Logan chomped irritably on his cigar as Xavier’s private jet bumped the runway on its landing in Miami. He could not believe they let her just fritter on some “vacation” without anyone watching her back. Or chaperoning her.
“Logan, she’s 20, almost 21,” Jean had chided him as she watched him unpack his saddlebags only to repack them a minute later with a few pairs of clean jeans and t-shirts to catch his flight. “And we don’t own her. She’s a teacher here, not a slave. If she wants to take some time away and it’s not disrupting school or missions, she’s entitled to same privileges the rest of us have.” Logan only grunted as he wadded previously neatly folded t-shirts into tiny balls and crammed them in his bag.
“Yeh,” he snarled over his shoulder, “Only the rest of your haven’t been hunted down by the Brotherhood like she has. You know she’s a high priority to Magneto!”
“Logan, in case you haven’t noticed, Rogue isn’t a child anymore. She’s a full member of the X-men, fully trained, combat tested many times. She’s professional, efficient, and very cautious about how she uses her power. You know all this.” Jean looked at Logan’s tensed back as he continued to stow items into his bag, then gave it up as a lost cause and turned to walk away.
“But why alone? And to Florida?” he spat as if the very name of the state offended his deepest sensibilities. Jean turned to see him paused in his furious packing, head bent low.
“Maybe there was no one she wanted to take with her.” Jean saw his shoulders stiffen, but she continued, “She didn’t tell anyone, except the Professor. We didn’t know what she was doing until after she was gone. Jubilee and Kitty were actually quite upset, but mostly because they were planning to throw her a big party. Xavier told us that Rogue had come to him late one night a week and half ago and told him it was very important she needed to go away for a little while, just till the end of the month maybe. He said she had had a revelation of some kind. He wasn’t specific. She wanted to be alone and away from everything to deal with it. It sounded serious, but not dangerous. He is not afraid for her, so we are not either.” She paused and put a consoling hand on his shoulder, which he did not shrug off. “But he was concerned, we all were, how you would take it when you returned her for her birthday and found her gone. I can see now we were right to be.”
Logan grunted again and zipped up his bag angrily. “Why didn’t she tell me?”
“Logan,” Jean said in an exasperated air, “how on earth would she? You send her postcards with no return address and always call from pay phones when you’re off doing” she waved her hand abstractedly through the air, “whatever it is you do when you go away.”
Logan slung his saddlebag back over his shoulder, “Well, now she’s going to have to explain that to me herself.”
“The Professor wouldn’t tell any of us where she went. She asked him not to for this exact reason,” Jean called out the door to his retreating back. “How are you doing to find her?”
“The old-fashioned way…look!” he shouted as he stormed back through the front doors of the mansion and strode out to his bike to make his way to the airport.
Now, gathering his saddlebags from jet, he waved dismissively at the private car that was always on standby at the airport for Xavier’s jet. Even thought the Professor would not tell him where Rogue went, he did not attempt to dissuade Logan from searching for her and told him he could use whatever tools the mansion offered for his quest. Rogue wasn’t exactly doing a bang-up job of staying under the radar. She’d flown commercial, COMMERCIAL, to Miami 10 days earlier.
Why on earth would she do that with Chuck’s jet always there? Logan wondered as he told the chauffeur he would not need the frumpy old-man luxury sedan and instead asked if any of the airport rental agencies offered motorcycles. The driver indicated there was one and he would drive him there. Logan slung his dusty bag into the Mercedes with little ceremony and just to spite anyone who cared, lit his cigar as he rode.
And she hates crowds. Something is not right.
She was also using her credit cards, not cash like he’d always taught her to when on the road. God, it was like she was sending out smoke signals to her location to any mutie or FOH bastard who wanted to make quick buck bounty hunting. And right now she was parked in Islamorada, in the Keys of all places. For the last 3 days she’d used her cards on the island for all sort of random shit: outfitters stores, kayaking, diving gear, swim shops.
She doesn’t even like to swim. It’s too dangerous for her and others. This was not the girl he knew.
“Fucking Florida,” he muttered as he tugged off his leather jacket, already smothering under the wilting humidity and heat. Gimme Canada and a glacier anytime. His scorn for the whole mosquito infested swamp of a state was momentarily lifted when the driver stopped in front of a luxury rental service just outside the airport grounds. Logan grinned inwardly as he saw several rows of vintage and custom motorcycles outside the rental office.
Maybe Miami isn’t so bad. Rich kids gotta have their toys.
Still annoyed at Xavier for allowing Rogue to go off without telling him or, better yet, strapping her down in the medbay, Logan charged the rental of a killer 1995 Harley-Davidson 1340 Heritage softail to his institute card. No, he did not plan to pay the Professor back.
He was already sitting on the bike, his bags fasted securely to it, anxious to be underway while the rental rep was still yakking at him about it being a good idea to sign the supplementary insurance agreement for the bike. Logan gave him a glare that would have killed the guy last Tuesday, if the guy had an idea who he was dealing with. Logan scrawled his initials across the agreement, took the man’s monogrammed fancy pen, stuck it in his own jacket pocket, and revved the engine.
“Mr. Logan, your helmet!” The guy held out a god-awful full face contraption that Logan would sooner piss in than put on his head. He laid down some rubber and left the rental dweeb choking on burned tire as he turned out of the lot and headed for the nearest sign that indicated Highway 1 South.
The ride wasn’t so bad, and not nearly long enough to suit Logan. Yeh, it was hot as shit, and there were way too many stoplights on what was allegedly a highway leading out of Miami. This section of Florida wasn’t all rich bitch Gucci Pucci either; Homestead was downright seedy. None of this was sitting well with Logan, not the flight, the charge bills he’d seen, the meandering trip history the cell phone tracking records had shown him, none of it.
For God’s sake, she didn’t even disconnect her phone. Anyone could find her.
Well, he knew where she was now, his own phone programmed to chirp anytime she made a charge on any of her cards. There were several for a place called Lazy Days on Islamorada the last few days. He’d start there and hone in on where exactly she was on the island chain and what the hell she’d been doing.
Despite his concern over everything, the two hour drive from the airport to the Keys wasn’t all bad, but it wasn’t great either. He was pretty good at either ignoring or gunning past any Sunday picnic driving assholes and there were some decently long stretches where he was able to let the throttle out and just ride, taking in what scenery there was. Despite all the commercials on TV gushing about how amazing Florida was all he could see were mangroves, scrubby brush, and swamp, mile after godforsaken mile of swamp at some points.
It’s too flat. It ain’t natural. Who the hell wants to live someplace this boring?
Even after he crossed over Lake Surprise and onto Long Key proper he was still less than impressed. The water still looked like the murky shit in the Miami canals, the highway wasn’t wide enough for all the traffic, and was crowded at the edges with motels, souvenir shops, and restaurants all posting giant signs screaming about fresh seafood.
Ugh, fish. Logan shuddered inwardly at the idea and gunned the Harley up double the posted speed limit and onto the paved shoulder to snake past a line of cars there were trapped by some idiot trying to turn left from the right lane. He was still stewing inwardly at being forced to come down here- HERE!- of all places to find Rogue. A voice in the back of his mind reminded him no one was forcing him to do this, in fact all the other X-men had attempted to persuade him not to go after her, to let her live her own life.
Yeh, well, if she took better care her own life, I wouldn’t have to he barked inwardly at that annoying voice. What she didn’t understand is that he had risked, and on more than one occasion offered, his life to save hers from Magneto, Sabertooth, Stryker, the FOH. On and on the list of people who wanted to kill or capture her went.
And here she is fannying around on some stupid island with no backup!
She might be careless with her own safety but he never was, he’d made a promise and even if he was a surly bastard, the Wolverine took his promises very seriously and kept them. She owed it to him to be more cautious, after everything he’d done for her.
Ungrateful he seethed. He was so preoccupied with his own thoughts he almost drove right past the Tavernier harbor without even seeing it, and he wasn’t even aware of his actions until the bike was already turning off of the road and into the harbor gravel lot. He stopped the bike as close to the water as he could and looked east at the Atlantic. It was a shades of green and blue he’d never seen and amazingly clear. He could see the fish swim past the barnacled legs of the docks that lead out to the recreational boats some rich bastards kept there. He got off his bike and walked to the edge of the parking lot, scanning an ocean he was not at all familiar with, no craggy cliffs of Maine, no murky brown soup off the coast of New Jersey, no grey clouds ribboned the sky before a storm like off the shores of New Brunswick.
The sky was a bright blue and was so vibrant under the blazing sun it was almost electric. Large seabirds skimmed the breezes, balancing on the air currents with no wing beats. A large boat with a red and white diver flag painted on the side was heading out to sea, into the royal blue of deeper water.
Ok, maybe some parts of this place don’t completely suck. Logan patted his jacket for a cigar, then realized his jacket was strapped to saddlebags. He stretched his arms over his head and decided this wasn’t a half bad place to stop and take a break. Then spotted the most beautiful thing he’d seen so far in this swelteringly hot hellhole. A plain sign next to a whitewashed cabana at the end of the harbor that read ICE COLD CERVASAS.
Logan slapped a ten down and asked for whatever was coldest, then sighed in relief when the deeply tanned man he assumed to be bartender (even though the guy was wearing no shirt, faded cut off jeans, and no shoes) slid a frostbitten Dos Equis into his waiting hand. While it wasn’t Canadian lager it went down real fine with the heat and Logan drained half of it at a go. When he smiled after his long pull he nodded to the man for 2 more. In short order he’d finished his first, popped the top on the other two beers and handed one to the barkeep, such as he was.
“Thanks, I’m Marco” the guy said and titled it in salute to Logan. “To the Conch Republic.”
Logan swallowed and said, “I thought this was the Keys” and for a moment he inwardly panicked at the idea he was nowhere near was he was supposed to be.
Marco laughed heartily, a booming bark that sent some nearby gulls in the parking lot to flight. “Ha ha! This is the Keys, but us Conchers call it the Republic.”
“What the hell is a conker?” Logan’s curiosity was piqued as Marco open two new beers and handed Logan another one without asking for money.
“A conch is the shellfish that used to be so plentiful around he we had us a right good industry, but now it’s protected due to overfishing. The conch to us is like the bald eagle to rest of Americans.” He gestured to a large empty shell at the end of the bar, a heavy looking spiral shell that glimmer pale gold on the outside and curved at the mouth to a succulent pink smoothness that shined in the sun.
So that’s what that is. He’d seen pictures in books of the shell. Nice to know what the hell it was and where it came from.
Marco leaned in conspiratorially and pretended to whisper, “The Keys tried to succeed from the US back in the early 80s because we didn’t want none of the bullshit the mainlanders were sticking on us.” Logan’s eyebrows shot up; he didn’t know anything about any succession since the Civil War. Marco grinned at the puzzled look on Logan’s face and said, “Nothing violent, we just gave a symbolic middle finger to the mainland and started doing things we way we like. Which is with not a lot of hassle. We ain’t even got our own police department. Dade County police gotta come down here if they want someone to boss around. This is a live and let live kinda place, everybody do their own thing and as long as you don’t get in nobody else’s way we are all good.”
Logan nodded and this time clinked his bottle to Marco’s. “This place sounds alright…if it wasn’t for the fucking heat.” He swiped forearms across his face and knew he was dripping with sweat.
“Well what you wearing them jeans for? Easy breezy, that’s the way to survive the sun down here,” and Marco gestured to his own bare legs.
“Let’s just say I don’t do shorts,” Logan snorted, thanked Marco for the beers, slapped a $20 he hadn’t even been asked for down on the bar and turned to go back to his bike.
Shit, almost forgot. “Marco, I’m looking for a girl-“
“Say no more, say no more, I know this bar back up on Long Key-“
“Nah nah, that’s not what I’m talking about. I’m looking for a particular girl, she’s…um” He realized he didn’t have a picture of her.
Do I even own one?
“She’s about this tall” and held his hand to about the height of his chin, “brown eyes, really pale, she’s got a white streak-“
“Awww, you mean Marie!! That lady is alright.” Logan’s jaw clenched. He did not like the overly familiar was with which Rogue’s real name dropped from this stranger’s lips. Marco saw the relaxed expression leave Logan’s face and said, “She came I don’t know, about a week ago, got a cold one just like you, and asked me if any of those boats there” he nodded to the lines of pleasure craft at the harbor, “could take her out fishing.”
Logan narrowed his eyes at the man. This did not sound like his girl. “Fishing?”
“Yeh, man, yeh.” Marco saw Logan’s frown only deepened and pulled out another beer and slid it across the counter to him. “Said she’d never gone deep sea fishing before, said she was here to try new things she ain’t never done before. Said she had herself a ‘revelation’ and was starting her life over again or something like that.” Marco made air quotes with his fingers. “She was real nice, and not bad to look at let me tell you.” Logan’s hand tightened on the bottle and Marco realized he really should not telling him that at all. “So I asked one of the charter boat captains, my friend Lou, if there was any trips going out and Lou had one the next day, so she went with.”
“And where can I find this Lou?” Logan was already visualizing making hamburger out of the presumably fat, greasy asshole who’d take his Marie out on a boat all alone.
“Right over there! Hey Lou, this guy’s looking for Marie!” Marco shouted. Logan whirled expecting to see some tough looking sucker bowing up on him for a tussle, but instead a very slender, darkly freckled woman with short blonde hair in her 40s stepped off one of the boats nearby and walked over to the bar.
“Hey, I’m Lou, what ya need?” She caught Logan’s hand and gave it a firm shake, and he could feel the calluses on it from working boats. Logan firmly believed you could learn a lot from a person from their hands and their handshake. He liked Lou immediately.
“I’m looking for Marie. She’s a friend of mine. Marco said you took her out fishing?”
“Oh yeh, “ Lou smiled and flipped her sun streaked bangs out her eyes, “Marie went with me and a charter group a few days ago, said she’d never been fishing at all besides some mudhole back home in Louisiana. Wanted to do something new. Said she was on an adventure.”
Ain’t the X-men adventure enough for her? And how do they know her real name?
Lou was still talking. “Oh my, she was real sweet, most of the people who pay me for my boat don’t want to talk to me properly, like I’m just the help. But Marie? She helped me bait and gut the catches. A real solid gal.” Logan’s mind was reeling at this flood of completely unexpected information. “And damn if she didn’t catch a whopper of a tarpon, ” Lou finished with a smile.
“A what?”
“You serious?” Lou scoffed, “Tarpon is serious game fish down here. Not much good for eating but they fight real good, you get your money’s worth on them. Hang on, I got it.” She went back over to her boat, fished around the wheelhouse for a moment and returned with a picture. “See there, that’s the one she caught.”
Logan simply could not understand what he was seeing. The face and hair definitely looked like Marie, but she was not covered neck to toe in layers, wearing her ever-present combat boots. In the photo she was wearing a tank top, some sort of colorful skirt that wrapped around her and rode low on her hips, and bare feet. She wasn’t pale, she was sporting a tan and probably the biggest smile Logan had ever seen her wear. She was pointing to a huge fish that was strung up next to her at the dock and laughing and-
Her arm is around Lou’s shoulder. Her bare arm is around Lou’s bare shoulder. The words fell in Logan’s mind with all the force of an explosion. Revelation. Starting life over. New things.
Logan’s mind was a jumble of wild thoughts as he asked them if knew where she’d gone, and when Marco and Lou both said Marie had just told them she was heading south down the island chain until she got bored, he thanked them with another beer a piece, then walked back to his bike and kicked it to life, his head buzzing with half-formed ideas.
I don’t blame her. She can touch now. Fly commercial, be in crowds, wear what she wants.
But why didn’t she tell me?
He knew why, because he always knew where to find her but she never knew where he was. She was a bright beacon to guide when he tired of running and wanted to come home, to her, but he’d left her in the dark between visits. Now with this new freedom she wanted to get away from everyone and everything familiar and take on life in a completely new way, free from expectations and assumptions from those who knew how deadly her touch was before, do things she’d never been allowed or even physically capable of her entire life.
Like hug someone who was nice to her, like Lou.
She can put her arm around…oh shit.
Logan practically laid down the bike in the gravel in his haste to get back on the highway and make the rest of the short trip to Islamorada. He had to find her before she did something with her newfound freedom from her mutation she would regret.
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