The boys were all exhausted and didn’t have much interest in the sandwiches Logan and Rogue had prepared for them. Elizaveta was sleeping in Rogue’s old room.
While the five boys picked at their food, Logan and Rogue discussed it and neither of them felt it was right to leave a lone girl in a dorm full of boys. When they broached the subject with the boys, it was Logan who made sure the important points were covered.
“You have to understand it’s not because we don’t trust you to treat her right,” he rumbled calmly.
“It’s just that it isn’t quite proper,” Rogue interjected.
The boys didn’t answer. Max pulled the meat from his sandwich and chewed on it thoughtfully while he considered Logan and Rogue.
“Plus, given what she’s been through today, we think it’s important that we keep her close to us for a while.” Logan tossed that into the room like a challenge, daring any of the boys to answer it.
Max growled faintly and exchanged looks with the other boys. As the oldest, it seemed they had elected him spokesman while Logan and Rogue had been having their own discussion. “We think you’d both be royal asses if you stuck the poor girl in a wing of the dorm all by herself. At least in here somebody’ll be just down the hall for her.” The other boys nodded solemnly and pushed the remains of their food around their plates.
“Ah’m - we’re - so glad ya feel that way,” Rogue said, so relieved she didn’t even take the boy to task for his language. “Ya’ll want dessert?” She lifted a plastic container of chocolate chip cookies from the counter and, after removing the cover, placed it in the center of the kitchen table. The boys swarmed over it with sudden enthusiasm.
“Hey!” Logan protested, reaching into the rapidly emptying container to snag a few cookies. “Leave some for us, will you?” Rogue accepted the cookie he offered her with a gentle smile. She tipped her head in inquiry when he didn’t eat any of the other cookies and instead rummaged around in the cupboard for a smaller container. Logan caught her look as he snapped the lid into place. Shrugging, he explained, “For the munchkin, if she feels like it later.”
Rogue’s heart clenched. To distract herself from her emotional state, she clapped her hands quietly to get the boys’ attention.
“All right, Ah saw ya each came with a backpack. Ya’ll have toothbrushes and a change o’ clothes at least?”
A soft chorus of “yeah” was the only response.
“Good. Finish up the cookies and then Logan’ll get ya’ll settled in the dorm. Tomorrow we’ll see about gettin’ ya some more clothes an’ anythin’ else ya think you’ll need.”
The children obediently finished the cookies and filed out the door ahead of Logan, each of them saying a soft, “Good night, Miss Rogue.”
“Good night, boys,” she returned, her voice just as soft. “Ya’ll let us know if ya need anythin’, hear?”
Jackson, the last of the boys out the door, cast a shy smile at her over his shoulder. Logan cupped his hand around the back of the boy’s neck and squeezed gently. “Come on,” he said gruffly, sensing that Rogue needed some time to herself.
* * *
When Logan returned to the cabin a little less than thirty minutes later, he found Rogue sitting at the now clean kitchen table poring over the students’ files.
“Some of them had it even worse’n Ah did,” she murmured to Logan without turning to look at him. “Trent was on his own for two years ‘fore the professor found him.”
Leaning over her shoulder to peer at the top file, Logan saw that Trent was now just thirteen and had been at the school for a little over two years. “That means he was what? Eight, nine and on the streets alone? How’d he survive?” Logan’s voice was laced with a great deal of admiration for the boy.
“By avoidin’ cities and eatin’ what he grew. Apparently he’s always looked different an’ it got more pronounced when his mutation manifested. He was six when that happened, Logan. His parents locked him up in the basement an’ he eventually got sick from the lack o’ light.”
“You mean like a plant would?”
“Yeah. He worked the boards off one o’ the windows by using what energy he had to grow a vine around them until it loosened the nails enough for him to push them away.”
Logan grunted. “Resourceful little bugger.”
“Yeah, little,” Rogue said sadly, tracing Trent’s picture with her fingers. “Ah thought I had it rough an’ Ah was ten whole years older’n he was when my parents turned me out. An’ Ah was only on the road for ‘bout eight months ‘fore Ah met you.”
Logan smoothed a hand over her hair and pressed a gentle kiss to the top of her head. “What about the others?” he asked.
“Max’s mother was a tightrope walker at a traveling circus. He left only a few months ago when she tried to convince him that he should do what the ringmaster wanted an’ wear a collar an’ eat live chickens for the audience.”
“Yuck,” Logan said, his mild tone almost disguising the disgust he felt for Max’s mother.
“Yeah,” Rogue murmured, pulling another file toward her. “Oh, poor Michael,” she moaned. “His whole family died in a house fire when he was ten. He ran an’ hid on the streets for almost three years, thinkin’ all that time that he had started the fire in his sleep.”
“He didn’t?”
“No,” Rogue said, tapping a section about Michael’s admittance to the school. “When the professor found out about him, he got access to the police report; it was faulty wirin’ that started the fire. Michael was only able to survive because o’ his mutation.”
“When was that?”
“He came to the school only six months ago.”
Logan sighed and scrubbed his hands over his face wearily. “So the kid lived with the guilt of thinkin’ he killed his entire family until just recently? I think it’s gonna be important that Michael and the munchkin spend some time together.”
Rogue twisted around in her chair and caught Logan’s hands in hers. “Why’s that?”
“Think about it, darlin’. That little girl saw what was goin’ to happen to her parents but she wasn’t able to do anythin’ about it. As soon as the first rush of grief fades a bit, she’s gonna be feelin’ guilty she couldn’t save ‘em.”
Rogue closed her eyes and leaned her head against Logan’s firm stomach. “You’re right,” she murmured, the words muffled against the soft flannel of his shirt.
When Logan felt her tears seeping through the fabric, he rubbed her back gently before reaching forward and flipping all the folders closed. “Enough for now, darlin’,” he rasped. “Let’s go to bed.”
* * *
Thin, shrill screams from down the hall woke Rogue. Flipping on the light beside the bed, she saw that Logan was already disappearing out the door. Feeling fuzzy-headed, Rogue stumbled after him. She stopped in the doorway of her old room and watched Logan gather the crying girl into his arms. Elizaveta resisted for a moment before melting bonelessly against him, her screams quieting to soft whimpers.
“I know, munchkin, I know,” Logan said, rubbing her back soothingly. He looked at Rogue and she could see the hint of desperation in his eyes. She understood, feeling similarly helpless herself. They couldn’t tell the girl that it had just been a dream and everything was all right now. The truth was that it wasn’t just a dream that her parents were dead, and nothing in her life would ever be the same.
“Ah’m gonna make you some warm milk with honey, sweetheart,” Rogue murmured and pushed away from the door. As she walked away, she could hear Logan still rumbling, “I know, I know.”
In the kitchen, Rogue moved on autopilot, gathering up a saucepan, milk, and the honey bear squeeze bottle from its place beside the toaster. Putting the burner on low heat, she stirred the milk until it began to warm and then squeezed out a generous teaspoon of honey. One-handed, she snapped the top back on the honey and moved it a safe distance away from the hot stove surface. Letting her thoughts drift to Elizaveta, Rogue imagined how horrifying it must have been for the little girl to foresee her parents’ deaths and not be able to do anything to stop it from happening. How much time had elapsed between her vision and the actual attack on her parents? Did her ability even allow for the possibility to change things?
Rogue was so intent on her thoughts that she didn’t notice when her view of the saucepan shimmered and disappeared. Between one blink and the next, she found herself in a brightly lit room with sterile white concrete walls and a siren blaring alarmingly in the hall. Pain wracked the lower half of her body as the door burst open and Logan, covered in blood, strode toward her with his claws extended. She thought she said something, but couldn’t hear her own voice, and with a horrified look on his face, Logan brought his claws down and sliced them across her stomach.
Twice more the scene played out in Rogue’s mind, and each time she noticed something new. She noticed first that she was shackled to the table and then at the end of the last replay, she saw that Logan was crying. And then there was nothing.
With a gasp, Rogue blinked and refocused on the saucepan. Startled to find that her hand was still stirring the milk and honey mixture with no hesitation in its movement, she yanked the spoon away, flinging droplets of hot milk into the air. They felt like tears where they landed on her cheeks.