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The car was low on gas and good luck finding a decent gas station this late, and yet another conundrum, that'd he'd remembered gloves and (God alone knew why) condoms, but forgotten to gas up. Seeing the fuel level, Logan groaned to himself, glancing in the rearview mirror to see Marie half-asleep in the back seat where he'd tossed her the second they'd got to the car.

"You okay?"

A slow smile, half-closed eyes. "Dandy, sugar."

"When you feel better, I'm gonna kick your ass all the way back to New York."

Her eyes closed but the smile stayed.

"Whatever turns you on, sugar, just feel free."

That was not Marie talking. That was God-knew how much alcohol and drugs and whatever else she'd been doing for the last few days. Staring straight ahead, Logan wished that the space wasn't so small--shit, her scent was still having a highly uncomfortable effect on him still. Staring around, he saw what could be his only real option--to wit, one rather seedy-looking motel. The kind that wouldn't ask why he was carrying around a drugged girl who seemed to have all the inhibitions of a two dollar prostitute and dressed like something from a porn movie.

God, that was imagery he didn't need.

With a spin of the wheel, he pulled in, glancing back at Marie, now seemingly fully asleep. With a breath, he knew it was actual sleep, but he just couldn't bring himself to leave her alone out here--yet taking her in while he paid was just a bad idea all around. Looking over the line of rooms, he had an idea.

"Marie. Get the hell up."

One dark eye opened, regarding him curiously, before she sat up, grabbing his seat for support. Lipstick and mascara smeared on the seat and across one cheek. Absently, she rubbed her face.

"We home?"

She had to be kidding.

"Not even close, kid. Get up." Grabbing his cigars, he opened the door, dropping them on top of the car, then opened her door. Unsteadily, she climbed out, but once on her feet she swayed, leaning back against the roof briefly.

"I don't feel so good. Itchy." Her hands ran absently down her sides, catching his unwavering attention instantly, and it was disconcerting, to smell himself on her.

"What'd you take?" His voice was rougher and there it was--he was going into a motel with her, alone--fuck, this wasn't good, this couldn't be considered good by a long fucking stretch of the imagination.

She shrugged, a little jerky, scratching at her leather gloves uncomfortably. "Whatever they had. It was a looong time ago, Logan. I don't remember."

"Bright girl. Fucking brilliant, Marie." And taking her to a hospital was so many kinds of out of the question he didn't even bother to try and assign a motive. The closest help he had was a good thousand miles away and why the fuck didn't he ask Jeannie or someone to come along?

Like Scooter woulda let her go. Looking at Marie, though--with a shake of his head, he slid an arm around her, gritting his teeth at his new awareness of her as very female and apparently very willing. Too damned willing. Very high. Very high, very drunk. And he'd keep that burned firmly in mind, damn it. Without another thought, he led her to the motel room door and caught his glove between his teeth, pulling it off--no use ruining good gloves. Then a practiced flex of muscles and he cut into the lock.

Good thing Xavier gave him access to the Phoenix accounts. Damned good thing.

Kicking the door open, he led Marie in, groping for the light switch. Marie groaned at the illumination and he got her to the bed and dropped her. No, she didn't look like she was gonna try to run anytime soon. Still wrapped in his jacket, she rolled onto her side.

"I itch," she whimpered. "Even my blood itches."

"What did you take?" Though to be honest, he just didn't know enough about recreational drugs to know what to do about whatever she took, even if she figured it out.

She mumbled something that he couldn't hear, then the change in scent and breathing told him she was asleep. With a sigh, he left her as she was, shutting the light off at the last moment, snagging his wallet from his back pocket. Let her sleep it off. He could yell at her when she was able to fully appreciate just how pissed he really was. When he wasn't staring at the line of her skirt, rucked all the way to her fucking hips--God, she wasn't even wearing underwear.

He'd be sleeping in the fucking car, no question.

Ten minutes later, he walked back in the room and stared at his jacket laying in a trail of blood, leading to the bathroom.

* * * * *

The phone had been ringing for hours--Jean was sure of it. Sure because it had been in her dreams, that ceaseless ringing, and her exhausted body had no interest in finding out what kind of idiot called at three in the morning. None at all.

"Get it, Scott," she mumbled into her pillow. Felt him sit up behind her, his arm brush her shoulder, pulling the receiver from its cradle.

"What?" Sleepy voice, unhappy at being awakened. "Yeah, I'll accept the charges." Vague surprise in his mind and Jean roused herself a little more to take that in, then a sudden and violent descent of mood that brought Jean fully awake and sitting up before she was even aware that Scott had dropped the receiver, was out of bed.

"Logan," he said shortly before he disappeared inside the closet. Slowly, she picked it up, trying to divine from Scott's mind exactly what she was going to be dealing with.

"Jean." And she'd never heard Logan sound like that, not even those desperate hours when his anger had raged against them all, those hours Rogue was missing and they had no idea where she was, what Magneto wanted with her. "Fuck, Jeannie, I need--" A pause, and in the background, Jean heard Rogue's soft crying. "Shh, baby, it'll be okay. I got Jeannie on the phone." The sound of the receiver moving, the crying becoming more distinct, another shift, and then Logan again. "I need somewhere to take her--*now*. She's hurt--damn it, she's--"

A thousand possibilities flashed through her mind--hospitals were out of the question, not for a mutant like Rogue, and Jean saw Scott begin to walk to the door.

"Scott." A swift turn, grudging. "Get to my lab, find my contact directory. See if there are any doctors in that area." He paused, then nodded shortly. "Hurry, Scott." Then she was back on the phone, hearing Logan whispering to Rogue. "Logan, look, I know it's dangerous, but if--"

"Her skin won't. Whatever the fuck she took, it's screwed that up. I tried. I've been fucking trying for fifteen minutes. I'm trying right this *fucking* minute, and there's *nothing*." Edges of fear, edges of anger, too much for her to process from him, even over the phone. :::Professor? Please, sir, wake up. Professor, you're needed.:::

"Describe the wounds and where." Did you wake up badly, Logan? Shit, they should have sent someone with him, they should have done something, but no, he had to go off half-cocked on his own.

"She slashed her wrists. Said her blood itched." Jeannie drew in a breath, let it out slowly. Then again, forcing the haze back, refocusing on the here and now, on the description. She was a doctor, damn it.

"What's the pattern?"

A lengthy pause.

"Some sort of fucking criss-cross--looking like fucking lattice or something." Then the soft sound of someone whimpering. "Shh, Marie. Just--just stay calm. Don't scratch, don't fucking move, baby." Then, "Jean--"

"Did you stop the bleeding?"

Jean gripped the phone, wishing she was in Cerebro right this second--burning out would be worth finding out what the hell had happened, get straight into Rogue's or Logan's head, see it all in technicolor right this minute.

"I think so. Nothing new seeping through." Another pause, longer. She realized Rogue must be practically in his lap, she could hear the girl's crying so clearly. "Both arms to up to her elbow. Missed the major arteries, I--fuck, lay still, damn it, Marie!" More crying. "I'm sorry, baby, hush. Sorry. Lay still. Good, kid, hush. Everything'll be okay. No arteries--she was working on her elbow when I got in--fuck, she was trying to get in a hot bathtub, what the fuck does that tell you?"

She didn't say what they were both thinking.

"You said she took drugs?" Professional--she dealt with stuff like this. This was her job.

"Yeah. And no, no fucking clue what she took--hell, she doesn't even know."

"Any hypodermic trails on her arms--sorry, you wouldn't see that now." Jean was thinking fast, trying to put together something. "She's not--Logan, I don't think she was trying--" She paused, taking a breath, feeling a stress headache begin. :::Professor, wake up, damn it!::: "She said she itched, right--she just wanted to get in the water. It wasn't--she wasn't trying to hurt herself like that." She wasn't. They'd never caught a hint of suicidal tendencies, never. This was all the drugs--Rogue wasn't trying--:::Professor!:::

"She could fucking die!" Naked fear.

"Not if you got the bleeding under control and she missed the arteries." Jean let out a breath. "You need to get her some antibiotics, though--I can prescribe from here and you can pick them up in the morning, just let me find a pharmacy. You need to get her home, Logan. Now."

Silence--even Rogue was quiet now, and Jean got the feeling something was up on the other end of the line.

"She doesn't want to come back, Jean."

"Logan--"

"Look, she's--" Silence again, and in the background, she heard Rogue babbling something, heard the shift of bodies, Logan trying to calm her down as the hysteria raised her voice, enough for Jean to hear it.

"I won't go back! No, Logan--don't make me, I'll do anything--don't make me go back there--please, please, Logan, please--" The receiver was pressed to the mattress apparently, because everything was muffled and Jean held her breath. She heard the door open, Scott in the room, then the second extension picked up by the Professor, and they both waited patiently while the muffled sounds continued. Finally, clarity again, and Jean heard the silence on the other end.

"Logan," she said desperately. "Talk to the Professor, okay? I'll get those prescriptions out--they'll be ready. Where are you? Give the Professor the address--I'll send it to the closest pharmacy. Okay? Okay?"

The quiet was ominous.

"All right."

"Okay, Logan. Everything will be fine. I'll see you when you get home." Before he could say anything else, she hung up the phone, so glad the Professor had come on, so glad she didn't have to handle this, taking the pad from Scott's hand and staring down at it, at Scott's neat handwriting.

She couldn't make sense of a single word.

* * * * *

It was the longest night of his life.

Iodine--the idiot manager had had it, by some miracle, and he took her to the bathroom, twisting her long hair back while she vomited into the toilet, her body shaking so badly he had to support her enough to sit upright. Removing the shreds of the first sheet, he soaked the corner of one of the blankets in the thick brown liquid, smearing it up her arms, shredding another sheet, a little more neatly this time, and binding up the brown and angry-red slashes--where the fuck had she gotten a razor?--some unremembered memory guiding him in simple first aid. She leaned against him, whimpering with cramps that shook her body, while he got her relatively clean, going through the clothes he brought, stripping her to the skin (safe skin, at least temporarily) and redressing her, carrying her back to the bed while she cried softly. Her voice had given out an hour before, with the first violent rush of nausea.

"I'm sorry," she whispered brokenly.

"S'okay, Marie." Stroking her hair back before he got up, feeling the dark eyes follow him around the room while he cleaned up the blood that was already soaking into the floor. "Don't worry about it, kid. Go to sleep."

Bring her home. Fuck, he couldn't handle this, sure, but--he stopped for a minute, taking a long breath before he let his temper get away again, remembering the feel of her fingers when he yelled at the Professor, the reasoned replies. Bring her home, we'll fix everything together. Family. She'll get through this, Logan, she just needs help. Normal adolescent rebellion, this sort of thing happens to normal teenagers every day. She's so young, bring her home. Bring her home.

Bring her home. They dealt with crap like this. They understood it. He didn't. Looking at her though--huge dark eyes and her hair a mess, make-up washed from her blanched face--God, he wasn't sure.

When he'd told her they were going back, he'd read nothing in her face at all. Maybe she knew neither of them had a real choice.

She shook her head sharply, whimpering at the pain when she moved.

"No. I'll hear it again--" A choked sob and she lifted a hand. "Please? Logan, I don't--I can't--"

He threw the remains of the blood-soaked blanket in a corner, sitting beside her on the bed while she gathered herself around him, head buried in his lap, sobbing like a small child, bare fingers gripping the edge of his shirt.

"What do you hear?" He pressed her hair back, gently, and finally, she was a kid again, it was okay for him to comfort a kid. Young enough to be his daughter if he'd ever had one. Safe. Running a thumb over her forehead, coming away cool, her body temperature too low. He reached for the blanket, wrapping it around her, feeling her tremble when he smoothed it over her back.

"All of them--all of you." Another soft gasp. "He's always waiting--he always talks about hate and he won't fade, he won't go away, like David. He won't--" She breathed out sharply. "God, he hates so much. So much." Wide eyes stared into his. "He's quiet when--he's quiet now."

"When you're drunk?"

"When I'm anything, when I'm--I'm not myself." A cough. "I just want him to be quiet."

"Magneto." Another reason to hate--Logan knew all about hate. Knew its many guises, knew it intimately--he'd hated the world for most of his memory. But Eric Lensherr had a special place, all his own, all hedged in a black rage that Logan couldn't permit himself to indulge right now, even as it flared to life inside him. A perfect hate, the kind that lasted forever and fuck, Logan could say that and mean it. Then he thought of the others in her head--him, the most recent, the one she'd taken the most from. "Me too?"

She laughed low in her throat.

"No. You--I can handle that. You don't--not always--" A soft sigh and she burrowed deeper into his leg, sliding an arm around him. "You're here. When you're here, you're always quiet." And her voice drifted off--she was going to sleep. "Don't leave, Logan. Don't leave me, please."

He stroked her hair back from her face, felt her arch a little into the touch before she collapsed into boneless slumber, one hand around his waist, twisted tightly into his shirt, the other resting under her cheek.

"I'm not going anywhere, baby."

* * * * *

"They'll heal fine. When did she turn back on?" asked Jean as she observed the monitors. Logan, collapsed in a chair, was staring with frightening blankness at the far wall. With her question, he roused himself a little, giving her an equally blank look.

"Early yesterday, in the car," Logan answered. Slowly, he got up, walking to the bed, staring down at the delicate body lying unconscious from the sedatives Jean had prescribed. "Damn it."

"You okay?"

A glance upward, the very slightest twist of a smile.

"Great, thank ya, darlin'." With a gloved hand, he stroked Rogue's hair back again, looking down at her with a peculiar intensity that was somehow familiar, though she couldn't quite put her finger on the reason why. With another stroke, he stepped back, shaking his head. "She'll be okay?"

"Yes. She'll be fine. I'm running a spectrum of her blood--but whatever she took has worked its way out of her system--it's going to be awhile before we'll know what flipped her mutation off." A nod. "You need to get some rest. When's the last time you slept?"

His startled glance was enough for her and she nodded quickly, putting down her clipboard, going to look at Rogue's serene face.

Rogue's mind was a mass of images--blending slightly in some ways, utterly vivid in others, all in brilliant emotional color. The Professor had frowned when he brushed against it, and for seconds, Jean was sure she'd heard music--a heavy beat, something she could feel throb in the balls of her feet, working itself up her body, until the Professor snapped the connection closed almost audibly, shaking his head and asking to be told when she woke up.

"I have a wire to my room--someone will be here with her at all times, they'll wake me up when she's conscious. Go to bed, Logan. Now." A quirk of her lips. "Doctor's orders--*darlin'*." And that brought a smile--unwilling, a little frustrated, but it was there, and he nodded. Carefully, she put down her clipboard, walking to check on Rogue one more time, looking again at the darkening bruise on one of Rogue's shoulders, the imprint of teeth. Remembered Logan's rather unusual reaction to her question as to whether he knew if Rogue had indulged in any sexual activity. "Come on. I'll walk you out."

One of the students was already taking up a position near the call button--Jean gave Jubilee a grin and, taking Logan's arm, pulled him out the door, hearing the seal go into place behind them. "She'll be fine. Don't worry."

Logan nodded, though she could tell he really wasn't paying attention to what she was saying. The arm under her hand was tense--without meaning to, she stroked him gently, trying to think of something to say that wouldn't sound frighteningly inane, because he just wasn't the type to take platitudes with even a modicum of civility.

And for some reason, she kept hearing it in the back of her head--that heavy beat, softly throbbing in her eardrums.

"You feel like telling me what else happened in Phoenix?" she asked, and jerked suddenly, and the beat in her head jumped a notch.

"Nothing," he answered shortly, and they were at the elevator. With a frown, Jean pressed the button. "She was--different."

"She's growing up, Logan."

She felt rather than saw the jerk of his gaze back to her. Startlement, edges of sick guilt, more that she wasn't capable of sorting out into any coherent form.

"She's a kid. She doesn't need to be mixed up with that crap." As the doors opened, Jean stepped inside, feeling him follow her. With numb fingers, she tapped a button, and the doors closed slowly. For once, she didn't feel his gaze on her, feel that strangely heating regard.

In her mind, though, the hard beat continued, and she felt herself sway to it.

"Jean?"

She reached out, hitting stop, feeling the elevator shift under her feet. Turned to stare at Logan, and the confusion cleared. For a second, she saw resistance, something hard that she couldn't identify.

Her hands came up, pushing him against the elevator wall, feeling his hands come up to her shoulders--too gentle, not quite right--and she was assaulted with the images picked from Rogue's mind, against a concrete wall, the smell of sweat and lust and self-disgust thick in her nostrils. Licking her lips, she pressed against him, reaching out with all her telepathic skills, needing him to feel it like she did.

"Jean--"

Lifting herself on her toes, she kissed him. Hard, biting his lip when he didn't respond fast enough, dropping her hands to the button of his jeans, trying to temper whatever was rising in her until he could match her--and finally, he did, hands hard on her waist, turning them around until her back slammed hard into the wall, taking her breath, and he was pressing into her mouth while she pulled her skirt up, pushing her underwear down until he ripped it off. She sucked in a shuddering breath when she felt him hard between her legs, his mouth buried in her throat.

"God, yes, Logan. Do it." Tilted her head back with shock at the first hard thrust, while he left bruises on her hips with his grip, and she locked one leg around his waist, pushing up against him with her toes on the floor. Breathed out sharply with the next, as he matched the beat in her head, steadily throbbing, shutting her eyes tight when his teeth grazed her collar over her shirt.

It was so fast--her body arched sharply and she felt him growl against her neck, jerking against her, breathing something into her neck before the sparks exploded into something painfully hot, running through her like quicksilver. There was a slow slump to the floor and she stared over his shoulder with the beat fading in the background, trembling with shock, then met eyes that looked at her in sick disgust. For her, for himself. Pulling away from her, turning away before she could see more, feel more, but she had enough and her shields wouldn't come down fast enough to block it out.

It was several seconds before she realized he hadn't whispered her name when he came--he'd said Rogue.

End Part II

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Illusions Part III