"Means are ends in the making. Where the means are bad, there can be no good end."
--Mahatma Gandhi
Scott surprised me the next morning by appearing at our breakfast table, where I'd taken up a quietly unobtrusive seat in Logan's shadow, trying to eat my eggs in peace. That I knew all eyes were fixed on me was an understatement--I was as aware of them as I was the color of my shirt (blue, by the way) and the fact I was gloved and people wondered about that still. As if they had nothing better to do with their time.
Logan's presence, however, discouraged others from approaching, and I supported that wholeheartedly. Even Bobby--hell, most *especially* Bobby. I couldn't take another sad, disappointed glance.
After getting home the night before, exhausted and practically floating in the door of the apartment, I'd gone almost straight to sleep, stretched out on the couch with dinner half-finished on the plate in front of me. No time to think of ways to see Polaris or figure out how on earth I could use the knowledge that St. John and Hank weren't alone in their opposition to the Polaris project. Bringing the two groups together seemed theoretically a good idea--but every time the thought popped into my head, I shrugged it aside.
Inner Logan agreed and interrupted my egg-eating as I turned the idea over in my mind for the umpteenth time.
--You don't know enough about what's going on here, darlin'.--
No shit, Sherlock. I was lucky to figure out who I could trust. If that.
--It's just....--
--Not worth the risk, Marie.--
"Cyke's on his way, baby," Logan murmured as he speared a sausage with beautiful unconcern. I lifted my head just in time to see The Fearless Leader drop into the chair across from us, a friendly grin spreading his lips and suspicion written into every line of his body. I pasted on a smile, checked the fit, and threw it at him with all the casual charm I could muster. Hey, Fearless Leader, here I am, corrupting your favorite henchman. Nice to see you again.
He might not have gotten the humor of the situation. Frankly, I was pretty iffy on it myself.
"Noticed you weren't at the main table." A slight jerk of his head toward the seated X-Gods and Logan nodded agreeably, still focused on breakfast--he was one of those happy people for whom appetite was never diminished by outer or inner turmoil. I admired him for that. Unfortunately, that was one specific characteristic he'd never managed to pass on to me, no matter how many times we'd touched.
--It's food, baby. Don't see the issue.-- Inner Logan had often wondered about my connection between emotional equilibrium and hunger as well, and I pushed my eggs around on my plate and concentrated on the outer world. Inner convos directly in front of the Leader just didn't seem like the brightest idea, especially when the Leader was on the suspicious side.
"I need you on campus today," Scott said, and I kept my eyes trained on my eggs, piling the sausage links like little logs on the edge of the plate and forking an egg piece on top. Aesthetically pleasing, yellow on brown. "You too, Marie." Huh? I jerked my gaze up, but Scott's gaze was fixed on Logan, not me.
Logan was looking back and a thousand questions flashed through his eyes that I wanted answers to as badly as he did.
"Why do you need Marie?"
"St. John wants to run her through a few more simulations. She's already worked with the beta team, so she might as well get familiar with procedure." A slight glance at me now, amused indulgence rich in his voice. My Logan would have broken his jaw for that alone. This Logan just raised an eyebrow. "Her evaulations were good, Logan. It'll just be a few hours. I think she can leave your sight for that long."
Hmm...so it was that obvious. I tried not to flush, thanks to Logan now perfectly aware of the reason for all those glances in my direction so often. Everyone thought we were--well, we were a 'we'.
And it wasn't exactly an idea I was fighting too hard either, and not just because of convenience. My fantasy life had scenes like this one, though usually he ate the food directly off my stomach and put the syrup to creative uses not mentioned on the bottle. Spearing an egg, I nodded and glanced up as someone took an empty plate away--a girl, though all I saw was a cropped blonde head and a flash of blue at her wrist when she reached by me. I'd automatically pulled a little toward Logan to allow her to get to the plate, and blinking, I wondered when I stopped noticing things around me like that.
Or rather, stopped noticing the norms. How odd.
"You done, baby?" I jerked my gaze up, now aware of two sets of eyes fixed on me, and swallowed the egg hastily, pushing aside the uncomfortable thoughts. No need to worry about it now.
"Sure." I half rose and Logan and Scott followed--old gentleman conditioning. In Scott, it was a perfectly understandable part of his oh-so-anal-retentive nature. In Logan, it was relics of a completely different life and time, and it never ceased to fascinate me when that conditioning took effect. His gloved hand rested on the back of my neck as he and Scott exchanged a few more words that I wasn't really listening to as our plates were cleared. Looking around idly, I saw Bobby and Kitty at the far table--not that either was looking at me, but there was a turn to Bobby's mouth and stiffness to the wide shoulders that told me he was very aware I was there.
"Marie? You ready?"
I nodded, swallowing in a dry throat as we walked with Scott toward the door. The interested gazes of the mutant population were fixed with rapt attention on us again. I wasn't being paranoid.
--It is paranoia, and it's rather cute, Rogue.-- Carol's snicker filled my head. I tried to tune her out. To my own surprise, it worked. I was getting better at it.
"So when is Erik arriving?"
I blinked, focusing on Logan's voice. Information. Always good.
"He'll be back this week with Polaris. Jean should have everything ready by Friday." There was a tightness to Scott's mouth that didn't bode well. His next words told me why. "Hank was in town. Have you--"
"He left, Scooter." The hand on my neck tightened in warning--what, did Logan think I was going to blurt out everything? Please. "Awhile back. He's not going to help, you know that. So I don't see why you're still tryin'. Just give it up, let him live his life."
Scott didn't answer, but the sharp gaze rested on me, as if my presence alone was responsible for Hank's intransigent devotion to wanting norms equal. I kept my blank expression carefully in place. After a few more words between them, Logan led me outside, and I took a long breath as he pushed me gently onto a bench.
The air tasted cleaner than inside, or it could have been the fact I was no longer bracing under the pressure of all those eyes and all that speculation. Straightening, I looked around the garden and had to smile a little.
It was gorgeous weather--all pretty bright-sunlight, perfect-for-family-picnics, let's-play-a-pick-up-game-of-football sort of day that I'd looked forward to at home. Not too hot, not too windy, let's get a kite and have some serious fun in long sleeves without sweating to death. I could feel Logan gazing at me in an almost smothering worry, and that seemed normal too.
"He has good instincts. Try not to look so guilty."
I frowned up at him, and most especially at the sensible advice he gave. Scott had always had a nice paranoid streak running through him, but in my world, it'd been rigidly contained. The only thing that surprised me now after days of observation was that he hadn't ordered me into the sublevels and let Jean and Betsy double-team me until he got some answers.
That I was walking free sure as hell showed where Logan stood in the Trust Hierarchy. He'd gut me if I was a threat, and that's all Scott needed to know.
"I'm trying to look neutral." I'd seen him gut a deer once, during survival training with me, Kitty, and Paige. Paige had taken it pretty coolly with a slight moue of distaste, Kitty had vomited into the bushes, and I'd watched with unwilling fascination, my fingers flexing in time with his as if claws would protrude if I only got the right muscle combinations to work. It'd been one of those rare moments we'd been in such perfect rapport we actually twitched in unison when Kitty's noises from behind the bushes reached us.
He could mutter whatever he wanted about feeling vaguely parental about me, but the truth was, and a part of him knew it, that you didn't get our level of sexual tension from random Jacosta complexes. Those moments he would never admit to were all the proof he needed. Both of us got off on violence and we liked it better together than apart. Being X-Men, in retrospect, could be considered our version of safe sex.
"There's no such thing here. Either for us or against us." A shrug as he lowered himself down beside me, glancing around automatically, checking for surveillance or people too close. I wondered a little vaguely who would possibly have the nerve to follow Logan around. He was twitchy at the best of times--I'd bet money no one walked up behind him for any reason without *a lot* of advance warning, olfactory superiority or not.
"You draw the lines that sharp?"
"Yeah, we do." A pause, before he tilted my chin up. "Hank'll figure something out."
I could lose myself in eyes that utterly sincere. It was nice to know I had the same effect on him, as the gaze lingered longer than necessary and the thumb on my chin unconsciously stroked my skin.
"I can't stay here much longer," I said finally, and it frightened me when he didn't disagree. "They're gonna push one day. I can't--"
"If it fails with Polaris, it won't matter, baby."
"Sure it will. I don't think anyone would take the resurrection of Rogue well." Especially when they'd fucked around so beautifully with her legend.
Logan's shrug beside me was telling.
"Don't worry about it. We'll think of something."
I didn't want to have to think of something. Lifting my head, I gazed around the garden and took in the smells of flowers in bloom. It was home in a way that was starting to make me more comfortable than I should be, and I suddenly missed the rampant cases of deja vu I'd experienced those first days. I shouldn't be comfortable here.
"You don't have to hover, you know. I'm fine on my own." Show that independent streak, Marie-baby. There we go.
"You want me to leave?"
Slightly surprised, a little intrigued. This Logan wasn't as familiar with Rogue, she who needed no one and nothing--or did a kick-ass imitation, anyway. No, I didn't want him to leave--what I wanted was for both of us to leave and let me hide on his sofa under a blanket with a good book until Hank returned with a miraculous solution. Failing that, I wanted to duck quietly into his shadow and hope no one noticed me.
Funny world, this was.
"No--but I don't want you to--you know, feel obligated to hold my hand through this, you know?" I'd never wanted his obligation, though God knew, I'd gotten it, full measure. Logan took duty seriously. Very seriously. Obsessively, some might say. And while I'd never *wanted* it, in this world or mine, I'd never been one to look at gift horse in the mouth and check out the dental issues within. When someone takes up seventy four percent (and I'd done the calculations, so I knew) of your fantasy life, you took what you could get, no matter what form they came in, no matter the condition of the teeth.
"No problem." Of course not--this was something intrinsic to him. Jean had once hypothesized that he had the single most active paternal instincts ever found in a single male. I'd have to agree--it jumpstarted him into fatherhood without a single child of his blood, just the children of his heart and soul and choice. Me and Remy, Kit and Jubes to a lesser extent. The kids of the Mansion, who always knew who was most likely to let them off easy when they broke curfew, or ignore the beer parties in the boys' dorms, who would growl in frustration but still pick them up from clubs at two in the morning if they overindulged and couldn't drive. Bitch them out in colorful language, though, but that was sort of entertaining and certainly gave us all an education in selective profanity.
We had Logan's cell phone memorized and his private extension in the Mansion on speed dial. He belonged to me, to us, in ways he'd never belonged to the X-Men themselves, even Jean.
"I've been reading," I told him, dismissing the thoughts completely, and the hazel eyes fixed on me in interest. "About the war--about what you went through, all of you. I'm sorry." The memories from Kitty I just kept under wraps. No need to advertise my unauthorized use of powers on an X-Man.
An eyebrow cocked and I shifted uncomfortably on the bench.
"For--for some of the things I said. You--you were right, you know." When we fought, before I knew he wasn't genocidal, merely insular. I'd hit him with words that probably still slithered about in his mind, and even if I'd been right--somehow, it wasn't fair to do that to him. I owed both Logans far too much to do that. "I wasn't here--I can't understand what you went through."
Another shrug, but I sensed the tension under it.
"Sometimes," he said, and it surprised me, since I didn't expect a response. "Sometimes, I was glad you didn't live to see it." He paused. "We lost a lot of people."
Xavier. Jubilee.
"I'm sorry about Jubilee," I said, and received confirmation when every muscle in the body beside me tensed, completely reflexive, utterly unconscious. Damning as all hell. "Kitty--" Don't tell him about the absorption. Don't know how he'd take that. "I heard that you--you and she were close."
The hazel eyes refused to meet mine and something in me twisted abruptly--I hadn't really thought about it before, but it occurred to me to wonder....
"She died early on," he said shortly. "I got Kitty out, but I was too late for her."
He got a lot of people out. Kitty, Scott, St. John, Bobby. Questions floated to the surface of my mind even as I began to seek out Kitty's memories--vague impressions of a birthday party before the war and Logan disgusted when Jubilee threw cake at him, long nights downstairs in front of the television watching registration becoming inevitable and Logan telling them they'd be fine. Graduation gowns and Logan scooping Jubes up and throwing her over his shoulder while she laughed and beat at his back while Scott fell against the punch bowl laughing and Jean snapped pictures.
How strange, that I could superimpose the memories of Rogue over those and get such a perfect match. My breath caught a little and I felt Logan's sudden gaze at me when my scent changed. I wondered if I smelled like jealousy.
"I'm going to go look for St. John," I said suddenly, getting to my feet, trying with movement to wash away the memories. "I'll see you later, okay? Bye."
He didn't follow me. And you know, in my world, he would have.
"Where's St. John?" I asked of the first person I saw. Vaguely, I recognized her--green eyes, Sarah, that was the one. She skittered to a stop, turning so quickly she almost dropped the grocery bag she was carrying, and winced back when I took a step forward. Shit, I hated when people winced like that. What the hell did she think I was gonna do to her?
"St. John?"
"Yes." I answered, a little sharply. "Have you seen him this morning?"
She pushed her hair back from her face nervously, and I almost growled. The second wince was just icing--I wasn't going to hurt her, for God's sake.
"Never mind. I'll find him myself. Go--do whatever you were doing."
A quick bob of her head and she took off in the direction of the kitchen while I made for the stairs. Try his room, then do some interrogation. That'd work.
Bobby was absent (probably still eating) when St. John crankily answered my knock on his door, and he let me in without much in the way of conversation as I snatched the collar out of my pocket and thought about putting it on.
"Something wrong, R--Marie?" he said sleepily and I almost kicked him as I dropped onto his bed.
"Be careful." I snapped, suddenly worried. "Marie."
St. John nodded, still not fully awake, and shut the door, turning the lock automatically before brushing a hand through his short hair and glancing briefly at the collar clenched in my hands.
"You like that thing?"
Considering what I knew of his experiences with it, I understood his question.
"It keeps others safe." I paused to let him go in the bathroom--St. John Allerdyce was useless before brushing his teeth, a habit he'd picked up from Bobby. Shower too--I heard the water come on and lay back on his bed, curling my legs up beneath the discarded covers and staring up at the ceiling.
If I got obsessive about the relationship between Jubilee and Logan, I'd scream. That was all there was to it. I didn't need to worry about this--I had more to worry about than a past that was irrelevant to me and with so many other far more pressing issues. Would Hank find a way to get me home? Would Scott get more suspicious and send Jean after me? Would Magneto figure out who I was? Would the Polaris Project go on as scheduled?
Had Logan replaced me with Jubilee?
Fuck. So irrelevant. I rolled onto my stomach and was glad to see St. John had a nice, large, firm, fluffy pillow. Because I wanted something to hit.
Ten minutes later, St. John walked out of the shower and his pillow had lost something in the way of fluffiness.
"I see you're feeling good this morning, babe." His eyes narrowed on the pillow in thought. Dressed in nothing but a towel, he crossed to the closet, pulling open the door. He was smirking. Narrowing my eyes, I considered my options.
"You know I almost had sex with you once in my world?" I told him, and he dropped both towel and t-shirt. Amused, I averted my gaze and fixed it on the door while he dressed with jerky motions I could see from the corner of my eye.
"That's nice." Pretty good attempt at normal conversation mode. I was impressed. "Why almost?" He emerged into my line of sight in jeans, pulling the t-shirt over his damp blonde head. I hid a grin.
"Let's say your interest in me was purely--proxy."
"Oh." Slightly amused, more than a little surprised, shades of embarrassment. Pure St. John, and he flashed me an uncertain smile. "That's--weird."
"Yeah," I answered easily and rolled on my side, giving him a long look. "Why aren't you and Bobby--you know--here?"
A shrug as he settled the shirt at his waist and went hunting for his socks in the dresser. "No reason--never came up. Not since high school, anyway, and after Cecy died--"
"Cecy?" I'd heard that name before.
St. John turned with tube socks in hand, crawling across the carpet to dig under his bed. He didn't have a habit of putting his shoes in the closet.
"Bobby's fiancée. Met her our first semester in college--before we were discovered." Johnny shrugged again. "She died in the camps for being a--collaborator. Or fucking the enemy, so to speak. I suppose when her parents turned in me and Bobby, they didn't expect her to be arrested with us, for sleeping with a known mutant."
I shivered a little--he could say it so casually, and I wasn't used to that yet.
"I'm sorry."
"So was Bobby." He came up for air with one shoe clutched in his hand, a frown creasing his face. The other shoe was being recalcitrant, apparently. "They were engaged--God, I swear, they decided on the second date." A strangely nostalgic smile curved Johnny's lips and he sat back on his heels briefly, head tilting. "She was a carrier of the X-gene, not a mutant herself though. She was targeted as much for that as for her relationship." Johnny ducked back under the bed again. Emerging with the second shoe, he gave me a long look. "Her mother and both her sisters were taken too. Even though her father was FoH."
I thought about that, my mind turning over the implications.
"That's odd."
"FoH required gene tests after that to join the party."
Whoa. I sat up straight.
"They became a *political party*?" And didn't that just spook me in ways I didn't want to be spooked? Dearest God. Not good.
Johnny's eyebrows arched briefly in confusion, before he belatedly remembered who I was.
"Yeah. Got a full Congress and a President elected. Problem was, a third of them ended up having mutant family members. Lots agreed to sterilization to assure that their possibly corrupt genes didn't continue." Another smile that could have doubled for an animal's bared teeth. "Very interesting, how many suddenly turned up without families--sent them abroad. 'Specially their daughters--required sterilization on the kids who came back with a x in their chromosomes. We won't even cover the latents who didn't even know they *were* gamma class and found out at the ripe old age of fifty that their neat ability to always convince people with their speeches and their excellent luck in poker was low-grade psi ability."
I'd never thought of that and pondered the implications.
"What's the requirement to be considered mutant?"
"Good question. Magneto makes the rules--he's partial to alpha/beta class." A shrug. "The way we wiped through the human gene population--norms outnumber us, but you know, most mutant kids come from norm parents. And some breed true every time; those have special privileges, a weird sort of second class citizenship, like Sam's family. Work visas, can operate heavy machinery without supervision, less restrictions on travel." Viciously sarcastic. "It's the ones who started executing their own kids that Mags targets--those and the collaborators. Mutant or not."
I could see that.
"So what do you need, babe?"
I wondered if he'd know anything about Jubilee and Logan and dismissed it from my mind.
"Scott said you were running me through sims this afternoon."
St. John blinked, considering my statement from all angles.
"Yeah, I mentioned to Scott I needed to--I guess he forgot to tell me." A shake of his head. "Weird. He usually doesn't forget stuff like that."
"Probably meant to tell you this morning." Before I saw you, so I wouldn't know he was deliberately separating me and Logan. I wondered why, but St. John sat down on the bed beside me and the blue eyes looked into mine. In their depths were so many questions--I knew what he'd ask before he said it, before the blue eyes left mine and fixed on the far wall.
"Me and Bobby--you asked about that. Is it--different? I mean--"
"You and Bobby graduated from USC; you teach journalism at the school and freelance for a few magazines. You've been together for over two years," I said softly, and I heard his breath catch. I could tell him this. It wouldn't hurt anyone. "After Bobby broke up with me, you took him to Malta for awhile. When you got back, I was with Remy and Bobby was--I don't know. Weird about it. And then--well, something happened, I don't know what, but you got together." I smiled a little. "You're happy, I'll tell you that."
St. John grinned a little, something lighting up his eyes.
"You know Remy and 'Ro--"
"Yeah." I almost sighed to myself. "Remy and I broke it off after what happened with Carol--it was hard for him. I made it hard, and I couldn't--" Couldn't stand to be touched, to be near anyone I could ever hurt again. Remy got angry about it--Logan just pushed me until I gave up trying to keep him away. I remembered them fighting outside the Mansion, when they thought I couldn't hear, remembered Logan ripping into Remy for abandoning me. Logan never quite understood I'd abandoned Remy a long time before. "He and 'Ro have been pretty good friends since Logan first brought him home. I think they're developing into more." Another sigh, and I flicked a finger over the blanket--it was strange, that it didn't hurt to think about anymore. It once had. "Surprise, surprise."
His hand was gentle on my shoulder.
"You okay?"
"Yeah."
A pause, longer, before he spoke again, and my luck should have figured out where he'd go.
"Is the--are the Professor and Jubilee--"
He felt my wince and drew back in surprise.
"She's fine," I said, fixing my eyes on the far wall. "Everyone is. Everyone, you know, is fine. Mostly." Leave out random episodes of mutant violence and sundry, and I turned my head a little, knowing my face would show too much.
"You and Logan in your world--you were very close."
--He's a quick one. Told you, honey.--
--Shut the *fuck* up, Carol, before I decide to figure out a way to *burn* you outta my mind.--
Her laugh was malicious--Xavier and I had discussed the option early on, but the sheer difficulty of rooting through my mind and removing Carol neuron by neuron and memory by memory was a task fit for perhaps *six* telepaths of Xavier's caliber, not just one. And the dangers of losing my own memories, my own self--in balance, the risks were too great. At least in Xavier's opinion.
But rethinking the situation...
"Yes," I mumbled, wondering how I could change the subject.
"It was hard for him--after you died." I looked up. "He stayed at the school--Jean thought it was because of the girls, you know? He saw you in all of them."
I had to find some level of amusement in the fact that Logan couldn't even escape me when I was dead.
"It's no biggie," I said, seeing him ready to say something else. "Do you think you can see Polaris when she gets back?"
St. John shrugged.
"She's with Lensherr--never leaves his sight. I'll try, but--" he shrugged meaningfully, and I understood, at least a little. People with martyr-complexes didn't want to be saved.
"Makes sense." Magneto was good at what he did--he'd learned from that unfortunate incident with me, I had to guess. Twisting short blonde hair through my fingers, I gave the room a cool once-over before finally turning to face Johnny.
"Scott's suspicious."
"Scott is the epitome of paranoid. He doesn't like how you've shown up so close to the execution of the Polaris Project."
"He doesn't believe in it, you know." Usually, I didn't think before I spoke--this was one of those times. St. John leaped on the words before they'd finished finding space in the air to hang meaningfully, grabbing my shoulders and spinning me around.
"Where'd you get that idea?"
It seemed sensible, on the surface, to start spilling--but I bit my tongue and shook my head. I didn't want to trust my instinct to tell him. I couldn't pretend to understand everything that was going on, and even if Scott wasn't a cheerleader for the project, it didn't mean that he would actually bring it to a screeching halt either. In fact, I'd guess from what Logan said, they weren't going to do anything yet. They'd learned the rules of sacrifice and ethical compromise far too well.
"Just--observation." The intense gaze wasn't lessening and I wondered if this Johnny could read when I lied as easily as the other one. For a second, I thought he could, but he let me, go, sitting back to stare at the far wall with an intense expression. "Johnny--"
"Sorry." His face turned down, hiding his expression from sight. "You wanna go look at the sim programs now?"
With a quick nod, I stood up, glad to end the uncomfortable moment with some action. But I did notice that St. John's eyes didn't meet mine for the rest of the morning.
The basic rules of a successful infiltrator--or whatever I qualified as--included avoiding those who are a threat to you. Say, paranoid Fearless Leaders who seemed to be *way* too interested in your existence for anyone's peace of mind.
I blamed it on being tired. Johnny had run me through sims before and after lunch, and a late afternoon snack hadn't done much more than add to my general state of exhaustion. I wanted to curl up on a rug in some sunlight and forget the world existed.
In short, I wanted a nap.
The back porch, in retrospect, probably wasn't the best place to hang out, though technically, late afternoon really *was* a good time for semi-privacy there. Kitty was in her room with a few other mutant girls, including Betsy, and Johnny had wandered off to find Bobby. The X-Men were training or planning things in the sublevels, and most of the others seemed to have left early in the day for whatever it was they did off-campus.
It was blessedly quiet, a tiny shaded corner with a wicker loveseat and a nice view. Freshly showered and redressed in a school t-shirt and sweats, a clean pair of gloves covering my arms, I fell into its cushioned depths in a frenzy of sheer relief and shut my eyes.
"Marie. I didn't expect to see you out here."
I opened one eye and got a sideways view of Scott through the curtain of my hair, leaning up against one of the porch supports. Automatic reflex wanted to drag me straight upright, but even my reflexes were tired. They compromised by letting me lift my head a little.
Meeting the clear gaze behind the red glasses, I decided he was lying. He'd expected to find me. Because he'd been looking for me.
"Hey, sir--Scott." Slowly, I levered myself up on one arm. Without asking, he crossed the porch, dropping carelessly into the chair across from me with all the grace of a cat and twice the suspicion. Very Scott. Pushing myself fully upright, I tried to clear my foggy head enough to figure out what he wanted. Bye-bye, nap. The very thought made me even more tired.
"Johnny sent your sim reports to my office." Oh? "You're really quite good. Where were you trained?"
Well, see, that was a good question. Where *had* I trained?
--Prevaricate.-- Carol's hiss was soft.
"Different people taught me different things," I answered evasively. "It wasn't safe being alone and not know how to get outta a situation, you know?"
"Yes, I do."
The thing about Scott, the overriding decider of his personality, was his control. He liked control. Perhaps the term "control-freak" wouldn't be too harsh. It had manifested itself in a thousand ways at home--his obsession with detail, his famously cold temper, self-confidence that could be easily mistaken for arrogance. He had to control everything, even himself.
And his team. God help you if you were on his team.
To put it in a personal perspective, if Logan had been the overprotective older brother that growled at my dates, Scott was the one that interrogated them. Got their name, social security number, driver's license, family history, criminal record, and at least three reference numbers. Logan would make sure they knew he'd kill them--Scott just let them know that he'd make sure Logan knew where to *find* them.
It was something of an accomplishment, in retrospect, that I ever lost my virginity.
It wasn't just me, though--Jubes, Kitty, Paige, all of us were victims of Scott's need for control. And fighting it was like fighting a cold--cute to try, but you just have to let it happen and deal with it. In all honesty, while Scott approved of Remy far less than Logan did, Remy had a point in his favor because he lived at the Mansion and therefore was always under Scott's eye. And while he had a very nice criminal background, nothing had ever gotten through even a grand jury, and when he became an X-Man, he had another point in his favor.
Sitting back against the cushioned wicker, I knew exactly what this was about. This wasn't Leader Scott looking at a possible infiltrator right now; this was Brother Scott interviewing Logan's lover. Dear God. Dear, dear God. I didn't know whether to laugh hysterically or just acknowledge completely that this could *not* be a very complex hallucination, because even my wildest flights of fancy had *never* included Scott interviewing Logan's lover out of a concern for her intentions.
"Is there anything in particular you want to talk about, Scott?" I asked, trying to keep the smile from fighting its way across my face. Would he ask for references? Proof of citizenship? My future plans? Sexual history? Blinking, I tried to think of how on earth Scott was going to go about this subtly.
"Logan."
Okay, so not subtle.
"Oh," I answered weakly. Clean and neat in jeans and a maroon short sleeve shirt that did good things with his complexion, Scott was the very epitome of Mutant All-American Male. Concerned Mutant All-American Male. Geez. "Umm--"
"I'm not going to ask you personal questions about your relationship," Scott said calmly, crossing an ankle over his knee and apparently settling down for Serious Inquiry Time while flashing a thousand watt smile. Many dates had relaxed when they saw that.
They'd learned differently. Real damn quick.
"I'd rather not--"
"What made you decide to come to New York?"
I wished I'd gotten some coffee from the kitchen. My muscles were screaming things about pain and exhaustion and my brain couldn't quite manage to sort out those messages from my desperate inquiries of what to do about the situation.
"I was tired of being alone."
--Carol? Carol? Get up, get out here, help me out. And tell me this isn't actually happening. Scott is NOT about to give me the third degree about me and Logan.--
Carol only laughed and sat back to enjoy the show. Inner Logan, however, did not.
--Your call, baby. You wanna play this way, you gotta deal.--
That rat-bastard.
--Your alter-ego got me INTO this mess!--
--Noticed that.-- Okay, that was strange. Logan hadn't exactly been enthusiastic about this little masquerade, but the resentment in his voice was above and beyond that. No, not resentment. It was something else. And damned if I had time to figure out what.
"How did you know Logan was imprisoned with your sister?"
I blinked, jerking back into reality. Crap. Well, I'd said it, and I had to have a reason for it. Okay, logic. How would I--
"Another former prisoner, when I got out." Whew. Elaborate? No, that looked guilty. Well, did it look guilty anyway? Shit if I knew.
"Oh?"
"Yeah." I wasn't sweating. I wasn't tense. Forcing my mishandled body under strict control, I lowered myself back down as casually as I could, as if I had people asking me questions every day. I knew Scott. Sort of. "I--I didn't know she was dead, so I asked around. And that one--he--told me that she'd been with Logan in--" Where had Logan been imprisoned? Miami? Boston? Daytona? Palm Beach? Chicago? I should *know* this stuff. "--the camp. And that she'd died."
Scott nodded slowly and I tried not to blow out a breath in relief.
"So you never met him before you came here?"
Was Scott insinuating I was a slut? Okay, practically speaking, running off-campus to move in with a guy the first time I met him *might* be a little *risque*, but hey, it was the new millennium and all that. Maybe I was just *really* decisive.
"No."
"Hmmm." Scott crossed his arms neatly over his chest. "From what Logan said, I thought you'd met before."
--Okay, darlin', this ain't good.--
The rat-bastard was back, but he might help. I took a breath, keeping my quizzical smile firmly pasted across my face. I hoped it didn't look as fake as it felt.
--I think he's fishing.--
--No shit, Marie. Keep calm. I don't think he knows anything.--
--You *think*?--
Logan had always been obsessively private about his relationships, that much was true. I met the lucky chicks when I couldn't avoid them, but the X-Team did *not*; at least, not until what's-her-name that I had *really* disliked just on principle. Anyone Logan had around more than three months was just *not* going to be on my top ten list. But anyway, Logan was private.
To reiterate to myself, the two Logans had the same basic personality. I just couldn't see even this close Scott-Logan friendship descending into private confidences like an alternate universe episode of "Sex and the City".
"Not before I got here." Casual. Oh so casual. Look how very unworried I am, Fearless Leader, I'm stretching my legs in complete unconcern, and not only because they are trying to cramp up. "He had information I didn't."
"Ah. I'm glad you got the information you wanted." He didn't sound glad. Abruptly, he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and fixing all that dark red gaze on me with an intensity that made me stiffen. "I was surprised to learn of Logan's and your relationship." Somehow, he made relationship sound like 'sex scandal' or 'poisoned dinner'. I was metaphorically rocked back on my heels--but it was still cute as hell, no way around it, that for once, it was me being the suspected party. Me, being the one that couldn't be trusted. "Are you planning to stay long?"
Oh, was *that* a loaded question. 'No, I'm trying to get the hell off this alternate timeline and get home Real Soon Now, but thanks for asking?' Scott was actually testing my commitment--he wanted to know if I was going to lead Logan on and then cut and run. At another time, in another place, without so damn much riding on this moment, this entire conversation would have been desperately touching, a true Mutant Hallmark moment. Just, you know, not now.
"I'll be here for awhile," I answered, weighing each word. "It's--nice." Me and nice. I had to upgrade my vocabulary
Scott smiled--a pretty smile, the smile you give right before you say something that could be unforgivable, but that 'oh-shucks' smile is supposed to make it all better. It worked too--Scott was the past master of being able to state in bald terms what would be insulting under any other circumstances and manage to look justifiably hurt when you retaliated.
"Logan and I have been friends for a long time, Marie," Scott said. "I won't pretend I'm not worried about his relationship with you." Heh. Scott worried about Logan. God, I had to remember this. SUCH a cool anecdote. "He's had a difficult time since the war. I hope you understand that."
"We've all had difficult times, sir."
He frowned at the honorific but didn't comment.
"Marie, has he talked to you about Jubilee?"
Something in me froze just a little, and I found myself leaning forward without meaning to and earning a screech from my back.
Jubilee.
"No," I answered, watching his face carefully. Scott was too good at controlling his expression--but the slightest tension in the set of his jaw gave it all away. He didn't like this.
"She and Logan were extremely close, Marie. She was killed in the Daytona camp the first year of the war" A pause. "Logan couldn't locate her in time to buy her freedom. He recovered her body after the war and brought her here. So he could stay close to her."
I bit into my lip.
"Oh?"
Scott's head tilted a little, and his body reflected nothing but tired acceptance and remembered pain.
"When she died--" Scott paused, and it dawned on me--I didn't want to hear more. I really didn't. Getting to my feet, ignoring the scream of my muscles, I gave Scott a quick smile. I knew it was bad and almost didn't care.
"Thanks for telling me, sir." Gotta go, gotta run, gotta get out of here. That's what Johnny meant about the tags being with a dead girl--they were buried with Jubilee. All the evidence, and as usual I didn't pay a damn bit of attention. I should have known this, should have guessed this part. Of course, Jubilee. They'd been damn good friends on my world too. "I gotta run--get something to eat." I doubted I'd ever eat again. "Thanks for the heads-up, Cyke. I'll see you later."
Before he could say another word, and very much aware how very silly I looked, I took off for the door, pushing the screen back and plunging into the cool air-conditioned darkness of the Mansion kitchen. My eyes weren't adjusted to the interior lights yet, but a quick glance around the room confirmed that I was alone. For a frightened second, I worried that Scott would follow me when his footsteps sounded on the porch, but they trotted down the stairs and away. He'd made his point, I guessed.
Leaning into the door briefly, I tried to shut out the myriad thoughts floating in my head. Jubilee. Made sense, of course--the reason he stayed at the Mansion after the war, the reason he became a true member of the X-Men. It made perfect sense. And why was I jealous, anyway?
--Marie?--
I bit into my lip. I wasn't just jealous. I felt betrayed. I'd been replaced.
The X-Men had some sort of meeting, which kept us on campus later than I really wanted to be. Worse, it kept me intensely unoccupied. The sublevels were sealed off to all non-team members and everyone I knew even vaguely was planning more nefarious crimes against humanity.
Or hell, maybe they were just negotiating next week's menu. How would I know?
Angry at myself, I paced most of campus, keeping my distance from the other mutants. I caught a glimpse of young Lucas and his buddies in the distance and did my best to stay out of his way. I still wanted to hurt him, just on principle, so deliberately meeting up with him could be considered premeditated assault. The thought appealed to me far too much to trust myself near him.
Retreating to the far side of the soccer field as more kids came outside to enjoy the warmth of early evening, I found a comfortable tree and sat down against it, clutching my coat and the bag Logan had given me to carry my weapons around in, turned so I could keep a eye on both the foresty area to my left and the clean sweep of the grounds to my right. Never hurts to be prepared.
It was beyond surreal to know I was packing enough firepower to take over a good size building and take hostages. I was Rogue, she who needed no weapons, she who was invulnerable to all weapons. She who--well, okay, so not invulnerable to the really uncool little red ray guns that the current Somewhat Bad Guys were sporting, but still. Mostly invulnerable. I belonged to a gun control lobby, for goodness sake. I voted Democrat. That I was packing was just a little too much to really absorb.
I didn't even try to justify the fact that I was pretty damn good with them, either.
--You okay, Marie?--
I sighed and leaned my head into the bark of the tree, feeling Logan fill my head.
--Aren't you still mad about my little pretend, sugar?--
I felt a strange wave of emotional struggle before he finally answered.
--You do what you have to.-- His voice was grudging, but at least no longer pissed. I was going to have to figure him out one day. --I understand practicality.--
Yeah, he should. Idly, I opened the zipper of the bag and looked down at the gun.
--Logan, when did I learn to use a Glock? Three days ago, I was doing good to identify them. But it felt--familiar--to hold one. Down in the ghetto. That's not me, but it doesn't feel completely different either, like some of the stuff from you and Carol.--
--Probably this Logan passed it with the touch, baby.--
I would never understand my mutation. Never. This New and Very Different Logan seemed to have left only the barest trace in my mind--vague, unfinished scenes that I couldn't quite put together. From Kitty, I'd gotten considerably more--but then, Kitty had held on longer before I could knock her away. My Logan was still quite vivid despite it being two-three weeks since we'd touched last. Carol, of course, would never go away.
Erik Lensherr from the Statue was almost entirely gone, but then, I'd never kept him as alive as I'd kept Logan either.
--Weird skill to pass on. I didn't get anything really useful but some weird dreams and an ability to use a gun. I don't understand him, Logan.--
--You're thinking about Jubilee.--
I frowned, mulling that.
--Yeah. I mean--why didn't I pick up more of that? Now that I know, I can trace some of those images, and I'm pretty sure if I meditate, I can find out more.-- I sighed. No one understood how my mutation worked, why it worked, or what exactly it did, besides the obvious.
--You don't wanna find out more.--
--You remember how well I got along with Christy?-- Inner Logan winced. --Yeah, well, see, at least she was only fucking you. I feel even more territorial when someone's walking on my specialness turf.--
Logan laughed at me and I growled into my hair, flexing my fingers briefly before moving my hand down to the projector on my hip, hidden safely under the line of my underwear. It really was easy to get used to. Staring at the blonde strands that trickled across my eyes, I pushed them back and sighed.
--Do I look good as a blonde?--
--You're always pretty, darlin'.--
See, the thing was, he meant it. Sad, but true. I could look like shit after a mission, covered in dirt and blood and my hair an absolute windblown mess, and he'd never notice. I was Marie, therefore I was pretty. How nice.
--Sometimes, sugar, you are really useless.-- Sighing, I checked the sun's position in the sky. --He said they'd be done by seven. It's getting close--I'm going to go wait for him in the foyer and try to avoid dinner. I smelled liver casserole and you know, I really wanna avoid that. I don't care how good it is for me.--
--It will never cease to amaze me that you never got my liking for liver.--
--Raw or cooked, sugar, it doesn't do much for me. Still bleeding only makes it less attractive.-- Pulling my jacket on, I threw the light bag over my shoulder and thought about requesting Oriental tonight. Surely, somewhere in New York, there was some sesame chicken. Surely.
"Marie."
I fixed my bag over my shoulder again, smiling up to see Logan approaching from the direction of the school. He was good at finding me, always had been.
"Smelled me out?"
That got me a full grin and he paused while I crossed the stretch of velvety green grass and fell into step beside him. Questions about Jubes, all thoughts of Scott's talk, were dismissed. No effect on me. So there.
"I could find you anywhere." His hand brushed across my back, pausing when he didn't feel the line of the shoulder holster. "They in the bag?"
"My arsenal?" I gave him a glance and shrugged. "You said off-campus."
"So I did. Prefer you wore them when you go outside this far from the Mansion." He brushed my hair back from my face with gloved fingers. "Just for safety, baby. I don't like this second attack."
Tilting my head, I really couldn't exactly disagree there. Wished I could, but the hell of it was, it was real now. These were what I needed to be safe. That was absolute fact.
"Okay." His hand settled on my far shoulder and I watched the students in the shadow of the Mansion, fewer now. Getting ready for dinner, I supposed. Liver. Eww. "Are we leaving?"
Oh, a suspicious pause. I didn't like that and turned my head up, coming to a stop when Logan didn't answer immediately.
"Okay, this isn't good. What's wrong?"
Under my gaze, Logan shifted uncomfortably, then sighed.
"Scott wants us on campus tonight."
"Why?" There had to be a good reason. Somehow, I didn't think the request was normal. Logan was too big on personal space and privacy.
"The FoH cell we cleaned out was funded overseas--government support. Full support. Campus security is fine--but Scott and I are flying out early tomorrow morning and Scott wants us on campus."
His eyes evaded mine. Heh, good trick, sugar. But didn't work on me. I reached out, catching his chin.
"What else?"
He sighed again and folded his fingers over mine.
"You're pushy, you know that?"
"What a revelation. What's Scott worried about?"
"You."
Well, should have expected that. I felt myself stiffen, but Logan tightened his grip on my hand, not letting me withdraw.
"What's he think?" After our little discussion--well, I supposed I hadn't done much to comfort him on that score.
"He knows you were in the restricted area the other night and he knows Hank was in town." The muscles in his jaw clenched. "Your little buddy Lucas decided to go to Summers after I tossed the report."
"Because you restricted him to campus?"
A tiny smile turned up the corners of his mouth.
"Heard about that, huh? That, and the ripping of his throat you promised if he went into the restricted area again." Logan shrugged. "I told Scott you had permission from me to go and he wanted to know why you wanted to go there and why you threatened Lucas." Logan shifted his grip on my hand, pulling me along to walk again, but our angle was a little different, giving us a longer time before we got back in the Mansion's vicinity. Ah, he didn't want to look suspicious. Got it.
"What did you say?"
"You wanted to check up on someone who knew Danvers and that Lucas annoyed you." Logan shrugged slightly, but there was something on his face that worried me. The lightest edge of strain. Shit, he and Scott were close--hadn't I noticed that before? Logan wasn't the type to like this sort of subterfuge--it wasn't in his nature to betray his friends. Looking down, I hated that I was making him do this.
"I'm sorry," I said softly.
"Nothing to be sorry for. Scooter's tense right now, with Polaris and the attacks and Mags riding his ass about getting the younger mutants trained. Mags doesn't quite understand why Scott doesn't want to rush all the kids into uniform now and get them on the front lines."
"The front lines?"
Logan nodded slowly and I watched the sun play off the short dark hair, bringing out the rich mahogany and traces of sun-bleached blonde on the tips. He spent a lot of time outdoors.
"Camp control. The beta and gamma class are trained for that. We're strapped for personnel and we don't put anyone out who's not completely trained. The restricted zones are run by the humans themselves, but not the camps."
I thought about that.
"I didn't realize--"
"That we did that?" Logan's smile twisted a little. "When I got here, before the war, I taught every kid how to defend themselves, but I never taught them how to kill. It was the line we drew in the sand, that we would go this far and no further. During the war, that's the only thing I taught them to do. Control of their powers be damned--just make sure they could survive the field. Bobby was one of my best students, and on the field humans were scared to death of him. It's one thing to die from Scott's direct hits with the visor or from Jeannie's dropping things on them--but a whole new level of hell to freeze to death in the middle of summer under one hundred degree heat. He was good--better than good. Still is."
"What about Johnny?"
Logan winced a little and I wondered where that came from. Looking up, I saw the hazel eyes were fixed on a distant point in the far field.
"It was a long time before John--before I trained John."
I frowned.
"But he was responsible for a lot of the destruction during the war, on the field...."
The expression that crossed Logan's face stopped me. I remembered Kitty's voice, clear in my head, telling me how long it'd taken for St. John to emerge from his mental distance.
"That was John's power, but Jeannie's mind. They broke him in the camps." Logan paused and I shivered. The usually warm voice was absolutely flat. "We needed him. We had to separate Bobby and John when we split our fronts up and Kitty wasn't enough to keep him stable. Jeannie would feed through him and direct his power. It was hard on both of them, Jeannie especially. She hated that we had to do it and hated what happened to John after." Logan's hand tightened in mind. "But Scott gave the order."
"And no one disobeys when Scott decides?"
Logan's glance at me was telling.
"Not when he makes the right call. We needed Pyro--we needed most of the kids. With Kitty to give him familiarity and Jeannie to control him, we got more done faster. And it had to be fast--when we started the war, the experimentation camps became death camps. We had to get them out fast or there wouldn't be anything left but bodies."
The raw, simple words hurt me more than anything else he'd said. Without meaning to, I leaned into him, lacing my fingers through his.
"I'm sorry."
"It was a long time ago."
"Not to you." The strong fingers squeezed mine and I smiled up at him, trying to change the subject. "So, where's your room on campus?"
Ooh. Interesting reaction. On any other creature on earth, that would have been a flush. But not Logan. Of course not.
"Marie, I know that the situation has been--but you know, you don't have to--"
Oh. Yeah. Right. Situation.
"It's a big bed," I answered. Was I pushing for this? Yes, yes I was. This was necessary. That was it. Gotta keep the cover. "And anyway, it'll look weird otherwise, you know?" Hurry on to new subject. Got it. "Can we run get some clothes first though? I need something to wear tomorrow." Maybe change into pretty underwear tonight--oh *shit*, Marie, what the hell are you *thinking*? With an excess of virtue, I shut down all those thoughts and concentrated on logistics. "And get some Chinese food or something? I can't face liver for dinner."
Logan laughed and I realized we were nearly to the back porch. No Scott in sight. This day was seriously looking up.
"Whatever you want, baby."
See, I liked the sound of that.
Ten inches.
Exactly the amount of space that separated us. Me in my sweatpants and a t-shirt, gloves and socks, since I really didn't feel like wearing the collar to bed at the Mansion and having a night emergency. I had grabbed an extra sheet from the linen closet, pleased to note that the air conditioning was kept as low as always, and Logan and I picked sides of the bed.
Logan was a long time falling asleep, so I pretended first and curled up on my side, facing the wall. Logan got closet side. That was dandy. Trying to discipline myself into sleep was not easy. No sir.
Logan was in my bed. Or I was in his. In any case, we were sharing a bed. A big bed granted, and that wasn't exactly old hat or anything, but neither was it completely new. I mean, he'd spent bad nights with me. Of course. I'd even slept practically on top of him when I was fighting Carol.
See, the real difference was, this was Logan. *Logan*. Different Logan. Highly attractive short haired Logan in his own t-shirt, sweatpants, and socks combo, looking so incredibly delicious stretched out inches away from me that it was a pain to remember that this was *not* what I needed to be thinking about.
Checking his breathing, I knew he was asleep and rolled on my back, then to face him, rearranging the extra sheet around me. I wasn't in any claw danger--yippee invulnerability--but also because he knew my scent as familiar in the bed. At least, that's how it'd worked in my world and I figured it couldn't be that much different here.
The fine strong bones of his profile were etched in sharp relief against the cool white and brown of the wall and closet door, lips slightly parted. I could spend all day just tracing the lines of his face with my fingers. Sometimes, I could almost imagine I could draw him from memory, though God knew, I didn't have any artistic talent whatsoever. Logan did, though. Frowning, I felt the edges of a memory trying to nudge its way out. The smell of lead pencils on paper and charcoal, a physical memory so strong I rubbed my fingers together to get rid of the imaginary dust.
Settling down to watch him, I watched his chest rise and fall with his breathing. God, I wanted him.
Whoa.
Blinking, I almost sat up. No, I didn't. I wanted my Logan, once upon a time. This was *not* my Logan. This was the head of campus security. This was the current instructor of camp security officers. This was a revolutionary and an oppressor and a very, very different man from the one I'd grown up with.
A very different man, but the same. Still honorable in a different set of ethics. I suddenly wished I'd told him what Lucas was doing in the restricted zone--a lapse of faith, of belief on my part. He wouldn't countenance that. He wouldn't. He *wouldn't*.
Reaching out before I could think better of my impulse, I shook his shoulder and he came cleanly awake, eyes finding me instinctively.
"You okay?" One hand slid down my shoulder, stopping just above the edge of my t-shirt. I nodded, then bit my lip. In retrospect....
"I lied."
He raised himself on one arm and ran a hand absently through his hair, then rolled on his side, tilting his head. He'd always been a quick riser--unlike me, he could actually *think* upon regaining consciousness.
"Lucas was trying to rape me in the restricted area. He thought I was human."
--Oh shit, Marie. That was *not* how you should have told him.--
Inner Logan's warning was milliseconds too late.
Logan sat straight up and a very, very familiar expression crossed his face. The word was feral. I *really* should have planned this better. Or at all, for that matter. Before I could draw in a breath, I heard the sharp sound of metal and felt my breath catch as three claws ripped the air inches above the bedspread from his right hand.
"I'll kill him."
See, this is why I should always think things through. Logan threw the blanket back and I lunged, getting hold of his waist and jerking him back down on the bed. Score one for me--I was stronger and Logan fell down on top of me, knocking the breath out of us both. He scrambled up, arms going around me and pulling me into a sitting position across his knees.
Talk about suggestive as all hell....
"Marie?" His bare fingers were against my head, skimming my hair back to look into my face. "Baby, you okay?" Hazel eyes looked frantically into mine, and he drew in a sharp breath when I slowly nodded, before he roughly pulled me close.
Pressed against his chest, with long fingers stroking my hair back--shit yes, I was okay. I was better than ever. That was probably not what he meant, though. Taking a breath, I looked up and smiled.
"Invulnerable. It works for any and all occasions."
Logan nodded and made as if to move me. Claws on one hand were still out--he was careful with those. I figured he'd be very careful cutting Lucas into pieces, too. I wrapped both arms around his clothed waist and held on--just to keep him in place. Only reason.
"Don't."
"He touched you." It was a growl.
"He failed. I said I'd kill him if he went into the zone again."
Logan looked down at me, studying my face.
"Marie, no one touches you. For any reason."
"I'm fine. He failed. I hurt him. Don't kill him."
This might not work. Logan heated up fast and sometimes, just sometimes, it took awhile to bring him down. Sometimes a long while. Days, maybe. I shifted until I could get both hands to his face, make him look down at me. This wasn't good. He wasn't calming. And shit, I couldn't exactly say I was that against the idea. Young Lucas was high on my list of people who needed to be removed from civilization. Antarctica sounded good to me.
Killing him, however....
"Marie--"
"Don't kill him. Promise me you won't kill him." I made him meet my eyes, feeling Inner Logan shake his head at my efforts. Thanks, babe. You're being sooo damn helpful. "Please, Logan."
That got me a sigh and Logan relaxed a little. He was thinking. Thank you, God. I let my grip ease just a little, studying his face until the final signs of utter rage dissipated, replaced with cool appraisal of the situation.
"He's gone tomorrow--he and his two friends. They were there, weren't they?" He said it like he already knew. Well, two guys were there. I opened my mouth, then shut it. There was no use saying the two guys hadn't done anything--they'd stood by and watched me be attacked. Just as guilty.
"Two guys were with him, yeah. I don't know who."
"They're gone. Out of the zone." His entire jaw was tense. "Little bastards." The strong arms went tight around me, pulling me close again, and I rested my face against his chest, careful of the bare skin of his neck. "That shouldn't have happened. No way in hell." He growled something softly and I wondered if he needed some Danger Room time to work out his aggression. For Logan, there were only two releases for excess stress--violence or sex.
A vivid image of me pushing him down on his back here and now took up the entirety of my mind and Carol inside my head began to laugh. I deserved it. Logan growled, but I ignored him.
"Do people--do we--do mutants..." I choked it off, not sure how to frame the question.
"Mutants aren't allowed in the restricted zone without authorization from Lensherr, Scott, or me." Logan paused briefly. "The sentries are supposed to report entrance."
"They told the sentries they were from Lensherr."
"He couldn't authorize them if he wasn't here. Verbal confirmation is required on all access. They called me when you went in the zone." Logan paused, frowning into the air to my left. "Crap. I haven't been paying attention."
Huh?
"You?"
Logan nodded, arms slowly loosening, but I really didn't feel like moving yet.
"Yeah. The camps and restricted zones are my responsibility for personnel assignment." Logan growled something that could have been profanity. "Gotta check with Remy in the morning and get replacements. Shit."
Slowly, I withdrew and watched as Logan ran through mental checklists. He was head of school security AND assignor of camp and restricted zone personnel in New York zone. That was--interesting. And complex.
And sooo very different from my Logan. He'd have hated responsibility like that.
"Logan--"
"I'll be right back--Remy's up and can handle this now until I can go over the rosters tomorrow." With another growl, he reached across the bed and ran light fingers through my hair. "Go back to sleep. I won't be long."
"I'll wait up," I answered, then looked around the room, then back to him. "It's--sort of weird without you."
That got me a smile that dizzied me, before he moved from our bed with cat-like grace. He was wearing socks. It was cute. I watched him unlock the door and walk out, shutting and locking it behind him with the keys he grabbed from the bedside table and I moved over a few inches, curling up in the warm spot he'd left, taking in his scent. Silly maybe, but it felt good.
"Marie?"
I lifted my head in surprise to see Jean standing in the open doorway. No need to ask her how she got in--a telekinetic had her ways. Sitting up, I wondered if I'd fallen asleep.
"Hey." Blinking, I noted it was still full dark outside and the bed was empty except for me. "Where's Logan?"
"He and Scott are currently making several people's lives very miserable. I thought you might want to grab some coffee." She smiled then, shaking her hair back from her face. It was annoying--how could anyone have just woken up and still be that beautiful? In worn blue cotton pajama bottoms and a t-shirt (both of which were obviously Scott's), no makeup, and her hair a mess, she looked like a centerfold come to life. Inner Logan was appraising that too. I rubbed my head, trying to push back the involuntary images that lingered like ghosts in the corners of my mind. "I'm sorry if I woke you up."
"S'okay." I yawned and pushed the blankets back, running a hand through my hair. "Yeah, coffee would be good. Whose lives are they making miserable?"
Jean grinned as I came out the door and we walked companionably to the stairs.
"A few restricted zone personnel, some camp guards, and three kids pulled from bed about an hour ago.." She gave me a sideways glance. An hour ago. Ah. Logan was making use of his mutated lungs apparently.
But they weren't dead. I'd bet anything that Scott's main function right now was to make doubly sure of that.
"Did Logan wake Scott up?"
Jean flushed a little and shook her head quickly.
"I did. I--felt--Logan's temper." She shrugged delicately as we got to the bottom of the stairs. "Logan and I used to have a link of sorts--I can still pick up strong emotion from him. When he's like that, he needs someone to ground him. Scott's very, very good at that."
I felt my mouth drop. A link? Logan let Jean *do* that? Scott and Jean had had one for most of their lives together, that I knew. My face must have reflected something, because her hand rested lightly on my shoulder.
"No, Logan and I weren't involved. But--during the war, it was difficult to keep communication between the cells. When I came back from Genosha, Betsy and I set up a sort of--it's hard to explain." She frowned a little--explaining telepathy to a non-telepath sometimes sounded like some sort of psychotic episode. I should know--explaining my personalities to others had elicited a similar reaction. "It was a thread, you might say. Logan, Scott, Ororo and I set it up between us, to keep contact on the separate fronts and coordinate with Genosha when other forms of communication were impossible. It wasn't very strong, but it let us know that something was happening and when Erik rebuilt Cerebro, I could use it to speak to all three easily, even from Genosha."
That made sense--but I got the feeling she was simplifying even more than necessary. Her power trickled along my skin in a soft buzz, a reminder of the amazing mind behind those mild brown eyes. She was so strong. It still surprised me to feel it on her. As we walked into the kitchen, the cabinet threw itself open as if in welcome and the coffee slid out, patiently hovering near the coffee pot. As Jean got cups out of the cabinet, the water turned on and the pot floated over to wash itself out before filling up and dancing back across the room.
Fascinated, I watched a filter skip up from the far cabinet and slide into the receptacle, before coffee grains poured into it, then the pot cheerfully returned to pour water in. By the time Jean had the cups out, the coffee maker was on and the rich smell of coffee filled the room.
"Okay," I breathed, utterly entranced. "That was very cool."
Jean turned to look at me, then laughed before opening the refrigerator and getting out the cream and some leftover cake.
"I've had a lot of practice."
No shit on that. I would be surprised if my Jean could get the pot under the water without dropping it.
As Jean sat down, I looked at the green mug with a happy little frog on it. The handle was a frog leg.
"Cute," I said, pointing to the mug. Jean grinned.
"Yeah. I like thematic mugs." She gave me a long look over the rim of her cup--a happy pig. I wanted one of those. The tail was the handle. "I don't need telepathy to know something happened to you in the restricted zone. Logan's anger was enough. What happened?"
I sighed, playing with the mug and Jean's eyes grew distant as the coffee maker finished--that sucker was fast. The pot took flight and came over for a visit. I sat back as it poured into my cup, then Jean's, before taking a comfortable position between us on the potholder that ran over from the stove just in time to slide beneath.
I loved this. I wanted to see more. But Jean had a question, and I got the feeling she might be waiting for an answer.
"Lucas--thought I was human."
Jean's expression remained smooth and curious--I took a breath, then let it out slowly. She didn't know either--about what went on there. What the sentries had allowed.
"He--tried to attack me. Rape me."
Jean was a good enough telepath not to project under stress, so I didn't feel her project. What I *did* feel was the tingling of her power jump, strong and hot against my skin. I drew back, all unmeaning, watching her eyes narrow.
"Little rat." She stared at her cup. "Logan is exiling them from the zone. He'd rip their citizenship if he could, but we can't do that without Lensherr's approval. Damn." Taking a drink from her coffee, she pressed the tip of one finger to her mouth. "That explains a lot about Lucas' absences. I assumed he was going to New York."
I nodded a little blankly, taking a sip from my coffee.
"Well, at least that explains why Logan was so--determined." A little smile turned up her mouth as she looked at me. "Are you settling in okay? Logan's furniture is terrible."
I almost choked on my coffee.
"Pretty good," I managed between breaths. I should be ready for stuff like this.
"In a few days, I'll take you into New York, and we can look for something better." Her smile turned mischievous as she cut us each a piece of cake. "He doesn't have any taste. Trust me, we've tried."
That I knew. I smiled back, taking another sip of coffee and thinking about how I'd like to redo the living room. Leather couch would be nice, wood finish. A better coffee table--something simple and strong, yeah, but undamaged would be good. Maybe a bigger bed--
--hello, my name is Marie and I am utterly insane. No question.
"Yeah," I murmured, unsure what else I could say. Jean was making some serious headroads into the cake, I noticed, and she caught me watching and grinned, licking the icing off her lips.
"Hungry a lot," she told me. "It's normal." She gave the coffee a glance. "I'm caffeine limited, but I don't think anyone wants to see me deprived completely, even Nathan."
Who was Nathan? My expression must have showed it, because she paused with the last crumb of cake on her fork.
"Logan hasn't told you?" She paused, shaking her head. "I suppose he wouldn't yet. I'm pregnant."
My eyes widened. Jean was pregnant. That was--well, that was excellent news. My Jean had been talking about it, but--I leaned back into my chair.
"That's wonderful," I answered sincerely. "Congratulations. How far along--"
"Fourteen weeks," she answered, taking another sip of coffee and finishing off the fork. A glance at the cake, then she shrugged and cut herself another slice. "We--weren't sure I would make it this time, but so far, all's well." Unconsciously, her hand had dropped to smooth over her stomach slowly. "Everything's checking out normal. I'm not worried."
This time? I shut my mouth over the question and took a drink of coffee. She was worried. She was stressed as hell and it showed--even though she wasn't projecting, I could feel her tension.
"I guess Scott's excited too?" I said, trying to think of something that wasn't all the questions I wanted to ask. This time. There'd been other times. Her smile lit up her face and I caught my breath--so did Inner Logan, but for once, I understood. I totally understood.
"Very. It's a surprise he hasn't grounded me to campus." We shared a smile over men and their strange ways. "He's been tracking down parenting books left and right."
I could imagine. Once an overachiever, always an overachiever. I finished off my coffee, pouring by hand another cup and this time adding a little cream and sugar. Black was preferred for my first cup, but I liked it either way. Curious blend of Inner Logan and Marie there.
"You want to ask what I meant by this time."
I sputtered through my taste of creamed coffee and looked up. The dark eyes were calm, but suddenly seemed years and years older. Somewhere in my mind, Kitty's memories were trying to push forward, but I pressed them back. This was personal--something between Jean and I alone. I didn't want a sneak preview.
"Was I projecting?"
"A little. Just curiosity. People are usually sensitive around me--sometimes it becomes a little annoying." God, tell me about it, Jeannie. All that 'being deprived of human touch' crap had done strange things to those around me. I hated the pity, the veiled curiosity, the careful wording of the questions that finally would be asked. Sometimes, I would have given anything for someone just to ask outright and damn well stop pussyfooting around the issue like I'd shatter if someone was just straight with me.
"I'm sorry. I know--I understand. I was wondering if it'd been difficult to conceive, that's all." My Jean had never mentioned any problems, after all; then again, that wouldn't have been something she'd have discussed with me. That was 'Ro's territory, or her close friends. I was her little sister, her surrogate daughter, not her friend. Not really, not in that way.
"To conceive, no. To carry, yes. I miscarried in the camps and medical treatment wasn't forthcoming." She tried to shrug it off lightly, but the brown eyes didn't change.
A cold shiver ran down my spine.
"God."
"It makes things difficult. There aren't a lot of mutant gynecologists or obstetricians I can consult with." And hell if anyone would trust a norm with Scott Summers' wife. I could completely see that. "So we worked with what we have. I'm hoping--this is the longest I've carried so far."
"I hope so, Jean."
Her smile lightened.
"So do I." Another absent stroke of her stomach. Nathan. She thought it was a boy already. Maybe she knew--for all I knew about telepathic doctors, they could tell sex at conception. And Nathan was a nice name. Taking another drink of coffee, I thought about what it would be like to carry a child. I couldn't. Jean at home had never had to tell me so--I'd had enough biology and neurology from college and general exposure to be aware of all of the possible problems. Conception was the least of my worries--there was no way to know whether the child I carried could even survive my body, if my mutation recognized it as alien and tried to absorb it. And if I carried to term--would I be able to touch my own child? Probably not. Could inherit my mutation, and what kind of thing was that to do to a kid? What kind of parent could I be?
The thoughts were unsettling--the truth was, I'd never really wanted it either. I was too young, still an X-Man, and it wasn't like I had a lot of prospects for a possible sperm donor wandering around me. Watching Jean's soft smile, though, the way her gaze turned interior--it reopened the door I'd closed.
I shut it as fast as I could even as Inner Logan breathed his way through my thoughts.
--It won't always be like this, Marie.--
I gritted my teeth and slammed my shields down, knowing Jean would sense that and probably wonder why.
--I'm not worrying about it. It's not that big a deal--I never really wanted kids anyway.--
Maybe that could change, though. But God, wasn't this just the most wrong time in the world for it to happen?
"So is Scott hand carving a nursery?" I asked in a bright voice, taking a definitive drink of my coffee. Jean laughed and picked up another forkful of cake.
"He would if he could." Jean shared another smile with me and got down to some serious cake eating. "In a few weeks, I suppose we'll start decorating the nursery." Her voice held the slightest trace of nervous uncertainty--and I wanted, with all my heart, to tell her that everything was going to work out just ducky. That she'd have her little Summers kid and all would be well. Damn it, I was relating personally. This couldn't be a good thing.
"Ladies."
If Jean had been beautiful before, the appearance of Scott Summers just changed the universe's concept of beauty. Dearest God. I glanced back over my shoulder as Scott sauntered in, hair brown-blond mess, slightly flushed, and in a matching pair of flannel pajama bottoms. How very cute. Just adorable. Logan wandered in after and I almost swallowed my tongue.
Anyone who can look that sexy wearing tube socks should be put on display somewhere for the masses to drool over.
I turned back around and dived into my coffee as Scott grabbed a chair and pulled up to the table, his wife feeding him a bite of cake.
"All well, Fearless Leader?" Jean asked with a grin.
"Three deep scans tomorrow morning, before they're taken out of the zone," Scott answered absently, licking the icing away and taking another bite from Jean. This was just too cute for words. "Who made carrot cake?"
"Ro and Betsy did this afternoon. They hid this one for me." She shook her hair back and gave him a smile. "I can do the scans before breakfast--are they downstairs in containment?"
"Yes." That was all. I felt Logan's presence just at my back and Jean looked up, giving Logan another smile, warm and completely friendly. There was something damn weird about the X-team being this all-over friendly. I shook my head and felt Logan pull the chair back, dropping beside me with an interested glance at my cake. I pushed it over to him and he grinned and took the fork. Logan never refused food.
"When Lensherr gets back, I want them out of the country."
Scott looked up and nodded from behind his red glasses.
"So do I. But I doubt Lensherr will give a damn."
"Not for entering a restricted area, probably not." Logan's voice was disgusted. "But for attacking Marie, they signed their own ticket out. Stupid of them to report Marie in the first place." He gave me a glance. "Stupid not to tell me immediately."
I flushed and looked down at my cup. Vaguely, I heard the cabinet open and two cups hovered over the table before settling in front of Scott and Logan. Neither looked particularly surprised. They were so spoiled. This was an interesting show.
"This doesn't help sleep, Jeannie," Logan remarked over his last bite of cake and Jean snorted.
"Caffeine has almost no effect on you. And Scott burns it out fast. Besides," she gave Scott a glance, "sleep is overrated."
"Jeannie," Logan's voice was amused as Scott flushed. Sugar shock was setting in from all this adorableness--and with it, a brief flash of envy. The X-Men of my world had never been so easy with each other and this Scott had somewhere along the line acquired a better version of his sense of humor. Logan poured himself a cup of coffee, glance darting between me, Scott and Jean, and the doors. I took a quick view of the room to confirm my suspicions. Yes, both he and Scott could see all three kitchen doors easily and no one could possibly sneak up on them. I wondered if they even knew they did it anymore--the automatic positioning of Scott's chair, the way Logan leaned on the table that kept everything in view. It showed.
"You done, Marie?" Logan asked, and I blinked, readjusting to here and now, then drank the last mouthful of coffee down and stood up, forgetting my slice of cake. Logan was already on his feet and pulled my chair out. "Kids, go to bed."
"Since when do you give me orders?" Scott asked without heat. A smile was turning up his lips.
"Around the time I started listening to yours, Cyke. Night." His hand dropped to the small of my back and I followed the pressure of his fingers to the door and he pushed it open for me. The halls were still dark and we made our quiet way up the stairs in companionable silence. Then Logan stopped, head cocked slightly, and he laughed softly.
"What?"
"Listening," he answered and gently pushed me forward. Straining, I couldn't hear anything. But--
"Oh." I felt myself flush and Logan grinned as he followed me up the stairs.
"Jeannie's having a hormonal surge." Logan sighed. "And people wonder why I don't wanna stay on campus. Not something I wanna run into in the middle of the night."
I giggled at Logan's pathetic tone and pushed open our door, stretching the crick from my back before absently crawling on the bed and collapsing on my side. Vaguely, I heard him scout the room, locking the door again and checking the bathroom.
"For God sake, you think someone wandered in while we were gone?" I asked. The noise was getting to me. "Come to bed already."
He laughed softly and I heard him pad across the room and one knee dropped the mattress on his side of the bed.
"What, not checking under the bed for gremlins?"
"Gremlins?"
Well, my Logan probably wouldn't have known that reference either.
"They come out after midnight--by feeding furry gizmos--" I reached for the rest of the storyline, then gave up. And truth be told, it sounded like a mental breakdown. "I'll find the movie. Never mind." Rolling on my stomach, I worked the blankets out from under me and yawned. "What time are you leaving in the morning?"
"Six. In about--" he must have checked the clock from the pause, and where was the clock anyway? --"three hours."
"Sleep."
"You're hogging the covers."
I lifted my head and glared.
"I never hog the covers." Well, maybe a little. I was used to sleeping alone. Kitty said I looked like a burrito at night. And she was right.
Logan dropped beside me, bouncing the bed, and I snuggled into the pillow, eyes growing heavy. Tomorrow I had things to do. Tomorrow night, Hank was going to finally go see the machine and start finding out what made this happen to me. I might have my chance to go home.
Slipping into sleep, I wondered why the thought wasn't quite as exciting as it had been only a few hours before.
Between the Danger Room, Johnny, and an afternoon of foosball, I had a day that was completely unproductive, exhausting, and probably the most enjoyable I'd had since my arrival. It was rather easy to slip back into normal relationships with my teammates, given the fact that they had no idea who I really was. Well, except Johnny. Bobby was more problematic, and the icy blue gaze fixed on me with a strange sort of pity that grated on my nerves more than I thought possible.
I'd never been a big fan of pity, after all, especially when I couldn't figure out what the pity was for.
After the third game of foosball (me and Kitty won), everyone drifted off to their evening duties or dinner, and already aware that the kitchen was serving a bastardized form of beef stroganoff, I ducked into the rec room and curled up on the couch with a book from the library. Logan was supposed to be home before dinner--please God, don't make me eat that stroganoff. No matter what universe you happened to be in, it was rarely done well, and a Russian next door neighbor as a child had given me a palate that did not take bad imitations.
I heard their voices before I saw them--Logan, his usual abrasive post-mission self, and Jean, softer and warmer. Ouch, how familiar. Ducking down on the couch, I dropped the book beside me, trying to find a way to look casual and not-sneaky-listening-to-other-people's conversations. No more missing important chats for me, oh no. And this might be important. This was *not* sick curiosity about what kind of relationship existed between Jean Grey-Summers and Logan here. Not at all, because shit if I gave a damn. Period and end.
"--and you seem to be the only one she's really comfortable with. So get her into the lab. Talk to her. I want to get this over with."
Wouldn't you know, it was about me. Damn. I glanced at the far door that led outside, but making a run for it just seemed--well, cowardly. And they'd see me--if I was right, they were in the absolute worst spot for me to get away without being caught.
"She doesn't like labs. Bad memories." I steadied my breathing as they stopped at the rec room door, a good thirty feet from the couch. "I'm not gonna push her either, so just feel free to fuck off, Jeannie. Leave her alone, let her get acclimatized to everything."
I didn't want to get acclimatized to this. That scared me more than anything else.
"It's more than just a fling, isn't it, Logan?"
A longer pause. I held my breath, hands beginning to sweat inside my gloves.
"None of your business."
"Logan--"
"Fuck. Off."
"Logan, I'm happy for you." It came out in a rush, as if she was afraid he'd be gone before she could get the words out.
Whoa. Huh? Slow down. Rewind. Apparently, Logan was having a very similar reaction, because he didn't walk away from Jean, which I'd half expected them to do.
"Jeannie--" Soft warning, almost a growl. But--
"I know." Her feet, coming closer, and I took a chance and ducked my head out, saw her reach out one delicate hand, brushing his shoulder before I ducked back down. "You don't want to talk about it, you don't want anyone to comment on it, and you're pissed because we noticed. Sorry--we've known you for seven years and lived inside your mind for one of them. There's damn little you can hide from us anymore."
The silence wasn't so much tense as resigned, and I almost felt Logan's breath hiss out.
"It's not like that."
"Yes it is." A voice of liquid understanding--that was my Jean Grey, pure compassion, love, feeling. Tears prickled behind my eyes--oh, this wasn't right. This wasn't. She couldn't be the same person who invaded minds, who helped give orders to imprison thousands. She couldn't be. "I don't have to read your mind to see the way you watch her, the way you are with her. It's--I know what you've been through, but it's not destiny, Logan. You don't always have to be alone."
"I don't wanna talk about this." His voice was soft. God, this was a conversation that wouldn't exist in my world. I took a breath, letting it out slowly, my fingers digging into the book beneath my hip.
"Just stop waiting for the axe to fall. It doesn't have to. You won't lose her too."
Oh fuck. Oh God, dear God, fuck, fuck, *fuck*.
I let myself sink down into the cushion, shutting my eyes against everything that was implied in those three sentences.
--Logan?--
Nothing. Not even a clue that he was there.
I heard his footsteps cross the rec room, out to the dining room, and Jean fade down the hall toward the offices. I peered out from behind the couch to check for bystanders, then scrambled to my feet. He didn't need to know I'd heard that. He didn't. Ducking out into the hall, blessedly free of Jean's presence, I leaned back against the wall for a few minutes, then forced myself to walk back in the door. Logan was coming back through, and a grin turned up his mouth as he walked toward me. My mouth went dry.
"You ready?"
I jerked my gaze up, unable to move for a moment under the patient smile in his eyes. I took his hand, letting him pull me out of the doorway, for the first time really noticing how he touched me, how often he did it. I liked it, yes. Looked forward to the arm loosely draped around my shoulders, the casual touch of his hands. I kept my gaze on the floor as we approached the front door and he pushed it open for me, emerging into bright sunlight, his hand pressed against the small of my back before resting on the back of my neck. Possession, pure and simple, marking me for all to see. I'd thought--I'd thought he'd done it to cement my alibi in the minds of everyone around us, the reason I was staying with him, to keep the curious away. And he was, no question, and for all those reasons, but also because it was true.
He was doing it because he liked it, because he wanted to. Because he didn't want anyone else to touch me, to see me and think I was free, anyone at all. He wanted those things, even if he couldn't admit them to Jean, to me, even to himself.
Under the fading sunlight of evening, I acknowledged it, and I knew, knew, I'd been hiding it from myself as well. As someone stopped us to ask him a question, I realized I was leaning into him, taking in his scent, imprinting it into my mind, and my gloved hand was idly playing with the buttons of his jacket.
I'd made a lie the truth. This was how it happened. I wanted it too.
"You hungry?"
I started from my contemplation of my fingernails--no, they weren't that interesting. Nor were they worth the bother--constant glove-wearing had made my interest in my nails pretty much non-existent. My box of duck l'orange had been picked over several times before I gave up and took it to the fridge. Emotional equilibrium and hunger, too damn connected. If I ever got really stressed, I'd starve to death.
"Not really." And I wasn't--before I could say anything, Logan was beside me, tilting my head up, and I noted again that he was wearing gloves. Almost always did now, in fact, and I wondered when that had started.
I had to guess when I reappeared in his life.
"Anything wrong?"
World in crisis, I'm in crisis--take your pick. I tried to find something to say, avoided looking at him--but my Logan had never let me get away with that and this Logan was no different. He tilted my chin a little farther and met my eyes.
"You've been quiet since we left the school. Wanna tell me what's bothering you?"
"Everything," I said finally. His finger brushed against my cheek, an almost-caress that left me breathless. He had to hear my heartbeat speed up at the touch--it was all I could hear, pounding in my ears, a rush through my body with the casual contact no one in my life had ever given me before. And he froze, staring into my eyes.
"Marie--"
I jerked my head away, staring down at my hands.
"I'm fine." It was a lie. He could smell it all over me. For a second, there was nothing, then he stood up, crossing the room and, for a moment, I thought he was going to leave. But--the sound of the locks being turned in the door and he came back, sitting in the chair across from me, reaching for a cigar in the box on coffee table shelf before leaning back into the chair.
"Tell me."
Tell him what? That I was getting used to the touching and the attention and having him near me, having him want me? That he'd never been anything but my friend and my guardian and maybe in some weird way my father-figure? That I'd given up hope a long time ago and he'd brought it back--because my Logan had never, ever looked at me like he did. Never touched me like that, never watched me with that steady gaze that turned on parts of my mind I'd long ago turned off.
Never trailed his fingers across the small of my back until the clothing didn't seem to exist, and I thought I could feel his fingerprints etched into my flesh.
--What are you doin', Marie?--
Fuck. Logan. Reaching out, I groped for the collar, jerking it around my neck and clicking the lock into place, taking in a sharp breath at the rush of dizziness before it faded--I was getting used to it. Running my fingers through my hair, I leaned back into the sofa. His eyes fixed on the collar with something in them that seemed almost like satisfaction and almost like shame. But neither one, and I couldn't make anything of that.
"I don't know how to start."
"Beginning works." He lit the cigar and absently, I reached for one too, seeing his eyebrow jump a little when my fingers closed over it, raising it to my mouth.
"Just because they're quiet doesn't mean I don't keep some of the preferences." I tried a smile on, found it lacking, and got up, sitting on the edge of the coffee table. "Light it?"
The hazel eyes measured me briefly, then he took out the lighter, leaning forward to cup a hand around it when I placed the cigar between my lips. He met my eyes and the lighter flared to life in his eyes.
I couldn't look away. After a few seconds, I stopped wanting to. The endless moment stretched between us, with the flame burning and the heat of it faint against the skin of my cheeks, like the touch of his fingers.
"Okay." He leaned back and I automatically drew in a breath and nearly coughed myself into asphyxiation. When I lifted my head, I saw him grinning a little and snorted at him. "Very smooth. Not gonna get outta this chat that way, though. Tell me what's botherin' you."
I realized I was still sitting on the coffee table and began to rise, before his hand came down on my thigh, freezing me in place.
His *bare* hand now. I swallowed, looking up briefly before biting down on my cigar. I sooo understood Logan chewing on those suckers. Much superior to worrying at your lip or grinding your teeth. Tasted pretty good, too--but then, I liked cigars. I didn't like the taste of tooth enamel as I ground it off.
"Talk."
I took another drag, then slowly held it, letting it out. He watched me for a moment, the hazel eyes fixed on my face, before he sat back--shit, removed his hand. A flare of recognition in his eyes at my posture, the arch of my fingers, the casually careless position on the coffee table when I leaned back on one arm and enjoyed the flavor that lingered on my tongue.
"You learned that from him." He gestured toward the cigar and I glanced at it briefly. Him. The other Logan.
"Yeah." I paused, taking the cigar from my mouth. "Cubans. Did you know I had a cigar preference before I could legally smoke them?" I grinned, staring down at my hands, realizing I was still wearing my gloves. "Cuban black. I had contacts that'd get them for me. I guess I was the only sixteen year old girl in New York who had connections to the black-market cigar trade." It was weird, come to think of it. Bobby and Johnny had taken the occasional hit of X and Jubes, Remy, and Kitty would get stoned out on the lawn (okay, so I participated in that a bit), but me, I had my Cubans and my bottle of Jack Daniels secreted in the floor of my room, wrapped around with a metal chain and a dogtag for when I needed to lose myself in someone else.
"You said you're--you and he--are friends?"
I nodded, playing with the end of the cigar for a moment before looking at him again.
"Yeah, sugar. Best friends." I paused a little, thinking about that. "You taught me to drink water when I did shots so I wouldn't have a hangover and let me crash on your couch. Like now, just--" I waved at the empty space where most people would have a TV, "--with television and stuff."
I felt his eyes on me, running over my body as if he was removing each piece of clothing one by one to study the skin beneath, and I took another long pull from my cigar. When I let out the smoke, Logan pushed the ashtray closer to my hip and leaned back in the chair. He wasn't going to let go of this. Crap. They both had to be the stubborn sort.
"I was sixteen when I met you and you--you saved my life. I had--feelings." I puffed at the cigar--God, bad idea--and let out the smoke in a rush of words. "I got over it. I did. Not a big deal, you know?"
"You're lying through your teeth." He said it casually--and here was the difference, that reminded me that this wasn't the Logan I knew. The other Logan would have avoided this topic at all costs.
"Logan--"
"You can lie your way through the school, Marie, but you can't lie to me." He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees to meet my gaze without hesitation. I shivered--he was too close, I was too aware of it. My fingers began to shake and I lifted the cigar to my lips, wanting to avoid saying anything else--because what he'd make me say was the truth.
"You never got over it."
"I moved on." There we go, crap to hell. The cigar was plucked from my lips, ground out in the ashtray and put on the floor beside our feet. His expression was unreadable.
"I can tell--ever since you saw me, I've smelled it on you. You never got over him."
"Stop it, Logan."
I began to get up, but a hand slid over my thigh, and everything just *stopped*. Breathing, thought, nothing but the feel of his fingers moving over my jeans-clad thigh, up to my hip, rubbing slow circles deep into my skin, marking me. I shivered as he shifted closer, felt his breath brush my hair when I forced my head to turn away.
"I can smell it on you, feel it on you." Against my ear, inescapable. "You like it when I touch you."
I couldn't deny that. Shit, I couldn't deny anything, and a hand cupped my cheek, turning my face. The hazel eyes burned into me, before the lightest brush of his lips over mine--God, Logan was kissing me. He was kissing me. He was--
A little more pressure, gentle, searching, coaxing out my response, and I couldn't stop myself--oh that was a lie, I didn't want to. I didn't want to stop, wanted more, everything I could get. Opening my mouth, I slid an arm around his shoulder and let him push me back on the coffee table's firm surface. He settled over me, pressing my legs apart, sharing my sharply indrawn breath at the feel of him pressed into my body, and his tongue slid between my open lips, tracing the line of my teeth, exploring inside, his hand in my hair tilting my head further.
My first real kiss. Cody, the boy I almost killed, with silk for Bobby and Remy, but this--this was my first kiss. This was the one I wanted to remember, wanted to burn into my mind. How he tasted and smelled, how he filled my mouth and wrapped his tongue around mine. Warm and wet and heady and slick, mapping my mouth with every stroke.
I drew my foot around his knee and pushed myself down against him, grinding through two pairs of jeans, and felt the instant response in the soft growl into my mouth I couldn't help but echo.
He was right--it was all over me. And he was right too--I'd never moved on, not completely.
He pulled back abruptly, staring down at me, and I could hear my own harsh breathing as I ran my fingers through his hair, down to scratch lightly at the back of his neck when his tongue traced the line of my jaw.
"Marie, baby," he whispered against my ear, biting sharply into the skin just below, and I stopped breathing. His free hand trailed up my side from my hip to my breast, thumb brushing the nipple, bringing my entire body alight--he wanted me, he wanted me, knowing it and having it were so different, so good, I shut my eyes and let my body take over, finding the buttons of his shirt, fingers shaking when he moved to my throat.
"God, Logan--" I whispered, and his hands were rough, lifting himself so he could take the edge of my shirt, pulling it up, and I half-rose so he could pull it over my head. Then he kissed me again, hands roughly cupping my breasts--no scarf, nothing between us, nothing, I couldn't get over that, the feel, the taste, the scents that seemed suddenly so vivid, brilliant, like colors I could feel. Nothing like this, nothing could be--I dug my fingers into his back and pulled him closer, the warm skin of his chest against mine through the opening of his shirt and my bra, tightening a leg around his. "Please--" I wanted my gloves off, I wanted to feel all that skin, that body, I wanted to trace it with my bare flesh and mark it, wanted to see what I could make him feel, how he could make me feel. Nothing had prepared me for this.
He lowered me back on the table, supporting himself with both hands, panting softly, trying to bring himself under control. But why--
"Who's touching you?"
Huh?
"What do you want, Marie? Who do you want?"
My hands froze, and I stared up into the hazel eyes--and I didn't have an answer. For a second, we looked at each other, then he sat up, crouching on the balls of his feet, pulling me up into his lap, and I felt him hard against me, pressing up. I couldn't stop the gasp, the soft moan and I rocked myself into him, feeling his response in the tightness of his body, the bunching of the muscles under my hands. His fingers twisted at my throat and pulled--and I saw the tags tangled between his fingers, pulling me so close our lips were a breath apart.
"Who are you thinking about?"
"You," I whispered.
"Which one? The one who trained you and cared for you and taught you to smoke that cigar? Or me?" I wanted to turn my head away, but the chain bit into my neck, forced me to keep that burning gaze. He'd never been less than perfectly honest with himself, and he demanded that from others, always had. "Look at me, Marie. I'm not him. I've done things he hasn't. I haven't done anything for you--I didn't save your life on the Statue."
"You wanted to." I didn't want to examine this, didn't want to make it into an issue, think about what I wanted--because I didn't know. Oh God, I didn't know for sure.
"Does that matter? Here and now?" A pause. "You don't want me, Marie. You want him." With a gentle push, I was seated on the coffee table and he was standing up--he couldn't look at me. I clasped my trembling hands and he crouched again, reaching for my hair, ruffling it lightly, like my Logan had so many times before, but the hazel eyes avoided mine. "Go to bed, Marie." Then he stood up and grabbed his jacket from the chair, going to the door. As I heard it close and lock behind him, I slowly found my feet, walking into the bedroom and pausing at the door, my body still aroused, my mind utterly in shock.
I ignored the lights, tripping over my discarded boots and stumbling blindly into the bathroom, flipping on the switch and staring at myself in the mirror. Lips swollen, rashes of red across my neck, and the bright metal of the collar circling my throat. The darkening bruise beneath my ear, and I pushed my hair back, seeing the indents of his teeth in my skin.
I didn't look much like Rogue anymore. Not any girl I'd ever been.
"What do you want?" I asked, reaching out to tap the glass, almost as if I expected an answer. I wasn't staying here--I was going home, my home, the place I grew up, with my family and friends and their support and love and see Logan smile at me over breakfast and tell me my hand-to-hand sucked because I depended too much on my strength.
I'd always depended on my strength--the strength to walk away from a hopeless crush, a hopeless lover, a hopeless battle. Bobby had called me cold once, when I was able to keep fighting with my allies falling all around me, when I was able to tune out everything else around me and get the job done. I depended on my strength, my speed, my reflexes, my training, my invulnerability.
I wasn't as strong as I'd thought. I couldn't walk away from home, though Hank had as good as said it was hopeless. I'd never walked away from my feelings for Logan.
And I couldn't walk away from what I felt for the man that had just left the apartment--no lie I could tell myself would convince me that making love to him would just be a substitute for having the man I loved with all my soul. This was just as real, just as powerful, and a thousand times more possible.
Sinking into the cool tile floor, I shut my eyes and buried my head in my hands, tears burning behind my closed eyelids.
God, it was always the hopeless that made me stop walking.
Hours later, I watched dawn break outside the window of his room, curled up under the blankets that smelled so much like him--and like me, too, a mix that was pleasant and faintly comforting.
Distantly, I heard the door open and stiffened.
There were faint sounds of him in the other room, the soft pad of his approach to the bedroom, and a pause--almost uncharacteristic of him, to not make the decision immediately. I wondered for a moment if he was going to come in or wait until I emerged, before he pushed the door open. Knowing it was useless to pretend I was asleep, I sat up, absently brushing my hair from my face.
For an endless moment, we stared at each other--he looked tired, almost sad, but the intensity struck me again, and I felt like something infinitely precious, wanted, even needed. Another hesitation, almost imperceptible, before he walked in, shutting the door behind him.
"Why are you still wearing it?"
My hand went up to the collar--I hadn't slept in it before. And I knew what he was thinking--I'd forgotten because I'd been so upset. He was thinking that he'd hurt me, and he was regretting it, hating himself for it. I knew that--I knew him.
I *knew* him.
"So they'd be quiet." A pause, then I pushed the comforter a little farther down, feeling his eyes on my throat, my chest, slipping down to my waist. Wrapped in one of his old flannel shirts that smelled of him. "I was--I was waiting."
"For what?"
For you. For me. For my mind to convince me that this was an illusion of the real thing--that what was before me was nothing more than displaced memory and passion for someone else.
I've never been good at avoiding the truth. Reaching up, I twisted my fingers through the chain around my throat, taking a moment to remember everything I was willing to give up. The man who saved me on the Statue; the one that held me when I cried. The one that had taught me everything I knew, and who I'd loved more than anyone on earth.
Then twisted, feeling the chain break, and I threw it across the room, hearing it hit the wall.
I didn't watch it fall.
"For you."
A pause, before he leaned back against the door, eyes closed. He'd given up before he stepped foot in the apartment that morning--probably before the moment he left, knowing his decision had been made when he lit that cigar. Logan had never been able to walk away from me, not in this world, not in the other. God knew, he'd tried his damndest.
"Marie, what if--what if I don't care anymore?"
God. I waited, letting that flow through me, the way out he was giving me, giving my conscience, letting me pretend to myself this had nothing to do with him at all. Then I kicked back the blankets, bare legs still damp from my early-morning shower.
I was so much stronger than that. I could live with the truth.
"He's not up here." I tapped my temple, then paused, shutting my eyes briefly, clearing my mind of everything extraneous. I wasn't going to walk away, and I should have known from the beginning I wouldn't be able to. "I want you."
There was no hesitation at all, no time for me to be horrified by what I'd chosen, nothing but the weight of him on top of me, tongue pressing inside my mouth, hands braced beside me. It wasn't the slow seduction of the night before, flavored with tobacco and things neither of us were willing to say. Just bright heat, quickening my body when I unbuttoned his shirt and pushed it out of my way, when he parted the flannel with a rip of the few buttons I'd fastened, lowering his mouth to my throat, finding the bruise from the night before and growling in satisfaction. I ran my fingers through his hair, exploring his back with my bare nails, digging in when his lips settled low on my shoulder over the muscle as I arched up into him. His hands cupping my breasts, and I wrapped both legs around his waist and gasped when he ground into me.
"Marie," he murmured as his teeth found the sweat-slicked skin of my chest, the tops of my breasts, sliding his tongue between to trace an invisible line from my sternum to my navel, then a quick bite to the side of my breast. I shivered at the feel of the sideburns against the sensitized skin, brushing my nipples hard, an ache forming between my legs, and I tightened my thighs to grind up against him. My hands could just slip between us and I loosened the hold of my legs and slid my fingers down his chest, over the hard stomach that had showed up in more than one of my fantasies, down to his jeans, sliding the heel of my hand the length of his erection.
There was a hard nip to my throat, a low growl against my stomach that told me he was close to losing what little control he had. And that was what I wanted; I wanted it stripped from him, stripped from me, wanted no time to do anything but feel--all that bare skin, all that beautiful body, all mine. I got his jeans undone as he ran rough fingers between my legs, pressing hard with his thumb once, enough to draw a gasp from between my lips. I used my feet to push his jeans down while he kicked them off, still feeling his hesitation, his fear of hurting me--but I knew what he could do, what he was capable of, and I wanted all that too.
I wanted everything.
Pushing him back a little, I drew my legs up and slipped two fingers into the edges of my underwear, pulling them slowly down my body while he knelt before me, utterly still as I discarded them on the floor. Watching him, I pressed my legs apart with the palms of my hands, sitting slowly up and shaking my hair back. The hazel eyes met mine for the briefest instant, before I slid my fingers inside myself and heard his sharply indrawn breath, twitching between the desire to touch me and fascination with what I was doing for him.
Breathing harder, feeling his gaze on me, I pulled out, raising my hand to slide my wet fingers across his lips, his tongue instantly slicking over them, taking in the taste of me. Every nerve in my body was strung taut, before I felt the snap in him, the snap in me, when he caught my wrist, pinning it to the bed beside my hip, pushing my thighs farther apart and his mouth pressed between my legs.
"Oh God, yes," I heard myself gasp at the flood of raw sensation, as he braced a hand on my thighs, holding me open, tongue licking expertly along my clit, sliding down to push inside me. I arched my back at the feel, hearing my own breathing loud in the room, punctuated by his low growls of satisfaction. I sank my nails into the sheet beneath me, heels digging into the mattress, until everything condensed inside me--how I wanted this first time, what I wanted from it. Reaching down, I dug shaking fingers into his hair and he slowly pulled away with a nip that tightened everything almost to the snapping point.
"Please, Logan--"
I wasn't even sure anymore what I was asking for.
He understood, sliding up my body, rubbing against every supersensitized inch of my skin, his full weight covering me, hot and heavy and close between my legs before the first thrust that filled me completely, utterly, suspending thought, suspending fear, suspending everything but the feeling.
Everything that was touch, that was Logan, that was the utter impossible fantasy brought to technicolor life behind my closed eyes until I forced them open. I needed to see this; I needed to believe this.
I arched my back with every thrust, his hand tangled in my hair and mouth buried in my throat. Fucking me like he wanted to crawl inside me and stay there, like he wanted to imprint me with his body so everyone could see and know who I belonged to, like I was the only thing he'd ever wanted in his life. I pressed my nails into his back and locked my ankles together, gasping in breaths that weren't enough, pure pleasure white-hot through my body, every nerve registering off the scale.
I wanted to lose myself in him, because here and now, nothing else made a damn bit of sense. This was *mine*.
"Marie," he whispered against my ear, grinding into me hard enough to send a shock of hot pleasure through my body. "Baby, that's it...."
He was whispering more words against the skin of my shoulders, my throat, my cheek, my lips, words strung together, words that had power behind them. Words that were simple and direct and more true than anything anyone had ever said to me before in my life. How I felt and how I smelled and how he wanted me and needed me and owned me and would never let me go. He told me the things he wanted to do to me, the ways he wanted to mark me, and I said yes and held tighter, nails digging into his back to pull him as far into me as flesh would let me.
I knew it was coming, felt it quivering in every muscle of my body, every inch of sweat-slicked skin, his hand tightening in my hair with the first convulsive shudder, his eyes meeting mine and holding them when I threw my head back and whispered his name. He kissed me then, finishing with staccato thrusts into me and a low growl as the aftershocks of my orgasm consumed me.
And finally, we were utterly still, and I slowly lowered my trembling legs, wrapping an ankle around his calf to keep him close and running my hands in fascination down his sweat-slicked back and through his hair, wondering how on earth I'd ever lived without him.
"I love you," I whispered against his ear, his body covering me, mouth against my shoulder, still buried deep inside me; he was worked into every pore of my skin, every nerve, every thought. I'd never felt more alive in my life, more complete, more utterly at peace with myself.
I'd fucked up and knew it, knew I'd just bought myself hell on earth, and I didn't give a good damn.
"Are you hungry?"
Surreal, to say the least. Food wasn't something I remembered even existed and it took considerable effort to even try to figure out what he was talking about. Food. Hmm. Logan shifted a little and I muttered something unintelligible even to me, digging my nails into his chest. With a low chuckle, he settled back and let me continue my explorations.
Barely awake, I thought it might be near time to get up, but couldn't really be bothered. There was just so much of him, so much skin, and I couldn't get enough of touching him. He didn't seem to mind--let me spend hours exploring everything about him, finding out what he liked, what he didn't, the textures skin could be, the differences between his chest and his hip--
So far, he was on board with anything I wanted to try. And I was sore--God, I'd never been sore before, never like this. Even my legs ached.
"Not really." I lowered my head back to his chest, feeling his low, soft purr when I licked his skin, the mix of sweat and Logan and myself filling up my senses. A lazy hand twisted lightly in my hair, stroking through the tangled strands, letting me map him inch by inch with the tip of my tongue. Shutting my eyes, I laid my head down and let him stroke me softly, finding the sore muscles with the tips of his fingers and easing them into dull acceptance. Rolling me on my stomach, the strong hands worked gently over my shoulders and down my back, loosening muscles I hadn't even realized I'd tensed.
"When's the last time you ate?"
I had to think about that--bracing my head on one hand, I focused my eyes on him for a brief moment, then gave up trying to remember anything that didn't have to do with sex or him.
"No clue."
"Shit." Another long stroke of my hair, down to the small of my back, before he gently pushed me onto my back. "You're too thin to skip meals. Be right back."
I pouted a little and that earned me a grin.
"I've seen your refrigerator. The things in there don't qualify as food. Some of them have started moving." And duck l'orange just wasn't a food to wake up to. Just no way.
"You're cute, baby. I'm ordering in." A pause. "And calling in, unless there's some damn good reason you wanna go back to the school today."
"None at all." Stretching, I felt his eyes travel down my body--sheet be damned, I didn't want to cover myself ever again. It was amazing, the feel of sheets and skin against mine, the way I didn't have to be afraid. Logan grabbed his jeans from the floor, pulling them on quickly before going out the bedroom door in search of a phone, and I rolled on my side, drawing my knees up to my chest and concentrating on relaxing every muscle I'd ignored for the last few hours.
God, I'd forgotten that sex could make you sore as hell. It'd been a damned long time since I'd made love without invulnerability. And never with nothing but our skins between us. With a grin, I ran a hand down my side, wincing when I felt the reddened and abraded skin along thigh and stomach.
"Sore?" He was standing at the bedroom door, giving me a long look that took in my entire body. I stretched lightly, refusing to wince at the pull of the bruises on my back and the tension in my calves.
"Not enough to care. Come here, sugar." I had sex time to make up. Logan shook his head and I half sat up, rolling my shoulders a little. My back ached, my legs ached, and I--
"Oh *shit*," I gasped, sitting straight up and gaining a new variety of screaming muscles. "Oh God, I didn't--I can't believe--" I forgot. I totally, completely, where the fuck is your head, Marie? Logan frowned and crossed the room, dropping on the bed beside me and I felt his hand brush through my hair.
"Marie?"
"We didn't--" I took a breath, letting it out slowly. Had I not been talking about babies with Jean? Had I totally forgotten sex ed class? Was I an idiot? "I'm not on the pill--Logan, I--"
"Oh, that." Well, that was blase indeed. I jerked my head up and studied the unconcern on his face. Not expected. "Don't worry."
"Don't worry?" My voice rose an octave at very least and Logan grinned a little.
"Not the right time, baby."
I blinked.
"How would you know?"
He sighed softly, and his fingers dropped to the back of my neck, rubbing the muscles I'd just abused. I let him turn me around and the wonderful hands began to rework all the muscles I'd reknotted so quickly.
"Good sense of smell, good instincts, and basic biology. Don't worry."
I twisted my head around to look at him hopefully--come to think of it, I'd just gotten off my period. I restrained myself from asking if he'd picked that up as well. Some things I didn't want to know.
"You're absolutely sure?"
"Absolutely sure." He paused for a second, working the middle of my back and I moaned softly in relief. "We'll be more careful."
"Okay." I'd take it on faith. I'd also run a blood sample through Jeannie's lab--I'd get Kitty to help me out. It just didn't seem like a good idea for me to try and go to Jeannie's lab myself.
"Marie, take off the collar for awhile."
I frowned a little, trying to twist around again. Logan patted me on the back and got up, going to the dresser and picking up his gloves.
"I don't--"
"Marie, can you even walk?"
Oooh, good question. At some point today, I might need to walk. Couldn't imagine a damn thing that could make me leave this bed, but, well, it could happen. Frowning, I nodded reluctantly and he tossed me the key I'd left on the coffee table. Absently, I slipped it into the lock and let the collar fall off, wondering why Logan had put on his gloves and was reaching for his shirt--
"Marie, listen--"
Something hot tingled through me and my vision went dark--oh damn.
My entire body convulsed in shock, as my skin came back on with a vengeance, and a burning spread down every muscle of my body as invulnerability tried to catch up with the damage. I tried to breathe through it but couldn't even control the jerks of my body, before I felt something large and quite strong bear down on my wrists and shoulders. Strength was flowing back, but there was no control, and I wondered if I'd hurt him without even meaning to.
After endless minutes of pain-filled darkness, I slowly emerged into full consciousness to see Logan still straddling my body--shit, I could have seriously hurt him.
"You okay?" he asked, and I nodded numbly. Logan eased his grip on my wrists and sat back on his heels, still over my waist.
"Are you?" I sat up, almost colliding with him, and looked him over frantically. "Shit, sugar, I could have--I'm stronger than you and my skin--"
"Don't worry." Logan shook his head, dismissing my fears and cupping my face. "I've handled post-collar shock before. I was gonna warn you--" he ran his fingers over my face. "Extended periods of time has some weird fucking effects. Just lay down for a while--you might begin to itch a little. 'Stique was clawing her own skin during the worst of it."
I felt myself begin to tremble a little and Logan pressed me back, lowering himself down beside me and wrapping me up in the sheet carefully before his arms gently circled me, pulling me against him.
"That was after weeks, though. You'll be fine. If you feel itching, take a shower." Gently, he stroked my hair back. "Effects should wear off in less than an hour, so don't worry."
"Okay." I snuggled back against him, getting slightly sleepy--there was a light itching, but nothing I couldn't handle and almost subliminal. "I'm fine, sugar."
"Go to sleep." Another stroke of my face, before rolling me onto my other side and drawing me close. Shutting my eyes, I snuggled carefully against his covered chest as his hands slid comfortingly over my back.
"What are we doing here anyway?"
Leaving that bed, as far as I was concerned, was just damn silly. There was so much left to do, and we were here, doing--this. Damn. Most people might think thirty-six hours of sex was a little excessive. Most people weren't me. I was just warming up. And having a superhealing lover was something that should be required by law. All unwitting, I caught myself tracing his wrist with the tips of my nails through my gloves, and never had I resented my uncontrolled skin as much as at that moment. His fingers caught mine, squeezing lightly, and I tried not to pout at his half-hearted try at a frown.
God, I was obvious. Though of course, he'd been the one that delayed us in the garage for an extra ten minutes against the hood.
Logan shook his head at me and I skipped ahead, half turning to watch his face. He was very good about controlling his expression, but involuntary muscles had a life of their own. He gave away more with his lack of reaction than he sometimes did with a visible one. He didn't want to be here either. He'd much rather be comparing and contrasting the couch, the floor, and the kitchen table in terms of maximum sexual positioning potential.
So far, the table was winning, but only by two.
"I'm going to catch up on reassigning personnel. You're going to go train and look very, very interested in being a good little mutant. Allerdyce gonna go with you?"
I shook my head shortly and sighed.
"The Danger Room is boring, sugar."
"You like it."
"That's before someone worried about my safety locked me out of the upper ranges." I snorted. "It's boring."
I got a wolfish grin.
"Easy to override. Use my settings and shut down the safety protocols if you need to." Logan paused, coming to a stop and obviously thinking about what he'd just said. "Leave the comm open--if anything goes wrong, I can shut it down with a verbal command."
"You'll be in your office?"
"Yeah. Mostly."
Logan had an office. Just strange. I waited for him to join me at the steps and his fingers wrapped through mine.
"You have a weird look on your face, baby."
"Just the concept of you in an office fazes me a bit. Give me time. Paperwork. Just--" I waved a hand in the air vaguely--it *was* dizzying in weird ways. Logan and paperwork--it would be like Scott choosing to become a rock star or Kurt taking up a life of celibacy. Just not--well, in character. Logan flashed me a grin.
"I don't do it. I just look at it."
"Turn it into confetti."
"When I can get away with it, oh yeah."
We grinned at each other as we walked inside and I handed off my coat to a norm near the door. Up ahead, Kitty was coming down the stairs and stopped as she saw us, a smile turning up her mouth.
"Marie, where you been?"
Logan dropped a kiss on my head and tossed Kitty a grin before he walked off. I tried not to watch him too long, but Kitty was beside me before I could manage to look away. He had a provocative walk. Well, damn, he had a provocative way of breathing. Hey, Marie, you are seriously losing it.
"Uh-huh." Kitty smirked and I felt a flush creep up my face. "That's an interesting color." Her gaze went to Logan with a slight grin. "He's looking perky." Heh. Logan perky. There was some impossible imagery. "You busy?"
I thought about it, and about the digital phone Logan had tucked into my jacket pocket that morning. He was so cute when he was worried. Hmm--Kitty or the Danger Room? Wow, wasn't that easy to answer.
"Not really. You need something?"
"The Salem Complex Director called. They had an accident and need a medic--Jean's on assignment, so they asked for me."
Surprised, I met the dark eyes.
"You're medical?" In retrospect, not a huge surprise--she'd always been into hard sciences.
Kitty shrugged as she got her jacket from the hands of a young boy I didn't recognize and pulled it on, reaching down for her bag he put at her feet. I took my coat back without comment and slid it on, feeling the leather brush heavily over the backs of my calves with very feminine pleasure. I really liked this coat.
"I got paramedic training during the war," she said as she pulled the pack over her shoulder. She looked me over. "I didn't have another--useful skill other than infiltration and hacking, so--" she shrugged a little. "When I was needed, I was called. Logan said he armed you--"
I nodded in surprise, pulling back the folds of my coat so she could see. She nodded quickly.
"Good. Bobby and Johnny are on assignment too, and we're not allowed unaccompanied into the camp proper." Pulling her hair back, she fastened it away from her face and I watched as she checked through the pack quickly before nodding to the door.
"They don't have guards?"
Kitty's expression was oddly fixed for a second--it dawned on me that she was uncomfortable.
"Lensherr made the assignments to Salem Complex, not Logan." She hesitated. "They're not very--easy to be around." Pushing the door open, we emerged outside into the bright sunlight. "Logan sent my car back with new tires," she said conversationally as we approached the garage. "Something about bad roads."
I flushed but didn't comment at her little grin, and I wondered if she knew why she'd lost a tire--or two.
"All right," I answered and felt the weight of my gun against my side. It was comforting, and that worried me a little.
Guns shouldn't be comforting.
I was glad I remembered my ID, and even gladder that the director wasn't someone I'd met before my interesting hair color change. Captain Reherr wasn't in evidence--even better--and the tower was nicely full of people paying no attention to us.
"Sorry to call you down here, Ms Pryde," the director said. He was a big man in a way I couldn't quite understand--because he didn't look big. He *felt* big. He speared me with a glance that was supposed to be intimidating and definitely was. I tried not to draw back. "I'll assign you an escort--"
"This is Marie Danvers," Kitty said quickly, and there was a definite trace of nervousness in her voice. "She'll accompany me."
His look was speaking. I'd never looked terribly intimidating even on my best days, I was well aware of that. Even in uniform, I was usually pegged as the weakest of the lot, and it was true in a lot of ways before Carol and I had met. It was oh-so not true now. His gaze slid over me, lingering on the butt of the gun I made sure was visible. I forced myself to stay still under his gaze.
"Ms Pryde--"
"Marie is more than capable of watching out for me, sir. Thank you." Kitty's voice was cool and firm in the face of his presence, and I wondered how she managed it. I waited as the director hesitated, then he stepped back, entering a series of codes into the doorway before removing something from his jacket and dropping it into Kitty's reluctant hand. A comm, I guessed.
"If an emergency arises, please call." Another glance at me, frankly contemptuous. I wondered idly how much effort it would take to slam him into the floor. Not much. "Go on ahead."
"Thank you." As quickly as possible, Kitty opened the wide metal door and walked out, and I followed, keeping my eye on the director before the door closed between us. Then I turned around to face Kitty and got my second view of Salem Complex.
Seeing it from the outside had been one thing. I took a breath, trying not to throw up at the smell.
"It's retaliatory," Kitty said softly, and a movement of her hand brought my gaze to the oblong pits in the ground. "They dug the latrines on this side to annoy the director. Every time he moves towers, so do these." She covered her mouth with a handkerchief pulled from her pocket and I wished she'd warned me. Lifting my sleeve to my nose, I took in the comforting smell of expensive leather. "Come on. Let's get in and out."
My Kitty memories were shifting. Kitty was nervous around humans.
I nodded in complete understanding to her statement and also to distract my stomach. I was certain the director was watching. Glancing around, I caught the video cameras stationed on the posts of the fence. Looking out through the wire, I watched the quiet street and remembered standing outside looking in. Directionally, this wasn't the same side of the camp I'd seen.
"It's quiet," I said softly. Kitty nodded, letting down the cloth over her mouth after we'd gone thirty feet.
"Yeah. No one wants attention drawn to themselves, as you can imagine. They're in section A, so it should be--" she turned, feet keeping off the ruined remains of the sidewalk and skipping the chunks of concrete and twisted metal effortlessly. "--over here. I think this is the right apartment block."
I nodded and followed where she led. She was definitely familiar with the area.
"You come here often?"
Kitty's shudder was almost imperceptible.
"With Jean, sometimes, when there's been serious cases."
Picking my way through dead grass and carelessly strewn rocks, we went in between several buildings and onto what was once a road that separated two different apartment complexes. No way to drive this sucker--it was something of an accomplishment to get around the twisted hunks of metal and through broken glass, and I was tempted to pick Kitty up and fly us straight there. Turning my head, I saw the twisted pole that had once carried the name of this street and tried to get the name, but the dark green sign was blackened beyond readability.
"What happened in here?"
Kitty, semi-safely on the other side, gave me a confused look. I motioned with one gloved hand and almost fell over a chunk of something that seemed vaguely asphaltic. Well, damn. Pushing up, I hovered and flew to her side.
"Forgot you could fly," Kitty said with a strained smile. Every nerve in her body seemed notched too tight--I felt her memories move in me and sympathized. I shrugged once both booted feet were groundward again, glad to see I was getting better at landings. "What do you mean, what happened?"
I motioned around the area, and her blank expression didn't change.
"The decay. The--well, roads." I looked at a gutted set of buildings about a hundred feet to my left and shuddered.
"Oh." Kitty shrugged. "When we took back the school, there was a lot of collateral damage."
"Collateral damage?"
"Scott wanted to level Salem Center, Lensherr didn't. This was the compromise." She picked her delicate way to the remains of a fairly decent sidewalk that ran between two red-brick buildings and waited for me to reach her. "Scott didn't want a camp situated so close to the School, but he saw Lensherr's reasoning, that the most dangerous war criminals needed to be kept near the most powerful alphas."
Okay, that sounded very wrong.
"Salem Complex isn't for criminals--I thought it was for the Polaris Project."
Kitty's gaze slid to mine and held with a perfect attention that almost made me squirm. I should have kept my damned mouth shut. After a second, though, Kitty merely shrugged.
"It's the same thing--the ones here are the ones that are most dangerous to us. The ones that could still cause the most problems. Leaders of the FoH, several countries that aren't officially aligned with us, scientists who worked the experimental camps, people we can't afford to let free. Either of us or against us."
The lines drawn sharp in the ground. Here or there. Mutant or criminal. No such thing as neutral.
"One of you or against you," I heard myself say, understanding suddenly what Logan had been trying to tell me in his oblique way. An automatic assumption of guilt if you weren't born mutant. Those kids in the camp suddenly made immense amounts of sense. They were enemies because of the genes in their body.
Kitty was already too far ahead to have heard me, and shaking myself, I skipped to catch up as she made a right. The entire place was creepily quiet, and my hand itched to take out my gun and have it in hand for any emergency. No place housing upwards of ten thousand people was this damn quiet.
Ducking past the burned-out stump of a tree, I watched Kitty slowly approach a building almost at random. The porch was once, I thought, elegant white-painted wood. Half was missing, and the concrete of the floor was blackened and burned into almost nothing more than fragmented char. The front window was taped over, and even after several seconds of study, I couldn't quite see inside. After a second, I figured it out.
The window was blackened. Turning on a heel, I looked up and around, trying to make out whether or not the others were as well.
--Blackening. For bombing.-- Logan's voice was thoughtful.
--You're thinking of Amsterdam, aren't you, sugar?--
Logan's pause was telling. I waited as Kitty went to the door and an elegantly gloved hand rapped lightly, jerking away from the splintered wood as quickly as possible, as if it would contaminate her through her gloves.
--Yeah. Britain and Amsterdam. Blackened the windows, hide the light inside, if these people even have light.--
I doubted it, blinking around me for a few long minutes as Logan watched through my eyes.
--Bombing? Is she right?--
--A little.-- Logan sounded strange, and I wondered, with a sort of blank horror, if he was going to comment on my extracurricular activities with Alternate Logan. --Some of this, though... Some of this isn't from a bomb. It was done deliberately.--
--You think the residents vandalized their own home?-- That seemed sort of weird.
--No, I think mutants vandalized it as a reminder and a warning. Bombing wouldn't do all of this. This is systematic destruction, carefully thought out. Homes without windows, doors without privacy, and life without modern conveniences. It's good psychology to reduce the enemy to inferiority in their own minds. Makes for easier handling.--
"Marie?"
"Huh?" I jerked back into the here and now to see Kitty waiting patiently for me beside the now-open door. Her voice had been level, but I could pick up the edges in it--no, Kitty didn't want to be here, not at all, and I was suddenly tasting the lab with her, feeling rough hands on my body. Shivering, I gathered my thoughts close and crossed the bare dirt before stepping up on the concrete of the porch and following her inside.
There were *way* too many people crowded into a small space and my hand went for my gun, out and safety clicked off before I even got a good look at the room.
--Shit, Marie, what the hell are you doing?--
Ignoring Inner Logan, I turned my full attention to the people around me, counting them and how many the Glock could handle. Breathing evenly, I felt Kitty's hand on my arm.
"It's--okay." Through her hand, I could feel her heart pounding, was only surprised I couldn't hear it as well. "They've been checked for weapons, Marie. Come on--in the bedroom."
I nodded but kept my eye on the people. At least fifteen, maybe twenty, and the smell of unwashed norm was too damn strong for my nose to handle. I took a shortened breath and let Kitty lead me to the room, keeping my gun out but down as we picked our way across a bare concrete floor and a variety of threadbare blankets and worn pillows. I didn't want to turn my back on them, so I kept my back to the hall wall, Kitty in my line of sight, the people in the living room in peripheral.
The smell of their fear was strong enough to worry me. Scared people were highly dangerous people.
Finally, we were led into a small bedroom and Kitty shut and locked the door behind us as our guide withdrew. A young girl was laying on the bed, her mother seated beside her.
Blue eyes came up to meet mine before skittering submissively to my collar and I recognized her. Vivid blue eyes, her daughter's brown hair, and the look of terror that cut me to the heart. Suddenly, the gun seemed horribly huge and out of place, and I tucked it back into my holster, checking the safety.
Kitty was still standing beside me, unmoving.
"What's wrong with her?"
The woman's eyes tore from me--did she recognize me without the fence between us?--and slid to Kitty's waist.
"Fever. She cut her foot outside and we haven't been able to make it heal."
That had to be a real danger--infection was so prevalent, so very damn possible in conditions like this. These people needed shoes badly. Kitty nodded slowly, flipping into a cool expression I'd seen Jean utilize with patients before in my world.
The little girl's head lifted a little, her mother's clear eyes looked back at me. I took a breath, trying to tune out the smells of the room. Something was wrong here. I didn't smell fever--and I'd had Logan's senses often enough to know it. Kitty was already moving slowly toward her, bag in hand, and I reached out a second too late to stop her.
She knelt by the bed, back to the door for the first time, and I spun around just in time to watch the door splinter open and a gloved hand curled around my throat. Latex. No fingerprints.
Clever.
I heard Kitty's startled scream and even from the floor where I'd been thrown, I could smell her hysteria taking over. She should be able to phase right out of their hands. And there was no way in hell she'd know to do it. I went limp, letting rough hands grab my arms and jerk me upright.
"Christ, Michael, you think this'll work?" Something covered my eyes--I hated that--and I took a short breath, bringing all my senses on-line. Kitty was in front of me and to my left, less than ten feet away when I started, but a spin killed my sense of direction until the wall collided with my back. She was--I gritted my teeth at the fear in the room, hers mixing into it, and my Kitty memories told me what I could expect from her now. She wouldn't be able to do a damn thing.
"It's gotta--they want their bitches back in one piece, they'll negotiate."
"You trust Summers that much?"
There was a coarse laugh somewhere above me.
"This one's fucking Logan--he already killed three of his own for touching her. He'll negotiate."
Shit. Lucas. How rumors build. That little son of a bitch had a lot to answer for now. I bit my lip, jerked up against the wall, and tried to pinpoint Kitty and decide how many were in the room. My gun was gone, but the knife at my thigh was still comfortingly uncomfortable. Me getting away would be a piece of cake. Getting an hysterical Kitty out was going to be all kinds of tricky.
"So how we going to do this?"
Yes, how *did* they think this was going to work? Kidnapping and hostage situations ran into two big categories, and usually ended one of two ways--either these guys were going to die, or these guys, me, and Kitty were going to die. Assuming they figured out a way around the double threat of my skin, that was. Assuming Kitty didn't get past her hysteria and phase her ass out so I could get away on my own. Shit, I should have been watching more closely. Unforgivably stupid not to keep more alert.
I could feel Carol in my mind, following the train of my thoughts.
--You should be able to take out at least the ones closest to you.--
--And they'll still have Kitty and can use her as a threat against me. Plus, I'll lose the element of surprise. I'm fast, chica, but not fast enough, not when I can't see where she is. I can't even be sure where the damn window outta here is, and she might not survive me knocking through the ceiling on my way out.--
So far, none of the idiots had touched my bare skin. That might have been good or bad in the situation--I didn't feel the need to risk it yet. Something cold and metal was around my hands, jagged edges pushing at my skin. Homemade handcuffs of some sort. Necessity was the mother of invention and all that.
--There were twenty in that outer room, but I can't be sure more didn't come through. Shit, I hate this. I hate it.--
Kitty's tiny choked gasp was enough. I straightened and a hand knotted in my hair, jerking my head back. Hot air rasped against my ear, smelling of rotting chicken and dead vegetation, strangely familiar. I'd never eat again at this rate.
"Strength and flying," one said softly. "There's a gun against your friend's pretty little head. Don't try any tricks, Miss Danvers, and all will be fine."
"You think you'll survive?" I asked, equally soft. I knew that voice. Where the hell had I heard it?
"If we don't, the world will be thankfully less two mutant whores."
I followed the sound of him. Scent was familiar. It was sunny and we were standing outside. He was handing me--
"John Andrews," I heard myself say. He gave me my money and escaped the guard my first day. That seemed too long ago, a memory almost faded to black and white in my mind. Almost not even me. How weird.
A vise-like grip closed over my jaw--and invulnerable or not, he could break my neck through my skin easily and even I couldn't move fast enough to stop him. I waited, his fetid breath panting in my face. Kitty was scarily silent--I didn't have any time left.
"Shit, Andrews, how the fuck does she know you?"
I was thinking faster than I ever had before. I leaned into his grip, taking a short breath through my sadly constricted windpipe, and blindly turned my head toward the sound of the voice.
"He knows me, don't you John?"
There was more movement, the sounds of someone coming toward us--there were three around me, maybe more in the room, but I had to get an inkling of where Kitty was. She'd been by the bed, that'd be to the front left. I hadn't heard any sounds of dragging, so she was probably on the floor somewhere over there. Hissed conversations made it impossible to figure her out by the unique sound of her heartbeat and breathing.
"I don't know you," he hissed, jerking me closer, and the blindfold was beginning to slip. Better and better. I kept my body limp as he pulled me closer. "I never saw you before that night in the ghetto."
He'd been there. He'd seen--I swallowed in a dry throat, remembering the feel of that building against my back and that little bastard against me. They'd seen--they'd seen and they hadn't cared.
He'd been close enough to see my face. I gingerly twisted a wrist and the metal bent before me. Almost. Almost there, make it a shock, a surprise, because there was only one chance or the hostage situation would end with Kitty's death. Not going to happen.
"You saw that little bastard attack me?" I whispered.
"Yeah. Thought you were human, didn't they, walking alone in the ghetto? I knew you weren't. I watched you drive up to look around and enjoy your moment of superiority." His voice was rich with hate and fear, wrapping around me like fog.
"Would you have tried to stop them if I'd been a norm?"
"Yes." The hand tightened on my chin. "Not for you, though. Who cares what happens to a mutie bitch?"
The blindfold came loose from my face and I met the clearly written hatred in the eyes before me. Hate was frightening when you were the subject of it. Hate was good when you were feeling it yourself, and it fueled the rage in my voice, soft and low so no one else could hear. I wanted this to be John Andrew's little message alone.
"Then why should I give a fuck about you?"
Both my hands were free and I jerked them out, knocking him backwards into the far wall. The others drew back--knowing someone was strong and seeing her knock a two hundred pound man with a flick of the wrist was two very different things. Hesitation--just what I was waiting for. I speared the location of the window with a glance, then the broken door, then Kitty curled in a tiny ball on the floor with a gun forgotten against her head. Taking to the air, I kicked out at a random head, trying not to do too much damage to an unarmed norm, but for a moment I almost didn't restrain the kick. They weren't armed, weren't suited up, and I couldn't toss my training away that easily, no matter how badly I wanted to hurt him. Ducking easily, I landed beside Kitty and hooked both hands under her arms and pulling her close to my body as we floated backward out the window in a beautifully controlled tumble. Glass brushed harmlessly against my skin and I landed on my ass on the ground just outside, Kitty practically catatonic in my arms.
Shit. Where the hell were we?"
I could hear the sounds from inside, people coming toward the window, shouting for help. Hauling Kitty over my shoulder, I flew upward--nothing like flying as the deus ex machina of an escape, that was for certain. Kitty's limp hands banged on my back and I hoped to God her jacket kept her waist covered from my neck.
Taking a hovering stance, I looked around the complex and saw a tower very close. Latrines nearby. That's the one.
The soldier on duty in the upper room of the tower turned around and almost screamed to see me hovering in his line of sight. A gun almost came out before good sense took over.
"Umm--"
"You mind letting me in? We have a bit of a situation here," I answered, flicking Kitty's weight more evenly on my shoulder.
He gulped.
I'd never seen Scott Summers mad before.
I'd seen him irritated, angry, frustrated, annoyed, and a whole host of negative-connotated verbs and adjectives, and I'd thought I'd seen them all. When Magneto escaped his plastic prison five years before--when Mystique impersonated Jean and seduced Logan, or Logan seduced her (and that was an event I still didn't feel comfortable thinking about)--when we mourned the death of Morph--when we listened to the anti-mutant rhetoric of one of our own turned against us--they'd brought out facets of him I'd never known existed.
It was like comparing a light summer shower to a thunderstorm, though. Not even in the same zip code.
Sitting in a corner of the tower's bottom floor, I watched in fascination as Scott paced the length of the room while the Director, blanched and without a single word in his defense, waited for Scott come down. The room seemed suddenly tiny and cramped, filled to the limit and beyond with the sheer power Scott emanated like heat off his body. Not his mutation, not just his authority, just--just him. This was a Scott Summers I'd never seen before, all the strength of the Scott I'd known in my world unleashed completely and absolutely, reminding every person in the room that he was the final authority in the end. Magneto might run the school, Mystique might run the country, but he was the man that led the X-Men, the enforcers of the new regime, and he was the man that had led the mutants to victory over the norms. He was the living, breathing embodiment of mutantkind itself and everyone in that room knew it in their very bones.
I couldn't help but stare at him, in utter and complete awe.
"Execute them," Scott said finally, in a low, even voice that sent shivers down my spine. Logan, standing just behind my chair, closed a hand on my shoulder before I could begin to think of anything to say. "Publicly. This will not happen again. This will *not* become an example for others to copy. I want it recorded and sent to every single camp in the country. Do you understand me, Director?" He turned on the big man, who looked small and rather flat compared to Scott now.
"Yes, sir."
"Everyone involved is to be brought before me within the next four hours." Scott's voice dropped even lower, raising the hairs on the back of my neck and along my arms. "According to Marie, there were at least twenty people in that apartment--bring them out and anyone suspected of being a part of this. Anyone even *breathing* near that area is to be questioned and given to Jeannie and Betsy immediately. Have I made myself clear?"
The Director nodded and snapped orders to two white-faced guards behind him, who were already making for the stairs like grey rabbits, desperately glad, I supposed, to get out of the room and from under the sheer weight of Scott's power. I knew how they felt. The visored gaze turned on me and stayed there for a few long minutes, and I leaned back into Logan without even being aware I was doing it.
I'd never feared Scott Summers before. I did now.
"Jean needs your memories, Marie," he said softly. I jerked up, knocking my chair over, and Logan's hands closed over my arms before I could do anything else. Those men in that apartment had annoyed me--but this was worse. I'd rather be there still than locked in this room with a pissed off Scott. I'd rather be with a pissed-off Scott than trapped in a room with a powerful telepath, but only marginally. I didn't think even Scott Summers in this incantation could break me.
But Jean Grey, telepath and telekinetic, whose power danced along my skin at every meeting, very well might.
"No, Summers."
Scott's hot gaze fixed on Logan for a minute, then he raised a hand, flickering it in dismissal of those surrounding us.
"Everyone out. Now."
The room cleared so fast it was as if everyone teleported someplace else. I didn't blame them. Logan gently freed my arms and upended the chair, setting me down before my knees went out.
"Logan, don't ever contradict my orders in front of subordinates. You know chain of command as well as I do."
There was a hot, tense silence between them, and I leaned into the chair as if I could sink inside it and never come out. If Jean got in my head, she'd know something was up. She'd know that the story of Marie Danvers didn't match the mind. I took a shaking breath, letting it out, as Logan casually stepped in front of me--I could just see Scott around him.
"Don't give orders you know I'm against. Marie hasn't done anything that requires telepathic interference and you know it. She was attacked, same as Kitty, and she got herself and Kitty out. I'm not subjecting her to that."
Scott stared into him until I wondered if the beams would break free of ruby quartz just from the intensity of that look.
"This isn't negotiable. We need to know who and what, Logan."
"I'll question her."
"It won't be the same as living memory."
"No, it won't. But it'll be just as accurate." Logan's hands were relaxed at his sides. There might have been nothing more exciting going on than a discussion of automotive parts.
"Why don't you want Jean in her mind, Logan?" Scott seemed to have forgotten I was there--or maybe he didn't care anymore. "Normal procedure on entering the school is a voluntary mental scan and complete physical. You've blocked both. I want to know what's in her head that you don't want anyone else to know, even Jean."
I sucked in a breath, saw Scott's gaze arrow on me. Suspicion naked across his face, the first time he'd let me see it so completely. He was past the point of being subtle. Dear God.
"It's her head, her privacy, hers alone. It belongs to her, like her body, and she has the right to both and what's done with them." Logan's voice was painfully even, like the solid edge of cut glass. A slip and you'd cut yourself badly, no matter how smooth it looked. "That's what we fought for, isn't it, Summer? That freedom? She's free to say no. She's given us no reason to doubt her intentions or her allegiances, so we don't have the right to force telepathic rape on her."
Scott's entire face froze.
"That's low, Logan."
"It's what it is with an unwilling mind. You know it, Jeannie knows it. Using pretty words to cover it up with doesn't change what it is."
"It won't hurt her. You know better than to think Jean--"
"I know exactly what it is." Logan tapped his head. "I remember. And I know what it feels like to have the privacy of your mind taken. I've had seven years to remember it."
Shaking, I stared up at Logan, forgetting Scott. God. He was talking about me. About my mutation. Wrapping my arms around my waist, I lowered my head onto my knees. I'd never asked how it felt to someone else, how they felt when I pulled out their mind through their skin. I'd never wanted to know.
I heard Scott's soft breathing.
"Logan, tell me you're not being blind."
"Tell me that seven years of trust is worthless weighed against one choice."
That was laying down the line and I waited it out, the voices in my head as silent as the room.
"Send me a report." Not defeat--another quality in the even voice. Frustration, still anger, but more than that, there was faith in that voice. He believed Logan, believed unquestioningly in Logan's loyalty. Whatever he thought of me, he believed in his friend and team member and second in command. He believed Logan would never betray him, and he didn't know that Logan was doing that, just by protecting me.
God, this was so fucking complex, more than I'd ever imagined. I'd made it this way.
"I'll bring it to you personally," Logan answered, and I heard the sound of footsteps as Scott left the room, going up the stairs to finish with the camp guards. I felt Logan come over, crouching beside me, gloved hands gentle in my hair.
"I'm sorry," I whispered, unable to look at him, at what I was making him do. This wasn't Logan--it wasn't him, to do this, to be this person. No matter where we were, Logan took loyalty seriously.
"Nothing to be sorry for." Carefully, fingers worked under my face and lifted it, and I saw nothing but worry written in the clear hazel. Worry and support and so much emotion that I threw myself out of the chair and buried my head against his jacket, shutting my eyes tight. "Everything's okay, Marie. I promise."
I didn't do anything but hold on and Logan simply stood up, letting my feet drop naturally to the floor. I lifted my head and tried to get control of myself.
"Can we go home now?" I whispered finally, leaning into the leather of his jacket.
"Right now."
Telepathic rape.
Energy absorption, memory transfer, mutational mimicry--pretty words like clean linen covering the filthy truth, the real definition of what I was. It all came down to that--I pressed my bare skin against bare skin and sucked their essence through me, into me, taking what they considered most sacred, most debased, most beautiful, most private. What was never meant for any thoughts but their own became mine to study and search through at my leisure, to mock with friends or enjoy in the privacy of my room.
I had no right to know how Kitty had felt against that lab wall--all her humiliation, her embarrassment and pain and sick fear. I had no right, none at all, no more than I would have to put a camera in Scott and Jean's room to tape them having sex. The ultimate invasion of privacy, and inevitable, simply because of what I was.
I stumbled into the bedroom and found the collar, pulling it on and crouching by the bedside table as it took effect.
"Marie?"
Distantly, I heard him come in, warm hands on my shoulders, and I tried to fight him--oops, see, power's off, Marie. Can't do that, can't be that. A finger traced the collar.
"It's what I told Scooter, isn't it?"
Lifting me gently, he sat on the bed, pulling me into his lap. I couldn't look at him--hadn't been able to look at him in the car either, curled inside my own misery and guilt.
I was doing this--me. I was the mental rapist and the one that was making Logan betray himself with every word and breath. I thought I had problems in my world--oh, poor Marie, she can't touch anyone, it fucks up her head so badly, poor baby. No shit. Poor person who touches me, see what the fuck I can do to you? I can take more from you than you know you have. I should never be allowed to touch anyone, ever. I should have been locked in that plastic prison with Magneto--dear God, how could Logan bear to touch me? How? How could anyone look at me and not *see* that, feel it in their bones?
"Marie, it's not what you think."
"Tell me you were lying to Scott." I dug my fingers into my thighs, feeling his breath deep in his chest, then the soft rumble of an exhale. "You weren't. That night--in your room--when I touched you, it was like that, wasn't it? I was--I was taking your mind from you. Ripped it out and stole what--" I choked. The implications I'd never considered staggered me, and I tried to jerk away from him, unable to bear the feel of his skin against mine. The strong arms tightened. "How can you stand to touch me?"
"I love you, so it's not that hard." My breath caught at the words, but he went on. "Marie, you didn't want to hurt me when you did that."
"Doesn't make it any less a violation, though, does it?"
"It's one I don't mind remembering, one I'd do again without question." His hands slid below my jaw, tilting my head up to meet his eyes, feel how serious he was. "Without question, without hesitation, Marie. None. It doesn't matter."
"It matters to me."
"I know." He brushed his lips across mine, lightly--no danger with the collar, nothing to hurt him with, all dangerous skin turned safe. I turned in his arms, pushing him back on the bed and attacking his mouth, my tongue sliding along his lips until they opened under mine.
There were a thousand different flavors I couldn't possibly map all on my own, but I tried every time. Slick with smoky richness, like whiskey and chocolate and cigars, but better. Not sweet, but strong. The way his tongue slid around mine, circling it, pushing by into my mouth until I wasn't sure where either of us ended in the other. Not breaking the kiss, I unbuttoned his jeans, working a gloved hand between us until I had enough space to circle him with my hand. He bit the tip of my tongue, drawing a low moan out of my throat, and I tried to get deeper, all the way inside him so I didn't ever have to come out again and see what I was.
I'd taken so much from him--memories, my younger self, his own ethics, forcing him to betray those that trusted him. I'd died once and this world had been the result. I'd come back, and now I'd see if I could finish destroying him completely. God, I wasn't any better than the norms.
"I love you," I said, tearing myself away from the addiction of his mouth. He reached up, cupping my face, and I shook my head on the words he was about to say, words that would give me an absolution I had no right to. "Just you, only you. I love you." Ducking my head, eyes closed, I ran my tongue down his jaw, to the side of his throat, digging my teeth into the spot just where the shoulder met the neck, feeling him groan beneath me. Jerking his shirt up, he let me pull it off him and I buried my mouth against his shoulder, nipping the warm skin and hard muscle beneath and feeling his shudder of reaction. Frantically, I worked my way down his chest, biting each nipple until his hands were tight in my hair, licking and sucking down his stomach, pushing his jeans off his hips and taking him in my mouth in one swallow.
He was impressed--his hips arched off the bed and I braced a hand on either side of us. Breathing hard, the fingers in my hair loosened a finger at a time, and I slid my teeth lightly up the length until I only held the head in my mouth, sucking softly, before pushing back down again. He was saying something to me--no idea what, no idea why, I could only hear my heart pound against my ribs while he twisted underneath me. I lifted myself on my knees, using my tongue to tickle another line up his cock until he began to shake under me. I slid one gloved hand down to run lightly across his balls, cupping them gently and squeezing with every thrust of my mouth, feeling them tighten--so close, he was trying to make it last, but I wanted to push him all the way over, wipe out everything resembling thought. Licking around the head, I dragged my teeth until I had him all and swallowed, felt him shudder again, then sucked.
He let go with a growl that echoed in my head, and I pulled back and held on until he was finished, swallowing quickly, then slowly, slowly letting him out, running my tongue slowly over my lips. Looking up, I met the blazing hazel eyes and crawled up his body, dragging my skin against his.
Our eyes were centimeters apart, and I licked along his lips, kissing him so he could taste himself in my mouth.
"Take me," I whispered, sharing his sharply indrawn breath as I lowered myself over him, my jeans an exquisite abrasion for us both. "All of me."
The claws slid out, cutting through my jeans with perfect coordination, and I felt the warm almost-brush of them against my skin. My shirt next, and I threw my head back as his hands slid up my body, the metal sliding with them. My bra was unfastened with a sharp cut across the back. Fingertips stroking the tips of my breasts, the line of my shoulders, down my arms and I shut my eyes as he sat up, his lips touching the skin over my heart softly.
"Marie, I love you. Nothing else means shit."
That made it even worse, in some strange part of my mind. Wrapping my arms around his shoulders, I bit into my lip when his mouth slid over my breasts, teasing a nipple into painfully hard erection, his hands braced on my shoulderblades, the metal of his claws just brushing my hair. I moved my hips slowly against his, feeling him harden underneath me, a soft growl reverberating around my breast, bringing up goosebumps all over my skin. One of his hands slid down the length of my back and the metal tip of the claws followed, barely brushing, unbelievably erotic. A single cut through my underwear and they were so much shredded silk, like the remains of the cotton shirt and denim pieces scattered around us, and both hands lifted my hips, dragging his erection slowly across the wet heat between my legs. I heard myself moan softly, my nails digging into his shoulders through my gloves.
"Please, Logan--"
He brought my hips down hard, all at once, and my entire body went stiff at the feel of him filling me, stretching me, tears burning behind my eyes as every nerve in my body went into overload. With a moan, I buried my head against his shoulder as he rocked me slowly--too slowly--and the long fingers were sliding over every inch of my skin, rubbing circles into my thighs, his mouth soft and warm against my throat. His hand on the back of my neck turned my head, and he captured my mouth, pushing inside as completely as he'd entered my body. The hand on my hips went to my back as my hips took up the rhythm he'd set, kneading into my flesh, pushing me closer and closer to that moment when every knot in my body would release, and I pulled my mouth away, gasping in a breath before he withdrew the claws and eased that hand between us and rubbed my clit.
"Oh God....."
It was a slurred whisper, everything coming apart all at once--my entire body went stiff as my orgasm crashed over me, a coiled burst of heat that seemed to tingle in my fingertips. Both hands closing on my hips, he pushed me harder, sending aftershocks through me that brought whimpers from between my clenched teeth, until I felt him release, a hot liquid burst and a shudder running through the body pressed against mine. I clutched him with muscles gone utterly strengthless, felt him ease us back down on the mattress, and shut my eyes tight, burying my head against his neck.
"Beautiful Marie," he breathed against my hair, arms tightening around me. "My beautiful Marie."
Hank was shifting uncomfortably on the couch--I wasn't sure if his sensitive nose had picked up what Logan and I had been doing only a half hour before, or the fact that the news he carried was less than hopeful.
"I don't know why it happened," he said finally, and he handed me the folder, full of equations I had no idea of the meaning of, scribbled notes in Hank-specific shorthand that might as well have been a foreign language for all the sense the made to me. Blankly, I turned the pages, looking at the strings of numbers and letter combinations that didn't resemble any math I'd ever heard of.
"Nothing?" Logan asked from behind me. Something warm was placed in my hand and I took a drink of coffee without taking my eyes from the papers. I felt him sit down on the arm of the chair, arm pressed to my shoulder as he looked over the notes spread over my lap.
"I think I understand the--connection," Hank said slowly, and both Logan and I looked up instantly. He almost drew away, and I wondered why, before the big hands settled in his lap, twitching with suppressed energy. "The machine is the original, not the rebuild we thought it was."
I looked up at Logan, who was staring at Hank as if the bigger man had grown wings and proposed flying to the moon.
"I cut that thing into pieces, Hank."
Hank shrugged a little.
"The elements it was composed of--titanium and platinum, amongst other common metals--are rare but not difficult to locate with Erik's resources. I checked several times--the seam lines on the machine are invisible to the naked eye, but not impossible to detect. I would guess that Erik's associates returned to retrieve the pieces. It is the same machine, and Rogue--the Rogue who died here--was the only person besides Erik to use it's absorption properties. I suspect that this has something to do with it."
"You mean--you mean it's attuned to me?" I shut my eyes briefly, then looked back down at the notes. Once I figured out what they meant, there was a good chance they'd make more sense than Hank's strange hypothesis.
"Yes. Or not to you--but to your counterpart, who died here. Who you are a perfect duplicate of, if the blood tests Logan allowed me to run are accurate, and they should be." Well, I'd expect nothing less from Hank. "It absorbed you--"
"It absorbed Magneto's power through me," I said shortly. "It was--"
"You. Your power and Magneto's power. Which goes far to back up my hypothesis that it was your power that the machine needed to complete the changes--a mutant's DNA who was flexible enough to incorporate the changes that Erik's machine forced on human kind."
Logan and I, I was certain, had identical dog-watching-Jeopardy expressions on our faces. Hank sighed a little, running a hand through his hair before settling down again with a determined expression.
"Think of the machine as a form of what you do yourself, Marie--absorbing, storing mutation, but in the way of a large battery. It converted Erik's magnetism into a controlled wave of forced DNA mutation. When you were added--"
"When I was added, I--what?"
"Sent a second part through, allowing the human DNA to accept the changes, as your body accepts the changes that occur to you when you touch another mutant. In your world and in our world, Senator Kelley died because his body could not remain stable with the change in basic DNA. Your power, when added to Magneto's, gave those humans exposed to the wave your ability to absorb mutation without physical damage."
Dear God.
"But I don't keep it. It--the borrowed mutation--fades, without the death of the host--" I stopped, drawing in a breath sharply. "My death. I was the host."
Hank nodded slowly, dark eyes fixed on mine. Slowly, I let out my breath, letting everything that could mean run through me and trip off the edges of my brain. I snapped the folder shut.
"And how does this--any of this--explain me here?"
Now Hank was fumbling again, looking for words that were found in a normal dictionary and not the Dictionary For Geniuses. Finally, he gave up and let out a sharp breath.
"I think--" he stopped, frowning now, and I got the feeling this was the part that worried him most. "The split occurred the moment of Rogue's death on the Statue. We have to assume, unless you can tell me otherwise, that all things were equal to that point. Apparently, it--it's existence, the machine's--caused a rift." Hank's eyes were on me, steady and sad. "Rogue, I think that you should not have survived the Statue."
Something fell free inside me with nowhere to land. I heard Logan's low growl and reached out blindly, feeling his hand slide through mine, warm and firm.
"The machine was stopped before the wave reached New York." It'd stopped. I knew that much, seen through Logan's eyes. It'd stopped in the middle of the water.
"If you had died, the power of your addition would have boosted it enough to reach New York easily. It needed everything of you, Magneto's power and your own, with the power of your actual death, which is an enormous amount of psychic and electrical energy. When Logan touched Rogue here, she was dead, and could not absorb his healing gifts to make up for the damage done to her brain when the machine drained her." Hank's eyes were fixed to my left now. "From what you've told me, the only actual change was the fact you were not dead when Logan removed you from the machine. That is the only one. If you had been dead, the wave would not have been stopped with Scott's destruction of the rings."
I tried to absorb that, but nothing would emerge.
"My life's a mistake?"
"I examined your body after Jean was finished," Hank said softly. "The brain damage was severe. Your mutation was burned out of your grey matter. There was nothing to draw Logan's power with. You should not have survived, Marie."
"Magneto survived it," I snapped. "Twice."
"He didn't set it either time to reach the point of death. He controlled how much it took and how. When you were set into it, it was set to kill you. And there is no reason that should have changed. There is also no reason that it should have drawn you into our dimension--"
"Because my world isn't even supposed to exist," I whispered. "I'm not supposed to exist."
Hank raised both palms in a helpless gesture. God. This wasn't--this wasn't something I needed to hear, needed to know.
"Marie, you may not be able to go back." He drew in a deep breath, letting it out slowly, evenly. I didn't like that. "It is possible that your dimension no longer exists."
Dear God. Dear, dear God.
"I don't accept that. I don't accept that--that Magneto's machine pulled me from my own world and my world no longer exists." Somehow, I found my feet, pulling free of Logan's hands. The world was twisting dizzily and I grabbed for the edge of the couch, almost falling on top of Hank. "Why the fuck am I *here*?"
"For that, I have no answer. If we understood what made that moment Logan touched you on the Statue different so that you survived--then we would know why you are here as well."
"You think they're related," Logan said from behind me as I lowered my head into my hands.
"Yes. It is the only thing I can find that fits nothing in my equations or observations. Rogue survived there and flourished. The machine, when run, cut across dimensional borders and pulled her here, to us, from her own world."
"My world isn't a mistake," I whispered. God, was it though? Was this the future as it was meant to be? "I'm not a mistake. I'm not."
"No, you aren't. This world is the mistake, Hank." Logan's hands were light on my shoulders, sliding to the back of my neck, rubbing gently. "This entire--this place--is a mistake. You know it, Hank, or you wouldn't be fighting it so hard."
"The only way to know would be if Marie allowed herself placed in the machine again and let it run its course," Hank said softly, and I jerked up, heard Logan growl behind me. "Logan, there are no laboratory experiments I can run--this is almost purely a matter of mathematics and physics. And observation of the events in question. I have read and re-read all available data. Other than this, there is nothing I can do. If running the machine with Polaris was all it took, it could be that it will send her to her world. On the other hand--"
"My world no longer exists."
"It is possible. So there would be nothing to go back to."
I nodded numbly, lifting my head and taking the cup of coffee Logan placed in my hands.
"Do you need anything else, Hank?"
Logan and Hank retreated to the other side of the living room, and I curled my feet up under me, thinking through what Hank had told us. Told me. I couldn't--wouldn't absorb it. It was just--just wrong. No way in hell.
I heard the door shut and Logan was beside me, pulling me into a tight embrace.
"Marie--"
"I can't--I can't deal with it, Logan. I don't want to anymore." Everyone had their point of saturation, and I'd reached mine. This was all I could bear. No idea how I got here or why, except that fucking machine was somehow attuned to me, to Rogue, that it had me killed once and maybe wanted a second go-around.
He picked me up easily, brushing my hair back from my face, wiping away the tears. I turned into him, letting the large, warm body lull me a little.
"What am I going to do?"
"Hank's getting another night with the machine." Logan paused, before continuing steadily. "And we record Polaris in it--what happens." His finger covered my lips at my protest. "Not kill her. Run her in it. Just one night--for Hank to observe."
"How?"
"There's a second trial scheduled in a couple of days. The first one that Lensherr ran was to make sure it was operational with her. This time, it'll be to make sure the modifications are functioning" Brushing his hands through my hair, he tilted my face up, meeting my eyes. "We record what happens and send it to Hank."
"Hank'll never agree to that."
"He already did, provided no humans are put in its path." Holding my eyes, he waited until I was nodding. "Good. We'll handle the rest later. I'll talk to Scott about recording the trial run--shit, I'm surprised they're not doing it already."
I nodded again, and Logan took the empty coffee cup from my hand and brushed a kiss across my forehead.
"Let's get some sleep."
I tried to smile, then gave up and wrapped both arms around his neck.
"You want me to carry you?"
He sounded amused. I looked up, nodding slowly, and felt him shift an arm under my knees, holding me close. With a breath, I let everything else go and concentrated on the man holding me. Just trust, Marie. It'll happen. Just believe.
I shut my eyes against the fact that somewhere inside me, a part of me wasn't unhappy with the turn of events. If it didn't work--I'd never go home. Or there might not be a home to go to, if Hank's theory was right.
Question was, how badly did I want to get back. Shit if I knew.
"Marie?" I put down my book on the picnic table and looked up at Jean, who had emerged from what appeared to be nowhere to sit down across the table from me. Sixteen hours of sleep and sex (mostly sex) and a long bout of Danger Room *sans* safety protocols had done good things for my mood, but my body twitched as she sat down, wide brown eyes fixed on me with nothing more threatening than friendly interest.
I could like this Jean Grey a lot, truth be told. Too damn easy.
"Hi Jean." It didn't seem so odd, to feel that light tingle around her. It was almost soothing--a subliminal buzz that crept just below the surface of my mind, not invasive so much as softly warming, and I smiled as I lay down the book. "Anything you need?"
"I was checking out the Danger Room logs--you're running some of the more dangerous programs without supervision." Ah yes. Well-- "I know you're invulnerable, but that doesn't mean you're immortal."
I shrugged a little, slightly uncomfortable--how many times had I heard this speech before?
"I don't--"
"I read your evaluation--I am not suggesting you aren't capable of taking care of yourself." She looked into my face, brown eyes filled with concern, and I felt a stab of conscience that I'd added to her worries. Grrr, her worries. Keeping upward of twenty-thousand frightened norms in-line. Grrr twice. What the hell was I thinking? "But I'd prefer you had a companion to observe, at very least to assure that you don't break the equipment."
I smiled at that and she smiled back.
"All right." I studied her face. "Is something wrong?"
For a second, she hesitated, then the soft lips tightened.
"I'd like to run your medical exam soon." The words came out in a rush. "I understand your wariness, Marie, I do, but none of the procedures are invasive. A quick scan, a little background information--"
"I wasn't experimented on," I said, and my voice was harder than I expected, remembering Kitty. "They weren't trying out find out anything--"
"I know." The soft voice dropped, and I remembered suddenly what she had gone through. "And I know that physically, you were undamaged. But--" her voice trailed off. "It's difficult, for all of us, to talk about it, but it does help, Marie. I promise you, it does help."
I paused for a moment, feeling it come together--she didn't really give a flip about the exam, though her researching soul wanted it and badly. That was Scott's paranoia, wanting to find out what I was hiding. This was Jean alone--she was worried about me. She wanted to help me, try to work through my post-camp trauma. All my behavior had been tailored toward that, to cover the fact I couldn't be touched. And she was worried. Letting my shields weaken just a little, I felt it melt into me--and I found myself nodding slowly in understanding.
"I--I can't yet." Hopefully never, but her worry was so real, so powerful, I couldn't help reacting to it, my mouth going dry. "S-soon, okay?"
Jean reached out and patted my hand on the table, and for a second, the familiarity of it washed over me. I could remember laying my head in her lap and crying after Bobby and I broke up, whispering how there was something wrong with me, that I couldn't love someone as wonderful as him. And she'd stroked back my hair and stayed with me for hours, only leaving when Logan had shown up unexpectedly--as he always tended to do--and did his own form of post-break-up therapy, which was a night on the roof with a bottle of stolen whiskey, a box of good cigars, and a thoughtful discussion on who among the Brotherhood we'd most like to have an hour alone with in a small enclosed room with some serious weaponry.
I liked hacksaws and Sabretooth, personally.
Jean Grey-Summers, the mother and sister I'd never really had, and that this woman wasn't quite. In a way I could barely admit to myself--this Jean could be so much more.
"All right." Her voice was soft--then the delicate head tilted and I felt that frisson of power running back under my skin, stronger this time. "I spoke to Scott this morning-" oh my, what was this? "--and he thinks, if you feel ready, you can start training for the beta team."
The beta team--Bobby, Kitty, Johnny. I blinked, trying to hide my shock--there had been mutants here for several years that hadn't been asked yet to join up. Hell, in my world, it had taken the absorption and assimilation of Carol before I'd been permitted field work--habit, I supposed, from the days when I couldn't defend myself at all unless I was acutely desirous of a schizoid episode. And Logan's absolute promise to Scott and Co that he'd be with me on those first few missions.
It had seemed odd at the time--I knew it was a shock to Scott, that Logan was one of my biggest supporters in pushing for team membership. It seemed weird to Scott, I supposed--the idea that Logan, who had always been slightly paranoid (okay, really, really, really paranoid) about my safety, was willing to let me risk my life on a daily basis. In fact, it made up most of Scott's arguments with Logan--my age, my inexperience, my idealism, a thousand other things that boiled down to his worry about my ability to handle the job.
The arguments had gone on and on for weeks while I waited and trained and wondered when Logan would finally make Scott understand--that this was more than something I wanted; it was something I needed. This was what I was, what I was supposed to do. I fought for the same reasons Logan did, and he understood, even better than Scott, what moved inside me. He'd understood, setting aside his own objections, his own prejudices, his absolute terror of losing me, because this was something I needed.
I'd never, before that moment, appreciated that Logan thought of me first.
I blinked, looking into Jean's eyes--here, I'd never been her younger sister and friend, someone to be protected and cherished and watched. I was just a young woman who came here, someone she chose to offer friendship to, and--and--
"Thanks, Jean," I heard myself say finally, my eyes burning. "I'd like that."
--and, somehow, it made what I was almost a betrayal of both Jeans. I'd loved my Jean for being everything I needed in a mother and sister; this Jean, however, had called on the woman in me, the one that wanted to go out for coffee with her and discuss our sex lives and our clothing choices. The woman who could laugh with her over stupid jokes and be the equal that little Rogue could never, never be.
This Jean and I could be friends, no strings attached.
"Hey." I felt every inch of my skin instantly turn on--no no no, not like that, it's *always* on like that. A slow warmth that spread through me as a hand rested lightly on my shoulder. "You ready?"
Jean smiled up at Logan--a radiant smile, lighting her up from within that made me catch my breath, made me wonder what had happened between them in the camps, that the dynamics had changed so much between them.
"You're not staying for dinner?"
I looked up at Logan, who shrugged slightly.
"Got some errands to run--be back in the morning." A little grin. "I'll be at the lab on time, darlin', don't worry." Instantly, his hand slipped beneath my elbow and I stood up as he grabbed my book from the picnic table. Jean shook her head in what appeared to be amusement and rose as well.
"Marie agreed to join the beta team--we can set up a schedule tomorrow for training. Scott will want her in tactics for mornings."
Logan gave me a slight grin I couldn't quite interpret.
"Any way you want it's fine, Jeannie. I'll talk to you later." A slight tug and I stepped over the bench quickly.
"Bye Jeannie," I said and the hand on my elbow slid down to my back, resting lightly on my neck as he led me to the car, looking down at the book.
"What the hell are you reading?"
"Just from the library," I answered. "I thought Mag--Mr. Lensherr needed you until later tonight. I was resigning myself to meatloaf again."
"That's not food." Logan had specific ideas about what constituted food and meatloaf had never made the top ten list--or even upper bottom ten list. "And you said you'd join the team, huh?"
I winced at that.
"She caught me off-guard."
"I'd say." A pause. "Marie--"
I shook my head quickly, not really wanting to explain how I'd felt when she asked me, the words that had stumbled out of my mouth without bothering to check by my head. With a sigh, I leaned against him, felt his arm rest over my shoulder, squeezing lightly.
"Never mind--it's not important." But it was. It was. And I couldn't pretend it wasn't, that it didn't make me think more than I had in a long time. I was getting used to not being the baby, the child with the scary skin, the girl they remembered rescuing and seemed to often forget that there was nothing innocent left in her head. Just--just Marie, a mutant, who appeared and they accepted.
And I was seriously getting used to being touched and watched and wanted, and that probably wasn't a good sign either. I lifted a hand, lacing my fingers through his resting on my shoulder, and thought about the fact that I was getting into some serious trouble now.
"Marie?"
"Yeah?"
A pause--he was thinking again. Logan thinking was never necessarily a good sign. Like me, he tended toward brooding or violence when he couldn't work a problem out--violence winning usually because it was so very readily available and to be truthful, it certainly did wonders to clear the head. Me and the Danger Room had become up close and personal during the Rogue Joins the Team debates.
"You know we can't stay here."
We?
"We?"
He gave me an impatient look.
"You think I'm sending you off alone?" A snort. I hadn't really thought about it--but it was true. I couldn't stay here much longer. As soon as I could get Polaris deprogrammed or whatever, my ass was gonna be on a flight to anywhere that wasn't here. Anywhere at all. But--it tickled me, the possibility Hank could figure out how to send me back home. If I ran and disappeared--even with Logan--I'd never find a way. And granted, the odds were very much against me, but still--
"Where to?" I kept my head down, not wanting him to see my expression.
--but still...I'd lose Logan. I'd lose this.
"Brazil. For awhile, anyway." I blinked a little in thought, trying to dredge up some of Logan's memories, since his personality had taken some sort of weird hiatus in my head. He and Carol both, come to think of it--I peered inside, checking out the interior weather.
--Logan?--
No answer.
--Carol?--
Carol had never stayed so silent for so long before in my association with her. They were *there* I could feel their presence, but internal radar was showing *nada* activity. Frowning, I pulled back out into the real world, getting in the door Logan opened for me and leaning back into the seat.
Of course, Inner Logan wasn't exactly thrilled about my most recent behavior either. Never a reference to it, not even when I came back on after the first time, still shaking in Logan's arms, his body pressed to mine. But unspoken mental disapproval was disapproval all the same, mixed up with far too many threads of emotion that were too Logan-specific for me to really identify. Even if I wanted to.
And I didn't. I wasn't masochistic.
"What d'you want for dinner?"
"Steak." Automatic response, and the visualization of something rare and cooked on some sort of open fire appealed to me. "Do you really think--do you really wanna go with me? If-If I have to leave?"
"Yes."
Maybe it was the simplicity of the statement, the way he erased all doubts with the absolute matter-of-fact way he said it. I bit my lip, turning my head away. He could always make the strange seem commonplace.
"Logan--what would I do on beta team anyway?"
Another hesitation, then he shrugged.
"When the FoH was here like last time you were out with beta--basically the same thing. Scooter'll want you for tactics and start you on a regular training schedule."
All things considered, until I left, it wasn't a bad cover.
"Who would train me?"
A smile.
"I would, baby." The gates passed us by and I saw Johnny and Bobby walking in the distance. They didn't see me. All was good. "Scooter saw the evaluation and the Danger Room logs--he was pretty damn impressed. Wants to know where you got the training."
I groaned and Logan chuckled at my expression.
"Don't worry over every damn thing--he's getting busy again and won't micromanage day to day crap for much longer. He's restless. Under normal circumstances, he doesn't have nearly this much interaction with new recruits--that's usually my job."
I gave Logan a curious look.
"He's taken a lot of interest in me."
"He has. He's wondered about how well mutations breed true, under what circumstances, if you and Carol had identical mutations, unique mutations. He also noticed your skill and your--"
"Involvement with you." That got me another chuckle and I almost threw my book at him. "Logan, don't even try to deny it--he watches me because he's worried 'bout you."
A half-hearted growl was my first response and I giggled a little to see the expression of half-amusement, half-discomfort that crossed his face.
"He gets like that." It wasn't the first time I'd been curious about the very different relationship between Scott and Logan. This was the first time, however, I felt comfortable with asking Logan about it, and he seemed--well, for Logan--pretty damn open.
"You two--" I paused, thinking about what I was going to say, trying to word it just correctly--alternate Logan or no, the similarities on what is and is not to be considered discussible was a fine line that really depended on how you approached the problem. "You're very close."
Logan gave me a curious glance.
"Yeah."
Hmmm. Not very informative.
"Was that--because of the war?"
There was the slightest tensing of all the muscles of his body, before he relaxed, obviously thinking about my question.
"A little," he admitted, and I let a breath out in relief. "Mostly though--" he hesitated, then plowed in. Very Logan. "Mostly, though, it was sort of necessary. I was here and he was here, and it wasn't like either of us were planning on taking off anytime soon." A shrug. "And Jubes." The slightest trace of a nostalgic smile, but not an absence of pain, and I looked away, forcing down the jealousy that always seemed to rear its nasty head at the mention of Jubilation Lee, ever since I'd first understood the unique relationship between them. In my world, they were--well, friends, and yeah, he was all older-brotherish, but I sensed that if there was a good parallel to make, it was the similarity between this Logan and Jubilee's relationship and my relationship with Logan in my world.
Not comfortable thoughts. Desperately uncomfortable thoughts, that woke up every possessive instinct in my body. The very idea that anyone had taken my place--it hurt, even if I didn't have the right to feel hurt, even if I knew, from our only brief touch, that he'd mourned me--
--he'd moved on and found a new protegee to protect and love and care for, and somewhere in the back of my mind...somewhere, I thought about how very replaceable I really was. In this world, in Logan's life, in people's memories.
For once, no Logan or Carol emerged to reassure me, and I sighed to myself, forcing the uncomfortable thoughts back into the depths of my mind and caught Logan's sharp glance.
"You okay?"
And smart, Marie, make Logan wonder. He would *push* for answers and I couldn't deal with that.
"Just tired," I said quickly, and we pulled into the apartment parking lot. Getting out, I grabbed my book from the seat and got out the keys Logan had given me, taking the stairs two at a time and dropping on the couch as soon as I got inside.
Logan moved more slowly, shutting the door behind him and that look was there, and man, was *this* going to get some examination. Shit.
"You don't smell tired."
Did I mention his sense of smell can be inconveniently specific?
"Just--not body-tired. Just--" I let my eyes widen, because another thing--Logan was pretty damn good at catching lies. How, I didn't know and one day, I had to ask him about that. "It's nothing."
The sharp glance didn't diminish, but oddly, he didn't push the point--instead, he simply nodded and went into the bedroom. Stretching out on the couch, I shut my eyes and, hearing him turn on the shower, decided I was allowed to indulge my wounded feelings thoroughly, and hadn't Hank always told me that facing your emotions was much more productive than repressing? Or so he said after every time I went to the Danger Room to work it out at home, and maybe he had a point, because two recent sessions hadn't done anything to cool down that strange pain that accompanied every mention of Jubilee's name.
Sure as hell didn't say much about me, being jealous of a girl who'd died painfully in the camps, another girl that Logan had been unable to save. And maybe I should try thinking about someone other than myself, because that was two girls that Logan ended up losing, two girls he'd protected, and that had to hurt him in ways I couldn't even begin to comprehend. I remembered Jean's tone that day when she told Logan that she was happy he'd found someone.
Since Jubes. If I got home, I wondered if I could ever look at her the same way, as other than a potential rival for my place with Logan. Funny, I'd never felt threatened by Remy, or any of the other kids he'd dragged home at random intervals (how he managed to attract strays was a standing joke at the Mansion), never felt the least bit of jealousy--but then, I'd never been in direct rivalry with Jubilee, who was pretty and perky and could *touch* and lacked the entirety of the massive Magneto-Statue trauma. Logan had chosen Jubilee, not had her thrust on him along with massive amounts of responsibility and guilt and pain, and I rolled on my side and dug my fingers into the couch angrily. Here, I was his lover and his friend and he protected me, but I'd lost the specialness of being his first and dearest, and--and somewhere along the line, I'd never realized how much I'd depended on that, how much I'd taken for granted. How much I missed it, missed the absolute security of knowing that no matter what else I was or was not to him, I was the first he'd stopped for, the first he'd cared for, and the first he'd loved, the one he would do anything for.
I should be ashamed of myself.
"Marie."
Some things didn't change, and one of them was my instinctive reaction to a wet Logan wearing nothing but jeans. Almost relieved, I pushed the self-pity back and away, sitting up to enjoy a view that was worth money, damn it.
"Hey."
There was the slightest trace of a smile on his face--he knew damn well what he did to me when he looked like that, and, all unwitting, I stood up, almost falling over the coffee table and grabbing the collar blindly, locking it around my throat before two skipped steps and tackling him to the floor.
Th soft rush of my power coming under control dizzied me, and I braced my hands on either side of his shoulders and gave him a smile.
"Missed you."
"So I see." The slightest hint of a grin. "What's bothering you?"
Crap.
"Nothing," I replied easily, grinding down slightly--got a reaction and allowed myself to feel smug, before both hands closed over my hips and brought me to a screeching halt.
"Uh-huh." The sharp look was back, and Logan sat up, standing up without much regard to my weight and I quickly wrapped my legs around his waist to keep some sort of control. "Something's wrong and you try to fob me off with Jeannie, I'll know you're lying. You were fine in the car, then you weren't. Wanna make this easy and explain?"
Not particularly, no.
"I'm fine."
"You're lying." In an easy movement, he dropped me on my back on the bed, pinning me neatly under him--not necessarily a bad position and one I could definitely enjoy under the right circumstances. I pushed ineffectively and he sighed, sitting up and pinning my arms under each knee before reallocating his weight and giving me a smirk.
"I could throw you." You know, if I could pull the collar off without the key, recover from collar shock, and then get some decent leverage.
"Uh-huh."
Something. Had to make up something.
"The statues."
For a second, something flickered through his eyes that I couldn't define--then it was gone. His weight shifted.
"I can get it taken down at the school," he said slowly, and I frowned--there was a level of distance suddenly between us and I had no idea what to do about it.
"It's okay--it's just creepy to run across my face all the time." Still looked oddly expressionless, and I wondered suddenly if it had been an open wound, to see me all the time like that. He'd never been allowed to forget. Who would order something like that anyway? Forcing myself not to shiver, I half sat up, absently bracing a hand on his shoulder. "Could we really leave?"
"We can go now."
I looked up to see the absolute sincerity of his expression, and felt a sudden wave of warmth for him.
"You have a good life here, sugar. You know, before I showed up to screw around with it."
"Nothing better than you." Before I could think of an answer to that, he licked the corner of my mouth, and lifted a little, letting my arms free. I wrapped an arm around his shoulders, pulling him down toward me as I tilted my head to kiss him. His hands tightened on my waist and he sat back on his heels, drawing me into his lap.
"It's gotta be soon, baby," he murmured into my hair.
"I know." Breathing out when his lips traced across my shoulder, twisting my hair back. "After Hank comes back--"
"If he says we can't fix this, we go." A hand on the small of my back pushed me closer, aligning our hips, and he turned my head so he could look in my eyes. "I'm not losing you again, Marie."
Wide-eyed at the emotion written so clearly in hazel, I nodded.
"Okay."
When Logan said he had a team meeting, I was resigning myself to some time in the library or on the computers again--so it was something of a shock when Logan told me I'd have to be there.
"What?"
Logan sighed a little, slowing us down from his usual happy ninety-eight mile an hour speed to something approaching quasi-legal. Of course, for all I knew, old President Mystique had declared all speed limits unfriendly to mutants, so really, who was I to judge? And God knew, I hadn't seen a police officer since I arrived.
That said something, though I wasn't sure what, about how justice was delivered these days.
"You agreed to beta team membership. Welcome to the fun of conferences."
Logan must have seen my horror--if there was one single thing I didn't miss about the other world, it was Scott's "State of the X-Men" speeches. Not that they were bad or anything--Scott, like his wife, was a gifted orator, capable of inspiring through passionate rhetoric. The thing was, they happened once a week. Logan, Remy, Jubilee, and I had bets going on how often Scott used the term "humanity" and "peace" in the same sentence.
With the money, Logan and I'd had a very nice vacation in India.
"You're kidding."
Logan shook his head.
"Does he do speeches?"
Logan gave me a look.
"Same over there?"
I sighed.
"Same in the other world, yeah." Frowning, I stared out the windshield. "Isn't he--you know--suspicious of me?" Suddenly hopeful. "Can you tell him I've been playing in the ghetto again?"
Logan laughed softly.
"Good try, baby, but no. He's called in all the teams--'Ro's too. Must be something that's bothering him."
I frowned, turning to look at him.
"Alpha team Scott leads, beta team Bobby and St. John lead. Ororo was with the X-Men on the last--"
"Ororo's a different branch." I was still frowning, so Logan thought for a second. "Look at it like this--the X-Men handle domestic. Ororo, you might say, is international. She lives at Westchester to keep up with developments that we know before Mystique, but her team is in DC. Scott's got all of them under his command, but he really doesn't interfere with 'Ro too often. She comes with us when there's something to do with international support of anti-mutant groups."
"The thing with the FoH cell that attacked the school?" I shivered a little to remember it.
Logan's hands tightened on the steering wheel.
"Yeah, that's a biggie. That it came in time with another attack that Scott, 'Ro, and I were on. There have been too many, and there's a pattern to it. Scott's been studying it when he's not trying to single handedly run the school and everyone in it, so I'm guessing he found something."
"Oh."
"He thinks Hank being here has something to do with it."
I twisted in my seat.
"What?"
Logan shifted uncomfortably as we took the turn that led to the driveway of the Mansion.
"Hank arrived in town before that group attacked the school. Kitty ran blood samples through our DNA records. All of them were FoH--clean DNA, but no birth records, nothing. Granted, the war destroyed a lot of information, but I doubt it serendipitously managed to destroy the records of all seven."
Yeah, that'd be a big damn coincidence. I mulled that, pulling on my seatbelt.
"You said Hank's against the mutant regime--"
"Not just against it--he's an active proponent of reintegration and reparation of surviving humans."
"Reparations?" That brought me straight up in shock. "Mutants were disenfranchised first! What the hell do they want, an apology for us escaping the experimental centers?"
--Us?--
I flushed, feeling inner Logan's grim amusement.
--Mutants. I am a mutant, even if I didn't go through this.--
Inner Logan's snort was soft.
--So you are. Interesting how you're identifying with them.--
Shutting Logan out, I turned my full attention to real life Logan. It was getting easier to block out the inner voices--I supposed desperation was definitely the mother of invention.
"Hank--Hank didn't like the reconstruction period much." Logan shrugged.
"Enough that he'd work actively to undermine the current government?" I thought about it carefully. "Why were the bodies immolated?"
Logan paused, then brought the car to a stop, putting it in park.
"Treason--"
I cut him off with a gesture.
"Nothing. Why immolate the corpses after? Were you worried they'd carry something?" I processed Kitty's memories rapidly. "Like Legacy?"
"They were suiciding, Marie. You don't attack the Mansion with seven people and almost no firepower. They were there to do something or release something. Allerdyce's fires burn hot enough and fast enough to kill all bacteria. It's been standard procedure since we got out of the experimentation labs. We don't know what all they developed in their labs and aren't too keen to find out first hand."
I took a breath, letting it out slowly.
"Hank wouldn't ally himself with the FoH, Logan. And they certainly wouldn't--"
"Alliances based on common need. Hank thinks that if mutantkind shifts over and allows humanity back in the game, all will be forgiven and forgotten. He's a believer, Marie--and there's nothing more dangerous, nothing, than a true believer. So yes, if he thought it would bring about his dream, he'd ally himself to anyone and anything." Logan snorted. "He's destroyed labs before we could get the information out of them, had St. John burn them down to pure ash. To keep more bitterness from festering, he said that we didn't need to know some of the horrors that were recorded there." Logan sighed, leaning back into his seat. "After the war, he and Scott battled it out for months before Scott cut his losses and kicked Hank out of the New York zone. He's not forbidden access to DC, so he's based out of there. And Ororo knows he's been in contact with at least three of the FoH cells in Canada."
Dazed, I sat back against the seat and, after a few minutes, Logan put the car back in drive.
"I can't believe he'd sell out his own people."
Logan snorted.
"He thinks he's saving us from ourselves, baby. Good intentions, which will lead us straight to hell faster than anything else. He's believed for seven years, through the war and through the people Scott and I brought to him from the camps, from watching what they did to us, what they would have done to us. He still believes. There's little I don't think Hank would do to bring about his idea of postwar society, baby."
I bit my lip and knew, for absolute fact, that I'd been right not to tell Logan about Johnny and vice versus. Picking at my seatbelt, I watched the countryside go by and wondered what I'd do.
"Are you ready?"
You know, I had no idea. I thought so, but I couldn't be sure on that score. Checking the mirror again, I studied myself in the X-Men uniform. Just the same as home--actually, the fit was even better. Different collar, slightly lower and didn't scrape on my upper throat. The cuffs ended perfectly so I could wear short gloves, not long ones, and the boots had a thicker heel. In all honesty, with the short blonde hair and the wide green eyes, I looked good. Dangerous.
Little Rogue at home, no matter how hard she tried, had never looked dangerous. She'd always looked like she needed someone to take care of her on the field, in the training sims, when she went on a date.
--Having fun?--
--This should be interesting.-- I told Carol, changing the subject. *Now* she decided to show up.
--I'd love to figure out why you're doing this.-- I shivered a little; to be honest, I didn't really know myself. --You want to please him this much, go out and kill some humans to prove your--what? Loyalty? Love?--
--I'm not going to kill anyone.-- I answered and turned away from the mirror. --I'm going because I don't want them to suspect I'm an infiltrator and get my ass locked up or found out before Hank gets to finish his calculations on the machine. He said--
--He doesn't know any more than you do now.-- Acid-Carolness. I bit my lip, wishing I could run out on her but getting away from my own head was almost impossible. I'd tried.
Growling, I turned around and saw Logan leaning against the door, eyebrows slightly arched. The uniform had always done good things for him. I looked forward to peeling it off of him one piece at a time tonight. Maybe in the shower. Licking my lips, I smiled.
"Inner convo there?" he asked, and I frowned a little.
"Carol's being a bitch."
He smiled slightly, before his eyes traveled down my body appreciatively, and I felt myself begin to flush as his eyes met mine again, knowing. So damn knowing. The heat spread as he took a few steps, crossing the small space between us, hands closing over my waist and pushing me up against the lockers.
"Logan!" I gasped, as he ran his hands down my sides, settling back on my hips. A wicked smile curved his mouth and he leaned close until his lips almost touched mine, breath warm on my skin. "You can't touch me--"
"Don't worry." A breath against my ear, before his hand touched my face and I realized he was gloved. Deliberately, he ground up against me, drawing a gasp from between my lips, and I locked my thighs around him, wondering when it became standard operating procedure before missions, even minor ones, to fool around a little.
Not that I was against this. In fact, as far as I was concerned, it should be in the X-Manual of pre-mission behavior.
I ground back down, drawing my hands over his shoulders and chest, breathing out at the hand covering my breast and caressing the nipple beneath hard. I leaned forward, biting lightly through the leather into his shoulder and he slid flat against me, nuzzling me through my hair.
"You look really good, baby," he breathed against my ear, catching a fold of skin between his teeth and bearing down slightly. Invulnerable skin didn't usually bruise, but the pain-pleasure was equal in all other ways. I growled into his uniform and felt his answer in the rumble of his chest against mine.
"Logan?"
Shit. I craned my neck, pulling myself up to look over Logan's shoulder, and saw Jean's amused smirk. Logan half turned, hands under my thighs holding me against him, and Jean looked like she was about to burst out laughing. I groaned and buried my head against his shoulder.
"If you two are finished--" she murmured, barely controlling herself, and Logan sighed, letting me slide slowly down his body. Slowly. So I could be very much aware of what he'd much rather be doing. I'm with you there, sugar.
"Not yet, but duty and all that crap." His hand rested on the back of my neck and then he grabbed my duffle bag from the floor. "Scooter got the jet powered?"
Jean's eyebrows arched.
"I certainly wouldn't interrupt you for anything less." Another slight smirk. "You're piloting, so get to it. I think I can get Marie safely in the Blackbird."
"Fuck."
She rolled her eyes and Logan gave me a smile before the quickest rub of his fingers against the back of my neck and he went on ahead, my bag slung over his shoulder as he grabbed his own from the doorway. Still smiling, Jean waited until I joined her. I could barely look her in the face.
"You look a little red, Marie. Too much sun?"
Jean Grey in an innuendo mood was *not* something I was used to, and I flushed all the harder. She slapped me lightly on the shoulder.
"I know the mission briefing in the conference room was pretty thorough, so I won't go over it again. We didn't think we'd need you, but Bobby and Johnny are needed here for security with Kitty away." I nodded, thinking of Kitty still in her room with Bobby and Johnny to watch over her, and kept my eyes fixed on the oh-so-interesting toes of my boots. "This is a pretty routine mission, and after some thought, Scott and Ororo thought it would be a good break-in for you."
"Just information gathering?"
Jean nodded.
"A recently discovered lab. It's been in use in the last six months, but not recently. We clear the computers, check the records, and store everything for Kitty to decrypt."
I frowned a little in thought.
"Why send alpha team, then?"
Jean shrugged.
"It does seem like a beta mission, but this was an Alpha-class-containment lab. Possibly a top-level experimental facility at that. That's always priority--we found Legacy in a lab like this." A slight pause. "There's also the chance of this being a trap--we've run into several, so we need Bobby and Piotr on campus, in case something happens again on the grounds." She gave me a knowing look. I knew exactly what she was talking about.
Made sense. I nodded slowly, then dared to glance up at her.
"Don't look like that. It's nice to see people happy." There was something in her eyes that told me that it was more the 'Logan being happy' than anything else. Not that I was surprised by that. "Marie--" a pause, before Jean's hand on my arm stopped me in my tracks. Curious, I turned to face her and met the serious brown eyes. "It's--has anyone talked to you about--has he talked to you about the war?"
I frowned, trying to--oh, right, Jubilee. Forcing down my instinctive jealousy, I nodded shortly--this was *not* something I felt like discussing.
Maybe Jean read in on my face, because she turned to the door to the hangar, hand on the palm-lock, before another hesitation.
"You--it's been hard for him, Marie. If he ever seems--distant--don't take it personally." Then a rush of words. "He's gone through a lot. But--I've never seen him like this, not ever. Not since she died." An amazing smile lighted her face then--beautiful and sweet, and the wide dark eyes were focused on me.
Because I helped Logan over Jubilee's death. Because I made him happy. Because--I stopped, taking a breath, schooling myself to acceptance, to a smile and a nod, not letting her see any more than I wanted her to see.
Jean pressed the release and I saw the jet waiting for my first mission.
Deliberately, I dismissed Jubilee from my memory and turned my full attention to the mission at hand.
Scott and Logan argued all the way to the site--it was familiar on one hand, utterly astonishing on the other. It was exactly the same--but there wasn't a single moment of true hostility between them, nothing at all but the most comfortable friendship, so startling that it kept me quiet just to hear it. No matter how many times I dismissed it, it yet again brought up the specter of the dead girl I was seriously trying to forget.
--Sometimes, I wonder about you.-- Carol's voice was amused. --Now at least you know what Logan's lovers were always up against when you hated them. I suppose you could call this a learning experience.--
I snorted softly, then looked around to make sure no one noticed. Nope, the two person entertainment brigade up front was keeping 'Ro, Remy, and Jean nicely occupied.
--I have no idea on earth what you mean by that.--
--Sure you do.-- Faintly acid. Carol could make her voice drip with it. --Midnight phone calls because Bobby broke up with you and brought him home quick-quick to take care of poor little Roguey, leaving Elektra to fume. When you and Remy broke it off, six hour phone calls and a trip to Hong Kong because you were depressed and needed a change of scenery, leaving--what was her name?--alone in Argentina for endless months. Rogue upset? Logan comes running. Now you know.--
Dear God, was I that annoying?
--When you absorbed me, where was he?--
I had to think about that. There was a lot of time I deliberately repressed, including that unfortunate incident with Logan and a woman--and *what* had her name been anyway? Shit.
--Out.--
--With that chick you never think about, the one he nearly married. You know the one. And what happened? He's two weeks from his wedding and then he's gone back home to because Rogue's in the middle of crisis and the words Crisis and Rogue in the same sentence always connect with his violent need to get directly to you, in person. It was four months before you were stable again, and you ever wonder why he didn't bother to go back to her?--
Shit. I shifted uncomfortably, pulling at the edges of my gloves. No, I actually hadn't. It had been enough that he never, ever mentioned her, enough that he was in the training ring with me and he slept beside me so he could wake me from my dreams and held me when Carol and I fought out the epilogue of the battle for my body.
--She broke it off?--
--Yeah. You're a quick one, honey.--
Inner Logan was utterly silent and I turned inside curiously.
--Logan?--
It was damn difficult to get Inner Logan to speak when he wasn't interested in doing so, and it was doubly difficult when we were hitting personal territory.
--Loooo-gan.-- Rich with Carol-pleasure. --You never told her?--
There was the approximation of a growl that reverberated through my head and chest, enough to make me start a little in surprise, wondering if I'd vocalized and someone had heard it. A quick glance around said no.
--Not talking 'bout this.--
A confirmation if I ever heard one. Turning the unique thoughts over and over in my mind, I tried to figure out what this could mean.
"Marie?"
I blinked, felt Logan's utter relief, and silently promised a return to this subject later before focusing on Ororo. As she gave me the rundown of my duties in this mission--stay close to Logan or another team member, watch, listen, learn, all that--I considered what we would find. My first actual lab--in my world, I'd never seen one other than the vague, unformed shapes of Logan's dreams, and in this world, all I had was Kitty's memories.
Quickly, I blocked the thoughts away and focused on the issue at hand. Be a good little junior X-Man. Be a good little human-hater. I could do it.
"Fuck." Whispered, because I needed to say something--I'd instinctively disliked silences since I'd first absorbed Cody. The voices in my head had too much space to fill and play with--the outer world grounded me harder against being overtaken by the inner.
It said something about my inner world, of course, that Carol and Logan's presence I could easily feel--but curiously, they kept silent, even when I reached within with a half-hope of getting a response. Schizophrenia was never around when I wanted it. Damn them. Right now, I could have used the company.
This was what could be called an ambush--all the earmarks of being tempted out and then attacked. Which, given, the team had been prepared for, more or less. From my place crouched in the hallway, I glanced at Logan leaning against the opposite wall.
"What are we doing?" I whispered, and Logan waved me to silence, tapping the comm in his ear, eyes fixed on the length of hallway to my left and the corner beside us. This wasn't a good place to be, no question.
"Waiting." A pause, then he shook his head, dropping into a predator's easy crouch and turning his full attention on me. "Jeannie and Scott are handling it."
Handling *what* though? I knew enough to be still, watching Logan scan the area with all his senses. I wished I had them too. God, I wished, beyond words.
A beam of something dark red and lethal hit the wall inches from Logan's head--no warning yell, nothing but that red that was *not* Scott's visor, and Logan spun out of the way as if pushed, landing as neatly as a cat four feet down. I darted after him, finding the reassuring weight of the Glock at my hip, breathing out as his hand rested briefly on my thigh, getting my attention.
"What the hell *is* that thing?" I'd forgotten to ask what the standard anti-mutant weaponry was these days and Logan probably thought I'd done my research. God, I could be stupid. Hadn't I been hit by one of those suckers already?
"Similar to Genoshan collar but little more crude. Attacks the nervous system, temporary paralysis, shut down of powers." He was breathing lightly, quickly, forcing a higher adrenaline rush. "Scott shoulda taken them out."
I didn't say what was obvious--that Scott was out of action now.
"How many?"
"No fucking clue." He growled, low in his throat--and I echoed it all unmeaning, trying to think through the possibilities. Something was *really* wrong with this picture.
"This is more than an ambush, isn't it?" I whispered. Logan nodded and tapped the comm at his ear, keeping me silent as he listened. Scott had called radio silence, with an open line between Logan and Scott at all times, so he wasn't listening for orders.
He was trying to see if Scott was still breathing.
"Alive."
I nodded shakily and got my hand on my gun. I didn't like guns--until this moment. Suddenly, it was the one thing that seemed safe.
"We gotta get outta here." This was screaming bad things--they *hadn't* killed Scott, and killing the leader of the X-Men should be, by all logic, of paramount importance. They wanted him for something, and for that reason alone, they should *not* have him. I glanced at Logan, then took a deep breath.
I remembered how that red had ground into my spine, rushed through my body. How many shots had I taken that day? One or two or three? I tried to remember, but all my memories had solidified around the dead, bloody body at my feet. At least two, before I'd lost air and hit the ground, but Carol had dragged both of us through that fire, so the invulnerability had held in place longer.
"I can take two shots," I told Logan, and he turned to look at me. For a second, he hesitated, then a short nod, squeezing my leg again.
"I can take three," he murmured. "Get to the plane and call for back-up. I'll find Cyke."
I turned a twisted smile on him.
"Cyclops? That's the codename still?" I shook my head and braced a hand on the floor, ready for my leap. "What's Jean's, anyway?"
I got a tight smile and hot hazel eyes when he answered. He was ready for the hunt.
"She came back from the dead, baby. They call her Phoenix."
It wasn't like the attack outside the Mansion. I was ready this time. More than that, I was Rogue straight through.
I'd trained with another Logan completely, granted--but memory isn't just stored in the brain. It's stored in the body, the spinal cord to be exact. I could type at 100 wpm without looking, though I had to think if you took my fingers off the keys and asked me where 'v' was located on the keyboard. Some things are all physical. And though we were a timeline apart in life, the training he'd given my body was the same he'd given himself. It knew what he'd do even if I didn't, and it knew him in ways I couldn't.
I came from the air and he attacked from the ground. I got a splash of bright-red on my knee when I passed the first body he took down and slammed the second body myself into the ceiling with an easy swoop. They only sent in two. That was stupid.
Logan got hit once and I avoided a hit at all. Out of the hall, we emerged into the small reception room where they'd apparently kept their secretary or whatever FoH used for administrative purposes and broke through the front door, spilling outside into an lovely warm summer evening.
We both saw Scott at the same time, sprawled on the pavement of the parking lot, surrounded by five different masked, black-clad FoH members who were ready for us. Three shots in rapid succession took Logan out and I took off into the sky, feeling my body shake at the change in air pressure. I hadn't practiced enough--I needed Carol for this.
--Give me some help here.-- Her experience--she'd exploited her mutation from the second of manifestation. Carol mumbled something, and it was easier to bypass and run through her memories of flight, dragging out the experience and correcting my angle as I watched the ground *way* too far below, crowded with more people than I was comfortable with. Please God, don't let me develop a phobia about heights now.
Logan was nowhere in evidence and I got a glance at the door and guessed he'd gone undercover until the shots worked themselves out of his system. Superhealers just had too many damn advantages in battle. And they'd know that as well as I did.
Ducking behind the roof, I got a foot on the tile and staggered--my landings had never been good and I didn't have time to utilize Carol to get it better. Not important anyway. Scott was visible, visor gone, and looking pretty unconscious. Jean beside him.
God, Jean. She didn't look too good.
'Ro--I took a breath. 'Ro and Remy were no where in sight. They might have made it back to the Blackbird, or they might be in that building with the computers. They might know what was going on and they might not. Hell, they might be captured or dead, and shit if I knew.
I did know, however, that the FoH had targeted Scott specifically. It would have taken several people and some serious planning and surprise to get Scott anywhere.
Resting my other foot on the tile, I flattened myself down, trying to think of something to do. If they made a move to take Scott, I'd act, no question. Watching them, weird guns out and ready, circling him in a parameter sweep that looked a little too efficient, I tried to decide what to do. Three more emerged from the far side of the building, crossing the pavement, saying something that I couldn't quite hear. I was alone, there were at least ten people down there that were the enemy, and I wasn't placing bets on how many had gone inside.
Lifting my head carefully, I watched them scanning the area--somehow they'd either missed my advent or thought I was well gone. I was guessing the former--I'd come out high *after* Logan, and human instinct doesn't tell them to look to the sky for much in the way of escapable threats.
Stupid, that. I wanted to know who the hell had given us the info on this damn little mission, because there was *nothing* about this that felt spontaneous.
The wind was wrong to hear voices, so I couldn't tell what was going on when they gathered in a tight knot, armed and looking quite comfortable with those damn guns. I could take two--maybe three of those beams. I'd shook that second one off fast enough that day at the Mansion, after all. Maybe four. But I didn't have combative powers--and a Glock, though pretty and useful, wouldn't be fast enough to take enough of them before they took me down. Narrowing my eyes, I watched three get closer to Scott and Jean, kicking Jean out of the way and leaning over him holding electrical tape. I winced--God, Scott should never have let her come on this mission, never. She could--she could lose her baby. Crap.
Watching them truss up Scott and Jean with practiced skill, I knew my options were gone. They were taking him. I had to get down there. I tapped the comm in my ear, but it wouldn't activate unless Scott reactivated it himself. Shit. Had to talk to him about that.
The building as a whole was roughly seventy feet across--I was thirty feet away from being horizontal with Scott's position on the ground. If I got over there without detection, I could make it down and get Scott and maybe Jean too, up and onto the roof. They could *try* to follow, but the slopes of the roof would make it damn hazardous. The best I could do was play for time--in open air, I couldn't avoid those shots and two at least would bring me out of the sky like a duck during hunting season.
I could take some pot shots with my gun from up here and take a few out that way, but I had a good idea that they might be wearing something under those black issues clothes that did more than merely deflect fire.
The most obvious option I was shying away from--namely, land by Scott and touch. One point five seconds to turn on, another second to absorb enough for my body to mimic his mutation, hopefully absorb enough trig to make good shots. I'd watched Scott Summers train for years--I knew exactly what those beams could do.
Logan had told me Scott would kick ass as an assassin. I was going to find out if he kicked ass as a sniper too.
Levitating an inch from the roof's surface, I moved slightly toward the center and floated my way along, hoping no one was checking out the roof for interested spectators, hoping Remy and 'Ro came out soon. They had to still be inside--Logan and I had split to cover the first computer bank, and they'd gone downstairs for the second. If they'd found something that was important, they'd break silence, but I hadn't heard anything yet. Touching the comm, I dropped carefully to the roof and made my steady way toward the edge, hoping to God I'd measured this right. I couldn't look over now--the second I came into view, I needed to be moving and fast.
Bracing my hands on the rough tiles, I got my legs under me and crouched for just the briefest second.
"Who the hell--"
Crap. Thank you Murphy's law, couldn't you just stay the HELL outta my life for just one mission?
I leaped, trusting my instincts that told me Scott was in range. I landed inches away, rolling to absorb the landing and rolling onto the balls of my feet, tearing my glove off with my teeth as the first beam knocked against my chest, throwing me back five feet. Yeah, right. The tingle was familiar, as it tried to work it's way through skin that was as good as a physical shield. A bullet grazed my temple, but I refused to let myself panic--after all, I'd stood still and let Jean fire shots at me when we were testing my skin's ability to deflect. My bare hand was inches away from his face, and that's when my instincts said NO.
I said yes and planted it over the perfect golden cheek.
It was...
Logan had taken me from the Mansion when Carol was subdued, away from everything else and lost us both in Hong Kong for a few weeks that went by way too fast. Drunk and exhausted, we'd collapsed in an alley outside the harbor, blood sprinkling out clothes from a bar fight and he'd asked me--he'd asked me if I liked it, when I absorbed someone.
He'd been too drunk to think what he was asking. I'd been too drunk to lie.
I liked it *a lot*.
Power was power--someone else's rushing through me, the new presence in my head annoying and deadly, but that wasn't the addiction. When I got their life, their being--it was a high I couldn't even describe. When I touched a powerful mutant--Magneto, Logan, Carol Danvers, now Scott Summers--it was liquid, like tossing a speedball through my system. It was like playing God.
Shit, it was like *being* God, because I had everything of them, more than if I'd put a knife to their heart and pushed it in, more than if I'd held a gun to their head and pulled the trigger. It was the kill for the psychological kick and a rush of sheer power for the emotional one. It was better than being drunk, better than being high, better than adrenaline. I got the personality to give me hell, but I got all that sheer power and life-force and it was--
....it was *good*.
I trusted Logan and Carol to take care of Scott's personality. Lifting my hand from his skin, I braced it on the ground and opened my eyes, seeing through the soft haze of uncontrolled red the men surrounding me.
It was shooting ducks in the carnival, because they didn't expect it, and I knocked out seven in wide-beam before the other three realized what the hell I was doing. Three more shots in quick succession and the tingling ran down my body, but I had to laugh because it wasn't kicking in, it might slow me down, but they didn't understand. Norms never really did.
I didn't have the power to hover, the red was already fading from the blasts that were inhibiting my mutations, but I had the physical skills still until they could get off enough shots to break through my skin. I threw myself forward, bare hand against a vulnerable throat, seeing through misty-red and a fading grey world, felt that skin under mine. My mutation was almost off, I knew it, and felt the tingling numbness spreading up my body. Only a few seconds, and I'd be out, out for good. Sluggish remains of him crawled weakly into my thoughts, leaving slimy, blackened trails of hate and fear, the images of the things he wanted to do to me, the things he'd done to other mutants, the white walls of the labs he wanted us to be in, just to hear us scream....
Norm *bastard*.
Gripping my fingers in, I ripped out his throat and collapsed to let the grey take over completely. Blood and tissues were thick on my skin, and I heard the gurgle before my eyes forced themselves closed. I'd taken my third life.
And the high was as good as it'd ever been.
I woke up and jerked instantly, hovering inches above the med bed. Jean retreated instantly, and I saw her hands were encased in latex.
Oh, this so wasn't a good sign.
"Rogue," she said softly. And I knew she knew--my mind felt strangely clear, and I could feel her fingerprints all through it, light and strong. The other personalities, Scott's personality, were held at bay, behind an opaque whiteness that gave my mind the feel of a medical lab. I wondered if this was what her personal shields looked like from the inside. Made sense.
Xavier had never been able to do that for me. He'd never been able to block them all off, and I almost wanted to thank her, just for that. Almost.
Hovering on a moving plane wasn't the easiest thing in the world, but I could manage it. I looked around wildly, noting my hand was cleaned of blood, though I spotted it ground under my nails. Good enough.
"Come down, baby." Logan was standing beside Jean--he must have been close to the bed. "It's okay."
"Logan--"
"Trust me." He reached up with a gloved hand, brushing through my hair, and I let myself sink back down. Jean didn't move forward, respecting my space, but Logan did, instantly pulling me into a close embrace, exactly what I needed. I ignored my bare hand, wrapping both arms around him and burying my head against his chest.
"You okay?" I whispered.
"Fine, baby. Look at me." I couldn't manage it yet--too much, it was far too much. My mind was clear, they knew who I was, but so far, everything seemed okay.
"Scott okay?"
"Unconscious, but fine." Jean now, in doctor mode. Barely, I could see Scott stretched on the cot behind the back curtain, the visor picking up light from the med bay. "He'll be out for a few hours and a little drained when he wakes up, but he'll be fine. You didn't hurt him."
Oh, that was good. Logan's hand braced below my chin and pulled it up--and I realized in shock that my hand was on his bare neck, just below his hair. I jerked back, hand at my throat.
No collar.
"What--I can't---" I felt more, then looked through my mind. My power was still there. But--
"You were channeling too many personalities when you first woke up," Jean said. "I erected temporary shields to hold you mind." She shrugged a little, peeling her gloves off and casually laying a hand on my shoulder, finger brushing my neck. I jumped from the touch. "It went off too." She paused, brows knitting together. "I don't quite understand why you have such good shielding and cannot control your mutation."
I blinked, then looked at Logan, who shot her a look I couldn't interpret.
"Not now, Jean."
Jean smiled a little, tilting her head.
"Logan said you would explain what happened--after I identified you from the records." Crap. "He also asked that we keep the Blackbird out of the New York zone until you awakened." Another pause, and she exchanged another glance with Logan, this time a little challenging.
"I won't get back in that machine," I said slowly. I could still fly, my invulnerability I could feel around me, and I didn't feel weak. Just touch was off. I shivered a little--it felt so normal.
It didn't *feel* any different, and I had to wonder why that was. I felt different when the Genoshan collar was on. But this--Logan's hand covered mine, pulling it off my throat.
"No, she won't." Logan's gaze was fixed on Jean. "Jeannie--"
Jean shook her head.
"That was Erik's project, Logan. Polaris is willing. I'm certainly not--"
"You don't think Erik's gonna snap her up the second he finds out what she is? Especially after all the damn reports Hank sent to him telling him how impossible it'd be for that piece of crap to work with Polaris in it?"
Jean paused, and I could see the machinations trekking across her eyes, as she tried to decide how Magneto would react.
"You're right," she answered slowly, and leaned against the bed. Her eyes were on me again. "You're Rogue--the original?"
"Not your original," I snapped, then bit my lip. Damn. Be nice, Marie. "I'm--the one that lived." God, did I have to tell this story again? I took a breath and then felt her hand lightly against my temple.
"Let me."
With her shields in my mind, I really didn't have much of a choice if she decided to force the issue.
"I won't read you without permission, Marie." A pause, and I felt the press of her fingers on my face, the lightest brush of her mind, utterly nonthreatening. Right. But the choice of explaining the unlikely story again and Jean fishing for it herself was easy. I swallowed, gripping Logan's hand tightly, and nodded.
It was so brief that I barely felt anything at all. Jean leaned back, nodding to herself, and then pushed a strand of my hair behind my ear.
"I didn't know the machine could do that," she said slowly. A little smile curled up the corners of her mouth. "Then again--" she looked at Logan. "Hank confirmed?"
"Yeah. I got his opinion when I found out."
"How long have you known?" Now she was turning toward him, and I sensed the beginnings of hostility, flickering like heat on the surface of her skin. It was beautiful and scary as all hell.
Logan seemed less than impressed.
"Cool it, Jeannie. I wasn't turning her over to Lensherr for more fun and games."
"You can't keep this secret forever, Logan." She paused, eyes narrowing. "Brazil? Genosha? India?" Her lips tightened. "We need you here."
"She needed me first."
There was *a lot* going on in here that I suddenly sensed was peripheral to me.
"Logan--"
"Not now. Who else did you tell, Jeannie?"
Jean frowned, crossing her arms over her chest.
"Scott will know the second he awakens--I can't keep secrets from the link, you know that. 'Ro and Remy didn't see anything and the shots drained her mutation." She waited for a moment. "I won't tell Erik, and you know Scott better than to think he would." A faint flicker of long fingers. "You should know me better too."
There was the briefest pause, before I felt the tension drain out of Logan.
"Okay."
"When we get to New York and Scott wakes up, we'll discuss it." Her voice brooked no argument, and Logan didn't protest. "Erik's in Washington and his flunkies aren't allowed inside the lower levels. It'll just be us. All right?"
Logan hesitated, then glanced down at me. What, I should have an opinion? I looked at Jean, trying to make the decision. They knew. My options were limited already. And I didn't like the tension between them--I didn't like it because I sensed they weren't used to it, that they *didn't* argue like they did in my world. Mouth dry, I nodded shortly and closed my eyes, letting Logan draw me back into his arms.
"You feel okay?"
"Yeah," I murmured, and decided not to think at all.
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