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She ain’t like Mary. Give her the benefit, fer God’s sake!

The last thing he wanted was to watch ‘Ro walk right into the mess of his old life that still hurt him to think about. Mary was his past; even seeing her for a minute compromised his future, if things didn’t work themselves out between him and ‘Ro.

And things had to work out.

The drive back was unnervingly quiet, feeding the coil of tension in Logan’s spine. Ororo’s face was calm and revealed little, but her hands told a different story, searching for small tasks such as smoothing her dress and twisting the strap of her purse into a knot. Once or twice it seemed like she reached to stroke his knee, but her attempts were blocked whenever he reached to shift gears.

They drifted inside, and Logan headed directly upstairs, leaving Ororo to follow him mutely, her steps hesitant and light. He clicked on the lights harshly in the bathroom and bedroom, and seemed to be moving awfully fast. The homecoming, like their dinner, didn’t appear to have the outcome that either of them wanted, and her suspicions were confirmed when he marched into the bathroom and began to randomly open drawers and her medicine cabinet. He snatched up items as he discovered them: his deodorant stick, red toothbrush, his razor; a large toenail clipper; his tube of Ben-Gay, and a dog-eared copy of his Sports Illustrated from her magazine rack over the toilet.

“Don’t,” she croaked plaintively. “Please don’t.”

“Whaddya want me ta do, ‘Ro?” He rooted through the vanity cabinet and found a plastic bag that held some old odds and ends and dumped them out, shoving his belongings inside instead.

“Why are we fighting about this?”

“You tell me?”

“Because…I heard something that I didn’t like. I didn’t know how to ask you about it, and I jumped the gun, thinking the worst.”

“Ya thought the worst about me,” he accused, pausing in his chore and pinning her with his stare.

“I thought the worst about how you felt about me,” she corrected him. “And that was wrong.”

“What, because ya thought that I was lumpin’ ya into the same category as Mary? Because I didn’t trust her? And because that automatically soured me on all women, then?”

“Almost. That you thought I did the same thing to you that Mary did, using you to break up with Pietro. Not those other things.”

Ororo heard the crackle of the plastic bag dropping to the floor and felt Logan close the gap between them, pulling her roughly into his arms. She nearly tumbled off-balance and stumbled against him. His lips were drawn into a thin line, and she briefly resisted.

“Sex won’t make it any better,” she rasped.

“The hell it won’t!” Her lip quivered, but she stood fast. “Talkin’ just keeps makin’ us say shit that hurts you an’ me both, ‘Ro.” His breath steamed her lips, and his eyes made her ache; they were dark, beautiful, and blazed with longing and need. “This night was supposed ta be special,” he huffed, feeling her fingers tangle in the folds of his shirt and hearing her breathing quicken. “No drama. No exes. No haulin’ out dirty laundry.”

“You can’t help your past,” she insisted. Her backside bumped up against the edge of the counter.

“And you damn well can’t help yers, darlin’! Her fingers traced a trembling path over his cheekbones, trailing down over his lips; they pushed back against her touch, and he released a low groan. “Just because Pietro didn’t want ya, I ain’t gonna, either? Just because Mary did me wrong, I don’t wanna let ya into my life and share it with ya?” At the mention of sharing his life, he might as well have reached into her chest and squeezed her heart in his fist, and he gave up trying to sway her any further with words. She turned her face away with a small cry when he aimed for her lips. Her throat suited him just fine, and he painted it with the heat of his mouth, swirling his tongue over her pulse. She gasped and clung to him.

“Don’t do this.” Her hands gripped his hair in greedy handfuls, and she arched up against him, silently begging the contrary. He stopped and sagged against her, letting his forehead drop into the crook of her shoulder on a ragged groan, but his hands remained on her hips, savoring the feel of her curves draped in the rich, slick material. She shook her head against the loss of his lips and let her arms twine themselves around his neck, listening to his racing pulse. “If you do this…then what?” She rubbed her cheek slowly, langorously against his, gently coaxing him back. “I don’t want you to leave.”

“That ain’t enough. Show me,” he retorted.

“Show you…?”

“Ya know what I mean. Show me ya aren’t gonna let this upset the applecart and make ya doubt US. If ya have doubts, what have we been doin’ all this time, ‘Ro?”

“I love you!” He felt tears drip hotly onto his shirt. “When you say that, it makes it sound like…like you don’t want us to-“ She drew back enough to look at him, really seeing him, and her face crumpled. She didn’t stop him this time when he kissed her, stifling her cries before they could reach their full voice, and she clung to him, letting him steer them out of the bathroom and down the hall before he finally lifted her, carrying her the rest of the way.

He set her down on the bed as though she were delicate and breakable before kneeling to remove her shoes. He undressed her wordlessly and slowly, allowing her to stroke him occasionally while he worked. She still thrummed with tension; he could practically taste it. Her pantyhose slid down with a whisper. He was gentle and meticulous as he undid the zipper of her dress, taking care not to snag her hair; the barrette holding it back was carefully laid aside. He knelt behind her on the bed and fussed with the clasp of her bra, managing to undo it without bending the hook. His lips grazed her bare shoulder as he let the straps fall, easing it off and laying it atop the growing pile of clothes. She lifted up for him when he tugged her underwear down, and his fingers lingered on her skin, sliding their way back up her thighs just to savor how soft she felt. He nudged her thighs apart and knelt between them, closing in on her mouth. Her fingers fumbled to undo the buttons of his shirt, but he stilled them, tugging them away while he kissed her. He was still kissing her as he silently reached over to extinguish the lamp.

He stood, beckoning to her to get beneath the covers. She heard his clothing hit the floor with a thump, one piece after the other, and felt the warm bump of his flesh meeting hers as he slid beside her.

“Logan, I…” He never let her finish. His lips found hers in the dark, and it stung her that she had instilled this fear in him to hear her say anything more.

They made love. His touch was tender and by turns, greedy, and she responded to him despite the niggling voice in her head that screamed that they hadn’t solved anything, that he was still so hurt. He thrust into her, and she was taut as a bowstring, even as she enveloped him, legs wrapped snugly around his waist. She strained and twisted in the dark, burying her face in his neck. He sped up the pace, pistoning more roughly, demanding something he couldn’t quite reach, and she bit her lip against crying out, feeling need for him echoing through her womb…she wouldn’t let herself fall, even as his body scorched her with its heat, glistening with a sheen of sweat as he bucked and cursed under his breath. She clenched herself around him, milking him within her depths.

He still felt her holding back. “Damn it,” he roared, picking up the pace and slamming into her with everything that he had, doing his damnedest to outrun his flagging hope…

He came, straining and cursing, his body spasming endlessly and screaming for release. Ororo’s arms snaked around him possessively, claiming some of his completion for her own as he rippled over her like a wave, finally collapsing with his nerveless arms beneath him. His breathing was ragged and harsh; Ororo’s slowed intentionally as she coaxed him to relax, willing him to match her rhythm. One thought attacked him over and over again as he lay there in the dark:

This night was supposed to be special. It wouldn’t leave him alone. And he couldn’t take it one more minute, feeling ‘Ro projecting anxiety, confusion, and hopelessness that he couldn’t shake himself through her touch and her response to him. He squeezed her one last time, breathing in her scent and warmth before kicking himself free of the covers.

“Logan?”

He swept up all of his clothes and dangled his shoes from his hooked fingers and strode naked from the room. She thought she heard something hit the floor, and assumed it was his belt buckle. She reached for the first item of clothing that she could find, tugging his faded flannel shirt from beneath her pillow, tugging it on as she followed him down the hallway.

He was hopping the rest of the way back into his pants when she arrived, still flushed from their encounter.

“Stay.”

“Can’t.” He shot her a look, not meeting her eyes. “Ya can keep that.” She twisted and run the hem in her hands, watching him cover up the flesh that had molded to hers only minutes before, craving her love, her trust. “Lock up after me.” He snapped up the bag of toiletries in his fist and nudged past her, but she caught him by the arm before he’d gotten far. “Ro, don’t…”

She kissed him, feeling him stiffen before he relaxed, feeling the press of his lips as he kissed her back. “G’night.” He made it all the way down the stairs before she felt the tears fall again, and felt something inside her crack when the front door clicked shut. She slapped off the bathroom light and trudged back to her room, flinging herself onto the bed and a good, noisy bawl. Her fists pummeled the pillows as she berated herself, berated Mary, berated Pietro, and hated herself for doubting him again and letting some petty words she’d overheard get in the way.

“Why?” she whimpered into the darkness.

Then her stomach growled, reminding her that she’d scarcely eaten. A Fuji apple with creamy peanut butter seemed to call her name, and she got back up, dashing the dampness from her cheeks with the back of her hand. She got up, then felt her foot kick something and send it skittering across the floor.

“Shit,” she hissed, then stumbled back over to the side table to turn on the lamp. Her eyes adjusted to the brightness, and she saw something small and blue bounce off the baseboard by her closet. She squinted at it, wondering where it came from, it didn’t look anything that fell off of…her…bureau-

“Oh, my God!” she breathed. She dropped to her knees, hands clasped over her mouth, and rocked back and forth, shaking.

The velvet box felt soft and foreign in her hand, fitting neatly in her palm as she pried open the lid. “Tonight was supposed to be…special.” Fat tears wet the front of Logan’s abandoned flannel shirt.





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