~*~*~*~

~*~*~*~

Rogue had been in her room, paging through books given to her by the Professor. She had become as close to him as any of the other X-Men during their search for an explanation to her poisonous skin, and a possible way to control it. And when they'd succeeded, she hadn't stopped studying. They'd found that as long as she was comfortable with the person making physical contact with her, her skin would have no effect on them, whatsoever. And like the other X-Men, they'd discovered a way for her to use it to her advantage. When they went on the missions, and she'd been fighting with an enemy, she would develop enough concentration that when she did touch them with her bare hand, she'd only strongly disable them, not instantly murder them.

But despite all of her great discoveries within the past two years, she'd changed as well. After Wolverine had saved her on the top of the Statue of Liberty, not only had she gained a second hair color, but also she'd become more cautious, as well as a bit edgier at times. She'd become more comfortable with herself, therefore giving her a chance to observe other people more than herself. And after he'd left, she'd been extremely cautious of those whom she let into her heart. Bobby was one person she knew she could trust. She knew he wouldn't hurt her, and she knew she wouldn't hurt him, in turn. Same with Scott, Storm, and the Professor. They were her family.

But that day, her long train of study was interrupted, by the loud rumble of a motorcycle. She looked up with wide, attentive eyes as the sound made its way to her ears. She'd remembered that sound from so long ago. The day Wolverine had left, to be exact. His words, saying he'd come back for the dog tags he'd left with her. She'd thought that that had meant he'd be back within a few weeks or so. But when a few weeks had come and gone, she'd slowly begun to give up hope of him ever coming back. For the dog tags, or for her. She looked down at her chest, her fingers reaching up to touch the tags that had hung around her neck the past two years. She'd tried to take them off several times, in the presence of Storm, or Scott, or Bobby, or just when she was alone. But she could never bring herself to do it. It was like she couldn't bear to let go of the one thing that even slightly resembled Logan's presence.

After about 10 minutes of thinking, a sound interrupted her thoughts again: This time, a soft rapping on the door. The visitor didn't wait for her answer, but opened the door, and leaned against the doorframe. She looked over her shoulder to see the man she'd dreamt of seeing since the day he left. But she didn't run to him, nor did she call out his name, nor did she even smile. She just stared.

"Hello Marie," he simply said.

Marie. No one had called her that in a long time. In fact, she couldn't remember the last time someone other than him calling her by that name.

"Where were you?" she finally asked, her voice level, not portraying a single emotion.

She saw Logan's chest rise and fall with a deep breath.

"Discovering who I was. I needed to find out where I was going. Where I wanted and needed to go," he replied, before a long pause. "And I was trying to save you from me."

She stared at him again, taking in what he was saying.

"It took you two years to figure out who you were and where you wanted to go," she said at first; almost in disbelief that he could even say that.

But he stood still, letting her get it out, knowing she had a lot to say to him.

She took a breath to continue, "And I didn't need saving, Logan. I'd made my choice, but it was you who didn't respect it," she said, standing up to face him. "You didn't trust that I'd made the right one, so you ran."

Logan stood up to his full height, and folded his arms across his chest.

"I didn't run, Marie. I needed time. And just because you were ready for something didn't mean I was," he replied, in that gravely voice she'd always replayed in her head. "You were still a kid," he added.

She couldn't argue with that. She had been a kid. And at seventeen, she'd been confused. Confused about her mutation, confused about her place in the world, confused about where she'd fit in next. But the pieces had fallen together, some before he'd left, and some during her time with Bobby, and the others.

"You still wear them," he said, coming a bit closer to her, motioning to the tags that hung around her neck.

She looked down at them, and let her hand come up to clasp around them.

"I tried to take them off," she said, wanting him to know that she wasn't just a lovesick woman. "But they were my last connection to you, and I couldn't do it," she said, meeting his gaze.

Her eyes remained locked with his for a few more moments, before they drifted down to his hands.

"Do they still hurt?" she asked, wondering if retracting his claws would continue to hurt for the rest of his life.

Logan looked down at his own hands, and flexed them a bit, looking at them, before shifting his gaze back to her, and nodding, "Yes. Always."

Marie longed to go over to him and touch him, but she wasn't sure how comfortable she felt with him yet. After all, he didn't know yet.

"Have you seen anyone else?" Marie asked, wrapping her arms loosely around herself.

Logan shook his head, "Maybe later. Though, I noticed Storm's room is empty. What happened?" he asked.

She knew he'd have had to pass Ororo's room before arriving at hers. She licked her lips, noticing how parched her mouth was.

She slowly began to walk around the room a bit, "After you left, Jean was in a fight. With Mystique. She didn't win. Both Scott and Ororo were extremely upset, but spent a lot of time with each other, knowing the other had been just as close to her. They eventually realized that they both were developing feelings for the other that were more significant than just friendship. So, with them together, Ororo has moved into Scott's room," she explained with a small smile, a slight wave of happiness washing over her as she remembered how Jean's death had brought Scott and Storm closer.

Logan nodded, but then a small almost-nostalgic smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. "Almost forgot about ol' Cyke," he said. "Was he pissed I took his bike?"

Marie couldn't help but smile a bit, "For a while, he was complaining, but then I think he started thinking about getting a new one, which is what he has now. You don't plan on taking that one, do you?" she asked, half-jokingly, half-wondering if he was planning on taking off again.

Logan looked at her, his expression more serious, "No. I'm back, Marie. And I intend on keeping it that way. That is, if I'm welcome," he said.

She decided that this would be a good time to bring up her and the Professor's discovery about her mutation. She took a deep breath, "First I have something I need to tell you," she said, slowly walking towards him.

He stayed where he stood, but dropped his arms to his sides. "What is it?" he asked, with a hint of concern in there behind the deep, rough features of his voice.

When she was within a foot of him, she stopped. She tugged at the fingertips of her right glove, pulling it off. "The Professor and I have made a discovery, Logan," she said. Sure of herself, she reached up toward his face. He looked at her as if she were insane, but when her hand made contact with his stubbly, unshaved cheek, he simply stood still, looking into her eyes, amazed at what had just happened.

"You can touch," he concluded, his voice softer.

Marie nodded slowly, "Yes, I can."

"B-but how?"

She took his hand with her other hand, and placed it on her own cheek, her hand covering his.

"Whomever I feel comfortable enough and at ease with, I can make physical contact with. The Professor and I have been working together for the past five months, or so."

He concentrated on her face for a while, studying her, as if to expect some other type of physical change. After realizing that the only change from the first time he met her on the highway, was the two platinum streaks of hair framing her face, he began to ever so slightly caress her cheek.

"I thought of you. All the time, Marie," he said, the confidence in his voice so thick you stab it.

She looked down, almost afraid to meet his eyes, afraid that it wasn't real.

"Look at me," he firmly, but somewhat quietly, commanded.

She obliged, her eyes meeting his dark ones.

"Marie, all the while I was gone, I thought. I thought about who I was, where I wanted to be, where I needed to be, who I wanted to be there with me, what I wanted to do. And I realized, that yes you may be much younger than I am, and that being with me is dangerous. But that I love you. More than a man picking up a teenager on the side of a highway, and more than the friend promising to watch over another friend. But from a man to a woman," he said, his rough features becoming a bit gentler as he spoke.

Marie looked up at him, realizing that he was indeed telling the truth. The man she'd thought to never come back, was here now, telling her he loved her. She searched his face again, for any hidden meaning, before beginning to lean in to kiss him. He moved forward to kiss her, knowing it was what she wanted, and just as their lips grazed, the moment was broken when there was a knock on the door, and it opened only too quickly after.

Scott peeked through a bit, "Rogue, I jus—," he began, but stopped mid-word when he saw Marie with Logan. And even though the gray visor covered Scott's eyes, you could tell that this was not going to be a happy confrontation.

Not at all.