When Jean noticed that Logan twitched more than she remembered, she supposed it would have to be attributed to his experiences away from home. Lounging at the conference room table, tapping an idle rhythm on the polished wood, he looked bored as all hell.

Of course, he could afford to look that way. He didn't have to live with Rogue.

Thinner too, and Jean was worried that she noticed the difference in bulk, the sharper lines of his face, excess weight melted away. She shouldn't know him that well, shouldn't be so certain that he'd changed so much and yet changed not at all. She remembered the feel of his skin on his knuckles, when she'd first studied where the metal emerged, fascinated by the perfection of his skin. Not a blemish or a scar to be seen--so many adolescent girls would kill to get his gift, if only to save them the horrors of puberty.

"...and so, at this time, we know she is in the general Phoenix area with a group of juvenile mutants. One of whom has successfully blocked all attempts by Cerebro to pinpoint her exact location."

"But she's still there?" Logan dropped the casual pose as if it'd never been there, now a mass of intense interest and raw nerves. "All right--give me one good reason why Scooter hasn't fired up the jet and dragged her ass home."

Jean saw the Professor's sigh--quick, soft, utterly invisible unless you knew him well. Of course, Logan could smell fear at fifty paces, so visible reactions weren't always required. And they were afraid, more afraid than Jean was accustomed to. It was one thing to fear for life in a fight--a completely different fear was the one that drowned them with Rogue there and incommunicado, wondering if she'd been hurt, caught by one of the many anti-mutant groups--wondering if she'd hurt someone else, absorbed someone she couldn't handle.

"We've had--problems--persuading her, Logan." Impatient tap on the wood, grating Jean's nerves. Scott wasn't here--teaching Jean's class while she imparted the necessary relevant information about Rogue's condition to the man that never bothered to stay long but made it clear he took personal interest in everything that happened to her. "Considering your past success record with her--"

"I'm the only one who isn't scared to touch her."

A patient pause.

"You do tend to use more physical means to achieve your goals, Logan. In this case, it may need to be utilized. She is--very difficult."

"She's a kid. How fucking difficult is it to ground her or whatever the hell you do with her?"

Jean straightened.

"She's eighteen, Logan. Legally able to go anywhere she wants--and since her birthday, she's taken advantage of the lift in restrictions. But this is the first time she's gone so far and refused contact."

She wondered, very distantly, if Logan was stripping her naked when he looked at her. Sometimes, standing in the lab, she felt his gaze before she saw it, intense and dark and dangerously exciting, she whose life had never included the kind of risk Logan represented. Scott looked at her as if she was something precious and wonderful, someone to be worshipped and adored. Logan observed her the way he watched prey. Along with it came all that sudden awareness she was a woman--the shift of her skirt over her thighs, the lace of her bra against the silky skin of her chest, the heels she wore that had always kept her posture so straight. To a telepath, a thought could be as powerful as touch--with someone who never bothered to keep his emotions in check, they could be ten feet apart and she could feel his fingers against her bare back, sliding over her hip.

But the gaze was almost reflexive today, because his mind was already in mapping a trail into Arizona. Another deliberate look that dropped to her chest, flushing her skin, then back to the Professor.

"All right. She's been gone three weeks. Up with some kids--not kids from the school?"

"No." Xavier's jaw tightened. "Some were associated with us at one time, but for their own reasons decided to leave." Jean knew how much he hated to admit failure. "Rogue came in contact with them during her stay in New York."

"When you bailed her out for shoplifting?"

Another tightening of his jaw.

"Fortunately, the store owners were familiar with my name and allowed me to take her without pressing charges." Unspoken--before they found out what she was, who she was, the danger she put them all in. "I assume should circumstances warrant it, Rogue would have me contacted if she has another--unfortunate incident. But with her behavior as it has been--I cannot trust she will use any sort of reasonable judgement."

"Cost you, I'll bet." Narrowed gaze on the table. "Okay. So get her back. What aren't you telling me?"

Jean closed her eyes briefly, rubbing her temples. So her gift wasn't strong--in an enclosed room with Logan, it didn't matter. He gave off emotion with the obviousness of a tornado and unlike most people who lived at the mansion, never bothered to learn to control how much the resident telepaths picked up. Suspicion and anger right now--and God knew, he had more variations on anger than anyone she'd ever met. That just below the surface an edge of violence that utterly fascinated her. That worried her too.

"It came to our attention before she left--that she could be indulging in recreational drug use," Jean said slowly, and instantly, the room became hazy red, fading even the Professor's calm aura into black rage, undampened, because Logan was Logan and when he hated, everyone knew it.

"What the fuck do you mean, it came to your attention?"

"There were suspicious amounts of money missing from Rogue's accounts--with no purchases made. Since she clears all non-essential purchases with me..." Jean trailed off, rubbing her temples again, taking a breath against the swirl of powerful feeling around, slowly tuning it out and drawing herself back in her mind. Peripherally, she was aware of the Professor's sharp gaze on her, but did not return it until her shields were secure. "When confronted, she reacted badly."

"She ran."

"In short, yes." The Professor folded both hands on the table.

Logan shifted again--he wanted to be gone *now*, it was written on every line of his body. She and the Professor were probably the only ones that knew how trapped he felt here, even if he stayed only for a few days, and no one was likely to forget the last summer, when he'd grudgingly accepted a position teaching one of the advanced combat courses for three months. By the time the course was over, the kids had been damned well-trained--and their teacher scared them to death.

Except for Rogue, who grinned happily and was looked upon with some awe by the other students when she sat on the lawn with him and drank beer, a cigarette in one delicate hand. Logan had given it and her a look and she'd just stared up at him with all that adolescent worship and liquid trust that only a southern girl can really manage and said she liked his company. To which he'd grunted, though Jean would swear he was trying not to smile.

In any case, they knew Logan's effective limit now for stability. And kept carefully to it.

"What kind of drugs are we talking about here?"

"I don't know--she left before I could get a urine sample. We checked her room, but there was no paraphernalia of any kind and Jubilee and Kitty both claim they never saw her with anything other than cigarettes and alcohol." A reluctant pause. "But both Kitty and Jubilee admit they have been spending a great deal less time with her recently, especially during her more erratic moods."

Logan nodded slowly, eyes still fixed on the table. Then flickered up, meeting Xavier's briefly. "All right. I'll contact you when I get into Arizona. You have a car I can borrow?"

Jean felt her lips twitch.

"Not fly?"

She got a smile--and God knew, Logan didn't smile often, he threw them out so randomly that when one happened to appear, it always seemed so strange. So alien. Forcing her to smile back all against her will. Or maybe just mostly against her will.

"Not a chance, Red."

"We have a car ready," Jean assured him, rising with a glance at the Professor. His gaze on her was steady--maybe suspicious? She wasn't sure, shook her head briefly, then removed the keys from her lab coat and walked to the door. "You should find it an improvement on Scott's bike."

He nodded at the Professor but she could feel his gaze on her as they walked out.

"Where is Scooter, speaking of the devil?" Logan asked, perfectly casual as the walked to the elevator.

"In class for awhile yet." She pushed the buttons, waited the brief second it took the unoccupied elevator to come to their level. Felt his eyes on her when she stepped inside before he followed her, and punched the codes with a flush on her face he had to see--God knew what he was picking up otherwise. He ran on instinct more than anyone she'd ever met.

"So what have you been up to these last few months?" she asked quickly, keeping her gaze steadily on the door as they rose up the levels. Too fast and too slow, and she half-wished they'd taken the stairs over on the far side of this level.

"Nothing much." Logan's usual answer, delivered with the usual dismissive quality that she associated with him not wanting to discuss it. She knew he sometimes told Rogue, though how the girl got him to open up was a mystery. "Just moving."

"Go anywhere interesting?" Shit, that's something one of the kids would ask. She twisted her hands in front of her, felt him take a step closer, the warmth of his skin inches away and God, she couldn't make herself look at him.

"Not really." Just behind her and to her right, close enough for his breath to sway her hair. "Never thought you people were interested in what I did."

She shrugged, studied casual.

"You never talk about it." She wanted to try a laugh and knew it'd fail before she even formed the thought, and why the hell was the elevator going so damned slow? Gently, almost as if she would break, she felt him brush her hair from her shoulder. A quick intake of breath and she turned her head, meeting the dark eyes that yes, they were stripping her and wondering how long the elevator took and how she'd feel pressed between him and the wall, and she didn't need to be a telepath to figure that out. She wouldn't need to do anything but nod and they'd both find out.

The possibilities opened before her eyes with all the brilliance of intense color after a black and white world and she caught her breath.

The elevator rang, door opening, and Jean jerked around so fast her neck cracked. Before another word or thought, she was out in the hall and he followed her, more casually than she could manage at the moment, when she hadn't done anything but stand still while he touched her hair.

"Miss Grey?"

The sound of footsteps behind them and she heard Logan growl something--he didn't like kids, not even the almost grown-up type, and she laid a hand on his arm briefly before turning. Felt the muscles beneath her fingers tense hard, felt the rush off him briefly that was all thick desire and so many other things that she almost couldn't breathe.

"Yes?" And her voice was calm, though it took a physical effort to drop her hand. The girl's dark eyes went to Logan and there it was, a flash of pure relief. Then back to Jean, licking her lips lightly.

"I just wanted--wanted to know if you found Rogue yet." An uncomfortable shift from foot to foot, yellow jacket swaying with the rhythm of her body. Jean nodded and Jubilee's eyes flashed to Logan again.

"You gonna go get her?"

And Jean almost grinned when he sighed, as if he didn't know in the girl's dorms he was the subject of so many adolescent fantasies. Hell, he might not know, though Rogue had a wicked sense of humor and might very well have told him. Jean observed him briefly under Jubilee's intense gaze and decided that, no, he didn't know, and speculated on his reaction should he ever find out.

"Yeah, kid." Of course, he was searching his memory for her name, with a scowl that wasn't threatening, but then, Jubilee didn't know the sheer variety of them Logan had. Then Jean got a glare and grinned to herself.

"She'll be home soon, Jubes. Go on to class."

A quick nod and the girl was gone as quickly as she had appeared, little sparks dancing behind her. A quick glance at Logan. "One of Rogue's friends. Jubilee."

"So I figured." An impatient movement, a man who didn't like to stand still when he didn't have to, and Jean turned back to the hall to the front door. The tension at least was broken--his attention was back on Rogue, to the exclusion of her, and for some sick reason, she didn't like it. Then they were outdoors under the bright sun of winter Westchester and she punched her codes to get into the garage, leading him in, pointing out the car.

When he took the keys from her hand, his thumb brushed into her palm and she felt her body tense.

"Be careful." And it was stupid and adolescent, but there was nothing in his return gaze but that same sudden heat and she felt herself flush again. Then he turned away and she walked outside, the light burning into her eyes momentarily after the dark of the garage, and when she watched him drive away, little sparks still dancing in her vision, she rubbed her fingers over her palm absently, feeling the heat of his skin still against hers.

* * * * *

Phoenix sucked in winter, no question. No question at all. Shit, Phoenix sucked, period.

Logan hated the city. Hated the smell of it, the feel of it, hated worst of all the memories associated with it. None of which contributed to a reasonable state of mind. At very least, he had three things going for him that Jean, the Professor, and oh-so-crappy Cerebro didn't--he knew exactly how much information Marie had on the city, knew why she was here, and knew the kinds of places Marie would go. Because while he might not like the place, he knew it in ways that probably no other X-Man did.

After all, he and Marie had more than memories in common.

He was vaguely amused that he wasn't thinking of Jean--usually, one look was enough to put together a fairly interesting set of scenarios that he used to entertain himself, though not since their first meeting had he seriously sat down and contemplated the numerous ways he could get her in bed. Though his first hour in the car had been spent doing the rewind/fast forward of this latest meeting, long black skirt and dark red shirt that didn't quite button all the way up--and the sudden sharp awareness that she was not nearly as uninterested as she was trying to be. That in itself was so highly dangerous it was actually tempting. And he was, all for intents and purposes, a hunter, and when prey showed weakness, it was his duty to take it down.

Fuck. Shouldn't even *think* about it.

Thirteen hours later, he'd long dismissed the entire situation because right now, he had to figure out what the hell he was going to do with little Marie, who apparently considered her eighteenth birthday some sort of fucking emancipation from good behavior.

Check out her memories, though, and he could guess where some of this was coming from. No question.

"I'm going to tie her the fuck up in the trunk and run her across the damned mountains for this," he muttered to himself, rather repetitively, chewing on the fifteenth of his cigars, leaving ten to get him into the city where he'd restock at the first place he saw. Chain smoking with near-perfect regeneration had its perks--its drawbacks were that the mild high didn't last long enough to snap his fingers at anymore, and that just pissed him off.

Fuck. This was how he wanted to spend his off-time. Fucking perfect. He had better things to do than chasing rebellious mutant girls across the country and dragging their asses home, though at that moment he really couldn't think of a single thing. Fight bars in this part of the country didn't pay well but he rarely worried about money, never had. And hadn't he been seriously considering going home anyway--oh fuck, he was even calling it home.

"Shit. Phoenix. Fucking hell, couldn't be Chicago or Atlanta or even Memphis. Phoenix."

Phoenix meant too much worry about exposure--though really, it'd been seven years and surely by now that little incident downtown had been forgotten or at least relegated to urban legend. With a growl, he crushed the end of the cigar into the ashtray, switching stations again to news--simple precaution, if Marie got caught doing something, it'd show up here very likely and Logan liked to be relatively prepared for what he was going to face.

Drugs. Shit, should have seen that coming a mile away. Idiotic--he'd drag her ass into a clinic and get that sample personally, after finding the son of a bitch who sold them to her and showing him a whole new definition of dissection.

"She knows better than this." Hitting the wheel because it was there and convenient and was pleased to see that whatever else this car had, it also had good protection from a temperamental mutant.

"Why the hell did it get to this point? What the fuck was everyone doing, not seein' somethin' was wrong?"

And shit, she was in a school with telepaths, who shoulda figured out something was wrong a hell of a lot longer back, though Logan, in retrospect, rather thought that they had. No other reason for putting her in his class for the summer if not to keep her under supervision without it looking like supervision. God knew she shouldn't have been in that advanced a class yet.

He remembered teaching her, instinctively observing the changes that less than a year would bring to a girl's body, stopping himself short before he started on a road that led all kinds of uncomfortably incestuous places that even he, even at his most jaded, didn't pursue. Rogue was little Marie, the one he had shared a few quite frightening bonding moments with in his camper (regretfully gone, fuck you Sabretooth, if you're still alive your ass is dead the second you show your ugly face), who'd he'd come close to killing, but in karma, if he believed in that crap, he'd saved her life twice, so it evened out. She was a kid, the wide dark eyes staring at him between a bartender with a gun and an idiot who really shoulda known better than to pull a knife on a guy who was jittery at the best of times and descended straight into paranoia given the least opportunity.

He hadn't killed them though God knew everything in him wanted it and bad, and he sometimes thought it was because of that stare, that looked straight into him and quite clearly stated, without words, that whatever else he was and had been and would be, he'd never been a killer. How she got that he never knew, but there it was. That kind of faith didn't come along often, and if he had to do one thing decent in his life, it was making sure it didn't disappear.

He also remembered watching her eyes stare at the road that he itched to be on already and the reflection of his own need in there. The perfect understanding that he didn't think anyone else ever quite achieved. In a way, a way that in his current mood he just didn't want to admit (no use screwing up his anger with sympathy), he understood the need to run. Whether she was using drugs or no, Jean had given her the perfect excuse to break for it.

But she had to choose fucking Phoenix, and if he didn't know better, he'd think there was a message to him in that.

* * * * *