Dr. Hank McCoy had scheduled lunch at Xavier’s two weeks in advance; he had not been warned about the mansion’s most recent guest, her arrival having been less than twenty-four hours before the lunch in question, and so was rather surprised to find her at the table usually reserved for guests and senior X-men. She sat next to Logan and looked up at Hank without the slightest trace of surprise or curiosity, either about who he was or why he was covered in blue fur, and this alone made Hank a little wary, but he approached with his usual diplomatic air, holding out a hand for her to shake.
“Hello, I do not believe I have had the pleasure of making your acquaintance, Miss...”
She smirked a little, her green-flecked brown eyes alight with something like cool amusement as she reached out a hand––clad in fingerless gloves––and took Hank’s. “No ya haven’t, Dr. McCoy, but as Ah understand it, yer lookin’ ta hire me. My name’s Rogue.”
Hank’s eyes widened and the rest of his features went slack with open shock. He only snapped out of it when Rogue’s handshake tightened for a moment before she let go: her grip was much stronger than he had expected, given how fragile her slender, long-fingered hands appeared at first glance. Then he glanced at Logan, who appeared to be suppressing his amusement, with minimal success.
“I see,” Hank said quietly, straightening up a little as he retracted his hand. He looked the girl over, from the steel-toed combat boots on her feet, up the slightly loose army-green cargo pants she wore with their many pockets, to the more close-fitting black t-shirt and the outline of a chain and tags beneath it near her throat. He scanned her face, mystified by how young she was, and how old her eyes looked. “I do recall saying something about wanting to hire someone with your set of skills. Perhaps we can discuss the matter after lunch.”
Rogue’s smirk lingered, perhaps widening a fraction. “Of course. Amongst other matters as well, Ah’m sure.”
Hank retreated, taking his usual seat beside an intigued-looking Charles Xavier.
Logan leaned a little towards Rogue so he could quietly murmur, “You enjoy shock factor, don’t ya, Darlin’?”
Rogue tried to hold her appreciation of the low rumble of his voice at a cool distance, but felt a faint flicker of heat across her skin despite herself. She was still able to shoot an amused look at Logan and murmur back, “Pot. Kettle. Black.”
Logan smirked at that, meeting Hank’s gaze challengingly when he caught the other man staring. Hank looked away instinctively, but still kept an eye on them. Throughout lunch they discussed the political climate as relating to mutants, and positive means to combat them. Rogue and Logan were quiet, but observant, watching each other and Hank more than most of the others, who in turn shot them wary glances now and then.
Hank finally brought up the subject of internet-driven Vox Populi media, and what increasingly profound effects it was having on politics. “It’s amazing what ideas can be rapidly communicated, and what profound emotive effects they can have on the public,” he concluded.
Rogue was impressed that he had not so much as glanced at her; although he looked down to watch her unfathomable expression reflected in his wineglass. Her face was unreadable when viewed closely, and Hank’s wineglass perusal gave him no real answers. Rogue looked at Logan, who seemed to have been waiting for her to meet his gaze.
“Apparently I’m the only one he mentioned your connections to,” Logan said very quietly into his drink, so that Rogue scarcely heard it.
“Or he still isn’t sure it was me,” Rogue whispered back, her lips hardly moving; she knew his advanced hearing would pick up her words.
“You’re the closest thing he’s got to a lead,” Logan murmured.
Rogue gave a soft “Mm” of understanding.
Hank was asking the table what media they thought would be the best for mutant PR. “It’s difficult to drown out the loudest voices in a crowd, especially such an unruly one as the internet. How can we be overheard over the fanatics, and catch people’s attention without frightening them or sounding like Magneto?”
Rogue chose that moment to join the conversation. “The only thing louder than a shout is a whisper. So whispers are the best bet.”
Everyone was staring at her, sans Logan who was examining the others, and there was a beat of silence when she did not say anything further.
“What do you mean, exactly, Rogue?” Xavier finally asked; although the expression on his face suggested that he grasped her gist, and his tone of voice suggested that she explain it to the others rather than to him.
“Anyone ever tell you that if you’re dealin’ with somebody who’s gettin’ too loud, maybe startin’ ta yell, that to get ‘em to stop you whisper to ‘em?” She asked. There were a few murmurs of assent and several who muttered to the effect that they hadn’t. “It’s funny to watch, when it’s put into practice. One guy gets real mad and starts talkin’ louder an’ louder, stands up so his chair falls down, and the other guy whispers to him. Doesn’t tell him to be quiet or anything, but continues the argument in a whisper. The guy whose shoutin’ usually looks a bit confused, but whispers back, and stays quiet because he cain’t admit how ridiculous it is that he’s suddenly whisperin’.” Rogue smirked a little. “It’s a mind-game, really, but what Ah said has other applications. The only thing that people pay as much attention to––if not more than––as the criers in the pulpits, is gossip about them. Whispers imply secrets, that the authority figures are pullin’ the wool over people’s eyes, that there’s gossip to be had. News of gossip and suspicion travels faster than news of condemnation and threat. It’s less ‘official’ but it goes to the core of people’s humanity. That’s why tabloids are so insanely popular. That’s why tabloids were the first to start tellin’ stories, mostly true, about William Stryker. Same with the blogosphere, which was quietly ablaze with condemnation of the man––because those people had reacted instinctively an’ emotionally to whispers they found online. How many loud anti-mutant voices went suddenly hush because of whispers that got louder an louder––and they came from, as ya called it, Hank, the online Vox Populi media. Nice name for it. Ah like it.” She settled back in her chair, taking a sip of wine.
Scott was visibly stunned, but highly intrigued. Jean looked like some of her idealism was hurt by the implications of Rogue’s view of humanity. Storm was impassive as ever, but smiling a little. Hank was watching Rogue intently, his face hard to read through the fur and the mask of intellectual consideration beneath it. Xavier wore his usual look of sincerely thoughtful respect––his reserve being the most difficult to shake.
“So you take a somewhat guerilla warfare attitude toward the media,” Hank observed.
“Put it that way, and nobody here ‘ll be surprised to find out that Ah do.”
“With your particular set of skills, it also would not be too surprising to find that you had already taken action,” Hank said, his look purposeful.
Rogue looked thoughtful. “If Ah’d had the time, maybe.” She gave a casual shrug.
Only Logan’s hearing picked up the traces of a lie in her voice, and event that was because of how much attention he paid it. She was a very good liar.
Hank looked slightly unsure, but by no means dissuaded.
Jean asked what kind of whispers Rogue was talking about online, that the people would be reacting to so strongly. Rogue mentioned a widely-received video about a girl in one of Stryker’s labs, and flowers.
Hank stated that his department had tried to trace the source of the videos, but had never found one. He did not say what he had told Logan––that its first origins had been online.
The conversations moved on, and the rest of lunch was eaten. Xavier asked to speak with Hank privately, and soon the rest of the X-men dispersed as well. Rogue and Logan took up Logan’s usual place on the balcony-like patio. Logan was listening to the mansion. Rogue was listening to her own thoughts, and perhaps those of her ghosts. They were both silent, and remained quite comfortably so for nearly half an hour before Logan finally spoke.
“Hank doesn’t trust the X-men. Or Xavier. Not really.” He took a pull of his beer.
Rogue made a thoughtful sound. “Ah was wonderin’ about that. Fury wasn’ sure, and Erik had no clue. My impression was that he’s unsettled by the concept of what Charles can do. It’s part of him bein’ so philosophical while also thinkin’ that people generally act selfishly and tend towards corruption.”
“I can relate to that, but he leaves out the concept of honor,” Logan pointed out.
“He’s not sure it exists, and can’t read people well enough to tell if they have integrity or not, so he’s suspicious of all,” Rogue said softly.
Logan snorted. “Yeah, yeah. Still a pain in my ass. Causes too much fuckin’ drama, just because they don’t get it.” He took another pull of beer and shook his head.
Rogue smiled a little. “It’s good to hear somebody else say that for once. Other than me.” She finally turned her head to look at him.
He met her gaze with a hint of a smirk. Then his look turned more thoughtful. “You thinkin’ about workin’ for him?”
Rogue tapped her fingers idly on the table, her eyes still on Logan’s face. “Ah thought about that. Ah might let ‘im hire me on a per-contract basis, like a P.I., but Ah won’t be his employee or anything. Or his watchful eye on this place.” She looked at her empty wine glass, but did not seek to refill it. “Not that Ah’m gonna tell him that in so many words a’ course.”
“I like the way you think, Rogue,” Logan said.
Rogue looked a little surprised, wondering if Logan knew that no one else had ever responded to her that way, even Remy ‘Master-of-Banter’ Lebeau could not toss a quip her way without a hint of unease or fear. She gave Logan a faint smile. “Thank you, Sugah.”
Logan smiled back a bit, seeming to get the gist. Then he turned his head a little, listening. “Hank’s outta Chuck’s office now. Probably lookin’ for you.”
Rogue nodded, and got to her feet. “Best catch him before he gets a chance to think too much about whatever it was Charles told him about me.”
“Good luck with your mind-games.”
She gave a faint, melodic laugh and shot Logan a bright smile before she turned and headed for the door, cursing herself for letting him affect her enough that she would need a few moments to slow down her heart-rate before her control would be confidently solid once more.
Logan watched her go, his eyes lingering on the subtle roll of her hips, the predatory air about the set of her shoulders and the way she held her head, and the idle way her bare thumb brushed her fingers where her gloves cut off. He admired her, and had to wonder what he was going to do about how much he wanted her.
She was not what people thought of as ‘his type’, because she was not like Jean Grey. Jean was willowy, her features sharp and fine and bird-like; she was a firebird. But Rogue...Rogue had a body like a battle-axe, for all its dangerous curves, and her features were still fine but also with an air of strength: more feline than aquiline. Rogue was not so flashy as a firebird, but she was far more haunting, if only for her subtlety, and the qualities about her that seemed too elusive to properly describe.
Logan had long ago come to the conclusion that he was the moth to Jean’s flame, even before his infatuation with the red-head had begun to fade––a process that had been sped up as the memories of his past had been returned to him.
Rogue was not a flame. She did not shine like the comforting light of a candle or give off any of its warmth, but neither did she incinerate the wings of moths who got too close. She was a more obviously dangerous creature than the deceptively fragile-looking firebird; Rogue was more akin to a panther: elusive to the point of being ghost-like, but still clearly a creature of flesh and blood and bone and very sharp claws, quiet and solitary, an efficient killer but capable of utter savagery, and somehow hypnotically elegant both in her shape and her movements.
She appealed to those who interpreted danger not as a sign to steer clear, but as a sign that something valuable lie in wait to be discovered beyond the danger.
No wonder, then, Logan reflected, that Remy Lebeau had fallen for her the way that he did. And no wonder he had failed, because he had not been able to identify his discovery for what it was; he had not seen Rogue for who and what she truly was.
Logan recalled the look on Rogue’s face when she had called to the boy, whose footsteps she had been able to hear with traces of Logan’s advanced senses. She had looked both disappointed and resigned, before she could put on her usual mask once more.
She was resigned to being unfathomable, and to being alone. The thought was unsettling.
Logan lit himself a cigar, and realized he’d been sitting and thinking for nearly fifteen minutes. He began listening to the world again in time to hear approaching footsteps.
Rogue opened the patio door, one hand clinging to the doorframe, the other the door, as she leaned out and smirked at him. “Hey, Logan? Ya wanna help me set up a high-tech hacker cave somewhere in the basement?” Her eyes were bright with amusement and mischief, and she wore a wicked grin.
Logan stood up, wondering what the Hell he was going to do about this girl. “I’m not exactly the most tech-savvy one around here, Darlin’.”
Rogue shrugged. “Yeah, but you can help me empty the room out while ya explain what it’d be like if Ah were to join the X-men.”
Logan had a brief mental image of Rogue in leather. It made his mouth water a bit, but still he raised an eyebrow at her. “Didn’t take ya long to think about joinin’ up.” He was stepping closer to her now, though, obviously intending to follow her downstairs.
She leaned against the doorframe, smirking at him a little. “And it took you, what, two days before ya jumped on board? And Ah’m still not fully decided, but Ah’ve got the feelin’ that wadin’ through all the government files Ah’m gonna be wadin’ through for the next week or two, Ah’m gonna wanna kick some serious ass afterwards.”
“So you want me to persuade you to kick ass for Chuck’s ideals?” Logan asked.
Rogue gave a languid shrug and let go of the door, letting it swing all the way open. Logan caught it and she started to step out of the doorframe as she said, “You guys have the only enemies that might give me a decent fight and still let me sleep at night when the fightin’s quieted down enough to let me do so.” Then she was walking away, towards the elevator that headed down into the school’s underground levels.
Logan followed her, tantalized by her answer, because it might as well have been his own. There was more to that answer, and what about the X-men meant that fighting on their side helped Logan live with himself, and might help Rogue the same way; he knew it, and she knew it. The understanding hummed between them for a few quiet moments.
Then, in the elevator, Logan began to think about Rogue in leather again, but for reasons other than his own pleasure this time. He put out his cigar in his palm with a slight wince and pocketed it. “Scooter’s an idealist, and serves as the sort of figurehead leader. He lays out a plan for every mission, and so about 70% of the time, the plan goes to Hell pretty fast.”
“Ah figured somethin’ like that. The missions you guys go one are usually rescue mission, right? Either that or ‘stop the bad guy’ sorta things in the cases of Magneto and his crew and similar threats.”
“Yeah. Mostly. There’s also recon missions, raids on illegal Genoshan labs and facilities, the occasional PR appearance in Japan or some other mutant-friendly country, and occasional all-around superhero gigs where we help out when a building is on fire or something, unnaturally or otherwise.”
Rogue gave a thoughtful noise.
“So Hank wanted you to keep an eye on Chuck, right?”
“Yeah. Especially once Ah mentioned how hard my mind is for telepaths t’ read. That guy’s been in Washington too long already. He’s picked up a little of the ‘deal making’ air.”
Logan shook his head. “Pity.”
“Yeah. Aside from the paranoia, he’s not a bad guy. He used to fight with you guys, too, didn’t he?”
Logan nodded. “Yeah. He designed the Danger Room.”
Rogue’s eyes lit up. “Yeah. Ah got that from your memories. Ah kinda wanna just waste a few weeks learnin’ how the whole damned thing works.”
Logan shook his head a little. “Another geek on the team,” he muttered.
Rogue punched his arm, hard enough to make him raise an eyebrow, but not as hard as she could have hit him. “You’ve benefitted mightily from this geek, Sugah, and Ah can kick your ass, too. Don’t ya dare complain.”
With as much intent curiosity as he’d contemplated what Rogue would be like in bed, Logan had been equally tantalized by the thought of what Rogue would be like in a fight––against him, or for him, or with him, all were equally interesting, really. He grinned at her. “Are you sayin’ we should spar in the Danger Room before setting up your base of operations?”
Rogue looked a little hungry at the thought, and smirked wickedly. “My, Logan, ya know just what to offer a girl. Ah’ll be happy to beat the crap outta you before dinner.”
“You can try, Darlin’, you can try.”
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Author's Chapter Notes:
Sooo not spellchecked. Sorry in advance for any typos.