Disclaimer: Though I don'town any of the rights to Marvel, I have a lot of fun pretending that I do. The lyrics to the song in this chapter is called 'Black Dress', although I don't know who sings it and I've never actually heard the song, I loved the lyrics and thought it was quite fitting. Please enjoy!

Haylie Robbins was twenty-six years old and though I wouldn't call her pampered, everyone else would, as I'm trying to be polite and give an unbiased view. But, if I were to be giving my own, personal opinion on her, I would say that she was about as spoiled as any one single person could get. She had never worked a day in her life and as far as she was concerned, never would. However, if you were to ask her what contribution she made to society, she would willingly list all of the charities in which she and her family were involved. But it doesn't count as work when you show up to a charity ball in your brand new sports car, wearing designer clothes and giving air kisses to the other pampered brats whose family had raised them to believe that they were better than everyone because they had money. They all showed up only to show off. It made their families look good, even when not everything really was quite as perfect as they were making everything seem. That's what I would say if I weren't being the mediator between stories, so as far as you know; she's a nice, well behaved young lady of society…or something like that.

Haylie Robbins was a very wealthy person, a wealth that at one point in my life I might have envied. My mother would play the lottery when I was younger and she would always say; 'Money can't buy happiness but it can sure make you feel comfortable while you're lonely.' I was never the wealthiest person growing up; my stepfather controlled all of the money that he and my mother made and then when they both died, I was sent to live with my aunt who took all of the money I got from the deaths and the selling of our old house and kept it for herself. From then, I lived in foster care and then with a foster family. I lived in quite a few different places between the ages of eighteen and twenty-two, keeping jobs in bars when I could. It wasn't until I moved into the mansion and began work there that I started getting enough of a paycheck to buy what I wanted, but I was very careful with how I spent it because it was what I had earned. Haylie knew nothing about earning the money that she so eagerly spent. Her father, who had adopted her when she was young, owned a chain of hotels along the west coast and was the result of their success.

She was beautiful; she had long, wavy black hair, bright blue eyes and a pale skin that looked pretty, instead of sickly. She was fairly tall; around five foot eight and she know exactly how gorgeous everyone thought she was and she believed it. I was never the prettiest girl in the world, but I had come to except my looks and eventually ended up liking myself and who I was, despite my flaws, she, however, didn't quite share my views. Flaws were not expectable in her world, they were meant to be put away and hidden from everyone, to be kept on a shelf high above everyone's view where they could only see how 'perfectly perfect' she was.

You may be wondering who Haylie Robbins is and why you should care about her? To be quite honest, I didn't know myself, but as she walked up the front steps of the school the next day, the males there sure were interested in finding out as much about her as they could.

"Miss Robbins, I trust that you found you way here with no problems?" Professor Xavier said as he greeted her at the door.

"Yes, I found my way fine," she said with a bright smile.

"Good, follow me, there's quite a bit we have to talk about," he said and then led her into his office where Jean and Ororo were waiting. "Miss Robbins these are two of my teachers, Dr. Jean Grey and Ororo Munroe,"

"Hello, it's nice to meet you, you can call me Haylie," she said, sitting down.

"Well Haylie, I apologize that you had to find out this news at such a terrible time, but I thought you would like to know,"

"And I appreciate you calling me, I just wish I could have been here yesterday for the funeral but my father was hosting a charity action that I had promised to help with and I just couldn't make it in time," she said. "Now, what exactly did you want me to do, go through her things and sale them or give them away?"

Jean and Storm exchanged glances.

"Actually, we thought we would leave that up to Logan," Xavier said.

"Who's Logan?" she asked and right on cue, the door to the Professor's office swung open and Logan, clad in sweatpants and an A-Shirt, burst into the room.

"What do you want Chuck, I'm busy," he said, standing, hands across his chest.

Haylie wasn't used to loud, scary looking men and Logan took up the field in that category. She was slightly struck by his presence that he made in the room, but what's more, she was struck by the fact that he hadn't even seem to notice her.

"Logan, I would like for you to meet Haylie Robbins, she will be staying with us for a while," the Professor said and he finally gave her a short glance.

"Hi, it's nice to meet you," she said, standing to shake her hand.

He responded with a low growl and she backed away. "What does this have to do with me?" he asked.

"It doesn't,"

"They why did you call me in here?" he asked. "I'm not in the mood for one of your little tea parties so if this is all you wanted me for, I'm leavin'," he said, walking to the door.

"Logan, this has to do with Chloe," said the Professor, stopping him where he stood. He slowly turned back around to face him.

"What about her?"

"Miss Robbins would like to know more about her and I thought that you would be the best person to tell her,"

"Why does she want to know about her?" he asked, looking at Haylie suspiciously.

"Haylie was Chloe's sister,"

"Chloe never said she had a sister, she said she didn't have any family,"

"Although Haylie knew of Chloe, I'm afraid that Miss Rynolds wasn't aware of her. Their father never told her mother about her,"

"Miss Rynolds, I thought it was Wells?" Haylie asked.

"Wait a minute, what do you mean their father?" asked Logan.

"Chloe changed her last name when she was eighteen to her mother's maiden name. Haylie's mother was engaged to her father when she was born and he left them to go to Seattle Washington, where he met Chloe's mother,"

The news, however unexpected it may have been to him, wasn't enough to keep him from flinching with every mention of my name. "Where is he?" Logan growled at Haylie, making her shrink back some.

"Logan, calm down," Jean said, stepping forward to separate him from Haylie.

"Where is he?" Logan repeated, trying to lower his voice.

"She doesn't know," the Professor said. "But I would thank you to keep your calm in front of our guests; there is no need to get hostile, Logan,"

"Well excuse me, but I'm not really in the mood for makin' new friends at the moment, so in less you've got something else I need to know, I'm leavin',"

"Logan, I think it would serve you better if you were to talk about her, to tell Haylie about her, rather than spending all day in the gym; that's not going to help you," the Professor said.

"Well Chuck, you deal with it in your way and I'll deal with it in mine," Logan said, finally walking from the room and slamming the door behind him.

"I apologize Miss Robbins, Logan was very close to your sister and her death has, I'm afraid, affected him the most. The other members of my staff and I will do what we can to tell you as much about her as we can, but I was hoping that he would be more willing to speak to you. He knew her when she was younger, a teenager, I thought he might be able to tell you more about her than we can,"

"No, it's fine, but why is he so mad at our real father?"

Jean, Storm and the Professor exchanged glances once more. "You father was the one that shot Chloe, he killed her,"

"Why did you leave me? I trusted you to take care of me, the Professor trusted you and you left me. All you had to do was watch me, something so simple and yet you couldn't do it. You screwed up Logan, big time. How could I have ever thought that you would actually keep your promises?" I said.

"Chloe, I'm sorry, I didn't know that something was gonna' happen to you. I was tryin' to take care of you; I wanted you here with me,"

"Why? You didn't love me, you didn't care about me, you never did,"

"No, I loved you, I still do darlin',"

"Then why did you let me die?"

Logan woke up in a cold sweat, panting. He had had another nightmare, another dream where I was blaming him for me death. He looked at his watch; he had only been sleeping for two hours, it was just after midnight. He would have gone back to sleep, but he knew he wouldn't be able to rest, so he got up from his bed and pulled on an A-Shirt before heading out into the hall. He was going to make his usual rounds that he made when he couldn't sleep, but as he walked past my door, he stopped. Someone was in there and for a second his heart sped up; he thought that maybe it had all just been a bad dream, maybe I was still alive and he hadn't lost me.

He carefully opened the door to my bedroom and stepped inside. The light was on; he took in the state of my room, noticing the dirty clothes piled up in my hamper, my unmade bed, and the door to my bathroom left open. The door to my closet was open and he remembered me closing it the day that I had died and wondered if Jean had left it open when she had picked out the outfit that I had been buried in. He inhaled the scent and knew there was something foreign in there. It wasn't my smell, nor was it Dr. Grey's, Ororo's or Rogue's. He had almost dismissed it until he heard a sound from my closet. He walked over to it and saw Haylie standing there, looking through my clothes.

"What are you doin' in here?" Logan growled from behind her.

She spun around on her heels, wide eyed with shock. "They told me this was Chloe's room, I just wanted to look around," she defended.

"Don't touch her things,"

"I was just trying to see if I could find out anything about her from her room,"

"I don't care; I don't want you touching her stuff,"

"Who are you? Mr. Xavier told me that you knew her when she was a teenager, how did you know each other?"

"It's Professor Xavier," he said.

"Whatever," she said. "That still doesn't answer who you are?"

Logan thought; who was he to me? He was my friend, but it was more than that, but we hadn't dated so he wasn't my boyfriend. To be quite honest, there was not simple answer to what Logan and I had been to each other, we had never labeled our relationship or ourselves and for those who hadn't been there to witness it first hand; it was hard to explain.

"It doesn't matter who I am, I want you out of her room,"

"Well, I'm her sister so I think that I should be able to look around her room if I want,"

Logan bared his teeth in irritation and growled at her. "If you want to know about her, then ask someone,"

"Maybe if you had told me about her earlier tonight when they asked you to then I wouldn't have to be snooping around in here after midnight,"

"Look, I don't feel like talkin' about her, not right now,"

"Then can we talk in the morning?"

"No,"

"Well you said that you didn't want to talk right now, when do you want to talk about it?"

"I don't know,"

"Alright, listen, we got off on the wrong foot earlier, I know that we're both mourning over her death and all that stuff and that this isn't the best circumstances to meet under, but there's no need to be rude to each other. All I want is to know about my little sister,"

"Why do you care about her now?"

"I've always cared about her, she's my family, she was always on my mind during the holidays,"

"During the holidays, that's when you thought about her?" Logan nearly laughed. "I thought about her every day from the time I met her. Where were you when she needed a home, when she didn't have a family and she was scared about having to go back to living in some hell hole of a foster care system?"

"I was at home because I was too young to do anything. Where were you? If it bothered you so much then why didn't you do something about it?"

"I was taking care of her the best that I could. I didn't everything that I could to help her,"

"Oh yeah, you did such a great job taking care of her, they told me that you were with her when she died,"

Up until that point, no one but Logan had blamed him for letting me die and although he had blamed himself enough into believing it, the actual vocalization of someone saying that he was responsible for my death was enough to send him over the edge, raging mad.

"Get out of her now," he growled fiercely enough that she didn't argue back, she only left the room in fear, shutting the door behind her.

Logan hadn't been into my room since the day that I had been killed and realized that right then was not the time to which he would have chosen to go back. He had already cried, that was no longer threatening him, although running from the mansion and never coming back was, however. That thought had plagued him ever since he had first come back to the school, right before Jean had disappeared. It had stayed at the front of his mind, but he would always find a reason to stay; Rogue, Ororo, Jean, his home, his job and then me. But once I was gone, he started to realize that nothing else mattered. Marie was married, so was Jean, Ororo was nothing more than a friend to him and as for his home, well, as far as he was concerned, he could always go back when he felt like it. It would be easy; he could just pack his things and leave. Heck, he didn't even have to pack his things, he could just put on some jeans, grab his jacket and go. He could do it, Chuck would understand, but for some reason the one plan that had been his escape route for so many years wasn't going to work, because he would be trying to run away from me and the memory of me, and he couldn't. Logan had gotten inside of me head and under my skin, but I had gotten far deeper inside of him, more so than anyone else had happened to do. While I had been alive, everything reminded him of me. He had tried to convince himself that it was only because we were friends, because at one point, we were the only two people to care about each other, but he couldn't help but see me in every woman he passed. Yes, he thought about me while I was alive but I haunted his mind once I was dead. No matter where he ran, however far away from Westchester he got, I would always be right there with him.

He moved to walk to my door, he was nearly there, but then he saw the photo on my nightstand. It was of the two of us on the night of the staff Christmas party. He sank down on my bed that I hadn't found enough time to make before leaving for my interview. He grabbed the picture frame and held it up closely to examine it. He ran his thumb down the length of the glass covering my face and arm. He was wrought with anger, livid by the fact that I was gone. He ached with a pain so deep it had soaked though the metal under his skin, settling in his bones so deep that he wondered if it could ever go away.

He cursed, whether it was for him or me or even someone else, he didn't know, it just felt to him like the only appropriate thing to do with his emotions the way that they were. Then he focused and realized he was cursing me. He was cursing me because I was the one person whom he had hurt that badly over, but also as he sat there, looking at my picture, seeing me in my red strapless dress, his love for me was confirmed. He looked at me, thinking of how beautiful he saw me and for one foolish moment, he thought about how he would tell me the next time he saw me. That broke him. That one, single thought was enough to make him resent his mutation. If it hadn't been for his rejuvenating abilities, he would have already stuck a pistol in his mouth, leaving a note behind asking to be buried along beside me. He had picked where I was to be buried, in case, by some freak accident, he were to lose his powers and some how die, he wanted to be beside me. You see, my mother had been buried in Washington, where we used to live just outside of Seattle, but he not only wanted an empty grave beside me; he wanted me close to him. The cemetery in which I was buried wasn't even half an hour away from the school and he liked having the option of being able to speak to me when he wanted. And that was the thought running through his mind right then; he wanted to talk to me.

I dug you up this morning and took you home.
To have you here beside me, cold but close,

I made my mind up last night that heaven

just can't have you.

I made you breakfast but you would not eat.

So I took your black dress off and washed you clean.

The sheets are creased from your last day,

a silhouette of where you laid.

They'll find your headstone in the yard

with your black dress and my guitar.

I'll carry you back to your grave,

where you and I will always stay.

I close the casket, it gets dark,

they'll find us in each others arms.

He sat down the picture of us, trying to place it back in the same position that I had had it, and then he saw the drawer to my nightstand was opened slightly. He debated between opening it further to see what I kept in it, or leaving everything as I had. Eventually his curiosity won and he carefully slid the drawer open curiously, not wanted to fling it open in case it was personal things that I hadn't wanted him to see. However, all he found was stationary, ink pens and a journal. Again, he debated whether to take my journal or leave it where it was. He ached to read it, to see the words that I had written about a world that I saw, to look through my eyes and to read my personal views. Had I written about him, had I written anything that might make him feel more at ease with his guilt? What if in the pages of the thick green book with the word 'Journal' sprawled across it in cursive, there held a secret hate for him all along; would that help or hurt how he felt about himself? He didn't know, but once again, his curiosity won out and he picked it up slow and gently. He felt awkward simply just taking it, feeling as though I would come out from somewhere and catch him; opened drawer, hand on my personal journal, yelling at him and telling him that a girl's things were private, not meant to be gone though. But I didn't, so he took it and then stood from my bed to go for my door, but seeing the picture of us once more, decided to take it as well. I didn't need it and he, for some reason, hadn't asked for a copy, so he thought that if he couldn't have me with him, that he could at least sleep a little better knowing that I was right beside him on his nightstand. With my journal and photo in hand, he slinked from my room and turned off the light.

"Night Chloe," he whispered to the empty room before quietly shutting the door behind him.

He walked back to his room, standing just outside his open door, listening for anything odd. All he could hear were the sounds of sleeping students and staff in their rooms around him and so he entered his room and closed his door. He sat the picture frame up on his nightstand, laid my journal down on his bed as he pulled off his A-shirt, and turned on the lamp beside his bed before sitting down. He let out a loud sigh and ran his hand through the back of his hair as he did when he was nervous.

"I can't read this," he muttered to himself, tossing the book onto his nightstand and then cradled his head in his hands as he sat on the end of his bed. He stayed that way for a long time, not wanted to feel anything, not even the movement of his own body. Finally, he lifted his head, looking up at our picture. I was standing to his left, my arm wrapped around his back, my hand on his shoulder and beaming like crazy. He had his arm slung around my shoulder casually, with the hint of a smirk on his face. He shook his head, wondering why he wasn't smiling as big as I was; he thought that I looked gorgeous in that dress.

He looked at the journal once more and saw that it had flipped open to a page when he tossed it down. Logan wasn't really up to date on the rules of woman things, but he was fairly sure that since he hadn't opened the book, it didn't really count as prying. So he picked it up and began to read an entry from October twenty-forth, a week before Halloween.

"Dear Journal,"

Wow, was today busy. I had an interview with a girl in the city at nine this morning, nine! That means that I had to get up extra early in order to get ready. Anyway, so I had an interview with her, but they decided to reschedule. They don't mind telling me this until I'm standing in their office! Yeah, I then had to turn around a drive back home. But if that wasn't enough, I broke down like, ten miles from the school. (That stupid truck is a piece of junk and if I didn't love it so much I would take a baseball bat to it). So, I get out to try to fix the truck while trying not to look so suspicious when declining people's help. And, as you know, with my luck I can't just brake down and grease up my lovely outfit, oh no, it has to start raining! I hate New York weather; you remember the good old days when it would just snow? So yeah, I'm standing out in the rain, greasy hand and trying to get enough of a shock to get the thing going when who should come to my rescue but a tall, dark and handsome knight on a white horse? Okay, so it was only Logan in his car, but at that moment, he felt like my hero. I, of course, told him that I was just fine and didn't need any help. He only nodded his head and gave me his leather jacket to put over my soaking wet sweater. I think followed him to Tubbie's where he bought my lunch.

"So, what are you going as tonight?" I asked with a mouth full of food. I was uber cool, he, unfortunately, just hadn't realized it yet.

"What's tonight?" he asked, wiping a bit of mustard from my lip. (I quivered, I hope this doesn't happen every time he touches me from now on; it's a little weird!)

"I was saving that. Anyway, tonight's the school's Halloween party, what are you dressing up as?"

"I'm not,"

"You have to, it's a costume party, keyword being costume there big boy,"

"I don't dress up,"

"You have to; it won't be any fun if you don't,"

"It's not what I would call fun anyway," he said as I stole one of his French fries.

"So you're just going to stand around in normal clothes while everyone else is dressed up?"

"Yeah,"

"You're boring,"

He smirked at me and my heart sped up. I'm not real sure when it started happening, but my pulse now races when he smirks, smiles or winks at me. It's the same as the whole quivering deal; it's all just a little bit too weird for me. I mean he's Logan, Logan, why does he make me feel like that, he never used to. When I was younger, I thought he was attractive, I still do, but I don't think I ever had a crush on him. He was always just my friend, the one person who I knew wouldn't be offended by my sarcastic humor, but now it's weird to know him as an adult. He's still my friend but now it's an adult relationship, it's okay to flirt with him and I don't mind when he flirts with me, it's actually nice to have him pay me special attention. But it's still weird; when did he realize that I was actually a girl?

Anyway, the party was pretty fun, even if no one did embarrass themselves. However creative I thought my costume was though; Logan wasn't a fan. When he knocked on my door and let himself in just before the party, he felt the need to tell me.

"You look like an f(explicit)ing hooker,"

"And you would know that first hand, wouldn't you? Oh and don't swear around me," I told him as I slipped on my black Mary-Jane ballet flats.

"I don't pay for it," he said, looking me over.

"I'm not quite sure how we got on the topic of your sex life, but it's something that I really don't want to talk about,"

I bought a top to finish my porcelain doll costume last week when I went shopping. It was a black top with a sweetheart neckline that was, granted, pretty low cut, however, I don't think that I looked like a hooker.

"What's wrong with your hair?" he asked me, eyeing me. He cracks me up when he asks 'what's wrong' with my hair when it looks different.

"There's nothing wrong with it, it's called a 'wig' Logan,"

"I don't like it,"

"Well, it's a costume; I'll take it off after the party,"

I ended up wearing the black wig I bought, even though I had to cut my own bangs in it. I also wore my black skirt, white right and had bought some gorgeous lace gloves at this store outside of the mall the other day. I had a hard time getting the false eyelashes to stay on and even got some of the glue in my eye (don't ask!). I put on circles of blush in bright pink and made little pursed lips out of brighter pink lipstick. It was one of those things where you feel normal and then you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror and get freaked out by the creepy pale girl following you around, it was a little weird, but fun.

After the party, I apparently owed Logan for not only helping me with my truck but for also buying my lunch, so he insisted that I was the hockey game with him.

"This game is completely lost on me," I admitted to him while I sat on the couch beside him.

"I thought you grew up in Canada; shouldn't you know all about it?"

"Well, I'm not Canadian, so it's not of any interest to me to know about it,"

"Then just watch it,"

"But I don't understand it,"

"I'll explain it to you,"

So, he let me snuggle up to him on the couch as he tried to explain hockey to me. I still don't get it, but maybe he'll have enough patients to keep teaching me. Oh yeah, he wouldn't let me lay my head on his shoulder until I took off my wig; he's such a dork.

During the break, he was looking at me real funny when I asked his what it was he said; "Your eyelashes are falling off,"

I reached up, realized that my false eyelashes had come unglued, and were sitting askew on my face.

"They're fake eyelashes," I told him with a laugh before taking them both off. I took off my other makeup earlier and pulled on sweatpants and a T-Shirt, but forgot to take off my wig and eyelashes when Logan told me that the game was about to start.

I'm not sure why he actually likes spending time with me; he doesn't even know I'm cool yet.

Well, it's almost midnight and I'm about to fall asleep; I'm beat! I'll try to write back when I can, but this is goodnight, so goodnight!

Remember to:

Clean room

Wash Clothes

Take back all books to the school library

Make Logan finish teaching me about hockey

Chloe,"

Logan closed my journal, feeling guilty; he had tried to teach me about hockey but I wasn't a quick learner and so he had given up. But he had seen no sigh of my hate him, only the beginning of my falling in love with him.