4: Flying free
Today was her day, and Marie felt unstoppable. Rumours of a war, a crusade against mutants had spread through the Mansion, and the grief they were feeling for the Professor hung like a pall in the air. Their sorrow made her ashamed, and ungrateful, and she felt her mouth twisting into an antisocial frown as she hid Hope deep inside.
He was there, of course. Logan would always be there when she didn't want him to be, didn't want to be quizzed or to lie or to be understood.
“Need a ride, kid?”
Once, the chance to sit in the car with him, or wrap herself around him on the back of his motorcycle would have made her “yes, please” horribly transparent. But she knew, now, what torture it was for him, and what that fraught quiet concealed as he countered her chatter with monosyllabic answers. She didn't want that for him, any more.
“No.”
“Where are you going?”
She resisted the urge to roll her eyes – as if he didn't know – and struck low.
“You don't know what it's like to be afraid of your powers. To be afraid to get close to anybody.”
She knew he did. She knew more than he'd ever wanted her to, but still she laid it on thick, as if daring him to answer her honestly.
“I wanna be able to touch people, Logan. A hug. A handshake. A kiss.”
“I hope you're not doing this for some boy. Look, if you want to go, then go. Just be sure it's want you want.”
Her eyes watered then – boy? Some boy? Did he know her at all? - and she pushed the switch over into bratty teenager mode.
“Shouldn't you be telling me to stay? To go upstairs and unpack?”
“I'm not your father, I'm your friend. Think about what I said, Rogue.”
But Rogue was thinking about something else. Thinking of him, thinking of her. She and Kitty and Jubes had begged Logan to take them mall, knowing he would give them a level of freedom none of the others did. Walking away from the minivan, Jubes had teasingly shouted “bye Daddy!”, loud enough to turn heads, and the three girls had dissolved into giggles at the shocked looks he had attracted.
He simply raised a brow and shook his head, amusement tugging at one corner of his mouth.
But now she knew he had been admiring the shape of her ass in the tight blue denim, and thinking about the unbroken expanse of the middle seat. Thinking about peeling off those jeans, and following the marks they'd leave, starting at her ankles and biting his way up the line of her legs until he reached her sweet, virgin pussy. Pushing her knees back until they touched the seat behind her head, and burying his face there and fucking her with his tongue, until her screams echoed throughout the carpark. She'd be begging for his cock and so slippery it wouldn't hurt at all as he made her his, and as he fucked her harder and harder, he would make it eminently fucking clear who was between her legs. “I'm not your father, Rogue,” he would say each time she came, and just to punish her for those giggles, he'd make her come again, and again. And then when they were done, she would look at him, brown eyes full of love, and tell him she knew. “You're my lover, sugar,” she'd say, and “Mah name is Marie.”
So when he called her Rogue, she had to correct him, even as her breathing grew raspy with the memory, and his eyes grew heavy at her scent.
“Marie,” she said, and she saw it hit his pleasure centre.
“Marie,” he agreed, and it felt like … hope, she decided. It felt like hope.
*
She was close now. She could see the foyer beyond the double doors, and a woman sitting at a desk, handing out forms. Eight, maybe ten people ahead of her, depending on how long the line inside was.
He was close, too. She'd been watching him watch her from across the street, straddling Scott's old motorcycle and trying to be inconspicuous. Tried not to roll her eyes, but he had to know he was rumbled. She would'a gone over there to tell him off if she hadn't been worried about losing her place in the line.
Why was he here? He'd said he wasn't going to stop her, as long as it was what she really wanted. Had he changed his mind? Or was remembering that old promise, to protect her? Maybe he was just being a friend. Maybe she'd gamble on that.
Marie raised an eyebrow in his direction, and then crooked her finger. Come here. She saw his eyebrow shoot up, and did it again. Come here.
He slid a leg over the bike and strode towards her, irritation written on his face.
“What?”
“You're the one spying on me, sugar. Ya can't manage to be a bit more polite about it?”
Another shrug.
“Just wanna be sure you're safe out here, Marie. Happy that you're making the right decision.”
“I see. Because killing people with a touch is easier to bear today than it was yesterday?”
He flinched, but his mouth firmed. This time he would argue.
“So you don't touch. You can still have a life, Marie. A good life. There'll be … ways around it. Ways that don't involve something the government's using as a goddamn weapon.”
She snapped. Stepped in close, and whispered in his ear.
“Lots of ways, aren't there Logan? But still, you'll always wonder. What innocence really tastes like.”
He reared back, eyes unbelieving. A flash of anger, followed by something far worse. Guilt. Shame.
“You said ...”
“I never did. Not until last night. Not even once. But … I was saying goodbye. You were so busy chasing Jean, and mourning the Professor and being Logan the fucking Wolverine ...” her voice broke, and she couldn't have said whether it was sorrow or anger at fault.
“So I looked. I was up all night … looking.” Her lips curled around the word, and his eyes darkened as he took her meaning.
The line shuffled forward, but she stood in place. Someone catcalled behind her, but the mutterings grew instantly quiet when Logan popped a single, central claw in their direction.
“And in the morning, I knew I was doing the right thing. I have to have hope, Logan. This is my hope.”
“Hope for fucking what, Marie? A normal life? Playing happy families with the Popsicle? Mini-van in the suburbs and a spot on fucking PTA?” Scorn dripped from his lips, but Marie's smile never slipped. Instead, she reached out to take his hand, and her fingers lingered, the silk of her glove caressing the spaces between his knuckles.
“I'm hoping you'll be honest. I'm hoping you'll tell me what you really want. I'm hoping, sugar, that you'll be brave enough to let me want you back.”
He'd gone silent and still, but she could see something stirring in his eyes. The line moved once more, and this time she moved with it, their hands slowly drawing apart.
“Go home, Logan,” she said, and her heart leapt as she moved through the double doors and into the clinic. Took her consent forms with a cheery “thank you,” and returned them with grin. Leapt up as they called her name, and then smiled as the hypodermic needle penetrated deep into her bicep.
As the transformation took her, Marie's vision separated into a thousand points of colour, then strobed into what looked to be a million butterflies.
Hope, flying free, she told herself.
fin
The Wolverine & Rogue Fanfiction Archive
Barely Legal Since 2000
Author's Chapter Notes:
galloping towards resolution so that I can get back to Sleeping Dogs!
Chapter End Notes:
Feedback is nice :)