A Voice is Heard in Ramah…Jeremiah 31:15
Let’s have a little chat, shall we? Because there’s a few things I want to set straight.
I get the image, all right? I get how I’m supposed to be this gum-chewing, permanently-adolescent wiseass who flits around being a busybody and poking my nose in where it doesn’t belong, with questionable fashion sense and a temper. I know how I come off. It doesn’t help that I’m short, Asian, and goddamnit, cute.
But here’s what you need to get through your head before we go any further, and what I would have thought my best friends already knew. I’m not the comic relief. I have fun with how I dress or how I talk, that’s my choice. Don’t make the mistake of thinking that’s all there is.
This place makes me sick sometimes. I tell you, the drama around here is better than a movie—everyone running around acting like their problems are the center of the universe. And guess what? They’re not. I know some stuff sucks for everyone. I should.
Pause for reflection. You with me?
Good. So after I saw my parents murdered in front of me, in case there are any stragglers in the group, I made a personality out of being a mall rat. There’s a nice piece of constructive sublimation for you. Take away everything I have? I’ll make a life where you go for things you don’t need. Take that, motherfuckers.
Don’t look so surprised. You should’ve known I had it in me. And on some level, I guess I judge people by my own standards. You want unconditional love? Get a puppy. Or Kitty. She’s good at that.
Okay, that’s not fair. Kit’s a nice girl—one of the best, she’d do anything for a friend. The thing is, half the time she has no idea what that would be. Nothing really bad’s ever happened to her. Not that I hope it will, I just mean she’s still at this place where the bad stuff just shocks her.
People like me, we’re not like that. We expect the worst. It’s safer that way, doesn’t take you by surprise. But so help me, I never saw this coming. Maybe I got soft, living here, but I wouldn’t have believed I wouldn’t have seen the signs. And Kitty didn’t understand why I was so angry. She kept asking how I could be mad at Rogue when she was hurting so much. “She needs us,” she kept saying. “She needs us to be there for her.”
Yeah, right. Because that worked so goddamn well in the first place. If she needed us so badly, why the hell was she always pushing us away? And don’t go reading any subtext into any of that. This is not about someone needing someone else instead of me or any other crap like that, so put your collective tongues back in your mouth and get your minds out of the gutter. Believe it or not, I was not oblivious to the way Rogue felt about the Vanishing Canadian—certainly not half as oblivious as the rest of the School seemed to be, anyway. And I tried to talk to her about it, but she wouldn’t. And when I say wouldn’t, I mean Pentagon-level-security, pretend-I-don’t-exist, silent-treatment-for-a-month kind of not talking about it.
You’re gonna be as stubborn as that, you ought to use all that inner strength towards some reasonable goal. Like staying alive, say, so people who thought they were your friend don’t feel like your attempted suicide is all their fault.
So okay. Maybe it was me I was mad at as much as Rogue. Congratulations, you led me to a little self-discovery there. Still. I was there for her. I was. Whoever still thinks I’m just an airhead? Fuck you. It wasn’t like that.
I admit, I took it out on Wolverine too, that morning he finally showed up. I wasn’t exactly thinking straight. It wasn’t really all his fault for being the biggest asshole on the face of the earth when he walked out; genetics must’ve had something to do with that. But christ. Pick up the phone. They have them in Canada, I’ve been there. Write a postcard. Stop being so goddamn self-absorbed and do something useful. And Rogue was being no genius either. That was no spur-of-the-moment act she pulled. She planned that. How mean do you have to be to not even think about who’s going to have to walk in and see the mess you left?
That’s the thing, you know? All this analysis, all these reasons, but what it boils down to was that it was just all so unnecessary. That’s what pissed me off more than anything, especially once we knew Rogue was going to be all right—the pointlessness of it. You want your big brooding Canuck with the bad attitude? Fine, I can help you with that. But I can’t help when you swallow half a pharmacy and I find you breathing what you just vomited up, because I’m trying not to hurl myself from all the puke and the shit and the rest of it.
Not a nice picture, is it? Remember that. Most suicides don’t die pretty.
Sorry. I still don’t like to think about it. I mean, I was coming to tell her he was coming back. I was sure of that. I was going to tell her how I’d seen him. I had it all planned out. I wanted to tell her how he’d looked when he’d seen that postcard, how he knew about her work.
I’m not supposed to be angry? Fine. Why don’t you tell me how I’m supposed to feel when instead, I just got to tell him the next morning that she was lying downstairs with her brain fried from not breathing. For nothing. For no reason.
Listen, my family’s dead. No one’s ever going to be able to give me a good reason for walking away from life on their own. If it took me a few days to get over the shock, sue me. It’s cool now, me and Rogue. Really.
So on that note, let’s review the status quo, shall we? Rogue tries to kill herself. Wolves shows up at the eleventh hour and saves her life. Admittedly the whole thing about how her skin and his mutation short-circuited each other, or whatever the hell it was, sort of strained belief, but I don’t even know why anyone was surprised. After everything else that had happened that week, that seemed like the most reasonable outcome there could have been. I didn’t actually know how the whole exchange-of-mutant-powers thing worked in the first place because Rogue had never let one of us so much as brush by her skin. She never told me about that. If I had known…I don’t know. I wouldn’t have been so down on Wolvie when he came back, at least. I’m still getting shit about that, by the way. Kit keeps calling me ‘the only woman to bite the Wolverine and live.’ Ha frickin’ ha.
But whatever, it worked. So there we all were, still kind of reeling, but there was a sense of relief. Everyone was happy, right? Except…not so much. Rogue really was better in some ways, but she was also guilty and embarrassed and kind of overwhelmed, I think. A lot of people avoided her. It did something to the kids our age, seeing this happen right in our own home. Bad things happened to us on the outside. Not here. It wasn’t just me; everyone was a little shell-shocked. Then there were the upper echelons. They didn’t quite know how to react either. First the Professor, of course, who really is a good guy, but when it comes to talking to kids, he’s better with advice on homework problems than personal ones. Then there’s Ororo, who just doesn’t exactly understand any of us mere mortals. And don’t get me started about Jean and Scott.
What, you hadn’t heard that yet? Christ, yeah, our former Fearless Leader showed up the very next morning, commandeered a plane and flew himself cross-country or something. Seems like the whole lesson about pointless waste of life! hadn’t been lost on him, at least. I saw him come in, because I was sort of in the hallway at the time. Well, on the stairs. See, I was on my way to the kitchen.
Yeah, all right, to tell the truth, I saw Scott getting out of a cab from a window upstairs and snuck down to watch. Sterotypes have to have a basis in fact, all right? Anyway, you want to know what happened or not?
Okay then. Jean was on her way through to the lab, I guess, and she was carrying a cup of coffee, and she almost dropped it right in the middle of the foyer when Scott opened the front door. Scott didn’t even blink—well, okay, I can’t swear to that, but let’s just say he never broke stride. He just dropped his bag and crossed the hallway and picked her up and kissed her, and when he stopped kissing her and started telling her how sorry he was she was crying. So I exited, stage right.
I have some scruples, yes. Thank you for asking.
I know Jeannie was still worried about Rogue, but the two of them kind of went off the grid for a little while there. Understandably, but still. So that was them, wrapped up in fixing their stuff, Xavier and ‘Ro fumbling around trying to be helpful and not getting anywhere much. And then there was Logan.
I definitely have a soft spot for the big idiot. I really thought he did good, those first few weeks. He was with her a lot. It didn’t surprise anyone, obviously, especially after it filtered out about how he could touch her when no one else could, only he was also not with her when I figured he would be. Do I need to spell this out? Good. Figured you couldn’t be that slow on the uptake.
I wondered what was going on there, when I saw him going out night after night and only coming back to the Mansion in the early hours. He looked like hell. It wasn’t like he talked to me or anything, god forbid, but I’ve got eyes. Anyone could see he was crazy about her, and anyone could see he was slowly going absolutely nuts trying to do the right thing by our Nell. Anyone who bothered to look, anyway.
I watched that going on for a while, and then I checked in with Rogue. Found her in her room, which was about the only place she ever was.
She wasn’t doing much better. I didn’t get it, to tell you the truth. I just thought she was feeling guilty about the whole suicide thing. I talked to her about it, and she cried prettily and apologized all over the map, and then…
I still don’t quite get this, but then, she tried to tell me Logan was really hanging around the School for me. She was pretty convincing, too. She told me it was something she knew, because she’d absorbed his thoughts when he’d touched her, or some crap like that. She was starting to scare me, tell you the truth. Because seriously, any time Logan and me had been in the same room? She knew about it. Which actually amounted to a couple of games of pool, catching a rerun of The Right Stuff on TV one night and maybe winding up in the dining hall at the same time once a week, but by the time Rogue got through with the details, you’d think he’d been haunting my every step. It was so surreal even I almost started to believe her. And she was saying it like she had to spit it out or die trying. I couldn’t get a word in edgewise, which if you know me, is saying something.
So what could I do? I went to find the other stubborn idiot. He was harder to track down, but I finally ran him to ground out back, behind the garage. He was smoking one of those stinky phallus-substitutes of his. I walked up to him, planted my hands on my hips and waited till he acknowledged my existence with a nod. “Good thing Rogue’s wrong about you having the hots for me, because I’d eighty-six those cigars first thing.”
Logan practically choked on the big-league cancer stick. “What?”
“So now that I’ve explained the situation, you want to quit dicking around and do something about it?” He didn’t quite know how he wanted to react to that, but eventually he threw down the cigar and stomped on it.
“Where’d she get that idea?”
I arched an eyebrow at him. “Gee, thanks.”
“Cut it out.”
All right, I’d gotten his attention, so I eased up. “She doesn’t really think that, dimbulb. She’s just trying to get your attention.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
“So I had this bright idea. We play into it, see? Flirt a little, let her catch us in a clinch maybe, get a rumor going around the school. Snap her out of it a little.”
I am telling you, anyone as humorless as Logan is a living incitement to practical jokes. He actually sputtered. Man did not know whether to shit or go blind. I dropped my arms-akimbo pose and let him off the hook before he imploded. “I’m kidding, you big dope. I was just trying to get you to listen to me.” Ah, wounded male ego. A lovely scent. I kept going, before he could get it together enough to stalk off in high dudgeon. “I really do have a good suggestion. If you want to hear it.”
He chewed that over for a second or two. “What is it?” he finally said, reluctantly. Which told me just how frustrated he must have been, poor guy.
“Get her away from here. Take her on a trip. A long one.”
He wasn’t expecting that, I could tell. For just a second it was all out there in the open, just how much he wanted to do exactly that, and then his expression closed down. “Not gonna happen,” he said briefly. “But thanks for telling me. I’ll make sure she knows it ain’t like that, you and me.”
“You really aren’t paying attention, are you?” I had to move fast to get in his way again. “She already knows that. And why not? It’s a good idea.”
“It’s a fucking stupid idea.” He brushed past me and kept going towards the house. I had to step up my pace to keep up with him.
“Why? Give me one good reason you can’t.” Long-legged son-of-a-bitch, I was falling behind.
“Give you three. She lives here. They got doctors here, and she needs ‘em.” We’d reached the back door near the kitchen by now, and he turned to look at me with one hand on the doorknob. “And she’s not ready.” Damn, he looked torn up.
“That’s not true.” He opened the door anyway. “Will you give me two minutes here?”
“Beat it, squirt. You done enough.” And then Logan stopped so short I plowed into him, and I had to dodge around him to find out why.
Listen, it may seem funny now, but I’m trying to set the stage, so just take my word for it, this was a tense moment. We had come across a Dark Secret of the Mansion. We had walked in on something we were never meant to see. It was horrifying.
Scott Summers. No shirt, no shoes. Fridge door open. Drinking milk straight from the container.
Oh, the humanity.
Like I said, it was pretty nerve-wracking there for a second. Basically, I wasn’t even really sure Logan knew Scott was back; Jean had been pretty much holed up in her lab or her quarters for weeks and Scott had presumably been down there with her. If he did know, they certainly hadn’t been shooting pool or sharing beers and sob stories. For all I knew, this was the last moment of someone’s life with all four limbs. I saw Logan’s shoulders go all tense and his fists balled up. I saw Scott’s hand go to one side of his visor.
I had to do something fast. So I did what I do best. No, not that. There were enough sparks flying already. I just got in the middle. “So now that we know who’s responsible for that nasty cold that’s been making the rounds, Scott, don’t you think it would be a good idea for Rogue and Wolverine to take off for a while?”
Scott almost dropped the milk carton, and had to catch it with both hands. Then he set it down on the counter, shut the refrigerator door and hitched up his sweats before crossing his arms over his bare chest. “Matter of fact, I do.”
“It ain’t any of your business.” Scott might have dropped his shootout-at-the-OK-corral pose, but I could tell even without looking that Logan hadn’t.
“You’re right about that.” I held my breath, but Scott didn’t make any fast moves. In fact, after a second he sighed and let his arms fall to his sides. He didn’t even look at me. “But Jubilee seemed to want my opinion. For what it’s worth.”
“Which would be what? Fuck all or jack shit?”
“Whichever.” Scott looked away for a second, then straight at Logan, over my head. “I owe you an apology.”
There was this long, uncomfortable silence, and then I felt Logan shove me in the back. “The hell kind of act were you setting up here?” Oh, shit. Take my word on this, kids: you do not want the Wolverine speaking to you in that tone of voice.
“She didn’t set anything up. Believe me, this is not how I would have wanted to have this conversation.” Yeah, there was a reason Scott used to be the leader around here. “I don’t know what’s going on here, but I should have talked to you as soon as I got back. I just…” It’s hard to tell with the glasses and all, but I think he was actually blushing. “Had some other stuff going on.”
“I bet you did.” Did mine ears deceive me, or was that Wolverine’s version of amusement? “Barely tearing yourself away for some…liquid refreshment?” Phew.
Scott crossed his arms again. Can’t blame the guy. “Look, Logan…” He hauled himself up short and took a deep breath. “Goddamnit, you don’t have to like me. I’m just trying to tell you, I know I was wrong. About everything I said about you, all right? Five years ago, I wouldn’t listen to anyone, and I made the biggest mistake of my life. You got half the brain I think you do, you’ll learn from that.” He waited a second, and so did I, but Logan didn’t answer. “You won’t listen to me, so listen to Jubilee. She knows more about what goes on at this place than anyone short of the Professor. If she says it’s a good idea, it is. So take Rogue and get her out of here for a while. If it makes a damn bit of difference, I can’t imagine anyone would look out for her better.”
I was impressed. Granted, Scott kind of ruined his big exit line by taking about three steps, then coming back self-consciously and reaching for the milk carton to replace it in the fridge.
No. Honest. He did. I could not make that up if I tried.
I waited just a minute after Scott finally did make his belated departure, and then I thought maybe it would be good if I left too. I mean, Wolves could handle this on his own from here on out, right? I’m small and quick. I thought maybe I could scoot out unnoticed.
Fat chance. I got about three steps before I was lifted off the ground and deposited unceremoniously on the kitchen counter, where I was eye-to-eye with trouble. Of the whiskered, growling type.
“You got your two minutes. Convince me you didn’t tell that uptight pretty-boy exactly what to say.” I tried to think of something to say. For once, I couldn’t. I really thought he might smack me.
“I didn’t even know he was in here. I swear. I haven’t even seen him since he got here. I just didn’t want you two to kill each other and then there’d be all kinds of new shit to deal with. And then Rogue’d be pissed at me again, and so would Jean. And she’s a telepath. She’d know it was me.” I knew I wasn’t making any sense, so I took a breath and checked to see how he was taking it.
“Payback’s a bitch, short stuff.” He was smiling, the big bully. “You’re a piece of work, you know that?”
I punched him on the shoulder. Gently. “You…you…you scared the shit outta me.”
“Good.” He reached up and messed up my hair. “So…you still determined to be helpful?”
“Soon as my pulse gets back under two hundred. What’d you have in mind?”
“You go talk to her. Have her packed and out front in half an hour. Do whatever you have to do.” Action very definitely suited him better than waiting around. “I got a couple people to talk to.”
Stringing out the rest of the story would just be overkill. I could go on about how I went upstairs, walked into Rogue’s room and just started hauling stuff out of her drawers. I could tell you how she went from sitting there moping at the window to laughing so hard I could hardly get her down the stairs. I could tell you how hard she hugged me before she opened the front door, and then how Logan was already out there, leaning on his truck and waiting for her. I could tell you how she got all teary again, and how he came and got her and just kind of wrapped her up in his arms while I hauled that big old duffel bag of hers down the steps and muscled it into the flatbed of the truck.
But I can’t tell you what he was saying to her, because as soon as I did that I got the hell out of there and left them to it. So too bad to all you nosy parkers.
They’ve been gone over a month, and I could tell you where they are, because she called me last night.
But I won’t.
You’ll just have to wait for her to tell you herself. Then maybe you’ll see some real fireworks.
Peace out.
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Author's Chapter Notes:
Anger doesn't always have to be destructive. Jubilation Lee discusses same.