You suppose that it started as a habit, a soothing comfortable routine for you both. He would leave his dog tags with you, knowing that you would wear them everyday, and then head out, sometimes taking the motorcycle, other times, taking the pickup truck that Professor Xavier had bought. For five comfortable years, you both did that, the unspoken thought floating between you was that when you were old enough, he would stay. He'd been back a month now, but you still had yet to break your habit.

Five years. Sixty months. In that time, you blossomed from a lean, scared runaway to a confident young woman of twenty-one. You had joined the team at eighteen, knowing that there was no place in the 'normal' world for you - or him. It was you and him, always. There was never something that you planned for your life without taking him into consideration first.

But he'd been back a month now. The first night he had been back, after most everyone had gone to bed, you grabbed a six pack of beer and met him in the recreation area, where he was happily ensconced in front of the TV. You knew that he heard your footsteps down the hallway, but he didn't turn his head until you were within a few feet. You offered him the six-pack and a smile, and you both wound up sharing it until the wee hours of the morning, talking about what had happened at the mansion while he was gone.

It wasn't the first time you had both shared beer and conversation until all hours. You can clearly remember the first time Scott had caught you with him, drinking beer. After the expected lecture, he sighed, knowing that you would continue to share six packs, simply asked that you not show up to class hung over. After that, he would occasionally buy you six packs when no one else was around.

There was only one time that he didn't return because he got tired of the road and needed a rest - or needed to see you. You can still see it as clearly as if it had happened yesterday, instead of three years before. You could still see his drawn, worried face as you came to in the Infirmary if you let the memory come. You could still feel his bare hand sliding through your brown and platinum hair as if he were doing it now. You remember being so scared before, but as soon as he got there, everything calmed down again. He held you, rocked you as if you were an infant, and cradled you like the most precious possession in the world. He whispered words of comfort that soothed your tormented soul - a soul trapped in a body that housed another person besides the others. David, Logan, Erik - and then her. Erik and David were faded memories, but perhaps because you had touched him twice, Logan was stronger than the others. Logan was the one you ran to when she came. She was bent on destroying you from the inside out, saying that it was only fair. Never mind the fact that you couldn't have prevented anything. It took Xavier and Jean several days of psychic manhandling and blocks being built that you finally felt comfortable inside your own head again. He was there with you all throughout, reminding you that what didn't kill you only made you stronger. At the time, you didn't believe him, but time proved him right as the screams finally died down and she too, faded away until she was a bare memory. But even though she faded away, her powers stayed. You had been given the one thing you had wanted - the ability to touch people again - but it came at a terrible price.

Later, after he had made sure that you were okay, he left again, leaving you to face controlling the rest of your new powers. The flying lessons with Ororo often ended in giggles, while you could see Hank's mind working overtime during your strength lessons. You got through them, knowing that if you really needed him, he would somehow show up at the mansion.

Even though you had gained control over your skin, the habits ingrained into you from before stayed with you. You still wore gloves, you still wore your scarves, and you still kept your distance from people. It almost seemed like a dream, and you didn't want anyone to get hurt if it was a dream, even though you knew that your powers were real. It also protected you from being hurt yourself.

You take another sip of beer to wash the memories back to their hiding place, glad that he didn't question your brief space-out. You're both sitting on the couch, feet propped up on the coffee table, sharing one of your ever-present six packs as you both watched a hockey game, with his interspaced comments about Americans and hockey. Well, you thought, you can take the man out of Canada, but you can't take the Canadian out of the man. You had briefly wondered where Scott was, since he loved hockey as much as Logan, but sometime during the first period, right about the time Logan's arm slipped around your shoulders, you forgot all about Scott. Logan was the only one you would share this intimacy with, allowing him casual touches. You had been getting better about not stiffening whenever he touched you, and after the initial flare of panic, you relaxed against his body, resting your head on his shoulder.

Then it came over you both like a wave, a happiness so bright, so intense, it brought tears to your eyes. You looked at him, almost shocked to see one of his rare smiles on his lips, and it brought on a fresh round of tears. He cupped your face in his warm, bare hands, a stark reminder that you could touch without hurting someone, and he brought your face down to his chest. Your arms stole his neck, and you felt content - and extraordinarily happy. Xavier never let his emotions go like that, and even though a couple of the younger children at the school were telepaths, there was no way that they could have broadcasted that level of happiness. This only left Jean. You were so very happy - a happiness that you almost wished could stay forever.

Then suddenly it was gone, like a thief in the night, and you feel as though you had been robbed of something precious, bringing on yet another round of tears, but not ones of happiness. And all throughout, he held you, keeping his strong arms curled around you. Your sobs slowed, the tears started to dry, but you didn't pull away. You kept your head on his chest, listening to his heart beat, letting his scent drift into your nose, his warmth into your heart.

He calmed you like no force on earth could - or ever would. He was your Wolverine.

"Logan?" you ask in your soft Southern accent, still noticeable even after all this time up North.

"Yeah?"

"What do you think Jean was so happy about?"

You could feel him shaking his head. "I don't know, Marie."

That too was something you only allowed him. Marie, the name you were given at birth. No one else in the mansion, except Xavier and Jean, knew it, and both respected your wish of being called Rogue. It was who you are, now. Marie was a scared runaway that somehow morphed into Rogue on the long, hard trip up to Canada. But to him, you would always be Marie.

"Don't you two look cozy," a wry voice commented from behind the couch.

You smiled into his shirt even as you felt a small growl build up in his chest. You were cozy, but Scott didn't have to point it out. Lifting your head off of his shirt, you idly wondered if he felt the same sense of loss you did. Logan's arms slackened, allowing you to move around a bit. You stayed as close as possible to him without putting yourself in an uncomfortable position.

You looked at Jean, who was most defiantly smiling, a smile that diminished somewhat when she saw your bloodshot eyes. "Oh, Rogue, I'm sorry."

You smile at her, not wanting to rob her of her happiness as well. "I'm okay. What were you so happy about?"

Jean's smile exploded, and Scott's nearly did the same.

"Finally set a date?" Logan asked, not a hint of jealousy in his voice.

Jean looked at Scott and bestowed upon him such a loving smile, it nearly made you look away from the intimacy of it all. You felt Logan still and audibly sniff the air around him, than saw his eyes narrow.

"You're pregnant." It wasn't a question. It was a statement of fact. Jean's smile only confirmed it. With a barely muffled squeal of excitement, you bounded off the couch and threw your gloved arms around both Scott and Jean, hugging them tightly. You felt an almost big-sister enthusiasm for the new arrival, and to an extent, most of the kids at the school did consider you their big sister. You would welcome the new addition to your extended family. You could feel their arms wrap around you in return, recognizing and embracing your exuberance. Pulling away, you sat back down and leaned into Logan, feeling his arm wrap itself over your shoulders, pulling you tight.

"Congratulations," Logan finally said. "When?"

"Figured that one out too, huh?" Scott asked.

"Pretty much a given."

You knew it also, that with Jean's high profile as a speaker of mutant rights, they would need to present the 'classic American family' image to the world. Not that it bothered either Jean or Scott any. They were so loopy-eyed in love, and for a brief second, you felt a stab of jealousy, wanting that kind of happiness. Then it died just as quickly as it had formed. You had your own kind of happiness with his arm wrapped around your shoulders. You knew that he wouldn't produce the sweet soul-mate kind of smile Jean often wore, but he would leave you walking funny, smashing into walls and doors because you can't see properly, and leave you wearing a slow, curling, knowing smile instead. Your love was hot and heavy, with a fire that would never be extinguished. He was your soul mate, just in a completely different way.

"Two weeks from now."

Your eyes widened, even though your body stayed in its position. "Two weeks? Is that enough time?"

Jean nodded. "More than enough. Almost everything's arranged."

"Cool."

"But I did want to ask you if you wanted to be a bridesmaid."

A smile lit up your face. "I'd love to!" you gushed. They both knew, however, that no other man besides the one sitting beside you would escort you down the aisle.

Scott's grin, if possible, got even wider as he looked at Logan. "You do know what this means."

"Tuxedo," Logan growled.

But you smiled. You knew that no matter how much he protested, he would be in a tuxedo, ready to escort you down the aisle in two weeks time.

Those two weeks, you reflect, sped by in a blur. Everyone pitched in, and luckily, no missions were needed for the entire stretch of time. You only hoped that it would hold off so Scott and Jean could enjoy a proper honeymoon. It was the day before the wedding and everyone involved trouped into town to get the final fittings. The designer, Melissa, was a mutant with an empathic gift, and very grateful to Xavier for teaching her to control her gift. Her gift, truly, was the reason she was so successful as a designer, able to pick up on her client's feelings about a particular garment. Jean's dress was a dream, a simple cream-colored sheath dress with wide straps hugging her shoulders. Both you and Ororo were nearly reduced to tears when you saw Jean in the dress.

After Jean had taken the dress back off, the guys were allowed into the fitting area. Logan went directly to your side, and you could sense his nervousness in simply being in a tuxedo shop. He was a dyed in the wool jeans and flannel kind of guy, not entirely comfortable with wearing a 'monkey suit.' But you knew that he would do it for you.

"Rogue?" Melissa's soft voice asked, bringing you back to the present, instead of staring at Logan's admittedly gorgeous profile. A soft blush tinged your cheeks when you realize that you were caught staring. Speeding forward into one of the curtained-off dressing areas, you pulled your gloves off, and then paused to run your bare fingers over the soft silk of the dress. It was a beautiful royal purple, complimentary to both yours and Ororo's colors. Hurriedly stripping to your bra and panties, you pulled the dress on, only then realizing that there was a pair of opera-length gloves dyed to match the dress, along with a sheer purple scarf with tiny beads sewn on. You bit your lip to somehow control the onslaught of emotion and reminded yourself to give both Jean and Melissa a very big hug. Pulling on the gloves and wrapping the scarf around your neck, you slipped into the shoes, and opened the curtain.

Logan was already looking at you, probably having heard your heartbeat speed up and your hand rustling the curtain before you drew it back. Everyone was smiling, so that meant that you didn't look completely ridiculous - all except Logan, who was looking at you with such an intensity it made you weak in the knees. He almost looked as if he wanted to devour you whole.

"You look lovely, Rogue," Xavier said.

You felt the heat rise in your cheeks. "Thanks, Professor."

Melissa smiled and gently asked you to stand in front of the mirrors. You did as she asked, not at all perturbed by her being so close. She had a gentling effect that didn't make you back away, keep some safety space between you both. You felt comfortable in her presence, a feeling that you suspect she empathized out. Even Logan had yet to growl at her. After a few moments of Melissa circling around you, making sure the hemline wasn't too low or too high, the dress fitting just so around your waist, she smiled and pronounced that all was ready. You sashayed your way back into the dressing room, feeling Logan's hot eyes burning into you all the way, and you had to remind yourself that you were in public and ruining this nice dress wasn't on the agenda.

Shrugging out of the dress, you hung it up exactly as it arrived to you, and then looked at yourself in the mirror. You still wore the scarf and gloves along with your midnight blue bra and panties. They were a gift from Logan on your eighteenth birthday, and you were very glad you saved his for when you got up to your room. A thin silver chain strung itself around your neck and just as it dipped between your cleavage, Logan's dog tag hung precisely there. You touched it and remembered the look in Logan's eyes. Pulling off the gloves and scarf, you took one last look at yourself in the mirror before pulling on your jeans and shirt. Reminding yourself that you were no longer fifteen years old, you pulled on your regular leather gloves and scarf - a deep midnight blue.

Slipping back into the fitting area, you retook your position right beside Logan and watched Melissa circle Ororo a few times. You knew that you looked like the girl-next-door and could never hold a candle to Ororo's stunning presence. Some of the younger children called her the goddess, and you didn't dispute that title one bit. Ororo *was* a goddess come to earth.

Logan shifted closer to you, and your thoughts were interrupted. One of his hands came up to caress the material of the scarf, one that you had specially made. You normally didn't special order scarves, but this one was different. Logan, of course, knew exactly what it meant and couldn't stay with you enough when you wore it. His finger brushed your skin through the scarf and you couldn't help the small shudder that ran through you. A feeling started to pool in your belly, low and deep, and you heard him take a deep breath.

You wanted to blush, but you didn't feel the tell-tale fire crawling up your neck. Instead, you only felt satisfaction. Soon, a part of your brain whispered. Soon you would take your mate. Your Wolverine. The Logan inside you was making noises of satisfaction. Sending him a heated glance, he smirked slightly at you, and then dropped his hand. You breathed out silently, glad that anyone who could feel your emotions or tell what direction your thoughts had taken were otherwise occupied.

That night, after you had brought home all of the dresses and tuxedoes, the guys had been told in blunt terms that they were not to see either of you three until the ceremony and might as well go out. You knew that Logan had probably dragged Scott to a sleazy dive of a strip club and both were halfway drunk by now. You, on the other hand, were watching 'Spaceballs' with Ororo and Jean, eating ice cream. As the movie ended and the tape rewound, Jean spoke up.

"Didn't they look so handsome in their tuxedoes?"

You smiled mysteriously while Ororo agreed. You privately thought that Logan had looked more than handsome in his tuxedo - he looked like sex on legs, but you didn't want to admit that the sight of Logan dressed up had gotten you wet and aroused.

"And when is your wedding date, Rogue?"

You blinked stupidly, the vision of Logan disappearing. "Huh?"

Ororo giggled like a schoolgirl, not an action you would normally equate with her. "I didn't have to be a telepath to read what was written over both of your faces."

Now you could feel the blush rushing up your neck, into your cheeks. You demurred, but knew that you weren't fooling either of the two ladies in front of you. You were obscenely glad when the next movie started.

The day of the ceremony dawned sunny and warm, a perfect late spring day in New York. You were awakened by a knock on your door. Pulling on a pair of elbow-length gloves, you open you door, almost surprised to see no one there. You were just about to shut the door when something sitting on the floor caught your attention. You knew immediately it was from Logan and picked it up. Shutting your door, you nearly bounced on your bed and eagerly tore through the wrapping paper. Opening the plain white box, your breath hitched as you saw your newest gift. It was another matching bra and panties set - a royal purple in color, silk in material. Pulling off your gloves, you gently stroke the material mesmerized by its luxurious feel. Your alarm clock suddenly rings, snapping you out of your fantasy. Trudging into your private bathroom, you turn on the taps. Quickly showering and drying off, you wander back into your bedroom and head straight for your newest gift. Slipping the lingerie on, you pull on one of Logan's old button up flannel shirts and a pair of jeans, accessorizing with a pair of gloves and a scarf. Grabbing your dress and your shoes, you walk the short distance to Ororo's room. Knocking on the door, you wait for either of the room's occupants to answer.

"Who is it?" Jean's voice.

"It's me," you answer. Ororo opens the door with a smile and ushers you inside. Both she and Jean are dressed much as you are, in jeans and button down shirts, although Jean's hair is wrapped up in large rollers. You mock-pout, knowing that both women can see right through it. "Y'all already started without me."

Jean made a sweeping gesture with her arm. "Join the party."

Hanging your dress up on the back of the door, you sat down in a seat in front of the mirror and took a deep breath to calm yourself. Ororo was going to be doing your hair and makeup, and you needed to be calm. Opening your eyes, you saw her watching you in the mirror.

"Ready?"

You nodded.

The ceremony went off without a hitch, and then moved inside to a hotel ballroom Professor Xavier had booked, one that didn't mind renting out its ballroom to mutants. The band was playing many tunes perfect for dancing, but you and Logan had yet to get up and dance. You both knew that if you did, then you would be waking up in his bed the next morning. It was the fear of breaking your habit that kept you both seated. His arm was wrapped around your shoulders, drawing lazy circles on a patch of skin left bare between your gloves and the strap of your dress. And it was driving you crazy.

Scott suddenly appeared and asked you for a dance. You dazedly took his hand as he led you out to the dance floor. You noticed Jean slipping into your seat and you smelled a rat. You let Scott lead you around the floor a couple of times before you called him on it.

"What is it?"

"You and Logan."

"What about us?"

"You know that we don't particularly like each other a lot of the time-"

"No," you sarcastically drawled. "It never crossed my mind."

"Smart aleck." He sighed. "Let me see if I can remember how Jean phrased it. 'Let go of your fear and take the chance. You'll never know until you try.' And I know from experience that some things are worth taking the chance."

He led you right back to the table, apparently having said his piece. Jean rose gracefully from your seat and took Scott's hand once more. You didn't sit back down, but stared at Logan for a moment. You held out your hand, took the chance, and said the words that sealed your fates.

"Let's go."

He took your hand and you both walked out of the ballroom, not caring if anyone saw you leave. You both walked straight to the motorcycle and pulled on a helmet, not caring if you were destroying your elegantly upswept hairdo. Not a word was spoken, or needed.

You barely remember the trip back to the mansion, but by the time you got there, your legs were vibrating slightly and he had to help you off the bike. You stayed leaned against him all the way through the silent mansion, everyone still at the ballroom in town. He led you upstairs an into the adult's wing, a place everyone knew was off-limits to younger children. As soon as the door closed behind you, you looked up at him and broke your habit. You wrapped your gloved arms around his neck, pulling yourself close to him, knowing that he smelled your arousal. His hands wandered down your back, coming very close to the curve of your ass, but stopping just short before making their way back up.

"Logan," you breathed his name, an almost silent plea for him to kiss you.

His hands burrowed into your hair, knocking pins out of place, but you didn't care at all. His lips were on yours, hot, hungry, and insistent. His tongue swiped across your lips and you opened for him. Pulling yourself even closer to him, your tongue twined with his, and you were rewarded with the rich taste that could only be Logan. Beer, cigars, and something so male merged together with a taste you could only identify with him. You could feel him now; feel his erection trapped between your body and his. Moaning into his mouth, you rub against him helplessly. That feeling in your stomach is back, stronger than ever, and you suddenly realize that this is what real desire feels like. He breaks off from your mouth and detached your arms from around his neck. Keeping one arm held in his hands, he places a kiss on the patch of bare skin he was playing with earlier. Then he begins to roll down the gloves, kissing each inch of bare skin as it is exposed. The eroticism nearly has you swooning even as you're wondering if you could ever go back to wearing gloves again. Repeating the process on your other arm, he left the gloves as they are, rolled up in the hallway. Your hands come up to feel his face, memorizing the feel of his skin, the hair on his face, and the soft silk of his hair.

You don't remember moving, but you're suddenly in his bedroom, the door swinging shut behind him. You lick your lips, not out of nervousness, but of anticipation of what is to come. Reaching upwards, you gently unwrap the scarf from around your neck, letting the beaded silk glide through your fingers on its way to the floor. He's already gotten his shoes off, and you do the same, feeling much shorter after stepping out of the heels.

"You're beautiful, you know that?" His gruff voice breaks the silence surrounding you. You smile slightly at the compliment. His hands steal back around to your back and you're suddenly lost in his mouth. You can feel his hands running up and down your back again and you feel your dress start to sag. Rolling your shoulders a bit, the silk slides down your body with a rustle, leaving you clad in three things - the matching bra and panties he gave you that morning and his dog tags, glinting in the soft light. Your hands come up to his shirt and work the small stud through its corresponding hole. Then the next, just as slowly, and then onto the third. You return the favor he did for you by kissing the exposed skin of his chest as each button is released. By the time you're finished with the buttons and push the shirt over his shoulders, his breathing is ragged and a feral light is gleaming in his eyes.

But you know that the feral part of him won't make an appearance just yet. Perhaps it will later on, but not now. With nimble fingers, you undo the cufflinks and they fall with a soft sound to the hardwood floor. The shirt follows them like a flag. You look at each other for a moment before he picks you up and carries you to the bed. Setting you down in the center of the bed, he slips in next to you, and you can feel his arousal nudging insistently at your hip. He leans over and kisses you again, letting you get used to the feeling of so much of your bare skin touching his. His hand moves from the side of your face down your neck, taking a brief detour to trace your collarbones, and then down to where flesh met silk. One finger gently traced the swell of your breast, gently circling inward until he encountered the hard pebble of your nipple. Breaking off from the kiss, his mouth followed the path his hand had blazed. Looking up at you for a second, his mouth descended on your breast, the wet heat through the silk providing an unexpected thrill. Your back arched as you drew in a long, shuddering breath. With each swipe of his tongue, your body moved a bit more, trying desperately to feel his weight on top of you. Your hands tangled in his hair, the soft spikes falling under your insistent fingers.

Then you felt a soft tickling starting under your breasts and moving down your stomach. Your breath caught as you realized it was his hand moving downward, down to where the heat was pooling. You were no stranger to the heat - anyone faced with a life of forced celibacy would become familiar with a certain degree of heat - but you were taken by surprise by the sudden spike in temperature. You wondered if it was possible for anyone to survive this kind of heat. Then his hand cupped you and any kind of rational thought flew out of your head.

And just as suddenly, he pulled away. You whimpered at the loss of contact and opened your eyes to see his hazel eyes staring back at you, dark with passion. He pulled you up, like you were nothing more than a limp rag doll and you felt his hand run down your back, encountering the bra strap. Smiling, one of your hands went back to help assist him with the removal of the now unwanted garment. It suddenly moved upward, its job of having supported the weights of your breasts done. He nearly ripped it off your arms, but refrained from tearing the delicate fabric. He tossed it over his shoulder, not caring where it landed, then set his hands trailing down your stomach. Your breath caught as he started tugging down the silk covering your hips. Raising your lower body just enough to assist him, your panties went flying in the general direction your bra did, and you were naked to his gaze. Not necessarily naked - you were wearing one thing: his dog tags.

You could hear the growl of satisfaction that escaped his throat and you wondered what he saw. Looking him over, your blatant fascination with his skin was interrupted by his dark tuxedo pants. "Logan? Don't you think that you're just a tad overdressed?"

His smile slashed across his face and he leaned over to kiss you, long, through, and deep. When he pulled away, your head swam for a moment. "I'd better keep them on for now."

A delicate blush stained your cheeks. He scooted across the bed until he was lying next to you, propped up on one arm, still gazing at you with his hot, burning eyes. Your arms moved up, bringing his head down to your lips, lips that opened readily for his questing tongue. You felt his hand move down your body once more, cupping you softly, as if you were still encased in the silk. Your hips rolled of their own accordance, demanding more of his touch. He groaned into your mouth, as if he were trying to hold back from hurting you.

Your hips rolled again, more insistent, and this time he took the hint. The Wolverine had been released. He devoured your mouth, and his hands suddenly possessed a knowing touch. One of his fingers dipped inside you, testing and teasing you all at the same time. His thumb found the small bundle of nerves and you jerked uncontrollably when he circled it. Breaking off from your mouth, he growled, and it had to be the sexiest thing that you had ever heard in your life. His fingers moved, constantly circling your clit with his thumb while the rest of his fingers worked you into a frenzy. You could feel that semi-familiar tingle start in your toes and start to work its way up, but his fingers slowed, as if he sensed it and wanted to keep you on the edge for as long as possible.

"Logan, *please,*" you begged, panting as if you had been running for a long distance. Your hands were fisted in the sheets and in his hair, and you couldn't have cared where you hands were, you just wanted release.

"Say it," he demanded in that sexy growl of his, and you didn't have to ask him what he meant. He knew what you felt, just as you knew how he felt, but he wanted to hear the words that would bind you as surely as your bodies would.

Drawing together enough presence of mind to focus your eyes, you stared directly at him, and spoke the words. "I love you, Logan."

His mouth swooped down to recapture a breast while his hand pressed tightly against you, and you briefly remember crying out as the tingle started to burn hotter inside your body until it exploded into a thousand shards and you could have sworn that you saw lights explode in your head. You were still soaring on the wave of your climax, but you heard a rustle of clothing off in the distance, and then felt his naked body move over yours. You welcomed his weight, it only added to the delicious sensations still running through your veins. You felt a blunt probing, then a sudden thrust inside you. Your body stiffened in surprise and a measure of pain. Even though you had explored yourself for years, you were still a virgin. You felt a single tear leak out of your eye before he kissed it away.

"Take it, Marie," he growled.

You couldn't help but give in - you needed relief from the pain. Letting your skin absorb a part of him - just for a second; not enough to hurt him, but enough to give you the needed control - you felt everything that he was, including his bone-deep love, and you reveled in it. Your head was buzzing like you'd had a few too many drinks and you thought that it couldn't get any better than this.

Then he moved, and it got better.

It started slow at first, him letting you get used to the feel of him inside you, then built up in speed, building up the pressure within you both. The tingle was gone; it was replaced instead by what felt like a raging inferno under your skin, an inferno that only grew with each stroke. You suddenly felt that sudden hitch of your breath that always preceded your orgasm, and with another stroke of Logan inside you, you were flung off the cliff, crying, screaming his name as you found your release.

You heard him growl your name in return as he spilled himself inside you, sending off an aftershock that was almost as powerful as the orgasm itself. Rolling off to your side so as not to crush you under his weight, he pulled you with him, and you came closer and closer until not even air could get through your joined bodies. You were skin to skin - and you had your mate. Your Wolverine.

As you drifted off to sleep, you knew that come morning, you would be walking funny and slamming into doors and walls because you couldn't see properly, and it would never put a sweet soul-mate smile on your face - but you wouldn't have it any other way.

-fini