POV: Rogue

We drift.

The days lengthen, reach their peak, and then shorten again. The weather warms then starts to cool. Summer passes into fall.

We travel, endlessly searching, trying to find our way back to some semblance of the lives we lost. We are existing, but not living. We are in the world, but not of the world. Things change around us, but we stay the same. We're stuck.

We can't go back to New York. They're still looking for Logan even months after the first article. It's like someone's watching us. Whenever we try to go back, Logan's face appears on every paper, the television news starts reporting sightings, and we have to run again. To Pennsylvania or Connecticut, never to Canada. Leaving the states would be too much like giving up.

Our six-month wedding anniversary came and went without either of us noticing. In fact, I just realized the other day that we've been married eight months. Looking at us, you wouldn't think we were newlyweds. What we've been though these past few months has aged both of us.

Other couples might have grown apart after having our experiences. Logan and I have only grown closer together. He's all I have in the world, and I won't lose him, too.

Lying here in his arms, touching but not, always separated by sheets or clothing, we're still as close as two people can be. I love; I am loved, and for one moment, I feel safe.

Then, Logan groans in his sleep and rolls over on his side away from my grasp. I scoot closer to him and wrap a covered arm around his chest, only to have him pull further away. In the darkness, I start to hear the high-pitched scritching of nails on skin. Scratching. Logan's scratching.

With his healing abilities, he never has allergies, never itches, except for once. Once, over three months ago, when this all started. It began with itching; it ended with death.

I roll over to my side of the motel bed and flick on the light. Turning back around, I can see Logan scratching frantically at his stomach in his sleep, and I am terrified for him.

"Logan... Logan, wake up."

"Mmm, Marie?"

"Logan, you're scratching. Why are you scratching? Is it the same..." I can't say it. It can't happen again. Not to Logan.

"Marie. It itches."

He's scratching vigorously with both hands now. No... I have to get him away from here. Now.

I grab him and start urging him to get out of bed and towards the door. It doesn't matter that he's only half-dressed. It doesn't matter that I'm leaving our bags behind. He can't stay here. If I can get him far enough away, maybe... maybe it won't happen.

He stumbles a few times, but somehow, I pull him out into the Jeep, and we speed away. It's around one in the morning and the streets aren't nearly as crowded as they usually are. We're on the freeway, miles away from the motel in minutes, but it's not helping.

Logan's released his claws, and now I have to drive with one hand on the wheel and the other on his stomach to keep him from ripping into his own flesh.

"Logan, stop it!" I yell over the wind whipping past us as we race down the highway.

"It's moving," he mutters, barely audible.

"What?" No. It's just like before. "Where is it moving, Logan?"

"Up... my chest."

Towards his neck. I... I have to stop the car now. If it happens again, and I can't move then we'll crash. But what if I stop us right before we would've gotten away? My foot's jumping back and forth between the gas and the brake and time's running against me, but I can't choose.

Logan makes the decision for me, cupping a bare hand against my cheek. I can feel him, his emotions, thoughts, and strength flowing into me, and I slam on the brakes in surprise. Logan's hand flies away from mine as we stop, and then a familiar numbness fills my body, and I crumple against my seatbelt.

I can't move, and slumped over like this, I can't see Logan. All I can see is my own legs and the floorboard of the Jeep. Why did he touch me? Even as the question enters my mind, I have my answer. He thought they'd kill us this time, and he didn't want me to die. That means...

"Logan?"

No answer.

"Logan... please!"

I can't see him, touch him, but I need to know. Please... please don't be dead. Don't leave me.

"Logan!"

The tears flood my cheeks, and I'm choking out sobs 'til I can hardly breathe, but I don't care. He's not answering me. He's dead, and the only reason I'm not is that he touched me. It wasn't more than fifteen seconds, but it must've been enough.

These months alone but together, this summer of searching. It wasn't what I thought. We were so focused on finding the part of our family that survived, that we didn't realize what was going on. The attack on the school wasn't the end. It was the beginning. We weren't supposed to have these three months of summer together, this stolen season. Now, destiny has caught up with us, and our lives are over.

POV: Logan

A deep, mechanical rumbling wakes me up. I'm lyin' on some sort of metal floor, and my head keeps bumping against it when it drops or rises below me. I must be in some sort of truck or van.

What happened? More importantly, where's Marie?

I open my eyes, and I can see several bodies lying at odd angles in the back of what I can now tell is a covered, army truck. I can't see Marie, though. I try to get up, but my body won't move. I can't even feel anything below my neck. It's just like before, only this time, I've been captured. I'm in the back of a truck, just like Cyke was. I guess this is one way to find out what happened to him.

What about Marie? I touched her. Did she get away?

"Mm-ree?" I'm still so weak from the touch that I can't make my voice louder than a mumble. Still, somehow, she hears me.

"Logan?"

Dammit, she's here, and although I'm glad to know she's still alive, I wish she was safe somewhere else.

I can hear her crying now as she repeats over and over, "You're alive. You're alive."

"Marie... How long?"

She tries to control her sniffling as she answers, "A half-hour... an hour. I don't know. Logan, I thought you were... Everyone else in here with us is..."

She's cryin' again. I gotta get us outta here. I won't let them hurt Marie anymore. Only question is... how? Wait, I touched her. What about...

"Marie, baby, are you healin'?"

Swallowing her tears, she answers, "Um... Uh huh. I... my hands are tingling."

"That's good, darling. Let me know when you can move again, ok?"

"Ok... Logan, what about you?"

Nope, not a feeling, not even a tingle, but I'm not gonna tell her that. She won't leave me behind if she doesn't think I'll follow right after her. "Yeah, darlin'. It's coming back."

Several hours later, we're still in the back of the truck, and Marie's holding my head in her lap. She's all healed up now, but she won't leave me. Not until I can get up and jump out onto the road with her.

I don't know why my healing factor isn't working. I didn't touch her that long; it's gotta be working now, but just when I think my arms are tingling, the feeling fades and I'm numb again. It must've happened ten times by now, and it's really beginning to piss me off. If I could just get up, I could get Marie outta here before...

The truck's slowing down. We must've reached wherever we're going, and there's no more time.

"Marie. Go now."

"No."

"Marie!"

"I won't leave you, Logan."

"You can't stay."

The truck's stopped now and I can hear voices approaching us. She only has seconds to get out, but she won't. Instead, she lies back and allows her muscles to go limp just before the back of the truck is opened.

I can see them out of the corner of my eye. Two guys pull a body out, and another man scans it with some sort of computer and says, "Dead." Then they grab the next body.

"Dead... Dead... Dead..."

Then, I feel hands grab my legs, and I'm pulled away from Marie. Where they touch me, my skin tingles and the sensation's not going away. Whatever was stopping my mutation must be gone or worn out, and I'm finally healin'. O' course, now Marie and I've been captured.

"This one's alive," the guy says, pressin' buttons on his little machine. "Healer."

They move me to another room and soon Marie joins me there. For a few minutes, we're alone lying on separate stretchers in the white, sterile room, and I've gotta tell her now.

"Marie, get ready," I whisper under my breath.

"I won't leave you."

"I'm healin'. We'll go together. Just wait for my signal."

I hear the door click open, they bring another mutant in, and we can't talk anymore.

With every passing minute, I can sense more. Soon, I can feel the bed underneath my entire body. Now, all I have to do is move. I'm just stretching my fingers when a new group of people come in. They're a group of men and women in tailored suits.

One of them, a woman, is pokin' at a hand-held computer, but the others are completely focused on Marie, me, and the other nine mutants in this room.

Another group comes in, and they're doctors. I can smell it on 'em. They split up, fanning out so at least one or two of 'em is at every bed. I can't stop my growl when they come towards me, but when they head for Marie...

"Hey! You stay away from her!"

The doctors don't step away, but I've got the suited people's attention. One of them approaches me, asking the doctors, "Which one is he?"

"A healer, Dr. Thacker. The original one that escaped during the first trial."

"Ah," he says with a twisted grin. Then, turning towards Marie, he says, "Then this woman must be the question mark."

"Yes, sir." Sir. He must be the guy in charge.

"Well, let's find out what she does."

He walks over towards Marie, and I yell after him, "You touch her, I'll kill you."

He just smiles back at me. Then, when he reaches Marie's bedside, he says, "Strip her and start your tests."

"No, don't touch me. Please."

I can't stand that. Marie's begging them to stop, and I know they won't. Gotta get up. Gotta stop them. Move, Logan!

"Ahhhh!" One of the doctors screams and falls. He touched her, and her skin got 'im. I have to get to her. Just gotta make myself move.

Marie's out of the bed, backing into the corner and peeling her gloves away so she can defend herself. As for the humans, that one woman with the little computer is typing frantically now, but everyone else is completely focused on Marie. Now's my chance. I push against the bed, forcing myself to sit up, even though my body and gravity are fighting me.

Three soldiers run through the door, guns out and ready, and the head guy orders, "Shoot her!"

I scream, "NO!!!" and release my claws at the same time the guns fire.

The room falls into silence at my outburst, and everyone turns towards me, but I don't pay attention. I can't take my eyes off Marie. Blood blossoms on her shirt where the bullets entered, and she falls to her knees with a choking gasp.

The tinkling of metal falling to the floor echoes in the silent room, and when I look down, I see the two-halves of my wedding ring laying on the tile, cut by my claws.