Author's note (with info that I should have put in the previous author's note — but I didn't because I am rusty as all hell, clearly!): As far as the timeline goes, this story takes place after Logan returns from Japan. For those who like a heads up, I think this one is gonna wind up in the neighborhood of thirty-something chapters. I'm aiming to post a chapter or so a week, probably on Thursdays. We'll see how it goes. Onward!

Marie found Logan sitting on the edge of the dock with a beer in his hand, staring out at the lake that bordered the back of the school's property. A six pack of longnecks sat beside him, sweating in the moonlight, and she wondered, not for the first time, why a man with so much metal in him was so drawn to the water. His easy stillness seemed to suggest he found it peaceful, but she wasn't so sure that was it. Not really. Nothing was ever easy with him, even when he wasn't deliberately pushing away the world.

She sat down beside him and he wordlessly passed over a beer. He took it back and opened it for her with an amused grunt when he realized she couldn't get the cap off. Imports.

"I saw you last night."

That was a hell of an opener. The beer stopped halfway to his mouth but he didn't turn to look at her.

"Saw me fight?"

There was no rancor or accusation in his words, just curiosity with a touch of something twined through it that she couldn't quite put her finger on.

"No."

He knew instantly what she'd seen.

Shit.

That explained why she'd bailed on him earlier today. And why she'd come looking for him tonight. She was a straight shooter. Always had been and for a moment he froze, uncharacteristically unsure, as he drew her in with all his senses, trying to read every little nuance. That wasn't easy on a good day.

She was clearly flustered, despite the directness of her opening volley. He could see the pink in her face, that telltale flush of blood, even in the silvery moonlight. Her drawn brows suggested contemplation rather than anger or disappointment. The peppery scent of her embarrassment filled his head, but they were top notes only. Under it was a sweet, sultry musk that told him quite plainly she'd liked what she'd seen. A lot. The lip caught between her teeth hinted she might be open to seeing a little more. At the very least, he knew there was more locked away there than she was owning up to.

He wasn't as oblivious as they imagined him to be. Or as detached.

But he wasn't stupid, either. It wasn't even that she was a kid. She wasn't. Not anymore. Not for a long time, now. But the thing with Bobby — that had ended badly — and though she was strong where it counted, she'd always been reckless and prone to self-destructive behavior. Drake's preference for her touchable, fuckable friend had hit her hard. She took that shit personal. For as much as she craved the idea of touch — real touch, not that PG bullshit the iceprick had played at — it terrified her.

It had gotten worse after she'd taken the Cure. Be careful what you ask for. He didn't know exactly what had happened during the long years he'd been away wandering the world after Jean's death, but he knew it had to have been damn bad. She'd never spoken of it to him, but he'd heard rumors. Whispers of a string of bad choices ending with some smooth-talking asshole and more than a year on the road alone, after. Total radio silence. Girl always had liked the wild ones. Unfortunately, not all roughnecks knew a good thing when they had it. Some dumbfuck had the moon and stars in his hands and had pissed it away, tarnishing their beautiful shine in the process.

She ran now, too. Often. South. Always south. And always alone. He'd heard rumors about that, too. Speculation from Las Vegas to Miami. Nashville. Atlanta. New Orleans. Santa Fe. Austin. If you wanted to pick a fight with her, that was the way to do it. Start digging there and she came out swinging. Hard. For a man who always ran north, it made perfect sense. Some people's internal compass always pointed one way.

Marie was a different person when he finally came back from Japan for good. A shadow of herself in some ways, larger than life in others, but not a kid. Christ, no goddamn kid had eyes like that. A thousand yard stare that could raise the hair on his neck and the gooseflesh on his arms on the rare occasions she deigned to let him see a glimmer of what lay behind the mask.

And then there was her body. Ripe and luscious and dripping with need so bad sometimes it made him shake. But she was different in other ways, too. Ways that made him keep his distance despite the way she looked at him. She was harder, now. Pricklier. More closed. More damaged, and that was saying something. That he recognized it said something about him, too.

When he turned his head, she was looking at him expectantly.

"You stick around for the encore, kid?" Little lift of his lips to let her know he was just fucking with her to break the ice a bit. It had just been that once with the girl in the alley. He'd gone home alone after, like always, and wound up out here on the dock, watching the water after several sleepless hours contemplating his ceiling. Hell, he spent more nights out here than he did in his own damn bed.

Once upon a time, she'd have punched his arm for a remark like that. Now she just rolled her eyes and snorted into her beer. "You wish, sugar."

He did, actually, which made the whole conversation even more surreal, but because he was the Wolverine, and people expected him to be an uncouth son-of-a-bitch, he lifted a brow and smirked at her. "You go home and touch yourself after?"

And because she was the Rogue, with her own fiery reputation to live up to, she blew him a kiss and threw back her head and laughed, a real belly laugh that made his teeth flash in the darkness. "Yep. Twice."

A couple of years ago, he'd have been able to tell when she was bluffing. He couldn't any more. There was a layer of sophistication there he hadn't expected, to say nothing of what that imagery did for him. He shifted on the dock, easing back to relieve the rush of blood under the guise of grabbing another beer.

The crack as he opened it was loud in the darkness and he flicked the cap at her just because he could.

"Only twice?" He couldn't resist engaging her even though he knew better. Fuck the lines they'd drawn in the sand. If she was going to cross them, he was too. The Rogue had been his own personal brand of kryptonite from the very beginning.

Even years ago, if she'd come to him wanting something - anything - he'd have given her whatever she needed for as long as she'd let him. Fuck the rules. His. Xavier's. Society's. Hers were the only ones he gave a shit about. She probably knew him better than anyone and she wasn't afraid to let him know she liked having him near, but she'd always kept her distance. Physically. Emotionally. It was like some overly-careful fucked up dance that they'd both become so proficient at that it was almost automatic now. They were probably the two people at the school who were the least likely to tiptoe around anything, and yet — this — this they always left alone.

Until tonight, when she'd smashed everything all to hell with a few simple words.

"Not everyone heals, cowboy." She saluted him with her beer.

He chuckled into the darkness. Not too many people had the balls to say that to his face, or to imply there were uses to his healing factor beyond the obvious.

"Hell of a silver linin'," he agreed amicably, necking his bottle.

They fell quiet, listening to the lapping of the lake against the dock as it shifted and rocked softly under them. He took her silence to mean she was happy there was something about his mutation he enjoyed, but she was still looking at him like she was waiting for him to drop the hammer on her for being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

So she was at a fight bar? So she watched two consenting adults have sex? He'd been at the same damn bar and he'd had sex with a stranger in an alley afterwards, for Christ's sake. There really wasn't a lot of moral high ground to claim there, even he had been so inclined. Still, that feeling that she was waiting for the other shoe to drop was getting to him.

"Enough with that face, huh? I ain't your father. If you're lookin' for a morality lecture, you're barkin' up the wrong tree."

She blinked at him and then her lip twitched.

"Woof."

"Heh." That made his raspy chuckle roll out across the water.

"I just wanted you to know, that's all."

"Gotcha."

He understood what she was saying. It was a little weird now, sure, but it would have been weirder later if he found out she'd kept something like that to herself. Even though it wasn't really a big deal, that was the kind of thing that festered. She was right to have said something now — to lance it before it became poison — but he still couldn't help reading the subtle signs that said there was something more here than she was saying with words. But for now, he let that sleeping bear lie. He was still putting the pieces of his life back together and she was little better.

Neither of them were ready to be eviscerated by that conversation, but he couldn't resist pushing a little. She wouldn't have been so jumpy if she'd just stumbled across them and left immediately. That told him she'd stayed and watched, and he couldn't quite let that go. While not an overt approach, it was a step outside their usual dance of denial, and something in him — something primal and wild that refused to be cowed — couldn't let that pass without comment. If she was going to open this door between them, he damn sure was going to walk through it.

"I'm goin' again Saturday night. Jack's. You gonna come?"

"To watch you fight?"

His teeth flashed in the darkness.

"That, too."

He could feel her eyes on him then, hot in the still night air. Curious. Searching. Trying to read his intent. He let her look and returned the stare with something a great deal warmer than his usual ambivalent detachment, but in the end he just exhaled slowly and she looked away, her beer to her lips.

The silent exchange was perhaps the first honest conversation they'd had since a stubborn girl lifted her chin defiantly and told him she wasn't taking the Cure for some boy.

Still, it hadn't made a damn bit of difference in the end no matter what he'd said — or what she'd ultimately chosen. Her gift had eventually reasserted itself and the time between then and now had not been kind to her. She'd have been better off embracing what she was from the start, but that wasn't his decision to make and some lessons needed to be learned the hard way, especially for people like them.

Beside him, Marie sighed, looking up at the stars. He wondered if there was a rolling in her belly, too. One that had nothing to do with the movement of the dock under them or the beers they'd put away in quick succession.

"Maybe," she finally offered, rolling the dark glass between her gloved palms.

Logan just watched the water. "Suit yourself, kid."

Neither of them said another word, but the night had shifted. It was heavy between them now where it had been loose and easy before. Like expectation. Like apprehension.

Like energy, gathering before a storm.

Up next: Smoke. The Rogue has never been able to resist a dare, especially not one issued by the Wolverine. (Y'all know I love me some feral Wolverine. In and out of the cage…)