The Wolverine & Rogue Fanfiction Archive
Barely Legal Since 2000
You watch.
Blood pounds through your veins. Your mouth goes dry.
You try not to stare, but she looks well. Better than well. Cheeks flushed with the cold, snow caught up in her dark hair, still streaked with that familiar white. She brushes it self-consciously away from her face as she unwinds her scarf and takes in the scents and smells of the mansion around her. And when her nervous expression brakes into a smile, it clenches a fist in your chest, washing realisation over everything you thought you knew.
Fucking sideways.
You take the coward's way out, avoid her, but it haunts you all the same. Stays with you all day. A closely guarded secret. An emotion you won't give name to.
You attempt to get on with things, but your thoughts linger as you try to figure out why it hadn't been like this when she lived here before. Remembering what it was like to have her sitting at the back of one of your classes while you yelled about fuck knows what. Remembering how you used to catch her sharing those secret smiles with Bobby. Wondering how the hell something a year ago could suddenly make you feel like slamming your claws into the closest piece of antique fucking furniture.
You can't get away from it either. Signs of her return are everywhere. Her green coat slung over the back of one of the chairs in the rec room. Her scent in the hallway. An extra place setting at the table.
And in the evening, when you sit there at dinner, you notice things you've never even looked at, wondering how the hell you've never noticed them before. The way her eyes shine as they take in all the loops and glitter of the decorations. The way the dark green of the giant tree makes the matching colour of her thick sweater stand out against the soft paleness of her skin. The way her hands fumble nervously at the ends of the sleeves, memories of gloves haunting her.
Haunting you.
Like other memories.
Dog tags and trains and promises made to a kid. You said you'd look out for her.
This isn't looking out for her.
God but the things you said then are nothing like the things you want to say now. The things you want to do. And you know you're sliding but you can't do a damn thing about it.
You keep out the way during the chatting and drinking that comes afterwards. No one notices, not really. Heh, it's not like you're usually the social type. Others do the taking while you pretend not to notice. You're good at that.
Snatches of conversation still catch you though. Working in an office. Renting an apartment. Getting by. Yeah... happy. Doing ok.
Still got that Southern accent.
You're glad about that. Though you can't explain it. Or you don't want to.
Whatever.
You leave them to it. Turn your back on the conversation, hunch your shoulders to the cold and step outside to light a cigar instead, telling yourself it's for the best. Just need to keep out her way. Nothing but a temporary madness, that's all. Things will all make sense when she's gone again.
Yeah.
Sure they will...
You let the silence wash over you. Let the bitter air clear the warmth from your senses. Let the smoke warm your tongue as you wonder what the fuck you are really doing out here. How the hell you lie to yourself so goddamn well.
You know she will follow. She always does.
Still, you don't move.
The snow stops falling and the ground lies still under its blanket of white, the only colour the warmth of the mansion lights splashing out through the latticed windows.
And still you don't move.
Instead you light another cigar. Wonder when the fuck you became a chain smoker.
It's her scent that reaches you first. It curls round you, flairs your nostrils as you try and force yourself not to react. It's there long before she speaks and gives herself away.
"You've hardly said a word all night."
Yeah. Well. Best to avoid speaking when you can't trust your mouth not to voice your thoughts. Good way not to get arrested.
"Logan?"
You turn around, excuse ready on your tongue. Sorry kid. Been distracted. Been busy. Too much to do. To much to fix. Needed some air.
But the words never make it, and after eleven months... the way she's looking at you wipes your thoughts as blank as the winter snow.
You just stand there. Wondering how the fuck you came to exist. Wondering how the hell this never happened before. Watching the way she wraps her arms around herself for warmth, shoulders shivering against iciness of the night.
That's what finally finds your voice. "You cold?"
A shrug, followed by a slight smile. "A little. I've been worse."
Yeah. Neither of you need to pull up those memories. Forced to hide out in the truck of a camper in Alaska. That must have been a whole lot fucking colder.
You take another drag and try not to notice the way her eyes narrow on the warm smoke, or the way she chews on her lip with an embarrassed smile and turns away when she realises you caught her watching.
Yeah, you try not to notice.
You fail. Miserably. Jeans becoming damn uncomfortable; eyes drawn to the sweep of her lashes as she blinks, and flushes with colour.
Eventually she gives a backwards glance to the busy room behind her. It's an excuse. A distraction. "Anyway..." She manages to meet your gaze again. "I just wanted to say hi. It's..." a quiet smile, "...it's really good to see you again."
Is it?
You should probably say something back. But the words won't come. And instead of rambling in awkward conversation, you watch her turn, watch her walk back towards her friends, rubbing the warmth back into her hands as her fingers reach for the door that will-
"Wait."
You don't know where it came from. Or why you said it. Or why, when she turns back to look at you, you stub out what's left of your cigar and let your feet carry you over to her. Jamming your hands in your pockets to keep them to yourself.
You half expect her to back off, but she doesn't. Instead she looks up at you. A slight frown, a question, marking her face. "What is it?"
What is it? It's a hundred things you never knew before. A hundred things you can't say. A hundred things you don't know how to contain. The need to pour everything that's driving you, into her. The emotions so long buried, welling up until you loose track of where they begin and reason ends and you wonder if you even care.
"...Logan?"
When she shivers again, you watch.
Then you lean in close; nostrils burning with the spiking scent of desire. Hers? Yours? You don't know. But it surrounds you, and when you finally find the words to answer her, you can't stop the heat that floods your voice.
"Let me warm you up."