I don't own any of the X-Men characters


"Home" belongs to Chris Daughtry


I'm staring out into the night,
Trying to hide the pain.

Logan looked out of the window of his Jeep, the radio blasting out a song he had never before heard, but that stuck in his head as he watched the snow fall heavily outside, focusing on the road ahead of him, but his mind still straying. The headlights of the Jeep made the snow glint and reflect, standing out in the darkness of the night. His head hurt as he tried not to think about the last time he had driven down this very road, in this same kind of weather, with a red-headed girl who he had hardly known, but who now, with every day that passed, and every mile that seperated them, seemed to torture his mind, poisoning his sleep, reminding him of the few days they had had together, the few days in which they had admitted their feelings, the few days in which everything was ok, in which they'd been able to touch, without a worry to his health. She hadn't killed him. She couldn't kill him now. They'd taken everything she was when they put that needle in her arm. Taken everything that brought them together, broken down the promise he had sworn to her, the trust he had built up.
She could touch him now. Why should he be angry at that? She was beautiful, she was attainable, she was his. Was it him? He considered it. He'd told her not to do it for a boy. She told him it was what she wanted. She finished with Bobby later that week, and then... she was his. He should have been happy, over the moon, ecstatic... He was. For a day or two. But everything was different. She wasn't untouchable, which somehow made her seem it. It felt wrong to touch her, when he'd spent so long resisting, not wanting to die.
Now, he wanted her back. With the lethal skin, and every other thing that made her Rogue. Everything he knew...
The pain of his freezing fingers became too much and he flicked the switch for the heater, his breath rising before him in a misty pattern.
It was painful to see her changing, to see her become a normal, non-mutated human. He felt as though he contaminated her by just brushing his lips with hers. She was worthy of any man in the world, and now she could live a normal life, with a normal guy.
He couldn't be a part of it. Because he was a mutant. Because he knew everything about her and it hurt to see her becoming everything he couldn't become. He didn't want to be a normal human like everyone else, but he didn't want to be without her either... He growled angrily, lighting a cigar and inhaling deeply.

I'm going to the place where love
And feeling good don't ever cost a thing.

He finished it, tossing it aside out of the window and sighing. For those few days, he'd been in heaven. Christ, he'd been in her! But who was he to let her waste her life on an undeterminedly old man, who woke up in the night and tried to kill anyone in the room? Admittedly, she had kept those nightmares away, leaving him to sleep peacefully for the first time he could remember. He was happier with her than he ever remembered being, he felt good about himself, about who he was, about what he was. Until he touched her. Looking at her, he'd felt good, known that he had the better luck of a million others, that he had the love of a woman who was indescribably perfect, who he could finally touch and caress. But everything about her was too good for him. His hands on her skin felt too rough, too harsh to touch her smooth young flesh. His stubble felt too cruel to brush against the soft skin of her cheek. His eyes were too secretive and dangerous to look into the eyes of a woman who had the eyes of an angel.
It didn't cost anything to look at her and adore her. It cost him the heartache of unworthiness to hold her.

And the pain you feel's a different kind of pain.

He wished he could love her openly. He wished more than anything, that somehow, she would get her mutation back, and then work out a way to control it, so that they could touch again, be together, hold each other. He selfishly hoped that somehow she could become as unworthy as him, that they could be unworthy together. Another car swerved in front of him and he slammed on the breaks, throwing himself against the seat so that he wouldn't be thrown forwards as he had been before. His jaw cracked, and he felt the bones painfully merge together again. What wouldn't he give to drive down this road with Marie again? To drive down here, meet her again, speak to her, learn about her. To find out about her skin, and possibly, maybe help her to control it. He secretly longed for the pain of her hand on his cheeks, draining the life from his face, the pain that told him it was her, that gave him something of a bond with her, when she recalled his dreams and nightmares... he wished he could give a part of himself to her mind again, to give her a part of him, to know that her powers joined them... they didn't anymore. They weren't joined that way these days. He was just a guy, she was just a girl. No sharing thoughts, no bond, no promises. Just... them.

He could heal physical pain, injury, cuts, bruises... he didn't know how to fix the pain of his own splintering heart.

Well I'm going home,
Back to the place where I belong,
And where your love has always been enough for me.

He looked in the rearview mirror, at the speeding car trying to overtake him as he sat there, parked stationary, his thoughts stopping him from doing anything but sitting there. He drove to the side of the road and watched the red sports car shoot past. Logan wondered how long it would be before they crashed, but didn't pause his thought for long.

The blur of red changed into a lock of red hair as he looked and he blinked angrily. He couldn't stop thinking about her. Should he turn around? Drive right back to the Mansion and run up to her room? Perhaps get on his knees and beg forgiveness? He sighed. He didn't know how he'd face it. He never felt as though he fitted in. He'd stayed for her before, because he'd promised. She'd needed him. She was helpless, she couldn't touch and people scared her. Now... well, now she could touch. She had no reason to be afraid, and he knew she didn't need him. At least not the way he needed her. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply. The only time he'd belonged was when he was with her, protecting her, stopping people hurting her, looking out for her, running with her, speaking with her. He belonged with her, and he knew it. But it didn't change the facts. She didn't need him to be there for her now. When she had, she had loved him, depended on him, been taken with him, trusted him. Now, she was more of an individual than he could have imagined, and there was nothing about him that she relied on. Did he blame her for moving on? No, of course not. She deserved to be happy, and that was everything to him. But he wouldn't stand around and watch from the sidelines as another person fell in love with her and her for him. And he couldn't be the one to fall, because it was too much, and he didn't deserve it. Her love had completed him. He just couldn't be the same for her.

No amount of love would be enough.

His fingers twitched on the steering wheel. Should he turn around? No. He shouldn't. He pressed down on the accelerator and twisted the wheel, getting back on the road and speeding along again, trying to leave his own thoughts in the dusty snow behind him.

I'm not running from.
No, I think you got me all wrong.
I don't regret this life I chose for me.

It wasn't like they were ever anything more than lovers. It was barely four days. It wasn't as though he were running away from the love of his life because he had had his heart broken by the change in her. No. Nothing like that. It might have been, if he'd stuck around a few weeks more and tried to find out what it was for her... but he knew the answer. She'd known he knew about sex, known if anyone in the Mansion could teach her it was him. How could she fit into society at age eighteen, if she were still a virgin? Three days of violent shagging saw to it that she knew enough to be getting on with. It wasn't as though they'd vowed eternal love and promised to marry. Because they hadn't after all. Yes, he'd thought it... but she thought he was a player, and so she let him play... he let himself be played... She got him wrong though. He couldn't be that for her. He couldn't walk into her room and screw her, then walk out as though nothing had happened, walk around the mansion as though he wasn't a million times happier for being with her. She got it wrong. He didn't want to play her. She let him, because she wanted him to.
He could never play Marie.
She thought he could... well, he'd left because he couldn't. How could he regret it? She wouldn't have wanted him. She wouldn't have truly, really, deeply wanted him, like she would want another man when she grew up properly. She would want someone younger, better looking, more charming, better mannered... she could get someone like that as well. He couldn't regret letting her live her life. He wouldn't regret not watching her do it, or not feeling heartache when her soft lips met someone elses.

But these places and these faces are getting old,
So I'm going home.
Well I'm going home.

He was bored of the Mansion, of all of its students, the rushing children who seemed to live to frustrate him. He was bored of the fridge that never had any beer, bored of his lonely bedroom, bored or Ororo's lectures, bored of the food, bored of the gardens, bored of Marie...
Logan sighed. He wasn't bored of Marie. He never would be. What was there to be bored of? A beautiful girl, with a beautiful personality. A lovely voice, gorgeous eyes, a sexy smile, an endearing laugh...
She was the epitomy of perfection. Aside from the lethal skin, she always had been. Now she really was. He couldn't watch it for long. He needed to go somewhere, away from her, away from the X-Men.
It wasn't perfect. It wasn't home. There were no Maries, or Rogues, or mutants. Just familiarity that wasn't so overly done that he wanted to hit everyone he saw. There were women, there was beer, there was no Ororo, no perfected gardens, no children trying to get him to draw his claws on them. In other words, it was as much of a home as he needed, and anyone he met would know to stay away from him.

The miles are getting longer, it seems,
The closer I get to you.

He stopped outside the bar where he had met Rogue, turning the key in the ignition and letting the engine shut off. Without thought, he got out and entered through the door, taking in the familiar scene, with the cage fight going on before him. He watched as a man got thrown to the floor, then looked at the bar. He'd first seen Rogue there. First seen her, first heard her voice. She'd told him to look out when someone attacked him... he couldn't remember much else, except for the gratefulness he had felt towards her, not having to heal himself right there. He sat down, looking across to where she had sat, to where her hands had been... Hands that had run over his body only days ago... hands that had slid into his hair... hands that had caressed his cheeks and traced his lips... he slammed a fist down on the bar and barked out an order for beer. It felt like a lifetime ago. Miles away, buried in the past with everything they'd ever had... And here, where she had once sat, and yelled to save his life, it felt harder than ever, more distant than anything else... There was something in the room that reminded him of her, that lingered in his nostrils, as though her smell were still there, even if it was from two years ago... It hurt more than ever, and the distance, the gaping gap between them, seemed more pronounced than ever. He didn't even touch his beer. He stood up and left, ignoring the call from the barman to pay.

I've not always been the best man or friend for you.
But your love remains true.

He wondered what would happen if he went back. Would she hit him? Tell him she hadn't missed him and that he should have stayed away? Most likely. Then a thought crossed his mind, a thought that hurt more than anything else. What if she needed him, right now, when he wasn't there to look after her? What if he had left just when she needed him? What kind of a friend would it make him? He'd thought he was leaving for the best, for both their sakes. Less pain, less confusion, less mixed emotions that made no decipherable sense. Was he a coward to be running from her like this? Was he breaking his promise to her? Or was that promise already broken, dissolved in the ocean of despair and pain that seemed to swamp him, drown him, so much more now that they were apart.

She would have loved him once, no matter what. If he'd left her his dog tags, she'd never have stopped. She'd hoped for them when she was younger, he knew. Hoped for everything they could be without her skin to stop them, hoped for the love that might blossom if they could touch. She'd loved him then. Did she now? No. But he loved her. Truly and deeply. He would just have to learn to live.

And I don't know why.
You always seem to give me another try.

Someday, she might forgive him. If he came home in a few years, perhaps they could sort things out, just be friends. She'd trusted him before, given him more chances than he deserved, never faltered in the belief that he was a good person, never believed anything bad of him. Even when he'd nearly killed her, she hadn't shyed away from him. She'd never left his side if she could help it. They were friends, no matter what. Colleagues, partners, friends... lovers? Once. Just once. He didn't understand what changed between them, why her skin had made him feel so differently. She'd changed, too. She'd breached barriers between them that he'd sworn never to let down, that she'd never have breached before. What happened to the sixteen year old girl, scared to touch? Why was he so worried by the fact they could kiss and cuddle? He didn't understand.
Perhaps she would. Perhaps she could talk to him, make him see sense, give him a last chance. Just one. It was all he'd need. He'd never let go again. If only they could just... make sense of everything. He sighed. The Jeep had gotten cold, and he turned the key in the ignition, hoping for the warmth to shoot through the car and warm him up, perhaps melt the icy layer that seemed to cover his heart as he thought about her, melt the inhibitions and worries, and just show him that everything would be ok. That he could love her. Be loved by her.

So I'm going home,
Back to the place where I belong,

How could he know what she would say without seeing her? How could anything about his emotions melt away without being near her? Why was he so scared to turn back on this darkened road, and follow the route back to the Mansion? She was there, wasn't she? Everything he wanted, needed, longed for. Her, her slim body, her warm embrace, her soft lips. Where she was. Where he belonged. Where everything frustrated him but her. He wanted to go back. The Mansion might not be a home in itself, but the company was as much a home as he'd ever needed, or would ever need. He reversed slightly, taking a deep breath, before turning the car around completely.

And where your love has always been enough for me.
I'm not running from.

He wasn't going to run anymore. He decided there and then. He'd run before. Run from his past, run from his feelings, run from commitment. Now he wanted to run right into it, headlong. Was that enough, to want it that badly? He hoped so. Perhaps she still loved him. Perhaps she didn't. Perhaps he had to ask her. Perhaps if he knew the truth, everything would fall into place and make sense. It would be enough to know. To understand. He only wanted to be with her. To stop running. And if he had to run, he wanted to run with her beside him.

No, I think you got me all wrong.
I don't regret this life I chose for me.
But these places and these faces are getting old,

So what if he couldn't stand the smug faces of half of the kids at the mansion. Who cared if the Ice-prick would probably glare at him for weeks and weeks? What, did he think he'd left for good? Well, that might have been his initial intention... but never, never, could he leave her. They got it wrong if they thought he could. What would possess him? Fear passed. It already had. He'd made up his mind, and he was going back home. To her. To Marie. It was possibly the one choice in his life he would never come to regret. She was his world. A ray of light after years of darkness. Never, ever, would he regret her. He wouldn't regret the day he met her. He wouldn't regret the day he promised to look after her. He wouldn't regret they way they'd embraced in those few precious days. He wouldn't regret doing it again. Ever.

Be careful what you wish for,
'Cause you just might get it all.
You just might get it all,
And then some you don't want.

He wanted to be there with her, at this moment, right now, or have her there with him, holding him, stroking his cheek, laughing with him... Was it too much to ask? He wasn't used to having true happiness. When she was with him, he got a glimpse of it... A shooting star flew through the sky and he stopped the car for mere moments, frowning, brow creased.

"Please," he murmured, "just let me be with her."

He wanted her, all of her. Everything there was to her. All of it. The good, the bad, the ugly. He knew it now. The skin, the temper, the hugs, the kisses, the nights, the days... He wanted it all, everything. There wasn't anything he wanted more than her, there wasn't anything to be feared from having her. He could get over the change in her, as long as she would accept her. He could let go of the ideal, where she wasn't a normal human, but was Rogue, with her deadly skin and some means of controlling it. He could accept it, move on, and just be with her, so long as she would have him. So long as she wanted him.

As long as she loved him.

Be careful what you wish for,
'Cause you just might get it all.
You just might get it all, yeah.

What wouldn't he give for her? To be with her, every day, of every year. It would be heaven, sweet, unaltered, heaven. Pure bliss. He longed for her. Yes, he wanted the old her back, but what if he couldn't have her with control over herself? What if she still had her skin that could kill? What if he got her, just as he'd known her before, and couldn't stand it? He knew they'd be stronger this way. Closer. Sometimes, saying goodbye just hurt. But she'd understand why he'd left. He knew she would.

The road wound up to the Mansion, and he paused for a second, looking at the gates, at the plaque on the wall. "Xaviers School for Gifted Youngsters". She was in there. Just a minutes drive away, and a few hundred metres sprint up the stairs.

He'd be home soon.

Oh, well I'm going home,
Back to the place where I belong,
And where your love has always been enough for me.

He took in the heavy wooden door, the large expanse of the entrance hall, the scents of every person in the mansion as they overwhelmed him, seeking that one scent, that waft of perfection that would lift his heart and make his eyes water. He could smell her; brief snippets of her scent that threatened to overcome him as he followed it up the stairs, ignoring the glances of the few students who were still up, who seemed shocked and scared to see him back.

Her room was just ahead of him, and he stopped, his heart freezing in his chest momentarily, worry wrapping around him like a blanket. What if she kicked him out? What if she slapped him and screamed at him to leave? Could he stay knowing she hated him? He took another step forward and breathed. She was his Marie. This was where he had to be. She was everything. The only thing that mattered. What would he be without her?


He raised his fist and knocked on the door, listening intently, inhaling her scent as it teased him from under the door.

"Go away." It was a violent rebuke, thrown out in anger and despair. It gave him the slightest shred of hope.

He knocked again, twice. There was a scrambling of movement, of anger and frustration, as she threw objects aside and stomped over to the door.

"I said go away!" She yelled, wrenching the door open. She stopped suddenly.

"Hey kid."

I'm not running from.
No, I think you got me all wrong.

She looked every bit as beautiful as he remembered. The hair might have been dirty from neglect, and her pajamas might have been crumpled and smelt as though they hadn't been washed in days, but she was every bit as perfect as ever.

"Logan..." she gasped, falling back, stumbling over the duvet she had just tossed aside. His arms caught her and steadied her, bringing her to stand on her feet again. She stared at him, her hands on his forearms, before delivering a stinging slap to the side of his face and letting tears slide helplessly from her glistening eyes.

Logan took it stoically, blinking against the initial pain, then looking back at her, letting her deliver blow after stinging blow to either cheek, until he noted the redness appearing on her hands. He caught them and shook his head. "You know you'll do more damage to yourself than to me."

"I don't care!" She snapped, wrenching her hands from his grip and glaring at him with loathing in her eyes. "You left! Without saying anything to me! Why the hell are you back?"

"I left you a note!" He said softly.

"A note! A note! You heartless vile bastard! A note! You left me alone to wake up without you! I fell asleep with you there and then you were gone! You utterly contemptuous, violent, cruel, ignoramous!"

Logan blinked, then attempted a smile. "You been reading the dictionary kid?"

She slapped him again. "Why the hell would you come back? I was fine without you! Get lost Logan!"

He rolled his eyes. "You were so fine you stink like a wet dog, your hair looks like you've been dragged through a hedge backwards, and your eyes have bags under them that make you look like a roughed up street kid." He crossed his arms and leant against the door frame, watching her furious face with a warm tingling in his chest. She was gorgeous.

"I was just going to get in the shower." She said stiffly.

Logan shrugged. "Go on then," he said, indicating her bathroom. "I'll wait till you're done."

She looked as though she might slap him again. "Why are you here?" She ground out.

He looked at the floor, scared to meet her eyes. "I stopped running." He muttered.

"You did what?" Marie asked.

"Stopped running." He repeated, he looked up and sighed, uncrossing his arms and stepping forwards, putting his hands on her shoulders. "I messed up. I got everything wrong. I got confused." He wanted to stroke her cheek and tell her how much he loved her, but she shoved him away and reached for her dresser, picking up a flat, tear-stained piece of paper and shoving it at him.

"Read that." She hissed. "Read that and tell me you made a mistake."

He reached for it, looking at the familiar writing; his own. The folds and creases he had made when he had labelled it were gone, instead it lay flat, looking as though it had been read and re-read many a time since he had left. His mouth was dry as he went to speak.


"Read it Logan."

He looked at her, sighed, then lifted it up. "Marie," he started softly, "I know you'll be asleep for a while. I'll be gone by then. I can't be your play boy until you get bored, and I can't avoid my feelings for you forever while you fit in with everyone else your age. I don't want to be the man who stands by while you get married, wishing it was him. I want to be yours, and yours alone. I know I never will be. Logan."

He reached out to stroke her face, but she slapped his hand away. He closed his eyes and put the paper on the bed before him. "Three kisses, one for every night I spent with you." He turned to walk for the door, his hopes shattering behind him as he said over his shoulder, "I know I got it wrong Marie. I know now."

I don't regret this life I chose for me.
But these places and these faces are getting old.
I said these places and these faces are getting old,

"Wait Logan!" She walked over and placed her hand in his. "Just tell me what you mean..."

Logan met her eyes, speaking softly to her. "I mean that I regret leaving. I regret making the mistake of believing you were just in it for one thing. I regret ever thinking that your skin meant we couldn't be together. I regret never persuading you not to get the cure."

Hurt crept into her eyes and she went to pull away, but he held her hand tight, speaking quietly. "Wait... I thought you changed. I thought because you were cured, because you could touch, that you were going to run off and be a kid, sleep with randomers, have fun, do all the things you never got the chance to do before. I thought I'd lost Rogue, when in the end it was always Marie I loved... I regret not telling you not to get it, because I never made sure it was what you wanted. I know it doesn't make sense... but I don't regret coming back today, or letting you slap me around like some... ball or game or some other kind of amusement..."

Marie smiled weakly, stroking his face.

"No more running?"

"No more running." He promised, kissing her palm lightly. "I'm never running from you again."

So I'm going home.

She reached up and kissed him, arms wrapping around his neck as they embraced warmly. He groaned as he slid his tongue into her mouth. He was home.

I'm going home.


So basically, it was very repetitive and not one of my best pieces of writing. but also my first ever songfic.

I just hope I havent ruined an amazing song now...

let me know.

Mage of the Heart