free•fall

noun

1. a fast fall from a great height under the influence of gravity

2. a rapid and continuing drop or decline

"So that's how I broke my arm when I was 12.  By walking the roof of my daddy's toolshed, because I wanted to be like Anne of Green Gables."  Rogue takes another bite of her peanut butter and chocolate chip toast.

It's a beautiful morning, and we're starting the day in my favorite way.  Well, second favorite; you can imagine what my favorite morning activity with Rogue might be, heh.  But we're still trying to take things slow, so I'm not even gonna go there.

"Hmph.  This Anne character sounds like a little bit of a rebel," I conclude, biting off a piece of bacon.  "Giving her best friend booze, smashing a slate over Gilbert's head for making fun of her hair...sounds like real troublemaker."

Rogue huffs and narrows her eyes at me.  "Maybe she is.  And?"  She lifts her chin in the air in defiance.

I keep a poker face for a few moments, reaching for her coffee, pretending not to notice.  She crosses her arms as I take a sip, and I finally look up from the mug and grin.  "I like her."

Rogue stares at me for a moment, then lets out a breath and laughs.  "Good.  I didn't want to have to dispatch of you like Gilbert Blythe."

"Ouch," I chuckle, raising my hands in surrender.

"Anyways, she wasn't so much a troublemaker as she was...spirited.  Everything she did was according to her own instincts, rather than everyone else's expectations of what was proper.  I guess that did kind of make her a rebel."

"That's why I said I liked her.  Nothing wrong with being spirited.  And following your instincts is always a good thing."

"Yeah, I suppose you're right," she says, taking another bite of toast.  "Hey, how do you know so much about Anne of Green Gables anyway?  I can't imagine the Wolverine reading something like that in his spare time."

"I, uh..."  I clear my throat, prodding my brain to come up with an explanation.  She looks at me expectantly.  "I watched the whole series on TV one night when I couldn't sleep.  Lost the remote and was too lazy to get up and change the channel."

There, that sounds reasonable, right?  I hope she buys it.  I never read the book, of course, but I remember her talking about it in the old timeline.  Her grandmother gave her those books, and it was one of the few times that she would talk about fond memories from her childhood.  And if I did happen to pick up a few key points in the plot or remember the characters?  Purely by accident. I was only trying to be a good listener.  I certainly didn't watch the entire movie that night on purpose.

"Really.  You were so lazy that you would rather watch a movie about the charming misadventures of an orphan girl in Victorian times than simply get up and change the channel?"

"I was tired," I say with a shrug, stuffing another piece of bacon in my mouth.

She shakes her head.  "I don't buy it."

I freeze for a moment and look up.  "You don't?"

"Nope."

"Well...that's my story and I'm sticking to it," I say gruffly, taking a gulp of coffee and avoiding her stare.

"Hmph.  You know what I think?" she says, raising an eyebrow.  "I think that you actually watched the movie on purpose.  And I think that once you started watching it, you got sucked in and couldn't look away because it was so good. I think," she says with a big grin, "that you loved it.  Didn't you?  Admit it!"

I look up and blink a few times, and she giggles.  Oh.  That's what she thinks?  Well...what else can I say?

"Shhh, don't say that so loud," I hiss, my eyes darting back and forth to make sure no one is listening.  I've got a reputation to uphold, you know."

"Ha!  I knew it!"  She laughs, clapping her hands.

"Hey!  Shhh!"

"I knew it," she whispers, grinning like a fool.

"Yeah, yeah, you got me.  The Wolverine likes Anne of Green Gables.  Now shut it," I grumble.

She giggles again.  "Aw, that's nothing to be embarrassed about, sugar.  It's a great movie."

"Hmph."  I reach for a beer and crack it open.  I take a few long swallows, plunking the bottle down with a sigh.  I know it's only ten in the morning, but I don't think there's ever a bad time for a good beer.  Besides, it's practically lunch time, right?

"So, what other delightful secrets does the Wolverine have?  Anything else I should know about?"

"Nope," I grunt. "That's it."

"That's it?  Really?"

"Yep.  Sorry to disappoint ya, kid."

She smiles and goes back to her breakfast.  "Whatever you say," she says under her breath, biting into her toast. 

A soft breeze blows a lock of her white hair across her face, and she pushes it back as she gazes out over the lawn.  I take another swig of my beer.  I love mornings like this, having breakfast with my girl, talking about anything and everything, and always with a bit of good natured teasing.  Each time I'm reminded more and more that she's still my Rogue.  Still my Marie, I note with satisfaction.

The breeze blows some hair across her face again.  I reach out and tug on the white streak playfully.

"Watch it, Gilbert.  I don't want to have to teach you a lesson," she grumbles, the corner of her mouth twitching as she brushes her hair back.

Her little warning makes me smile, but I can't help the wistful feeling that settles in my chest when I see those white streaks.  There are questions that have been lingering in the back of my mind for a while now, and I've been waiting for the right moment to bring them up.  I'm not sure if this is the right moment, but I'm also not sure how much longer I can wait.

"I'm just curious about your hair, is all," I say, trying to sound casual.  "Were you born with those stripes?"

She stiffens for a moment, eyes fixed on her toast.  "No...I got them later," she says quietly.

There's an awkward silence as she avoids looking at me.  She takes another bite of her toast, but chews slowly, as if suddenly she has lost her appetite.

"Hey...I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable.  I didn't mean anything by it...I just wanted to know."

"Why do you want to know?" She asks, her voice carefully measured.

"Because," I insist, though it doesn't really explain anything.  "Because I care about you.  I care about you a lot, and I want to know everything there is to know about you," I say gently, lifting her chin.  "Is that so bad?"

"There's not much to know."  She turns her face away and sits in silence, looking off into the distance.

"'Course there is.  I'm sure there is way more to you than meets the eye."

"Well there isn't.  Sorry to disappoint ya," she mutters.

"No?  Damn.  That's boring."  I smirk at her, hoping for a reaction, but she ignores me.

"Darlin'..." I sigh, "Don't you think you can trust me by now?  I thought last night meant something.  Didn't it...Marie?"

She looks at me suddenly at the mention of her real name.  "It did mean something," she whispers.  "It meant a lot."

"It meant a lot to me, too.  You trusted me with your real name last night.  Can't you trust me now with this?"

She opens her mouth to speak, but stops herself.  I wait for her to say something, but instead she just looks away again, pulling her knees to her chest.

Shut out once again.  I'm trying to be patient, but the frustration is beginning to quickly mount up inside of me.  Why does this have to be like pulling teeth all the time?

I wish she would just talk to me.  I wish every two steps forward weren't accompanied by another step back.  Fuck.

With a growl I stand up, walking over to the ledge for some air.  

Patience has never been my strong suit.  And yet, I know that's exactly what she needs from me.  I need to calm down.  Taking a deep breath, I let it out slowly and close my eyes.  Peaceful thoughts, I think wryly.

"I'm sorry," I hear a whisper from behind my back.

Turning around, I'm captured by two beautiful, tortured brown eyes.  She gazes at me for a long moment, and I can see the emotions warring within.  She's torn.  Torn between wanting to trust me, and needing to protect herself.  Oh, darlin'.

Any frustration I might have had crumbles when she looks at me like that.  If there is anyone on this earth I can learn to be patient for, it's Rogue.  As long as it takes, I remember telling her.  I wasn't just talking about the bet when I said that to her.

What I really meant was, as long as you need to feel safe, darlin'.  As long as you need to understand that I'm going to take care of you, and I'm not going anywhere.

"Don't be sorry, baby.  You have nothing to be sorry for."  I pull her into my arms for a hug, and she holds on to me tightly, laying her head on my chest. 

We stand there for a long time, just holding each other without words.  I nuzzle my face in her soft, sweet-smelling hair, and remind myself to just...be in the moment with her.  I don't need all the answers right now.

And then, unexpectedly, I hear her voice, soft and low.

"If I tell you what happened...you might not ever look at me the same way again, Logan."

I kiss her head.  "Impossible, darlin'.  Nothing could ever change the way I see you."

"Don't be so sure." 

Her warning hangs in the air between us, and in the silence I'm left wondering what could be so bad that she thinks I would look at her differently.

She lets out a shaky sigh. 

"I got my stripes the day I absorbed Carol."

"Carol?" I try to pull back to look at her, but she holds on tightly, keeping her face turned into my shoulder.

"Don't," she whispers.

I remain motionless, trying not to break the tentative moment.  My mind is turning over this new revelation, though; I never expected her to say that her stripes came from an absorption.  That never happened when she touched anyone in the old timeline; it was the trauma of Magneto's machine that stripped the color from those locks.  I was there.  I saw the blaze of white surging through her hair from root to tip as she screamed in agony.

"You--I didn't know that could happen to you just from touching someone."

"That--that never happened before.  I don't know if it was because there was something different about Carol, or if..."  She hesitates.

"If what?" I prod her to continue.

"I had touched other people before, but never for that long.  Never until they..." She trails off.  Her face is hidden, but scent of pain and sorrow are thick in the air around us.  "Never until I absorbed them completely."

There's a long silence as I replay her words in my head and their meaning dawns on me.

"You absorbed Carol completely, as in--"

"I killed her, Logan!" she whispers, her voice breaking. "I killed her.  I touched her and held on until I took everything.  Everything!  She was my friend, and she died because of me!"  She buries her face in my chest as she clings to me tightly, sobs racking her body.  "I'm a fucking murderer.  God..."

"Hey, hey...shhh."  I rub her back and kiss her head.  "It's ok, baby.  It's ok.  You are not a murderer."

I hold her securely in my arms for several minutes, comforting, soothing her with soft sounds as she lets go of her long-held grief.  It tears me up inside to hear her cry, to know that she is in pain.  It makes me feel powerless.  I don't know what I can do to take it away, except to just be here for her.

Slowly, the sobbing ebbs to a quiet sniffle.

"Darlin," I say softly.  "Look at me."  She shakes her head, refusing to meet my gaze.  "Please look at me, baby."

Slowly, she raises her face to me, but her eyes remain closed.

"Please," I whisper.

Tear-soaked eyelashes flutter softly, and then her warm brown eyes finally lift up to mine.  I sweep my thumb softly over her cheek, brushing away a tear and caressing her face.

"Listen to me, Rogue," I say gently.  "Marie.  Really listen to me.  No matter what happened with Carol, you are not a murderer.  Do you hear me?  I may not know everything there is to know about you, but I know that much." 

She searches my face, eyes filled with sadness and guilt.  "How can you say that?  I killed my friend, Logan."

"Whatever happened with Carol, I'm sure that you had no other choice.  I know that you are a good person, Marie.  I believe that with all my heart...and I want you to believe it, too."

She looks at me for a long moment, her lips parted to speak, the words trapped inside as if she has so much to say, but is unable to say it.  Once again she is torn, at war with herself; struggling between the need for forgiveness, and the need to punish herself.  I know that look, because I have worn it many times in my life.

"I want to believe it, Logan," she says, tears brimming in her eyes.  "I just..." Her voice catches, and she says nothing more.

"If you can't believe it...then I'll believe enough for the both of us."  I kiss her on the forehead. "Until one day, you'll be ready to believe it, too.

Her expression is one of doubt, but she surrenders finally, laying her cheek against my chest and melting into my arms.  It's a long time before we are ready to let go of each other.

As we stand there, wrapped in a tight embrace, I'm trying to wrap my head around this new information.  In my efforts to unravel the details of Rogue's life in the new timeline, somehow I'm always left with more questions than answers.

Rogue and Carol were friends.  Not acquaintances or enemies, but friends.  And for some reason, Rogue took Carol's life.  You would think that Carol in her head would hate her for what she did...but she doesn't.  Instead she is protective of her, like a big sister.

I know that Rogue would never hurt a friend on purpose; but she says that she held on until she absorbed Carol completely, so it was not an accident...which leads me to believe that she had no other choice.

What kind of situation could Rogue be in that would force her use her powers and kill her own friend?

I feel like I'm picking up a trail of puzzle pieces, but I don't have enough to put together and see the whole picture.  I need more...though I know Rogue will not give them up easily.

Then it dawns on me, and instantly, the hair stands up on the back of my neck.  I've had a big piece of the puzzle all along, but I didn't know where it fit until now.  The dog tags.

Fucking Weapon X.  I don't know how I know, but I just do.  If there is one place that can take away your humanity, force you to do things you never thought you would, it would that fucking hell hole.

And now it's all starting to make sense.  Rogue's reluctance to let anyone know the extent of her powers; her difficulties trusting people, and the nightmares...she has them almost every night.  It all sounds too familiar.

The need to know what happened to Rogue at Weapon X and then kill everyone who hurt her burns through me like Greek fire, and a growl rises up from my throat.

"Logan?"  She pulls back and looks at me, concern written in her eyes.

"Baby, I need to know something." I hold her face gently in my hands.  "And please tell me the truth."

"I...I always tell you the truth," she answers softly.

"It was Weapon X.  Wasn't it?"

She freezes.  "What did you say?"

"You were in Weapon X, and they forced you to kill Carol, didn't they?"

She stares at me, a look of shock and confusion on her face.  I must have hit pretty close to the mark; I can see it in her eyes as she shakes her head, unable to speak.  I wait for her to say something, to confirm my suspicions.

What I'm met with next is a pair of green eyes blazing with fury and suspicions of their own.

"You son of a bitch," she says in a low voice.

"Carol?"

"You son of a bitch!  How the hell do you know about Weapon X?"

I stand there, stunned by the abrupt transformation.  I don't know what I expected, but it wasn't this sudden flash fire of rage from Carol.

"Are you some kind of spy?" she hisses.

She starts backing away, and I reach my hand out.  "Wait--"

"Don't touch me.  Don't touch her!" She warns with a shriek.

"Carol, wait.  It's not what you think..."

"No?  What is it then?  Because Rogue has never told another soul about that--that place.  Never.  There's no way you could know that, so right about now," she points with an accusing finger, "it looks like you're one of them, bub."

Shit.  How do I explain this?  How do I tell her that I know about Rogue's dog tags?  Because really, that's the only logical explanation.  But if I tell her that, she's seriously going to be pissed to find out I went through Rogue's bag.

Suddenly, she seizes me by the front of my jacket and shoots up into the air like a rocket.  We are ascending higher and higher, so fast that the wind whips through our hair and when I glance down, the mansion is rapidly starting to shrink to the size of a postage stamp.

We finally come to a halt and hover there in the sky, my feet dangling a thousand feet above Westchester.  Fuck.  I really hate flying.

She jerks me up to her face and glares at me.  "Listen up, Wolverine.  You have some explaining to do.  You've got 30 seconds until I drop you like a bag of dirt, so start talking."

"Easy, now," I say slowly, raising my hands.  "I'm going to tell you everything."  I hope she isn't serious about dropping me; it won't kill me, but it'll definitely hurt like a bitch.

"What do you want from her?"

"Nothing."  I shake my head.  "I just want to take care of her."

It's throwing me off, seeing Rogue in front of me, hearing her voice but with a different accent.  Even her mannerisms are different, and it's hard to wrap my head around this strange dichotomy existing in one body.  I stare at Rogue's face, so beautiful up here in the bright clear sky with her hair flowing all around like a goddess, and for a moment I'm dazzled.

"20 Seconds, loverboy.  I know this drop won't kill you, but you'll be out of commission long enough for us to take off without a trace.  You will never see her again, I swear it."

My stomach drops when I hear her say that, because there is no doubt in my mind that she is absolutely serious about that.  "Whoah, ok!  Look, I found her dog tags," I confess.  "It was by accident...but when I saw them, I recognized them right away."

Her eyes widen and she gasps.  "You went through her things?"

"I'm sorry.  It happened the day after we had that fight; she was gone a long time and I came to her room looking for her."

"Oh, and you just happened to stumble across her dog tags, buried in a secret pocket, inside a bag hidden at the back of a dark closet, right?"

"Something like that," I mumble, realizing how bad this must look.

"And what do you mean, you recognized them right away?  How do you know what they are?"

I let out a deep sigh.  "I know...because I've been there. I was in the Weapon X program...but not as one of them."

She narrows her eyes at me.  "What the hell does that mean?"

"It means that I don't work for them, and never did."  I reach into my pocket, and slowly, I lift my dog tags up, suspending them between us.  "I was a prisoner."

I watch the shock and disbelief wash over her face as she reads my tags.

And then, I'm free falling.

. . .

. . .