Marie punched her pillow in aggravation, trying to get comfortable in bed. She had always had fits of insomnia from time to time, but they were worse when she had a lot on her mind. And right now, there was one thing on her mind. The man.
She should be punching him, not her pillow, aggravating as the damn man was being. It had been more than two weeks since he had saved her life, and he still seemed as skittish as ever. Still hadn’t even said one damn word to her.
She, on the other hand, had been a regular chatterbox. Every day -- while painting, while eating her lunch, whatever she was up to that day -- she would talk to him. And he may think that kind of thing was easy for her, but it sure as hell wasn’t.
She hadn’t been kidding about her momma saying that she could talk enough for two people, but that had been a long time ago, when she was just a kid. She had changed a lot from the bright and bubbly six-year-old her momma used to pamper and tease. A life-sucking mutation, the rejection of your family, six hard months on the road, and not to mention a little stint as Magneto’s hostage -- those kinds of things tended to change a girl.
No one who knew her as Rogue would ever have called her bright and bubbly. The barriers in her head weren’t the only ones she had built since her mutation first manifested. Sometimes she felt like her whole life was made of barriers -- barriers constructed of sheer willpower to protect her mind, barriers of clothing and distance to protect her skin, barriers of privacy and aloofness to protect her heart...
She had come out here hoping to shed some of those barriers. And, she acknowledged reluctantly, maybe on some level the man was helping her do that. Even if having someone around might be setting back her progress toward forgetting about her skin, it was probably balanced out by the way she was able to let her guard down with the man otherwise. The way he just sat, silent and intent, listening to whatever she had to say. There was something really freeing about it. No judgment, no arguments.
He didn’t seem to mind if she talked or if they just sat in comfortable silence, yards of clearing between them. But she had made a game of talking to him, trying to draw some reaction from him, or simply just filling the air between them. She could talk about anything, big or little -- his silent acceptance seemed to draw it out of her.
She had told him things she had never told anyone -- not even Hank or Kitty or Jubilee. How it had felt when her mutation first manifested, her terror and confusion as Cody rushed into her head. How her trip to Alaska had been nothing like she had dreamed -- just a cold, hungry misery until she had wanted to just lay down in the snow and sleep forever. How she often times felt so alone at the mansion, even with other mutants all around her. How she wondered sometimes whether joining the X-Men was something she would have really wanted, or if it was just the best available substitute for the life she knew she could never really have because of her mutation.
And the little things. How she couldn’t go to sleep at night without a glass of water next to her, and how she liked strawberries and ice cream but not strawberry ice cream. He probably knew her better now than anyone on the face of the planet. She had told him all of those things, and what had he told her? Not one damn thing, not even his name.
“Strong silent type my ass,” she mumbled into her pillow.
At least he showed himself now, she conceded. Even if it still startled her, the way he could come and go without a sound. She would be out, doing whatever, and she would look up and he would suddenly just be there. And, she acknowledged, he had moved a little closer each time, coming out from the trees and even sitting with his back up against the chopping block last time...
“Big. Fuckin’. Deal,” she grumbled, untangling her legs from the sheets for the umpteenth time, kicking at them in irritation. He still stayed yards away from her, still looked braced to run if she took even a step towards him. It was driving her nuts.
She huffed out an irritated breath into her pillow, and closed her eyes, trying to get to sleep.
________________
He heard the scraping of feet on gravel too late. He wheeled around, cursing himself for not hearing them approach. He had just been so damn cold and hungry. Even though he had been moving steadily south, winter had come in hard and fast and he hadn’t been able to find any prey for awhile. Digging in the dumpster, close to the first food he had seen in three days, and he hadn’t paid attention to anything else.
“Well look here, Buck. I think we got ourselves a freeloader.”
The three men were ranged around him, backing him up against the dumpster. The parking lot was deserted otherwise, lit only dimly by the roadhouse’s flashing neon sign. The men must have come together in one of the few trucks left on the lot. Stupid. He had thought the truck belonged to the bar’s owner or a waitress or something. Dammit, he should have waited until they were all gone.
One of the other men -- presumably Buck -- looked him over, from his dirty jeans to his bare feet. “A freeloader,” he affirmed. “And I wouldn’t be surprised if he weren’t a fuckin’ mutie too.”
The first man grinned. “Well, you know what they say...the only good mutie is a dead mutie.” He stepped up way too close, poking him in the chest. “What do you say...mutie? Or can’t you talk?”
His heart was racing, blood roaring in his ears. He looked past the grinning man at the other two. They had drawn in closer, enjoying the show. This was probably the best it would get.
He kicked out, catching the grinning man square in the gut. He fell to his knees, retching, as the other two closed in.
His claws itched to be released, but he forced them down. He didn’t know who was chasing him, but that facility he had broken out of -- someone sure as hell was after him after what he had done there. Nothing would identify him more than showing the claws, or killing these men as a matter of fact. He just had to take them out and get out of here. He never should have come out of the woods. Just put them down and get free, he told himself.
The one on the left swung, a wild roundhouse of a punch, and he got in under it easily, a sharp rabbit punch to the nose sending that one down as well. Now he only had Buck to deal with. Buck pulled a switchblade from his pocket, and his claws itched to come out again. Instead, he let Buck rush him, ducking away at the last minute, grabbing the back of his shirt and sending him face first into the dumpster. He ground his heel into Buck’s hand until he dropped the switchblade with a yowl of pain.
Now. Run, he told himself, but the sound of a cocking gun stopped him in his tracks. He froze, arms at his sides.
“That’s enough,” the new man said. He was wearing a grease-streaked apron, the sharp grey eyes in his weather-beaten face looking straight at Buck.
“Gus...” Buck spat blood and a tooth to the ground before struggling to his feet. “We were just...”
“I see what you were just,” Gus said. “And I said that’s enough. You all are good customers, but that sign up there says ‘Gus’s Grill.’” He gestured with the head to the two men on the ground, one still retching and the other one holding his nose and groaning. “If you ever want to come back here, you’ll pick up these two and get them into that truck and get on out of here. If you want to fight you save it for the cage, not my parking lot. Are we clear?”
The men groused and muttered a bit, but apparently weren’t willing to risk being blackballed from the only bar within a hundred miles. After a few more muttered threats, they piled into the pickup and drove off.
He had said nothing the whole time, his eyes warily on Gus. The shotgun was still cocked, and pointed more or less in his direction.
Gus’s gaze took him in from head to toe, but without the derision the other men had shown.
“You’re a big one, aren’t you?”
He had nothing to say to that, even if he had been willing to talk to this stranger.
“Hungry, huh? C’mon inside, I’ll fix you a burger.”
He looked at the gun.
“Oh. Yeah.” Gus lowered the gun, scratching his grizzled beard thoughtfully.
He looked towards the woods, and then back at Gus, considering.
“You need money, right? I got an idea. C’mon inside and I’ll tell you about it. If you don’t like it, take off. What the hell do I care?” Gus turned and walked towards the bar’s back door.
He stood in the freezing parking lot for a moment, deliberating, and then finally followed Gus inside.
The bar was dim. He heard the grill starting up in the back, beginning to sizzle already, and the smell of warm grease made his empty stomach squeeze painfully.
He sat on a barstool, his elbows on the bar, listening to the clicking and clanking of Gus cooking in the back.
In a few minutes Gus came out carrying a giant cheeseburger on a chipped plate.
He looked at it warily for a moment, but his hunger overrode his caution. He grabbed the burger, taking a big mouthful, uncaring that it was hot enough to burn his tongue. Damn, that was good.
“See that cage?” Gus nodded toward the back.
He nodded, his mouth full.
“I got fights in there, every Friday and Saturday night this time of year. Five hundred dollar entry fee, winner takes all.”
He stopped chewing as understanding started to dawn.
“You’re damn big, and I already know you can fight. Those three -- each of them has been king of that cage at one time or another, and you took them all down in five seconds flat.”
He took another bite of the burger, swallowing it down.
“Tomorrow’s Friday. I’ll front you the entry fee. You give me half of your winnings. Deal?” Gus stuck his hand out across the bar.
He looked at the hand for a moment, and then shoveled the last of the burger into his mouth. He nodded, and shook Gus’s hand.
Gus chuckled. “I’ve got a storeroom in the back. You can clean up a little and sleep there tonight.” Taking a few steps, he snagged a mug from the rough wooden shelves behind the bar. Gus pulled on a tap, filling the mug to the brim until foam spilled over the top, and then put it down in front of him.
“You may not say much, but you’re no dummy,” Gus observed, his sharp eyes peering at the tags. “Wolverine, huh? Well, Wolverine, you just better win tomorrow, you got me?”
He nodded, lifting the mug and taking a big gulp. Holy fuck. That was the best thing he had ever tasted in his life. Well, in the month or so of his life that he could remember.
Gus smiled. “You win tomorrow and the beer’s on the house.”
________________
Marie woke up with a start. The dream had been so vivid...
No, not a dream, she realized. Another memory. His memory.
She lay back down, trying to get back to sleep, when inspiration struck. She bolted upright again, turning on the bedside light. She dug in the drawer, looking for paper and a pen. She had something to add to her grocery list.
Beer, she wrote carefully.
She turned out the light and snuggled back into her pillow with a smile. Nobody should ever expect a Rogue to fight fair.
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