This chapter actually took me a ridiculous amount of time to write, and I mean ridiculous. I was staggering home rather drunkenly late last night... okay, during the early hours of this morning (Whistles innocently) and sort came up with the concept. I had a few too many beers and thought 'I really need to update this fic'. So here you are and yes, I know its short, but I enjoyed writing the ending LMAO ;)

A huge thanks to Starlight2twilight, pinkdrama, chellerbelle, Mistress Maggie, Dots, xxBlueDazexx, dancinqt21, soon2Bme, wolverette, SoRightItsWrong, arich and addicted2fic for reviewing. Aw, you guys! :)

Disclaimer: I thought it was about time I added one. Obviously I don't own X-men, but I would consider owning the yummy Hugh Jackman or his bank balance, the right to all his movies and I would write the script for the next Wolverine film. Ahem, anyway, this fic is rated 'M' for Logan's disgusting use of language, thoughts and eventually his actions. Oh and Rogue too, the girl has a serious potty mouth and a one hell of a mischievous streak ;)

Blaze Of Glory

I'm going down in a blaze of glory

– Jon Bon Jovi

He hadn't slept, he hadn't slept at all and no it wasn't the nightmares, not this time, it was the damn kid. She had flirted with him, there was no doubt about it. Rogue had flirted with him, she had flirted with Wolverine, Marie had shamelessly, blatantly and candidly flirted with Logan. He wasn't dense, he was far from it actually and that was a problem. He was starting to wish that he was blissfully ignorant of the current situation or just ignorant in general, he wasn't that fussed.

Ignorance was a damn good thing he had decided, and he missed it. Just like he missed the open road, the hookers and the cage fighting.

Logan needed to think things through. Firstly she had taken to wearing tighter clothes, which had secretly pleased the pervert in him. Rogue was far from ugly... and yeah, he had looked once or twice. Who the hell wouldn't if given half a chance?

His second thought was the more disturbing of the two, the hairy bikers, she was hanging out with hairy assed bikers. Not that he had ever seen a bikers hairy ass, sure he had been to some rowdy bars in his time, met some Hells Angels, had a bare knuckled fight with the leader of the gang over a big breasted, long legged woman. Logan hadn't even started that brawl, hell... he couldn't blame the guy, he would have had a sense of humour failure to if someone had attempted to chat up his own mother in front of him. Jesus Christ, doctors could do anything these days if you didn't have a healing factor on your side. He would never have guessed that the scantily dressed woman had been close to hitting seventy. Shit, what was he trying to get at? Oh yeah, the Wolverine had never set eyes on a bikers hairy ass or any other hairy ass for that matter. In fact he didn't even like gazing at his own ass in the mirror, but he was betting that his was a hell of a lot less hairy then those biker's rear ends from earlier.

Fuck it, now he was rambling and he was perplexed and irked at the very thought of Rogue partying with bikers. Wait, when did he start using words like perplexed and irked?

Healing factor be damned, the lack of some serious shut eye was turning him into Summers. If he didn't get to sleep soon, he would be giving the train station another sun roof, spouting absolute bullshit and walking around the mansion with a stick poking permanently out of his ass crack.

Logan had a bad feeling about today, something was stirring and it wasn't just the kid, what the hell was she doing up so early? He glared at the alarm clock and sighed heavily as he continued to listen to Marie thundering around her room. Turning his withering glare on the textured ceiling and stretching in his cold empty bed, he considered purchasing a pair of ear plugs or maybe finding a new neighbour. One that was more considerate of his keen animal senses, especially at five o'clock in the Goddamn morning.

Rogue meanwhile was in a tight bind and unfortunately for her it wasn't the type of bind that consisted of a rope, furry handcuffs and a dominating, naked Logan. Oh no, it was the I – have – so – many – fucking – clothes – I – just – don't – know – what – to – do – with – myself type of bind. It happens to all women at least once a month, just like a period. Instead of stomach cramps you get a pounding headache though, once you remember how much you paid for that ugly cashmere sweater you have never worn. You know the one, it is still wearing the hefty price tag... Did she have to be more specific? Fine, fine, the sweater you are hiding in the back of your wardrobe, the one you are ashamed of ever buying and are praying to God that you will wake up one morning and it will have just disappeared, the money having miraculously appeared back in your bank account.

Anyway, Marie was in a bind because her taste in cashmere sweaters was dire to say the least. She didn't even want to consider how much she had spent on the pile of woollen crap that was accumulating a large percentage of her carpeted bedroom floor.

Okay, so her awful cashmere sweater collection wasn't the problem, it was Logan. She was procrastinating, delaying, dawdling, postponing or hesitating, whatever you wanted to call it. Rogue called it spring cleaning, tidying her room and discovering that she had a dismal, almost morbid taste in clothing. That and she was slightly embarrassed over her behaviour last night. The flirting hadn't been part of the plan, well not yet anyway. Logan had looked terrified, no not terrified, he had the same look on his face after Cyclops had admitted to wearing a speedo on the beach.

Men were really confusing, she didn't understand their behaviour at all. Why would her flirtatious advance on a single, ferally hot, gorgeous, handsome, clawed bad ass of a mutant cause her to become a nervous wreck? A nervous, closet cleaning, nail biting, sleep deprived wreck.

Looking at her brightly coloured alarm clock, a Christmas present from Jubilee, she glared childishly at the unsightly, rather horrifying time. Was that what a clock looked like at five o' clock in the morning? Wow, she had never risen before the sun, she hated mornings but desperate times called for desperate measures. Her plan was already in the early stages, Scott had been shipped off to Timbuktu... The boat was possibly not venturing as far as Africa, but even the almighty leader of the X-men couldn't fight and win against the choppy, windswept Canadian waters. She just hoped that the ship didn't sink or get high jacked by blood thirsty pirates... Actually, Marie should have left with Scott to keep him company. He might be lonely and what if he got sea sick? Her musings obviously had nothing to do with the thought of finding her own Jack Sparrow on the high seas. She was sure that a charismatic, witty pirate was easier to reign in then a cantankerous, irritable Wolverine.

Logan turned on his side, scratching his back and burrowed further under the covers. The kid had finally stopped doing... Well, whatever the hell she had been doing for the past hour and a half, and it was time for some much needed sleep. His brain had finished over analysing every little detail of last night and he was having no more thoughts concerning hairy asses, thankfully. His day would only get better if the girl that had wriggled her way into his heart would think twice, and he meant twice, before inviting herself into his room.

Marie hovered outside Logan's door, caressing a hand over her thighs encased in leather and rearranging her lumpy breasts. Her breasts of course weren't lumpy, it was the padded bra that had her in a quandary. She was starting to have second thoughts about her choice of underwear, hadn't she decided yesterday not to wear any at all? What the heck was she thinking?

Glancing around the deserted hallway, she quickly removed her clothes. Hopping from foot to foot and wrenching off her offending panties and bra, silently hoping that another early riser wouldn't disturb her hastily, ill thought out wardrobe change. She must be mad, her bedroom was only next door, no she wasn't mad she was lazy... Lazy and mad, mad with lust.

"Shit." She hissed, as she fought furiously with her pants. Whoever invented the famously tight leather pants should be taken out back at shot. Heck, she didn't even own a gun but attempting to dress herself again was proving difficult and she was sorely tempted to hitch hike to the nearest Walmart, purchase a gun and go idiotic - inventor - of - leather – pants – hunting. Maybe it would catch on and become the American housewives favourite past time. "SHIT!"

He would never get to sleep if she continued to shuffle and curse outside his damn door. Reluctantly rolling out of the comfort and warmth of his double bed, he staggered tiredly to the door and threw it open ready to spit a few choice words her way, but the reprimand died on his lips as he took in the heavenly sight before him. The kid, the kid, the kid, his brain was on repeat... the kid, the kid, the fucking half naked kid.

She had fallen, fallen over her own feet, and was still unable to squeeze into her leather pants. She was slightly bemused at the situation, had she put on a little extra weight whilst walking the ten steps to Logan's door? The feeling of bewilderment didn't last long though when the door she was currently lying in front of with her legs spread far apart and with her underwear at her feet, opened.

It opened and there was the man that haunted her secret fantasies and erotic dreams, with his muscular arms crossed over his sculptured bare chest and his eyebrow quirked at her rather compromising position.

So, she did what any other person would do, if confronted with the most troublesome state of affairs, she said the first thing that came into her mind.

"Um, surprise!"