"No holding back."
Marie stumbled out of Logan’s room on wobbly legs as his words rang in her mind. Over and over. On endless loop. “Just the two of us, no holding back.”
She wanted to curl up somewhere quiet and soak in those thoughts for a while. Preferably naked, behind a locked door. Unfortunately, there were no quiet places in this over-filled house, and even fewer locked doors. Every room was a virtual dormitory, and privacy was the least of the luxuries left behind in their exodus from the mansion.
“Just the two of us”. Her dazed steps took her back to the living room, where Piotr and Bobby were rock-paper-scissoring their way through an ad break. “No holding back”. Marie nearly hyperventilated at the thought: for Logan, “holding back” was all about keeping the Wolverine chained up; the memories in Marie’s head showed her exactly what happened when the Wolverine was let loose. Mayhem. Chaos. Murder. And horribly rough, scary sex.
You’re wondering about that, aren’t you sugar, she mused. You’re wondering if I could possibly understand about the Wolverine and sex. And why you keep such a tight leash on him. You’re wondering if I know the difference between you. A smile spread across her face, slow and wicked. I sure do, sugar, and I sure ain’t scared. Logan makes me feel warm and safe and loved, but the Wolverine … the Wolverine’s gonna make me scream. A lot. The very thought sent a wave of pleasure up her spine, Marie shivering noticeably as she stared sightlessly at the pair on the couch.
“Rogue?”
She jumped when Bobby’s voice startled her out of her internal conversation. Shit, she was thinking sex thoughts in the living room. In front of her BOYFRIEND. Whom she hadn’t broken up with yet. Shouldn’t she feel more guilty?
“Rogue. Rogue! What did Wolverine want?” Bobby’s pale blue eyes were shuttered with suspicion. Ever since that night in the car, Bobby had been unrelentingly hostile towards Logan. Marie could understand a little jealousy – she had been kinda’ hidin’ the fact she wore the tags to bed - but this went way beyond that: Bobby seemed to blame Logan for everything that had gone wrong since the attack on the mansion. Jesus H. Christ – the man had saved their lives! Got them out of Dodge and set up new lives for them all! He had DIED, for Christ’s sakes, on Bobby’s front porch in Boston – didn’t that deserve just a little respect? Apparently not, and Bobby’s attitude was making it real easy for Marie to push away.
“It was personal, Bobby. None of your business,” Marie snapped, turning on her heel to leave the living room and go … where exactly, she pondered. Bedroom? Full of screaming girls. Back porch? Full of gloomy X-men. Kitchen? Jubilee and Kitty on kitchen duty, and she couldn’t face them right now. She almost missed the Mansion: it’d always been easy to get lost there. Rogue grabbed the black leather coat Logan had thrown at her just days ago, and slipped out the front door. The anonymity of the New York streets was the only sort of alone she could hope for right now. She had some serious thinking to do.
Stepping off the coop of the nondescript house Logan had found in Chelsea, Marie stumbled straight into the path of an overdressed blonde and her poodle. Mumbling her apologies, she struck out in the opposite direction, keen to put as much distance between herself and the house as possible. They’d been there nearly six weeks now, and everybody was well and truly sick of being in hiding. And for the girl with the untouchable skin, living in a small room with eight – EIGHT – roommates was no party. The only concession to her skin was a couple of screens put up around her bed, which was, of course, right near the door so that no one had to scramble over her bed to get to their own. Oh well, Marie sighed. It could be worse – at least I’ve got my own bed, and don’t have to sleep in shifts like the guys do.
Only Logan had his own room, as nobody seemed to want to sleep within reach of his claws. And “room” was an overstatement – Logan had cleared out the understairs cupboard and stuck a bed in there: it was the gloomiest space Marie had ever seen, but it was private. “And his door locks,” whispered Logan-in-her-head. “Just in case you want to test the conditions of this truce, baby.”
Marie’s pace faltered as the events of the morning came flooding back: Logan, head thrown back and sniffing the air, claws braced in the doorframe as she watched his cock push at his jeans, for her! For HER. The want ripped through her, and her unruly body had her heading home before she summoned the willpower to stop. Deep breaths, Marie. Self control. Truce, truce, truce, she chanted under her breath as she spun on her heel and resumed her trek up West 30th towards the buzz of Eighth Street. She needed coffee and distraction … that cost no more than $4, she realised on turning out her pockets.
Did anyone else realise that the Professor was no longer supporting them, and the “spending money” that kept cropping up in their weekly meetings was coming direct from Logan’s pocket? She suspected he was cage-fighting again – no way else he could make enough to keep four households of mutants while still being around during the day – and her heart ached at what he was doing for them all.
They’d returned to the mansion initially, after the first attack, all self-congratulatory and reassured by the President’s words – “tolerance and understanding, my ass,” Marie muttered. Even with mourning Jean, they’d all rushed back into the usual routines, and everybody – including Marie – had been glad to embrace the usual worries – will I pass math? Does my butt look big in this? – rather than dwell on issues such as mutant genocide. But she knew Logan had never stopped worrying, and just days after returning to the mansion, he’d told her to keep a bag packed under her bed. All the stuff she’d need if they had to run again.
At first, she’d gotten all excited he wanted her to take off with him, but he dashed those hopes by telling her to pass on the message to her friends. When the second attack came, less than a month later, Logan’s constant drilling had ensured the evacuation was orderly and effective – no one was taken, this time, and more than half of the student body had escaped with a small bag of personal items.
This time, they all knew there was no going back. A whispered conference among the X-men – Logan excluded, standing there glowering like a reproving god – had seen them adopt a plan obviously laid out by Logan immediately after the first attack. And from the day they left the mansion, he had been running the entire show. The Professor, Scott and Ororo might not have even been there.
Eight weeks, she mused. Eight weeks and they’re still acting like he’s just some stranger who shat on their dream. Eight weeks when he’s been keeping us all alive. Clothed, fed, even schooled. During the day, training was pretty much the only vestige of their old routine that remained, though the style of combat had changed markedly since Logan had taken over the programme. Even the littlest kids were getting lessons in offensive as well as defensive strategies, and the seniors and juniors were learning some serious death-and-destruction shit Marie suspected the Professor had no idea about. Or, perhaps, being a telepath and all, did know about but didn’t want to acknowledge.
It was Ororo she was most worried about, though. The Professor had been forced to leave behind more than just his family’s old mansion: they’d also left his long-cherished dream in tatters. No one could pretend human-mutant relations could recover from the second attack – this time, they hadn’t come armed with darts, and the small number of armed transports had suggested the soldiers hadn’t been keen to take prisoners. Without Logan’s suspicion and obsessive evacuation training, how many Xavier students would have died? The Professor knew this, and he was crushed, but thankful. Scott knew it too, but was beyond caring. Storm – the cool, calm and ever collected Goddess of the Winds - had been completely unable to cope. Her despondency had ensured the sun hadn’t shone in months, and she had become just one more person who needed looking after. If Ororo, once the emotional centre of Xavier’s, couldn’t recover from the blow, the school would never exist again. And that was unacceptable, given that Logan had just upped the stakes. She wanted him sooner, rather than later, and that meant getting Xavier and his team back to some approaching normal. And she couldn’t help but think that meant starting with Ororo.
Well, it wasn’t as if she didn’t need a project, Marie chuckled bitterly. Wanting Logan was going to drive her out of her mind if she didn’t have some sort of distraction, and if it got her and Logan on the road sooner, hallelujah for that.
Turning on her heel once again, she headed back towards the Chelsea house, and braced herself for the dinner rush. Usually, she avoided it, but today, she had a plan to execute.
XXXXX
“Miss Munro, I was wondering if you could help me a little?” Marie wandered up to Storm with an anthropology textbook she had found in a second-hand bookstore on her way home. It was probably a better use of her $4 than coffee and donuts, she had thought ruefully. Logan had taught her props were important, and right now, she was a schoolgirl needing help from her favourite teacher.
Ororo looked surprised, even a little annoyed, to be bothered. “What’s the problem, Rogue?”
“Well, I know we’re not doing lessons and all, but I still want to get into college next year, so I figure I need to keep up with my reading. But, I just can’t seem to figure out exactly how this works,” Marie complained in her most perplexed-student voice, stabbing at finger at the section on dating the past.
“Oh, carbon dating. A lot of people find that confusing on the first read – they just can’t understand that anthropology and archaeology are sciences too …” Ororo shook her head in vexation, while Marie hid her secret smile.
“The trick is to remember the standard deviation has to be doubled … otherwise, the date taken directly from the object is only 62% accurate. Once we take two standard deviations, the date is 90% likely to fall within the range of dates quoted,” Ororo lectured. “And don’t forget, any dates taken directly from the lab results have to be calibrated on a curve to be translated into calendrical years.”
“Mmm, I got that part, but the standard deviations threw me … too much like math, I guess. And I am SO bad at math,” Marie smiled. And you just think about how much we need to get me back into math class, and its one superhero teacher, back in action, she silently crowed.
Ororo looked troubled. “Perhaps I should talk to Logan about getting some lessons started again. Maybe Scott could …” Ororo’s words died at the thought of asking Scott to do anything, when eating and sleeping was so obviously beyond him right now. “Perhaps Logan might…”
Marie interrupted on that front. “Logan is so busy with training us all and keeping the houses secure, and at night he has to go out and earn money so we can eat … I don’t think he’ll be wanting to teach math anytime soon.” The confused student had vanished, and Marie’s anger was tangible.
Ororo flinched, her expressive face a study in guilt. She dragged in a breath, head down, before inclining her chin to look at Rogue with a more familiar hauteur. “I will speak with Logan about what we can do, Rogue. No need for you kids to worry about it. Enjoy your holiday while you can – we’ll have you back in class soon,” she said.
Repressing the urge to curtsy, Rogue smiled sweetly and muttered an obedient assent. “Thanks, Miss Munro. It’ll be nice to have things back to normal.” So that this kid can get out of your precious little crusade, head north with the man that’s been carrying your lazy ass for weeks, and fuck him blind, she added in her mind. “I’m gonna go see if Logan needs me to help out at all – see ya.” Marie walked to the other end of the table, and stood behind Logan, bending to talk softly into his ear.
“Take me with you tonight.”
He ignored her at first, taking a scoop of potato and a spoonful of peas before acknowledging her presence.
“Who says I’m goin’ anywhere? And if I was, why should you come,” he muttered, taking care to keep his voice below the general level of conversation at the crowded table. Even so, her presence at his side had already attracted attention, and he could already hear the buzz of gossip it produced.
“Saturday night fights, sugar. Figured we needed the money. And, well, I should come because …” her voice dropped even lower, knowing he would catch the merest puff of sound “then I might not need to crawl into your bed so bad. Watching you fight is a powerful thing.”
Logan spluttered, his peas spraying across the table. After a cough or two, he shot a furious glance her way. She smiled brilliantly in return, the perfect image of an adoring little sister. One eyebrow shot up at her act, but his lips were twitching as he growled “10pm, round the back. Dress for the bike.”
“OK. Just as well some guy bought me some new leathers when we had to leave my old ones at the mansion,” she whispered, straightening up slowly to hide the slow sweep of her hand along his corded thigh.
His growl was so loud half of the table turned to look, but the gossips were disappointed: Marie was already halfway out the door.
XXXXXXXXXX
Marie loved Logan’s bike. She loved it in its own right, of course – there was no more potent mix of speed, beauty and danger – but what she really loved was the clothes she got to wear while riding it. Logan had bought her first set of motorcycle leathers almost immediately on his return, and had replaced them as soon as he could after they fled the mansion.
“And here you are saying ‘we can’t do this’. That’s not what I’m hearing, sugar,” she told herself as she pulled the skintight leathers over her hips and zipped the jacket to just below the scooped neckline of her red silk tank. Marie wasn’t a vain girl, but she knew how she looked in black leather. And Logan was the ultimate sensualist - he would hear every creak, smell the unique tang of the hide, and trail his fingers over the nap almost compulsively. And that was before they even got on the bike. Her heart began to hammer at the prospect, and Marie forced herself to choke down her excitement. You’ve just agreed to a truce, girl, she scolded herself. He’s taking you out to get rid of some of these crazy hormones!
Dodging the raised eyebrows and curious questions her leathers prompted from her roommates – why shouldn’t she and Logan have a mission on a Saturday night? – Marie worked her way to the back of the house, praying she wouldn’t run into Bobby. Logan’s bike was usually parked inside the small gate that led onto the alley, and he was already wheeling it through as she ran down the back steps.
One sweeping gaze, and Marie was fairly sure Logan knew she was braless and knickerless – not from an attempt to seduce, but from a complete lack of clean underwear. The emergency bag hadn’t run to underwear, and the paltry few items she’d bought since needed to be washed more than she’d managed that week. She ignored the raised eyebrow – as if he EVER wore underwear – and climbed on behind him. The acceleration was almost immediate, and she took the opportunity to grab him – tight – and align every part of their bodies.
Twenty minutes at a highly illegal speed had them pulling up outside a fight bar somewhere in deepest Newark. Apart from the temperature, they could have been in Laughlin City, Marie thought as she climbed off the bike. Row of choppers, check. Grandpa-bearded bouncers, check. Drunken sots loitering outside, check. Rusty-looking neon with only the odd letters working, check.
“Sugar, are there any fight bars in the world that don’t look like this?” Marie asked as Logan dismounted to stand beside her. He laughed, the tension between them having dissipated with the exhiliration of the ride.
“I only take you to the nice ones, darlin’,” he winked, throwing his arm over her shoulders and pulling her close. “Listen up. I’m gonna be fighting a lot of the night, and you’re gonna have to do as you’re told. Stay where I sit you. Don’t talk to anyone, even when they wanna talk to you. If they won’t leave you alone, tell them you’re mine. And I will kill them.” His eyes were serious as he gave the instructions, and Marie had no intention of disobeying.
“No problem, sugar. It’s pretty much the truth anyway. Even if we’re not doing anything about it just yet,” Marie said softly.
He harrumphed at that, but pulled her into a hard hug, smoothing his hands over her waist and hips as they broke apart. “True enough. But I’m trying not to think about it for now, darlin’. Hard enough with you in the leather as it is.”
Marie smiled as they turned to go into the bar. She loved Logan’s bike.
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Author's Chapter Notes:
*CORRECTED as of 19/1/07. (Profuse apologies to anyone who got deja vu from reading chapter 3 twicebefore AussieDream thought to tell me. Thanks!)