Although Rogue knew later that there were other signs, she first started to wonder if something was wrong when she noticed the flowerbeds.
The flowerbeds at the back of the school needed to be weeded and yet they weren't. Among the gladiolas, drooping because they had nothing to support them, and the pansies, and the multitude of other flowers grew tall blades of grass and flowers that looked like flowers but supposedly weren't. Kitty told her this--"Those aren't flowers, silly. They're weeds."-- and Rogue believed her. Her mother had not been one for gardening and so Rogue's knowledge of flowerbeds was strictly confined to long-ago glimpses and admonitions of "Be careful!" from friends' mothers.
Kitty told her about the flowerbeds, but didn't seem concerned with fixing them. "It's Scott's thing," she said. "He's the one that always tells everyone what to pull and what to plant. He likes doing it. I'm glad he hasn't said anything 'cause I'm not six anymore and spending all day in the dirt is no fun. You know?"
Rogue nodded--not because she did understood; making things grow didn't seem repugnant to her, it seemed soothing--but because Scott's bossing and nagging and obsessive love for the school did tend to wear thin. He saw the school as more than his home, he saw it as paradise, as a gift to the world. Rogue saw it as four walls-- albeit well-made ones-- nice furniture, and labels. Here be mutants. She didn't think she had a home anymore, not really, but that thought didn't hurt like it once had.
It was freeing, in a way. No home meant nothing binding her, no roots to weigh her down. She was free to travel, to leave, to go off with whomever she wished.
Logan wasn't interested in leaving, however. Or at least in leaving with her.
And that was the whole problem.
He'd come back almost four months ago.
He'd come back unannounced and there was no one to greet him, which he seemed fine with. He showed up at dinner and she'd looked up from her contemplation of a chicken salad sandwich to see him walking across the dining room, a plate in his hands.
She smiled and he smiled back. He walked over to her, sat down, and talked to her. He didn't call her "kid." He didn't ask for his dog tags back. He smiled a few times.
She floated with happiness because of those things for weeks.
Logan was as quiet and as noisy as he'd always been--for a man of few words he somehow always managed to stomp around just loudly enough for everyone to know he was coming--and she was glad he hadn't changed. He told her about Canada, gave her a postcard he'd bought for her in Alaska. She stared at the picture of snow and mountains and hoped that it meant something. Hoped that he'd thought of her.
He would find her as she was walking down the halls and talk to her. He told her about driving across Vermont, about getting stuck in a snowstorm in Maine. He told her about frozen lakes in Canada, and about driving for a day without seeing anyone in North Dakota.
He even told her about Lake Alkali and described the land around the military base. "Frozen" he'd said. "And cold. It was like no one had ever been there. I looked around and I thought...."His voice trailed off and he'd changed the subject.
He didn't tell her what he'd found.
And after a while, she realized that he only ever talked about what the land looked like or how the weather was or any of a hundred impersonal things. She realized that he only ever talked about what he saw.
Never about what he found.
Never about himself.
After a while, she began to notice that she wasn't his focus at all.
Two days after she noticed the flowerbeds, she saw the tile.
The tiles themselves are pretty small. They are brown and glazed and they line the main hallways of the school in a pattern. Once, when Rogue was desperate to escape the school and stuck waiting outside Xavier's office, she figured it out. Two clockwise swirls, one counterclockwise swirl. It seemed like Scott had a thing for the number three. She knew he'd laid all the tiles, though no one ever told her so. She just knew it. It seemed like something he would do.
Three months and twenty-six days after Logan returned, she noticed that one of the tiles was chipped.
That day her foot caught on something as she walked towards the dining room and she looked down in confusion. A tile had split and a piece was missing. Her foot slid into the groove created by the crack. She pulled herself free and asked Jubilee about it.
"What?" Jubilee had said. "A broken tile? Rogue, you've got too much time on your hands, girl. You need to go to back to college or take classes or something. You could live with Kitty and me. It'd be fun."
She'd shaken her head impatiently. "Jubes, no lecture, 'kay? Not now. I just noticed that a tile was broken. I mean, nothing's ever broken around here. It's just the way things are. I thought maybe you'd know..."
And Jubilee had shrugged. Her shoulders, narrow and lean, gave nothing away. But the darkening of her gaze did and Rogue's heart sank. "Scott usually fixes all that stuff." Jubilee said. "He's anal that way--god, remember the time that someone scuffed up the floor in the rec room and he just about shit himself? I guess he hasn't seen the tile yet. He's been looking more uptight than usual lately, haven't you noticed that?" She giggled and Rogue fought down the sudden and ungenerous impulse to slap Jubilee for being so happy. For being so damn almost normal that it made Rogue ache with jealously.
She looked across the dining hall and watched Jean for a moment. Jean. Mature, logical, beautiful Jean. Everyone loved her.
Jean and Scott were sitting together, heads bent towards one another as if they were sharing secrets. But neither one of them was talking and Jean wasn't looking at Scott at all, though he was staring at her. She was watching someone who was walking with Storm. Arguing with Storm, actually.
She was watching Logan.
Three months and twenty-six days after Logan came back, Rogue found herself wondering if his return was such a good thing after all. Because everyone loved Jean, you see.
But until then Jean had only loved Scott back.
Rogue had only been back at the school for six months herself when Logan returned. Her homecoming had been a strange mixture of pity and party. Xavier was glad to have her back, or at least he said he was, and she was grateful for that.
Back when Logan first left, she assumed that she'd be happy at the school for the rest of her life. Compared to what had happened to her at Magneto's hands...the school did seem almost like paradise. And it was safe. After everything first happened, she needed safety.
But safety got numbing after a while. Once she started to feel more like herself, once she managed to sort through Erik's and Logan's and even what was left of David's thoughts inside her mind, she started to realize that maybe she wasn't happy.
That maybe she was tired of being accepted for what she was. That maybe, just maybe, she was selfish enough--human enough--to want to be accepted for who she was.
Xavier tried to talk to her about it, of course. He probably knew how she felt before she did although he was careful not to intrude on anyone's privacy. But Rogue knew she wasn't quite fitting in.
During training classes--they all went to learn how their "gifts" were a blessing and not a curse--she sat in a corner and smirked at Ororo's earnest attempts to try to teach everyone how to control their powers. She watched Bobby learn to control his, she watched Jubilee learn to control hers, she watched everyone come to terms with what they could do. Everyone but her, that is. She just sat and watched.
Jean told them all how scared she was when she first realized that she was a mutant and then she talked about how changed and fulfilled she felt when she discovered that she could work to help others. Rogue wanted to stand up and scream when Jean did that. But she didn't.
Instead she wondered how her mutation could ever be called a gift or a blessing. She had to hide from the world--she had to bury herself in layers of clothing. She could never ever touch anyone, and inside her head were memories and thoughts that weren't hers, that she didn't ask for. She wanted to grab everyone in the room and see how grateful they were when they got a taste of her "gift."
So she smirked in class, but she never spoke and she wrote essays on how having powers made her a better person. Stronger. Wiser. More understanding. Jean gave her As on her essays and worried smiles. Ororo talked about her life in Africa, and how afraid she was before Xavier found her. Xavier talked to her and asked her questions and told her that maybe one day she would be able to control her powers, that there was always hope. She hated him for knowing the one thing she was ashamed to wish for and yet did anyway--an out, a reprieve, a time-out from what she was.
In the end, the compassion and the understanding that everyone showed her wasn't what she needed at all. She only felt trapped and miserable and guilty and angry.
So she waited outside Xavier's office one afternoon after she'd been at the school around a year, staring idly at the tiles till John (John was always getting in trouble for practical jokes. As far as Rogue could tell, he was the only person in the school with a sense of humor. She had a crush on him for a few weeks, till she heard him refer to her as "The Mummy"--he didn't mean to be cruel, but the extra reminder that she was there because of what she was...she couldn't take it, and stayed away from him after that) came out of the office. She went inside.
"I want to leave," she told Xavier.
He raised an eyebrow and moved his wheelchair around the desk. "Leave?" he replied, and she fought for the hard won control she'd earned. Down, she told Logan's snarling memories of authority figures. Xavier isn't like that. Down, she told Erik's bitter recollections. There's no betrayal here. I don't love him, I didn't love him. You did, you do. He hasn't hurt me.
"Yes. I want to go to college and I can go now."
Xavier regarded her for a moment. She could feel the nimble fingers of his mind whisking across hers and she let him see what he needed without fighting him. The results of her GED test. The letter from the college offering her provisional acceptance. The fact that her trip to New York four months ago had been for an audition, not to go shopping for clothes.
"I didn't know you could play the piano," he said. He sounded genuinely startled and Rogue smiled at that.
"You never asked. So can I go?"
He smiled back and her mind was her own again. "Of course" he said easily. "I want you to be happy Rogue. You know that, don't you? This place is not meant to be a prison."
"I know" she said sourly and hated herself a little for being petty. Xavier was a nice man, and the school was a nice place. The fault lay in her and the fact that she wanted something other than a life based on her powers. Maybe it wasn't too much to ask for.
But at the school it felt like it was.
She was in New York City for two years, studying piano at the Manhattan School of Music.
She'd played the piano all her life--her mother had played, and some of her earliest memories were her mother's hands draped over her own, helping her find the right keys as sound filled the air.
She took lessons and went to music camp and even played the piano at church, amusing herself by speeding up the tempo just slightly sometimes to watch Pastor James skip over words or run them together in an attempt to catch up with the music. She was good at the piano and she knew it. She'd dreamed of traveling around the country, playing in bars and hotels and clubs and with local orchestras.
She let it all go for a while after she found out that she wasn't human anymore. She didn't play at Xavier's school and was afraid she'd forgotten. But desperation to leave, desperation to find something that was hers and hers alone, led her to apply to the university. To go for the audition. To practice on a paper keyboard that she'd made in her room when everyone else was playing X-Men games. And she got in, she got her chance.
She showed up at the university in time for the fall semester, an entering freshman who'd never actually been through the twelfth grade. But she had her GED and provisional acceptance and she had will and it was fierce and strong.
Scott drove her to college. She hadn't wanted anyone to drive her, and if she'd had a choice (which she didn't) she would have asked Jean, who would have fit right in with all the other adults dropping off students. Jean could fit in anywhere, and Rogue admired her for that. But instead of Jean she got Scott whose visor marked him as a mutant more strongly than any of the other X-men.
They drove in silence. She supposed that was the only plus side. Jean would have wanted to worry over Rogue's future with her, or worse, reminisce about the past, and Rogue wasn't willing to do either of those things. She was afraid she might cry if she did. She and Scott only spoke to look for exits.
When they got to the school, Scott helped carry her things (not much, mostly clothes and a computer Xavier had given her) up to her dorm room. He met her roommate, talked to her RA briefly, and then said "Make sure to call Xavier sometimes. He'll worry otherwise" to her as he started to walk down the hallway.
She was a little startled by this goodbye--even though she hadn't wanted to be at Xavier's school at all towards the end of her stay there, she assumed that everyone else wanted her there and was sad to see her go. "That's it?"
He turned to look at her from the doorway of the stairwell. "I don't have to wish you luck," he said, "because I know you'll be fine. You did this all by yourself Rogue, and you should be proud. You've earned a chance to do what you want to do. You deserve to be happy."
He smiled then, seeing the surprise on her face. She'd forgotten that he had dimples and stared at them in bewilderment.
"You can always come back, you know," he said. "The school isn't going anywhere. And besides, I was getting tired of seeing you sleep through my classes." And then he was gone before she could say anything else.
She let out a smothered, watery giggle (Scott with a sense of humor? Who knew?) and found herself at the window, watching him drive away.
Then she went and started her own life.
She was "Marie" in college. Marie from Westchester by way of Mississippi. She didn't say much about her past, learned to take questions and turn them back on themselves. "Well, where I grew up wasn't all that interesting. But you--didn't you say you grew up here, in the city? Wow, what was that like?"
She found, to her surprise, that humans weren't as scary as she remembered them being. There was occasional discussion on mutants, but most of it was surprisingly mild and a few of the students didn't seem bothered by mutants at all. ("The world changes" was her roommate's comment on the whole thing when Rogue finally broke down and explained why she wore gloves even when she sleeping. "And besides, you've got that cool streak thing going on with your hair Marie. Almost makes me wish I was mutated.")
Marie went to classes and practiced the piano and made friends. She went to parties, learned how to crash parties at nearby Columbia University (wear a low-cut shirt), and started to understand New York's subway system. She learned what injera bread was, discovered that Cuban-Chinese restaurants did exist and were pretty good places to eat at, and found out that she wouldn't spontaneously combust if she wore the same pair of jeans a couple of days in a row.
She went to movies and to plays and to people's apartments. She gossiped and went shopping and got her hair cut short and then grew it out again. She once organized a party for all the students who stayed on campus during Fall Break. She kept a pair of dog tags in her closet, slung over a hanger back behind her extra pairs of gloves.
She talked to Xavier every month and always told him she was fine. She got a job dog sitting for an elderly couple that lived on the Upper West Side in an apartment that had a view of the Hudson. The dog liked her and didn't care that she always wore gloves. The couple brought her back souvenirs from their travels and gave her their guidebooks when they were done with them. She read about China and Kenya and England and Denmark and dreamed of one day traveling the world. She could think about who she used to be and it didn't hurt like it once had.
She touched people. She always kept her gloves on, and always kept her skin covered. But she gave hugs and got them and had her first orgasm sixteen months after she came to Manhattan, in an elevator in an apartment building just off the Columbia University campus. Eddie was in the elevator with her and he had strong hands and long fingers. He missed his girlfriend back home and said that what he and Rogue did wasn't really cheating so it was ok. He never asked why she was always covered from head to toe. He didn't really care.
She let him touch her a few times because she liked being touched but still slowly drifted away from him. She was free to not return his calls, to pretend she didn't see him at parties. She'd never had the freedom or the chance to do that before. She went for coffee with boys in her classes sometimes and even went on dates once in a while. She'd never had the chance to do that either.
She fit in just fine in Manhattan. She didn't stand out because she wore gloves or had white in her hair. She was just one of millions of other people. She tried her hand at writing music of her own and one of her pieces got picked up by a master's student, who played it during his end-of-semester recital. They spent weeks together working out the arrangement, figuring out how to layer the sounds so they'd come out clear and true. He asked her out after the recital, his face flushed with exhilaration and happiness at what they'd created together. Her music, their music, was still echoing in her ears and she said, "Yes."
His name was Tim and he was from Maine. They went out to get pizza and she had a couple of beers because the place didn't card. He'd grown up in a town that had only twenty-five people and he told her she was the first girl he'd ever met that he felt comfortable talking to. She told him a little about Meridian and her parents and realized how much of a normal life she didn't have because she hadn't told anyone about Meridian since Logan.
Tim wanted to kiss her at the end of the night. He didn't know she was a mutant, though she didn't really keep it a secret. He just hadn't asked. It was December and she was a sophomore in college and when he touched her face nothing happened because he had gloves on.
She wanted him to kiss her. It was the first time she'd wanted that from anyone other than Logan and she watched Tim's face descend towards her with a combination of desire and fear.
His mouth met hers and there were a few wonderful moments. But it lasted too long, he didn't know what she was and he got trapped by her "gift." His breath rushed into her, his mind rushed into hers, his body started to shut down. She pushed him away, watched him stagger back and fall down on the floor. She tried to help him up and he hesitated before he put his hand in hers. But he did and when he stood up he said, "My god, you're not human"
"No" she said. "I'm not."
"I really liked you," he said. "I really liked you and you never told me. You didn't trust me. Why?"
There was no hatred or fear in his voice. There was just confusion and sadness and somehow the knowledge that she'd hurt him not for what she was, but for something less tangible--maybe because of who she was-- hurt worse than anything she'd ever done.
She couldn't answer his question, and after a few moments he left. She watched him walk down the street, his hands in his pockets, his shoulders hunched over liked he'd been beaten.
She went back to Westchester the next day.
Just because she wanted to be human...it didn't mean she was. It didn't mean she would be. She just couldn't risk hurting anyone--it was too much of a risk to let anyone in.
That's what she told herself, anyway.
And then, six months after she returned to Westchester, Logan came back. She hadn't expected him to come back--during her time in New York she'd carefully wound all the strands of her memories of him together and pushed them away because she knew she'd never move on if she didn't. And though she hadn't managed to forget him, she was able to go weeks without thinking about him.
But the minute she saw him she was sixteen again and her life became wrapped around the moments he gave her. When he got back her world expanded somehow, became a little brighter. She had something to look forward to every day beyond her usual routine of classes, more classes, and then sleep. She was teaching music at the school--somehow a piano had turned up a few weeks after she'd gotten back and Xavier mentioned that a few of the students had expressed an interest in learning how to play--and she found that she was pretty good at teaching.
She'd thought she'd found a sort of contentment with her life but once Logan came back she realized that it was more like she was asleep. That she was just coasting through life, making sure not to feel anything too strongly. She told herself that it was all about Logan, that she'd just been waiting for him to come back and couldn't face it before. Sometimes at night when she would try to imagine exactly where he'd been and what he'd been doing she'd wonder why building her whole life around him felt so easy, so safe. Sometimes she would remember Tim's face and the sense of horror and fear she felt when she realized that he might care for her even though he knew what she was. It was easy to turn her thoughts back to Logan then and she did.
Logan had a way about him, a kind of energy that filled the air around him-- and being with him was exhausting and exhilarating at the same time. He didn't live his life quietly and Rogue learned that living at the school could be more than the routine she'd made for herself. Logan didn't think anything of coming into her classes and telling her students to take off. He'd grin at her when she got exasperated at him and say "What? It's a nice day. No one should be stuck inside. Come on, let's get out of here."--and she always went with him. He didn't think anything of standing up during one of Xavier's talks and announcing that he was bored and that he was leaving.
And he spent time with her. They talked; they walked around the school grounds together. They watched tv together and sometimes played pool, which Logan was very good at. They even went into town a couple of times; Logan didn't care for the food at the school-- he called it "crap" and liked to eat at Westchester's one steakhouse. He was so aggressively confident that she felt like a little of his glow wore off on her when they were together.
There were moments where a strange kind of tension would build between them. There were moments when he would look at her and she would feel her breath catch. Once they were outside, just walking around on the school grounds, and he stopped. She stopped too and looked back at him and he gave her one of his rare, gentle smiles and smoothed her hair back over her forehead. He'd done things like when she was sixteen and they had always her insides shake. That day she felt that same quickening inside her again.
His eyes were different that day. Back when she was sixteen his eyes had been soft and kind when he touched her and she'd known he wanted to reassure her, to make her feel safe. But now his eyes were darker and hotter and he looked at her as if he really saw her; as if he knew she wasn't that sixteen-year-old girl anymore. As if maybe he might want something more from her than friendship.
Moments like that left her feeling lost. She'd wanted him to come back; she wanted him in her life. She loved him. She knew she did. And when she thought of touching anyone, it was always Logan's face she pictured. But when he did--when it seemed like things finally might change between them--she didn't know what to do. She wanted him but every time she went to lean in towards him, to try to touch him, to even tell him how she really felt---she couldn't.
A million expressions crossed his eyes when he looked at her sometimes, and she could never read them all. Sometimes she thought he looked as scared as she did, and sometimes, when she stood frozen by one of his almost touches, she thought she saw a look of what almost looked like relief cross his face.
But they were little things--just moments, just seconds--and she was never quite sure what she saw. It was easy not to worry about them.
There were other moments that gave her pause but they seemed so small. So insignificant.
Walking down the hall with Logan and watching his head turn just slightly as Jean walked by. Sitting with Logan in the rec room, watching tv and trying not to smirk as Scott came in the room and the two of them glared at each other. She thought it was funny that only Logan could make Scott mad.
Sitting in the dining room, telling Logan about her day. Watching Jean walk by and seeing her face flush as Logan met her eyes with the kind of stare Rogue had thought was only meant for her.
Finishing up with her last student a little early and walking down the hall, hoping to see Logan. Seeing him come out of Xavier's office with Ororo and hearing him tell her, "I'm not trying to hurt anyone. And you can tell Junior that if I want to talk to someone, I will. I don't need his permission."
Going down to the medlab to get a bandage for Sammy, who'd managed to sprain his ankle running down the hall outside her room and seeing Jean inside, her face flushed. And seeing Logan with her, watching a look of shock and almost shame sweep across his eyes for a moment.
Watching Scott watch Jean walk down the hall and saying to Logan "Gosh, he looks even more uptight than usual. Wonder what his problem is?" And having Logan turn to her and say "What? Sorry, kid. I wasn't listening."
She told herself that the "kid" didn't mean anything. That all those little moments didn't mean anything. That he was focused on her when he was with her, that she was just being too sensitive. But three months and twenty-six days after Logan came back, she found out that the flowerbeds and the tile and every other thing that she'd seen, wondered about, and then disregarded, added up to something that wasn't little at all.
She'd practiced the piano that night and had gotten totally caught up in it. When she finally stopped playing, because her hands had begun to cramp up, she looked at her watch and realized with a start that it was almost one.
She'd muttered a few Logan-ish words to herself because she had an eight o'clock lesson in the morning and stood up from the piano, grabbing her sheet music. As she did, her left hand caught the lid and it fell down, landing on her right hand.
She muttered a few more Logan-ish words then and yanked her hand free. It wasn't broken or anything and she was sure that it would be ok. But at that moment, it hurt like hell.
She walked over to the medlab to grab one of those insta-ice packs that Jean kept on hand. The lights were on in the lab but she didn't think anything of it--when Jean was working on something important, she could stay up for days, till Scott finally convinced her to get some rest.
She started to go into the main part of the lab and then remembered that Jean kept the ice packs upstairs in her office. She sighed and went upstairs.
Jean's office was never locked, because she left it open so she could run and fetch files when she needed them. Rogue went inside and walked through the room with all of Jean's files, headed towards the cabinet where all the first aid supplies were kept. She noticed that a light was also on in Jean's main office even though the door was mostly closed. That was strange. Scott was always "reminding" (nagging) everyone to turn the lights off when they left a room and she figured that Jean surely wouldn't leave them on if she wasn't in the room. But she was tired and her hand hurt and she didn't care all that much--Scott was Jean's problem, not hers.
She opened the cabinet and grabbed a pack, twisted it, and put it on her hand. After a few seconds, her hand was blissfully numb. She let out a little sigh of contentment and then froze.
There was noise coming from Jean's office. Loud, crashing noise. She walked over to the door and pushed it gently, watched it swing open a little more. The noise had stopped but Rogue thought she could hear someone breathing.
She leaned in closer to the open space of the door. And then she heard something else.
Jean's voice. Soft. "Logan, I just...I don't..."
Logan's voice. "Jeannie, please...."
Rogue felt the numbness in her hand travel up her arm and into her body. Jeannie?
Jean's voice again. A little louder. "I love Scott. And you...if I looked inside your mind, what would I find?"
"Why don't you find out?"
A little gasp. "Logan, let go of my hands."
A noise, like a whisper. Or a kiss.
A little whimper.
The sounds got softer.
Rogue heard a tremendous crash and she pushed the door open all the way.
Scott was in Jean's office. His visor was lying on the desk. He was standing next to a bookcase that had been pushed over, its contents spilled out onto the floor. His eyes were closed. There were tears running down his face and the office was silent again.
Then Jean's voice spoke again. "Logan..." Wonder in those syllables, in that name.
Rogue looked at the desk. The intercom that Jean used to call down to the medlab was on. Jean had probably been monitoring lab activity earlier and forgotten to turn it off. Why?
Jean and Logan were down in the lab.
Jean was with Logan.
The last bookcase in the room fell to the floor--she heard the crash--and she watched as Scott looked up at all the books raining down around him. Only he didn't see anything because his eyes were still closed.
She didn't say anything. After a moment, Scott walked over to the desk and turned the intercom off. He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes and then he moved away from the desk. He walked over to a bookcase and picked it up, placed it back against the wall.
He started putting books back on it. He seemed to know where each one went. Rogue felt her stomach knot up at the sight and suddenly her hand and her arm were throbbing and she bit her lip so she wouldn't cry.
Scott turned towards her. "Help or get out" he said and his tone was colder than Logan's on his worst day.
She turned and walked out of Jean's office and went back to her own room. She waited to cry but no tears ever came. She just lay in bed, the cold pack wrapped around her hand, thinking of the longing in Logan's voice and the want in Jean's.
Thinking of Scott's face, of the way he destroyed Jean's office and then put it all back together again.
She woke up three months and twenty-seven days after Logan got back with a warm cold pack wedged under her ear and a splitting headache. She got up and got dressed-- long sleeves, long pants, gloves, and scarf--sometimes she felt like the mummy John had joked about her being a long time ago--and went to teach her first student.
Kathleen, who'd just started piano a few weeks ago, was waiting in the hall for her. She was obviously tired and crabby and Rogue felt her heart sink more. "What's wrong?" she asked. She waited to hear the reply. Jean had left the school with Logan. Scott had gone off after them. The Professor was frightened and furious and everyone was upset.
"I hate this damn school," Kathleen said, and her voice was thick with rage. "I've been stuck working in the kitchen every day for the past two weeks because Scott hasn't gotten around to redoing the student work schedule. And today, when a bunch of us went to talk to him about it, he and Jean said they were sorry but that we'd have to wait till the end of the week. It's not fair--I hate getting up at five to work in the dining room during breakfast."
"What? Scott and Jean said that? This morning?"
"Yeah. And then they told us to go to class. Oh, and I ran into that hairy guy you're always talking to. He asked me if I'd seen you. I told him I would see you at my lesson and he said to tell you to meet him for lunch today."
Rogue nodded absently, amazed that nothing seemed to have happened, wondering if maybe she'd dreamed the whole thing--after all, Logan was going to meet her for lunch, like he did almost every day-- and Kathleen started to play her scales, appeased by the fact that she'd managed to vent her frustration.
Somehow Rogue made it through the rest of her morning and went to lunch. Logan was outside the dining room waiting for her. "Hey" he said. His eyes didn't meet hers. Instead he seemed to be focusing on the wall by her head--and then she knew that last night wasn't a bad dream.
Hey, she wanted to say. Hey, why don't you tell me what is going on? Hey, why don't you tell me what the hell you are doing with Jean? Hey, don't you know that I love you and that my heart is breaking? Hey, don't you know that I still have those dog tags you gave me and I thought they meant something? Instead she just said "Hey."
She couldn't bring herself to say anything else.
They ate lunch. Logan was maybe a little quieter than usual. But otherwise he was exactly the same--he didn't look any different, he didn't sit differently, he--she wanted him to say something, anything--and he didn't. She ate her soup without tasting it and wondered if she'd ever known him at all or if she'd only wanted to so badly that she convinced herself that she did.
Jean and Scott came into the room. Logan didn't look at either of them but she watched his hands twitch as he rested them by his plate. She wanted to pick them up and hold them and tell him that everything would be ok. She wanted to scream at him for touching Jean. She wanted to tell him she loved him.
She didn't do any of those things. She just looked into her bowl, carefully pushing her spoon around. "Last night..." she started.
Logan's eyes met hers. His were the most unguarded she'd ever seen them--the expression in them was almost pleading. It was almost like he wanted her to tell him she knew.
What would happen if she did? Would Logan tell her he loved Jean? Or would he say something else? She swirled her spoon around her bowl again, wondering what would be worse. Wondering why she thought something could be worse than Logan telling her he loved Jean.
"I ended up practicing till really late" she finished. "I'm really tired today. Sorry if I'm out of it."
And the moment was gone. Logan's eyes dropped away from hers and she let out a little sigh of what she was ashamed to realize was relief.
"I've got to get back," she told him. "I've got a lot of students today."
He nodded and told her he'd see her later.
She had to pass Jean and Scott as she left the room. She thought she'd feel hatred, pure and soul-deep, as she passed Jean. But she never even looked at Jean. Instead she noticed her own reflection, blank and almost serene, as it stared back at her from the glass panels of the door when she pushed it open.
It frightened her, to see the lack of emotion on her face. She wondered what Logan could possibly see when he looked at her and wasn't sure she wanted to know the answer.
That night she sat in her room, pretended to read a book. She avoided any place where Logan could usually be found, skipped dinner, and kept her door closed. It was easy and painful at the same time and as she pretended to read she watched her clock move forward slowly. Very slowly.
At nine, she wondered what Logan was doing. At ten, she wondered what Jean was doing. At eleven, she wondered why Xavier hadn't done anything about the entire situation. At midnight, she wondered if Logan and Jean were together, remembered hearing his voice saying Jean's name. No worse than that--a nickname. Something only he called her, something that only he and Jean shared.
She got up and wandered down to the first floor of the school. Then she went down to the lower level and walked to Jean's office. It was like pulling a bandage off--she didn't want to do it, she knew it would hurt like hell to do it--and yet she had to do it anyway.
There was a light on inside. She took a deep breath and went in, pushed the door open.
"Hi."
For a moment, she thought it was Logan and her first instinct was to run. She couldn't believe it--but there she was, actually poised to turn and sprint away from him-- and she just stood there for a moment wondering what was wrong with her.
"Rogue?"
But it wasn't Logan, it was Scott.
She stood in doorway for a second. "You can come in," he said. "And don't worry, I'm not going to knock over any bookcases."
He was sitting at Jean's desk and she noticed he was straightening it--putting clumps of Post-It notes into little piles, pushing her paperclips together and into a little tin, putting all her pens on one side of the desk. It was vintage Scott and she smiled despite herself.
He looked at her. "Yeah, I know. Sad, huh?" After a moment, he added, almost hesitantly, "I'm sorry I hollered at you last night."
She swallowed, her throat suddenly dry and walked into the room a little bit. Now that she was finally presented with an opportunity to really talk about what was bothering her, she wasn't so sure she wanted to. "It's ok. You were upset. I was....I was surprised too. What did Jean say when you asked her about everything? Are you two...you know, okay now?"
He looked away from her. "I don't know. I haven't talked to her about it. She just told me she was going out for a while and that she'd be back later. Logan isn't here either, so I assume she's with him."
She was shocked. She was talking to Scott, after all. He was a take-charge kind of guy, he was a leader, and...."You didn't talk to her? You didn't go after her?"
"I don't own Jean. And besides, I wouldn't know what to say."
"How about asking her what's going on between her and Logan?"
He was silent for a moment and then he looked at her. "Maybe I don't want to know."
"But...but you have to say something--you have to do something." she said quietly.
"Why? So you don't have to say anything to Logan?"
That hurt and she folded her arms across her chest, stung. "What does that mean?"
He sighed. "Sorry." He reached up and she watched as he rubbed his fingers around the edges of his visor and then up for a moment. "I'm just...tired." He rolled his shoulders back and turned to the side just a little. Rogue heard his back make a cracking noise.
"Are you ok?"
He nodded. "Yeah."
"My grandfather's back sounded like yours." She hadn't thought of her grandfather in years--he'd died when she was a little girl and all she could really remember is that he'd always had Lifesavers and that his back always made a creaking noise when he stood up.
Scott smiled at her. "Gee, thanks Rogue. What am I, Methuselah? I'm not that much older than you are."
She laughed. "I'll be twenty next month." She was sure he was at least a decade older than her.
He looked at Jean's desk. "I'm twenty-seven."
"Oh."
He looked back at her. "Yeah. Oh. Now you know why Logan calls me 'boy.' "
"How long have you known about...?"
He didn't pretend to misunderstand her. "A few days. I mean, I thought that maybe...but Jean--uh, she stopped talking about him a few days ago. Before she was always worried about him or worried about what he was doing with you or..." He trailed off. "When did you know?"
"Last night. I thought that maybe before, but it just didn't seem like anything. It was all just...."
"Little things."
"Yeah."
Scott turned back to desk and let out a shaky sounding breath. "It always is. Little things, I mean."
She walked into the room a little more. "Does Xavier know?"
He shrugged. "I'm sure he knows at least something. But what can he do? There's no one at fault here. It's not like anyone can be blamed."
She must have given him an incredulous look because he let out a bitter sounding laugh. "Well, that's what Xavier said anyway. He told me that I had to trust Jean and what we had and...."
"And what?"
"Nothing" he said, and he stood up. "I've been sitting here waiting for Jean to come back for hours now and I'm tired of it." He took his visor off and rubbed a hand across his closed eyes.
"I don't think I can handle this," she said and she knew there were tears in her voice. But seeing Scott again, alone in Jean's lab while Jean was out--maybe with Logan, most likely with Logan--it made everything real to her. And it hurt.
"Me either" he said. "Come on. I've had enough of being Scott Summers, X-Man, for tonight."
Rogue rubbed her hands together and the rasp of the fabric that covered them seemed extraordinarily loud in the silence. Scott didn't say a word and she wondered what he was thinking. He opened a door and after a moment she followed, her fingers fumbling along the wall for a light switch and then blinking as the light hit her eyes.
They were in the planning room. At least, that's what she assumed it was. Rogue had only been in there a few times. She closed her eyes for just for a second-- she could almost see Ororo lecturing on team responsibilities, could see Xavier activating a computer generated map, could see Jean reach for Scott's hand as the details of what was going on became clear...her eyes flew open and she looked for Scott, found him standing in the corner of the room.
"Why here?" She was genuinely confused. If he didn't want to think about being Scott Summers, X-Man, this seemed like an odd way to escape.
He sat down on one of the benches along the wall and ran his fingers over the visor he was still carrying. Without it on, he looked almost too young to be in the room. He didn't look at all like Cyclops.
"I was eighteen when I met Xavier" he said. "I found out that I was a mutant during my junior prom, when I was seventeen. I almost killed my date. I had this romantic evening planned out and all of a sudden my eyes were burning and I went to the bathroom. My eyes were all red. At first I just thought it was...I don't know...allergies or something. But they burned so bad and they started to look worse and worse. I went back out to the dance to find my date--"
He paused and she looked at his the side of his face for a moment, struck by how beautiful his closed eyes were. Just the shape of them and the way his eyelids lay, his lashes curving over his cheeks--she'd never seen anything like it. Not even on Logan.
"Her name was Cheryl," he continued. "Cheryl Ann. God, I loved her." His voice was faintly wistful and she could almost see him at seventeen, his face a little smoother, his eyes open and smiling. "Anyway, I went to find her and when I looked at her she screamed and before I knew it, I'd blown out the windows in the gym. I'd wanted that night to be perfect and it had gone wrong in a way I'd never...."
She watched as he put his visor down on the floor, sliding it under the bench with a foot. He raised his face up towards her and the sight of his naked face made her breath catch for a moment.
She'd always thought he was...that he wasn't really real. That there was no life in him at all, just duty and responsibility and lectures. She thought that he wasn't really a person, that he was just a collection of annoying habits wrapped around a mutation. But she was wrong.
"Anyway, I left home. My parents...I just couldn't stay. I probably would have died if I hadn't met Xavier. At the very least, I would have tried to blind myself." His voice was wry, but goosebumps rose up on her arms. She had a feeling that he wasn't kidding.
"And Xavier...he helped me. He gave me" Scott pointed down towards the floor, at the visor, "and suddenly I could see again. Suddenly, everything wasn't dark anymore. There were just a few of us back then but I didn't want to know anyone. I just wanted to get as fixed up as fast as I could and get gone."
He smiled at her and she realized how he understood why she wanted to go to New York so badly. "Like me" she breathed. "You just wanted things to go back, or at least you wanted to remember who you were."
"Yeah. But the person who helped build my visor--she had this voice. A beautiful voice. Like nothing I'd ever heard before. It wasn't so dark when she was around. And I would tease her sometimes and tell her that, and I'd say that once I could see her I'd probably fall in love with her. She'd laugh and tell me that I was too young for her. I hadn't even talked to a woman in...a while. I was happy just with that--I didn't ever think...but when I opened my eyes for the first time with the visor on...she was there, back behind Xavier. Jean. And I loved her." His voice broke a little on the last word and she looked down at her hands for a moment, blinking to quell the tears that were stinging her eyes.
She wondered what would it be like to be Jean. To be looked upon and to be loved--to really be seen Rogue pushed her hands together, almost as if she was praying. "And she fell in love with you."
He laughed. "No. She thought I was kidding. She said I was too young and that I was just infatuate with her. It took me a while to convince her I was serious. I stayed because I felt I owed Xavier. Later, I started to believe in all the things he believed in. But I also stayed because of Jean."
"And now?" Rogue's voice was a whisper.
He looked down at the bench for a moment. "And now I wonder...I wonder if she fell in love with me because I loved her so much. I wonder if she just wanted to take care of me, make me well again. And I wonder if now she's found someone else broken to fix."
Logan. She didn't say it but he nodded as if she did.
"She loves you," she said instead.
He shrugged. "How much? It's not like people don't fall in and out of love, you know. And I watch her now--I see how she smiles at Logan and it's how she used to smile at me back when I was convincing her that I needed her, that I loved her..." He looked at her again and his eyelashes moved against his face briefly.
She wondered how long it took him to train himself to not open his eyes, not even when he wanted to cry. "Have you told her any of this?"
He laughed again and she watched as his face turned bright red. "No. I try to, but it comes out all wrong and it comes across like I'm jealous--which I am--but like that's all, like that's it. I just can't bring myself to tell her I'm afraid."
She started to say 'Why?' and then didn't. She hadn't told Logan how she felt. How many times had she started to say something, only to freeze up at the last possible second? How many times had he offered her a moment--and how many times had she rejected those moments?
"She's the only woman I've ever touched." Scott's voice was almost too loud and it echoed through the quiet room. His face flushed an even darker shade of red.
She inhaled, pulled her feet in towards her, and looked at him consideringly. The flush on his face was starting to face a little and she could sense a challenge in the tilt of his head. She answered it. "And?"
He let out a sigh of exasperation. "And Logan is...Logan. You would know better than anyone, wouldn't you? Don't you remember those first couple of weeks after Ellis Island?"
Yes, she remembered that time. She would be walking down the hall and the scent of female flesh would rise to her nose and her hands would twitch, eager to touch. Then there were the memories of skin, flushed and yielding, of sighs and a sudden change in breathing--of skimming fingertips up and then down, making slow circles in order to make flesh burn. She'd watched Jean walk down the hall and thought, I could give you that. Why won't you let me? She'd stare at her gloved hands as if they were strangers and when she was herself again she'd wish that Logan's thoughts had been directed at her.
She didn't lie to Scott. He deserved better than that. "Yes. You're right."
He looked down at the bench again. "How can I compete with that? I can't. I'm going to lose her. I can't even find the words to tell her that I don't want her to go...all I can do is be afraid and I hate it. I hate it! I feel like..."
"Like you're seventeen again?"
He smiled. "I probably wouldn't have put it that way. But yeah."
"How do you think I feel? At least you have something with Jean. At least you have something to lose."
He shifted, his foot bumping his visor. It made a faint clicking noise as it slid across the floor a little. His closed eyes met hers. "Ah, Rogue...I'm sorry. I didn't know...you love him." His voice was gentle.
She'd hoped she'd kept it a better secret than that. After Ellis Island, she 'd been warned--subtly, so subtly. She remembered sitting in Xavier's office, watching as he stared at his desk blotter while speaking to her. "Logan is...he's a complicated man. You have your whole life ahead of you. All these memories and thoughts...they'll fade." She'd nodded to Xavier and never mentioned Logan again, not in any way that mattered. She just wished late at night, when she thought there wouldn't be anyone up to hear her. "Maybe."
He grinned. "Maybe, huh? Well, I think you can do better than him anyway. How about Bobby? He's had a crush on you for years."
She made a face and then realized Scott couldn't see it. "I know." she finally said, slowly. "And I...but it wouldn't be fair. I can't offer anything. Not even my heart. And Bobby deserves better than that."
He slid down the bench a little bit, moving towards her. "How do you know that?"
"What do you mean?"
"How do you know you can't offer anything?"
She reached out a gloved hand and quickly ran it over his fingers. "That's why. Do you think I like it? Do you think I like knowing that I can't ever touch anyone, that no one can ever touch me?"
"Yes."
"What does that mean?" Her voice was sharp with anger and something else she refused to identify.
"Just what I said. Maybe it's easier not to let anyone get close to you. Maybe that's why you came back from New York."
There was a sudden, furious burn behind her eyes and she blinked quickly, angry and sad all at once. She remembered the moments she'd had with Logan, moments that could have been something if she hadn't been so...she could see Tim, his face confused and more than that, hurt. Not by what she was, but by the fact that she didn't trust him enough to tell him. That she was afraid to tell him about herself, that she was afraid that he wouldn't care that she was different and that then she'd have to..."Shut up Cyclops" she sneered, moving back, away from him. "Now I remember why no one likes you."
He stiffened, but only for a second. "I guess I'm right."
"No, you're not." she said. "You're wrong." She pulled her scarf off angrily, uncurling it from around her neck and almost throwing it on the floor. At the last minute, she let it fall on the bench instead. "I know what happens when people touch me." She leaned forward a little. "Go ahead, see for yourself. I even took my scarf off. When you're twitching on the floor, I plan on yelling 'Told you so.'"
His face went blank for a moment and it was the first time she wished she could see his eyes. "Ok" he finally said. "I will."
She laughed, almost looking forward to what would happen, thinking that it would serve him right. That he would see that he was wrong about her. That he would see that she wasn't afraid.
And then he bent towards her and she knew she was a liar. She stiffened without thinking, her reflexes coming into play. Trying to keep him away, trying to keep herself safe.
His face hovered above her neck. When she turned her head to the side, seeking something--she didn't know what-- her chin brushed his hair. The feel of it was a shock to her. The soft weight of it, the way it glided over her skin. Not hurting anyone, not hurting her. After a moment, she turned her head a little more, letting her lips slide over the strands. How long had it been since she'd touched anyone, how long had it been since she'd touched anything living other than her own skin?
"Are you ok?" His voice was very soft.
She took a breath and was surprised to find that she needed it. She'd forgotten to breathe. She nodded and her chin brushed against his hair again. "Yes."
She turned her face again, just slightly, and his hair brushed against her cheek. There was a sharp burst of something inside her, back behind her chest that rushed forward, up into her throat and down into her stomach and lower still.
He turned a little more, so that his mouth was hovering over the skin of her neck again. "I won't hurt you," he whispered again, "I promise," and she felt a warm rush of air against her flesh. His voice was almost pleading.
She believed him.
He exhaled again and she could feel his breath vibrating down her neck, sliding under her skin and swirling down inside her, a sudden hot burn in her breasts and between her legs.
And then he touched her. It was feather-light but she could feel it, there was skin moving across hers and a slight pull in her mind as her powers tried to come to life. Then the touch was gone and there was nothing for her body to drain. She could only feel and it had been a long time--years--since someone touched her skin, years since she felt anything even close to skin against hers and even then...
His mouth slid over her neck again, warm and wet and moving so fast that all her body had time to register was the echoing ache of her own flesh. There was another pause. She felt the rush of cool air on her skin as he lifted his head up, away from her flesh and she blinked, surfacing. She closed her eyes again, not ready to face reality yet.
His hands moved up and rested at the top button of her blouse. His fingers were warm against her skin even through the fabric. "Can I touch you?" he asked.
She knew what he was asking. He would not let her pretend that she was swept away. He would not let her pretend that what was happening between them was something that "just happened." He wanted more from her than anyone had ever asked for before.
Logan wouldn't have let her think; he wouldn't have asked her that question. He would have just touched her. Rogue wondered if that was what Jean was looking for, if maybe she liked the idea of Logan more than she liked Logan.
She opened her eyes and looked at Scott. He looked back at her, his closed eyes revealing nothing. But the slight tremor of his hands against her blouse told her something. She looked back up at his eyes, watching the sweep of his lashes as they rested against his face. Her gaze dropped to his mouth and her hands clenched around air. "Yes." she said. "Yes."
He unbuttoned her blouse slowly, his fingers hesitating over the buttons, running over their surfaces as if he wanted to memorize them. Inch by slow inch, she watched her armor start to peel away. He was right about her, about how afraid she was, but now she wanted to be touched again and that need was stronger than her fear.
His eyes didn't watch his hands. They were looking up at her face instead and she stared back, unable to look away from the smooth surface of his gaze.
When her shirt was opened all the way he pushed it off her shoulders. She moved her arms back and down, twisting her hands so that the cuffs of her shirt slid over her wrists. She wasn't sure what she expected next--maybe something frantic and almost furious--something to break the tension around them, within her, but he just leaned forward again, like he'd done at first. For a moment, she thought she could feel his eyelashes resting against her neck. Just that brief caress was enough to make swallow and push herself forward, towards him.
His mouth hovered over the curve at the bottom of her throat. She could feel his mouth against her neck as her throat vibrated, producing a sort of broken mutter that might have been pleading if she could've form words.
"Rogue" His lips brushed against her skin as his mouth formed her name. She slid her hands up and anchored them in his hair, not wanting him to move. Not caring if he was hurt--just wanting him to touch her. She wasn't afraid anymore.
His mouth moved back, another feather light touch against her skin. Her mind started to reach out for his as his lips skimmed the upper swell of her chest but he moved away from her again. And then his head dipped back down again, his mouth burning open the flesh between her breasts. Something rushed into her mind then, a quick flash of his feelings falling into her mind--her scent all he could smell, the feel of her skin under his--Rogue I swear I won't hurt you, please just let me....
She inhaled, gasping. His mouth moved away from her skin. The warmth of his breath was reassuring. She hadn't hurt him. There was an ache inside her that had turned so sharp that it was burning her from the inside out.
He touched her again and she felt his mouth linger just a second longer this time, bumping into the fabric of her bra. His lips moved away from her but then his fingers brushed against her skin for a moment, sliding across the top of breasts and then down. Her bra straps fell down her arms, resting above her elbows.
And then his mouth came back, the warm suction of it moving across her chest. She lifted her hands up a little and pulled at her gloves frantically, peeling them down over her wrists. They fell to the floor as his teeth tugged at one her nipples briefly.
He wasn't as cautious this time and lingered almost too long. Her mind grabbed for his eagerly and pulled and she wanted to know what he felt, what he wanted. She saw that he had never really seen anyone but Jean before, he'd never even really thought about anyone else but Jean, but now his mouth and hands knew her. Rogue . He was going to remember her. In his mind she was arching beneath him and he pushed inside her, his hands anchored in her hair, a white streak wrapped around his knuckles. He was wishing.
About her.
The pressure behind her eyes, in her throat, between her legs was suddenly so sharp that she couldn't breathe. Her hands, bare now, clenched in his hair and she arched up towards him even as her fingers pulled him away--she didn't want to hurt him, she wouldn't hurt him--and she made an incoherent noise because his pleasure and hers was almost too much for her.
He moved up, his mouth hovering over hers. He was breathing hard. Every time she inhaled she could almost feel him breathing into her. "Rogue?" he said and she could hear the fine edge of panic in his voice. "Are you ok?"
She couldn't focus on anything. She had never wanted to use her powers, had never wanted to really take someone's mind and absorb it into her own, but now she wanted to. Now she burned to. "Please" she said.
He moved then, dropping down onto her body, the fabric of his shirt brushing against her chest. She moved her hands down his back, wished she'd left her gloves on, wished that she could feel the warmth of his skin against hers. Her legs lifted up, locking over his, her feet wrapped around his calves. He pushed his hips against her and her own rose up to meet his, seeking pressure and finding it. He bent his mouth to her neck again, his lips pressing against her skin quickly and then lifting up.
He did this over and over, his mouth moving up and down, tracing random patterns on her skin. She pressed her feet into his legs, holding on, almost crying. The pressure between her legs and in her breasts and in her mind was just too much, too exquisite, too wonderful and finally it broke, spilling out over her and finally she felt human.
She felt real.
She knew she was saying something, that sounds almost like "ah" were coming out of her mouth over and over and over again. Scott's hands dug into her hips for a moment; she could feel the pressure of them even through her jeans and his mouth latched onto her shoulder. There was a quick sharp stab of pleasure as his teeth scored her flesh gently and his hips pressed into the flesh between her legs so hard that she could feel it everywhere inside her.
"Oh" he said and his voice was as full of wonder as hers was. She opened her eyes for a second and let herself feel. Her body wasn't just dangerous, it wasn't just something that prevented her from having any sort of life at all. It was something that could bring her pleasure.
She smiled and closed her eyes again.
After a minute, he sat up, pulling her with him. She rose up, feeling almost boneless, and rested against him, pushing her face into the fabric of his shirt. He ran a hand down the back of her hair and she could feel his touch as clearly as if he'd ran his fingers down her bare arm. She shivered and knew she had to speak.
"You have to talk to Jean," she said. She pushed away from him and pulled her bra back into place, picked up her gloves and slid them on. Her hands were shaking very badly and she was glad he couldn't see how much it cost her to say those words.
He reached out and wrapped his hands around her wrists for a moment. His grip was so loose that it was as if he wasn't holding her at all. "This wasn't about Jean," he told her. The sweet gravity on his face was almost enough to make her wish...
Almost.
Instead of wishing she leaned over and placed her hands on his face, slid her gloved flesh up over his cheekbones, rested lightly against his closed eyes for a moment, and then brought her hands back down to her sides. "I know. Thank you for saying it, though."
She could touch. Not like she'd dreamed of, but she could and it was something. It was real and it was hers and he'd shown that to her. And maybe she'd given him something too. It was harder to think than she wanted it to be. She was still dazzled by his imagination of what could be, had only pictured herself in terms of being accepted and understood, not being wanted...but she put it aside and got dressed.
He put his visor on as she finished buttoning up her shirt. He looked at her for a moment.
"Good night" he finally said, as formally as if they'd been at a dinner party. It made her smile because this Scott was one she was familiar with; this Scott was the one everyone saw. He was offering her a way for things to return, to go back. To go back to when he'd been someone stiff and remote and nothing like her, when he'd been more of an icon than a person. Back to when they could pass each other in the halls and not see one another.
She walked over to the door and then looked back, seeing only the sterile metal furniture and functional accessories that marked all the rooms at the school. It didn't look like anything special. She inhaled and thought she could smell a lingering hint of his flesh on hers, of surprises and desire and maybe even a little happiness.
"Talk to her, Scott" she said. "You told me once that I deserved to be happy. So do you."
And then she left and walked back up to her room, hearing only her own footsteps as she walked down the halls.
The next morning she got up and all the brave thoughts she'd had were gone. She wanted to run. She woke up thinking about New York, wondering what it would be like if she went back. Xavier would probably agree, eventually, and if not, she could try supporting herself. She got up and got dressed and went downstairs, thought about how easy it would be to walk outside, go to the train station and just vanish back into Manhattan.
She started to walk down the hall. She had enough money for the train and if she left now, she could be in New York by...
"Hey, watch out, ok?"
She looked down in surprise. Two kids, a boy and a girl, were in the hallway, sitting on the floor. "Sorry, I..." she muttered. She started to walk on and then curiosity got the better of her "What are you doing?"
One of the kids rolled her eyes at Rogue. "What does it look like we're doing? We're fixing the tile."
"Why?"
"Because it's broken."
"What?"
The other kid looked at her like she was stupid. "See this here?" He pointed at the floor. "It's a little piece of tile. And it's broken, so we're f-i-x-i-n-g it. It's not like it's that hard to do or anything."
She stood there for a second, looking at the floor and thinking. Remembering how easy it had always been for her to run. Remembering Scott asking her How do you know you can't offer anything? Remembering telling Scott that he deserved to be happy. Remembering him telling her the same thing a long time ago.
She didn't have to run. She could stay and try to find some happiness of her own.
She walked back down the hallway and went to Logan's room.
He answered the door on her third knock. He looked very tired and very crabby. Jean wasn't in his room.
She loved him. She wasn't going to be afraid of that.
She wanted to tell him she loved him.
And so she did. "I love you."
He took a step back. "What?"
"I love you," she said, not quite believing that she'd said the words in the first place, not quite believing that she was saying them again. "I still have the dog tags you gave me. I wished you would come back so often while you were gone...I want to be part of your life."
He looked at her and she watched as he blinked and then blinked again. And then he finally spoke. "Marie" he said. "God, Marie, I...I..." He reached towards her and his hand hovered over her cheek for a moment. She wanted his touch so badly that she bit the inside of her mouth to keep from begging. She was going to let him touch her.
He really looked at her then and she saw recognition in his eyes, she saw that he knew she meant what she'd said. That he understood that she'd grown up. She saw other things flash across his eyes; emotions that she wanted him to have for her. Want. Desire. Need. His hand brushed over her face and she closed her eyes.
And then he pulled his hand away. "You don't want this," he told her. "You deserve better than this, better than me." He moved back, like he was waiting for her to run.
"No." she said. "You don't get to tell me what I want. You don't know what I want. And you don't know what I deserve. I'm not running and I won't let you run either. Not anymore."
He stared at her for a moment, and she pressed her gloved fists into her legs, wanting to run so badly...but she wasn't going to. She owed it to herself to stay. She wasn't going to run away from life anymore.
"I'm sorry."
She should have known that he wouldn't apologize like anyone else. No build-up, nothing to wait for. Just the words in all their naked honesty. "I know." she replied.
He smiled at that, at her answering honesty, and leaned in towards her. "It's hard for me, you know? This caring thing. I'm afraid I'm going to hurt you and it...."
Scares you, she thought. She could understand that. She looked down at the floor for a moment and then back up at him. "It does, doesn't it?"
His face softened. "Marie, there's things you don't know, about me and J ..."
She shook her head. "I know and...it doesn't matter. Not really. This is about you and me."
He reached out and took her hand. "I've gotta go--I've gotta go feed the horses. Do you want to come with me?"
She nodded.
Outside, they walked close together, their hands almost, but not quite, touching.
They didn't talk about anything that had happened over the past few days--he didn't talk about Jean, and she didn't talk about Scott. Instead Logan talked about his time in Canada and told her about the things he did to survive. He told her what he did after he left the school and her behind.
He finally told her about himself.
She listened and understood because it's what he needed and because she did.
And when he mentioned leaving, she looked at the horizon and remembered that she used to dream of traveling to far-away places, that she used to dream of a life that was full of nothing but change.
His hand brushed hers when she told him that and neither of them pulled away.
And maybe it was just a little thing--
But maybe it was enough.
The Wolverine & Rogue Fanfiction Archive
Barely Legal Since 2000
Author's Chapter Notes:
I know very little about the comic-verse, so my version of how Scott discovered that he was a mutant and ended up meeting Xavier and Jean doesn't follow comic canon at all. Instead, I based it on a summary I read of Scott's early life as written about in the X-Men: The Movie novelization and made up the rest. Thanks to Molly, for all the encouragement--and for making Scott so interesting to me in the first place.