ANs: After this one, I'm taking a few days off. My new handful of Grant Morrison X-Men graphic novels are in, so I'm planning to take many hot baths with Logan & co. and let the next few chapters gel. Btw, if you read the comics post the black and white, frenzied early stuff and you want to give me a rec, I'd love to have it. What I'm learning about Wolverine probably won't manifest itself too much in this one, but I'm going to work even harder on characterization, preparing ahead and everything, for my next B/L. All this blah blah blah probably means that despite my best intentions, a new idea will strike, and you'll have another chapter day after tomorrow. Oh well. Hope you like Circles, and I hope that nobody's diappointed by the lack of slugging. I felt that after the year she's had, this reaction was the most realistic. If you hate, feel free to tell me, but I probably won't listen:] Oh ceebee, and any others who were actually worried by my silly blatherings, don't you fret. I'm committed to finishing this. Sometimes I just need to vent a little. Besides, I'm utterly addicted to feedback. I don't know what I'll do between stories. I guess I'll have to write my own imaginary reviews ;] and they'll be completely impartial, of course. Can you imagine? lol "Dear sita, you are precious, perfect, and fantastically fabu, now get off your ass and write something worthy of a real review. I love you, you sexy thing... Sincerely, sita" P's below. Hugs!

Circles

Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters

May 24, 2002 3PM

The moment Buffy walked through the large, heavy mahogany doors, he felt her. It wasn't her smell, although he could have detected her heady sweetness in the middle of a category five hurricane. And it wasn't that he had heard her, although he would recognize the rhythm of her heels if she were on the opposite side of Giants Stadium during a Championship game. He just felt her. It felt like a full-body caress. And with every step closer, the sensation became more insistent.

He passed into her room silently. As he crossed the threshold behind her, Buffy stopped unpacking for a few heartbeats. She lifted her head and stilled her hands, but she did not speak. She looked so prim. So pristine. So far away. Her hair was expertly tied in a little knot, swirled and fastened to the nape of her neck. She wore a white pantsuit and slim white heels. His palms were sweating and his fingers itched to pull her hair down and rip her clothes to shreds. He wanted to put his hands everywhere, to mar her perfection just a little, so that she might be remotely attainable. His fists clenched, then relaxed as she turned her attention back to unpacking. That was when he noticed that she wasn't wearing his ring.

Logan had sent it to her in early January and she hadn't sent it back. Instead, she sent a note saying, "Don't contact me. I'll come when I'm ready to see you." He had allowed himself to hope that she meant she still loved him and would come home to him soon. So he waited. During that time he tried to concentrate on his X-Men duties and teaching, but every night he dreamt of her. Many of the dreams were horrific. He relived her death. He saw her fight and struggle and cry and bleed. He dreamt she was shot. But there were a few dreams that were beautiful. And when he woke from those, they gave him the stamina to continue to wait.

Now she was here. So many times he had fantasized about their reunion, but never once in any of his daydreams had she refused to face him. Turn around, he thought. "Buffy?" he said hoarsely.

Her name on his lips was like ice water in the desert. She knew, as soon as she arrived exactly where he was. She wasn't searching for him with her Slayer senses, somehow she just knew that he was upstairs in his room. So she waited. It was only minutes until he came to her, but it felt like decades.

Even though Giles had assured Buffy that he would welcome her back with open arms, tell her how sorry he was, and how much he still wanted her to be his wife, she was hopeful but unsure. She wore his ring on a hip chain she'd borrowed from Dawn, just in case.

When the engagement ring arrived, she had been so thrilled, but there was nothing in the note to indicate that he still wanted her. All it said was, "This is yours. It belongs with you." She didn't want to wear it on her hand again until he put it back on her finger, but she always carried it, in pockets, in her purse, and on patrol, tied around her neck under her shirt.

She even took it with her to show Faith when she visited her in prison. She wasn't sure why, maybe as a conversation piece? Not. Who was she kidding? Sitting there across the glass from Faith, suddenly she found the words, the story spilling from her lips like water over the edge of a fountain, as if she and the fallen Slayer were long lost friends. Faith listened, asked questions, and then told her to get her ass back to New York pronto. It seemed like decent advice then, not in the least bit reckless, but now she wasn't so certain.

"Buffy. Turn around." He remained still for a moment, anticipating. Did I just say that out loud?

But he must have said it, he realized, because she did. All senses except sight were dampened, as he watched her. She was dazzling, gorgeous, but there was no smile, no frown, and nothing in her eyes to indicate what she was feeling. Her skin was alabaster and flawless. Her lips were still pert, soft, beckoning, and his name rolled off her tongue with such aching sweetness, his stomach spasmed in delight. "Logan. How have you been?"

He was a glorious dark god. Ferocity, passion, and a kind of lethal grace marked his every gesture as he stepped closer. He was simultaneously savage and serene, and the way he looked at her sent tiny pinpricks of fire over her entire body. His eyes seemed to be studying her face. He can still pierce me through with a glance, she thought ruefully. She had missed everything about him. Closing her eyes briefly she inhaled his vetiver, woodsy scent. Beating down blazes of longing demanding that she reach out to touch his skin, to slip her hands into his silky hair, she waited. Then he spoke again. "Good. You?"

"Fine." His body raged at him to push her, press her back into the soft mattress and take her slowly. He wanted to grind into her until there was no place she could hide; he wanted to bury himself, to lose and to find himself in her. He took one step closer, and then he realized something wasn't right.

Logan circled her, scenting the air. It was subtle, but something was definitely wrong. She smelled like Buffy, but there was another scent mingled with hers. Spike.

"What the hell have you been doing?" he demanded, taking Buffy completely by surprise. "You've been intimate with the dead again, haven't you? For God's sake Buffy, Spike's all over you. You stink of him."

For the first time in his presence, Buffy was frightened. He was acting so strangely, almost like Oz used to before the night of a full moon. His tone was icy, with undercurrents of an animalistic fury she never imagined he possessed. She closed her eyes and waited, hoping that this would all just go away.

Logan nudged her, sniffing at her hair, her neck, all around her. "He's in your skin, in your breath, in your hair, everywhere. What did you think? I wouldn't be able to tell? A little soap and toothpaste and the scent would be gone?"

She wanted to run, to tear out of the room as fast as she could, but there was no where she could go that he wouldn't be able to follow. Her gut was telling her to strike first and strike hard before he hurt her. But she remained still, waiting, hoping for his anger to abate.

"I'll kill him. Where is he? Still in Sunnydale... or did you stash your lover at a local motel? Wherever he is, he's dust, Buffy."

Buffy laughed eerily, shakily. If he hadn't been so unhinged by his growing, seething anger, he would have been afraid for her. "What's so funny? You think I won't do it? You think I can't track him?"

She let out a muffled, hysterical sob and tears began to stream down her face. "It was a few weeks ago. It was nothing. He kissed me, and it was strong and it felt so good... and you weren't around. You were never around, not even most of the time we were engaged. I know I shouldn't have let him. But then I tried to stop it. I... He didn't stop at first. He touched me. He tried to change my mind. I hit him hard and he left. I haven't seen him since. It was nothing, just a misund..."

"It was nothing? You let him put his tongue in your mouth and his hands on you and that's nothing?" Buffy heard two distinct 'snikt' sounds and, startled, she lifted her head from her hands.

Logan pushed her out of the way attacked her suitcase, tearing and rending her clothes and bag. Buffy stood still, impotently frozen in place, until he wailed, "Get out of here before I lose control... I could kill you..."

"Get out of here! GET... OUT..."

Buffy ran out of the room, down the stairs and into the manor's entrance gallery. She flung open the front door and hurried down the sandstone steps. Where could she go? She didn't have a car. Just as she reached the white gravel drive, she heard Charles Xavier's voice behind her, "Buffy, where are you running to?"

"What? He's crazy. Certifiable. He's upstairs now, ripping my room apart," she cried.

"Yes, I know."

Buffy dragged herself back up the stairs. Shaking her head, she moaned, "He's dangerous. You have a school full of kids. Do something!"

"He would never harm anyone under this roof. And you know that. He's taking his pain and grief out on inanimate objects, and while that it regrettable, I cannot blame him."

"Can't you stop him?"

Xavier shook his head sadly, and reached out a hand for her. As soon as she took it, he began, "Buffy, you know no one can stop him. Except perhaps you, if he were angry at someone else. But he's not in any shape to be reasonable... Please come back inside and sit with me for a little while. I'll keep you company while you wait." Buffy followed grudgingly, fighting against instincts telling her to do everything possible to evade the kind of emotional pain only Logan's disappointment and disillusionment could create. As they passed through the library's French doors, Xavier indicated she should sit down in one of the leather club chairs by the fireplace. Buffy pulled it closer to his wheelchair and sat down.

"I'd like to tell you a story."

"A what?" Buffy gasped.

"It is a story about a wolf who loved a woman."

"Professor!" Buffy groaned. "One of your teachers is upstairs losing it."

"Just listen," he sighed. "And then, if you still want to go, Scott will fly you home."

Buffy shifted, trying to get comfortable. She was anything but. Shedding her pumps, she swiveled, leaned against the side of the chair, and drew her legs up next to her.

Charles took a deep breath. He needed to share with her how difficult Logan's life had been since her very first visit. He searched his mind for a way to convey the loneliness and desolation Logan had experienced during her absences. He decided to continue telling the story wrapped in a fable. "This wolf loved his woman deeply, but he never told her he was trapped by an evil spell. He wanted her remain free and strong. He allowed her to live her life beyond the shadow of his painful, debilitating secret. Over and over, she came to him and left. And he loved her as well and as fiercely as he could when she was with him, even though he knew she would leave and he would have to walk through fire until she returned."

Two hours later, Buffy struggled up the stairs. During the story, she had experienced a mélange of emotions. So many, that now her head ached and all she wanted to do was find a place to hide, to cry for a solid week. But she couldn't do that, not yet.

Apparently, she needed Logan. And he needed her.

She stopped at her bedroom door, expecting to find Logan inside. Everything in sight, everything that was there when she arrived and everything she brought with her was torn and tattered. But she was too numb to care, and he was gone.

When she arrived at his room, she hesitated briefly, then opened the door and walked inside. Logan was leaning against a windowsill looking out into the garden. All of the glass and panes were broken out, and a slight breeze tussled his hair, but everything else in the room seemed to be intact.

"Christ, Buffy, don't come in here. I can't stand it."

"Ok," she replied blandly, and turned around. But before she got to the doorway, he was behind her. He touched her shoulder lightly.

"Wait."

"Ok," she shrugged and walked past him to sit down on the bed.

"Buffy, I'm sorry. It's hard to take... what you did... but I would never hurt you and I never wanted to scare you, I just..." he said, as he edged closer to her.

Buffy fell back into the middle of his bed, "What? Oh that... S'ok. I'm over it. Mind if I lie down? It's been a really crappy day."

Watching her as she stretched out on his bed, kicked her shoes off, and slipped a pillow under her head, Logan's blood began to heat. "Buffy, that's not such a good idea. This isn't what you want. I'm not what you want. Being with me, it would be a prison. Just leave this place. Run away and never come back. You shouldn't have to live like this... You shouldn't be here...."

"That's not what I hear," she snorted sarcastically. "I have recently been informed that this is exactly where I'm supposed to be... Professor Xavier told me about the spell."

"God. Buffy. Are you alright?" he asked, clearly startled.

She didn't answer at first. Instead, she pressed her face into the pillow and snuggled into the fabric. "Do I really reek of Spike? I can't smell it."

"A tiny bit..." he began. Relief washed over him and a small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, "After what you heard, are you going to slug me? Or Giles? Or the Professor?"

"Hmm... slugging... tempting... but no... mostly I want to cry and then I want to sleep. Maybe I'll take a hot bath after." Pausing for a moment, she seemed to be trying to concentrate on what else he'd said, "Am I alright? That's kind of funny..." she said as she chuckled softly.

Rolling over to look at him, she sat up slowly and began pulling out her hairpins. As her hair fell around her shoulders, she raked her fingers through it, trying to smooth out the tangles, and he caught himself before he joined her on the bed. "I feel strange..." she confessed distractedly. "Like I've been climbing circular stairs in an Escher painting for a long time... My head hurts. I'm confused. I'm wondering if anything I ever knew about who and what I am and our relationship is true. I'm hurt and frustrated by your apparent inability to forgive a single mistake, after you lied to me by omission for years. I'm angry that once again decisions were made for me, instead of with me."

At that, Logan lowered his eyes, seemingly contemplating his red duvet cover. Buffy laid back against the pillows, and continued quietly, "I'm also humbled by your outrageous and numerous sacrifices. I'm sad that because nobody talked to me about this spell, you suffered needlessly and we wasted so much time. And I feel guilty for being so blind. Plus, I haven't had a decent night's sleep in ages... I'm just so overwhelmed and drained, I'm numb."

Logan sighed and stepped forward plaintively, "I'm so sorry, Buffy. If I could have spared you any of this..."

"Save it, Logan," she said tiredly. "No slugging, remember. You're getting off easy - so just keep this in mind the next time I screw up big. Besides, I've stopped listening to you anyway, so be quiet and get into this bed."

It seemed to Buffy that everything that needed to be said, had been said. When she entered his room, she wasn't planning on climbing into his bed. But she could barely keep her eyes open, and he had stabbed and slashed hers to pieces so he could damn well share. Circumspectly, she sat up and pulled off her jacket; then she unzipped her pants and shimmied out of them, depositing both on the floor. Finally, she rolled over, pulled back the covers, tucked herself inside, and closed her eyes.

"Yes, ma'am," he laughed huskily. And then she heard him yanking off his boots. In his haste, one went flying out of his hand, across the room, and thudded against the wall. Buffy wanted to help him when she heard his jeans unzipping. After all, four hands are faster than two, she admitted to herself. However, she was so comfortable that thinking about helping was the most she could hope to accomplish.

As he lifted the covers and slid between the sheets, she whispered, "If you want to make amends, you can hold me while I sleep. After my nap, I will require many, many backrubs... every day for the rest of your life. I sincerely hope you have the upper body strength to support my outrageous demand. If not, prepare to suffer."

Logan pulled her back against his chest and both of them inhaled quickly at the contact. He began kissing her neck softly, but Buffy whacked his arm in mock irritation. "Stop it. Now we sleep. There'll be plenty of time for smoochies later."

He chose to pretend she hadn't said that. Sliding his hand along the profile of her body, he touched something small, round and sharp, resting on top of her hip.

"What's that?"

"That's my ring, Logan," Buffy intoned breathily, her body beginning to rouse beneath his hand. "You said it belonged with me, so that's where it is. By the way, when did you want to get married, tomorrow or the day after?"

(end chapter)

Personal ANs:

Anna: Hey chica! I know, I love to torture Logan, not that the character's not tortured enough already, but hey… c'est comme-ca. Don't worry to much about Logan's pain. As you can see, he's feeling quite a bit better now. And yeah, poor Angel. He's got a lot on his mind lately, what with Conner and Cordy, etc. I was hesitant to add Dawn and Buffy onto his plate, but then I thought, why not? Glad you're still reading:]

Pay-day1999: Hey bebe! Glad you liked the interaction. The thing about Angel and Dawn is that if Dawn had memories of seasons 1-3, she would probably have some resentment toward him because he left town, but that's 3 years of history where she would have had frequent contact with him, when he wasn't Angelus, and she would have talked to Buffy about him. Remember how much Buffy mooned over him with Willow? I assume Dawn has memories of the same thing with her. Also, she really doesn't really know Logan. They've met, they've hung out a little, but she probably was wondering why she wasn't allowed to be there for the proposal. She would have felt left out, I think. Also, the morning after, Buffy would have no doubt dropped the bombshell about moving away from Sunnydale when she and Logan got married. Just my take on it. I could be completely full of it, in order to make this work (shrugs) You decide:]

Prophetess of Hearts: Hey sweetpea! Whoo hoo! Talk about an ego fiesta! I love it when y'all get into the characters. As far as Dawnie goes, it's cool – try not to be too hasty. She was just taking up for big sis, just like Buffy looks after her. Although I didn't take the time to write the scene, I envision Buffy rushing into the room, very upset – maybe crying – taking off the ring. Buffy probably would have asked her to give it back to Logan on her behalf, just so she didn't have to face him again. Think it over, then let me know what you come up with. Dawn will come back from this. The story's not over yet:]

Reviewer X: Hey sug! (Don't you like that name better than anonymous?) Anyway, thanks for taking the time to let me know you liked it. And so many chapters in one sitting? Wow! Makes me feel great. Hope you liked this latest effort, and don't be so shy. I promise I'm not a scary stalker. You can leave your handle without your email addy:]