She tied the strings of her plunging red halter top at her nape and the small of her back in two perfect bows.

She slid silk stockings up her thighs.

She adjusted the buckles of her knee-length leather boots.

Her lips were red and glistening. Her hair was curled and wild. Dark gray powder circled her chocolate brown eyes.

Jubes and Kitty were in the corner and had watched the entire procedure with their mouths uncharacteristically shut. As Marie slid into the ruby leather jacket that she had liberated from Jean's closet, Kitty finally broke the silence.

"Are you sure you want to do this?"

Marie paused. The Ms. Practical and Sensible that lived in her brain, the one that screamed at her when she had made the decision to sneak into Logan's truck almost nine years ago, and the one who agreed with her when she made the decision to leave the cabin four days ago, wasn't speaking up now. It wasn't surprising, considering Marie's plan after Logan belittled her in front of half the school was to dress up like a designer biker slut, hit a bar- any bar, and go home with the first guy who offered to buy her a drink. The plan was so outside Ms. Practical and Sensible's world that the small conscientious voice suddenly found herself with a case of laryngitis.

Marie's eyes narrowed. "Absolutely."

"If you're gonna pick up a guy, why not Remy? It's obvious he wants you," Jubilee pointed out, chewing on her nonexistent fingernails; she'd already bitten them off while watching her friend tramp out.

Marie shook her head. No, Remy was too close to home. It wouldn't be fair to lead him on. No, she was out for a quick fuck- a one night stand –with someone she never had to see again.

She'd always considered the part of her that loved Logan to be the best part of her. What she intended to do tonight might very well kill that part. It would also hopefully free her from the hold he had on her heart, the one that prevented her from letting anyone else get close. At this point, it seemed like a fair trade.

"I've made up my mind." The keys to the Lexus dangled from one ruby-tipped finger.

"Don't wait up for me."

There wasn't enough booze in the mansion to get completely blitzed, so Logan didn't even try. Instead he sequestered himself in his room and wondered what the fuck he was supposed to do next. The idea of running again made him tired. He knew what waited for him on the road: questions that had no answers and long nights alone with bad dreams. He'd come back to help Marie and in a way, he had. Instead of being a lonely victim she was a furious warrior...only it was him she was fighting, not the Brotherhood, not faceless enemies of peace- him.

Logan wondered: when had he become the bad guy?

There was a commotion in the hallway. He rubbed his hand over his face wearily; what was going on now?

He jerked the door open, a trademark Wolverine scowl on his face.

The fierce frown dropped on the floor and shattered when he registered just what- who -was walking down the hallway toward him.

Marie. Only that wasn't his Marie, the one in jeans and a t-shirt or a fuzzy white sweater that covered her from chin to fingertips. This Marie was wild-

Nightcrawler was picking up the stack of magazines he had been carrying for Storm that he had dropped when Marie smiled at him. She walked by Jean and Scott, who had been making their way to their room and stopped dead in their tracks at the sight of her, and she winked at Kitty and Jubes, who were whispering furiously to each other behind their hands.

As she neared Logan's door she sped up her pace until she was striding, her hips ticking back and forth like a metronome beneath her short leather skirt. Yeah, leather, fresh and rich; one sniff told him that.

She merely glanced over her shoulder in his direction before dismissing him completely.

Logan growled. He did not like to be dismissed. Out snapped his arm, grabbing her wrist.

His voice was low. "Where do you think you're going?"

She glanced down at his fist, which encircled her wrist, and one perfectly arched eyebrow rose. He released her immediately.

Marie pushed a loose curl out of her eyes and flashed him a ruby smile. "Out. But don't worry, sugar," she drawled, dripping every ounce of Southern honey she could into the endearment. Making sure she had his attention, she hooked one finger under the hem of her short skirt and pulled it up, exposing first the lacy tops of her stockings and then the leather sheath strapped to her thigh. It came complete with one of her razor sharp knives. "You don't need to protect me anymore," she continued casually, smoothing the skirt back down. "I can take care of myself."

Before he could say anything else, she strode past him, her boot heels taunting him as they clicked down the wooden stairs and out the front door.

"rrrrrrrrRRRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAA-"

The inhuman scream rang off the steel walls. Adamantium claws cleanly separated a flailing tentacle from the metal body of a robot. If the machines he'd demolished in the last half an hour had been human, Logan would have been covered from head to toe in blood. As it were, there was the slightest hint of blood in the air; he'd been hit a few times. It had been at the height of the training program in the Danger room and he'd barely felt it. To tell the entire truth, his mind wasn't even in the fight. The fight was just something his body could move through, the robotic simulations just something his anger could focus on and destroy while his mind tried to cope with just what exactly had happened - was happening - tonight.

He may have looked like he was in his mid-30's, but his memories were only twenty-two years old. Same age as Marie. Anything before that was a blank. For fifteen years he had been a loner, living day to day, place to place, caring for no one but himself. Then, one night in some shithole town in Canada, a brown-eyed girl had stowed away in his camper. Ever since then he'd had someone to look after, someone else besides himself that mattered. Through her, others had come into his life until he'd found himself in the middle of a family of sorts; a family that didn't mind his gruff ways, his fondness for cigars even though smoking wasn't allowed in the house, and who understood his need for pizza and no distractions during a hockey game. A family that he knew would be there, even when he had to leave for awhile. He hadn't realized it at the time, but he had been content.

And it was slipping through his fingers.

By the end of the night, it would be all over. Someone else's scent would be on Marie, and although he knew he'd said they were still friends after his rejection, he had no idea how he'd be able to look her in the eye knowing he sent her into the arms of another man. He could have settled it once and for all; he could have grabbed her and pulled her in his room and tell her he was the one who needed her; he was the one who wanted her. Wolverine, the fuckin' coward.

He tore the grasping claws from a robot simulation with his bare hands, threw his head back, and howled.

He was so afraid of change he'd pushed her away, hoping it would be like old times, but everything managed to change despite him anyhow. He HAD to accept that, and if he loved her, it had to be because of the way she was now, not because of the way he liked to remember her. It was the innocent, tender, womanly things he'd always loved about her, her tireless faith in him- and he was letting her down. He had come back when she was most in need and only succeeded in torturing her more by stubbornly denying her what they both wanted, because he- the great and powerful Wolverine -was afraid. She was twenty-two and he was ageless, but he was by far the more immature of the pair.

Eventually the robots stopped coming. The simulation had ended.

Someone was clapping.

Panting, drenched in sweat, Logan turned to the sound.

Remy was leaning in the doorway, dressed in green sweats with his long hair loose around his shoulders, his bo tucked securely under his arm as he finished applauding Logan's performance.

Logan wiped his arm across his nose and glared. "Fuck're you doing here, bub?"

"Dis is de training room." He shrugged. "Remy came to train." Remy pushed off the doorjamb and flipped his wooden staff about impressively before it came to rest against his shoulder.

"Room's full," Logan growled, annoyed at being disturbed while he was fighting.

Remy sauntered further into the room. "We see."

"And?" Didn't this asshole know enough to be afraid of the Wolverine?

"And what? Dis place is big enough for de both of us." His grin was wicked and it annoyed Logan even further.

"What the fuck're you smiling at?"

"Remy was jus' thinkin'."

Logan's low growl was enough to encourage Remy to continue. "We was thinkin' dat it looks like Remy not de only one needin' to work off a severe case of frustration

Logan's head dipped low to the ground in a defensive position. "Mind your own business."

"Let Remy ask you this," the younger man moved to the control panel built into the wall and punched up a new program. The robot simulation dissolved into a classic gym setting. The lean Cajun began to slide through Tae Kwan Do poses. "Do you really plan on standing by while she t'rows herself at some fool...jus' to prove a point?" Picking up his staff, he began to incorporate the piece of wood into his exercise, never once looking at Logan.

Faced with the truth, Logan had no idea what to say. It seemed to be answer enough.

Now Remy was turning to look at him, his burning eyes serious. "Then what are you still doing here, mon ami?" He turned completely and stood tall and regal in the way only an arrogant purebred Southerner knows how to do, his staff coming to a standstill as it thwacked against the polished floorboards.

Logan stood, his legs apart, his torso half-turned to kick Remy's ass for the unspoken dare...and the other half was turned toward the door, ready to run after Marie. The Cajun was right. She was so bent out of shape over him she was willing to bed a stranger; it would only make her hate him more. He loved her- he had to stop her before she made the biggest mistake of her life. He had to tell her how he felt. And anything else that happened, well...they'd deal with it together. He had a shot as long as he wasn't too late.

Logan squared his shoulders, his fists clenched and teeth bared as his resolve solidified. If something was going to change tonight, he was going to face it head on. And that meant finding out one thing.

"Where did she go?" he growled.

Remy clicked his tongue at Logan and shook his head. "You doan think Remy makes it dat easy, do you?" he chided. "You want her, you find her yourself."

One glance at the putz sitting next to her at the bar told Marie she could kick his ass to Timbuktu and back before he even knew what hit him. So why was she allowing him- this lame cliché of a man -to buy her whiskey?

Because he's the only halfway decent guy in this joint, she stubbornly told herself, and forced a smile on her face as he lay on the third horribly trite pick-up line in half an hour. She took a hit of the amber liquid and shuddered as its warmth bloomed in her stomach. God, flirting was a huge effort, especially when she didn't really like this clown in the first place.

He- his name was either Dan or Dave, she didn't care which -placed a hand over hers. She stiffened. Her first instinct was to jerk her arm back; not because she was nervous about his bare skin on hers but because he had no right to be touching her so intimately when he didn't know her. She heaved an inward sigh; if she was going to follow her plan through to fruition, he was going to be touching her a lot more intimately than just holding her hand.

He leaned in close, his lips brushing her ear. "You wanna get some fresh air?"

Suddenly, Marie didn't. She looked down at herself. She was dressed like someone who would want to go for fresh air with a random guy, but that wasn't her. She knew exactly where this was headed; fresh air would turn into sitting in his car listening to music, which would lead to what was comfortably coined as 'necking' and then sex would follow: maybe at his place, maybe even in the backseat of his car. Then the whole procedure would be over and she'd be alone. She was slightly tipsy, and she wanted to go home.

"No, thanks." She pulled her hand from his.

And gasped when his fingers tightened on her wrist. She blinked at him, more amazed than afraid. His pretty features had twisted into a drunken leer.

"You ain't leavin, baby."

"Let go," she whispered in a low, scathing voice. It was her version of Logan's growl.

"After all that money I spent on you-"

She shifted on the bar stool, just enough to be able to slip the knife from its sheath, when a dark shadow loomed over the two of them. All Marie heard was the familiar sound of metal against metal, and then the nameless jerk was lifted from his perch and thrown on the floor.

Her mouth dropped open. Logan was staring at her, his face devoid of all emotion. He was in jeans, a black t-shirt, dark red flannel, and his battered leather jacket with the faded orange striped circling his biceps. His claws slipped back under his skin. His gaze slipped from her, to the half-finished whiskey, to the fallen suitor, before coming back to rest on her.

"What the hell-" she managed before he hoisted her to her feet. Grasping her upper arm firmly in his grip, he literally dragged her out of the bar. When she dug in with the heels of her boots, he simply lifted her over his shoulder, one arm wrapped around her derrière, one arm holding her kicking legs still. He was silent the entire time.

She, however, was not.

"Who the hell do you think you are? Let me DOWN you ASSHOLE!" she screamed, pounding him on the back with her fists. "I can't BELIEVE you would- OOF!"

He had dropped her unceremoniously on the back of Scott's motorcycle, which was still cooling in the night air with a series of tired clicks- Logan had driven it hard to get to the bar on time. Her scent had been easy enough to follow: leather and lavender.

Her wind was coming back. She glared up at him. "I'm not going home with you."

One corner of his upper lip curled. "The hell you're not."

Her eyes twitched downwards and as if he had read her mind, he bent down and slid one hand between her closed knees. She was so shocked at the feel of his hand against her thigh that he disarmed her before she could stop him. He slipped the knife out of its sheath and holding it by the blade, Logan flipped it in the air- that cocky asshole -and flung it away. It bounced underneath a car and that was the last she ever saw of it.

Marie's next move was to try and scramble off the bike; he grabbed the back of her leather jacket and jammed her back down with one hand.

He swung a long leg over the bike and waited for her to situate herself, which she did only after he shot her a murderous glance over his shoulder. Satisfied she wasn't going anywhere, he revved the engine.

"But the Lexus-"

"Fuck the Lexus," he growled. "Better hold on tight," he said, and that was all the warning she got before he gunned the motorcycle into high gear, a cloud of dust and gravel from the parking lot showering down in their wake. Helpless to do anything else, Marie wound her arms around him; her hands pressed against his flat belly, and tucked her head between his leather-covered shoulder blades.

The ride home was anything but silent, what with the steady roar of the bike as Logan pushed it to the limit, and the wind howling as it plucked at her curls until they were history. She was going to kill him; she was going to fucking kill him-

He braked much more carefully than he'd been driving, and the motorcycle banked around the turn into the mansion's gated driveway as smoothly as a schooner cutting through the sea. The gate was open and waiting, and as soon as they were through it automatically swung shut. He coasted up the long driveway before screeching to a halt in front of the garage. The second they stopped, Marie was up and trying to leap off the bike and make a fast getaway. She was getting slow in her old age, however, because Logan had her by the collar of her borrowed leather jacket, and held her firmly in place as he killed the engine and pocketed the keys.

"Is this some sort of fucking test," she seethed, twisting this way and that to no avail; his grip was as solid as, well...adamantium. "Am I supposed to figure out how to defend myself against the big bad wolf again? I did it once before, and I can sure as hell do it again, you-"

A hand clamped over her mouth. "Marie," he growled, "shut the fuck up."

Behind his palm her mouth dropped open, outraged, and he caught her hand right before it was going to connect with his cheek. He shook his head at her and grinned. "We've been through that once before, darlin'. One a day's all you get." He interlaced his fingers with hers in a way that didn't speak of sonnets and flowers but of steel and cages, and proceeded to drag her into the mansion. This time when she tried to dig her heels in, one of them snapped off in the wet grass.

Marie half-shrieked. "Do you know how much these things COST?" she raged as he punched in his key code and the front door opened. Before she could stoop to retrieve the broken-off heel, he had yanked her inside so hard she lost her balance and came crashing against him. He caught her, his free arm wound around her waist and held her in place until she regained her footing.

"Logan," she whispered uncertainly, unsure of what she saw in his eyes.

"C'mon," he growled, and stormed upstairs. With her hand as his hostage, she had no choice but to follow. She didn't, however, follow complacently.

"You think barging in on me is in any way indicative of how a friend would act?" Her words were laced with pure southern drawl; the more pissed off she was, the more prevalent her twang. "You have got some nerve, you asshole-it's my life to do what I want AS I PLEASE-"

"Calm down-"

"I will NOT calm down!" she blasted at the back of his head. "I don't know who you think you are, but you can't just...just...beat up guys I like!"

That halted him in his tracks and she couldn't stop in time; she bumped into him from behind, squishing her nose hard enough to see stars.

He turned. "You liked that asswipe?"

She glared at him through watering eyes. "No, but that's not the point, the point is-"

She was cut off as he strode down the hallway, and she had to almost jog in order to keep her arm from being ripped from the socket. She kept her lips firmly shut as they barreled down the corridor into the East Wing. She thought he would stop at her room; she was wrong. He practically kicked in the door to his room, and shoved her inside. He slammed the door behind him, and for half a minute they were both so worked up they could do nothing but pant and glare at each other.

Marie calmed down enough to be the first one to speak. She licked her dry lips. "You had no right to do that. You. HAVE...to get it through your head. You can NOT tell me what to do. You are not my father, my brother, my boss, and you SURE as hell aren't acting like my FRIEND. FRIENDS," she emphasized, "wouldn't do what you did tonight."

Logan was looking past her, out the window. "Maybe I don't want to be friends anymore," he whispered, so low that she didn't think she heard him correctly.

"Excuse me?"

For a long time, he stood, staring at her. He slowly shook his head back and forth, as if making a decision to himself. "I don't want to be your friend anymore."

Marie's breath caught in her throat as her heart died a little. She knew when she started this foolish quest that losing him was a very very distinct possibility, but it was one thing to think about it and another thing to hear it directly from the horse's mouth. Hearing it actually felt like being kicked in the gut.

"Wh-what?"

He crossed the room in three steps, standing in front of her. He was four or five inches taller than her; she had to tilt her face up to meet his eyes. "You heard me. I don't think we should be friends."

"B-but I don't-" she whispered, her throat so choked up it was painful. Tears pricked at her eyes. "I-"

In one smooth movement, he grabbed her around the waist and yanked her body against his. Marie cried out in surprise as his lips came down on hers; she never thought she'd be kissing him ever again. Her mind reeled as she fought to keep up with his mouth and what it was doing to her. He drew back and stared into her eyes, his gaze as fierce as his kiss. "It's not enough anymore, Marie, it's just not enough."

"What's not enough?" she whispered, bewildered.

"Being friends with you just ain't enough for me anymore," he rasped, and moved over her mouth again so she couldn't speak. He kissed her so hard and for so long that she couldn't breathe; she had to wind her fingers in her hair and tug sharply before he backed up enough for her to gasp.

"Logan…what are you doing?"

"I'm putting and end to our friendship." Pulling back only far enough to undress, he ripped his leather jacket off and tossed it in the corner. He unbuttoned his brick red flannel very deliberately, and soon it and his black t-shirt joined his jacket. "Right now."

Her mouth was as dry as the desert at the sight of him, bare-chested, in the moonlight.

"Are you..." She had to ask him; it felt too much like she was Alice falling through the Looking Glass. "...are you sure about this?"

"I've never been surer of anything, Marie," he said soberly. He moved toward her, took her hand in his, kissed her palm so tenderly, so reverently she thought her heart would explode. "I've been an ass," he whispered, "and I'm sorry."

Author's Note: If any of you have read any of my stories posted at you will undoubtedly know that I am well known for me more...ahem racy stories...unfortunately, I was banned once from for "illicit content" so I am playing it safe and just omitting all "illicit" bits. Since there were quite a few of them, so much so that it was rather impossible to re-write the next few chapters, I'm just going to creatively edit and apologize if the endings of chapters become abrupt.