It’s June. June. Six months, for chrissakes.
I’m on vacation. It’s been good to have a couple weeks off, get to hang around the Mansion, not having to worry about ordinary day-to-day crap like cooking and cleaning. I suck at both—you should see my apartment. And my homegirl Rogue needed some serious cheering up.
My fault, partly.
Roguey showed up here a couple of years ago, in the tow of the biggest, baddest semi-X-Man of them all. I took one look at them, cute little Southern belle and her big tough protector, and I thought, Aw, isn’t this just ‘A Portrait of Jenny’ waiting to happen.
What? I read.
I told the big X to put Rogue in with Kitty and me. I spent enough time as a runaway to spot that particular brand of shell-shock. Therapy for mutants is a waste of time, we just gotta deal with what we are, but most of the kids here are really just going to prep school, with extras. I mean, so you can freeze atmospheric water or pop fireworks, so what? No one’s gotta know that. Rogue was a little different. Her mutation’s kind of isolating, her parents couldn’t deal, then this creep she ran into on the road showed her rather forcibly that it wasn’t protective enough to keep her from getting hurt, and when she first got here she was pretty raw. I did the big sister thing, let her get her feet under her, made sure Wolvie knew I’d look out for her while she was sorting out the best way to muddle through the transition.
Big lug. I thought he and I were tighter than this. I probably should have just sat him down and spelled it out for him in black and white. But you know, I never thought he’d let it go this far, and I sorta didn’t want to step on their whole final-scene-of-the-movie thing.
What? I like romance, okay? You don’t know me that well.
After Rogue graduated, she decided to take a year off before college and I thought that was a good idea. She was working pretty intensively with Jean and the Professor on her control issues, and there’s no rush about these things. I wasn’t around as much, being on the team and all, but I knew things were changing with her. She was getting kind of antsy—Kit and me were off doing our own thing and so were most of her friends, and then Wolvie took off for parts unknown for a couple months in the fall. He wasn’t exactly trying to cover his tracks and I kind of kept an ear to the ground so I’d know when he finally made his mind up to do the obvious thing and go tell her how he felt. I was up north in December, picking up a teenager who’d just manifested—she could transmute organic materials, it was pretty cool—and I knew he was doing the fight circuit up there, so I decided to drop in and see how the whole introspection thing was coming along for him.
He actually seemed happy to see me. Me and Wolves get along good. Ever since he found out I was on board for watching out for his girl, he’s been my buddy, and we work together real well in the field, whenever he deigns to join us. He even bought me a drink and invited me to stay and watch. I’d never seen him working civilian, so to speak, and he was showing off a little, probably so I could go back and tell stories. I was a little envious of Rogue that night, let me tell you—watching the Wolverine all sweaty and shirtless, whoo-boy. I guess that’s why I decided to push matters on a little. I thought it was time. You can’t blame me. All night long I’d been catching him up on the skinny back at the Mansion, and most of the time he was barely listening, but anything I said about Rogue—wow. His whole attitude would change and he just soaked up every word. So I did this whole since-you’re-coming-back-for-Christmas-anyway act and got him into the car.
Okay, mea culpa. I thought he was ready. Note to self: any given situation, when a man is involved, even if you don’t think you have to explain, explain. It saves trouble.
So I hauled his clueless ass back to Westchester, and I woke Rogue up at the crack of dawn and took her shopping. Didn’t have to spell anything out for my chica, thank you very much. I thought the Vera Wang touch was pretty slick, personally. You shoulda seen her. I watched when she walked into that party and half the guys in the room practically left their eyeballs on the floor. She did it like a pro—made him get her a drink, cut him right out of the herd and took him off somewhere private. I spent the next hour patting myself on the back, until my curiosity got the better of me and I went to sneak a peek. Got to keep on top of the gossip around here. So I’m nosy. So sue me.
She was curled up on the floor crying her eyes out. Damn it, damn it, damn it. I never thought the son-of-a-bitch could be that clueless. I should have taken precautions with that motorcycle. Apparently the shock treatment was too much for him and he took off like a bat out of hell. Sigh. All the weary work to do again. I picked up the pieces and got Rogue upstairs, but by the time I went looking for him he was long gone. And this time he didn’t leave a trail.
I tell you, that man’s afraid to be happy.
The worst thing is watching Rogue go through it. I’m trying to keep out of it this time—obviously my skills as a matchmaker leave something to be desired. She’s all hung up on this idea that he split because he didn’t want her and didn’t want to hurt her. Bullshit. Anybody with eyes can see how he feels. I swear to God, even Scott Summers, Fearless Leader and the King of All Clueless Men, stopped me after a workout the other day and inquired oh-so-casually if I’d heard from Wolverine lately. Since his pissy attitude towards the whole Rogue-and-Wolverine-are-meant-to-be idea has pretty much been a spoke in the wheel from the get-go, I just gave him a dirty look and left. Let him squirm. Might do him some good.
But if Wolvie doesn’t quit vying for the title in the Clueless Stakes pretty soon, I’m gonna have to pack up Rogue and take a road trip. There are limits to how clueless any one man’s allowed to be.
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Author's Chapter Notes:
Jubilee takes a turn. Short and sweet.