DISCLAIMER: X-Men is not mine. Just borrowing. Written for non-profit.

Author's Note: This is my first X-Men fic. I've been a fan since I was a child and watching those cartoons. I hope you enjoy my foray into this 'verse.

A/N2: Set in the movieverse, after X3, where the Cure might not have been a cure after all.

JUST ONCE

She liked to think of herself as Marie.

The young girl stared at her reflection in the mirror and practiced a smile. She tilted her head downward into an almost-coy pose. She batted her dark eyes and pursed her full lips, then allowed those lips to quirk slightly.

The perfect shy-flirtatious smile.

But there was something missing. Maybe it was because the lips quivered, unable to really hold the smile. They tilted at a bitter, cynical angle—turning the smile into a mirthless smirk. Maybe it was because the eyes were narrowed almost threateningly into a glare. Or maybe, the tilt of her head was a whole lot less flirtatious, and a whole lot more daring and dangerous.

She liked to think of herself as Marie—but all along, she was Rogue.

With a deep sigh of resignation, she dropped the pose and just stared at her reflection. God, she hated what she saw. The long dark hair—unremarkable, except for the shock of white in the front that she had inherited from her encounter with Magneto, just one more reminder of how she could never be Marie again—the sad eyes that always, always just managed to look angry and cynical, and the lips—she hated her lips. They were by far too wide, too full, and too sensual to be on a girl like her.

They were lips that begged to be kissed.

Except on a girl who could give the kiss of death, it was a lethal weapon.

Her full lips twisted bitterly, her eyes turned stormy, and she glared bitterly, angrily at her reflection. A small growl escaped her lips.

"Bad time?" the voice drawled from her bedroom door.

She spun around suddenly, startled. "Logan!"

"Sorry, Kid, thought you mighta heard me," he said in that gruffly gentle way he always addressed her. "Didn't think that a dose of the Cure woulda taken your hearing away, too."

She smiled at Logan, chuckled at his small attempt at a joke. But she found a bitterness in her throat that made her voice husky. "Yeah…sorry…I was just…"

"Growlin'?" he filled in. He stalked into the room, dark eyes searching her face.

Rogue took a step back and bumped into the dresser. Logan had the kind of presence that just filled a room. He walked in and he exuded territoriality. Rogue felt it every time she came close to him, that feeling of being owned.

It frightened and excited her.

Half the time, though, she wasn't sure what she was feeling.

Logan frowned at her reaction. "Whassamatter, Kid? I ain't gonna eat ya."

Rogue swallowed past the lump of fear-excitement in her dry throat. "Sorry, Logan," she muttered. "I just…I just kinda really wanna be alone right now."

She saw the dark line of annoyance mar his face.

Logan wasn't handsome. He wasn't good-looking in any romantic sense of the word. But he was the kind of man that turned heads—both male and female alike. He had an animal magnetism about him, something feral and untamed that made people's hair stand on end every time he came by. He was electrifying.

But man, he frowned ferociously, too. "Anything you wanna talk about?"

Rogue shook her head. "It's…it's personal."

"Is it about a boy?" Logan's already-gruff voice became even gruffer. He always got protective with her on things like this.

She didn't answer.

Logan stood his ground and faced her evenly, hands squarely on his lean hips. "Look, Kid," he started, and Rogue instantly recognized that deep resonance in his voice that she had long since learned to associate as his "Lecture Voice." That always drew the indignation and fire outta her.

"Marie." She corrected him, a hint of arrogance in her voice.

He stopped short and looked at her evenly. "Fine," he muttered. "Marie."

She nodded.

"Look, Marie," he drawled, though he sounded like he didn't really mean it. "Ever since you got the Cure a couple weeks back, you've been…even less like yourself than when you couldn't touch anyone. You shy away from touching people when I woulda thought you'da been over the moon about makin' some kinda contact. Now, if somethin's wrong, you gotta tell me," he paused with a dark frown. "Or at least tell one of us: me, Storm, Pietro…Hell, you even got that oversized popsicle you call your boyfriend to talk to."

Rogue smirked, "Logan…it ain't your business who or what I wanna be touchin'."

Logan raised an eyebrow and looked her up and down.

She felt warm and flushed suddenly. She bit her lip and boldly stared back at him, refusing to back down from his apprising gaze.

"You remind me of you when I first met you," he said softly. "You were all prickly and scared of your own shadow at the same time, you little Rogue."

She had nothing to say to that, so she continued to stare mutinously at him.

Logan sighed heavily, almost wearily. "I take it you'll find your own way outta whatever's got you in a bind. Just make sure you ain't just runnin' away from the problem. Take it from me, Kid, runnin' gets you nowhere fast." With that he spun around and walked briskly out the room.

It was like Logan had taken up all the air in the room, so that when he left, she could suddenly breathe. She gasped a breath and sagged against her dresser.

Logan was wrong. It wasn't running that got you nowhere, it was hiding.

Rogue stared at her hands. They were shaking. She took a deep breath and walked towards her closet. She pulled out a small cage with a little white mouse scurrying around in confusion inside.

She stared at the mouse dispassionately.

She pursed her lips sadly. A couple of years ago, she woulda cried buckets over this little guy. A couple of years ago, she woulda gone on a crusade against animal testing. But a coupla years ago, she was Marie.

Now, after not having had any decent human contact, after fighting war after war on the battle for mutant equality, she was finding it real hard to give a damn about this little white mouse in the cage.

"Sorry, little guy," she muttered. "In the greater scheme of things, you're just…nothing." She was cynical and cold.

Rogue reached into the cage and carefully grabbed the little mouse out of the container. It struggled briefly.

And there it was…the sparks.

Rogue gasped slightly as she felt the channels opening between her and the mouse. It was as if her skin had become a black hole just sucking the energy, the life source of the mouse. It was like a rip tide that she couldn't stop. It pulled and it hurt. It always hurt. It was like taking a deep breath long after her lungs were completely filled, but she kept on breathing in anyway. It always felt like she would rip apart, even when it was only from something so small as a mouse. The current of energy continued to flow into her until she had drawn everything the poor guy had in it.

For a second, she felt the skittish, jittery feeling of being hunted. She felt an instinctive need to scavenge for food. Her vision blurred, then sharpened briefly. She hated this part, that moment when her own identity blurred briefly with the ones she touched.

God, even a mouse. She shook her head to get rid of the animal instincts, regaining herself.

She dropped the dead rodent in disgust and glanced at the clock. Four seconds. It had only taken four seconds to kill this one. Yesterday, it had taken twelve. Her powers were coming back exponentially.

She closed her eyes and fought back the anger, panic and fear that threatened to engulf her. She was supposed to be cured.

They can't cure us!

Rogue could hear Storm's angry voice ringing in her head. She can still remember that little bubble of hope that had carried her from the common rooms of the school down to Professor X's office when she had heard the news of the mutant cure.

That little bubble of hope was pretty much all gone now. It was replaced with an even deeper anger and bitterness than she had before she had remembered what it was like to touch another person.

Storm had believed that there was nothing to cure about being a mutant. Rogue curled her lip distastefully. Of course if she were a beautiful Amazonian with the power to swing the weather with her moods, she wouldn't want to be cured either.

But if she couldn't even touch another person without hurting them. If she couldn't even kiss a boy without killing him.

If I can't even look at the mirror and remember what a real smile looks like…? Rogue raised shaking hands up to her face and shuddered. She sagged against the wall behind her, and slowly slid down to the floor. She ran her fingers across her arms, hair rising beneath the slight electricity that coursed between her skin.

If she couldn't even feel safe in her own skin…?

Her fingers curled into claws and she dug deep into her flesh, wishing she could really tear her skin off. A bright red gash appeared on her arm, and she grunted half in pain, the other half in satisfaction. This was real pain. This was what pain should be like. Only like this. Not like the pain of hurting everyone around. Not the pain of always wanting and needing the simplest touch, and never getting it.

She watched, almost entranced, as the blood trickled down her arm.

"Rogue?" Bobby's voice broke through the dark velvet haze of her thoughts. She watched in horror as the doorknob turned, as the door opened and as Bobby's young, handsome face peered into the room. "Hey," he smiled at her.

Then he frowned, his eyes trailing over her huddled form, down her face and onto the dark red of her arm.

"Shit!" He stumbled into the room and ran straight for her, his arms extended, ready to touch her…ready to hold her.

"DON'T!"

Her voice was powerful. It was harsh and shrill, angry and painful.

It stopped Bobby just a foot away from her. His handsome face was frozen in shock, his outstretched arms suspended half-way between them.

"Don't. Touch. Me."

"But, Rogue," he started, taking a half-step closer to her.

"Don't call me Rogue," she snapped. "And I said, don't touch me!"

This time, Bobby reared back a little. "You're hurt. Let me help you." His voice was calm, distant. And she heard just the slightest tremor of fear there, too. And doubt—he was beginning to suspect.

"I don't need your help, Bobby," she muttered softly. "I need to learn to take care of myself."

He looked at her evenly, his bright blue gaze measuring her. "Okay," he conceded. Good ol' Bobby, always willing to look the other way. Always willing to give the benefit of the doubt. Always willing to believe.

Rogue slowly came to her feet, wiping the blood from the scratches on her arm against her jeans. She saw the way his eyes trailed after her movements; she saw the question in his eyes. "I just tripped, and scraped myself."

He opened his mouth as if to say something more, but she threw him a look that just dared him to say something about it—dared him to get into a fight with her. But Bobby was Bobby—he didn't like no fights. He sighed deeply, and it was like she could actually feel him release all the tension away from his body. "Right. Let's at least get you cleaned up."

"I can do it myself."

"Rogue, I wanna—"

"Marie." She corrected him.

He paused, swallowed back what he was saying and tried again. "Marie," he said softly. "I'm here. I'm right here for you."

The sad part was, she knew it. She knew he was there for her, willing to see the best, the brightest, and the most beautiful parts of her. But she didn't work like that. She didn't want to see herself through his eyes. She wanted to see herself through her own eyes. And what she saw wasn't anywhere close to being beautiful or even good.

"I know, Bobby," she said softly. "But I'm all right. Just a small accident. I'll be fine. I'm a big girl, y'know."

Bobby nodded, a gesture that he almost wore like a surrender.

Then his eyes slipped down to the dead rodent at her feet.

"I forgot to feed him." The excuse came out too soon. Too fast. Too wrong.

Blue eyes looked at her, questions framed in those fine lips.

"Bobby, I just forgot to feed him, okay?"

He didn't look like he believed her. His handsome, open face wore doubt like it had been painted on. Rogue decided to take a gamble and reached out for his hand.

She focused everything inside of her on creating a mental shield, hoping against all hope that it would be enough.

Their fingers touched.

Nothing.

She curled her hand around his, palm to palm in a gesture of trust.

Still nothing.

"Bobby, I just forgot to feed him, okay?"

He stared at their hands, skin touching in full contact. He looked at her, and she felt his relief zip through their fingers like a small jolt of electricity. Rogue kept her expression frozen, willing him not to have felt that.

But he just smiled at her and shrugged, happy to believe in a lie. "I didn't know you kept a pet."

She smiled tightly. "Not anymore, I ain't."

He chuckled, somewhat uncomfortably. "Aaah—right. Sorry." He squeezed her hand in his. Then he slowly raised it to his lips and kissed it. And that's when she started to feel it: the tingling sensation just at the base of her nape. It was like a channel inside of her was opening, a gush of power surging through her.

She quickly pulled her hand away from him, just before the contact became dangerous. He looked questioningly at her. "Sorry. Old habits die hard." She joked, then quickly turned her back to him. "Let me get cleaned up and take care of…Penny. Penny the Mouse."

"I can do that." He offered affably.

"No…no…" she smiled at him. "Bobby! When are you ever gonna let me take care of my own?"

He smiled and nodded. "Gotcha. Well…if ya need anything…"

She gestured for him to leave. "I know," she drawled, but her smile was gentle. She watched tersely as he turned to leave, and didn't breathe again until the door clicked solidly shut. Then the smile slipped from her face, leaving only a look of desolation. "I'll see ya latah, Sugah," she whispered softly, knowing full-well there wasn't gonna be a 'later'.

Rogue flitted down the hall as silently as she could, wishing for once that she could become invisible. This time, she was smart enough not to bring anything but the clothes on her back. They couldn't start looking for her until she was well and truly gone.

She had almost reached the front doors of the mansion when she heard him clearing his throat.

"Runnin' away again, Kid?"

She looked over her shoulder through a curtain of dark hair at Logan's silhouette. He was leaning casually against the wall, the disembodied red tip of a cigarette floating around his face, casting it in a small red glow.

"You don't understand," she muttered. "You'll never understand."

She turned away from him and continued towards the door.

"What? You don't think a guy like me's never had his hopes crushed before? That I ain't ever wanted anythin' so much that I was willing to give just about anything for it? That I ain't never been disappointed before?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"You ain't cured, are ya, Marie?"

She stopped in her tracks, and without looking at him, shook her head slowly.

She heard his soft tread behind her. She felt him stop just a breath away from her. She saw the cigarette drop onto the floor next to her shoe, and watched as his booted foot slowly ground the burning embers into ash. She could feel the warmth of him along the length of her back.

"Ain't no answers out there, Kid," he whispered, his lips just hovering against her ear. Rogue fought the shivers of pleasure that coursed through her. No one had ever done that to her before. Not even Bobby—who was only all too willing to believe that they had all the time in the world.

She tilted her head a small fraction closer towards Logan. "You don't even know what I'm lookin' for," she challenged.

"Oh, yeah?" he drawled. "And you think you do?"

Rogue could feel her anger rising. The thing about Logan was, he always thought that he knew her. Like he had the right to push her like that and make her trip in her own darkness. Well, he didn't.

She turned around to fully face him, tilting her head slightly so she could look him straight into his dark eyes. "You once told me that you understood what it felt like to be afraid of your own powers," she said softly, her Southern drawl drawing out each word like velvet.

"I do."

She smiled at him. But it felt more like a silent snarl. "But you don't understand what it's like to want something so bad—to need it—and to know that no matter what you gave, no matter what you had, no matter what you did…it ain't ever gonna be enough to have it."

He stared at her silently, his dark eyes veiled and shielded. Logan was good at hiding what he felt. Even his eyes gave away nothing.

"And you don't know what it's like to still want it. So much that you don't care what the consequences are. So much that I could kill for it."

She had said those last words to shock him. But she realized, deep down inside, that one day…she really would. One day, she was gonna need to feel another human's touch so bad…that she wouldn't care if she killed whoever touched her.

She felt Logan's strong hands grab her by the upper arms. He had a grip of steel, and no amount of fighting from her could ever make him let go if he didn't want to. "Rogue," he murmured. "That's who you are. Marie is the kid who was too scared to face up to who she was. But you—you are Rogue. You are more than Marie."

She stared at him in shock…but mostly in pleasure.

Everyone always tried to see her as Marie. Everyone wanted to see her as Marie. Even she had wanted to see her as Marie.

But Logan saw her as Rogue.

He saw her. The dark bits and pieces inside of her. He saw the pain and the anger and the guilt and the fear. He saw the good and the bright parts. He saw the need and the desire. He saw the gentleness and the capacity for something more.

He leaned over and gently brushed his lips against hers. His lips were dry and soft. She licked her own lips, trying to savor that small touch. Oh God, she wanted more.

Her desire must have shown in her eyes because he leaned back down and pressed his lips fully against her, pulling her body flush against his with almost-brutal force. Rogue melted into him. She opened her mouth and welcomed him. She molded herself to him and kissed him back with all the pent up ardor and emotions she had kept in the last few weeks.

She kissed Logan like he was her lifeline. Like he was the only person who could save her from falling completely into the darkness inside of her. He could give her what she needed.

Suddenly, she felt the channels opening within her. She felt the whirlpool of her power reawaken. With a small sense of panic, she pulled away from him. "NO!" she cried. "We can't."

He held her against him still, his arms holding her like steel bands. She was grateful for the layer of clothing between them, but at the same time, wishing she could feel him skin to skin.

"Yes, we can." He murmured.

She stared at him, half in disbelief, half in hope.

His chiseled lips smirked at her. It was an arrogant look, telling her he knew exactly what she wanted. But it was a look he wore easily and well. "I figure you're half-cured right now. And with my powers, we can probably get somewhere before you suck me all into ya." He smiled wickedly at the last statement.

"Logan, you don't know what you're saying."

"Don't I? Ain't like it'd be the first time," he reminded her. "You nearly killed me a few times before. I've always come back. Don't you think it'd be worth trying? Don't you think it'd be worth staying for? Don't you think…"

…it might save her?

The unsaid words filtered through them, weighing heavily on Rogue's shoulders. Logan could feed the darkness inside of her.

He lifted his hand and brushed a thumb across her lips, swollen from his kisses. "Don't you think it'd be worth trying…just once?"

A wicked smile touched her lips as if Logan had enticed it from her with his thumb. "Just once."

THE END

Thank you for reading. I hope you enjoyed it.