The bathroom was too small for him, severely itching at his claustrophobia. And if he had thought that the rest of the apartment was ghastly, he was immediately corrected.
The whole room was swathed in pink gingham, shower curtain, wall paper, towels, and on and on. It was everywhere, dizzying his eyesight. If the assault on his vision and nerves hadn’t been enough there was so much artificial floral and potpourri *crap* his eyes actually watered from the sheer stench of it.
With all of that he should have fled the retched space as soon as he could. But he didn’t. He lingered under the too low spray as it scolded his skin a violent burning red right through till he chilled and made his muscles clench from the sheer freeze.
He didn’t even wash himself. Just stood as the water flowed continuously over his contours, then fell away from him, taking all the evidence of his most recent memories with it.
Damn if he knew why he was just standing there, prolonging his suffering. The first thought that came to him was that he was hiding from the girl, but he desperately hoped that wasn’t the case. He and the Wolverine pleaded in unison that he hadn’t become that pathetic.
Then at the first chilling drop the hope that she planned to take a shower next appeased him. Let the bitch freeze.
******
The sound of his bare feet slapping against the honey-toned hard wood floors echoed in the seemingly empty apartment as he moved back down the hallway. Otherwise it was completely silent. And she hated the silence. Maybe she decided to just cut her losses and take off first. Probably already looking for her next ‘project’.
The expansive great room unsettled him even more than the pitch black hallway. Fingers of a dull pale yellow light from the kitchen crept into the room, casting a hollow glow on the much larger room. It reminded him of the Canadian winters when it was too fucking cold for even the sun and the wind: eerie and still.
His need for a beer suddenly intensified. Shaking off the chilled feeling he ran a hand through his still damp hair and padded over to the kitchen.
The tension eased out of him silently, now that he was in the light and not still standing just outside of it. For some reason it was smaller now, now that the girl wasn’t in it. Hell, it probably succumbed to her wishes as well. Might as well, everything else was.
He tugged the fridge open and basically had to squat to even see the inside of it. Apples, Chinese, four chocolate bars, lettuce, coke... Evidently this chick couldn’t decide if she was healthy or not. But of course beer was on the no-no list. Fucking pansy.
A loud snort escaped him when he saw the box wine. Not such a classy broad after all, was she? The snort quickly morphed into a growl. An empty box wine.
He didn’t ask much out of life. In fact, he always thought he was being a pretty good fucking sport, considering all the shit, past and recent. There was only one thing he expected, and that was beer when he wanted. And right now he really fucking wanted beer.
It wasn’t like he could just go out. The girl probably took the damn car. Which meant he’d have to steal one, and that wasn’t something he really wanted to do right now. The skin between his knuckles was tender and throbbing slightly, he really needed to give the claws a break for a bit. But that meant no beer till morning. Without any kind of buzz there was no fucking telling what would come out of his head if he feel asleep.
Although, now that he thought about it he hadn’t actually had a nightmare since his psychotic little guardian angel had come into his life. Maybe the nightmares were scared of her or they just simply bowed to her command, too. Of course it could just be because she exhausted him like he’s never been before.
Walking around the massive plump couch he stopped. Speaking of the angel herself.
Evidently the girl hadn’t fled. She was curled up, her knees pulled up to her chin, in one of the over-stuffed arm chairs. Her head was rolled back against her shoulder, crooked at a funny angle. The mountain of hair that earlier was piled on top of her head was now flowering down to one side in an effortless cascade before disappearing in the thin red cashmere blanket that she had wrapped tightly around her.
He decided right then, with her thick lashes lying so gently on her pale cheek, her mouth slightly gapped in slumber, and the pale haunting light from the kitchen illuminating and perfectly suiting her, that no matter what, she wasn’t committing enough crimes. She wasn’t reaching her full potential. The damn little thing could probably shoot the president and walk into a court room and be instantly found innocent. As long as she didn’t giggle, that was.
Shaking his head he flopped down on the couch. Never in all the years could he remember did he ever think he’d find himself in a situation like this. Sure, dead in a ditch. But not in some strange comatose woman’s apartment. With a homicidal angel. Without beer.
Rolling his neck he immediately relaxed at the metallic pop and eased further back into the couch. Finally he noticed the pile stacked at the end of it. Two pristine white and plush pillows and a quilt folded neatly on top of them.
He wanted to say he was shocked. Surprised after their row earlier that not only was the girl still there but she left him the couch, all the pillows, and the biggest blanket, but for some reason he wasn’t. Sure, it didn’t make any damn sense, that he acknowledged. But nothing about her had made sense from ‘Well, damn. Of course ahm follwin’ ya!’, so why would it be any different now?
“Kid, wake up,” he called out, but remembered not to touch her.
She stirred slightly, winced, and roller her head around the other way. When her movements stilled he called out her name louder.
“What...” she groaned out, although it sounded more like a croak with her lagging thick accent.
Suddenly something white flooded her vision and her head instinctively jerked back, away from whatever it was.
“Here. Take it, I don’t need two.”
At his voice her eyes came up and settled on his face. She had to blink some consciousness back into them but slowly his jetting pointy hair, thick mutton chops and stubbed jaw were in focus.
Once he was righted she turned her attention to the object that threatened to attack her. A pillow, one end tightly clenched in his hand, hovering at her the same was three piercing claws were an hour or two ago.
“Ahm fahne...” She sighed, pulling the blanket up higher. “Jus’ let me go back ta sleep.”
“I don’t want it.” He stressed, his jaw clenched tightly.
Opening one eye again she found that neither the pillow nor he had moved an inch. “Please, Logan, ahm exhausted. Jus’ put it on tha floor if ya don’t want it.”
“Why won’t you just take the damn thing!?”
“Ah swear, if ya don’t get that puff ball outta mah face ahm gonna kick ya.”
With a fuming snort he threw the offending bedding down at the foot of the chair and stomped the three steps back to the couch.
He sat there, grunting occasionally, his arms crossed tightly over his chest, watching her. She was already curled back up again, facing the other way this time. There was no way he was going to get to sleep too. Before he was just hopped up on energy, now he was aggravated too.
Eventualy his eyes settled on a foam box sitting on the coffee table in front on them. His eyebrows instantly narrowed at it. Was that there when they came in? Maybe he didn’t see it. Wait, why the fuck wouldn’t he have seen it?
“Rogue,” he said loudly. “What’s with the box?”
She groaned, loud and drawn out. Even added a little whimper at the end of it before opening her eyes and sitting up. “What?!”
He just pointed to the newfound object and cocked an eyebrow at her.
“Shit, Logan. Ya couldn’t jus’ open it yaself an’ let me sleep?” She asked, but was only meet with a blank expression. “It’s ya god damn beer. There weren’t any in tha fridge so ah went next door while ya were in tha shower an’ asked ta borrow some.”
She was amazing; he had to give her that. He was actually going to say thanks, considered it for a whole minute and a half as he popped the first can, but stopped when he looked at her.
The luxurious blanket now fallen forgotten on the floor, covering the pillow. She was bent in half, her head dropped, rubbing the palms of her hands roughly against her face.
“Did I hurt your head?” He asked, “..earlier..” She looked up, her face slightly pink from the rubbing. Both their faces clearly reading that neither was sorry for ‘earlier’.
“Naw,” she shrugged and he accepted the answer with a nod and returned to nursing his beer.
They sat in silence for a while; the only break in the monotony was the occasional sound of traffic going by. He was well into his second beer before she finally lifted her head again.
“Ah didn’t kill tha man in Nebraska.” She stated, her voice sounding partial bored. “Or tha guy ah got tha mustang from. Or even tha two government boys, though they deserved more ‘en good switchin’.”
He was relaxed now, against his own will. A bulky arm stretched out over the top of the sofa, both propped up on the coffee table, a sweating beer resting on his thigh– completely relaxed. “You trying to get ‘homicidal’ scratched off your resume, darlin’?”
“No, ah jus’ haven’t killed as many folks as ya seem ta think ah have.”
Now she had his attention. His curiosity. Hell, sitting there all doey eyed talking about murder, she had everything but his beer. “So how many people have you killed?”
She pulled her feet back up to her chest, sinking back into the chair. “Six.”
He shrugged, not sure how else to respond. It wasn’t really that high of a number, not compared to him anyways. “Well, at least you remember.”
“Corse ah remember,” she spit back quickly, which through him slightly off guard. “Got evera las’ damn person ah eva touched in mah head– *remindin’* me all tha damn time wha ah done ta ‘em.”
His eyebrow shot up at that. Shit, she really was psychotic. And he’d been sleeping in the same room with her? How *nuts* was he?
His reaction did not go unnoticed by her. Instead of yelling back lab rat again, like he half expected her to do, she just rolled her eyes at him. “Ah told ya ah got killer skin. When ah touch someone ah take their life, which so happens ta include memories, personalities. Feels like their damn souls poundin’ around in mah head.”
Fuck, for a kid, she was a even bigger wack job then he was. At least he was alone in his own head, sometimes it was a little too empty, but it was his. It was hard enough for him to deal with people outside, fuck knows how he’d handle carry a supermarket full around all the time.
Though, he sort of saw the blessing. She would never forget what she did. To her that might seem like a burden, but not to him. Even with most of his memory restored he could only remember the kill. Not the men’s faces, not really. Not who they were, if they had a family, anything about them.
“You remember the six?” He found himself asking.
“Um..” She started, biting her lip. For the first time he saw her calm green eyes cloud with uncertainty. “Yeah... Four men an’..um...mah parents.”
His eyes widen, he hadn’t really even thought of her actually *having* parents before. And as much as she annoyed the shit out of him and he questioned her sanity, he doubted she could really be that evil. Kill her own parents? “It was an accident?” He suggested.
“No...” Her eyes meet his, brave but still pleading that he couldn’t bring himself to look away from them. And he really wanted to look away. Be anywhere but there.
“Ah got mah mutation,” she started quickly. He finally noticed she wasn’t wearing any gloves. Why hadn’t he noticed before? “Mah parents...they were kinda strict, real religious like. Called me Satan’s kin when ah got killer skin.”
He nodded for her to continue. Though, he couldn’t really blame her parents. He wasn’t even a religious man and the same idea crossed his mind.
She continued, now starring at the chipped plum nail polish on her fingers. “They were goin’ send me to this ‘institution’ they called it. An’ these two big ol’ dudes came ta tha house. Mama said they were there ta take me where ah belonged.” She stopped for a second to rub her temple. “Lookin’ at ‘em– jus’ lookin’ at ‘em-- ah knew ah didn’t wanna go where they were wantin’ ta take me. So when they grabbed me ah drained ‘em for everythin’ ah was worth, ‘cuz they had guns n’ shit an’ ah knew it was tha only way ah was gettin’ past ‘em.”
Suddenly she stopped in the middle of her story to giggle. The half-hysteric sound made so much more sense to him like this. Coming out of a little girl’s mouth as she told about killing her parents.
“Ah neva though they’d snatch at me like they did. Mah daddy even yelled ‘Priscilla get tha gun!’” She stopped again. This time not to giggle but just chew on her bottom lip. “Right then– right then it dawned on me it was me or them. Bastards jus’ couldn’t let me run out tha damn door...”
He stared at her, slightly in awe how she could look so young and innocent and be anything but. He wondered if she expected some kind of sympathy from him; he had none. Sure the kid’s life sucked, but that was preaching to the choir.
He watched her for a second, waiting to see if she was going to on or something. But soon he could tell she was in her own little world, staring off to the side. Then she did shock him.
His breath stopped in his throat and for the damn life of him he couldn’t swallow it back down. Intently blue eyes followed the travel of one thin tear from a cloudy emerald down across a pale cheek till it finally dripped at died at the collar of her shirt.
He ranked his fingers through his hair with a internal groan. What the hell was the matter with him? All this time he’d been assigning her these hypocritical titles of angel or demon or whatever he went through just to try and explain her. But that one tear snapped him out of the cynical fantasy world he had been living in. She was just a girl. No angel or satanic creature bent on the earth’s destruction. Just a girl with a fucked up mutation and a fucked up life to match it.
“Ah guess...” Her seemingly long lost voice snapped him out of himself. “Ah guess when ah touched that man, Lt. Asswipe, an’ got those memorizes -ya in tha labs an’ stuff-. Well, ah jus’ always thought that’s probably where mah folks were tryin’ ta ship me to. Somethin’ along those lines, anyway.” She shrugged then turned and grinned at him slightly. “Ah figured, hell, ah been pretty good at keepin’ mahself outta them kinda places so far, an’ ya need help stayin’ out, ah could probably do that.”
He wanted to laugh at her. The time when she was standing in the middle of a firing range, trying to pull his 600+ pounds of mass and metal off the ground flashed in front of his mind. Neither times should have been funny. But it was just so ridiculous, the entire notion of it.
Instead he opted to keep quiet, she seemed a little fragile. And truth be told he was fully enjoying it. It wasn't the smell of fear, but it was probably even better. Fragile and damaged, yet not afraid, he couldn’t think of a better combination.
“That was four, kid.” He pointed out. “You said six.”
“Oh, yeah,” she shrugged again, although the tension in her was lightening considerable. “Jus’ two men ah touched when ah first was on road. Both of ‘em were accidents. Not tha touchin’, jus’ takin’ it all. It was hard ta control with mah nerves so on end. That was when tha whole damn Mississippi state police was chasin’ me. Jus’ couldn’t make tha pull stop. Felt real bad for a while.”
“For a while?” He snorted, trying to hide a grin behind his beer can.
“Well, shit sugah. Mah parents thought ah was a burden on society, tha police thought ah was a burden on society. What is tha damn point, ah might as well be ah damn burden on soceity. So ah take what ah need. ‘Sides. Tha people ah touch, ah figure that’s tha best way. No one gets hurt.”
His only response was a eyebrow going up.
“Wha? They don’t! Sure, it hurts when ah do it, but ah ain’t nothin’ more than one bad memory after that. Shit, they’re countless bad memories ta me for tha rest ah my life. So who is who’s ‘burden’, hm? All that damn noise.”
He sat his beer down and found himself rubbing his knuckles just as she reached up to rub her temple. His claws were his most obvious mutation, and they hurt like a bitch every time he used them. Evidently hers worked the same way– must be God’s big joke on mutants.
“Why do you do it then, darlin’? Why take so many people in if you don’t have to?”
Her eyes meet his and searched for a second. Like she finally couldn’t understand him and see right through him.
“Tha noise makes it easier,” she whispered her voice low and husky. Emerald bored into sapphire. “Tha more that’s up there– tha more that they’re drown out. Ah don’t wanna hafta hear ‘em anymore.”
“Who? Your parents?”
She straightened up in her chair, rolling her eyes. “Naw, Logan. Tha bunch a kids ah stole ice-cream cones from. Yes mah parents!”
Sharp canines were flashed at her in a rumbling growl, but that was it.
He was going to ask her about the Lt. and the other military men she touched. Now that he knew what she had bouncing inside her head he might be able to use some of it.
The questions never came out of his mouth, however. The poor girl’s eyes were fluttering down, and her upper body was swaying slightly, she was obviously trying to fight it. Never before had he seen an image that made him feel more like a selfish bastard. And that was saying something, because he always made *sure* he was a pretty damn big selfish bastard.
“Hey, kid. You look like shit, maybe you should get some sleep,” he suggested and actually stood up to pick the pillow and blanket at her feet off the floor.
“Aw, thanks, sugah. Had ah known it was ya permission ah needed ta get a little shut eye ah’d asked right when we came in.” She sassed and yanked the pillow from him, but there was still a small grin across her lips.
“You’ve had worse ideas, darlin’.” He quipped back and waited for her to settle into another tight ball, something only girls must be able to do, he thought, before spreading the fine, soft blanket over her.
He was half way to the kitchen with the magical foam box when her voice weakly called out to him in a sleep mumble.
“Yeah?”
“We leavin’ tomorrow? ‘Cuz if not ahm gonna havta give Miss.Tweedy anotha hit.”
Hovering at the trash can his eyes lowered to the ground. So he didn’t hate her as much as he thought he did. Though, he wasn’t really sure he ever really hated her, more of hated her effect on him. But none of that changed anything.
The aluminum cans collided with three loud ‘bongs’ with the bottom of the trash can. “I’m leaving tomorrow. You do whatever you want.”
“But ah thought...”
“Rogue,” he stopped her, slightly annoyed that he was half this conversation yelling across the whole damn apartment. “Its over. I appreciate... well; it just doesn’t make any sense. It never did. We’re better off doing our own thing. You can’t just deal with my shit all the time. You’re young. You need to go find an actual life.”
“But ah don’t mind–“
“I do. Now go back to sleep, darlin’.”
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Author's Chapter Notes:
They stopped yelling at me and are willing to work things out now. Yay! We learn why Rogue is three french fried short of a happy meal and Logan just kind of acts like a stubborn old fart. Next chapter might take me some time, so up front apologizes.
P.S. This chapter orginally had a WICKED cliffhanger. I'm too nice... :)
P.S. This chapter orginally had a WICKED cliffhanger. I'm too nice... :)