Bobby’s first thought on seeing the musclebound brawler in the cage was “gee, that guy can fight.” Followed rapidly by, “Fuck, that’s the Wolverine!” The realisation obviously struck them all at the same time – the synchronised gasps were almost funny – but only Jubilee spoke.
“Uh, guys? Maybe we should leave, like, NOW.” Nobody thought it was a good idea to get caught in a bar – especially a fight bar – by their teacher, and Jubilee and Kitty would catch it harder than most by virtue of their friendship with Rogue. That thought brought Bobby right back around to “oh fuck …” cause he just KNEW the Wolverine wouldn’t keep quiet about something like this, and then he’d have to explain to Rogue about sneaking out on her.
Preoccupied with his internal drama, Bobby nearly jumped out of his skin when the Wolverine’s bellow split the air.
“Hey, dipshit!” Bobby flinched, familiar with the label and the derision that usually followed. He looked up in dread only to find the Wolverine’s attention focused elsewhere: a table right by the steps to the cage, where some redneck trucker was trying to sweettalk a hot-looking brunette in black leather. Jesus, the poor guy, Bobby commiserated, his attention riveted by the rage on the Wolverine’s face.
“When the lady says fuck off? She’s actually bein’ nice. Trying to keep you alive. ‘Cause she knows I will KILL you if you even think of laying a hand on her.”
Bobby sneered at the possessiveness in the Wolverine’s snarl, and couldn’t help but wonder if Rogue knew the Wolverine had a girlfriend. She didn’t hide her crush on the guy very well, and Bobby was pretty sure the knowledge would hurt her. Which was stupid, because it wasn’t as if he would ever be interested in her – Rogue was cute and all, but she wasn’t as sexy as Jubilee or as pretty as Kitty, she was just … nice. Sometimes. Though not so much, lately.
Eyeing the luscious curves of Wolverine’s mystery woman, he just KNEW she wouldn’t be nice. He was straining to get a better look at her features in the dim light when the idiot redneck chose to talk back to Wolverine … it was too noisy in the bar to hear exactly what he said, but it couldn’t have been smart. Not the way the Wolverine bolted out of the cage and knocked the guy to the floor in one smooth movement. By the time Bobby stood up to get a better look, the Wolverine had the poor guy pinned to the ground, and was banging his face into the floor.
Bobby was beginning to panic – Wolverine would surely kill the guy – when the woman stepped forward and crouched to place her hand on his back. Almost immediately, Wolverine stilled, and you could see him drinking in her touch. Amazed at the instantaneous halt to the violence, Bobby stood staring at the couple. Her hand was gloved, he noted absently. And her face was quite beautiful, he thought, as she shifted to bring her profile into view. Head tilted down, her hair slipped forward, wreathing the man below her in mahogany swirls dressed with … two long, white streaks. Bobby’s brain screamed with recognition, even as he tried to deny the possibility. Rogue? Why would Rogue be here?
Bobby didn’t realise he’d spoken aloud until Kitty, her eyes equally huge, ventured “uh, we know they’re friends and all … maybe he wanted to show her some stuff about fighting?” Bobby could tell Jubilee was about to add something equally hopeful, but she went quiet – everyone went quiet – when the Wolverine shot a challenging glare around the room, and then proceeded to murder every single illusion he had ever had.
“Maybe she is jailbait. But she’s my fucking jailbait. And I kill anyone who touches what’s mine. Right, Marie?”
Fate chose not to be kind, and her reply carried equally well.
“Right, sugar. All yours. All of the time.”
As usual, Jubilee didn’t think before opening her mouth. “Fighting, huh? Or, can we say, fucking like small furry animals?” She clapped a hand over her mouth as Bobby flinched at her words, realising too late just how cruel the situation must be for him.
His voice, when it came, seemed to belong to someone else. “Huh. Her name is Marie.” While it wasn’t unusual for the kids at Mutant High to use their power names to the exclusion of their given names, Rogue had never admitted to having any other name. He had asked, and had been brushed off, a million times.
Apparently, the Wolverine hadn’t been. And by the sound of it, he hadn’t been given the brushoff in any department.
The pain that had begun to churn in Bobby’s gut was suddenly banished, anger and bitterness settling like a stone. The millions of reassurances she had given over the past year echoed in his head, taunting him: he’s a friend, Bobby. I wear the tags as a reminder of what he did for me, Bobby. He saved my life, Bobby. I like him, but you’re my boyfriend, Bobby…
Strange how her pleading had never sounded as convincing as one throw-away sentence in the midst of an ugly bar fight.
XXXXXXXXXX
They had exactly fourteen minutes of anonymity before Colossus was called to the cage, and the Wolverine’s intent stare flew from the big Russian to find the other three hiding in the shadows towards the back of the room. Fourteen minutes in which Bobby’s anger had burned hot, then cold, as he watched Rogue – Marie? – minister to the Wolverine between fights.
Any lingering doubts about the status of their relationship was dispelled by the sight of her sitting in the older man’s lap, running her gloved fingers through his hair and over the brawny shoulders while feeding him – FEEDING him, for God’s sake – sips of beer and something that looked a lot stronger. Wolverine wasn’t bothering to limit the PDA, either, Bobby thought sourly, his face in her hair and his hands wandering over her body. Public display of affection, my ass, he thought. Public display of freakin’ ownership.
He wondered whether they would act any different had they known the others were watching. Would Rogue even bother to be embarrassed about flaunting her – my God, he was her LOVER – in her boyfriend’s face? He didn’t know the Wolverine well enough to guess what he would do, but he suspected not much would change. This guy, he realised, wasn’t the same man who taught them self-defence and did whatever needed to be done to keep nearly 100 mutants in pizza and cornchips. This guy didn’t give a fuck about anyone. Except Rogue, it seemed, as he watched the Wolverine return to the cage without ever losing eye contact with the girl in black.
As the MC started the spiel that would bring Colossus to the cage, each of the teenagers sitting at the table tensed, knowing discovery was just seconds away. The name “Colossus” didn’t seem to register at first, and when his eyes landed on Piotr, he seemed more amused than anything. When Piotr glanced back at their table, though, the Wolverine’s gaze followed, and his face turned to stone. His eyes flicked at Rogue, to see if she had noticed their presence, but her mouth was still hanging open as she processed Colossus’ appearance. Then, however, her brows came together and Bobby could almost see the calculation as her knowledge of teenage pack habits kicked in: she looked up, and half rose to take a good look around the bar.
Finding them shrinking in the shadows, Rogue stared directly at Bobby for several long seconds. Her face was pale under the yellow light, but her proud expression never faltered. So what, it screamed at him. I might be sorry, but I’m not ashamed. She acknowledged Kitty and Jubilee with a quick nod, and a half smile - perhaps of apology, perhaps not - crossed her face before she calmly turned back to the cage as the fight began.
“Well, lah-di-dah to you too, cheatin’ whore,” Jubilee spluttered. Kitty made an annoyed noise of dissent – even though she knew Jubilee didn’t REALLY mean the whore part – but was equally put out. Bobby just fumed. Was it too much to expect a little shame? Regret?
“We should go up there and sit with her. I wanna see Colossus kick the Wolverine’s ass,” Jubilee recovered. “And I REALLY want to hear what she has to say about all of this,” her annoyance vanishing in the face of some choice gossip.
“NO!” Bobby couldn’t. Wouldn’t. It was bad enough that his supposed girlfriend had been caught cheating by his best friends, but to have to sit with her and talk about it? No freakin’ way.
Kitty understood. “I’ll stay right here with Bobby. You go if you want to, Jubilee. She’ll probably have a perfectly good explanation for us, but now’s not the time,” she said, her habitual generosity obviously strained in the face of her friend’s perfidy.
Jubilee chose not to join Rogue, and it soon became obvious her confidence in Colossus was vastly misplaced. It became clear, to Xavier’s students, if not the general audience, that Wolverine was placing his fists very carefully to minimise the damage to the young giant. Even so, Colossus took the beating of his life: Bobby winced every time his friend collapsed over the Wolverine’s vicious knee, or a sudden blow to the temple. He kept getting up, though, and that was more than the Wolverine had allowed any other opponent.
Bobby began to wonder when, exactly, a cage fight ended. Was anybody keeping score, or did they just beat on each other for a certain amount of time? He searched the corners of the room for a scoreboard, but couldn’t see one. Nor did the screaming patrons seem to expect the fight to let up anytime soon: one woman to the right of his table kept shrieking “knock ‘em down, gorgeous, knock ‘em right out,” while a table of bikers at the front of the room were accompanying their chant of “blood, blood, blood, blood,” with a synchronised thumping of empty beer bottles on the table. Bobby didn’t even bother to hide his scorn: it wasn’t as if anyone would be looking at him anyway. All eyes were glued to Colossus and the Wolverine.
The bout was rounding 40 minutes by the time Colossus started to waver on his feet, and his recovery time began to stretch into minutes rather than seconds. A sick feeling in Bobby’s chest was telling him this could only end one way, and the Wolverine seemed to agree. With a roar, he launched an attack on Colossus that made their earlier skirmishes look like play: in a spectacular helicopter-like manoeuvre, Wolverine’s right foot left the ground to tap Colossus behind the knee, and his left crunched into the Russian’s lower back, felling him like a lumberjack would a particularly large tree. Wolverine then followed Colossus to the floor, pinning him with a knee on each massive bicep, before chopping his deadly hands together under Colossus’ ears. Even without the claws, the efficacy of the move was immediately apparent: Colossus’ eyes rolled back, and his head slumped to the floor. Terrified for his friend, Bobby still managed to wonder why the Wolverine hadn’t shown them THAT in combat class - it had taken less than four seconds to drop a man most would consider invulnerable. Now, Bobby just had to pray Colossus wasn’t dead.
Kitty had already leapt up and run to the edge of the cage, with Jubilee not far behind her. A quelling glance from the Wolverine held more warning than menace, and Bobby put aside his hatred for a moment to bow to the dangers of the situation: it would be a very bad idea indeed if anyone connected the two cage fighters with each other. Their obvious supremacy over all other comers just screamed ‘mutant’, and that wasn’t a truth anybody wanted to get out. Bobby grabbed the two girls and dragged them back to their table, managing not to look at Rogue the whole time. It was an impressive performance, he felt.
Colossus had regained consciousness by the time they sat down, and was sitting groggily on the steps of the cage. He had even offered his hand to the victor, much to the amusement of the crowd, and a few onlookers gave the gesture a half-hearted cheer. The Wolverine, however, had just raised an eyebrow at the courtesy. Bastard, Bobby fumed. Mother … freakin’ uncivilised animal. Colossus seemed less perturbed, and made his way shakily back to their table.
As the girls squawked over Piotr’s bruises, Bobby went to get the guy a beer, suspecting it wasn’t likely he’d get carded in this dump. He was right: the bartender even offered him hard liquor, “cause the big kid sure deserves it after a beating like that.” Bobby thought a minute and then went with vodka … Pete was Russian, after all. He was going to get some orange juice and some coke on the side – what the heck did you drink with vodka anyway? – but the bartender just snorted and piled some shot glasses onto a tray. “Never insult a Russian, kid. Especially a Russian that can survive a bout with the Wolverine,” he joked, shaking his head. “It’s on the house.”
Colossus had his hand out for the vodka even before Bobby reached the table, and obviously knew exactly what to do with a shot glass. He had downed three before Bobby could sit, apologising for drinking alone but obviously in need of a reviver.
“Got a message from the Wolverine,” he said quietly, as he poured them a shot each. “We leave in half an hour. He’s calling us a cab. We’ll see them back at the house at 4am,” Colossus reported, his eyes sympathetic as he glanced at Bobby.
“Uh, and what are THEY going to do for the next two hours, I wonder,” Jubilee said, her sneer suggesting she had a few ideas. Bobby tried not to think about it, because it hurt too much to think of them together at all. And, in some weird way, he felt it wasn’t any of his business.
He tried to regain the cold anger and betrayal that he had felt earlier, but a sense of detachment seemed to be shrouding him like a blanket. He had cared about Rogue – Marie, he reminded himself – he really had, but maybe things hadn’t been good for a while. And it’s not like she was ever really yours anyway, a bitter little voice whispered somewhere at the back of his brain. You WANTED her to be Rogue – mysterious and untouchable. Maybe ‘Marie’ is someone different.
Shaken by the thought, Bobby looked up to find his three companions studying him closely. Or Kitty was, at least. Piotr broke off to close his eyes, obviously in pain, while Jubilee kept shooting glances to Rogue’s table, where the Wolverine was once again sprawled in a chair, Rogue reclining against his chest like a sleek cat.
Bobby refused to look. He downed a shot, welcoming the burn and pondering the promise of oblivion. Funny how “drowning his sorrows” seemed so apt now. Sorrow seemed all that he had left with Rogue, and unconsciousness seemed the best strategy to adopt in the march to 4am.
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