Chapter Thirteen - the last one!


She woke up to Logan's face leaning over her. He was as pale as a ghost, looking as though he wasn't sure if he wanted to yell at her or kiss her. "Have we stopped?" she asked groggily.

Logan was glowering, and she wondered if he was angry with her, and if so, why. "Do you remember what happened?" he asked.

She put her hand to her head, which was pounding. It came away sticky with blood, but when she probed in alarm she couldn't locate any wounds. She must have healed. "Yeah. I was run over by a supersonic jet. Not something I'm gonna forget anytime soon."

"Oh, thank fuck." His head disappeared downwards, and after a startled moment she realised that he'd sat heavily on the floor. She sat up and looked around: they were on the Jet. She slid off the seats to kneel by Logan, who looked like he was having trouble breathing.

"Logan? You all right, sugar?"

"Thank fuck," he repeated, and put his arms around her, pulling her into an embrace so tight that she could hardly breathe. "Don't ever do that again!"

"What'd I do?" She sifted through her memories, trying to remember what she might have done wrong. Being kidnapped? Jumping out of a crashing helicopter?

"You tried to shield me, you little idiot," he scolded, taking her face in his hands. "We were heading for the Jet, and you yelled something about 'too fast', and pulled us around so you hit it first. Weren't you listening when I told you I heal? If it hadn't been for Sabretooth's healing powers, and that hard skull of yours..." His voice caught, and he smothered her in his embrace again. "Don't ever scare me like that again," he said, his voice muffled in her neck.

She stroked his hair, making soothing noises, trying to remember. She recalled heading towards the Jet, and thinking that they were going too fast... and after that, all was blackness. "I didn't mean to," she said. "I don't even remember... it must've been just instinct. I'm sorry." Intellectually, she knew he was far more likely to survive such an impact, but she couldn't promise not to do it again. The recollection of hurtling towards the ground had her clutching him tightly. "I didn't want to lose you."

"You won't lose me," he said. He brushed her hair back with one hand, still holding her close. "Oh, darlin', you won't ever get rid of me." Their lips met with the desperate need to feel that they were really safe, really alive, really together.

"Ahem." They broke apart to see Jean smiling at them, leaning casually on one of the seats. "Glad to see you're okay, Rogue," she grinned. "Been working on your control, have you?"

Marie moved swiftly away from Logan, startled, and then realised that she'd been touching him and he wasn't hurt. She searched inwards, briefly. "I'm controlling it!" she exclaimed. "I didn't even think about it... I can do it! Oh, my god..." She gave Logan a huge kiss, which deepened, until Jean moved tactfully away to talk to Scott. They finally broke apart, and Marie leaned her head against Logan's. "I have a confession," she whispered, for his ears alone. "I think I'm in love with you."

Logan blinked. He glanced at Jean and Scott, who were at the other end of the plane, deliberately not looking back. He looked back at Marie, gazing happily up at him, and really couldn't stop the words on the tip of his tongue: "I love ya, too, Marie."

Her whole face lit up. "Really?" She was still whispering.

Logan shrugged uncomfortably. "Well, yeah." He touched her nose with his. "You're mine. You know that, right?"

Know it? All her instincts were screaming it. "Yeah. And you're mine, sugar. Something I intend to demonstrate once I finally get you alone." He growled involuntarily, deep in his throat. She sniffed slightly, and grimaced. "After I've had a shower."


Jean and Scott dropped them off just outside of town, giving Marie assurances that they'd listen out for any sign of repercussions from their little adventure. It seemed unlikely that there would be any. A sense of déjà vu settled over Marie as they started to walk back into town. She hung back, and Logan looked around at her, surprised. "What's up?"

Marie stopped in the middle of the road. "Do we have to go back to the Princess right now? I mean, it's nice an' all," she said, belatedly remembering that he owned it. "But isn't there... Where do you live? Have you got a home around here somewhere? Can't we go there?"

Logan took her hand and looked down at her, solemnly. "You sure?" he asked, a wealth of meaning in his tone. Marie discovered that she suddenly couldn't trust her voice. She nodded instead. "Come on." He held her hand tightly the whole way, leading her to a small house on the edge of town, slightly cut off from the others around it. It was set in the borderland that separated the town from the forest, and Marie thought how appropriate that was for him - no, for them both. A faded sign by the gate read 'The Beeches'. Beside the front porch were approximately two motorbikes: one complete, lovingly shined, black and chrome Harley, and the dismantled, oily remains of at least one more. She thought of what her mother would say, and grinned wryly.

The house was small, comfortably - if shabbily - furnished, tidier than she'd (for some reason) expected, and with remarkably few personal possessions around. Above the fireplace hung a huge Samurai sword, and a couple of photograph frames sat on the mantelpiece. She stood in the centre of the room, uncertain of what to do now. Logan slumped exhaustedly onto the couch, and kicked off his boots. He leaned his head back, and closed his eyes. "I could sleep for a week," he yawned. He cracked open one eye, and looked at her. "You wanna sit down or somethin'?" He closed his eye again, and waved a hand. "Make yourself at home."

Marie sat on a chair opposite Logan. She stared at his relaxed form, unnerved, and trying to work out why. She wasn't being kidnapped, or attacked, she wasn't camping in the woods, or running away, or pretending to be human, or any of the usual situations that normally made up her life. She could just relax, be herself. That was what was throwing her, she realised. She wasn't used to being accepted like this. "What now?" she asked him.

Logan opened his eyes and looked at her for a long moment, his head still resting back against the couch. "Now? Don't you know?" Marie shook her head. Logan beckoned, and she stood up and went to stand in front of him. "Now we live happily ever after." He reached for her hand, and held it, stroking his thumb along her knuckles.

The corner of Marie's mouth twitched up. "And how do we go about doing that?" she asked, innocently.

"Well..." He smiled - crookedly, impudently - up at her, and she could see he had a few ideas up his sleeve. That was all right - so did she. He tugged on her hand, and she dropped willingly into his lap. He ran his free hand into her hair, and then, at her tiny nod, ran a thumb across her cheek. She closed her eyes and sighed, revelling at the feel of skin on skin. "Come away with me," he said, softly. Marie opened her eyes again.


"Away. With me."

Marie tipped her head to one side, regarding him affectionately. "Anywhere in particular?"

"Nope. Just away." Logan dropped both hands to her hips, and pulled her closer to his warmth. "Don't you wanna see what's beyond this little ol' place? Up high on that mountain, f'r instance, up close to the stars. Or beyond that, far as the eye can see, or further. D'you wanna see what's in that far off purple distance? See what's out there - just 'cause we can? We can go anywhere, you an' me, an' so long as we're together we don't haveta be lonely strangers. You get me?"

Marie snuggled closer, and put her arms about his neck. "I getcha. You've convinced me. So when're we off?"

He ran a hand up her back, then down again to dip under her shirt and touch her bare skin, and her pulse quickened as she met his heated expression. "Tomorrow, sweetheart. Tomorrow."


A small late-afternoon rain cloud breezed through the town, sprinkling the rooftops and roads, softening and smoothing the edges of everything it touched. The pattering on their window was gentle enough not to disturb the usually acute senses of two people in an upstairs room of a small house, curled asleep in each other's arms. Perhaps the cloud felt that they'd had enough excitement for a while. It passed on, and left them to rest.



A/N: Thank you to everyone who's given me feedback, it's been really great hearing your thoughts on the story - this one was entirely finished before I posted it here, so I couldn't use any of the ideas you gave me - but if I ever write a sequel...

Incidentally, for those interested in the comics, Wolverine owned a bar in Madripoor called the Princess. Yes, it's not my idea. It was a bit of a dive, to be honest, so I spruced it up some, got in some new management, and moved it, lock, stock and barrel, to Canada.