I'd had a life time of mistakes, and I'd had enough.

I watched the moon, full and silver-white, high above the lake from the end of
the dock, the water lapping softly, trying to soothe my weary heart.

I fished the long blade from it's sheath against my shin, and tossed it end
over end, catching and tossing the wickedly sharp blade over and over, catching
it every time on the smooth leather handle.

The blade glinted in the light.

I flicked the tails of my duster out behind me, and settled down on the edge of
the dock, toes just above the waters surface. This was as good a place as any.

Laying the blade aside, I unbuckled the Kevlar bracers from around my wrists
and tossed them in the water. My tears fell freely now, hot and wet on my
cheeks.

I'd had it all three times now - Bella, Rogue, and . I can't even think about
it - it's too fresh. Every time, I'd made a mistake, and I'd lost it all.

Three times loved, three times lost, three times a broken heart. Hearts only
mend so many times before they shatter for good.

"Dis heart is done," I whispered to the night.

Bared arms pale under the moon, the blade flashed as it descended, poised to
lay dark, wet trails. I took a final breath, a deep lungful of clean night air,
before the metal kiss.

"Your heart's not done until I say it's done," a deep voice rumbled from the
shadows near the boathouse.

I turned toward the voice, the blade falling from my suddenly nerveless fingers
to clatter on the dock.

"Logan? " I managed to choke out.

"S'not not yours anyway. It belongs to me." The rumble was a melody of pain and
guilt, fire and love. I could feel it, pouring of him, but his voice made it
real.

"T'ought you gone away," I whispered.

"I could never go away, Rem," he said as he stepped forward into the silvery
yellow light. His wild hair, normally deepest black, was shot with silver
streaks and tiny glints of silver danced in his eyes. In partial silhouette, he
emerged from the shadows like a forest spirit.

I heard myself gasp, saw my hand quiver. I visibly shook as he approached.

I hurt, I burned, I hoped.

"I'll never be far. You see," he almost growled, low and with an incredible
heat I could feel inside my chest, "my heart is here."

He pressed his hand against my chest, moving close enough that I could feel his
breath. I didn't dare to hope that he still wanted me, but I couldn't help it.

"Cher, I."

"Shhhhhhh, darlin," he whispered, gently pressing two fingers against my lips.

I watched his eyes soften, and he moved closer, sliding one arm around me. His
fingers almost subconsciously began to trace my lips. I could feel the tears
welling in my eyes; it was too good to stand, he was too good for me.

"Cher, I don' deserve dis," I confessed, touching his chest above the heart.

His chuckle was so low, I could feel it in my soul. I know my hurt must have
registered on my face, because he pulled me tight and caught my eyes in his
dark ones.

"That's what you've never understood, Rem. You deserve *everything*."

He seemed so sure, I could feel it, but it was so hard to believe. I tried to
get away from him, away from that stare.

"Everything," he insisted quietly, holding me still, holding me close, holding
me up.

He was so sure; it couldn't be true, it had to be a mistake.

"Everything," he whispered, gravel and smoke, fear and care, love and truth. He
pulled me down to him, lips on mine, rough tongue sliding along, then between
my lips, tasting, probing, claiming. My heart beat wildly in my chest,
responding in kind to his heart, his love, his truth.

We stayed like that, entwined, for a long time, part of the sounds of the
night, the lapping of the waves, the caress of the moon. When we broke,
gasping, I had to smile. I guess my heart had a little life yet.

"Come to bed with me?" he asked, holding my hand almost shyly.

"Oui," I nodded, feeling his love, his need, and his fear.

He started to pull me toward shore, then stopped suddenly as he spotted the
knife glimmering in the shadows. "One thing, Rem," he started, serious, voice
cracking just a bit.

"Oui, cher."

"No more knives?" he asked, looking into my eyes softly, deeply, worried.

Half an hour ago, I had nothing, but now I had everything. Life is this amazing
terrible thing, and sometimes I forgot that. I sighed inwardly. Another
mistake.

"No, cher. Dat was a mistake. Remy make 'em all de time."

*