Part III: Assumption

Like everything else in this world, it was the familiarity that tended to spook me more than the differences. Logan's security codes, for one--I fished them up from memory and entered them, hands shaking, but boom, they worked. The door was trickier, but I'd learned the finer points of lock-picking from an expert, and with a few seconds of study and a few minutes of careful rotation, the door yielded.

Little victories were all I really looked for anymore. I didn't do a little dance or break into song, but I grinned when I pushed the heavy wooden door open. No squeak of hinges. I had to be surprised that Logan had oiled them--he usually liked an extra warning system, like bad hinges on his door. Low-tech all the way.

The apartment was about what I would have expected if I'd thought about it. He liked the combination of privacy and security--but not *too* much to arouse the interest of burglars. The brownstone high-rise was just enough out of character for Logan to work.

Carefully, I slipped inside the door, letting my eyes adjust to the dark, only the far window letting in the brilliant lights of the city of New York. Carefully shutting the door, I turned the lock and reactivated his security system--there might be a damn good reason Logan had it on, and I wasn't going to chance anything unexpected and nasty coming to visit in the middle of my revelation.

The furniture was darker blobs in the living room ahead--Logan was a minimalist at heart, so there wasn't much I needed to worry about. Passing the small kitchen to my left, I crossed the small living room and approached the only door. I brushed my fingers over the knob and it gave easily--not locked. Good.

Sure thing.

There was a vague familiarity associated with this little nighttime trek into Logan's apartment, no matter what universe we were in. Known territory for me, the feel and the smells and the soft sound of his breathing. I'd fallen asleep here and got over ex-boyfriends here and cried my eyes out here--relatively speaking. He'd given me a key and told me to use it anytime, and he'd laughed when I'd told him I'd do his laundry. Hell, I'd even helped pick out the furniture. Armed with a highlighter and pen, stretched out in front of the television while he watched hockey, I'd marked possible furnishings and showed him the fabric samples that I'd picked up along with pizza for dinner.

He'd gone with leather. Such a lack of surprise.

Shutting the door, I leaned up against the wall, hoping he couldn't hear the rapid pounding of my heart and trying to keep my breathing steady as I let my eyes linger over the spartan room. Then I looked at Logan, stretched out in bed, the covers rucked around his waist, and I almost took a step forward in surprise.

He looked so--different. And on some level, no matter how many times I'd seen him in the Mansion, it was still a shock to see in real life.

Even in sleep, the hard lines of his face hadn't diminished, and his body was tense, as if expecting attack at any time. The short hair still threw me, more than I'd expected. He'd never let it get cut that short--up close, I could see even his beloved sideburns were trimmed closer than he had ever allowed. As I watched, he twisted slightly, a low growl reverberating through the room and through my chest. Blinking back tears, I tried to dismiss the images Kitty's memories kept trying to shove into the forefront of my mind--the smells of sterile metal and blood and a hate I understood down to my bones, that I shared absolutely.

A part of me wanted nothing more than to run up and throw my arms around him and apologize for dying on him and leaving him to this. The rest of me--I drew back into the wall, feeling Carol and Logan inside me growing a little stronger, bracing me for what I wanted to do.

Sure I could.

--You know him, honey.-- Carol's voice was careful, almost gentle.

A different world that I couldn't quite assimilate. Logan was Logan, any universe, I had to believe that. But this one had gone through things I couldn't even begin to imagine. He was head of school security, the man who scared the living daylights out of a room full of post-wartime mutants, a willing collaborator in the Polaris Project. I didn't know him

He'd saved five hundred mutant children during the war and survived torture and experimentation in the camps. He'd rescued Bobby, Johnny, Scott. He'd led guerilla attacks, had worked as Scott's second in the Resistance, in that final battle that had crushed the human armies and liberated fifteen death camps in the United States. He'd helped save mutantkind and his name was one with legend.

--Just do it.-- And I couldn't be sure what voice said that--but they were right.

"Logan." My voice cracked on his name and I shook myself. I was Rogue, an X-Man and a woman, not a kid.

He came awake instantly, claws flashing out, and I drew in a deep breath, waiting for him to cool. Vivid hazel eyes unerringly found me standing against the door. I wondered if I should turn on the lights. His vision was good either way.

"Who the fuck are you?"

Know my scent, know my scent, know my scent...

"I'm--I'm Rogue, Logan." Slowly, I pulled the wig off, running my fingers through my shorn hair as I dropped the wig on the floor, letting him take me in. It was too dark for me to clearly make out his expression.

Maybe he'd forgotten. Maybe seven years was too long. Maybe--

He flipped on the lamp and I saw the remains of naked shock flickering across his face, before his control snapped into place. Relaxing into the bed, he gave me a patient look. Not what I expected. Nothing even close, and I paused at the foot, blinking.

"Cute, Mystique. How the fuck did you get in here?"

Ewww. I didn't need that sort of imagery.

I waited for a second as he frowned. He got the scent now, taking it in. The patient look vanished as if it had never been there. I had the briefest second to absorb the blank rage that took its place, before he was in rapid motion, and the weight of his body knocked me back three shocked steps into the heavy cool wood of the door, adamantium hot on the skin of my throat. I brought a knee up reflexively and he kicked it out of the way. My feet scrambled helplessly against the wall as his thigh wedged between my legs, flattening me into the wood. My right hand was twisted up within inches of my head, wrist trapped between his fingers, and it was a concerted effort of will to keep my other hand still.

Skin might be invulnerable, but the thing about bones was, they really, really weren't. And I liked my wrist.

"Who the fuck are you?"

Breathe. This isn't your Logan. This Logan survived the death camps and helped rescue children from the exterminators. He's seen things you'll have nightmares about. He thinks you're dead.

Blindingly obvious, thank you oh so *very* much.

I took a breath against the warm pressure of the adamantium laid against my throat, his, forearm tense, the knuckles of his right hand dangerously close to the bared skin of my throat. His face was almost expressionless, breathing lightly, just on the edge of pure feral rage.

Hair-trigger was just about right. If he flipped over while I was standing here, I could *not* say both of us would survive the night.

"Rogue." Breathe, Marie. Just breathe. He knows your scent. I felt him take me in with another breath, matching it up in his memory. He knew. The scent was right. All me and some of him, just underneath, from when I touched him. Rogue. Marie. Me.

"You're lying." He ground the words out like broken glass between his teeth. I shuddered and felt the metal press deeper into my skin. Adamantium might not break my skin--but then again....

"You never forget a scent--you told me that," I whispered over the pressure against my throat. "You might forget everything else, but you wouldn't forget that." I made sure my free hand was a good distance from my body, so he could see I wasn't trying to threaten, felt him tense against me, adamantium pushing a breath closer.

"She's dead."

"Yeah, I know." And the ways that still spooked me were beyond words to describe. Like, enough so I really *really* tried not to think about it. "I'm--it's hard to explain."

"Fuck that. Explain who the hell you are and why the fuck you're playing this." The cold precision of his voice scared me more than anything had yet. More than rage--he was off the scale, about a half-step from feral. Breathe, Rogue. Think. *Think.*

Okay, bring out the memories. My Big Guns. Well, my only guns. I could only hope they were accurate--that this matched the past of Rogue here, or I was *so* damned screwed. I met the hot hazel eyes and let out a slow breath.

"Marie." He froze--a predator before the jump, a single moment in time where there was nothing but the potential for action. "No one else knows. No one. I told you in the camper." Please God, so far, some things had remained the same in the past. Let this be one of them. "You said--you told me your name and you--you asked what kind of name Rogue was. I told you my name. I never told anyone else."

A pause, thick with tension--he took it in, the pupils of his eyes dilating completely, hazel swallowed into gaping black. He was putting it together, I could see it. Believe, Logan. God, trust your senses, trust your instincts.

"Telepath could figure that out."

What kind of telepaths would--oh fuck. He lived with the New and Unimproved Jean Grey and that pretty chick who kept watching me, Betsy. God knew what they did when they thought it was necessary.

"Telepaths can't read you. They have problems getting in your mind." I met his eyes, reading the disbelief. "A telepath couldn't fish out that memory unless it was right on top of your head. We both know that. You trained in the military and you have the mental discipline to hold out against even X--the strongest psis. Your--your mutation protects you too, from mind-probes." I let out a breath that shuddered. "I'm Marie, Logan. Your Marie. Rogue."

Another pause, longer--the claw wasn't retracting, but it certainly wasn't approaching any closer to my windpipe and that was all kinds of good.

"That isn't possible."

"Yeah, well, that's an opinion, not a fact. Fact is, I'm here, and I sure as hell shouldn't be." Ooh, maybe that wasn't the right thing to say. The tip of metal touched my skin briefly before pulling back just a little, enough so I could breathe easily. He freed my wrist with his other hand, reaching to touch my hair lightly, finger tracing the line of white down to my cheek.

*Really* close to my skin.

"Rogue, right?" A slight smile--he didn't believe and I honestly couldn't blame him. "Prove it."

I barely had time to accept what he was going to do, something that no one had done voluntarily since that one moment on the statue. Touch. My skin. A callused fingertip skimmed the length of my cheek and it was electric. For a frozen second, nothing happened, and the smirk didn't change. Then--

"Fuck!"

He jerked back, claws retracting, stumbling against the bed and almost falling. I sank into the short carpet, fingers burying themselves in the thick carpet, trying to put the pieces of a new Logan into some semblance of order. Sharp lines of rage/hate/fear/pain, too mixed, too strong, I couldn't even begin to sort them out. Pushing them back, I erected a temporary dam and took a long, shuddering breath. I hadn't gotten much. Looking down, I realized my hands were clenched and was vaguely surprised metal hadn't broken out from between my knuckles. They itched. All familiar.

Oh shit--my Logan was still in there.

--Logan?-- I couldn't lose him, I couldn't, I could *not* handle this alone. God. --Logan???--

I shut my eyes, concentrating on his voice in my head, holding it in the storm of new memories and new personality traits and the unbalance that was created by every absorption. I clung to him with all I was until I felt him coalesce, complete and whole and *mine*, the one I knew and loved.

A brief flare of useless denial--he knew that--and then I cleared my head and Logan retreated from my consciousness, a strange cross between bewildered and inactively hostile. Outer Logan wasn't doing much better--straightening against the bed, he stared at me, eyes wide, as vulnerable as I'd ever seen him. Pure pain-remembrance of failure, I felt that slipping through my thoughts, bitter on the back of my tongue. Visions of me lying dead up there and my skin doing nothing but grow colder when he touched it. Cold wind and twisted metal around me--around *him*--unbelieving shock that it hadn't worked, it hadn't worked, it hadn't *worked*....

"Logan," I whispered.

"She's dead." His voice was hoarse.

"She's dead," I agreed, hearing my voice shake. Unsteadily, I levered myself back onto my heels. Carol and Inner Logan were at work helping me restore my tentative balance. "I'm not--not her. Not the one you knew." Trembling, I got my feet back under me, pressing a gloved palm to the wall to steady myself as I stood up. "I'm not--from this place."

"No shit, or Mags'd already co-opted that gift, darlin'." A pause, and he looked at me again--this time, really looked. The streak in my shortened hair, the lines of my face and my body. Taking in the match of scent, the feel of my gift. He knew me. Nothing to do with the mind, everything to do with the body. Smell. Feel. Sound. Things he depended on, things that were his territory, things he trusted. "You're--"

"I'm Rogue at age twenty-three. I didn't--where I come from, I didn't die."

Logan took that in. My inner Logan growled softly, and I felt him and Carol helping sort through the vague flashes of New Loganness I'd gotten, trying to organize. A table in the lab, my silent face, a quiet grave on the outskirts of the Mansion, a rush of animal hatred that seemed to dominate every memory that came after. The camps.

No huge surprise there. Paranoia was my friend.

The vehemence startled me--he was in my head, mixing with the memories I was repressing until I could find time to assimilate them. Logan was under orders from Magneto and *why* did I think he'd help me now? My Logan--he would have died for me.

But--but this one had tried to. I had the concrete proof in my head, and damn it, that had to mean something. Unreadable hazel eyes met mine as he got his strength back, and I waited as he reorganized his mind, bringing the pieces together.

"You say you're Rogue--"

"You always called me Marie." He shuddered, almost imperceptible in the dim light, and the clear eyes left mine, fixing on the wall to my left. "Look, I know this is hard to believe--"

"Impossible crap, kid." Kid. There's no reason that hated term should suddenly ease the pressure in my chest. God, he did believe. He did. At least a little. One step. "I don't--"

"It's me--I--look, I don't know *what* happened." How did I explain to him what I didn't know myself? "I went to get tampons and I came out here. And that's it. I wish--I don't understand what happened and I don't know why. And I--" I froze, watching as he straightened, slowly approaching me.

He was staring at me--tracing every line of my face with his eyes. Something was in them I couldn't quite understand, couldn't really define at all--almost hunger. Then they fixed on my throat and stayed there. I lifted a hand, suddenly aware of what I was wearing when I'd been dropped here, what I'd hidden under my clothes instinctively.

I never really thought about it.

Slowly, Logan reached out, tracing the chain with one finger, and I shakily lifted my hands and pulled it out. Should have remembered--should have known--he'd know this. Knew it as he ran his fingers over it, the blunted, shiny edges from when I'd fondled it over the years, the raised numbers engraved in his memory.

It suddenly made me wonder where his were--the strong throat was bare.

"You're dead." But he didn't look quite so--he looked different. Like something had been confirmed for him. And I had no idea what to make of that.

"She's dead. I'm here."

"This can't happen."

"I know. Trust me, I know. It's--" Words froze, I froze, at the touch of his hand on my hair, hesitating as if I'd break with a breath, running across the streak of white with careful fingers. Tactile reality--scent and sight and touch, tracing me with the tips of sensitive fingers, the lines of my face through my hair, the shape of my shoulders, the scent of me overall. Older and different--but the same.

It was so sudden, so powerful--it was *Logan*, pulling me from the wall into a tight embrace, sudden and overwhelming, and it could have been anytime in my past with him when he held me but it wasn't. A different man was holding me bruisingly close as if he'd never let me go, strong arms wrapped around my waist and my toes could barely touch the ground. I didn't care. Closing my eyes, I buried my face against his shoulder, letting the sheer relief turn my body liquid. He *knew* me. He believed me.

Everything was right in the world. At least here. At least now. At least a little.

"I watched you die." I felt his breath stir my hair and his memories in me pressing forward, the scenes flashed vividly across my mind in painfully bleak grey and black, how he held me and tried and my skin, my fucking skin that had taken so much from me already--it didn't do a thing. How he dropped on the edge of the machine still holding me, how Ororo and Jean had had to bring us down. "God, Marie...."

I *hadn't* gone up there willingly, and the sheer relief of it made me dizzy. God, not so different, the Rogue of this world hadn't been a believer. Thank God.

"Logan," I whispered, feeling myself begin to shake. Instantly, he pulled back, leading me to sit on the bed as I tried to assimilate what I'd pulled from him. Too little, brief flashes, the strongest impressions--his newer nightmares, the ones I'd given him. The reason he slept so badly. Without even meaning to, I reached out, touching his face, feeling the tension of the muscles beneath.

I knew things about myself now--how cold my skin could be when I was dead, how fluorescent lights drained the color from my body, how tiny I could look on a medical bed.

Dear God, no wonder he became this. He watched me die every night of his life.

"Marie."

I jerked my hand away and he caught it before it could drop into my lap, gripping my fingers tightly.

"I thought I was going crazy." Logan had never looked at me like that before. Hungry, disbelieving--and believing. Believing because every instinct in his body was screaming out who I was, and he believed his instincts the way he'd believe nothing and no one else. "I smelled you everywhere."

I could remember everything I'd touched in the Mansion in vivid detail, every place I'd sat down, everywhere the scent would have teased him. I couldn't even imagine what that must have been like.

"It's me. Just--just the me I would have been. I think." If I'd survived, this might not have happened, any of it. Except that machine shouldn't have worked, it *shouldn't* have worked, Robert Kelley should be dead and he wasn't, and I was reminded of that with every dollar bill I saw.

"Tell me what happened." He lowered himself to sit beside me, our knees brushing, and I took a deep breath, trying to decide how. So I told him about the store and the camp, coming to the school with my hair up in a blonde wig, about the name I'd used and the suspicions of Jean and Scott . How I'd found out what Magneto was doing.

"So you came looking for me?" His expression was familiar--he'd looked at me a lot like that when he saw me in his trailer.

"Yeah." I felt my inner-Logan grin as well. "We're--we're friends, sugar. You--you did a lot for me."

"And you thought I would too?"

Oh, dangerous question. I lifted my head to stare at him. I couldn't read him like I could read my Logan; this one didn't give a damn thing away. Nothing at all. He'd learned things my Logan hadn't. He'd hardened in ways that frightened me.

But shit, he was still Logan. Period and end right there.

"You were willing to die for me."

"Maybe I was just stupid."

I looked down at my hands, pulling out a trace of memory and holding it up before my eyes.

"You dream about me."

He sucked in a sharp breath, letting it out slowly.

"Got that, huh?"

I shrugged a little, pushing the memories back and away, not yet ready to deal with them.

"A little," I admitted. "Not much. You're better than the alternatives. Everyone thinks I'm dead and Erik's playing god with his machine and I don't wanna end up in it again." I laced my fingers together. "There isn't anyone else who wouldn't hand me over to Erik just for my skin, whether they believed me or not." Maybe Bobby wouldn't, but almost certainly Johnny would. No question.

He frowned a little, giving the wall a long look. When I looked up, I saw a strange, thoughtful look on his face. "What the hell do you want me to do?"

Good question.

"I don't know." It was more than annoying to have inner Logan nodding agreement. "I don't even know what to do with myself. Except I want to go home." Home, where Xavier was smiling over school papers and Scott was being anal and wonderful at the same time and Jean held me when I cried after my first break up. Where Logan--my Logan--was my best friend and confidante. "I know I need help though, and at least--at least one person who knows who I am and...." I began to shake. "I hate using Carol like this, I hate losing myself in her memories. I hate pretending to be someone I'm not."

I hated that this place was way too fucking familiar, that for the grace of God it wasn't my world at all. Grace of God and Logan getting up on that Statue in time.

--You'll get back.-- Carol's voice was gentle in my head, soft almost. Warmth. She'd never been that before, and for some reason, that hurt too.

I looked up, meeting Logan's steady gaze.

"What's it like? Where you come from."

I wondered what he wanted to hear--because I couldn't be sure this wasn't exactly the kind of world he wanted. Mutants won, humans were trapped, and my Logan had never exactly been fond of regular humans.

But he'd never exterminated them either.

"Different." I shook my head, bracing my hands on the edge of the mattress as if it would give me strength. "There was no war. We're still being discriminated against. No one's died. You're looking for your past. The X-Men do stuff. Big differences." Huge. My face wasn't the one on statues that talked about martyrdom. People knew I hadn't gotten into that machine willingly.

My friends hadn't lost their ethics, their ideals. And mutants hadn't won the war.

Logan nodded slowly.

"And you and me?"

Oh dear God. Get to the complicated questions.

"You and I--we're friends." More than that. I tried to put it into words. "You left for awhile--after the Statue." He winced a little and I hurried on. "But you came back. You trained me. You--you took care of me. You were on my first mission with me." I wanted more, you didn't. No, won't go into that. "You're my best friend. Always have been."

He accepted this--God, he was taking it way too calm.

I froze. No. No no no....

--I'm still here. Just--adjusting.-- A pause. --You're not gonna like this, darlin'. He doesn't know what to do now.--

Seven years of difference, of conditioning, of becoming the man he was now. Seven years of difference between the man that climbed that Statue for me and the man that sat on this bed.

I looked up to see him watching me again--still unreadable, still frighteningly familiar.

"You don't know how you got here?"

I mutely shook my head.

"Tell me what happened when you crossed over."

I told him, trying to remember every detail--the door, my chin, the blinding headache, my scraped knee, and the frightened man that helped me and handed me the wrong change.

"Two days ago?"

"Yes."

He nodded slowly, scratching the back of his neck. It was endearing--he did that when he was thinking.

"And you found out Mags is running his machine again."

"Yeah. They--he--you're--people are being gathered to use it--he found a girl he can use. Polaris. She--she volunteered to die in that thing." I choked, remembering the pain of the ripping out of my powers, the feel of my soul being drawn out through my skin. Shivered a little--I'd always wondered if that was how Carol felt, how Logan felt, when they touched me.

Logan nodded--well, of course. He was helping to run this hellhole.

"I don't--I don't understand. Where I come from, it didn't work."

Suddenly, my shoulders were in a tight grip, turning me around to face him completely.

"It didn't work?" There was a strange intensity to the question--I couldn't get around it, couldn't define it.

"Senator Kelley--he died."

"But up on the Statue--"

"Scott wrecked the machine before the wave hit New York. But here--here, Senator Kelley *survived*, he changed. I don't--"

"He didn't. He died in the Mansion. In the lab."

I jerked my gaze up--my hand went to my pocket and Logan tensed, but I only pulled out the money, and it fell from my fumbling fingers onto the floor. Slowly, he picked it up, frowning as he studied the worn bills.

"He's on there." I flipped the dollar bill over so the portrait was visible. "President Kelley." That was Kelley. I knew the man's face like my own.

"No. She's on there, Mystique." A little smile turned up his lips--almost amused. "No one knows, 'cept the X-Men. Shape-changing, that was what was given out that happened to Kelley, that was his mutation. Mags's trial run failed and Kelley died. He succeeded on the Statue." A pause. "He needed you to make it work. He doesn't know why."

"But that girl--" Polaris. He was putting someone else in that damn thing....

"It'll fail or succeed. He thinks it might need the death of the mutant to bring it to full power, not necessarily your presence."

The death of a mutant, or that special blend of magnet-and-rogue power. I stared down at the money in his hand, blinking. Logan went up that Statue to fetch me. I didn't go willingly. Everything matched up to--

"Then that's when the split occurred. I died here, lived there."

"He ran Polaris in the machine for a test two days ago. Ring any bells?"

My mouth went completely dry.

"You mean--that--that machine is responsible for this?" I remembered what Bobby said--how Polaris wanted to be as brave as Rogue. As I had been. I wondered what she would think if she knew how I'd screamed for help and begged Erik to let me go.

"God," I heard myself whisper. I couldn't even begin to figure this out. "How the *hell*--"

"God hasn't answered in awhile. Try again." Logan shifted on the bed beside me. "You gotta get outta here, baby. Mags finds out you're another absorber, you're might be playin' the part again. And you didn't like it the first time."

No. No, I hadn't.

"If I don't, Polaris dies instead." And maybe all those desperate people, who just wanted to survive in this horrible, horrible world would die too. Who would do anything to be free. God, this wasn't Xavier's dream, how could Scott fool himself into believing that? How?

"Why the fuck do you care?"

I jerked, looking up at him in surprise.

"She's--" I stopped short. What did he mean, so what? Polaris was going to *die* in that thing. Well, shit, look who I was talking to.

Logan was still staring at me.

"What?"

He shook his head, that strange smile back. Oh yeah, I'm dead here. This must be--freaky as hell. And he was still taking this rather well, all things considered, and that bothered me even more.

"Fuck." He stood up again, pacing to the door--typical-Logan reaction to stress, movement. With a growl, he went to the dresser, fumbling through, and pulled out a cigar. I restrained myself from asking for one myself--wrapping my hands together on my lap, I tried to think of something to say.

"You gotta get outta here--Marie." Hesitation--also lots of shock, but also typical-Logan, tuning it out because he wasn't sure how to deal with it. His eyes slid down my body hungrily and I resisted the urge to stand up and let him look his fill--he had to believe, I needed one person to believe me. But the hazel eyes focused suddenly on my hands, still coated in my leather gloves.

"You didn't learn to control it?"

I shook my head.

"No." I paused, remembering the hours in meditation. "Soon. I know it'll be soon."

Logan stood up abruptly, capturing my full attention.

"I can fix that now."

Without a glance to see if I was following, he walked out the bedroom door. A lot like my Logan, actually, taking my obedience for granted. For a second, I didn't move, but curiosity got the better of me and I followed him into the living room. He was at the desk, pulling out a key from the top drawer and then turning to the wall. Ran his hand along the wood, growling something softly--

"There." Pressing his hand against the wall, he paused, taking a step back. "Logan."

:::Voice print accepted.:::

Startled, I crossed to stand behind him as an invisible panel clicked ajar and he flipped it completely open, reaching inside. Out came something that looked--well, that looked remarkably like a collar. Metal, gleaming silver-bright in the darkened room, picking up the lights of New York. It looked polished.

"What the hell is that?"

He flipped the collar in his hand and grinned, before shutting the panel and turning around.

"Genoshan specialty. Camp control. We kept the technology--turned out useful sometimes." He flipped it over again, putting the key in. I shivered as I watched it slide open. "Com'ere."

--Don't.-- That was Carol, a hiss across the top of my head that made my scalp itch. --Genoshan collar, Rogue. You've heard the rumors.--

I hesitated, and Logan's head tilted, a slightly sardonic smile curling the corner of his mouth.

"You come here and tell me this crap, *now* you don't trust me. Irony, darlin'." I still couldn't read him--I needed to sit down and assimilate him in my head, get a better feel for the man in front of me. My usual-Logan couldn't help much with this.

"What will it do?" I took a step, pausing to eye the collar uncertainly.

"Turn you off. It won't hurt." A long pause, while I stared at it, taking in everything that could mean. Turn me off. Everything--skin, strength, flying, invulnerability. As helpless as I hadn't been since before I manifested. "Trust me or not."

Oh. That was the way of it.

And I had no idea what voice said that.

Slowly, I walked over and turned around. The long fingers lifted my hair, pressed the collar around my throat. I heard the click of the key and then, suddenly, everything in my head shifted.

*Shifted* three inches over, as if the entire world was trying to get away from my feet and leave me lingering in limbo.

"Oh *fuck*." I grabbed for my throat as a wave of dizziness threatened to overcome me. Strong hands braced themselves under my arms and I drew in a deep breath, letting it out slowly, and even more slowly, the arms withdrew, touching my face lightly.

"You okay?"

"Yeah." I moved slowly, testing out the feel of this--my body felt different. Heavier, almost. I concentrated--nothing. No float, no hover. Just--here.

And--and nothing. I raised a hand to my head in shock.

"Marie?"

"My--" I stopped, pushing down raw panic. "The voices are gone. Everyone--there's no one there." I ran around in my head, but only my own thoughts were there. Nothing else. I felt--strangely empty. Like a warehouse emptied of all merchandise, alone and yelling, only hearing the echoes of my own voice.

Then a hand brushed across my face and I stiffened automatically, beginning to jerk away, but Logan grabbed my shoulder, pulling me closer. The feel of bare skin on mine--I drew in a breath as every nerve came alight, shocked into the reality. I could touch. I could *touch*. He tilted my head up, looking into my eyes, and I felt my body begin to shiver.

I'd seen that look on Logan's face before. But never directed at me.

"How does it feel?"

I opened my mouth, trying to speak. Bare, wonderful skin against mine--I wanted to taste it and breathe on it, run my tongue over every inch of the hand against my chin, explore the textures and the warmth. Wonderful. Amazing. Incredible. Bare fingers on my cheek, on my neck, touch, it ran all through me and a wave of pure arousal flickered through my body that I tried to control, remembering all those lessons from Jean in control of my mind, all those meditation exercises, all those years and years of work to make myself strong. They flipped into place, but--but God, he had to sense it on me.

I'd always wanted his touch and he had to know that too. God, what a time to get this. What a damn *awkward* moment, but I couldn't help it. I'd wanted this for years.

"Fine."

"Most people stay dizzy for awhile. Sit down, get used to it."

Oh. *Oh*. He wasn't talking about the touch--he was talking about the collar and my new powerless state. Good Rogue, make everything about sex. There were more important things to be worried about here, like, hey, survival. I nodded slowly and he removed his hand from my skin--it was like withdrawal, I staggered a little, and his hand caught my elbow, helping me sit down.

"Weird," I whispered. Beyond words to describe. Jerking off a glove, I stared at my fingers and turned, seeing Logan so close beside me--

--I had to. Simple, instinctive, he was inches away.

He didn't move when I reached out, my finger hovering a breath away from his cheek, and then his fingers covered mine, pushing down until warm skin was beneath the tip of one finger. I cupped the skin and sideburns, and there was *nothing* that could be better than this, nothing that....

He pulled my hand away and I almost jerked my hand back to touch him.

"Here." Then he pressed something into my hand. "This'll unlock it. The lock is behind your left ear." A smile now--he was showing I could trust him. Damn me, and I'd hesitated when he'd taken the collar out. I nodded, putting the key carefully in my pocket, feeling the metal with bare fingers. Texture was still something relatively different to me. "It'll help you on campus--just keep it covered with somethin'."

Shit, that was a good idea. Brilliant, even, and I fingered the collar again. Granted, I was no longer invulnerable and I couldn't fly or use my strength, but at very least, if someone touched me, they wouldn't get their brains sucked out.

"So what do you plan to do exactly?"

I shrugged, still exploring the curiously empty arena of my mind, the undeniably strange feeling of skin that didn't injure. Shaking myself clear of self-absorption, I looked back at Logan.

"I don't know. If the machine is the reason, if he runs it with Polaris, I may be able to find a way back. But--" But I needed Hank, Xavier, someone who understood this crap. Someone who would know advanced physics and math and weird parallel universes. Someone who could explain why I crossed over and how on earth it had happened. "But I don't know how it happened." And I didn't want Polaris to die because of it either.

The machine had worked with my death. And now, seven years later, he took it on a test drive with Polaris and it did--*this*. For no reason--there was no reason that the store had been an entry point. There was no reason why--

--oh *shit* did I need some serious thinkers to help me out here.

"I think I know who you need to talk to." I started, but Logan wasn't looking at me, gaze fixed on the far wall as if it could solve every problem in the universe if he just stared at it long enough. To me, it just looked like cream paint.

"Who?" Who could I trust, who wouldn't turn me over to Magneto, who would understand...

"Hank McCoy'll be in town. I think he might be interested in this little situation."

"Hank?" What kind of Hank? A good, nice, ethical doctor Hank, or did I want to know what he could be doing in this brave new world?

"Let's say he's not a fan of the new world order, darlin'. Or big into Mags's latest enterprise."

I nodded numbly, and realized that I was still fingering the collar. Reaching up, I pressed the key into the slot--with a little fumbling, it slid smoothly in and I turned it sharply, feeling it slide off effortlessly and into my lap. The rush was extraordinary--my skin, for the briefest instant, felt as if it were burning, and the tingling of invulnerability settled around me. When I looked up, I felt Logan's intent gaze again and felt myself begin to flush under it.

He was just surprised. I wasn't the little girl he remembered. That was all, it had to be.

The voices were faint but beginning to return, and I wondered, light-headedly, what Logan and Carol would say to *this* development.

"Marie."

I turned my head to see Logan paused at the kitchen door, a strange expression on his face--half frown, half curiosity.

"Yeah?"

"Why'd you get in the trailer?" he asked softly, and I blinked at the question that seemed to come out of nowhere. Sheesh, good question. Why *had* I gotten in the trailer? Strangely, I'd never asked myself that. It was all mixed up in desperation and fear and hunger, but more than that, because, frankly, there *had* been better options that night.

Turning it over in my mind, there was only one real answer I could make.

"I knew you wouldn't hurt me. Not ever."

There was a flicker of something in his eyes, before he disappeared behind the dividing wall and I leaned back into the couch, taking a long breath.

--So, Inner Personalities, how'd I do?-- I teased. Logan and Carol were not amused.

I really didn't care.

I feel asleep on Logan's couch and woke up with a blanket lightly spread over my body and a vague sense of well-being that evaporated the second I opened my eyes.

The collar was on the coffee table and I sat up, rubbing my head absently as I looked at it.

"Awake?"

I turned and--oh God. God, God, God. Jeans, no shirt, barefooted, making coffee. He'd done that often enough when I'd stayed over at home, but that was just a little too surreal for my mornings these days. I pulled the blanket off my lap and slowly stood up.

"Yeah." Calm. Libido down, girl. This isn't--anything *close* to an appropriate time to think about the fact that he looks incredible. Just incredible. Just showered. Nice soap. He's holding out a cup of coffee. Why don't you be a dear and go take it? Good girl. Good girl. Now take a drink--yes, strong, yes, it should wake you right up.

--Interesting effect he has on you, honey.-- Carol's mental snickering was *not* something I could handle this early and I waved vaguely at my head, as if she could see it and get the message to shut up.

"Morning." I murmured, fixing my eyes on the mug, drawing in a deep breath. So he had a great chest. I'd seen it before. I'd slept on it before, for God's sake. Nothing new here. Nothing at all.

"Mm." Logan wasn't a morning person either--like mentor, like student. I turned my wrist to look at my watch. Damn.

"I--I need to get back to campus." I shook my head at his sharp glance.

"What for?" He leaned back against the counter with just delicious grace, and I forced my eyes back to my cup. To the coffee. Non-sexy coffee. Screw that, coffee was sexy when you were drinking it a few inches from someone who could double as an underwear model. Levi stock would damn well *leap* if he was the advertisement for their jeans.

"Bobby--Bobby's expecting me. For sparring." I'd tried to think of a way out of that one--short of going to look for full-coverage spandex work-out clothes and people wondering why on earth I was dressing like I planned to star in a questionable porn film--but even my powers of invention were stumped.

"You don't wanna go?"

I shook my head, taking another drink. "Risky. I can't tell him--you know, about my skin. And if we fight and he touches me--" I trailed off as Logan nodded, taking a thoughtful sip of coffee while his gaze fixed somewhere around my left ear. His thinking look. "I-my other powers will be turned off too, the ones I admit to. So I can't wear the collar." And Bobby would kick my ass without it, no question. I was good, but he had at least fifty pounds and some serious inches on me. I could hurt him, but not much. Pure skill could only get you so far.

"Did you tell anyone where you were goin' last night?"

I snorted, saw his lips twitch with what could have been a smile.

"Yeah, that'd be subtle." I took another drink, thinking. "I told Kitty I was looking up a friend though--she let me borrow a car." I wondered rather vaguely why I hadn't been followed. "I guess I should call or something."

"I'll call Scooter and tell him I needed you for something." Logan put down his mug, going to get the pot again.

"For what?" What reason could Logan possibly....

Logan grinned a little--it hurt my heart, to see that. Way too familiar.

"He won't get a chance to ask. Besides, he knows I check out all the new recruits anyway--he'll figure I'm pissed you weren't included in the latest list." A nod to himself as he filled his cup. "Go relax or somethin'."

Relax. I stretched my back, hearing the soft pop. "You--do you mind if I take a shower?"

A slight grin, though he didn't look up at me. "Feel free." Putting the coffee pot down, he turned back around, giving me a quick once-over. "There's some school sweats in the bottom drawer if you wanna change clothes until you get back to campus."

A nice way of saying my clothes looked like shit after sleeping in them. Never thought he'd have that much subtlety. Grinning, I finished my coffee and put down the mug, running my fingers absently through my tangled hair as I went to his room. As I turned to shut the door, I saw the fix of Logan's eyes on me briefly, before he turned away and disappeared out of my line of sight into the living room. Faintly, I heard him pick up the phone.

I felt better after the shower, even more so with clean clothes, and far more awake. Walking back out, I twisted my hair back up automatically, then remembered that I didn't need to put on the wig again for awhile. As I entered the living room, Logan was putting down the phone and the hazel eyes fixed on me with alarming intensity.

I wondered how it felt, to see the girl you thought was dead. Shit, it couldn't be easy.

"Hank'll be here in a couple of days."

"I thought you said--"

"He's worried about being detained in Salem if he shows his face. Took me a bit to persuade him I wouldn't tell Erik if he comes."

Slowly, I sank onto the couch a few feet from him, looking down at my bare hands. I'd left my gloves off last night, the first time I could remember doing that in a long time. With a glance, I spotted them by the collar--an addictive little device, had to admit.

"Did you tell him why?" I couldn't keep my eyes off the collar--stripped and helpless though it made me feel, it gave me something else--I felt *normal*. Normal as I hadn't been since I was fifteen.

"Nah. He trusts me." A pause, while I ruminated that thought--I didn't know enough about this Hank to guess whether that was something that was to be considered unusual or not, and suddenly, I wanted to spend five minutes just *not* thinking about any of it.

Temptation was close--I finally reached out and picked up the collar, running my fingers over it. Glanced up to see Logan's knowing gaze and quickly looked back down.

"How does it work?"

He shrugged lightly.

"No idea. Gotta ask Hank about that--he studied them, along with some of the other anti-mutant technology we collected after the war." Pushing the key over, he stood up, and a strange sense of panic seized me.

"Are--are you leaving?" I didn't think I could handle that. The last thing I wanted was to be alone now--too much on my mind, and finally, one person who knew who I was, and who it was safe for me to know. He frowned slightly--more in thought than anything else, though I could pick up vague traces of general alarm.

"Not for awhile." A pause. "You want me to stay?"

"I'd--" I stopped myself, tearing my gaze away from him and fixing it back on the smooth metal of the collar. Shit, this was awkward. "I--I don't--it's been weird, you know? I had to--hide and not--pretend I don't know anyone. It's--I like knowing one person. I like being myself for awhile."

He considered that.

"Give me an hour to talk to Scooter." Another long glance--God, it felt strange. He didn't know me at all, and I knew him so well and at the same time...oh no, that way led madness. I didn't want to examine anything right now. With a grateful smile, I nodded, rubbing my fingers along the edges of the collar and leaning back into the sofa as he went into his room.

I hadn't really realized how tired I was--before he left, Logan sent me to his room to sleep, pointing out, quite rightly, that Scott or anyone *could* drop by, and I should at least try to stay out of sight if I didn't want to put the wig back on.

And I didn't, so I curled up in Logan's bed, surrounded by his familiar scent, and drifted off again in a general haze of familiar comfort. My first night had been--not good--and my second had been stretched out on Logan's couch, not even sure when it was I'd fallen asleep.

So no, I wasn't protesting. Logan's bed was familiar, another tiny shred of comfort. If that made me weak, so be it. I needed what I could get.

It was much later when voices woke me up--sitting up slightly, I rubbed my eyes and glanced at the door, vaguely trying to identify the people outside the room, then checked the window to note that late afternoon was descending into evening rapidly. Logan was talking to someone--I concentrated and then pulled myself awkwardly to my feet and slowly approaching the door, eyeing my discarded wig on the desk chair.

The door was reassuringly locked at my touch, but I didn't feel much better.

"Scott wants you back on campus."

Logan snorted.

"Taking a personal day, Drake." Oh damn--shoulda recognized his voice, but he sounded so--stiff. Different from the Bobby I knew and this Bobby that I'd met. "I'll be back tomorrow. Got some things to do."

There was an uncomfortable pause between them, too much depth behind it for it to be a result of anything that was actually happening in that room right that second. I tried to pinpoint location by the sound of their voices. Logan was a little closer, so I guessed he was nearer the bedroom door. Knowing Bobby, he was standing right in the middle of the room, arms crossed.

Why did I have a bad feeling about this?

"Drake, spit out the real reason you're here--no bullshit about Scooter neither."

Another pause, even longer and more uncomfortable.

"Scott said Marie was with you. I wanted to check up on her, since she left so suddenly yesterday." A pause. "Is she here?"

I flattened myself against the wall, holding my breath.

"I have to check her out, Bobby. You know that." Logan's voice was almost--gentle? I frowned, because why would--

"Here?"

Silence again. Then Logan snorted, loud in the silence of the apartment.

"I knew her sister, Drake." He did? Dear God. "Danvers was in the same camp me and Kitty were in." I could hear Logan shifting--classic signs of Logan-discomfort. "She wants information."

"Where is she now?"

"Sleeping," Logan answered briefly, and I recognized that tone completely. Apparently, Bobby did too--his feet shifted softly and finally, I heard his footsteps steadily fade toward the door.

There was a pause.

"Can you tell her I was looking for her?" Bobby's voice was quiet.

"I'll tell her."

The door opened and shut without a single hint of slamming. I didn't move for a minute, then slowly began to straighten, reaching out to unlock the door and push it open.

Logan turned as I hesitantly crossed the threshold, looking around the quiet living room. He still sucked in picking out furnishings. The couch, now that I was completely conscious and less traumatized, was utterly atrocious. Some greens should not exist. The coffee table was just--ew. I almost asked him to let me go shopping for him. My Logan had known his own style limitations too.

"Bobby was here," he said unnecessarily, and I nodded mutely, playing with the edge of the oversized grey sweats. "You hungry?"

Was I? Surprisingly, yes. Stretching out back muscles I hadn't even known I'd tensed, I nodded again and slipped onto the couch, reaching absently for the collar on the edge of the coffee table. I didn't want to discuss Bobby. I especially didn't want Logan asking me about him.

"Marie?"

I jerked my gaze up to see him watching me again.

"I'm fine. Just--" I waved a hand around in general, trying to formulate something that made sense. Nothing came to mind.

"Relax," Logan said finally, and I smiled a little at that, then glanced away.

"Logan--"

He stopped, turning around to give me a curious look.

"Why do they--does everyone think I went up there on purpose? On the Statue?"

Something chased across his face--something bright-painful, sharp and raw as the day it'd happened, and I wished I hadn't asked yet, waited until he was more secure with my existence. So they'd perpetrated a lie--most people who did this sort of thing to dead people tended not to have to answer to them later.

"We needed a symbol," he said slowly, carefully, as if he were picking his way across a room of broken glass with bare feet. I could see on his face that it did, and I nodded, the other questions, even the accusations of what they'd used me for, dampened a little in the knowledge of the pain of my death for him. I wanted answers, but I couldn't get them from him. Not now. "Marie, I didn't--"

"It's okay," I said softly, and even believed it at that moment. Keeping my eyes down, I waited and he waited, then I heard his footsteps pad softly away.

Two nights of safety in Logan's apartment, and I figured I was ready to face the world again.

Tempting though it was to remain curled up under his blankets indefinitely and have him bring me food for the duration of my stay, I knew I couldn't--not if I wanted out of here, and certainly not if I didn't want to attract unwanted attention. When Logan went to campus the next morning, I went with him, curled into the front seat in school sweats that were about four sizes too big and aware that I didn't look my best under these conditions.

I wanted make-up and hair gel. Shit, I just wanted my hair back. And women's deodorant. Was that too much to ask? Damn, I was being girly. And I really didn't care.

"Marie--"

I looked up from my self-pity party as we came to a sudden stop in the garage. A quick glance around confirmed that we'd arrived. I hadn't realized we'd gotten out of New York already, yet here we were in Westchester. Logan flipped the engine off and turned toward me, giving me a long look.

I'd been avoiding looking directly at him so far that morning. Blue flannel and white t-shirts did something to my libido--always had. Probably should have figured out the connection around the time I convinced Bobby to get flannel sheets for our bed, but hey, no one ever gave me awards for my perceptiveness. The worn brown leather jacket, butter soft and so well-used it clung to him perfect, was just icing on the proverbial Logan-cake. And it didn't hurt at all that the shortened dark hair emphasized the strong bones of his face in ways that did a pitter-patter routine around heart-level.

God, he looked good. God, I needed to prioritize.

"Yeah?" I tore my gaze down to fix on his duffel bag between us, catching the edges of his smile.

"Meet me here after lunch, okay?" He reached out and pulled my face up, expression perfectly serious. "We'll go contact Hank then."

Slowly, I nodded. Had I ever noticed his eyes were the perfect shade of hazel? Not too brown, not too green, flickering in and out in a strangely hypnotic pattern that I wanted to spend some quality time studying. A tap to my chin dragged me back into the real world and I flushed, dropping my gaze back to--the duffel bag.

It was brown canvas and as non-sexy as things came. Or so you'd think.

"All right. Try to stay outta Jeannie's way, 'kay? Scott'll be too busy to wonder 'bout you." With that, a proclamation of intent to Distract Scott, he got up and out, and I hastily turned toward the door, pushing it open numbly and leaning forward--

--crap, I forgot to take off the seatbelt.

Fumbling it off, I felt him looking at me again and wondered if I looked like a tomato yet. With a smirk I caught from the corner of my eye, he wandered off and I leaned against the car and thought about what to do first.

Shower. Change clothes. Go hide somewhere. In that order.

Kitty wasn't in our room, and I was so glad that my mood took an upswing as I pushed the door closed and walked to the small dresser across from my bed that I'd packed my clothes in. Pulling out a long-sleeved blue cotton shirt, I dropped it on the bed and pulled out a pair of jeans and a pair of leather gloves I'd grabbed in the leather shop. I missed my wardrobe--it was extensive and creative and had flair, with gauze and silk and spandex and skirts, giving me full body-coverage and some claim to fashion.

I was beginning to feel like a reject from the grunge age now.

And the *gloves*--I shivered and peeled off the felt, dropping them on the bed and running my hands over the fine leather. I hadn't bought off-the-rack in years--Xavier had found me a specialty shop run by a gamma class mutant who had all my gloves fitted and hand-sewn. My formal wear too, but always the gloves, that I needed to do even simple things. I had dozens of pairs--silk, leather, gauze, velvet, satin, vinyl, cotton, wool, and nylon. All so perfectly made that I hadn't gotten a glove-related callous in years. Summer and winter and autumn and spring, all colors, all styles.

I could be accused of a glove fetish, come to think of it.

Pulling on the gloves, I checked their flexibility--I hadn't skimped on quality at least. Very nice. Slightly too wide in the finger and palm, but the finger length was okay, and they reached halfway to my elbow. So far so good. Making a fist, I felt the soft leather bunch and twist. Not perfect, certainly not what I was used to, spoiled as I was, but they would do. Stripping it off, I rummaged for the other pair I'd grabbed before checking out, plain cotton. Cotton was flexible. Cotton was shrinkable. I could soak my hands with these in hot water and get a perfect fit, or close to.

A pity I hadn't grabbed some scarves while shopping, but then again, I just had to think that might have been a bad idea.

Putting the cotton back for later, when I'd make some time to customize them, I grabbed my last pair of underwear and closed the drawer. The bathroom was dark and I used my shoulder to flick the light on, putting my clothes down on the toilet and unpinning my wig, tossing it on the toilet. Unsurprisingly, it slid right off the slick white surface and plunked onto the floor between the toilet and the shower. Great. Removing the pins, I carefully laid them in a small pile at the back of the sink and finger-brushed my hair quickly. The mirror reflected a stranger, and I tapped the glass experimentally, watching the green eyed woman do the same.

I wished I hadn't inherited Carol's eyes.

Turning away, I stripped off the sweats and tossed them in the laundry basket by the door, then flipped the shower on. Oh crap. Towel check. There we are. We're good. I stacked two on top of my clean clothes, considered retrieving the wig, and then shook my head and got in.

Hot shower. Long hot shower. No one was looking for me, I could conceivably take a nice, long, bubbly bath and meditate on the fact I was in a foreign world. Nah. Go for the shower. I picked up Kitty's shampoo and thoroughly wet my hair.

Shit, I needed a razor. And my own deodorant--I'd picked up a toothbrush at the mall that first day, but forgot the deodorant. For some reason, it just felt wrong to use Kitty's. Didn't mean I wouldn't, just--I sighed. I had eight dollars. I'd go shopping.

Somewhere less stressful than the mall.

"Marie? You in here?"

Kitty. How nice. I rinsed out the soap from my hair, closing my eyes and losing anything she said in the interim of rushing water through my ears. I surfaced as the bathroom doorknob turned and I realized with a spurt of horror--

--oh dear God, I hadn't locked the door. Obviously, I'd gotten *way* too comfortable at Logan's.

"Marie?"

The shower curtain was a perky yellow. Couldn't see much of anything through yellow. Kitty had always been a private bathroom person--why the *hell* was she in here?

"Yeah," I managed, putting down the shampoo and wondering what on earth to do now. I couldn't put my finger on why exactly it felt weird to start the body-washing process with Kitty a vinyl curtain away, but it did. Very weird. "Need something?"

"Bobby thought he saw you come in. We're running into town to pick up some stuff, and he said you didn't have much when you got here. You wanna go?"

The Razor and Deodorant Gods were laughing their asses off. Ask and ye shall receive indeed. I spit out water that got into my gaping mouth and nodded, then realized she couldn't see me.

"Sure," I answered as I pushed my hair back from my face. "Give me five minutes." The white streak was in my eyes, I needed to do a quick conditioning before I got out. My hair--

--my hair was on the floor. By the toilet. God and little sheep, this couldn't be anything but bad.

"Cool." Through the curtain, I could see her silhouette take a step toward the sink while I froze under the semi-boiling-hot water, much as a deer might in headlights. She'd see the pins. She'd notice--

"Damn, when did I leave these out?"

There went my pins. I heard her opening several drawers, the cabinet, tried to identify where my pins were going, but no dice. My pins were gone. My wig was on the floor.

I needed her out of the bathroom before she went cleaning this direction.

"Um, Kitty--"

"Yeah?" Another drawer opening.

"Could I--um, you know...." Crap, would it be suspicious if I asked for privacy? Would it be even *more* suspicious if I didn't? Was this a test?

There was a faint inner chuckle and then she faded back to watch the show. I wished I wasn't so amusing to my other personalities. Disturbing thought, that.

"Huh? Oh!" I heard her open and shut a drawer. "Sure, babe. Sorry. Be right outside."

Translation--I could NOT get out of this bathroom without going right by her. Turning slightly as she shut the door behind her, I hit my head on the tile and saw stars.

They were laughing at me too.

As quickly as I could, I washed off and rerinsed my hair, checking out the bathroom quickly before grabbing my towel. I wanted to lock the door so badly I could taste it, but somehow, I just didn't think that would engender any affection. If they were suspicious, it would only make it more so. Perhaps suspicious enough to check out what I was doing behind a locked door.

Wrapping a towel around my hair, I grabbed the other one and stepped out, leaving the shower on. The happy yellow rug under my feet was an insult to my panic. Drying off, I pulled on my underwear and shirt, pulling on the jeans and bouncing when I realized they were a size too small. Mental note--always check the sizes. Always. I pulled up the wig and straightened it a little before plopping it on the toilet and dropping the wet towel over it.

Just in case.

Okay, pins. Not this drawer, how does Kitty organize again? Panic wiped out my functional brain. I frantically made my way through all three drawers on the sink before remembering Kitty kept hair thingies in the cabinet and spun around, jerking open the door. The sheer level of organization stopped me mid gulp. She had a system. Me and Jubes had never paid attention. God, I wish we had.

I needed my pins. Just do it, Rogue. I mean, uh, Marie. Calm. Calm.

The first shelf was brushes and combs and curling irons--oh, a hair dryer. Remember that. Second shelf--tampons, pads, embarrassing stuff. Speaking of that, I needed to grab a few. Moving on--soap, hair gel, barrettes, hair clips, hair--pins.

My pins. Oh thank you GOD.

I dumped out the ones on top and pulled the towel off, grabbing my wig and almost inserting my head in the cabinet. The cabinet door blocked the view from the door and partially from the mirror. That was good. Very good. Brushing quickly, I secured my hair into manageability and shoved in the pins as quickly as I could, before dropping the wig on top. A quick check of the mirror to assure it was straight, then I went to town making sure the chin-skimming blonde was secured so tightly that a tornado would find it still attached to me. It was a little damp from the towel, but I'd been in the shower. It was all good.

Panic subsiding, I went back to the shower and checked for traces of white hair. None. That was nice. Then hung the towels neatly so they could dry, before checking my appearance in the mirror. The blonde woman was startling--but then, she was every time. I could almost swear I was starting to *look* like Carol.

--Not really-- Carol remarked caustically. --Too thin and the lips are too big.--

--Full-- I corrected automatically. No defense for my body--I *was* thin and all the hoping in the world wouldn't round out my body any further. I didn't think it would have hurt that if I got Carol's eyes I also got her breast size. --I have full lips.-- Pouty lips, even. Not big. I ran a hand through the blonde wig, vaguely startled to see the mirror do the same thing. --I look so--different.--

I tilted my head.

--You never talk to me when I'm undressed.-- It was meant to be a tease, but it suddenly occurred to me--Logan had *never* been vocal during my naked periods. --Why is that?-- I was genuinely curious.

It was as transparent an evasion as he'd ever bothered with and I was surprised he'd even tried. He had a point, though, and I nodded with one last look before pulling on my gloves and pushing the door open--but not before securing a couple of tampons in one pocket for the trip. Kitty looked up from her bed, where she was reading a back issue of Vogue, tossing out a bright smile. She looked nice--bright blue blouse, matching skirt, cute little shoes, and that perfect lipstick color that I'd never been able to find for myself. Easily could have posted for *Mutant Mademoiselle* or something. I felt a longing for my wardrobe so sharp that was almost painful.

"Hey." She gave me a once-over that made me painfully aware that my jeans were about an inch too short. "Get your shoes and come on. Bobby's driving."

Bobby was driving. I might not survive this.

We went into Salem Ce-Complex, somehow completely avoiding going anywhere near the camp. My database searching a few days earlier had given me some of the rough stats on the sucker; it was big. Ten miles on the short side, fifteen on the long. A pretty good rectangle, covering a nice section of Salem Center and some of the surrounding countryside to the east. In the distance, I got a glimpse of the watch towers, but nothing more, and the giggling group with me didn't seem interested in looking.

I wondered if it made them uncomfortable. Or maybe they were just holding down their breakfast from Bobby's driving. I winced when what should have been a tiny bump tossed us all upward--there was something vaguely wrong about trying to break land-speed records in a vehicle designed for luxury driving.

It was a nice car, though--later model BMW, and very, very close to getting wrapped around a tree, signpost, or some random object that was foolish enough to get in Bobby's general area. I swallowed hard as Bobby performed a interesting maneuver that got us past a light I could have sworn was red, glad I hadn't eaten anything at Logan's but some dry toast. Bobby couldn't drive. Not well. Not with people. Probably not alone either. Luckily, there wasn't much in the way of traffic to maul. Piled in the front seat were Kitty and Betsy, who gave me a narrowed look before turning her full attention back to whatever Bobby was saying. Pressed uncomfortably close to my right was Johnny, pushing me into the door, and Piotr and Remy completed the group.

Jubilee wasn't here, and I had a bad feeling that if I went to that cemetery again, I'd know why. A search of Kitty's memories would give me the answer and so would a simple question to Logan, but I'd avoided it.

"Marie?"

I turned to face Johnny, who was only inches away, and automatically my body wanted to retreat. I held it masterfully in place, proud of my self-control, though the fact that I was flat against the left side passenger door was probably the more accurate reason for the fact I was still in the seat.

"Yeah?"

"Logan got the report on your car. You should have it back soon."

"Oh good." Hopefully, he'd figure out the weirdness of that entire--whoa doggies, how the hell did *Johnny* know my car was missing? "Where we going?" Better not get too flustered--he was on beta team and did security stuff, so he'd have access to the reports. Of course.

"The mall."

Oh. Just damned peachy--the mall. Shoulda guessed. That nice, blank, deserted mall full of scared people. Bobby took another corner at ninety degrees, as if trying to prove a BMW was actually an acrobat in disguise. I was thrown into the door, and Johnny was pressed up into every inch of me for a few brief seconds as we straightened out on the road.

His face brushed my hair and I reacted, hand going to the door, jerking loose of my seatbelt effortlessly. Three cheers for super strength.

Thirteen second later, the car was turned around and slowly making its way back to me like a whipped puppy, as I sat on the side of the road, breathing out slowly and fighting the urge to run.

Inner Logan and Inner Carol were too utterly aghast to even bother yelling at me. My head was echoing silent. It was all good.

Slowly, the passenger side window rolled down and Kitty peered out.

"You okay, Marie?" Her voice was but two degrees removed from that used on psychiatric patients standing on high ledges. I fought the urge to try out a manic grin.

Well, yeah, I was okay. Invulnerability had its advantages--to wit, one Rogue, one asphalt road, a little rolling, a bit of hovering. I would have been out of the car even if I hadn't been pretty much immune to the effects of sliding on painfully abrading surfaces, but it was nice to know my mutation was useful for keeping me alive during the process of evacuation from a moving vehicle trying to top the Indie 500's maximum speeds. Johnny had had a seatbelt on, I'd noted before I kicked the door closed during my jump. That was good too.

He was also conscious and un-absorbed, and that was even better.

"Fine." I didn't move. I wasn't sure I was going to move for a damn long time. At least until the urge to pee in terror had passed. That could be never.

"Ummm--is everything okay?"

Oh, I should probably explain. Uh....

"Claustrophobia."

It popped out with a faintly Santa Fe accent, Carol having the sense to realize I probably wasn't up to talking. My skin burned as if St. John had touched it, and God, if he had brushed me, he could be--

--let's not think about that or you'll be taking a bathroom break right here, clothes or no clothes. And these, before my acrobatics, were some fairly nice jeans, even if they were too small.

Kitty frowned at my statement, then the brown eyes widened in sympathy. Betsy was scowling, muttering something to Bobby, but I ignored her.

"Oh. I'm sorry, chica." She was thinking, obviously. "Betsy, move to the back seat. Would you feel better up front, babe, by the window? I can phase out so you don't feel as crowded."

Oh wow. I had to give Kit credit for brilliance. That was a damn good idea. I nodded, standing up and dusting off my jeans. There was a hole in the knee. Crap.

The exchange was fast and Kitty scooted over, almost instantly phasing out as I carefully got in and sat down. Behind me, the conversation was in whispers--they were wondering what camp experience I'd had that would lead to that sort of reaction. Their imaginations would do far better to supply the info than I ever could, so I leaned against the door and steadied my breathing, casually laying a gloved hand over my knee.

When I looked in the rearview mirror, I saw Johnny's steady gaze on me and quickly fixed my eyes back on the deserted road ahead. It was the longest trip to the mall in my life.

The first thing I noticed was that there were *a lot* of mutants doing their shopping this time. All kinds--not so many alpha class, but tons of the others, chatting and wandering around, generally acting like normal people. Was this Mutant Shopping Day? Should I mark my calendar?

I also noticed that most of the people who worked the stores were mutants too--not all, but most. Easy to spot on even the most human-looking ones--not a trace of blue on their wrists and wearing an ID around their neck, similar to mine. Kitty had apparently grabbed mine off the dresser before we left, because she'd presented it to me at the mall door, showing me her own draped just above the dropped neckline of her yellow blouse.

"Get used to always wearing it. This is Institute-issue." As if that explained everything. I needed to ask Logan a few more questions. Nodding as if I completely understood, I'd slipped it over my head and felt like an oppressor waiting for a minority to harass. Dear God.

However, the shopping went without major incident, and I suspected that this little get-together was not only planned, but specifically planned for me. Kitty, being Kitty, dragged me and Betsy into half a dozen shops within the first few hours as the guys waited outside--hold it....

*Why* weren't Bobby, Johnny, and the boys making for the comic book stores like the world would end if they didn't break some speed records getting there?

"Kitty," I asked at the seventh shop, clutching the our purchases as she held up yet another short sleeved blouse. I wanted long sleeves. She didn't quite understand that yet. "Why are the guys waiting outside?"

"They don't like this store." She ducked back into the stand, frowning in concentration, then picked up and discarded something in butter yellow.

"I mean," I said, shifting the bag--three pairs of jeans were resting inside, she was quick and had gotten my size on a glance. She had that sort of talent. I envied it. I couldn't pick my own size without trying on first. "Why aren't they--you know, going somewhere else?"

"Security."

I blinked.

"What?"

Kitty looked at me and held up a frothy green gauze shirt. Long sleeved, cute little pearl buttons. I wanted it. And told her so.

"Cool. Let's find something for underneath. And yeah, security." She pushed into another rack, going through the sizes with the precision of a born shopper. There was a reason why Jubilee and Kitty always went with me when I went shopping at home. I liked to look good, granted. But left to myself, I *would* be a reject of the grunge age, with pretty gloves and scarves. Just no talent at this sort of thing.

"Here?"

Kitty shrugged.

"Everywhere. Never do we go out in less than groups of three or more. Never do we get separated from each other. It's a precaution--humans escape the camps sometimes, and less than a year ago, one killed eight mutants before she was stopped."

"Wow."

"Took them out like a sniper. So we go in groups--watch each other's back. Besides, I'm not exactly the most powerful in a fight. Sure, I can phase and I have the training, but against enough humans--" she shrugged delicately and emerged from the rack again with something red and silky. Oh, that was nice. "Perfect with your coloring too. It's coming winter anyway, so you're smart to shop for cold-weather clothes."

"I spent time in the south, so my blood's thinner." It wasn't exactly inaccurate. Except in the heat of summer, I was pretty comfortable with my wardrobe in New York, truth be told. The human body was remarkably adaptable to normal ambient temperature.

We checked out and Bobby's eyes lingered on the garment bag carrying the two shirts--I kept my eyes focused straight ahead and tried not to blush. He'd always had a thing for me and the color red. Betsy and Piotr lingered near the back, and every so often I felt the brief flutter of her mind against mine, testing my shields.

I *really* wanted to slap her.

The next stop was the food court--and here I saw humans. Lots of humans, under the watchful eyes of a group of grey-uniformed mutants who looked like they were enjoying their job just a little too much. The humans worked steadily behind the counters, cleaning up the floor--got it. Menial labor. Some of them probably had doctorates, and they were used for this.

I couldn't be around them. Period and end.

"Marie?" Kitty's voice sounded far away. I was staring at a thirty year old woman with scars criss-crossing her face, and the flash of dark blue on her wrist with every turn of the mop was an accusation I'd never be able to stand up against.

"I'll be back." I dropped the purchases on the table, making a beeline for anywhere out of the large rounded white court with it's shiny clean tiles and skidded on the smooth floor because I was almost at a run. No way to call claustrophobia on this. Well, screw it.

I got around a corner and realized Kitty was right. No one was alone in here--normal at a mall, unless you were really watching, and now I was. Groups--more than three or four, sometimes ten. They were wearing weaponry--under jackets, tucked into jeans. I clutched the ID around my throat, knowing a quick twist would bring it off in component pieces. I really wanted to do it. I wasn't one of these people and I didn't *want* to be one of these people.

"You shouldn't go alone."

St. John, of course. I wondered if someone was sitting on Bobby to keep him in place. Or maybe he was just hungry--nothing came between Bobby and food, even recalcitrant love interests.

"I can fly, I'm invulnerable, and I'm stronger than five of you. I'm not hungry." That was an understatement. I could break adamantium--not without *a lot* of effort and general exhaustion afterward, but I could do it.

He was leaning against the corner as if he was prepared to wait until I started seeing reason.

"You're still alone." He tilted his head. "Snipers took out a superhealer, Marie. The camps showed all of us the ways it could be done. Humans remember."

"And mutants don't forget," I answered softly.

The icy blue eyes fixed on me briefly, as if trying to divine by sheer strength of will what was going on in my head.

"They killed your sister. You're not bitter?"

They tortured Logan, tortured Kitty, killed Xavier and Jubilee. God alone knew what they'd done to the survivors that changed them into the people I was with today. I was all kinds of bitter. But this--I wanted to say yes and no and maybe, and I wanted to leave without another word. I didn't do any of those things.

"I don't want to talk about it."

He nodded slowly, as if he understood, but the blue eyes didn't lose their cool appraisal and I shivered a little, turning away, viewing the mall with the many groups of far-too-well-armed mutants coming and going at ease. There was the leather shop. I had the credit card in my pocket. Might as well use it.

As I began to walk, I wasn't surprised at all at how St. John materialized at my side, matching my stride easily.

"Why don't any of you go armed?" I asked, waving an arm around at the mutants around us. In response, St. John flattened a palm and I watched him call fire without so much as a twitch of effort. Well, that answered that. Guns and weaponry were all well and good, but I supposed being able to burn someone up at a distance was a hell of a lot more useful than a bullet would be.

"Remy does projectiles, and Betsy and Kitty have problems with guns." He shrugged a little. "As long as the two of them don't go anywhere without someone who has proactive powers, they're safe enough." He paused, surveying the stores. "Where're we going?"

"I need more gloves." Oh God, did I say that out loud? Was I *trying* to blow my cover completely?

Like I needed advice on decorum from my resident sociopath.

She giggled and I could almost feel her shake her head at me. Nothing on earth could just floor me so much as Carol giggling. It just didn't *fit*.

Technically, I did.

"Gloves?" His eyes dropped to rest on my hands and I wanted to curl them up and tuck them under my jeans. I satisfied myself with locking them behind my back.

"I like gloves."

"So I've seen." His voice was a cool neutral--blue if I wanted to assign a color. Nothing else. This was St. John, after all; he had the uncomfortable silence routine down to a fine art. Somewhere along the line in his life, he'd learned how most people *didn't* like extended silences and used his accordingly. He was trying to unnerve me.

Oddly, the thought was cheering. I knew how to handle that.

Walking inside, I was assaulted with the fresh smell of treated animal skins on display. Belts, hats, and scarves spread across racks and counters, black, brown, and a rich, dark red that made my mouth water. Gloves. Looking for gloves--there was the long sets, the short sets, the--oh dear God.

My eyes found the long length of black and traveled up over the leather coat hanging in the place of honor near the center of the store. My first trip here hadn't exactly been under prime shopping circumstances; I'd missed it completely. God knew how. Forgetting St. John, I followed my libido across the cool blue carpet and came to a dead stop, reaching out with one hand to touch the exquisite lines.

Oh God, gorgeous. I stripped off a glove automatically, running the tips of my fingers over it, the leather so fine it was butter against my skin. I ran a wondering hand over the inner lining.

"You like it?"

Johnny, just behind me and to my left--not near my bare right hand. I took a second, decided not to panic and shove the glove back on--that would look suspicious. Instead, I nodded slowly and St. John turned around. From the corner of my eye, I saw him motion sharply at the nearby salesperson.

"Get it down."

I frowned and tore my hand away, stepping back and almost colliding with his body. Keeping my bare hand close to my stomach, I steadied myself and shook my head.

"I can't afford that--"

Wow, that was a weird look. He frowned slightly, and I wondered what that meant, before the salesperson skittered around me and I saw a flash of blue on the inner wrist. Flushing, I took another step back as he reached up and removed it from the hook, holding it up with the most perfectly expressionless face I'd ever seen. No one looked like that on accident. They had to practice being that utterly neutral.

This close though, over the smell of leather, I picked up his fear.

"Try it on," St. John invited, and hastily, the man removed it from the hangar, holding it up again. I was supposed to step into it with him holding it. That was new and all kinds of different. Salespeople in Salem kept a very consistent five feet between me and them--perhaps with some sort of object as well, like a rack or a car or, you know, a building. For safety--they didn't have to know my specific mutation to be afraid.

I couldn't back down without looking silly, and St. John's gaze was unnerving--slowly, I tucked one arm in the jacket, unable to really help the sensual pleasure of the leather against my cotton-covered skin. My other arm went through, and I tucked my right hand into the pocket as he settled it around my shoulder and I felt the weight brush over my calves. St. John smiled a little, gesturing me toward the mirror, and I slowly stepped over and took a look.

It was love at first sight. The length was absolutely perfect, the sleeves reached just below my wrist so I could wear short gloves instead of long. Surrounded with the rich smell of expensive leather, I let myself, just for a second, indulge in pure feminine vanity. I looked damn good, even as a blonde. I wanted this coat.

"Looks good. Anything else you want, Marie?"

I blinked and turned around, feeling with feminine vanity the attractive swirl it must have made around my legs. Much more attractive with some leather pants to match, or a short skirt. Maybe some better boots too. Pushing the unworthy thoughts aside, I shook my head.

"I can't--"

"Sure you can. What else?"

Stunned, I opened my mouth to answer when I was interrupted.

"God, Marie, that looks fabulous!"

Oh dear God. It was Kitty and Co.

With a sense of inevitability, I watched everyone tramp inside in various stages of admiration, surrounding me with too many bodies and hands that seemed intent on feeling out the coat with me inside. Not good for my already tense nerves. The salesman moved discreetly out of the way and I didn't miss how completely everyone seemed to just--not notice him. Like he wasn't even there. Kitty turned me around against my weak protests, running expert hands along the seams and back, resettling it across my shoulders and checking the fit.

"Perfect, babe." Her smile was a thousand watts. "Leather." A *really* weird smile stole across her face then. "He likes leather."

*Who* likes leather?

"Kitty, what--"

"She needs gloves to match." St. John was leaning back into the shelf, watching us with a curiously detached expression. I fumbled the coat off, holding it in my bare right hand, hopefully covering it well. Kitty paused, meeting St. John's eyes, then turned back to me with a quick nod.

"Grab some gloves, babe. I'll--"

"You ever stop shoppin', Kitty?"

It was like light between the big storm clouds. Like water after the desert. Like salt on popcorn. It was Logan, at the door of the shop, looking more amused than any three people on earth. Large and strong and *there* and oh, damn...

I was three steps from throwing myself at him before I remembered I still had the coat.

"Logan!" Kitty turned, skipping toward him with utter confidence, and the first prick of jealousy flickered through my body. Hmmm. Kitty and Logan had a good relationship? Why was this bad? They were pretty close in my world.

Kitty paused a step away, and Logan brushed her face with the tips of his fingers.

Okay, not that close. Grrr. I mean, hmmm.

"Whatcha doing here?" From my frozen position beside St. John, I could see her slight smile, and it widened as her eyes rested on me briefly before facing Logan again. Okay, double weirdness.

"Marie's got an appointment. Kurt said you went out." Logan didn't move from the doorway, but his gaze fixed down on Kitty with utterly unmistakable warmth. "Done with her yet?"

With a scarily wide smile, Kitty dumped two of the three bags and the garment bag in Logan's arms--whoa, hold it. I didn't remember getting all that. Both his eyebrows jumped and she turned around and returned to us, tossing me a wink and circling around me, pushing me toward the door, coat clutched helplessly in my hand.

"Go along--I'll pay for the coat and get you the gloves. Go. Scoot." Scoot? Another push and I tried to figure out why I was resisting, before I was unceremoniously hauled to a stop. "Had fun, Marie! Byes!"

I glimpsed a sour expression on Bobby's face and let my eyes rest briefly on St. John before I quickly said my goodbyes and fled the sheer weirdness of the store as quickly as possible. Logan repositioned my bags in one hand, resting the other just below my collar. I noticed he was wearing gloves.

"I can carry those," I said as we walked toward the far exit, tentatively reaching for the bags.

"No problem." Not much else. Okay.

"Did you get in touch with--him?"

Logan gave me a patient look. Probably not a good idea to mention the subterfuge in the middle of a mall. So I could have non-bright moments. It figured. Glancing down at my arm, I looked at the coat.

"I didn't mean to buy this."

Logan gave it a glance and we came to a stop as I held it up. It *was* gorgeous, no question. And I *really* liked it. And it wasn't that big a deal--a new coat. Everyone needed coats. They were like underwear.

I still needed deodorant. Damn.

"Can I run a few more errands while we're here?"

Logan looked down on me and almost sighed. Oh yeah, that was familiar.

"Sure, baby." His glance went to the coat as I carefully refolded it over my arm, stroking it gently. "I like that."

"The coat?" See, I wasn't the only one. It was perfect. And mine.

"Yeah." He shrugged a little as we started walking toward the Body Shop. I knew they had deodorant. "I like leather."

There were one thousand, nine hundred and sixteen camps scattered across the eastern United States. Only five in New York Zone, though, the center of mutant power and privilege. Where I lived. What I was a part of.

Electric fences, eighteen feet high, nine hundred sixteen feet long, five hundred forty-five feet wide. Razor wire lining the top, spun so fine it could cut off your fingers with the most casual brush of your hand, bright silver and strangely beautiful.

I can't say I have a fabulous memory, but I knew my statistics now. They were burned into my mind as deeply as the ink soaked into human wrists.

I didn't know why I came out here, while Logan went to make contact with whoever it was that would contact Hank for him. Call it weird masochism. I didn't live here, I wasn't responsible for this. Except it bore my name and had been erected in my honor and something about that made it all about me--that here, I'd been the same frightened girl depending on others to save her. It'd been a long time since I'd been that little girl. And I hated her--hated her for dying and letting this start. All any war needs is a spark--one assassination, one death, one rallying cry, one single, shining event. Franz Ferdinand, Czechoslavakia, or Rogue, take your pick. They had me and they used me. And they--the ones that knew, the ones that crawled up that statue trying to save humanity--they'd built the lie themselves.

Shit, they'd had seven years. They might have forgotten the sixteen year old girl who screamed for help because she didn't want to die.

The camps were crap--the buildings dilapidated and so close to falling over that I shivered. Concrete ripped apart in chunks and thrown like children's toys across what had to have been once immaculate lawns, reminders of the war no one really could forget--or wanted to. The smell was horrible--sewer was either not working or simply abandoned for cruder methods of waste disposal.

--Why are you doing this?-- Carol, voice soft, whispering in my head, letting me keep my connection to the real world.

I didn't need to answer. I think she understood.

This had been a beautiful part of the city, upper-middle class apartment buildings, gorgeous trees, big green lawns, children's playgrounds. Everything beautiful and wholesome and simple, the life I'd longed for, the one thing I knew as a mutant was forever denied me. It was nothing now but the burnt-out remains of prejudice and hate, and people lived there, normal people. In hellish conditions, like a third-world country dropped in the middle of the pristine landscape.

Pulling my new coat more closely around me, I watched the children play.

Little girl--long brown hair, big blue eyes, maybe six. Clean, extremely so--I had to suppose that the occupants were afraid of disease from the lack of sanitary conditions. Smart people. Her clothes were as dirty as all children's were, but faded, obvious hand-me-downs of poor initial quality anyway. She was laughing, tripping with heart-stopping rapidity among the chunks of concrete and bare strands of browned grass, as if this was normal to her. And it probably was. She probably hadn't even been born when Rogue died.

The kids had gotten chalk and marked up the short remains of a sidewalk, and I remembered my own childhood playing that game, though God knew, I couldn't remember a single rule--it'd been too long. She threw a rock and hopped her way across, losing her balance with the third jump on badly-repaired concrete and falling with a scream loud enough to wake the dead. Instinctively, I moved toward her, stopping inches from the barbed wire, and watched a woman run out from a crumbling door, hair loose, obviously called from doing something else, not even wearing shoes.

That bothered me. I hadn't seen anyone behind that fence wear shoes yet.

The woman scooped her up, checking her knee and chin, and then the woman's vivid blue eyes turned on me. Never had I ever seen anything like what was reflected on that woman's face. Sixteen feet or sixteen inches, I could have felt it the same, the blank terror that washed over her face, over her body, stiffening it instantly.

Dear God, what was done to her, to make her look like that?

Before I could even begin to assimilate that, she said something to the other children and all eyes went to me, standing there watching them. And they--they scattered, no other word for it. Running toward broken doors to hide inside and curtains rushed into place over windows so nothing could be seen within.

Fear. Absolute, cowering fear. My kind, what I was--my clothes marked me out, my position outside the fence, Logan's car behind me. Things they didn't have anymore, things that branded me far more obviously than my mutation ever had or ever could.

"What are you doing?"

Logan behind me, and I shut my eyes tight. He was--they were--responsible for this. For those people and that little girl and this fence.

"Admiring the fine work that comes of hate, sugar."

"It's a different world, Marie."

"Tell me about it," I whispered.

"Was it better, to live where you were hated and they could hurt you? Where they ran experiments on you and where you never knew if you'd live through each day? Shit, baby, is your world such a great damned place, where we didn't win?"

I half-turned, looking at him.

"Logan never would have asked that. He knew the answer." I wanted to grab the fence and pull it down--and you know, I could have. Not that it would have done any good.

"I'm not him."

I swallowed in a dry throat, refusing to face the obvious.

"Erik said the war was coming."

"And we won it. After everything else they did to us, took from us, destroyed. We won it, Marie. You blame us for that? For this?" He waved at the fence. "The human population outnumbers us over three hundred thousand to one even now. Change is slow. We don't have the numbers or the energy to fight the war again. Or take the losses that'll happen if we let them out. Too many died the first time, too fucking many. Kids who had the gene were slaughtered before they even showed the signs. They killed infants when they found the gene early enough. They committed genocide as a first resort." He paused. "Tell me there's a better way."

I wanted to. God, did I. I wanted to blame the X-Men, hate them, tell them that never, never, never would we have done what they did. Except--except we had, here. This was what we could be, so easily, and shit, Magneto had been right. More right than I ever guessed.

It didn't seem like winning or losing. It wasn't right versus wrong at all, and it made me sick. There were the victors and the losers, and we'd be one or the other. In my world, there was still the balance between, that every single day could lead to this. This could be my future too.

--Keep thinking like that.-- Logan's voice was wry. --Believe it, even. Nothing in black and white, everything relative, and sit back and say, okay. This is how it happens. This is how you build a lie you can believe. And they do believe, baby. They believe what they're doing is right.--

I blinked back into reality and Logan's hand was on my elbow, turning me around.

"Marie."

"'There but for the grace of God go I'," I quoted and shook myself.

Fuck him for being reasonable. I didn't want reasonable.

"You don't need to see this if it bothers you this much. Let's go."

I nodded numbly, turning around to the car, and Logan opened my door. Slowly, I slid inside and closed my eyes as I listened to Logan get in, shut his door, and start the engine.

"Hits you hard." He gave me a glance as we pulled out, and I saw his glance flicker back toward the camp again. "Sorry--I forgot it's different for you."

"Yeah, it is." I lifted my head, staring out the window. "I can't--I can't see that and take it like you do, Logan. And I'm not sorry that I can't. You're right--I didn't see everything they did, everything they did to you. I don't--I have the second-hand memories now, but it's not the same." I shut my eyes again. "But I can't think it's right. It's not."

"That's not what matters. This is survival, Marie. Pure and simple."

And there was no way in hell to answer that, so I didn't even try.

"Where we goin'?"

"Back to the apartment to wait." He paused briefly, obviously thinking about something else altogether. "Hank'll be by tonight. Jeannie's getting too curious about you and I don't think you should show your face on campus too much if you want to escape the medical exams."

God, the exams. Forgot all about that.

"She's gonna wonder what I'm doing then."

Logan was silent at that, but it was a weird sort of silence. Like there was something he wasn't telling me. Curious, I turned in my seat, pushing my seat belt out of my way, and got a good look at his face.

If I didn't miss my guess, Logan looked uncomfortable.

"Logan, what did you tell her?"

He was staring straight out the windshield with a curiously intent look.

"I didn't tell her anything. I let her assume what she wanted to. And she assumed, and that's it."

Assumed...

"Assumed what?"

A patient sigh--shit, that was too familiar. A smile forced its way across my face.

"Marie, you've spent two nights with me. What the hell do you *think* she's gonna assume?"

Oh God. I flushed, jerking my gaze straight down into my lap. St. John's strange looks, Bobby's frowns, Kitty's grins--got it. Well, I could be dense. No question of that.

"Does everyone--" This put a whole new complexion on the whole shopping thing.

"If you mean, have I said anything, no. If you mean, does everything think--yeah. And unless you have a better idea, just let it go" He just sounded amused. He would.

"Damn."

"Thanks." Oh hell, that did sound bad. I flushed even darker.

"I didn't mean it that way."

"Uh-huh." He hit the turn signal. "If you can think of a better reason why you've moved outta your room on campus--"

"I didn't!" Did I? Well, my toothbrush, because dental hygiene was important. And some clothes, but Kitty bought those and I hadn't time to get back--

Logan gave me a curious look.

"Unless you wanna explain how you slept on the couch, and trust me, no one will believe that."

He had a point. Damn him.

"So, what people think is covering your ass nicely. You don't have to actively avoid Bobby and the kids and you have a reason to stay outta Jean's sight."

Well, if he was going to be logical about it--damn. Well, not damn. I tried to regain a semblance of composure.

"How--how would that explain Bobby?" Because I couldn't see the connection there at all....

Logan grinned, giving me a short, amused glance before making the turn toward the checkpoint that would let us out of New York.

"Baby, I don't share."

"Oh."

Hank was perched on the couch and hadn't really moved for the entirety of the ten minutes since he'd seen me.

"It's not possible."

Logan's relatively laissez-faire attitude toward my appearance had been, in some ways, just a bit of a disappointment, even if it made my life easier. This was more the thing--blank, uncomprehending, gape-mouthed shock as I sat in the easy chair just beyond the coffee table, careful not to twitch as the large brown eyes stared into mine, before drifting over me again, inch by inch. I wondered if he needed dental records and almost offered to show him my teeth.

His scientific mind would kick into gear as soon as he got over the shock, I was sure of it. Just had to wait for the moment of shock to pass.

"Logan--" The brown eyes left me, fixing with almost desperate intensity on the man watching us. "She can't be."

Logan, stationed very strategically between Hank and the door, merely shrugged, leaning against the wall, arms crossed.

"Smell and sight match--I don't make mistakes, Hank. She's Rogue." A pause. "For obvious reasons, we haven't done a DNA, but if you want to do it, she'll take it. Here."

Hank shook his head sharply, but his eyes were drawn back to me like a magnet. Eww, bad comparison. I tried not to shift--one thing the mutant population had here by the ton was some serious twitchiness with sudden movements while nervous. Understandable, but not exactly comforting.

"Rogue," he said softly, and then another glance at Logan. "You--"

"Yes." No question--Logan projected immense amounts of absolute confidence and surety, and I could see, very suddenly and very vividly, why he headed security at the school, why he'd helped lead the Resistance. This was the Logan he'd never been forced to become at home. A leader.

For another stretch of endless minutes, Hank stared at me again, then let out a breath, and I let out one too. He'd made the jump--he believed.

"So you just--appeared?"

Slowly, I dropped into a chair, nodding.

"Yeah, basically." A flicked a glance at Logan. "I don't understand it, but Logan thinks--it may have something to do with Magneto's machine. He ran it again the day I arrived here."

Hank was now flipping into Scientist!Mode--the brown eyes scanned me dispassionately before the large head tilted in thought.

"So you believe that your appearance here coincides to Erik's latest utilization of his machine?"

Somehow, from Hank, it was even more awkward than what passed here for normal to hear that very personal name used. I tried not to wince, nodding. In retrospect, it sounded rather--well, silly. How could that thing drag me here?

"Think so, anyway." Letting out a breath, I almost sighed. "Look, I don't understand how--but he ran it with Polaris at the same time I appeared." I looked to Logan for support, who nodded solemnly. "It's a guess. A bad one. But at least it's something."

"And in your world, the machine worked and you didn't die?"

I frowned.

"No--it was stopped by Scott before it reached New York, and Logan touched me to heal me." I carefully didn't look at Logan. "I went on to have a semi-productive life. I was shopping at a store in Salem Center and then I found myself outside the same store here, and I came to the school. I thought--"

I had no idea what I thought--at the time, it just seemed logical. When logic is very loosely applied to what had happened to me. I leaned back into the chair, thinking through what had happened, what I still needed to do, and how many ways this was just a situation that no amount of training could ever have prepared me for.

"It was a wise choice. Who else is aware of your--existence on this plane?"

I liked how he put it--very scientific. Like this was something that happened and he was prepared to deal with it like any other freaky occurrence. Like the Hank I knew. This was a plane. Very nice. Geometric sounding, even.

"Logan." I paused, taking a breath. "I didn't know who else--"

The look Hank shot Logan was indecipherable, so fast I couldn't even begin to wonder what it meant.

"Very well," he said quickly, noting my attention. "I'll need to look some things up--the truth is, Rogue, no one quite understands how Erik's machine works, even Erik. The principles of physics behind it, yes--but we still have no clear idea what *made* it--"

"That's easy," I said sharply. "My death."

There was a pause.

"Or the death of the host," Hank said gently. Then the softest sigh. "Rogue, I'm not sure--"

"Marie," I corrected, and my voice was still sharp, couldn't help it. "Rogue's dead."

Another lightning quick glance, and this time, Logan crossed the room, coming to stand beside my chair.

"This can't be easy for you, baby." His hands gently placed themselves on my shoulders, brushing the collar with his thumb as his fingers traveled down my neck. I didn't want to acknowledge how that still made me feel, to know that Rogue was dead. In a weird sense that made me uncomfortable--it was freeing. Liberating, even.

But mostly, just sick.

"I'm fine," I answered quickly, and dismissed everything but Hank from my mind. "I want a way home, Hank. That's all."

A slow shift, and then the brown eyes met mine.

"It's not that simple, R-Marie. It's not--"

"Not *what*?" Maybe it was stress, or the fact that my collar was on and the inner voices were silent so I didn't have any support anywhere, nothing to remind me of home. And maybe I just needed to vent--but God, was it that much to ask that someone know what the hell had happened to me?

Hank sighed softly, leaning forward, and for the first time, I thought his eyes fixed on Marie, the person, not the reincarnation of Rogue.

"I'll need to study the machine itself--" A quick glance at Logan.

"I can get you off-hour access," he answered in a neutral voice. "When?"

Hank shifted.

"Three days from now--Erik is aware I am here and I'd like to come at a time when he is *not*." There was a lot of significance in his voice and through my own misery, I had to wonder about that. Just protest against the new socio-political structure? I had no idea. Probably should care to find out. I didn't--I was too angry with myself for losing control. I buried myself in the chair and tried to clear my mind. Meditate. Think. Not react.

"Marie--" he paused, and I knew this wasn't going to be good. "Even if I--it may not be a simple thing to find out what happened to you. I want you to understand--I don't completely understand how this *could* happen. Or why it would."

"I understand." I'd believe anyway. I'd believe that this would work out and soon I'd be home with my family. Period.

Hank rose, now looking at Logan.

"I need to leave soon." He paused for a second. "The second item you requested--" The warm brown eyes traced me briefly. "The image inducer."

I straightened and Logan leaned forward.

"You can get one?"

Hank nodded slowly, still looking at me.

"It won't be--perfect. You wanted--hair color? Slight distortion of features?"

I stopped breathing.

"You can do that?"

Hank's nod was slow but firm.

"Before I leave, I'll have it finished. It should not take long--it will be crude, but effective for at least a few weeks." He gave Logan a quick glance, then rose. "I will attempt to get a working model completed by tonight."

"Leave it here when you're done." Hank nodded in silent agreement. "Your security papers are on the counter," Logan continued, following Hank toward the kitchen. "Put the second set up--that'll get you here next time." A pause. "I keep my promises, Hank. You'll be safe."

At the door, they spoke for a few more minutes while I thought about what had happened, how little I understood it--and Hank, a certified genius in so many things--he didn't know either.

Somehow, that just made everything worse. He didn't have to say straight out that there was little chance that I'd get home--there had been, what, a one in a billion I'd be a mutant? And what *were* the chances of this happening to me? Shit, I was the very epitome of an odds-breaker. So there.

Second biggie--I'd have my image inducer, and I could finally stop worrying about my wig, hair color, and at very least, I'd have one less thing to panic about.

Curling up a little tighter in the chair, I reached for the tea I'd almost forgotten, the unsweetened lukewarm lemon bitter on my tongue.

"Hold still."

Okay, I admit it--this was in my fantasy life. A large, handsome male on his knees in front of me--what else could a girl ask for? However, a few key differences.

One--I was dressed.

Two--no whipped cream was in evidence.

Three--sadly, this wasn't sexual. Or at least, no more sexual than it was in my world, which was depressingly little.

Keeping my arms out of the way, I twisted a little to watch as Logan unbuttoned my jeans and pulled them off my hips. Oh yeah, baby. I'm gonna have some *damn* good dreams thanks to this. Sitting back on his heels, he picked up the small image inducer and its case, looking carefully over my currently-safe skin. Hank had dropped it by only a few hours later and Logan had pounced on it before retreating to his closet and returning with some key items he thought should be added to my wardrobe nowish.

"I'm still." He was taking a lot of time about this.

"I'm checking." For what? Oh, right. Also sitting beside him was an interesting variety of weaponry--he'd just raised a brow at me when I explained how very, very impervious I was to weaponry. A very pretty Glock all my own with its holster, an adamantium knife with a cute little sheathe--Logan was the practical type. For Christmas at home, Jean had gotten me earrings and a blue sweater and Remy had gotten me a diamond necklace. Logan invested in custom-made guns and a foot-long serrated hunting knife I kept by my bed. Used it frequently, too.

The knife, I mean. With deer. Just with deer.

Anyway, it wasn't something that particularly phased me much. Logan was Logan--he'd also made me fight for him in my brand new X-uniform, until he was sure the fit was perfect, the very day I got it. Though he had a point--a badly-fitting or restraining uniform in a combat situation could be a death wish waiting to happen. Too much of how I fought required physical agility to even take the risk of a bad fit.

I supposed, back then, it was just the idea of Logan showing any interest in clothes that made me giggle. Even now, it was a definite source of amusement.

"Relax, Marie." I almost sighed as Logan placed the projector in the hollow of my hip and, reaching for my hand, placed my fingers against it before pulling my jeans back up over it. Critically, he looked at the fit--I couldn't see a discernable bulge from my angle. It measured less than two inches by three inches and was about an inch thick. Not much. Very easily hidden--and broken, for that matter. Hence that metal case.

"That comfortable?"

I tested it with two steps--it felt odd there, but I figured I'd get used to it.

"It's okay."

Nodding, Logan pulled my jeans back down and picked up the stretchy material and the light adhesive that would keep it in place, turning me to fasten the material just below the line of my lower back. Then, carefully, he pulled my jeans back up and fastened them in place, then sat back on his heels, viewing the result critically.

"The restraint will keep it in place no matter what," he said, hand on my hip turning me to catch a side view. You sure that feels comfortable?"

"Not comfortable," I answered, frowning a little. "But I'll get used to it. Why the rest of the paraphernalia?"

He looked up at me with a raised eyebrow.

"I don't want you to leave campus or this apartment unarmed again if I'm not with you." Standing up, he picked up the shoulder holster and helped me slip my arms through, fastening it around my waist.

"Logan, I'm--"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, invulnerable, super strong, like I care. Anti-mutant groups aren't exactly the sort that fire shots that they don't think will work. You don't have combative powers, baby--to use all your powers, you gotta be up close and personal, and there may be a time you need to *not* be."

So he had a point. I didn't have to like it, though.

"What, sniper shots? When will I need to be a sniper?"

He shrugged a little as he fastened the gun in place. Very Logan. The stomach strap fit neatly below the waistline of my jeans, and my shirt, carefully fixed around it, hid it completely.

Of course, you couldn't hide the gun itself.

"All right." He gave me a long look, then nodded. "Get that coat, check the fit."

See, this was my last birthday all over again. Sighing, I fingered the collar as I went to pick up the coat and took a second to caress the lines of it. It *was* nice. Pulling it on, I took a very feminine pleasure in the swirl of it around my legs before turning around and letting Logan look at me.

Efficiently, he checked the feel of the gun under my jacket, how well it was hidden, and I grinned a little.

"This isn't--"

"Are you ever going to listen to me without arguing?"

"Never have yet."

A quick expression chased itself across his face, too fast for even me to read it.

"Really?"

I shrugged, feeling the edges of strain between us that hadn't been there before.

"Yeah. You know--practical type."

That earned me an odd smile.

"No wonder you stood so still."

I snorted as I pulled off my coat and carefully placed it back on the chair, smoothing the long leather lines affectionately. I really loved that coat.

"I know how--Logan--he--you--" I came to a stop with a sigh. "You know how hard it is to do pronouns with an alternate universe?" That got me a grin and I relaxed a little. "Anyway, let's say this is how I spent my birthday afternoons for many years." I held out my arms. "Unfasten, please?"

Logan watched me for a moment, totally unreadable, before crossing over to me by the chair. For some reason, I'd fallen right back into our normal mode, and the hands pressed against my waist were a sudden shock--different hands, that slid down to pull my shirt free of the belt before his fingers were on the buckle. I felt my breath catch at the brush of hardened fingertips against the bare skin of my stomach, goosebumps breaking out along my arms and back. Sucking in a breath, I concentrated on the hands that slowly peeled the belt back, before he turned me around and his hands on my arms drew the leather down my arms.

I could feel the heat of his body against every nerve in my back, reminding me again that this collar let me *touch*. I could *touch* him. He could touch me. And in some crazy, obviously damaged part of my brain, I was beginning to think he wanted to, too.

When he leaned forward and dropped the holster beside my jacket, I let out a slow breath and thought about stepping away. I didn't, though.

"Marie."

It was my imagination that I heard something in his voice that matched what I felt moving inside me.

"Are we going back to campus tonight?" It was a physical shock to hear my own cool voice--it could be my Logan I was talking to, not this startlingly different man who had left his fingerprints like brands all over my bare skin. For a moment, there was nothing, then he stepped back--and God, it was like withdrawal, and my back seemed colder without him there.

"No." I heard his footsteps carry him to the kitchen and almost sighed, wanting that touch back so badly I almost followed him, but turned my clumsy hands to fixing my shirt back in place, clenching them tightly for a moment against my chest. "You hungry?"

"Whatcha have in mind?" Crap, he'd probably picked up all those--emotions--in my scent. I'd made him uncomfortable. Double crap. Turning, I decided to be more careful. I couldn't afford to alienate him too.

"Chicken okay?" His voice sounded tight and I bit my lip. God, I could be stupid.

"Fine with me."

So I was a masochist. Not a huge surprise--I pined after Logan for almost three years of my life and wore long sleeves during summer.

Logan fell asleep in his bed and I took the couch--there was something vaguely cruel, no matter the entire good manners issue, about putting a six foot Logan on the four and a half foot couch and he'd given in to my entreaties, mostly to humor me, I thought. True, the couch wasn't much better for me--I had to draw my knees up pretty far, and in any case, it was a lousy sleep.

On the other hand--well, see, I didn't plan to sleep.

The shopping bags were in a corner of the room and I made my way normally across the room--Logan was attuned enough to my scent and movements that he'd notice any attempt at stealth but would sleep through normal sounds. Pushing open the top one, I found the jeans and pulled out the darkest blue pair, tossing them behind me and pushing the bag closed before opening the next one. I blushed hot at the sight of what had to be a scary number of underwear. Non-simple underwear. Curiously, I picked up a concoction of strings, trying to figure out what it--*oooh*.

Okay, so Logan was right. And I was going to have to *kill* Kitty. Dear GOD, when had she had time to grab this stuff?

Opening the garment bag, I found one of the plain long sleeve cotton shirts I'd insisted on--black, perfect for my purposes. Slipping out of the t-shirt and school sweats, I dressed quickly, finding my old socks and pulling them on with my boots, then got my gloves. A glance at the chair that held my interesting weaponry stopped me from making straight for the door.

Granted, I was invulnerable. I was Rogue-- I kicked ass and took names. Punched through metal. On the other hand--curious, I crossed to the chair and picked up the gun, running it through my fingers for a second. It wasn't such a big thing--I'd been trained with a scary variety of possible guns and assorted items, after all. I knew as well as anyone that being armed was important.

I just wasn't used to doing it outside of missions. And that thought stopped me--the reality was, those people in the mall had carried those things for a reason. They weren't on missions--the way they carried them, the casualness of it, the mindset so it became something acceptable, even required, to arm yourself before shopping--did I *really* think that everyone else was overreacting?

Paranoia won--I picked up the holster and struggled into it, getting the band below the line of my jeans and letting the folds of my shirt cover the buckle. I tucked the knife into the thigh sheathe and took a good look down at myself.

I felt like I was going to war.

Grabbing my jacket, I pulled it on--evenings in New York were chilly anyway, and sweating was less annoying than looking like I was doing the next sequel to Rambo. Thinking about it, I tucked the image inducer into my pocket along with its case and restraints, then dropped my ID in.

Just to be safe.

I twisted my hair back in a clip Kitty had thoughtfully added to my collection of shopping merchandise (what *was* she about buying me underwear like that? Damn, she was good with sizes) and then picked up the gun before tucking it into its holster.

I felt utterly ridiculous.

Sneaking out was far easier than sneaking in, especially with Logan's extra key in my pocket. Downstairs, I emerged into the city and gave myself a second to think about what I was going to do. There really *wasn't* a good reason for it--but something in me wanted to see it.

Turning, I walked to the lot where I'd left Kitty's car a few days before. She hadn't asked for it back yet, after all.

My car's license plate got me past the checkpoint that took me out of New York and I watched the road signs carefully. I didn't think I was up to seeing the camp again, but I knew where the human restricted areas were from the maps. Okay, so I wasn't great with maps--I *did* know where the area was most likely to be, just from process of elimination.

Crossing the railroad tracks on the west side of town, I came to a deceptively genteel looking checkpoint booth and glanced shortly at the wooden fence that was obviously less than a full year old. Newly erected. Not as branding as chain-link, a little softer, no razorwire or armed men to be found.

Didn't make a difference. Fences were fences.

The grey-clad soldier came down as I came to a stop and I put the car in park. Rolling down the window, I was surprised when he lifted a flashlight, shining it in my face and I blinked away the glare.

"Name?"

"Marie Danvers from the Institute," I answered, hand in my pocket for the ID. Probably should have used the image inducer. I heard something click and took a breath, my eyes adjusting enough to catch a glimpse the second man standing on the other side of the car.

His gun was out but not pointed. Yet. Hmmm.

"I have my ID," I said slowly, and carefully pulled it out where both of them could see me do it. Even more slowly, I handed it through the open window, and he took it, giving it a long, thorough look, before looking at me again.

"Please step out of the car."

He backed off a pace, but his companion didn't move from his position on the other side. Even more slowly, I pushed the door open and got out, letting myself hover briefly before touching down. He didn't relax. Alphas apparently didn't impress him.

"State your business." Wow, he was a pushy little thing.

"I'm looking for John Andrews," I answered, wondering if he would frisk me. Though, thinking about it--I studied the uniform, noting the lack of insignia. Without meaning to, I shot a look at his wrist. Blue numbered and the imperfection of the skin that boasted an identification chip. Human. Question was, were they protecting the humans inside or keeping them inside? This was complex, moreso than I wanted it to be.

"Restricted zone entrance requires the authorization of--"

"I'm here under orders from Logan," I said shortly. If they called him, he'd cover for me. Be pretty fucking pissed, but he'd cover. I trusted him. The man in front of me threw a glance over my shoulder at the other man and my back itched. They couldn't *hurt* me--but the principle was the same. I couldn't see Guy #2 and it bothered me. "Call him if you need verification."

Another glance at the ID and my patience came to an end. Reaching out, I snatched it back and turned back to the car.

The sound of two cocked guns just pissed me off.

"Who the *hell* do you think you are?" I yelled, turning. I was a mutant, for God's sake. Mutants were supposed to be top of the evolutionary heap here--and though I hated the thought, I used it. Grabbing the gun, I jerked the man around, getting an arm across his throat and jerking the gun up so it rested on the other man. "Your bullets can't do a damn thing to me. Let me *in*." I jerked him a little closer, keeping my eye on the second guard before lowering my lips near his ear. "Open the fucking gate."

With a single motion, I released him and kept control of the gun. A part of me was utterly appalled--was I actually *using* that mutant-superiority crap? Both men gave me long looks, before the second nodded shortly and walked to the checkpoint office. For a second, nothing happened, then the wrought-iron slowly pulled open and I pushed the man in front of me from my path, dropping his gun to the ground.

They might call the school, but I found myself doubting it. What would they say? Mutant girl wanted in and they wouldn't let her? Putting the car back in drive, I pushed the accelerator down and went in, hearing the gate close behind me.

First thing--the roads were atrocious, and less than half a block convinced me that I'd better take it slow. So I looked like I was going to do a drive-by--so the hell what. At this speed, I could do the tourist view.

Three blocks finally made me come to a stop. Tourists, as a rule, looked for pretty things. This place was *not*.

I remembered this part of town okay--mid-income apartment complexes, a few small houses scattered inside. The space, according to the maps, was roughly fifteen or sixteen square miles--considerably smaller than the camp's bulk.

Most of the windows were dark on all the surrounding buildings. This area was in pretty good repair, but the smell again, lightly rotting garbage and sewage, which even a normal human would have picked up; near here, I remembered, there was once an old landfill. Great. No garbage-pick-up, they had to use that thing. Pulling over to the side, I opened the car door and stepped out on the pot-holed asphalt and looked around carefully.

I shivered a little. Damn good question.

Nodding to conceal the trembling of my legs, I looked around carefully, then levered myself from the car and grabbed my keys from inside, locking the doors on the way out. Then hesitated; someone might steal it.

Right. I doubted it. Looking around, there wasn't another car in sight, anywhere--a view of what used to be a parking lot showed nothing but the beginnings of grass growing through the cracks in the asphalt and dirt scattered over it. Turning, I crossed in front of the car and landed on the sidewalk--also cracked and uneven from the shifts of earth beneath that no one had or could repair.

--I wonder if it was bombed.-- I didn't remember seeing anything like that in the database, but that didn't mean much. I could have missed that easily. Looking up, I studied the ten story apartment high-rise. No lights in any of the windows--a quick glance around showed the streetlights were out too, and I crossed under one, concentrating to lift myself up to check it out.

No lightbulbs. Hmm.

Inner Logan growled.

Well, I wasn't so curious that I was going to check the socket or anything. Sheesh. Coming down, I stumbled a little on the uneven sidewalk and grabbed the pole to balance myself.