It's strange to be mortal.

Well, I wasn't exactly immortal before--but I was as close as a man can come. Not much worried me--when you can heal broken bones in days and cuts and slashes in minutes, there isn't a lot out there to be afraid of.

If I had any sense at all, I'd resent her for it.

But all I have to do is look at the wonder in her eyes every time she brushes her fingers against mine, and it's worth every second. I'd suffer a lot more to see those eyes light up with that insane joy.

She's beautiful when she smiles.

And when she sleeps. I didn't think I'd ever get her to close her eyes and rest, but now she has--and I can watch her.

Jean came back in awhile ago and unhooked most of the machines from her. I think she could tell how scared Marie was--the poor girl doesn't know which was is up right now. She tried to hide it--but the wild look around her eyes, the way she clutched at my hand . . . she was nearly shaking with terror.

She's peaceful now. And I envy her that.

Because I'm anything but.

You'd think having what you want and couldn't have delivered to you on a silver platter would be the best thing in the world. I was half crazy about this girl-woman . . . I needed her so much I thought it'd kill me. And I couldn't have her.

Now suddenly I can--and I don't know what to do. I don't know what I should do.

I know what I want to do. I want to pull her out of that bed and take her upstairs to mine. I want to teach her everything that touch is, and how good it can feel. I want her body as wrapped around me as her mind is.

I want her to be mine. Every primal male urge I have--and I know for a fact that I've got a few too many for my own good--they're all screaming at me so loud I can't hear myself think.

And that scares me. This woman laying before me isn't just Marie--she's Rogue. No one has touched her in years--she doesn't even know what a real kiss feels like. The kind of things I want to do to her would scare her to death.

Or maybe not. After all, she did have me in her head for a while. And if that ain't a scary thought, I don't know what is.

I know I shouldn't wake her, but I can't help reaching out to touch her. She's still wearing the gloves--now they're for my protection though, instead of hers. I should feel bad that touch is still almost entirely out of her reach--at least, as long as she doesn't want to kill me.

I should feel bad--but a horrible little part of me doesn't. The fact that she can only touch me makes her mine . . . Keeps her mine.

I'm truly a despicable brand of human. Probably a despicable brand of mutant too. Scott certainly thinks so . . . and I'm sure I caught more than one disapproving glance from Ororo and Jean.

They think I'm an old lecher taking advantage of a young girl. It's funny that with all their powers and the ability to see into people's heads . . . they still don't seem to understand what happened between me and Marie. They don't get that we might as well have been one person for a while . . . heck, we still are. I can feel her there, curled up in the back of my head fast asleep. It only gets stronger when I touch her . . . maybe because then I'm in her head too.

And I must be a dirty old lecher--because all I'm thinking about is how much fun it will be to make love to her with our minds all wrapped up around each other.

She's a virgin. That goes without saying. I sure as hell ain't. I should feel a whole lot more guilty than I am about the way my thoughts are tending. I'm sure glad Xavier and Jean decided to leave the room . . . chances are they'd throw me out of here on my ass if they saw what I was planning on doing.

And I am going to do it. I don't know how Marie feels about me now--but I damn well know how she's going to feel.

Because I'm going to seduce her. This is the hunt, and she's the prey. I really don't have much doubt that I'm going to catch her.

After all, I am the Wolverine.