Storm overdid it, Logan griped to himself as he prowled through the woods. The heavy mist hadn't obscured the scent as much as rain would have, but the trail was much fainter and visibility bordered on nonexistent. He'd all but abandoned the use of his eyes, relying on scent to guide him.

After more than two hours' intense tracking, the sun finally broke through the fog. Logan scrubbed his hand through his damp hair, letting the warmth seep through towards his scull.

As the light spread through the woods, he sniffed to regain his bearings. The scent was still there, stronger and clearer now. Logan peered through the retreating darkness and finally saw what he'd been hunting for days: the iconic tan duster.

It was rigged up into a makeshift A-frame tent, and from one end stuck four feet, two wearing boots and two wearing dirty canvas sneakers. Logan approached in silence, but none of the feet moved.

He took hold of the coat's edge with one hand, and with the other quietly sliced the lines that anchored it in place. He tossed the duster over the quarterstaff and let it fall to the ground while he surveyed the unexpected sight before him.

Gambit and Rogue were curled up together, as innocently as children many years younger. Rogue's makeup was gone, replaced with a few streaks of dirt and something around her mouth that might have been chocolate. Her clothes were crumpled and dirty, but both her gloves were still on, and a tiny smile quirked up the corner of her mouth. Gambit's face was half-buried in her hair.

Logan extended his claws until the points just barely pressed against the underside of Gambit's chin.

"Comfy?" he inquired when the young thief glared resentfully up at him through one half-open red and black eye.

"Was," Gambit muttered.

"Get up."

With remarkable caution, Gambit removed his arm from Rogue's back and tried to shift away without waking her up. His effort was wasted, however; Rogue reached out for him as soon as she felt her source of warmth depart, and her own reflexive movement jostled her gently awake.

"Mohnin', chère," Gambit murmured.

"How's about shuttin' up, Cajun?"

Rogue moaned and scrubbed at her makeup-less eyes. "Whuzza . . . ebeh . . . Logan?"

"Right here, Stripes."

"Oh, Logan!" Leaving her professor only just enough time to draw in his claws, Rogue flung herself into his familiar hug, trying very, very hard not to cry. "Logan, Logan, Ah'm so glad you found us . . . Ah don't remember anything, and there are all these nightmares, and she gave me so many drugs and Ah didn't know what happened to Kurt and Kitty and . . . and . . . Ah stole a pair a'shoes!"

Logan, not knowing what to say to this, just held her tight while she clutched the front of his jacket and shook with the combined stress of everything that had happened since Kitty had dragged her into the clothing store. It was the best thing he could have done. Within two minutes, Rogue had calmed herself down and was able to coherently answer simple questions.

"Are ya hurt, Kid?" Logan demanded, taking Rogue's chin in his hand (still clad in his biking glove) to turn her face so he could see any injuries.

"No, Ah'm fine."

"What'd she do to you?"

"Buncha drugs . . ." Rogue pulled back her sleeve to show Logan the peppering of hypodermic marks on the soft skin of her inner elbow. "Ah don't remember very much."

Logan didn't comment on the sight, but a fierce, low snarl rumbled in the back of his throat. "Don't worry, Stripes. You're all right now. You're safe. You're going home."

Gambit, who was on his knee untying the remaining anchor lines from his coat, muttered something incomprehensible.

Logan looked up from his inspection of Rogue to send a malevolent glare in Gambit's direction. "And you want to explain what you're doing here, Gumbo?"

"Helpin' her," announced Gambit, shrugging the coat on. "Not that you'd believe me."

"Yeah. The I love Magneto tattooed across your forehead ain't helpin' your credibility much."

"He was, Logan," Rogue protested. "He got me here all the way from Baltimore."

"And he can get all the way back there on his way back to the swamp where he came from."

"He ca—" Rogue started to snap, but one fierce glare from Gambit silenced her. "He's helped. He didn't have to, but he did."

"Yeah," Logan snarled. "A regular hero."

"Yes," Rogue insisted, but Logan wasn't listening to her. He whipped out his cell phone.

"Storm, I've got her. We're not far. No, I'll get her on the bike. It doesn't look like she's hurt, but she was pretty drugged up and her memory's shaky. Tell the Professor he'll need to have a look at her. Yeah." He snapped the phone shut and stuffed it into his jacket pocket.

"You got a third party on dat call," Gambit told him.

"Mystique? Yeah. But by the time she gets her plane airborne again, we'll already be safe in the mansion."

"Mebbe you shouldn't be so cocky when y'playin' wid her life."

"Maybe you should shut up. C'mon, Rogue. We're only about half a mile from the coast road. It'll be an easier walk from there."

He took off without another word, at the easy jog he used for training runs. Rogue followed. Remy followed her.

"Ain't you got someplace to be?" Logan snarled.

"Till she safe inside wid de door shut behind her, I'm not lettin' her leave my sight," Remy announced, with blank finality. "We on public land, n'est-ce pas? Selon la loi, il n'y a rien que tu peut faire pour m'arreter."

"Et tu saurais tous au sujet de la loi, mec."

"Can we keep it in English, please?" Rogue begged.

"No need," said Logan. "The conversation's over."

"How's yo' feet?" Remy asked.

"Don't even feel them. Thanks, Remy."

"Remy?" Logan asked. "We're calling him 'Remy' now?"

"He's gotta have a name, don't he?"

Logan didn't have anything else to say to this. Within a few minutes, they broke free of the woods and emerged into the warm late afternoon sunlight. Before them, the highway stretched out of view in either direction, and beyond that the ground dropped away into the sparkling sea a hundred feet below.

Remy scanned the horizon, squinting a little against the light. "What was dat you were sayin' about Mystique not gettin' her plane back in de air?"

Logan froze, and a few seconds later Rogue heard it, too: a plane engine approaching from down the coast.

Logan didn't swear, although for a second it looked as though he wanted to. "She didn't land," he said through clenched teeth. "She circled through complete white-out for two and a half hours. Lunatic."

"De 56-320 carry plenty'a fuel on 'er," observed Gambit, nodding his approval of the aircraft.

Logan leveled a disapproving, suspicious glare at him, but when he spoke, he was all business. "Do we stand," he inquired of the company, "or do we run?"

"She's got Avalanche, Pyro, and Quicksilver," Rogue offered.

"Pietro," Logan snarled. "Okay, running's out." He pulled out the phone again, then shoved it away after a few seconds. "No dial tone. She's blocking us."

"So no backup?" Gambit asked mildly. He pulled a pack of cards from his pocket and started shuffling them. "Fine by me."

Rogue pulled her gloves off and stuffed them into her pocket. "Mystique doesn't get to push me around any more today," she announced.

"That's my girl," said Logan, pride in his voice. He donned his sunglasses and unsheathed his claws.

The plane did a neat little vertical landing in the middle of the road, and the engine died. The hatch swung open, and Mystique, Avalanche, Pyro and Quicksilver all descended onto the pavement. Avalanche hung back from the other three, looking determinedly at his feet. Rogue was hit by a vague memory of being undressed and re-dressed, and heat flared in her cheeks.

"Bonjour, gentlemen," said Gambit, smirking. "Wonderin' when you was gonna join de party. Long time, Pyro."

"Gambit, old chum! We really should go get a beer after this and catch up."

"Uh-huh." Gambit did not look interested in getting a beer with Pyro. The cards made a soft, menacing thrumming sound as they flipped through his fingers.

"Lance," Rogue called. Lance glanced at her for a second, then focused on his shoes again. "Lance, you walk away from this, and Ah won't tell Kitty you was ever here. Never happened."

He didn't react, but Rogue could see him thinking. She'd known him for a long time, and knew that he was more stupid than evil. If she could get him to walk away, the fight would be three on three. One opponent closer to the safety of the mansion. One fight farther from that airplane, with its needles and its nightmares.

Quicksilver scoffed at her, but she ignored him.

The two adults, meanwhile, were ignoring everyone and everything. A tsunami could have come sweeping over the highway and they wouldn't have so much as twitched.

"Logan," said Mystique.

"Raven," said Logan.

"How's Rogue feeling?"

"She's been better. The needle tracks were a nice touch."

"I didn't hurt her."

"That's up for debate."

"I've got to take her back, Logan. You have no idea what you're dealing with. I'm the only one who can help her now."

"From where I stand, it doesn't look like she's in need of too much help."

"It's only a matter of time."

"Shut up," Rogue snapped. "Just shut up, Mystique."

"Give her back to me, Logan," Mystique ordered.

"No."

"Her life's at stake!"

"And yours isn't?" Logan twisted his fists, letting the afternoon sun glint along the curved length of his claws, sparkling at their deadly points.

The two adults were locked in one another's gazes. For a long heartbeat, no one moved. Then Mystique shrieked, Wolverine lunged, and hell broke loose all around.


And once again, your French lesson for the day. We actually got a few hefty sentences in this time.

n'est-ce pas? Isn't that right?

Selon la loi, il n'y a rien que tu peut faire pour m'arreter. According to the law, there is nothing that you can do to stop me.

Et tu saurais tous au sujet de la loi, mec. And you would know all about the law, bub.

By the bye, yes, Logan does speak some French. Among the dozen or so other languages floating about in his rather confused head.