x-x-x- Three Months Later x-x-x

Jean shut her eyes tightly at the familiar sound of hard boots smacking the wooden floors of the mansion. Her hands froze midair as the heavy snarling filled the air, followed by the breaking of glass. Taking a deep shuddery breath, Jean decided it was time someone help him. Marie had been dead for three months, and Logan was still going out on his midnight excursions. None of the X-Men knew what he did when he left, but often Logan would come back with torn clothes, and dried blood on his fists. Scott hadn't felt it was his place to speak to Logan about anything, Ororo had felt the same. Xavier, having tried to speak to Logan and only succeeding in getting his walls broken, had avised they let him grieve in his own way. But, Jean had had enough.

There was no talking to Logan anymore. He'd left as soon as Marie had died, driving north and as far away from New York as he could. Then, just a few days ago, he'd come back. No one really knew why he returned, but ever since then, he'd been the cause of the recent tension thickening throughout the school. Jean hoped that maybe she could get through to him. After all, Logan had formed an attatchment to her.

Rising from her chair, Jean marched into the hallway, trying to ignore her fluttering heart. Stopping midway, she held in a gasp at the sight of Logan ravaging one of the closets of the masion. She knew for a fact he was aware of her presence, but he didn't even look up.

"Logan.." Jean shifted her weight to her other foot as the man continued his task, blatantly ignoring her. "Logan!" she shouted, her voice clearly rising over the noise he was making.

Suddenly, Logan stopped and raised his head, snarling at her. His hazel brown eyes were fierce and narrowed, and Jean took a large step back as she realized his claws were extended. "Logan," she said almost whispered, the volume in her voice dropping considerably, "What are you doing?"

Reaching inside the closet, he stuffed an indiscernable object into his pocket and glared at her, slamming the closet door shut. "Going out," he growled, brushing past her.

"Logan, it's not your fault!" The desperation rose in her voice as she realized he would never just stop and listen to her. She had to throw the words at him.

Logan spun around, his eyebrows drawn together darkly. "I should have been with her!" His tone was low and deep, and pained. Eyes flashing considerably as the words spilled out of his mouth, "I promised to protect her! I let her die!"

"Rogue wouldn't want you to blame yourself. She-" Jean bit her lip, swallowing hard, "she loved you," she said softly.

Logan's face fell, causing him to turn his head quickly to the side. Avoiding Jean's gaze, his voice filled with an insurmountable emotion, "She trusted me," he uttered, flexing his hands, "And I let her die." With that, he pivoted on the heel of his boot and shot out of the mansion faster than she had ever seen anyone move.

Where the fuck was he? His eyes.. they felt so heavy and worn, he couldn't even see where the hell he was going. Bright neon red light shocked his pupils, causing him to growl in fury. Who had put those there? Sick laughter made its way into his eardrums. Those damn whores.. always laughing at someone. Leaning heavily against the stone wall of the alley, Logan pressed his forehead against the cold rock, trying to regain his focus. Then again.. maybe he should just give in to it.

Rubbing his hands over the callused knuckles, Logan squeezed his eyes shut as the claws shot through the flesh with a quick convulsion. Raising the sharp edge to his face, Logan tore at the skin in his cheek, heart pumping loudly in his chest as blood spilled from the wound. The excrutiating pain caused him to shudder, but only drove him to slowly lower the metal and aim toward the left corner of his chest. Claws dug at his skin, tearing the tissue inside, driving dangerously close to his heart, but he stopped mere milimeters before it. Loud roaring filled his ears, shutting out every other thought and earthly activity. Soon, he only became aware of the slow, languid beat of his heart, fighting to stay alive, and Logan fighting to die. The blades were still fully submerged into his body, but already the tissue around them began to heal slowly, sustaining his agonous breath. Tears sprang to Logan's eyes, his chest heaving spasmodically, a chill suddenly cooling his burning flesh, and his other hand hanging helplessly at his side.

This is what it must have been like for her, he thought morosely, slowly, reluctantly drawing his claws from his soaked chest. His body failed to support him, causing him to crumble to the ground, only enough strength to let his blood-stained claws retreat back into the flesh. Involuntarily, his eyes wandered to the dark sky above him, as if Marie, dressed in a billowing white robe, would descend and clasp his stained hands in her own divine grasp, and whisper to him, holding him as he had held her when she'd breathed her last.

The roar in his ears transformed into a high, purring ring, soothing him, calming him, commanding the lids of his eyes to draw closed, and say good-bye to this meaningless life. It promised peace during the storm, a black refuge that could swallow you up for a time, until you were able to cope, until you were able. Logan gave in, mentally cursing the barrier between him and death, then slipped into a dark world without thought, pain, action, or emotion. This, too, was a world without Marie. But, at least there, he wasn't aware of it.

"No," Marie whispered, shaking her head slowly, too drained to open her eyes. She felt a rough hand cup her chin, the feel of hot breath blew against her cheek.

"We're making progress," Magneto whispered in her ear. "I can touch you without consequence."

Rogue moaned, attempting to jerk her chin out of his hands, to no avail. Her only weapon, her only source of getting out alive had just been stripped from her. Now, she truly was helpless and vulnerable. Now, there seemed no way for it to end.

"All I have to do is find out how to transfer your mutation to me."

"No!" Rogue moaned, pulling away from him, tears falling down her cheeks without her knowledge. Then, she resorted to pleading. "Don't, don't, please don't. Just, please don't." More tears streamed down her cheeks, leaving traces in dirt that had collected over time.

She had no freedom. Magneto kept her drugged up on valium most of the time, and only then would he let her take brief walks around the room, examining her to his heart's content. Back into the bindings she would go when the drugs wore off, and there she stayed until slipping into a dreamworld. But, she still felt the pain. Every time she felt even slightly conscious, a burning electric shock jolted through her side. She usually woke up screaming, but her screams got her nowhere.

She was alone, damned to this hell until she died. Hope that the X-Men would come to her rescue had completely vanished as she realized that Magneto's story was true. They would never come for her; she would never see the sun again, and Logan... a painful ache jabbed her in the stomach. She loved Logan. It hadn't been just some crush that others had believed it to be. She had truly loved him, had become a part of him, was being torn in two because she would die without him by her side. Rogue had planned on letting Logan's infatuation with Jean run its course, even though it killed her to watch him gaze at her, his eyes softening whenever she entered the room and narrowing whenever Scott took his place beside her. Jean, she had hoped, would have soon married Scott, and then Logan would come around and see Marie for what she really was. A woman, in love with Logan.

Her hopes died inside of her, as the familiar, and almost numb, feeling of the syringe pierced her now touchable skin, swallowing her mind into a torturous world full of Logan.