways.  She liked it when I did that for her.   I'd rather be shot than admit it, but I liked it too.  Something that small made her feel normal, she used to say.  And I liked makin' her feel good.  So I'd do it whenever the opportunity presented itself.

I'd sit behind her on her bed, and settle her between my knees, close enough that her legs would brush mine, but far enough away that I could actually reach all of that long brown hair.  The white stripes too.  I'd always take my time, work the tangles and knots out real slow, then take her hairbrush away from her and start brushin' her hair.  Start from the bottom and go up just a little at the time so I wouldn't snag any tangles I'd missed and pull her hair.  Nice and easy, all the way to the top and then back down, workin' the bristles a little harder against her scalp, then easin' up, and run the brush the whole length of her hair. She'd always make this low hummin' noise too whenever I'd brush it out. 

Just the memory of that sound makes my blood heat up.  Humph.  Never affected me that way before.  See what the sight of a naked woman will do to you?  Makes you think things you'd never even considered before.  Yeah, so I'm lyin'. 

From the first time she mentioned the word boyfriend, the occasional thought about her like that did cross my mind.  Hey, I'm a guy.  We all think about all females like that at least once.  I just didn't let myself dwell on thought of her like that.  She was my Marie, and she wasn't to be thought of that way.  But damn if I ain't thinkin' about her like that now. 

And this ain't a good time for it either.  I shift around my seat and she notices it, tossing a lethal glare my way before goin' back to her hair.  That look tells me that if I tried helpin' her with her hair now, she'd gut me.  With my own claws.  Damn, she really is pissed.  But a pissed off Marie is a yeller.  Gets all up in your face and tells you what's what.  This is different.  Cold.  Detached.  Like she really doesn't give a shit whether I breathe or not.  And I don't like that.

"Look, kid, I know you're pissed at me -"

"I'm not pissed, Logan," she interrupts me.  "To be pissed off at you, I'd have to give a shit.  And quite frankly, I don't anymore. "

"You sound pissed."

She shrugs a shoulder.  "Your problem.  Not mine.  Now get out."

"I'm not goin' anywhere until we get this thing settled between us."

She finally turns around and looks at me, hate shining so bright in her eyes that it makes me wanna hit her out of reflex.  She's not supposed to look at me like that.  The Ice-prick, okay.  Mystique, sure.  Magneto, definitely.  But not me.  I'm one of the good guys.  I'm her good guy.  Her hero.  How could she have forgotten that?  Plus, she knows me better than anyone else here.  She knows I care about her.  But she's still pissin' me off.

"You got a death wish or something, kid?"

With a roll of her eyes and an ugly snort, she laughs.  "Do not try that intimidation shit with me, Logan.  We both know it won't work with me."

"Now you listen here -"

"No you listen, Logan," she cuts me off.  "I'm only gonna be here one night.  Just long enough to pack up whatever I want of Scott's things and then I'm hitting the road tomorrow afternoon.  And I really don't want to spend my last few hours in this house fighting with you.  I don't care what you think.  I don't care what you want.  And most of all, I don't care about you.  Now get the hell out of my room."

She's lyin'.  I can smell it all over her.  She's mad.  Worse than mad.  Livid.  And hurtin' so bad she can barely breathe, nearly crippled with it.  She reeks of agony, a pain so deep that it's makin' her snap and snarl at everybody, makin' her strike out intendin' to do collateral damage.  And damn if she ain't good at it.  "Marie -"

"Damn it to hell, Logan!  What the fuck do I have to do to get you to hear me?!  I don't want you here!  Get out!"

"I need -"

"I don't fucking care what you need!  I haven't for a long time!  Jesus Christ!"  She threw her hands in the air.  "Don't you get it?  I don't want anything to do with you!  Get the fuck out!"

She coulda stabbed me in the eye and it wouldn't have surprised me more than the absolute hate in her voice when she said that.  So this isn't about us - about the X-Men.  This is about me.  First she leaves me.  Now she hates me.  And I'll be fucked if I know why.  I'm used to bein' hated.  But not by her.  Not by my Marie.  I never expected -

Enough. 

Something's seriously wrong with her and she needs to be here.  Down deep, I know that.  But she won't stay if I'm around.  Okay.  I can remove myself from the situation.  I take a deep breath, ignorin' the tight pain in my chest.  "Storm needs all the help she can get right now.  Will you stay?  For her?"

"It's not worth dealing with you.  Not even for Storm," she answers flatly. 

"What if you don't have to deal with me?"

She snorts.  Not a pretty sound.  "If I stay on longer, I'll have to deal with you.  No one gets out of your training mandates.  Storm already said so."

I fold my arms over my chest.  "I decide who has to go through those.  Not her.  I know what you're capable of and what you're not."  For some reason, that makes her give a nasty sounding laugh, but I don't bother asking why.  She won't tell me anyway.  "You can skip 'em.  Unless you rejoin the team."

"I have no intention of rejoining the team."

"I didn't think so."  I shake my head, and grin a bit.  "So you'll stick around a while then?  Longer than a couple of days?"

She narrows those dark eyes of hers at me, and I can tell she's mullin' it over.  "No training?"

I shake my head.  She's got skin that can kill with a touch.  What the hell kind of trainin' can I give her anyway?  Immediately several way too vivid ideas come to mind, but I push them back.  This is Marie here.  She ain't like that.  And even if she was, she's just proved she wants nothin' from me.  Nothin' at all.  Shit.  "Nah.  No trainin'."

"Good.  I'll think about it.  Now get out."

I'm startin' to get past fed up with her attitude.  Standin', I go over to her.  Get right in her space, crowd her a little and glare down at her.  "Why the fuck do you hate me so much, Marie?"

Her eyes flash a dark fire as her control over her anger slips a notch, and fuck me if she ain't just about the most beautiful thing I've ever seen when she does that too.  Jeannie was a fine lookin' woman.  But somehow I knew she'd never hold a candle to Marie once she grew up.  Looks like I was right.  Shit, but she's breathtaking. 

And again I've gotta clamp down on my reaction.  I clench my fingers and let just the tips of my claws pop…not more than a half an inch if that, and then right back in.  Just enough for the pain to get my mind back on where it belongs and out from between Marie's legs.  Hell no, I did not just think that! 

"Answer me, kid.  What the hell did I do to you?"

"Nothing," she hisses up at me. She stands up, not bothering to take a step back to do it either.  "Not a damn thing, Logan."

Goddamn, she's a ballsy little thing.  Not intimidated by me one bit.  I like that.  Maybe too much.  Ah, fuck it.  She's all grown up now.  Not a kid anymore.  And God knows nothin' gets my blood up faster than a strong woman.  One with confidence enough to go toe to toe with me.  And she's just reeking of both.  I breathe in deep and feel a rumble of a growl start to build in my chest.  Damn she smells good.

My eyebrow goes up and I can't help but smile at her.  Not a normal smile, but a big-bad-wolf-I'm-about-to-eat-you smile.  Take that any way you want, because I know I'm gonna.  I'm talking about the kind of smile that's made grown men tremble and back away.  But not my Marie.  Oh no.  She steps closer, and that chin goes up.  She's so close to me I can feel the heat from her skin through my shirt, the front of her robe just barely grazing my chest.

"You challengin' me, little girl?" I growl out real low, hopin' to God she says yes.  You've heard of the fight or flight response?  Well, I'm dealin' with a fight or fuck response right here and I'll be damned if I know which one would win out if she does say yes.

Her voice dips down lower, but still so full of anger and hate that it's startin' to bug me.  "You'd like that, wouldn't you, Logan."

Hell yeah, I would.  Some parts of me more than others.  But that ain't what she means.  This is a pissin' contest here.  She wants to see if I'll back down or force her hand.  Well, the Wolverine doesn't back down.  But I'm not gonna force her into anything either.  Ever.  She'll have to come to me.  Fight or fuck…she'll have to come to me.  Heh.  This could be fun.

Best let her know the playing field at the start.  Giving her a look she can't possibly mistake for anything other than predatory, I give her a long sweep up and down, then grin at her.  "I'm ready whenever you are, Marie."

Oooh, those eyebrows snapped together so fast it had to make her head hurt.  And goddamn if those dark eyes of hers aren't dancin' with Hell fire now.  Think she caught my meaning?  Yeah, me too.  Oh yeah, this is gonna be real fun.  I breathe in again and she still smells good enough to eat.  Anger and fire and hot and sweet and spicy and…Marie.  And just below all that…a touch of…

"I'm gonna say it one last time.  Get out.  Now.  Before I drop you through the floor.  Or would you rather I just call Piotr and have him throw you out?"

She smiles back at me…a cold little smile that looks flat out evil on her face.  Her eyes go flat and her scent changes too.  Wrong.  All wrong, and it makes my smile curl down into a frown.  Not fun anymore.  This ain't my Marie.  Looks familiar somehow though.  I've seen that look before, but where?

"And you know he can do it."

Yeah, he's probably the one person in the whole damn school who can, too.  The Furball maybe, but it'd be a hell of a fight.  But Tin Man?  Nah.  He'd just pick me up and throw me through a wall.  Wouldn't be like he ain't done it before.

Lettin' an angry growl slip out to remind her who she's dealin' with here, I bare my teeth at her in a snarl.  "All right, kid.  I'm goin'.  But this ain't over."

She watches me leave - I can feel her eyes all over me.  And she waits just before the door closes behind me and says low, knowin' I'll still hear her, "Oh yes it is, Logan.  It is most definitely over.  You can bet your sweet ass on that."

I stand out in the hall a minute, breathin' faster than normal.  That ain't my Marie in there.  Hell, that ain't even Rogue in there either.  God knows losin' the person you love will fuck you sideways, but can it change you that much that fast?  What the hell had happened to my girl in the past six months to make her like that?  I'll be damned if I know, but you can bet I'm gonna find out. 

She thinks that by not being on the team with me or in one of my classes that she doesn’t have to deal with me.  She's wrong.  Dead wrong.  I'll make damn sure of that.  I can't leave her this way.  She needs help, even if she is too damn stubborn, hurt, mad, or whatever to admit it.  I'm gonna help her through this even if it kills the both of us.  And knowing our tempers, it just might.

Then what she said hits me.  That eyebrow goes up and I can feel the smirk crawl over my face as I look back over my shoulder at her closed door.  She said I had a sweet ass.

Heh-heh. 

Oh yeah.

-x-

 Forgive, sounds good
Forget, I’m not sure I could
They say time heals everything
But I’m still waiting, I’m through with doubt
There’s nothing left for me to figure out
I’ve paid a price and I’ll keep paying
I’m not ready to make nice; I’m not ready to back down
I’m still mad as hell and
I don’t have time to go round and round and round
It’s too late to make it right; I probably wouldn’t if I could
‘Cause I’m mad as hell
Can’t bring myself to do what it is you think I should
            Not Ready To Make Nice - Dixie Chicks 

The Xavier Institute
Headmistress Munroe's Outer Office…

Three Weeks Later

Somehow one night turned into three and then a week.  That week turned into three more.  And the next thing I know, I'm not talking about leaving anymore.  I'm back in a routine.  I've taken on the job of Storm's personal assistant.  I keep her calendar for her, back up whatever classes need to be taught, if I'm capable.  Find a sub among the other staff members if I'm not, any and all paperwork associated with running a school of this size; all that sort of jazz.  Just like I used to for the Professor.  I'm even back at my old desk in the same office. 

That hurts.  But I try not to think about it.

Logan kept his word.  He's left me alone, sort of, since that first night three weeks ago, with the exception of three days later, when I was about to pack up Scott's things and go.  But he stopped me.  Well, not him per se, but he orchestrated it better than any maestro than I've ever heard of. 

x-x

 "Rogue.  Got a few minutes?"

She didn't bother looking up from the paperwork strewn over her desk.  "Not for you, Logan."

"Won't take but a second or three."

"I don't care if it's only a nanosecond; I'm not dealing with you.  I told you that three days ago," she informed him as she made a notation in the black planner he remembered from when she worked with the Professor.  "I've got a lot to do to help Storm find a replacement for me, before I leave tomorrow.  Now, please go."

Wolverine might have taken heart at her cool but civil tone, but he knew better.  She was at work.  His Marie at work was nothing if not professional.  And he was counting on it.  "It's business, kid.  Not personal."

Lifting a brow at him, she cut a lethal glare with his way only to sit back in surprise at what met her eyes.  Logan stood in the doorway of her office, looking like he usually did, like a refugee from a Canadian logging camp.  That wasn't unusual or even mildly surprising.

What was surprising was the little girl, about five or six years old, perched on his hip.  She wore a long-sleeved T-shirt, blue jeans, and red sneakers, one of which was untied with laced dangling.  She had dark hair, held back by a white headband with a pretty lacy red bow right on the top.  Rogue couldn't see her face because it was buried in the flannels covering his shoulder.  Her little arms were wrapped tightly around his neck, and her shoulders twitched occasionally like she was shaking a little.  Logan had one big hand curled around her leg, holding her close, and the other rubbing her shoulders in a soothing gesture Rogue remembered all too well.

There'd been a time when he'd held her almost the same way.  Not on his hip of course, but with his arms around her, protecting her from the world.  Driving the monsters away.  Rubbing her back.  Making her feel safe and most importantly, loved.  But Logan's protection and love didn't last, she reminded herself, schooling her features into an indifferent mask.

"Is there a problem?"

Logan nodded, clearly wearing what Rogue used to call his concerned-scowl.  "She fell and busted her chin on the basketball court.  She needs to go see Beast, and I've got a fifteen little monsters to corral before I can get her looked at.  Can you take her down?"

At the mention of going to see Hank, the little girl started to tremble all over.  She made some kind of noise that Rogue couldn't hear, and Logan half-turned his head towards her.   "Shh, shh.  It'll be okay."

A small, frightened, muffled voice asked, "You promise?"

Wolverine's eyes closed briefly, a brief flash of emotion washing over his face before he nodded and answered gruffly, "Yeah.  I promise."

Rogue's stomach flipped over at his words, as well as the tone of his voice when he spoke, reminding her of another frightened girl.  A train.  And the promise of a man whom she'd once believed could do anything.

"She's afraid of doctors and medical…places."

For a moment, Rogue felt her anger at Logan fade.  She understood why he wanted her to take the little girl down.  He avoided the med-lab at all costs.  Or had, when she still lived there.  Given his past with doctors, scientists, and medical facilities, it made sense.  But then she felt the rage begin to build again.  He'd certainly conquered his fear enough to be with Jean while his "family" was hurting and needed him desperately.  While his "best friend" was unraveling at the seams, while her husband was being buried.

The child lifted her head, giving Rogue the first glance at her face.  All of her breath left her in a rush, washing her building anger away with it.  The girl could have been a relative; she looked so similar to her when she was the same age.  Lank brown hair over a very round face with almost impossibly huge brown eyes.  Eyes that were currently red, puffy and streaming.  And there was blood, not much, trickling down her chin. 

Moving almost not of her own accord, Rogue stood and came out from behind her desk.  The little girl saw her and immediately buried her face in Wolverine's shoulder again.  Rogue crossed the room to stand in front of them, clasping gloved hands together in front her.  She quirked an eyebrow at him.

Wolverine almost smiled at the gesture, but stopped himself in time.  Business.  Not personal.  Plus, the child in his arms was scared to death.  "Munchkin?  Can you say hi?"  She only rolled her head back and forth on his shoulder.  "Not even for me?  She's won't hurt you.  She's…a friend."

Rogue fought the reflexive action of snorting in derision and correcting him.  He'd been correct when he'd said this was business.  This was a student who needed them to put aside their problems and work together for her benefit.  And Rogue would be damned if she'd ever let the Professor down in that regard.  Whether he was alive to see it or not.

The child rolled her head to the side just enough to peep one dark brown eye at Rogue.  "Hi."

She smiled.  "Hi.  I'm Rogue."

Wolverine felt a sharp drop in his middle hearing her say that remembering all to well hearing that from her once before.  That had been a long time ago.  And the girl who had asked it was long gone too.  In her place a woman stood.  A woman he didn't know, but knew he couldn't afford to lose either.

"What's your name?"

"Melody," she answered timidly, but still looking at her from the safety of Wolverine's arms. 

"Nice to meet you, Melody.  You want to come with me to let Dr. McCoy put a Band-Aid on that impressive owwie you've got there?"  Something about those adhesive bandages always seemed to get children's attention.  They were like badges of honor among kids.  But Melody wasn't swayed so quickly, so Rogue sweetened the pot.  "And maybe a sucker?"

"I like cherry," Melody answered softly.

Rogue's smile broadened.  "Me too.  C'mon with me and we'll got get a couple, okay?"

The little girl lifted her head and peered at Wolverine.  "You come too."

He nodded.  "Rogue is going to take you down and I'll be there just as soon as I can, okay, Munchkin?"

She looked at him dubiously for a moment then gave a small nod, and released the choke hold she had on his neck.  That's when Rogue caught sight of the white gloves covering her hands.  Her eyes flew back to Wolverine's and he gave her a blank stare.

"Melody's last name is Polson."

Rogue's eyes fluttered shut as her stomach turned over.  Melody Polson.  Daughter of Otis and Charlotte Polson.  The student she and the Professor had been working so diligently on getting enrolled.  Melody must have begun school after she'd left.  Rogue felt her heart twist tightly in her chest, remembering what the little girl's file had said about her mutation. 

Incapable of human contact.

Rogue wanted to weep for her, knowing what the little girl was in store for.  Granted, Melody's mutation wasn't the same as her own.  It didn't kill people.  But it did raise angry red, blisters on the skin of whoever was unfortunate enough to touch her.  Blisters that then would rupture into flesh eating open, running sores.  They could be cured, but it was a slow and painful process. 

Very likely, this little girl would grow up isolated even among her fellow mutants.  Just like she herself had.  Until Logan.  And later Scott.  Rogue felt the rage build in her middle over the injustice of it all. 

"You wear gloves like me," Melody noted, a hint of curiosity coloring her tone.

She opened her eyes, blinking away the bitter stinging there, and held her own gloved fingers out to her.  "Yeah.  I do.  C'mon, sweetie.  Let's get you all fixed up and have a little chat over those suckers, okay?"

Melody nodded and curled her small cotton covered fingers around Rogue's nylon encased ones.  "Okay."  She looked back over her thin shoulder at Wolverine who stood in the office watching them leave.  "Don't forget.  You promised."

"I won't forget, Munchkin.  I'll be there as soon as class is done."

"He won't be long, sweetie," Rogue added, and then leveled a cold look on Wolverine that the little girl couldn't see.  "He always keeps his promises."  She indulged in a wave of smug satisfaction at his almost visible flinch, and looked back down at Melody, her warm smile firmly back in place.  "Ready?"

She twisted up her mouth, trying not to cry again, and tugged on Rogue's hand.  "Ready."

Hand in gloved hand, the two walked out of the office, and left Wolverine behind, staring after them. 

x-x 

How could I leave after that?  He knew it too, damn him.  Logan knew there was no way I could leave that little girl here all alone with almost the same mutation I had with no one to help her or let her know that they understood what she was going through.  What she would go through for the rest of her life. 

Yeah, he played me hard with that one.  Oh, he didn't hurt Melly.  But he damn sure used her injury to his own advantage that day.

He's a complete bastard. 

But he loves that little girl.  Everyone can see it.  At least she's got him.  Maybe he'll do right by her and keep his fucking promises this time. 

Avoiding Logan isn't as easy as I thought it was going to be.  In a lot of ways, Melody is partly to blame for that.  Not that I'd ever say that to her, of course.  It's just that she adores Logan and is around him whenever possible.  She seems to have taken quite a shine to me as well.  How am I supposed to stare down into eyes like hers and say, No honey, I won't eat with you and Logan because I hate him and hope he suffers horribly.  I can't.  So I end up eating at least a couple of meals a week with them.  Well, I sit.  I don't eat. 

I tried to get out of it by starting to eat at the faculty's table with Storm, Hank, Jubilee, and Angel.  But that didn't work.  Logan just sat right down opposite me one day at breakfast and when I got up to leave, he smirked at me.  Daring me to run away.  I got up, took my tray still loaded down and threw it out.  Food uneaten, dumped completely into the trash.  Then I went back to work.  He did it at lunch too, and again at dinner.  And again, my response was the same both times. 

He didn't try to sit near me after that.  But when Melody asks, all bets are off.  I'll sit with him only when she wants me to, and that's it.  I sit with them, but I don't eat.  I can't.  Logan's presence makes me ill.  He's noticed it too.  And now I get concerned looks and glares whenever Melody is chattering away at us.  Doesn't matter.  I'm not hungry most of the time any more anyway. 

I've had to remind myself to eat for a while now.  And even then I forget a lot.  That used to drive Remy nuts.  He was always pushing food at me.  Hasn't changed since I've been back.  I called him to let him know I was staying for a while and the first thing he said was, You eatin', cher?  Does Remy need come up dere an' bring you some boudin and jambalaya?

I think that was the first time I laughed since I've been here.  Of course, Logan walked into my office right after that and ruined the good mood Remy had begun.  That's what I meant by he sort of leaves me alone.  If it's not for school business or related to Melody, I don't have to deal with him. 

Logan. 

God, just the sound of his name makes me want to chew barbed wire and shit nails.

At least I don't have to go through the training sessions that I see all the others limping back from every couple of days.  I'm not a member of the X-Men.  Not anymore.  No longer part of the team.  Then again, was I ever?  Really?  I always knew I was more of a hindrance than help.  But I tried. 

I wasn't half bad at fighting.  How could I have been?  I had all those males in my head telling me how to hit, where to hit, and how hard.  Bobby and John were more of the smash and bash variety, and they taught me exactly how little of an effort I needed to expend to take an enemy down.  The less energy I expended, the longer I could fight.  They were good at that.  Eric had a bit more finesse to his fighting skills, but was the dirtiest fighter I've ever seen.  Nothing off limits; no rules.  You fight only when you have to and then you fight to win no matter what.  It was one of the few times we ever really got along.  Well, until Scott died.  Eric changed then for me.  If I didn't know better, I'd say he felt bad for me.  Not that it matters anymore.    

But leading the pack?  My very own Wolverine…not Logan. 

To me they're two very distinctly different people.  Logan is the man who mooned over and moped after Jean, and the one who ran away.  The Logan in my head kept to himself.  He didn't mess with me too much, spending more time trying to keep the other three in line. 

Wolverine is the man who I met in the cage.  The one who gave me a ride, thought I was funny and important enough to chase down and bring me home.  He's the man who promised to take care of me.  He talked to me.  Kept me company when I was lonely.  Comforted me when I was scared or hurting.  Tried to cheer me up when I was down. He was concerned with getting me to safety, and keeping me alive.  He's the one whose nightmares I still have to this day.  Everything I attributed to the real-life Logan when I was here at school. 

Wolverine's the one who died - twice - to protect me.    And he's the one I miss.

Missing him is almost tangible.  Wolverine…my Wolverine.  He stopped me from clawing my own brain out through my ear with a metal shish kabob skewer once.  It was a hell of a fight too…all internal, but it left me as drained and as weak as if I'd fought him face to face.  Why was I trying to lobotomize myself the hard way?  Easy.  It was right after Scott and the Professor died and I wasn't thinking too clearly.  I was trying to get Logan out of my head. 

Wolverine was the one who suggested the cure in the first place.  I didn't really need it.  I didn't have anyone I wanted to touch since Scott was gone.  And God knew no one wanted to touch me.  But having Logan in my head was making me more nuts than I already was.  I hated him so much…couldn't stand even a single minute more of his memories or thoughts or dreams.  God, especially not his dreams.  They were filled with Jean.  And I couldn't live with that.

I couldn't live with a lot of things.  I couldn't live with Logan in my head and I didn't want to live without Scott in my life.  So, once Wolverine stopped me from making a slushy out of my brain, he suggested that I take the cure.  Up side, I could get out of here, touch people again, be just a regular human being again, and get Logan out of my fucking skull.  Downside?  The cure would take Wolverine away from me.

And that hurt.  God did that hurt.

Almost as much as losing Scott.  Actually it didn't compare at all in magnitude.  But it did hurt losing Wolverine.  He even talked to me the whole time I was standing in line, keeping me from bolting.  At least with Wolverine, I got to say goodbye.  I didn't really get that with Scott.  But I did get to say it with Wolverine…right before I woke up bleeding in that alley. 

Wolverine was my friend and taught me a lot.  And most importantly, he taught me how to kill. Not the physical side of it, but the mental.  There's a mindset to killing someone.  Now learning to like it…well I did that all on my own. 

I hadn't had the cure and was still death on legs.  Found that out the hard way when I took off my gloves to wipe the blood from my nose and got jostled by a passerby who wasn't paying attention.  It was brief, the contact we had, but it did severe damage.  The guy dropped like a rock, faster than anyone had before and lay on the ground shaking while people around me started screaming for help. 

Panicking, I ran…well, staggered away down the street.  I'd gone just a few blocks when Remy found me.  It was only later that I realized a few things.  One, that the guy who I'd touched wasn't in my head.  Two, that I'd probably killed him.  And three…well…three was that I didn't really care if I had.  No…more than that.  I kind of liked it. 

He wasn't in my head, but I could feel his energy buzzing in my bloodstream.  It was a great high, as sick as that may sound.  It was heady and far too tempting.  I wish I could say he was the only one that I've found that high with since leaving the X-men.  But I can't.  Let's just say I've always had a hard time with the forbidden. 

…

I miss Wolverine.

…

That's why I can't - I won't - call the real Logan by that name.  Wolverine meant so very much to me, and Logan means next to nothing.  And for him to try and stop me from leaving?  To save what was left of my own mind?  When he was the reason for my sanity being in jeopardy in the first place?

It was everything I could do not to just reach out, put my hand on his cheek and drop him through the floor.  How dare he stand there and give me advice?  Who the fuck did he think he was?  My friend…my friend, my ass.  He wasn't my friend.  Hadn't been in a long time, and he thinks that just because he talked to me when no one else was around that I'd forget?  That I'd forget what he'd done?  Fuck no!  And fuck him!

A perfect world for me would be one where Scott was alive, and where Wolverine and Logan really were two different people.  That way I'd have the man I love back, and my friend back, and Logan could go straight to Hell for all I'd care. 

…

Where was I? 

…

Oh yeah, fighting and not being an X-Man anymore.  I still train though, not that I actually need it.  I book the Danger Room every so often and run through a work out routine that I've set up for myself just to keep my reflexes sharp.  So like every other person in this world, I get up, go to work, eat, work out, play too little, sleep not enough, and get up the next day to do it all over again.

Notice I left out any mention of a social life? 

That's because I don't have one.  And that's by my choice.  Some of my old friends have tried to include me.  Jubes definitely, but I keep shooting her down, with one excuse after another.  She is persistent though.  Bobby has come by once or twice, but I always decline his invitations to whatever distraction he's planning for the weekend, mainly because he annoys the living shit out of me. 

Even Kitty stopped by once and asked me to join the gang in the rec-room.  I said no.  And I'm sure she thinks it's because she fucked Bobby behind my back.  But honestly, I don't care about that anymore.  I said no because all I can see when I pass by that room is the night Scott and I sat there and watched the Ranger's game before we started dating. 

I can't go in there at all now.

So I work all the time.

That’s the only way that I get through each day.  I work until I'm ready to drop, go punish my body for still breathing, and then go to sleep only to dream of Scott.  Sometimes he's calling out to me to come to him, but he's always just out of reach.  Then there's the one where I watch Jean kill him while Logan stands there, holding me back and laughing while Scott is dying.  That's the one, that when I wake up, it takes everything I have in me not to sneak over to his room and kill him in his sleep.  But they're not the worst.

The worst ones are the ones where he's still alive, and we're happy together.  In one that I have a lot lately, more since I've come back, he's alive and chasing me through the mansion.  We're laughing and playing.  He jumps out from behind furniture or closed doors and catches me, tickling me until I can't breathe or just holding me close until we set off on the chase again.  Then I run around a corner and he's just not there anymore.  And no matter where I look, I can't find him.  Those are definitely the worst.  I usually wake up from those to the sound of my own voice crying his name and openly sobbing.

I hate the days that follow those dreams.  They're usually terrible.  Something always goes wrong and I end up being a mega-bitch to everyone…even those that don't deserve it.  I woke up from just that very one this morning.  I've got a rock lodged in between my breasts that's impeding my breathing.  My throat hurts like someone tried to strangle me in my sleep. Everything around me seems too sharp.  Too bright.  Too loud.  Too…just too much. 

When the first tear hits my desk, I stand up and walk to the door leading into Storm's office.

She sees me before I can say anything.  "Yes, Rogue?"

"I…ah…I'm not feeling very well.  I'm calling it quits a little early."  It shouldn't be a problem, and of course, I didn't really ask her either.  I just told her I was leaving.  I've been back on the job just about all of the three weeks that I've been back.  Just about every night she has to make me leave the office and lock up hours after I'm supposed to have gone.

"I was going to suggest you do that very thing.  You do look a little pale."  With a smile she goes back to the papers spread out in front of her.

I'm always pale.  Comes from being covered from head to toe all the time.  I don't say that though.  Instead, I grab my purse from the bottom drawer of my desk and scoop up my keys, locking the outer door to my office before I leave.  There's another public entrance to Storm's inner sanctum, so locking mine up for the night won't be an issue. 

I stare down at the keys in my hands and decide a drive might make me get my head together.  Going with the impulse, I leave the mansion behind and walk purposefully into the garage, wincing just a little at the ache that washes over me when I see my car - Scott's car - parked in its familiar spot.  Scott's car.  The same one Logan, Bobby, John and I took to Boston to get away from Stryker the night he attacked the mansion. 

We left it at Bobby's house after the police came, but one day shortly after Jean's memorial service, Scott just showed back up with it.  I hadn't even known he'd left the mansion.  I shouldn't have been surprised.  He loved this car.  It's the same car I took away from here the night I left almost eight months ago.  But seeing it here…sitting in the spot where Scott always parked it...

x-x

"No, no, baby," Scott laughed softly as the car bucked hard once, then shut off, as Rogue's foot slid off the pedal.  "You do it all together.  Here," he slid over in his seat a little and laid his hand over hers on the gearshift.

"It's a standard 'H'.  Top of the 'H' is first.  Slide down that same leg for second.  Up and over for third.  Slide down the second leg for fourth.  Up and over again for fifth.  And slide directly down from fifth for reverse.  Reverse is always difficult to get into on purpose so you don't blow up the transmission.  So it's sort of like a conjoined twin 'H'. And neutral is the center line of the 'H', or the cross.  Or any gear with the clutch fully depressed."  With the naming of each gear, he tightened his fingers around hers and moved the stick shift into the corresponding position. 

"Now," he pointed at her bare feet in the floorboard.  "Left foot presses in on the clutch.  Right foot lifts off the gas -"

"I thought you just eased up on it."

Scott grinned.  "No, baby.  You've got to take all the gas off, or you just burn extra fuel for no apparent reason and you burn up the clutch as you lift your left foot once in gear.  Make sense?"

"No," she pouted.  "Learning to fly the jet was easier than this."

"You're thinking about it too hard.  Just do it, and get the feel for it.  Then it'll make more sense to you."

She cocked an eyebrow at him.  "Why did you want me barefoot?"

His grin turned a shade lascivious.  "For a new driver, it's easiest to try it in barefoot.  That way you can feel the vibrations of the engine through the pedals."  She actually looked disappointed in his answer.  "What?"

"I thought you were being, I dunno, kinky, I guess."  She blushed.

Scott laughed.  "Baby, if I were doing that, we sure as hell wouldn't be in the front seat, I promise you.  So, ready to try it again?"

At her nod, he reminded her, "Shifting the gear and depressing the clutch should be one fluid motion.  Got it?"

Rogue nodded sullenly, her brows pulled together in a frown, a bit of pink coloring her cheeks as she stared out of the windshield.  They'd not even made it halfway down the drive yet, and they'd already been at it for almost an hour.  "I had it the first three times you explained it too.  I just can't make my feet work in time with my hands."

Still smiling, Scott watched the emotions play across his girlfriend's face.  She was so expressive; never a closed countenance.  If you ever wanted to know what Rogue was thinking or feeling, all you had to do was look at her face.  Into her eyes.  She hid nothing.  It was a very refreshing change from Jean, who had schooled her emotions so well that, near the end, he questioned everything.

But, as he was quickly discovering, Rogue was nothing like Jean.  He felt a momentary twinge of guilt for comparing the two of them so often.  It was normal, he consoled himself.  He'd been with Jean for years and Rogue only a month.

It had been strange at first, holding another woman in his arms.  Looking for a different set of eyes over the heads of students.  Sharing secret smiles with someone else at meals.  Holding gloved hands rather than bare ones under the table during staff meetings.  Watching a completely different set of hips sway enticingly in snug black leather as they descended from the jet.  But the strangeness was fading, leaving behind an easy familiarity that he was learning to crave.

Rogue was so open, so giving, so loving, so affectionate.  He exhaled slowly.  I could really get used to this...to her, he thought silently.  The idea of it filled his chest with warmth that began to spread to all the cold nooks and crannies.  And for the first time in months, he took a deep breath without pain.

Stunned amazement flashed across his face, and he realized he was staring at her when she blushed.  "What?"

"You," she drawled.  "You're smilin' at me."

He felt the grin he hadn't been aware of widen.  Her accent always deepened when she was feeling shy or passionate, he noted with a smug sense of satisfaction.  "You're worth staring at."

Rogue's naturally pale cheeks pinked even further at that.  She ducked her head bashfully, letting a curtain of hair veil her face from his view before she murmured, "Be serious." 

"I am being serious," he answered.  Scott lifted his hand to smooth her hair carefully away from her face, letting it slide through his fingers.  He reveled in its texture, like rough silk.  "Don't hide from me.  I like seeing your face."

"It's just a face," she said softly.

"A beautiful face," he corrected.

Her lips parted a bit in surprise and he felt drawn to them.  Lifting the edge of the thin silk scarf she wore around her neck, he brought it up to cover her mouth, and then laid his own over it.  Rogue returned his kiss for a moment, then pushed him away gasping.

"Scott!  Someone might see us!"

"I don't care."

She blinked at him.  "I don't understand.  I thought -"

"What?"  He asked, two small grooves appearing between his eyebrows as he frowned at her. 

She tried to duck away from him again, but he wouldn't let her, his fingers sliding through her hair to cup the back of her head in a tender but firm grip, keeping her facing him.  Unable to meet the unrelenting stare of his ruby tinted glasses, she cast her gaze downward, falling on the gear shift on the console between the seats of his car. 

"You though what, baby?" When she didn't answer right away, an ugly thought crossed his mind.  "You don't think I'm ashamed of you - of us - do you?"

She gave a minute shrug refusing to lift her eyes.

Scott was silent for a moment then gave a small huff of frustration.  "Rogue, look at me."

That was the same tone he used when issuing orders on missions, and she obeyed instinctively.  Lifting her gaze, she found him just inches away from her face, far too close for safety.  Reflexively, she pulled back, but his fingers tightened in her hair.  Not painfully.  Just enough to not let her move away from him.  Her eyes grew wide as she tried to see through the red lenses.

His voice, when he spoke, was gruff and thick, but trembled ever so slightly with some emotion that she couldn't identify.  "Listen to me.  I am not now, nor have I ever been ashamed of what we have.  Not once in the month we've been together has that thought crossed my mind.  Ever."

"Then why -" she trailed off, clamping her lips together, determined to give him whatever he needed.  And if he needed to keep their relationship a secret for a little while longer, then that's what they'd do.  "Never mind."

"No," he countered.  "I…I just…" he exhaled loudly through his nostrils before trying again.  "Baby, there's going to be some people, members of the team, who won't understand you and me.  What we have.  There's likely to be some talk, and I don't want you hurt by that."  Plus, he kind of liked having her all to himself for a while. But that wasn't realistic.

"I won't be," she assured him.

"Baby," he began.

She lifted gloved fingers and placed them over those luscious lips of his.  "No, honey.  I won't crumble and disintegrate over some snarky comments or ugly looks.  I'm tougher than people think."

"As I'm beginning to learn," he chuckled, as he moved her fingers away from his mouth.  He looked at her contemplatively.  "You're really not worried about it."

"No.  I'm not.  I love you, Scott."  She smiled at him.  "That means more to me than some gossip borne out of stupidity and pettiness.  Our friends, our real friends, will be happy for us.  And anyone who isn't?"  Her grin turned a little wicked.  "Well, they can go to Hell for all I care."

He smiled tenderly at her, and pressed a kiss to her forehead briefly, pulling away only when the familiar sizzle started in his lips.  He guided her head down to nestle on his shoulder as much as the divided seats would let them.  He couldn't say it back.  Not yet, but she didn't seem to notice or mind. 

He felt it though, he told himself.  He wouldn't have continued to make love to her after that first night if he hadn't.  Right?  That would have been cruel.  Of course he loved her.  He was certain.  It was just different than what he'd felt before.  Because they weren't the same people.  Understandably it would feel differently with Rogue than it had with Jean. He had to love her.  Anything less would make him like…well…like Logan.  And that simply wasn't acceptable.  Not at all.

Smiling against her hair, he kissed the top of her head and gave her another squeeze, then released her.  She tipped her head back to look up at him, the love and adoration she felt for him shining in her eyes plain for anyone to see should they but look.  It made his breath catch in his chest.  Yeah, he could definitely get used to seeing that every day.

"You ready to learn to handle my stick now?"

She giggled a little, and sat back straight in the driver's seat, smoothing her white locks behind her ears before she cranked the car.  She shot him a glance so sultry and so full of heat and promise that it shot straight to his groin.  "I thought I learned that last month."

His mouth dropped open a little at her tone, but then split into a wide smile and nodded.  "There's more to be learned, baby.   A whole lot more."

She cocked an eyebrow at him.  "Show me?"

He met her look with one of his own.  "Just get us back in the garage, baby, and I'll show you whatever you want." 

x-x 

He made good on his promise that day.  We got back home and spent the rest of our day off making love until we were so exhausted that neither of us was very steady on our feet.  We managed to make it down to dinner though.  And for the first time, we walked into the dining room together.  He took my hand, threaded his fingers through mine, and walked us over to sit beside the Professor.  He even pulled out my chair for me.  Just before he took his own seat, he leaned over and kissed me, bare on the mouth, in front of the whole school.  So much for us being a secret.

How's it possible to miss someone this much, to be in agony at the very thought of them and go on living?  I hurt and hurt and bleed and scream, and still it doesn't end.  It won't even lessen a little.  I miss him as much today as I did the day I felt him die.

Running my hand over the metallic blue top, I fight back more tears.  Sometimes I feel like I'm never going to stop crying.  On impulse, I lean a little forward and lay my cheek on the cool metal, start to close my eyes, and stop dead. 

I can't believe what I'm seeing.  My heart begins to race in my chest, making my breath come in harsh pants.  I wasn't expecting to see it sitting there.  They must have brought it back on the jet when they picked up Jean.  And no one bothered to tell me about it.

With wooden steps, unable to feel my feet hitting the floor, I move closer to it stopping only when I'm standing right beside it.  I lift my hand and peel back my black glove, taking it off completely.  My hand is shaking, but I reach out anyway and trace my fingertips across the worn black leather seat of Scott's motorcycle.  Immediately I'm swamped with images from the last time I saw it. 

x-x 

She tipped her face up to stare into the red lenses of his ruby quartz glasses.  "Just…just don't stay gone too long without letting me know how you are.  Okay?  You've got people who love you back here."

"I will," he vowed.  "And I think some of those folks back here who love me are pretty damn spectacular too."  With a bitter grin, he kissed her forehead, just a brief press of lips before he was moving away again.  "Take care of yourself, okay?  Don't let Logan work you too hard, because that'll just piss me off."  A positively sinister chuckle slipped out.  "I don't think he can take too many more direct blasts to the chest."

Rogue's eyes crinkled in confusion as she wiped away a stray tear.  "What?"

Scott smiled sweetly at her.  "Nothing.  Just thinking out loud."

She nodded and gave a soft sound of protest as he released her and stepped over to his bike.  She picked up his duffle and passed it to him so he could secure it to the back of the motorcycle, then stepped away as he fired up the powerful machine.

He revved the motor for a moment, tapping the kickstand up into place with a booted heel.  He turned and looked at her one last time, and the regret was plain on his face for anyone to see.  "I'm coming back to you, baby." 

"I love you."

He winked at her then roared away.

She watched until he was completely out of her sight.  Only then did she turn woodenly away and wander slowly off in the same direction from where she'd come, feeling dead inside, almost like she'd never see him again.  With a muffled sob, she began to run. 

x-x 

I don't know whether to laugh, cry or scream.  But I'm leaning strongly towards the latter.   I don't even realize I'm caressing the seat and crying until a tear hits the back of my hand.  Why this?  Why now?  I've had his car since I left. 

I know; I know.

As his widow, it's my car, but to me it'll always be his.  God, I hate that word.  Widow.  Makes me feel like a spider.  Only I didn't kill and eat my mate. 

Jean did.  Bitch didn't even leave me a body to bury.  She utterly and totally destroyed him.  His tombstone marks an empty grave under the big oak tree he and I spent so much time under when we were together. 

All I have left are some of his things.  Like the car.  Now the Harley.  Or anything else I can bring myself to clean out of our room, which I've still not managed to make myself go into. And like the glasses Logan handed back to me as his way of telling me my husband had been murdered. 

"I know you cared about him, Rogue, but it's been almost a year now.  Isn't it time you try to get past it and start living again?  He wouldn't want you to go on like you have been.  You know it and I know it."

Bobby. 

Sniffing softly, I wipe the tears from my face and school my emotions.  He doesn't get to see me cry.  Ever.  Why can't he just leave me alone?  Oh, that's right.  He's an asshole.  And most assholes have to have someone to be a pain to or no one knows they exist.  Looks like I win that prize.  Yay.  Lucky me.

"What can you possibly know about what Scott would want for me, Bobby?" I ask as I turn around.  "You're the one who kept telling me that I didn't mean anything to my husband.  That I was just a rebound relationship.  Looks like you were right though, when you said we wouldn't last.  He didn't - how'd you put it - realize what he's done and then it'll be all over.  Nope.  Didn't go down that way.   "

His face fell.  Like a chastised little boy.  How'd I ever think he was handsome?  "He did leave you though.  I tried to warn you, Rogue.  And don't forget I was the one there for you when Wolverine and Storm ran off to bring Jean back."

I growl low enough under my breath that I know he can't hear me.  "I hate you.  I swear to God I do.  It would be so much easier to just walk right up to you, and show you just what kind of damage I'm really capable of inflicting, you little stain." 

Not now, darlin'.  Save it for when you're really gonna need it.

I feel my blood run cold.  That was my Wolverine's voice.  He's not talked to me since I went to take the cure.  Wolverine? No answer.  Wolverine?  Are you there?  Nothing.  Talk to me!

Silence.

God, I've felt so disappointed as I do right now, and that makes me all that much angrier at Bobby.  Even though Wolverine doesn't answer, I do as he said, like I always do.  Everything I feel like doing to Bobby, everything I feel like screaming at him, I push down deep inside of me to save for later. 

Instead, I sneer at him.  "Oh don't get all sanctimonious on me, you ass.  You wouldn't have even have been there that day if Kurt hadn't pressured you into it."  I cock my head at him.  "Where is Kurt, anyway?"

"He went back to Germany when you left.  No reason for him to stay without you here."

Okay, so that didn't make any sense to me, but then again Bobby wasn't known for his superior logic.  "Good for Kurt.  I hope he's happy.  He was a good friend."

"Yeah, he was.  And I do know he'd be upset to see you like this," he answers, moving closer to me, but keeping some distance between us.  After all, I've not put my glove back on.  I see his eyes dart to my bare hand and I can feel a smirk curl my lips and one eyebrow going up.  A perfect imitation of Wolverine that I just know makes him wanna shit himself.

"Stop that," he hisses and I know I've hit the mark. 

I may not have him in my head any more, but I remember the look on Bobby's face the day my Wolverine broke through the barriers in my mind and came to the surface.  Scared him shitless.  It was a feeling that both I and my Wolverine enjoyed.  A lot.

"When you have your heart ripped out of you while you're still alive, then you can tell me how to get past it, Bobby," I growl at him then turn to leave.  "Until then, keep your asinine opinions to yourself."

"Rogue," he begins, but is interrupted by a deeper voice.

"Translation, Ice-prick: Fuck off."

The growl is low and menacing and sounded so much like my Wolverine than I turned around, my heart pounding in my chest, thinking, no matter how fanciful, that maybe my wish earlier had happened.  Wolverine without Logan.  But then he looks at me, smiles just a little, his eyes going sad and I feel really stupid for even having dared to hope for a second. 

It's Logan.  Damn it. 

"Oh look, a pair of matching assholes.  Good.  Now you can stay here together and see who can't out dickhead the other.  If you'll excuse me," I growl as I brush past Bobby, smirking knowingly as he yelps and jumps away from my still bared hand. 

Only he jumps right into Logan who snarls and slings him away…right into the nearest wall.  Now both pissed and emasculated, Bobby shoots a stream of ice at Logan, knowing how much he hates to be cold.  His aim is perfect as it envelops Logan's right hand, encasing it in a block of ice.  And yep there it is.  With the unmistakable sound of metal scraping against bone, Logan's claws burst through the ice and he snarls even louder as he advances on Bobby.  With a loud roar, Logan grabs him by the shirt and slings him through the air across the garage.

Just as Bobby catches himself on a slide of ice he sprays at the wall, I laugh, get behind the wheel and crank the car.  "Have fun, boys," I call out as the smell of smoke and burned rubber fill the garage as I peel out of there, leaving them to maim each other.

And they say women don't enjoy random violence. 

Stupid fuckers. 

-x- 

Sometimes I wake up crying at night
And sometimes I scream out your name
What right does she have to take you away
When for so long, you were mine
            You Were Mine - Dixie Chicks 

In the middle of the night… 

"Scott!"

The sound of his name jerks me out of the nightmare and I sit up, already scrubbing at the tears on my cheeks, hating them because they just won't stop.  My skin is clammy with sweat, making my nightgown stick to me.  Sickened, I fall back against the headboard of my bed and let the pain take me. 

Soon I'm sobbing, my shoulders shaking, my lip bleeding from biting down on it so hard trying to muffle the sound.  I can't see; my eyes are so swollen from crying.  I feel like I'm gonna die from the tightness in my chest.  And suddenly that's the answer.  That's what would stop this.  

Death would make it stop.

But then, out of no where, strong arms pull me into a warm embrace, sheltering me from the terrors in the night.  Still sleepy mind-fuzzy, I cling to that strength, thinking that Scott's come back to me.  I groan in relief, and sink back into those arms that have held me tight so many times before.

Shhh-shhh, darlin'.  It's okay.  I gotcha.  You're safe.

Ahhhh, okay.  I'm dreaming still.  But not about Scott anymore.  That's my Wolverine's voice.  He's the only one who's ever called me darlin'.  I don't care that I'm still asleep, dreaming that Wolverine is cradling me in his arms and I'm going to wake up missing him more than ever.  I need this right now.  I need him.  And I'll take him any way I can get him.

Turning in his embrace, I lay my cheek against his chest, reviling the warmth of his skin.  I even try to smile a little as his chest hair tickles my nose.  I wrap my arms around his waist, and breathe in deep, letting the scent of him fill me up.  "You came back."

His arms stiffen around me for a minute, but then relax. Yeah.  For you. 

"I missed you," I manage to say, sounding like a pathetic whimper even to myself.  But I can be this way with my Wolverine.  I don't have to be strong and untouchable.  He's taken care of me in my head and in my dreams for so long that I know he understands.

I missed you too, darlin'.  God, so much. One hand tangles in my hair in a gesture so familiar I feel tears slide from beneath my closed eyelids. Don't cry, darlin'.  Don't cry.  I'm here now. I'm not gonna let you get hurt again.

He pulls me in tighter lifting me up and settling me between his thighs on my bed, cradling me more fully against him.  I sigh against his chest, feeling safer than I have in a long time.  "Why'd you leave me?"

'Cuz I'm an idiot.  I won't ever leave you again, darlin'.  I promise.

I nuzzle in deeper, rubbing my face against him like a cat would, and place my ear right over his heart.  The strong and steady thump reverberates through my whole body and I can actually feel my own heart reset its own beat to match his.  It feels so right to be held like this by him that I can't resist the impulse to turn my face and press my lips to his sternum in a light kiss.

A low rumbling sound from him vibrates his chest against my face and I smile.  "You mean it?"

Yeah, darlin'.  I do.

With a relieved sigh, I relax against him, feeling the horrors of the dream fade from my mind.  Nightmares can't touch me when Wolverine's protecting me.  Never have been able to.  I feel that heaviness of sleep begin to seep into my bones, and my thoughts start to scatter as I start to drop off.

Then I hear something that snaps me awake, setting my heart to beating so hard that feels it's going to crack some ribs.  Something that is not my Wolverine.  It reminds me that he's gone.  He's not coming back.  Ever.  And worse yet, the arms holding me don't belong to my Wolverine and I'm not dreaming. 

"Feelin' better now, kid?"

Immediately I'm shoving and kicking at him, raking my nails down his cheek, carving bloody furrows that heal up as quickly as I cut them.  "Don't fuckin' touch me!"  My voice is a parody of sound, all ragged edges and sharp corners, like I've been gargling with razor blades.

'Hey, hey!  Easy, easy!  Marie, it's me!"

"I know damn good and well who it is!  Get off me, Logan!"

The concern in his voice switches over to frustration instantly as he lets me go, moving over to the window seat once again.  "Jesus Christ, Marie.  I'm just trying to help you, here.  That's what friends do."

"I don't want or need anything from you!"  I scream at him.  "And you're not my friend!  Not anymore!"

He stares across the room at me, a contemplative look in his eyes as he props one bare arm on the knee of his sweats.  He didn't bother turning on the light because he doesn't need it.  And for once, neither do I.  The moonlight is bright enough that it gives me just enough light to see him far more clearly than I want to. 

His voice is low and even when he says, "If I really believed that, I wouldn't be in here now."  He's going to believe whatever he wants to believe.  He's always been that way and nothing I can say will change his mind.  So I don't bother.  "I'm sorry about Cyke, Marie."

"Too little, too fucking late, Logan."  Pushing my hair out of my face, I jerk the covers back up over me.  "I don't want to talk to you about Scott.  And definitely not about me and Scott."

"If you love him even half as much as I've been hearin' that you did, then you kneed to talk to someone about him.  So why not me?  Who else knows what you're goin' through right now?"

"Shut up!"  I hissed at him. 

"How long have you been in love with him," he asks like I've not said anything.

The question stops me cold and I forget to be angry at him for a moment.  "Years," I answer, not really knowing why.

"When?"

Part of me hates that I understand his question when anyone else would respond with a confused huh?  But another part, the part he's right about, needs this.  Needs desperately to share this with someone.  Even if it is Logan.    Where was Wolverine when I needed him?  "When you first left me here by myself.  After Liberty Island."

A flash of what may have been guilt passes over his eyes.  "That long, huh?"

I nod, and scrub my hand over my cheeks again.  "He was nice to me.  Went out of his way to make me feel welcome here."

"Yeah, he would."  He nods, still staring at me with that impenetrable gaze of his.  "Say what you want about One-Eye, but he took you kids real seriously, especially you teenagers.  That's one of the reasons I left you here and didn't worry too much about you, Marie.  I knew he'd take good care of you when I couldn't."

I never knew that.   

I stare back at him, and now I want to really cry.  Because sitting across the room from me isn't Logan.  It's my Wolverine.  At least, this is how he always was in my head for me.  The same way he was in the truck when we first met.  The same way he was every time he'd come back after he'd been away for a little while.  Before anything and everything became more important.  Quiet questions.  No pressure.  Just talking. 

"He did," I whisper feeling more miserable by the second.  I can see Wolverine in the man across the room and I can't do or say a thing about it, because Logan's in there too.  And I just can't stomach him anymore.  "We got to be really good friends."

"And then more than friends?"

"Yeah."  I nod again, leaning my head back against the headboard, rolling my neck to look at him more fully. 

He pauses and just looks at me.  No expression, just a steady stare that I should be uncomfortable with, but I'm not.  His face is half in shadow, half lit by moonlight letting me see both parts of him easily.  Wolverine in the light and Logan in the shadows.  You'd think it'd be the other way around, but not to me it isn't. 

"Why didn't you tell me, Marie?  You told me about all your other boyfriends.  Why not tell me about Scott?"

And for some damn reason I suddenly feel seventeen again.  "Cause you'd have laughed at me."

"No, I wouldn't have."

"Yeah, you would've too," I nod as he shakes his head.  "Logan, come on.  If I had told you right after Bobby and I split up that I was falling for Scott, you'd have grinned and teased me about a schoolgirl crush on an older guy and then made lots of embarrassing comments whenever he was around, thinking it was funny." 

He looks away for a brief moment, and I know he agrees with me whether he'll admit it or not.  "And it wasn't funny to me.  I loved him.  Really loved him.  I knew there wasn't any hope in it.  Even so, I didn't want to be teased about it." 

Just like I didn't want to be teased about loving you either, I think to myself.  But I'll cut my own tongue out before I ever tell him that.

"I wouldn't have teased you, kid."  His voice drops a little.  "I know what it feels like to love someone you can't have.  No, I wouldn’t have teased you.  I'd have listened.  And understood."

He pauses again, and I just let the silence lay between us until he's ready to say something else.  "Why didn't I know about you two once you got together?"

"You weren't here," I sigh and settle further into the pillows behind me.  "He…left…the day you got back, remember?  You led the training session that day."

"Mmmm," he grunts nodding again.  "Did he love you back?"

That's a question I've been asking myself for a long time now.  "I…I don't know.  I think so.  He never said, but he seemed to care about me.  At least, I felt loved by him."

I can see him quirk a small smile at me.  "Good.  You deserve that.  But I bet he did more than just care a little.  And if he didn't, he was a damned fool.  He was good to you?"

Although he's not asking about anything specifically, I know what he means.  I can feel my face heating with a fierce blush; but I can't summon the anger since he's making me remember Scott's touch on me and how I felt in his arms.  "Yeah.  Very." 

I run my tongue over the split in my bottom lip where I'd bitten it hard enough to break the skin, tasting the metallic tang of blood.  I see his nostrils flare and know he can smell it.  Out of habit, I lick the blood away, and another low rumbling comes from his deep in his chest.  "And your skin?"

I can't help but grin a little.  "Scott was…very…imaginative."

Even in the dark I can see that eyebrow arch for the sky.  "How long were you together before you married him?"

"Almost two years.  Married for six months."

"Humph.  A lot longer than I ever had with Jean.  Be thankful for it."

And goddamn him, but why now does Logan have to suddenly rear his fucking head?!  He just has to go and bring her up.  I quickly remember why I am so mad at him as the near uncontrollable rage comes rushing back.  "Damn you, Logan.  Get out!"

"I'm goin'." He says, as he stands up, walks to the edge of my bed and stares down at me, all of his face now in shadows.  "But remember something for me, Marie.  We were gettin' along real well there for a while when you forgot why you were mad at me.  Maybe some day you'll tell me what I did to hurt you so bad." 

He walks to the door, the muscles in his naked back rippling in the moonlight shining in through my window, making him look like chiseled marble.  He may be a world class asshole, but he's a fine specimen of a man.   And he definitely has the finest ass in all Mutandom, as Jubes said once.  For some reason, that makes me even madder.

"I hate you!" And on some level, I do.  For showing me that Wolverine was still there.  But he's more Logan now than Wolverine and to me, that's almost as bad as another death.

He turns back unexpectedly, and gives me a sad look.  "You hate me about as much as I hate you, kid.  Don't bother to deny it.  You can lie to me all you want.  But we both know that it isn't true.  Doesn't hurt me for you to lie to me since you know I can smell it on you when you do it.  But for God's sake, Marie.  Stop lyin' to yourself. "

And with that he leaves.

I really hate it when he's right.  I don't hate him.  I can't.  God I want to.  And I'm mad enough to really hurt him anyway I know how.  But I don't hate him.  How can I?  He's just as much Logan as he is Wolverine.  Like I'm just as much Marie as Rogue.  And just as much Scott was Cyclops.  We're all two people in one skin.  You can't have one without the other. 

We're a happy little band here in Sybil's Sandbox.  Two personalities for every person.  It's a two-for-one sale over at Mutant High, so come on down!

I can't hate him.  But I can't stand him either.  I'm still too furious with him, and I don't ever see that changing.  Great.  Now I'll never get back to sleep.  Bastard.

Only one thing will help now.  I throw off the covers and shrug into my robe, wondering the whole time, if I really wasn't dreaming, then how did I rub my face on his bare chest and without my mutation hurting him? 

~fin~

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