Vantage Point - Rogue
I don't miss the good old days
I've learned a lot since then; I've changed my ways
I'm not bothered by those things that
Used to get me down
Only when you come around
Sometimes, I think that dying would be easier.
It doesn't happen very often. Just certain times when I'm Marie again instead of Rogue.
She's not as easily put away as I thought she'd be.
It's odd to talk about yourself in third person, but it's the way I've come to see myself. I'm split in half. The Rogue part is happy most of the time. She's satisfied with her life. She can be Logan's friend and nothing more, and be happy to have that much of him.
It's Marie who is never satisfied. She still wants what she lost. She peeks her head out every once in a while, throwing off her blanket of numbness to look out at the world. And Marie's world revolves around only one person. No matter how many times Rogue tells her to shut up and go away, she stubbornly persists. Marie is the one who brings out the pain of memory...
The pain of hope.
Not that hope itself is painful. Generally, it's considered to be a good thing. But having hope in a hopeless situation is the surest road to misery I can think of. So Rogue curses Marie, screams at her to just give up and be satisfied with her life.
Marie doesn't listen very well. She's too damned stubborn for my own good. And she seems to pick the worst possible times to make her presence felt.
Like the day Logan decided he wanted to be my personal trainer.
I had been training with Scott ever since the Professor got me to agree to it, while Logan was still in the coma. Even when Logan's powers went away, they offered to have me continue, and I accepted. I found that I liked the focus the training gave me and the release it offered. Plus, I wanted to have a shot at being on the team someday. It seemed like the perfect choice to me. The X-Men had saved my life. The symmetry of pledging that life to help save others appealed to me. Maybe that came from the Eastern philosophies Scott was teaching me along with the battle techniques.
I'm finally comfortable calling him Scott instead of Mr. Summers. I know that the request was his way of making me feel more a part of the team, even though it's not an official position and might never be. Scott kept after me about it, but I wasn't at ease with the informal address until we became friends. I still call him Mr. Summers in class out of respect, but that's not how I see him anymore. He's Scott to me, though I never tell Jubes, Kitty or anyone else that. They wouldn't understand it. Scott is always The Fearless Leader with them. Although it took a near nervous breakdown on my part to make me see him any differently, I do now.
But all of that came later. That night, I still thought of him as "Mr. Summers". Logan came storming into the gym and interrupted my training session. He broke my concentration and royally ticked off Scott. I thought they were going to start brawling right in front of me until Jean came in and called Scott away for a meeting.
Then I was alone with Logan, and he started teaching me far differently than Scott. Where the fighting techniques Scott taught me were controlled and focused, Logan was showing me raw aggression. He even taught me my first throw that night. Logan seemed impressed with my attempt, even though I fouled it up and found myself down on the floor with him.
Rogue fought to keep a lid on her, but Marie came flying out of her shell at the incidental contact she craved. I can usually keep her in control during my normal daily conversations with Logan, but the physical contact strengthened Marie's resolve. Rogue tried to keep it casual as I laid half sprawled across Logan's chest, my legs on the padded mat alongside his.
Marie would have none of that. She took control and made my hands move across that beautifully sculpted chest while I had the chance.
Logan had to leave then for an appointment or something. I had been so wrapped up in myself that I didn't really hear what he said.
Rogue understood while Marie howled with disappointment. But Marie had her revenge the next night when Logan suggested that I follow up my daily sessions with Scott by working out with him. Rogue knew that was a terrible idea, but Marie insisted on saying yes.
And so began my nightly torture.
Being able to touch Logan was everything and nothing all at once. I couldn't touch him the way I wanted to, and feeling his hands on me was an exquisite agony. The hands that I longed to have caressing me like a lover instead directed me with the detached motions of an instructor. It was almost as bad as not having him touch me at all. Almost, but not quite. I have stronger self-destructive tendencies than I'd realized.
It was difficult enough to have casual conversations with Logan about my life and not break down. He'd taken to seeking me out a few times a day just to talk. I had the feeling that he was still worried about me after my reaction to him when he woke up from the coma. I always put on my best "Rogue is perfectly adjusted" routine for him. It's not his fault that he doesn't remember what happened.
The Professor had warned me against telling Logan anything. He said that Logan might not have any memories of the time he was in my head. He couched it in metaphysical terms like "suspended consciousness" and "astral manifestations", but the gist of it was that Logan didn't forget -- he just had nothing to remember.
If I have to tell you that I had a Marie day after that conversation, you haven't been listening very closely. The Professor's revelation was both a comfort and a torment in some aspects. It was comforting to understand why Logan couldn't remember. It felt a lot better than thinking he forgot because it didn't matter as much to him as it did to me. Knowing that gave me a perspective that didn't constantly rail against the cruelty of fate for taking him away from me. I thought I might even be able to let it go and forget my feelings for Logan. And believe me, I tried.
But I can't forget, and that's the torment part. I know deep inside me that Logan loved me then. Although "Right back at'cha" is not the most romantic response to a declaration of love, I knew what he meant. When we were connected, I could feel his love reaching into my soul. But if the Professor is right and Logan has no memory of what we shared those months he was unconscious, then even the smallest sliver of hope I cling to is pointless. Even realizing that, I can't forget, and if I'm totally honest with myself, I don't want to. No matter how much it aches, I want the memories enough to live with the pain they bring.
But I don't carry much regret
We all hold something that we'd just as soon forget
And I remember like it was today
The love we found
Every time you come around
It seems so unfair to have to watch Logan flirting with another woman, especially Jean, who is obviously in love with Scott. Jean and Scott are so into each other that it might make me nauseous if I didn't like them so much. At first, I thought that it would be easier to deal with if Logan flirted with Ororo instead. But then again, she's available, so that would make it worse. At least with Jean, it won't go any further. Outrageous, bold flirting may hurt, but seeing Logan with a woman that he can have, one he can touch, would cause more pain than I could bear.
But just because I don't see them, that doesn't mean he isn't touching other women.
Logan leaves the School almost every night on Scott's bike. I know where he's going, though once I found out, I wished that I didn't. I was stupid enough to indulge my curiosity one night. I waited around for him to come home and arranged to "accidentally" run into him in the hall outside his room. His hair and clothes were rumpled. He reeked of cigar smoke and beer and cheap perfume...
And a musky odor that screamed of sweat and sex. Without Logan's sensory memories in my head, I'm not sure if I would have recognized the scent, though the other evidence was damning enough.
And then I saw a long red hair clinging to his white t-shirt.
The fact that he'd gone to find a substitute for Jean just about killed me. I forced myself to say a quick "Hi" and continued down the hall without another word. Logan called after me, and the word "Kid" never stung more. I kept walking until I got to the garden and could let Marie loose without fear of being found.
The Marie days are so hard on me. Those are the days when I think that dying would be easier than living like this. Living with watching Logan flirt with Jean. Living with hearing him roar off on the bike into town at night, knowing that some other woman will be holding him and touching him in ways I can only dream of doing. On her worst days, Marie stares a little too long at bottles of pills in the infirmary, stands in the shower holding on to the razor just a little too tightly.
But even on the darkest, angriest, saddest days, Marie will never hurt herself. She's bound by a vow she made to the one person she can never disappoint:
All right, Logan. I promise you I'll live, no matter what.
There are days that both Marie and Rogue wonder how binding a promise actually is when it was made to someone who doesn't remember you making it. When that person doesn't know why he made you make the promise in the first place. When he really isn't even the same person he was at the time that the promise was made.
When maybe, the person who extracted that promise doesn't exist at all.
I do think that sometimes. That I made the whole thing up in my head out of desperation and loneliness. But the pain I feel is too deep to have come from an imaginary broken heart. I have the real thing. And then there's the raw, bleeding place in my mind where my connection to Logan used to be. Unless someone slipped me some really nifty hallucinogens when I wasn't looking, there's no way on earth I made that up. I'm not that creatively masochistic.
Sorry, I got sidetracked again. As I was saying, I went out to the garden that night, and Marie took control. I shook with a violent combination of hurt, jealousy, and outright rage. Logan was lusting after Jean and sleeping with whichever slut happened to look enough like her to feed his fantasy life. I wanted to scream at the unfairness, to demand that someone tell me why I had to live through the beautiful torture of vivid, dreamlike memories that could never be real again.
As it turned out, I didn't scream, but I did end up crying until I thought my eyes would bleed. Something I swore would never happen again does happen more often than is good for the tissue supply in the School. Mama always said that you should never make a promise you won't be able to keep.
Like I said before, Marie doesn't listen very well, and she's persistent as hell. Rogue handles most of Marie's issues before the crying jags hit, but not all of them.
It happened again the day I was finally asked out on a date.
We were all walking out of calculus, our last class of the day. Jubes and Kitty were talking about wrangling a car to go to the mall. St. John and Bobby were arguing about the affect of salary-caps in major league baseball. I ended up talking with Peter. I saw his sketchpad in the stack of books he was carrying.
"What's your latest masterpiece, Petey?"
He gave me a slightly puzzled look. "Masterpiece? Forgive me, Rogue. My English is still not so perfect. What do you ask?"
I could see the teasing light in his eyes. I laughed and nudged him with my shoulder. "You are such a faker! You know what I meant. Are you fishin' for compliments, big guy?"
He shook his head and placed a hand on his chest, doing a very good imitation of being wounded. "Never think so, Laskovaya. A true artist knows his limits, and I am merely proficient. I should not be so bold to say master."
We all walked into the rec room, and I led Peter to a table away from the sofa where the others had crashed. He's humble about his talent and doesn't like discussing it in large groups. I wanted to see what he was working on and knew that if I got him alone (relatively speaking) that he'd show it to me. He always did.
I tapped the sketchpad with a gloved finger. "C'mon, Peter. Can't I have a little peek? Please?"
He gave an exaggerated, long-suffering sigh and pulled out the sketchpad. "You know I can deny nothing when you ask so sweet."
He flipped a few pages into the spiral pad and handed it to me. I looked down at the image on the page and marveled at how beautiful it was. Peter had drawn Ororo tending the garden. The lines of the pencil sketch were exquisitely rendered. He'd only begun shading in the colors of the foliage, but Ororo's figure appeared to be completed. I was amazed by how he'd captured her serene beauty in such exact detail. I could almost feel the slight breeze rustling through her ivory hair.
I finally pulled my eyes from the drawing and looked at him. "Peter... this is beautiful! It's even better than the one you did of the Professor. You should show it to her-"
"No!" he exclaimed as color ran up his face. I knew Peter was shy about sharing his drawings, so the refusal didn't surprise me, though the blush was a bit unusual. "I... I did not request her permission to draw this. I should not wish to let her see that I... She is a privacy person, and I do not want her upset."
Speaking of upset, Peter was really nervous about letting Ororo see this. Despite his jokes about his English skills, he makes few mistakes as glaring as using the word privacy when he meant private. "Relax, Petey. You know I won't say anything if you don't want me to. But I still think she'd be flattered, not upset. It's a beautiful picture."
He looked inordinately relieved when he said thank you. I wondered about it for a second before flipping to another page in the pad. The next picture I came to was a charcoal sketch of Scott's motorcycle. Then I found a drawing of Kitty and Jubilee having a water fight in the pool. I'd seen that one before, so I flipped the pages in the other direction. Then I came upon another picture that made my breath catch.
It was a drawing of me, standing on the terrace under a full moon. Peter had drawn me in profile with my cloak on, my gloved hands extended before me, my head tilted down. I was depicted staring at the gloves, and I could see my own feelings reflected in the eyes on the page. A single tear was suspended against the paper cheek, an instant in time before it would fall to hit the silk covered hands.
I don't know how long I stared at that drawing before I looked over at Peter. I couldn't say a word. The scene was nothing that had ever occurred in real life, but it may as well have. I was amazed that he knew me so well.
Peter didn't look embarrassed this time. He removed the sketchpad from my suddenly numb grip and picked up my gloved hand. "I see your sorrow, Laskovaya. The world is too much with you. I should wish to lighten your eyes, if you would permit me."
I felt myself responding to the gentle words and the comfort of the hand holding mine. "Peter... I don't think I know how to be happy anymore."
His thumb rubbed soothing circles on the back of my hand as he smiled. "You are simply out of practice. Let me help you find your smile again. It is too beautiful to be so hidden." Then he asked me to go on a date with him the following Saturday.
And with Rogue firmly in control of Marie, I said yes.
Of course, Marie didn't keep her peace for long. She started in on how selfish it was to agree to date Peter when I was in love with Logan. She got me into such a state that I ended up talking to Scott about it.
Don't laugh. He was much more understanding than I expected. Really, he was more supportive than he had any reason to be, given Logan's behavior with Jean.
That first time I talked to Scott, it was less about who he was than the fact that he happened to be there when the dam broke. I had no control over Marie by that point, and I couldn't hold back a second longer. But he actually empathized with my situation in a way that I didn't expect. Scott clearly has issues with Logan, but he cared enough about my feelings to put that aside.
I know. It surprised me too.
That was the night I stopped looking at him like an authority figure and started seeing him as a friend. Mr. Summers was suddenly Scott. In spite of (or maybe it's because of?) his own struggle with his reaction to Logan, I found it easy to talk with Scott. Plus, he knew about the connection I'd shared with Logan, which is something I haven't explained to anyone who doesn't already know about it. I like my illusion of sanity too much to tell Jubes or anyone else.
Limiting myself to the people who already knew provided a short list of choices for confessor: The Professor was definitely out of the running. I still had problems with him and the whole telepathy thing. Way too uncomfortable for me, though I'm sure he would have been kind. Jean came with a whole other set of issues. A part of me knew that she was probably the best choice for various reasons, but I just couldn't go there. Talking to Jean about Logan would have been like pouring lemon juice into an open wound -- not at all cleansing and very painful.
So that left Scott. And although my choice had been unintentional, it turned out to be the right one. I guess even I get a lucky break occasionally.
The same night I had my breakdown on Scott's shoulder, I told Logan about my upcoming date with Peter. I knew that word would get around the School eventually, and I wanted to make sure that he heard about it from me first. Though I want much more, Logan is my friend. It didn't seem right to keep something like that a secret from him.
You can feel free to question my motives. Marie certainly did.
He was showing me countering moves when I spoke up. "Peter asked me out on a date for this weekend."
That stooped the lesson literally in mid-swing. Logan just stared at me silently, well, silent other than the quiet rumbling growl I heard. Rogue told a gleeful Marie not to read too much into it. Logan had been protective toward me before the whole "mind-meld" episode.
"Is that the blond freezer-pop?" he asked, hands fisted on his hips.
"No. That's Bobby. Peter is the tall, dark-haired guy with the Russian accent."
I still didn't think Logan knew who I was talking about. He confirmed that with a grunted, "Too damned many to keep track of 'round here."
I thought that was going to be the end of it. Logan briefly returned to a battle stance. Before I could do the same, he straightened again and asked, "What does he do?"
He sounded disgruntled, like he was asking the question against his own will. "Do? Well, he likes to draw-"
"Not that, Kid," he interrupted. "I mean, as Chuck says, what's his 'gift'?"
"Oh, that. Peter can transform his body into organic metal. It makes him nearly invulnerable."
"Pretty impressive. I'm sure he's a prime candidate for one of those black leather torture devices after graduation if he wants one."
I nodded. "I've never seen it in person, but I caught a look at some of his training footage one day. Peter has trouble reverting back to his regular form once he goes metallic. The Professor has been working with him on it, just like he does with the rest of us who have control issues."
Logan narrowed his eyes at me. It wasn't a hostile look, more of a speculative one. "You like him, don't you?"
I ignored Marie's demand that I say "Not in that way" rather than what I did choose as a reply. "Of course I like him, Logan. I wouldn't agree to go out with someone I didn't like."
He seemed to accept that. "You know I'll have to break his leg if he messes with you, right?"
I could see that Logan was worried about me. It felt good, even if it was a brotherly gesture rather than something stemming from jealousy. What he didn't know was that Peter didn't have the power to hurt me in the way that Logan was implying. On the other hand, I thought I might end up unintentionally hurting Peter. "I doubt it will come to that. Peter would never hurt me."
Logan walked closer and put his hands on my shoulders. I fought to keep my breathing even as bolts of electric fire raced through my system. "You better be right, Kid. Chuck will toss me out on my ear if I fillet one of his students." His small grin faded, and his voice dropped to a soft rumble. "He's a lucky guy. I hope he knows that."
Marie came springing out before I could stop her. "Logan-"
"I hate to cut this short, but I gotta go. Have fun on your date, Kid."
Logan's abrupt exit saved me from an embarrassing Marie display. Rogue was grateful for it, and Marie hated it.
Well I'm the first to say I should
Forget you, and I wish I could
Sometimes, wishes don't come true
My first date with Peter led to a second, then more as time passed. I felt comfortable with him. It was more like two friends spending time alone together than anything romantic.
And then a few nights ago, it changed.
Peter took me to Brighton Beach. As we strolled along the boardwalk, he told me that some people referred to it as "Little Russia". He pointed out a few women in old-fashioned Russian garb and relayed that a large number of Russian expatriates inhabited the neighborhood. He took me to a restaurant owned by one such immigrant. It was a small place with closely crowded tables, but the food was excellent and much different than the traditional fare served at the Mansion.
When we returned home, Peter asked me to walk in the garden with him. I agreed, and we strolled along a path edged by rose bushes.
Peter stopped underneath an arch covered in climbing ivy. He turned to me with a very serious expression on his face. "Laskovaya, I wish your permission to try something."
This wasn't the laughing, easy-going Peter I was used to. Normally if he asked me something, I would have said yes without question. But the way he was looking at me demanded caution. "What?"
"A test. I wish to see if I can touch you... like this."
He transformed in front of my eyes. The moonlight glinted off flesh that had suddenly turned silver. Either his control had gotten much better under the Professor's tutelage, or he was taking a gamble for me. The overwhelming guilt made me want to sink through the ground, enough so that I thought having Kitty's powers must be a fantastic blessing. "Peter... Why... Why did you do that?"
"I talked to Dr. McCoy. I beg forgiveness for this, but I asked him questions about your skin reaction. In this form, I have no life for you to steal, Laskovaya. I need no breath or food. As to why... I think you need this."
Peter's hand came up and rested against my bare cheek. I grabbed his wrist, ready to pull him away the instant I realized what he was doing. I didn't know before that second how much stronger he is in his shifted form. I couldn't budge him.
And then I noticed something that left me shocked and awed. I wasn't feeling the pull. There was no consciousness invading my own. All I felt was the cool metal against my face, slightly warming with the contact of my flesh.
Someone was touching me. No barriers, no caution, just contact. And though it was different from a skin on skin embrace, it was more than I'd had for a very long time. This was a living person touching me without hurting either of us.
Peter wiped tears I hadn't realized I'd been shedding from my cheek with his thumb. He looked concerned. "Must you cry, Laskovaya? I did not do this to make you sad."
I shook my head numbly. "No... That's not it... I'm not sad, I'm... I don't know. I didn't think I would ever... Thank you, Peter."
White teeth shone from between silver lips. "Happy tears, then?"
I gave a laugh that ended on a hiccup. I couldn't seem to stop crying. "Yes. Happy tears."
He smiled gently and brought his other hand to join the first in cradling my face. "Then I am happy too."
Peter leaned forward, and I felt the press of cool, soft, metal lips against my forehead. It felt so good to be touched without fear that I was almost able to ignore the wave of guilt building inside me. As much as I craved the affection and the safe contact being with Peter offered, I couldn't let this keep going without telling him the truth.
I pulled away from him and took a few steps back. "Peter, I... I can't do this. I can't let this go any further without telling you-"
"That you love another?"
And if my jaw had fallen far enough to hit the ground, it wouldn't have surprised me. "You know?"
I looked at him expecting anger or judgement. I saw neither. "Rogue, I know your silence speaks a name other than mine. You should know that mine whispers to another also."
He stared at his own fingers as they idly traced the closed bloom of a rose, and I suddenly realized where in the garden we'd stopped. The sketchbook... "You're in love with Ms. Munroe?"
He turned back to me, a bittersweet twist of his lips too small to be a smile. "As Mr. Summers has been your mentor, Ororo has been mine. Professor Xavier believed her techniques in controlling the heavens would assist me. Her wisdom, her calm, her sweetness all stole my heart without permission. I know the foolishness. She sees me only as a charge in her care. How is a mere mortal man to touch the heart of a goddess? But the heart cannot be forced to see reason, as I believe you know."
I was stunned by his confession and thoroughly confused as well. "Then why...?"
"Why ask you to date me? Simple answer. We are kindred spirits. You know what it is to want what you cannot have, the same as I. I have hope that we may find a way to move on together."
God, it was so tempting. Maybe we could...? Nope. No point in indulging that fantasy until I managed to get Logan out of at least some part of my heart. Right then, I had none of it left to give anyone else. "Peter... I don't know if-"
A metallic finger came up to rest against my lips. "Shh, Laskovaya. No decision must be made tonight. Just think about it."
He pulled back and closed his eyes. Slowly but surely, the metallic surface receded from his skin. He was breathing heavily when he opened his eyes.
"Peter, I thought you had a hard time coming back?"
He smiled wryly and offered his arm to me. "The weather goddess is a good teacher."
I was thinking about Peter's suggestion constantly. I even decided to have lunch alone in the courtyard the next day so I could mull it over in peace. I nearly had myself convinced that it could work for Peter and me.
Logan's arrival was impeccably timed. For the better or the worse depends on your viewpoint. He tried to talk to me, but it was one time I couldn't manage a bland, civil conversation with him. I tried to walk away...
And then he called me Marie.
It was the first time he'd used my real name rather than "Kid" since he'd woken up. The hope engendered by that had Marie taking full control for a moment that seemed days long.
Turns out that it meant nothing. Well, it meant nothing to Logan. He didn't realize how it cut my soul to pieces when he innocently used that name. Rogue pushed the beleaguered Marie aside and allowed me to walk away with dignity. Rogue was an expert at pretending. Even so, she held out only long enough to get me up to my room before Marie emerged again in a fit of tears.
I guess that despite the great act I put on, nothing has really changed. Underneath the laughing friendship, the easy smiles, and the contented exterior, the fire still burns. I still hope, I still yearn, I still hurt more than I ever thought I could...
Underneath Rogue, I'm still Marie.
It doesn't seem like much to ask
To live a life that isn't caught up in the past
But there's really no place else on earth
For me right now
I wish you'd come around
End Note: The song lyrics are from "Come Around" by Kim Ritchey.
Vantage Point - Jean
Sometimes, I think it would be better if someone could help Logan remember.
It's fundamentally wrong to think about sneaking into someone's mind without permission, even if you only want to help him. Just because it's wrong, that doesn't mean it isn't tempting, doesn't mean I haven't entertained the idea. I'm not perfect for God's sake, and I'm the type of person who needs to fix things.
I even went so far as to ask the Professor about it once. I knew what he would say, that we could not make Logan remember what happened.
What I didn't expect was for him to tell me that Logan might never remember at all, and we had to accept that reality. He said that given the unusual nature of what occurred between Logan and Rogue, it was quite possible, even probable, that Logan had no memory to recover. That hadn't occurred to me at all, and it bothered me for a long time. It doesn't anymore, because the truth has since become obvious.
Even if Logan hasn't consciously remembered what happened, a part of him knows. Anyone who watches him with Rogue can see it.
And Rogue... I don't know what to make of her feelings. She was emotionally shattered during the time that Logan was in the coma, but now... She seems so centered. If it weren't for Scott telling me otherwise, I would believe that she had let go of her feelings for Logan.
I'm glad that Scott is able to help Rogue. She apparently doesn't feel comfortable talking to the rest of us. Scott never tells me exactly what she says out of respect for her privacy, but I can see in his expression how much Rogue's situation affects him. Sometimes when he comes to our room after training with her, I can see the muscles of his jaw clenching. He talks in generalities, but I always know when he's had another conversation with her about Logan.
One of the things I love about Scott is that he's an excellent listener. When prompted (and sometimes when he's not), he honestly tries to give advice untainted by his own prejudices. He doesn't always succeed, especially when the situation involves a threat to someone he cares about.
And Scott perceives Logan as a clear and present danger, but not in the way you probably think.
It started out being about me, and I'll admit that it was flattering. I love Scott -- period, end of sentence. I would never do anything to risk what we have. But I won't lie and say that I didn't get a little heated up when Logan would give me a hooded glance as he brushed my shoulder or whispered things that made me blush exactly as he intended. I mean, really, can you blame me? I'm not blind, I have a pulse, and if ever a man was carnal lust personified, Logan was that man.
While it did wonders for my ego, Logan's flirtation with me drove Scott absolutely insane. That's the only explanation I could come up with for why he would be so reckless as to accept Logan's continual challenges to spar in the gym. Scott usually restrains his impulses with unwavering determination. He's had to be in control since long before he accepted the role of team leader. Scott's mutation would be as deadly as Rogue's without his ruby lenses and his iron-fisted will holding it back. So, the fact that jealousy over Logan's advances toward me broke the control that had become as instinctive to Scott as breathing...
That was a thousand times more flattering than the advances themselves.
Of course, I wasn't thinking how flattering it was the first night that Scott and Logan fought. I was thinking that I wanted to strangle them both for acting like a couple of hormone-driven boys instead of like rational adults.
I walked into the suite of rooms Scott and I share and heard the shower running. I smiled to myself as I dropped my shopping bag on the bed, the new negligée I'd bought discarded for a time when clothing was more apropos. I already had thoughts running through my head of joining Scott in the shower and sluicing the water off his body with my hands, my mouth, my tongue...
Sorry, I got a little distracted there. Scott looks unbelievably good soaking wet, trust me.
I had started unbuttoning my blouse when I heard the water turn off and the glass shower door slide along its track. My hands fell dispiritedly. Damn. No hot shower sex with wet Scott. I hid the negligée in my dresser drawer so I could surprise him with it later.
Scott walked out of the bathroom with a black towel knotted loosely at his hips. His hair was towel-dried but still damp. Normally, I would have jumped him on the spot, but there would be no jumping then, because he looked terrible.
Well, that's not accurate. Scott looked as appetizing as always (and I'll spare you the whipped cream anecdote) aside from the multitude of red contusions covering his torso that would soon be full-fledged bruises in a dazzling kaleidoscope of painful colors. He looked and moved like someone had beaten him within an inch of his life.
I immediately downshifted from happy lust thoughts to worried lover-slash-doctor mode. "My God, Scott! What happened?"
He looked slightly chagrined, which I didn't understand at that point. "Jean... I wasn't expecting you to be back yet."
I replied while ushering him over to sit down on the bed. "'Ro had a headache, so we decided to skip the movie and come back after we finished shopping." Kneeling in front of him, I gently examined a large purpling mark on Scott's side. I was relieved to find no evidence of broken ribs. "Why did you go on a mission without us? You know better than-"
"It wasn't a mission, Jean."
I looked up and saw that odd expression on his face again. I sat back on my heels in front of him and raised a brow. "Really? Then how did you get injured?"
Scott shrugged with what was supposed to be nonchalance. "Just training in the gym. No big deal."
Something about how he said it made everything clear. Then I got angry. "Scott, what the hell were you thinking? Fighting with Logan? Why would you-"
"Because he's pushed me too damn far, Jean!" And if I was angry, then Scott was livid. "Watching him leering at you and pawing you every chance he gets... and the worst part is he doesn't give a damn who sees it! He does it in front of the Professor, the students-"
"And you," I said quietly, reaching up to brush a lock of damp hair back off his forehead. "I didn't realize this was bothering you so much."
Scott blew out a frustrated, self-deprecating breath. "Well, I don't like admitting that Logan pushes my buttons, but he does. And I know how immature it is, but I actually felt better after fighting him. It was a good tension release."
So I didn't ask him not to do it again, even though I wanted to. What I did do was climb on the bed behind him to rub his shoulders and suggest more creative and pleasurable ways of releasing his tension. My clothes and Scott's towel quickly found a temporary home on the bedroom floor, and I never did get around to showing him the new negligée that night.
I decided to "let boys be boys," as it were. I didn't chide Scott for fighting with Logan after he assured me that he wasn't the only one taking damage. I didn't even remind him that while his injuries took days, and in some cases, weeks to heal, Logan's vanished almost immediately. From Scott's perspective, that was entirely beside the point. So, I kept my mouth shut...
Until the day Scott walked into our room with a mark the size of Logan's fist purpling his cheekbone.
I yelled at Scott, then went in search of Logan. I pounded loudly on his door and entered to the growled, "What?"
Not even the sight of Logan stripped to the waist or his sudden smile took the edge off my temper. "Hey, Red. Scooter too beat up to give you a good time tonight? 'Cause I can volunteer to sub-"
His sweaty t-shirt flying up from the bed and hitting him in the face shut him up so I could talk. If I hadn't been so irate, I probably would have chuckled at the comically stunned look on his face when the shirt fell to the floor. "Damn it, Logan! I've put up with the two of you acting like five-year-olds for weeks now, but enough is enough! This is a school, Logan. Scott is a teacher in this school. He's expected to present a certain image to the students-"
"Why're you screamin' at me, then? Go bark at Scooter."
"I already did. You need to hear this, too. I won't interfere in your little testosterone war so long as you both remember to contain yourselves. Having Scott walking around with a fist-shaped bruise on his face doesn't set a good example. Not everyone heals immediately like you do, Logan, and I won't have the students speculating about who or what is causing Scott's injuries."
He narrowed his eyes at me in contemplation. "That's not the real problem, is it, Jeannie? I'm sure Cyke has come back from missions with worse than that little shiner I gave him. So what's really got your panties in a twist?"
I was still furious. I advanced on him without thinking first about what I was doing or saying. "Did you notice how close you came to his eyes with that punch? You were less than an inch away from putting an unfinished sunroof in the gym or having your head blown off!"
He actually had the nerve to shrug. "I have good aim."
"God damn it, Logan! You could have gotten yourself killed! How can you be so cavalier-"
He caught my upper arms in his hands and shook me slightly. I was stunned enough to stop yelling. Then he smiled and turned the full power of those bedroom eyes on me. "You're worried about me, Red? And here I thought Scooter got all your devotion. I think I'm flattered."
I stood there silently glaring at him and something clicked in my subconscious that I would take out to examine later. At that moment, I had more pressing matters facing me.
I pushed Logan's hands off my arms and backed away. "Scott does have all my devotion. This isn't about what could have happened to you, Logan. Yes, I consider you a friend, and yes, I would be devastated if you were hurt. The point is that I'm essentially worried about Scott. Do you have any idea what he would go through if he hurt you or anyone else? Even if it was an accident, do you think that he could easily live with himself after causing someone pain or worse with his power? He still talks about that day in the train station with guilt in his voice. Don't push me on this, Logan. I need you to promise that you'll be more careful."
I could see that he'd taken me seriously, but being Logan, he had to mitigate his assent with sarcasm. "If it means that much to you, Jeannie, I promise not to batter the Boy Scout's pretty face again."
I heard the sincerity behind his acerbic banter, so I thanked him and left. As I headed back down the hall, that realization I'd had in Logan's room pushed its way into my conscious thoughts, and I froze.
Logan's advances, while very flattering and highly effective, were not motivated by real desire. I had seen that in his eyes. He didn't really want me at all. He was simply following a long ingrained behavior pattern. There was nothing clumsy in his flirtation, but there was no fire either. It was almost... perfunctory.
Yes, a big blow to my pride, but also a relief. Maybe I could convince Scott to stop making himself a human punching bag if he understood.
Scott protested my assessment, said he couldn't believe there was a man on the planet who could look at me and not want me (is it any wonder I love him?). I told him to watch for himself and he'd see that Logan wasn't actually interested in me. He looked dubious, but promised to keep an open mind. He started nuzzling my neck and said that if what I believed was true then Logan needed to have his head examined. He spent the next several hours explaining (in graphic detail and with very sensual demonstrations) exactly why a man would have to be crazy not to want me. Needless to say, my damaged vanity got an enormous boost, and I thanked God for whatever it was that I did to deserve Scott. I know how lucky I am, believe me.
I really thought that I'd succeeded in convincing Scott to my way of thinking. He stopped bristling every time he saw Logan within ten feet of me. Logan's endless flirting with me still annoyed Scott, no question, but he stopped taking it as a serious threat. I figured it wouldn't be long before he stopped letting Logan goad him into fights.
Then something happened that changed everything. I was working in the lab when Scott came tearing into the room. I asked him what was wrong, but he truly seemed to be speechless with rage. He paced around furiously clenching and unclenching his fingers. He eventually slammed his fist down on a table, causing the instruments on it to jump into the air and land with a clatter.
I stood up and walked over to him. "Scott? What happened?"
"Logan," he snarled. Yes, Scott actually snarled when he said Logan's name.
It shocked me to see Scott like that. He'd been so much calmer about Logan that I'd let myself relax about the subject. "Did he say something to you?"
He fumed in silence before replying. "He's training Rogue."
And I realized that I had some careful maneuvering to do. I mistakenly thought I was dealing with a serious case of Wounded Male Pride and Boundary Issues. "I thought you were working with Rogue?"
"I am. Logan has taken it upon himself to teach her street brawling after my nightly sessions with her."
"I see. So, you don't think he respects your methods and-"
"I don't 'think', Jean, I know he doesn't respect my methods, but that's not the problem. The problem is Rogue."
"I'm sorry. I don't follow you, Scott."
"She's in love with him, Jean. Not a crush, not a little infatuation, but In Love - Capital I, capital L. And he's going to break her heart. Hell, he already is breaking her heart without even trying. I was talking to her about him before he showed up for their session. Jean... It was unbelievable. One minute, she was crying on my shoulder. The next, she was bouncing around like nothing was wrong. I feel like such an idiot! All this time I thought Rogue was fine, but she's been going through hell and not telling a soul."
I felt the same guilt I heard in his voice. We'd all assumed that Rogue was fine. Maybe we were seeing what we wanted to see. We all wanted to believe that she was okay.
"Scott, honey, don't beat yourself up about it. We all thought the same thing. We couldn't know what she was going through if she didn't tell anyone."
"I should have known. We were there when it happened, Jean. We know things that the rest of the school has no clue about, even Logan. And I've been working with her every night for weeks. How could I just stand by and not realize she needed to talk to someone?
As always, Scott took the troubles of the world on his shoulders and tried to make them his personal responsibility. He doesn't always allow me to try to lighten the burden. I hoped this was one of the times when he would. "You realize it now, and what's more important, so does Rogue. Even if you had said something to her before, she might not have been ready. She came to you, Scott. That means something. Just be there for her."
Scott hugged me tightly then. I wrapped my arms around him and laid my palms flat against his back between his shoulder blades, where he always carries the physical manifestation of his stress. I felt the tension he held there seeping away, and I silently sighed with relief. He was going to let me help this time.
He eventually pulled back and looked down into my face. He reached a hand up and caressed my cheek. "What would I ever do without you?"
"Lucky thing we'll never have to find out," I replied with a not too bright smile. I could still see the troubled expression on his face. I didn't want him to break Rogue's confidence. I respected both of them too much to even try. But this was affecting Scott, too, and I had to do what I could to help. "Is she okay? Relatively speaking, I mean."
Scott ran a hand through his hair as he answered, "I'm not sure. Now that I know what's going on, I plan to keep a closer eye on her." His gaze turned to the door as he murmured, "It's got to be killing her to spend time alone with him like this. I don't understand why she's doing it. I feel like I'm watching an accident happen in slow motion, and I can't do anything to stop it."
I caught Scott's chin in my fingers and turned his face back to me. "This is one time where you have to let things take care of themselves, Scott. Rogue is doing what she needs to do. So will Logan. Maybe it won't be a disaster."
"And if it is? If Logan leaves her or breaks her heart? What then?"
I didn't have a good answer, so I settled for a true one. "Then we'll be there to help her pick up the pieces." And Scott didn't like my answer any more than I did.
So, the two of them continued fighting, but at least they reduced the frequency. The two members of the Mutual Brutalization Society cut their meetings back to roughly twice a week. Logan seemed less interested in antagonizing Scott, and Scott seemed less eager to take the bait. But he did still need the release of fighting with Logan, because now, Scott perceives Logan not as a threat to us, but to Rogue.
Since Scott had taken Rogue under his wing, I decided to start paying closer attention to Logan. I knew there had to be a lot more going on under the surface than he was letting on. I didn't pry into his thoughts, but then again, I didn't need to. He was and is projecting a whole array of confusing, conflicting emotions. The strangest thing is, he seems most at peace when he's spending time with Rogue. It's like I said before, all you have to do is watch him with her. It's obvious that she's the reason he stays here, even if he doesn't consciously remember why. The only time Logan genuinely smiles is when he's with Rogue.
I'm not sure this can go on much longer the way it has been. Scott's tension has been steadily rising, and I know it's because he's worried that Logan will hurt Rogue. I'm worried about them both. There's something building under the calm surface of friendship between them. I'm no prognosticator, but I detect a silent countdown to an explosion that can't be avoided indefinitely.
The only thing I can do is hope we're all still standing once the fallout settles.
Vantage Point - Scott
Sometimes, I think it would be better if someone could help Rogue forget.
I had hoped, however briefly, that Peter might be able to change things for Rogue. He's exactly the type of guy she should want: Calm, attentive, a good influence. And he doesn't come on to my girl.
Sorry. That's still a sore spot.
Logan has the unique ability to make me lose my temper. I wonder sometimes if he has an implant that lets him know the exact words to say and actions to take that will set me off - Logan's "Summers Irritation Microchip - Patent Pending" as I refer to it when I'm not so furious with him that I lose the ability to see the humor in it. Because really, despite all conjecture to the contrary, I am not so uptight that I can't appreciate the irony of the whole situation.
It took me a long time to get perspective. I was just too angry with Logan before. I still get pissed off at him more than is healthy for my blood pressure (so says my personal physician), but Logan's uncanny knack for pushing my buttons seems limitless. And he knows it. And if it were happening to someone else, I'd probably find the accuracy of Logan's barbs admirable and even amusing.
But it's not happening to someone else, and I'm far from amused.
If it was just about me, maybe I could lighten up on Logan. Maybe. But someone else is suffering a lot more than I am because of him, and I can't laugh that off like it's nothing.
Of course, I'm getting ahead of myself. In the beginning, my anger was all about me, or more specifically, about my relationship with Jean. Logan's lack of anything resembling tact or restraint went beyond irritating. It took a bullet train full speed into infuriating. He saw nothing wrong with treating my lover as the prime target for his sexual innuendoes. In front of whoever happened to be standing there at the time and with no regard for how inappropriate it was, Logan came on to Jean constantly.
As mortified as it makes me to admit it, he got me to the point where my self-control issues were tossed aside in favor of jealousy and burning rage. I trust Jean completely, so it's not like I actually believed he was a threat. I mean, come on. I know Logan has that whole animal magnetism thing going, but Jean and I have a history. We have a commitment. A few charged looks and lascivious comments can't touch that. I was never worried that Jean would leave me for Logan... Ok, maybe the thought crossed my mind once or twice... Perhaps I was a little bit worried...
Mind-numbing, control-stealing, full-scale panic probably describes it best.
As such, I wasn't exactly in my right mind the first time Logan suggested that we spar together in the gym. Self-preservation and self-control were long forgotten acquaintances whose names I vaguely remembered, so I said yes.
And boy, did my ribs hate me for that. But I did get in a few shots of my own, and not all of them landed due to mere luck or because Logan was going easy on me. Yes, I realized afterwards that he was holding back. I'm not completely deluded. If he really wanted to put me out, he could do it rather easily (assuming I fought fair, which on occasion was a questionable presumption). I've trained for years in controlled combat, but Logan is a brawler of the first order. My physical state benefited from the fact that he was more interested in having someone to fight than in actually doing real damage to me. And I could see in his eyes when I'd caught him off guard with a strike. It didn't happen very often, but it was enough for me to continue accepting his challenges. My pride had been amply wounded. Its recovery more than made up for some sore muscles and bruised flesh.
Of course, Jean was less than thrilled with the idea of Logan and me beating the crap out of each other on a nightly basis. She gave me a look that said she didn't really understand it, she definitely didn't like it, but she'd keep out of it. Well, she mostly kept out of it. She read me the riot act one night when Logan got a punch past my guard and hit me in the face. After that, she took off to talk with Logan. When she came back, she said something I never could have predicted in a million years.
Jean said that Logan didn't want her.
Believe me, I had to use every ounce of my self-control not to laugh out loud. I figured that Jean had had enough of me fighting with Logan, and this was her way of getting me to put a stop to it. I wasn't sure whether I should be offended that Jean was trying to protect me or touched that she'd try such an outrageous lie to do it. She must have seen the disbelief on my face, because she began a very detailed explanation as to why she believed what she said.
I still had serious doubts, but I told Jean that I'd reserve judgement until I watched Logan the next time he made a pass at her. And since I knew after listening to her that she believed Logan didn't want her, I showed her that I (in no uncertain terms) did. She had this slightly wounded and vulnerable look on her face. I couldn't have her thinking that she was anything less than incredible. Sore muscles, physical exhaustion, a first class caffeine headache from the gallon of coffee I drank to be alert enough to teach class at eight AM - All of it was worth it for that night and the look on Jean's face the next day.
It was the first time in a long time that I felt grateful to Logan for anything.
I did as Jean asked and closely watched Logan. As unbelievable as I'd thought it was, I started to see that Jean was right. It was almost like Logan was coming on to her out of habit. It was an enormous relief, but it also presented me with a whole new set of questions. If Logan didn't want Jean then why was he so determined to make it look like he did? Along that same line of thought, it occurred to me to wonder why he was so interested in fighting with me all the time. If Jean wasn't the motivation then what was?
Despite my new realization, Logan still got on my nerves. He interrupted my training session with Rogue one night, throwing out insults like they were plastic beads and he was on a damned Mardi Gras parade float. He was goading me on purpose and I knew it and still I reacted. It was definitely good timing that Jean came in and told me I was needed elsewhere. Once I got away from him, I cooled off enough to realize that letting Rogue witness the obvious hostility between Logan and me wasn't the best example to set for her.
After several days of trying to decipher Logan's motivations, I gave up and decided to just be grateful for small mercies. I had enough to think about without plumbing the murky depths of that particular psyche. It's a good thing I'm not a telepath, because I was practically dying of curiosity as to what Logan was thinking. But since I lack both mind reading skills and an advanced degree in psychology, I figured that "live and let live" was the best approach.
Then I had an enlightening talk with Rogue, and all my peaceable resolutions went right out the window.
She came into the gym for our evening training session. I noticed that she was distracted, but I didn't think there was any cause for concern. I pulled on the gloves I used while training with her and said, "I was thinking we should work on some Chuan style tonight, if you're up for it." Logan's dismissal of the Yang style Tai Chi we'd been doing when he walked in the other night was still bothering me. I was half hoping he'd come in and see how adept Rogue was becoming at the quick, focused strikes of the Chuan style I'd also been teaching her.
She agreed, and we began working. Her distraction increased throughout the session. She wasn't blocking with her usual accuracy, and her strikes were off target as well. I finally stood down and said, "Rogue, you're not focusing."
She didn't answer me. She didn't look like she'd even heard me. I reached out and touched her arm. "Rogue?"
Her wide, bright eyes snapped up to mine. She looked like she was on the verge of tears. "I'm... I'm sorry, Mr. Summers-"
"We're not in class, Rogue. You can call me Scott during training, remember?" I hoped that being less formal would make her comfortable enough to tell me what was wrong. I didn't want to force her, though, so I just waited to see if she volunteered anything.
It didn't look like she was going to say anything, then she suddenly blurted out, "Peter asked me to go on a date with him."
This wasn't a situation I had ever found myself in before. As a rule, I got the distinct impression that most of the students found me rather off-putting. I couldn't recall one of them ever coming to me with something personal. Jean and Hank were the ones who usually had these conversations, and I found myself wishing that one of them were in my place. But as far as I knew, Rogue hadn't opened up with anyone. It was up to me to figure out what to say. I mentally crossed my fingers that I wouldn't blow it.
On blind instinct, I figured the best approach was to keep it casual. "What did you say?"
For reasons I didn't yet understand, that made tears swell in her eyes. "I said yes."
I took a tentative verbal step forward. "I'd say that's good except you don't look like you'd agree with me."
She looked down at her hands when she answered. "It's not... I'm... Oh God, I feel so guilty."
The way she was staring at her gloves made me think her guilt was actually anxiety over her mutation. "You shouldn't. If Peter asked you out, he did it because he wanted to. It's not like he doesn't know that he has to be careful."
She shook her head and laughed derisively. "That's not what I'm feeling guilty about, although that's something else to tag on." Like I said, I had no experience with the counseling side of things. Strike one, Summers. I decided to shut up and let her do the talking. After a few seconds, she looked up at me and softly confessed, "I... I feel like I'm using him."
Not a clue where that came from, but she wasn't talking. Obviously my turn. No assumptions this time. "Using him? How?"
For a minute, I thought she was going to drop the whole thing. A cowardly part of me was hoping that she would. Looking at her troubled expression, I suddenly got a clear picture of where this was leading. I wasn't oblivious. I had seen them together often enough, and I knew the history. The issues hit so close to home with me that I was probably the last person she should have chosen to talk to about it.
But either she didn't realize that, or her need to talk momentarily outweighed whatever prejudices she knew I had. "Isn't it wrong to agree to date one person when you... have feelings for someone else?"
There was no need for her to say his name. I looked into Rogue's eyes, and I wanted to classify it as a crush, as hero-worship and gratitude mistaken for something deeper. But no matter how much I wanted to believe that, I knew it wasn't the case. Her expression reflected surety and undeniable truth. What I saw looking out of those dark eyes was as real as anything I'd ever seen.
Rogue was in love with Logan. And it was killing her that he didn't love her back.
I thought it best to bypass the loaded subject of Logan and answer her question. "That depends on why you said yes."
"What do you mean?"
"Did you agree to go out with Peter to make... someone else jealous?"
"No. That's not even possible. Lo- ... the other person thinks we're just friends."
"Do you like Peter?"
"Yes. He's been really sweet to me. And he makes me laugh."
"Then, so long as you don't lead him to believe that you feel more than you do, I don't think you're using him. And you never know. Maybe you'll find out that you care about him more than you realize now."
"I wish I could believe that. I wish I could stop loving Logan-"
Rogue's hand flew to her mouth as if to pull back in what she'd said. Like she thought that verbally expressing her feelings gave me the right to voice an opinion on them, an opinion she knew she didn't want to hear. With tears of pain and frustration streaming down her cheeks, she stared at me with wide eyes that silently begged for something I couldn't easily define.
I had no idea what to say. I settled for telling her how I felt. "I'm sorry, Rogue. I wish that I could help."
She looked more than a little shocked that I didn't dismiss her feelings or tell her that she was wrong for having them. The legend of Scott Summers, resident tight-ass of Xavier's School for the Gifted, is known to all the students. I usually do my best to live up to that reputation. It's easier to keep tabs on students who can't believe you've ever pulled the same crazy stunts and are close enough to their age to remember.
This was one of the few times I thought it best to let a student know that I'm more than "The Fearless Leader". (Yes, I hear the jokes. That Allderdyce kid is far from subtle.) "You were expecting a lecture, right?"
She gave a small shrug. "Well..."
"Rogue, it would be very hypocritical of me to say all the things you were expecting to hear. I could say that Logan's too old for you and that you're setting yourself up to be hurt. But I didn't listen to those arguments, so I won't foist them off on you."
"People told you and Jean that you shouldn't be together?"
The "didn't they know you were destined to be?" disbelief was amusing in a way. "I asked Jean out for the first time when I was eighteen. She was twenty-five. Everyone told me that I was headed for a fall. I knew better. I looked into her eyes and knew that any fight, any risk was worth it."
"I wish I had that. I wish I had Logan to fight with me, but I'm doing this all alone. It hurts. It hurts so much to need him so badly and know that he only sees me as a friend. I could deal with anything if he needed me too. Sometimes, all I really want is for it to stop hurting. I just want to forget about him. Why can't I forget?"
She started crying in earnest then, and I gathered her into my arms. I mumbled soothing nonsense sounds and rubbed her back while she cried. I knew that she needed to let it out. It was obvious that holding it all inside her for so long was hurting her even more. I tried to comfort her while maintaining control of my anger at what had happened to her. I saw it as one of fate's cruel, twisted jokes - Logan can't remember, and she can't forget.
Eventually, she pulled back. I let her go and handed her the handkerchief I'd put in the pocket of my sweats, just in case (feel free to insert a standard issue Boy Scout joke here). She gave me a teary smile and wiped her eyes, then handed the cloth back to me. "Thanks."
"No problem." I thought some humor might help. "You can cry on me anytime." I know it was lame. I'm not a professional comedian.
She did smile a little. Her eyes caught sight of something past my shoulder and they widened. "I didn't realize it was so late. Logan will be here any second."
"Logan? What is he-"
The "he" in question strolled in and shot me a withering look. "Hey One-eye. Got any more room on your dance card, or are you through for the night?"
The insult was forgotten the second I looked at Rogue. She was smiling brilliantly, like she hadn't just been falling to pieces over the man standing across the room from us. All I could think of was the pain she was feeling and how much it had to take out of her to pretend there was nothing wrong. I wanted to blast a hole right through Logan for hurting her. Although it wasn't intentional on his part, it enraged me as much as his lewd behavior toward Jean ever had.
"What the hell are you doing here, Logan?"
He raised a brow at me. At first, I thought my tone had surprised him. Then I realized that I'd cursed in front of Rogue. I never swear in front of the students (better to perpetrate The Legend Of The Tight-ass, my dear). I staunchly refused to explain myself.
Rogue turned her back on Logan and stared up at me with eyes pleading for my understanding and discretion. "Logan's been helping me train too."
For her sake, I kept the expletives flying through my mind to myself. I knew that I had to leave before I did something rash. "I see. Same time tomorrow, Rogue?"
She nodded, and I stalked out without sparing Logan even the slightest glance. It was the only way I could force myself to leave her alone with him after learning what I had.
I went directly to Jean. I had to talk to her before I did something that would hurt everyone. As she always does, Jean calmed me down when I didn't think it was even in the realm of possibilities. She made me realize that the situation was out of my control and that I wouldn't help anybody by obsessing over it. I knew she was right, but "hope for the best while expecting the worst" isn't the most comforting philosophy ever composed.
Once I knew what was happening with Rogue, I kept a close eye on her. And I noticed that I wasn't the only one watching. Logan was watching, too. More intently than I'd realized before I stopped being worried about myself and started worrying about Rogue. At times, I could have sworn that I saw something in Logan's eyes that went beyond simple friendship. If I didn't know better, I would have thought that his lingering stare held a gleam of protectiveness that bordered on possession. I decided that I was reading more into it than was there. What I thought I was seeing didn't make any sense. Well, back then it didn't.
My sessions with Rogue evolved. We spent as much time talking as we did actual training. I got the feeling that she needed the conversations as much as the workout. And with Logan training her as well, I didn't think it was necessary to work the full hour. She told me about her dates with Peter, and I encouraged her about the possibilities. I wasn't about to tell her how to feel, but I could still want better for her than pining over Logan. She's too young to become set on believing that love has to be inextricably combined with pain.
She talked about Logan as well, though not very often. But when she did, I had to struggle to keep myself in check. To advise without dictating, to listen without judging. I tried to be a friend rather than a commander, but it wasn't easy. Seeing how much she was hurting was hard to take. And since Logan was the one causing her pain, I found myself becoming furious at him for completely different reasons. So I still sparred with him occasionally, when it became impossible to hold back my anger without releasing some of it. But for the most part, I did my best to ignore Logan.
Then last week, something happened that I just couldn't ignore.
Rogue and I finished our session early. It was one of those nights where she needed to talk about Logan. So I listened and silently raged and made sure we were finished soon enough that I wouldn't run into him while leaving the gym. I'd found it was better for my state of mind to not see Logan after those talks. I had caught myself wanting to confront him more than once, and that could cause nothing but more grief. While I had few qualms about causing Logan to suffer, I refused to do it at Rogue's expense.
I was already in the hallway on the residence floor when I remembered that I'd left my bag down in the gym. Normally I would have waited to retrieve it, but it contained some tests I needed to grade for class. I did a mental check on my anger status and decided I was calm enough to see Logan for a few minutes without blowing my top.
I went back down to the lower level and headed for the gym. When I opened the door, neither one of them noticed me. I must admit that I'd been curious as to what exactly Logan was teaching Rogue, so I stayed silent and watched.
She was punching and he was blocking. She swung a roundhouse kick towards his jaw. Logan caught her foot and shoved her backwards. She landed and rolled back to her feet in one fluid motion that left her in a crouch with hands extended. They circled each other as she searched for an opening.
The animalistic intensity of it surprised me. Not on Logan's part, of course, but on Rogue's. This was not a standard issue training session. This was two steps away from full-out aggression. They were both so focused on the struggle that it was like no one else existed.
They were still circling. Rogue's fingers twitched slightly, and light glinted dangerously in her eyes. Logan unexpectedly swiped a leg at Rogue's in an attempt to drop her. She jumped back quickly to evade, then advanced just as rapidly while he was still off center. It was a very good tactic.
It didn't work. Logan dodged the fisted hand she'd aimed at his sternum, grabbed it, and spun her around with it. He positioned himself behind her back and pulled her against him, his other arm snaking quickly around the front of her shoulder, fist planted next to her throat. She was effectively helpless in that position, one arm pulled painfully behind her back, the other trapped against her side by Logan's arm.
"What was your mistake?" Logan rumbled next to her ear.
Rogue's chest was heaving with exertion. "Wrong strike," she replied analytically between panting breaths.
"What should you have done instead?"
Rogue struggled against the hold, but Logan didn't budge. I guessed that it was part of their routine to keep the pretense of the fight through the analysis. "Blow to the temple to stun while your head was turned, then the kill strike to the chest."
"So why didn't you do that instead of ending up like this?"
"Didn't think. Went for the quickest kill rather than the most effective one. Underestimated the opponent. It won't happen again."
And I knew it wouldn't, the same as Logan apparently did, given his small nod and affirmative grunt. Rogue was relatively new to fighting, but she was a fast learner and had excellent muscle memory. I'd never seen her make the same error twice.
I was about to make my presence known when the mood between them suddenly shifted. Rogue stopped trying to break the hold. Her eyelids drifted shut as her breath caught. Her head fell back slightly, hair swinging to the side. I could see a potent combination of pain and desire on her face. And when I looked at Logan...
A similar expression was on his face.
I was dumbfounded. Then I had a revelation that sent my blood pressure skyrocketing.
I had to put a stop to it. I pushed the gym door back behind me like I'd just opened it. I purposely had my head turned toward the location of my bag in the corner of the room, but I saw the flurry of motion in my peripheral vision as the two of them separated. "Sorry to interrupt. I forgot my bag."
I picked up the straps and turned my eyes in their direction. "Rogue, can you give us a minute? There's something I need to discuss with Logan."
She gave a quick nod. "Sure." Her eyes shot over to Logan. "Do you want to pick up later or just quit for the night?"
Logan was staring at me while he answered her. "Let's call it a night. I think this might take a while, huh Summers?"
I wasn't intimidated by his tone of voice or his glare. I probably would have been if I wasn't so pissed off myself. "That depends."
Rogue looked from one to the other of us like she wasn't sure that it was safe to leave us alone without a referee. I had the idle thought that all women must instinctively know how to make that expression. I'd seen it on Jean's face more than once.
Rogue must have convinced herself there would be no bloodshed (well, no more than an average hockey game would produce) because she left. A few seconds after the door shut behind her, Logan growled, "What was with the little charade with the door? You were standing there a long time before that."
"I did it for Rogue's benefit, not yours," I replied tersely.
"You really gotta get a grip, Scooter. She doesn't need you to protect her. She can take care of herself."
"In most cases, I agree with you. But who's going to protect Rogue from you?"
He snarled and advanced on me. "I'd never do anything to hurt her."
I was so angry I almost blurted out that he already was hurting her, and he could hurt her even worse if he wasn't careful. By some miracle, I managed to keep my voice sounding detached rather than accusatory. "I saw the way you were looking at her, Logan. What I don't know is why. Is she just another nicely curved body to admire? Or does she mean something to you?"
And as Logan stared at me in the tense silence that echoed between us, I wasn't sure of what answer I wanted to hear. One part of me was praying that he didn't care for her, that what I had seen was just Logan reacting instinctively to holding a beautiful woman in his arms. But it was a small part, and not a very loud one. Despite the fact that I didn't like Logan (you must admit I have good reasons) and didn't think he was anywhere near good enough for Rogue, I wanted her to be happy. I knew that having Logan was probably the thing she wanted most in her life. And she might be the one person capable of humanizing the Wolverine.
So, against my will (and most assuredly against my better judgment) I found myself hoping he'd say that he cared.
Logan moved forward and stood toe to toe with me. His eyes bored into mine as his voice lowered to a deadly, calm whisper. "It's none of your fuckin' business how I feel or what I do. I don't answer to you, bub. If you wanna keep breathin', you'll remember that."
He stalked around me and left. I stood there for a while before I went back upstairs to grade papers. And before you ask, yes, I was intimidated. You would have been, too.
I now find myself in the rather awkward position of trying to keep an eye on Rogue without letting her know why I'm more worried about her than before. I'm also walking a tightrope with Logan. It's obvious that he wants Rogue. What's not so clear is whether he has feelings for her that run deeper than friendship.
If this is just a case of Logan wanting someone who seems unattainable, I can only hope that he has enough restraint to stay away from Rogue. Although I haven't known him very long, I get the feeling that Logan doesn't have much experience with denying himself what he wants. And if he doesn't hold himself back, I don't want to think about what will happen to Rogue. I know her well enough now to realize that, while she wants him too, having only part of Logan would be worse than having none of him at all. If it's not everything, it will never be enough.
This whole situation has become untenable. Sooner or later, something's got to give.
Vantage Point - Logan
The rope that's wrapped around me is cutting through my skin
And the doubts that have surrounded me are finding their way in
I keep it close to me, like a holy man prays
In my desperate hour, it's better... better that way
Sometimes, I think that running would be easier.
It's not all the time, though it seems to be happening more often these days. Every animal instinct screams at me to get out. Run while you can before it's too late...
It was too fucking late a long time ago.
I didn't see it at first. Never claimed I was a genius. It took me a long time to put the pieces together.
It started with that day I woke up in the med bay and couldn't look at Jean without feeling like I was betraying someone or something. Once I was back on my feet, I kept trying to figure out what my problem was. It made no sense that staring at a gorgeous woman like Jean did nothing for me except make me feel like a total bastard.
I started thinking that maybe it did have something to do with the fact that she was unavailable. Why that should suddenly matter, I didn't have the first clue. Morality has never been my strong suit. Anyway, I decided to take my theory for a test run.
I took Scooter's bike from the garage and went into town. Found an out of the way dive and took a seat at the bar. I checked out the talent in the place. Not much, being that it was early. Then I caught sight of a leggy blonde in a tight red dress. Great legs, nice ass, unbelievable breasts...
Guilt... God. Fucking. Damn it.
The blonde saw me eyeing her and strutted toward me with a wicked smile. I'd seen that smile a thousand times before and knew exactly what it meant. I reacted on instinct.
I tossed back the rest of my beer, threw cash on the bar, and left... alone.
I swore a blue streak the entire way back to the School. What the hell was wrong with me? I felt like I'd been mentally castrated.
Nice image, huh?
In addition to the never-ending search for my suddenly elusive sex drive, I had other ways of occupying my time. Mostly, I watched out for Marie, although what I was looking for was a mystery to me. She seemed perfectly content and safe here in Xavier's Fortress of Mutant Solitude. She smiled and laughed, goofed around with the other x-geeks in training, just like a kid her age should. There was no obvious reason for me to feel like I should be protecting her, but I did.
At least once a day, I'd find some way to talk to her, to make sure she was ok. Not that I got all touchy-feely and asked her straight out how she was doing, because that's just too fuckin' unmanly, and I was having enough problems in that area already. I stuck to safe topics. Her classes, her friends, the latest God-awful movie she'd seen. Like nothing else, those conversations describing stuff I cared about only because it mattered to her (and it never struck me at the time how odd that was) kept me grounded. For the first time I could remember, staying in one place didn't make me feel trapped. I felt like I was exactly where I was supposed to be, and don't think for one second that the idea didn't give me more than a little discomfort when I dwelled on it.
I probably would have spent more time with Marie if I didn't think it was better for her that I didn't. More than once, I found myself on the receiving end of another one of Jean's dissecting glances while I was sitting with Marie in the rec room or eating lunch with her. Those clinical, piercing stares set my teeth on edge and made my knuckles itch. I didn't see any disapproval in Jean's expression, but I did see concern, which made no sense at all to me at the time.
On the other hand, One-eye made no attempt to conceal his disapproval. Summers had apparently decided that Marie was the kid sister he'd never had, and he was doing his level best to act like an overbearing, protective older brother. Not that the overbearing bit was a stretch, but the protective thing grated my nerves. I was sorely tempted to give him a foot up his ass to keep the pole he had permanently lodged there company.
So my days were spent training in the Danger Room (and damn me if that ain't the best fuckin' room in this place), talking to Marie, or finding new and creative ways to get on Cyke's nerves (on general principle, if not for something specific). The nights had a different agenda altogether.
It became a kind of obsession for me. I went out every night for a while. I kept waiting for the switch on my libido to turn back to the "on" position. I got more frustrated and pissed off every time the guilt popped up where lust should have been.
And then the lust returned... in a most unexpected, most uncomfortable way.
I had returned to the Mansion after another trip into town that left me cold. I was in a particularly bad mood that night and wanted to work off the frustration by sparring with Scooter. I hate to admit it, but (besides Marie) Cyke was the only thing saving my sanity in those first weeks after I woke up. In a fight, he made up for his lack of experience with an abundance of enthusiasm. He really wanted to pound me good. I could see it in the way he always clenched his jaw in a tight smile whenever I challenged him. Scooter was thoroughly pissed that I kept coming on to Jean.
Yep, I still flirted with her. Even though my body wasn't so hot on the idea anymore, I could fake it with the best of 'em. I was even more blatant than before, partly because I kept hoping to feel something stir in me when I muttered innuendoes to Jean while standing closer to her than I should. Mostly, I did it to piss off One-eye. It was one of my few joys at the time, making Summers so furious that he was anxious to spend time and energy trying to make me pay (trying being the operative word).
Well, that day, I stormed into to the Mansion on a tear. I needed to take out the frustration on someone, and beating myself up wasn't high on my list. I nearly ran Storm down when she came around a corner in front of me. I asked her where Cyke was, and she hesitantly told me he was down in the gym. She looked like she thought that I should be sedated and Summers should be warned.
Maybe it was the growling. Maybe I looked as murderous as I felt. I didn't much care at the time. I went to the locker room, changed into workout gear, and headed for the gym.
When I got there, Scooter wasn't alone. Marie was with him. He was obviously training her, though what he was teaching her to do was up for interpretation. She was balanced on the ball of one foot, the other slightly raised from the floor. Her arms were held up and she was slowly moving them around, her hands and wrists flexing and changing positions.
It was the strangest fucking regimen I'd ever seen. She'd told me that Scooter was teaching her how to fight. This looked more like some bizarre dance routine to me.
Marie looked over and saw me standing in the doorway. She dropped her position and stared silently for a moment before she smiled. "Logan, what are you doing here?"
Cyke turned around and glared at me from behind his shades. I was well acquainted with his expressions by then and could tell that he was annoyed. "We're in the middle of training. What do you want?"
He was in a foul mood. My own humor improved accordingly. "I want to know why you're training the kid to move like a snail on quaaludes."
He was scowling even more now. This was getting better by the second. "Rogue is learning Tai Chi. It teaches principles of balance and..."
Scooter yammered on about the supposed benefits of stretching and turning your wrists in different directions. I tuned him out and looked at Marie. She was paying rapt attention to the drivel pouring out of his mouth. Did she actually buy that crap? How was she supposed to defend herself with moves that a seventy-year-old in a walker could easily avoid? My protective instincts took over and I interrupted Cyke's tirade.
"Have you bothered to teach her anything useful?"
Now he was really losing his cool. The small part of me that wasn't worrying about Marie's safety reveled in the fact that I was pushing Scooter's buttons. I'd get a good fight out of him later.
"Logan, it's important to start with a good foundation before-"
"Oh, for Christ's sake, One-eye! What's she gonna do if some creep grabs her in an alley? Pose him to death?"
Marie coughed suddenly. It made me wonder if she was hiding a laugh. "Take a hike, Summers. I'm going to teach the kid some real moves, if you don't mind."
He started stalking toward me. I grinned. I was certainly up for teaching Marie by demonstration if he was. We never got a chance to give her that display of hand-to-hand combat. Jean walked in and told Scott he was needed in the briefing room, and I found myself alone in the gym with Marie.
She seemed more than a little uncomfortable for a minute. Her eyes wouldn't meet mine and her gloved hands fidgeted. The moment didn't last. She stepped closer to me, straightening the spandex workout suit she was wearing. "So... you wanna teach me somethin'?"
I moved to meet her on the padded mat. "You need to be able to defend yourself. There's a few easy things I can teach you so that you can."
She took a deep breath and said, "Okay. What's first?"
I showed her some basic strikes that would disable an attacker, vulnerable spots that she could damage even when she was outmatched in weight and strength. Eventually, we moved to more advanced territory. "Let's try a throw."
Her eyebrows flew up and she laughed. "A throw? Logan, there's no way on God's green earth I can throw you!"
"Don't think like that, Kid, or you make yourself a victim. You can fight back against someone who's bigger than you. It's a matter of leverage and using the attacker's momentum against him."
"Right. Okay... show me."
I moved behind her and wrapped my arm around her throat. "If someone comes at you from behind, grab their arm in both hands and push your hip into them like this," I pulled her hip back into me with my free hand to demonstrate. "Pull forward and down on the arm while you twist your hip forward. Okay, you ready to try?"
She muttered something that sounded like an assent, so I backed up a few steps, then approached from behind and wrapped my arm around her throat. She followed my directions damned well for a beginner, and I flew forward to land on my back on the mat. The problem was, I hadn't been explicit enough in my instructions.
I forgot to tell her to let go of my arm.
When I went flying to the ground, Marie quickly followed. She landed sprawled across my chest in a heap. She flipped her hair back over her head, her eyes wide with surprise. "I can't believe that worked."
I couldn't help it. I had to laugh at that shocked expression on her face. "Well, that's not exactly how it was supposed to go, but it was good for a first try."
She laughed too. "Right. I'm supposed to still be standing up."
"Let go of the arm next time," I advised.
"Got it." She laughed again, and that's when it happened. My body and I both noticed something.
Marie had breasts. Very nice ones. And they felt really good rubbing against my chest with her laughter. Too good...
Let's just say that my body reacted accordingly. The part of my mind still capable of thought was relieved that she hadn't fallen in a full body sprawl on top of me. And my body countered that that wouldn't have been a bad thing at all.
"Logan? Is somethin' wrong?" And damn if that soft, breathy drawl didn't do all sorts of things to me that added to the tightening of my body. Heat radiated through my blood from where her chest lay against mine, and... she'd asked me a question that I hadn't responded to yet.
"Nah. I'm fine." But suddenly, I wasn't. My conscience finally pushed itself into the fray of my reawakened hormones and reminded my body exactly who it was that I was lusting after. This was Marie, not some floozy I could tumble and walk away from with no questions asked. The number of ways it was wrong couldn't be listed without using up several reams of paper, and I'm sure if I asked, Scooter could provide those along with a case of number two pencils and a method to categorize each reason by increasing degrees of depravity.
My body told my conscience to go fuck itself. Then Marie (and God, why did she have to go and do that?) took a deep breath and moved her hands across my chest.
I held up my wrist behind her head (praying she didn't notice that I wasn't wearing a watch) and said, "I gotta go. I have... an errand to run." And isn't that the smoothest I could have possibly been? I suppose I could have upped the stupid factor by claiming I needed to rearrange my sock drawer, an excuse that only Summers could give and be believed.
Marie pushed herself off me and I rolled in the opposite direction (for obvious reasons), getting to my feet and managing to keep my back to her as I walked to the door of the gym.
"Logan?"
I looked over my shoulder (turning around was definitely not an option). "Yeah?"
Her lips quirked up on one side and I wondered how I could have failed to notice how sexy that half-smile of hers was. "Thanks... for the lesson, I mean."
"My pleasure." Ugh, nice choice of words, idiot. Her smile widened and I left before my body ignored the categorical list of badness my conscience was enumerating.
I'll come by and see you again
I'll be such a very good friend
Have mercy on my soul
I will never let you know
Where my mind has been
I took Scooter's bike, rode hell for leather into town, found a suitably eager woman, and spent a good long time working out my suddenly rejuvenated libido.
And as I lay next to that nameless woman I'd just screwed the daylights out of, I realized that though my body was satisfied, the whole thing just felt wrong. And I couldn't stop wondering why.
So, I left. Went back to the Mansion, parked the bike in the garage, and smoked a cigar out on the front stoop. I finally gave up trying to philosophize and went to sleep.
The dreams started that night.
They were vague and strange and made no fucking sense. I stood in a place that looked like it was suspended nothingness. It was dark and there was absolutely nothing around me. And then I saw a figure walking toward me out of the blackness. I realized it was Marie, and my dream-self felt a whole rush of emotions that I'd never experienced in my life.
I bolted up in the bed. I have to admit that that dream scared the shit out of me, even more than some of my worst nightmares. It was too damned strange to be real, but it had felt real. I decided that it was my conscience getting back at me for lusting after Marie earlier that night.
I didn't sleep very well after that.
The next day after dinner, I saw Marie headed for her training session with Scooter. I told myself not to notice how well she filled out the spandex suit she was wearing. Yeah, like that was gonna happen. Her hair was up in a ponytail and she was gripping the ends of a towel around her neck. "Hey Logan."
"Hey yourself. Is Cyke givin' you another dance lesson tonight?"
She thwapped me with the end of her towel and laughed. "Stop it, Logan. Scott's been helping me a lot."
"Uh-huh. I'm sure you're wrists are very flexible thanks to the One-eyed-wonder. Why don't you let me teach you some more useful stuff after he's done with you?" And yes, my next thought was to wonder if I'd completely lost my fucking mind. After the previous night, volunteering to be in close proximity to a sweaty, spandex-covered Marie was not the most rational thing I'd ever done. Fuck.
"Umm..." And I honestly couldn't tell you if I was more fearing that she'd say yes or hoping for it. "Sure."
Decision time had passed, and my conscience didn't at all like the hooting cheer that my hormones gave out. "When will you be done with Scooter?"
"About an hour. And Logan, you might get along with him better if you called him Scott."
I snorted. Yeah, getting along with Scooter is on my top ten list of things to do the day that hell freezes over.
I watched her walk away, fixated on the unstudied, sensual sway of her backside. My conscience screamed bloody murder, and my sex drive told it to shut the fuck up. It was then I realized that I hadn't lost my mind.
I was just a completely hopeless masochist.
After our session that night, I was horny as hell again. I headed into town for another round of fuck-the-nameless, but not before I asked Marie if she wanted to keep a regular schedule of training and she said yes.
Masochism at its finest, folks.
And the dreams kept on coming. You would think that they would've been X-rated, given my hormonal response to her during the waking hours, but they weren't. At first, they were just flashes of images. Marie touching my face and smiling at me like I was the most important person in the world. Me stroking her hair and holding her in my arms. And during all of them, the sensations flowing through me were tender and possessive at the same time.
The possessive feelings spilled over into the daylight hours when I found out that Marie had agreed to go on a date with the Russian kid. She told me herself when we were training one night, and I had to restrain the urge to pop my claws and go threaten the kid within an inch of his life. Not that I had anything personal against him. Hell, all I knew about him was what Marie had told me -that his "gift" was to armor plate himself in metal and that he liked to draw. So I forced a smile, told Marie I hoped that she had a good time, and cut the session short.
I didn't go into town that night.
I kept up the pattern for the next few weeks: Work out with Marie, go into town, have a disturbingly ambiguous dream at night. Then two things happened.
I realized that when I went looking for a woman to fuck, I was inevitably choosing one that reminded me of Marie. This one had a similar figure, that one had wide brown eyes, another had her smile. One I picked because she was wearing leather gloves, and I asked her to leave them on. The feel of those small, leather-clad hands raking over my body made me wild.
My conscience had a field day with that little epiphany.
The other thing that happened was a change in the dreams. They became clearer, the details more discernable. I heard Marie talking to me in them. She was telling silly stories, asking me questions about my life, and I heard myself answering her.
Then came the dream where she was telling me to get better, to hold on, to believe that she was strong enough. And I was telling her that she had to let go, that it had to end.
I woke up breathing hard, my heart pounding like I'd run a fucking marathon, because it suddenly made sense.
The dreams were memories.
I have crept into your temple; I have slept upon your pew
I have dreamed of the divinity inside and out of you
I want it more than truth; I can taste it on my breath
I would give my life just for a little... a little death
I went to see Xavier first thing in the morning. I told him about the dreams and asked him what he knew. He tried to put me off until I said that I thought the dreams were memories, and he sighed and told me that they were. I had to push him to get details. The Professor started cautiously explaining what had happened while I was in that coma, how Marie had saved me and nearly died because of it. He'd barely gotten started, but I didn't need to hear any more.
The second he started talking everything came back to me.
My immediate impulse was to go and tell Marie what had happened. That I remembered her and everything she'd done and that I loved her. I interrupted Chuck, told him that I had to do something and went looking for Marie.
I exited Xavier's office and looked down the hallway. A door opened and students started filling the hall. Then I saw her. I thought I'd forgotten how to breathe for a minute. My chest tightened as I took a step toward her.
And then I noticed the Russian kid. Marie had her hand wrapped around his arm and was smiling up at him. She was laughing at a joke he'd made.
And damn... she looked happy.
So, I went off to think. I thought about how she'd told me she loved me right before I'd broken our connection. I started to believe that she didn't mean it the way I'd thought he had, or else, she'd confused caring and gratitude for love. It was a definite possibility, given the fact that she was dating the Ruskie and looked for all the world to be a normal, happy teenager. If she'd really loved me, wouldn't she find it impossible to act like nothing was wrong when we were together? Wouldn't it have been too difficult to be friends with someone you loved that didn't remember you? I didn't think there was any possible way that she could feel the same way about me as I suddenly remembered feeling about her.
Then the question was, what the fuck should I do? Telling Marie how I felt was out of the question. She'd obviously moved on with her life, so shackling her with my emotional baggage wouldn't be right. I decided not to tell her anything, let her go on thinking I didn't remember.
It wasn't easy to make that decision. If it had just been a matter of disapproval from Scooter and the gang, I would have said fuck it and done what I wanted. I've never been one to let what other people think stop me from getting what I want. And if I believed that Marie returned my feelings, there's no way that the age difference would have gotten in my way either. First of all, even I don't have the first damned clue exactly how old I am, so age is pretty much irrelevant. Given the two people involved, Marie would be the one with more memories of life experiences in the relationship anyway. And like I said before, morality has never meant dick as far as I'm concerned, so that wouldn't have been an issue.
What did matter was Marie. She was happy, and I wasn't going to fuck with that no matter how much I wanted to. Amazingly enough, I discovered that I'm just not that selfish.
I went back to Chuck's office and told him that I didn't want anyone to know I'd gotten my memory back. He counseled me against it, but when he saw that my mind was made up, he said that he'd respect my wishes.
Everything went on as it had been. I spent as much time with Marie as I could. I pretended that everything was fine and nothing had changed (and I'm a much better actor than I ever imagined I could be). I got my jollies by ticking off Scooter and fighting him in the gym. Everything was status quo.
Well, not everything.
I thought that I'd wanted Marie before, but what I felt then was nothing compared to how I craved her after I got my memory back. It was a constant physical and emotional ache. Everything about her called to me, and resisting the temptation was damned near impossible. I fantasized about touching her, coming up with a wide variety of methods to get around that untouchable skin. I had her in my imagination a thousand different ways. Whether it was making her scream my name or just having her smile at me like I was her entire world again, it all boiled down to one thing. In my dreams, Marie was mine.
Our nightly workout became a grueling test of my self-control. I struggled to stay focused on teaching Marie and not letting my hands wander over those curves that haunted me. I was careful, but it turns out that I wasn't careful enough.
Just last week, I got caught by the worst possible person.
Marie and I were training, and I ended up with her in a hold. I made her explain her mistake to me, same as always. But while I honestly tried to listen to her, I was more focused on the fit of her body against mine. I smelled her lilac scented shampoo when I spoke in her ear. She was breathing heavily as she talked, and her panting voice sounded so much like it did in my fantasies that what she was saying didn't completely register.
I was holding on to my control by a thread. The thread snapped when Marie stopped talking and I heard her breath catch. For an instant, I wondered if I'd done something to give myself away. Then all thought was obliterated when Marie's head fell back against my shoulder. Her neck was so seductively close to my lips, her hair falling across it would make a safe barrier. So tempting... so close... I felt myself drifting forward...
And then I realized we weren't alone. I'd been so caught up in Marie that I hadn't taken notice of the other presence my senses had automatically perceived.
Summers strolled in like he hadn't been standing there watching us. The second he asked Marie to leave, I just knew the lecture was coming. I found the whole thing slightly amusing. If Cyke thought he could boss me around like one of his teenage students, he had another think coming.
I didn't find it at all funny once he started talking. Summers was more observant than I'd given him credit for. Too fucking observant. And I'll admit that I was shocked by the fact that he didn't lecture me. One-eye actually got all Oprah on me and asked about my feelings. Could'a knocked me over with a feather there for a second. I sure as hell didn't know why he'd care, let alone where he got the balls to ask in the first place. But I wasn't about to tell him shit or let him think he could go around asking those uncomfortable questions whenever he felt like it. So I threatened him and took off.
I decided that Scooter could go fuck himself. I wasn't about to change my ways just because he was watching me like I was a time bomb about to explode. If my own instincts for self-preservation couldn't keep me away from Marie, One-eye certainly couldn't. I'd show him that Marie didn't need to be protected from me...
But just a few days ago, I damn near screwed the whole thing up royally.
I saw her in the courtyard sitting on a blanket alone eating her lunch. I went over and sat down, asked her what was wrong. She just stared at me, then shook her head and said she didn't want to talk about it. She stood up and so did I.
She was walking away from me, upset about something that she refused to explain. It really got to me. And that's when I said it. "Hey, come on. Wait a minute, Marie!"
She spun around so fast, I thought her neck was going to snap. Her eyes were wide with so many emotions that I couldn't decipher any of them. "What... what did you call me?"
It was the quiet, trembling whisper that made me realize what I'd done. I cursed myself for an idiot. I hadn't called her Marie since I woke up. Slip-ups like that were the fastest way to get me in a shit-load of trouble. I did my best to cover. "I called you Marie. It's your name, right?"
She blinked a couple of times, then her eyes changed. All the emotions that had been churning there disappeared. "You... I'm sorry... You're right... it's just that... no one's called me that name in a long time."
She walked away. I didn't follow. And suddenly, the urge to run hit me again.
So why don't I run? That stupid honor thing won't let me go. It's two promises I made -- one to protect and one to stay. It's damned near killed me to do both. If I run, I break my promise to Marie that I was in for the long haul. If I stay, I don't know how I'm going to keep the promise to protect her. I'm not worried about making sure she's safe from the dangers of any anti-mutant group or the next Magneto wannabe. Just let anyone come within fifty feet of her with threatening intentions. I'll gut 'em like a trout before you can say fish fry.
None of that is the real danger. The thing jeopardizing Marie's happiness lies in my weakening restraint where she's concerned. It's getting harder every day to see her without touching her, to talk to her without telling her how I feel. But I'll keep my mouth shut until I can figure out a way to tell her I remember what happened without knowing that it will wreck her life. Because I've finally found something that matters more than what I want.
What's best for Marie is all that counts.
I'll come by and see you again
And I'll have to be a very good friend
If I whisper, they will know
I will just turn around and go
You will never know my... sin
End Note: The song lyrics are from "Angels Would Fall" by Melissa Etheridge.
The Wolverine & Rogue Fanfiction Archive
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Author's Chapter Notes:
For those not versed in any comic cannon, Peter (Piotr) Rasputin (aka Colossus) makes an appearance here for a variety of reasons, mostly because tall, muscular, dark-haired guys with Russian accents are sexy as hell. If you want more info, you can check his bio at Mutatis Mutandis (http://members.nbci.com/_XMCM/charleyx/colossus.html)
Dedication: To victoria, for bravely volunteering to beta this monstrosity and for her inspirational, excellent writing. To Kari Jo, for constant support and betaing. And to everyone who kept asking me for the next part. This was a case where the prodding was much needed and (as always) appreciated.
Dedication: To victoria, for bravely volunteering to beta this monstrosity and for her inspirational, excellent writing. To Kari Jo, for constant support and betaing. And to everyone who kept asking me for the next part. This was a case where the prodding was much needed and (as always) appreciated.