It had been bound to happen. Not too long after the disaster at Alcatraz, most of the X-men had ended up splitting up under pressure to try and keep as low a profile as they could. Their friendly president hadn't been re-elected, and intolerance had finally won passage of a bill.
She'd hated it, from the word go. Hated being disconnected from those she'd come to know, love, think of as her family. Being apart from Logan was even worse, he'd just started to really come back to himself when she'd had to watch him ride off, supposedly headed for someplace not too far outside of Philiadelphia. She was stuck in New York City, apart from him other than occasional daring phone calls, and missions that brought them together.
She'd learned to live for the missions that brought him to the city. Afterward, he'd move to follow her home, his paranoia wanting to be sure no one was following her.
The two of them, leather jackets, beat up jeans, walking together.
"Let's go down to the waterline." That growly, gravelly voice would suggest, taking her hand in his. With so much going on, so many coming and going, it was easy to get lost there, just two more of the less properous people.
After one mission, when he'd still been wound up too tightly, he'd unleashed, chill air off the water, back pressed against a huge crate in the shadows of piled cargo as he took her. Hard, fast, furious, sex scented with salt air.
Running when patrols came through, shaking laughter when they would have near misses, jumping down the broken stairwells, counting down the numbers to the end of the docks. Stealing sweet french kisses in the darkened doorways of the little office shacks, listening to the foghorns calling out to the sea, a lonely lost lover's lament.
A policeman's flashlight over Logan's shoulder, a plane flying silent and so low she can barely see the lights before it's gone. Burst of panic and energy, his familiar hands pushing her for the stairs, cold after his lips had been so warm. Feeling the air stealing through the tears in her jeans, ripped to shreds in the mission earlier that night. Running until her lungs burned , until there's no trace of the sound that had been Logan's fury in giving her time to get away. Time he hadn't given himself.
Hands in coat pockets, head down, wind whipping through hair. She can see him on the sidewalk, along the edges they used to walk. See his face on broad shouldered men in leather, with wild hair. Still feel him when she's surrounded by the chaos and cargo.
Everytime a foghorm blows, she can still hear him whispering in her ear...
"Let's go down to the waterline".
Down to the Waterline - Dire Straits
Sweet surrender on the quayside
You remember we used to run and hide
In the shadow of the cargoes I take you one time
And were counting all the numbers down to the waterline
Near misses on the dogleap stairways
French kisses in the darkened doorways
A foghorn blowing out wild and cold
A policeman shines a light upon my shoulder
Up comes a coaster fast and silent in the night
Over my shoulder all you can see are the pilot lights
No money in our jackets and our jeans are torn
Your hands are cold but your lips are warm
She can see him on the jetty where they used to go
She can feel him in the places where the sailors go
When shes walking by the river and the railway line
She can still hear him whisper
Lets go down to the waterline
The Wolverine & Rogue Fanfiction Archive
Barely Legal Since 2000
Author's Chapter Notes:
A break from the "thinking of you" Smut fest. Mark Knopfler is a genius, and this ficlet sort of needed out.