10. Morning glories
In the World According To Jubilee, breakfast was the most important meal of the day. Nothing to do with food, or even coffee, of course – it was all about information. Breakfast, Jubilee had realised, was where it all happened. So many mornings after the nights before. Breakfast was the gossip goldmine.
Today, though. Jubilee shuddered with anticipation, just thinking of the possibilities. The mansion’s woman of mystery, losing her temper like that. Losing her cool completely! There was some story there, some big-ass whopper of a story, and she, Jubilee, was on the case.
She’d have to stake out the cafeteria for hours, to make sure she caught both Rogue and the target coming in. They’d probably be avoiding each other – that was some hate-on they had going – but she needed to know what the hell was happening there.
Would he stay? Or would the Prof side with Rogue and tell the Big Bad to take a hike? Jubilee stilled for a moment, toothbrush still in her mouth, as she contemplated another possibility. It might be Rogue who was asked to leave – she had fucked up the mission, after all. She had disobeyed orders, and attacked one of her teammates. Cyclops had thrown her right in the brig with him – and everyone knew he had a secret lust for Rogue. He must have been pretty steamed to do that.
And when Rogue hadn’t turned up to the debrief, and Cyclops hadn’t even been surprised, the rumour mill really started churning. She’d thrown her torn suit at the Professor and stormed out of the mansion. She’d refused to work alongside the newcomer, who was an old lover from her days with the Brotherhood. She was still Brotherhood, and this guy had been going to expose her.
No one had told the junior team a damn thing, and that meant they were entitled to take action. Rogue was one of theirs, and they had a right to know who was an enemy and who was a friend.
What was a little minor espionage between friends anyway?
Jubilee jumped as the bedside clock shrilled 7am. Showtime.
*
Three doors between his room and hers. Forty feet of hallway. Logan stood behind his door, forehead braced on the cool, welcoming wood, and contemplated his next move. He could hear the shower running in her room, and the artificial tang of shampoo and soap was slowly diluting the mouthwatering scent of her sweat. About four seconds, he reckoned, and he could be inside. Where she was wet, and naked. He nearly shook with the need to go to her, but the part of him that was actually thinking held back.
They needed to talk. Clothes would help.
In their rush to get … reacquainted, they had forgotten to discuss the cover story. What to say, how to act. Far as everyone else knew, they were more enemies than friends. Cold, harsh acquaintances, at the very least. Who didn’t really know each other from squat.
And that, Logan realised, would be a problem. Because it had taken him ten minutes in the cage to realise her fighting style was his – refined, reworked, amped up some, but basically, his. She moved with a fluidity of her own, but she threw the same punches, used the same blocks. The old faithful to the knee that had served him so well. The roundhouse combos. Getting caught fucking on the stairs would have been easier to explain.
Logan slammed his fist against the door in frustration, appreciating for the first time the bind he had left them in. Anyone with combat chops would pick it up, real quick. It’d be obvious the first time they sparred together. Could he avoid her, in the gym? Trust these idiots enough to look after her training? Live with her without experiencing that amazing synchronicity they shared when they fought? He wondered what it said about him that he was willing to hide his relationship with her, but not to forgo that. Not being able to spar with Marie was unacceptable.
It was quiet outside his door now, and maybe she’d have her clothes on by now. Four seconds, he thought. He was through her unlocked door in three.
Marie’s room was a riot of scent on the heated air. He could smell himself on the sheets, and her, their earthy stink overlaid by the less natural smells coming from the bathroom. Steam was billowing from a part-open door, and he could hear the soft kiss of towelling on wet skin. For a moment, his feet insisted he needed to be in there – right now! – so he marched them over to the chair by her bed. He should have told her he was here, he admitted to himself as he stretched out to wait, but there was only so much masochism he could subject himself to. She might be wearing a towel. She might not. He would leave it to fate.
“Daydreaming?”
Logan looked up from the avid contemplation of his own navel to find her leaning in the doorway, smirking at him. She was fully dressed, combing out her wet hair in long, careful strokes, a sight so familiar it made his stomach clench with remembered frustration. All those months, alone, in the cottage up north. Ignoring an attraction he could barely admit. Telling himself he couldn’t be feeling this, not for a damaged teenager. And later, when she knew everything there was to know, not wanting to compromise her more. Resisting, even as she wallowed in the darkest parts of him.
He shook away the black memories, and feasted his eyes on the long, lean length of her, the hard muscles and intoxicating curves she had acquired in the years since they had parted. This woman was not the skinny teenager he had put on a pedestal, or even the feral assassin he’d begun to shape: she was her own creation, he reminded himself. Rogue. He could only hope she was taking the time to heal Marie.
“Why now?”
Logan didn’t even look up from his huevos to ask what she meant. He mumbled around his fork, hoping like hell she’d just leave it alone.
“You seemed to need that. Touch.”
“I’ve needed touch for a long time, Logan. I’ve wanted you to touch me since that first fucking night in your camper. And it’s not like you didn’t know that! What’s changed?”
He risked a glance at her, wondering if she had somehow failed to understand what was going on. What he’d done, and what she’d done. All he could see in her face was annoyance, and confusion. He wanted to fucking hide.
“You touched me, Marie. I didn’t touch you. You chose to touch me.”
“So you didn’t want it? You fucking put up with it? Is that it? You were doing me a favour?” Her voice climbed from puzzlement, to fury, to disbelief.
“Of course I wanted it, kid! That wasn’t my fucking gun that was getting you off! I wanted it, but I had no right to take it. You needed to take it – to make that choice. To choose who you wanted to touch, and not have someone choosing for you.”
He didn’t say “again”, or “like before”. But the shocked cast of her face was indication enough that she had taken his meaning, and didn’t like it. Not even a little bit. They didn’t talk about this. She didn’t think about it, and he was expected to pretend he’d never seen her as anything other than vengeful and triumphant. Every scream she had wrung from her father had been designed to scour herself of the shame, and humiliation, and terror – and, he’d begun to suspect, reality. Memory.
She liked to pretend that Rogue had dealt with this. And maybe she had. But Marie – Marie was still huddled in that corner, shaking, tormented by her memories.
Yeah, and then you gave her yours, bub. Nothing you can do will ever make that right, Logan jeered at himself. No matter how happy you think you can make her.
“Logan!” Her warm weight settled in his lap, even warmer voice calling him back. “Where did you go, sugar?” Concern shone in her eyes, and her hands were gentle as they stroked the tense muscles at the back of his neck. This, surely, was Marie. The one person who actually gave a shit about him. The one woman who wanted more than the animal. The one, he admitted, as he looked into her eyes. And wasn’t that a fucking terrifying thought.
He squashed the part of himself that wanted to spill her onto the floor and flee the building, and looped his arms around her to comb his fingers through the ends of her hair. No reason they couldn’t have this discussion like the good friends they were, as long as they stuck to talking. Maybe a little kiss, on her browbone because he loved the way the light caught her there, and there too, on the corner of the eye where the skin felt like velvet. And her mouth tasted like toothpaste and green tea, with the tiniest echo of himself, and maybe just one more of those kisses because her mouth was the nearest to heaven he’d ever been.
They were gasping for breath when they pulled apart, laughing at their own weakness.
“Talk!” Logan rasped as she bent closer for another kiss. “Need a … plan!” he moaned, as she snuggled even closer. She pouted at him when he pushed her back to reason with her, and he nearly lost his resolve when her saw her face – eyes hot, cheeks flushed, lips bruised. He shut his eyes for moment, and ignored his other senses as they went into overdrive.
“Marie. We’ve got a story to get straight. And a plan to make.” And a megaton of lust to try and hide, he thought. We’re fucking doomed.
She nodded thoughtfully, and Logan silently cheered the return of Sensible Marie. She could turn back into Sexpot Rogue later, but right now they needed to lay the ground rules.
“As far as the X-men know, I took your parents’ contract, and reneged on it. How did we meet?”
“Um. Something easy to remember.” She smiled in triumph. “You tracked me to a warehouse, of course. I was sleeping rough, and you tracked me, and found me hiding up in the rafters. I was terrified, and begged for my life. You decided to be merciful.” Marie widened her eyes in a mockery of innocence. “And yesterday, just watching you from the rafters brought it all back. A psychotic break.”
Logan wondered briefly if the real truth was equally simple, but decided to let it lie. “Yeah – that’s a good fit. What happened after I found you – we spend any time together?”
“No – I was freaking terrified of you! Why would we spend time together?”
“Because you fight like me. You talk like me. Sometimes, baby, you even walk like me.”
“Oh.” Her brow wrinkled in thought, before a smile spread across her face. “The truth, Logan! Always the best weapon, remember? I touched you, of course. You came to kill me, but you decided not to, and told me to get the hell out of there. I was pretty freaked out, so I touched you, and knocked you out while I escaped.”
“Heh. So you’ve got me in your head. That’ll work. Good thinking, kid.”
Planning was clearly over, because she was wriggling back into him and nibbling on his lips, but not before claiming the last word. “Logan? Don’t call me kid.”
“Shut up and get naked. Darlin’.”
*
Jubilee loaded herself up with a hot breakfast, cereal, a newspaper and two cups of coffee before heading to her table. Back left hand corner, away from the door – able to see everyone in the place with just the slightest glance up from her plate. Most people thought of it as the junior team’s table, but it had been Jubilee’s choice, and no one had ever thought to question her preference. Except, she thought, maybe Rogue. She had raised an eyebrow, the first time, and flicked her eyes around the room before shooting a sardonic half smile in Jubilee’s direction.
Rogue had never needed lessons in being stealthy, Jubilee remembered uncomfortably. Sometimes, her skills in that area were downright frightening. But she’d never asked, because Rogue was a friend. Sort of. The sort of friend you knew nothing about, and couldn’t really trust, but liked anyway.
Jubilee gulped down her first cup of coffee and ignored the bitterness. She refused to feel guilty for spying on Rogue … she shouldn’t have had to. Bit more sharing, bit less stealth, she could have just asked what she needed to know. Jubilee donned her brave face and wondered how long it would be before the players began to show themselves.
It was a long wait.
*
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Author's Chapter Notes:
This has taken a while to land, my apologies. I waltzed off down the wrong track for a while, and had to rewrite, but I think I know where they are going now! Enjoy.
Chapter End Notes:
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