Disclaimer: These characters are the property of Marvel comics, and have been used without the permission of the rights holders for non-profit entertainment purposes only. The lyrics are to the song "Romance," by Gordon Lightfoot, and are reproduced without permission for the same purposes.


Mac O'Roni

You said you were through with romance,
Why take a chance
On anyone?
You’re so beautiful, too,
I can tell by the way that you dance.

They say that people don’t change,
But why rearrange
The original?
You do something to me
That my eyes cannot see at a glance.

     Ordinarily, this wouldn’t be Logan’s choice of places to hang out on a Saturday night. It wasn’t really the kind of place where a guy could just hang out drinking—it was more of a dance club than a bar. But he wasn’t here to drink.
     He’d followed Remy here because he was worried about the brat—ever since he broke up with Rogue this last time, he’d been unusually quiet.
     Well, that wasn’t quite accurate—he’d been dead silent. Gone from a guy you couldn’t get to shut the smack up to a guy you couldn’t get to open his mouth. Irritating little shit—always one extreme or the other. No happy medium at all.
     Logan had already been approached by several young women and a couple of young men—with his rugged, dangerous looks, big muscles, and tight blue jeans he was attractive even if he wasn’t exactly handsome. Remy had bounced from one dance partner to another all night. As good-looking as he was, his dance card would always be full.
     He wasn’t being very selective about his partners tonight, Logan noticed—he danced with anyone who approached him, whether they be female or male. Logan had always suspected the Cajun was bisexual, but this was far from conclusive evidence. The kid liked to dance, he was damn good at it and got off on it in a big way, and when the music started he usually seemed to lose himself in it completely. Tonight was clearly no exception. If anything, he seemed to be running entirely on cruise control, not thinking at all. Just feeling the music.

Signs of a new beginning,
Signs of a life worth living.
The better to forget
Than to be all that upset.
It’s the time to taste the wine.

     Logan knew the kid was totally gone when some slinky little thing in a skimpy black dress started rubbing herself all over him and he didn’t react. Just kept dancing.
     Of course, he danced with her. Moved that gorgeous, jungle cat body in all sorts of sexy, erotic ways—you could see, when he danced, the kind of lover he would be; sleek, wild, uninhibited, incredible. To him, though, it was just dancing. To her, it was a proposition.
     “Let’s get out of here and go back to my place, Sexy,” she murmured. Logan could hear her from the bar.
     That seemed to wake the kid up a little. He blinked, looked at her, and then Logan heard him say, “Sorry, sweet thang. I’m jus’ here t’dance.” Then he turned away from her.
     Good boy, Cajun, Logan thought. You’re too good for that little sex-starved slut.

And maybe someday things will change
And come within range,
And be laughable.
Everything is okay,
I can tell by the way that you dance.

They say that people don’t try.
Well, that’s just a lie.
They work miracles.
It’s a gift from above
When we talk about love and romance.

     The music fell a notch or two—a slow song. It was getting late so the band was getting romantic, trying to move people out and into the hotels. Logan liked the tune, so he got up and weaved his way onto the dance floor.
     When he cut in on the woman currently attempting to ooze up to Gambit the Cajun woke up all the way, looking at him with sudden suspicion and uncertainty. Kid probably thought this was some kind of joke.
     “Logan, what’a’ya—”
     “Never mind, kid—you came here to dance, so dance.”

Signs of a new tomorrow,
Signs of a life without sorrow.
The better to forget
Than to be all that upset.
It’s the time to taste the wine.

     “How you doin’, kid?” Logan asked as the song wore on. He held Remy around the waist, keeping him tight close so he couldn’t escape. “You been awful quiet lately. You gettin’ through this all right?”
     The kid made a nasty face. “I don’ wanna talk about it.”
     “Good, I don’t really wanna hear about it.”
     He danced Remy through two more songs.
     “Ah, mon ami…y’can, y’know, stop worryin’ ‘bout me, if dat’s what dis is about. I’m gettin’ over it jus’ fine—jus’ need a li’l more time ‘fore I can t’ink about it an’ not get pissed, y’know?”
     “I know. Shut up and dance, Gumbo.”

And maybe this time you will be
Romantic like me,
When I’m with you.
And I think you might say,
I can tell by the way that you dance.

They say that people don’t change.
Like “Home on the Range,”
It’s original.
You do something to me
That my eyes cannot see at a glance.

     “Yeah, kid?”
     “I kin’a like dis.”
     Another song, and another. People were starting to look at them, approvingly for the most part, jealously for the rest.
     “Oui, mon ami?”
     “I kin’a like this, too.”

You do something to me
When we talk about love and romance.