She knew he'd come back. The others had all given up, and they looked at her with something akin to pity when they thought she wouldn't notice. But she knew, deep in the fiber of her bones - after all, she knew him. He was in her head, had lingered long after David, and even Magneto, had faded. So she continued to believe and to hope, even after a year, and then two, passed.
She enjoyed life at Mutant High, as much as anyone who had lethal, untouchable skin could enjoy life. She took classes and played foosball and hung out with the other kids. But still, she waited, even though she didn't talk about him anymore.
She went on dates with Bobby, just the little outings Mr. Summers allowed, trips to the movies or to get ice cream on Sunday afternoons, usually in the company of one of the adults or a group of kids. For someone who was frequently caught in embarrassing displays of public affection with his fiancée, he was shockingly (hypocritically, whispered Logan's voice in her head) uptight about what he'd allow the kids in his charge to do.
Sometimes the sameness of it all got to her, and rebelliousness bubbled up and she felt like she had to get out or she would go mad, even though there wasn't anywhere she could go to get away from the real problem. She wasn't sure anymore if it was Logan's hatred of feeling caged asserting itself, or simply her own feeling of being trapped inside her deadly skin. A little of both, probably. There were times when she could no longer tell where she ended and he began, and she found she really didn't care.
That defiance led her to try to feel for Bobby what he obviously felt for her (much to Kitty's not-so-well-hidden dismay). She let him touch her - over her clothes, of course - more than she should have, and she enjoyed it, not just the touching, but the danger, as well. But she knew she didn't - couldn't - reciprocate the deeper feelings he had. Her heart had been lost the instant Logan allowed her to climb into the front seat of his trailer, and she thought it unlikely that she'd ever get it back.
Anyway, she was trying not to live inside her own head so much. It couldn't be good for a seventeen-year-old girl to spend so much time thinking about a man old enough to be her father (grandfather even, maybe), even if she did have his memories inside her head.
A couple of months ago, she'd overheard Scott and Jean discussing him, discussing her.
"Bastard," Scott had said, "he hasn't even sent her a postcard, and she's still nursing a crush on him. She thinks he's coming back."
Jean had shrugged slightly. "A girl never quite gets over her first love, Scott, even if he does turn out to be a jerk who never calls."
"Poor Bobby."
"Poor Rogue."
At that point, they'd seen her, and she'd run from them, clutching the dogtags he'd given her like a talisman. He would be back. She was sure.
So she waited.
One morning, she came down to breakfast and he was there. He looked exactly the same, she thought, resisting the urge to fling herself at him. His hazel eyes grabbed and held hers, and she walked quickly to where he sat, ignoring everyone else around her.
She stood before him, fiddling with her gloves, unable to break away from his gaze. She couldn't put her finger on his expression; he seemed almost startled to see her.
Since it didn't seem like he was going to do anything but sit and stare at her - eggs and bacon forgotten and congealing on his plate - she finally licked her lips and forced something out of her suddenly dry mouth.
"Hey," she said. Brilliant, Rogue, she mentally kicked herself. Way to make the witty conversation.
"Hey, yourself," he responded. He never had been one for chitchat, she thought, feeling a little better about her greeting.
"How ya been?" she asked, settling into the seat next to him, oblivious to the couple dozen staring eyes around them.
He shrugged a shoulder, lifted the fork to his mouth, and got a look at the cold, gelatinous mess his breakfast was becoming. He put the fork down.
"Same as always. How are you, Marie? These geeks treatin' you all right?"
Marie. He was the only one who called her that. She had left Marie behind in Mississippi, with her mother's endless tears and her father's condemnations. But somehow, he made it okay that she was Marie again, and that she couldn't be touched.
She smiled brilliantly at him, face lighting up. He cocked his head and, again, there was flash of what looked like surprise across his face. She mentally hugged that brief look to herself; she loved being able to surprise him.
"I've made friends here, Logan," she drawled softly. "They're treatin' me just fine."
He shifted; for the first time his attention was drawn away from her. She knew without looking that Jean was entering the dining room. His feelings for the beautiful redhead did not run much deeper than a heady mixture of lust and friendly affection. Hadn't she felt that way herself toward Jean, those first few weeks after she'd absorbed him - his feelings and memories, as well as the healing power that had saved her life? The lingering remains of those feelings were sometimes all that kept her from lashing out at the woman who was, after all, only trying to help when she suggested that Logan probably wasn't coming back, and shouldn't she focus her attention on the people who were actually in her life?
Yes, there she was, dressed in red as usual, and followed closely by her adoring fiancé, Scott Summers. Logan growled softly and Rogue put a hand on his arm.
Where did I get the nerve to do that? she thought in surprise. He looked down at the small, gloved hand on his arm, and deliberately covered it with his own, much larger one. Then he looked at her and grinned, which was all the more heart-stopping because it was a sight so rarely seen. They both turned and looked at the couple coming toward them.
Jean was smiling. "Glad to see you made it to breakfast," she said. "You got in late last night."
Scott's mouth was tight, his gaze behind the ruby lenses seemed to be locked on their joined hands. "Logan," he said, curtly. "Welcome back." And he stuck out a hand in greeting, which didn't surprise Rogue at all. She had learned to like Scott, even if he was a tightass, in spite of the intense - not dislike exactly, maybe rivalry? - that Logan felt for him, feelings which, of course, also now resided in her.
Logan, however, did surprise her. He lifted his hand off hers and took Scott's in an amicable (for Logan) handshake. "Good to be back," he said gruffly, as Scott's mouth tightened a little more at the overly hearty grip.
The situation apparently defused, Rogue sought to regain his attention. "So where ya been?" she asked playfully, increasing her grip on his forearm. Scott and Jean, perhaps realizing they'd been dismissed, moved away to get food. Logan turned back to the young woman sitting next to him.
He avoided the question. Instead of replacing his hand over hers, he reached out for one of the white locks of hair that framed her face. "It's gotten long," he said, sliding his fingers through her hair. She inhaled sharply and forced herself not to flinch. He wasn't touching her skin, after all.
"It's been two years," she said tartly, then cursed herself. She wasn't going to bring that up.
"So it has," he said, "so it has." And his hand left her hair.
Then, surprising her again, he rose swiftly, bringing her to her feet, her hand still on his arm. He looked down at her and quirked an eyebrow. "My arm, Marie," he reminded her gently. "Are ya done with it?"
"Oh," she said, moving her hand away, desperately thinking of how to keep him there, or for an excuse to tag along with him. She swayed toward him almost imperceptibly and inspiration struck in the form of his dogtags, which she'd worn religiously, as if wearing them would keep him safe and bring him home. She fumbled with them, pulling the chain over her head. "I suppose you'll be wantin' these back now," she said, offering them to him reluctantly.
He tensed suddenly, and then reached out and closed her fingers over the metal tags in her gloved hand, much as he had done the day he'd given them to her, the day he'd left. "I'll be back for these," he'd said, and she knew what he'd really meant was, "I'll be back for you."
He didn't release her hand this time. "No, kid," he said, "you keep 'em for now. That way I'll always know where to find 'em."
They stood for an endless second, the man and the girl, frozen, oblivious, eyes and hands locked. The moment passed. Time started again.
"Are you stayin' a while?" she asked, extremely conscious of the warmth and strength of his hand, even through the satin of her glove. Damn, she thought, another thing she'd told herself not to ask.
He sighed softly. "I don't know," he said. "But don't worry, kid, I always keep my promises." He let go of her hand and walked away.
She looked down at the dogtags and knew he'd always come back for them, for her. And for now, it was enough.
end
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Author's Chapter Notes:
Thanks to Dot, Jen and Pete for being the best editors/beta readers a novice writer could ask for, and thanks to Leslie for putting up with my constant Logan chatter while I'm supposed to be working. This is for you guys, since it's the least I could do. Also, hi, KateMonkey!