The Wolverine & Rogue Fanfiction Archive
Barely Legal Since 2000
Author's Chapter Notes:
You might have to bear with this chapter. It's like the calm before the storm.
Man, I can rob a bank but I cannot handle my alcohol. That sucks. Twelve hours later and I’m still feeling rough.
After walking home in next to nothing...yeah, that was an experience I’ve no desire to repeat, let me tell you. Do you have any idea how many perverts there are in this goddamed city? Too fucking many.
Anyway, after finally finding my way back to my motel, I spent the morning preparing. Went over the original building plans that Mystique managed to ‘obtain’. Planned what I was going to wear, who I was going to wear, went over the schematics, and tried really hard not to think about what happened with Logan.
And failed. Miserably.
It’s all I’ve been able to think about all day.
His cold manner, his dismissal... his dark eyes watching my hand trail downwards. The way he looked at me.
God.
I mean, why the hell didn’t he stop me...until...? Come on, the belt was half off by then! What was he doing? Trying to prove I didn’t affect him? It’s not like he’s ever been interested, he’s made that perfectly clear. Kitty overheard them, Jean and Logan, back in the day when we were still friends.‘Well you can tell her my heart belongs to someone else.’
He’s never thought of me in that way.
...Has he?
Suddenly I’m not so sure. In fact I’m not sure about anything any more. Maybe I should have gone back with him. Should I even be here? Should we be doing this? We’re about to hit one of the government’s most valuable resources and I’m filled with self-doubt.
Which is not good.
"You still with me?" Mystique clicks the well manicured fingers of the blond she’s currently wearing in front of my face, and I look up, belatedly.
"Yeah, sorry."
"You don’t sound convinced."
Yeah well, I’m not. I wonder if it would be wise to tell her what’s happened. It’s affecting my judgement big time, no matter how much I want to deny it. It only seems fair that she should know. My concentration being off could put both of us in danger.
"Rogue?"
Or maybe not. "It...it’s nothing," I lie. Badly.
She just gives me a look.
"Oh alright." I roll my eyes tetchily. "I just ran into Logan the other day, okay?" I deliberately leave out the part about last night. Don’t want her getting the wrong idea. Or the right idea. Whatever.
Her face remains expressionless. A perfect mask. "And?"
"And nothing. Really. He wanted me to go back to Westchester with him. I said no."
"Do you regret it?"
"No!" That came out too quickly, we both know it.
She just raises an eyebrow speculatively. "You know, I saw you with him at the bar last night."
She had? And she’d said nothing?
"So did you two... is that what this is about?"
Did we... oh. Is she suggesting...? To my utter horror I actually feel my face flood with colour. I’m embarrassed that she suggested it, and I’m even more embarrassed that the answer is no. I try to look like I don’t care. "Of course not."
"Really? Well you should. ‘Bout time you got some, honey."
Okay, blush officially deepened. That wasn't fair. I give her my best withering look and change the subject. "How was your bank manager anyway?"
She has none of my inhibitions. "He was..." a flash of a grin, "...inventive."
"On second thoughts, forget I asked. I don’t want to know."
"Sure you do." She takes a sip of her coffee, then begins methodically massacring a napkin, shredding it into tiny little pieces. "You’re dying to know what it’s like. Sex."
"What makes you think that I don’t already know?"
"You have angry virgin written all over you."
Ouch. "I do not," I say weakly, but even I don’t believe it. "I took the cure remember? It’s not like I’ve never..."
"Oh really?" She picks up another napkin and her smile becomes a smirk. "Who?"
I cringe slightly at the memory. "...Bobby."
She raises an eyebrow as if she doesn’t believe me.
"Only once," I admit. "Right after I took the cure."
He was still far too nervous of my skin; the whole thing was practically fully clothed. Meticulously planned, it was over in about three uncomfortable, grinding minutes in which all I could think about was how much it hurt, and the weird way his face scrunched up. Not exactly the romantic sweeping off my feet I had dreamt of. We never tried it again.
"Wow. Must have been good. Memorable."
I give her sarcasm a scathing look. "It’s not like I can touch anyone these days anyway. It would be like extreme sex, a high risk sport."
"Stop making excuses."
"I’m not making excuses!" But I am. And she’s right.
Damn.
That’s the first time I’ve blamed anything on my skin in months. The realisation hits me like a cold slap to the face. How can I go from confident, independent woman, back to fragile young girl all because of one stupid meeting? I resent that!
Not that resenting it helps either.
Ugh.
"I don’t need sex anyway." It comes out more of a grumble than I had hoped. "I’ve coped well enough without so far. I’ll just retire with my millions, invest in a vibrator factory and become a nun."
"Ha!" She actually snorts. "There are so many things wrong with that image," she laughs, then holds her well manicured hands up in mock defeat. "Well whatever does it for you honey. Besides, I wasn’t suggesting you sleep around."
"Uh-huh?"
"Just that I saw the way he was looking at you, on that dance floor."
He...what?
My ears thud and my breath catches in my throat. Why does that make my heart race, damn it? As far as I was aware, he wasn’t looking at me like anything. Apart from the angry glare. Although to be fair, I don’t think I was aware of much...
Oh.
Maybe she didn’t mean Logan. Maybe she meant the creepy letch I danced with...? "Who?"
"You know who. Mr feral-in-poured-on-leather."
"He was wearing jeans!"
"I know, but the leather is so much more... so. I like to pretend."
"Well pretend all you like, he wasn’t looking at me like anything. He never has." Except for this morning. When my hand slid towards his belt. God, right now I feel like my stomach is going to drop through my toes. This can’t be normal.
"Mm-hmm..."
"It’s always been Jean," I snap back. "You know that. I know that. Half the damn mutants on the East coast know that. I came to terms with it years ago."
"Yeah. Sounds like it."
"He said he loved her. He loved her."
But she still doesn’t give up. "Honey, where on earth is it written that a man can only love one woman?"
By the time Mystique and I make our way though the pseudo city-dark, I’m no better. My mind’s been churning over the awkward situation all day, and it’s starting to make me feel... ugh... oh I don’t know. Stuff. Things. Blah. Words I don’t want to give names to.
As far as the job goes, we’ve got everything meticulously planned. The truck is parked out in the suburbs, our bags stashed in there, all good to go. A car rented under the name of a girl I hated at school waits for us outside the café opposite, where I parked it this afternoon. The keys fit snugly in my pocket. They’re our escape and I keep them close.
Mystique has already re-wired the bank’s alarm system. Heh. That bit of preparation was actually quite clever. We didn’t want to touch the bank in advance in case someone got scent of what we had planned. But the city library? Now that was easy to access. Two public buildings, both wired up to the police department. It was so simple to switch them. Well, simple if you are a shape shifter, know what you’re doing and can get access to the right systems anyway... Okay, maybe not so simple, but you get the point. Now if we set anything off at the bank, the library will be crawling with cops. One of our better ideas I like to think.
It still doesn’t take my mind of Logan though. None of it.
Even worse is the niggling thought that giving all this up and going back with him would be so appealing. Seriously. Why? Why would I even think that? Nothing would change. I’d go back to being the girl trapped in the mansion, and he’d disappear off his bike again.
And now I’m having an argument with myself. About imaginary scenarios.
That’s never a good sign.
Ugh. I need some serious 'me' time to get my head sorted out. Well, as sorted as it can get. Ever since my mutation decided to rent out the available space in my brain, it’s always been a little chaotic; like some sort of mind-fuck time-share. Brings a whole new meaning to the term multiple personality disorder. Believe me.
Damn it, why am I even still thinking about this? I made a decision three months ago. I decided that enough was enough. Well, I’m renewing that decision ‘cause right now a life of money and luxury, with a side order of danger, sounds much more appealing than a God dammed school and a growling guardian who’s never there.
Ha. I feel better already.
I do.
Really.
It’s – oh fuck we’re here.
"You ready?"
Her voice jolts me out of my stupor. No. This time I’m not ready. I’m not ready by far. But I’ll be dammed if I let that stop me. I worked goddammed hard for this!
...relatively speaking.
Technically other people worked hard for this, I’m just stealing it.
For the first time, I begin to feel a little bad about that. Which is not good. Fine time to grow back a conscience.
"Rogue?"
"Yeah, yeah. I’m here." Fighting to clear my thoughts, I clench one of my gloves between my teeth and pull it off to free a hand.
In response she just holds out a bare arm.
This time when I touch her I force myself to remember that time outside the diner, and I concentrate. It’s not easy to control, far from it. It makes me giddy, my teeth clench, and the rush that’s there at first is as powerful as ever. But I fight it. Push back at it. Slow it down until it steadies. Until it’s a muddy stream, instead of a raging river.
Heh, and it works! It’s far from perfect, but it actually makes a noticeable difference!
It’s funny, all those times I tried to turn off my mutation, I was always trying to ‘stop’ it. Always trying to find a switch. It never occurred to me to try and slow it down. Not even that time outside Bobby’s parent’s house when I touched John. Only in hindsight do I now realise that even though I held on for much longer, he was okay because I was in some sort of control.
Shame it was in hindsight. Should have knocked the bastard off his feet.
I pull away and glance up at Mystique. She’s breathing a little harder than usual, but is otherwise unaffected.
"Interesting," she says. "You’re getting better at that."
I try not to look too smug.
Next on the agenda is choosing an image. Tonight I feel like I need a bit of style, so I go for a sleek blond. Call it pampering. Legs up to my armpits and bee-stung lips.
What? Sometimes a girl needs to dress it up a little.
Beside me, Mystique glances up and flexes her shoulders, licks her lips once, and then she’s scaling the wall like some sort of agile spider, gripping on to handholds that are barely there, until she’s high enough to cut the power cables.
And then from then on in, it’s all slick movement.