Heavy fire and lasers rained down. The Blackbird. Must make it to the Blackbird. Where in the hell was the rest of her squad? Already on board. They made it, now they could get the hell out of there. Black, soulless eyes burned into the back of her head. She didn't have to turn around to know he was staring her down, but why? He was always staring lately. What the hell was it this time? She turned and glared back at him. "Forgetting something, sweetheart?" Huh? Wait! Oh, God! Where's Logan? Shit! Holy shit! Shrapnel and debris stung through the leather uniform as she left the safety of the jet. Logan was not getting left behind.
*****
Rogue squeezed her eyes shut as the hot water, just a degree from scalding, pounded down on her skull and beat against her body. It was leaving her sensitive, pale skin tender and raw, and a frightening shade of red. The showers in the team locker room weren't for relaxing and unwinding with scented scrubs and gels. They were harsh, industrial strength, for cleaning off God-knows-what from God-knows-where. The powerful stream actually hurt a little and it was exactly what she needed.
Rogue needed something to get the image from her mind, drive that voice out of her head. His damn voice. She'd been doing her job! She was the squad leader; she was supposed to be in charge. If there was a decision to make, it was her responsibility to make it, and that's just what she'd done. The rest of the squad had made their way to the jet. Logan was no where to be seen. No squad member of hers was going to get left behind, least of all him.
Logan didn't seem to appreciate her loyalty today. Maybe it was only a Danger Room simulation, but in a real battle she’d do exactly the same thing. A Sentinel had him cornered, besting him in any escape plan, and he'd needed help. He would never ask for it, and she'd heard a few of the others mumble that they should just wait it out, but she wasn't waiting around to see what that machine, real or not, would do to her best friend. She'd left the Blackbird, gone back in alone, and saved his ass. The thanks she got? A holographic flesh wound and an irate Wolverine giving her the verbal lashing of her life in front of every other single fucking member of her squad ... and she'd said absolutely nothing.
Rogue let out a haughty sigh and grabbed the soap and washcloth. Oh she could think of plenty of things to say now.
"You don't *ever* risk your life by coming out to save me! I'll heal; you're no good to me dead!"
Yeah well *he* wasn't immortal and she'd be damned if she'd ever sit by and do nothing while watching him die!
"I could wring your fucking neck for a stunt like that! What the hell were you thinking?"
Now she was thinking of wringing *his* fucking neck!
"You're supposed to be the squad’s leader, Rogue. Use your fucking head and think about what the team needs. I'll take care of myself."
That's right - *she* was the squad leader of their little band of misfits! She was supposed to give the orders, and he was supposed to follow them. A sudden urge to kick something washed over her, but instead she slapped the cold tile with both hands, the sting a welcomed pain. Sometimes that man had a way of making her feel like an unschooled seventeen year old girl again, and sometimes she hated him for it.
Turning the water back down to a bearable temperature, she rinsed off and tried to let the Danger Room debacle go. Her squad would not see her decision as weakness, they'd only see Logan's reaction as the usual gruff demeanor and explosive temper expected of Wolverine. The only lasting negative impact of the entire event was her wounded pride. Still, he could not speak to her that way in front of the rest of her squad. Logan absolutely could not undermine her authority, especially not in front of the latest addition to the X-men.
Good God, why had Scott chosen to add that ticking time bomb to her already rag tag group? On the best of days, Victor Creed was an unpredictable, psychotic menace to society. Never mind that he was once a sworn enemy! Did Xavier insist on accepting every stray that wound up on the doorstep? Apparently so, especially if they thought that stray was under control. Well she had news for the philanthropic Professor; the likes of Victor Creed were never under control.
Rogue wrung the warm water through her hair, reached for the shampoo, and scrubbed her scalp roughly. Life was just swell, she thought bitterly. She had two unpredictable and authority thumbing men on her squad, both out numbering her in years of age and experience, yet she was supposed to 'lead' them. Lead them to do what exactly? The thought made her want to cackle. Neither man would even remotely pass for a 'follower'! Logan only insisted on being on the squad so he could keep an eye on Creed! And it was *so* like him to think she was incapable of taking care of things herself.
The water ran through her hair as Rogue tilted her neck back. When would he ever see her as capable, as an adult, as anything more than his responsibility? The answer came back a resounding 'Never'.
Usually, their odd friendship worked out okay for them. It felt a bit forced and awkward at times, but most days it functioned well. But there were days it didn't work right at all. Days like today. Days she wished something disturbing and radical would happen, something to change their roles, force their boundary lines. Days when she wished there would either be complete animosity between them ... or the exact opposite. Rogue wasn't sure which one she wanted after the Danger Room fiasco, but it felt like that line needed to be anywhere other than where it lay.
If Logan could only see her now, he'd have to face up to who she was, what she'd become; not scared little girl Rogue that needs rescuing, not just squad leader Rogue that could kick ass. Maybe he'd finally see her as mature, responsible, capable ... sexy ... desirable ... and completely naked at the moment, Rogue thought - undeniably female … "and obviously in denial and wasting away in a shower, talking to herself."
For years she and Logan had shared this platonic … relationship and she was beginning to realize that it would never change on its own. They’d just keep on this path forever unless she did something about it; today just reiterated that it needed changing. It wasn’t normal. Kurt was Logan’s buddy, but he never got yelled at if he made one false move on the battle field. Logan and Storm got along okay too, but he would never, ever threaten to wring her neck; nor did he ever go to the other end of the spectrum and bring her back gifts from his solo missions.
Their ‘friendship’ had always been different, but as time flew by it was growing more and more … unsatisfying. Something had to give.
She’d done enough over thinking on their relationship. Shaking her head, she tried to focus on the task at hand, but suddenly, something felt ... off.
Despite the warm water still streaming down her back, Rogue felt the tiny hairs on her arms stand on end. She looked around quickly, but saw nothing. Rinsing conditioner from her hair, she shrugged it off, but then it was back again. Turning off the water, she felt it, the unmistakable feeling of being watched, studied. The shower room was eerily quiet except for the dripping of her shower head. An instinctive reaction to possible danger, she went quiet and completely still, searching only with her eyes.
Nothing was there. Nothing at all. The stress of the day must be getting to her; the thoughts of Logan seeing her like this were playing tricks on her mind.
"Get a’ hold of yourself girl," she reprimanded her over active imagination.
"Need my help with that?" a deep, resonating voice reached her ears before the sight met her eyes.
Holding her towel and blocking her path, stood Victor Creed, getting an eyeful from the top of her wet head to the tips of her pink-painted toe nails. Rogue flinched, blinking rapidly in shock. Immediately her arms flew up, wrapping protectively around her chest and one leg bent at a shielding angle.
"Creed," she bit off through gritted teeth, "what the hell do you think you’re doing?"
"Being a team player," he replied smugly.
She tried to remain calm, not trusting this latest addition to the household, but certain he wouldn't try anything right under Charles Xavier's roof.
"You can take your leers somewhere else you pervert! Get. Out. Of. Here."
Victor casually leaned one shoulder against the wall. His demeanor indicated that he was in no rush to go anywhere as the towel swung loosely from his fingers.
"Do you think he even has a clue how you feel about him?" he asked, appearing nonchalant, but garnering Rogue’s attention away from her nakedness.
"What are you talking about?" she tried to sound uninterested.
"You know exactly what," he gave her a smirk. "Wolverine. How you feel about him. You think he knows?"
Wet strands of hair rolled over her shoulders as she shook her head in denial. "I don't know what you're rambling about Creed, but if you're tryin' to buy time just to watch me squirm - it won't work. Now get out or I start screaming."
Victor actually looked amused. "Nice try, little squad leader," he pushed himself off the wall. "But I see what you try to hide, I smell the lies. You ran off after him today like he was your damn life line and I'm here to tell you - he ain't worth it. He won't ever be worth it. He doesn't notice you. He don't see you like I see you."
He took another long, devouring look. "Has he ever even seen this much of you?" he purred. Slowly, he was moving closer, gliding in a cat-like motion, but Rogue refused to back down, budge an inch, or show fear in any way.
"Don't tell me I get to admire all this perfect, bare flesh that he's never even seen before."
Victor's head tilted back in a low, guttural laugh.
"Go to hell!" she growled at him.
"No thanks angel, been there ... the view is much better here."
Extending his arm, he let the towel dangle in his grasp. Rogue snatched it from his hands and wrapped it around her body quickly. Before she could make any other movement, a vice grip closed around her waist as she was lifted a foot up off the floor. Her arms reflexively locked onto Victor's forearms for support. She knew she could drain him if it came to that, but she was really hoping it didn't.
He brought her up to his eye level so she could peer right into their black depths.
"I know you wanna drop me, Rogue. I can see that hostility just boiling up inside you. But if there's anything you want less than my hands on you, it's me in your head. Isn't that right ... angel?" he murmured pressing Rogue against his body to let her know he was more than satisfied about finally making her squirm.
Rogue let out a quiet grunt, trying to pull loose. She silently cursed her flaming cheeks, but trying to ignore Victor's bodily reaction to seeing her naked wasn't easy. He had her trapped and even worse, he was enjoying himself.
"Put. Me. Down."
He gave her a smile wide enough to flash those fangs he was so damn proud of. "Digging your nails into my arms won't help," he said amusedly and leaned into her, "if you think pain is the way to get rid of me."
Rogue made an exasperated sound in her throat. She was pretty familiar with Victor's motus operandi as of late, at least when it came to his life at the mansion; loads of snarling and intimidation but no real bite ... yet. "Put me down dammit or I'll ..."
"You'll do what? You gonna scream? You already used that threat. That runt sure as hell ain't gonna make you scream anytime soon, but I will. You know I can. All you have to do is ask and I'll be buried between those thighs of y-"
She slapped Victor across the cheek as hard as she could, instantly regretting it after what he'd just said about physical pain. Damn him - like she needed this shit right now. The right thing to do would be to bring this up to Scott and let him handle it, but she'd be damned if Victor Creed was going to make her look like she couldn't take care of things on her own.
Of course he hadn't taken offense at her slap; instead he served up an evil grin and inhaled sharply through his nose.
"Mmm ... try again little leader. You don't fool me," he said and shifted his hands to grab her thighs just below her ass.
"One last time Creed; put me down. Now. Or my knee makes an impact." She tried to go for stern but it felt like she failed miserably. She would knee him in the groin, but he'd probably enjoy it. Damn Victor, his pent up aggression, *and* his bad manners. He really needed to be taught a lesson, and as squad leader that probably was her duty. Fuck.
"Since you put it that way ..." He didn't release her immediately but let her slide down his body until her bare feet touched the ground.
Rogue suppressed the urge to slap him again; instead she scowled at him and took a couple of steps backwards to get some safe distance between the two of them. Victor was way too pleased with himself for her not to scowl even harder, to which he simply shrugged, then turned his back on her and left, leaving her shivering; and not just because of the cold.
She cursed him, herself, Logan, the stupid shower room and the entire mansion as she walked back to her locker.
"I need a drink," she muttered to herself, putting on clean underwear, her softest pair of yoga pants, and a t-shirt. Her black yoga pants were so worn they were more of a darker gray, but they were her favorite, making her feel comfortable and secure. Right now, she needed all the comfort and security she could get. As she grabbed the pile of her dirty clothes, she noticed a piece of apparel was missing. An intimate piece of apparel.
"Son of a - Bitch!" she spat. That letch had nabbed her underwear! Rogue crammed the remaining clothes into her bag while mumbling more curses. Fisting her hands by her sides, she let her muscles bunch and a growly whine sneak out in a small tantrum. She was not going to let that menace think he could intimidate her. She was not going to run to Scott or the Professor. If he thought he could get the best of her with these little games, he was sadly mistaken. Let him keep the damn underwear, she hoped he choked on them. She had plenty and he wouldn't get the satisfaction of her even noticing or mentioning their absence.
With a renewed sense of self-righteous anger and a desperate need for a night cap, Rogue told herself she was wiping her hands of the entire incident.
***********
Rogue palmed the cool glass between her hands. Tiny rivulets of condensation dropped down onto the fine mahogany table and she watched them pool there a second before wiping them away. The Professor would kill her if she ruined his fancy study desk. She wanted to stay on his good side so she could continue to hit his personal stash of fine single malt scotch. At first she hated the stuff, but with a short glass and a lot of ice, it wasn't so bad. More importantly, however, it did the trick. Her face was warming, she was getting just a little bit drowsy and finally, some of her muscles seemed to be unwinding from the stress of the day. The shards of ice tinkled in her glass ... and to be honest, it was probably the most relaxing part.
Her quiet solitude was short lived when she heard the creak of the study door. Immediately her body tensed, anxious that she was going to have yet another run in with Victor Creed.
"You're not hiding from me in here, are ya?" a smooth voice asked.
Logan. Thank God.
She looked back over her shoulder at him. "Nah ... just hidin'. But you can come in."
"Sure you wouldn't rather come slam this big ass door on my finger or something? Might make you feel better," he joked. "I won't argue that I don't deserve it."
Rogue scrunched her brow at him in confusion. Why would she ... oh yeah, the Danger Room. Her encounter with Creed had trumped that ugly display as the most disturbing incident of the day. Still, she needed to hear that Logan regretted what happened. She noticed his apologetic tone and for him, it wasn't always so much what he said as how he said it.
"Yeah, you probably deserve it, but your finger would just heal right back anyway and then you'd give me that smirk and that would piss me off even more and then I'd want to slam the door again ... and we'd be here all night."
Logan closed the door behind him and joined her at the table. "Good point. Why don't we just go with 'I'm sorry about earlier - I acted like a dick but you know my temper' and move on?" He put a hand on her chair, "Because I am sorry - *not* for what I said about you risking your neck for mine – but ... I should’ve brought that up to you - just you, not in front of the whole squad. Won't happen again."
Rogue nodded and took a sip of her drink. Taking her time swallowing, she leaned her head back against the chair. "I'm gonna hold you to that promise, you know?" she finally said.
Logan didn't respond. She rolled her head to see him staring at her with a mysterious look on his face.
"What?" she asked him, suspicious.
He shook his head as if coming out of a daze. "Nothin', nothin' - you look kinda tired. Stressed. You okay?"
She nodded, still resting her head against the chair, unsure now if it was an effect of the scotch or the effect of Logan that was so soothing.
"I'm okay. Long day...just kinda tense, you know?"
"Yeah, I don't always help matters," he said, sounding guilty. "Here - I'll make it up to you," he added and stood up.
Rogue watched him pull a low-backed chair to the center of the study. Evidently, he still thought the blame for all her tension rested strictly on his shoulders. He felt bad for yelling at her in front of everyone and he wanted to make amends. She wasn't going to argue, but how was sitting in a different chair going to pass for an apology?
"C'mere," he said with a touch of impatience. "I don't want to wring your neck anymore if that's what you’re worried about."
Feeling languid and slow, Rogue moved to the chair in front of him. This day was just full of surprises, she thought.
"You alright, kid? You got full reign on that skin of yours?" he asked teasingly.
"Yes, Logan." She said impatiently.
Warm hands closed around the base of her neck and for a moment she wondered if maybe he'd lied about the 'wring your neck' bit, but then those hands started moving. Opening and closing with just the right amount of pressure, his fingers and thumbs kneaded into the bunched muscles of her neck and shoulders. Glorious hands, she thought; absolutely fantastic. Her neck relaxed, letting her head fall forward while his hands worked magic on the knots along her shoulders. Logan had never offered to massage her neck before and now she was a little offended as to why. He was an expert who'd been selfishly hiding his talent. Not to mention - hell it was Logan ... giving her a neck massage!
"Why ... have you never ... offered to do this ... before?" she asked between moments of bliss.
He made a tisking noise with his teeth. "'Cause see ... if word gets out that I can do this kinda stuff, I get lines of people that just gotta have a neck rub. I refuse to be exploited that way," he added with a smirk. Rogue didn't have to see it to know it was there.
"Besides, I ain't doing this for just anybody. McCoy wants his neck rubbed he better hope Storm or somebody will do it, because it won't be me!"
She laughed at the visual, but grew silent when his hands moved to the nape of her neck. Barely brushing into her hair, the pads of his thumbs made little circles over the indention at the base of her skull. Without consulting her, Rogue's brain fired thousands of stimulating nerve impulses through her body. The tips of his fingers worked their way up the back of her scalp, caressing her gently until he ran his fingers through her hair - and she could swear he leaned down to smell her. The tiniest moan formed in her throat, escaping before she could stop it. Quickly, Logan's hands dropped back to her shoulders and rested there.
"Better?" he asked, clearing his throat.
"Yeah," Rogue couldn't help but sigh a little on the word. Still wanting to nudge their boundary, she brushed her cheek against the back of his hand. "Thanks," she murmured.
"No problem," he mumbled before moving away.
"Don't worry Logan; your secret is safe with me."
She meant his secret about being an amateur masseuse, but the odd look on his face made her wonder just what secret he thought she was referring to.
"Well. I gotta go take care of some stuff. Just-um, take it easy on yourself kid. And if the pressure is too much - let Scott know. You don't have to do it all."
Rogue stared at him blankly. He was shifting the mood that quickly from stimulating to counseling. She wasn't stupid and she sure as hell wasn't a naïve child anymore. The spark that jumped and sizzled whenever he touched her was not in her imagination ... and Logan had to feel it too. This moment wasn't one that led itself to chatting about teams and responsibilities – he was dodging.
"Sure Logan, I'll take it easy," she said, but didn't feel the least bit at ease. There was an edge to the air and it kept her heart beating faster. He left without saying another word, but she didn't need words right now anyway. Those boundaries were going move alright, Rogue thought with a smile.
The Wolverine & Rogue Fanfiction Archive
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Author's Chapter Notes:
Authors’ Notes #1: This story takes place in the special universe that lies between Movieverse and Comicverse. It resulted from a discussion about the current story line in the X-Men comics where Rogue is the squad leader (and the character tension resulting from Victor Creed joining the X-Men) and the movie’s Logan & Rogue and their sexual tension. It is also an after effect of the last L/R/V combination and what would happen under completely different circumstances.
Authors’ Notes #2: We would like to dedicate this story to wolveriness06 / iconlove90 for her beta duties, as well as all the awesome icons that she created for us!
Authors’ Notes #2: We would like to dedicate this story to wolveriness06 / iconlove90 for her beta duties, as well as all the awesome icons that she created for us!