He was restless. He’d stayed at the school because it was the first place he could remember where he felt needed. He liked that feeling, much more than he’d ever admit, but it wasn’t enough to make his wanderlust disappear. For a while he had been content, the itch to go back on the road at bay, but that all changed when she left. She’d been his only constant over the last three years. When he was at the mansion, she’d always been nearby, when he was on the road, she was a happy memory that reminded him of his humanity. She would listen to him, put up with him, recognize him for what he really was. Their connection was ill-defined, and often unsettling to him, but it was the strongest connection he could recall having with someone.
Rogue had left not long after she’d taken the cure. He might have been fine letting her go and toss aside her mutant ability, but he’d been sure that she’d stay at Xavier’s. It was her home. It was where he’d placed her. How could she say that she didn’t belong there? It was where he was, wasn’t that the definition of home to her? Logan kicked himself for thinking that she viewed the situation as he did, and that he hadn’t stopped her. Instead, he’d let her walk out the door, filled with the knowledge that she’d be back home within the week. Nine weeks later, she’d yet to return.
“What are you doing?” he grumbled at the petite brunette carrying a box out of Rogue’s room.
Kitty’s eyes widened as big as saucers, dread dripped from her. “I’m just taking these,” she gulped, “Ms. Monroe told me to take these boxes to storage.”
Logan glared down at the scared girl. If it hadn’t been for her shameless flirting with Bobby, which Logan felt was at least partially responsible for Marie’s disappearance, he’d have liked the kid. She was smart and brave in the face of adversity. But she’d hurt Marie, earning Kitty his undying enmity. “They’re Rogue’s things,” he said darkly, “haven’t you learned not to touch her things by now?”
She cowered back from him. Part of him was impressed that a single statement from him could frighten her more than a charging Juggernaut. He didn’t wait for her reply, he stomped back down the hall to find Storm.
Barging in without knocking, Logan watched in amusement as the usually serene Storm practically jumped out of her seat upon his entrance. “Why you tellin’ Kitty to pack Rogue’s shit up, ‘Ro?”
Storm quickly regained her composure. “We need the room, Logan. I know you don’t like it, but she’s been gone for two months and there is no indication that she’ll be returning.”
“She’ll be back,” he said with certainty.
She raised an eyebrow. “Why do you think that? Has she told you that she’s coming back?”
“No,” his certainty failing, “but this is her home. She’ll be back.”
Ororo looked at him solemnly. Unwilling to dissuade his misplaced hope, she simply nodded.
Logan’s jaw clenched involuntarily. “Got a class ta teach,” he hissed, and marched towards the Danger Room.
The log cabin exuded light and warmth. The surrounding wilderness was dark and cold. Wolverine was at home in the wilderness, the darkness and the bitter cold were his eternal companions, but there was something that drew him to the cabin, night after night. There was warmth and light in the other homes that dotted his territory, but none drew him in as this one did. A smell emanated from the cabin, one that enraptured his senses and whispered of things to come. A feminine smell, a young smell. Too young. For now.
“What the fuck, chica?” Jubilee’s high-pitched voice shook Logan from his thoughts – daydream? Memory? He didn’t know.
The little chatter box was talking a mile a minute on her cell phone, and despite his attempts to ignore her, he was quickly developing a head-ache.
“They boxed up your things, you know,” Jubilation whispered conspiratorially into the phone.
‘Marie!’ Logan lunged over and grabbed the yellow phone from the girl’s hand. “Rude much, Wolvie?” She retorted.
“Marie, where are you? You said you’d call!”
“Ah—I know Logan, and I was planning on calling you, but I really couldn’t think of what to say. I hope I didn’t worry you.”
“Get your butt back here, where you belong!”
She giggled on the other end of the line. He let out a warning growl, but her light tone didn’t subside. “I belong wherever I say I belong, Logan. But the cave-man act is mighty cute on you.”
He bit his tongue, knowing that cursing her out was not the best way to win her over. “Where are you, then?” He asked with restraint.
“New York, New York. I don’t know if you’ve heard, but it’s a hell of a town.”
“Cute. I would have thought you’d have too many bad memories of that place.”
“Not like I’m hanging out with Lady Liberty every day. It’s a big place, plenty of great places for me to go where I haven’t had near-death experiences.”
‘Damn I miss this,’ he smiled to himself, ‘no one else has the guts to talk to me like this.’ He couldn’t help but chuckle at her. “Okay, darlin’, tell me where one of them is, and I’ll meet you there.”
He moved stealthily as the elk came slowly toward him. Being careful to be upwind of the beast, he watched and waited. He remembered the last time he was gored by one of the creatures; he did not wish to repeat it. The wind suddenly changed and the creature tensed. The wind shifted back, but the elk was still on high alert. The Wolverine stood silently, waiting for it to lower its guard. There was a time when hunting was easier. He was part of a pack. It was a pack of two, but still it was a pack.
He repressed a growl at the memory; still it lingered, bitter in his throat. His anger and loneliness did battle inside him, while he tried to remain focused on stalking his prey. While he was hungry, he could not escape the one desire that weighed on him even more heavily - he wanted his pack back.
With a little good-natured prodding, Rogue agreed to meet Logan the following night. She gave an address, but didn’t give the name of the place. She just said, “You’ll know it when you see it.”
Pulling up to the address she’d given, shortly after 9:00, he was more than a little disturbed by what he saw. The place was a biker bar, simply named “Rocky’s” and had several leather-clad, agitated men hanging around outside.
‘What the fuck has that girl gotten herself into this time?’ He grumbled as he walked past the bikers.
Inside, it was a shit-hole. It kind of reminded him of the place that he’d first met Rogue, filled with drunken assholes and over-the-hill barflies.
He heard a laugh, too honest and sweet to belong in the place. He looked over and spotted her, chatting with the aged bartender, a glass of amber liquid in her hand. Part of him calmed at her restorative presence, but another part started to growl at him to take her away from this place. ‘And keep her with us forever.’ Logan halted at the thought. ‘Shit. Where did that come from?’
“What are you doin’ hanging ‘round places like this, Marie?” He said in a low voice, with the unmistakable hint of a warning in it.
“Well it’s good to see you too, sugar.” She turned to him as he strode up. Leaning back on the bar, she smiled cheekily at him.
“And what are you wearing?” He looked her over. She didn’t look like sweet little Marie anymore. She looked . . . sexy. ‘Double shit. I definitely shouldn’t be thinking that.’
Rogue rolled her eyes and turned back around to the bartender. “Leave the whole bottle of Forty Creek, Frank. I think we’re going to need it.”
He had to remember. He knew the others communicated with the noises that came out of their mouths, but he just couldn’t put it all together. But he knew that he once knew it, knew it well. He listened to the girl in particular. He could not understand her, but he loved the sound she made. The sound of her calmed him. Her very presence calmed him. The only time he could ever remember that feeling before was back when he was with his brother, back with his pack. His brother may be gone, but maybe he could still have a pack.
“I’m telling you, I don’t care about my stuff. Let them pack it up, it’s not like I’m coming back there.” She said matter-of-factly, following it up by taking a quick shot of whiskey.
“What the fuck do you mean you’re not coming back?” Logan said a little louder than he meant to. “It’s your home, dammit. It’s where you belong.” He poured himself another drink.
“Like I told you when I left, it’s not my place anymore.” He eyes turned reproachful, “You seemed okay with the idea then.”
“I thought it was just a phase, something you needed to get out of your system. You belong back there.”
“Why?”
“Because you belong with me.” He growled at her.
She raised her eyebrows at his assertion.
Suddenly realizing what he said, his eyes turned downcast, and he said softly, “I didn’t mean it like that. Not like we’re a thing or anything.”
To his surprise, she started to laugh. Her sweet, honest laugh. He looked up at her, seeing only kindness and beauty, which took his breath away.
“Oh please, you don’t have to explain, I know you never thought of me that way,” She said dismissively.
It hit him like a ton of bricks – he most certainly had. Perhaps he had always dismissed it, or kept it in the deeper recesses of his mind, but he had thought of her like that. But it had always seemed wrong. She was too young, he was supposed to play the part of the big brother. ‘And big brothers do not think about their little sisters like that.’
He looked her over, in skin-tight jeans, dark green cami, and leather jacket. ‘Nope, she don’t look like no one’s sister right now.’
Dirt was flying all around him. He took a big breath and wound up with some grit in his mouth. A large hand dragged him down, into the mud.
“Keep down, Jimmy!”
The noise was unbearable. There was the popping of gunfire, the screams of men, and the roar of explosions. Another bomb went off on his right, and he could feel the red-hot metal shrapnel slice into his cheek. And then there was silence. He realized his eardrums had been shattered. Pulling the large chunk of metal out of him, he turned to the blond man next to him.
“Fuck!” He shouted, or at least think he shouted. His pack-mate lay next to him, arm almost severed off, with several shrapnel fragments in him. He started pulling out the shards, all the while putting pressure on the arm wound.
“Goddam, son-of-a-bitch, shit-eating –” Logan could tell his hearing was coming back as the other feral’s constant swearing became discernable. Once all the visible pieces of metal were out of him, Logan kept vigil, pulling his gun and making sure that no one came within a hundred feet of his healing brother.
‘Always protect the pack.’
He looked down at the half-empty whiskey bottle. It sat just next to the completely empty whiskey bottle. “Fuck, this was a bad idea.”
“Why is that?” Rogue said with a goofy grin on her face.
Logan furrowed his brow, “Did I say that out loud?”
“Well it ain’t the you in my head that’s drunk.”
He felt suddenly sober. “The voices. . . they’re still there?”
She seemed to sober up as well, her grin turning to a grimace. “Yeah, they are.” She put down her empty glass a little too hard. “And to be honest, I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
“Wait, what? Why the hell would you want me, and Magneto, and Iceboy, and the rest up in your head?”
She let out a knowing laugh. “Because then I’m never really alone. I stash them away most of the time, but when I need to know something . . . or simply need to feel something, they’re always there.” She caught his bewildered gaze. “You’re always there.”
He felt dizzy, and it wasn’t from the alcohol. ‘That girl has some power over me.’ He couldn’t hold her gaze, so looked down from her face, and found the very real evidence that she no longer was a girl. Still staring at her low cut blouse, he blurted out, “Did you get the cure?”
He looked up again, about to retract the question, only to find her looking resolute. “No,” she said seriously.
“How do I control it?” The young female voice asked.
“Dunno,” he replied, not looking up from the wood he was chopping.
“How did you learn to do it?”
“Not much for me to control,” he brought down the axe dead center, slicing the log in half.
“Yes there is! I know that there are two sides to you. And the claws come out when you make them.”
“Ain’t the same.”
“I know that, but you’re the only one who can help.”
“Trial and error seems like the only way.”
He heard a sob, and closed his eyes. He couldn’t stand to hear her in pain. “Don’t. . .”
“Please, Logan, you have to help me,” she whimpered.
He placed the axe down, and started to towel off his sweaty forehead. “I’ll help ya. Know I’d do anything for you, darlin’.”
‘That whiskey sure packs a punch,’ Logan thought, confused about scene that just played in his head. Rogue was looking curiously at him. “Are ya alright, sugar?”
He smirked, “Darlin’, if you’re going to keep calling me that and filling me full of whiskey, I won’t be responsible for my actions.”
Giving him a sultry smile, she cooed, “As long as your actions are the ones I’m hoping for, I got no problem with that.”
He breathed in, and could smell arousal. From both of them. Something in him roared at the prospect, but he beat it back.
“If you didn’t take the cure, what’s with the outfit?” He asked bluntly.
“Why, don’t you like it?” She said far too innocently, brushing one hand down her blouse.
“Oh, yeah,” He responded with a gravelly voice, “I like it plenty, Marie.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
“You know what I’m askin’.”
She just gave an innocent smile in response.
Taking his mind off of what other things that mouth of hers could do, something occurred to him. “You can control it, can’t you?”
The smile became less innocent. “Yeah, I learned to control it.”
‘From me. What? No, I never taught her shit.’ He shook off his disjointed thoughts. “And you didn’t tell me – why?”
“Because some things you have to figure out for yourself.”
He didn’t know exactly what she was talking about. He didn’t pretend that he knew much at that point. What he knew at the moment amounted to one thing: he wanted her. No, he needed her.
The snow was melting on the mountain passes, soon the flower would bloom. It was a time for renewal. He knew this in his very marrow, and knew it meant that now was the time. He had to reestablish his pack. He had waited too long. The Wolverine never had much patience, and watching her day in and day out for two years was more than he could take. He was a predator, and predators took what they wanted, what they needed.
It felt like an out-of body experience, walking over to the nearby seedy motel and renting a room. ‘Not like I haven’t done this plenty of times.’ He looked down at women in his arms, ‘Yeah, this is the part that’s weird. Giving a shit about the one I’m with.’ Breathing in her scent, Logan was torn between feeling guilty and being overcome with lust.
Marie smiled brightly at him, and he swore he smiled too. A real smile, not a smirk or a shit-eating grin. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a reason to smile.
“Sure about this, kid?” He asked as he opened the door for her, and followed her in.
She turned around and gave him a seductive smile that went straight to his groin. “I’m sure. And don’t call me kid. It’s just fucking creepy in this situation.” She threw off her jacket, followed quickly by her top.
He stood entranced by her, and gave an unintentional growl. ‘Fuck. She certainly ain’t no kid.’ His eyes traced down her body, devouring every inch of her.
She shivered. He smirked, then threw off his shirt. In a rush of passion, and practically blinded by the heady scent of hormones, they ended on the dingy bed.
Quickly shedding any remaining clothes, he gave her a deep, passionate kiss while they lay entangled in each other’s embrace. He broke the kiss, “Certainly not going ta call ya kid after tonight.” In the back of his mind, the Wolverine roared in agreement.
Home was where a person was supposed to feel safe. As a pup, we never felt safe at home. The adults were always fighting, sometimes violently, sometimes in petty little ways. Wolverine thought that if you were going to fight, you should do it outright – have at it, and then get over it. Drawn out drama was for cowards. It made everything worse, and when the real fight did begin, then all hell would break loose.
He and his brother never stuck around long enough any place to call it a home. Perhaps they both wanted to escape the memory of what their childhood home had been. Home became a feeling, not a place. Home was being with your own, knowing that those who stood by you would always be there. Until one day, they weren’t.
He wanted to savor every moment, to treat her as she deserved to be treated. This was his Marie, not some one-night-stand, he had to do this right. But the Wolverine had other ideas. It bucked and snarled as Logan placed passionate kisses along her jaw, and captured her mouth in a fiery embrace. Their naked bodies intertwined, Logan looked to her to see if she wanted to continue. He pulled away from her slightly, gazing at her face. Her brown doe-eyes slowly opened, exuding love and desire. The scent of her yearning wafted through him.
Something snapped. The Wolverine took control. He thrust into her with a roar, buried himself to the hilt in a single thrust. Rogue gasped, then gave a throaty groan as the Wolverine repeated thrust in to her with all his might.
Logan tried to reign back the beast within him, but all he could do was watch and hear the echoes of the Wolverine’s voice in his head. ‘Mine. My Mate. My Rogue. Mine.’ She met every brutal thrust with her hips, her head thrown back and her eyes closed in ecstasy. She raised her legs up, allowing him to dive even deeper within her. He grabbed her legs with both hands, forcing them as wide and far back as possible, using them as leverage as he plowed into her. Animalistic desire and hedonistic pleasure radiated from his eyes, and from deep within his chest he growled “Look at me.” She opened her eyes, and to Logan’s astonishment, and the Wolverine’s delight, the same ferocity and craving was reflected in her eyes. The deep, soulful chocolate eyes that Logan had grown to love were gone, simmering russet pools that bristled with feral need replaced them.
The girl was scared. The stench of pure terror clung to her, infuriating him. Didn’t she understand anything? Didn’t she know what she was to him? Couldn’t she tell that he wasn’t going to harm her?
“P-please. Don’t do this,” she begged, hiding herself behind the splintered remains of the bed.
He let out a low growl and charged her, grabbing her waist and hoisting her over his shoulder in one smooth movement. He could feel her trembling, but she didn’t try to fight him or scream. Not that she could fight her way out of the situation. Not that there was anyone left alive in the cabin to hear her screams.
The strange flash of memory momentarily distracted Logan from the fact that he was brutally fucking Rogue. The Wolverine had not been so easily distracted. His focus was completely on the creature under him, the one panting and moaning in unison with him.
“More,” came an earthy, lust-ridden voice, not entirely like Marie’s.
The Wolverine willingly obliged, plunging into her faster and more frantically. Logan lost himself to the sensation of being inside Marie, her heat.
He felt her convulse around her, as she screamed incoherently. He smirked with pride, as his movements became jerky and more frenzied. Logan tried to regain control, but the pure power of his feral side overwhelmed him. The Wolverine came hard, panting and growling and he pushed deep inside of her. In that moment, Logan and the Wolverine mentally wrestled for control.
She struggled in his grasp. “Get away from me, monster!” He lightened his grip momentarily and she slipped through his fingers and fell to the forest floor.
“Come here, girl,” He commanded roughly, for his vocal cords had not been used for speech in many seasons.
“Why?” She cried, curling herself into a ball. “Why did you do that?”
“You’re mine.” Was his only response.
Logan’s eyes flew open. Now in control of his body, he realized that the memory was indeed his own. And he now lay on top of the girl from long ago.
She was different – older, less frightened – but she was the same girl. He felt like he had the wind knocked out of him. He felt tears running down his face.
“Logan?” Marie asked, concern in her voice. She reached her hand up and wiped away a tear.
“What did I do to you?”
She looked confused, then shocked. “Ya don’t mean just now, do ya?”
He shook his head.
“If you have the insight to ask, I think you know the answer to that.”
“No,” he choked out, “I don’t.” He was frustrated, but it was his dread that crashed down around him, making his voice weak. He hated that weakness, but he hated the uncertainly even more. “Marie. Tell me. Please.”
She turned and looked into his pleading eyes, seeming to search them for something. He wondered if he’d ever said “Please” before in his whole wretched life. ‘Maybe she’s asking herself the same thing.’ He felt so pathetic, so confused, and the look in her eyes said that seeing him that way broke her heart. When she spoke, the hint of a Southern accent was gone, “I don’t even know where to start. But maybe I know someone who does.”
“Who?” He cocked an eyebrow.
She smiled sweetly at his confounded face and ran her hand along his jawline. “Family.” She turned and started to dress. “Let’s take a trip down memory lane, shall we?”
He nodded, acutely aware of Marie’s change in voice and temperament. It was as disconcerting as it was familiar. He dressed and followed her out of the motel. He got on his bike, Rogue wrapping herself around his back, and took off towards Manhattan, Marie whispering directions into his ear the whole way.
The Wolverine & Rogue Fanfiction Archive
Barely Legal Since 2000
Author's Chapter Notes:
A/N: We’re out of the strict movie-verse now, so everything from here on in you can blame on my twisted imagination. Instead of Rogue’s perspective, we now have Logan’s POV. Not surprisingly, any memories of his are going to be far more jumbled than Rogue’s were.
Chapter End Notes:
Making a believable ‘Logan and Marie hook up’ scene was really difficult. You guys think I did an okay job? Just one more chapter and (hopefully) all your questions will be answered. Comments are appreciated!