Disclaimer: Nope, still not mine.  Except of course for my original characters – and does anyone really care about them?  Probably not.

Timeline: A few months after the last chapter.

Disclaimer the second: My accent writing ability sucks, and I haven't tried to write Kurt before, so be prepared for greater than usual suckage.

This chapter is dedicated to scififreak, who suggested Rogue/Kurt in the first place.  You see what happens when you review?

Control is part of the way, Strength is part of the way, Power is part of the way, Love is part of the way, Mercy is part of the way, Honor is part of the way, Control is part of the way, Strength is part of the way, Power is part of the way, Love is part of the way…

"Hey." said Kurt, dropping down beside Rogue and interrupting her mediation.

"Hey yourself, Elf."

As usual, he grinned at her pet name for him, settling himself in the soft grass next to her.

"Where is your admirer today?"

She laughed.  "Gambit is locked in the kitchen, preparing his 'Cajun Feast' for tonight, so Ah'm free, for once."

They laid for a long time like that, just talking.  Usually Remy was always hanging around, flirting, trying to make her blush.  It was nice to have a chance to just talk to Kurt, for once. 

"What are you thinking about, Liebling?"

She shrugged.  "Ah don't know.  Ah just don't think Ah'll ever get control."

"Ya, maybe not.  And maybe Übung macht den Meister, Rogue."

"Huh?"

"Practice makes perfect."

"Ah suppose that means I should get back ta meditating" she sighed.

Kurt frowned, and pushed himself back upright, next to her.

"Maybe you should try it another way?"

"Like what, Sugah?"

He grabbed her wrist around the sleeve, holding her bare hand up, nearly touching his.

"What are ya doing, Fuzzy Elf?"

"Practice makes perfect, ja?  Maybe you just need something to focus on."


She sat there for what seemed like forever.  She could hear the twins arguing down by the house, and the faraway voices of Sword and Shadow, deep in discussion.  Suddenly, she felt something 'click', like a piece of a puzzle fitting into place, and she grabbed Kurt's hand before she lost it.

His eyes widened, but nothing else happened.

"D'ya think it's working?"
"I'm not dead yet, so yeah."

Rogue began to shriek with joy.  "I did it!  I did it!  I…"

As she lost her concentration, she felt the pull begin, and pushed Kurt away, a little harder than she meant to.

He fell back, but rolled over and quickly stood up again with the grace of a natural gymnast.

"Congratulations!"

"Ah lost it." she said, looking sad.

"But you did get control, Liebling."

"For all of ten seconds, Elf."

Kurt sighed.  "I hate to repeat my self, Rogue, but practice does make perfect.  Give me a little while, and I'll be ready to try again."

It took an hour and a half of arguing for Kurt to get Rogue to try again.  This time, she held on for a minute.

The third time, they tried it with both hands.

The fourth, she kissed him.

"Mein Gott!" he'd exclaimed, blushing purple.  "Why did you do that?"

"Practice." she'd explained, a wicked grin on her face.

After that, practice became much more fun.

Darkling looked like he was about to comment when they walked in the door, but Brightling hit him before he could.  Violet just smiled, and after a second, Sword did too.

"Congratulations" he said.

She concentrated long enough to give him a quick handshake.

Shadow glided out behind them.

"Congratulations indeed, Rogue.  I knew you would make progress with the right… motivation."

The assembled company laughed at that, and then settled down round the table.

"Remy hope y' like it hot!"

Gambit, wearing only tattered jeans and a 'kiss the cook' apron, strutted into the room, bearing the first of what he'd promised would be many 'Cajun delicacies'.

He noticed, with annoyance, that Rogue was ignoring him, talking to Kurt, and that Violet was watching them both with a sappy look on her face.

"Something tells Remy 'e don't want t' know." he muttered, slamming the first dish down on the table and stalking back to the kitchen.

"And where are you going?"

Logan shrugged.  "Out."

Ororo leaned against the door.  "Yes, well I've noticed what happens when you go 'out', Logan.  Upstanding members of society tend to be found beaten unconscious outside bars the next day."

He snorted.  "Upstanding members of the FOH.  I'm not allowed to defend myself, darlin?"

"Do not call me darlin'" she replied, eyes flashing.  "I can't believe you get into that many fights by accident.  What do you do, wear a shirt saying 'I'm a mutant, wanna fight?'"

"You'd prefer I beat up on yer boy scout?  God knows I'm not having any other fun around here, 'Ro."

She raised an eyebrow at that comment.  The wind outside picked up, and any sensible person, knowing Storm, would have backed down at that point.

That was the problem she faced, dealing with Wolverine.  He didn't believe in sensible.

"If you are going out, then I am coming with you."

"It's a rough bar, darlin'.  Think ya can handle it?"

She didn't dignify that with a reply, just walked past him, out the door.  Once she was down the steps, she turned around.

"Take your eyes off my ass, Logan.  Are you coming, or not?"

He laughed, and followed her.

The bar was called the "Freak-House", and was in about as rough a neighborhood as you could get.  At the door, two bouncers leaned, one on either side, their body language saying, in the universal and time honored bouncers code: "Yeah.  Just try it."

One was a giant of a man, almost seven foot tall, and as wide as the door he guarded.  The other was a stocky woman, her dark hair cropped almost to her head.  Tattoos covered every area of exposed skin except her face – and there was a fair amount of skin exposed.

"Logan." she said, as they walked up to the entrance.  "Long time.  Who's the girl?"

"A friend."  Wolverine indicated the man-mountain.  "Who's that?"

She grinned.  "A friend.  Name of Tower.  He's new here.  Doesn't talk much."
 "Ya gonna let us in, Ink?"

Storm shivered, as one of the snakes tattooed around Ink's neck suddenly reared up and hissed at them.  An illusion, she realized.

"Depends.  Is your friend dangerous?"

That was it.  She was sick of them talking over her head.

She stepped forward, putting herself between Logan and Ink.  Just a small display of power, of the frivolous sort that Xavier really frowned upon.

The wind picked up, a hard gale bringing with it biting cold.  A couple of teenaged hookers on the opposite corner squealed and ran for the relative comfort of the nearest bus shelter, but Ink just grinned.

Storm leant forward, as thunderclaps boomed through the sky.

"Only if provoked."

The wind stopped as quickly as it had started.

Ink said nothing, just gestured to Tower, who opened the door for them.

Inside, the bar was packed.  It smelt of stale beer and sweat.  And lining every wall, surrounding every table, hanging from the rafters, in some cases, were mutants.  A few bloodshot eyes turned their way, but Wolverine was known, and the other, obviously one of them, so they turned back to their drinks. 

Logan cleared a space at the bar by the simple means of shoving a few people aside, and got the bartenders attention by threatening to rip up the bar.  He ordered two beers, handing one to 'Ro.

Ororo took a swig of beer, and surveyed the room.  There were all kinds of mutants here, from the mudane looking (the blonde woman standing by the door, absolutely normal unless you noticed she was floating an inch off the ground), to the truly bizarre.  Candidates for the latter category included a woman with the scales and tongue of a snake, who was engaged in a friendly wrestling match with a boy – surely too young for the beer he'd just upended – whose skin was entirely transparent.  A couple of others were cheering them on.

"Ya see why I like it here?" inquired Logan, putting an arm around the shoulder.

"Indeed." she replied, wriggling away from the casual embrace.

He laughed.  "Ya could shit fire and they wouldn't care.  Might not notice."

"I'd notice."

Logan chugged the rest of his beer.  " 'Nother?"

Storm rolled her eyes.  "I've barely started this one!"

"Wimp".

Logan laughed, on his fourth whiskey.  He'd given up on beers after number fifteen.  Goddamn healing factor.  'Ro, on the other hand, was nursing her third drink, with no apparent intention of having another.  She yawned.

"It's not that late, darlin'"

"It's almost four o'clock, Logan, and some of us were up yesterday morning at six, and are supposed to be teaching a class in around five hours time."

He sighed, downed the whiskey, and took her beer off her and downed that too.

"Hey!"

"Yer tired.  We'll go home."
 "I can't believe that you're fit to drive."

"I'm fit for all kinds of things, 'Ro"

Ororo could barely keep her eyes open as they drove home, and Logan had to carry her up the stairs to her room.  By the time they got there, she was already snoring gently.  He chuckled, and laid her gently down on her bed, taking off her shoes (pretty toes), and covering her with a sheet.

"Love ya, darlin" he whispered.  "And one of these days I'm going to prove it to ya."