Looking back, Logan could recall all the events and changes that had gone on with Rogue, even if he couldn’t work out a clear timeline for most of the rest of things in his life as an X-man; after a bit more than ten years, the endless missions and plots and bad guys all muddled together. He could remember all the missions, but putting ‘em in order was hard.
He could remember the first couple of years pretty well, the first few ‘episodes’ of X-man membership: savin’ Rogue’s life on the statue of liberty, and the whole Stryker fiasco at Alkali lake where Jeannie had died the first time. And after that, he’d decided to stick around––not to be the ‘good guy’ Jean had wanted, but because after Stryker he’d started to get more leads on information about his past, a lot of his memories had started comin’ back, and that’d given him a reason to stay for the first few months. And in that time he’d helped rebuild, he’d started drinking with Scooter and they’d gotten to grudgingly respect each other, especially as Logan started to remember Mariko, and remembered her death, and a few women before her, going back to the first World War; although the pre-World War II memories were still really damned fragmented, they had a enough narrative structure to ‘em now that Logan was comfortable with his progress, comfortable that he knew who he’d been as well as who he was now.
That’s when Logan had really felt himself changing, becoming a little more bitter and feeling...old. He was old and he knew too much about how the world worked. It made him feel more isolated, the itch to wander coming back again at first––until he looked up one time, when Rogue and her popsicle had gotten into an argument Logan had been able to hear from down the hall and finally Rogue had left and marched into the kitchen, ignoring Logan and grabbing one of his beers. She sat on the edge of the counter and stared out the window with this look on her face...she looked old; not her face, but her eyes and her expression, and Logan recognized that expression because he’d seen it on his own face now and then when he’d glanced at his own reflection. And then he knew he wasn’t alone, and he was able to think about what the Hell he honestly wanted to do with his life––now that he’d gotten over the initial self-pity and restless urge to run––and realized the X-men were it.
And that was one of the first times things had changed with Rogue. She and Bobby the Icy Wonder broke up a month later. Rogue joined Logan and Scooter as they drank. Initially, Scott had resisted, but Rogue had told him a story about bein’ in love with a beautiful woman who had screamed in horror when Erik had tried to propose to her by usin’ his powers to form a piece of gold in his hand into an engagement ring he could put a diamond in. Rogue told him that the woman had then shacked up with a much less civilized man who had done horrible things to her, and she’d committed suicide two years later. Erik had kept a copy of her obituary, Rogue said, and then she plucked the bottle of whiskey from Scott’s hand and took a long swig of it. Scott didn’t stop her, just stared. Lowering the bottle and inhaling sharply, Rogue said she could still remember what the woman had tasted like. And after that, Scott had never again tried to argue about Rogue being too young to do anything.
Rogue told Logan at one point that her relationship with Bobby had been her version of denial. She’d wanted to get as close as possible to what she remembered Marie had felt like, Marie before she’d run off and become the Rogue. She’d done it initially out of fear of loosin’ herself, then after a while as a way to see how she’d changed, and finally she’d used it as a springboard for her identity to leap into all the things that had happened to her, into all of the foreign matter in her head, so she could see who she really was when she came out the other side. So it was that Logan was the only one who got any warning, because after she’d told him about everything, she started sifting through the memories she’d gotten from the boy back in Mississippi, from Logan, from Magneto, from the one or two folks she’d had to touch on the practice missions she’d been sent out on in the last few months; she slipped into a strange mental state (which is to say her brainwaves and EEG profile made no sense to Hank or Charles) wherein she experienced years worth of memories as if they’d happened to her, but all in a short period of time.
She had to be put in isolation for two weeks, but blatantly refused to let Xavier in her head. It was hard to say what the X-men, sans Logan, found more disturbing: her ordeal itself, or that she was strong enough to exert enough control over it to refuse aid and to get through it all on her own, or that she was doing all of it of her own volition when it might’ve been easier to just let Xavier in and let him clear her head of invaders. Logan could smell the fear coming off of them when Rogue came out of isolation. She had not slept in two weeks by that point, and Logan stepped forward and caught her when she fell over; the others had flinched away. He ignored them and carried her to her bed. She slept for four days, not even stirring when Hank came in to put her on an IV so she didn’t dehydrate. Logan watched her, and helped her downstairs to the kitchen when she woke up late on the night of the fourth day. She drank a large cup of milk, ate a couple bananas and some peanut butter, and took the vitamins Hank had left for her to help her overcome her two weeks without food. She was gaunt, and too thin, but she was herself, and she even managed to smile at him a little when she thanked him. Then she talked.
She said that the voices got more manageable once she let herself sink into the other person’s mind and understand them. Once they were sedated like that, she was able t’ keep parts of their character, their memories, and even their skills, and get rid of other bits that didn’t suit her. It was about that time that she and Logan could tell Xavier was a little unsettled around her. She was dangerous, she wasn’t afraid of her mutation any more because even if she couldn’t control her skin she could use her powers and grow stronger from what she stole, and she didn’t have the same moral limitations most of the X-geeks had. She was like Logan––chiefly amoral with an unspoken sense of honor that the others could not understand because it was a ruthless kind of honor that had no qualms about bloodshed––and that’s why she and Logan had their own drinking sessions now and again, without Scott, to discuss all of those particular changes.
Light-hearted, youthfully innocent Marie was long gone, and she’d left behind a powerful woman with a dark sense of humor, a dry wit, and a surprising amount of vitality behind her ancient-looking eyes. She brought out something similar in Logan, despite how dark his mood had been since he’d regained his memories. She made him smile, made him feel almost human again, made him remember he was still alive. Her sense of humor and her sardonic smiles seemed to be enough to ease the fear of her the others had. They thought she was still Marie, just a shaken and slightly more sad one. Rogue was not sad. She was just more cautious, more suspicious of others, and infinitely less naive.
And after her ordeal, Rogue didn’t show the slightest interest in getting into any more romantic relationships, and it wasn’t for lack of trying on behalf of lusty young men. She would talk to her her suitors lightly and playfully at first, as they expected, and then she would say a few quiet things about her memories or about things that she shouldn’t have known about but that she’d read in the way the suitors spoke or acted, just to test the water. Usually that alone was enough to unsettle most horny teenage boys, and suddenly they would avoid her. But then one new guy came around within a year or two who wasn’t too put off, and he also wasn’t quite in his teens: a cajun import, a professional thief named Remy Lebeau who’d lived through some dark events of his own, and was not easily disturbed.
Logan had watched them dance with interest, if only because they put on a Hell of a show, even if most people didn’t know quite how much of a show it really was and how truly interesting it was since he knew the real Rogue and understood most of the unspoken comments under their not-quite-casual banter. He knew Rogue wasn’t in danger of getting her heart broken, no matter how much Storm and the others might sigh to themselves. Rogue hadn’t put the slightest bit of trust in the guy yet, was still testing and challenging him, trying the whole time not to be too obvious when showing him the part of her that Logan best understood: the part that was too old, the part that had seen too much war, the part that was vicious and hard and cold.
But Monsieur Lebeau was not easily dissuaded, and he got pretty close to Rogue, touching her whenever he could, thinking it was her weakness, something that would make her give in. He didn’t see the way she tensed whenever they made contact even through her clothes, didn’t see the mixture of anger and hurt that would flicker briefly in her eyes every time.
Logan asked her about it.
“Ah don’t want touch anymore,” she said quietly. “Ah don’t feel deprived. Ah feel better with people at a distance. Ah don’t want any of ‘em to touch me. At this point Ah don’t even crave anything sexual from people, really. Ah don’t have the imagination to create fantasies, all the memories––mine too, but mostly not mine––of touch an’ anything sexual, they have somethin’ distant to ‘em that keeps me from findin’ ‘em arousin’. And Ah just don’t crave anybody’s touch anymore. Maybe it’s just been enough time, after all these years, that Ah think of touch differently. It doesn’t make me think of feelin’ safe or loved or anything; it makes me think of how my mutation feels rather than the way that skin on skin affection feels. And Ah don’t like usin’ my mutation, so Ah don’t like touch from people.”
But Rogue was a sensual creature, Logan knew. Her sheets had the highest thread count in the mansion––unbelievably soft linen. She had made plaster molds of her hands and arms that she used to make custom gloves that fit like a second skin, usually made of soft sheer fabrics, or sometimes more conventional silk or cotton. When she was alone, she wore as little as possible, and her bare hands liked to explore everything: tabletops, rough stone walls, anything metal got special attention, and she also liked the textures of cloth and sculptures and glass. Logan had joined her on some nights when she sat out on the mansion roof at night with a six pack of Molson, and she’d worn only a pair of thin cotton shorts that could barely merit the name, and a tank top with no bra underneath. She had mostly ignored him even as he snagged a beer and began drinking it. She’d just stared out over the mansion grounds and breathed deeply, taking in the changes in the wind blowing across her skin and all the scents in the air as her fingers explored every rough and gritty inch of the roof tiles under her hands. Her feet and legs moved slower, so slow it took Logan a while to realized they never actually fully stopped moving, feeling the texture of the roof, and how it was still warm from the recently-set sun and how the heat contrasted with the cool night air.
There was nothing sexual about it, though. She had all but abandoned that part of herself, at least when she was not alone. Her eyes would appreciatively eye any attractive human form when she thought no one was looking, but if it made her hot and wanting, she contained the feelings so well that even Logan couldn’t find a trace of them; although he knew she had an expensive shower massage and a few other sundry items in her room that she sometimes made use of. While they had never discussed it, she knew that he knew, because she knew him. And she knew he could smell it in her room for days after she’d given in to her silent frustrations.
Six years after Logan had decided to stay at the mansion permanently as an X-man, Rogue went on a mission that went horribly wrong, and for the first time she killed someone with her skin: a woman named Carol Danvers. Logan had been on the mission, and it was one of the milder ones that still truly haunted his dreams, but it haunted him differently than the others. It had a mournful quality to it, as well as something awestruck and eerie.
He had never seen Rogue lose it like that. After she had learned how to come to terms with everyone in her head, she had taken on the same war-hardened calm that Logan had slowly come to embody as his memories came back; although she didn’t have the burning constant ire of the Wolverine to contend with underneath that calm––in fact, she was the only one who could face down the Wolverine head on and help Logan regain control, because she was not afraid, not aggressive, not submissive, and not weak; and she also understood the Wolverine’s nonverbal language on a level no other could quite match, because she’d had the beast in her own head.
But Carol Danvers had been a force to be reckoned with, as well as one that the X-men could not have anticipated; she seemed to have all of Superman’s powers (sans laser eyes and x-ray vision) without the susceptibility to kryptonite: strength, invulnerability, and flight. And Scooter had been knocked out of commission earlier, or Carol might’ve had more of a challenge. But as it was, she’d taken out the junior team members by burying them under a heap of rubble and kept going. Later, Logan would learn that Kitty had been knocked out, leaving Pete to hold up the rubble so it didn’t crush Kitty and Iceman. Rogue had not been close enough to them.
That left Carol with Logan to take out, and she’d hurt him bad. His adamantium couldn’t cut her, and she’d seemed to take pleasure in bashing him through brick walls so that his flesh contorted and became mutilated too fast for him to fully heal before she was on him again. It went on for minutes, and seemed likely to never end, but then he’d heard Rogue’s cry of rage as she leapt off the top of a wall just over Carol’s head. She’d managed to react to the rubble-attack in time to be less heavily buried under the edge and had managed to struggle free, with only some bad bruising and a few fleshwounds, and catch up with Logan and Danvers. Rogue landed on the flying woman, wrapping her legs around Carol’s waist and her hands circled Carol’s throat in a vice-like grip: bare hands.
As soon as Rogue’s skin activated, both women started screaming, and as Carol lost control of her ability to fly they swayed and swooped through the air disconcertingly until they finally crashed through the roof of a nearby abandoned structure. Logan was forced to wait several minutes before he was healed enough to get to his feet and chase after them.
By the time he got to them, Carol was a dried-up shriveled corpse and Rogue was tightly curled up in a ball, her arms wrapped around her knees and clutching tightly at herself, whimpering in pain. She’d flinched as Logan knelt beside her, even though he was several inches away and made no move to touch her. Her breathing was ragged and he could smell her tears.
Before he could ask, she choked out the words, “Took it all, too much, Ah can’t...she’s fightin’ me too hard.”
“Okay,” Logan said. He ripped the cape off of Carol Danvers’ corpse, and wrapped the fabric around Rogue to cover the large rips in her uniform. She shuddered in relief, only to tense up again as he picked her up, but one of her bare hands clutched at his chest through the fabric of the cape, getting a tight, comforting grip on the leather of Logan’s own tattered uniform. He carried her back to the blackbird and set her in her usual seat in the far back corner, telling her he’d be back. He returned with the concussed but increasingly conscious Scott and tossed him into the seat closest to the front of the plane. Scott glanced back at Rogue, and before he could ask, Logan answered without telling him anything.
“Don’t go near her. Don’t touch her. Don’t talk to her,” he growled. Logan’s voice was one of cold command and a warning edge of something more bestial; it was a tone he only used when he himself would gut whoever disobeyed if their disobedience didn’t kill them first, because either way there was gonna be a messy death involved.
Scott knew that tone, and silently nodded. Logan went back to the rubble pile, sniffed out the three members of the junior team, and removed enough rubble that Pete could safely toss off the rest without potentially killing Bobby and the still-unconscious Kitty. Logan told them to get back to the plane. He met them there as he carried Carol Danvers’ body into the jet and laid it out on a stretcher, buckling it down.
Bobby watched, eyes wide. “Is she-”
“Dead. Rogue took her out.”
Flinching in response to the use of her name more than the words spoken around it, Rogue whimpered slightly. The others seemed startled to note that she was even there. Logan repeated to them the instructions he’d given Scott, and took his place in the seat next to her. Rogue shuddered, but did not open her eyes or loosen her hold of herself.
Logan focused on her, only half-aware of the others as they roused Kitty and discussed who was in the best shape to fly the plane. Once the team had gotten itself straightened out, they took their seats far from Logan and Rouge, and remained deadly quiet. Pete and Scott were in the pilot and copilot seats, talking quietly about the mission. Bobby was comforting a quietly sobbing Kitty, trying to make sure she didn’t fall asleep, since she had a concussion.
Finally, Logan leaned a little bit closer to Rogue and quietly asked, “Do you need to touch me?”
Her eyes tightened shut a little more as her brow furrowed in confusion, but then she opened them to stare at Logan incredulously.
Logan raised his eyebrows in shock. The chocolate-colored depths he knew so well were gone, replaced by the brightest green he’d ever seen. “Your eyes are green,” he mentioned, knowing she was probably not aware, but would be curious about his reaction to them.
Rogue looked away and blinked a few times, seeming momentarily confused. “I...I’m not surprised.” Her accent wasn’t so southern; it had a touch of the midwest in it now. She raised one shaking hand and pinched the bridge of her nose between her forefinger and thumb, her other fingers splaying a little across her face. Logan was relieved because he recognized the gesture as Rogue’s, as one that meant she was pushing someone else’s thoughts away. “What did you say before that, Logan?”
“Do you. need. to touch me?” Logan repeated slowly.
Rogue stared at him again, shocked and confused, lowering her hand from her face.
“I’m already in there still, yeah? A decent part of me?”
She nodded slowly.
“Can I help you fight her, since I’m more familiar and not real likely to get along with her,” Logan suggested, and raised his eyebrows just a little, silently asking if she understood.
Rogue took a deep breath and gave a sharp nod of understanding, but her facial expression clearly stated she wasn’t agreeing to touch him. She looked thoughtful, uneasy. “Ah’m not sure it works like that,” she said after a moment. Then she looked at the floor as a shudder went through her. “But Ah’ll keep it in mind if Ah can’t handle it by next week.” Rogue glanced at him one more time, a rare look of sincere gratitude, unsuspicious and pure, clearly written across her face for him to read.
Logan nodded, a reassuring expression of solidarity and acceptance in his look.
Then Rogue curled up, turning inward on herself again, but she breathed a little less raggedly and didn’t tremble as much. Logan had the urge to wrap an arm around her shoulder, but knew it wouldn’t be appropriate here. He sat back in his seat and closed his eyes, aware of every sound and movement in the plane as they went home.
After that mission, Rogue changed again. She spent five days totally alone, usually locked up or hidden away somewhere no one would interrupt her: sitting up on one of the rafters in the attic, somewhere deep the woods, on the far side of the lake in a tree, perching on the hardest places to reach on the mansion’s roof, but never in her room. She moved to a different room, one in a different hall and only a few doors down from Logan’s. She’d needed the change in scenery, needed a less familiar place now that her mind was less familiar.
Rogue was eventually able to do with Carol what she had done with the others, but the woman’s voice still sometimes lingered on the edge of her mind like a whisper. Rogue kept much of Carol’s knowledge and reluctantly sought Xavier’s help to fully erase some of the other woman’s too-stubborn and too-powerful memories, which had made things much easier to control. More and more, Rogue looked like she was a thousand years too old for her face, and her southern accent faded a little. Carol’s green eyes and mutant powers became permanent.
Rogue herself became more distant, rarely spending time with the rest of the X-men. Logan had tried to seek her out to share drinks after the sixth day without seeing her, and found that she seemed to have gone. With a surprising touch of nerves he went to her room and lifted the bedskirt to assure himself the duffle bag she kept there, packed and waiting for an emergency escape, was still there. And it was. Logan exhaled a breath he hadn’t noticed he’d held, then silently left her room, closing the door behind him.
Logan sat out on the roof, waiting to catch the sounds of Rogue returning to the mansion, and maybe catch her scent to get some idea of how she was doing. He was surprised when her scent reached him on the wind before he could hear her, but then she eased down from somewhere high in the air, landed quietly on the end of the roof and looked up at him with a faint smile that told him she was okay. The air was cool, since it was the middle of fall, but she was only wearing those little cotton shorts and a semi-loose silky top with spaghetti straps, its hem just barely reaching her belly button. Logan swallowed tightly and wondered why his mouth felt dry. He took a sip of beer and raised his eyebrows at Rogue.
“Hey,” she said quietly.
“Hey yourself,” Logan replied, his voice soft but still lightly teasing.
Rogue’s smile widened a little at the old joke. Her eyes in the moonlight looked alive and almost wicked, but her expression was peaceful. “I like the flyin’,” she said simply, giving a languid shrug. “It’s...even better than usin’ that little button on Scott’s bike.”
That brought an amused smirk to Logan’s lips and he held out a beer for her. “Oh really?”
She approached, her footsteps softer than he remembered, and took the proffered beer before sitting down about a foot away. “Yeah.” The wind whispered by again, playing with tendrils of Rogue’s hair that’d come loose from her ponytail, and pressing the silky top against her a little tighter, so that Logan couldn’t help but note that she wore no bra and did it well. Rogue’s fingers played over the condensation on the cold beer bottle in her hand for a few moments before she opened it. She crumpled the cap in her hand and pressed it into a compact little cube with her unnatural strength. She then flicked the little cube off her thumb so it flew in a graceful little arc over the edge of the roof.
Logan asked her how she’d changed this time, and again she smiled a little.
“You’re the only one who really notices, ya know. The others think I’m still ‘poor little Rogue’ with all the voices in her head makin’ her sad, and her fear of havin’ more of ‘em keepin’ her from gettin’ close to people. They think I’m still this younger, fragile person who just wants to be normal.” She shook her head. Then seemed to switch tracks. “I told Remy he’d never have a chance and that he’d better go after somebody else because I’m not gonna play the game anymore. The rules have changed, and while I respect him and could learn to like him as a team member, I still don’t want him in my head and if he touches me again I’ll throw him through a wall just as a reflex.”
Logan nodded slowly. “You were close to doin’ that anyway, I thought.”
Rogue looked at him for a moment surprised that he’d seen it, then looked away with a faint sigh. “I hadn’t realized I was gettin’ there until I had to take a closer look at...everything.” She tapped the side of her head with two bare fingers, then lowered her hand again and lifted her beer bottle to her lips, taking a long swig. “I’d thought that maybe I could try and tell him about some things and see if he could handle it, see if maybe he’d understand enough to...” She shook her head. “but I realized he’d just want to persuade me to like touch again, as though I’d just been misled and irrational like a damsel in distress.” She gave a low scoff.
“How’d he take it?”
Rogue took another long pull of beer before she answered, this time seeming to swish it around her mouth a little before swallowing. “He kissed me through a silk scarf, which was interesting. Then I picked him up and threw him out into the hall so hard he hit the door of the storeroom and the hinges came halfway-loose. I told him next time he’d make his own door in the wall and go through it in the process.” Her face showed no expression, and Logan knew she truly didn’t feel much about it. She was just being practical.
He could relate. “You think he’ll give up that easy?”
Rogue shrugged. “He looked a little terrified. I think he got the message when he saw the look on my face.” She looked at Logan calmly. “I’m gonna be more anti-social than even you from now on. And I’m gonna be more...” She trailed off and her gaze lowered contemplatively. “Distant. Nobody within arm’s reach, for the most part, at least until they understand that I’ll either flinch or push them away pretty hard if they get too much closer.”
“But not me?” Logan asked, pointedly eyeing the distance between them
She smirked a little. “You’ve earned my trust there, Logan. They haven’t.”
Logan held her gaze for a moment and nodded slowly. They understood. No need to exchange awe or gratitude or assurances of sincerity: they understood.
And Rogue did become more distant, but she was also a little more fiery sometimes. Her sarcastic comments were less restrained, and her dry wit had a sharp edge that could be either entertaining or unnerving depending on her mood and how close someone listened to her words. To anyone who talked to her she made no attempt to hide who she had become, the ancient woman she was instead of the girl she’d been. Logan had to wonder why so many of them still saw that girl when they looked at Rogue.
She gave off the distinct impression that she needed no one, and whenever she fought, she showed precisely why: she didn’t. With her new powers, combined with the ones she’d always had, she was a nigh unstoppable force. She and Logan became the official wrecking crew, allowing for more dangerous missions against increasingly dangerous anti-mutant threats with impressive weaponry, usually taken from the most mutant-hostile nation on earth: Genosha. And weren’t they just so ambitious.
It was a few years later, when Genosha teamed up with the Friends of Humanity to make a few labs in the U.S., that things began to feel dangerously like the beginnings of an all-out international war, complete with allied troops on both sides, because the brotherhood was clearly willing to stand alongside the X-men on this one––at that point they reminded Logan of Russia in World War II. Luckily, the Genoshans pulled back their support from the FOH when a militant wing of the FOH did something that Rogue had, with a supremely wrathful expression on her face that Logan hadn’t seen since Carol’s death, referred to as ‘pulling a Stryker.’ They had decided that properly ‘controlled’ (I.E.: brainwashed) mutants made useful weapons against uncontrolled mutants.
And that was how the X-men found themselves breaking into the half-underground lab complex. Rogue and Logan were, as usual, the frontline and the battering ram. Kitty had ghosted around and messed up all their alarm systems shortly before they dropped in. Nightcrawler was able to teleport them into the middle of the complex’s top floor, where they immediately caused enough chaos and destruction that Nightcrawler could teleport to the other floors and come back for them, taking them where they were most needed to take care of guards and heavy metal doors. Until, of course, Nightcrawler reached the first underground level and immediately teleported back to the blackbird, wounded and gasping that the mutants inside were very very hostile. Rogue and Logan kept going, clearing out all the guards and not meeting the first of the mutants until they approached the doors to the underground levels.
Then they had the misfortune to run into a mind-control-ridden Havock, whose powers seemed to have been deliberately advanced to an unstable level. Blasts from his hands sent Rogue flying through the wall, unable to stop. Logan managed to dodge, and took out two other mutants who had less-deadly abilities: a kid who reminded him nostalgically of Pyro, and a very tall man who had powers to make the Terminator (from the second film) envious, except that a good blow to the head had still knocked him out. But then Havock turned to Logan and hit him with a forceful enough blast to knock Logan back against the wall and lay open the flesh across his adamantium ribcage. Rogue burst back in, but Havock blasted her away again, this time with enough force to leave a gaping hole most of the way through the building. Logan took the other man’s distraction as an opportunity to land an adamantium-laced fist on the base of Havock’s skull, knocking him out. Logan stared down at the unconscious Havock and tried to figure out why the guy seemed so damned familiar, but then Rogue came back looking pissed off and more than a little vengeful as she approached Havock.
Logan met her gaze and shook his head. Cooling herself down, Rogue reluctantly nodded and they sent word back to the others about which levels were still clear, and then moved on down. A few guards got in their way, but most were either unconscious or playing dead in the hopes that they wouldn’t get hurt––Logan paused to knock them out. Rogue carried a few unconscious mutants at a time up to the cleared levels as Logan moved further down. At one point she leapt between him and a doctor attempting to shoot them with some kind of mutation-suppressant. The darts bounced harmlessly off Rogue’s invulnerable skin and she flew at the doctor, knocking her unconscious with one blow. Then Rogue stripped a glove and touched the woman’s cheek briefly with a bare hand, earning herself a mental map of the complex. Tugging her glove back on, she told Logan where they still needed to go.
They moved on and found the heavily guarded main control room, the one mystery left on their map of the complex. There was one woman inside, her head and her veins hooked up to huge computer terminals and IV tubes respectively. She had long blue-black hair and her eyes were wide open, but unseeing, lit with internal lights that looked like the flickers of a futuristic computer interface.
“They’re usin’ her to run the complex,” Rogue murmured.
Logan growled low. “How do we get her out?”
“Cuttin’ the electronics loose could be bad if too much of her brain is usin’ ‘em. Pull out the IV’s.” Rogue was tugging at her gloves as they heard a rumble from upstairs that shouldn’t have occurred since they’d secured those floors.
Logan removed the IVs and sniffed at them idly. “Some sedatives, something that smells like that shit Stryker used, and some nutrients.”
Rogue nodded and hovered close to the other mutant. Rogue ever-so-lightly stroked her face and then sharply pulled away with a stuttering gasp, her eyes widening. “Oh, shit. Logan, there’s more weapon mutants among those we pulled out, and they’re wakin’ up from the sedatives, but not from the mind control. Go. Ah’ve gotta get these electronics out the right way and Ah don’t got time ta explain it, or Ah’d join ya.”
Logan nodded sharply and obeyed as Rogue pulled her gloves back on. Rogue tapped the communicator on her collar and said she needed Nightcrawler to take one of the mutants out ASAP so she could help Logan with the situation upstairs. She then ignored any other communications shouted back at her and began meticulously pulling out cord after cord of the dozen that seemed to be plugged, through tiny holes in this mutant––Sage, her name was––through Sage’s skull, into her brain. Then she carefully lifted the other mutant just as a wounded, but bandaged, Nightcrawler ‘ported in, cursing her in German. Sage’s eyes fell shut as the last plug was removed, and Rogue caught her as Sage fell limply from the terminal.
“Bitch at me later. Don’t go to the second above-ground story on your way out,” Rogue snapped, handing Kurt his charge, and then she flew straight up, ignoring the crash of concrete and plaster around her head and body as she made her way up through all the floors.
Kurt held Sage and cursed at Rogue one more time before he ‘ported.
Logan, meanwhile, wasn’t having such a good time. Scott had finally taken out the green-haired girl, Polaris apparently, who could manipulate metal; she was Scott’s bother Havock’s fiancee`. Unfortunately, Havock had then woken up just as a woman who turned into a wolf managed to leap up and bite Cyclops’ arm and the ensuing fight prevented Cyclops from being able to used his eye-beams for lack of a hand to operate his visor. Havock ignored his brother and began trying to blast the flesh off of Logan’s metal bones until there wasn’t too much left of Logan’s torso and it seemed questionable that his healing powers could take too much more.
Rogue interrupted by bursting up through the floor several feet away. She immediately tried to attack Havock, dodging his blasts until she settled right in front of Logan, who lay on the floor bleeding and not moving so much. Rogue squared her feet, facing Havock down, clearly not intending to move. Havock gritted his teeth and stepped toward her as he sent out a more concentrated beam that seared the fabric of Rogue’s X-men uniform into a melted boiling scorch mark across her invulnerable chest. She stumbled one step back and winced, but kept glaring at Havock, whose hands glowed with concentration for a few moments before he shot again, this blast as intense as the last, focused more on damaging heat than percussive force; Havock had more control than his brother.
Rogue snarled and fell to one knee, but stayed in place, breathing hard through grit teeth against the pain as she kept her body between Hacock and Logan. Logan opened his eyes, regaining consciousness slowly as his flesh mended and smelling Rogue’s charred flesh, but he still couldn’t move and could still see his own ribcage. Havock stepped closer and this time the glow went all the way up his arms. Rogue put one gloved hand on Logan’s hip to push herself up again and launched herself against the blast, managing to knock Havock out, but she also caught the full force of the blast and shortly afterward fell to the floor in a heap, giving a single loud and harsh cry of pain.
She was still gasping and shuddering when Logan managed to get to his feet and to her side, rolling her over onto her back and giving a hiss of sympathy. Rogue had a dark burn that seem to have melted and then scorched to ash the front of her uniform from her collar to her navel, leaving a barely decent black crust over her breasts while the rest of the damage was all to her skin, which looked cracked and ashen, shiny and partially melted where her uniform had been completely vaporized.
“That. Sucked,” Rogue gasped out, her teeth gritted.
“Let me heal you,” Logan said, his voice barring no argument.
Rogue stared up at him, trying to keep from breathing hard in order to keep the skin across her chest from breaking open if her ribcage stretched it too far. “Just for a couple seconds, then pull back,” she relented in strained tones, her eyes squeezing shut.
“Will that be enough?”
“It’ll hafta be. Do it.”
Logan wanted to argue, but stopped himself. He shook his head and pulled off one of his gloves with his teeth. His bare hand cupped the side of Rogue’s face. The pull was like being in an electric chair, and Logan thought he felt something almost as scorching as what had managed to so badly burn Rogue’s invulnerable skin. Then Rogue’s hand gently pushed his away with a grunt of effort.
“Ah said just a couple seconds,” she snapped.
Logan shook his head, shaking off the dizziness, and then lowered his gaze to her skin and watched it slowly mend into the flawless pale flesh he knew from a dozen surreptitious glances he’d taken over the years when he could get away with it. As the pain cleared from her brow and the tension in her body eased, Logan couldn’t help but find her beautiful. And God, was she exposed. He ran his gloved hand from her collarbone to her navel and saw her shudder, but she didn’t stop him.
She did, however, cover her breasts. Her partially-melted skin had apparently been the only thing holding on what little was left of her uniform. “Fuckin’ Hell,” she groaned and started to sit up, the singed and crispy edges of the wide gap in her uniform crackling and creaking in protest, but Rogue herself no longer seemed to be in agony. Logan reluctantly pulled his hand away and raised an eyebrow when she grabbed his shoulder for support. His eyes darted downward immediately, but to his disappointment Rogue was keeping herself covered with her other arm. With some effort, he lifted his gaze again.
“You alright?” he asked, keeping his eyes on her face this time.
Rogue looked up at him with disbelief and raised an eyebrow. “Are ya serious?”
Logan rolled his eyes. “Smartass. I mean, can ya walk?”
Clearing her throat, Rogue glanced down at herself and crossed both arms over her chest again. “I’d really like some coverin’ before I go too far.”
Logan peeled off the sleeves and the intact back half of his uniform. He put the remaining scrap of the back across Rogue’s chest and shifted around behind her to securely tie the sleeves in the back. Rogue lifted her arms and adjusted the leather so Logan could tie it.
“Thanks,” she sighed sincerely.
“I should say the same,” Logan muttered. “You shoulda hit him earlier, though.”
“Until he got that close, if I’d flown at him, his blasts mighta hit ya again,” she murmured quietly as Logan got to his feet. “I could take those hits.”
Logan froze, and watched her with a masked expression as she slowly stood up beside him. Sometimes they frightened each other, knowing what lengths the one would go to for the other. Logan was only vaguely aware as the blackbird landed on the roof overhead and the other X-men were takin’ care of the last few evacuees.
Rogue didn’t look back at him, but asked, “Are ya comin’, then?” and pointed at her waist in an invitation for him to hang on. Then she raised her arms and let her hair down so he couldn’t touch the skin on the back of her neck.
She tensed a little as Logan’s arms wrapped around her waist, his bare chest and arms protected by the remains of their combined uniforms, and she felt his breath warmly puff against her hair, warming her ear. He heard her throat convulse around a tense swallow, and restrained himself from the urge to see if he could get even more interesting reactions, and maybe break that control of hers. Taking to the air, Rogue held his arms in place as his grip on her tightened. They returned to the plane and took the two seats in their corner in the back, catching their breaths as the others applied anti-mind-control drugs, previously prepared by Hank and the professor, to the evacuated mutants. Rogue was distantly aware of the movements of her teammates and the evacuees on their stretchers, but was otherwise focused inward. Logan watched her quietly through the take-off and the first half hour of the journey home. He was thinking about her standing over him through those blasts, and about the faint hint of longing he’d noticed in her scent when he’d wrapped his arms around her. He was wondering when this part of Rogue had changed.
They did not speak through the journey home, although they were forced to talk to the others durning the debriefing. Scott had been distracted, however, by the unexpected rescue of his brother, and so the meeting was short; although Rogue in her make-shift top got a few odd looks and had to explain that Havock’s powers were a little more impressive than Scott’s.
Logan had gone to the Danger room to clear his head with some less life-threatening and more skills-based combat. He then took an hour-long shower to get all the bits of scorched uniform off his skin. It was as he went past the med-bay with the intent to head upstairs that he stopped and thought about Rogue again, because she was in there.
Logan paused near the doorway and listened, using the towel around his neck to further dry his still-wildly-spiked hair.
“Why did she ask for me? Gratitude?” Rogue asked.
“She asked specifically about your mutation without being told anything about it. She is either partially psychic, which Charles doubts, or she has some ability to sense the mutations of others. She just said that she wanted to talk to you, Rogue.”
“Did you mention that I’m antisocial and bitchy?”
“Not in so many words, but I hinted. She remained very insistent.”
Rogue sighed. “Alright. I’ll talk to her.”
“Thank you, Rogue. That’s all I ask,” Hank replied, and Logan heard the blue-furred mutant’s footsteps go into the other end of the lab.
Rogue sighed again, muttering something annoyed-sounding under her breath before she turned on her heel and headed off toward the main medical rooms. Logan entered the med-lab and followed, both out of his own curiosity and his distrust of the mutants they’d rescued.
He paused and leaned against the doorframe of the room. Sage’s bed was the nearest to the door and Rogue stood with her back to him. The other beds in the room held sleeping and/or willingly sedated mutants whose health still needed watching.
“Yes, you were the one who pulled me out of that damned terminal,” Sage said quietly, a faint smile on her lips. “I could vaguely sense you through the drugged fog. Especially when you touched me.”
“I needed to know how to get you out without destroyin’ your brain.”
Sage only nodded. “I know. And thank you.” Then she hesitated. “My mutation...I can sense the mutant potential and powers that people possess. I can also advance them. My brain is like a computer and I can process genetic information very quickly.” She gave Rogue a significant look and reached for her gloved hand. “And I have a slightly telekinetic ability that lets me alter that information, or at the very least activate its potential.”
Rogue pulled her hand back a fraction and Sage stopped. “What are ya sayin’?”
“I want to help you.”
Logan tried to figure out when his breathing seemed to have stopped, and forced it to quietly start again.
Rogue was trembling a little, but she didn’t move away when Sage reached for her again. Sage wrapped her fingers around Rogue’s gloved hand and squeezed gently. Rogue’s whole body was tense and ready to run. Sage’s eyes flickered with that electric-looking light again and a single tremor went through Rogue’s body, making Logan take a step toward them both instinctively, glaring at Sage who merely glanced at him for a moment, holding his gaze until Rogue finally gave a sharp cry and took a stumbling step back from Sage, who let her go gently.
Logan growled at Sage darkly, and Rogue spun around to look at him in surprise.
“How long ya been there?”
“He’s been eavesdropping the whole time,” Sage said lightly. “But probably out of concern. I am, after all, an unknown mutant with unknown motives.”
“Damned right you are,” Logan growled.
Rogue shook her head, running a hand through her hair. “Ah...felt somehtin’. Was that...was that it? That’s all?”
Sage looked at Rogue again and nodded slowly. “Yes. Try to concentrate on remembering what the pull of your mutation feels like.”
Rogue shut her eyes. “Okay...”
“Do you feel it?”
Rogue’s brow furrowed. “Yeah...Ah can-” She stopped, her breath hitched and her bright green eyes snapped open again. “Oh,” she whispered, her voice unsteady.
Sage smiled a little. “You found the switch.”
Rogue covered her mouth with one had and shivered. “How do you even know it’s gonna work? How do Ah know?” she hissed.
Sage looked at Logan questioningly. “Would the superhealer like to ever-so-politely volunteer?” she inquired.
Rogue glanced at Logan. God, the man wasn’t even wearing a shirt. She glared at Sage darkly, but then tensed a bit as she sensed Logan stepping closer. She bit her lip as he held out one hand, palm-up.
“I’ll volunteer, but not to be polite,” he said gruffly.
Rogue looked into his eyes and smirked a bit. “God forbid the Wolverine find himself besmirched by the rumor that he’s become a creature a’ courtesy,” she joked a little, but she understood what he meant; he was doing this because he wanted to give her this, and because he was curious, as always. Then she looked at her gloved hand and her smile faded as she tentatively pulled off one glove. Her pale hand seemed almost fragile, were it not for all the callouses from fighting.
Logan’s eyes lingered on the bare fingers as they slowly lowered over his palm, and he tried not to jump at her touch. She lingered for just a second, and he heard her stifle an undignified little noise of surprise in the back of her throat. He closed his fingers around hers and held them before she could think to pull away. Her skin was smooth, the muscles and bones under it firm. Logan looked into her eyes and saw tears forming. She looked younger, then, just for a moment as she was overwhelmed by shock and disbelief. Then her hand gripped his back, and gave a gentle squeeze. “Thank you,” she whispered quietly, her gaze still lingering on their linked hands.
Logan could only nod slightly, and knew she could see it on the edge of her vision.
Rogue squeezed his hand again and then pulled away. “Ah...Ah’ve gotta go think about this. Don’t tell anyone this happened.” And then she rushed out the door.
Logan’s jaw clenched and he cursed under his breath, the hand that had held hers closing on empty air as Logan squeezed his eyes shut.
Sage broke the brief silence that followed. “Was she talking to me or...”
“Both of us. I just understood more about it than you did,” Logan growled.
Sage hesitated. “Did I...do something wrong?”
Logan shook his head. “She gave up on control, and on bein’ touched, ten years ago. She’s gotten used to it. She was comfortable with her life. Almost able to be happy with it.”
Sage took a deep breath. “God. I’m...I’m sorry.”
Logan shook his head. “No. Thank you for this,” he said quietly. “No matter what she eventually decides.” He gave Sage a sharp nod and left her.
Within an hour, he was dressed and sitting out on that familiar, albeit somewhat hard-to reach, part of the mansion roof. There was a window that one led to this patch of roof, but it was closed up, the only remnant of it a windowsill and a re-done square of siding on one spire sticking up outta the roof. Logan had set the first bottle of whiskey, now empty, on that windowsill, and he had the second one in his hands as he waited.
He had no doubt that Rogue had gone flying to think everything over.
The night was far from young. It was past midnight and getting colder. Logan was cursing himself a fool. He’d spent years watching Rogue change, years listening to her, and having her listen back. She was the only one here at the mansion who knew James Howlett, and his history. His real name was Logan James Howlett, according to some blurry memories of his mother cursing up and down for years that they’d gotten his records wrong, so his family and close friends had called him Logan for the first few decades of his too-long life. And the rest of the world just called him James Howlett until eventually the name Logan had faded––at least, it’d faded until James Howlett got caught by an advanced enough military facility that he couldn’t escape like he’d done before, and over the years they took his identity and his memory and used him to commit atrocities until finally they made him into too good of a weapon and he got out of Alkali lake’s facility with nothing but an adamantium dog tag, the innate knowledge that his name was Logan, and infinitely less clear ghosts of memory that told him things like how to act in public, how to read, how to drive any vehicle that came his way, how to fight better than anyone else out there, and how to remain under the radar as a mutant in an anti-mutant world.
And now he was just Logan. James Howlett was his past, the man who had lived the life that Logan remembered, but Logan himself was a different man. Rogue understood that in a way that no one else could, because she collected the memories, thoughts, and personalities of strangers all the time. After a certain point, it stopped changing them both, and everything they found and learned became just another book in their mental libraries. Their identities had solidified, become stronger and more resistant. Nothing could shock them anymore. They both knew they could survive anything. And the result was a sensation like lookin’ out over a huge empty plain that goes on forever in all directions: behind is the path they’ve already taken, and they can see every inch of it even though it’s gone on for centuries and light-years. And they’re painfully aware of all the time ahead, too, and how much of it there is. Strong as they are, it makes them both so damned tired sometimes, especially when they look at the other people around them who think the world is so much smaller; no matter how much the others may try to say that they understand, or that they know the world isn’t small, or that they know about the passage of time––they’re always wrong and they never understand.
That had been what initially brought Logan to Rogue’s side for something other than just loyalty and a vague hint of affection for the girl he’d saved, and it had gotten him talking to her over drinks. Because he could tell she saw and felt what he did. So he’d told her about James Howlett one night about ten years ago, sometime after her ordeal in isolation, and when Scott was away with the others on a mission. That night, Rogue had wandered off to the far end of the lake and sat on a wide dock platform none of the other students had found yet. Logan had followed and sat next to her and talked. After he’d told her about James Howlett, she’d told Logan about Marie D’Ancanto, about a boy named Cody, about a man named Erik, about the two men she’d touched on the practice missions, and about the Logan she’d known. And then Logan had known he needed this girl, because otherwise he would surely go insane surrounded by the rest of the people in the world who couldn’t see what she could.
And he’d advanced her training, and he’d fought beside her, and he’d watched her change. And Logan had wanted her many times. He’d wanted to touch her body and make her feel only good things for a while, but he’d known she did not want to be touched. She was not afraid of it, just like she was not afraid of pain, but that did not mean she liked it in the slightest. And Logan had never wanted to touch her and see the look on her face that he’d seen when Remy had touched her in the past; there was no potential for pleasure in that look, only disgust and anger and resentment. So he hadn’t done what he’d wanted to: hadn’t held her close, hadn’t searched for the places he could stroke her skin and make her purr, hadn’t tasted her, hadn’t taken her to his bed and tried to keep her there every night. No other women could compare to her anymore, and he’d started to wonder how they ever had.
Now, Logan knew she could touch his skin without draining him, and he could feel a fire in his chest that he’d never expected to feel again: want, hunger, desire, and something more dangerous that some people called ‘love’ that felt like longing and blissful pain all at once.
He opened the second bottle of whiskey and drained half of it in under a minute. He flinched as the alcohol hit his system five minutes later, but the buzz only lasted two more minutes. Then he merely took the occasional pull, the burn of the alcohol from his throat to his stomach occasionally letting him pretend for a few moments that the alcohol was all he felt, instead of the other, less tangible but more powerful burn in him.
He looked up when he caught Rogue’s scent from overhead, and watched her circle once before swooping down in a deliberately slow descent that let her land almost soundlessly a few feet away from him. She’d apparently taken off her shoes and socks before take-off, and left her gloves and sweater with them so she wore only her jeans and a thin green t-shirt that showed Logan yet again just how good she was at not wearing a bra.
They said nothing, but Rogue gave him a tired half-smile that made her bright green eyes look ancient. Then she took a few steps toward him and sat next to him, less than a hand’s width away––closer than she’d ever let herself get before. She tugged the whiskey bottle from his hands and put it to her lips, tilting her head back far enough to drink that Logan found himself mesmerized by the lines of her pale, bare throat as she swallowed, and swallowed, and swallowed, and then lowered the bottle, handing it back to him.
He took it silently, resisting the temptation to brush his fingers across hers.
“I still don’t want the others to know,” she said softly. “Not until I’ve got a way to keep ‘em from tryin’ to hug me and plan some kinda party. I don’t want...Ah don’t want to see ‘em all smilin’ at me like they’re so glad Ah can finally be normal an’ happy an’ energetic an’ social.” Her voice darkened as she slipped back into that honeyed southern drawl, edged with a growl.
Logan nodded. “I understand.”
Rogue smiled a little. “Yeah. Ah figured you would.” She hesitated for a moment and then leaned against his shoulder. “And Ah’m glad you know,” she murmured.
Logan didn’t freeze, didn’t tense, but after a moment he shifted his arm so that it wrapped loosely around her waist. At first she’d tensed, unsure whether his movement was going to push her away, but as his hand settled on her side she relaxed almost bonelessly against him, letting her eyes fall shut. Logan looked down at her, feeling the burning in his chest ease, satiated by knowing she had as much as she wanted from him at that moment; and that was when Logan knew he was in serious trouble, but also that he didn’t care because it was worth it to see her face as she relaxed, the relief and the rarely-seen contentment written across her features.
They stayed that way for a while, finishing off the whiskey slowly, until the horizon grayed a little toward the east with the threat of dawn. Rogue watched it as she drained the last few drops of whiskey and handed the bottle to Logan, who put it on the windowsill. She sighed a little. “I should get some sleep,” she murmured, and she did sound pretty tired.
Logan’s thumb stroked her side lightly, tempted to offer his bed, but he only said, “Probably.” Then met her gaze more seriously. “You gonna be okay?”
She smiled a little and tilted her head up without takin’ it off of his chest. “Always am, Sugah.” And she pushed herself to her feet, leaving Logan’s arm feeling bare as she grabbed the empty whiskey bottles. And did she just call him Sugar?
“Good night then, Marie,” Logan said, and almost bit his tongue. He hadn’t called her that in over a decade.
She hesitated for a moment, but didn’t quite look at him, although he saw the flicker of a puzzled smile on her face for a moment. “It’s morning by now, Logan, but thanks.” And then she stepped off the edge of the roof and hovered to the ground.
Life went on, but every other evening or so, Logan would be out somewhere away from the others, if it was at night then most of whom had gone to bed anyway the crazy early-risers, and Rogue would find him. The first time she’d done it had been in the afternoon, and she’d found Logan in one of his favorite spots in the woods, leaning against a tree and reading The Hunt for Red October. She’d sat next to him, leaning against the tree, and taken his left hand off the book, exploring his skin with her bare fingers. Logan glanced at her a little oddly, but merely shifted his hold on the book in his free hand and kept reading. For several minutes she seemed to trace every line on his palm and his fingers, then the back of his hand and his knuckles, his wrist and his inner arm. She showed a distinct fascination with his outer forearm and the sleek but slightly wiry hairs there. Then she’d traced from the gaps between his knuckles where the claws came out, down the path his claws took through the back of his hand, his wrist, down to the base of his forearm; Logan had already lost his ability to focus on the words on the page in front of him within the first thirty seconds, but that made him forget he even had a book in the first place and he let out a faint purr.
Rogue looked at him, meeting his gaze with a faint, curious smile. She ran her thumb across the front of his knuckles and lowered his hand a little reluctantly. “Why’d ya let me do this?” she murmured.
“You wanted to. I wanted to see what you’d do,” he replied, setting his book aside with the pages down and the spine hopelessly bent.
Her lips formed a thoughtful moue for a moment and Logan struggled to keep his eyes on hers instead of on those lips. “You...want me to touch you.” It both was and was not a question, and her brow was a drawn in a thoughtful, curious expression.
Logan nodded slowly. “Yeah. I do.”
Rogue nodded, a light smile on her face. “Good. I feel less like a bitch that way.” She lifted his hand close to her face again, cupping it in hers as her thumbs ran across his palm.
Logan wondered if he should tell her that he’d quite like to touch her, too. Touch her until she forgot her own name and he forgot he’d ever had one. But she wasn’t talking about anything sexual yet, was probably still uneasy about the whole thing.
Then she lightly kissed the gap between the knuckles of his middle- and ring-finger and Logan tried not to groan at the sight of it as much as the feel. And the feel was good: her lips were warm and soft. “Thanks,” she said softly, and flashed him a brighter smile before freeing his hand and walking away, leaving Logan to pull the scattered pieces of his brain back together.
The second time, Logan had been up late watching a hockey game in one of the less-used den-style rooms, sprawled across the couch. Most of the kids were in bed, and everyone else was either in the main den watching movies or off making out with someone, or in a few cases off actually working on X-men related things in lab or office. It was just one of those nights. Rogue walked in, shut the double-doors behind her softly, and before Logan could move to offer her some room she settled across his lap and curled up on his chest to watch the game with him, asking who was playing and what the score was.
Logan found his voice after a moment and calmly told her, trying to restrain his body’s reaction to her and how good she felt; although his non-remote-wielding hand settled on her hip of its own accord. Luckily, Rogue didn’t seem to mind, and simply went bonelessly relaxed against him within a few breaths, which helped Logan get ahold of himself. She wasn’t trying to seduce him, he concluded; she just wanted the touch, and he was more than willing to give. After a while he found himself unexpectedly sedate, and realized Rogue was almost asleep and that her slowed breathing was lulling him into drowsiness himself.
Then the game switched to an unexpectedly loud commercial that snapped Rogue out of it a little and she yawned. “Hell, Ah’m fallin’ asleep,” she mumbled, pushing herself up. Then she looked at Logan a bit playfully. “Who’d’ve thought you’d make such a good pillow, Sugah?”
Yes. She had, indeed, called him ‘Sugar’ in that accent of hers, and she was sitting in his lap and with the way that one word was affecting him this could get awkward in a few moments. “I resemble that remark,” he countered, just to see her smile widen a little, even if he had to put an effort into not audibly complaining when she slid out of his lap and stood up.
“Goodnight, Logan.”
“‘Night, Marie.”
Again, that gave her just the slightest pause and that puzzled little smile.
For a total of four more nights, Logan went through this. He’d be perfectly fine until she either called him ‘Sugar’ or did anything involving his lap. But then for four nights, Logan was alone, and he found himself suspicious. He tracked her down to a secluded spot in the gardens. It was a smallish open space surrounded by tall hedges and other foliage that made it a little hard to get to, but it was the perfect place to get away from everyone and still enjoy the thick, soft grass of the mansion lawn, which Rogue was sprawled on. Her long gloves, shoes and sock were in a small pile off to the side, covered by the sweatshirt she’d worn earlier. It wasn’t quite sunset, and most of the mansion’s other residents were at dinner. The garden was quiet.
“Marie?”
Rogue looked up a little and gave a faint, slightly knowing smile. “Hey, Logan.” She patted the grass beside her in invitation.
Logan slowly approached and sat next to her. For some reason he felt uneasy, like he’d been caught. He could only watch her, and wait.
Rogue settled back, her hands behind her head as she stared at the sky for a few long moments. Logan’s eyes lowered to her chest because she was wearing this thin, tight little t-shirt and he could see a hell of a lot through it––and did she ever wear a bra, anymore? Then she said, “Ah finally went through what Ah got from when ya touched me, on the mission.” Her voice was soft, thoughtful.
Logan felt realization crawl up his spine like a spiky chill and he looked away from her, staring straight ahead and puffing on his cigar before putting it out in his palm and pocketing it. “Yeah?” His voice was a little rougher than he’d been going for.
Rogue took a deep breath, and slowly let it out, trying to slow her heartbeat. Then she sat up and, with the element of surprise and super-strength on her side, pushed Logan down until she could pin his shoulders to the ground, straddling his waist in the process. Rogue found it hard not to smirk at the shock that crossed his face, but she kept her facial expression soft, neutral, and unreadable.
Logan swallowed thickly. “Marie?”
Rogue shifted, lowering herself over him until her face was closer to his. “You love me. More...more than Ah knew ya did. Differently.”
Logan’s face eased as he relaxed into the idea that he was, indeed caught, and that she knew. “Yeah. I do.”
Rogue moved back a little, but her face was thoughtful, relaxed, not offended. “Ah’ve had time to think about it.” She bit her lip and looked down at his shirt, unable to hold his eyes. “Ah never thought...” The brief flicker of a bitter grin. “Ah never let myself think...it was just pointless to think about it, after a few years of bein' kinda depressed over it, Ah'd moved on.”
Logan’s hands settled on her bare arms, giving a comforting squeeze. Concern was written across his features, and something like guilt.
Looking ag him again, Rogue shook her head, a soft smile on her lips. Her eyes were bright and warm. “Funny thing, that every time Ah get somebody in my head Ah end up doin’ a full re-evaluation of my life.” She shook her head but didn’t look away from his eyes. “All sorts of things get made clear that make me feel kinda stupid for not seein’ ‘em from the start.” Her hands shifted from pinning Logan’s shoulders to sliding in a soft caress down his chest that made him shiver.
Logan took a deep breath. “You love me.”
Rogue smirked. “Always have, Logan. Ya knew that.” Then she leaned closer again and this time brushed her lips against his gently, so briefly he could scarcely react before she pulled away again, just a little, and said, “Ah just hadn’t let myself think about what Ah might want to do about it, other than what we've both already been doin' all these years with...with the way we've taken care of each other. Ah was so sure Ah couldn’t have anything else, that Ah hadn't thought to want it.”
“You could’ve had plenty; it just would’ve involved a lotta real thin silk, maybe liquid latex,” Logan mused, finding himself smirking at the surprised look on her face.
Rogue’s eyebrows lifted. “...Now why didn’t Ah get any a’ those thoughts? Coulda kept me warm at night, that’s for sure,” she complained, but gave an embarrassed grin to go with it.
Logan rested his hands on Rogue’s hips and stroked gently, a low growl rumbling up from his chest and making her shiver. “That’ll be my job, I think, Darlin’. If you want it.”
Rogue’s grin brightened. “Ah’d quite like that, Sugah,” she purred. "And yeah. Ah want you."
Logan hissed in a sharp intake of breath. “You keep sayin’ stuff like that, you’re gonna get grass stains all over you soon.”
Rogue tilted her head with a playful smirk and shifted her hips down until they settled over his and her eyebrows raised to find him already responding. “Hmm. Well, Ah do look good in green...” She paused for a moment, and then her lips brushed his now as she firmly added, “Sugah” for good measure.
Logan growled again and caught her lips, pulling at them with his until they parted, then sliding his tongue into her mouth. Rogue tasted like fresh green apples and a hint of basil, mixed with a taste that matched the smell of her own faint but unique musk. Her whole body moved into the kiss, her hands clutching the fabric of his shirt tightly as she lost her capacity to think. She matched him in the kiss, no hint of inexperience, instinctively knowing how to enflame him as much as he did her, but her body trembled, unused to the sensations. She moaned low in the back of her throat and Logan caught the scent of her arousal, which threatened to overwhelm him, his hands pulling her body to press against his even as he broke the kiss and tried to regain some semblance of self control.
Rogue pressed her forehead to his, breathing hard. “This is a good change,” she said breathlessly, and shivered as one of Logan’s hands trailed up her back.
Logan grinned. “Yeah. Let’s keep this one.” Then he hissed faintly as she lowered her head and fixed her mouth on the side of his neck, her teeth sinking in a little, but mostly just her lips and tongue forming a hint of suction and sliding along his skin until he groaned.
“Ah’m sure as Hell not lettin’ it go,” Rogue murmured, giving a rumbling purr.
Logan pulled her head back to look her in the eye. “This...is gonna last as long as-”
Rogue put two fingers to his lips with a faint smile. “We live. Ah know.” She moved her fingers away and started to unbutton his shirt. “That’s what Ah want. Ah know that now, too.”
Logan took in the look on her face, her voice, the vibrant light in her eyes, and smirked slowly. “Good. ‘Cause I’m not lettin’ go either.” His hand slid up to cup the side of her face. Soft skin, and she gave him the most brilliantly radiant smile he’d ever seen on her before she pressed close and kissed him again.
A damned good change, indeed.
The Wolverine & Rogue Fanfiction Archive
Barely Legal Since 2000
Story Notes:
This was yet another really stubborn plot bunny that showed up at random and pestered me until I wrote it.
I found the character 'Sage' on wikipedia whilst trying to figure out if I wanted to read more X-men comics. I blatantly used her as a classic plot device.
I found the character 'Sage' on wikipedia whilst trying to figure out if I wanted to read more X-men comics. I blatantly used her as a classic plot device.