Her wound had been disinfected and bandaged, aspirin and ibuprofen handed over for any niggling aches that weren't too serious. But as she buttoned her shirt -- wincing at the corresponding twinge of her injured shoulder -- Rogue felt the need to say something, apologize for her less than stellar performance.
She caught hold of Jean's arm, let go quickly, even though she was wearing gloves and Jean a long-sleeved lab coat.
"What's wrong? Do you feel ill, nauseous?" Jean asked, taking out her penlight and apparently preparing to check Rogue's pupils for shock.
"No, no, it's not that. I just, I want-" she met Jean's inquiring look for a moment, then had to lower her gaze to the medlab bed she was seated on.
"Um, can we, can I say this.. somewhere else? I don't really feel comfortable in the lab."
"Of course, we're all done here. Where did you have in mind?" Jean asked, helping the younger girl off the bed and removing her stethoscope. She tucked it into the pocket of her lab coat, then shrugged out of the doctor's uniform and hung it on the coat-hook by the door as they left.
"She all right?" Rogue barely managed to stifle the small shriek Logan's sudden appearance produced, instead cleared her throat and glared at him.
"I'm fine, Logan. You could've asked me, y'know, I'm standing right here."
"Hmm. But she's the doctor, she'd know better than you."
"Please. I think *I'm* the best judge of how *I* feel. No offense Jean," she added, shooting a quick glance at the clearly amused doctor.
"She must be okay. Wouldn't be able to mouth off if she wasn't."
No-one had anything to say that. Rogue because words failed her at the insult -- she didn't think sputtering would be effective in this case -- and Jean because she had no wish to become involved in an argument between the two most stubborn people at the Mansion.
The trio walked in silence -- Rogue and Logan brooding, Jean snickering inwardly -- until they reached Rogue's bedroom, and found Scott leaning against the wall beside the door.
"Prognosis?" he asked Jean, ignoring the other two for the moment.
"She's fine, barely a scratch."
"Hey," Rogue protested -- or perhaps, her shoulder did? -- "it hurts. Just because it didn't require stitches doesn't mean it wasn't bad." Then could've kicked herself for bringing *that* up.
She said, quickly, "Jean, I, uh, wanted to say how sorry I am for not pulling my weight out there today-"
"Rogue, it was your first mission. You did very well, far better than most of us on ours."
"Yeah, but, I have so much I need to do," she made a helpless gesture with her hands, "there's so much I need to pay you back for."
"Pay us back?" Jean's voiced quieted, cooled ominously, a sign that Rogue would've noticed had she not been scrambling to explain.
"Jean-" Scott cautioned, but she held up her hand to stop him from speaking further.
~No, Scott, let her finish. I want to know what she's saying here, what she thinks we've been doing all these years.~
He acquiesced with a slight nod that his wife wouldn't have noticed, had she not been looking at him.
~All right. I'd also like to know what's going on in that complicated head of hers. Just don't... don't make things worse by losing your temper.~
~Me? Temper? Of course not.~
Rogue toyed with the hem of her shirt and said, softly, "It's just that I owe you so much. You took me in and became my family. It's about time I started helping, not just being a burden but actually being of use. I'm sorry I disappointed you, I'll be getting a job soon and I can help out more then; I really- I really need to pay you back."
"Pay us back? For what, loving you? You don't owe us anything. Being a part of our family doesn't mean you have to do something to belong, you just have to be you. This, this idea of yours, that you have to join the team to pay us back? It's insulting. Like- like payment for services rendered. We weren't pretending to care, Rogue, not waiting for the moment when you were old enough to go out on missions, or until you were financially stable so we could use you as another source of income. You really want to 'pay us back'? Be happy, that's all we ever wanted from you, *for* you."
Rogue's voice was thick when she said, haltingly, "Jean..."
"No, you think about that, and then tell me what you *owe*."
Jean, back stiff as a drill sergeant's, marched down the hall towards hers and Scott's room. Scott stared at his wife's retreating back, then strode after her. He caught her outside their room, took her arm and turned her around. She shook him off, tears glimmering in her eyes, but he simply pulled her closer, cupped her face in his palms and pressed a kiss to her forehead, her lips. Then he opened the door and the couple disappeared from view.
"Damn," Rogue whispered, watching their door close. "I hurt them."
"You didn't really-"
"Logan, you know them as well as I do. That look in their eyes, there was anger, yeah, but more than that, there was so much *hurt*."
She ran a shaky hand over her face. "Is it a thus-far undetected mutant power of mine, this ability to hurt people without meaning to? Because I'm really good at it."
Logan wrapped a companionable arm around her shoulder, contemplated the opposite wall, then sat down, leaning against the door, and dragging Rogue with him to the floor.
She protested half-heartedly, then gave up and leaned against him, resting her head on his sweatshirted chest with a sniffle.
"Nah, it's not a mutation, just comes with being human. It's kind of like a job: you get all these great benefits, but there's always a drawback, always a negative to go along with all the good stuff."
She laughed a little, weakly, but it was still a laugh. "Yeah, that's one hell of a crappy job."
He grunted, and she began to trace tiny patterns on the gray material she was pressed up against.
"Logan?"
"Mmm?"
"Do you think- do you think Jean'll ever forgive me, for what I said?"
He nodded, then realized she couldn't see it, and said, "Yeah, she's the forgiving type."
"And Scott?"
"Him too."
Silence. Then, "I know that I don't owe them for caring about me, in my head, I know that. But they did, they loved me for me, in spite of my mutation, when my own family didn't, couldn't. Intellectually, I know I don't owe them anything, and I know they don't expect anything, but I *need* to do something to help. I need to. That may just be pride, but it's a powerful thing, and... God, pride cometh before a fall. I fell pretty hard tonight."
"Hit the ground with a splat," Logan confirmed, running his bare fingers carefully through her hair. She tilted her head up to look at him.
"Gee, thanks, you always know what to say."
"Notice you didn't say I make you feel better."
"Caught that, did you?"
He hid his grin behind a manly scowl, and rubbed his fingers over her rib, teasingly.
"No, Logan, please. I'm begging you, *anything* but that!"
He pretended to consider her request, then pounced, tickling her mercilessly until her squeals and shouts of laughter -- and for mercy -- rang through the halls. When the fourth door had opened to reveal yet another glaring mutant, Logan reached behind them and opened the door, sending them both falling backwards into her room.
"Well," he said, holding the still-grinning girl on top of him, "this isn't how I usually gain entrance to a beautiful woman's bedroom."
Her lips twitched, then she flashed him a mega-watt smile and stood to close the door. "You can stay tonight, if you'd like. You seem to be ready for bed, anyway," she observed, taking in his sloppy attire.
"Hey," he mock-protested, "these are *designer* sweats, no off-the-rack for me, baby."
"Ah, of course they are, sugar. Wouldn't have expected anything less from you. I think your gloves are still here from the last time you slept here..." her voiced trailed off as she remembered the nightmare that had prompted Logan to offer himself as a comfort device. "Anyway," she continued, a shade too brightly, "I'm just going to get dressed in the bathroom, make yourself at home."
"Always do," he murmured, watching her gather what she needed and slip into the bathroom, knew she'd switched the light on by the yellow strip showing under the door.
He reached into the drawer of her bedside table, pulled out the thin cotton gloves and tugged them on. Then slid beneath the covers and breathed in the scent of her, thinking, She's not ready. Not yet.
He smiled when the bathroom light flicked off and she emerged from the other room, clad in long pale green pajamas, white silky gloves, and socks, then hurried across the dark room to jump into bed next to him. He gently curled an arm behind her back, drew her closer.
She's not ready, he reminded himself, but one day she will be. Until then, I can wait. I can wait, he thought, glancing down at the almost-asleep girl in his arms, as long as it's her I'm waiting for.
The Wolverine & Rogue Fanfiction Archive
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Author's Chapter Notes:
In this fic, Rogue's been at the mansion for a couple of years, so she's about 21/22. Also, Logan's been back for at least two years. So, that's the timeline. And I'm *really* trying to write a nice Jean... hope I at least haven't massacred her *too* badly :) Thanks to the usual suspects; Karen, Helena, Caroline, and Heather :)