Here you go, guys. I've finally gotten a new computer, but not a new printer, so it's entirely possible that this thing is riddled with typos, since I can't print a hard copy to proof. Be gentle, okay?

"Rogue!" Kurt called from down the hallway. She turned, about to walk back, but he bamfed over to join her instead. "Guten Tag!"

"Y'know, it ain't that long of a walk," she pointed out. "Are you lazy, or just showin' off?"

"If you've got it, flaunt it," he said cheerfully, striking a runway pose.

Rogue merely adjusted the strap of her messenger bag and resumed walking.

He fell into step next to her, tail flicking back and forth nervously. "I heard about the meeting with the professor," he said cautiously.

She shot him an annoyed glance. "Kitty?"

"She was worried."

They reached the door of the library and she hauled open the door. "Ah'm fine. Oh, God," she groaned. "Does everyone know?"

Kurt shrugged, unconcerned. "They're going to hear about it eventually. What's the big deal?"

"It's embarrassin'," she grumbled, setting her things down next to a chair. The library was easily her favorite room at the Institute – quiet and warm, and typically private. Most of the kids preferred to study in the common room. A low fire burned in the hearth to one side of the room, and the late afternoon sunlight sparkled through the diamond-paned windows, making the polished wood tables gleam. She breathed in the scent of the books, but it failed to soothe her as it usually did.

"Why are you embarrassed? They'll understand."

"They're probably relieved," she said.

He shook his head. "You're crazy," he said flatly. "That doesn't even make sense."

"They're probably glad not to have me around, screwin' things up and causin' trouble."

"They don't think that way, Rogue."

"Do you?" she asked quietly, not meeting his eyes.

"Of course not," he said, reaching out one hand to touch her shoulder gently.

"Do you think Logan was right to pull me?"

He didn't answer right away. "I think," he said carefully, "that I don't want to risk losing my sister."

She gave a small smile. "Thanks, Kurt."

"You're welcome."

Rogue sat down, and Kurt bamfed to the chair next to hers.

"So," she said, pulling a water bottle from her bag, "Is Amanda coming over tonight?"

"No. Her parents wouldn't let her."

"That sucks," she said, and Kurt nodded glumly. "You really like her, huh?"

"Um, yeah," he said, in a tone that implied Rogue had received more serious head injuries than Dr. McCoy had realized. He melted a little then, just thinking about Amanda. "She's great," Rogue. She's funny and beautiful and she likes the fuzz, you know? What's not to like?"

She took a drink of water and asked, "Are you in love with her?"

"Yeah. I am." He grinned, then abruptly frowned. Rogue had never been one for heart-to-hearts, and even the tentative healing of their relationship in the past month hadn't changed that. "Why?"

"Can't Ah ask about my little brother's love life?" she complained.

"You never ask about my love life," he replied, narrowing his eyes. "What's going on?"

She ignored the question, studying the water bottle in front of her as if it was in a foreign language. "Doesn't it worry you guys?" she asked, "All the problems? Her parents, all the anti-mutant groups poppin' up these days…"

"The fact that being an X-Man is more dangerous than being in marching band? The uniforms are better," he said nonchalantly. "I'm furry enough without wearing one of those hats."

"Ah'm serious, Kurt."

"I know." He paused for a minute, trying to arrange his thoughts. "We try not to think about it, I guess." he said finally. "All it does is make Amanda upset, and I hate seeing her like that."

"So you just ignore it?" Her tone was skeptical.

"No. But we can't just sit around worrying about it all the time, either. It might be easier for us not to love each other, but we wouldn't be happier."

"God. You really are in love, aren't you?"

"Totally." He looked at his sister. Her words might have been sarcastic, but there was something wistful in her tone. If he didn't know better, he'd think she sounded almost envious.

"So, you and Gambit," he said conversationally. "How's that going?"

She glared at him, all traces of softness gone. "Fine."

"You guys, uh…he trailed off, not certain what he was asking. Before he could continue, Kitty phased through the library door.

"I have, like, eight million pounds of homework," she complained, turning solid again and dumping her backpack on the floor with a resounding thud. "How about you guys?"

"Not as much as you," Kurt said, looking askance at the pile of books Kitty was transferring to the long wooden table.

"English, then French," said Rogue.

"Bet Remy'll help you with that," Kitty said mischievously.

"Dude! Brother in the room!" Kurt bamfed to Kitty, clapped a hand over her mouth. "Please, Katzchen. I beg you!"

Rogue just rolled her eyes. "Get your mind outta the gutter, Kit."

Kitty phased through Kurt to speak, then elbowed him sharply. "Where is Remy, anyway?" she asked.

"Said he had stuff to do," Rogue answered, trying to sound nonchalant. Part of her had been relieved when Remy disappeared after breakfast, mumbling about errands. The sight of him in the kitchen, eyes glowing over his coffee cup, an odd half-smile on his face instead of the usual cocky grin, had brought back her words from the night before. She hadn't meant to say so much, she thought, chagrined. It had changed them, added a sudden pressure to put a name to things. He felt the new tension, too, she was certain, and couldn't help wondering if that had more to do with his sudden departure than any errands he might need to run. "He'll be back soon, Ah think."

"Aw," Kitty teased. "You miss him."

Rogue bristled. "Look at this pile of homework, Kit. Ah don't have time t'miss him. And Ah wouldn't anyway – Ah've got better things to do than sit around moonin' over some guy."

Kitty grinned. "You miss him! You do!"

"Ah don't," she said, leaning down to pull out a book. And even if she did, she told herself, she certainly wasn't going to give Kitty – or Remy – the satisfaction of knowing it. "And Ah've got a lot of work to do, so can you guys keep it down?" She shifted in the chair and opened up her copy of King Lear determinedly.

Remy watched Rogue through the glass as he stood on the bluestone path winding through the garden. He had seen her enter the library, watched as Rogue and Kurt had talked. It was nice that she was finally starting to feel at ease around her brother. Rogue's relationship with Kurt still troubled her, he knew, and to sit in the library with him and chat was progress. Now she sat curled in a wingback chair, engrossed in a book. Every so often, she would underline something or dog-ear a page, tuck a lock of white behind her ear, comment without looking up on whatever it was that Kitty and Kurt were discussing across the room. It was a nice picture, Remy thought.

As he stood and admired, Rogue looked up from her book and caught sight of him. She straightened and smiled at him, beckoning him inside. He shook his head slightly and gestured for her to return to her book. The smile cooled, and she gave him a "whatever" shrug before pointedly turning back to her reading.

He watched her for a minute longer, then walked further into the formal garden and pulled out his cell phone, punching in the number as his stomach clenched with dread.

On the sixth ring, someone picked up, but didn't answer right away. For a few minutes, the line was silent except for the sounds of shifting covers and muttered curses.

"Allo?" came a sleepy voice eventually.

"C'est l'après-midi, mon frère. Réve-toi. Or am I interruptin' some sort of marital relations?"

"Bec mon chu," said the voice. "If it ain' de village idiot."

"Nice to hear y'voice, too, Henri. Can y'talk?"

"Bien sur. Une second." He heard the flare of a lighter, the quick indrawn breath as Henri lit a cigarette, and the rustle of sheets as his brother got out of bed. Finally, he spoke. "Remy. Heard y'been havin' all sorts adventures en le grand ville, non?"
He grimaced. "Jean-Luc's keepin' tabs?"

"Among others," Henri replied.

"Yeah, figured dat." He sighed, feeling the tension flood his muscles.

"She worth it? Dis fille y'hooked up wit?"

"I didn't hook up," Remy said stiffly. "Not like dat."

"She worth it?"

Remy glanced over his shoulder, back to the library. Kurt was bamfing around, clearly trying to distract the girls. Without looking, Rogue reached down and picked up another book, tossing it into midair just as Kurt bamfed again. The book caught him squarely on the back of the head. Sulkily, the blue mutant sat down at the table, and Rogue gave a satisfied smile, never looking up from her reading. Remy couldn't help the grin that broke across his face. "Oui. She worth it."

Henri's voice was grim. "Better be. Somebody real interested in her."

"Belle?" He instantly snapped back to the conversation, tearing his eyes away from the scene in the window.

"Don' t'ink so. She pissed, mon frère, mais sho. Y'fucked up big-time. But de orders ain' comin' from de Assassins."

"Any ideas?"

"Big money, all I can tell."

"How big? Who's payin'?"

"Don' know who. But it big 'nuff everybody real careful not t'talk bout Le Diable's new fille. Can't go anywhere in de territory, people hurry to tell me dey ain' talkin' bout y'girl."

He groaned. "Course not. What's Belle say?"

"Las' time she talk t' Mercy, Belle tol' her, "Y'goat-fuckin' rat-bastard brother-in-law set foot in le paroisse 'gain, Julien gon' cut off his balls and feed dem t'les cochons."

Remy winced. "So she still pissed?"

He could almost hear his brother's smirk. "Li'l bit, yeah."

In the background, Remy heard his sister-in-law's voice. "You talkin' t'my Remy? Gimme!" Henri was still chuckling as his wife snatched the phone. "Remy? It really you, Rem?"

He smiled, the warmth of his sister-in-law's enthusiasm a salve. "'Lo, Mercy. Henri makin' up dat bit bout de goat, non?"

"Y'wish," she snorted. "Dat all Belle. An' she's tellin' anyone who'll listen de size o'y'bo-staff is…comment elle dit…compensatin' for 'de size of y'…"

"She's lyin!" Remy cut in quickly.

"If you say so." Mercy dissolved into giggles.

"Y'enjoyin' dis too much, Mercy," he admonished. "Ain' nice."

She her laughter faded as quickly as it had come. "Oh, Remy," she said sadly, "I ain' enjoyin' dis at all."

He paced back and forth through the rose garden. "Me neither."

"Come home."

"Y'know I can't."

"We'll work somet'in out. A truce." Her tone was pleading.

"Belle seem like she in de mood for a truce?" he asked acidly.

"It's all pride, Remy. If you'd just come back."

"On her terms? On Jean-Luc's? Non."

"We miss you," she said, pausing for a moment. "All of us."

His mouth tasted sour suddenly. "Doubt dat."

The silence stretched out between them. Remy broke a rose off a nearby bush and charged it one petal at a time.

Finally, Mercy spoke. "He doesn't blame you. None of us do, but 'specially not Theoren."

He dropped the glowing rose into a nearby fountain. It was ash before it touched the water. "Ain't bout dat."

"Course it is. It's about Etienne and Gennie an' everyt'ing in between. It don't matter, Remy. Dis y'home. Dis y' family," she said, voice breaking, "An' it's time for you to come back."

He kept his voice gentle, but firm. "It ain't home any more, Mercy." He watched Rogue stretch in the wing chair and glance out the window for him. Unreasonably grateful for Xavier's formal garden, he ducked behind a hedge.

"Y'made my wife cry," Henri said, taking back the phone. "I've killed men f'less."

"Sorry," he said, meaning it.

"Don' know why she likes you so much."

"Me neither." He meant that, too.

"She ain't wrong bout you comin' back, though."

"Can't do it, Henri. Jus' can't." He ran a frustrated hand through his hair, wished for a cigarette.

"Why? Y'd be de king of N'Awlins. You could have anyt'ing y'want. What's out there you can't find here?"

Through the hedge, he could see Rogue set her book down and gaze thoughtfully at the French doors to the garden.

"Freedom," he said without thinking. Freedom, he wanted to tell his brother, and hope, and light, and grace, all of them sweet on the tongue like wine.

Henri sighed. "Jus' 'cause Jean-Luc got you on a long leash 'stead of a short one don' mean y'free. You think he ain't gonna yank y'back one o'dese days? You t'ink he ain't already considerin' it? De man ain't known for his excess o' patience."

"Best he stock up, den."

He heard his brother take a deep breath, make one last attempt. "Dis what you born for, Remy. Dis who you are."

"Not any more." In the library, Rogue stood and walked toward the doors, index finger marking a place in her book. "Gotta go. Y'hear anyt'ing – anyt'ing, Henri – 'bout who behind all dis, you let me know."

"I will. B'have y'self," he warned.

"Never." Remy clicked off the phone and stepped back into the courtyard at the same time as Rogue. Smoothly, he palmed the phone and offered her a rose instead.

She took it and breathed in the scent, looking at him sharply over the scarlet petals. "Y'okay?"

"Better now. Missin' you." He slipped an arm around her waist and pulled her closer.

She flushed, but didn't try to move away. "Ah can't stay long – got a session with Logan."

"Figures," he said, rolling his eyes. "What 'bout after?"

"Dinner. Studyin'. Sunday's a school night," she reminded him lightly.

"Seem t'remember y'promised me a date, chere."

"You weren't serious," she protested.

He lowered his mouth to her ear, breath stirring the strands of hair between them. "Meant ev'ry word," he said in a low voice. "Did you?"

"Ah have a session," she stammered, pulling back. "Ah can't stay."

He just chuckled, held her in place. "Y'cute when y'spooked." Before she could fire back, he ran a quick thumb over her lips. "S'okay," he said. "Better if y'don' answer."

"Why?"

He looked at her, eyes just a little sad and weary. "Dat a talk y'really want t'have right now? How you feel and how I feel and what we gon' do 'bout all of it?"

She shook her head minutely, fingering the flower he had given her.

"Go t'y'session," he said gently. "We figure it all out later."

She looked at him closely again. "You sure you're okay, swamp rat?"

He nodded. "Won't be if Wolvie t'ink I make you late," he said, nudging her toward the library doors. "Go on."

When she had left, he sat among the drifting leaves and still-bright roses, turning the phone over and over in his hands.

"You're late," Logan grumbled as she entered the control room.

She flicked a cool glance in his direction, then made an elaborate show of checking her watch. "Five minutes," she said, dropping into a chair.

He watched her, utterly dispassionate. "You're pissed at me." He wasn't asking – she had given him the silent treatment for their entire morning session, running through the drills with none of the good-natured arguments about strategy that had become the norm.

"You think?" she said, adjusting the seam of her gloves. The warmth of her talk with Remy had vanished the minute she had stepped on the elevator to the mansion's lower levels. It didn't matter, she thought furiously, that her simulation scores were nearly as good as Scott's now, and sometimes even better. Regardless of how hard she had worked, how much she had changed, all the team was going to see now was that she was still unreliable, still untrustworthy. Still the wildcard, the weak link. Pulling her off the team meant that nothing had changed. And that it was Logan who made the call only cut deeper.

"Yeah." He pulled a chair next hers and sat, sent her an appraising glance. "I knew you would be."

"You just didn't care," she snapped.

He leaned back in the chair. "Not really. Gimme a choice between keeping you alive and keeping you happy, I'll choose safe every time." He shrugged. "Sorry if it hurts your feelings, kid, but that's the way it shakes out."

"Hurts my feelings?" she exploded, shooting out of her seat. "Ah have worked my ass off in here, Logan. Twice a day, without complainin', just the way we agreed. And you pull me because you think I'm gonna hurt the team?" She stalked to the window overlooking the danger room, forced the tears back.

His voice was sharply impatient. "I pulled you because you might as well wear a bull's eye painted on your ass, the way Dane's coming after you. You go out with the team while he's gunning for you, and they're in danger too. You know it's true. So lose the attitude."

"It's crap," she said, but her voice lacked conviction.

"It is," he said evenly. "But it's still the right call. You're so hot to be in charge? What would you do?"

She turned reluctantly from the window. "What do you mean?"

He pinned her with an unforgiving glance. "Let's pretend, kid. Let's pretend you're me, and you've got a bunch of kids out on the front lines of what is shapin' up to be an ugly, ugly war, 'cause there ain't any other kind, and they're your kids. Your team.

"And one of those kids is a target for something bad, something mean. You like the kid. You're crazy about 'em, think they're the best thing to come down the pike in God only knows how long. But it doesn't change the fact that they're the one drawing the fire."

"They're a liability," she muttered, glancing away.

"Yes and no. The kid's a major force – strong, smart, tough." Her eyes widened slightly at the compliment, but he kept going, relentless in his need for her to understand. "You need them, but it makes things risky for the rest of the team. And it leaves the kid exposed, puts 'em in more danger. So what should you do, Rogue? What's your genius solution?"

She stared at her gloved hands for a minute, then lifted her eyes to meet his. "Ah'd use 'em as a decoy. Draw out whoever's after them and take the guy out."

"No fucking way."

"Why not? No more ambushes. Keep the rest of the team safe. There's backup nearby, so you're in control. And if the kid's as good as you're saying," she said, lifting one shoulder and dropping it again, "they can handle it. End of problem."

"Not in my lifetime, kid." He ignored the smile twitching at the corner of her mouth. He should have guessed, he thought grimly, that she'd turn it into a way to prove herself to him again. And while he might be proud of her for it, he wasn't about to let it happen on his watch.

"You asked me what Ah'd do," she said stubbornly. "And Ah'm tellin' you. You know Ah'm right, too."

"You're not. And it wouldn't work." He shook his head firmly.

She glared at him. "Why not?"

"Because decoys have to look real. Hell, Rogue, we'd need to let them take you. And even if we took Dane out of the picture, there would still be a next guy. And a guy after that, and another one after that. They're just the muscle. We'd have to let them grab you and then try to get back to the source." He shook his head again. "You're not doing it. End of story."

"That's just stupid. Why the hell am Ah spendin' my time here if you're not teachin' me how to fight?"

He didn't answer her, but he pushed out of his chair and picked up a duffel bag. "Put your sweatshirt back on," he said gruffly. "We're going outside."

"Outside? Why?"

"Because I said so. Come on." Without waiting for her, he strode out of the room to the elevators.

Fuming, she zipped up her sweatshirt and followed him out of the danger room, up to the kitchen, and out into the woods behind the mansion.

"Logan," she said, hurrying to catch up, "where are we going?"

He said nothing, stride eating up the ground as he crossed through the woods into what had once been a vineyard and was now lying fallow.

"Logan, wait up!"

When he finally stopped, they were in a clearing easily the length of a football field. He opened the duffel bag and tossed a small, heavy black case to her. "Open it up."

She gave him a puzzled look, fumbling slightly with the zipper.

"What is this?"

"It's a gun. A .22. Figured we'd start small."

"Thanks," she said dryly. "And here I was thinkin' it was a fountain pen. Logan, what is this? The professor doesn't want us trained on guns. He says they just…"

"…contribute to a cycle of violence we're dedicated to preventing," he parroted. "Yeah. He gives staff members the same speech. It's a nice speech." He motioned to the gun. "I cleared it -- no bullets in it yet."

"What are we doin' here?"

"Training. Take it out of the case," he instructed.

She studied it for a moment, sliding one finger along the black barrel. Even through her gloves, the metal felt cool, and she knew it would be more pronounced on bare skin. Carefully, she took it out and held it pointed at the ground, finger on the trigger guard. "Ah don't get this, Logan. Ah'm training, but Ah'm off the team. We don't use guns, but you're want to teach me about them anyway." Confusion usually left her irritable, and today was no exception. "You're so worried about me bein' late, why are we wastin' time on somethin' Ah won't use?"

"First of all, you're not off the team. You're just not going out on missions for a while."

"Six of one," she shot back.

"Second, I'm not training you to fight pretty, kid. I'm training you how to fight, period."

She shifted a little, seemingly uneasy. "And today's lesson is guns."

"Yeah. That a problem?" He watched her closely.
"What did the professor say?"

"I didn't ask him," Logan replied. "You're worried about breaking a rule? Because you sure as hell haven't been worried about breaking any rules with Gumbo."

"What's that supposed to mean?" she said indignantly.

"Where you sleeping these days, Rogue?" he growled.

"None of your business," she replied.

"You sure? If you're breakin' house rules, damn straight it's my business."

"Lay off, Logan," she warned. "It's not like that."

"Really?" he asked scornfully. "What's it like, then?"

His tone had her curling back into herself. "Ah…care about him," she said guardedly. To keep her hands busy, she tucked the gun back in the case and zipped it closed.

"You in love with him?" he demanded.

She shrugged, trying to seem nonchalant. "Does it matter?" She wanted desperately to give him an answer, but she couldn't. It wasn't just that anything she said now would be wrong -- Logan's reaction would be God-awful, either way. But even with last night's conversation still vivid in her mind, the feeling of Remy's fingers tracing her lips still sparkling through her, she couldn't find the words. Not for Logan, and more importantly, not for Remy.

"It damn well better, if you're sleeping with him."

She flushed. "Well, Ah'm not, so lay off."

"Okay, then." His eyes softened, and he focused on a tree that had fallen nearby, making a mental note to come back later and carve up some firewood. A lot of it. He should say something, he guessed. Make an effort to smooth things over. "You know, if you need to talk about things…"

Rogue's eyebrows shot up, and she watched, saying nothing.

"…you could always talk to 'Ro, get a female perspective. Or Hank. He's probably all over the…um… mechanics." He trailed off, clearly flustered.

"Ah'm pretty clear on the mechanics, Logan," she said with a hint of amusement. "But thanks."

"Yeah." He struggled not to concentrate on what she meant by 'pretty clear'.

"He asked me to go on a date," she said suddenly, shyly.

His reply was automatic, an instinctive shift to a familiar role. "You're not going off the grounds."

"Ah know," she said. "Ah just…never mind." She shook her head in frustration. She didn't want to talk to Ms. Munroe, much as she liked the older woman. And she certainly didn't want to talk to Dr. McCoy, kind as he was. It wasn't the science she was worried about. She wanted to talk to Logan, who knew her better than anyone else, who (she was fairly certain) knew more about sex and everything that went along with it than anyone else at the mansion, who had never, not once, lied to her. And of course, as soon as she tried, he slapped her down again. She tossed her hair back from her face and snatched up the case again.

"What?" He shifted unhappily, knowing his reaction had been the wrong one.

"Nothing." She unzipped the case again and pulled out the gun. "Can we just do this?"
He watched her silently for a minute. "Sure. You need to load the magazine," he said, pointing. "You put it…"

Without a word, she deftly slipped the slim rectangle into the handle, and he quirked an eyebrow. "Thought you didn't know guns."

She didn't answer, just slammed a round into the chamber and flicked off the safety. "Where's the target?" she asked, shoulders stiff. Let him wonder, she thought. You didn't grow up in Caldecott County without learning how to handle a gun. Irene had insisted she take a safety class, even though the older woman detested guns. The contradiction had finally made sense when Rogue realized Mystique had been guiding her training long before her powers surfaced.

Logan interrupted her thoughts, the barest hint of contrition in his voice. "Did he say what you're gonna do on this date?"

"No. Where's the target?"

"Shit." He turned away, suddenly uncomfortable. He crouched next to the duffel bag and searched for the ear protectors he had brought with. He set them next to the bag and painstakingly rearranged the rest of the equipment, glancing up at her. It was like looking at light through a prism, he thought. Most of the time, she was just Rogue, all of her roles combined, like white light. Occasionally, though, the prism shifted, and he saw again all of the roles she played – student and charge and teammate and friend, child and woman and X-Man, all separate and distinct. More complex, certainly, but still recognizably Rogue. Remy's arrival had added another role, another color. He hadn't counted on it, hadn't expected it, hadn't the least idea how to handle it. But he knew, watching the clenched, angry line of her jaw, that he had figure it out, or he would never really see her. He scrubbed a hand over his face in resignation. "Look, Rogue…what were you gonna say?"

"Nothing," she repeated. She kept her eyes fixed firmly on the ground in front of her.

He stepped in front of her and lifted her chin until she looked him in the eyes. "You really want this? Him? Of all the guys?"

She jerked her head away, but held his look. "What guys, Logan? We've talked about this. There aren't other guys. And even if there were, Ah don't want them. Ah want him."

He knew the stubborn set of her mouth, and it didn't surprise him. But her eyes, sea-green and oddly vulnerable, had him choosing his next words very carefully.

"You know, kid, when you care about a person…that sort of wanting…it can be really…special." He trailed off, suddenly feeling clammy. He had not signed on for sex ed, he thought miserably.

She goggled at him, horrified. "Ew! Logan, Ah'm eighteen. You think Ah'm not clear on that stuff? Stop gettin' all 'After School Special' on me. You're grossin' me out." She put her a hand on her hip and glared at him.

"If talkin' about it grosses you out, kid, maybe you're not ready."

She snorted, and flicked the safety back on automatically. "Nice try. Ah get it, Logan. You don't think Ah should sleep with him."

He crossed his arms and shook his head once. "Nope."

"Why?"

Because I've seen the way you smile at him, he thought, and when he leaves, I won't be able to fix it. "Since when do you take my advice about your love life?"

"Ah'm askin', aren't Ah?"

He looked at his hands, rubbed at his knuckles without thinking. "I can keep you safe, Rogue. It might piss you off, but at the end of the day, you're here and alive and that's what counts."

"Ah know --," she started.

"But I can't make you happy," he continued, "and neither can Gumbo, or Cyke, or anyone else. You can't rely on other people to make you happy. To make you whole. You gotta do that yourself."

"He does make me happy, Logan. How is that a bad thing?"

"What happens if he leaves?"

"Ah don't know." But realization filtered through her mounting temper, and she softened. "You think if Ah go to bed with Remy, and he leaves, Ah'll lose it again. Like before."

He jerked a shoulder, unwilling to admit the possibility out loud. "Would you?"

She considered for a long moment. "Ah don't think so," she said slowly, trying to imagine the scene. There was a faint ache behind her sternum, a sudden tightness in her throat at the idea of Remy leaving. But it was a manageable ache, she thought. Logan's words in the kitchen a month ago echoed back to her. There's a difference between carrying it and being crushed by it, he had told her, trying to help her cope with her rage and guilt. You get used to the weight of it. She tilted her head up towards him. "It's something Ah can carry."

He nodded, understanding her meaning perfectly. They stood together in the fading light, listening to the light breeze rustling the nearby woods. Finally, he spoke. "You ain't built for casual, kid."

Her head whipped around to face him. "Logan, enough!"

"I'm just saying…you should do what you want. What makes you happy," he amended. "Just don't…just…be careful. That's all."

"Uh-huh." The mirthful glint in her eyes was not reassuring, he thought.

He rolled his eyes, held out his hand for the gun. "Lesson's over, kid. Go get ready for dinner."

She cleared the chamber and ejected the magazine, placed the gun back in the case carefully, then gave it back. He watched her confident handling of the weapon, still puzzled, but didn't say anything. They could talk about it next time, he figured.

"You comin'?" she asked, when he made no move to put the case back in the duffel bag.

"Not yet. Go on ahead," he suggested. "I'll see you in a little bit."

She nodded, set off for the house. He watched her walk away, crunching over leaves, turning her face to the last rays of light. Suddenly, she stopped, glancing at him over her shoulder. "Logan?"

"Yeah?" Sunset was turning her hair to copper, bathing her face in gold.

"Ah'm always careful," she called back with a grin. "Learned it from the best." She turned and continued towards the house, Logan's laughter following behind.

Up next: A shout-out to T.S. Eliot. And brownie points to anyone who can guess it in their review.