2. Self-Control
She knew it was him, just from the knock. The sound was *him* in a way she couldn't possibly describe, but recognized every time.
He didn't ask to come in, just did, and even though seeing him still made her skin crawl, she thought he looked good. Like he was less than thirty minutes out of the shower, standing there in a jacket that probably cost more than everything in the apartment combined. She could live for a week on the money from one of those stupid X insignias alone.
"I didn't say you could come in." She sounded like a petulant child, but she couldn't help it. Why couldn't he just leave her alone?
He looked around. "Nice place ya got here."
"No, it isn't." It was a pit, actually. A new low, even for her.
"I know."
"And it's not mine." It belonged to a guy named Stu, who was probably a drug dealer, and used the place to fuck his mistress.
"I know that, too."
"I already told you I'm not joining your band of merry do-gooders." How many weeks in a row was this, now?
"Yeah, I remember." He shrugged. "I'm persistent. You can hold it against me."
"Among other things."
The words hit him dead-center. His face was devoid of expression, as if he had no reaction at all, but he suddenly loomed a little taller as his relaxed posture vanished.
"I didn't have a choice," he said, just before the silence stopped being awkward and became unbearable.
That was the most he'd ever said on the matter, and she was surprised to hear that much.
"Neither did I." Petulant again. God, hadn't she grown up at all?
"Yeah, you did. It was either me or Creed. You know if I hadn't done it, he would've. And he woulda liked it."
The first time, it had taken eight men to get the job done. Six to hold him still, and two to hold her down and make her touch him long enough to get it to work.
The next time, they just threw them in the same cell. She hadn't been able to move, and he wouldn't come near her. Not until Wraith showed up with the tranq gun and the cordless drill.
That had been the worst one, because those long minutes with Wraith had been front and center in his mind when they spread her hand over his bloodied face. She'd lived with that image for days, the way the drill bit looked as it got closer and closer to his eye.
The next time, they used the drill on her.
After that, he did what he was supposed to do, and she knew that he didn't like to look at her as he did it, because he hated her fear of him, and the way she resented him so goddamn much.
She couldn't help it, though. Of all the horrible things about that place, he was the worst. His memories were gruesome, his rage overwhelming. And because he existed, they could beat her again and again and again, send her into the most unthinkably dangerous situations, and she couldn't even hope she would die.
Then they wiped his mind again, and the next time they put them together he didn't understand what was going to happen. But she remembered the drill, so she did what she was supposed to do.
He didn't know who she was or why she was hurting him, and that was the first time she truly felt sorry for him. At the same time, she probably would have given anything to have them erase her memory, too.
And that was part of the problem. He remembered what had happened between them in there, but he didn't remember it all. Not by a long shot. He didn't remember the drill.
Maybe that was why he could still stand to be around her.
She hadn't been there for the end of Weapon X, hadn't seen the famous X-Men in action. She'd been in a massage parlor in Washington, waiting for a Chinese scientist to show up for his weekly handjob. The shape-shifter masquerading as the massage girl jumped when their com-links filled their ears with static and then went dead. They'd exchanged confused glances, and then bolted.
Out on the street, the car was gone.
The Weapon X agents were gone.
They were free.
She left her headset in the gutter, and never saw the shapeshifter again.
He'd started showing up a few months later, and her first reaction had been utter terror. Her first thought that Weapon X had sent him to bring her in. Her second thought that if she could make the two blocks to the bridge before he caught her, chances were good she could hit the water and be dead before he could use his damnable mutation on her, and she wouldn't have to go back.
But he wasn't there for Weapon X. He *was* trying to bring her into the fold, though.
He wanted her to join the Church of Charles Xavier.
She'd given up on being saved a long time ago.
Just the thought of Creed made her shudder, and she forced herself to sidestep the memories--both his and hers--that sprang up at the mention of his name. Like all those times before, dealing with Logan was the more pleasant option, so she went with it.
"So neither of us had a choice. Now we do. When are you going to stop trying to rescue me?"
He shrugged. "I dunno. When are you going to stop hating me?"
"Plenty of people hate you," she said. Something that might have been anger flared in his eyes before he turned away. "Why the hell should I matter so much?"
"You don't," he said, right before he slammed the door behind him.
Liar, she thought, as she stood at the window and watched him climb into an obscenely huge SUV. Double-parked, of course.
The parking lights came on, but it was a minute or two before he drove away, and she could almost picture him, hands clenched on the steering wheel, mouth a grim line. Tamping down his anger, because when he didn't, people got hurt.
He didn't make an appearance the following week. The week after that she saw the SUV parked down the block, but the only knock on her door was a drunken woman looking for Stu. Wife or another mistress, she had no clue, but Rogue's presence in the apartment had been treated with suspicion and disdain.
Another week went by with no sign of him, but she saw the X-Men on the news, keeping the peace in some country she'd never heard of. The footage contained one close-up shot of him, looking dirty and disheveled. It made her think of the last time she'd seen him, when he'd looked freshly showered, and smelled a little like shaving cream.
Later on, as she sat on the windowsill and smoked a cigarette, she realized that she'd seen Logan on TV, and she hadn't once thought of Weapon X.
Only of him standing in her apartment, wanting to take her home with him.
At the end of that week, the SUV showed up again, parked across the street.
She paced the apartment, smoking cigarette after cigarette. She checked the window every so often, not sure if she wanted to see the truck or not. An hour later her hands were shaking from the nicotine, her throat was raw from the smoke, and she was out of cigarettes.
She went to the window.
He was still there.
She needed more cigarettes.
It took way longer than it should have to find her boots, but he was still there.
Her backpack bounced against her shoulders as she bolted down the back stairs. She checked the alley first, wondering if she'd find him leaning against the Dumpster when she peeked around the door, but it was empty.
She paid for the smokes with a dollar bill and two fistfuls of change, but the terminally bland guy behind the counter showed no reaction as he counted it out into his palm. Her fingers were still shaking when she picked up the cigarettes, so she crammed her hands in the front pockets of her jeans and left them there as she walked up the block.
She came up on the SUV from behind. He jumped when she opened the passenger door, then scowled at her in what she figured was an attempt hide his embarrassment at being taken by surprise. He'd been watching her place and hadn't expected her to show up on this side of the street.
The fact that she'd snuck up on him made her feel like grinning as she climbed in and tossed her backpack into the back seat. She tapped the pack of cigarettes against the heel of her hand instead. "Fine. You win."
He looked over the seat at the backpack, and then at her. "Can't smoke in Chuck's cars," he said, gesturing toward her cigarettes with an unlit cigar. Then he stuffed the stogie into his smug grin and said, "And I knew I would."
She tossed the cigarettes on the dash, making a big show of irritation, but she didn't really need one. Her throat still hurt. "Yeah, well, I'm not gonna be your best friend or anything, so don't get too excited."
The seatbelt reminder chimed as he started the engine. She reached for hers, but he checked the side mirror and pulled away from the curb without fastening his.
He looked over at her and grinned around the cigar. "I bet I can change your mind about that, too."
End
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Author's Chapter Notes:
Date Completed: February 22nd, 2004. (Posted October 5th, 2004)