It was alien in the way that things that defied categorization seemed to be, and Jean Grey might have disliked that if it hadn't fascinated her. He'd pressed her against the wall of her lab an hour before, whispering things that made her blush and turn her head away. Fingers too-familiar against the skin of her waist over her shirt. She'd pushed him away and after he left, leaned against her desk and took a deep breath, still smelling him on her skin.
An hour later, she roamed the halls in Scott's pajama bottoms and a t-shirt and watched Rogue leave her room, hugging the shadows--frail, small, wrapped up in so many layers that you wondered how she survived Westchester summers.
Jean stepped back and watched the girl creep downstairs. Blanket trailing behind her. Looked maybe twelve on a good day. Followed her because there was nothing better to do and insomnia found entertainment wherever it showed itself.
Rogue knew where she was going though, and it was a distinct surprise it wasn't the kitchen, for ice cream or cookies, her preferred midnight snack. Veered off, toward the rec room, and the faint sounds of the television gave Jean a good idea what the girl was after. No lights, only the faint glow from the screen outlining the man stretched out on the sofa. Rogue paused at the door.
"Come on in, kid." Never looked back--probably had that scent imprinted into his bones by now, and Rogue made the quick trek across the floor, feet almost soundless, and Jean watched him shift over so she could curl up beside him. "Bad night?"
"Yeah." A breathy pause, could have been a soft sob. Jean watched the girl shift and Logan pushed the blanket out of his way, getting his beer off the coffee table. "Tell me a story."
Something endearingly childlike and Rogue glanced up at him, smiling softly. Thirteen maybe, a girl that looked like she should be deciding what Barbies to play with. It changed her image of him, to see him curl an arm around the little girl, pushing her hair back. Comforting her after a bad night.
"There's a thousand of those, baby."
"Tell me again how you'll do it."
"Mmm." A pause, and Jean blinked. "Which one?"
Rogue nodded slowly, thinking it over.
"Mystique first."
"The shapeshifter. Good one." An amused rumble, then one hand rested on her stomach, and the sharp sound of metal as they came out, shining eerily in the faint buzz of television light, and Rogue ran a gloved finger absently over the edges of the metal. "Dead or wounded?"
"Wounded."
"Good choice. Stomach. One twist to the left, a quick jerk until it hits the ribs." A pause and the claws went back in, knuckles pressed against her belly. Her eyes were wide, taking it in. "Don't hit a major organ."
"How long was it last time?"
"She was outta circulation for three months healing from that--probably required some interesting surgery." A low chuckle and he took another drink of his beer. "Who else?"
"Sabretooth."
"Hard one." He seemed to muse that for a few moments. "Dead or wounded?"
"Dead." Slightly edged voice.
"Long or short?"
"Long."
"Throat first, straight back to the vertebrae." A slight slashing motion in the air that Rogue watched intently. "Chest, sternum to belly, across the stomach in one smooth line. Not too deep--wanna watch it happen."
"Good. I like that."
"Thought you might." An approving rumble, before she shifted so her head was on his chest. "Tied up?"
"Yeah. Against the wall. He'll watch his guts spill out on the floor, right?"
"Oh yeah."
"Fast regeneration."
"Yeah. Only makes it more fun. Let him sit there and heal for awhile--no way to fix that. Who next?"
"Eric." And there it was, that special sort of spite that Jean had never known Rogue was even capable of. Watched Logan thread bare fingers through her hair gently as the girl shivered in memory.
"Mmm. Yeah." Another note in his voice, like Rogue's, like something else she'd only felt, never heard. Warm satisfaction. Comfortable hate. Something they shared, a point of bonding.
Disturbing as all hell and Jean wondered why she'd stayed this long, listening to this.
"Tell me how you'll do it." The little gloved hand was absently tracing the flannel covered chest beside her cheek. Logan reached down, taking her fingers, turning over the palm.
"Hardest one yet, baby."
"You know."
"I do know." A pause, and he shifted, the hand on her hip stroking idly. "Only two ways, neither of them fair."
"I like it dirty."
"I do too. He's sleepin', never expectin' it. Slip in, claws straight through his chest. Run through the heart. He'll bleed to death in under ten seconds."
"Too fast."
"Under the fifth rib, cut the heart. Bleed to death slower, fifteen minutes. No doctor on earth could save him then."
"He could hurt you still." Rogue half sat up but Logan pressed her back down.
"When he's that weak, he ain't gonna be interested."
"Mmm. Still dangerous. Desperate." She sounded thoughtful. "Might be able to do some damage. I can help."
"You could, huh? Whadya do?" Cuddling her a little, tilting her head up so he could see her eyes.
"You stay outside, so he doesn't know you're there." A pause. "He'll be alone and he won't think much of me when I come in, even without my gloves. But I'm not wearing metal anywhere."
"Nothing. Even the tags."
She frowned.
"Why?"
"Could choke you to death."
"Mmmm. Didn't think of that." She mused for a second, still frowning. "Okay, I'll leave them with you."
"Since they were mine--" Softly teasing.
"Yeah." A smile, brilliant in the glare of the television. "I need a weapon." She frowned again. "I don't have claws. I can use a knife though."
"What kind?" Logan took another drink of his beer and Rogue frowned again.
"Swiss army?" She mulled that for a moment. "Too quick. Serrated edges."
"Hunting knife. Sharp forward edge, serrated back. Slice and pull."
Rogue lit up immediately.
"Got it. Pull it out, stalk him. He won't believe I can do it."
"He doesn't know you baby." A caress of her hair and she leaned into it briefly, eyes closing.
"Put it through his--stomach? Serrated edge down?"
"Nah. Just below the ribs, pull up between into the bottom of the heart and crack the sternum. Shred the heart from below, but not enough to completely stop blood flow."
Rogue frowned again, looking down at him.
"Will it kill him?"
"Yeah. Not too fast, though. You'll have some time."
"Cut his throat with the serrated side. He can choke on his blood. Right at my feet." She got a dreamy expression on her face. "I'll kneel right beside him and I'll be the last thing he sees before he dies. So he knows."
"Yeah. That's perfect. Better than mine." A grin of pure pride and she sighed, shifting back down, resting her head against his chest. "Sleepy now?"
"Yeah. I'll have good dreams." Rogue snuggled into his chest as Logan threw the empty can toward the general area of the trashcan and pulled up the blanket over them both, finding the remote and flipping the television off.
"Night, darlin'."
"Night, Logan." Her voice was sleepily content. "Thanks."
"Anytime, baby."
It was a long time before Jean Summers went to bed that night.
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Author's Chapter Notes:
For Sare, because I thought she'd like it, and Diebin, who encouraged me to post, and Beth, who said it was a Hannibal moment.