Her face made her look young; although something about the short and sharply angled cut of her hair––ear-lobe length and layered in the back, chin-length in the front, with inexplicably natural looking layers making the transition smooth, following the line of her jaw––made her look more mature. Rogue looked youthful, and ancient, and restless, and hurt, and too tough to let it stop her, and very willing to hurt others ten times worse than they could possibly hurt her. Her eyes were dark and suspicious, even with the odd glitter of green that sometimes caught the light from within their chocolate depths.
Up close, Logan could see scars: across her knuckles, a faint line down her forehead that formed a very narrow pale line near the outer end of her left eyebrow, a month-old shiny spot just off-center on the edge of her lower lip, and––most notably––imprints on her palms of the metal grips from Magneto’s machine. Logan tried to figure out how he’d missed them before, and recalled that she had been wearing fingerless gloves.
She had made a point of going gloveless to meet Xavier, but judging by the way she kept reaching and then pulling back to adjust her cuffs, she was not used to having her hands quite so bare. Logan recalled that she had not always been in control of her skin, and guessed that she must have a lot of gloves.
Scott had left them alone for all of ten minutes, just long enough for them to reach the kitchen, discussing the snooping habits of the X-men’s junior team. Logan could hear the occasional curse from their well-hidden peanut gallery, but it was Rogue who oh-so-casually pushed a large book to the edge of a table they passed in the hallway. Several seconds later, a spy disturbed the table just enough that the book fell. Loudly.
Rogue smirked a little when she heard the faint cry of surprise and pain as the spy’s toe was nearly broken under the weight of the book.
Logan was a little impressed. “That one’s Bobby.”
“He’s not so subtle,” Rogue mused.
“That’s one way to put it,” Logan muttered, pulling out a cigar as he told Rogue where the liquor was: concealed cabinet. He punched in the code, which he had little doubt Rogue memorized immediately. He watched her peruse the drink selection, and finally pluck out a particularly fine scotch.
“I’d have figured you for something a little more Southern.”
“Too many creeps in the South, these days. Two too many who thought it was a good idea to try and take advantage of a fragile-lookin’ girl hitchhiker. Don’t need to stir up any of their ghosts, even if there ain’t much left of ‘em.” She opened the scotch and sniffed gingerly. “And Erik can’t stand scotch unless it’s in a cocktail like a Manhattan.” Her eyes shifted momentarily to a jar of maraschino cherries just behind the vermouth in the liquor cabinet. “That’s his favorite drink: Manhattan straight-up.” She took a highball glass, filled it half-way, put the scotch back, and shut the cabinet, walking over to the fridge for ice.
Scott came in shortly after Rogue had dropped three wedge-shaped ice-cubes gently into her drink and swirled it a little. He stared at her for a moment, clearly distracted from whatever he’d intended to say as soon as he came in. “Are you even old enough to drink?”
The glare Rogue shot him could have made glaciers flee in shame, knowing themselves to be outclassed. “Ah’m gonna pretend ya didn’t ask that,” she said slowly, and took a small sip of scotch. She noted that Logan had puffed up a little, almost territorially. “Lemme guess, Summers: ya want ta have a word with me.”
“Yes.” Scott was a little unsettled by how easily she made eye contact through the shades. Most people’s eyes wandered over the reflections in the quartz, often never making that snap of connection that came with eye contact. That snap was immediate with Rogue, and she did not look away at all, to the point Scott began to think she wasn’t blinking enough.
Rogue sighed a little. “You’ve got two minutes. Out in the hall. Logan has an unofficial but inviolable appointment with me, and just because you’re the Team Leader of the X-men doesn’t mean you’re more important than that rendezvous.”
Scott considered this. “Fine.” He was out the door.
Logan met Rogue’s gaze, saw the faint traces of irritation and resignation on her face. He smirked a little. “You’ve already got the hang of this.”
Rogue shrugged. “He’s easy to read.” She swirled her drink gently as she walked out the door, pausing only when she shut it slowly behind her.
Scott was glaring at the door.
“You’re gonna be overheard. Get over it,” Rogue sighed.
Scott transfered his glare to Rogue. “You’ve got attitude issues.”
“So do you. Yours are just more authoritarian and prone to leadership-related expression. You have trouble managing your attitude around those who don’t give a damn, because you care a lot, about a lot of honorable and good and bright things.” She took another sip of scotch. “Ah’ll credit the honor, but for the good and the bright, Ah’m a bit tarnished and my amoral tendencies are just somethin’ you’re gonna have to live with.”
Scott’s arms were crossed over his chest. “I’ve lived with psychics for more than half my life; is this meant to perturb me?”
“Keep in mind, Ah’ve never touched you before.” She raised one hand and wiggled her fingers in a mocking ‘spooky’ gesture. “And actually, it’s not meant to perturb, but rather to shorten the conversation.”
Scott shook his head. “I just want to know why you’re here, so I can try to keep things running smoothly in my home.”
Rogue’s eyebrows lifted a little. “Nice. More blunt than Ah expected. Ah like that. Anyway: Ah’m here to meet Logan, and to figure out what to do with all this.” She tapped the side of her head. “Basically, Ah’ll sit around, or fly around––Ah can do that, by the way––chat with people, and probably drain half of your liquor cabinet within the week. The rest is improv.”
Scott frowned. “I hate improv.”
Rogue smiled brightly. “Figures. But that’s how I roll.”
“That sounds so wrong in a southern accent,” Scott muttered.
Rogue gave a soft laugh, or the ghost of one. “Goodnight, Summers.” She moved to open the door, then instinctively jerked back when Scott reached out to grab her arm. The movement was instinctive, smooth, and she did not spill a drop of scotch, although her grip on the glass had changed subtly, so that she could more easily fling it if need be. Scott’s hand closed on empty air and he got a glimpse of an enraged grimace on Rogue’s face for a moment before her expression turned into a stony mask free of any emotion. “Don’t. Touch me.” Her voice was a low growl, and her eyes were bright with anger.
Scott took a step back. “I’m sorry.”
Rogue took a breath and a long pull of her drink. “What did you plan on sayin’, oh Tactless One,” she snapped.
“I...I wanted to say that I understand a mutation that’s out of control,” he said quietly, adjusting his glasses. “I’m thinking I may have fucked that up.”
Rogue shook her head. “A bit. Ah know about...my informants ‘ve had access to some serious dossiers. Ah know about all the X-men.” She rubbed her eyes with her free hand, a gesture clearly showing frustration rather than meekness or tears; her jaw was set and her lips formed a scowl. “Ah see what you’re sayin’. That’s all the credit Ah can give ya right now.”
“I’m sorry, Rogue.”
She lowered her hand and glared at him a bit. “Just treat me like a recent prisoner of war re-adjustin’ to bein’ around people, not some kid lookin’ for family connections that you’re playin’ father-figure to.”
Scott flinched a little. “You’re a bit bitchy.”
“Learn to like it. Go take care of the Junior-team eavesdroppers. One of ‘em, Bobby Ah think Logan said, may have a broken toe.” She was opening the door. “My fault, not Logan’s, and he deserved it.” The door snapped shut.
She hardly looked at Logan as she strode back through the kitchen and out the back door onto the large patio, but she could sense him as he followed. The night air was cool and dry and Rogue’s skin looked twice as pale as usual when under moonlight. She set her drink down on the rail and pulled tobbacco paper and a pouch from her pocket. Her scarred hands slowly, dexterously, and with years of skill not her own, rolled a cigarette.
Logan stood next to her, leaning on the rail and watching her hands. That was when he noticed the scars on them. And then he’d looked intently at her face. It was a little unsettling to realize quite how beautiful she was. Logan watched her light her cigarette with a wooden match. It was brand of tobacco that he knew Fury sometimes kept on him when he knew things were going to be Hell and he’d need something deeply unhealthy and a bit luxurious to take the edge off; it was expensive, and it was a good blend. But Fury didn’t hand-roll his, preferring to not take the time in which he could be easily interrupted or caught off-guard.
Rogue was aware of his gaze. “Erik used to smoke. Hand-rolled cigarettes remind him of old times, but I don’t buy his D&R stuff. It encourages his ghost too much.”
Logan nodded. “But you don’t mind Fury’s?”
Rogue shook her head. “Nah. He’s one of the only ones Ah actually like; although Ah got rid of most of the early ones that were really messed up. Ah’ve only gotten about...fifteen ghosts, since I manifested, if ya count Carol. Ah’ve only got about half a dozen that still make any noise.” She paused thoughtfully. “Most of ‘em on accident. Five times outta last-resort self-defense...and one because he asked me to.” She sipped her drink.
“Who was that one?”
“Some idiot who thought he was in love with me,” Rogue muttered, obviously a little disdainful. “We worked together, briefly, under the folks who helped me with my skin; they’d agreed to help me if Ah did a few heists with the guy.” She shrugged.
Logan considered this, decided to follow up on it another time. “You’re good at theft.”
“Yeah. Comes with the territory.”
Logan smirked a little. “And the insane computer skills.”
Rogue smiled, just a little, and it was good to see. She looked less tired when she smiled. “Yeah. Those help a lot.” She looked down at her cigarette contemplatively. “Start askin’ what ya’ve wanted to ask for the last year. Ah don’t need any slow build-up to it just ‘cause Summers acted like a dick.”
Logan pulled out his lighter, starting to light the cigar he’d had in the corner of his mouth since Scott had asked to have a word with Rogue. He was surprised when she stopped his hand with hers; an idle touch from her was, he suspected, not really idle, but her air was casual.
“You know that drives Fury nuts, that you use a lighter for that?” She took it from him and pulled out her matches, lighting one. “You lose the flavor. Here.” She waved the wood-smoke flame slowly under the end of the cigar, once it had burned just past the sulfurous end of the match and none of that sulfur-taste hit the cigar.
Logan inhaled slowly. It did have more flavor. “Thanks.”
Rogue smirked a little and shook out the match, dropping it in the nearby ash-tray: Logan’s tray, now shared. “No problem. Like I said, it drives Fury nuts.” She looked kind of amused, her words edged in smoke.
After considering his words for a while, Logan asked, “Why didn’t he tell me what he knew? And not about the cigars.”
Rogue folded her arms and rested her weight on them, leaning on the patio railing and staring at something in the distance, straight-ahead. “Simple: he cain’t.” She unfolded one arm enough to lift her cigarette to her lips, seeming to savor a long pull. Her expression had an edge of all-too-familiar grimness. “If the information went from him to you, it was traceable, and shit would go down in the world he works for. People would come after him that he’d never get away from, they’d go after you and some of ‘em...some might like the excuse to try and make you a weapon again. And there’s people in that world who could, X-men or no X-men.” A slow exhale. “And he wouldn’t be in any position to get between you an’ them, not once he was compromised, or dead, more likely.”
Logan watched her face. “You looked into it.”
“Of course Ah did; the man’s pretty damned knowledgeable, but not omniscient.” She sipped her scotch again. “But he ain’t wrong about what’d happen.”
Slowly, Logan nodded. “Alright.”
“That’s part of why Ah did the huntin’ for you. So ya wouldn’t be near these guys. You wouldn’t be their target. And Ah took a lotta information about a lotta other people: made it look like Ah was either lookin’ to experiment myself, or targettin’ the experimenters.” Rogue tapped ash off the end of her cigarette. “Ah worked slow, careful, inch by tedious inch wadin’ through information that didn’t mean a damn thing. It was shit that Ah knew, from Fury, that you’d never do.” A crooked, bitter grin that shone like broken glass flickered across her lips.
Logan gave a grunt of acknowledgement, but it was only grudgingly done. “But why the Hell did you even start doin’ it?”
Rogue looked down. “Because it needed doin’, because Ah could do it, and because nobody deserves what they did t’ you, let alone to not know...to have all of that taken from ya.” She took a more shaky pull from her cigarette.
“There’s a lot of other things you probably learned, things Fury can’t do but should,” Logan pressed. “Why me?”
Rogue shook her head. “Because you were where it all started. You were where all Fury’s doubts came from, and where the greatest violations of folks’ rights came from. He was a bitter, disillusioned soldier before you showed up, but after you showed up he was determined to make things better where the corrupt orders come from. He’s fixed a lotta shit, whenever he could, and he’s pretty damned talented at gettin’ other people like him, without the connections that inhibit him, to turn around at just the right times to glimpse somethin’, and hunt down and fix other problems he knows about. But he could never manage that with you. It was too deep, too convoluted, too much was hidden and it had stopped long enough ago that he couldn’t arrange for somebody else to find it. And it was bullshit, that you couldn’t...” She exhaled a lungful of smoke and tried to pull her thoughts together.
“There was other stuff Ah coulda done. Yeah. Other people Ah coulda helped, who needed it pretty bad. Fury wants to help them just as bad.” Rogue set her cigarette in a notch in the side of the ash tray, and ran a thumb across the hand-grip scar on her opposite palm. “They didn’t interest me, though. They weren’t like me. Not even because a couple of ‘em aren’t mutants, but...you’re a runner. You’re Wolverine. You...reminded me of me somehow, when Ah was siftin’ through Fury’s memories: too self-centered to be a perfect hero, unable to control destructive aspects of yasself, not...not close to anybody for a lotta the same reasons Ah’m not.” She picked up her cigarette again, tapping ash off the end and lifting it to her lips. “You were the only one Ah thought about and also thought, ‘Ah gotta do somethin’ about it.’ Because Ah’m not a hero, really. Ah’m just Rogue.” She finally looked him in the eye, solemn and cold, but as honest as her almost cowboy-like honor made her, and she was an honorable creature.
Logan had watched her as she spoke, the frustration as she tried to put into words the feeling that had driven her, the one he’d identified when talking to Emma. He told her its name: “You were thinking, ‘the world will not be this way within the reach of my arm.’”
Her eyes widened a little, and she said almost breathlessly, “Yeah. Yeah that was it.”
Logan nodded. “Chuck told me that was about the extent of my moral considerations, and that he found it frustrating.”
Rogue smiled again, just a little, but it was one of her less bitter ones and it suited her. “Ah can imagine.” She smiled a little more. “That was another...thing Ah kinda recognized, but there didn’t seem to be words for it.” Then her brow furrowed and she looked away a little, as if listening to something. “Oh. Hmm. Apparently it’s a line from the book Hannibal. Ah haven’t read that in a long time, but...it was from Clarice Starling.” Rogue clicked her tongue. “Ah can live with that.”
Logan, who’d watched Silence of the Lambs and liked Clarice enough to read the book, nodded a little. “Hmm. I think I can, too.” He made a mental note to look into the rest of the series to see if Hannibal was worth reading. “Who reminded you?”
Rogue frowned a little. “Erik. He has a thing for Anthony Hopkins, Ah think. Not that he’ll admit it.” She took a long pull of scotch, draining the last of it.
Logan wished he had some alcohol, too. “Didn’t need that image.”
Rogue chuckled a little.
They stood in silence a few moments. “What kind of a name is Rogue?” Logan asked after a while, his voice light and almost teasing.
With an expression that was part-amused-smirk and part-prideful-smile, Rogue shook her head and put out the butt of her cigarette, leaving it in the ashtray. “Same kind as Wolverine: other people used it to refer t’ me for a long time, sometimes affectionately but often insultingly, and Ah eventually embraced it, because they were far more right than they knew or would ever know. It’s who Ah am.”
Logan held her gaze, seeming to look right through her mask, which did not apparently surprise or unnerve her. “How long since you’ve been called anything else?”
Rogue’s brow furrowed as she tried to remember. She ran a hand through her hair. “Time is slippery for me, Sugah, gimme a sec. Too many centuries in the way.” She shut her eyes and forced herself to count. “Four...five...six years, it was. People stopped callin’ me anything but Rogue about a year before Ah actually manifested. My dad an’ Ah didn’t really names for each other, on the few occasions we talked at that point, and all my friends but Cody had moved away, not that there’d been many. Cody...Ah told him about people callin’ me ‘that rogue’ like Ah had a social disease. Ah told him to start callin’ me Rogue to see what they thought of it, and it caught on around town.” Her fingers fidgeted restlessly with her little box of matches as she contemplated whether she wanted another cigarette. Talking about Cody made her want to finish off that half-bottle of scotch back in the kitchen, but she didn’t want to leave the patio. Words were pouring from her when Logan asked questions, now. She hadn’t talked this much, and this sincerely, since she’d had Fury in her apartment. It was nerve-wracking and phrasing it all right was frustrating, and on the whole it was kind of agonizingly against her nature to be so revealing, but...something about looking Logan in the eye and putting all of it in the open between them made it a good agony, like stretching tired and painfully tense muscles and feeling some knots finally ease a little through the ache.
Logan was a little surprised that she’d tell him so much, and it must’ve shown on his face, because Rogue answered before he could ask why.
“Ah know a lot about ya, Logan. It’s only fair that Ah don’t hide from you.”
“I owe you more than you owe me,” he said quietly. “You...what you’ve...” He sighed, equally frustrated with words. “Thank you. For giving me James Howlett back, even if I’m not him anymore.”
Rogue nodded slowly, recognizing the expression on his face and the tone of his words, putting the picture together. She knew what it was like to have memories that weren’t Rogue’s, but that now belonged to her: a part of her mind and her past, but never quite really her identity. “But ya do know who ya are,” she observed, sounding almost a little relieved.
Logan looked into her eyes again, and saw the understanding––not pity, not remorse, not sadness, but just pure understanding from one toughened and hard war-survivor to another. “Yeah. Learning about James helped a lot with that.”
Rogue gave a faint smile, satisfied with a successful mission. “Good. Good. Ah’m glad.” She looked at his face a little more intently and then looked away again quickly. “What else do you wanna know, Logan?”
He thought about it, and took a small step closer to her, leaning on the rail too, and feeling glad that everything in the mansion was built to resist damage so that the railing didn’t so much as groan at his adamantium-laced bulk. “More about you. I’m curious, at this point. And you interest me.” He put out the remains of his cigar and pushed the ashtray aside, thinking about some of the things she’d already told him. “How’d you learn all the computer stuff, anyway? Mississippi towns aren’t known for their technological savvy.”
Rogue eyed the narrowed distance between them, which was perhaps eight inches, and found to her surprise that it didn’t make her nervous. “My mom died when Ah was eight. My dad became a bit of a wreck, so his brother had to come into town to help out. He stayed for a few years, Ah guess until he was sure Ah could fend for myself, because even after my dad went back to work, he was still a wreck. My uncle built custom computers and computer programs, workin’ from home. He’d left town for college and moved to California afterward, so he was considered a black sheep back in town, but he was the only real family Ah’d ever had. My dad was always distant and my mom had tried, but we never saw things the same way, even when Ah was just a little kid tryin’ to tell her Ah didn’t want to wear dresses ‘cause they inhibited tree-climbin’ and goin’ upside-down on the monkey bars while she tried to convince me Ah shouldn’t be doin’ that stuff anyway ‘cause Ah was supposed to be a little lady.” Rogue snorted a little, shaking her head. “Ah didn’t like town, or what they thought was how Ah should act. Never did. My uncle was the same way, though, so I clung to ‘im like a life raft. And so he taught me about puttin’ the computers together, and Ah eventually even persuaded him to teach me the programmin’ languages, ‘cause he’d made me my own little computer game and Ah wanted to make my own.” A nostalgic smile touched her features, but there was something like dread in it.
“Well, bein’ eight, he thought it’d take me a while to learn it all, but languages and rules and games are easy as Hell to learn at that age, an’ so by the time Ah was nine Ah knew three main programmin’ languages at the same level as my uncle knew ‘em: Linux, DOS, and even macintosh, which was a pain in the ass, let me tell you, but it can be damned useful now and then, more than ya might think.” Rogue gave up and started rolling another cigarette, deliberately slower this time. “By the time Ah was twelve Ah knew more than him, at a higher level, and was helpin’ out with his business. We got into a fight when he found out Ah’d been researchin’ hackin’ techniques, sayin’ Ah’d mess up an’ get arrested. At the time, Ah found that more encouragin’ than anything, even though afterwords he thought he’d put the fear of God into me.”
She looked down. “And then he and my dad got into some kinda fight. Ideological. Somethin’ about religion and politics. My uncle had tried to recruit a few people around town into his anti-mutant group, which was more militant and had a different religious slant than my dad approved of at the time. Ah thought they were both nuts. ‘Course, they didn’t know Cody’s mom was a mutant and Ah didn’t plan on tellin’ ‘em. She was the nicest woman on the planet, and all she did was sense people’s emotions and sometimes reach out to make ‘em better. With some effort, she could heal little cuts and stuff, or a cold, but it drained her real bad.”
“With my uncle gone, and the computer business gone, Ah was left with the computer system Ah’d earned workin’ for ‘im, and boredom. Ah taught myself how t’ hack from there. Ah was paranoid enough to get good and know how to leave no trace before Ah even peeked at the neighbors’ files, and at first there was not much else to do with my skill. Then Ah found some files that...” A flicker of real rage, and deep disgust. “Well. It made me glad Ah’d never really been religious, despite my parents. Ah put together an anonymous tip, and some of the files, easy-to-access even for the technologically stupid, on a disk. The cops arrested the town’s biggest church’s preacher and Ah hacked into the foster care system to make sure that his son got a good home with no more goddamned perverts anywhere near him, and set him up with the best state-paid therapist Ah could find.”
Rogue ran a hand through her hair. “It was a bit of a turnin’ point for me, Ah suppose. Ah got more skilled. Ah got into national banks. Then international. Ah set up a Swiss bank account, and another in Antigua, and started to stash my own ill-begotten funds there. The Swiss would shit their pants if they knew how easily Ah got stuff in and outta there from some of the accounts of the most corrupt sacks of shit in the world.” She stared at her cigarette, rolled but unlit, and pocketed it with a sigh, folding her arms across her chest. “Ah was ready to run before Ah had a reason. Ah knew Ah didn’t have a home. Ah was just waitin’ for the axe t’ fall and give me an excuse t’ go. And the hackin’ was what made me secure enough to know Ah could. So Ah kept learnin’ more, and gettin’ better, until even Ah couldn’t find my own trails anymore. And the more advanced people’s systems got, the easier things got for me. Early on, Ah’d gotten messages, now and then, from a few other hackers. At first, Ah got tips. Then, Ah got fan-mail. By the time Ah was fifteen, they were askin’ me where Ah’d gone and if Ah still did any hackin’, because they thought Ah’d given up since they never found any traces a’ me anymore.” A bitter, fierce smile crossed Rogue’s face. “Talk about knowin’ Ah’d arrived.”
She looked at Logan again, coming back to herself. “That’s it, really.”
Logan remembered a few numbers: six years she’d been called Rogue, which started one year before she manifested, and she’s barely twenty. “And you manifested at fifteen?”
Rogue’s eyes narrowed a little, but she nodded. “Yeah. Ah left shortly after that, as ya can guess.” She looked away. “Not the best way to experience one’s first kiss, by the way.” Running a hand through her hair, she gave a rough sigh.
That, Logan thought, sounded truly messed up. “What happened?”
“My skin turned on during my first kiss, and nearly killed the only friend Ah really had left. Cody’s mom was the first one to find us, after Ah screamed. She tried to touch my shoulder and Ah jumped away so fast she looked sad. She managed to wake Cody up, with her power. That was about when it hit me that Ah was a mutant, and Ah told ‘em, and Cody’s mom tried to touch my hand, but it hurt her, and she was tired enough from helpin’ Cody that she was almost knocked out just from brushin’ my knuckle.” Rogue shook her head. “Ah went home, told my dad Ah was a mutant and Ah was runnin’ off to Alaska. He called me a liar, grabbed my arm, and went down. Ah can say without doubt or hesitation or fear a’ bein’ biased, that he was a no-good sonofabitch.” Rogue looked uneasy. “Ah need more scotch, for this.”
“Alright.” Logan stood up, started to turn around.
“Logan?”
He looked at her, over his shoulder.
She held his gaze and said, with visible difficulty, and so quiet that Logan knew she was taking advantage of his advanced senses. “My name’s Marie.”
He froze for a moment, then turned to face her again. “I won’t share it.”
Rogue nodded, looking down. “Good. Thanks.” She pushed herself away from the railing, standing up straight. She gave a self-depreciating half-laugh. “Ah haven’t even heard that name in six years...haven’t thought about it in more than five.” Rogue shook her head, giving another not-quite-laugh. “It was hard to remember it.” Hard to say it, too.
Logan nodded, understanding both what she said and didn’t say. “Thanks for lettin’ me hear it. It’s a good name.”
Rogue smirked very bitterly. “Was my mom’s sister’s name. She died not long before they got married. My mom named me after her. My dad had killed her so she wouldn’t tell my mom about their affair. And my uncle helped him with the body.” She looked at Logan. “Apparently there’s some resemblance, too, between me an’ her.” Rogue sighed and a flicker of old anger and older resignation crossed her expression. “Let’s get that scotch.”
They went inside.
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