Finally spotting Rogue curled up on a couch in the rec room, Logan made his way over to her. She was watching a romantic comedy with Ororo and neither woman noticed his presence until he ran his hand from the crown of Rogue’s head to her nape, smoothing her silky hair. She craned her neck around and gave him a questioning look.
“I’m goin’ for a beer, darlin’,” he murmured. He nodded to Ororo, squeezed Rogue’s neck gently, and walked out.
“Did he come looking for you just to tell you that he was going out?” Ororo asked in her softly accented voice.
Rogue just nodded.
“One wouldn’t expect such…consideration from the Wolverine.”
Angry now, Rogue’s chin inched up in aggression and she spat out a challenge. “Why not?”
Ororo’s eyes widened in surprise. “I meant no offense, Rogue. But you can’t deny that Logan is neither the most sociable, nor respectful, person.”
With slow, controlled movements, Rogue clicked off the DVD player and television, placed the remote on the coffee table, and stood to face Ororo. She kept her stance unthreatening; she relaxed her jaw and shoulders, kept her hands down at her sides and her fists unclenched.
“Did ya ever think, Ororo, that Logan isn’t sociable because ya’ll never make an attempt to include him? That he isn’t respectful because ya don’t treat him like he’s worthy o’ respect? That he isn’t considerate of ya’ll because ya’ll aren’t considerate o’ him?”
“Rogue?” Ororo question worriedly. “I’m sorry if it seems that way. But we’ve just been taking our cues from Logan. He acts like he doesn’t want to be bothered, so we leave him alone.”
Rogue closed her eyes tightly and took three calming breaths. Upon opening her eyes, she could see that Ororo was genuinely confused, and her anger began to dissipate.
“‘Ro,” she said softly, “Ya’ll think o’ Logan as more animal than man, don’t ya?”
“I’m not sure I know what you mean. Logan’s thinking is definitely human, but he certainly seems to allow his animal nature to guide most of his actions.”
Rogue considered the other woman’s words carefully. She didn’t know how Ororo could have lived in the same house as Logan for almost five years, give or take the few months Logan had spent on the road, and not understand a thing about him. She imagined that if Ororo, the one she had always thought was the most observant, didn’t really see Logan, then it was likely that nobody else in the mansion did either.
“If ya expect Logan to act like an animal, how can ya hold it against him when he does? He’s been hurt by so many people, ‘Ro,” Rogue whispered in a pain-filled voice. “And any animal that’s been abused the way he has would be skittish around people, seen as unfriendly – unsociable – but ya don’t hold it against the animal, do ya? No, ya watch yer step around him until he learns that he can trust ya, that ya won’t hurt him the way everybody else has. Why can’t ya’ll do the same for Logan?”
“I…” Ororo stuttered in a tight voice, “I hadn’t thought of it like that, Rogue. I never thought of his passive actions as animalistic, only the aggressive ones. But if he’s been that hurt during his time here, why didn’t he say anything to us?”
“Does an injured animal advertise the fact that he’s injured, ‘Ro?”
“No, no he doesn’t,” Ororo murmured, her brow furrowed in thought. “How do I – we – fix it?”
“Ya don’t. Logan and Ah’ll do that ourselves durin’ the interview.” Rogue sighed heavily and flopped back down on the couch. “Ah’ve started thinkin’ that the problem between humans and mutants hasn’t got anythin’ to do with the differences in our abilities or appearances.”
Ororo paused in the awkward position of leaning forward to pick up the remote and turned her head toward Rogue. “What do you mean?”
“Ah think it’s much more basic than that. Just plain ol’ human misunderstandin’ with somethin’ to focus on.”
Ororo grabbed the remote and leaned back gracefully. She thumbed the power button on before responding. “I think you might be right.”
* * *
The music blaring from the jukebox at the end of the bar was hurting Logan’s ears. He winced even more as Scott leaned in to whisper-yell, “What ‘bout the blonde two tables t’ the left o’ us?”
Logan downed his whiskey and slammed the shot glass hard on the bar, catching the bartender’s attention. He jerked his head at the empty glass, and the man nodded in acknowledgement before turning back to the drink he was mixing.
“Dunno,” Logan grunted.
“What d’ya mean ya dunno?” Scott was almost whining. “Ya said ya could smell it’f a woman wanted ya.”
Logan turned to look at the woman in question, catching her gaze and holding it. His nostrils flared slightly and he turned his back abruptly. “She wants somebody.”
“Well? ‘S it me or you she wants?” Scott questioned eagerly, losing his balance on the barstool as he leaned toward Logan. His nose smashed painfully into Logan’s shoulder before he managed to grab the rail running along the outside of the bar to steady himself.
“Hell, how much’ve you had to drink, Scooter?”
“Dunno. Been tryin’ t’ keep up with you.” Scott grinned wide enough that Logan could see his molars.
“Not the smartest thing you’ve ever done,” he snorted, downing another shot of whiskey and tapping the bar with a fingertip. The bartender set the half empty bottle down in front of Logan and Scott and turned away.
“Pro’ly not,” Scott agreed, still grinning. “So, how ‘bout it? She want me’r you?”
“Dunno. It’s not like she smells any different dependin’ on what guy she wants. All I know is she wants somebody.” Logan followed Scott’s gaze as he swiveled around shakily on his stool to watch the blonde. He watched in amusement as the woman eyed the rear of a short waitress bending over in front of her to pick a napkin up off the floor. He snorted a laugh. “Might not even be a man she wants.”
Scott’s head whipped around and his mouth fell open. “Wha- s’r’sly?”
Logan shrugged and tossed back another shot.
“S’ wait,” Scott slurred. The lowering of his brows told Logan that Scott was narrowing his eyes at him. “S’ all those times ya flirted wit’ Jean. Could ya smell that she wanted ya?”
Logan paused with his shot glass half way to his lips. He set the glass back on the bar and turned to face Scott fully. “Jeanie always smelled interested,” Logan said carefully.
“Wha’s that mean?”
Logan let out a slow breath. “It means that if I had set my mind to it, I think I could have made her want me.”
Scott clumsily folded his arms on the bar and laid his head on them. “S’ why din’t ya?”
“I don’t know,” Logan admitted softly.
“Ya loved ‘er though, I know that,” Scott said belligerently. When Logan was about to respond, Scott held up a hand shakily. “Now jus’ wait. Not sayin’ there’s anythin’ wrong wit’ ya lovin’ Jean. Can’t blame ya for’t. Jus’ wond’rin’ why, if ya loved ‘er, ya di’n’t do anythin’ ‘bout it. Way I see’t, ya’re ‘fraid. Same’s ya’re now.”
“What?”
“Rogue,” Scott said clearly. “Ya love ‘er, right?”
Logan said nothing and Scott snorted. “‘He who r’mains s’lent’s un’erstood t’ agree.’”
“‘Qui tacet consentire videtur’,” Logan murmured. “Maybe.”
“Huh?” Scott demanded.
“Never mind.” Logan slapped a few twenties on the bar and pulled up by his arm. “Come on. Let’s get you home.”
“Huh? No. I wan’ed t’ get laid t’nigh’.” Unfortunately, Scott made his whining declaration just as the song playing on the jukebox ended. Silence fell over the room as all heads turned toward them, and as the bar patrons saw Scott swaying unsteadily on his feet, his head on Logan’s shoulder and his face angled up toward his companion’s, they burst out in collective laughter.
“Somehow I don’t think that’s gonna happen, Scooter.” Logan swung Scott’s limp arm up over his shoulders, gripping his wrist in one hand. Wrapping his other arm around Scott’s waist, he made quick work of dragging him out of the bar.
* * *
Professor Xavier summoned Logan to his office as soon as he had finished helping Scott up to his room. Rogue had borne silent witness to the whole ordeal from the third floor landing, watching as Logan pulled a barely coherent Scott through the front door, across the foyer and up the stairs. They said nothing to each other when he passed her going up, and they said nothing as he passed her on the way down. Logan did, however, cock an eyebrow in the direction of the kitchen, and Rogue nodded in understanding.
Standing in front of Xavier’s office, Logan paused with his fist upraised to knock on the door. He waited several seconds for the professor to call out to him to come in, but he heard nothing but the faint scratching of a pen on paper. Puzzled, and somewhat worried, Logan rapped sharply on the door twice. He heard paper shuffling together, a drawer being opened and then closed again before the professor bid him enter.
“Sit, please, Logan,” Xavier said softly. He waited as Logan made his way to a chair and settled into it gingerly, worried as always that this might be the day that the spindly legs of the furniture finally collapsed under his weight. “So, tomorrow is the interview. Are you and Rogue prepared?”
Logan grunted. “As much as we can be. Kinda walkin’ into this thing blind after all.”
“I suppose so. The only background information they will be using is taken directly from the school’s files, if that helps to put your mind at ease.”
“A little. Of course, Rogue and I never knew what you had in our files anyway, but I don’t think you’d give them anythin’ dangerous.” Although Logan’s tone was flat, Xavier heard the unspoken question.
“Dangerous, no. But there might be a few things that you find surprising, and I’m not sure what conclusions the various…” Xavier seemed to struggle to find an appropriate word, “…staff members might draw from the information.” He held up a hand to forestall Logan’s response. “I’m sorry. You know as per the agreement with the president that I cannot divulge anything more. For the interview to remain authentic and unrehearsed, it is of utmost importance that you and Rogue have no previous knowledge of the questions you will be asked. And of course, the television audience will be given the opportunity to call in with questions, so there is always the potential for unexpected topics of conversation anyway.”
“Yeah, can’t say as I’m happy with that.” I don’t know who might call to talk to me. Probably some barflies I screwed givin’ me what for ‘cause I’m a mutant. Lord I hope not…don’t want Marie to hear that.
Xavier felt mild surprise as he heard a rare, clearly projected thought from Logan. He could only assume that “Marie” was Rogue, and a wave of sadness swept through him unexpectedly. As fond as he had become of Rogue, and she of him he thought, she had never trusted him with her name or her past.
“I don’t think she’d hold something like that against you, Logan,” the professor said gently. He saw Logan tense and go still, slight panic in his eyes before they narrowed dangerously.
“We’re gonna need to borrow one of your cars,” Logan said abruptly. “Takin’ my bike wouldn’t be safe if things don’t go well.”
“Yes. Yes, of course.” Xavier knew that Logan ignoring his previous statement was his way of offering a courteous warning to keep what he had learned to himself. He was slightly flattered that Logan actually trusted him enough that he didn’t feel the need to use verbal or physical threats as he would normally do. He had, however, almost physically felt the slamming of shutters over Logan’s thoughts and had the odd feeling that if he were to pry, all he would encounter would be a firm barricade with menacing red and black “Keep Out” signs. Or perhaps “No Trespassing.” He never underestimated Logan’s ability to keep him guessing. Snapping himself out of his thoughts, Xavier continued by saying, “Take whichever vehicle will suit you best.”
“The black Explorer,” Logan said immediately.
The professor nodded. “Done.”
* * *
Logan leaned against the kitchen doorframe as he watched Rogue, her back to him, scooping ice cream into two bowls. He ran his eyes over her figure from the top of her head down to her heals, pausing at the wisps of hair against her nape that had escaped from her messy ponytail and at the gently rounded curve of her hips. She had on a long-sleeved white t-shirt, old black sweat pants, and her bunny slippers. Those damn slippers again, he thought with a reluctant grin.
“Hey, sugar,” Rogue greeted without turning around.
Logan grunted softly and walked toward her. As he straddled one of the high stools at the kitchen island where Rogue was finishing dishing up the ice cream, he asked, “How’d you know I was there?”
She shrugged a slim shoulder and closed the lid on the container of Death by Chocolate. Sliding one of the bowls in front of him, Rogue hooked her foot around the second stool and pulled it closer to her and with an odd little hop, got herself settled comfortably on it. Logan noticed a bit of chocolate dripping along her left thumb, and before he could say anything, Rogue absently lifted her hand and flicked her pink tongue over her thumb.
“Shit!” Logan exclaimed at the unexpected clenching of his stomach muscles.
“What?” Rogue asked in alarm, her spoon hovering midway between her bowl and her mouth.
Exhaling slowly and consciously relaxing his muscles, Logan staunchly ignored the lingering feeling of warmth in his lap, hoping that Rogue would do nothing else to make it spread.
“Nothin’, darling. Just realized that, uh,” That that tongue of hers could be put to good use, Wolverine’s suggestive whisper made Logan choke and stammer. “Uh. Yeah. ‘Bout tomorrow. We’re drivin’. Can’t take the bike though. Yeah.”
“Ohh-kay,” Rogue said carefully, slowly. “Why can’t we take the bike? The studio is only ‘bout an hour from here.”
“Not safe, darlin’.” Thankfully, now that he was focusing on minimizing any risk to her safety, Logan was able to tear his eyes away from her mouth and all the Wolverine did was growl softly at the back of his mind. “If we have to leave in a hurry or anythin’ like that, an enclosed vehicle is best.”
“Oh.” Rogue took a bite of her ice cream. “That makes sense. ‘Leave in a hurry,’ huh? Guess that means Ah should pack a bag, right?”
“Right,” Logan muttered, shoving a large spoonful of ice cream into his mouth. He quickly screwed his eyes shut and winced at the stinging cold that burst through his nose and across his forehead.
Rogue sniggered. “Forgot ‘bout the ice cream headache, didn’t ya?”
Logan merely growled in response as he lifted a smaller portion of the dessert to his lips.
* * *
Logan looked over at Rogue as he parked in front of the studio. The hour long ride had been made in relative silence, the only sound in the vehicle coming from the radio Rogue had turned on as they left Xavier’s earlier that afternoon. In deference to his sensitive hearing, she had kept the volume low, and in deference to her nervousness, he hadn’t once complained about the whiny pop station she had chosen. Switching off the engine, he popped his seat belt – another thing he had done in consideration of Rogue’s comfort – and twisted in his seat until he was facing her.
“Ready, kid?”
She smiled faintly at the endearment. He rarely ever used it anymore, and when he did, she knew that he was using it as a subtle reminder of his promise to always take care of her.
“Ah’m ready, Logan.”
He nodded once and they stepped from the vehicle in unison. As he rounded the front of the Explorer, he saw a uniformed guard walking swiftly toward them. He slipped his hand under Rogue’s left elbow and pulled her slightly behind him as he turned to face the guard.
“You folks follow me,” the guard muttered quietly, sweeping his eyes over the mostly empty parking lot. He led them into the rambling one story building and down a series of twisting hallways. He stopped in a reception room of sorts and gestured for them to sit before disappearing farther down the hall. Turning to inspect the room as Rogue flopped down onto one of the cheap couches, he saw that the plastic tree in the corner was covered in dust, the wallpaper was beginning to peel at the top corners, and small puffs of dust rose up from the carpet with each of his steps. Unless he was poorly mistaken, they had chosen a studio that had been shut down some time ago. He grunted softly in approval. Nobody would expect such an “important” interview to be broadcast from a rundown building. Scanning the room once more, he was pleased to note that there were no cameras or microphones hidden away in any of the dusty corners. Rogue was watching him curiously, and when he met her eyes, he offered her a half smile before sitting down next to her. Immediately, Rogue scooted closer and looped her arm through his as she rested her head on his shoulder. He tilted his head so that it rested lightly on hers.
“Ah already miss ‘em,” Rogue whispered.
Logan grunted in acknowledgement. “You’ll see ‘em again in a few hours, darlin’.”
“Maybe,” she murmured. “But gen’rally ya don’t get hugs from everybody when ya’re just goin’ out fer the day.” Logan winced inwardly as he remembered the scene in the foyer after lunch. Scott, Storm, and Xavier had come to see them off, and as Logan had stood at the door, Storm had moved forward and embraced Rogue fiercely. He had wondered briefly if she had seen him stowing his and Rogue’s bags in the back of the Explorer that morning. Ororo certainly hadn’t expressed any concern over the interview in the last couple weeks and her sudden show of affection suggested that she knew they might not be returning. When Ororo had stepped back, Scott took her place, whispering something so softly to Rogue that Logan hadn’t been able to catch it. The low humming of Xavier’s wheelchair had pulled his attention away from Scott and Rogue. The professor had spoken softly, telling him that the entire mansion would be tuning in to watch the interview and to call him immediately if they needed anything. He hadn’t given Logan a chance to respond, though, and wheeled forward to grasp one of Rogue’s gloved hands and pat it affectionately. As Rogue had leaned down to quickly kiss the professor’s cheek, Ororo and Scott had looked at him and merely nodded before turning away.
Grasping for any response that might put Rogue at ease, Logan said, “Yeah, well. They didn’t hug me, kid. So if your little theory’s right and they were tryin’ to say a long term goodbye, don’t you think I’d have gotten a little more than silent nods?”
Rogue giggled and hugged his arm tighter. “If they weren’t afraid ya’d skewer ‘em, Ah’m sure they woulda hugged ya too.”
He was saved from having to reply by a frazzled-looking woman bursting through the door. The suddenness of her entry put him on edge, and if it hadn’t been for her irritated mumbling, he probably would have popped his claws to defend Rogue against the woman.
“‘Go do their hair and makeup,’ they say. ‘Go see if their wardrobe is acceptable,’ they say. Oh shoot!” The armful of small cases she was carrying tumbled out of her arms and scattered across the dusty carpet, and the only thing she managed to keep her grip on was a small oval mirror on a stand. As she stepped forward, her heal landed squarely on a flat black square case and she squealed loudly as she fell backward, her hands flailing in the air in a futile attempt to regain her balance. The mirror flew out of her hand, and as it sailed past his head, Logan leapt forward and grabbed the woman’s outstretched arms to hold her upright. He heard the mirror shatter against the wall, and the woman’s shriek was cut off abruptly when she didn’t hit the floor as she had expected to.
Looking down into her face, Logan couldn’t hold back a chuckle; her eyes were clamped shut so tightly that all of her features seemed to be drawn in toward them. At his chuckle, she slowly cracked one eye open, causing half of her face to relax while the other half remained puckered in toward her still-closed eye.
“Oh, mah Lord!” Rogue exclaimed, rushing forward. “Are ya all right?” She slid her arm beneath the woman’s back and helped her stand upright. Logan kept his grip on her forearms to steady her as her head swiveled back and forth between the two of them. The startled look on her face was replaced by one of confusion.
“Are you the mutants?”
Logan stiffened and flung the woman’s arms away from him as he took a step back, reaching out to yank Rogue behind him as he did so.
“Ouch! Logan!” Rogue hissed as she rubbed her sore wrist. She elbowed him out of the way and tossed him a glare as she drew even with him. He huffed and took a small step away from her. Rather than being hurt by the gesture, Rogue knew that he was just giving himself room so that if he needed his claws, he wouldn’t accidentally scratch her.
“Yes, we’re the mutants,” Rogue said directly to the woman in a soft voice.
“Oh. Well good.”
“Huh?” Logan asked in disbelief.
“They told me to come do your hair and makeup.”
Logan took a hasty step back. “No way in hell!” he snarled.
The woman propped her hands on her hips and took a step forward in pursuit. “Look, mister. I’m just trying to do my job, and I’d appreciate it if you didn’t give me a hard time about it.”
Rogue giggled at the scene before her. For every step back that Logan took, the woman stepped forward until she was effectively stalking him across the room.
Rogue’s laughter drew the woman’s attention to her. Ignoring Logan for the moment, she stepped forward and extended her hand to Rogue. “Hi, I’m Cherise. You don’t have a problem with me getting started on you first, do you?”
Rogue shook her head as she grasped Cherise’s hand. “That’s fine. Ah’m Rogue. And that’s Logan,” she said, nodding in his direction.
Cherise dropped Rogue’s hand with a murmured, “Pleased to meet you,” and immediately reached up to grasp her chin. Rogue gasped and jerked her head away.
“Watch it!” Logan yelled as he once again jumped toward the woman. He caught her wrist and pulled her hand away from Rogue.
“What are you doing?” Cherise exclaimed angrily. “I’m not going to hurt her.”
“Ah’m sorry!” Rogue said hurriedly.
“You don’t have anythin’ to apologize for, darlin’,” Logan growled after he let go of Cherise’s wrist.
Rogue nodded slightly to him. “Cherise?” she asked. “Did they tell ya anythin’ ‘bout us?”
The angry hurt on Cherise’s face was replaced by puzzlement. “Well, no. The just said that I was doing hair and makeup for two mutants today. I have to admit, though, that I was worried you’d be all blue or something with spiky hair or scales or…or…I don’t know. But you look pretty normal to me. Are you sure you’re mutants?” Her tone was suspicious.
Rogue gave a watery chuckle. “We’re sure. And Logan does have spiky hair,” she said, flashing him a quick grin when he narrowed his eyes at her. “Well, kinda anyway.”
“So if you’re both mutants, why don’t you look like it?”
“Most mutants look like regular people,” Logan said.
“Then how do you know you’re mutants?” Cherise asked innocently.
Logan exchanged a look with Rogue, one that said Is she for real?
“Because of what we can do,” Rogue explained softly. “When ya reached for mah face earlier?” Cherise responded with a curious nod to the questioning tone in Rogue’s voice. “Mah skin’s poisonous.”
Cherise blinked rapidly and her lips tried to form multiple questions at once, making her resemble a fish gasping outside the water. “Well shit,” she finally managed. “How am I supposed to do your makeup if I can’t touch you?”
Her question was greeted with silence. Rogue’s sudden laughter caught Logan’s attention. He had never before heard such a light, joyous sound from her, and he couldn’t hold back an answering smile.
“Ya can touch me,” Rogue replied, smiling at Cherise. “Ah have some control over mah skin. It’s just that when ya tried to touch me before, Ah wasn’t expectin’ it, so mah skin wasn’t…‘safe’ then.” Rogue drew quotation marks in the air with crooked fingers.
“Oh.” Cherise’s tone was matter-of-fact. “What about him? He got poisonous skin too?” She looked at Logan.
“No,” Logan grinned nastily. “Just claws.” He snapped his arms down and the claws came shooting out.
“Oh. Nifty,” Cherise said.
Logan and Rogue gaped at her. Logan sniffed the air curiously, expecting to smell fear from the woman despite her calm demeanor. Nothing.
The woman’s crazy. That’s the only explanation for why she isn’t afraid. Even Marie was scared of our claws at first. Logan agreed with Wolverine’s assessment.
“I don’t think there’s anything I can do for him as far as hair and makeup goes,” Cherise said to Rogue. “They said to play up your mutations, although how I’m supposed to do that when you look normal is beyond me. But I guess his hair being all wild like that suggests ‘animal’ like the claws do.” She turned to Logan, “Facial hair and makeup generally don’t mix well. And no offense, hon, but I don’t think ‘clean-shaven’ will go with the animal look either.”
“None taken,” Logan grunted, relieved enough to have avoided makeup that he didn’t even mind that she had basically called him an animal. He retracted his claws and moved to the couch.
Cherise took a step closer to Rogue and lifted her hand into the air between them. “May I?” she asked, and Rogue nodded. Cherise grasped Rogue’s chin between her thumb and the knuckle of her curled index finger. Tilting Rogue’s head from side to side, she “hmm”ed under her breath. “Where’d you get the bruises, honey?”
Rogue started. She had thought she’d done a good job covering them that morning. “Group of kids at school ganged up on me when they found out Ah’m a mutant,” she answered simply.
Cherise made a sound of disgust deep in her throat and let go of Rogue’s chin. “Idiots,” she muttered as she rummaged through a small bag on the floor, one of the items she had dropped when she came in. She pulled out a small white box and popped the lid off. Rogue was confused when Cherise approached her with the makeup removing wipes.
“What’re ya doin’, Cherise?”
“‘Play up their mutations,’ they said,” Cherise muttered as she gently ran the cloth over Rogue’s face to clean away the layers of makeup. “What needs ‘playing up’ here is human stupidity and meanness. Oh, don’t get me wrong,” Cherise hushed Rogue before she even managed to get a word out. “I’m not going to do anything to make you look more beat up than you are. I’m just going to send you out as you are. Pure, unvarnished truth.”
“Cherise?” Rogue questioned.
“Hmm?” Cherise was studying Rogue’s face closely.
“Why aren’t you afraid of us?” Logan’s ears, if they had been able to, would have perked up in interest.
Cherise nodded to herself in satisfaction and stepped away from Rogue. “I figure if you had meant me any harm, you would have let me touch your skin that first time I reached for you.” She turned to Logan, who was glowering at her from the couch. “And you. You can be as growly as a bear and brandish those claws at me all you like. But you kept me from falling down, and you kept me from touching Rogue’s skin. You did all of that so I wouldn’t get hurt.” She shrugged. “The way I see it, you’re not bad people, and you mean me no harm. So what do I have to be afraid of?”
Cherise knelt on the floor and started gathering up the scattered foundation, blush, and eye shadow compacts. After a moment of frozen silence, Rogue rushed to help her. When they both stood, Rogue placed her hand on the other woman’s forearm.
“Cherise. Thank ya,” she said softly.
Cherise nodded to her and then to Logan. “Good luck,” she said, and snorted a laugh right after she got the words out. At their looks of confusion, she explained, “Here I am wishing the two of you good luck, and I’m the one who broke a mirror today.” She lifted her chin toward the pile of silvered glass against the far wall, and without another word, she turned and walked out of the room.
* * *
Logan wasn’t at all sure he liked the man who was interviewing them. His hair was slicked back with enough product that Logan could smell him from three feet away and he had so much makeup on his skin that his face looked like it might crack if he smiled too broadly. Logan was amused to note that the makeup made the man’s skin look sallow, and he wondered if it was Cherise’s work. He had liked the plucky woman, and he wouldn’t put it past her to make them look better by making their host look ill. He glanced at Rogue as the man behind the center camera counted down from three with his fingers. He was proud of her as she made an effort to stop scowling at him. Logan had put himself in the seat between her and their host, despite her protests that she would need to lean forward to see around him whenever the man spoke to her. Logan had wordlessly yanked her chair, with her in it, forward about four inches, effectively solving the problem. The crew working around the set had looked like they wanted to protest, but Logan’s wordless glowering had scared them off.
“This is Phil Ruskin, coming to you live with a special interview. We’re making television history here today, interrupting regularly scheduled programs across the entire country to broadcast on all major networks from an undisclosed location.” Phil paused for exactly two seconds as he looked directly into the cameras. “I have with me today two brave souls who are willing to let us into their lives. They’re here to tell us what we’ve always wanted to know about what it’s like to live as they do. What it’s like,” Phil took a convincingly bracing, although faked, breath, “to live as mutants.”
Phil’s pause this time was four seconds, and then he turned away from the cameras to face Logan and Rogue. Logan couldn’t stop the frown that tightened the corners of his mouth. The man’s theatrics put him on edge.
“Wolverine, Rogue,” he said warmly, “thank you for joining us here today.” He waited expectantly for a response and Logan’s frown deepened. He felt Rogue lean into his shoulder in subtle admonishment as she spoke.
“Thank ya for havin’ us, Phil,” she returned politely, her drawl heavier due to her nervousness.
“I think the first thing people might wonder about,” Phil chuckled, “is your names.” He turned to address the cameras directly again. “‘Wolverine’ and ‘Rogue’ are codenames of sorts,” he explained in a knowledgeable tone. “Many mutants take on such names not only to protect their public identities, but as a kind of identification with, and an assimilation of, their mutant abilities.”
Way to go, jackass, Wolverine snorted, pushing to the forefront of Logan’s consciousness. First words out of his mouth and the idiot’s already made us seem like outsiders. Logan ground his teeth together, agreeing with the Wolverine, but unable to think of a way to minimize the damage Phil had done. Their host was looking at them again.
“Would either of you care to explain how and why you chose your names?” he asked with false politeness. Logan could hear the underlying demand beneath the question.
“Wolverine didn’t choose his name,” Rogue said abruptly, and Phil’s smile slipped infinitesimally. Only Logan picked up on the anger humming through Rogue’s body.
“Oh? Please explain,” Phil invited, recovering quickly. Rogue looked at Logan, unwilling to speak further in case she revealed something he would rather keep hidden.
Logan released the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “I don’t know any other name,” he said gruffly. “I don’t remember anythin’ about my life except for the past fifteen years. I woke up in the woods somewhere, naked except for a pair of dog tags around my neck. The name on the tags said ‘Wolverine,’ so that’s what I go by.” He shrugged dismissively, leaving the blood and his claws out of the story. And it was true enough; he hadn’t remembered the name ‘Logan’ until several weeks after that.
“Oh my,” Phil said with carefully controlled sympathy. “That must have been awful. Truly awful. Dog tags are military issue, though, are they not? Surely you could find out about your past by making the proper inquiries?”
“Tried,” Logan grunted, crossing his arms over his chest. It had, in fact, been the professor who had quietly looked into the issue. “No government, domestic or foreign, has any knowledge of ‘Wolverine.’”
The Wolverine snorted again. Bullshit, he said. But at least nobody’s gonna be callin’ us up today claimin’ ownership. Not after sayin’ on national television that the government denied Weapon X’s existence.
“That is truly unfortunate,” Phil was saying. “And what about you, Rogue? I hope that your story isn’t quite as melancholy?”
“‘Melancholy?’” Rogue repeated, her accent drawing the word out comically. “Ah suppose that’s one way to describe it.” Phil stiffened at her dry tone. “Ah was sixteen when Ah found out Ah was a mutant. Ah…it was a bad situation, the way Ah found out.” She shrugged helplessly. “Mah parents were scared an’ angry, and mah daddy told me to get out. That Ah wasn’t his daughter anymore, that Ah wasn’t his – ” she cut herself off before revealing her real name. “Ah figured if mah daddy, the one who had named me, didn’t want me usin’ mah name anymore, Ah had no right to it.”
“But why ‘Rogue?’” Phil pressed.
Rogue looked faintly embarrassed as she shrugged again. “Ah was a junior in high school, an’ Ah had just started studyin’ for the SATs. It was on the vocab study list an’ it just seemed to fit.”
Phil chuckled and Logan wanted to punch him. Wolverine gave a wordless growl of agreement before settling back down. “Now, from what I understand,” Phil said, “even though your names weren’t consciously chosen as a reflection of your mutative abilities, they are, ironically, appropriate enough.”
‘Mutative?’ Logan thought, raising his eyebrow.
“Now, Wolverine,” Phil continued, turning to face him directly, “I understand that you are quite vicious in a fight.”
“He’s not vicious!” Rogue exclaimed before he had a chance to reply. “He’s tough an’ he does what needs doin’, but he doesn’t start fights an’ he doesn’t draw ‘em out any longer than they need to be.”
Although it wasn’t entirely true – he did occasionally start fights, and Rogue knew it – he appreciated how quickly she had come to his defense.
“It’s all right, darlin’,” he murmured, and silently cursed the microphone pinned to his collar that amplified his words for everyone to hear. He cleared his throat and looked at Phil. “I like a good fight,” he admitted, “But I don’t go poundin’ on innocent people, and I don’t do them permanent damage unless they’re tryin’ to do the same to me.”
“I’m glad you brought that up,” Phil segued seamlessly, “‘permanent damage.’ Now, correct me if I’m wrong, but isn’t it impossible for you to sustain ‘permanent damage’?”
“More or less,” Logan grunted cautiously. He didn’t like Phil’s guileless tone, but at least he was keeping the focus was off Rogue for the moment.
“More or less,” Phil mused, looking briefly at the cameras and his invisible audience. “The way I heard it, you can heal from anything.”
“Maybe,” Logan said noncommittally.
“Oh, come now, Wolverine. There’s no need to be shy.” Phil gave him a friendly smile. “I have it on good authority that you’ve been shot, stabbed, poisoned, burned, dismembered, have fallen from great heights, been crushed under several tons of debris, been starved, drowned, electrocuted, frozen, buried alive for days, um, what else?” Phil pulled a note card from the table beside him. “Ah, yes. You’ve also been skinned, exsanguinated, and survived numerous invasive surgical procedures with no anesthesia. And also, it seems that you do not get sick. Ever. You’re immune to even the common cold, isn’t that right?”
Son of a bitch! Wolverine thundered murderously. Is he intentionally tryin’ to dehumanize us?
Logan was cautious with his answer, wondering, like Wolverine, what Phil’s angle was.
“That’s not exactly right,” he said slowly. “I’m not immune to diseases. I do catch them, but my body’s able to produce antibodies almost immediately. Or at least that’s what doctors have told me.” He shrugged and continued before Phil had a chance to interrupt. “I heal from cuts and burns like other people would, just faster and without scars. Poisons don’t work on me for long because my metabolism’s too fast; same with anesthesia. And alcohol,” he added dryly. “Can’t get drunk no matter how hard I try. And the only way I was able to survive being crushed under that building is because of my skeleton.”
Phil was suddenly alert. “Yes, let’s talk about your skeleton for a moment, shall we?” He gestured to a screen behind them and it was suddenly backlit, no doubt due to a stagehand flipping a switch somewhere off screen. On the screen were the x-rays Jean had taken when he had first arrived at Xavier’s. “Now, what you see here, folks,” Phil spoke again to the cameras, “is Wolverine’s skeleton. And that’s not bone. That’s metal.” He paused for the requisite two seconds. “An indestructible metal called ‘adamantium.’”
Logan felt of surge of satisfaction as the smarmy host stumbled over the unfamiliar word.
“Now, I’m sure you’ll all have questions – and doubts – about the truth of this,” Phil was nodding at the cameras now, “but we do ask that you remain patient. We’ll have a phone number you can call later in the broadcast to ask whatever questions you might have. For now, let’s see if we can’t find some way to convince you that what you’re hearing is true.” He turned to Logan again. “Now, Wolverine.” Logan was getting sick of the way the man kept saying ‘now.’ “Can you perhaps show us a demonstration of your healing?”
“No!” Rogue exclaimed loudly, grabbing onto Logan’s arm.
“Why not, Rogue?” Phil questioned with false innocence. “He heals from anything, so there’s no real danger, isn’t that right?”
“Because, ya j–” Rogue stopped abruptly.
‘Jackass,’ Wolverine interjected smugly. Our girl was gonna call him a jackass on national television.
“Because ya just don’t understand,” Rogue covered smoothly. “He may heal from anythin’, but he still feels pain. It’s not fair to ask him to hurt himself just to satisfy yer curiosity.”
Logan covered her hand with his. “It’s all right, darlin’,” he said again. He turned to Phil. “You want proof of the metal skeleton and proof of the healin’, right?”
Phil nodded. “That’s right. I think our viewers deserve it.”
Bastard. He’s just as curious and doesn’t want to admit it.
“Fine.” Logan let out a breath and removed Rogue’s hand from his arm. He rolled his shirt sleeves up to his elbows and popped the claws from his right hand, savoring the way Phil startled back in his chair and inhaled so quickly he was momentarily caught in a coughing fit. “Adamantium claws,” Logan grunted. “Same as the metal that coats my skeleton. It isn’t a natural mutation,” he said shortly.
“If it isn’t natural,” Phil said when he regained his breath, “then how did it happen?”
“My healin’ factor,” Logan said softly, although his mic picked up every word. “My healin’ factor made it possible for somebody to surgically graft the metal to my entire skeleton. And you remember what I said about anesthesia not workin’ on me?” Phil nodded slowly, and this time Logan was the one to address the cameras directly. “I was awake for the entire thing except for when the pain made me black out. They would stop then, wait for me to come to, worried that even my healin’ wouldn’t keep the shock from killin’ me. And then they would cut me open again and start right back up from where they had left off.”
“I thought you said you couldn’t remember anything about your past,” Phil challenged.
Logan turned slowly from the cameras to face Phil, his claws still out. “I dream about it almost every night. And enough people have poked around inside my head to confirm that they’re not just nightmares. They’re memories. Memories of people standing around drinkin’ champagne while I was bleedin’ and screamin’.” Logan didn’t volunteer the information that it was telepaths and not psychiatrists who examined his mind.
Phil seemed not to have heard Logan’s words as he continued the interview. “And the metal, this adamantium, is indestructible? How was it formed around your skeleton then?”
“Damned if I know,” Logan grunted. “Not many people know how to manipulate it, from what I’ve been told, and once it’s cooled, it can’t be reshaped.”
“Your claws. Can they cut through, say, steel?”
“Yeah.”
Phil turned quickly to address somebody off camera. “Bring us something steel to test.”
“Wait a minute!” Rogue said, latching onto Logan’s arm again. “Ye’re gonna hurt him!”
“How will testing the sharpness and durability of his claws hurt him?” Phil asked.
Before Rogue could answer, two men clambered onto the slightly raised stage area hefting a section of steel girder between them.
“Ya had this planned!” she accused Phil, barely restraining herself from pointing a finger at him. “There’s no way ya had a steel beam lyin’ around the studio.”
Logan squeezed her fingers with his right hand, careful not to knick her with his claws, and then removed her hand from his arm. He stood up and walked toward the girder where it now sat balanced on a pair of sawhorses.
“From the other side, please, so you don’t block the cameras,” Phil ordered. Logan stiffened, but did as the man directed.
“You’re gonna have to hold the ends,” he said to the stagehands before they could get more than a couple feet away. They looked at each other and then to Phil, who nodded.
Logan waited until the men were in position, and then took a deep breath to center himself. In one quick motion, he swept his right fist up into the air and then brought it down with his full weight behind it, grimacing at the impact and screech of his claws hitting the steel. He felt resistance for only a fraction of a second before the beam fell into smoothly sliced sections at his feet. He felt the burning of torn muscle and ligament much longer.
When he looked up, he saw that Rogue was on her feet facing him, and she had tears standing in her eyes. Phil had his hands over his ears. The sound of the heavy steel hitting the floor had been a bit louder than even Logan had expected. The stage hands had backed away abruptly, each of them also covering their ears. Logan bent down slowly and picked up the two pieces of one-inch thick steel that had dropped from between his claws. He left the larger pieces where they were. As he walked back toward Rogue and Phil, he tried to retract his claws, but his muscles weren’t cooperating. He held his left hand out to Rogue, and she took one of the steel pieces from him and tightened her hand into a fist around the eight inch long section. He handed the other piece to Phil, who turned it over and over in his hands as he examined it from every angle.
Phil finally looked up at him after several long seconds. Swallowing visibly, he said, “Well, I’m certainly convinced. Why don’t we have a seat again.” Phil seemed to collapse into his chair and drained the glass of water on the table beside him.
Rogue noted with sudden bitterness that neither she nor Logan had been offered anything to drink. As Logan sat down next to her, she tucked the 1 x 8 inch piece of metal on the chair beside her and reached for his right forearm. He startled at her touch, and smiled when she began massaging the sore muscles with her gloved fingertips.
She always knows when we’re hurtin’. Logan heard the affection behind the Wolverine’s words. It surprised him a bit. He had heard anger, pride, and lust from him before, even a brief surge of panic and fear at the Statue of Liberty when it had seemed like he couldn’t heal Marie. But he had never heard such softness from him before today.
“All right,” Phil said suddenly, his energy and enthusiasm seemingly restored. “That takes care of proving the metal skeleton. Now how are you going to prove the healing?”
“He’s already proved it,” Rogue said angrily, still massaging his arm. “He tore up his muscles durin’ yer little demonstration.” She spat the last word.
“That may be,” Phil said, his words practically dripping sympathy, “but I’m afraid it’s not enough for our viewers at home. They need something they can see.”
Rogue stood abruptly and rounded on Phil. “Enough!” she screeched. “He’s hurtin’ and all ye’re worried about is yer damn show. Ye’re just like the people who tortured him in that lab!”
“Are you saying that’s true of our audience as well, Rogue?” Phil’s silky tone doused her anger.
“No. No,” she muttered. She knew what Phil was doing. He was manipulating them, using the audience’s opinion against them. As long as they were live, she and Logan needed to be incredibly careful of what they said and did. One wrong step and they could offend and alienate the entire country. “That’s not what Ah’m sayin’, an’ Ah apologize. Ah was out o’ line. O’ course everybody’s curious, an’ Ah understand, Ah really do. It’s just…he could use a few minutes to recover. Please?” She hated the pleading tone in her voice.
“I think that’s reasonable,” Phil said agreeably, and Rogue let Logan tug her back down into her seat. “We’ll talk a bit until Wolverine’s fully recovered, all right?”
Rogue nodded cautiously and began massaging Logan’s forearm again. She could feel the heat gradually leaving his muscles and knew that in just a couple more minutes, he would have full control over his claws again. He had told her once that muscle injuries took the longest to heal.
“You’re quite protective of Wolverine, aren’t you, Rogue?”
Rogue froze momentarily before lifting her eyes to Phil’s. His look was calculated.
“Yes. Yes, Ah am. An’ he’s protective o’ me too.”
“You look awfully young. How old are you, Rogue?”
You son of a bitch, Rogue thought even as she smiled politely at Phil. Ye’re gonna try to make my friendship with Logan into somethin’ tawdry, aren’t ya?
“Ah’ll be twenty-two in a couple months,” she said out loud.
“Hm. And how long have you and Wolverine known each other?”
“Five years.” She kept her answers short, offering no more than what Phil asked.
“Five years. So you met each other shortly after you became aware of your mutation. When you were sixteen, you said?”
“Mah mutation manifested when Ah was sixteen. Ah was seventeen when Ah met L–Wolverine.”
Phil’s eyes narrowed at her near slip and he opened his mouth to toss out his next question. He was distracted by the distinctive snikt as Logan was finally able to retract his claws. Although his breath caught when he saw the cuts between Logan’s knuckles meld seamlessly together, he seemed unwilling to abandon his new line of questioning.
“Seventeen,” Phil repeated. “That is young. And Wolverine. You look like you’re in your mid-thirties, so it’s fair to say there’s at least twelve years between the two of you.”
Logan shifted slightly in his chair. He could tell where this was going, and from Rogue’s stillness, he knew that she had figured it out too. He wasn’t sure how to answer the man, though, since he didn’t know if his slow aging was mentioned in Xavier’s file. He took a gamble that Jean’s notes from those initial tests merely stated that it was impossible to determine his exact age.
“That seems fair,” he acknowledged.
“Twelve years’ difference then. Wouldn’t you say you’re a little old for her?”
Logan heard Rogue’s sharp breath and answered quickly so she would have a chance to get her anger under control. He was having some difficulty with his own anger, though, as the Wolverine kept up a mental litany of insults. “We don’t have that kind of a relationship,” he said simply.
“No?” Phil questioned. “You seem like you do.”
“Can’t help the way you see things,” Logan returned laconically.
“That’s true,” Phil nodded. But then he gestured toward the cameras. “But I’m sure I’m not the only one who sees things that way.”
Rogue sputtered wordlessly beside him.
“Look,” Logan said, running his hand through his hair. “Rogue and I do not have and have never had that kind of a relationship. So there are no legal or moral issues here.”
“Perhaps no legal issues, but the moral terrain is a bit trickier to navigate, isn’t it?”
“No,” Logan said sharply, “it isn’t. I would never intentionally do anythin’ to hurt Rogue; I care about her and want to see her happy, and I’ll protect her from anythin’ and anyone. If you want to call that immoral, go ahead.”
Perhaps sensing that he would get nowhere in his argument with Logan, Phil abruptly changed the subject. “You seem to have recovered your strength and vigor, Wolverine. How about that demonstration of your healing abilities?”
“All right,” Logan returned immediately and popped a single claw. He smiled as Phil jumped yet again. “You’re gonna have to watch closely, I heal fast.” With that, he drew the claw across his left forearm, deep enough that blood welled up, but by the time he had pulled his hand completely away, he could feel that the flesh had already knit back together.
“Ya don’t need to do this!” Rogue said, tugging her sleeve down over her gloved hand and wiping away his blood.
Phil leaned closer for a better look at Logan’s arm. “It doesn’t look like he did anything. There’s nothing there, and I know that if I’m sitting this close and didn’t see anything, our viewers certainly didn’t. Are you ready for a close-up,” he asked the cameramen, “we’re going to try again.”
“No, we’re not!” Logan heard the tears in Rogue’s voice.
“Rogue,” he said quietly, pleased that the microphone didn’t pick it up this time, although he knew that Phil did. “It’s all right, darlin’.”
Rogue leaned her forehead against his upper arm. “Ya keep sayin’ that, sugar, an’ every time ya get hurt.” She wasn’t arguing with him, he realized, just expressing her concern and displeasure over the situation.
“If you want a clear view of this, I’ll need a towel or somethin’ to wipe the blood away.” Phil was quick to send someone for the item. When the stagehand returned and offered it to Phil, Rogue was quick to snatch it away with a glare that did the Wolverine proud.
“This is the last chance ya get, Ah mean it,” she said sternly to Phil. “So get those cameras ready an’ pay attention.” She wanted to growl at the indulgent, condescending look Phil leveled on her. The president had said the man was impartial to mutant politics. The ass wasn’t impartial; he had ice water in his veins and didn’t give a damn about anybody one way or the other, mutant or human.
“Ready?” Phil questioned the cameramen, and at the thumbs-up across the board, he turned back to Logan and Rogue. “Whenever you’re ready,” he said graciously.
Logan slid his claw across his arm yet again, but this time, he immediately retracted the claw and thrust his thumb into the wound, holding it open. He hissed in pain. Rogue quickly wiped the blood away, giving a clear view of the red ruin of Logan’s arm. Phil made a sick sound deep in his throat, but didn’t look away. Rogue continued sopping up the blood that spilled free, careful not to obstruct the cameras’ view. She’d be damned if she’d let Phil accuse her of ruining the shot. As she worked, Rogue could see the way the cut was closing from the ends first, toward Logan’s thumb at the center. Just as the lips of the wound were about to draw closed around his thumb, he pulled it out. Rogue made one last pass over the sealed wound to wipe away the last of the blood, and all that was left was clear, unmarked skin. She sat back and passed the towel to Logan so he could clean off his thumb.
“Proof enough for you?” Logan asked. Rogue could hear the undercurrent of pain and anger.
“Y-yes. Yes, I think that should do it.” Phil reached for his glass again, only to find it empty. Somebody rushed in from the wings and handed him a bottle of water. He murmured “Excuse me” to the cameras before uncapping the bottle and taking a long draw from it.
Phil cleared his throat and began speaking to the cameras in a much steadier voice. “You have now seen what a class 4 mutant is capable of.”
“What?” Logan and Rogue interrupted in unison.
Phil turned to him. “You didn’t know your own classification?”
“No, why should I?” Logan returned. “Mutant classification is a government medical laboratory scale. After what I’ve told you, it shouldn’t take a genius to figure out I’d rather avoid labs and medical testing.”
Rogue clapped a hand over her mouth to keep from laughing.
“Well, be that as it may, at some point, you were determined to be a class 4 mutant. What that means,” Phil continued, turning toward the cameras again, “is that Wolverine is at the higher end of the mutant power and ability scale. The levels run one through five, one being reserved for those with only mutations to their appearance but no secondary abilities. Class two mutants and up have either a combination of a physical mutation and a secondary ability, or just the ability without any apparent physical difference. Those with multiple abilities are assigned to a class according to the strongest of their abilities. There are also subsections of alpha and beta mutations, which I will explain in just a moment.” Phil paused for another drink of water. “Wolverine, as I said, is a class 4 mutant. He has multiple mutations, or abilities, one being the healing you just witnessed. His other mutations are collectively referred to as a ‘feral’ mutation, is that right?”
He turned to Logan for confirmation, who just nodded wordlessly. Phil turned back to the cameras with a smile.
“A feral mutation refers to enhanced senses – in Wolverine’s case, hearing and smell – and in some cases, increased and uncontrollable aggression. Wolverine’s feral mutation is rated as a beta 3, the class determined by the number of feral mutations he possesses, while his healing is an alpha 4. Therefore, his classification falls with the higher rating, making him a class 4 alpha mutant. Alpha and beta refer to a mutation’s ability to effect change. Beta mutations are abilities that exist without creating change in either the mutant or his surroundings. For example, enhanced hearing is a beta mutation because it neither changes Wolverine physically, nor changes anything around him. Other beta mutations include mild telepathy – where the mutant has no control over others, and no ability to project his or her thoughts to others, and merely ‘listens in.’ Alpha mutations, on the other hand, change the mutant and/or his surroundings. Wolverine’s healing is rated as alpha because it can literally change his reality. For example, he receives a wound that would be considered lethal to a regular human; however, due to Wolverine’s ability to heal, that reality is changed, and the lethal wound becomes non-lethal. If his claws were natural rather than manmade, that would be an alpha mutation as claws certainly have the ability to effect change in others. Other examples of alpha mutations are mind-control, the ability to walk through solid objects, and telekinesis. If you have any questions about mutant classification, please call us later – we’ll be posting the 800 number shortly – or visit the website you see at the bottom of your screen.”
Logan felt his eyebrow go up. They have a website about this classification nonsense?
Phil finally turned his attention back to Rogue and Logan. “Did I explain that properly?” he asked.
“Ah dunno,” Rogue said, sounding stunned. “That’s the first Ah ever heard o’ any o’ it.”
“Really? So you don’t know that class level is primarily determined by how dangerous a mutation is considered?”
“No. L–Wolverine’s healin’ is dangerous enough to make him a class 4? How is healin’ dangerous? It doesn’t hurt anybody…it just helps him out.” Rogue looked at Logan, confusion stamping her features.
“Such accelerated healing is considered dangerous because should Wolverine attack someone, say a police officer, there is nothing the officer would be able to do to protect himself. He could literally empty his gun into Wolverine and it wouldn’t save him.”
“But he’s not gonna attack a police officer!”
“It’s a measure of potential danger, Rogue. Wolverine’s mutation leaves him potentially unstoppable.”
“But that’s not fair!” Rogue huffed in exasperation, and Logan smoothed a hand down her hair to calm her. “Ya can put a gun in mah hand and the potential for danger increases, but it’s the gun that’s dangerous, not me.”
“But you have control over that gun once it’s in your hand, Rogue, and that makes you dangerous by extension, doesn’t it?”
“Ah – Ah suppose so,” Rogue conceded, her brow furrowed in worry. Logan scowled at Phil.
“Everybody has the potential to be dangerous,” Logan growled. “I don’t think you can measure potential danger without examinin’ intent. Kids on a playground playin’ tag are pushin’ and shovin’ each other, but put one mean-spirited kid in the mix, and that same pushin’ and shovin’ leads to deliberate injuries.”
“True,” Phil nodded with an amiable smile. “What you’re arguing is an example of restraint, self-control if you will.”
“Yeah,” Logan said cautiously, not liking Phil’s smile.
“That’s why class 5 is reserved for mutants who have uncontrollable conscious abilities. By uncontrollable, I mean an ability over which the mutant has no control, or an ability that, should the mutant choose to use it fully, cannot be neutralized by any outside force.”
Logan felt a cold finger of fear trail down his spine. Jean he thought, but he knew that the professor had been able to keep her abilities out of the news. He has to have a reason for bringin’ this up.
“You just said that my healin’ makes me potentially unstoppable. That sounds a lot like I can’t be ‘neutralized by any outside force,’ and I don’t have any control over my healin’, so why aren’t I a class 5?”
“You’re right, you don’t have any control over your healing and it works on its own, but I said ‘uncontrollable conscious ability.’ While a class 5 mutant may have an ability that, similar to yours, works on its own, it isn’t a threat until the mutant consciously decides to use it. And that directly speaks to your point about examining intent, Wolverine. A class 5 mutant, one who has an uncontrollable conscious ability, in choosing to use that ability, intends to do harm. So, class 5 mutants are potentially, in a word, deadly.”
“The scale doesn’t make sense then,” Rogue jumped in. “Ya were talkin’ about alpha and beta mutations measurin’ the ability to effect change in oneself or one’s surroundin’s. The way ye’re describin’ it, callin’ ‘em deadly an’ all, class 5 mutations all effect change on the mutant’s surroundin’s.”
Phil smiled again. “That’s why there are no subsections for class 5 mutants. They’re all considered alpha.”
“Ah don’t like it,” Rogue said stubbornly. “Ya can categorize the mutations all ya want, but ya can’t pigeonhole people that conveniently.”
“I can certainly understand why you would feel that way, Rogue.”
Rogue’s eyes narrowed in suspicion at Phil’s slight emphasis on the pronoun and Logan’s hand stilled in her hair.
“What d’ya mean?” she asked.
“Because,” Phil said, still smiling, “you’re a class 5 mutant, Rogue.”
“Bullshit!” Logan said angrily, the volume just below a yell. “She can control her mutation.”
Phil’s smile grew wider and he turned toward the cameras. “Rogue here has deadly skin. She can literally suck the life out of you.”
“We’re not finished talkin’ here, bub!” Logan roared, and grabbed the arm of Phil’s chair, jerking it around and forcing the man to face him. Phil’s smile slipped and was replaced by stark fear.
“Stop. Sugar, stop,” Rogue sobbed as she tugged on Logan’s arm. The scent of her tears finally reached him, and Logan pulled his hand back. He glared at Phil, wishing he could stab the man through the heart and show him that mutant classification be damned, he was more deadly than Rogue would ever be. Logan growled low in his throat and turned to Rogue.
“Please don’t cry, darlin’.” Logan’s voice sounded desperate even to his own ears as he reached up and wiped her tears away with his thumbs. They kept spilling down her cheeks, though, and he finally gave up and just cradled her face gently in his rough hands.
“He’s right, though. Ah’m lucky Ah didn’t kill anybody on campus that day.”
“That’s just stupid,” Logan said, angry again.
Rogue’s head snapped up and her eyes glittered. “Don’t ya call me stupid!”
Logan huffed in startled amusement and Wolverine gave an interested growl. Girl goes from weepy to angry in 0.4 seconds, he said. Wonder how long it takes her to go from angry to aroused?
This is not the time, Logan thought sternly to himself and to the Wolverine, cursing the peculiar effect Rogue’s angry eyes always had on him.
“I’m not callin’ you stupid, darlin’,” he said, staunchly ignoring Phil’s efforts to get their attention again. He turned her face toward the cameras. “Look,” he said directly to the lenses, “you see all these bruises? Some kids came after her at school when they found out she was a mutant. She has control over her mutation, though, and the only harm she did to them was from punchin’ and kickin’. Call her a deadly class 5 mutant or whatever the hell you want, but this girl isn’t dangerous.” Logan let Rogue push his hands away from her face only after he finished speaking.
“She may have control over her mutation, but it still can’t be stopped once she uses it,” Phil reminded him, and then turned immediately back to the cameras. “Unfortunately, this makes it impossible for Rogue to give us a proper exhibition of her abilities, but we have arranged an alternate demonstration.” Phil waved a hand at a man standing just off camera.
“What?”
“What the hell do you mean ‘alternate demonstration’?” Rogue and Logan spoke simultaneously, Rogue’s voice fearful while Logan’s was angry.
The stage hand returned carrying a cage containing two small black and white rabbits.
“Ya can’t be serious?” Rogue asked in disbelief.
“Quite serious, Rogue. Now, I understand that your mutation requires contact with your skin, so if you would just take off your gloves?”
“No!” Rogue refused loudly while Logan growled. The rabbits froze at the sound, rolling their eyes in their heads until they focused on Logan. He was reminded for an uncomfortable moment of Rogue’s bunny slippers.
“Why not?” Phil asked. “We agreed that this was a full-disclosure interview, and surely a demonstration of your mutation falls under the category of full-disclosure.”
“Ah am not gonna kill bunny rabbits!” Rogue huffed.
“We could get something else,” Phil offered. “Perhaps some mice? Unless you’re afraid of mice?”
“Ye’re entirely missin’ the point!” Rogue yelled. She wondered if Phil knew about the other part of her mutation, that she retained some vestige of the psyche of whomever she touched. She was thankful that she had never killed an animal with her touch; other than the fact that she would feel horribly guilty, she wasn’t sure she ever wanted to know what went on in their furry little heads. Will mah mutation even work on animals? she wondered, curious despite herself.
“Now what point is that, Rogue?” Phil asked, still trying to play the accommodating host.
“The point is,” she hissed furiously, “that Ah am not gonna kill anythin’, no matter what it is. An’ ya can’t make me, so don’t ya dare trot another animal out here. An’ seein’ as how we’re live an’ everythin’,” she continued sweetly, “ya can be sure that the SPCA and PETA will be followin’ up on the welfare o’ those bunnies.”
“Good one, darlin’,” Logan murmured with a grin, making sure that the microphone picked him up this time.
Phil’s plastic smile slipped into a scowl for a fraction of a second, but came back full force when he faced the cameras. “I’m sure we all admire Rogue’s consideration for the animals. You should see the 800 number on your screen now. We have several operators standing by to take your calls, so if you don’t get through immediately, please keep trying.” A man wearing a headset and holding a clipboard waved his hand at Phil. “I see we already have our first caller,” he said cheerfully, and nodded at the man with the clipboard. “Hello? You’re on the air. Do you have a question for our guests?”
“Why, no, not just a question. A comment and a question about an issue that I think needs further clarification.” Rogue and Logan exchanged a look. Although he was trying to disguise his voice, they both recognized Hank.
“Go ahead, caller,” Phil said invitingly, smiling for all he was worth into the cameras.
“I’m an amateur scientist, so forgive me if I don’t understand the classification system correctly. A class 5 mutant is somebody who either has no control over his or her mutation, or somebody whose mutation cannot be stopped once it’s in use, correct?”
“Yes, that’s correct,” Phil said encouragingly.
“So this girl, this ‘Rogue?’” Rogue almost smiled at the fake question in Hank’s voice. “She clearly can control her skin since that Wolverine guy was just touching her face, right?”
“Why, yes,” Phil said, now clearly puzzled by the direction the discussion was going.
“So that would mean that for her to be a class 5 mutant, once her mutation was in use, there would be absolutely nothing she or anybody else could do that would stop it.”
“Yes, that’s correct,” Phil answered. “Is that all you wanted to ask?”
“No, I have a question for Rogue.”
Phil looked at her, further confused by the smile on her face. “What’s your question?”
“Once you use your mutation, are you able to stop its effects either by yourself or with somebody’s help?”
“Yes,” Rogue said clearly, triumphantly. “Yes, Ah’ve always been able to let go, an’ even if Ah couldn’t, there’s no reason somebody wouldn’t be able to pull me away.”
“Then correct me if I’m wrong,” Hank returned immediately before Phil could reply, “but there’s no way this girl could be a class 5 mutant, judging by the aforementioned criteria of course.”
“I – well, yes that seems to be the case,” Phil said, nonplussed. “We retained a scientist to help us with the information; perhaps he did not have sufficient information at the time to accurately determine Rogue’s classification. Next caller, please.”
“You little bitch!” Again they recognized the voice. “I don’t care what you say about being able to control it. Your mutation makes you a killer, so you’re just lucky we didn’t know what you could do that day on campus, or you wouldn’t have gotten away so easily. And you’re not going to get away easily now. I know where you live, and I’m more than ready to post the address on the internet for everybody to see.”
Rogue felt Logan tense beside her, and panic welled up from her stomach, almost choking her. Everybody at the mansion would be in danger because of her unless she did something. She was speaking before she was even certain what she was going to say. “They kicked us out when they found out what we are, Monique, so it doesn’t matter what you do with the address. We won’t be there.” She looked to Logan when she finished, knowing she had just sealed their fate, and hoping desperately that he wasn’t angry with her. Logan’s eyes were calm as he held her gaze, though, accepting even though his body was still tense with anger.
“Good for them!” Monique spat. “If you ever come near here again, I’m sure there’ll be plenty of people who’d want to get rid of you!”
“Next caller!” Phil requested a bit desperately.
“Hello?” The query was warm and soft, and Rogue was relieved that it was not a voice she recognized. “Ah just have somethin’ ta say ta tha gentleman.” The accent, far thicker than Rogue’s, caused an unexpected twinge of homesickness.
“Go ahead,” Phil encouraged.
“Ya should be ashamed o’ yerself! Sweet young thin’ lahke that, an’ tha way ya’ve been carryin’ on durin’ this interview, ya’ve no doubt had yer lecherous paws all ova her since she was little more’n a baby! Ye’re what’s wrong wit’ this country, an’ not ‘cause ye’re a mutant!” The woman’s rant ended with the buzz of a disconnected phone.
“Now wait a minute!” Rogue said indignantly. “Did she just hang up? She did, didn’t she? Well, Ah hope ye’re still listenin’, lady. How dare ya? Ya don’t know anythin’ ‘bout us other than what ya’ve seen today, an’ from the way ye’re so quick to make judgments, Ah’d say ye’re what’s wrong with this country! Next caller!” she said angrily before Phil had a chance to. Rogue crossed her arms over her chest and glared at the cameras mutinously. Logan chuckled at her expression and she loosened her arms long enough to swat him in the chest with the back of her right hand. Logan chuckled again as he caught her hand in his own and held it on the arm of his chair.
“Ya little whore.” The low whisper was eerily calm as it filtered down from the speakers. “All this time, thinkin’ we were finally rid o’ ya.” His voice grew louder as he spoke, and Rogue stiffened suddenly. Logan heard her breath stutter and the sudden pounding of her heart. “An’ now ya turn up on national television.”
Rogue’s fingers felt numb in Logan’s grasp as she looked into the cameras.
“Daddy?”
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Author's Chapter Notes:
Sorry for the wait! There are a few vignettes highlighting life and relationships at the mansion, and then part one of the interview.
Chapter End Notes:
Next chapter: part 2 of the interview.