AN: Hello, Rogan shippers/Fanfiction peeps. Because of a request for Rogan, I searched far and wide (in my FF folder) for any leftover fiction and here it is.

Disclaimer: X-Men isn't mine. This story will have a mix of comic/movie references. This isn't my best work, but if you're up for some Rogan fluff/angst/drama, well, this is it (I like to think). Haha.

Dedicated to: My beloved identityless.


"Come back to me," the voice from the other line mumbled quietly. It almost came off as begging, and it probably was.

Guaranteed, had it come from anyone from Wetchester—him, specifically, she would have probably considered it. However, Rogue rolled her eyes and huffed. "Stop calling me, Mystique."

"You used to call me 'mom'."

Right. Resurfacing memories were a bitch. Rogue had to pinch the bridge of her nose and squeeze her eyes shut. It was tempting to give in, to say yes; was it wrong to feel a sense of longing to return to the one person who truly thought of her as family? Was it wrong to want some sort of familiarity, a home? She took a deep breath before speaking again. "If… if you really love me…"

"I do. I do, more than you know," Mystique's voice cut sharp against her phone, the desperation so transparent it made Rogue flinch. She should know. Raven was infamous for her natural deceiving nature, and to hear the same person uncharacteristically, honestly distressed... It undoubtedly stirred the compassion in her heart. "Please, Marie."

Hearing her name again made something snap. "Rogue," she hissed, unable to help herself, the pity and warmth retreating, almost disappearing. "It's Rogue." Steering herself back to her intended frame of mind—the unforgiving one where she would come out strong, she knew there was no turning back now. "If you really love me like you say you do, you'd give me time and stop calling me. I have somewhere to be, so goodbye."

And just like that, Rogue dropped the call and shoved her phone back in her pocket. She knew it was a mistake to have still kept the number despite Mystique tracing it. Perhaps Rogue still wanted to keep that one last string to her past. Cutting Mystique off would be the last nail to the coffin, she thought.

It didn't take long for her phone to start vibrating again, and all she could do was grumble about stupid, persistent people who can't get a clue before turning it off. She will get a new number tomorrow, she decided. For a while she stared at her gloveless hands—bare for at least a few months now, and she realized she needed a mani-pedi. Red, she thought bitterly. I want fuckin' red nails.

"Need you back inside, Diane!" she heard her boss call out from the kitchen, and she's all but willing to get back in there from her smokeless smoke break, but then she felt it.

It was the familiar yet strangest sensation in her body. It was a quiet thrum in her blood. She felt like her ears, her nape, and her core was burning. Her nerves were suddenly tense—a mix of fear, pleasure, and yearning altogether; she knew she was being hunted. Something dark and feral laughed within her, taunting her with a deep, amused growl.

Told ya, darlin'.

Rogue hated how she'll get fired for the nth time, but it was the casualties of being a professional runaway. With another breath, she was certain it was him. She could hear the familiar throttle of Scott's bike, could almost feel that thick pumping muscle as it beat against his adamantium ribcage. She closed her eyes, imagined him spotting the diner where she worked, guns the engine harder, faster...

I'm gonna find you.

Trembling, Rogue opened her eyes and dashed out the back door. She leapt into the thick woods first before zooming up to the sky, lost between the clouds and sunlight. Her heart was beating so fast, so loud between her ears, and with her supervision, she saw it—the goddamned motorcycle, the leather jacket and the stupid hair. She hated that she could even smell his musky scent and sweat, just as she could smell his curiosity and wonder: where had she gone off to this time?

Maybe he'll go away, Rogue thought hopefully, still suspended in the air. Maybe he'll leave, but of course he won't. He'll stay the whole night—for as long as she was there, he will never leave. As long as they were in the same atmosphere, he will persist. For a few more minutes, she stayed, feeling it was the only time they could be together somehow. So close, and yet so far, but still together in her heart.

He may not love her the way she wanted him to, but Rogue relished the fact that he was looking for her, longing for her—even if it was only friendship that he desired. It was enough. She had to convince herself it was enough. She knew he thought she wasn't ready, and perhaps he was right. Truthfully, she wasn't ready to understand his reasons either. She can't face him, not now, not when she was still so vulnerable.

Till then, she whispered before flying away, "Keep thinking of me, sugar..."


Logan didn't need to ask the people at the diner if they've seen her. He wasn't going to play detective. Because he knows she was here. Her scent was faint, disappearing into the bland stench of fried food and smoke that most cheap diners had. He could already hear one of the waiters wonder aloud where Marie was, or rather, Diane. He snickered.

He walked away then, turned around to leave, although he didn't return to his bike. Making his way at the back of the diner, he was slightly perplexed to see a thick patch of woods before him. What in the fuckin' world did Marie in there? Mindlessly, he followed her scent.

Sweet, sweet honey. Woman. His woman—

Shaking his head, ridding himself of inappropriate thoughts he had for his friend, Logan dashed through every tree, grass, and rock only to come at a dead end. So many questions were running through his head. When did she become so fast? How can she lead him on this way? What's with all the secrets, Marie?

She's here, bub.

Frustrated, Logan growled. He could feel his inner Wolverine pounding inside its brittle cage. Their prey was here, and yet—she was everywhere. His lungs marveled at the addicting drug that was her scent. Desire coursed through his veins, and Logan was ashamed of himself. The Wolverine, however, burst out in the open.

Mate.

The Wolverine's mate was here. He wanted to take her. Bend her over, crush her smooth knees against grass and dirt and fuck her properly. Rut her real good, make her forget her name, make her scream his. He was about to tear through everything in sight when he suddenly froze in place.

Stop.

Why!?

Because I said so.

Fuck off.

Marie—you can't destroy her.

The Wolverine knew his greatest enemy was the one who held the key to his cage. The person who held him in an idiotic leash. The person who continually denied him freedom—the one who kept them separate. Ignoring Logan's voice in his head, he called out for her, "MARIE!"

No answer.

He dropped to his knees, weakened by his anger. He snarled at his incapacity to find her sooner, he despised himself for not being strong enough to truly find her.

Why can't you see? We need her. I need her.

Why can't you see I need you, Marie?

Returning to his senses, Logan was confused. He could never understand why his rabid feral wanted to claim young, sweet Marie as his own. It was easy to fall for her charms, but if he gave in to his instincts, surely he would be beyond redemption! Was he so sick and twisted, to tarnish someone so pure? Those dirty thoughts about Marie had to be forgotten, had to be pushed far back into the dark secrets of his soul.

Sadly, the Wolverine wasn't having any of that.

Maybe it was why he was taking so long to find her. Logan kept giving her a head start, knowing once he finally caught her, he would have no idea what he would do. And as much as he wanted to stop looking for her completely, he just couldn't do it. Sure, Wolverine needed Marie for other (pleasurable) reasons, but Logan needed Marie just as much.

She was his best friend. Marie reminded him of things he needed to keep in his life: his sanity, his conscience, his reason to live. She was his angel of hope. Why would he want to change what they had? He just needed her to see things the way he did. Mixing romance and sex into their relationship, turning their platonic love into something erotic—it would change them.

As of now, Logan wasn't sure if he needed that kind of change in his life. He was afraid of what those changes might trigger. His life experiences taught him one thing, after all; romantic love wasn't for him. True love always complicated things. It always led to death, and then a cycle of grief he never got used to. If only his healing abilities extended to heal the deep scars in his soul.

He loved Marie too much to lose her to circumstance or death. He couldn't bear it.

If only Wolverine and Marie understood him. He was here to bring her back because he knew that Marie belonged with him, and safe at Xavier's.

For a while he'd like for the X-Men to share the burden, point an accusing finger in their direction, accuse them for failing Marie. He left her in their care and they failed. But they failed only just because he did, because he was himself. Marie never really cared about them, she only put up with them because he was there and all the other implications of her 'hero worship', her 'crush' even after all these years…

Come back to me, Marie, he wanted to tell her in person, but all that was here were blades of grass, sky, trees and her fading scent. He heard the soft echo of her voice, telling him to think about her, and all he could do for now, was to stare at the sun.


AN: Leave a review if you love Rogan. :D