What in this world keeps us from falling apart?
No matter where I go
I hear the beating of our one heart
I think about you when the night is cold and dark
No one can move me the way that you do
Nothing erases this feeling between me and you

I speed down a highway blanketed by night, still cursing under my breath as the wind rushes past me, striking my face and hands. Right now, I wish I could teleport, like that damn little kid I saw at Xavier's school. I wish One-Eye's bike had a super-duper overdrive button. I wish that turd had told me what the hell was going on. I wish...

I wish I'd never left her.

Jesus, why didn't I press Summers for answers, for some kind of explanation about what's happening down there at that godforsaken place? Why didn't I ask --

There's no use in that right now. All this second-guessing is just distracting me, and I need to focus right now. I need to get back to her. I need to find out what's wrong. I know all these things, but still...It is only with great difficulty that I bring my raging mind under control.

Summers. I swear, if he's dicking around with me, I'll pop out a claw and put his eye out...right before I kick his pansy ass.

What the hell has happened?

Don't think about it, Logan. Don't think about it. Don't...

This is going to be the longest night of my goddamned life.

The sun is beginning to burn off the morning mist when Ororo opens the door. Her dark skin looks pale, and she has circles under her eyes. From her slightly startled expression, though, I must look ten times worse. Not only am I strung out from the road, but I'm scared as hell to boot. I'm sure it's not a pretty combination.

Her eyes are questioning me, but there's no time for small talk. "I drove all night," I say simply, and she nods and moves aside to allow me entrance.

"She's down in the infirmary," she tells me quietly, motioning for me to follow. "What did Scott tell you when he called?"

"Not a goddamned thing," I growl in response. "What the hell's going on?"

Ororo presses the panel that accesses the elevator to the lower levels, keeping her gaze averted from mine. "Jean isn't completely sure. She spent all day yesterday working in the lab, and she's still no closer to..." Her voice trails off as we begin our descent under ground. "It's better to let Jean explain, I think."

I snort. "Wanna know what I think? I think that if someone would just give me a straight answer, I might not feel like I'm about to have a heart attack."

We step off the lift and are only a few feet away from the infirmary when I stop cold - something is wrong with her. I can feel it now. Or, rather, I can smell it. She's in pain. She's hurting. Dear God, she's hurting...

I am vaguely aware of opening the door and moving through it. Vaguely. All I am really aware of is Rogue's tiny form lying on an examining table. She's still - so still. I thought the ache in my chest couldn't get worse, but it has. I also thought that my fear couldn't get stronger...But here I am, unable to speak past the lump in my throat. I am able only to walk slowly toward her until I am by her side. She's not wearing her gloves, so I can't hold her hand like I want. I touch her hair instead.

It's softer than I remembered, and those shocks of white still frame her face. Her beautiful face...

Then Jean speaks, and I am surprised by it. "Logan. I'm glad you're here."

I cast a quick gaze her way, barely able to tear my eyes off Marie. "What's wrong with her? What's happened?" My voice sounds shaky, bewildered, and she squints, blinking back tears. "Just tell me. Please."

She sighs, and Scott moves to hold her. To hold her like I can never hold Marie, sliding his face against her neck. In that moment, I hate him. I hate everyone and everything. "What the fuck is wrong with her?" I finally growl.

Jean is unfazed by my vulgarity. "Her body is undergoing some changes, Logan. As far as I can tell, she..."

Jean's giving me the explanation I demanded, but her voice fades away as I stare down at Marie. Gone is her usual shirt and scarf set, replaced by a medical gown of pale blue. It is paper-thin and leaves her neck bare to below her collarbone. My breath hitches to a stop as I gawk at the smooth column of her throat.

She's marked.

As the realization of what that bruise is hits me, so does a wave of indescribable emotion. It is fear and wonder and possessiveness and fury all rolled into one rush of feeling, and it makes me want to toss back my head and howl. It makes me want to rip into something, to stand up and let the world know who I am. Because she's mine. I don't know how or why, but she is. She bears the evidence of my impossible touch, and anyone who sees it will know that she belongs to me, just me.

The knowledge is both staggering and freeing. Now that I have calmed, everything that she is pervades my senses. I can smell her, and it's so different from the scent I remember, the fragrance of innocence. This is deeper, richer...the smell of need. A dizzying flood of desire rakes through my body.

Her face is flushed and her body is shaking, just a little, but she's not...

"She's not sick." My voice grates out and it's harsh, eclipsing Jean's softer one. "She's not sick."

"No, Logan, she's not," she agrees, shocking me a little. "But we don't know if she can handle what's happening to her. That's why we called you. We thought..." She hesitates and looks over her shoulder, and I see the Professor sitting just inside the doorway.

He doesn't take his eyes off mine as he speaks. "We thought you might have some insight into her condition, Logan."

I know what he's hinting and not flat-out asking. He wants to know if I feel it, the connection he's sensed, the belonging. As if I wouldn't know what was going on with the other half of my heart.

She shifts a little, and I am careful not to let my fingers pull where they are tangled in her hair. A small sound of distress escapes her throat, and her nostrils flare. She can tell I'm here, and knowing that makes my chest swell.

It's a little ironic, all things considered. I just walked in ten minutes ago, and I already know more about what's going on inside her than any of them. The need that's been plaguing me has ravaged her, taking her strength and reason. It's left her weakened, and her pain is entirely my fault.

Because I wasn't here when she needed me.

It'll never happen again.

She is mine. Should I tell them? What will they think? I personally don't give two shits, but Marie might. She might care. After all, she's the one who's getting the short end of this deal - I'm not exactly a prize catch.

Oh, what the hell. What else am I supposed to tell them? That I think she has Rocky Mountain spotted fever? A third of the people in this room are psychic, anyway.

"She's my mate."

Maybe I need to give these geeks a little more credit, because my declaration is met with nods instead of the collective gasp I expected. Xavier rolls toward me, then says simply, "I'm glad you're back, Logan." Then, as he stares at me, I hear his voice in my head. I'm sure Rogue is glad, as well. She's missed you. Perhaps even as much as you've missed her. The old codger actually has the audacity to wink at me as he turns away, toward the door.

Storm follows him. After a moment, Scott does, too. Only Jean remains, staring at Marie. "She's better now than she was, you know," she tells me quietly. "Yesterday, she was..." She clears her throat. "It was frightening, Logan."

"She needed me," is all I say.

She regards me for a moment, then nods. "I think you're right." The she smiles and says, "I pity whoever tries to come between the two of you, Logan. If what you two feel for each other is strong enough to reach through dreams and--" She shuts her mouth as soon a she realizes what she's revealed.

"She told you about the dreams?" I knew she must have, or they never would have thought to call me, but...I still feel slightly guilty. I shouldn't have been having those dreams about her. Even knowing that those nights belonged to both of us, I can't help but feel as if I've taken advantage of her.

Jean has mistaken my shame for anger. "She was scared, Logan. She didn't know what was going on. And then, when she was so out of it..." Jean takes a deep breath, then says in a rush, "I had to look inside her head, Logan. And I...saw the two of you. Together."

Aww, shit. Now, instead of just suspecting, they'll know I'm a fucking pervert. "Look, I--"

I must look like a deer caught in headlights, because she holds up a hand to stop my words. "Don't, Logan. I'm not judging you or Rogue. I just...I'm sorry I had to do that. What I saw was incredibly personal, and...incredibly beautiful." She grins at my shock. "Like I said, I pity whoever tries to come between you two."

There is nothing to do but agree. "I pity them, too."

She nods thoughtfully and turns to go.

"Jean?"

She looks back at me. "Yeah?"

My smile is genuine, not the patented Wolverine smirk I usually flash. "Thanks for taking care of Marie for me."

"Now it's your turn, cowboy," she teases. "Don't let her down."

I won't, I think as I turn back to her. I won't ever let her down again - I'll die first. I pull a stool closer to the exam table and drag a pair of latex gloves over my hands. Jean's hands are fairly large, but still a good deal smaller than mine, and the latex stretches taut over my skin.

I brush the powder off on my jeans and trail a finger lightly across her cheek. Jesus, she's beautiful. "Hey, Marie." My words are soft, but I know she hears me.

A smile slides across her lips. "Are you guys done talkin' about me behind my back?" she asks, not opening her eyes.

A chuckle rumbles up out of my chest. "Faker. You had everybody pretty worried." My gloved finger moves to her eyelids. "Open up those eyes, Marie. Seems to me like it's been a while since I stared into them."

Her eyelids flutter open, and her eyes are laughing at me. "I wasn't fakin', Logan," she drawls gently. "I woke up and you were here. I knew you'd come back. Didn't think it'd be so soon, though."

"Mmm." One of my hands drifts, almost of its own accord, to her jaw, and my thumb traces her mouth. "For you, I'd drop everything."

Her tongue snakes out and touches the tip of my thumb, circling it quickly. I can barely feel it through the glove covering my hand, but the sight of it causes my heart to actually skip a beat. I try to speak, but my voice comes out all froggy, so I cough and try again. "That, uh...Where the hell'd you learn to do that, Marie?"

"You like it, don't you?" Her innocent tone belies the craving I can see sparking in the depths of her eyes. Then she laughs a little, a low, throaty sound that makes my heart catch again. "I've spent the last six months dreamin' with you, Logan. I know what you like."

All I can do is shake my head in bemusement, then press a finger lightly to the bruise on her neck. I remember the night I left it there. I remember the sounds she made, the way she moved against me, trying to get as close as possible to my caress. "What about this?" I ask, indicating it. "How do you feel about it?"

Her eyes are shiny with tears. "I'm glad it's you," she says finally. Then uncertainty clouds her face. "What about you?"

Again, my fingers kiss her lips. "I'm glad, too, Marie."

The clouds dissipate, and she leans into my hand so that I am cradling her head. I know I have the goofiest possible grin on my fool face right now, but I don't care. Marie is mine, and everything is right with the world.

We're going to be just fine.