A/N: First of all, I would like to thank all you wonderful people who have been with the story from the very beginning. You have all been so patient and great with your reviews that it humbles me. I hop that this story continues to please you all. So this chapter is for all of you. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.

Disclaimer: Characters don't belong to me…yada yada yada

It made no sense, Angela thought to herself as she left the training room. Logan wasn't there. She'd looked for him in all his favourite spots in the mansion and she couldn't find him.

"Hey Scott," she called when she spotted him exit his bedroom, a tense expression on his face. "Have you seen Logan? I can't find him anywhere."

He started and looked behind him guiltily. "Ummm…no?"

She stared at him. "Scott Summers, are you lying to me?"

He flushed a dull red. "No!" he protested quickly, but again, he looked behind him into the shadowy bedroom

"Cyclops," her voice lowered to an almost growl. "Where is Wolverine?"

"Jean's calling me," he gasped out and turned towards the stairs. "Sorry, R-Angela, have to run." And with that, the X-Men's fearless leader bolted.

She watched him run in surprise. It was wrong, she mused, for a grown man to run like that. What was he hiding, she wondered, turning her gaze speculatively to his room, to act that way? She inched forward, hesitating only slightly before she pushed open the door and stepped in. Her mouth gaped unattractively before closing with a snap.

"Wolverine!"

The man huddling on the edge of the bed stared at her in abject terror.

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"Professor, I need to speak with her," Angela told Charles furiously. "She cannot be hitting on Logan, not while she's in my body! That's just all kinds of wrong."

"Angela, if you go to her in your present state of mind," Charles told her soothingly, "you'll undo all the hard work the three of us have done to bring you both this far."

"But Professor, she's hitting on Logan!" she almost shouted it.

Charles cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Well, yes, she is."

"We just help Logan hide when Carol takes over, usually," Scott said helpfully, then immediately realised his misstep when she turned on him.

"You mean you knew about this?" she demanded.

He winced and tried to side track. "I wouldn't say that, actually…" he began.

"You're a terrible liar, Cyclops," she told him icily. "You've never been good at it."

Scott wisely shut up.

"What should I do, Professor?" she asked. "Keep quiet and hope it blows over? It won't, you know. She's like a dog with a bone. And Logan is apparently the bone."

Scott choked, but again demonstrated uncanny intelligence by keeping his mouth shut when Angela shot him a death glare.

"I think this is something we can address in our session tomorrow, Angela," Charles told her kindly. He hesitated. "I do have some news about Ms Danvers condition, which I think might cheer her up considerably."

"You found a way to get the harpy out of me?" Angela asked hopefully.

"Not exactly. But," he said when her shoulders sagged, "her body has healed from the trauma. Once our sessions are over, we can begin to try to slowly move her back to her body. Although, Angela," he added, "we cannot move forward until you accept who you are."

She sighed. She'd realised that too, but had been hoping that things would work themselves out somehow. "I know, Professor." She turned to leave, hesitated, and turned back. "I can control my powers now, because Carol can. But what happens when she's out of me?" she asked him.

He looked troubled. "I don't know yet. But Angela," he laid his hand on hers, "we'll find a way."

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Angela had never missed anyone so much in her life. From the moment she opened her eyes, thoughts of Ben dominated her days. She wished she could go back in time to that terrible night. Maybe if she hadn't had so much to drink, she could have taken the bullet. After all, she had the Wolverine's healing abilities.

As Angela, she'd only experienced that one awful loss, and the pain hadn't gone away. She doubted it ever would.

So how, she wondered, was she supposed to become Rogue again? Rogue had experienced so much more pain in her life. That was why she'd left in the first place, because the constant ache of being who she was had broken her. She didn't want to go back to being that person.

"Hey, kid."

She didn't look up as Logan settled himself beside her under the tree. "I'm surprised you're even near me," she remarked listlessly. "Aren't you afraid the she-devil might jump you?"

He shifted. "No." Besides, Chuck had assured him that Carol would only be out the next morning.

"So," he began casually, "how are you holding up?"

She laughed humourlessly. "How do you think?" she asked. "In the past three months, I've lost my best friend, absorbed someone almost to the point of death, have a crazy woman in my head who's been hitting on you, been told that the only way I can stay sane is to become Rogue again, and - " her voice broke.

He didn't say anything for a long while. "Look, Stripes," he finally said, sounding surprisingly gentle. "I don't know what you're going through, not exactly. But I do know one thing. You never gave Rogue up. Angela, she's a part of Rogue, and no amount of denying is gonna change that."

"How do you know that?" she asked, suddenly furious. "How do you know that Angela wasn't the complete opposite of Rogue?"

"Because I know you, Stripes. I've known you since you were sixteen years old. You did good as Angela. And who knows, maybe if stuff hadn't happened, you'd still be in LA being Angela. But you would have spent the rest of your life wondering what would have happened if you hadn't left. And you would have regretted leaving us." He sighed. "We missed you, kid. I missed you." The hand on her shoulder squeezed lightly before he left.

She stayed frozen for a long time after that. Then, a deep, shuddering sob tore out of her, and she was curled on the ground, weeping uncontrollably. When arms came around her, she didn't fight them. Instead, she turned her face into the coat, too grief-stricken to be embarrassed. Her throat was raw with crying, and her tears soaked through the rough material, but the arms didn't loosen or push her away. Instead, they tightened around her.

When her breathing evened out, signalling that she had cried herself to sleep, Remy stood up, still cradling her in his arms. "Wat happen t' y', chere?" he asked softly. "If Remy'd known t'at y' come back mo' broken t'an before, Remy come an' get y' long time ago. 'Sokay," he kissed her forehead. "Y' back now, an' Remy not goin' t' let y' go again."

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