***

Blue irises shone through my soul, reflecting through a mirror just out of my reach. My fingers traced the image, gliding along the cheekbone, carving out the chin. A paintbrush dipped in grease streaked out his scruffy beard, shaped his coarse eyebrows. The mouth curved into a smirk, mocking but loving. The sound of his name tumbled over my lips, forming a word I had not spoken in what seemed a thousand years.

Pupils dilated as I sat up with a start, shoving the bedclothes onto the dusty floor of the bungalow. Drops of sweat clung to my tanned skin, forming pools in the hollow sections of my leathery hide. Thoughts swirled through my brain, images and memories long forgotten. The sounds of motorcycle engines, rumbling like monsoon thunder in my ears, haunted me as I gathered piles of linen from the ground.

The bitterness of fermentation choked my throat as I gulped the remainders of an opened can of coconut milk. Rapping on the door briefly caught my attention, and the room burst with afternoon light.
“Miss Smith?” The hostel owner queried. She wore a stained grey apron over a floral-printed homemade housedress.
“I need to leave. Today.” My voice was hoarse, as though I’d been screaming. I held a hand over my face, blocking the rays of sun that squirmed around the haggard woman.
“You leave today?”
“Yes. I need a cab to the airport in Bangkok immediately.”
“Bangkok. Yes. I get you cab.”

The door swung shut, squealing on ancient hinges. The nails-on-a-chalkboard sound sent a shudder down my rickety spine. In vain, I searched for clothing that would be suited to the winter I would face upon arrival in New York. Who needed sweaters and long johns way out here? My body dashed around the room, throwing clothing and books into bags. Yet my eyes could only stare forlornly into the mirror, watching the formation of his face, drawn over and over again.
“I’m coming,” I murmured, reaching out for the image, longing to touch his face, even though the gauze of a glove. “I’m coming.”

“Miss Smith, cab ready. Driver tell me flight to America coming soon. Better hurry!”

The clatter of the city drifted around me, a dream and a nightmare. Tourists with cold compresses attached to their foreheads, waving fans over their faces, swatting mosquitoes, swarmed around the local fruit stands. In the cab, I shoved a sliver of pummelo into my mouth, wincing at the bitter juice that ran down my throat. Fingertips pressed against the window ledge, detached from the thoughts in my head. Perhaps I had been waiting for this vision, and that was why it had come. Maybe it really was only a dream, and I was headed back to nothing.

Maybe he wouldn’t be there at all.

***
End.

***

In the airport, on the plane, in the cab to Salem Center, I perspired. Sweat drenched my shorn hair and the multiple layers of thin cotton I’d draped my body in. My hands felt clammy inside my gloves. Even my legs, uncovered by clothing and swollen with goose bumps, were balmy and wet. Vapor trickled from my mouth and nostrils with each breath.

The mansion loomed before me like a demon. I vaguely recalled first glimpses of the truly mutant, my companions and friends, often of the blue and furry variety. So this was what it felt like to look and them and not know who they are. So this was what nervousness felt like. Airplane-food vomit rumbled in my esophagus.

I had him leave me off at the gate. I could vaguely feel the mental probing of my mentor. He would never dare enter my mind without permission, but I could sense him waiting on the edge, hovering. The wrought iron fence opened as I approached, and the glee of children beckoned me within. Within the sacred grounds of Xavier’s school, I watched mutant teens at play. Memories washed over me, and I stumbled over the gravel driveway, burdened.

He was at the door, waiting. Wrinkles creased his once youthful face. Those demanding blue eyes had softened to twilight clouds, no longer seeing. The chocolate hands of his successor rested elegantly on his shoulder. And her opaque eyes judged me, unblinking. How could I have left? Why did I give up? She asked without asking, and shame smacked me.

“Rogue,” Xavier spoke. His voice was strong as it ever had been.
“Charles.” I replied succinctly.
“To what do we owe this long overdue visit?” Ororo scowled, but in a serene sort of way.
“Enough, Storm. Please come in, Rogue.”
I shuddered as I walked inside, following them slowly. My eyes jumped in every direction, and I found myself sniffing the air, searching. He would have to be close for me to notice his certain mix of smells, and he wasn’t. My legs continued to follow the procession to the Professor’s office.

Inside the solid oak door, I waited while Ororo took a seat and Charles resumed the place behind his enormous desk. I adjusted the weight of the pack on my shoulder, but did not put it down. I did not wish to stay here long.
“Please sit, Rogue.” Ororo narrowed her eyes, gesturing to a high back chair.
“I’m fine, thank you.” I replied just as coldly. “I do not plan to stay long.”
“The X-Men are a family, Rogue. We’d love to know where you’ve been these last five years.”
“You’re perfectly capable of retrieving that information without my speaking of it.” I was clipped, short-tempered. The longer I stayed here, the less time I would have to look for him. I vaguely wondered if they were stalling, if the entire vision had been implanted in my mind.
“We would never intrude upon your personal affairs, Rogue.” Charles smiled peacefully.

“Bullshit.”

The voice was far away, rough and unmistakable.

***
End.

***

“Nice to see you again, Remy.”
“It’s hard to see me without turnin’ around, chere.”

I turned on the ball of my foot, flipping my backside to the X-Men’s leaders. It seemed an appropriate gesture. Charles’ voice was vague behind my ears, a fly buzzing around my head. Remy had not changed much in the years since I had seen him last. He’d sprouted a clipped goatee, and allowed the bergamot-scented mane to dance freely over his shoulders. The glowing red eyes were soured with age. There were too many memories and too many mistakes to keep them frisky and bright. Still, it was Remy, and I was nearly grateful to see the old bastard.

“As I was sayin’, Xavier…” Remy continued, allowing his garnet gaze to glide over my shoulder. “Ol’ Remy be callin’ your bluff ‘bout that. You’s always buttin’ in on my affairs.”

His arm outstretched toward me, and I took the offered hand. The door slammed behind us with a swift kick of my foot. Brief glimpses into my past flashed before my eyes. I remembered the click of the kickstand on his motorcycle, and the burning scent of gasoline as he sped off into the night. I remembered the weary look on Charles’ face, the false reassurance, and the constant pressure of his precious dream. Rage boiled beneath my skin, scalding.

“He here, chere. Know that’s why you came back. Always de bridesmaid, never de bride for ol’ Remy.” His old Cajun voice was bitter, sunken with depression. Yet he spoke with the ease of an aged man, wise in affairs of the heart. I felt my heart leap foolishly into my throat and then sink down into my gut.
“Show me.” I came off weak, pathetic, and begging. My statement dissolved into a question. My tongue wilted, tasting of cardboard, mildew, and moldy bread.
“Dunno why you ne’er liked de Cajun, chere. Two Southern sweethearts like us, we made for each other.”

Words failed me, along with the ability to create a witty response. Remy led me toward the elevator to the underside of the mansion, created specifically to train and often times medicate the warriors that comprised the X-Men.
“He isn’t an X-Man.” My voice shook. Five years away and I had become a sniveling shadow of myself.
“No, chere.”
“Why then? Why is he here?”

I stared forlornly at the harsh steel panel, brushed and polished, glistening so pristinely that my reflection glared back at me. I glanced at the figure ahead with her bronzed skin, malnourished and fragile frame, self-cut hair, and tired limestone eyes.

And then I caught the scent.

***
End.

***

Stout ale, stale cigars, and beaten leather drifted around my head like a fog. Eyes, dark and hidden like the water in the bottom of a barrel, stared into my brain. I recalled his hands, rough and brittle, and the way he reached for me without fear. Poison skin never scared him, and his touch was the only one that didn’t petrify me.

“Didn’t know where else to look for ya, kid.”

The tough façade had departed, vanished. His worn face drooped with lack of rest. The leather jacket hung from his hand, clutched like an old sack. Gravity weighed upon his ancient shoulders. Was it the man I’d known? Was it the man I’d loved? My breath died away and I had difficulty recovering from its loss.

“Logan.”

Everything crumbled. My belongings fell from my shoulder and spilled onto the shimmering floor. All that I had been holding so tightly fell away, and tears boiled my corneas, falling like drops of acid down my face. I imagined how easy it would be to melt into those arms, how simple it would be to fall apart. Betrayal lingered like an angry parent, wagging its finger in my face.

He opened his mouth to speak, but I couldn’t hear the words. There was nothing he could say that could shake the feeling of loss, resentment, and pain. I struggled to push away the image of his arms tightly around my shoulders. I ripped apart the mental polaroids of his misplaced delicacy. My world was dark for several heartbeats before I realized I’d closed my eyes.

“Don’t leave me.”

Slivers of hair fell over my face as his fingers brushed over my scalp. His rough mouth stroked my forehead, leaving a light kiss. Briefly, he traced the apple of my cheek, so light a graze that it barely affected him. Vaguely, it occurred to me to take a breath and a sigh rushed over my lips.

“I’m done lookin’ for me, kid. Now I’m only lookin’ for you.”

He stooped to lift my pack from the floor, and tossed it over his shoulder. The jacket he placed around me, providing me with the alluring scent of his journey. The ache in his eyes refused to disappear, but the arrogant smirk returned to his face. A hand slid into my glove, tight and strong.

***
End.